By Jerana

when you just finished one of the most beautiful fics ever written and you see that the author has a masterlist full of other fics

i just want him to fuck me

i’m gonna love this i just know

A Taste for Older Men Masterlist

dbf!bucky barnes au

warnings: age gap [reader is around 22 & bucky is 39]; never ending elements of dominance, submission and brat taming; masturbation and toys; dirty talk; orgasm denial; oral sex and dick worship; degradation; spanking; face slapping (consensual of course); mild daddy kink; voyeurism; size kink; penetrative sex;  praise kink; breath play; bucky falls in love, y/n doesn’t. 

seventven’s complete masterlist

A Taste for Older Men [part i] 

summary: y/n is moving back in with her parents after breaking up with her college boyfriend. due to an emergency at work, y/n’s dad is unable to pick her up and sends his friend bucky in his stead. to bucky’s surprise, y/n is no longer the innocent girl he remembers from years back.

A Taste for Older Men [part ii] 

summary: bucky comes over to watch a game with y/n’s father. alone in her room and still consumed by her previous conversation with him, y/n drowns in wicked thoughts of bucky.

A Taste for Older Men [part iii] 

summary: bucky volunteers to fix the sink at y/n’s family home while her parents are away. a discussion about recent events leads to an agreement.

A Taste for Older Men [part iv] 

summary: a barbecue with y/n’s parents turns from bad to worse when y/n decides to give bucky a taste of his own medicine. towards the end of the night, y/n is assigned the task of giving him a ride home. she receives payback for her bad behaviour.

A Taste for Older Men [part v] 

summary: bucky invites y/n over to his apartment so they can spend an intimate evening together. things quickly slip out of control. an unexpected guest brings them back to reality.

A Taste for Older Men [part vi] 

summary: bucky and y/n’s family receive an invitation to a common friend’s birthday party. one thing leads to another and soon, y/n’s father confronts the guy she’s been drunkenly flirting with. bucky decides he is sick of y/n’s immaturity. but is he really?

A Taste for Older Men [part vii] 

summary: pleased with y/n’s apology for her bad behaviour, bucky finally gives her what she has been craving this whole time. in the middle of the night and with her dad sleeping peacefully down the hall, y/n’s dirty little fantasy comes to life. at the end, y/n comes to a frightening realisation.

A Taste for Older Men [part viii] 

summary: a less than pleasant conversation over breakfast leads to bucky making the decision that y/n’s father deserves to know about them. y/n’s wants and needs differ from those of bucky. 

To simp on main or not to simp on main...

I'm gonna simp on main...

Maxwell Sheffield is 😍

But also, he can be a jackass/dumbass (partially affectionate).

he’s so cute

if the fates allow

pairing: avenger!captain america!steve rogers x tall!shield agent!female reader

summary: steve rogers accidentally got drunk at the avengers tower christmas party, and you're the one tasked with helping him get to bed. it's a good thing you have plenty of practice keeping your crush on him a secret.

warnings: sexual tension, steve is drunk, reader is conflicted (nothing happens while steve's drunk), feelings are expressed, kissing, sleepy cuddling, i think that's pretty much it!

word count: 2.9k

a/n: here's my december 13 fic for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: "I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!" tried to keep this one short and sweet so that i can catch up, so if something doesn't make sense, just ignore it i guess! also this is my first time writing a specifically tall!reader and that was nice since i'm on the taller side 😅 hope y'all enjoy!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

“I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!”

Steve Rogers’ voice was louder than it needed to be, and so close to your ear that you winced a little. You kept walking, a massive arm looped around your shoulders while you half-carried the ungodly large body of Captain America and tried not to think about how good he smelled.

Why exactly you had been tasked with helping the very drunk Steve Rogers to his quarters after the Avengers Tower Christmas party was still a bit of a mystery to you. You’d seen Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark with their heads bent close, like they were conspiring about something, and the next thing you knew, Bruce Banner was asking you to help Steve get to bed.

The phrasing of the request had sent your heart skittering in your chest, even under the less-than-ideal circumstances of its reality. You’d had a crush on Steve Rogers since you’d met him as part of your SHIELD assignment to Avengers Tower, and you liked to think you’d kept it secret from everyone.

But, well, you did work with spies for a living, and you had a feeling Natasha and Tony’s conspiring had something to do with your predicament.

