Avengers Inserts: Fan Mail

Author's Note:

This reader insert takes place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, post-Avengers. It is not compliant with the Phase 2 movies, especially not the part where Steve's perfect hair changes for Captain America 2.

There is a yet to be completed sequel for Fan Mail in the works right now. I have 9 chapters done and have started on a 10th. I'll be posting my progress so far very soon.

Chapter 1: The Email

You glanced at the lengthy letter you penned to Captain America. You weren't sure what really compelled you to look up the mailing address for fan mail, or to waste half a notebook's worth of paper to get to your final draft. Before you could change your mind, you folded it neatly, placed it in the already addressed envelope and sealed it.

You doubted your words would ever reach Captain America directly, which is part of why you included your email address. You said that since no one would probably actually read this, that you'd love to meet Captain America over coffee or take a walk in Central Park, out of uniform of course.

You actually wanted to do more than that. What woman wouldn't melt over that smile, that body, the whole saving the world on at least a biweekly basis thing?

You didn't want to make some poor guy need brain bleach whose job was to send out "autographed" picture responses to fan mail, though, so you kept it G-rated.

A few weeks passed, and you kept busy as usual. You'd nearly forgotten about the letter you mailed to Captain America, but an email with the subject "Thank you for your kind words" from sender Steve Rogers caught your eye. You opened it.

Thank you for your kind words, ma'am. I do read and reply to all of my fan mail. I would like to meet you for coffee and a walk in Central Park, if you're still interested. Let me know.

Regards,

Steve Rogers

You weren't sure at first if it was for real. Maybe someone intercepted the letter and was messing with you. The worst that could happen is getting stood up, though, and it's not like that hadn't happened before. You bit your lower lip absentmindedly at the best that could happen. That was about as likely as pigs sprouting wings and flying around downtown New York, though.

You thought you might break the backspace key on your keyboard while you tried to type up your reply.

Dear Steve,

I'd still love to meet you for coffee and a walk in Central Park. Your schedule is probably busier than mine so you can pick the time and date. My phone number is (555) 555-5555 if you want to give me call and set something up.

I look forward to hearing from you again.

You glanced at the time. It had been almost an hour, and you probably should have left 15 minutes ago. Before you made yourself late(r), you hit the Send button.

Chapter 2: The Call

You wouldn't admit it to yourself, but you were practically tethered to your phone and inbox, waiting for a response of some sort. Your phone followed you everywhere, even the shower where it perched precariously on the ledge. You were lucky it didn't get waterlogged.

Not that you were sure of what you'd do if he called while you were in the shower. Talking to Captain America, or rather Steve, while naked would be awkward and somehow unpatriotic -- like defiling an apple pie. You idly wondered if he actually tasted like apple pie, Bomb Pops, the Fourth of July and all things patriotic.

Your tether on your phone loosened some after 48 hours, and you didn't check your inbox every 5 minutes.

You noticed the disappointment on your face when you glanced in the mirror. You frowned. You'd let yourself get too wrapped up in this possible date.

It was Friday evening, though. You had a relaxing weekend of doing absolutely nothing planned. You tried not to remind yourself you had kept it free in case Steve called and wanted to see you then.

You were curled up on your couch with a bowl of snacks and a fruity drink, half paying attention to a movie you channel surfed to. You'd already missed half of it, and it wasn't really that interesting to begin with. Probably because most people were out on Friday night actually having a good time and not watching TV alone.

Your phone started vibrating, then ringing. You snatched it up off of the coffee table. The caller ID revealed an unfamiliar number. Your heart rate increased. Could it be him?

"Hello?" you answered, hopeful.

"Hello, it's Steve. Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, but things have been busy around here."

"It's not a problem. I've been busy, too." You really hadn't been that busy, but it sounded better than the truth.

"Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon?"

"No, I'm free then." You tried to hide your excitement and the grin plastered on your face, but weren't sure you'd been entirely successful.

"It's not coffee, but there's a place called the Shake Shack near Central Park. They have milkshakes and burgers."

