Steve Rogers Fluff - Blog Posts

༻ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Tarzan!Steve Rogers x doctor!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | 6’6” Steve, feral behaviour/feral!steve, nomad!steve, fluff, scientist!reader, gentle giant!steve, soft!steve, size difference, SMUT - minors DNI, size kink, manhandling, unprotected sex, creampie, sort of animal-like behaviour, mentions of dead parents, specific warnings in each part.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot of secrets, you just never expected one of them to be an actual person—a blue-eyed giant, wild manbeast at that.

♫ ·ﾟ𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝗧𝗼𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗪/𝗖 | 23.9K + 7.1K in blurbs

𝗔/𝗡 | well hello everyone! This is based on my short drabble about Tarzan!Steve, but changed a bit for storyline purposes. In this verse, Sam has always been Captain America and best friends with Bucky. Also, since I felt weird with consent from Steve’s side, there won’t be smut until part 2 where he’ll fully understand what sex is. BUT, there will be an alternative dark!Steve version that’s sort of just pure filth because why not. No gifs/photos belong to me, found bottom ones on Pinterest [1 | 2] all credits go to the original creators. [*=smut] ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

Feel free to send blurb requests or asks about this series! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!

For blurbs and the alternative dark version since this story is completed: 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 — ​˖◛⁺⑅♡ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒: 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: (3/3)

(1/3)

(2/3)*

(3/3)*

Alternative DARK version*

What A World Drabble Masterpost: 1 - 2

Role Reversal: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞 [feral!reader]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒/𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

bubbles

a lil about steve

marking*

typical jungle boy behaviour*

little hand

baby fever?

his mind, body, and soul*

9 kink drabbles* (see more drabbles in the gallery👇)

steve and his adventures with food: 1 — 2 — 3 — 4

steve wants a pet: 1 — 2

letters from steve

winter wonderland

𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐘: tags

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬: #what a world drabble

Discussions/Drabbles: thots — fluff — dark — dark!reader — angst

All asks — Theories — Art — Ideas — Videos/TikToks — ??

Specific tag drabbles: sex toys* — periods — sex tape*

Tarzan!Steve aka WaW!Steve — Dad!Tarzan!Steve

Spicy Videos

Setting: Jungle

Do you think you could write about short sized! Reader working for Bruce banner as a lab assistant and Steve has a total crush on her.

Get A Life

You sat comfortably at your desk, analysing recent data on your computer screen. To an everyday person what would look like a jumbled mix of numbers and symbols to you made perfect sense. 

“Bruceee.”

“Ah-huh.” He responded, eye deep into a telescope.

“The optimal temperature for nuclear reaction is…” 

“100 million Kelvin… depends.”

“Figured.” You grumbled, nibbling on the end of a pen.

He rose from his stool, moving towards your desk and minimising the screen.

“This might sound hypocritical coming from me, but you need to get a social life.”

You re-opened the screen, eyes zoning in on him “This is social.” Gesturing between you both. 

“No this is work.” He minimised the screen again. 

“It’s a hobby.” You re-opened it,  

“That you get paid to do.” He minimised the screen once more.

Before you could continue your game of cat and mouse, a knock at the door caused both your heads to rise.

“Sorry to interrupt I just came to drop off these documents for Y/N.”

Your eyes darted up to the large frame leaning against the door, his blue eyes never leaving yours as he offered a soft smile, holding a thick manilla folder in his hands like it was nothing. 

“Oh yeah, okay, I was just about to go.” Bruce rose, walking past Steve.

Bruce raised his pointer finger at Steve, leaning in close and whispering while you were distracted by the screen in front of you “I…MIT won’t stop calling desperate for her to join so don’t… you know because I will go Hulk on your ass.” 

Steve gave him a respectful nod “I won’t.” 

“Good.” With a slap on the shoulder Bruce made his way out. 

Steve stalked towards you, placing the folder on your desk with a thud.

You skim through the contents only to find blank pages.

“These are all blank?”

“Yes, they are.”

“What… why would you… what?”

Steve’s hand rubbed the back of his head “I just wanted an excuse to come see you.” He smiled at you sheepishly. 

You sighed, rising from your desk making your way to the chemical cupboard with Steve close on your tail.

