#once i go back to my long ass shifts it’s over for me LMAOOOOO

[screampied]

omg why are you still a wake i went to bed at 4am, woke up at 1pm and youre still posting 😭

look man in my defense i have sleep insomnia 🫡 i sleep during the day LMAO. and im still on break soooooor ye. don’t worry next week ill be inactive af bc i’m gonna be studying my arse off mid april 🤡🤡🤡☝️

[baepsaets]

Sensation Play

ot7 reaction: you embark on a play of sensation (receiving).

warnings: blindfolding, ice play, feathers, wax play, nipple clamps, silk, leather, brief flogging (like two smacks), dirty talk, sir kink, daddy kink

(a/n: each member is different! as always, there is a read more in place! sorry i keep making jungkook kinky af i can’t help it lmao).

edit: LMAO I DEF POSTED THIS ON ACCIDENT. i got a lot of new notifications and was like, “shit man what popular ass blog reblogged one of my posts- OH WAIT!” lmaooooo. usually i like to add more gifs between reactions what whatever. still enjoy!

Kim Seokjin

You heard the door click shut, indicating that Jin had finally returned. After blindfolding you and commanding you to stay on the bed, he’d walked out of the room like he’d never been there to begin with. Now that he was here, you couldn’t stop a tremble from going down your spine.

“Jin?” you asked. You were on your back like he’d asked, tugging anxiously at the bedding. He hummed, but didn’t reply.

You felt the mattress shift as he climbed onto it. Slowly, he leaned down until his breath fanned across your face—and then he kissed you, hot and sure as you blindly followed his lead.

He trailed his mouth down your neck, the softness of his lips a sharp contrast to the biting pinch of his teeth as he tugged your skin between them. He sucked harshly before pulling away with a flick of his tongue. He blew on the mark lightly, the sudden cold making you shudder.

But as soon as he stopped, he moved lower. One hand came up, burying in your hair to tilt your head to the side, giving him more access. You knew you were in for a long night.

Min Yoongi

Ice clinked against glass as Yoongi pulled another cube out of his cup. Before you could take a breath, he pressed the cube against your nipple.

A ragged gasp, followed by a groan. The ice didn’t let up. Instead, Yoongi swirled it around and around the small bud, until it was almost numb to the feeling. Then he moved it to the next nipple.

Water dripped onto the bed, but he didn’t care. He watched your face crease in something almost like pleasure, and brought his hand down to your pussy. His finger was ice cold as he trailed it up and down your labia, pausing to tease your entrance.

“Cold?” he asked, mockingly. Asshole. Of course it’s cold, you wanted to say—but knew it would get you nothing but punished. Not an unpleasant thing, to be sure, but you really weren’t sure how much ice play your body could take before you burst into icy-hot flames.

“But you’re so warm,” he said, sliding his finger deeper. It brushed against your clit, and you jerked. “I should cool you down, right?”

The glass clinked again, and your cunt clenched in fear and anticipation.

Jung Hoseok

The feather brushed against your back, making you suck in a deep breath and shudder.

From behind you, Hoseok let out a ghostly chuckle and asked, “Sensitive?” He did it again, except this time you also felt the hot press of his mouth against the nape of your neck. “Ticklish?”

You whined from behind your gag. Your body was strung tight, arms held high above your head while you teetered on your tiptoes for balance. You felt open and vulnerable—naked in the middle of the room. Hoseok was an intimidating force behind you, all at once playful and dominant and torturously, torturously sensual. The teasing heat of his body standing a mere inch away was affecting you more than the physical brush of his skin would have, if he were actually touching you.

“If you’re sensitive now, I almost feel bad for what’s to come.” He ran the feather down your side, across the soft swell your lower stomach, teasing the sensitive skin around your hips. You jerked and tried to laugh, but it was all caught behind the gag. The next thing you felt was Hoseok’s teeth catch your earlobe. “Almost.”

Kim Namjoon

The hot drip of the wax landed precariously near your nipple, making you arch and gasp.

“Stay still,” Namjoon commanded, voice hard. “I’ll punish you if you don’t.”

