Title: Plus One
Summary: You’re were the ugly duckling in high school and, as a joke, you get invited to the wedding of someone that was the ringleader in making your life a living hell. You don’t want to go, you have no date, and you don’t feel like seeing her and her minions again. Steve insists that you go, with him as your plus one.
Word Count: 4,098
Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, insecure reader, explicit sexual content, unsafe sex
Author’s Note: This is for @captain-rogers-beard Mimi’s Marvel Trope Challenge and my trope is unplanned bed sharing.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
The white card with sparkling gold lettering in your hand fluttered to the countertop, landing with a soft swish.
Kimberly – everyone calls me Kimber – was inviting you to her wedding, and it made your stomach churn. She had made your life a living hell in high school, her and her crew, the cheerleaders of Y/Town high. They were cruel; making fun of your awkwardly long legs, the hand-me-down clothes you wore, the ones that had been stitched and patched several times over, the feel-it-in-your-bones laugh you emitted when you found something truly funny… nothing you did was good enough for them.
After all she had done, why did she get the happy ending?
You took a drink of wine, hoping it would ease your nerves. No matter how hard you tried not to focus on the invitation, your eyes kept falling to it. With an annoyed scoff, you grabbed a pen and went to place a checkmark in the box that said you would not be attending.
“What’chu got there?” Steve asked, stopping your hand just as the pen was about to scratch the paper.
“Nothing,” you sighed. “Just RSVP’ing for a wedding I won’t be attending.”
His brows pulled together as he plucked it from the countertop, his azure eyes scanning over it. “It’s this weekend, and you’re just now letting them know you can’t go?”
“I only just got it,” you insisted, grabbing the envelope to show him the postmark.
“Why don’t you want to go?” he asked, dropping onto the bar stool.
Rolling your eyes, you drained your glass. “Kimber was… vicious, Steve. She was Queen Bitch and I was… I was at the bottom of the food chain.”
“Y/N,” Steve lamented, his hand covering yours. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“No one does,” you chuckled sadly. “Those four years were the worst of my life. Once I graduated, I left town and never looked back.”
Steve’s hand was still on yours, his thumb sweeping against your palm. “What if I went with you?”
“What?” you scoffed.
“I’ll go with you to Queen Bitch’s wedding,” he repeated, a smirk on his lips.
You were shaking your head. “But… why?”
“Because it’ll be fun to see the look on her face when you walk in the door, dressed to kill.”
“Steve, stop,” you protested weakly. “I’m… I’m not… I can’t go.”
Steve stood, rounded the granite island, and rested his hands on your shoulders. “You are,” the word beautiful didn’t need to be said, it hung there, thickening the air between you like the early morning fog dancing above the water.
“I won’t push the matter, but I think it would be good for you to go,” he murmured, eyes boring into yours. “Face her, Y/N. Get yourself some closure.”
“And you’ll be with me?”
“The entire time,” he confirmed, giving your shoulders a squeeze.
Nodding, you pulled in a stuttering breath. Steve released you, giving you room to RSVP, marking down Plus one.
Steve was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a dashing suit, his face clean-shaven, and damn, did it make your heart stutter in your chest.
He turned just as you began your descent, the fabric of your navy and white lace dress moving almost noiselessly against your legs. His eyes went wide for a split second, and then he cleared his throat, adjusted his jacket, and held out his hand.
“You clean up nice,” you teased him, settling your hand in his.
Steve smirked as he tucked your hand in the crook of his arm. “Could say the same for you.”
You jabbed him in the ribs with your elbow, pulling a pained groan from your best friend. “Shuddup, I always look this good,” you sassed, rolling your eyes.
You were laughing hard enough that you didn’t hear him say, “Yeah, you do.”
The ceremony was painfully long, filled with cameras flashing and the occasional Awwww, and by the time it was over, your ass had fallen asleep, as had the backs of your thighs, and you were sure Steve had started dozing off. The entire congregation stood after the announcement of the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. whatever-their-last-name-was. You almost fell over, thanks to your numb feet, but Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding you upright.