“I’m in the middle of making universe altering research breakthroughs Steven.” You thumbed through the walls of vials and chemicals.

Steven. Only you called him Steven. Not Rogers. Not Captain. Steven. And while he’d choke out anyone else who called him that besides his mother, he loved hearing his name fall from your lips. 

“Which is why I think you deserved a break.”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me talking breaks around here?”

“Because you work the hardest.” You momentarily paused, turning your head over your shoulder, catching the sincerity on his face. 

“I’m not a superhero.” You shook your head. 

“You are, in a way…” He moved forward coming behind you as you reached upwards, pushing your weight onto your tippy toes to reach the container on the top shelf, your fingertips barely brushing it. Even in heeled boots you couldn’t even reach. 

With a swift motion, he placed his hand on your hip to pull you back slightly, raising his toned arm and grabbing the container effortlessly and handing it to you.

“I can’t even reach the top shelf.” Blush rose to your cheek at the feeling of his body so close to you. 

“Yes, but even superhero need help sometimes and more importantly… lives.”

“I have a life!” You moved out of his reach going back towards your desk. 

“When was the last time you had a beer with us? Or didn’t go into the lab for a day? Or went on a date?” He spat out.

You paused, turning on your heels, eyeing him.

“What do you want?” You said bluntly, crossing your arms over your full chest.

You were annoyed and he could tell. But he was absolutely obsessed with the way you looked in this moment, eyes piercing right into his soul through your glasses, your hair in a claw clip with strands sticking out and falling over your face. The tapping on your boot against the linoleum floor and the way your arms crossed pushed your chest together revealing a small sight of cleavage under your sweater. 

He shouldn’t have found it as sexy as he did. 

“I’d like you to take a break…”

You went to interject him and give him a 1000 reasons why you wouldn’t take a break until he finished…

“So, I can take you on a date.”

Your mouth fell agape but you were quick to recover with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Do you want me to warm up the CAT scan? Seems your brain has turned to mush from being in the ice so long.”

“Y/N please.”

“Steven, I don’t date.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not scientific and it’s not logical, it’s unexplainable nonsense that drives women to insanity.”

He crooked an eyebrow up at you. “I don’t think you could get more insane than you already are if that helps.”

You rubbed your temples turning on your heels to go back to your desk until you felt a strong hang grab your wrist and pull you back into a hard chest. 

“Y/N, I see what you do day in day out for this team, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. But I also see how when you’re focused your eyebrows knot together, how I know which pencils are yours because of the bite marks on ends, how at the end of every day you let your hair fall out and you shake it with your hands, how the sweat drips down your chest and soaks your sports bras in the gym, how when you make a sly comment everyone laughs because you’re funny without realising and I can’t stop looking at you and I won’t but I desperately want to see what’s in your mind behind formulas and data because I know there’s more to you than that so if you would give me the pleasure I really REALLY want to be the social life you so desperately need. I see you, more than you know. And while it may not be mathematical, it makes perfectly calculated sense to me.”

You sucked in your lips, emotions swelling inside of you. His head bowed towards you, foreheads touching. 

“Please.”

You nodded unable to form words as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you in as his lips lightly brushed yours, forcing you to relax in his grip and reciprocate the tender kiss.

“I’ll see you at 7pm - don’t be late.” He gave you final kiss on your forehead, walking out with a beaming smile. 

Leaving you in shock as you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding in and warmth spread throughout your body. 

Reader adopts a cat to help her boyfriend Captain America, Steve rogers deal with the trauma and nightmares

Soxs

You were woken up to thrashing beside you in bed. Third night in a row. Sweat formed on Steve’s forehead with his face contorted in terror. You rolled over, placing a light hand on his shoulder, he instantly moved into you.

“Hey hey, honey… it’s just a dream.” You patted his head softly as his eyes slowly blinked open.

He let out a large sigh, sitting up in bed and rubbing his face. 

“Same one?”

“Same one.” He said in a defeated tone.

You rubbed his back soothingly before getting up to get a glass of water from the sink. Handing it to him in bed.

“Thanks honey.” You sat next to him as he took a large gulp, turning back to cuddle into your comforting frame. 

As he gently lulled off to sleep in your arms, large arms wrapped around you. You mind wandered to all the things you could do to help your poor guy.

