#x trans!reader

You and Walker aren’t dating.

That’s what you tell everyone. That’s what he tells everyone. That’s what Valentina tells the public.

You and Walker are just teammates. Teammates with a hell of a lot of tension between the two of you, but teammates nonetheless.

In reality… things are a lot more complicated.

You don’t know how to explain how things started.

You and Walker had always been more amiable towards each other. You’d treated him cordially when you’d first met. It had been easier for you than for the others. You understood the pressure of performance, the way grief turned to anger.

After all, you were supposed to be America’s sweetheart. The pretty, perfect, sweet one. Instead, you’d been angry. Violent. Ferocious and uncontrollable. You’d lashed out where you should’ve been sweet. You’d fought when you should’ve been peaceful.

And it had earned you the scorn of nations.

But when you’d stared Walker down in that death trap of a vault, he hadn’t snapped at you. Hadn’t sneered at you or mocked you beyond a mild comment. Instead, he’d just looked at you with an expression akin to begrudging respect.

And that had started it all.

When everything with Bob went down, you’d been the first to charge after Yelena. The memory of your shame rooms still haunted you, trailing after you in nightmares and in the dark corners of rooms.

It had been Walker who’d found you. Punching through the wall with a yell. Shaking you from your fear and shame and grief and riling you back up into the fierce image of anger the public knows you as.

It’s Walker who continues to rescue you from your nightmares. When you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, terror clawing at your chest. Bitter fear bubbling inside you. It’s his room you seek shelter in.

It’s his arms you hide in. It’s his body you seek relief in. It’s his murmured words that soothe the roaring beast of dysphoria beneath your skin.

But you’re not dating.

Not for lack of want. Definitely not for lack of want.

You want him so bad it feels like a physical thing in your chest. A lump slowly growing and simmering, collecting scraps of obsession and adoration and need. You need his presence to breathe. To function. To exist without feeling untethered and broken.

But you’re scared to ask.

Walker likes you. You know this. He’s told you, in murmured words after sex. In between morning breath kisses. With every meal he cooks for you. You know it as surely as you know who you are.

But it’s not enough.

You don’t want him to like you. You want him to need you. You want him to adore you. You want him to love you.

But you’re pretty sure his heart still belongs to Olivia.

And you’re scared of losing him. Of losing the first bit of stability in your life you’ve had in years.

So you don’t ask. You just want in silence and hope that it’ll be enough for your starving heart.

Most of the time it is.

Tonight it isn’t.

You all are at some gala or other. A charity event, probably. In any case, you all are dressed up. Valentina pulled out all the stops this time, even going so far as to get you a fitted suit. One with a corset vest that hides your chest so you don’t have to struggle with a binder for tonight.

Everyone’s giving you space, except for Bob, of course. He’s clinging to your arm like a nervous dog, using your reputation for starting fights to keep from being asked prying questions. You don’t mind his presence. He’s good company and he’s good at keeping you from drinking too much.

Which you are definitely about to do.

Your mood is worse than usual. You’re practically glaring daggers across the room, wishing with all your might that Ava will phase through the floor all of a sudden and leave John alone.

Not that you’d be able to dance with him tonight. That’d be too close to a scandal. Too close to boyfriend behavior. But you can at least be angry at those who do get to dance with him.

“You know it’s not Ava’s fault, right…?” Bob asks, waving a hand in front of your face. Your jaw clenches and you turn away.

“I know.” The knowing doesn’t help the burning jealousy in your chest.

Bob frowns at you as you down another drink, the alcohol only making you a little fuzzy. You’re by no means a super soldier, but you’re enhanced nonetheless. You haven’t been able to get really drunk in years.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Bob says hesitantly. You don’t respond; your glare intensifying as Ava laughs at something John says.

That should be you.

It burns at your mind, itching under your skin. A furious beast snarling to be released.

“Hey.” Bob nudges you. Your glare turns on him, but softens immediately when he flinches.

“Sorry,” you mutter. You turn away, putting your back to John and Ava’s little happy moment. “It’s just…”

You don’t finish your sentence. You don’t have to. It’s Bob. He knows.

He flashes you a sympathetic smile. “You can dance with me if you want.”

You shake your head. It’s a sweet offer, but it wouldn’t be the same. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

You exhale slowly and assess the room. Yelena’s chatting with Bucky. Alexei’s talking to a reporter while Mel hovers nearby. Valentina is nowhere to be seen.

Giving you the perfect opportunity to slip away.

“Alright.” You nudge Bob in Yelena’s direction. “Go be a duckling with ‘Lena. I’m turning in for the night.”

Bob casts you a worried look. “You sure?”

You force a smile and nod. “Yeah. It’s… probably best I leave now. Before…” You wave your hands vaguely.

He nods. “Alright.” But he lingers for a moment. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

That makes your smile turn genuine. “Don’t call John stupid.”

Bob snorts. Shakes his head. And walks away.

You stay at the bar for only a moment longer before you start making your way towards the door. Predictably, no one stops you. They’ve all seen you glaring. No one wants to be the one to pick a fight with you.

“Hey!”

You turn. Walker jogs up to you, giving you one of those stupidly attractive grins that you love so much.

“What?” You wince internally at the sharpness of your voice but he doesn’t even seem fazed.

“Wanna get out of here?” He asks, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Guiding you out of the room with ease.

You should resist. The bitter jealousy is still curled behind your ribs, but you can’t help it. You can’t say no to him.

“Do something fun?” You ask, giving him a small but genuine smile.

He chuckles and pats your shoulder. “Read my mind.” He leans in closer, his voice a soft breath in your ear. “You look goddamn handsome in that suit. I wanna see how handsome you look without it.”

That’s all it takes for your body to light up with arousal. A few words and you’re already wet for him.

“Only if you let me wear your coat while you fuck me,” you murmur back.

His answering grin is blinding and makes your heart thrill.

Your camaraderie turns to lust as soon as the elevator doors close and the cameras are off you. The two of you collide like gravity’s pulling you together. Your hands find his waist, your lips crashing together.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s hungry and desperate and you want to be mean. So you bite at him, nipping at his lower lip till the acrid tang of blood spices your mouth.

He groans, nudging a knee in between your legs. You growl into the kiss, hands working at his shirt. The buttons are a pain to undo but you’re persistent. As soon as enough are undone, you’re pulling at his undershirt and smoothing your fingers over his abdomen.

You can feel his muscles flexing under your touch and you grin into the kiss. He knows how much you love his muscles.

His lips find your neck and he bites. You moan, arching against him. “Fuck, John!”

The pain makes your head all floaty; the sensation sharp enough to soothe the ache in your chest. He pushes his thigh harder against you and you grind down against it. Not caring in the slightest that you’re ruining your suit.

By the time you reach the floor with your rooms, you’re panting into each other’s mouths. You’re palming him through his pants, already soaking through yours.

