Smoke Screen
Author’s Notes: For @sherrybaby14 ‘s Reader Self-Insert Smut Prompt Challenge. Congrats on 15k hun!!! And thank you for hosting another fun writing challenge ❤️
Prompt: Modern day Steve uses SHIELD technology to make himself appear pre serum and tiny and uses his gentlemanly guise to lure reader into liking him. Only to reveal his muscular form and darker intentions.
Contains: manipulation, coercion, blackmail, dub con, non con, sexual content, violence and dark unhinged Steve Rogers
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You sigh as you look back and forth at your potential outfits for tonight and choose to ignore the mountain of discarded clothes by the bed. One was a new sundress you’d bought at the boutique down the road. The other was distressed shorts, a fitted tank and a long floral kimono cardigan. One was casual and the other was dressy. But was it too much for a first date?
Which one would Dean prefer?
You started talking to him roughly two weeks ago on a new dating app. After a particularly long dry spell, you were initially just happy that someone was paying you any attention. You were never really good at making the first move, so more often than not, you blended into the background. Over shadowed by those more confident and charming. Usually, that suited you just fine. The less eyes on you, the less you had to try to impress. But the weeks turned into months and the loneliness began to seep in.
Until you matched with Dean.
This wasn’t unusual for you. While you weren’t the dazzling life of the party, you certainly were attractive enough to at least earn a second look. So being on a dating app where first impressions are directly tied to whether or not you fancy someone’s profile picture, works just fine.
But the usual matches typically devolve into asking for nudes, how many fingers can you fit in your mouth, or bragging about their no doubt disappointing cock size. And you would block and move on. None of them ever bothered to ask you out on a real date.
At first glance at his profile picture, he looked…cute and nonthreatening. He was standing posed in front of the Brooklyn Bridge on a foggy day, wearing a blue plaid shirt and a tan jacket. His eyes were bright blue, he had a head of thick light blonde hair and a nice smile. He was very lean if you were being generous, skinny and waifish if you were being honest. Dean certainly wasn’t bad to look at, just not your usual type. His face looked vaguely familiar but you couldn’t place it.
You check out his other pictures with a swipe of your fingers. There wasn’t many. One was of him standing on a hiking trail, wearing athletic gear. He has the slight body of a marathoner so this doesn’t surprise you. And you always liked hiking too.
The next picture is a closeup of his smiling face, cuddled up to a sweet looking dog. Okay definitely not bad.
The very first PM he ever sent you, was questioning which medium you used for one of your paintings. It was a field of purple flowers near a cliff side that you were really proud of and had spent several hours intricately painting individual petals. It was the only picture on your profile other than you.
Y/N: Just acrylics. I use water colors too but I just started practicing with oils.
It was refreshing and you were mildly amused that he bothered to ask about it. He was the first one after all. Inwardly, you were just waiting for the inevitable shift into clumsy sexual double entondras.
Dean: It’s beautiful. I’ve never been very good with water colors myself.
Y/N: Thank you. What do you like to paint?
Dean: People and faces. But I’ve been dabbling with landscapes. Mostly bodies of water.
Y/N: Very nice. I’d like to see some of your work. Do you have an Instagram? That’s where I post most of mine.
Dean: Haha sadly no. I’m afraid I’m a little behind on the times.
Y/N: I can understand that. One less thing to worry about. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of all my accounts.
Dean: Exactly. But I’d be happy to send a picture of my newest painting if you’d like.
And from there it sort of took off. Your interactions started out very casual and…sweet. Neither of you trying to be overly witty or trying too hard to impress each other. Just two people bonding over similar interests and having genuinely interesting conversations. You’re not exactly sure when things changed but then did. The tell tale butterflies started to make their home in your stomach. The comforting sleepy lull you would get from staying up way too late because neither of you wanted the conversation to end. The rush of excitement you would get, waking up to a new message from Dean every morning. The disappointment when he would take a little too long to reply. The subtle shift from asking about each other’s hobbies and day to flirting. The hints that this could blossom into something more. It was shiny and new. It gave you something to look forward to. Something you haven’t felt in a long time.