3 WEEKS LATER

You placed the gold box in front of Steve on the couch. Holes punctured in the top and a shiny red bow in the middle.

“What’s this?” He looked up at you curiously. 

“Open it.” You smiled, taking a spot next to him.

Steve inched forward, slowly taking off the lid and peering inside the box.

“Oh my goodness.” Steve’s eyes widen in joy at the little ball of fluff, sitting pretty. 

The calico kitten let out a small meow, standing on its hind legs and pawing at the walls, desperate to be picked up.

Steve took the small kitten in his large hands, encompassing it carefully as he brought it to his chest. The kitten immediately rubbed his ear against Steve’s jaw, purring at the contact.

“Y/N… you… you didn’t… omg I love him.”

“Her. And you’re welcome. I looked it up and the purr of a cat can help relaxation and healing. So, I thought maybe a couple of kitten kisses will help you sleep through the night.” You beamed at him, your hand going to scratch the little one’s head.

“Her. She’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I can’t believe you’d do that for me.” Tears started to form in the captain’s eyes as his heart burst at the ball of fluff. 

“Think of her as our first baby.” You winked.

“Gotta name her… what do you think she looks like… Esmerelda, Fluffy, Ariel?”

“How about Soxs.” You grabbed the kittens’ paw, admiring the pattern of fur that gave her four perfect little white blocks.

“Soxs. Perfect.” He turned to you, kissing you on the mouth softly.

The two became inseparable with Soxs taking up permanent position sleeping between your heads at night.

The nightmares stopped but Steve got even less sleep after being woken up at 4am to Soxs wanting breakfast.

She'd follow him everywhere, doing little walks between his legs.

The whole of Avengers loved her, with Stark acting like a villain whenever she'd sit in his lap.

Her favourite place to nap was the Avengers meeting table.

Steve would feed her little slices of ham at dinner, dangling it under the table for her to catch.

A/N: Short and sweet. 😘☘️

A fluff where Steve Rogers and his wife reader dropping off their daughter or son to college for the first time. The two cried on how much their child has grown up

Off to College

A/N: Wait.. why am I crying 😭 This is, in my opinion, one of my best fluffs yet. Stop cutting onions guys!

WARNING: Tissues on hand needed.

“She’s too young.” Steve’s hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes focused straight ahead.

  “She’s 18 Steve. That’s the average American age to go off to college.” You replied to your husband. 

“You know I’m right here and can hear you guys, right? Like, theres no soundproofing between the back and the front seats.” Your daughter Sarah pulled out an air pod from her ear, jumping into the conversation.

“Well as I was saying, I don’t care I still think you should of stayed back a year at home.” Steve retorted, looking in the rear-view mirror at his little girl who now resembled that of a young woman about to go off to college.

“May I remind you, DAD, that at 18 you were joining the army to go fight in the second world war. Whereas I’m simply moving across the state.”

“In many ways my daughter going off to college and war are the same thing to me.”

You turned behind you and shared a puzzled look with your daughter. While she mostly resembled you, she had Steve’s piercing blue eyes. 

“How so?” You egged on your husband to elaborate.

“I’m scared shitless about both of them.” He let out a loud sigh.

“Dad… its fine!”

“Repeat to me the rules.”

“Omg not this again.” You put your forehead into your palm, dreading to listen to this speech for the 50th times.

“Dadddd” Sarah whined in the backseat

“So, help me God I will turn this car around, unless you repeat to me the rules, Sarah Mae Rogers.” He turned his head to the backseat, giving her his classic “I’m not playing around” eyes. 

“No drinking. No drugs. No “philandering” with the opposite sex…is that even word?”

“It is.” You and your husband said in unison

“No staying out past 1 and in the case of a national emergency inclusive of war, alien invasion, terrorist attack; extra-terrestrial...

“And domestic... don’t forget that!” He interjected

“…and domestic I am to find immediate shelter, call you to give you my location and wait until the ship arrives to take me to the safe house.” She groaned finishing the spiel.

“Good.” Steve smiled, satisfied with her memorisation of his rules.

You gave your daughter a sympathetic smile, knowing while some rules may get broken you had raised a smart, young woman with her wits about her. 