This was Namjoon’s favorite type of torture—knowing how much you loved being tied down, but forcing you to stay tense in one position without the relief of being restrained. Your arms were spread straight out, fingers digging into the bedding.

Another drip. The sting was quick, but it faded just as fast. It was a strange type of pleasure, but one you were finding quickly addicting. Namjoon held the candle over you with intrigue, examining your every flinch and breath.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, and he smiled at your quick response. The candle dipped, and a small splatter landed directly on your nipple.

A deep moan. It was hotter than the hardest pinch, but already the pain cooled until nothing but tingly pain-pleasure remained. Arousal pooled in your stomach, and you wished desperately that he would touch you.

“Good girl,” he praised, leaning down to give you a quick kiss. “Now for the next one.”

Park Jimin

“Is that good, baby?” Jimin asked, voice just a touch mocking. You whined and nodded, too preoccupied with riding him into the sunset to respond.

Along with the pleasure was a mind-numbing pain that just added to it—your nipples were weighted down with two clamps. Every time you bounced, they would pull on your nipples relentlessly. You threw your head back and moaned, desperate to fuck him harder but fearful of the responding pain in your chest.

Jimin made the decision for you by unexpectedly thrusting up, and you braced yourself above him. He grabbed your hips as he watched your tits sway almost right above his face.

“Fuck,” he murmured, transfixed by the slight. It only compelled him to fuck you harder. You were close to blubbering, each thrust making your clit throb in pleasure as your nipples began to throb in pain. Jimin grabbed one clamp between his teeth, tugging on it and making your pussy clench.

There was a sharp pinch when it came off, making you wail. Jimin was quick to lave your abused nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth while grinding you against him.

Kim Taehyung

The quick swipe of silk across your breast made you tremble. Taehyung was braced above you, teasing you with the offending material. You watched him with hungry eyes, especially when the next swipe brought his silk tie down your stomach and closer to your pussy.

It tickled, a bit. But it was such a soft contrast to the hot, rough grip of his hand. You threw your head back when the tie grazed your mound, tempted to ask to be blindfolded just to enhance the delicate sensation.

“Good?” he teased, grinning. The tie dipped lower, brushing against your labia. It was so soft, so smooth—such a small touch was driving you wild. Your body was flushed and overheated, sensitive with his constant teasing.

“Mhmm,” you nodded. You arched your back, a silent plea for him to go further. He tutted and moved the tie across your inner thigh.

“Tae,” you whined, and he smacked your other thigh. The sharp pain made you gasp while your pussy clenched.

“Be patient, princess,” he murmured, moving the tie slowly back until if hovered above your heat. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Jeon Jungkook

A ragged breath. Another ragged breath. Until—swat.

You gasped, back arching and cunt trembling. The sting on your ass was quick to fade, even as the red mark was only beginning to appear.

“Pretty,” Jungkook murmured, almost absent-mindedly. He followed it with another quick swat, making you jump. You felt him lean closer to you on the bed. Suddenly, his leather flogger was shoved in your mouth. “Hold this for me, will you, jagi?”

Face heating in embarrassment, you nodded. You could taste the leather on your tongue as he leaned back to admire his work. You were sure your ass was bright and striped with a dozen red lines.

“Very pretty,” he said. “Do you like it? Knowing your ass is all red for me?”

Unable to response, you nodded enthusiastically. The smell of leather was almost intoxicating.

“Shouldn’t you thank me?” he continued. “Thank me for making your ass red and pretty.”

“Thankyouformakingmyassredandprettydaddy,” you tried to say, but it came out a mumbled mess. Drool pooled in the corner of your mouth. Jungkook laughed at your pathetic attempt, reaching around to remove the flogger.

“Say it again.”

[adventuresloane]

“I know it hurts, I’m sorry.” with hurloane, perhaps : o?

((Hey what's up I wrote this on a nine-hour flight and it ended up being almost 3k words lmaooooo. Sorry again for the wait!))

Hurley turned the corner into the alley and saw the blood black and bright as motor oil in the nighttime. She had been expecting and dreading it.