You smile wide when you hear the tell tale ping from your phone. Tucking the edge of your towel in, you reach down to check the notifications. The name that flashes across your screen sends your heart fluttering.
Dean: I’m really looking forward to tonight.
A cluster of butterflies flap in your stomach as you eagerly respond.
Y/N: Me too. It’s all I’ve been thinking about today.
As you wait for a response, you finish toweling off and rub your favorite cake pop scented lotion over your newly shaved skin. You had four hours to get ready for your date, but your excitement and nerves compelled you to get a head start. After all, this was the first time you and Dean would be meeting face to face. You wanted everything to be perfect.
Dean: I know what you mean. I’m already struggling to pick what to wear.
Y/N: lol no way. I just got out of the shower because I couldn’t wait.
Dean: Oh really? Can I have a picture?
Y/N: Nothing too saucy. But a little taste? Sure.
Dean: You little tease :P
Y/N: You make it so easy ;)
Adjusting your position, you tuck the towel back in and fix your still wet hair as best you can. You’d just finished washing and moisturizing your face so the skin was still bare and shiny. But you knew he won’t mind. He’d said as much before.
Y/N: Ok I’ll send one. But I want one too ;)
You carefully arrange the towel so it bares your collar bones and a slight hint of cleavage. Pinching your cheeks for that flushed look and nibbling on your bottom lip to increase the blood flow and color. Old fashioned techniques, but they work. Holding your camera up high, you wink at the camera and take the picture. Quickly cropping out what isn’t necessary and changing the lighting into something more flattering, you send the picture.
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Across town Steve Rogers feels his phone vibrate in his hands under the table. In the meeting, Fury drones on about security protocol in the Tower and Steve couldn’t care less at the moment. He spares a quick glance to the other Avengers and agents in the room and they seem just as tuned out as he is. Carefully, he looks down to peek at his phone between his legs.
He sees that you sent a picture and eagerly opens it. Seeing your bare skin flushed from the shower, perfect lips curled into a mischievous smile and the precarious position of the towel sends a rush of blood straight to his cock.
Steve quickly excuses himself and goes straight to his own private quarters in Avengers Tower. Heated thoughts of what lies hidden under your towel flashing through his mind. Once alone, he pulls his cock out and begins to stroke himself to your image. Picturing those pouty lips wrapped around him. Your tongue eagerly licking him. Tasting him. How perfect and wet your pussy would feel clenched around him as he thrusts into you. It doesn’t take long before he comes in his hand with a throaty moan.
Tucking himself back into his pants, Steve picks up his phone and idly swipes through a folder. He went through the liberty of taking several pictures of himself in various locations, to make things more believable. Using SHIELD hologram technology, he was able to revert his appearance to his pre serum form. And with the help of a thing called Photoshop, he was able to manipulate every photo to appear as realistic as possible. It seems like a lot of effort but he had to be sure. It would all be worth it.
His eyes narrow in concentration as he carefully goes through several altered pictures of himself before settling on a casual selfie taken in his apartment. It would have to do for now.
You still think his name is Dean. And you’ve fallen for the real him.
Steve smiles as he sends the picture and pockets the phone. Tonight, you will learn the truth.
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It’s almost thirty minutes later before Dean messages you back. In your haste to grab your phone, you almost knock the scarlet nail polish over.
God what was wrong with you?
Wiggling your feet so your toes can dry, you look at the picture Dean sent. A cute selfie of him lounging back on his couch. Wearing a white T-shirt with one skinny arm stretched along the back.
Y/N: We still meeting at 7?
Dean: Absolutely. I can’t til you try Donovan’s special.
You: I’ll try anything once. Long as there’s no peanuts.
Dean: No nuts. Trust me you’ll never want to eat anything else ever again.
Y/N: I’ll believe it when I taste it.
