#Older Steven/Younger Steven | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckets-and-trees · 2 months ago

Note

There was a tradition at Vikings weddings (or maybe it was for all Nordic medieval) that the bride was given kittens, because they were symbol of goddess Freya. You know where I'm going with this ask, right? 🥺👉👈 Kittens from viking Steve? 🥺🥺🥺

Ceremonial Rituals

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 6.7k

Content/Warnings: DARK newly established relationship - kidnapped wife; explicit smut: rough sex, unprotected vaginal intercourse, insemination; use of pet name (little wife, little bride)

Notes: Takes place within a week after So Black the Darkness Hums (Come Down from Battle would take place a month or so after this).

Previous Part | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Six mornings after being ripped from your home, warm water envelops your aching body as unfamiliar hands move across your skin. Two women, their faces stern and focused, scrub at your flesh with soft cloths, working suds of soap over your skin. Their touch is not unkind, but there is no warmth in their eyes when they glance at you—only a wary curiosity.

Five nights passed at sea since you were ripped from your home.

The voyage had been mercifully brief but miserable with your unfamiliarity of the churning sea that had you retching over the side of Steven's longship while he laughed and called you his "delicate flower." The warriors had sung and drank through the journey, celebrating their successful raid while you huddled beneath furs in Steven's private quarters, your body aching from Steven's relentless claiming of your body each night. He'd taken you in every way imaginable, a few times gently, more often rough, always leaving you confused by the pleasure he forced from you despite your circumstances.

You close your eyes against the memories of those nights at sea, the taste of salt on your lips, the rhythm of the waves beneath the ship matching the rhythm of his body against yours. You had learned quickly that resistance only made him rougher, more determined to break you. When you yielded, sometimes his touch would soften, and those moments of gentleness were almost more confusing than the brutality.

Five nights at sea, and then a late arrival after dark the night before. Steven had lifted you onto a horse waiting for him and brought you nearly straight to his bedchambers where he’d fucked you, then allowed you to sleep - a genuine rest without the rocking of a ship. Then just after dawn, he’d ushered you out of bed and into the hands of these two women for bathing.

"Keep still," the younger woman mutters as she works a comb through your tangled hair. Her strong fingers work methodically, untangling knots with practiced efficiency. You hadn’t realized you were fidgeting.

From their actions and a few of their murmured words to each other, you gather they're preparing you for some kind of ceremony. A formal introduction to Steven's people, perhaps.

"Stand," commands the older woman, her silver-streaked hair bound in complicated braids. She helps you from the wooden tub, wrapping you in soft linen that feels like a luxury after days at sea.

The younger woman approaches with an undergarment garment of creamy white, richly embroidered with silver threads along the neckline and sleeves. The fabric is finer than anything you've ever worn, even your wedding dress.

"Arms up," she instructs.

You comply, allowing them to slip the garment over your head. The fabric settles against your skin like water, cool and smooth. They cinch it at your waist with silken ties.

The younger woman leaves the room, saying she’ll be back presently.

The older woman begins working oils into your hair, the scent of lavender and something spicier filling your nostrils. Her fingers move with practiced precision, weaving small braids at your temples before gathering them back. You wonder if this is how Steven's people prepare all their captives, or if you're receiving special treatment as his tribute.

The door creaks open on iron hinges, drawing your attention from your somber thoughts. Two women enter the chamber—one balancing a wooden platter laden with a modest breakfast of bread, cheese, and sliced apples, while the other carefully carries a small woven basket from which tiny mewling sounds emerge.

Your curiosity momentarily overcomes your apprehension. "What is that?" you ask, gesturing toward the basket as the woman sets it near the hearth.

“From the king.” She pulls back the cloth covering, revealing four tiny kittens tumbling over each other—one mostly black, one orange, and one with mottled gray-white-and-tan fur. “As is tradition,” she adds.

Before you can fully process this unexpected gesture, the younger woman who had been helping you bathe returns. Your breath catches as you see the gleaming white fabric draped over her arms. It's unmistakably a wedding gown—more elaborate than the one you wore just days ago, with intricate silver embroidery matching your undergarment, and small blue stones sewn into the bodice that catch the morning light.

"The king requests you wear this," she says, her eyes watching your reaction carefully. "The ceremony begins at midmorning."

Your heart plummets and while there is yet the smallest of swoops in your stomach as understanding crashes over you. The bathing, the oils, the fine undergarment, the ceremonial gift of kittens—all of it suddenly makes terrible sense. Steven doesn't mean to merely present you as his captive or concubine.

He means to marry you. Today. Now.

"No," you whisper, the word escaping before you can stop it.

The older woman's hands pause in your hair, her expression softening for the first time. "It will be easier if you do not fight," she murmurs, so only you can hear. "The king has chosen you. That is... rare."

You swallow hard, fighting back tears. "I was already married. In my village—"

"That marriage no longer exists," the younger woman interrupts firmly. "King Steven has claimed you. What came before means nothing now."

The older woman resumes braiding your hair, her fingers gentle despite her words. "My name is Helga," she offers quietly. "I have served in this household since before Steven was born. The girl is Astrid, my granddaughter."

You meet Helga's eyes in the polished metal mirror before you. There is kindness there, but also resignation. She has seen many things in her years of service, you realize. Perhaps even other women in your position.

"Does he... does he do this often?" you ask, your voice barely audible.

“No, you are the first woman he’s ever brought back.”

Astrid approaches with the gown, her expression neutral. "Arms up again."

You comply mechanically, too numb to resist as the heavy fabric slides over your head. The dress settles around you, surprisingly light despite its elaborate embroidery.

"Eat," Helga says, pushing the platter toward you. "You'll need your strength."

You take a small bite of bread, though the taste of it doesn’t register in your mouth. Your stomach churns with anxiety, but you force yourself to eat, knowing Helga speaks true about needing strength.

One of the kittens, the orange one, tumbles from the basket and pads across the floor to bat at the hem of your new gown. Despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips as you watch its playful antics.

"They are a traditional gift," Helga explains, noticing your interest. "Of course the king would send kittens for the new queen, to bring fertility and protection to the household as is customary for any new bride."

"Queen?" The word feels foreign on your tongue, impossible.

Astrid nods as she arranges the folds of your gown. "King Steven has no wife. He has had women, yes, but never a queen. You are to be the first."

The implications of Astrid's words leave you reeling. Not just a captive or concubine, but a queen. Steven's queen. The thought is as terrifying as it is bewildering.

"Why me?" you whisper, more to yourself than to the women attending you.

Helga's weathered hands pause in their work, her eyes meeting yours in the metal mirror. "That is for the king to say," she replies carefully. "But I have known him since he was a boy at his mother's breast. I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looked at you last night or this morning."

Your cheeks burn, remembering the intensity in Steven's gaze during your nights together. The mixture of cruelty and desire, possession and something else—something you cannot name.

The orange kitten pounces on your gown's hem again, tiny claws catching in the delicate fabric. You bend to disentangle it, grateful for the momentary distraction. The tiny creature purrs as your fingers brush its soft fur, and for a fleeting second, the simple pleasure of touching something so innocent calms your racing thoughts.

"It is time," Astrid announces, glancing toward the window where sunlight now streams fully through the leaded glass. A distant horn sounds, its deep note reverberating through the stone walls of the chamber.

Helga secures a silver circlet atop your head, nestling it among the intricate braids she's woven. "A queen must look the part," she murmurs, stepping back to assess her work.

Your reflection in the polished metal is that of a stranger—a woman adorned like nobility, her eyes haunted with memories of another life. The white gown, with its silver embroidery and blue stones, transforms you into someone you barely recognize. Is this truly to be your fate? To be queen to the man who destroyed everything you once held dear?

"The orange one seems to have chosen you," Helga observes as the kitten winds between your ankles, purring loudly. "A good omen. The goddess Freya sends her cats to women of strong spirit."

A knock at the door silences further conversation. Astrid opens it to reveal two warriors in gleaming armor, their expressions solemn.

"The king awaits his bride," one announces.

You take a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. Whatever ceremony awaits, whatever life stretches before you as Steven's queen, you will face it with dignity. Not for him, but for yourself. The tiny orange kitten mews plaintively as Helga gently returns it to the basket.

The warriors escort you through stone corridors adorned with tapestries depicting battles and hunts. Servants pause in their work to stare as you pass, their expressions ranging from curiosity to pity.

You are taken to a clearing at the edge of the forest. There are many people assembled, but it’s the natural and wild beauty of the place that steals you breath away. There are wildflowers everywhere, and you can see snow-capped mountains in the distance, so different from the rolling hills of your homeland.

Sunlight filters through the ancient trees that encircle the clearing, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow. At its center stands an enormous oak, its massive trunk gnarled with age, branches reaching skyward like outstretched arms. Beneath it waits Steven, transformed from the brutal warrior you've known into something more regal—a king in truth, adorned in finery that complements your own.

His tunic is deep blue, embroidered with silver that catches the light with each breath he takes. A heavy cloak drapes his broad shoulders, and atop his head sits a simple crown of polished silver. His eyes find yours immediately, and the intensity of his gaze pins you in place.

The crowd parts as you approach, their murmurs rising and falling like waves. You recognize the hard, weathered faces of Steven's warriors mingled with—those of villagers, craftspeople, and servants. Some appear curious, others wary, but all watch with rapt attention as you're led toward Steven, wondering about the foreign bride their king has brought home.

A wizened old woman waits beside Steven, her white hair flowing loose over her shoulders, adorned with feathers and bones. Her eyes, milky with cataracts, seem to see through you rather than at you.

Steven extends his hand as you draw near, his expression unreadable. You hesitate, heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. To take his hand is to accept this fate, to acknowledge yourself as his queen. To refuse before his people would surely bring consequences you dare not contemplate.

Your fingers tremble as you place your hand in his. His grip is firm, warm, drawing you closer until you stand beside him beneath the ancient oak. The old woman begins to speak in a language you don't understand, her voice surprisingly strong despite her age. You catch only fragments of meaning—words about bonds, strength, and the joining of two souls.

Steven's eyes never leave your face as the old woman speaks. The intensity of his gaze makes your skin prickle with awareness. For the first time, you notice a different quality in his eyes—not just possession or lust, but something deeper, more complex. But it’s gone in an instant, quickly masked when he realizes you've noticed.

The ceremony continues, the old woman producing a length of intricately woven cord. She binds your hands together—your right to Steven's left—the symbolic joining making your heart race with the finality of it. The cord is soft against your skin, dyed in shades of blue and silver that match your wedding attire.

"This binding joins not just flesh, but fate," the old woman says, switching suddenly to the common tongue. Her accent is thick, but her words are clear enough. "What the gods have brought together, let no mortal tear asunder."

Steven's hand tightens around yours as the old woman produces a small silver knife. She pricks first his finger, then yours, pressing the wounds together so your blood mingles. The sharp sting barely registers through the haze of unreality surrounding you.

"Blood of his blood," the crone intones. "Flesh of his flesh. Two souls bound by the ancient ways."

The crowd murmurs their approval, the sound rising like a wave around you.

"You are mine now," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "My queen. My bride.."

Before you can respond, Steven kisses you, a claiming, his kiss thorough, but it’s the dangerous grip of his hands at your waist that has you trembling - something none see, but you feel.