It’s not that Steve didn’t trust his daughter who he had trained in hand-to-hand combat since the age of 3, it’s just that he knew the world was scary. Sending his only daughter off alone, miles away from home terrified him. He wouldn’t be there to protect his little girl anymore. 

You exited the car to the chaos of move in day at the popular university. Steve insisted he take all the boxes up in one trip. All stacked high above him, he didn’t break a sweat carrying them up the 5 flights of stairs towards her dorm. 

Your daughter bowed her head in embarrassment as she walked 10 steps behind her father, watching as people stopped and stared at the superhero, whispers filled the halls as he gave kind nods to everyone who he walked past. 

You came up beside her,

“Mom everyone is staring why didn’t he just wait in the car!”

“Well neither of us were going to carry the boxes, besides your father is a respected man, he saved humanity that’s nothing to be embarrassed about!”  

“Yeah, I get it but he’s still embarrassing!”

You wrapped your arm around your daughter’s shoulder.

“You know he’s just as nervous as you are right?”

“Why would he be nervous? He’s not the one who has to be known as Captain America’s daughter!”

“No, he doesn’t.” You sighed stopping her in the hall and pulling her off to the side. 

“Do you remember when you were five and you really wanted to jump off the roof into the pool?”

“Yeah...”

“And we said no but you climbed up the ladder anyways and being five you miscalculated the distance between the ledge and the pool.”

“Yeah…”

“Who caught you before you hit the ground?”

“Dad…”

“Right and when you were 10 and you fell over your bike, breaking your arm… who was the first person who came to your aid and took you to the hospital?

“Dad”

“Exactly and when aliens invaded earth 3 years ago what was the first thing your dad did before going to headquarters?”

“He came to school and picked me up.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is from the moment you were in my belly your dad has spent every moment of his life trying to protect you from the world. He realises he’s not going to be right by side anymore… and he’s scared. Scared of losing you.”

“He’s not going to lose my mom, I’m an adult now I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.” 

“I know that, and he knows that. But it doesn’t matter how old or big or strong you get he is always going to care about you. It will always be his number priority to keep you safe and that’s not going to change anytime soon.” You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Your daughter looked down, biting her lip. 

“Come on let’s go unpack.”

You walked her into her dorm. 

You got to work setting up her room. She put up fairy lights on the wall, while you fluffed the pillows on her bed. Steve assembled all her little bits of furniture.

As a final touch, Steve pulled out a framed photo. Sarah in the middle, between both of your arms. She was only 3 in it, a big smile between her chubby cheeks, her arm up in superhero pose, dressed in her mini captain America shirt. It was his favourite family photo and lived on his bedside table. He looked at it a little, wiping a tear from his eye before he placed it on her bedside table.

“Alright you’re all set! We are going to head out now sweetheart you need anything else?” You chirped.

“Nope, I’m good. Thanks for helping guys.”

You gave your daughter, your final hugs and kisses and exited the room down the hall. 

She studied her room, satisfied with her interior decorating skills. Then suddenly, she noticed the photo that appeared had on her bedside table. She picked it up and held it in her hands. Suddenly, she felt the tears well up in her eyes.

“Wait!” She ran down the hall, just catching you both before you went down the stairs. 

You both looked back to see your daughter running towards you. With a thud she landed against her father’s chest. Wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug. Instantly, Steve hugged her back, pulling her tightly towards him. 

“I love you dad.” She whispered against his chest. 

Steve’s head fell to the top of his little… now big girl’s head. His hand encompassing her head. Kissing her forehead tenderly. “I love you too kiddo. Be safe.”

“I will.” Tears welled up in your eyes watching their embrace. She pulled out of the hug, gesturing towards you. 

“I love you mom.” “I love you too baby.” All 3 of you huddled together in an embrace. Both parents wanting to hold onto their daughter for a little longer. 

You all pulled out and said your now final goodbye. Brushing away tears. 

You held your husband’s hand as you exited the college dorm building.

“She’s too old for me now babe.”

“She’s never going to be too old for her daddy.”

He pulled you into his arm, kissing your forehead. 

Sarah was going to be just fine. And besides, she’ll be home in 2 weeks anyways to get you to do her laundry. 