"That sounds good." You probably would said anything sounded good, even a root canal. "What time did you have in mind?"

"How does 11:30 sound?"

"I'll be there." You tried not to hyperventilate over the thought that you had actual concrete plans to go on a date with Captain fucking America.

"Are you all right?" He chuckled.

"Yeah, I'm fine. So I'll see you tomorrow then?" You needed to get off the phone before he thought you were crazy and changed his mind.

"Tomorrow."

You hung up after a quick goodbye and took a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

There were a dozen people you wanted to call and tell, but you decided against it. It was a delightful secret. And if it went badly, you wouldn't have to recount that tale to anyone and be reminded in the future of that time you blew the date with Captain America. Knowing your friends, the reminders would be entirely too frequent.

Now that you had a time and place, you needed to pick out something to wear. You walked to your closet and went through everything hanging in it. Nothing screamed 'you should wear me on a casual date with a national icon!'

You eventually settled on a cute sundress that wasn't too revealing. You'd worn it only once before, for another outdoor date. That one ended badly. You hoped it wasn't the Dress of Dating Doom. It would get another shot before you passed judgment on it.

You laid out the dress, some strappy sandals and a sexy silk and lace panties and bra set for the next day. Not that you really thought anyone else would be seeing the bra and panties. Best to be prepared, though.

You set your alarm and got ready for bed, ignoring the fantasies creeping into your mind. Having an orgasm or two to take the edge off of your already building arousal was appealing. You were going to have to seriously suppress your urge to just jump him. No matter how you imagined it, you couldn't picture him being very receptive to that.

You tossed and turned for a few hours while your mind wandered and your nerves got the best of you. You finally drifted off into a restless slumber in the wee hours of the morning. The sound of the alarm was both too close and too far away.

Chapter 3: Impatience

Your alarm went off. You grumbled for a moment, thinking it was another weekday and reached out to hit the snooze. Then, it dawned on you why your alarm was going off on a Saturday morning. This was definitely worth waking up before noon.

You had some fuzzy, disjointed memories of a dream about being a damsel in distress who was rescued by Captain America. He carried you to safety and kissed you while you were still in his strong arms. The scenario wasn't as appealing in the waking world as it had been in the dream.

For as little sleep as you had gotten, you were very awake, in a sweet adrenaline rush. In case there was an imminent crash, you put on a pot of coffee.

While the coffee was brewing, you hopped in the shower.

Your mind wandered to what it would be like to share that shower with Steve. While you imagined his touch, your fingers traveled down your body, pausing at your already hardened nipples and trailing down to between your legs. You brushed a fingertip lightly over your clit. A soft moan escaped your lips. You could feel a distinct slippery wetness that had absolutely nothing to do with the warm water spraying down on you.

For the second time in less than 12 hours, as much as you'd like to further indulge in your fantasies, you had a date to get ready for. You washed your hair, scrubbed your body and shaved your underarms and legs. After briefly pondering it, you decided to leave your neatly trimmed bush intact, if for no reason other than the itching when it grows back in.

After toweling off, you made quick work of blow drying and styling your hair. Nothing too fancy was necessary for lunch and a walk in the park. You brushed your teeth and put on makeup. Finally, you slipped into your clothes and sandals.

In front of the full length mirror, you turned in a complete circle. You decided that you looked good -- sexy, but in a completely classy way.

As an afterthought, you put on a bit of your favorite perfume. You didn't wear it often, but this was a special, possibly once in a lifetime occasion.

The scent of coffee had drifted into your bedroom. You followed it into the kitchen and poured yourself a mug, inhaling the pleasant aroma.

After you finished your coffee, you checked the time. 10:15. You paced around your apartment, making sure you hadn't forgotten anything. The passage of time was torture.

You decided to toss a few condoms into your purse. You'd be forever kicking yourself if you missed out on the unlikely opportunity to get into Captain America's pants because you didn't have protection.

After your dozenth complete circuit around the apartment, you decided that you might as well leave and get there early. Something unforeseen could happen to hold you up, and you didn't want to leave him there waiting.