"Shit, Sloane." She didn't remember until a moment later about using real names out in public, nor did she particularly care at the moment. She ran forward to where Sloane sat slumped against the wall and slid to a stop on her bare knees.

Underneath the black, beaked helmet, her breathing came out ragged. She brushed away Hurley's hand when she carefully tried to lift the bird mask away. "Alright, Curls, I'd say you're the healer of our team, right?" Her hand rested on her belly, over the spot where the thin wooden shaft stuck out of her. "Do I leave this in me or pull it out now?"

"Sloane, you need a fucking hospital," she hissed. "I'm taking you."

"Oh, and you're going to check me in there, Lieutenant? That'll look good."

"I'll just drop you off and go if that's what you want! I'll be anonymous."

"No. They could still figure out who I am there, even without the mask." She pushed herself up slowly against the brick wall with one hand. "Besides, I'm not even that bad."

"Sloane..."

"I'm not! Just..." Behind the helmet's dark visor, it was difficult to see whether she was making eye contact. But she turned her head fully toward Hurley for the first time all night. "Just help me out a little now, alright? Then I'll take care of myself afterward, I promise."

She tried to give Sloane a glare that she couldn't sustain for long. She wouldn't be able to see her disapproval in the dark anyway. Hurley finally relented and let out her held breath, though it left her feeling no more relieved. Drops still fell from Sloane's stomach now and again. "If you're going to run, you should take the bolt out. You might bleed more, but it's better than risking more internal damage while you're moving around," she murmured. Then she paused and placed a hand over Sloane's, where it rested over her gut. "Would you...would you rather do it yourself or should I..."

"Could you?"

For a long time, Hurley took in the cold air. Still holding her breath, she wrapped her hand firmly around the shaft of the bolt. She kissed the only exposed part of Sloane's skin that she could reach, where her neck met her collarbone, and then pressed her forehead gently against her chest there, mingling their cooled sweat. Then she removed the serrated arrowhead the only way that one could when one was without anesthetic, surgical tools, and time.

The gasp that came out of Sloane would have been a scream if she'd had just slightly less self-control. "Sorry, sorry, shh..." At once, Hurley tore the fabric from the bottom of her gi--first-aid kit wasn't as easy to reach--and started to press it against the wound. She imbued it with what healing magic she could, but a few seconds of contact would never be enough. It took time to restore flesh. Sloane shook against her but still stood. She shouldn't have had to. Absurdly, she wanted Sloane collapsing into her, wanted to take on all her weight, though it would never have been possible now. "I know it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm..." She swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry..."

"No, it's fine," she croaked. "I asked you to do it."

"Well, you didn't ask for this! I'll kick their asses for you, alright? They're not getting away with this."

Sloane simply took the fabric from her hands and pressed it to her own stomach as she began to move away. "We'll talk later, okay? I'll get--shit." Hurley heard it, too, a second later. The click of crossbows being cocked and footsteps rushing down the street. Without another word, she took off running around the bend.

That left Hurley to turn around and face her troop of fellow officers as they rounded the corner--bows drawn, and by the gods, she was going to report every one of them later for aiming a weapon without a target in sight.

"Hold your fire!" she blurted. Only when they all stopped and stared at her blankly did she realize that she ought to justify that. "Ah...these are apartments along this alley. All of them, I think. I'm not going to have stray bolts going into folks' homes while they sleep!"

It wasn't a good lie. She would've known that even if she hadn't seen the confused glances they gave each other. There was a reason she normally left the lying and the acting to Sloane. But anyway, her officers were meant to listen to her whether they believed her or not. "The Raven's still running. Took off down Hoopoe Street in the direction of Town Hall. You both, head west and see if you can cut her off!" And like that, she sent them off in different directions, none of them the way in which Sloane had gone. Later, they'd talk around the water cooler at the office about how the thief had slipped off again, how they'd practically had her in the bag before she'd just vanished like shadow passing into darkness.

Hurley followed them, but before she did, she looked back to where she had last seen Sloane run, really.