The crowd erupts in cheers and shouts as Steven's lips claim yours, the noise washing over you like a physical force. When he finally releases you, your head spins—from lack of air or the sheer enormity of what has just happened, you cannot tell. The binding cord is ceremoniously unwound from your joined hands, but the symbolism remains, invisible chains now linking you to this man, this conqueror.

"Smile, little bride," Steven murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "They expect their new queen to look pleased."

You force your lips into what you hope resembles joy, though your heart pounds with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"Come," Steven says, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of command. "My people wish to celebrate their new queen."

He leads you through the throng, his large hand firmly clasping yours. People bow as you pass, some reaching out to touch the hem of your gown for luck. Their faces blur together—a sea of strangers who are now your people.

The festivities are already underway, musicians beginning to play, the people laugh and sing, some raise horns of mead in celebration. A feast has been prepared, you realize, as servants begin bringing forth platters of food to tables set up at the edge of the clearing.

Steven guides you to a table set on a raised platform, ornately carved chairs positioned at its center. The place of honor for the king and his new queen. As he seats you, his hand lingers possessively on the small of your back, a subtle reminder of your position.

"Eat," he commands, gesturing to the array of unfamiliar foods being laid before you. "You'll need your strength for tonight's celebrations."

The implication in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You reach for a piece of bread, if only to have something to do with your trembling hands. The food is rich and abundant – roasted meats, fresh fish, cheeses, fruits, and breads sweeter than any you've tasted before. Despite your churning emotions, your body betrays you with hunger after days of sea sickness and meager rations.

As you eat, Steven leans close, his beard brushing your ear. "My people approve of you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that only you can hear. "They see your beauty, your strength. You will make a fine queen."

You swallow your bite of bread, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I know nothing of being queen to your people."

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, somehow both predatory and amused. "You will learn. I will teach you our ways, as I've already begun to teach you other things."

Heat rises to your cheeks at his implication, memories of your nights together flashing unbidden through your mind. You look away, focusing instead on the celebration unfolding before you. Warriors drink and boast of their exploits, young women dance to the music of drums and pipes, children dart between the tables, snatching treats when their elders aren't looking.

People approach to offer congratulations and gifts—intricate jewelry, finely woven textiles, weapons of exquisite craftsmanship. You accept each with a gracious smile. It was not they who stole you from your home.

As the celebration wears on, a strange feeling settles over you. These people—Steven's people—treat you with a deference you had not anticipated. Their eyes hold curiosity rather than malice, and some of the women offer shy smiles as they present their gifts. You realize it’s unlikely they know how you came to be here, that their king took you by force from another life.

"You're quiet, little bride," Steven murmurs, his hand coming to rest possessively on your thigh beneath the table. "Are your thoughts still with your village?"

You tense at his touch but force yourself to remain composed before his people. "I'm merely... overwhelmed," you answer truthfully.

Steven studies your face, his blue eyes searching. "You will learn to love it here," he says with no room for argument. "Our lands are rich, our people strong. And you..." his fingers trace a path up your thigh, "...will want for nothing as my queen."

You suppress a shiver at his touch. "And what of my duties as queen?" you ask, hoping to divert his attention from the intimate caress. "What will be expected of me?"

Steven leans back, taking a deep draught from his ornate drinking horn before answering. "You will oversee the household, settle disputes among the women, bear my children." His eyes darken at these last words. "Strong sons to carry my bloodline."

The thought of bearing his children sends a confusing mix of emotions through you – fear, resignation, and something else you dare not name. You take a sip of mead to hide your expression, the sweet liquid warming your throat.

Your eyes fall on a group of children playing near the edge of the clearing. They chase each other, laughing, carefree in a way you can scarcely remember feeling. One small girl with wild blonde hair catches your eye and waves shyly.

"The feast will continue until nightfall," Steven says, following your gaze. "But we need not stay that long."

Your stomach tightens at his implication. Despite all he's already taken from you, despite the nights on his ship, the thought of the wedding night still fills you with a mixture of dread and a burning you do not wish to acknowledge.

"More mead," Steven commands a passing servant, who hurriedly fills each of your cups at the royal table.

As twilight approaches, the celebration grows more boisterous. Warriors compete in feats of strength, their muscles glistening with sweat as they heft logs and stones to impress the crowd. Women dance with increasing abandon, skirts swirling as they weave between fires that now burn bright against the darkening sky.

You've slowly nursed many cups of mead as pressed on you be Steven for hours, the sweet honey wine making your head swim pleasantly, dulling the edges of your fear, but as you’ve dutifully eaten throughout the day and not drunk too swiftly, you feel you still have most of your wits about you. It is something else that truly affects you - Steven’s hand has not left your thigh, occasionally venturing higher in a possessive caress that each time sends unwanted flares of heat through your body.

"It is time," Steven declares suddenly, rising to his feet. The crowd falls silent, all eyes turning toward their king. "My bride and I thank you for your celebration, but now we must consummate our marriage."

A raucous cheer erupts from the gathering. Several warriors pound the tables with their fists. "To the king and his bride!" someone shouts, and the crowd roars even louder.

Your heart hammers in your chest as Steven pulls you to your feet. The crowd's cheering grows louder, more insistent, as he leads you away from the feast. Some of the men call out crude suggestions that make your cheeks burn, while women toss flower petals in your path—a strange juxtaposition of vulgarity and tradition that leaves you dizzy.

"Must you have announced it so boldly?" you whisper, struggling to keep pace with his long strides.

Steven glances down at you, amusement playing across his features. "It is our way. The consummation is an important part of the ceremony."

"We have already..." you begin, then falter, unable to speak the words aloud.

"Yes," he agrees, his voice dropping to a growl that sends shivers down your spine. "But not as husband and wife."

The walk back to the great hall feels both endless and too swift. Steven's hand remains firmly at the small of your back, guiding you through torchlit corridors. Servants bow as you pass, their eyes carefully averted. The sound of celebration fades behind you, replaced by the echo of your footsteps and the thundering of your pulse in your ears.

You recognize the door to Steven's chambers—your chambers now, you suppose. Two guards stand at attention outside, their expressions impassive as they open the heavy oak door. Steven leads you inside, and your breath catches at the transformation of the room. During your brief glimpse this morning, it had been merely a bedchamber—impressive in size and furnishings, but ordinary. Now it glows with dozens of candles, their light dancing across walls hung with tapestries of rich blues and silvers that match your wedding attire. The massive bed has been strewn with fresh furs and linens, and scattered with petals of blue wildflowers. The air is heavy with scents of beeswax, pine, and something sweeter—perhaps meadowsweet or lavender.

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, and you flinch at the finality of it. You are alone with him now—your captor, your king, your husband.

Steven moves to a table that holds a flagon of wine, fruits, and honey cakes—sustenance for the long night ahead.

His back to you, he speaks, "You performed well today, little bride.”

"Thank you," you murmur, uncertain how else to respond to his strange compliment. Your fingers trace the intricate silver embroidery at your sleeve, needing something to occupy your hands.

Steven pours deep red wine into two goblets, the liquid catching the candlelight like blood. When he turns to face you, his expression has changed—the public face of the king replaced by something more primal, more intimate. More dangerous.

"Come," he says, extending one of the goblets.

You cross the room as slowly as you dare, taking the offered wine. Your fingers brush his, and even that small contact sends a jolt through your body. The wine is rich and heavy on your tongue, warming your throat as you swallow.

"Are you afraid?" Steven asks, watching you over the rim of his goblet.

The question catches you off guard with its directness. "Would it matter if I were?”

Steven's eyes narrow slightly at your question. He sets his goblet down on the table with deliberate care, the soft clink of metal against wood echoing in the quiet room.

"Yes," he says finally, surprising you with his answer. "It would matter."

He steps closer, and you resist the urge to retreat. His hand rises to your face, fingers tracing your cheekbone with unexpected gentleness.

"Fear has its purpose," he continues, his voice low. "It keeps us alive, makes us cautious. But there are different kinds of fear." His thumb brushes across your lower lip. "The fear of a warrior before battle is not the same as the fear of a child in the dark."

You take another sip of wine to steady yourself, to buy time before responding. "And what kind of fear do you think I should have, my king?"

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "The kind that quickens your pulse and makes your hands tremble." His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in the intricate braids Helga had so carefully arranged. "The kind that heightens every sensation, makes every touch more intense."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the scent of him—leather and pine and something uniquely male—filling your senses. His proximity affects you in ways you wish it didn't, your traitorous body responding to him despite everything.

His hands move to the silver circlet atop your head, removing it with careful precision. He places it on a nearby table, the metal catching the candlelight with a soft gleam. Your heart pounds as his fingers begin to work through your elaborately braided hair, unraveling Helga's careful work with methodical patience.

"Do you know why I chose you?" Steven asks, his voice a low rumble as he frees the last braid, allowing your hair to fall loose around your shoulders.

You shake your head, not trusting your voice.

"When I saw you in that wedding dress, fleeing through the forest..." His fingers trail down to trace your jawline. "Most women would have hidden, cowered. But you led others to safety. There was fire in your eyes even as my men dragged you before me."

His eyes search yours now, as though seeking that same fire. You stand perfectly still, afraid that any movement might break this strange moment of honesty between you.

"And then," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "when I took you to my bed that first night, you fought me in ways no one has dared in years. Not with weapons, but with the defiance in your eyes, the tension in your body even as it betrayed you with pleasure."

You look away, shame burning your cheeks at the reminder of how your body had responded to his touch. His fingers grasp your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze once more.

"Look at me when I speak to you," he commands, though his tone lacks the harshness you've come to expect. "A queen must never lower her eyes, not even to her king."

"Is that what you want?" you ask.

His eyes darken as he looks at you. "I want a queen who knows her place."

The gentleness vanishes in an instant. Steven's hand suddenly tightens in your hair, yanking your head back with brutal force. His mouth crashes down on yours, teeth clashing, nothing like the ceremonial kiss shared before his people. This is possession, pure and raw.

"Enough talk," he growls against your lips. "You are my wife now, and I will claim what's mine."

In one swift motion, he tears at the delicate fastenings of your wedding gown, the sound of ripping fabric filling the chamber. The beautiful silver embroidery that had caught the light so elegantly now lies in tatters as he roughly yanks the garment from your body.

"Did you think marriage would soften me?" Steven snarls, shoving you backward toward the bed. "That a ceremony would change what I am?"

Your back hits the furs, and before you can recover, Steven is upon you, his massive frame pinning you down. His mouth crashes against yours in a brutal kiss that has nothing of tenderness in it. His teeth catch your lower lip, the metallic taste of blood blooming on your tongue. You gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same ruthless determination he'd shown in conquering your village.

"I may have made you my queen," he growls into your mouth, "but never forget who you belong to."

His hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, leaving no part of you untouched. The thin undergarment provides little barrier to his exploration, and soon that too is torn away, leaving you naked beneath him.

"Mine," he snarls against your throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. "Say it."

You remain silent, a last, desperate act of defiance. His hand finds your breast, fingers pinching your nipple with painful intensity.

"Say it," he demands again, twisting harder.

"Yours," you gasp, the word torn from your throat.

A triumphant gleam lights his eyes as he releases your nipple, his hand sliding lower across your stomach. "Again," he commands.

"I'm yours," you repeat, the words burning like poison on your tongue. Yet beneath the bitterness lies something else—something you dare not examine too closely.