For the sake of not being late because of trying to find a place to park in the insanity that is downtown New York, you decided to take a taxi. You grabbed your little black purse and headed out the door.

The weather was nice -- warm, mostly sunny, a slight breeze. Perfect for an outdoor date.

It wasn't too hard to find a taxi, and you were soon on your way. You stared at the sights of the city out of the window. That never got old.

The taxi stopped by a familiar intersection. You quickly paid your fare and stepped out in front of the burger place you'd never taken notice of before. Families and couples were sitting at tables, eating and chatting away. You found an empty table and sat down.

It was 10:50.

Time passed slowly while you played on your phone. No new texts. Nothing new on any of the websites you frequented. None of the games you had installed sounded appealing. The world, for once, had decided to be boring.

This was worse than waiting for school to get out on the last day before summer break. Much worse.

Chapter 4: Introductions

"Excuse me, ma'am. Are you waiting for someone?" a smooth voice asked from behind you, pulling you from your thoughts back into reality.

You took a deep breath, turned around and glanced up at the owner of the voice. It was definitely Steve. He was taller than you expected, wearing a blue plaid shirt and khakis and carrying a leather satchel. If it was possible, he was even more handsome in person than on the news and in pictures you'd seen online.

You quickly got to your feet, trying not to trip over yourself in the process. You half succeed. He chuckled as you smoothed your dress and acted like nothing happened.

"I am waiting for someone. Steve?" You didn't really need to ask, but you did anyway. In case there were some Captain America clones running around NYC. Stranger things had happened.

"Yes." He extended his hand to shake yours. It seemed odd to you to be shaking a date's hand, but hey, you could at least say you touched him without lying. The handshake was too short for your liking. You ignored the tingling from your palm down to your fingertips.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." You smiled and looked into his eyes. They were a pretty shade of blue, warm and engaging.

"Have you been here before?" he asked as you both walked toward the window to order.

"No, I haven't. Do you come here often?"

"I usually come here when I visit Central Park, which isn't as often as I'd like."

You both ordered a burger and a milkshake. You got out your wallet without thinking about it.

"No, I'll get it," he insisted.

"You don't have to." You decided it was best to not argue with him, and it was nice to meet an actual gentleman who wouldn't let a woman pay for her own meal when she offered to without having ulterior motives. Not that you'd mind him having ulterior motives, but you seriously doubted that was the case.

"Thank you," you said as you both headed over to the table you'd been sitting at.

"Are you from around here?" he asked, taking a sip of his vanilla milkshake.

"Not originally. I moved here a while back. I always wanted to live here growing up, and when I had the chance, I moved. One of the best things I've ever done."

"I grew up in Brooklyn, but it's changed a lot."

"I can imagine." You weren't sure what to say as you started to eat your burger -- you would have loved to hear stories about his youth, but it seemed like something that might upset him. You'd read about his history online. It was kind of weird knowing more than you should about someone you just met.

"How is it?" he asked between bites.

"Really good. I'll have to come back here." You fished for conversation topics in your mind while trying not to stare at him. It was still kind of hard to grasp that you were actually having lunch with him and that this wasn't some dream that you were going to wake up from in 5 minutes. A point of curiosity popped into your head. "Do you get a lot of fan mail?"

"Not as much as you'd probably expect. It's mostly from kids." He smiled. "I have gotten some letters from other women, though."

"Have you met any of them?" You hoped you weren't being too nosy.

He nodded. "It's nice to get out and meet new people out of uniform. I didn't really have the chance to go out on dates before." A forlorn look crossed his face for a moment before he continued. "Do you write a lot of fan mail?"

"That's the first fan mail I've written since I was a kid," you admitted. "I'm not even sure what compelled me to do it in the first place. I was expecting maybe an autographed picture or a mass produced letter back."

"I wouldn't do that. If someone takes the time to write me a letter, I should take the time to read it and reply to it."

"That's very thoughtful of you. Most people would probably let the fame go to their heads and forget about their fans, but I suppose you aren't most people."