It was difficult, when she got back to the office in the wee hours of the morning, to convince her superiors that she was simultaneously too hurt to perform the rest of her shift and not hurt enough to be immediately sent to an ER. The signs of a scuffle with the Raven helped, though--she hadn't even thought to point out her torn clothes until someone mentioned it. In any case, after filing the most perfunctory of reports, she sped on foot through the city to the safehouse that Sloane had set up for herself. It wasn't soon enough that she finally got to the door and rapped out the special, encoded knock signaling that it was her.

There was silence from the other side for so long that she started to wonder whether Sloane had gone elsewhere, or whether she had made it anywhere. Already, Hurley had wasted so much time trying to get the militia off her back without them suspecting how urgent it was. She might not have been quick enough.

She was just preparing to knock again when she heard shuffling from deep inside. It must have gone on for a couple of minutes before the door finally creaked open. Through the crack slipped a hand clutching the shining, gold-painted horn of her familiar ram mask.

She blinked at it. "Why--"

"Just put it on!" Sloane's voice hissed from inside.

Hurley obliged and stepped through to see Sloane still in the helmet that enclosed her whole head. Without a word, and without allowing for a chance to ask how she was feeling, she turned and walked away. Sloane was a good actress, Hurley reminded herself. She was pretending not to care. That didn't mean she might not have also been angry about being shot by people under Hurley's command.

"You know, Raven, I think I recall you being the one who wanted to keep this on the down-low." The call came from the living room of the abandoned apartment, slathered in mock-sympathy. "Just between us and all that. Wouldn't want word getting back to the other racers that you weren't in top shape."

"Yeah, well, you're shit out of luck, because it's no one you can gossip with here. It's just my partner."

That word again. It was the only one she had ever heard Sloane use to refer to her, to what they were to each other. "Racing partner" is what she meant, of course. Hurley wasn't sure if she intended for the plausible deniability about what sort of "partners" they were aside from that. But no other word like "girlfriend" or "lover" had been used by either of them, at least not out loud. The question had been, after maybe the third instance of supposedly "no-strings-attached" sex, Hey, so is this a thing now? and the answer had been, Looks like it. It had seemed simple and natural. They hadn't been anymore specific than calling it a "thing" at the time.

Though it wasn't like they talked about their relationship with anyone but each other regardless.

"Oh, I know who it is." Hurley pushed past the old woven rug that hung in the doorway to come face-to-face with someone who looked as though every part of them had been stretched out. They were human, tall and narrow as the gap between jail bars, with long arms full of measly muscles and straight hair down to their knees. There was smile on their face and a shine in their eye. "Well, hello, Ram! You clean up alright. I'm used to seeing you covered in dirt." They said this as Sloane sat down in front of them and they laid hands back on her belly, where the wound had begun to close up.

Hurley took one look at Crane and then glanced back Sloane's way. "Raven, seriously?"

"What? They know what they're doing!"

"Why, thank you! I absolutely do know what I'm doing," said the person who, despite not having won a race in months, could easily clinch the award for Shadiest Cleric on the Racetrack, and Most Likely All of Goldcliff. (Honestly, maybe they were lying and were actually some bizarre kind of warlock.)

"They're going to bleed you dry at best and might make it even worse if it suits them. You know that, right?"

"On the contrary, I think you'll find that I'm doing a fine job stopping her bleeding, no thanks to you."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to come and watch," Sloane said with a half-shrug, as though entirely unbothered one way or the other.

She was a good actress. But that, quite frankly, was a little much. Hurley chewed on the tip of her tongue until it just barely began to hurt. It was bad enough, she thought, that she wasn't the one doing the healing right now, that someone else was laying their hands on her. She could, just barely, watch strands of this asshole's foreign magic slither like worms into Sloane. But to imply that she'd ever choose not to be by Sloane's side was adding too much insult to injury.

On the other hand, it wasn't like this was anything new. Given how many racers engaged in worse illegal activity on the side, rivals were always loathe to show their faces to one another, let alone share personal details that could be used against them. For her and Sloane, that had always meant keeping their closeness under wraps in front of everybody. In front of criminals and law-abiding citizens alike.