You’d tried to protest Bruce’s request. Sure, you were one of the taller female SHIELD agents, but you were by no means the strongest person on your team, especially when it included Brock Rumlow. But apparently everyone else had gone home or they were helping someone else, and you were the only one who could do it. 

Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” had been playing from the sound system of the Avengers Tower lounge as you’d made your way over to where Steve lay sprawled across the entire length of a sofa. He was singing along to the Christmas song—loudly and off-key—and nerves and excitement had fluttered through your belly like snowflakes on a winter wind.

You’d shoved your emotions away and put on the professional mask you always wore around Steve, pasting a polite smile on your face as you leaned over him and told him, in a not unkind voice, that you were going to help him get to bed. 

He’d given you a dreamy smile and did his best to help you lift his large body from the sofa while you’d ignored the way the snowflakes in your tummy had swooped at his happy expression and close proximity. 

With one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist and the other holding onto his wrist so his arm wouldn’t fall from your shoulders, you lifted a leg and kicked the elevator call button with your foot, only remembering to check to make sure no one was around after you’d done so. 

Oh well. If you’d flashed someone with the move, the most they’d see under the short skirt of your cocktail dress was the gun strapped to your thigh and the shapewear the tight, clingy garment had required you to wear. Thankfully, no one was around except the super-soldier draped across your shoulders, his head propped sleepily against yours.

“Of course it was spiked, captain,” you said, picking up the thread of the conversation he’d started. Your voice was patient and professional, if a little cold. “It was Stark’s Christmas party—he spiked all the egg nog with Asgardian liquor.”

The doors of the elevator slid open soundlessly and you huffed a sigh of relief as you dragged Steve in. You made sure he was propped up against the corner of the elevator, then stepped away to hit the button for his floor. As discreetly as you could, you wiped some sweat from your brow before turning back to Captain America. 

The expression on Steve’s face drew you up short. He was…not frowning exactly. Was that a…pout? 

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes poring carefully over Steve Rogers’ familiar features—the little pinched line between his brows, the dimmed sparkle of his blue eyes, the protrusion of his lush lower lip. You forced yourself not to linger on his mouth, even though it looked particularly inviting…

Yes, that was definitely a pout, you decided. 

Before you could wonder about what you’d said to garner such a reaction from Steve, he was talking. Or, rather, muttering.

“I don’t like it when you call me captain,” he grumbled.

The elevator was nearing Steve’s floor so you moved closer to him again, ignoring the way your body warmed when you pressed into his side and lifted his arm over your shoulder. The fresh scent of him wrapped around you like the most delicious blanket, and you wanted more than anything to be able to breathe it in until it lived permanently in your lungs.

“What should I call you then?” you asked, mostly to distract yourself from your body’s reaction to Steve. He was drunk, and you needed to get yourself under control.

You tried to pull him out of the corner, but you didn’t have enough leverage and instead of budging the big super-soldier, you bounced back into him, landing against his hard chest with a surprised little “oomph.”

Before that moment, you’d known, in theory, that you were only a couple inches shorter than Steve Rogers. But it was easy to forget because he had such a large presence, and he could very easily toss you around that mats of the Avengers Tower gym with his super-strength. 

However, in that moment you learned that the minimal height difference between you and Steve Rogers had a consequence you hadn’t considered. When you fell against his chest, your face was almost perfectly level with his—specifically, your mouth was almost perfectly level with his. 

You could taste the Asgardian rum on Steve’s breath and the thought of closing the distance and licking it from his lips was far more tempting than it should’ve been.

“Steve,” he rumbled, his arm tightening around your shoulders and hauling you even closer. “You should call me Steve.”

Your soft curves molded to the hard planes of his body and your breath caught in your throat as your mind raced, trying to figure out what he was doing. His blue eyes were dark, even under the bright lights of the elevator, and they were fixed very firmly on your lips—but they were still glazed from all he’d had to drink.

“Steve,” you said, his name soft and tortured as it fell from your lips, your eyes dropping to his mouth. 

You knew you couldn’t kiss Captain America while he was drunk, and you knew that if he tried to pull you any closer, you’d have to push him away. But you wanted so desperately to close the distance between your lips, the desire felt like it might incinerate you from the inside out. 

The ding of the elevator arriving at Steve’s floor brought you back to reality and you jumped away from the super-soldier, shaking your head at yourself as you grabbed his arm and heaved his weight onto your shoulders. You dragged him out of the elevator on stumbling feet, your mind spinning with what you’d almost done—what Steve actually had done.