TAGS: @royalwriteroftheuniverse (girl you're gonna wanna see this!)

Steve Rogers

Agent - angst smut fluff

Masterlist

Masterlist

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Peter Parker

Rules for requests

i've never read anything like this before. love it!!! :)

Threadbare (1)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader (see series)

Summary: Steve gets to meet his favorite designer, and you get a surprise visitor at work.

Warnings: none. Maybe a bit of creepy behavior but not from Steve. Yes, I did just want to use the leather jacket gif for shiggles. What's it to ya? WC 3355

Steve Rogers hates stuffy functions. He hates the brown-nosing. He hates trying to convince people who have everything to give scraps to people with nothing. He hates watching the excess and indulgence, even when he knows it ends up giving something to those in need. He hates it. He hates the whole lot of these stupid, asinine—

Steve takes a breath and smooths his hand down the buttery fabric of a double-breasted jacket hanging next to his intended garment.

Ok, fine, he hates the functions, but he actually enjoys the dressing up part.

He didn’t used to. No. The only outfit outside of his Cap suit that ever truly fit him—before or after the serum—was his SSR uniform, and coming from a time of nothing, Steve accepted that as a huge win.

And then he woke up in this world of excess and—what do they call it? Fast-fashion?— realized that what should be easier to acquire was much, much harder to find: room to breathe.

Steve may roll his eyes at Tony’s custom everything, but he admits internally that at least Stark’s comfortable all the time. Steve would settle for being comfortable in his own skin.

This helps though, this gloriously draped, stiff in a supportive way, heavy in a grounding way, and shapely button down. He doesn’t need a whole suit tonight; it’s not that kind of event. In fact, Steve wasn’t specifically invited. He heard Tony talking about the new collection by the designer of this shirt—which happens to be the label for 90% of Steve’s dressier clothing at this point—and Steve outright volunteered himself to go with Tony.

See, Steve Rogers is now a big, broad guy, and it’s been an adjustment, as well as plain difficult, to gather a wardrobe that isn’t custom tailored due to his sheer size and proportions. The team jokes about his tight shirts, but if he buys things large enough for his shoulders, his waist swims in fabric. Steve had to live off of stretchy clothing for the first three years he was out of the ice. He wasn’t out of his Cap suit long enough for the investment to be worthwhile. Then it took another several years before he discovered Tovarich.

The man must know what it’s like to be big and broad, that’s for sure. Steve may not be much for high fashion, but he’s genuinely gotten so much comfort and enjoyment out of Mr. Tovarich’s work that Steve wants to thank him personally. For once, being Captain America is a good card to play to ensure he gets to meet the designer.

Steve adjusts his rolled sleeves a bit in the mirror, smirking at himself for being a bit of a dandy concerning his look right now, but he’s determined to have a good time out with Tony. It’s just a fashion show. How difficult can it be?

Really damn difficult, that’s what it is.

Steve isn’t prepared for the bizarre press interest in who is there instead of what is being shown. He’s used to cameras flashing at him—especially because the bright and loud pops of flashes were much worse in the ‘40s—but Steve’s in awe of the models’ complete indifference while walking a straight line with a straight face in some of the simplest, most magnificent men’s wear he’s ever seen.

If all he had to do was tick boxes on a list to order things, Steve would be in big trouble with a full bingo card and an empty wallet. It’d be worth it though.

Tony tries to talk to him every so often, but the music is outrageously loud. Steve can’t hear a thing.

He gets tapped on the shoulder by some women sitting behind him, and they try to say some more things he can’t hear.

Everyone rises to clap, and Steve joins in, overwhelmed by the fast pace of all the outfits on repeat, when the man on his other side accidentally elbows Steve and drops his program. The paper flutters to land in front of Tony’s feet, so Steve picks it up, hands it back, and the man makes an appreciative face before gesturing vaguely at the runway and mouthing his admiration. Steve nods and smiles, happy he’s not the only one fanboying over clothes.

The lights change in the venue. The photography and clapping stop. Tony starts yammering on about an after party, but Steve wants to meet the designer.

“Oh, Cap, that walk-and-wave was as close as you’re getting today. Tovarich is a hot commodity. I’ll just get you a fitting sometime.” He clamps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the refreshments. “Shall we?”