Finally, Crane stepped away and let Sloane run her hand over the spot that had just healed. "See, now, you're good as new! Be back to eating shit on that racetrack in no time. That'll be 700 gold, my dear."

"That's a funny way of saying 300 gold," Sloane quipped back.

Seeing where this was going and not especially keen on a five-minute-minimum bargaining session over how much Sloane's actual life was worth, Hurley stepped forward to drop a sack of coins into Crane's hand. "That's 650, alright? Now please leave."

"Ram, fuck's sake, don't give into them like that!"

"Aw, very sweet of the little sheep."

"Fuck you," Sloane said. A selfish part of Hurley hoped that was for her.

"So it's true, then?" Crane's grin stayed smug, but it was no longer satisfied. There was something new in the way they held themself. The way their head tilted as though trying to see from a different angle, the little bounce in their knee as they stood there. Behind those thin, grinning lips, they salivated for an answer. "What they say about the two of you, I mean."

"They say a lot of things about us. Now kindly fuck off out of my safehouse." Her tone was flippant, but the skin stretched taut over her knuckles as her fist kept tightening at her side. She had one arm outstretched toward the door, and that was held tensely, too.

But she might have just said yes. There weren't many these days in the racing scene who didn't at least suspect, and these were people who would wear their "lucky" boxers for two months straight if they thought it would let them win a race or outrun a cop. If they had a suspicion, any inkling of what might give them even the barest advantage, then they were acting on it already. Sloane lost nothing by confirming what everyone already thought they knew anyway.

As for what the pair of them stood to gain? Admittedly, Hurley wasn't quite sure. Maybe freedom, or maybe just a way of knowing that they'd been free all along. Free to share their victory kiss out in the open, drenched in sweat and the sun and the clamor of the crowd and each other. They didn't always have to crash together rough and quick as they ducked down a shadowed alleyway after a race.

"Sure, sure." They sneered. "I was just wondering if I could tell everyone that I heard wedding bells."

Her fingers uncoiled only to snap to the handle of the dagger at her thigh. Her shoulders were forward, the ruff of feathers around her collar seeming to puff out like the neck of a frilled lizard. She walked at them quick enough to startle them back a step, the black beak of her mask inches from their eye. Hurley had seen her like this before, this posturing. There was a time when she might have fallen for it herself. That was before she knew to look for the quickening of Sloane's breath, the way her whole body stiffened as if bracing for a blow. "Crane, if you fuck me over--"

"Alright, alright!" Their hands were up in front of them. "Fantasy Jesus Christ, you woke up on rather the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?"

"I got shot."

"And you're a very bad sport about it." They spun on their heel and raised their hand without looking back. "Happy trails, you two."

Sloane slumped as soon as their footsteps had faded completely. She was stable now, and the only blood left in the room had long since dried to shit-brown, but exhaustion pressed down on her like a hand on the place where her neck met her spine. Hurley saw it and had the thought, as though it had been whispered to her without warning, One of these days, I'm going to make you honest.

As soon as she sat on the bench, Hurley joined her. "Sloane?"

Sloane turned her way. This time, when she tried to lift the raven mask away, she wasn't prevented. For the first time since yesterday, she saw bright green eyes underlined by dark crescents, looking her softly all over. She brushed aside the strands of hair that had been plastered to the side of her face by sweat since last night, rubbed lightly at the indents in her skin that had been left by the mask. She closed her eyes slowly when Hurley ran a thumb over her cheek, and she turned her head to the side when Hurley tried to get a better look to see if she was okay, and this was how Sloane loved her, by giving way to her like this. And this was why she loved to be loved by Sloane, because she relented for no one else, because she let herself be cared for by no one else. This belonged to Hurley alone.

Though that didn't mean it always had to he behind closed doors.

"What are you lookin' at?" Sloane finally murmured with a small, tired smile. "I know I look like shit."

"I'm sure I do, too. We both haven't slept." In the growing light just before sunrise, she could see what she hadn't before, the smaller cuts across her chest and over her arms. Nothing big, but there, and red. "They missed all of this."

Sloane raised her brows a little. "I didn't ask them to take a look."

"You shouldn't have to ask." Hurley stared her down on purpose as she said it, to make sure the words stuck out to her.

It was unclear whether they did. She glanced away and scratched at her hairline. After seeming to think for a moment, then, she quickly said, "Well, they would've charged me more for that, I bet. Speaking of which, I guess this means I'm paying you back, huh?"

"You're an ass," Hurley said just before kissing her, slowly this time. Sloane placed her hands over Hurley's where they rested against her damaged chest, keeping them pressed there. She had her eyes closed, since she didn't have to look to feel the way the warm healing magic flowed from her fingers and into Sloane's body. She could sense the cuts in her skin closing one by one.

If she could help it, she'd always be the reason Sloane turned honest. She'd be the reason Sloane showed her exhaustion, the reason she felt safe enough to doze at dawn in a run-down old apartment the way she was now. She'd be the excuse for Sloane not to play hard all the time.

And it didn't have to be now, but someday she'd love her so hard that they'd have to be out in the open about it.

[birdsofpry]

just what i needed.

steve rogers x reader 

word count: 1.4k

prompt:  folding their clean laundry and putting it away/ tucking your head into their neck during a hug

a/n: i feel like this one and the bucky one i just posted are really similar but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ you now know how my brain works when i’m in *need* of comfort lmaooooo. but anyways! i really hope you enjoy and pls pls pls know that feedback is extremely appreciated! (prompts from @50-item-writing-prompts i reblogged the list, i’d link it but y’know how tumblr does the thing where they hide things w/ links from the tags sooo)

Steve had once confidently told Tony that the man who wanted a stable family life had went into the ice, and he, twenty first century Steve Rogers had emerged. He had said, truthfully at the time, that that wasn’t what he wanted anymore.

But then there you were, unknowingly shifting and shaking his statements and breilfs all around.

After you, domesticity, stability, a family. It all came back into focus, and Steve didn’t want to put his Avengers blinders back on. He was learning to appreciate little things again, to slow down. He savored his food rather than just shoveling it into his mouth or blending it into a shake. He took time to read, often to you, and taking breaks to discuss what had happened in the chapter with you perched on his lap. He decided to quit chasing the sun to instead stay in bed with you and soak up just thirty minutes more of holding you in his embrace. He actually took time off from work (something that had Maria’s mouth comically hanging open) to spend the occasional day with you at home.

It was on one of these days off that he finds you in your shared bedroom. He had left you an hour ago sleeping soundly in a mess of blankets and warm pillows to head out for his run. Yes, Steve Rogers was changing, but he was still himself. He still liked repetition and routine, and while he was fine with pushing his morning jog off until the sun was over the horizon, he wasn’t ok with ditching it all together. Usually when he came home, you were still huddled under the covers. You may have shifted, searching hopelessly for his warmth or your lips may have parted from deep sleep, but he rarely found you up and walking around.

He watched you from the door way for a moment as you stood with your back to him, hips swaying slightly to the beat of the music playing from the headphones. At your feet was the large green laundry basket that you would occasionally lean down to gather more clothing from. It didn’t take Steve long to realize that the entire baskets contents were full of the clothes he had thrown into the hamper the night before. He smiled lovingly towards you, the small gesture resonating deep in his heart. He watched as you placed the folded pile of shirts you had been working on into the top of his dresser drawer before going to gather more clothing.

Steve walked towards you a little louder than he usually would, knowing you’d feel the vibration on the floor boards. He didn’t want to startle you. When you realized someone was entering the bedroom, you plucked on headphone from your ear and two muscular arms wrapping around your waist kept you from turning around and seeing who it was.

“Was hopin’ you’d be in bed when I got back.” Steve said to the skin of your neck, leaving a gentle kiss where his words had washed over.

“I woke up and you were gone, couldn’t fall asleep after that.” You leaned back into Steve’s hold.