Steven's eyes flash with satisfaction. "Yes," he growls, "mine to take, mine to pleasure, mine to rule."

His mouth descends to your breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before his tongue soothes the sting. Despite your resistance, your body responds to his touch, as it has ever since the first night he claimed you. Your back arches involuntarily into his caress, and he chuckles darkly against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you.

"Your body knows the truth even when your mind rebels," he murmurs, his breath hot against your dampened skin.

His hands push your thighs apart roughly, settling his weight between them. You can feel him hard against you, still clothed while you lie naked and vulnerable beneath him. The disparity in power is evident, but that’s not why you’re unhappy he’s still clothed - you want to feel his flesh pressed against your flesh.

The realization startles you, this unwanted craving. Your fingers find the fastenings of his tunic and begin to work them open. Steven's eyes widen slightly at your unexpected boldness, then narrow with renewed hunger.

"Eager, little bride?" he taunts, but allows you to continue undressing him. His tunic falls away, revealing the muscled torso you've come to know intimately during your nights at sea. The candlelight plays across his skin, highlighting scars both old and new—a map of battles won and lost.

Your fingers trace one particularly jagged scar that runs from his shoulder across his chest. "How did you get this one?" you ask, surprising yourself with the question.

Steven's hand covers yours, pressing it flat against the raised flesh. "A Saxon blade, three summers ago. I killed the man who gave it to me and six of his companions."

His admission s no surprise, yet still makes your blood chill.

His voice holds no remorse, only pride in his lethal skill. You wonder how many men have fallen to his sword, how many villages like yours have suffered under his raids. Yet here you are, naked beneath him, your body responding to his touch despite everything he's done.

"Does that frighten you?" Steven asks, his eyes studying your reaction. "To know you lie with a killer?"

You meet his gaze steadily. "I've always known what you are."

Something flickers in his eyes—approval, perhaps, at your honesty. His hand leaves yours to continue tracing the path of the scar, fingers trailing down his chest to the waistband of his breeches.

"And what am I?" he challenges, voice dropping to a dangerous purr.

"A warrior," you answer. "A conqueror."

“Your husband,” he says, guiding your hands to the laces of his breeches.

"My husband," you repeat, the word still foreign on your tongue as your fingers work at the laces. The fabric parts beneath your touch, revealing him, hard and ready.

Steven's eyes darken at your words. "Say it again," he commands, his voice rough with desire.

"My king," you repeat, louder this time. Something shifts between you in that moment - not submission exactly, but acknowledgment. This is your reality now, whether you chose it or not.

His hand cups your face, the touch unexpectedly gentle despite the ferocity in his eyes.

"And what does a wife owe her husband?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your body.

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze. "Her loyalty," you answer carefully. "Her obedience."

"Yes," he agrees, his thumb tracing your lower lip.

"And what else?”

"Her body," you whisper, the words sending an unwelcome heat through your veins.

"Good," Steven growls, his approval darkening his eyes further. "And will you give your king what he is owed?"

Your heart hammers against your ribs as you realize this is no mere question—it's a test. Not of submission, but of understanding. Of acceptance. The wine and mead from the feast swim in your head, but not enough to blur the reality of your situation. This is your life now. This man—conqueror, king, husband—is your future.

"Yes," you answer, the single word sealing your fate more surely than any marriage ceremony.

His eyes flash with triumph, but also something else. He sheds his remaining clothing with efficient movements, then looms over you once more, gloriously naked, his body radiating heat in the candlelit chamber. Your eyes travel the landscape of his form - the broad shoulders, the muscled chest tapering to narrow hips, the powerful thighs. A warrior's body, honed by battle and hardship.

"Look your fill," he murmurs, arrogance coloring his tone. "All this belongs to you now, as you belong to me."

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers tracing patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breath catches as he moves higher, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, you can't help the small sound that escapes your lips.

"So wet for me already," he taunts, his fingers circling your sensitive bud with practiced precision. "Your body betrays your true feelings, little bride."

You turn your face away, eyes squeezing shut against the building pleasure. It's not fair how easily he can manipulate your responses, how thoroughly he knows your body after a handful of nights.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "I told you a queen must never lower her eyes, and certainly not when I have you like this."

Reluctantly, you obey, meeting his intense gaze. His hands slide beneath your thighs, lifting and spreading them wider as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock teases your entrance, hot and insistent. Despite everything, your body responds to his touch, growing slick with need.

"Tell me what you want," Steven demands, his voice husky with desire.

The words stick in your throat. To voice your desire feels like the final surrender, an admission you're not sure you're ready to make. Yet your body betrays you, hips shifting restlessly, seeking the friction he denies you.

"Say it," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "I want to hear you beg for your king's cock."

"Please," you whisper, the word barely audible.

Steven's hand grips your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firmly enough to demonstrate his power.

"Louder," he commands, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "I want to hear you, wife."

"Please," you say, your voice stronger now. "I want... I want you inside me."

A slow, predatory smile spreads across Steven's face. "As you wish, my queen."

With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. Your body, already accustomed to him after the nights at sea, accepts him more easily now, though his size still stretches you to your limit. He groans in satisfaction, his hand releasing your throat to brace himself above you.

Steven sets a relentless pace, each thrust driving deeper than the last. His hands grip your hips, positioning you perfectly to take all of him. The bed creaks beneath your joined bodies, the sound mingling with your gasps and his grunts of pleasure. You find yourself clinging to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he drives into you.

"Is this what you wanted, little bride?" he growls against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "To be fucked by your king on your wedding night?"

"Yes," you gasp, the word torn from you by a particularly deep thrust that hits something exquisite inside you. The shame you felt at your responses has begun to fade with each passing night in his possession, replaced by a hunger that frightens you with its intensity.

His rhythm never falters, each powerful thrust driving you closer to the edge. One of his hands slides between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arches at his touch, a cry escaping your lips. Steven's mouth crashes down on yours, swallowing the sound as his fingers work in time with his thrusts.

"Come for me, wife," he commands, his voice strained with his own approaching release. "I will have you shatter around my cock."

The command in his voice triggers something primal within you. Your body obeys before your mind can protest, pleasure crashing through you in waves that leave you gasping and trembling beneath him. Your inner walls clench around him as you peak, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest.

Steven groans in satisfaction, his pace becoming erratic as your inner walls clench around him. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his release filling you as he groans your name—not "little bride" or "wife," but your actual name, the sound of it on his lips strangely intimate in this moment of abandon.

For several moments, the only sound in the chamber is your mingled breathing. Steven's weight presses you into the furs, his body slick with sweat against yours. You should feel crushed, should want to push him away, but there's a strange comfort in the solid weight of him—an anchor as your life has been untethered from everything you knew before, in an ocean of unknown future.

Though he's buried to the hilt in you, Steven's hand still clutches your hip in a bruising grip, his breathing ragged against your neck. The candlelight flickers across his sweat-slicked shoulders as he finally stirs, pressing his lips to the tender spot beneath your ear in an unexpectedly gentle gesture.

"Mine," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. The possessive word should anger you, but instead sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

He shifts his weight, pulling out of you with a slick sound that makes your cheeks burn. Instead of rolling away, he gathers you against his chest, one muscular arm banded around your waist as if afraid you might flee. His heartbeat thunders against your back, gradually slowing to a steady rhythm.

"Your people seemed pleased with their new queen," Steven says after a long silence, his fingers absently stroking your lower back.

"You did well today," he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. "My people are impressed by their new queen."

You remain silent, unsure how to respond to praise for a role you never sought. Steven draws a finger beneath the line of your jaw, gently forcing your chin to look up at him.

"You will learn to love it here," he says, and though his tone is soft, there's an undercurrent of command. "This is your home now. These are your people."

"And if I don't?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

Steven's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening at your question. For a moment, you fear you've pushed too far. Then his expression shifts, something almost like admiration flickering in his gaze.

"Then you will pretend, until the pretense becomes truth," he says simply. "You are no longer a village maiden, but a queen. My queen." His fingers trace idle patterns on your bare shoulder. "And queens must sometimes do what is necessary, regardless of their personal feelings."

You consider his words, the pragmatic truth in them. What choice do you have but to adapt to this new life? Your old one is lost to you forever.

"I'll try," you whisper, the words more honest than you intended. It's not submission exactly, but acknowledgment of your reality. You cannot change what has happened, can only move forward in this strange new life.

Steven's expression softens slightly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "That is all I ask."

And then he presses your face up to meet his hungry lips, devouring yours again in a kiss.

And when he breaks it for a moment of air, he adds an ominous, "For now," before demanding to drink more from your mouth.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

SEQUEL: Fierce Affirming Sight of Sunlight

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #chris evans characters #steve rogers x you #aspen wrote something #female reader #viking steve #for the king & conqueror #viking au

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justmeinadaze · 3 months ago

Text

Curiosity (Part 4)(Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

Younger (Early 20s) Daddy (kinda camboy) Eddie & Older (early 30s) Plus Size Sub Fem Y/N, Subby Steve Cameo, SMUT, Between Steddie, humiliation light, degrading, Stevie in lingerie, overstimulation, cock warming, toys, voyeurism (Y/N watches and they are streaming on the OnlyFans account), Between Eddie and Y/N, face sitting, kissing Steve, dirty talk and praise abound. I think that's it.

ANGST with Fluff, These two are slightly worried that the other will get jealous or feel betrayed when it comes to Steve and the intimacy involved. Both make it clear they care about only each other and this is just for play. Eddie asks Y/N to face one of her fears and Steve helps facilitate that. Cliffhanger ending (I mean y'all have experienced worse with me but alas lol)

Word Count: 4338

Series Masterlist/ Donate to Me <3

“Oh, yeah, kid was a complete troublemaker in school.”, Steve cackled as Eddie rolled his eyes from his desk chair across the way.

That morning and afternoon, you had spent time really getting to know the man that was Steve Harrington. You learned fairly quickly he was gentleman, having found you and his best friend tangled up naked on the couch and covering you up with a blanket before running back to the bedroom.

He was incredibly sweet and had such a good sense of humor making you laugh constantly as he told you stories from their past.

“He would walk on tables in the lunchroom and spout these random philosophies like he was hot shit.”

“Sounds about right.”, you grin as Eddie narrows his eyes playfully.

“You be quiet, sweetheart.”

“He’s very loud and preachy at work to but usually when he’s defending my honor to a rude customer.”

“Yeah, he’s a good man like that. Always making sure the people he cares about are respected.” As his honey irises dip towards the mattress, your palm reaches out to touch his and he softly smiles before shaking his head to focus on his friend. “Speaking of respect, what the fuck are you doing away from us, Munson?”

“I’m just checking my messages really quick. CurvyCorporateMillennial left a bit abruptly last night and I’m worried we…I…made her uncomfortable.”

“Oh, Eddie, baby, I’m sure she just had to leave or something.”, you try to soothe hearing the pain in his voice. “Maybe you’ll see her when you guys stream later.”

“Which IS coming up soon so you need to get your game face on, dude.”

“My game face IS me, Harrington. I AM Daddy.”

At his confident sultry words, you can’t help but swoon making Steve giggle as he places his bottle of beer on the floor and lays his head on your lap, sighing happily when you begin to run your fingers through his hair.

“Are you staying to watch or—”

“Oh, no. She wouldn’t want to see all that.”, Eddie replies before you can.

“Can she not answer?”

“Tone, Steven.”

