Chris Evans ||

Chris Evans ||

I don’t think people talk enough about how Bucky likes to throw himself at/off of things

I HATE how tumblr brings up your old tags as you’re typing a new tag because I really don’t!! Want to remember!!! Some of the things I’ve said on this godforsaken site!!!!

Ahhh I'm loving this series so much! I just can't get enough of the dynamic between then. I love the whole chase thing they have going on and how soft Steve is for her. The fact that he was so torn at the end of this chapter between helping her and going back to his job, and her staying just for a second to look back at him and secretly hoping that maybe, just maybe he would really do that for her was so gooood like 😩. Also, the tension between them is so well written that I can't help myself from silently squealing in between the scenes.

So, thank you so much for writing! Can't wait for more 💙

Silver fox and the Captain - Chapter 3

Chapter 2 - /Masterpost/

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 2,1k

Warnings: Explicit language, some sexual content (ie a lot of making out and grinding)

Summary: Things flourish in unexpected, heated ways between you and the Captain, but can you afford such a distraction without tipping your whole world off balance?

You were crazy. Absolutely insane. The whole situation was completely out of hand.

And with a reckless sort of abandon, you loved it. 

You tightened your hand in the captain’s shirt and dared to slip your tongue out to swipe against his bottom lip. His lips parted on a small gasp, his massive frame trembling just the slightest. And then his tongue was in your mouth, his burly body pressing you back to pin against the wall. 

Some distant flaring alam in your head told you to get out before he had you entirely immobilized, but it was drowned out by the thrill of temptation. The sheer adrenaline of sneaking around with him, tethering the edge of danger by letting him get you in this position and then get out of it. It was heady and way too salivating to resist. 

You and the Captain had worked up a bit of a habit over the last months. A sort of dance, taunting and teasing - both for dominance and for each other.

He had cornered you in the noisy underground techno club that first meeting after you’d kissed him on the casino rooftop, and you hadn’t gotten so much more as a word out before he’d grabbed you by the scruff of your neck and laid one on you, smirking satisfied to himself when he saw you stunned expression after, your mouth hanging slightly open while your brain rebooted itself. You told him to go fuck himself before you danced with him most of the night. Then, as Black Widow sauntered up to pull him towards the night's target, you slipped away to do the same. You’d escaped with a pair of rocket boosters looted from one of Stark’s autonomous suits, but not before giving Captain America’s ass a good slap. 

You got a slap back a few weeks later when he ambushed you squatting in the rafters of the old theatre in Stockholm, watching out for the illegal trade of palladium underneath. Your ass stung like hell from the smack, but the thrill of the force and the way his eyes lit up as you scowled at him made it all worth it. Especially when you almost immediately put your hands in his hair and crushed your lips together. 

It was all fun and games, really. Lighthearted, hormone-fueled, dangerous fun, feeling like fumbling teenagers as you stole kisses from one another before the prefects caught you. It would be, anyway, if Rogers didn’t insist on getting to know you and your story in between licking into your mouth with increasing fervor. 

“Why are you doing this?” he’d ask, panting slightly, warm hands sliding up your sides. “Who’s your allies?”, he’d ask as he let you flip him over to pin against the wall. Who’s side are you on, what’s your story, where do you go after this - all these burrowing questions all in order to understand you. Being understood by Captain America was the last thing you wanted, and by the time he got around to the “I can help you if you’re in trouble,” you’d had enough, your irked mind warring with your tingling body. By then it was usually time to move anyway, but you couldn’t resist punishing him by biting his lip just the tiniest bit too hard before disappearing, hoping it would discourage him from asking all those questions. It seemed to only make him more keen if you thought about it.

In truth, you were more curious about why he had let this go on for so long. Surely he could track you down and take you out if he wanted. He was Captain America for fuck’s sake. Or were you really that good?

It was hard to keep your thoughts focused on that when his hands stroked down the back of your thighs, the Captain bending slightly at the knees before he hoisted you up. You yelped into his mouth, blood singing with excitement at his manhandling. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your glittering, red gown riding up your thighs in the process. 

You’d sought each other out in the alcove on the second floor, looking out over the highly exclusive and ridiculously lavish art galla well underway below. 

You hadn’t seen him in three months, and had caught yourself smiling stupidly as he'd approached you in a perfectly fitted black tux with a bright blue bow tie. You’d hid your smile in your martini, along with your suddenly flaring nerves, but kept his gaze as he’d sauntered up, as confident and relaxed as he always appeared. 

“As much as I enjoy this look on you tonight, there is no point in you being here today,” he’d said. 

You’d scoffed. He said something along those lines every time you saw him. 

“Elaborate, please. Why is that?” you asked, willing to play this game, already plotting out which curtain you could lure him behind. 

“I’ve let you get away with this for too long. I won’t anymore,” he said simply, eyes serious even as he let them rake over your form. Your skin sizzled with warmth under his gaze. 

You knew what he was talking about. He was adamant you not get away with any smuggled objects anymore. He’d said so for months. And even though you’d gotten away with something each time, it did get harder and harder. You’d have to resort to using dirtier tricks, more complicated tech, get closer to the action and had gotten away with less and less valuables for each encounter with the Avengers. They were strangling your income, your field of movement slowly shrinking. It was infuriating. Years and years of work - meticulous, dangerous work, your whole life - threatened by these people who thought themselves better than you because they had some government-funded agency backing them with millions of dollars and a favorable reputation. It wasn’t as if they acted any differently than the criminals. Not really. They still made and used dangerous weapons, killed and maimed, blew up buildings and destroyed people's incomes. 