You move to pull away and he grunts. With one fluid movement, he scoops you up. Carrying you through the darkened common room like you weigh nothing. It makes your core clench; the feel of his arms supporting you making your head spin.

You bury your face in his neck, kissing and nipping like crazy. Making him stumble and groan as he makes his way towards his room. “Fuck, babe. Gonna make me cum before I even get inside you.”

You smirk against his skin. “Like you wouldn’t just get hard again within a few minutes.”

He chuckles and kisses your shoulder. Giving you a soft bite through the fabric of your suit. You groan and roll your hips against his, grinding hard against his bulge. He curses, stumbling again.

“That one was on purpose,” he growls.

You grin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Your grin vanishes when his eyes gleam with triumph. Your head turns, but you already know. He opens the door to his room, kicking it shut behind him as he enters. He drops you on the bed, already shedding his coat.

Walker tosses it next to you on the bed, gazing down at you with a smirk on his face. “What am I gonna do about it? Well, darlin’…” He leans down, resting his hands on either side of your hips. “I think I’m gonna eat that bratty little hole of yours out.”

You flush and squirm, core clenching at the thought. If there was anything he was good at, eating pussy was number fucking one the list.

He grabs your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Then, I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own damn name. Understand?”

You swallow and nod.

His eyes darken. “I said, understand?”

“Yes, sir!” You gasp out.

He smirks, all slow and smug. “Good boy.”

You bite back a moan. If your boxers weren’t soaked already, you’d’ve soaked them through just from that. He knows how weak you are to praise. His praise from him especially.

He pulls back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Strip.”

You swallow again and obey. You work as fast as you can, tossing your clothes carelessly on the floor. You hesitate for a moment before taking off your undershirt. Exposing your scars to his gaze.

His expression softens, but he doesn’t say anything so you continue. Stripping off your pants and boxers before sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Completely and totally naked in front of him.

When you slowly spread your legs, you can see his gaze darken. Hunger filling his eyes. He drops to his knees in front of you, groaning softly. “Fuck, babe. You’re so handsome.”

A whimper crawls up your throat. You can feel your arousal spill from your core, dampening the sheets beneath you. He growls softly, reaching out to swipe two fingers against you. Gathering up your slick. You gasp, hips jolting. He just smirks, popping his fingers into his mouth.

His eyes flutter shut, a moan spilling from his lips. “You taste so goddamn good. Could fuckin’ feast on you all day long.”

You just groan and thread your fingers into his hair. Tugging him towards your aching core. “Shut up and eat me out, Johnny.”

Magic fucking words. He shoves his face against you, growling against your core. His stubble scrapes against you, making you gasp. Then he’s going down on you like a starving man, licking and sucking and eating you out like he needs you to live.

And you wail. “Fuck! Johnny, Johnny, fuck, yes!”

Your heels dig into his back, pulling him closer. You writhe, squirm, grind against his face. It feels like heaven, his stubble adding a layer of pain that makes you delirious with pleasure.

He pins your hips to the bed and sucks on your dick. Swirling his tongue around it and over it in that way that has you seeing stars. You cum with a cry, a broken gasp of his name.

You can feel the way his body jerks. The muffled groan that spills against you. He pulls back, expression dazed and hazy.

You pant, gazing down at him with wide eyes. “Did you just—“

“Shut up,” he grumbles, smacking your inner thigh. He rests his forehead against your leg, exhaling harshly. You grin. “Oh, you did.”

He lifts his head to give you a mild glare, but you don’t care. You push yourself up, giving him the smuggest look you can muster. “Big bad John Walker, cumming in his pants like a teenager. Whatever happened to fucking me till I forget my own— Fuck!”

He surges upward. Lips colliding messily with yours. You moan at the taste on his lips. Your taste.

He bites at your lower lip, sucking it harshly into his mouth. “Fuckin’ brat. Can’t give me a moment of goddamn peace, can you?”

You open your mouth to answer and he pushes you down. Climbing on top of you and shoving his tongue in your mouth to keep you quiet. You moan, legs wrapping around his waist. Hands sliding up his toned chest. Shamelessly feeling up his muscles as the two of you make out.

He’s too distracted to notice when you brace yourself. With a grunt and a huff, you flip the two of you over. Switching so you’re straddling him. Your dripping core nestled right over his covered cock.

You smirk down at him. He scowls. “Don’t even say it—“

“Is that a gun in your pocket, Walker?” You ask smugly. “Or are you just that happy to see me?”

He growls and rolls his hips up against you. Making your breath stutter in your lungs. You moan, thoughts flying away as you start to grind down against him. He’s big and he feels big, even through his pants. And you’re oh so empty, clenching down hard around nothing.

You quickly melt into whimpers, half-humping him as he groans underneath you. You’re just beginning to chase your high when he taps your thigh. You whine, but slide off him. Giving him space to breathe and room to yank off the rest of his suit.

While he fumbles with his belt, you snatch up his abandoned coat. Slipping your arms into the sleeves and buttoning it up just enough to hide your chest scars. It’s comfy. And the collar smells like him; like his nice cologne. The one he wears when he wants people to like him.

John eyes you as he steps out of his clothes. You eye him right on back. You don’t even try to hide the way you’re ogling his dick. The way you’re practically drooling over it. He’s big and he knows it.

He nods at you, jerking his head a little. “Go on. On your hands and knees.”

His tone makes you shiver and you scramble to obey. You get on your knees, ass up in the air. Dropping hole on perfect display for him.

He smirks. And you get no warning before he’s lightly smacking your core. Not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel it. “Look at you. Soaked already. You get this wet from my mouth or from grindin’ on my dick?”

You moan. Loudly. Unashamedly. Your whole body feeling hot from his words.

He chuckles, slipping two fingers inside you, all the way up to his knuckles. “Look at you. Moanin’ like a whore and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut when his fingers curl inside you. He’s a god at eating you out, but his hands know your body like nothing else. You’re a mess within seconds. Whining and sobbing pitifully as he fingerfucks you.

And he doesn’t stop when you cum. He keeps going; the sounds obscene in the air around you. You cry his name, chanting it over and over. Voice cracking as he coaxes wave after wave of pleasure from your body.

And then he pulls his fingers out. And you cry from the emptiness instead.

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles softly. Nothing but quiet affection in his tone. “You’re so needy.”

With a grunt, he lines himself up. Thrusting forward a few times to coat his cock in your slick before pressing in. And you both melt into delirium.

He’s so big. And the angle is just right, making the stretch delicious as he slides in.

He’s panting, forehead dropped against your back. His hips stutter, a moan ripped from his lips. And he cums, spilling inside you with a gasp of your name. You don’t make fun of him this time; too wrapped up in the moment to care.

It only takes him a moment to recover anyway. And then he’s pounding into you. Not even giving you a moment to breathe before he’s bullying his dick deep inside you. And you cry out; desperate pleas of his name, urging him on.