For all the time you’d crushed on Steve Rogers, he’d never shown any indication of reciprocating your feelings. He’d always been just as professional and aloof as you’d been, and you’d taken that to mean he didn’t have any interest in you outside of work. But you were beginning to rethink your assessment…

Thankfully, Steve remained quiet and well-behaved for the trip down the hall to his quarters, and getting him inside seemed a bit easier after your practice with the elevator. You half-carried him to his bed and it took only a little push to have him sit down on the soft mattress.

Somehow, the movement left you standing between Steve’s spread legs, his arm curled around your waist from where it had fallen off your shoulder. His face was close again—closer than it should’ve been as he looked up at you from where he sat.

“Pretty…” he murmured, the fingertips of his free hand reaching for you but hovering just a hair’s breadth away from touching you. “You’re so…pretty.”

Heat suffused your cheeks and you ducked your head. “Steve,” you whined softly, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, trying to extricate yourself from his hold. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said softly, your name falling sweetly from his lips. He brushed his thumb over your cheek so gently, it made your knees wobble.

You’d managed to get some distance from him, but the sound of your name made you stop. You looked at Steve, and his eyes were still slightly glazed from all the spiked egg nog he’d drank. 

You huffed a laugh that was sad and humorless. Of course the only time Steve had shown any interest in you, he was drunk.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk and maybe I’ll believe you, Steve,” you said, a little forlornly, and pulled his hand away from your face, dropping it in his lap. 

Stepping backward, you broke out of his hold, ignoring the way he was pouting again.

“Stay with me,” Steve said, his fingers catching the tips of yours as you turned away. 

The desperation in his tone halted your retreat. When you looked at Steve again, his eyes were a little clearer, and his expression was pleading. You didn’t know if it was the best idea to crawl into bed with Captain America while he was drunk. 

You were pretty sure he’d fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, so nothing would happen, but you worried about your heart. If you spent a whole night sleeping in Steve’s bed, breathing in Steve’s scent, it would be that much harder to pretend you didn’t have feelings for him. And you couldn’t seem to imagine he had feelings for you, despite what he’d said.

“Please,” Steve said, his voice cracking slightly. His face was washed in the dim light of the New York City skyline filtering in through the windows, and he looked like a work of art come to life, flawlessly gorgeous features and perfectly expressive eyes.

Your heart thumped in your chest, and were helpless to resist his request.

“OK,” you whispered, twining your fingers with his and giving his hand a small squeeze while you smiled shyly. 

Steve beamed happily at you and then flopped back on the bed. A grin was still fixed on his face while he kicked off his shoes and fought to pull down the blankets so he could slide under them.

You bit back a laugh at his gleeful reaction, shaking your head as you went to the bathroom to clean off your makeup and strip out of your gun holster and shapewear. Thankfully, your dress was comfortable enough to sleep in for one night.

When you returned, you found Steve passed out under the covers still wearing all of his clothes. You took a moment to appreciate his handsome features, softened in sleep, and then slipped into bed beside him, leaving plenty of space between your bodies.

It took you a little while to fall asleep, but the quiet, steady snores coming from Steve helped lull you, and eventually you drifted off.

The soft wintry light of the morning sunrise was just beginning to peak over the Manhattan skyline when you roused, your body bathed in a nearly overwhelming heat that came from something pressed against your back and banded around your waist.

It took you a long, groggy moment to realize the source of that heat was Steve Rogers.

At some point in the night, he must’ve moved closer and wrapped himself around you because one of his arms was curled around your waist while his broad chest was pressed flush against your back. You were so close together, you could feel his steady heartbeat against your spine. 

You must’ve shifted even to wake him because you heard the tenor of Steve’s breathing change. He buried his face in the back of your head and took a deep breath before letting out a contented sigh. 

“Pretty girl,” he mumbled, the words muffled and barely discernable. His arm squeezed tighter around your waist, dragging you even further into the wondrously warm cage of his body.

The sound of you sucking in a sharp breath was loud in the silent bedroom and Steve suddenly tensed. Quick as a flash, he removed his arm from around your waist and shuffled back a few inches, giving you space. 

Cold flooded in, even while you were still buried under the blankets, and you had to fight off a shiver. You missed his warmth, but you also needed to understand what was going on. You took a deep, steadying breath and then rolled over, looking at Steve warily. 

He was propped up on one arm, his blond hair mussed from sleep and his cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. But his blue eyes were clear and curious, watching your reaction with interest. 