“Do you not want me to stay?”, you ask in a small voice that catches his attention immediately.

“No…I mean yeah…I mean…Ugh! Shut up, Steve!”, he shouts grumpily towards his friend causing you both to erupt in a fit of laughter. “You two are the worst. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t mind but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“With seeing Daddy or seeing Daddy with someone else?” Chocolate eyes lock on yours as he slowly wheels his chair beside you both. “Because I’ve seen Daddy and I already told you I trust you. I don’t mind seeing you and Steve together. I, um, I think the idea is kind of…hot if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah?”, he inquires as he quirks his eyebrow upward. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say you watching me turns me on. More so than…these fuckers.”, he adds, gesturing towards his camera. “My little whore there is good at what he does.”

“Oh my god. I hope it goes without saying but I don’t think you’re a whore.”, you smile before leaning down to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I am though, you know, for him. I can be your whore to, honey, if you need that.”

“Steven Harrington.”

An almost devious smile spread across the pretty boy’s face as he sat up and turned his body so it was angled towards you both.

“Oh Y/N, did you hear that? Daddy got jealous.”

“No. I just don’t want her to be uncomfortable like I said. She came here to meet you, not be involved.”

Tempting his friend’s wrath, Steve pushed up onto his knees and leaned towards you till his lips where hovering near your ear.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Tell me and I’ll stop.”, he whispers, continuing when you shake your head. “Good. I’m going to keep going to play with him but if you change your mind say the word.”

“Ok.”

“Now giggle like I just something…really…dirty…”

You do as he says, covering your mouth as your gaze shifts towards your boyfriend’s angry eyes even has his body language tries to appear relaxed.

“She’s fine, Munson. Plus, it will give you some insight into how she may be feeling.”, Steve continues nonchalantly as his lips softly kiss your cheek. “Then again you seem incredibly…uptight… Does Daddy not like his precious baby girl being touched?”

Blinking, his fury seems to subside as a smooth chuckle leaves him.

“I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work, Steven. I’m honestly surprised, Y/N, you’re playing his game. Didn’t expect that from a good girl like you.”

“Maybe there’s more to me than what’s on the surface.” While you spoke, the pretty boy placed small, tender kisses down your neck to your collar bone as a breathy sigh escaped your chest. “Do you like it, Daddy? Watching him…kiss me…”

When he doesn’t answer, Steve’s head wipes his way to make sure everything’s alright.

“Color, Eddie?”

“Green.”, he huffs as he folds his arms over his chest.

“Honey, look at that. You see what he just did? It’s not so much that he likes watching me kiss you but he likes that his dirty boy is corrupting his good girl.”

“You’re not corrupting me.”, you reply in your little voice that has him smiling.

“Tell that to Daddy.”

“H-He’s not corrupting me. I like the way he feels…makes me feel…”

“Yeah, sweetheart? Why don’t you take it further? Filthy boy knows how to work his mouth. Why don’t you kiss him?”

Your eyes fell and both men caught it.

“Y/N, color?”, Steve asks as his palm comes up to move some of your hair away from your face.

“Green. H-H-He…this…isn’t hurting YOU right?”, you ask as his soft honey hues take you in.

“Wow…Daddy, you were right. She’s got such a kind heart.”

“Baby, remember what I told you about how Harrington likes it a bit rougher?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He likes being humiliated that way. He’s…he’s trying to get a rise out of me so I’ll be rougher when we play. This wasn’t a part of the plan. You don’t have to do anything you don’t—”

Your lips crashing to Steve’s cut him off as his eyes widen in slight disbelief.

His hair tickles your face when he pulls away as you laugh and bite your bottom lip.

“I’m sorry. Your, um, your lips taste good.”

Your compliment elicits a smirk of his own as he leans down to kiss you again.

“So do yours.” Shifting his gaze towards Eddie, he asked, “May I take off her shorts?”

“No, you may not.”, your boyfriend answered a bit gruffly causing you to whine.

“Please, Daddy.”

“I said no.” Rolling his eyes in defiance, Steve began grinding his lower half against yours allowing the bulge in his shorts to rub perfectly against the heat between your legs. When he abruptly stopped and grunted, you opened your eyes to see Eddie pulling on his hair. “You want to cop an attitude with me, little whore, then I won’t be so fucking nice. Y/N is mine and only my cock touches that pretty pussy. Am I understood?”

“Ah…yes, Daddy.”, he pants.

“You, chair.”, he commands at you as he points towards his desk and you promptly do what he says without question. “You, put this on and sit at the end of the bed till I’m ready to deal with you.”

After handing him a little black box, Steve almost immediately brightens as he begins to disrobe.

“Now, sweetheart, are you ready for the rules?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good girl.”, he praises as he lightly caresses your face.

“First rule is the most important. If at any point what you see makes you uncomfy, I want you to tap on the wall three times. The reason I don’t want you saying the word is because I don’t want these people to know you’re here and get ideas. I meant what I said…you’re mine…”

Grinning, you tilt forward to kiss his lips as he beams right back.

“So perfect. Second rule is don’t touch yourself while Steve and I play. I promise when we’re done, I’ll take care of you.”

At that moment, Steve tossed the box to the side and your brain turned to mush when you saw him in his pink lace attire. The garter around his waist accentuated his abs perfectly while the thin straps seemed to struggle to hold up the see through panties that could barely contain his cock within the fabric. When he turned to walk around the mattress so he could sit on the end facing the camera, you realized then nothing was covering his behind leaving him bare and open for Eddie to play with.

“Hey! Pay attention, little girl.”, your boyfriend snaps forcing you to sit at attention again. “Maybe if you behave… I’ll let him watch and you can kiss him again.”

His tone fell slightly and in your headspace you became concerned.

“You’re mine to, Daddy. I don’t have to kiss or touch him if you don’t want me to.”

Eddie blinked, letting your words sink in before cupping your cheeks in his palms to bring your lips to his.

“I trust you, Y/N so I want you to answer honestly. Does Steve turn you on?”

“You controlling him turns me on. Does…does he turn you on?”

“I told you, pretty girl. Submission and YOU turn me on.” At his words, you both breathily laugh as he leans his forehead on yours. “I know men hurt you in the past but I would never do that to you. If you ask me to stop this I would in a heartbeat. You are mine and I am yours.”

“Yes, Eddie.”, you breathe and repeat his words back as he tenderly kisses your forehead. “I trust you.”

Getting your final confirmation, he nods firmly, rising to his feet to slowly back away towards his computer and turn it on to begin his stream.

###############

“Hey guys. Good to see…everyone here…As you can see, I got my little slut here a present.”, Eddie coos in an almost sing song voice as he backs up and pets Steve’s head. At the action, the pretty boy visibly relaxes as his eyes close in relief at the feeling of finally being touched. “Do you like what Daddy got you?”

“Yes, Daddy, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Why don’t you show it to everyone?”

Rising to his feet, he placed himself between the metalhead and the camera, slowly turning around to allow everyone a good view. When his eyes briefly find yours, his face softens slightly as he smirks, silently telling you he’s ok but struggling to retain all the giddy energy in his chest.

Once he’s facing Eddie again, Steve waits for a following command as the other man just stares up at him. You had never seen this version of him before and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it attractive. His strong jaw twitched as he rested his forearms on his thighs, his beautiful smile noticeably absent as he continues to glare and Steve continues to wait.

Eddie holds all the power here and Steve knows it.

After a few seconds, the metalhead taps his leg and the pretty boy beams as he takes a seat on his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck for good measure.

“You really are fucking sexy in this… to bad something so attractive was wasted on a bad boy.” You blink in surprise as Steve’s chest caves in. “You were being a bad boy just a few minutes ago weren’t you?”

“I…I’m sorry…I—”

The spank that Eddie gave him echoed throughout his room.

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I know you’ll be in a minute. I asked if you were being a bad boy. It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Mhmm. You were being a whore and trying to get a rise out of me.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

After gesturing behind him, Steve climbed off Eddie’s lap and dug through some of the other boy’s things before coming back to kneel in front of him. You watched with lust blown eyes as the pretty boy placed a rather large dildo on to the floor and lubricated it thoroughly before throwing the bottle absently on the bed.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as Steve gradually guided himself onto the toy while using his knees for balance.

“Fuck…”

“Yeah? Does it feel good? About as good as you disrespecting me?”, Eddie growled in annoyance as he pushed down his sweats. “Here are the rules, little boy, and I’m only going to say them once. You are going to bounce on that thing till I tell you to stop. You don’t have to ask to cum. You can cum as much as you want but if you stop moving for one second I will punish you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“If you want my cock tonight, you’re going to have to fucking earn it.”

As soon as Steve began to ride the toy beath him, Eddie spit over the tip of his length and slowly began to stroke himself as he watched his friend obey him. The man’s tongue extended out, desperate as it lightly grazed the metalhead’s shaft before ringed fingers roughly gripped his cheeks.

“I said you have to fucking earn it. We just barely started… such a needy slut aren’t you?”

“Mmph—yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a…I’m a needy slut.”

Satisfied he let him go and it wasn’t until Steve came that he allowed him what he craved but just barely.

“Open your mouth. There you go…no, no. Don’t move your head. J-Just warm my cock. Fuck! Thaaaats it. Keep…keep fucking yourself. Get th-that ass nice and open for Daddy, baby.”

You weren’t sure if his audience heard it but Eddie definitely did when Steve’s whine suddenly had an echo. Hanging his head, he slightly turned to allow him to glance your way and he noticed immediately how antsy you were becoming as you squirmed in your chair.

Steve’s rhythm stuttered ever so slightly when he felt the man’s dick twitch in his mouth but Eddie himself never faltered as he lightly smacked the pretty boy’s face again.

“Did I tell you to slow down or stop?”, he grunted roughly and Steve subtly shook his head. “Then keep…GOING...”

You watched as the former jock’s entire body shook as his release spilled for the second time. Your hand felt like it began moving on its own accord as your legs opened and your fingers traced the inside of your thighs.

“Get on to the bed on your hands and knees.”, Eddie instructed and as soon as he listened, the metalhead rose to his feet and stalked your way off camera. He didn’t even hesitate as his fingers grabbed your cheeks and he bent down till his face was level with yours. “What did I fucking say? Don’t fucking touch yourself.”

“Bu—”

“Don’t fucking talk. Don’t say a word, little girl.”, he hissed through gritted teeth. “They may not be able to hear you but I can. You can squirm all you want but you have to be fucking SILENT. If I hear you fucking whimper one more time or your hand even so much as ghosts that dripping pussy, I will kick you out of this room and you will get nothing. Do you understand me?”

When you nod, his dark eyes scan along your face before quickly leaning forward to kiss your lips and release you from his hold.

After fully removing his pants, he climbs up behind the other boy and spanks his behind eliciting a small moan from Steve.

“Are you ready for Daddy to make you cum in front of all those people?”, he says as he points towards the computer.

“Yes, Daddy, please. I need it.”

“You need it? Didn’t you just cum twice already?”

“I did, Daddy, but I want more.”

You covered your mouth immediately to cover the groan that wanted to be heard at Steve’s words.

Why was that so fucking hot?

Even more so when Eddie smirked down as he lined up his cock with the man’s entrance and slowly began pushing himself in. Steve’s mouth fell open as your boyfriend made gradual thrusts allowing him to get accustomed to his size.