Darn. Steve should have done more research on how fashion shows work, but he hates how invasive online snooping feels. It was fine when he was catching up on history and historical figures. However, most of the ‘news’ now is not news at all, so he avoids searching for information that way. He doesn’t ask question about Mr. Tovarich because, in theory, it’s none of Steve’s business and Steve may or may not be slightly ashamed at how obsessed he is with something as trivial as clothing.

Fashion is not something he thought about until very, very recently. The most time he’s spent worried about what he puts on is his tac suit, and the main features of that are being blade resistant and bullet proof. Those things don’t exactly interest him so much as they are in his best interest.

So Steve is rather disappointed by the outcome of the evening, but he’ll manage. For once, he’s got a tiny bright light of something to look forward to in the form of a few more dress shirts and a very sharp vest.

He goes on with life as usual.

Months later and they’re doing this thing.

It’s called the Hellfire Gala, and apparently, it’s a big, big deal. Steve’s told everyone goes all out, that he’ll need to be dressed to the nines, and he realizes this is his opportunity.

Tony’s elated to make the arrangements for him with the Tovarich Atélier and plans to go with him. He wouldn’t stop grumbling about how awkward Steve might be, raving that he can’t have Steve getting a bad rap under his clout, so Steve shows up nervous.

Tony sends a text saying he’s running late. Of course he is, today of all days.

Steve shuts his eyes and lowers his head in gratitude that there are only two seamstresses when he first arrives. The ladies—one older and one younger—offer refreshments and ask a few questions about the event and what styles he might be interested in. He explains the getup needs to highlight the ‘Cap’ persona since the gala is a celebration of their work as Avengers, but other than that, it’s the-sky’s-the-limit for Tovarich.

The younger seamstress smiles at that and calls it ‘fun.’

Sure. That’s one word for it. Steve would also call it daunting.

As instructed, he stands on a small platform while the ladies bustle about speaking quietly to each other. Steve hears Tony ring the reception bell before any measurements have started, and he heaves out a sigh of relief.

“In time for the good stuff, am I?” Stark winks.

“Always perfectly welcome, Mr. Stark,” you, the younger woman, say politely. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“Uh,” Tony smooths his hand down his current suit front, eyes flickering to Steve, “have you met me?”

Your smile widens. “Dominica, please,” you signal to your coworker.

Between your fingers, you’ve folded a scrap of paper, something you scribbled while Steve stood awkwardly on the pedestal (which isn’t to say he has stopped standing awkwardly), and Tony snatches the paper from your grasp, unfolding it to make a challenging, inquisitive face.

Steve huffs and glares, praying his friend doesn’t start hitting on Tovarich’s employee before the man even shows up. Steve isn’t the one to be worried about.

Stark takes Dominica’s proffered tumbler of brown liquor, saying nothing.

You are a ninja with the tape measure, gentle hands sliding over his chest and waist and—Steve swallows—his hips, all while rattling off numbers…which no one writes down. Steve moves his arms and legs when told. When you’re kneeling on the edge of the platform, eye level with his crotch, Steve decides to distract himself and get some answers.

“I’ve been looking forward to my first meeting with Mr. Tovarich. When might he arrive?”

Tony clears his throat, wincing. “Not possible, buddy.”

Steve tenses.

“I thought that—“

“You can’t meet him for the the first time.” Tony holds up a hand before Steve can move. “You already did. She’s measuring the distance between your balls and the floor.”

Steve startles out a ‘what,’ snapping his legs shut with your hand between his thighs.

“Captain Steve Rogers, please meet your favorite designer,” Tony beams, shoving his tongue against the inside of his cheek and hiking up his eyebrows.

Steve shrinks, face burning.

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” you introduce yourself with a lovely smile, “I will…need my hand to make your suit, sir.”

His open-mouthed impression of a fish is cut short by standing at attention, releasing the seal of his thighs. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“Very polite,” you mutter before turning to Tony. “Mr. Stark, was that entirely necessary?”

“For the look alone, yes. My god, I’ll pay you again just to watch now that he knows.”

You push off the platform and practically skip over to Tony, reading over his shoulder. “How did I do?”