“What did you call me?” you asked in a trembling, hesitant voice. It probably wasn’t the first question you should’ve asked, but you had to know if you’d heard him correctly, and if he’d known he was talking about you when he’d said it.

Steve must’ve recognized the uncertainty in your voice or on your face because his expression softened and he lifted his hand, his fingers tracing the air next to your cheek. He was deliberately not touching you, and you had the urge to close the distance and feel his warm contact.

“You said to tell you you’re pretty when I wasn’t drunk anymore,” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep. His eyes had been wandering over your features, like he was trying to memorize the way they looked in the wintry morning light, but his gaze caught yours before he went on. “Well, I’m not drunk and you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Steve.” His name was a soft, desperate sound, your heart racing into a gallop as you tried to process the fact that Steve Rogers thought you were pretty. 

Before your mind had caught up, your hands were moving, reaching for Steve, eager to drag him closer. Your fingers were curling around the lapels of his dress shirt and you caught a glimpse of his crooked smile before you were both closing the distance between your bodies, his mouth slanting to yours for a kiss.

Heat and pleasure filled your body and soul, and you kissed Steve Rogers for the first time, your lips pressed together ungracefully in your excitement. After a few moments of blissful fumbling, you settled into a rhythm that was as delicious as it was delightful, made all the more breathtaking by the way you could feel Steve’s reverence for you in the way he held you.

It was a long time before you came up for air, and when you did, you laughed giddily when you saw the way Steve’s eyes were glazed over, a dreamy smile curling his lips, and you knew your expression matched his. He was drunk on kissing you, just as you were drunk on kissing him.

Steve dropped one last sweet kiss to your mouth and then he rolled you onto your side, tucking you into the warmth of his body while you both faced the windows, watching the sun rise over Manhattan. You were for a moment quiet as you enjoyed being with him, but something still bugged you. 

“I still don’t understand why Bruce asked me to help you to bed,” you said, your fingers playing with Steve’s hand that was clasped in yours. “But I’m glad he did, since it led us to this.” You pressed a kiss to his palm, marveling at how even that part of him smelled fresh and wonderful.

At your comment, Steve made a rough sound in his throat, something halfway between a cough and a laugh. It piqued your curiosity and you turned your head, catching his eye over your shoulder.

“That might be my fault,” he admitted, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I may have confessed to Nat that I think you’re pretty—and she’s been trying to set me up for ages.” 

Suddenly, everything from the night before clicked into place. Natasha and Tony’s conspiring, the way your SHIELD teammates were all otherwise occupied, the fact that Bruce—the least devious, and therefore, least suspicious of all the Avengers—had been the one to ask you to help Steve. 

It was all a very elaborate setup, and you had to feel a little impressed with Natasha, even as you rolled your eyes because it didn’t need to be so complicated. She could’ve just asked if you were interested, and then set you two up on a normal date. Instead, she’d concocted an elaborate scheme, just to get you and Steve alone. 

But you had to admit, it did work…

“You Avengers can never do anything the easy way, can you?” you teased, grinning at Steve over your shoulder. You reached back, fingers twining in his hair and pulling him close enough to brush a kiss to his lips. 

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Steve murmured playfully against your mouth, kissing you more deeply before settling back down on the bed. 

For the next little while, you watched the December sunrise with Steve Rogers, basking in the feeling of being in his arms while he idly hummed “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in between brushing delicious kisses to your neck. 

You did have yourself a very merry Christmas indeed.

december daze challenge masterlist

A New Uniform

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky is in need of new mission attire. You help him get all the details of his new suit, and the two of you relish in the new look of Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: fluff. Pet name (sweetheart). Working on the details ppl, it’s a process. Shy Bucky

A/N: Howdy! Flabbergasted by the response on my last post *gasp* Also did not expect almost 100 followers within my first two months on this app. #feelinggrateful

“What’s going on in that handsome head of yours?”

Bucky glanced up at you with a smirk which he was most definitely trying to hide. His hand brushed through his fluffy short brown hair as he sat back in his chair.

“Steve says I need a mission suit. Something less, winter soldier-ish, I guess.”

He was clearly flustered. There were lots of scribbles on his legal pad. Some words and a few sketches, a few pens snapped in half from Bucky’s strong grip were thrown off to the side next to his cup of black coffee.

You sighed and lightly placed your hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb soothingly in circles as your head rested on his opposite shoulder. Leaning his head on yours, Bucky muttered a quick, “I don’t know,” before tossing his pen on the notepad.