“Fuck…so…so big…”

“So fucking tight. Jesus, baby.” After kneading his flesh in his palms, Eddie spanked him hard again and Steve bit his bottom lip to contain the smile that wanted to be seen. “God, sweetheart, look at you. H-How easily you fall apart over my cock.”

After finding a steady rhythm, both men begin to sweat as the metalhead’s tattooed chest glistened and the pretty boy’s hair stuck to his forehead. Wrapping his arms around his chest, Eddie brings Steve up till his back is against him.

“You like this, don’t you? Letting me use you while everyone watches in this tight—fuck—fucking revealing lingerie.”

“Y-Yes, Daddy.”

“You’re such a dirty whore.”

“I am…shit…M’gonna cum. C-Can I, Daddy?”

Pushing his face into the mattress, Eddie grips the back of his neck as he pounds his dick deep inside Steve who cries out in pleasure as his eyebrows raise and he shutters as his seed hits the bed beneath him.

Your boyfriend’s eyes briefly meet yours before squeezing shut as he slams his release into his friend. Both men grunt at the intensity but after a few seconds, Steve can’t help but giggle.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Tilting over him, Eddie pets the boy’s head as he whispers something to him and rises to his feet to saunter to the computer. Once he’s thanked everyone and disconnected, he focuses his attention on you.

“Please.”, you whine, reaching for his hand that he promptly takes and guides you over to his bed.

“What do you need, baby, tell me. Tell me what you feel comfortable with.”, Eddie whispers delicately in your ear.

“Anything with you, Daddy.”

Smiling wide, he pushes up onto his knees and playfully jostles your body as he yanks down your shorts with your panties.

“Jesus, look how fucking wet these are. Did you like our performance?”

“I did. I liked watching you take control of him…watching Steve…fall apart.”

The man beside you grins at your admission as his large palm lazy reaches out to pet your hair back. After taking off your shirt, you half expected him to rest between your legs but when he takes your hand to bring you to a sitting a position, you’re surprised.

“I, um, after everything and seeing you struggle…to control yourself…I…I want to reward you, Y/N. I want you to sit on my face.”

Eddie sees it immediately; the fear that dances through your eyes. What amazes him is his friend’s intuition as Steve’s own eyes blink open and he pushes up onto his elbow.

“Someone make you feel like that was unacceptable?”, he asked and you nodded your head. “Some fucker you cared about?” Again, you nod. “Has Eddie ever made you feel that way?”

“No! God, no. Eddie is perfect! I mean…to me anyway…”

The metalhead softly smiles as he leans towards you to kiss your forehead.

“What about Daddy? Has Daddy ever made you feel like your body is a problem in any way?”

“No…I just…I don’t want to hurt him…”

“Trust me, honey, you’re not going to hurt him. Here, let me show you something. Daddy, lay back.”, Steve instructions making Eddie smirk and slightly roll his eyes as you giggle. Throwing his pillows off to the side, he lays on his head back and folds his hands on his upper torso while he waits for more commands. “Alright, Y/N, come here and…there ya go…place your knees on either side of his head…Perfect. Can you breathe, Munson?”

“Yeah.”

“See, he can talk so that’s the first problem.”, he jokes and your belly shakes as you laugh. “Your knees have all the support, baby, so you can go as low onto him as you want and you can use the headboard as leverage if you need to. You can also balance your palms on his chest if you want or just go full 69. I’m assuming he can smell you which is why he’s half hard again.”

“Shut up, Harrington.”

Steve winks when you laugh again.

“Whenever you’re ready, Y/N.”

Cautiously, you lowered yourself down as Eddie’s palms wrapped around your thighs. A small gasp left your lips as his thick tongue licked a stripe between your folds and you bit your bottom lip.

“His tongue always feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yes…fuck…”

“Why don’t you roll your hips a bit?”

You do as he suggests and your eyes flutter as you feel the organ between his teeth effortlessly glide along your clit to your core.

“Good…good girl. You really are beautiful, Y/N. Don’t let those other assholes belittle that.” He smiles as your palm grips his shoulder. “Is it ok if I kiss you?”

“A-Ask Daddy—mmph—oh my God.”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah…yes…if she’s ok with it. Fuck, Y/N, your pussy tastes so fucking good. You can press down harder if you want to. I’m alright.”, Eddie pants before allowing his mouth to suck and play with your bundle of nerves.

Cupping your cheeks in his hands, Steve tilts down to softly kiss your lips and you welcome it as you open your mouth to allow entry for his own tongue.

“I think you’re beautiful to.”, you exhale breathily, giving him pause until he tenderly smiles and caresses your face with his thumbs.

“Can I show you something else?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll need to touch his cock again. Is that ok?”, he whispers in your ear and you nod. “You may want to hold on tight, honey.”

You look at him with confusion as you watch him slowly descend below Eddie’s waist but as soon as he takes hold of his length and wraps his lips around him, the metalhead’s groan reverberates against you as you feel him cling tighter to your legs and push his head up further into your cunt.

Your hands shoot out to balance on his chest as his tongue devours you and while watching his friend bob his head, you forget your fears as need takes over and you allow your lower half to drop a bit a further down on to his face.

Eddie thrives at the notion, guiding your movements as you grind against his tongue and lips while he moans at Steve’s throat constricting around him.

“Fuck, Daddy!”, you whine as your legs tremble and you collapse on top of him as you come undone.

His arms circle tightly around you, locking you in place while he licks you clean but as he feels your pussy quiver around his tongue it’s more than enough to push him over the edge as his head falls back against the mattress and he spills down the other boy’s throat.

As soon as your able, you roll off him and Eddie promptly sits up to check you over.

“That was amazing, baby. You did so good.”, he praises, his grin growing when you lazily smile in pleasure his way. “Are you two ready for some aftercare?”

Eddie snickers when you both giggle and turn into little kids as you race towards his bathroom. While he gets the bath ready, his gaze continually shifts your way, taking in how comfortable his best friend and girlfriend were as you leaned on his shoulder. He was so thankful that you two were getting along and appreciated how understanding Steve was when it came to your worries.

That night you fell asleep behind the metalhead, snuggling him close to your chest as your steady breathing warmed the back of his neck and heart.

“How much did we make tonight?”, Steve whispered from his place in front of him on his side.

“I don’t know, man, I didn’t have time to check. I was taking care of two weirdos.”, Eddie teased and they both laughed. “I’ll look tomorrow. I need to check on Mill since I didn’t see her name when I first logged in or out.”

“Can I ask you something?” He waits for the metalhead to nod. “You talk about Mill a lot…but she’s just a friend…?

“Yeah. She’s incredibly sweet and easy to talk to. She helps me out with Y/N—”

“But you don’t have her number and you’ve never met her?”

“No…she doesn’t feel comfortable…and I’ve never asked to meet her. I mean… what—what’s the point you’re trying to make here, Steve?”

The boy’s gaze shifts towards your sleeping frame before looking at his friend once more.

“Y/N said something that stood out to me…a couple of things…add in the fact that Mill disappeared yesterday and then minutes later Y/N shows up at your door. You said Mill wasn’t online all day or during the stream…Y/N’s been here all day…”

Eddie’s eyes glance into the void as he searches into his mind, going through past conversations with you and his online friend.

“No. No…she would have…said something. I mean why would she…pretend to be someone else? That’s not like her at all.”

“I don’t know, dude, and whatever it is I don’t think it’s malicious. She seems like a sweet woman and I can tell she cares about you.”

“I care about her to, Steve, like more than I’ve ever cared about any woman. But…”

“I know, Eddie, I know. I’m not the only one who’s had some fucked up relationships and an asshole father. Plus, the fuckers in this town…” As he pauses, Eddie’s eyes close when he feels you exhale and nuzzle your nose into his back. “Just talk to her…see what she says…”

################

@debkk16 @myherometalhead @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @twirls827 @micheledawn1975 @chelebelletx @hardladyheart @spiderxbatty @twirls827 @daveythorntonslocker @eddies-dungeon-and-dragon @mrsjellymunson @utterlyinsanity @daveythorntonslocker @jeangeniex @seedlingghost @joemamahehepoopoo @veemoon @mrsjellymunson

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raven-dor · 3 months ago

Text

guess i'm a bad liar

in which steven conklin cannot keep a secret to save his life…

PAIRING: steven conklin x fem!reader, steven conklin x fisher!reader, conrad fisher x sister!reader, jeremiah fisher x sister!reader

WARNINGS: sneaking around, lying, angst, arguing, break-up?, angst again, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

🎶 : bad liar - selena gomez

AN: ♥️💗 - steven and shayla were never a thing and it very loosely follows the plot of the show… sorry guys it just works for the plot of this fic!!

“They’re here!”

Rolling off your bed and sprinting downstairs, you shoved past your younger brother to open the door. “Relax, you almost ran me over.” Jeremiah teased.

Conrad nudged his sister’s side. “You missed Steven that much, huh?”

You looked over at your older brother like he’d just betrayed you, heart in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looked away, and you muttered, trying to hit a nerve. “Miss Belly much?”

“What was that?” Success.

“Fisher!” All three of the siblings looked over, smiling when Belly ran over, racing into your arms. “Bells! I missed you.” Hugging her tightly, you admired her long auburn hair. “You’re absolutely glowing.”

Belly smiled, smacking your arm lightly. “Thank you.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Trouble.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, turning around to face the eldest Conklin. “Steven. What have I told you about that nickname?”

He shrugged, hugging you quickly. “Don’t remember.”

“Try to use what remaining brain cells you have and remember.” You scoffed, shoving him away. Yelling over your shoulder as you walked back toward the house, your voice held just a hint of mischief. “And take a shower. You stink.”

The air was salty, most likely because the of the wind combining with the crashing waves. You sighed, laying back on your bed and staring at the ceiling. Nights like this, quiet and peaceful, made this house perfect. Made summer perfect.

“Trouble?”

Your heart raced, and you jumped up, fixing your hair in the mirror before unlocking the door, Steven waiting patiently on the other side. Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him in, clicking the lock back into place. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

He nodded. “I know it’s late. But-” He walked over, an arm snaking around your waist. “I had to see you.”

You grinned, feeling at ease in his hold. “Oh really?”

“Don’t go getting a big head about it.” He leaned down, your lips inches away. “You’ve been ignoring my texts.”

“Not true.” You laughed. “It’s been like five hours, Steven.”

“It feels like forever.” He whined, nudging his nose against yours. “Have you been bored without me?”

You shook your head. “Perfectly content, actually.”

“Ha ha.” He did not look amused. “I know you missed me.”

“Don’t go getting a big head about-” He pulled you closer, gasping from the proximity before you could think.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Can you just let me kiss you?”

“Steven-” His lips collided against yours, and your eyes fluttered shut, arms wrapping around his neck. He smiled into the kiss, walking until your back was against the door. You pulled away, whispering against his lips. “We have to be quiet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sun was beating down on the beach house, not that any of you minded. It was welcomed, in fact, especially by you and Belly. Tanning was vital, with a super sweet Kool-Aid and magazines in hand. Not that either of you truly read the magazines; they were there to make you feel better about your ‘lazy’ nature. The boys opted to splash around in the pool, haphazardly causing (what felt like) gallons and gallons of water to land on you.

You’d yelped when the first splash hit you, your eyes shooting open, glaring at your brother. “Jeremiah!”

“What?”

“Stop it!”

“Why?” The blonde whined, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “You used to be fun.”