He fucks you with superhuman focus. Hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. Yanking you back against him as he thrusts in. You babble his name, face shoved into a pillow. You can’t think; you can’t breathe. All you can do it take it, drowning in the pleasure.

You cum a third time. He fucks you through it. But his hips stutter, his pace messing up. And you know you have him. His hips slam home. His dick twitching inside you as he fills you up with hot cum.

It leaks out of you as he slowly pulls out. A swear bursting on his tongue as he watches his creamy seed spill from your core. You can see the desire in his eyes. The involuntary motion forward, as if to lean down and taste his own cum leaking from you.

You pull him down next to you instead. Both of you take a moment to breathe. To rest. To bask in the afterglow.

And then he pulls you to him. Tucks himself up along your back and nuzzles into your neck. His breath ghosting along your skin.

It’s the perfect moment. The words spring up behind your lips. I love you. But you wait, desperately hoping he’ll say them tonight. That he’ll finally give name to what’s between you.

But his breathing evens out. His body relaxing against yours.

The disappointment is immeasurable. Soul-crushing and bone-deep. Any other day you’d shrug it off. Feed your hungry heart with imaginary scraps of a relationship you’re still not in.

But tonight it’s not enough. It’s never really enough. And, once you’re sure he’s asleep, you get up and leave.

The next two weeks are… weird. You don’t avoid Walker, but there’s an odd sort of tension in every interaction you have with him. A quiet strain on the easy routines you have with him.

You feel it like a gaping chasm.

It’s when the team starts to notice that you know it’s not just in your head. It starts with Bob, a soft question of “Are you okay?”

Then it’s Yelena making a quiet comment about your training session with Walker. You catch Ava talking with Walker in the kitchen one morning. It makes a spike of jealousy jump in your chest; one you do your best to stifle.

Finally, Bucky pulls you aside. “What’s going on with you and Walker?”

“Nothing.” Your answer is immediate and blank.

He’s visibly not convinced. His brow furrows and he steps closer. “If something’s going on that’ll affect the team…”

You exhale and look away. Across the room, Walker’s watching the two of you. An unreadable expression on his face. You meet his gaze for a moment.

“Nothing’s going on,” you say quietly. You turn back to Bucky. “Walker and I aren’t dating, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Bucky frowns. “Still?”

Something about the way he says it makes you bristle. You can feel yourself going on the defensive, your stance shifting a little. “Yeah. Still.”

Bucky runs a hand over his face. “Look, you two need to get your shit together.”

Your jaw sets. You force your mouth to stay shut. Biting back the scathing words that itch to be let out.

“You can’t keep dancing around each other forever,” he says tiredly. “Something’s gonna give and I don’t want it to be—“

Whatever he was about to say is cut off. Because the second he reaches out to rest a hand on your arm, Walker’s there. Chin raised and shoulders back. Slowly nudging his way between the two of you before you can do something rash.

“Back off, Barnes.” There’s nothing but icy steel in Walker’s voice. It makes the ball of anger in your chest loosen a little.

Bucky says something about good intentions. It makes Walker scoff, his arms folding over his chest. “I said, back off.”

They glare at each other for a moment before Bucky takes a step back. He glances between you two for a moment before nodding and walking away.

You gaze at Walker’s back. He lets out a breath and the tension slowly leaves his body. He turns to you, eyes searching yours. Neither of you say anything.

He reaches out, brushing a thumb over your cheek. Your breath hitches. Some quiet part of your brain screams at him to kiss you.

But he just lingers for a moment before pulling away. Leaving disappointment and uneasy butterflies behind.

He gives you a nod. Some unspoken affirmation of something you didn’t know needed an answer. And the disappointment smoothes over.

You give him a half-smile and take a step back. Slowly you tear your gaze away and turn to leave. He doesn’t stop you, but you can feel his gaze on you all the way to the elevator.

It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat. And for the first time in days, the chasm between you two doesn’t feel so wide.

That night, there’s a knock at your door. It startles you, but doesn’t surprise you. You pull on a shirt and answer the door.

It’s Walker. Standing there quietly. Looking not all stern and demanding, but soft and determined. You smile a little. “Hey.”

His lips quirk up. “Hey.”

You step back to let him in. He lingers by the door, closing it softly behind him. You take a seat on the edge of your bed, gazing at him. You both are silent, as if waiting for the other to speak.

Finally, he clears his throat. “We need to talk.”

You try to ignore the shards of panic that splinter through your heart. Nothing good ever comes of those words. Still, you nod. “Okay.”

He takes a breath. You brace yourself.

“What are we?”

You blink. “What?”

He swallows. “What are we?”

“No, I heard you.” You stare at him. “What do you mean?”

He shifts as if uncomfortable. “Are we dating? Are we friends? What are we?”

“Well, we’re not dating.” You mean for it to be a joke, but it comes out harsher than intended.

Walker flinches. You scramble to continue. “I mean, I guess we’re fuckbuddies?”

It’s your turn to wince. Just saying it aloud hurts. It feels cheap, like it’s lessening whatever you two have between you.

“Fuckbuddies.” He stares flatly at you.

You avoid his gaze. “Friends with benefits, maybe?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Right. That’s all we are.”

Your chest hurts. Like someone’s slowly but surely ripping your heart from its home. You swallow and stare at the ground. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, all of them screaming to be spoken.

Silence stretches out between you. Walker’s expression slides into something like disappointment. He scoffs softly. “Fuckbuddies.”

He shakes his head and turns away. “Of course that’s all we are.”

You just stare at him wordlessly. He sounds so… bitter. And you can’t help but wonder if this is it. If this is the moment he’ll turn and say it’s over.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at you. Gives you this pained look. Gaze flicking across your face like he’s searching for something.

“Is that all we are?” His voice is quiet. Bordering desperation. It sinks into your heart like a knife, gutting you from the inside out.

The whirlwind in your mind comes to a screeching halt, only one thought left in your mind. A selfish, greedy, hungry thought. “No.”

He steps closer. Gaze now intensely focused on yours. “No?” It’s barely a whisper.

You let out a breath. “I don’t know what we are.”

He steps closer again. Something changing in his expression. “But we’re something?”

You nod. Your palms are sweaty; your breath coming out all shaky. It takes a terrifying amount of courage to speak. “We could— We could date. If you wanted to.”

He doesn’t look away. “I want to.”

The wall of fear around your heart cracks and shatters. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “You do…?”

He reaches out, cupping your face in his rough hands. “Yeah.”

A smile twitches at your lips, tugging them up until you’re grinning at him. “John?”

“Hmm?” His thumb brushes your lower lip.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

His gaze flicks up to yours. His lips quirk up. He leans in. “Hell fucking yeah.”

The kiss is soft. Slow and deep, like you both are savoring the contact. You pull back slowly, smiling. He chases after you, pulling you into another, hungrier kiss.