Tony looks at the piece of paper. “Damn it. Spot on,” Tony grunts.

“And that means…?”

“That I leave you alone for the rest of the consult,” Tony whines. “Fine, but make it worth it, buddy. Lady gets paid by the hour.” He snaps his fingers playfully. “Dominica, let’s take room two, my dear.”

Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands and mistakenly remains up high on the pedestal while you pull out a notebook and sit at a small table.

“Oh!” You look up at him with tender, lively eyes. “You may step down now.”

He feet seem to thunder to the floor even against the carpet. “I didn’t mean to—I just assumed that—I’m sorry, Misses—”

“It’s Miss,” you correct him. “And don’t worry. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last. Have a seat, Captain.”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you correct yourself this time. “I’ll tell you a secret. I prefer that most people assume a man runs this business. You get to see people’s true colors when they finally find out.”

That doesn’t help Steve’s hot flush of embarrassment.

“You are one of the good ones. I can tell,” you add, adjusting to a fresh page in the notebook and marking the top corner.

In the silence Steve asks, “so you already knew my size?”

“You aren’t so different from my standard cut.”

“No,” he allows. Of course, he should have known that seeing as everything he buys from your label fits him so well. He kicks himself internally while trying not to frown at his slip up. It is, however, easy to keep a smile while basking in the glow of yours.

You pop your shoulder up into a shrug, lips morphing into a wry tease. “And I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Amazing, Steve thinks to himself. You’re amazing…at what you do.

Your elbow rests against the table, hand cupping your jaw as you hold Steve’s gaze.

“Some even call me a master of the male form.”

His swallow is deafening, which only makes you happier, and he looks down at his knee, rubbing his pant leg while his face heats.

“But for today’s purposes—“ you lean back in your chair, twirling your pencil playfully, a magic wand in your brilliant hands “—why don’t you tell me what makes me your favorite designer so I can make you my favorite client?”

Why’d you have to be so pretty? Why do you need him for so few fittings?

Steve has to stop himself from spending a Tony Stark-sized fortune on clothing for the pleasure of walking into your store and seeing you alone—well, in the hope of seeing you at all. Dominica is very sweet, sassy in a hard ass mom kind of way, and she’s one of four total assistants you have at the shop. Steve’s met three of them.

There’s just only one of you, and you’re busy.

Between his duties with the Avengers, actually sleeping, and debating with himself about what constitutes looking desperate, Steve is lucky to have caught you in-house only half the times he visits.

And then he tore a shirt. In fact, he tore three shirts, and to his credit, two of them were by accident. The third…uh, there’s a chance that when Steve exclaimed “oh shoot, I didn’t see that nail poking out” that he 100% saw that nail and deliberately brushed himself against that wall. He also may or may not have deliberately done it in front of Tony, faking that it was no big deal, because now he has the excuse that Tony is the one who told him to go see you.

Yeah, Steve agrees, if you say so.

He’s all excitement and nerves again when he rounds the corner of your street, but then the adrenaline shoots through Steve’s veins for a different reason.

A squad car has jumped the curb in front of your shop, lights flashing, doors left open, and Steve can hear lots of tense voices.

It’s a stressful enough day without the uninvited guest. Not many people—who know how you work and are not assholes—would dare to show up within a month of the Spring Show, without an appointment, and demand a rush job.

A rush job on a custom suit that you explicitly said could not be rushed before its scheduled time, mind you, but the surprise visitor doesn’t care.

Richard Fisk is broad. He has dirty blond hair that falls in front of his eyes when he tilts his head to smile. He often travels with a whole team of other imposing men.

The son of Wilson ‘Kingpin’ Fisk, however, is a prime example of personality souring good looks. Where it’s bashful and adorable that Steve Rogers hides his smile, Richard barely bridles his menacing entitlement.

You hate him, but he’s not a person you can outright refuse. He makes all of your assistants uncomfortable. Fisk is needlessly hostile to Tarik, who is thankfully not here today; he’s a creepy dick to Abby, who you insist stays in the fitting room with Anja, your longtime client who trusts you to push the envelope tastefully for a redheaded woman in her sixties; and he almost made Jules quit because he couldn’t follow instructions during a consult. Dominica stands in as the perfect buffer when she’s here, but the eldest of the Tovarich Atélier employees is currently on the other side of the city for a VIP delivery.