“I still am.” You rolled your eyes. “Would you like it if I splashed water on you while you were trying to relax?”

He scoffed. “Whatever.”

You sat back, and for about thirty minutes, there was peace. Then he struck again. You screamed, standing up and walking to the edge of the pool. “That’s it!”

Steven winced, shaking his head at Jeremiah. “That’s not good, man.”

“What did I-” He turned around, eyes widening in fear as he came face to face with you glaring daggers at him. “Shit.” Swimming to the edge, he smiled as brightly as he could. “Hello, dearest sister of mine.” You kicked near his face, and he gasped. “You just kicked me.”

“Annoying, right?” You crossed your arms and jutted your hip, forcing yourself to ignore Steven’s eyes bearing into your soul. “Splash water near me and Bells again, and I’ll make your life a living hell.” Jeremiah just sulked, playing with a rock that was near the border. You cleared your throat, tapping your foot while you waited for an answer. “Hello? Are we clear?”

“You’re overreacting.” Steven winced, but Jeremiah continued. “It’s just water. You used to love swimming.”

Conrad laughed, calling out, trying to offer his brother some advice. “Never tell a woman she’s overreacting, Jere.” Jeremiah, you were sure, was not listening.

“Jere…” You were practically seething. “Why are you being such a little shi-”

Steven swam over, whispering in Jeremiah’s ear. Whatever he said had worked because Jere nodded, looking up and apologizing as if he hadn’t been causing you trouble for five minutes now. “Fine. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Thank you.” Jere nodded, swimming away, and you smiled gratefully at Steven, mouthing the say thing you had said to your brother. The boy simply nodded, smiling kindly and returning to whatever game they’d been playing before.

Conrad laughed, watching from across the pool. You weren’t subtle with your feelings in the slightest. He liked to think that he was more insightful than others, but maybe it also had something to do with you two always finding each other in a crowded room, locking eyes and giggling like you had your own little secret that no one else knew.

Just you two.

“Steven!” You giggled, his head in the crook of your neck. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He whispered, kissing what felt like every inch of skin from your neck to your lips. “I can’t love a dead person; that’s odd and unethical.”

You gasped, shoving his chest half-heartedly. “Just kiss me, Conklin.”

“So pushy.” He shook his head, pulling away. “I’m not an object, y’know.”

“Oh, trust me. I know.” You leaned back in, but he shook his head, hiding his lips from you behind his hand. You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head at his antics. “Are you done?”

He shook his head once more, sitting crisscross at the foot of your bed, right beside your stuffed starfish you’d had since you were seven. “No. Another thing is that-” You ignored him, sitting up and practically crawling across the bed toward him. When that hadn’t gotten his attention, you’d opted to straddle his lap, playing with his hair until he relented. He sighed, gently pulling your hands out of his hair and holding them in his. “Are you listening?”

“Hanging on to every precious word.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smiled to yourself, getting lost in his gaze. His eyes were mesmerizing, the way his whole personality fit inside them.

“Tell me what I said then, Trouble.”

“I-” You batted your eyelashes, jutting a lip out ever so slightly. “I was distracted.”

“Distracted? From what? Admiring my beauty?” He questioned. “Don’t worry, it’s a common issue.”

“Common?” You raised an eyebrow, enjoying him squirming beneath your ‘harsh’ gaze. “Do you have a lot of girls admiring your beauty?”

“Not common! I meant more like-” You began to peel yourself away from him, and he panicked, pulling you down, your lips inches apart. “I’m sorry, don’t leave.”

“I was teasing you.” You whispered, your fingers playing with the hair that laid at the nape of his neck. “And you’re right.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t blame those girls. You are beautiful.” Your lips gently pressed against his. “So beautiful. Unfortunately, you’re mine.”

He nodded. “Damn right. Now come here.” His left arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as he possibly could while the other caressed your cheek. “You’re the only one for me.”

You nodded, nudging his nose with yours. “Don’t get sappy on me.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Just- Just let me say this. You- you’re kind and funny and witty. I would never- I mean ever- talk to other girls. Not when I have THE Fisher Princess in my arms.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Just you.” He whispered. “You know that day on the beach?” You nodded; of course, you remembered. “Do you remember all the things I said?” You nodded once more, and he nodded along with you. “I love you. I hope you know I meant that.” He laughed, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “I don’t say that often; cherish it.”

“Oh, what a gift.” You teased. “The Steven Conklin loves me.”

“You’re trouble.” He smirked. “Lucky for you, I live for trouble.” Your heart felt full, seeing the pure sincerity in his face, hearing it in his tone. “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

“Just stop talking.” She whined. “Stop talking and kiss me.”

“I can do that.” He agreed, grinning boyishly as he leaned in. “I can totally do-”

“What the actual fuck?” You stopped, perfectly still, as another voice broke through their little paradise. Turning your heads toward the new presence, your smile, your butterflies, all the adrenaline you’d had dropped dead at the sight of Jeremiah’s normally jovial face staring at you like you’d grown three heads. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Jere...” Steven hesitantly spoke. “Just-”

“Why is my sister on your lap, Conklin?” Jeremiah looked positively livid, his face red.

“Let me explain.”

Jeremiah scoffed. “Explain? What- is this like-” His face contorted, horror setting in. “How long?”

“It was so sudden at first-”

“How long?”

“What’s going on?”

You groaned, dropping your face into the crook of Steven’s neck. Anytime you touched your boyfriend, Jeremiah’s anger increased tenfold. Now, not only was your outrageously (dramatic) younger brother here, your older brother was in the room, deciding to grace you with his presence.

“Hello?” Conrad’s slightly annoyed voice rang through the otherwise quiet room once again. “Someone better start talking.”

Jeremiah nodded. “You’re lucky my sister’s on your lap, Conklin, or I’d-”

You lifted your head, glaring at your brother. “Don’t you dare threaten him to beat him up, Jeremiah.”

“He’s- you’re-” Your younger brother couldn’t form a coherent sentence. “You’re defending him?”

“I am! It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Jeremiah, I love him.”

Steven smiled to himself before remembering where they were. “I’m sorry, guys. I really am.”

Conrad shrugged. “I mean, I wish you would have told us.” You held your breath as he spoke again. “If you’re happy though, really happy, then I’m happy.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “What? No!”

You pulled yourself out of Steven’s lap, placing a hesitant hand on Jeremiah’s arm. “Jere, it wasn’t planned. We both happened to be here, and one thing led to another, and we didn’t want to tell anyone. Not at first, anyway. Just to be safe.”

He stayed deathly silent, grunting out the same question. “How long?”

“About five months.” Steven butt in, staring at the ground when Jeremiah began to stare him down yet again. “Give or take.”

“Five months, and you just neglected to tell anyone?” Jeremiah scoffed. “Have you told Mom? Or Dad?”

“Why would I tell Dad?” You crossed your arms. “It’s not like he cares.”

“He cares! He would want to know!” Jeremiah yelled. “And Mom?”

“Mom would be thrilled.” You began to stop feeling bad. Now you were honestly pissed that he wasn’t happy for you. Sure, you understood that lying to him was horrible, but it’s not as if you’d committed a heinous crime. “And you know it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re so sure…” He smirked, challenging you. “Then go tell her.”

“Jeremiah.” You frowned, tears begging to fall. You hadn’t even realized they’d begun to form. “Can you please just be happy for me?”

“I-” He looked like a fish beached on the shore, mouth opening a closing constantly, nothing coming out. “I-”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to wait for his answer. Grabbing Steven’s hand, you intertwined your fingers with his, racing down the stairs and out of the house, jumping in your car.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere.” You sniffled, tears slowly falling. “Anywhere but here.”

The boardwalk was quiet, hours past it’s scheduled closing. The lights were dim, barely illuminating the deck below you. You were pacing, ranting about your brother while Steven stayed perfectly silent. “It’s not fair! It’s just not.”

“I mean…” You stopped, your hands on your hips. “If Jere’s so upset, we must have really hurt him.” Steven frowned, staring at his hands. “I feel bad for lying.”

“Jeremiah has been a drama queen since we were kids.” You scoffed. “He’ll get over it.”

“Maybe,” Steven shrugged. “But he’s my best friend.”

Your heart dropped, picking up what Steven wasn’t saying, but thinking. “He’s my brother. And I love him, but I- I love you too. I won’t give you up because he’s upset.”

“Well…” Steven sighed. “Maybe we should just take it slower or-”

“Take it slower?” You crossed your arms, disbelief etched on your features. “Were you not saying mere minutes ago that you would never let me go?”

“I meant it, I really did.” He stood up, arms reaching out to hold her. “But if we’re upsetting him, maybe we should try and-”

“NO!” You shook your head, backing away from him. “No, I am not slowing down because my little brother feels left out.”

Steven frowned. “Trouble, can you please just consider it?”

“No.” You felt tears forming. “You shouldn’t even be considering this. You love me, right?”

“You know I do.”

“Then just stay- stay with me. Like this. Jeremiah will get over it, he’ll be happy for us.” She smiled, trying to convince him, but his eyes- he was fading, her tears began to fall. “Stay with me, please.”

“I want to stay with you.” His voice was soft, softer than it had ever been. “I don’t want to break up, but-”

“Steven.” Your voice, in contrast, was harsh, cold, and unnerving. “Either you stay with me, or we’re done. I am not negotiating with a- a-” You squeezed your eyes shut, hissing. “A terrorist!”

“Trouble, don’t say that.”

“You know what I mean!” You yelled, your arms flailing. Walking to the railing, you looked out, trying to focus on not sobbing in front of Steven.

“I love you,” Steven whispered, standing next to you, arms pressed together.

“I love you too.” You let your head fall onto his arm. “I won’t take it slower, Steven. I won’t.”

“Trouble…” His voice was heavy, you could have sworn he was about to cry, too. Looking up, you frowned when you discovered you’d been right. “Can you just try?”

“No.” You backed away. “And if this is what you want, then- then we’re done.” You swear your heart broke in two.

Steven’s shoulders dropped. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it, Steven.” You were fully sobbing at this point. “I won’t be reduced to a mere hookup because of my brother. Either be my boyfriend, or we’re done.”

“Baby…”

You held yourself tightly, nodding. “Fine.” You turned around, your pace brisk as you passed the car. Steven yelled after you, most definitely crying. “Where are you going?”

“Home, you asshole!” You screamed. “I won’t get in that- that stupid car with you.”

“C’mon. Don’t let it end this way!”

You whipped around, eyes wild with rage, with betrayal. “ME? You didn’t even fight! You let Jeremiah make you feel bad, and you just stood there.” You muttered, turning back around. “You’re pathetic.”

“Stop it. You’re being mean.”

“Well, you broke my heart.” You hissed, feeling the urge to run but not having the energy to do so. “Where does that leave us?”

The town was quiet, and every so often, you turned around, checking to see if Steven was still there, following five steps behind you. He was, he always was. It was annoying, to say the least. And as the driveway to the summer house came into view, you found a new wind, practically running into the house and storming up the stairs.

Your mother stood at the top of the steps, frowning. “You look horrible, my love.” Her arms were outstretched, and you felt brand new tears form, your inner child begging to be held by your mother. “What happened?”

“I-” You sobbed, throwing yourself into your mother’s arms. Her hold was solace in the hell, and you wept. “I love him.”

“Who, my sweet girl?” Her voice was like honey.