You took the last bite of your burger and crumpled up the wrapper. He had already finished his.

"You have something on your mouth." He reached forward and wiped it away with his thumb. "There."

You felt a light blush crossing your cheeks. "Thanks."

Both of you wordlessly gathered up your trash and put it in the nearest trash can.

A cool breeze blew through. You wrapped your arms around yourself, glancing up at the sky. Gray clouds loomed.

"Looks like rain." He frowned.

"So much for a walk in the park." You sighed. "Would you like to see a movie or something then?" You hoped he didn't want to cut the date short.

"Is there anything you want to see?"

"Not in the theaters right now really." An idea crossed your mind that wasn't completely innocent. You wanted to get down on your knees and thank the weather gods. "There's a couple movies I have on my DVR, though, that I'd really like to see. I've also got Netflix if they don't sound good to you. If you wanted to come back to my place."

"Sounds like fun." He smiled, and you melted a little bit. "Do you want me to follow you back?"

"I actually took a taxi. I didn't even want to try parking around here on a Saturday afternoon."

He laughed. "I hope you don't mind motorcycles."

Chapter 5: Movies

You decided that motorcycles were created solely as a form of torture approximately 2 minutes into the ride back to your apartment.

The vibration of the engine through the thin material of the dress and your barely there panties was torture on its own, without even considering that you were holding on to one of the sexiest men you'd ever had the pleasure of meeting.

You could feel his well-defined muscles underneath his shirt. It took every last bit of will power you had not to start exploring them through the fabric when you leaned forward to tell him where to turn. Traffic was at least kind to you for once, and you arrived before you suffered a completely inappropriate orgasm.

He trailed behind you as you climbed the stairs, stopping at your apartment door. While you fumbled through your little black purse to find your keys, the condoms fell onto the floor.

"Shit," you mumbled, scooping them up as quickly as humanly possible and shoving them down into the recesses of your purse. You hoped he hadn't seen them and gotten the (kind of) wrong idea. He was obviously a gentleman after all. You found your keys and shakily shoved the right key into the lock and opened the door.

He was quiet as he looked around. "Nice place," he eventually commented.

"Thanks. So, the TV's over there." You ushered him in the general direction of the couch and entertainment center. "Would you like something to drink? I've got Coke, beer, some wine coolers or I could put on some coffee if you want that or-"

He laughed. "Coke is fine."

You grabbed two cans of Coke out of the fridge and followed him over to the couch. You put the cans down on coaster on the coffee table.

He was already seated on one side of the couch. You glanced down and sat about an arm's length away from him, still not quite over the mishap outside the apartment door. You really hoped he hadn't noticed and tried to assure yourself that maybe he didn't even know what a condom wrapper looked like. They had condoms during WWII, but maybe they were packaged differently. You convinced yourself that they were and took a calming breath.

You snatched up the remote and turned on the TV.

It was on Cinemax, which you'd been watching last night before you went to bed. Moaning filled the room, and then a sex scene about as explicit as softcore porn covered the screen. A blonde woman with obviously fake breasts was riding a guy who looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. You pressed the button to turn on Netflix rapidly. It didn't turn on fast enough for your liking.

You tried to hide your embarrassment and failed miserably.

At this point, you were glad you didn't tell anyone about your date. It would probably have become that time you made Captain America think you were a pervert.

"Look, um, I know the past 15 minutes might indicate otherwise, but I'm not, I mean I know you're a gentleman, and I wasn't trying to-"

He started laughing. "I might have been shocked a year ago, but after a year with Tony Stark, nothing shocks me anymore."

"Is he really as bad as his reputation?" You'd seen him on entirely too many tabloid covers for his supposed exploits.

"Probably worse." He grinned.

You were still blushing lightly, and he stroked a hand over your warm cheek.

"You know you can leave if you want. I won't be upset." You felt like you needed to give him an out in case he was staying to be polite. He seemed like he would stay to be polite. You probably would be upset if he took it, but only at yourself. You didn't make eye contact with him.

He was quiet for a moment before fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a condom.