You nip at his lower lip, making his breath catch. “John Walker,” you whisper. “My boyfriend.”

He chuckles lowly, dipping his head to nuzzle along your jaw. “We should make that my new alias. John Walker, your boyfriend.”

A laugh startles from you and you lean back to grin at him. He smirks up at you.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen. “I love you too,” you whisper back. And something in your chest curls up and settles down.

Finally, finally no longer starving.

The kabe walls of the Zenin compound were decorated by two shadows surrounded by dimmed candlelight. If you were caught, neither of you had any clue of how any onlooker would react. Especially with Naoya’s head between your legs and laving at your cunt in languid and unpracticed, drunken motions.

Neither of you could've predicted this. You were two boys fighting for the Zenin clan in one way or another. Although not related by blood, the loyalty you held for the clan was bought by cash and blood as you fought for them. Somewhere along the way, Naoya had his eyes catching on your silhouette while training together in friendly sparring with himself and other guards that worked beside you. You knew he was not fond of romance, often using women as a means to relieve his stress and leave them wanting more while his own need for pleasure was satisfied. As his eyes lingered on you in the changing space after training, you could feel something sear into your back like the first sizzle on barbeque after a lifetime of starvation.

It didn't help that you were sworn to defend him as his personal guard, forced into proximity to a man who gawked at you for the majority of your days after the first training session. Whatever feelings you had for him were pushed aside to favour professionalism, which all flew out the window as soon as his lips found yours in a darkened corridor. Now flat on your back, hands desperately clutching Naoya’s blonde locks while your body rocked into his face, the Zenin was a man possessed while his eyes eclipsed with desire at every cruel pass his tongue made against your pussy.

While shedding your skin from your work uniform, you had no idea how this man would react to your body. You were a boy, everyone knew you as one, and your past was buried alongside your dead name in an unmarked tomb. When he saw your pussy, you expected that misogynistic narrow-mindedness the majority of the Zenin clan held in their heart. In its place, you found drooling lips, hungry eyes, and a desperate flush flooding over his pale skin and lingering in the apples of his cheeks. He was completely obsessed with you, and he demonstrated that obsession by doing an act he had never attempted before: pleasing you before himself.

Naoya greedily hummed into your pussy while the pointed tip of his tongue hooked gently against your hard tdick. He smirked into your core while swirling that tongue around its head, only stopping to purse his lips and suck it into his mouth. His eyes continued to switch focus between watching your face for a reaction and fluttering shut to enjoy his meal. He had never given oral before, but he desperately ate at your slit and throbbing tdick as if his life depended on you finding your pleasure.

“Naoya-!” you whimpered, losing that orgasm that was so desperately building as soon as he switched positions, edging you for the umpteenth time whether conscious or not in his decision, “Please-!” Bucking into his face, you forced his head to grind onto your tdick while your slit coated his face in your slick arousal. Naoya hummed and whined into you, grinding onto the tatami floors and coating the inside of his pants in sticky strands of neglect.

“You taste so good,” Naoya whimpered against your core, “Feel so good. I need you, just l-let me do this. Please.” Hearing the desperate cries fall sweetly from the Zenin’s lips while he ate your pussy was enough to fling you back towards that desperate edge. He bobbed his head, sucking on your tdick as if it was a position he was made for, his glossy eyes with blown pupils found your own again.

He was ruined. So perfectly ruined. Drunken on his own desire while his lips continued to both force pleasure into your body and plea for you to cum in his mouth. You expected him to fuck you, pound you into the tatami mat while laughing at you while you struggled to take him. Not make you wetter than you’d ever been, sucking on your tdick and praying for you to finish in his mouth. Looking down at him, his pathetic and fucked-out expression was a work of art in every dazed little blink his eyes fluttered at you.

“Naoya, I'm-! Urgh, Naoya,” you whispered softly while moving your hand from fisting his hair to cupping his cheek so softly, “...You need to f-focus on one movement, or I can't cum. If you keep changing what you're doing, I can't build a rhythm big enough to finish. I don't know if you're doing it on purpose or not, but I need you to-.”

“-Please cum in my mouth,” Naoya cried through slurred words, “I need you to cum in my mouth. Please. Please. What do I need to do?” He finished with kissing your tdick and moving upwards, bodying his shoulders between your thighs, “Can you show me how, sir?”

“Sir?” your eyes widened in shock. You welcomed him into your arms, moving your toes to catch in the deep circles of material absent on his hips, “I should be calling you that, sir.” You circled your arms around his shoulders and coaxed him into your arms. Pressed chest to chest, the warmth of your skin melted into his and caused a shudder along his spine. His pants moved down to his knees, leaving his slender cock to bob up and slap his belly. You were too lost in gazing into his eyes to get a good look at his cock pressed between your bodies, losing yourself further in him as he drew his arousal-damp lips down onto yours.

The tip of Naoya's cock caught your tdick and ground down into it. He gasped into your lips, tilting his head and whimpering into the kiss. Your legs hooked over his hips and your heels dug into his pert, little ass to grind him further into you. His lips cried out further as his frenulum kissed the quivering tip of your tdick, bobbing up and down the sensitive muscle while his body tensed and flexed above you.

“You're-!” Naoya moaned into your lips, “You're so wet. Your cock is so-! Fuck, you're perfect. So fucking perfect,” Naoya's desperate cries was music, a symphony to your ears while his hips moved in a steady rhythm against your body. The slender shaft of Naoya's cock ground against you in a way that had your toes curl and legs shake. Your eyes flew wide as he continued mounting you, grinding into your tdick without making contact with your slit. His movements became sloppy, desperate, and faster, all indicating how close he was to finishing on your belly. The thought alone was enough to spark that first light of your rapture building in your chest.

“Naoya, keep going! Keep going, please!” your nails embedded crescent-shapes into his shoulders while your hips rocked in time with his. Your cunt began clenching around nothing, your tdick throbbing with a desperation you hadn't felt with another. He whined out as he felt your body twitch and shift with his own, finally moving away from muffling his moans into your lips in favour of clenching his teeth around your neck.

“I'm cumming-! I'm cumming! Oh, fuck, I'm cumming!” Naoya cried, drooling into your skin while his eyes cried out glassy tears in relief and bliss, “You feel so good. I need you to feel good too. Can you cum like this with me? Please, sir? Please cum for me? Please?”

You were uncertain whether it was the pathetic catch in his sobbing tone, the way his cum coated your belly and clit with his euphoric release, or the way his entire body engulfed yours beneath his to hold you hostage to being mounted like an animal in heat, but you toppled over your own edge with a scream you couldn't muffle in time. Naoya bit you harder while he rocked his hips with yours, feeling your whole frame circle beneath him in tense, rhythmic pulses. You shook with bliss, vibrating beneath him as ecstasy flooded your every pore.

Breath hitching, chests panting, lips finding one another's again while your bodies stuck together in a glue of cum, sweat, and tears: Naoya found himself falling apart again and again. He couldn't quite bring himself to pull his body away from you, wanting to see how many times, and how many ways, he could make you cum while his own release was often found accidentally. Whatever your shift looked like as the guard to this particular Zenin tomorrow was an afterthought as he professed his love and devotion into your skin as many times and ways as he felt he needed.

“I’m not. Just reviewing all the files from this mission. I wanted to see where we went wrong.” She explained. 

“I don’t think,” you spoke slowly as you formulated your thoughts. “I don’t think that we went wrong. I think that we did the best that we could with all the information we had and based on the information we had, we couldn’t afford to wait.”

She looked at you but you couldn’t read the expression. Was she studying you, judging you? You’d thought after a couple months of this you would be better at deciphering her but she was remarkably good at controlling her face.

“That’s a good point. Waiting for more information could have been just as dangerous, just dangerous in a different way.”

To you, that was high praise from Natasha. A compliment on your assessment of the situation. You knew she’d been at this for far longer than you so for her to think your logic was solid meant a lot. You still had a lot to learn, a lot you wanted to learn, especially from her.

“You were amazing in there. The way you flipped that soldier and then got through that hallway. I wish I could move like that.” You tried not to gush but every time you watched her on a mission, which you couldn’t do too much because you did have to focus on your part, you were so impressed with the way she fought. She was so fluid and every action seemed to flow so cleanly into the next one.

“Thank you.” She said, giving you a small smile. “You’re improving, you look a lot better than you did when you first started.”

You chuckled a little at her compliment. But you knew she meant it sincerely. She never gave a compliment that she didn’t mean, unless she was manipulating a target of course.

“Thanks.” You blushed at what you considered high praise from her. “It’s easier when you’re more comfortable with yourself.”

SHIELD had made your transition so much easier than you ever could have expected. Documents were updated, records were changed (and deleted). You had access to some cutting edge medical professionals with high levels of confidentiality. And remarkably, everyone took it in stride so well. You supposed once people have worked with aliens, a trans man seemed incredibly normal by comparison. Natasha had no issue correcting people when they got your pronouns wrong and had personally seen to it that any records you wanted scrubbed got scrubbed. She knew what it was like to want things gone from your past.

“I bet it is. You know, if you ever want to spar or do some training, I’d be happy to teach you some things.”

“Really?” You asked, trying to contain your excitement. “That would be awesome, I’d love to.”

“Yeah? Okay then. 6:00am sharp tomorrow. Meet me in the training center. I won’t go easy on you, you know.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. That’s not how I’m gonna get any better.”

“Good.” She nodded definitively. Her solid expression hid how much she too was looking forward to it.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning then.” You said.

“Get some good sleep, you’ll need it.” She encouraged.

You nodded, giving her a smile as you turned to leave. You didn’t want to look overeager but god you couldn’t hide how much you liked spending time with her. Your worries about the mission had faded and seemed so unimportant now. 

“Thanks for coming by.” She said as you lingered by the door. You saw her putting the papers away and moving to get ready for sleep. It hadn’t seemed like much but your encouragement about the fact that you’d all done the best you could did help her relax. She had worried that you would be more angry given she was the senior operative. Instead, you’d given a thoughtful, kind reflection of the events.

“Of course. Thanks for letting me bother you.”

“You’re not a bother at all. Stop by any time.”

“Careful, I might just take you up on that.”

She smiled and you could have sworn you saw her blush a little. She definitely saw duck your head a little after saying it.

“See you in the morning,” you said, giving a small wave.

“See you in the morning,” she repeated.

You found yourself in a familiar position. You and Sam were on your sofa, he was beside you, his hands cupping your face as your hands rested on his chest. His soft lips were against yours, legs touching as you were leaned up towards him, making sure that you were close enough.

Your lips were slightly upturned into a smile, and he chuckled faintly at the feel of it.

It was easy with him, this was always easy with him. It was comfortable, something that didn’t have high expectations or standards. It was simple, living in the moment as you just had the need to be near each other.

His hands moved downwards, slow and gentle as they trailed against your sides and on your hips. You didn’t think much of it, as your arms wrapped around his neck, and as you found yourself being lost in the affection.

His voice caught you off guard, having pulled away reluctantly. You could still feel the warmth, and wetness of his lips, his eyes were half-lidded as they were barely able to keep looking at you. "Can I...?"

You didn't register what he had meant at first. Can he what? You weren't exactly paying attention to where his hands were, or where they were trailing to. Though, when you were able to realise, it felt as if everything clicked into your head, became a little more serious.

His fingers were lightly grasping the bottom of your shirt, playing with the fabric between his thumb, index and middle finger. Your eyes glanced down at his hand, then back up to his face. Your heart rate picked up, a fuzz in your ears as you realised what he had in mind.

You had Sam had yet to take that step further into your relationship and, while you had had sex before, it felt a lot more different now that you were with Sam.

Sam and you had a relationship that you never thought you were going to find. It was the type of relationship that you would only be able to come up with in your wildest of dreams, but, even you, were able to admit that this was even better than something you thought up.

“You sure?” You uttered, the quietness of your voice shocking you.

Sam nodded slowly, you wouldn’t have been able to tell that he had if you didn’t feel the way his nose nudged yours. “If you are too.”

You let out a breathless laugh, and this time you nodded. “Of course I want to. It’s just…”

Sam parted from you slightly, looking at you better. His hands moved away from your shirt and your hip, instead one hand moved to cup your face as the other found itself comfortable on his lap.

You had to admire the way that he gave you space the second you showed a smidge of hesitance, he was kind and respectful like that, almost too good to be true.

You let out an amused breath, shaking your head. “It’s nothing bad. I want this, Sam, I really do. It’s just.. it’s- it’s not gonna be the same. I don’t have— I’m not— I haven’t medically transitioned.”

He shook his head slowly, thumb brushing against your cheek as he looked into your eyes. “I know, I know, and you know that I don’t care about all that. My boyfriend will still be my boyfriend, even if he doesn’t have all that.”

Your face flushed and you looked away for a second. “…Thanks…”

“What? You didn’t expect that?” Sam asked with a huff of laughter.

You shrugged your shoulders half-heartedly, you wouldn’t have denied his statement. "I didn't expect you to be so direct with it all."

"Hm," He hummed gently, peppering kisses over his face. "I can be more direct, if you'd like."

You laughed out, wrapping your arms around his neck again, tilting your head so that you could capture his lips in another kiss. "I think I got the idea."

He grinned and pulled you up onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as he stabilised you. His lips upturned into the kiss, head tilting to the side as his hand snaked up to the back of your neck.

You exhaled sharply as his other hand moved back down to the top of your jeans, blindly fiddling with the button of it. You didn't bother to look away or to help him, too engrossed in the feeling of his lips against his like it was some intoxicating drug to you.