“I love him.” You were like a broken record, sobs echoing through the house. Steven watched from the bottom, his tears falling like an unrelenting storm.

The country club was beautiful, as it always was when your family attended. Your mother had one arm hooked through yours, the other through Conrad’s. She smiled, nudging her children. “My handsome son and my radiant daughter.”

Conrad groaned, smiling through it all. “Mom.”

“Look at us.” Her voice was teary, and Jeremiah laughed, shaking his head.

“Mom, you’re not going to cry, are you?”

You glared, eyes sharp. “Jeremiah, shut up.”

“What? And ruin my makeup? No way. Everything’s going to be different next year.” Steven stood beside Jeremiah, and your eyes darted to the ground. “Conrad’s going off to college. My girl is graduating from high school. It may be the last summer we’re all together.”

“Mom!” You frowned. “Don’t say that. Everything will be fine.”

Jeremiah stepped forward, pulling her out of his sibling's arms. “Just don’t forget, I get to dance with you tonight.” He started twirling your mother, and you smiled, leaning your head on Conrad’s shoulder as you watched.

“Ooh.” She sounded pained, and the three Fisher siblings stilled, observing their mother closely.

“Mom, you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just been way too long since I’ve danced. I must be out of practice.”

Conrad was tense, tenser than he had been when they’d gotten there. Extending his arm, your mother accepted gratefully. “You coming?”

You nodded. “I’m right behind you.”

The table had been tense, what with Mr.Conklin and Laurel, Cleveland (Laurel’s summer hookup), and Steven all at one table. Plus, she had a sneaking suspicion that her mother’s incident earlier wasn’t from her lack of dancing.

Nevertheless, she smiled as if nothing was wrong. Laurel admired her hair, shaking her head sarcastically. “Susannah, she is perfect.”

You blushed, thanking her. “You’re too kind, Laurel.”

Your mother smiled, nodding. “She is perfect, I agree. And this dress?” She laughed, admiring its cut and the way it fit you like a glove. “Also perfect.”

Mr. Conklin smiled. “I remember when you used to run around with socks on your hands, pretending they were gloves and demanding people to kiss your ‘ring.’ Now look at you.”

Conrad was the first to burst out into laughter, holding onto Steven’s arm for support. Steven’s gaze never faltered, though, staring at you through it all. You glared playfully. “Thanks for the reminder, Mr.Conklin.”

“It’s been eighteen years.” Mr.Conklin admonished. “Call me John.”

This wasn’t the way you thought you’d call him by his first name. You thought, in your daydreaming, that it would be when Steven introduced you as his girlfriend, as more than just the Fisher’s daughter. Now, it was because of nothing special at all. You nodded, taking a sip of your Shirley Temple. “Fine, fine. John.”

The conversation quickly broke off from the subject, and you nodded, glad not to be the focus of the table anymore. The focus of Steven. Conrad even occasionally stepped in, telling a funny anecdote from their childhood. It was nice to see your older brother happy, compared to what he’d been for the majority of the summer.

His eyes were still burning a hole into your skin. You sighed, looking over at Belly, who was anxiously playing with the skirt of her dress. “Have you seen Jeremiah? The dance is about to start.”

You shook your head, frowning. “Sorry, Bells, haven’t seen him since you have.” You looked over at Conrad, who was staring at Belly with a lovestruck look in his eyes. Oh brother, you thought to yourself. This was going to be messy indeed.

Your mother frowned, watching as the youngest Conklin walked up by herself. Conrad just stared, and before you could say anything, stood up, walking up to Belly and holding out his hand. You smirked, watching proudly as your brother once again saved Isabel Conklin.

Your mother grinned, admiring the pair. “Look at them. She’s luminous.”

Laurel nodded. “For Belly, Conrad’s the sun, and when the sun comes out, the stars disappear.”

Your heart twisted from jealousy of their apparent love for one another, from your lost love, you couldn’t quite place. You looked away, accidentally locking eyes with Steven. He looked surprised but not disappointed. Taking the chance, he whispered, loud enough so that you could hear him over the music, but quiet enough that it wasn’t noticeable.

“You look beautiful.”

You wanted to feel happy, to feel adored and loved when the boy you’d spent so much time with called you that, but all you felt was sadness. Sad that he’d just reminded you you weren’t his anymore.

You pretended not to hear him, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to reapply my lip liner.”

You’d never used lip liner, your mother and Laurel knew that, but you weren’t about to tell the entire table you were leaving because Steven Conklin complimented you.

You’d gotten maybe three steps away from the table when a hand, his hand, wrapped around your wrist. “Let me go, Steven.”

“No.” He hissed, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Don’t talk to me about that. If you recall, I never wanted to do this in the first place.”

You tried to pull out of his grasp, but he spun you around, eyes full of want. “You know I can’t do that. It’s been torture not being able to talk to you.” He leaned down, whispering in your ear. “To kiss you.”

Chills ran down your spine as you willed yourself not to give in. “Well, you should have thought about that before letting me go.” You shook in his hold once more, glaring. “Now release me before I-”

“What’s going on here?” Laurel’s voice broke through the moment, almost jumping from the shock of it all.

“Steven was just telling me I had something in my teeth.” You widened your eyes, trying to signal that he should keep his mouth shut. “Weren’t you?”

He nodded, letting go of your wrist, visibly dejected. “Yep. Just helping her out.”

You smiled, but you felt it, too. The disappointment, the longing. Still, you couldn’t show, otherwise, Laurel would most definitely figure it out. She had a sort of spidey sense about these things. You walked back toward the table, noticing your brother’s hurriedly talking on the dance floor.

“What are you two doing?” Jeremiah turned around, eyes filled with tears, threatening to fall with each second. “Jere? Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth, only one word leaving his lips. “Mom…” Conrad looked solemn, like he knew what Jeremiah was about to tell him.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

“No, it’s important.” Jeremiah was insistent, and the pit in the bottom of your stomach grew.

“Someone fill me in here.” You looked to your older brother for guidance. “Connie?”

“You already know, don’t you?” Conrad refused to respond. “You’ve known this whole fucking time and didn’t tell me?”

“Jere-”

Before anyone had realized it, Jeremiah punched Conrad, gasps echoing through the crowd. You yelped, shoving your brother. “What the hell, Jeremiah!” Jeremiah pushed you away, tackling Conrad to the ground. “Jere!”

You stalked over, grabbing your brother’s ears and pinching them. “Don’t make me-”

“Stop it!” Your mother’s voice was stern and firm, silencing the room with one fell sweep. “All of you, stop it.” You let go, walking over until you were facing her. “What is going on?”

“Mom…” Jeremiah’s lip quivered.

“We know, Mom.” Conrad’s voice was quiet. “We all know.”

In that moment, even though your suspicions had never been confirmed, you knew your brother was right.

You did know.

Your mother’s cancer had returned.

It had ended rather anti-climactically in your opinion. You hadn’t even said goodbye: you’d woken up, and they were gone, not bothering to wake you up. You were back in Boston now, curled up on your favorite couch, reading your favorite book, when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” You yelled, knowing the rest of your family was on the patio on the other side of the house. Racing out of the living room, you slid against the foyer floor, pulling the door open. “Oh.” You whispered. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Steven smiled, the largest bouquet you’d ever seen clasped tightly in his hands. “I- I wanted to get you these.” He held them out. “I saw them at the market and thought of you.” You just stared, which made him even more nervous. “I know you love these, you used to talk about them all the time, and well- I felt bad, leaving you the way I did. I thought if I- if I brought you these we could talk. Y’know? Can we please… talk?” You swallowed, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “I miss you, Trouble, and I-” He stood straighter, clearing his throat. “I love you.” You were finding it hard to speak. “I get it, if you don’t-”

Hard to speak, but not at all, hard to act. You leaped forward, throwing yourself at him and pulling his lips to yours. His eyes widened before quickly realizing what was happening, dropping the bouquet and pulling you close. His fingers pushed underneath your shirt, caressing your skin gently, and you gasped. “Steven-”

“Sorry, sorry.” He spoke against your lips, trying to kiss you again. “I just-”

“I love you.” You whispered. “I love you, Conklin.”

He grinned, leaning his forehead against yours. “I love you, Trouble.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

Text

Steadfast 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Bucky Barnes (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you serve Duke Rogers, but when his friend, the king, takes an interest, you find your work in turmoil.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Alle wraps a ribbon around your hair. You're in a daze as you hear the men's voices without. This cannot be real.

You look down at the silken robe, dressed up with a braided belt and chain at your neck. The older woman touches your cheek.

"He loves you. I see it in him." She smiles. "All women are afraid on days as these."

Days as these? You are a servant. You are not to wed a king. Not to wed any man at all.

"Thank you, Alle, and Uma and Ebomoh, for your kindness," your voice trembles. "How can I repay you?"

"Do not worry for it. Weddings are sacred. It is not a debt to be balanced," Alle assures. "With honour we attend any bride."

Uma goes to the door. Alle dips her chin and Ebomoh loops her arm through yours. She turns you and your heart flutters. It cannot be. Surely, it cannot.

The voices outside quiet as Uma opens the door and lets the sunshine in. It's softer now as the afternoon deepens to amber. You let the younger sister bring you out.

The king watches from beside Lord Rogers. The former is dressed in blue silk with white sash over his shoulder. The latter is much the same as he was. Rogers is not impressed.

You are led to stand across from the king as Mihe grins. Ebomoh lets you go and the king reaches for you. He takes your hand in his.

"Your highness, please, it isn't true, is it?" You murmur as he leans in to hear you.

"These weeks we've spent together, sweet one, it cannot be any other." He smiles at Mihe.

You do not protest. Who are you to a king? Even though you should ask as much. Make him see you are only a servant. He is a king and he must marry a woman worthy of a crown.

Thick smoke tickles your nose. It has a spicy scent. You glance over Alle waves the thick stub in her hand as it sends out white tendrils. It must be their way.

Mihe addresses the king by his full title and you peer back to the man. He begins his rites. "Do you, before your witnesses, before the sun and the sky, before the gods you pray to, take this woman, to be yours until the eternal dusk, be it drought or plenty, be you unwell or in health?"

"With all my heart, I do," King Bucky proclaims, squeezing your hands tighter. His grip is as iron as his blade.

"And you," Mihe calls you by name, "do you, before your witnesses, before the sun and the sky, before the gods you pray to, take this man, to be yours until the eternal dusk, be it drought or plenty, be you unwell or in health?"

You search the king's face. What can you do but as he wills it. He would not have you here as you are if he did not want this. Yet, you know it is not right.

"I do."

"So you are heard," Mihe says. "And your witness, Lord Steven Grant Rogers," he looks to the duke. "Do you witness these vows in earnest?"

Lord Rogers' nostrils flare. "I witness it."

"So you are bound," Mihe declares. "Go forth and be fruitful."

The king draws you to him. He places a kiss on your forehead as he cradles your face in his hands. He hums.

"My pip," he says.

"Your highness," Lord Rogers growls.

The king strokes your cheek with his thumb before he draws away. "My lord," he replies dryly.

"You said you will come."

"In the morn. When I've had my wedding night."

"That was not discussed," Rogers puts his hands on his hips. His face is shiny with sweat. "We must away, now."

"You give orders to your king," King Bucky retorts, his hand on your arm.

"The other kings are impatient. Your own subjects whisper of the unimaginable. You must come and reassure all that you live."