You smirk as you finally lay the phone down and hook it up to your charger. The plan was to meet for a casual dinner and see where that takes you. Dean says he knows where the absolute best food trucks in Brooklyn are. Being a foodie yourself, that sounds perfect.
You look back and forth between your outfits again, then look at the clock. Almost three hours to go. You need a distraction or you would go crazy from waiting.
You throw on a clean nightshirt and boy shorts and grab your latest book. Settling onto the couch, you thumb through the pages. The captivating words seep into you and finally calm your overactive nerves.
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Hours later, you stand by the street corner right where Dean said to meet him. You initially weren’t entirely sure where this location was but thankfully he provided a cute little privately owned brightly colored cafe for a landmark. Made things much simpler. As promised, the street is lined with food trucks. The delicious smells of the freshly made cuisine make your stomach growl.
You let out a slow exhale as your peer at the other passerbyes, hoping for a glimpse of Dean. The sooner he shows up the sooner your pounding heart will ease up.The sun has just begun to set, leaving the sky purple and melted with orange rays. You had decided on the dress and a pair of wedge heels with your hair fixed and subtle makeup. You hope he likes it. You hope he’s not disappointed. Pictures can only show so much after all.
You shift through your purse and pick up your phone.
Y/N: I’m here. Where are you?
Dean: I just got here. Right behind you.
You close your eyes and gather your wits before turning around to see your date.
Only to see Steve Rogers standing a few feet behind you. Wearing a fitted black button up with the sleeves rolled up, dark pants and a warm boyish smile.
“Hello Y/N. You look beautiful.”
Your eyes widen in surprise and you quickly peek around him, hoping to see your actual date walking behind him. But no. There was no one else standing near you. You straighten to finally acknowledge him.
“What…what’s going on? Is this a joke?”
Steve raises his hands as though showing he doesn’t mean you any harm.
“You’re not…you’re not Dean.”
“No I’m not,” he says softly as he moves to approach you.
“Wait…wait…” you take a step back, cautiously raising your hands in front of you. Not that it matters. With his carved rippling muscles, this man could literally rip you in two if he wanted. You realize with horrifying clarity why “Dean’s” face looked so familiar at first. How could you have been so stupid?
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have lied to you. But I had to be sure.”
You cross your arms in front of you. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not…used to the way things are done. Courting, I mean.” He gives you a shy smile, but your hardened stare offers him nothing in return. God he was beautiful. Even through your anger and suspicion, you couldn’t deny that.
“Used to be you saw a pretty girl at the dance hall and you ask her out. Meet her folks. But now things are different. There’s apps and social media and I just can’t keep up. I tried to meet women…as I am. But so many just wanted to meet me because of what I am and how I look. Not because they want to get to know me. Not because they want a true connection.”
At his confession, you feel your resolve falter slightly but you huff and shake your head. “Getting a ton of booty calls, doesn’t give you a free pass to lie and manipulate me for the past two weeks.”
“I know, you’re right and I’m sorry. But you seemed different. And I knew that if we had a real shot, I had to know if you truly liked me for me.”
“You think I don’t understand that? Meeting and dating people through apps is so shitty sometimes. There’s so many people out there who lie about who they are. Who exaggerate and make themselves out to be someone they’re not. I just didn’t think you were one of them.”
“It’s true. I deceived you and lied about my appearance. But everything we said over the last couple of weeks? Our conversations? I meant every word. I didn’t lie then.”
“You didn’t have to do this. None of that matters to me.”
You open your mouth to contradict him, but you can’t bring yourself to. He was Steve Rogers for heaven’s sake. Adonis himself would be jealous of his golden boy looks. But you know deep down the thing you’re most upset with is the deception.
You shake your head firmly. “I don’t like this. Any of it.”
“Please, let me make it up to you.”
“I don’t know if you can, Steve.” You try his real name out with cold emphasis. It tastes weird and bitter on your tongue.
“Can we please just start over?”
“Why should I let you? Why should I believe anything you say now?” Your foot hits an uneven patch on the side walk and you stumble. You almost fall, but Steve quickly reaches out to catch you. One hand gripping your upper arm and the other at your waist. You slowly raise your head and your breath catches at the way his heated gaze traces your features. You’re standing so close now, you can smell his cologne. You don’t move away. You should. You should slap him, tell him to fuck right off and go home. But you don’t.
“Because for the last two weeks, I’ve felt happier than I’ve been in a long time. I felt like I met a kindred spirit. Someone who would accept all of me. Someone I could laugh and cherish and share new memories with. And I think you’ve felt it to.”
Your lips part as you feel his fingers trace circles over your waist. You feel your cheeks flush and your heat skips a beat. Steve leans in a little closer. Mere inches separated your lips.
“I think we owe it to ourselves to see where this goes. Don’t you?”
You say nothing, merely press your lips together as you contemplate his words.
“I promise. Nothing but honesty from here on out. Just please…give me one more chance.” His cobalt eyes shine with such boyish hope and you let out a sigh of surrender.
Maybe he did have a point. He went about this all wrong but you could certainly see where he was coming from. Should you deny yourself yet another potential chance at finding something real? Should you take that risk?
You let out another sigh as all resolve melts away. “Ok. One chance. But if you lie to me again, it’s over.”
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An hour later, Steve has you pressed against the wall outside of your apartment, trailing kisses down your bare neck. You curl your fingers tightly into his hair as you pull him closer against you. Undulating your hips into his, yearning for that heated friction. He reaches down and pulls one of your bare legs up to wrap around his waist. Your hands are sliding all over his body, feeling every sculpted body beneath his carefully tailored clothes. His hands are caressing your curves with practiced ease. He grinds his hips into you and you let out a loud moan when you feel his obvious arousal against you. Every touch sent your body into a frenzy. You want more. Need more. And yet-
“Steve…we have to stop.” You pant softly, your awakened body inwardly cursing you.
Steve immediately stills and raises his head to brush his lips against yours.
“Are you sure?” He asks teasingly, touching your thighs beneath your bunched up dress.
“Yes, I’m sure. I need some…time to wrap my head around everything. We shouldn’t rush into anything.”
Steve sighs and purposefully leans his hips against yours once more, earning a soft mewl from your lips. After a moment, he straightens up and trails his knuckles down your cheek before planting a firm yet sweet kiss on your mouth.
“You’re right, Y/N. We’ll take our time. Really get to know each other. We deserve this.”
You nod and give him a small smile before kissing his cheek. “Goodnight Steve. Despite that rocky start I had a nice time.”
“So did I. Goodnight Y/N.” He says with a warm smile as he watches you leave to walk up the stairs to your apartment.
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Once inside, you let out a heavy sigh of relief, thankful the night was finally over. Despite genuinely having a nice time with Steve, you couldn’t help but feel like he was a little too intense. He was certainly nice enough and treated you respectfully. But there was something there that just felt off. Your admittedly shallow attraction to him made your body practically hum with arousal which led to your little tumble in the alley. You hope you didn’t make a mistake letting things get as far as they did. Maybe you just needed some space from Steve. Take a breather. You might give him another chance one day.
Changing into your PJs, you sat down on the bed, thumbing through the dating app on your phone.
Oh good, you have a few new matches.
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Back at his apartment, Steve sat on his bed holding his phone and stroking your picture lovingly with his finger. Tonight had confirmed it.
You were the one. He knew it.
You loved him for him and you even wanted to wait for sex. Such a rarity in this time. It nearly killed him to drag himself away from you. The way you looked up at him with such wanton need. Your parted lips, heaving breasts and delicious thighs peeking under your dress.
Steve sighs with exasperation as he feels yet another stirring in his loins. He already came twice when he got home. But that’s just what you did to him.
He wouldn’t rush you. He could be patient.
His eyes shift to the small box sitting on his nightstand. The box that held your engagement ring.
After all, you are the one he’s been waiting for.
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