Lessons in Rule Breaking and Other Reader-Inserts*Steve Rogers*Reader*

Grease and Pearls - Pt. 2/3

"Eh, I'm sorry for the mess. I—eh, wasn't expecting any guests," Steve explained unnecessarily as he scanned the shoe box of his apartment sceptically, searching to get rid of the worst mess before going back to the door, fully planning on locking it – it was as shitty, basically allowing anyone who wanted to enter unless Steve did so.

Not that there was much to steal, the apartment had the very basic equipment, the size allowed Steve to cross the one room with both the bed and the kitchenette in five long strides, the tiny bathroom not exactly an image from a magazine – but there were still things Steve valued, and his privacy counted among them too.

"I like it here, it has an air of home. Your own space" she commented, more forgiving than she probably should.

As he locked the door, apologizing for the mess once more, he made the mistake of turning his back to her; and when he faced her again, he was met with a sight that had him frozen on spot.

His stunning uptown girl had taken the liberty to sit on his bed.

His pants grew considerably tighter at the pretty picture alone, the effects of his cold shower long gone. She was a vision; her long ponytail cascaded down over her collarbone and chest, soft hair teasing him to touch; her eyes, innocent and doe-like, were looking around with genuine interest before locking her gaze with his, stopping his heart altogether. One of her hands laid on the crumpled comforters, the other in her lap as she crossed her legs, the skirt of her dress riding up her thigh as if to call to him in the contrast of innocence and temptation.

She looked so right here and yet so out of place. She was a goddess in a dirtbag's lair and Steve couldn't but recall Thor's words; as annoying as had they been, they rang in Steve's ears and they spoke the truth.

But--fuck. His ma' always wanted him to believe in God. Steve hadn't always lived like he did, he wasn't convinced that God existed. And while he had had other women here in his loft, if for a fling, this very moment, his gaze was locked on the beautiful creature in his bed now and he had a revelation, finally believing. Suddenly he knew it was all true-- and that God was a woman.

He was almost scared to breathe, to move, so the picture in front of him wouldn't disappear into thin air.

"Steve? Are you alright?"

'...Betcha have trouble walkin' with her wearing those skirts and shit...'

Yes, the growing hardness between his legs did make it more difficult than ever. Still, he took a reverent step towards her, mesmerized. He'd have to draw her like that someday-

Oh.

"Yeah, yeah, I just—I remembered, ugh, I have a little somethin' for ya'... if you want," he said to play off his inner turmoil, regretting his words the very next moment. Now if he gave it to her, he wouldn't have it for himself, would he?

But the way her eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement convinced him it was worth it. He could give it another try, and that one her would keep it for himself. He gave her a quick smile and crouched by her feet, opening the drawer by his bed and pulling out his well-worn sketchbook. He didn't have much time for drawing since he started working in the shop, but lately, his muse incarnated in the form of her and he had to find the time to try to capture her beauty on paper.

He opened the book so she couldn't see first, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

Not tearing it out just yet, he suddenly felt shy about his imperfect art— drawing was something he always enjoyed, that made him happy, and his ma' had supported him-- but what if that had been because she hadn't had the heart to tell him otherwise? She had always been gushing, talking about how talented he had been and on a good day, Steve would agree, but today...