The king snorts, "they think me dead?"

"They might assume it."

"Oh, Rogers, you worry too much. Doubt me even more."

Rogers tilts his head until his neck cracks and he sighs. "I have been your shield and the cracks begin to deepen. I have fended off their volleys but I cannot for much longer. You need come." He pauses and looks at you. His cheek ticks. "There are beds in the capital."

The king laughs again. You look at him nervously. You wring your hands before you.

"You persist like a disease," King Bucky shakes his head. "Very well, we will ready to be away."

"You are leaving?" Mihe asks.

"I beg your forgiveness, Lord Mihe," the king says. "I would not spurn your hospitality. Your family has been good to me and mine. I will not forget you and you will receive bounty yet."

"You are most generous," Mihe says. "My wife would make a wedding feast."

"So much as I wish to indulge, my duke must have me away. My people await me." He stalls and glances at you. "And my wife should be settled."

"Ah, yes, wives," Mihe agrees. "We will feast in your honour and bid the stars bless our wedding night."

"Many thanks, Mihe." He bows his head. "We will meet again."

"I know we will," Mihe agrees.

You rock on your feet. "Dear thing," Alle approaches, "you go too soon."

"Thank you, Alle," you say. "Truly. And Uma and Ebomoh. In another life, I would like to have a mother and sisters like you."

"Many blessings. You will be a good wife," Alle kisses your hairline.

Your eyes sting. Not only because you must leave them, but out of fear. You are scared of what comes next. You are unsure of it.

You turn back to the king as Rogers looks up at the sky. The duke sets his chin. "We must go now if we want to outpace the night."

"Yes, Lord Rogers," King Bucky sneers defiantly. "You are clearly heard."

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #steadfast #medieval au #mcu #marvel #captain americaa #winter soldier #avengers

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softieekayy · 5 months ago

Text

Time cast a spell

Marc Spector x reader x Steven Grant

Word Count: 1.9k

Series masterlist

From the beginning of time souls that were meant to be each other always found one another. In each and every lifetime. Now wasn’t much different either, apart from the fact that they may not have been born in the same decade. The gods laughed at their obliviousness.

The older man, Marc Spector, a unique one he was. 3 men living in one body, a vigilante. Always a villain and violent. His fated one, a much younger woman and a breath of fresh air. Osiris swore to the other gods that she must’ve been a descendant of his, life followed wherever she stood. She was innocence in its purest form. Khonshu observed her from a distance, a part of him wanting to pluck her right out of his avatar’s life, allowing him to lead the life he lives. But he couldn’t, there was something so alluring about a woman who worshipped him every night the moon was full. A funny thing really, his avatar’s other half was a follower of his and oftentimes she pleased him greatly.

Marc met her by accident the first time. It wasn’t much, a bumped shoulder and a grumbled apology but the smell of her fruity perfume stuck around, it was like the scent had wrapped itself into the clothes he wore. He didn’t know what she looked like but she was in his dreams every single night. Steven had grown curious of her, he asked Marc who she was and if she was a special lady friend of his. The latter just snarked at him and Steven listened, clearly finding out that another woman so soon after Layla was a soft spot.

Steven met her the second time. However this time she was distressed, her eyes a little swollen and mascara smudged under her eyes as she chased her furry little feline down the street. Luckily the bastard stopped at his feet, rubbing his black fur all up against Steven’s legs.

“Oh Jazzy, there you are!” She exclaimed, coming to a quick halt as the fat coal coloured cat slowly made his way towards his owner's arms. She picked him up eagerly, the cat snuggling into her chest as if he’d been looking for her. She hadn’t even noticed Steven and Steven was too awkward to say anything.

“Will you speak or just stare at her like a creep?” Marc asked from the reflective surface of the pole. Steven just stuttered but before he could say anything the goddess in front of him did.

“Oh thank you so much for stopping this little fat bastard!” The woman exclaimed, her eyes looking animated as she thanked Steven.

“Oh uh, no need to thank me really, he ran into me” Steven awkwardly smiled, his hand fiddling with the shoulder bag he wore.

“Well Jazzy here doesn’t really just rub up against everyone so you must be special.” She joked, holding the cat in her arms like a baby. Steven just nodded, unable to say anything.

“I’m Y/n by the way.” She tells him, extending her hand for a handshake and Steven, in return, repeats his name to her and she smiles.

“Well I think I must let you head home before I talk your ear off in the alley way. You looked like you were in a rush.” The younger woman spoke gently, her eyes diverting to the cat, keeping a close eye on him. Steven nodded, too stunned to say much else and could only wave goodbye as she turned and left. This time the perfume lingering onto Steven’s clothes.

“Mate I think I might never wash these again” Steven tells Marc, a lovesick expression clouded his eyes.

“Yeah well, that’s not such a good idea, I don’t think we’ll be seeing her again” Marc sneered, certainty coating his words. At that Steven snapped back into reality, Marc’s harsh words sinking in as he continued home.

Jasper’s rough meow woke her up from her peaceful slumber, the old cat deciding to put all of his weight onto her chest, waking her up.

“Jazzy, I love you, I really do but you weigh 12 pounds and I can’t breathe.” She deadpanned. Staring at the cat as if he understood her and maybe he did because he got off her chest and slunk into the spot beside her, cleaning himself. She stared at him for a second, lips twitching up into a smile before she made her way out of bed.

The day to her was unknown. She knew she had errands to run but nothing that would take her more than two hours. Maybe she could drop by the museum, she hadn’t seen it yet despite living in London for 3 years now. She hummed to herself in agreement to the plans, grabbing her clothes and hopping into the shower. Unbeknownst to her, a god eyed her every movement.

Steven wouldn’t say that today was great. Marc had the body the night before and now he was tired and barely conscious. Donna hadn’t been the greatest either, nagging him for his clothes this time around and all Steven could do was give her a look. Jake laughed at him when he saw the state his buddy was in and the latter could only glare at him.

(Y/n) made her way up the stairs of the museum, admiring the poster of the Ennead before she noticed its inaccuracies. The weather was bearable today, not too chilly but just warm enough. She made her way up the steps, walking through each and every exhibition until she reached her favourite, Egypt. There was something about the ancient civilization that called her in, it lured her like a moth drawn to a flame. She stood there for a couple seconds, not quite aware of what would be waiting for her.

Khonshu watched her, his eyes following the young woman like a hawk. He made sure he hid his presence, not wanting her to even sense him in the slightest.

“I wonder how much longer you can hide it from her.” Hathor’s voice purred in the moon god’s ears as she came to stand next to him. Khonshu didn’t turn his gaze away from the woman who was now engrossed in some sarcophagus.

“What is it you want, Hathor? Do you not have your own avatar to attend to.” Khonshu sneered and the goddess chuckled lightly, watching (Y/n) as well now.

“My avatar is doing just fine. She’s thriving,” she said, “yours however, their life might just get turned upside down again.” She smirked and Khonshu thought about engaging in battle there and then. Hathor not privy to his thoughts jus smirked, leaning fully against the pillar.

“I won’t let her.”

“You cannot stop what has already been fated, Khonshu, no matter how much you might try. Don’t forget who she descends from.” Hathor gave the young woman one last look before patting her dear friend’s arm and leaving. Khonshu wondered if she was there just to antagonize him or to help him see clearly.

(Y/n) couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched intently, her red lips curling down into a frown. She didn’t like the feeling and in recent days it had been more prominent, as if the looming figure never left. It started after she got Jasper back from the strange but cute man. Her thoughts drifted towards him, Steven, a charming yet very awkward man. She found him very likeable though and wondered if she’d see him again. However the size of London and the population pulled her out from dreamland, knowing that it would be near impossible.

A small black figure caught her eye as she was immediately drawn to it. Upon inspection it was a plushy of Anubis, a great god turned into one that children would hold in their sleep. She thought it was cute, but then she saw a scarab and then Hathor and so it went on until she had 12 of them in her hands, anymore and she wouldn’t be able to get home.

Steven eyed the woman with the copious amount of gift shop items and a small smile snagged on his face.

“Uh, need some help there?” Steven questioned the stranger, awkwardness thick in his voice, his hands suddenly feeling more clammy.

“Hm, oh yes please!” The voice, a very familiar one chirped back, handing Steven the pile of stuffies before he could say anything else.

“No fucking way.” Marc scoffed from the reflection once the so-called stranger's face was revealed. It was her, the woman Marc bumped into and the one whose cat was rubbing up against Steven.

“Oh it’s you! Hello Steven!” Her voice gleamed with happiness and excitement and Steven suddenly felt faint, his heart was beating too fast that the older man thought he was gonna have a heart attack. Her eyes lit up in a certain way that made it seem like they had stars littered in them and Steven had a hard time looking away from them.

“Oh hello. How is uh, the little bugger?” Steven asked, truly wondering about the black that seemed to fancy him.

“Oh Jasper! He’s doing wonderful, probably looking for a way out as we speak.” She chuckled, waving her hand in the air as her gold bracelets clinked together. Red lips upturned in a soft smile, a far away gaze in her eyes.

“Right yeah. Cheeky bastard.” Steven joked, hoping to hear that laugh again.

“Oh that he is. Now enough about that little trouble maker.” She said, resting her arms on the countertop and leaning forward just a bit, “Would you like to join me for coffee or tea sometime, whatever is preferable to you.” She asked with a delicate smile and Steven was at a loss for words.

“Steven, man, you’re gonna have to say something, she can’t read your mind.” Marc told him, sighing at his friend.

“Oh right! Yes, of course. Does Wednesday at 5pm work for you?” Steven rattled off and the younger woman in front of him could only smile, nod and admire.

“That works perfectly for me Steven, I’ll see you then.” She grabbed the bag of stuffies from him and waved him bye. A small piece of paper with some digits written on it left on the desk.

Steven was giddy and despite Marc’s fake reluctance, he too was looking very forward to this night.

Later that evening, (Y/n) was sprawled onto her bed, her iPad tossed beside her still playing the video she was watching from earlier. Khonshu observed the scene, an intriguing little thing she was.

“Child.” He whispered, his voice mixing in with the air. The young woman stirred a little yet still showed no signs of waking up.

“Little one, arise.” Khonshu poked at her with his staff and that seemingly did the trick.

“Huh, w-what.” She mumbled, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes. She looked ahead only to see bandages wrapped around a humanoid figure until she looked up and saw a floating bird skull, she screeched.

Khonshu leaned down until she was able to see his head, “At last we meet, darling.” His voice mixed in with the night sky as the woman in front of him looked confused and scared before she passed out.

Khonshu stood up, looking at her body and then up at the night sky.

“At last, after eons of torture she took form once again.” He spoke to the sky, his words letting the gods know what they suspected. Taking one last look at her, Khonshu fled in the night sky to his avatar.

He looked at the peaceful Marc Spector, asleep as if he had no worries for tomorrow.

“You have no idea what she will bring you, Marc.” And with those words Khonshu disappeared, letting things play out the way they need to for now.

Tagging these beauties: @weredancingonamoonbeam @jake-g-lockley

#moon knight #moon knight x reader #marc Spector #Marc Spector x reader #Steven Grant #steven grant x reader #marc Spector x reader fluff #Steven grant x reader fluff #moon knight x reader fluff #khonshu #khonshu x reader #the ennead #Egypt #marvels moon knight #marvel #Moonknight

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