“Thanks,” you murmured, hooking your arm around his waist.
Steve maneuvered you to stand in front of him as people started filing out, offering their congratulations and best wishes to Kimber and her husband. His hands started on your hips, aiding you in walking, preventing you from falling as the feeling came back to your feet and legs. During the trek, his hands slid to your stomach and your back was against his chest, your head turned so he could hear you complain about having to shake her hand, or worse, hug your mortal enemy.
“Y/N Y/L/N,” Kimber’s constant tone of disapproval wiped the smile from your face. “We didn’t expect you to make it.”
You put on your best smile when you said, “I did RSVP.”
Kimber’s laugh was annoyingly fake. “And with a plus one,” she purred, her eyes roaming over Steve.
“Congratulations,” he said, his smile warm – albeit fake, hand stretched out.
“Thank you,” the bride mused. “How long have you two been friends?”
You don’t know how you managed to keep from lunging over and wiping the smile from Kimber’s face. You wrapped your arm around Steve’s waist, pressed your hand against his stomach, and divulged, “We’ve been dating for almost a year.”
“Babe,” the groom hissed. “You’re holding up the line.”
Kimber huffed loudly, but kept her eyes locked on yours. “Will you and your date be staying for the reception?”
You were nodding and chuckling. “Well, I did RSVP. Yes, we will be there.”
Steve was laughing as he steered you away and around the corner, away from the prying eyes of Kimber. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
“For what, Steve?” you asked, rolling your eyes. “I just… ugh. She brings out the worst in me.”
Steve took your hands in his, his fingers sliding between yours perfectly. “Don’t let her.”
“Steve, I… it’s not that easy,” you insisted.
“You think that I don’t know that?” he insisted.
Growing up, Steve was sick, a lot. He was short and dangerously thin, the perfect target for bullies. His best friend, Bucky, was there, acting as his unofficial bodyguard, beating the crap out of anyone that dare lay a finger on Steve. It wasn’t until after college that he hit a much desired growth spurt. He started running and working out, developing into the man that towered over you, a man that made your heart speed up, made your stomach tighten, a man that you had long since fallen in love with.
You let out a stuttering breath. “I’m sorry. I just got caught up in it.”
“No apologies, okay?”
When you nodded in agreement, he smiled brightly. “Now, let’s go have a good time.”
“The single’s table,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Of course she seated us here.”
Steve nudged your foot with his. “Did you really expect anything different?” he asked with a low chuckle.
“To be honest, I didn’t expect a seat at all,” you laughed.
“Silver lining, then,” he said with a wink before offering to get you a drink.
Only when he was gone did the woman to your left say anything. “You’re Y/N, right?”
“Michelle?” you gasped in recognition. “God, didn’t think I’d see you here.”
Your old classmate laughed. “I didn’t expect an invitation,” she admitted.
Pivoting in your seat, you reached over and hugged her. The two of you hadn’t been super close, only knew each other since she was only slightly above you in the high school food chain, but whenever the two of you did talk, it was for hours, going late into the night sometimes.
“Where’d you find him?” she inquired, her eyes shining excitedly.
You followed her line of sight and let out a soft sigh. “Steve’s been my best friend since moving to Brooklyn after high school.”
“The friends to lovers trope,” Michelle chuckled. “I dig it.”
There was a moment where you weren’t sure what Michelle meant, but then Steve looked over his shoulder and gave you a wink that sent your heart spiraling out of control.
“Ye- yeah,” you stammered.
Steve came back several moments later with a large glass of your favorite wine and a beer for him. “My ears are burning,” he smirked. “What are you two ladies up to?”
Michelle was the one that answered. “Just admiring the view,” she all out giggled.
You couldn’t help but laugh along, mostly because of the look on Steve’s face. His eyes went wide for a second, and then he was rolling them, waving his hand before taking a drink of beer.
“It’s my view that is exceptional,” he praised, sending the pair of you a wink.