You were haunted with an ever growing desperation these days, scrambling to keep your life in balance. Your contacts had started to shun you, afraid the Avengers would go after them once they got to you. Yeah, word traveled fast in the underworld, and while you didn’t think they knew you regularly tangled tongues with America’s golden boy, they knew you had S.H.I.E.L.Ds eyes on your neck. You couldn’t blame them. This was the worst thing to happen to you. 

Though, when Rogers held you like this, cradling you in his strong, capable arms, his masculine, cirupy scent of musk and spice enveloping you, it was easier to forget your blights and lose yourself to the arousal that wound up like a maelstrom inside you. God, you hadn’t felt this alive in…you didn’t know how long. It made you adamant, crazed, like some half mad animal chasing a good feeling for no other reason than that it felt good. 

And it did feel good. God, did it feel good. Rogers was sure and insistent, overwhelming and dominant, couldn’t help it with his size and strength. But he was also gentle, reverent in the way he gripped you, cradled you to him, pressed you so close you were practically glued from mouth to hip, so easily filling every crevice of your consciousness with his look and smell and taste and feel. It was like he himself couldn’t breathe properly if he wasn’t in some way touching you. He hadn’t hoisted you up into your arms like this before, though. That was entirely new, and entirely too hot. 

“Eager,” you chastised in a murmur against his lips, but your voice was raspy, betraying just how affected you were. 

He smiled against your lips, hands kneading into the flesh of your thighs as he pushed you up against the wall of the alcove shrouded in shadow, and kissed you again, tongue hot and wet in your mouth.

And while you had felt him getting hard against you before, in moments cut way too short where he’d been plastered against you and his (rather impressive) bulge had poked into your stomach, you had never had it perfectly between your legs, pressing up against you right there. He had never done anything to draw attention to it before; the perfect gentleman with a raging hard-on from a few kisses. It was adorable, honestly, and an incredible confidence boost. And so unbelievably fucking hot. You were thankful your own arousal was less noticeable in nature, since you were practically gushing into your panties at the mere sight of him these days. 

He situated himself nudged between your splayed legs, intimate and with such confidence it made your breath hitch. It was like he belonged there, like it was the most natural place for him to be. You reeled with the arousal that crackled up your spine, at this new line the two of you were crossing, inching towards something more than a kiss in the dark and a smack on the ass. 

He swallowed your hitching gasp and groaned as your hands went into his hair for something to hold on to. He ground against you with a small roll of his hips and you felt your slick panties move against the heated skin of your pussy. You moaned into his mouth and his massive, sturdy frame shivered slightly again. 

You felt an almost painful sting of possessiveness in your chest at that. This man, this strong, noble hero with the world on his shoulders, who could withstand hardship beyond imagination and be a reliable and trustworthy leader for everyone around him, trembling in your hands, breathing life itself into your dormant lungs with his hot moans of arousal, seemingly starved for touch, for intimacy…almost as much as you. 

Fucking hell, you suddenly thought to yourself. When did you start thinking like this? When had you turned into such a soppy mess? Had you gone completely soft from only this? 

Rogers’s hips rolled in smooth, steady circles against you, sending hot flames of heat up through your body, making your cheeks blaze. You had your trusted sport shorts underneath your dress, but the thin, elastic fabric and soaked panties were no barrier against his hardness. You felt it, obscene in the way it stretched his tuxedo pants. 

God you wanted it. Wanted it so much it frightened you. You blinked your heavy eyelids open, slowly coming back to reality. You always had to at some point. Tonight’s bust was the exchange of smuggled weapons disguised as an art auction in the heart of Vienna. 

You needed tonight's bust to be good. Your reserves were nearly depleted, and you had some unsavory buyers on your neck. While they hadn’t been explicit (yet), the clear dissatisfaction over your last loot had turned their otherwise neutral correspondence a bit unfriendly. You knew of the horror stories of this particular gang - how quickly smiles turned to frowns, how quickly people disappeared at their hands, and how no one dared speak a word of it after - people you’d seen in your periphery for years suddenly gone like they never existed. 

You couldn’t risk that happening to you. You needed a good hit tonight. 

“What’s wrong?” Rogers asked, and you realized you’d frozen, staring ahead into nothing, and you blinked, his face appearing, that infuriating line between his drawn down brows showing a kind of concern you just couldn’t believe he felt for you. It was a mockery, and you bristled. 

Noticing the change in you, he gently set you down on your feet again, but he kept you pinned against the wall, probably out of instinct now. He’d called you a slippery eel not too far back, when you’d successfully wiggled out of his grasp while escaping a bust in a shut down metro station in Santiago, Chile.  

“Little fox,” he said, in lieu of your name, for you hadn’t yet given it to him. 

He tried to catch your gaze with his, but you refused, a sudden, unrecognizable panic riding through your chest at the thought of tonight’s stakes. His hand reached up to graze a knuckle against your cheek, and you recoiled, furious with his tenderness, and how much a part of you wanted to lean into it. It was so fucking dangerous to let yourself turn soft. Even if Captain America might be one of the few men you could have trusted to not exploit your weakness, just about everyone else in your life would jump your ass at the first sign of vulnerability.

You batted his arm away and scrambled from between him and the wall. 

“Let me help you,” he started to say, but stopped dead in his tracks. You looked back to see him touch a finger to his ear piece, his gaze nailed to you. He seemed momentarily torn, frustration flashing in his baby blue eyes. 

“Copy, I’m on it,” he said at last, and you knew it was time to get to work. Time to get back to reality. 

You slipped from the alcove before he could lower his hand. 

Captain America: Sentinel of Liberty #8 - “On a Friday” (2023)

written by Jackson Lanzing & Collin Kelly art by Carmen Carnero & Nolan Woodard

Me, in tears, halfway through writing a 300 word essay: I can’t do this anymore

Person on A03 who’s writing for fun: