Steve Rogers Oneshots

She Was A Goddess, Darling

[Warning: body image issues; mentions of abuse and if you squint, manipulation; insecure reader; nudity; light innuendo at the end. Lemme know if I missed a warning]

Summary: Some conversation between you and Steve led to him setting up his canvas to draw you naked, but somehow you can't seem to find the perfect pose. Turns out, that's not where the problem lies.

"You know what's messing with us?" Steve peeked at you from above the straight line of the canvas. You had been shifting around for fifteen minutes trying to get comfortable, you both knew it wasn't exactly working.

"What?"

"You're tense. Nervous."

You nodded slowly.

"Okay," his frame appeared beside yours swiftly as he took one of your hands, your bodies touching nowhere else. "It's okay to be tense. Can you tell me exactly what's making you tense?" he asked gently, soothing your nerves with every caress of his voice in the quiet night.

You thought hard for a while, trying to zone into specific parts of your worry. "It's my first time being naked in front of anyone."

"Alright, that's understandable. We can take all the time for you to feel easy right now. We have all night. You have to trust me. And trust yourself."

"I'm worried that..." You hesitated, then changed your words before they came out, "that the painting won't come out right." Your eyes widened as you realised what you were implying. "Not that I'm saying that you can't-"

"Calm down," he chuckled, the melodic sound taking you to heaven, "I know what you mean. Listen, if it doesn't go the way we thought, there's always more paint and paper. And the rest of the weekend. We'll figure it out."

"I'm thinking...I don't make a beautiful muse." You whispered so quietly he would have missed it if not for his super soldier hearing.

He looked into your eyes and then looked around the room, gaze settling on the full length mirror. "Come here," he tugged you to your feet effortlessly, "You see that thing?"

"Yes, why?"

"I want you to go stand in front of it. Facing the glass."

The soft but dominant tone of his voice had you nearly buckling at the knees. He had a way of bringing out the submission in you that you didn't even know existed. The submission you were delighted to have found. You had finally brought yourself to trust him with your life and heart. As a child, you always had to look out for yourself, running from your abusive family, running from a malicious neighbourhood; as a teen, from people who only wanted to use you for everything you could offer.

Being able to give everything up to this man, to completely surrender to him and let him control the decisions for even a brief period of time was freeing for you, ironically. Not having to decide meant not having to worry. That you were safe with him. Sheltered.

So when he responded to your confused glance with a gentle push in the direction of the mirror, you obeyed him without asking any questions, terrified as you were of the reflection surely awaiting your insecure gaze.

Looking at the woman who stared back at you, you couldn't help but point out to yourself just how badly made she was. How was that beautiful?? How could anybody want that basic looking creature? Want to hold that anything but shapely body? How could someone look at her-

"Now," Steve all but jumpscared you as his face appeared right next to yours, nuzzled close to your ear. A perfect face, you thought. Blessed with hair like fields of corn. Crystal eyes like an ocean in bright summer. Lips like rose petals blown apart. Sharp lines of facial structure that, along with umpteen other gifts of his, had cut through your walls as easily as a knife through water. Dimples whenever he graced you with a flash of shining pearls.

Handsome. Beautiful.

Wanted.

"Now," You were jerked out of your thoughts by the deep timbre, "I want you to look at yourself very carefully, pinpoint exactly which things you think make you anything less than beautiful."

You stared for a while. This was hard for you to do. You had never really focused on a certain part of yourself; you just kept telling yourself that you were unattractive in general.

"I have thick thighs."

"Not really you don't. They look perfect. Here," he raised your arms a little and placed his hands under them, "see this beautiful curve that starts here and runs all the way down..." he ran his hands down your sides, over your hips and further below until they rested on the sides of your thighs, "...to here? Your thighs complete that curve. It's absolutely mesmerising how well shaped you are." Looking at yourself, you found the curve he was talking about. You thought it wasn't so bad. You didn't really get his enthusiasm but whatever, you'd play along.

"Okay," You whispered, moving to get back to the couch.

"We're not done," he held your arms and kept you facing the glass, "You're gonna show me every single thing that's been eating at you. We're ending this tonight itself."

"My nose-"

"Is adorable. You're funny, sweet and kind and your face looks just like that. Your nose too. It's-"

"Blunt." You raised an eyebrow.

"Cute." He stressed. "It's perfect."

Sighing, you turned back to finish your assessment; knowing Steve, he most certainly wasn't gonna let this go unless he was sure you were done. And you wanted to see the painting that hadn't even started yet.

"I'm fat." You breathed out nonchalantly, feeling ready to cry inside.

"Seriously?"

"Look at me Steve, look at all that fucking belly fat," You snapped. You had had enough of this and truth be told, you didn't even want him to paint you anymore, naked or otherwise. Not tonight. You were contemplating sleeping on the couch but Steve would probably just carry you back to bed with him. And while you really wanted to be left alone, you also didn't want him out of the house.

Your anger, which had started to simmer, sizzled again at the sound of a laugh. A lighthearted, breathy laugh that cut through the silence just like his shield did. You looked up incredulously and glared at him, your back now to the mirror.

"You've seen Greek sculptures, right?"

"The fuck - yeah, I have of course, why?"

"Have you ever seen Aphrodite?"

"I...don't think so."

"She has belly rolls too. Did you know that?"

"You're bluffing."

He walked over to the coffee table to pick up his phone. Normally Steve Rogers absolutely wouldn't rely on that stupid rectangular thing for a picture, but his Greek and Roman art scrapbook was at his apartment, so he had to.

Pulling out a photo of the sculpture he wanted to show you, he returned to you, turning his screen so you could see for yourself that he was not, in fact, bluffing. There were multiple sculptures of her, showing exactly what he was trying to tell you.

"Whoa."

"She was a goddess, darling. And to me, so are you. You're my goddess," he held your hands and kissed your knuckles, devotion and admiration bleeding out through every single one of his actions and words.

Your lips split apart and curved upwards after what felt like forever.

"Do you get how beautiful you are now?" He huskily asked you.

"I'm getting there," you answered in all honesty.

"Good," he kissed your lips lightly before asking, "ready to be my muse again?"

"Let's do this," you grinned.

You didn't get to put your clothes on again until next morning - Steve had more ways of admiring you than you thought, more physical ways. The painting? Well, it took way longer than that to finish. And when it was, you knew exactly how he viewed you. He had depicted you exactly as he saw you, and if that was the image of you in his mind, you didn't really care what anyone else thought, even yourself.