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Your mind drifted back to Captain Rogers.
Jesus , you wanted to fuck him in the training room yesterday.
You should’ve just— fuck , you should’ve shoved his shoulders against the wall and pressed your body against his, so he could feel how wet you were, and he would’ve let out a quiet little groan, surprise and want and longing, all jumbled up into one, he would’ve rocked his hips against her all nice and innocent—
He would’ve fucking begged for it.
You sat there in your low slung jeans, the top button undone and your hand lying dangerously close to the zipper. Sweat beaded along your skin, gracing your body with an enticing sheen. Your breath grew drawn and heavy. Your hand was moving, reaching for the zipper and dragging it down slowly.
You lick your lips, “ God. ”
Your mind wanders, idly, as your finger presses into your clit, starting a slow, languid rhythm, what he would look like— splayed out beneath you, maybe his eyes screwed shut, the strength of his hands painting your thighs deep shades of blue and violet while you tease him— dragging your dripping sex down the entirety of his length, he’d buck his hips into your core for a few moments of unadulterated relief as strings of the curses he so opposed fell from his tongue and his back arched. Fuck, that’d be — fuck .
“Mmm, shit .”
You’d be deliberate in every move and he’d be on the brink of cumming when you pull away but his hand— warm and calloused, rough against your skin as his nails leave angry red half moons in your thighs because he’s not scared of hurting you anymore— are reluctant to let you go but he won’t dare challenge your desires. (He doesn’t want his hands tied up and away from you again). You’d reward him for taking your teasing so nice, letting you use him like a fuck toy. His eyes would widen when you raise your ass for and spread your legs for him, weight bearing down on your forearms. He’d scramble to line himself up with you and he’d feel so tight in you it almost hurt. It’d take everything in you to not slam him back into the bed and fuck him the way you wanted to as he rutted into you— he’d flush all red when you told how good he fucked you, Stevie, I don’t wanna be able to walk tomorrow fuck me harder, please, God, make me yours, you feel so good when you take me—
You slipped a digit into your dripping folds, pumping and curling his finger until you were panting his name and adding another finger—
And then he’d suddenly pull out and throw your back into the bed. He’d pant and press his forehead into your hair, lips to you neck, overcome with his power and dominance as he’s slamming his hips into yours— he’d bruise you, annihilate you, make remember who you belong to— so deep that you can feel his base against your clit, fuck, fuck, fuck ! When he’d kiss you would be the only romantic part of your union but that’s okay. Amidst the intense, blinding, numbing pleasure that left the two of you moaning messes on the brink of cumming, he lets out a desperate mass of jumbled words, (y/n)... (y/n)... mmm… God, you’ll make me cum you keep talkin’ like that… I love you so much—
There it was. That’s what would push you over the edge..
You grit your teeth and throw your head back, fucking yourself furiously while nails of the opposite hand claw at the sheets. You’re hands take on a punishing rhythm that can never match the pleasure Captain could pound into your being but wound you up all the same. The building, impossibly tight coil of utter perfection snaps, fucking explodes, rushing an electrifying warmth through your trembling limbs and arching torso—
You’d hear him swear, growl ripping from his lungs as his hips begin to stutter hard and fast and his pink lips opens in a perfect ‘O’ and his own waves of pleasure come crashing into you.
The struggle to stay above the intense waves of pure bliss begin to ebb and with it goes your vivid imagination. You’re left with rippling aftershocks of satisfaction and longing as the silence of your tepid, dark room draws out around you.
You walk with your head high the next day, acting as though you don’t remember how cold loneliness felt. Your feigned confidence, however, does not shield you from slamming into someone’s chest as you round the corner, lost in your own thoughts. Nor does it provide a barrier between you and the the warmth their body is radiating and the desire to simply stay there and sink into it.
“Sorry, I’ve been kinda out of it today and— “ You begin half-assedly without even an attempt at making eye contact only to be stopped short.
“It’s okay,” The voice has your eyes shooting up and widening what you hope is only marginally. Steve. “I- I had uh-, I guess what you could call a rough night.” But you don’t hear this. You don’t see the way his eyes cling to your own, desperately trying not to look over every detail of your body he’d so vividly dreamed the night before. You didn’t see the hurt and disappointment in his expression as you muttered another sorry and pulled away from him to retreat away from the scene of your embarrassment or the way he restrained from reaching after you.
But holding his tongue has never been a strong suit of his, “(Y/n), I need you!”