“What do you want in a suit?”

Bucky took a moment to compose his thoughts. “Something comfortable, maybe a suit that doesn’t restrict,” he motioned to his arm, “ya know that, and oh,” his expression brightened as he said, “pockets! Lots of pockets.”

“Okay fair points,” you lightly chuckled as you sat on his lap looking between him and the notepad. Bucky’s hand came to rest around your waist while his head rested on your arm.

“Let’s start at material,” you said assuringly, taking the pen from the notepad and scribbling the word material in a blank space.

“I usually wear black,” Bucky muttered.

“You said you wanted something less from your past right? What other colors do you like?”

“My ma always said blue looked good on me. She said it matches my eyes,” Bucky’s eyes stared off into nothing as he remembered his mother. Your touch finally broke his train of thought while you ran your hand lightly up and down his arm.

“What about navy hm? It’s a nice transition from the all black. I agree with your mom, but I just really love your eyes.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmured completely blushing. “I like navy.” He was in awe of your thinking. It was a silly superhero suit, but it was more than that to him. It was a step in a new direction and for you to want to help him and care about it, that was everything to Bucky.

“Okay and you want comfort, no left sleeve, and pockets,” you mumbled while scribbling down all that you said.

“Lots of pockets,” Bucky added in a playful tone.

“Lots of pockets,” you teased back with a giggle, turning to him with a smile.

———

It was two weeks later and Bucky was anxious up until now when he got his suit from whoever makes all the Avengers suits. It was packaged in a nice box, addressed politely to Sargent James Buchanan Barnes.

You sat excitedly waiting for Bucky to walk out into the living room. The rest of the team was out on missions, so it was just you and Bucky to take in his new look.

Finally, he stepped out, first, you saw his boots which were his usual black boots that he had worn for forever. Then his pants which were new black leather, they were sleek with small red detailing just below his hips.

The real pièce de résistance of it all was the shirt, a nice navy leather covered his chest with one black strap placed across his chest, the same red from the pants making little appearances on the apparel. His waist was perfectly fitted to the leather, slim but oh so sexy.

He looked nervous as he stepped out, clearly worried about your opinion. Taking a few more steps, he stood showing off his new look. Confidence was spread all across his face the second he saw your expression.

“You look so handsome Buck,” you said in awe of your boyfriend.

“Comfortable?” You asked, standing up from your chair.

“Very,” Bucky replied looking down and taking in his look once more. “Look,” he said all excited taking your hand and pulling you towards him.

“Pockets,” he whispered like a kid telling you a secret. He turned a few times to show the pockets laid out around his suit. The two of you laughed and giggled as you took in every little detail of the suit, ooing and aweing at certain features that were minuscule to the average person but important to Avengers.

There were lots of great things about this moment but the best feeling was seeing Bucky not as the winter soldier, but much more than his previous title. He would tell you often of how sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he still sees the winter soldier. He pictures himself with the long greasy hair and the scowl, as if that part of him is coinciding with him always.

“So, do I look like a superhero?”

“Yes, but also,” you came around to look in the mirror with him. Your hands placed at each side of his arms, with the two of you just taking in his look.

“You look like Bucky. Just Bucky.”

Bucky was no one else but himself, and for the first time in a long time, he agreed with you.

#chris evans #in where he is actually steve rogers

I- This is the only way i want to apologies from here on out. Esp from our captain 🫡

#steverogersmakesmypussythrob. #nowait #steverogersbythiswritermakesmypussythrob.

Tease Me, Take Me

Title: Tease Me, Take Me

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary:  Steve's been bossy all week, pushing you just a little too far- so you decide to push back. But teasing him quickly turns into something much more when he decides to remind you exactly who's in charge.

Word Count:  2.7K (I know I said they’d all be under 2k but this one.. well happened)

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Established relationship, Brat taming, Slight/softdom!Steve, dirty talk, mild restraint (hands held)

A/N: ‘just the tip’ Steve’s our last one!

Steve had been bossy all week- giving orders, correcting your form, acting like Captain America even in your most casual moments. But what really did it?

That morning at the gym.

"That’s too much, sweetheart. Can’t have my little lady hurting herself."

In front of everyone.

The way Sam smirked, the way Natasha gave you that pointed look, it burned hot in your chest. It was fine when Steve called you 'little lady' behind closed doors. After all, compared to him, you were. But in front of the others? No. No, no, no.

Now? You were going to teach him a lesson.

Steve was stretched out beneath you, broad back pressed against the headboard, hands resting at his sides, his body relaxed- for now. His big blue eyes flicked over your body as you settled in his lap, confidence rolling off him in waves. He thought this was going to be easy. He thought he knew how this would go. That you’d sink down onto him, take him nice and deep, let him roll you onto your back and fuck you into the mattress like he always did.

Oh, he had no idea.

You straddled him, your knees framing his thighs, feeling the heat of him pressing against your slick folds. His cock twitched as you rubbed yourself over him, dragging your wetness along his length, getting him nice and messy. Steve groaned, the sound deep and satisfied, his hands lifting from the sheets to grip your waist. "That’s it, sweetheart. You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?"

You hummed in agreement, letting your lips brush along his jaw as you shifted, rolling your hips until his thick tip caught at your entrance. "Oh, baby," you cooed, letting just the head push in, stretching you just enough to make your breath hitch. *"*You got her so soaked for you…"

Steve let out a deep groan, gripping your hips tighter, ready to guide you down onto him, but you pressed a firm hand to his chest, pushing him back into the pillows. Not yet.

You rocked against him, teasing, letting his tip slide in and out, feeling the way your body clenched down, desperate for more- but you weren’t going to give in that easily. Not when you had a point to make. His eyes stayed locked on yours, expectant, patient. He still thought he was getting what he wanted. What you both craved. 

You smirked, dragging your nails across his shoulders, watching the muscles in his chest tense beneath your touch. You let yourself sink down just enough to make him groan, your walls fluttering around his thick tip before you clenched intentionally, making him feel just how tightly you could hold him. Then, you lifted again, leaving him achingly empty.

"Oh no," you pouted dramatically, cocking your head in faux innocence. "I don’t think I can take all of you, Stevie… I mean, I am just such a 'little lady', right? Guess we’ll have to stay like this."

His growl was deep, low, frustrated, his hands twitching on the bedspread, itching to grab your hips and force you down onto him the way you both knew you could take it. His fingers flexed, chest heaving, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"Honey, please…" he groaned, sweat beading at his temples, his blue eyes dark with tension and something deeper- need, desperation, an ache that throbbed as you hovered above him, keeping him right on the edge without letting him have anything. “I said I was sorry. It was just a slip-up..”

You tsked, pressing a finger to his lips, enjoying the way his jaw clenched at the interruption. He had apologized over lunch, once he realized you’d been upset about the ‘little’ comment. Earnest and sweet, telling you he hadn’t meant to embarrass you, that it had just slipped out. But that didn’t mean he was getting off easy.

"Uh-uh. I don’t wanna argue with a big, strong man like you, Stevie..”

His nostrils flared as he sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping the sheets instead of you. You watched the war play out on his face, the tension in his shoulders, the controlled restraint in the way he stayed still even as his body begged him to move. Muscles coiled tight, every inch of him on the brink of breaking. His cock pulsed against your entrance, leaking against your folds, desperate for more, for everything.

"You wouldn’t want me to hurt myself," you murmured, shifting just enough to make him gasp, feeling how desperately he wanted more. “Not after you made such a point of making sure I was careful today."

He let out a slow, controlled sigh through his nose, but you could see it- the tight clench of his jaw, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths, betraying just how much he was struggling. His hands trembled at his sides, fingers twitching, his veins standing out along his forearms as he gripped the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him from breaking completely. He was barely holding on.

"Sweetheart, if you don’t sit that pretty li- ass down- "

Your smirk widened, but before you could tease him again. 

"No can do, Captain."

You slid back up, slow and deliberate, grinding yourself along his length, letting his cock drag against your slick folds, smearing your arousal over him, making sure he felt every aching second of how much he'd worked you up. His cock twitched beneath you, straining for more, and you smirked, dragging yourself along his length again, never giving him what he really wanted. Just enough friction to drive him insane.

Steve groaned, head tipping back against the headboard, his fingers twitching in the sheets as he fought not to grab you. His restraint made it even better, watching him hold on when every muscle in his body was screaming for him to take control. You could feel the way he was pulsing, heavy and hot beneath you, his slick length gliding against your folds, teasing your clit with every slow movement.

"You like that, don't you, baby?" you murmured, rolling your hips again, dragging your heat along him. "Feeling how wet you got me... knowing you can't have me yet?"