And that was how the remainder of the reception was spent; flirting shamelessly, reminiscing about the few good days of high school you and Michelle had. Steve shared stories about him and Bucky; how Steve was the reason Bucky graduated, and how Bucky was the reason Steve remained living. The three of you took advantage of the free bar, but somehow seemed to stay shy of being sloppily drunk. You danced, you laughed, and you hated to admit it, but you were having a great time.
Getting invited to your arch nemesis’ wedding turned out to be a good thing. That was until Kimber descended upon you like a hawk on its prey.
“Y/N,” she cooed, her eyes glassy, a glass of champagne in her perfectly-manicured hand. “Gotta say, you were the last person I expected to see with a date.”
You pulled in a deep breath, a breath that was full of Steve’s cologne. “Sorry to be such a disappointment, Kimber.”
Steve’s arm was around your shoulder, his nails digging deliciously into your bicep. “Thank you for inviting us. We’ve been having a wonderful time.”
“Glad to hear,” she sneered, her eyes settling heavy on your hand that was on Steve’s stomach. “Say, did Y/N tell you what happened after she had her wisdom teeth removed?”
Your stomach dropped and you felt like you were going to throw up. “Kimberly, don’t,” you warned, a dark edge to your voice.
She continued with her story as if she hadn’t heard you. “She came to class the next day and sneezed so hard, she ended up pissing herself.” Kimberly was cackling so hard she could hardly breathe. “She had… had to go… home with… her pants… soaked… in PISS!”
Everyone in the room was watching you, their eyes full of pity, amusement, shame. Some of them even started to laugh.
Your eyes were full of tears when Steve said, “That’s enough.”
“Oh, come on, piss pants” she scoffed. “That was fucking funny.”
“So funny,” you sniffled, squaring your shoulders, “that you took pictures and plastered the halls with them.”
The groom was suddenly at Kimber’s side, whispering harshly in her ear, making his wife’s eyes go wide. Whatever he said did the trick, because she clamped her mouth shut and stomped off, her bridesmaids following close behind.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he said genuinely. “Are you okay?”
You were shaking your head. “I’m fine.”
Steve shook the groom’s hand and steered you from the large room. “Ignore them,” he advised as the weight of hundreds of eyes were on you.
“I just want to go home, Steve,” you muttered sadly, turning your face into his shoulder. His only answer was to press a kiss to your crown as he led you out of the building, and down the sidewalk.
The train station was only a handful of blocks away, but when you got there, the station was dark, the last train having left hours before. You groaned inwardly, or so you thought.
“There’s a hotel nearby,” he offered, pointing the way the pair of you had just come. “Offered a discounted rate for people attending the wedding.”
“Alright,” you huffed. You were tired, emotionally and physically. You couldn’t wait to kick off your shoes and take a hot shower.
Twenty-five minutes later, Steve had acquired a key card to a room, the “Last room available,” the clerk had said. So when Steve opened the door, whatever small expectations you’d had, went right out the window.
“One bed,” you muttered in disbelief. “There’s only one bed, Steve.”
“I know,” Steve admitted, dropping the key card to the table after locking the door. “It was this or take a cab home.”
Huffing in resignation, you propped a hand on the wall and unbuckled your shoes, dropping them to the floor a moment later. They ached in places you didn’t know existed, making you hiss when you stood flat-footed on the scratchy carpet.
“I need a shower,” you announced, not wanting to discuss the logistics of sleeping arrangements just yet.
With your dress hung on the hook and your hair loose, you stepped under the stream of hot water. The pressure was weak, but at that point in time, you didn’t really care, you just wanted to wash away the embarrassment of what had transpired.
You didn’t know how long you stood in the shower, water streaming down your body, mixing with your tears, but when the water went cold, you jumped back and quickly turned it off. Peeking your head out, you grabbed the nearest towel, and that was when you realized you had nothing to wear to bed. You couldn’t very well sleep naked, could you?
After drying off, you noticed a white shirt on the counter, a white shirt that smelled exactly like Steve. You tugged it over your head and choked on a laugh when the hem hit the top of your knees. You ran the towel through your hair, followed by a small brush that you had to remove from the plastic.
Steve was settled on the couch, a pillow folded in half behind his head, and one of the spare blankets covering his legs. “Feel any better?” he asked, tipping his head to look at you.
“Yeah, I guess,” was your soft answer. “Thank you for the shirt, for tonight, for… everything. You’ve been a great… friend to me.”
“You’re welcome,” he smiled, his eyes lingering a little too long at your exposed legs. He cleared his throat and cast a glance at the bed. “It’s all yours.”
The sheets had been turned down, and there were two pillows stacked on top of one another, just the way you liked it. You wanted to climb between the sheets and close your eyes, sleep the memories of the day away, but then you felt guilty about Steve sleeping on the couch, the couch that was too small for his giant frame.
“There’s room for both of us,” you lied.
Steve chuckled low in his throat. “No there’s not.” He was right, but it wouldn’t be impossible.
“We can fit,” you insisted. “Come on. You’re not going to get a good night’s sleep on the couch.”
His crystal eyes pierced through you. “You sure, Y/N?”
“A’course,” you answered with a smile.
Steve blew out a heavy breath before making up his mind. “You get in first.”
Wearing a smile, you slid between the sheets, your back to where Steve would be lying, facing the lamp. With a pillow in his hand, he crossed the room while you beat your pillows into submission as a distraction to the fact that he was wearing only a pair of red boxer briefs. Once he was at your back, blankets pulled up to his waist, you flicked off the lamp.
The bed squeaked as Steve worked at getting comfortable, something he failed at miserably.
“Why don’t you roll over?” you offered as a solution. “Might get you some more room if… if we… you know,”
“Spoon?”
Looking over your shoulder, you could see the outline of his head. “I won’t bite.”
“Fine,” he murmured under his breath in a way that made you feel like you had done something to upset him.
You rolled your eyes. “Or not. Whatever,” you huffed as you pushed your head into the pillow.
Steve rolled over and mirrored the way you were lying, keeping some space between you. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and you had to fight the urge to back into him, to absorb some of his heat. His breath was hot against your neck and down the collar of his shirt. It was rhythmic and hypnotic, and your eyelids were starting to grow heavy…
“Y/N,” he whispered, his hand heavy on your hip.
You hummed in response, your body shifting on its own accord. “What’s’a matter?”
“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know.” His chest was against your back, his lips were barely a whisper away from the back of your neck, and his fingers were digging into your skin.
With a breath caught in your throat, your swallowed heavily and opened your eyes. “You’ve always been able to talk to me, Steve.” There went your body, shifting on its own, bringing your body closer to his, as if there were this magnetic pull between the two of you, and your body was tired of fighting it.
His hand slid under the hem of the shirt you were wearing, along your thigh, and over your hip. He drew in a stuttering breath at the realization that you had forgone your panties. Your name was a harsh whisper that pulled goosebumps to the surface as his blunt nails scraped over your skin.
“Steve,” you rasped, your heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. You desperately wanted to roll over, to feel his skin scraping against yours, to mold your body to his, feel his plush lips against yours, but there was this… fear that it was all some sort of dream, or joke, or… something that wasn’t real.
“Tell me to stop, Y/N,” he implored, a dark edge to his voice. He shifted closer, until not an inch remained between you, until you could feel the thick length of his cock against your ass.
You shook your head once, looked over your shoulder, and found him staring at you, his eyes completely consumed by his pupils. Shifting just so, you pushed up and pressed your lips to his, relishing the way his fingers flexed, the way a moan bubbled in the back of his throat.
Steve pushed up to his elbow and deepened the kiss, moving his tongue against yours as if memorizing everything about it, about the way you tasted and sounded, the way you shifted as his hand skimmed over your stomach, up to your breasts. Your back arched and you wrapped your arm around his neck, grabbing his hair, and holding him to you.
His hand completely encompassed your breasts, each one filling his palm perfectly, his long fingers twisting and plucking your pert nipples expertly as if your body were an instrument that he played professionally.
You moved to your back, sighing into Steve’s mouth. He grabbed them hem of the shirt and pulled it off, throwing it to the side. Steve was on top of you, narrow hips between your thighs, back arching, mouth on yours, your neck, your breasts, marking you, his hands worshiping you, his cock growing harder with every gasp and noise you made.
“Steve, please,” you whined, your body thrumming. “I need you.”
His lips and teeth worked down your body, first your breasts, then your stomach, then the apex of your thighs. “I’ve got you, doll,” he purred, his fingers gliding between your slick folds, his nose in your short curls, pulling your scent.
When one long digit entered you, a low and heavy moan left you, one that spurned Steve on. He nudged at you with his nose, exposing your aching clit, licking it, sucking it between his teeth, nipping at it. His strokes were slow, languid, taking his time until another finger joined the first, stretching you, making you whimper as you came undone.
“That’s a good girl,” he praised, his strokes slowing, working you through the orgasm.
You grabbed his shoulders, holding onto him as he climbed up your body, slick kisses dropped to your skin. “Steve… I can’t…” you choked on a sob. It was too much, you were feeling too much, too many emotions were surging through you, overwhelming your senses.
“I’ve wanted you for years, Y/N,” he admitted, and then he was kissing you, soft at first, each one growing more intense and needy.
With a gasp, you were kissing him back, feeling as though he were your lifeline, and without him, you would cease to exist. You hooked your fingers into his boxer briefs and worked them down until his cock sprung free, landing heavily between your legs.
Once Steve kicked off his boxer briefs, you took hold of him, moaning at how hard, yet soft, he was as you stroked him. Steve’s head fell down, watching with his mouth open as your hand worked him over, as it twisted on the upstroke, as you smeared the fat beads of pre-cum.
He was panting heavily, his chest heaving, his knuckles white when he said, “Stop, doll. I… I don’t wanna cum now.”
Steve’s hand took the place of yours and swept it between your folds before notching himself just inside, enough to drive a shiver up your spine. With his arms on either side of your head, he pushed into you, making you gasp. You raked your nails down his back and to his ass, where you pulled him harder, until he was completely settled and could go no further.
“Shit,” he huffed. “You’re tight, doll.”
The air in your lungs left in a rush. God, you were full, so full, too full. You felt as if you were going to burst at the seams. Death by Steven Grant Rogers. You were good with that.
You rocked your hips under his. “Move, Steve.”
His shoulders were trembling as he inched in and out, until finally, only the tip remained. You hooked your leg around his and pressed your forehead to Steve’s, your lips brushing his as you whispered your further consent.
“Do it. I won’t break.”
With a snarl, Steve’s hips snapped forward, driving a grunt from your mouth, a grunt that put a wild look in his eyes. He kissed you savagely as he fucked you, his shoulders bowing, his thighs spread wide, knees digging into the mattress. One of his arms went around your waist, angling your hips in a new way that had you seeing stars. The wet sucking sounds of your pussy and the slapping of skin echoed through the small room, chased by grunts and moans.
Steve’s mouth was against your ear, his fingers digging bruises into your damp skin. “I need you to cum, baby girl. Please,” he whimpered, his voice tight, strained. He was at the end of his rope, his hips losing their rhythm.
You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him into you, harder and harder until you were cannon-balling over the edge, falling apart, a strangled cry of his name falling from your mouth, your nails digging deep into his skin.
With his mouth on your neck, your pulse point, sucking a dark bruise as he came, his cock swelled and pulsed, twitching deep inside of you, pulling another orgasm from you. You were a sobbing, writhing mess beneath him.
Steve rolled to his side, leaving you feeling empty, so empty. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into him, pressing a kiss to your sweaty hair.
“Y/N, did I hurt you?” he murmured, his hands moving along your back.
You shook your head and sniffled. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just… I’ve never felt…” a sob overtook you and you covered your face in your hands. “I’m sorry.”
“I felt it, too,” Steve insisted, his hands now on your wrists, tugging them from your face. “I meant what I said earlier, that I’ve wanted you, this, for a while, and… I think that…”
“I love you,” you finished for him, kissing him sweetly, your eyes open, locked on his.
Steve melted into you, wrapping his arms around you tight, holding you to him. “I love you, too.”
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