You heard the faint noise of your button being undone, and your stomach did flips at the anticipation. You felt the chills coming up on your spine, you wanted to shake it off but you didn't want to do anything that would make Sam think you were second guessing this. So you didn't.

His fingers brushed against the top of your boxers, slowly slipping under them as they found a comfortable position. His fingers brushed against your folds and you took a breath in, you weren't soaked yet, but you had to admit that you were getting there. His thumb lightly rubbed around your clit, testing the waters before his touch became more insistent.

You let out the faintest of noises, your forehead resting against his as your noses brushed against each others. You caught a glimpse of how his lips upturned into a smirk at your reaction, so it took it as encouragement to go further.

Your growing wetness allowed for him to slip his fingers into your without much of a struggle, causing a quiet moan to escape your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds, and he took the moment to capture your lips in another kiss.

You found yourself pressing your hips against his as his fingers start to slowly work on you. It was slow paced, two of his fingers starting to gently thrust in and out of you, it was far from enough and he knew that.

"Sam..." You breathed out against his lips.

His eyes were locked onto yours, glancing between your eyes and your lips every few seconds. "I know... just be patient, I'll give you what you want."

Your breaths came out faint, but quick. Your noses brushed against each others', both of your breaths being felt on the others' lips, an intimacy that made your stomach do flips and knot in on itself.

"Sam.." You muttered again, but had no desire to continue on the many thoughts that clouded your mind.

You felt as if in a haze, like there was a fog clouding your vision, all coming down to the agonisingly, slow pleasure that Sam was able to give you with only his fingers. The touch was intoxicating, but you were sure you only felt like that because it was Sam; Sam who would always tease you until your face heated up, Sam who always knew what he was doing when he trained in front of you, or when he would flex in front of you.

He captured your lips in another kiss, and you reciprocated it without a second thought. You moaned into the kiss —something that was muffled by Sam's lips upon yours— and he hummed into it as a response. Your felt your heart thump, thump, thump loudly in your ears.

"Fuck, you're getting wetter..." Sam breathed out against your lips, and you could feel the way his hardness pressed up against your thigh from where he had settled you onto his lap.

You were sure that, if you focused enough, you could hear the squelching every time he fingers thrusted in and out, in and out, in and out. It sent your mind into its own little whirlwind.

Even when you were touching yourself, you had found slower movement sent you off the edge quicker than faster ones. Maybe it was because of the anticipation that came with going slower, the hanging on to every single slow movement and clinging to the pleasure that would follow was that.

You gasped out, inhaling slowly through your teeth. You felt your walls clench around Sam's two fingers. You were about to mutter out something that would be mindless and meaningless, cloud fogged up with the feeling of his fingers touching you so well. But, nevertheless, that feeling that was 'so well' was gone the instant you thought about cumming.

"Sam...!" You panted out, pulling your face away from his for a few seconds.

The look of betrayal that was one your face was an expression that made Sam chuckle. He cupped your face with his other hand, thumb stroking your cheek gently.

"I'm sorry, baby." He whispered, leaning in close again so that your lips brushed against each others', "I'm sorry, but can't be having this over so soon, hm?"

You weren't about to argue with that.

You melted in the touch of his hand, eyes fluttering closed for a second and you weren't sure if it was because he was warm, or if it was because the two of you were about to have your first time.

You slid off his lap, taking his hand in yours and motions for him to follow you to your bedroom. He grinned in response, and wasted no time to close the distance between the two of you, capturing your lips in another kiss; causing you to start walking backwards until your back came to your closed door.

You fiddled with the handle until it gaze way, neither of your gave the door a chance to creak open on its own, pushing yourselves through the doorframe. The two of you laughed into the kiss, Sam's hands were on your waist as your hands were cupping his face, both of you breathless.

The back of your knee brushing against the edge of your bed caused you to pause in your movements, you parted away from him, eyes looking up at his brown ones for a few seconds.

"Having second thoughts?" He asked after a few moments, it would have sounded teasing, if it wasn't for the way he was looking at you.

You shook your head. "Far from it. You?"

"Of course not." He huffed out an amused breath.

You were slow to settle onto your bed, Sam hovering close by as his nose nudged against yours once or twice. Your hand found the back of his neck, and you pulled him closer to feel him more, his hands met your waist as he settled between your legs.

His hands moved to the bottom of your shirt, testing as if he wasn't sure that you would let him. "Can I take this off?"

When he noticed your hesitation, his hands moved away and rested on your waist —above your shirt. “Baby?”

“Sorry.” you whispered. “Can I keep it on?”

“Of course,” he muttered back, pressing a soft kiss to your lips again —more reassuring than anything. “Don’t have to apologise.”

His hands moved slowly, testing the waters, giving you time to back out if you wanted. You weren't going to, though, you were more than content with where this was going. You moved your hand from the back of Sam's head to cup his cheek, pulling him closer so that your lips could connect again.

He let out a faint sound in the kiss, a mixture between a hum and a groan. The sound made your stomach do twists. Your other hand gripped around his shirt, the fabric feeling strange in your warm hand, you made no motion for him to take it off and used it to pull him closer to you.

In getting closer to you, Sam slotted his thigh in between yours, it hadn't be too close up that you could feel it pressing up against you, but it was close enough that you had the lingering thought and need for him to move it closer.

His hand traced down to your jeans, fingers brushing against the top of them with a silent question. You didn't say anything, but you moved your hand —the one that had been gripping his shirt— down to your jeans, trying to ease them downwards with one hand.

Sam helped out when you started to struggle after they got to a certain point down your thighs, too low down for you too pull off with one hand. When they were off, he moved down to take off your underwear, a wet patch in the middle where he had made you cum a few moments before.

His hand moved back in between your legs, but you were quick to catch his wrist. He looked up at you with a flash of concern, but you were quick to remedy that.

"Need you..." You whispered, moving his hand back to your waist, and he squeezed it a few seconds after. "Don't want you fingers again, please... Sam..."

He couldn't argue when you said his name like that, he would be a madman if he had.

"Fuck, baby..." He muttered faintly, his voice almost strained.

He hands moved down to his own jeans, and he was quick in taking them off. He would argue that it was so that you didn't have to wait any longer, but it only half of the truth.

He didn't take his shirt off, you hadn't either, and he believed that it would only be fair if the two of you had the same amount of clothes off. His hands ran up your sides, before one braced itself just off the side of your shoulder, keeping him up. Your eyes locked, your heart was racing in your chest. You felt his face close to yours, felt his hot breath mingling with yours.

"You okay?" He asked quietly, almost breathless. He wanted this so bad too, but he needed to take it slow enough for you.

You nodded quickly, inhaling faintly. "Yeah, yeah... I'm good, you?"