Steve let out a sharp breath, his knuckles white against the sheets, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if he was physically forcing himself to stay still. You could feel it in the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, in the way his thighs flexed under yours, in the way his cock twitched, hot and slick, as you coated him in your arousal.

You pressed a soft kiss to his jawline, your lips barely grazing his skin as you whispered, "Mmm... poor thing."

His restraint wavered. One hand lifted, hesitated in the air for just a second, before he gave in. His large, calloused palm landed on your hip, not gripping, not forcing- just guiding as he tried to coax you down onto him.

"Please, sweetheart," he ground out, voice thick with need. "Enough. Okay?"

You could hear it, the desperate edge creeping into his tone, the breaking point hovering just out of reach. His fingers tightened, his hips shifting up just slightly, just enough to feel you without taking what he wanted.

"I'm trying to be a gentleman here," he bit out, his control fraying, breath shuddering as he dragged you along his length, spreading your slick over every aching inch of him.

But you didn't relent. You kept your movements excruciatingly slow, letting yourself sink down just a little more before pulling back up, keeping him teetering on the edge without ever giving in. His breath hitched, his grip tightening, and you could feel the tension in his body- the push and pull between holding back and snapping.

"You feel that, Stevie?" you whispered, trying to keep control, but your voice wavered as your body clenched around his tip. "That's all you. You got me this wet, got me dripping all over you... and you’re not even inside me."

His cock throbbed beneath you, thick and aching, his self-control hanging by a thread. His chest heaved, his blue eyes dark and hooded with lust. But even through the haze of desperation, his lips curled into a smirk of his own now.

"You're such a little brat," he murmured, voice low and rough. "You're playing with fire, sweetheart. And you know it."

Then, with a frustrated noise, Steve let go of your hip entirely. His hands retreated up to his head, fingers threading into his own hair, nails scratching against his scalp as he exhaled sharply. His biceps flexed, elbows splaying out against the headboard as he forced himself to stay put, his entire body taut with restraint.

"Jesus Christ, you're killing me," he groaned, head tipping back, exposing the tight line of his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Now can we please move past this?"

You let out a soft hum, trailing your fingers down his chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch. Then, with a wicked little smirk, you leaned in, lips grazing his ear as you whispered, "How do I know you're sorry?"

His breath hitched, his hands clenching into fists against the headboard before he forced them open, palms flattening as he exhaled a shaky breath. Steve’s smile changed- slow, knowing, cocky. You knew that look. That was the smile of a man who had just found a loophole. His whole body seemed to relax, the frustration rolling off him in waves as if he had finally figured out exactly how to turn the tables. The tension in his shoulders melted, replaced by something far more dangerous- certainty.

"If you won’t forgive me," he murmured, voice thick with heat and amusement, "I bet she will."

Before you could even process what he meant, his hands were on you. Not forcing, not demanding- authoritative. He collected your wrists, guiding them behind your back, holding them in one strong hand as he leaned in, lips pressing hot and firm against your throat.

The tip of his cock still sat right there, lodged just at your entrance, teasing, pulsing, waiting for you to finally give in. His breath fanned over your skin as he kissed along your neck, his free hand skimming down your side, teasing the curve of your waist, making you shiver under his touch.

Steve’s smirk deepened, his grip steady but teasing as he leaned in closer. "Bet I can think of all sorts of things to make her forgive me..."

His hand slid between your bodies, wrapping around himself as he pulled back, his thick, weeping tip slipping from your entrance only to drag slow and deliberate against your swollen clit. The slick pressure sent a shudder through you, heat curling low in your stomach as he rubbed against you, coating himself in your arousal some more, making sure you felt every aching second of it.

"You're not just being mean to me, sweetheart," he murmured, kissing along the side of your neck, his voice warm and indulgent, like he was enjoying this just as much as he would finally being inside you. "You're being mean by spoiling her fun, too."

Steve suddenly went quiet, his voice dropping into something lower, smoother- dangerous in its calm.

"Now," he murmured, his hand leaving the space between you to brush your hair back over your shoulder, fingers trailing lightly over your skin as he leaned in closer, lips ghosting over your ear. "Be my best girl and accept my apology."

His other hand slid down to your shoulder, his grip steady but unrelenting as he slowly pushed you down onto him, guiding you inch by inch, the silent command to take all of him.