“Poor thing.” He chuckled behind you.

“I’m glad your sympathetic to my struggles.” You laughed too.

“How can I make it up to you?” Steve asked, shifting you around to face him. When you did, you saw the playful glint in his expression.

“Hmm,” You fake pondered, “I mean, I guess you could take the entire day off and spend it with me?”

Steve repressed his smile the best he could, “You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart. But for you, I think I can swing that.”

“Oh, how generous!” You laughed sarcastically, only being silenced by Steve pressing his lips to yours.

It wasn’t passionate or firey, but it was sweet and soft and had all the tension falling out of your bodies.

Steve hummed contently when you pulled away, but not letting you get too far away.

“Thank you for doing my laundry.”

“S’no problem.” You shrugged.

“But it is, it was a very nice thing to come home too, so thank you.” He emphasized.

It was your turn to hum contently along with a you’re welcome.

Steve’s hangs came up to cradle your face gently, “Any ideas for today?” He asked, settling another kiss on your lips before you spoke.

“Kinda wanted to get brunch at that new place in Soho? They have really cute outdoor seating.” You mentioned.

Steve nodded, “Sure, we can do that.”

You grinned up at him, kissing him chastly on the lips before wiggling away from him.

“Let’s get a move on, Stevie! I want some french toast!” You stated, walking off towards your closet.

You got dressed and threw your hair up messily while Steve showered. When you heard the water turn off, you threw the door open and started to gather some makeup to make yourself look like you hadn't just rolled out of bed and had been doing laundry all morning. Steve stood next to you, at his own vanity sink, towel hanging low on his waist as he started to lather up his face to shave. You always pouted when he shaved off any facial hair, but learned to keep your mouth shut in the summer.

You both comfortably got ready next to each other, doing modified versions of your morning routines as to get to breakfast faster. When most of the steam had cleared from the bathroom and when Steve had finished brushing his teeth, you were on your final coat of mascara and reaching for your lip balm. You bought it on a whim with Natasha the last time you were out shopping. It was a pretty penny, but the sales girls talked it up so much that you felt like you had to buy it. Natasha bought two, one to keep and one for Wanda. And while it wasn’t the end all- be all best lip balm ever, you did really enjoy it. You had seen a significant difference in how soft your lips had gotten. And well, Steve loved it.

You gently dipped your ring finger in the balm and spread it evenly over your lips, leaning forward to see a closer inspection of your makeup when you were done. Steve came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle like he had done earlier.

“You look beautiful.” He kissed the back of your neck while you were still bent towards the mirror.

Moving around to face him, Steve moved his arms to cage you between him and the counter with a boyish grin.

“I’d love some of that lip balm if you don’t mind, doll.” You giggled at this.

You placed your hands on his cheeks and leaned up to press your lips soundly to his. When you pulled away, your giggles furthered as you watched him rubbed his lips together.

“Don’t think I got enough.” He dramatically sighed.

You rolled your eyes playfully before lightly dipping your finger back in the balm and moving it to delicately trace the product over his plump lips. You used your balm-free pointer finger to gently clean up the edge around his lips where the balm had slipped. Steve watched you with a affectionate intensity, the intensity Tony had so lovingly dubbed his “annoying ass head over heels look”.

When you were done with your application, you leaned up to give Steve another soft kiss.

“Now we both have an even amount.” You smiled when you were far enough away to look him in the eyes.

“Good thing.” He reflected your smile.

Steve pulled you into his arms again, this time setting his chin on the crown of your head so you could tuck your head snuggly into his neck. Steve’s embrace engulfed you, and it was your favorite kind of hug. Where you felt undeniably safe and loved. And it was Steve’s favorite as well. Where he could keep you safe and loved and close to his heart (that he cheesly admitted, beat only for you).

“So, breakfast?” You asked after your embrace had continued for a long while.

“In a minute,” Steve replied back, gripping you closer, “Just making the most of my day off.”

Steve had once told Tony that the Avenger Compound was home. That the endless thrill and challenges of missions was his home.

But then you came along. You, here, now, changed all that. You were home now.