"Yeah.." He said with a small nod, "I'm gonna—"

"—Please." You whispered.

When he shifted his hips forwards, you felt the tip of his cock nudge into you. You gasped, exhaling quietly. He slowly eased himself into you, groaning out when he eventually bottomed out.

"Fuck—" You moaned out, he leaned down so that your foreheads were touching.

"Sam..." You breathed out.

"I know— I know..." Sam muttered.

He didn't move at first, you both getting used to this new sensation, breathing hard against each other. You felt yourself clench around him, hands trembling as they held onto his shirt by the sides.

You muttered something, he couldn't hear it, and neither could you.

"I'm gonna start moving now... Okay?" He uttered, and you nodded slowly.

You let out a quiet moan as you felt him move, slowly, methodical, trying to ease you into it before he found any consistent movement. He groaned out almost silently, exhaling sharply.

"Baby, I can't..." He murmured, lips brushing against your for a few seconds. "Baby... can I..."

"Go for it, Sam.. Please.." You whispered back.

He was happy enough with the response, panting as he picked up the pace. One arm wrapped around your back, pulling you closure to him, as he put much too faith in his one arm to keep him up.

The two of you became an entanglement of limps, the sound of squelching and your moans and his groans filling the room. Your arms wrapped around him, keeping him close to you, your chest pressed against one another.

You muttered his name over and over, and he pulled your hips closer to yours, legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close no matter what. His hissed out a curse, lips moving to trail kisses down your jaw.

"Fuck, Sam—" You gasped out when you felt your hips flush against yours, your grip tightened around his shirt, letting go just to find someplace new to grab. "Sam—"

"Oh, God..." He groaned. "...You feel s'good..."

Both you and Sam started to get lost in one another, the world around you faded away as the only thing you became aware of was Sam and how he felt inside of you, his breath against your skin, his hands on your sides, his hips, your thighs, your skin, his lips on your jaw, his voice in your ears.

Nothing else mattered in the moment, and you were his and he was yours, and you were in the confines of your room, and you were perfectly happy with that.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Sam Wilson Masterlist

Respectfully, Wallace does not give a shit that you’re trans.

Of course, he doesn’t flat-out ignore it, because it’s part of who you are, but it isn’t an obstacle in your relationship by any means, and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

If you’re feeling dysphoric and/or otherwise insecure about yourself, he’ll pinch your cheeks and tell you how handsome and sexy you are.

If you’re feeling especially bad, like ‘not getting out of bed and hiding from the world’ bad, he’ll keep you company and say what he can to reassure you.

Being mushy and sincere truly isn’t his thing, so whatever he says will sound either slightly insensitive (but still pretty sensitive as far as Wallace goes), facetious or like he wants you to get over how you’re feeling so he can fuck you.

But, he genuinely doesn’t want you to feel bad and you can tell he cares, because otherwise he wouldn’t be there for you when you're feeling your worst.

Wallace is very affirming, but in his own Wallace way.

He lovingly refers to you as his lameass boyfriend.

If Scott ever compliments you about anything, Wallace will call him gay.

He will shout ‘gay’, like the Senor Chang meme.

"Hey, man, I like your shirt-"

"Ha, Scott's gay!"

"I-I'm not gay! I just like his shirt."

"What's wrong with being gay, Scott?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with being gay!"

"You really need to work on your internalised homophobia, Scott. To think, my gay lover and I share a bed with a bigot."

If you’re doing anything that he knows will make you dysphoric or exacerbate your dysphoria (for example, scrolling through social media and looking at cis dudes that give you gender envy) he’ll shut it down.

Using the aforementioned example, he’ll snatch your phone off you and close the app, saying: “Nope. Make better decisions.”

And, while you’d initially be annoyed at him for grabbing your phone, you will appreciate it in the long run.

If you have testosterone shots but you’re not a fan of doing them yourself, he’ll begrudgingly help you with them.

He will make a very Wallace comment, though

“Stabbing? I didn’t know you were that kinky.”

If anyone’s a dick to you about being trans, Wallace is always ready to go with a snide remark about the other person, because of all the things you could possibly mock his lameass boyfriend for, being trans is at the bottom of that list.

(He should know, as the person who makes fun of you the most.)

Also, he cares about you very, very much and he doesn't want people being transphobic to his boyfriend.

If you’re cool with it, he will make trans jokes, but nothing ‘attack helicopter’ or ‘attack helicopter’ adjacent, because he’s too clever for that and he can come up with better material that isn’t just derivative, transphobic garbage.

If you get your period and it makes you at all dysphoric, be prepared for this exchange:

“Don’t worry. Scott pissed blood last month and cried about it and he’s still a man.”

“Did-did he go to the doctor?”

“I don’t know. He seems fine now, though.”

If you still have boobs and don’t mind them being touched or otherwise acknowledged, he will use them like a pillow.

If you decide to get top surgery, he will make the following request:

“Well, if you’re not using them, can I have them? I need a pillow that Scott won’t steal. And, he wouldn’t steal your tits, because he knows I’d call him gay for it.”

“Why are you like this, Wallace?”

“Selfish.”

Being trans doesn’t make your relationship much different from any of Wallace’s other relationships.

“The bell’s gonna go off soon.” Peter commented as you both dashed around, pushing through the crowd to find one of the bathrooms or even just a janitor’s closet at this point. Normally when you were on short notice you would just change at your locker- slipping on a baggier shirt and slipping the men’s jeans over your leggings or something, but Peter had noted that today you had come in a dress- and judging by the style, it was Steve’s idea, thought that was obvious anyday. That meant you had to actually find somewhere more private to get changed today. His eyes darted around before he saw MJ at her locker, taking your hand and pulling you in her direction. “MJ!” He called as he approached, and she looked up, seeing you both approaching, what you were wearing, and she immediately knew what was up. She went into her locker, finding her gym bag, and pulled out her towel, unravelling it. 

You stepped hurriedly between her and her locker, her holding one end of the towel against the locker next to her, Peter holding the other end with MJ’s locker door to create a barrier from any onlookers. MJ kept a look out for trouble and also tried to block the view even more with her body, Peter also doing the same when he wasn’t passing you garments, before you gave him the dress with a quick “Done.” and the towel dropped, and Peter shoved the dress into the bag. “Thank you so much.” You told them. 

“Don’t worry about it.” MJ shrugged. “Guessing daddy dearest was adamant on the dress?” She asked and you huffed and nodded, taking the bag from Peter, and shoving it to the bottom of your backpack to go and put in your locker later. 

“I’ll tell him I bumped into someone at lunch and got some crap on it.” You stated. 

“Does that mean we have to get it back out to dump some ketchup on it?” Peter asked. 

“No, we need it to look realistic- you put on the dress and we put ketchup on it.” MJ joked, poking Peter in the chest, making you laugh a little. Peter knew that if that was needed, he’d do it for you. 

Peter had met you when you both started at the highschool a few years ago, and immediately had began bonding over being the ‘weird’ kids. Back then, when he was still getting to know you, Peter had presumed you were shy and self conscious, lacking any confidence, being a total wall flower and wanting to stay out of the spotlight- just trying to survive highschool. That was until the that summer ended and you came back with a new haircut- a much shorter haircut, wearing baggier clothes, clothes that hid any femininity. Peter immediately got an inkling that he may have been wrong about his presumptions about you, but didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Instead, he complimented your new hair, and the way you lit up at it didn’t help his spidey sense. You thanked him, explaining how you got into an argument with your dad about it before you inevitably went behind his back to get it done, but now it was done and he couldn’t do anything about it and so he didn’t say anything about it. Peter had joked about him being old fashioned, in which you laughed the loudest he’d ever heard. It was then you told him how right he was, and who your dad actually was. 

It was in the middle of the next school break when you two were hanging around at his that he had told you he was Spiderman, and in return, you told him you were trans, and was keeping it a secret from your 1940’s dad. It was about 2 weeks after that, that you and Peter sucked up the courage to ask each other out at literally the same time.

Peter had took the information exceedingly well. He came up with the idea to have spare clothes at school to change into to make you more comfortable around your peers, which also helped you keep your secret from your dad- all he saw was the short hair but the ‘normal’ clothes when he dropped you off and picked you up, totally unaware that you had begun socially transitioning at school, and with surprising success. Of course, after a close run in one time in which Peter as Spiderman had to save you and him using your correct pronouns in front of some of your classmates- including Flash- people didn’t want to attempt to use that against you knowing that Spiderman seemingly knew you personally, and then when it came out who your dad was… yeah, people at school used your pronouns, if mostly out of pure fear. 

Since being able to be yourself for the most part at school and when away from your dad, Peter had noticed how you had changed. You were chattier, more vibrant. Happier, and he loved it, and he was willing to do anything to keep it that way- even if it meant sneaking you clothes at the beginning the day and taking them back before your dad picked you up, or lying to the Avengers to ensure they didn’t pass any information on to Steve.

The day passed by like any normal day, at the end of lunch time you did get the dress back out temporarily, smearing some ketchup on the skirt before putting it back in the bag and your locker, and dropping a text to your dad that you’d had to change and that your dear boyfriend and leant you an old hoodie and pants, sprinkling in a comment on how sweet Peter was for going out of his way to get you cleaned up and new clothes in such short notice, even though you knew he probably wouldn’t read it for a while or even at all and would ask you what happened to your dress. 

After the last bell rang and you and Peter were gathering your things from your locker, you discussed future plans. “How about this weekend if your dad has nothing planned with you, we could go to the mall? We could pick some clothes up for you but keep them at mine or in your locker?” Peter asked. 

“Why, running out of hoodies? I can give some back.” You teased him with a grin.

“No, I don’t mind, I’ll just steal them back next time I come and visit you- I was just thinking, since they’re all my style, I thought it would be nice for you to have some pieces you could actually claim as yours. You could excuse it to your dad as backup clothes since he must think you’re super clumsy at school, but…” He explained.

“That sounds… nice. I’ll ask my dad if I can go out with you on the weekend.” You told him with a soft smile, closing your locker door, and sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to sneak around like this for clothes of all things. The fact that I’m sneaking in and out clothes that make me feel good about myself and not my literal boyfriend just feels… wrong.” 

“I know.” Peter frowned. “Has your dad made any… comments? Good or bad?” He asked. You shook your head. 

“No clue what he thinks, honestly not sure if he even knows what being trans even means.” You told him as you both started walking down the hallways towards the main exit. 

“Would you like me to… look into it?” Peter offered. You stopped walking, looking at him with apprehension. “Like… we recently had the official lesson on gender identities, I can bring it up with Tony, ask if your dad and Thor has had that talk and how they feel about it. If he asks questions on why, I can maybe pull together a fake project about ‘old world views’ on that kind of thing and if the ‘not from his time’ argument actually holds up with Steve and Thor and that you didn’t want to bring it up with him in case he got defensive or something.” He excused. 

“Are you sure? You know if you do this we will actually have to make that fake project, which could include interviewing my own dad about his views on his own son that he doesn’t know is his son?” 

“I’ll interview him- conflict of interest. You put together a rough draft of a plan for this project in case Tony talks to your dad so you can show him the rough draft to make it seem real. Maybe we can turn it into actually educating him, introducing it to him so one day you can actually be yourself to him.” He suggested. You hesitated, but eventually nodded. 

“I still don’t plan to come out till I’m 18, just in case.” 

“I understand. I love you, and I love seeing you love yourself, but I know you also love your dad and how much he means to you and that you don’t want to damage that relationship. If I can somehow make sure that doesn’t happen, I want to do that… if this fake project gets too close to home, please just say, we can make up an excuse about changing the subject or the project being cancelled or changed.” 

“Thank you Peter, I really appreciate it, and everything you’ve been doing to help me through this I can’t thank you enough and it’s one of the many reasons that I love you.” You told him, grabbing the collar of his jacket, pulling him close and kissing him, before you heard a honk from a car, knowing that it was your dad’s car. You sighed, pulling away from him. “If I’m able to come over on the weekend, can you ask your Aunt May if she can make that lasagna?” You asked, making your boyfriend laugh. You asked that last week, and the week prior. Aunt May was more than happy to make it. 

“Sure thing.” He told you, stealing a quick peck, hearing another honk from your dad before you turned and rushed to get in your dad’s car, waving at him as your dad drove off. 

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in! 

*Not my gif

you’re the one to introduce him to the concept of genderfluidity

after about a month of dating, you work up the courage to come out to him. he’s really confused and like “doesn’t everyone wanna be the other gender sometimes?”

you have to explain that no, that’s not something everyone feels, and he has an “oh” realisation moment

helping him figure out how he identifies and reminding him that it’s okay to take his time

a few weeks later, you two are laying in bed together and it’s quiet until he calls your name to get your attention. he tells you he’s genderfluid and likes he/she pronouns

calling her babygirl and princess on her fem days <333

finally steve understand why he feels weirdly warm and fuzzy when the kids call him mom

helping her put on makeup and getting to watch her experience gender euphoria :(((

for a while it’s your secret

he comes out to robin first because a) they’re platonic soulmates and it’s really hard to keep things from her and b) since he knows she’s queer she’s a safe person to come out to

she hugs him so so so tightly

you call her stevie once on a fem day and she asks you to always use stevie on those days, says it feels more comfortable than steve

stevie wanting to try on more feminine clothes but scared to buy them for herself, so you tell robin and go shopping for her. you surprise her with it and stevie cries

he’s not used to people loving him unconditionally and being so supportive, so every time you do the smallest thing to support him he gets very emotional :((

the first time she wears a skirt >>>