Steve let out a deep groan, the tension that had coiled inside him finally snapping as he held you there, his fingers flexing against your skin. "That's it," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "And you said I wouldn’t fit." The brat in you had been smoothed away, replaced with something softer, something pliant as more of him pushed deeper, your body yeilding. He could feel it in the way your body trembled around him, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your forehead dripping to his chest as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming fullness. He felt deep like this- so deep it knocked the air from your lungs, making you struggle to do anything but take it.

He exhaled slowly, savoring the way you clenched around him, the way your thighs trembled as you sank fully onto his lap. His hand letting go of your wrists to smoothed up your back, grounding, firm, but there was no teasing left in his voice now. Just something warm, possessive.

"That's better, isn't it, honey?" he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he settled you deeper, like you hadn’t already taken all of him. "All full up. Just how we both like it."

One of his hands drifted back to your hips, fingers tightening, holding you there, keeping you seated on him even as your body twitched, adjusting to the sheer size of him. His grip flexed, steady, as he rocked his hips ever so slightly, just enough to remind you of exactly how deep he was buried inside you.

"Can you feel how sorry I am?" he murmured, his voice smooth, controlled, sinking into you like warmth spreading through your bones.

Then, he started to move you.

His hands guided you, tilting your hips, shifting you ever so slightly as the sensation overwhelmed you- lifting you just enough before sinking you back down, stretching you all over again. The feeling was intoxicating, unbearable in its depth, in the way he filled you so completely.

Then, he took more.

His grip tightened, fingers flexing against your hips, holding you exactly where he wanted as he rolled his hips upward, thrusting slow and deep, driving himself further inside you. The shift sent a shockwave through you, your breath catching, hands gripping onto his shoulders, but he didn’t let up.

"See, honey," he breathed against your ear, each thrust deliberate, sending pleasure curling up your spine, "I take real good care of my girl. Even when she’s being a handful."

"Yes, Captain," you whimpered, your voice breaking as Steve made you take everything he gave.. The pressure built, every movement teasing a spot so deep it left you gasping, helpless against the sensation. Your hands pressed to his chest, fighting against the pleasure threatening to consume you too fast. Steve hummed in satisfaction, feeling you melt into him, the last shreds of your resistance fading away.

"Now, that’s my best girl," he whispered, his lips brushing over your jaw. "So sweet for me now, aren't you? Such a perfect girl. You forgive me yet?" His grip on your hips tightened, slowing his movements until they were nothing more than a deep, teasing grind. "I can't let you come unless you forgive me."

A low whimper slipped from your lips, your nails pressing harder into his chest as your body clenched around him involuntarily.

"I forgive you," you gasped, voice breathless, desperate, finally giving in.

Steve groaned, the sound low and satisfied, like he'd been waiting for it. "Atta' girl."

His grip on your hips tightened as he took over completely, guiding you up and down in a steady, relentless rhythm, pulling you onto him in deep, fluid strokes. Each movement sent pleasure coiling tighter, your body surrendering fully to his control. 

“I- oh god, Steve- ” His pace quickened, your breathy moans breaking apart as he drove into you, keeping you exactly where he wanted. You couldn’t do anything but take it, your body trembling in his grasp as he worked you over that edge.

"That's it, honey. Fuck yes that's it." 

The tension snapped, pleasure ripping through you like a live wire, raw and uncontrollable. Your walls clamped tight around him, pulling him with you. Steve groaned, thrusting up hard, his grip bruising as he buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in thick, hot waves. 

His breathing was heavy, his forehead dropping against yours as the aftershocks rolled through you both, your bodies tangled together, spent and satisfied.

Steve let out a deep, satisfied chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss against your lips. "Now that- that was an apology, sweetheart."

…bucky eating you out while you’re reading your book to him out loud. it wasn’t a sexy book honestly, it was one that was supposed to make you think but how were you supposed to do that with his lips latched onto your swollen cunt and sucking hard

“keep talkin’ doll.” he mumbles against your wet pussy, his tongue lazily swiping up and down through your folds, slick dribbling down his chin. you clear your throat as you grip your book, knuckles almost turning white

“e-eden knelt, her pale knees becomin— fuck..!” your hips stutter as you feel two of his thick fingers slowly push inside your wet heat, groaning.

“becoming what, sweetheart?” he teases as his tongue swirls around your clit, his fingers sinking deep and slow into your pussy with each word that leaves your lips as you continue to struggle to read

okay like kinda true but we love his dumb hunkyness

Chris Evans reads Mean Tweets on Jimmy Kimmel Live, 2018