Your busy, busy day just got much harder.

His trio of beefy entourage flanks Fisk at the front of your shop.

“Here for my suit, sugar,” he drawls, flicking his used toothpick into a corner on the floor.

He eyes Abby as she shuts herself and Anja away from his direct ire, and although this leaves you alone, it stops your worry for their safety in addition to your own.

“As it stipulates in the commission, we take at least—“

“Those little hands are free now, I see,” he spits, stepping within an few inches of your face. His breath is foul and hot.

The aggression has you stumbling back, smashing into a side table and knocking a box of supplies to the ground.

“How ‘bout you get to work.”

You take in a heavy, fortifying, and quiet gasp. “Per your order, the fabric is manufactured off-site because teal is not a standard color. It takes time to produce. This was made very clear when you signed.”

Fisk flashes that menacing smile. “We can wait. One of these fine men can…keep you focused till you do your job.”

The condescending tone and disrespect of your work ethic spark flames of rage in your gut. Even though terror still simmers beneath, it’s too easy to let an insult fly.

“You’re lucky I’m even making it. The all white one last summer was a stretch, but teal? On you? Not something you can pull off.”

He lunges forward again. “Keep up the cheek, and I’ll lock you in my basement until I get everything I—“

“Ma’am,” a cop bursts through the shop door, “we got a call…” The officer goes quiet after one look at Fisk.

Abby must have phoned after hearing you knock supplies down, and you’re grateful, yes, but police are of little help with this guy. Cops wouldn’t dare ruffle Kingpin’s feathers or his awful son’s by proxy, but if you roll over now, you’ll never get back out from under him.

The only way forward is to put your foot down.

“Mr. Fisk, I wouldn’t make you a black and white striped three-piece if you did chain me in a basement. You’re a spring, and I have standards.”

“Ma’am,” the officer warns, his partner standing nervously in the open doorway.

“What kind of professional would I be if I let you walk around looking like a mental asylum inmate? I’m doing you a favor!”

Richard brandishes another toothpick. “The customer is always right, sugar.”

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid to taunt him and yell. Being insulted and diminished doesn’t make you want to be smart though; it makes you want to be right.

Your hands ball into fists of fear and rage. “It’s my name on the label,” you bark, “and I could just refund you to get you the hell out!”

Now you’ve really done it.

The boy gangster’s face twists and his oral fixation goes limp in disbelief. No one talks to Richard Fisk that way, least of all women.

His men step between both the cops and their boss, leaving Fisk himself to grab a solid wood tie box from the nearest counter and fling it at your face.

Your arms fly up to block it, but nothing ever connects, nor is there a crash behind you.

An officer’s voice wavers from across the room. “Uh, I’m sure this can all be worked out. No need to…start anything.”

You’re ashamed to say that your hands are shaking when they return to your sides and reveal an entirely different bulky blond.

Steve Rogers casually holds the caught box in his hands, staring daggers as he shifts squarely in front of you to block Fisk.

“This doesn’t concern you, Captain,” the bully grunts. “Piss off.”

Steve strides forward to replace the box neatly and plants himself inches from Fisk’s face.

“Can’t do that. She’s expecting me.” He turns back to you. “Ready?” Steve asks with a tight smile.

You swallow down one iota of your alarm and clear your throat.

“Yes—” the word cracks but you hope familiarity will scare off Fisk for now “—thank you, Steve.”

That seems to be Captain America’s cue to handle everyone else at odds in the storefront. By the time you get control of your trembling limbs, Steve has shown Fisk the door and promised the officers that you’ll be looked after.

Abby peeks out of the fitting room, surprised to see only Steve.

“Did they send you instead?”

She opens the door wider for Anja to see.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow. “Call the police more often, honey. They’ve upped their game.”

The now bashful, broad blond tilts his head, rogue hair falling across his face. His blue eyes sparkle beneath long lashes while he apologizes for lying, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’d feel guilty.

“I…” Steve stumbles. “I don’t have an appointment. I just wanted to see you.”

Currently estimating four parts to this grumbling into the ether but who knows. I clearly cannot be trusted to estimate length anymore...

[Next Part]

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