#again. Steve was directly present for it too

[thunderbolt-ing]

Three Roommates and a Loft [3]

PREVIOUS | NEXT The One Where You Get Romanoff'd: A lifestyle adjustment, a bed-rotting intervention, a surprise guest, and a rebound roster. Yeah, you'll probably regret this later. Warnings: none, just pure silliness and slight (stupid) sexual innuendo. I'm sleep deprived when I'm writing this, so this is just pure crack. Word count: 6.6K (sorry for the mistakes, i dont proofread as you already know)

You were jolted awake at exactly 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday by the unmistakable sound of an old-timey trumpet muffly blaring through the ceiling, specifically, a World War II-era jump blues song. 

🎵 He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way,

He had a boogie style that no one else could play,

He was the top man at his craft,

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft,

He’s in the army now, a blowin’ reveille, 

He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B! 🎵

There was only one possible culprit: Steve Rogers. 

His room was directly above yours, and apparently so was his nostalgia-fueled alarm clock. The song continued at full volume for a solid two minutes before Steve finally got up and shut it off. 

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the end of it. 

Next came the footsteps. Then the light stomping. Then… counting… and grunting…? 

Was he doing pushups? At six-thirty-five in the morning? On a Sunday? 

You buried your head under a pillow and groaned. The realization settled slowly and painfully; the walls in this loft were way too thin. Adjusting to life here was going to take time and possibly noise-cancelling headphones. Or earplugs. Definitely earplugs. 

Eventually, you managed to fall asleep again, though it was more like drifting in and out of consciousness while dreaming about WWII-era trumpets. Still, your body naturally woke up at your usual weekend time of 9:00 a.m., groggy but functional. 

Noise was already filtering in from the living room—voices, at least two of them, mixed with the clatter of dishes and the unmistakable sound of someone being way too enthusiastic for a Sunday morning (suspects are either Steve or Sam. You’re leaning towards Steve). 

You stared at the ceiling and sighed. 

This was your life now.

With the weight of reluctant acceptance, you braced yourself for the horror of human interaction. You got up from your bed and mentally prepared yourself to walk out of your room looking like a witch who’d just crawled out of a bog. Your oversized t-shirt was twisted halfway around your torso, your hair was an unruly mess, and you were certain that your face bore the imprint of your pillowcase. 

You didn’t even bother to make yourself look presentable. What was the point? 

You needed caffeine. You needed breakfast. And most of all, you needed to not be spoken to until at least a cup of coffee had been fully consumed. 

You sluggishly dragged yourself out of your room, your first stop being the bathroom. You just wanted to splash some water on your face and pretend to be alive. Instead, you opened the door to find a near-naked Bucky Barnes hunched over the sink, towel slung low on his hips, mid-shave. 

Your brain short-circuited, but he didn’t flinch. He just met your stunned silence with a deadpan stare. 

“Do you know how to knock?” he asked coolly, eyes narrowing like you’d just ruined his entire day. 

You blinked, fighting the instinctive downward glance that, traitorously, happened anyway. It only made everything worse. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, slamming the door shut as your heart pounded loudly in your chest. Your face burned with the mix of rage and embarrassment, and now, thanks to him, you were fully and disturbingly awake. 

From inside the bathroom, you heard him mutter just loud enough to be heard: 

“Unbelievable.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped through the door, patience running thin with the lack of caffeine in your system.  

“No thanks,” he called back flatly without missing a beat. 

You were two seconds away from throwing the door open and escalating when Sam’s voice rang out from the kitchen: 

“I told y’all to come up with a bathroom system.” 

You huffed and stomped your way into the common area, still fuming. 

Sam was at the stove flipping pancakes that were definitely a little burnt, but pretending not to notice. Steve was already seated at the newly placed dining table (thanks to your charitable donation), sipping coffee like this was a perfectly normal, drama-free Sunday morning. 

“Hey, sunshine!” Steve greeted you as you stepped into the room, entirely too cheerful for someone who caused your 6:30 a.m. trumpet wake-up call. “How was your first night?” 

“What is wrong with him?” you shot back, completely ignoring Steve’s question. “Does he not believe in getting dressed after a shower? Is that not a thing for him?”

Sam’s laughter echoed through the loft. “Wait—did you see him butt-ass naked?” 

Steve choked on his coffee, but being Steve, he tried to play it off with a composed nod and a sip like nothing had happened. 

You gave Sam a withering glare. “Toweled, but barely. It was an assault on my morning.” 

Sam was practically doubled over now. “Man, you and Bucky are gonna kill each other before the month’s out.” 

“Yeah?” you muttered as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. “Well, I’ll make sure I get to him first.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky said unenthusiastically, stepping into the room fully clothed this time. 

“No one’s killing anyone,” Steve cut in with a chuckle. “We just need time to adjust. There are four of us now, it’s gonna take a little grace.” 

You and Bucky locked eyes over your mugs. Clearly, there was no grace, only war. 

——

After breakfast, the guys headed out for a Whole Foods run, arguing over oat milk versus almond milk as they disappeared out the door. You stayed behind, however, choosing to confront the disaster that the loft turned into from your move-in yesterday. So, with Japanese Breakfast on Sam’s speaker, you got to work. 

You hauled your boxes to the center of the living room, then tore through them with the determination of a woman who was about to perform a miracle. Blankets, candles, books, and years of collected knick-knacks found their homes. A patchwork quilt over the chaise. A vase of bodega flowers on the dining table. Your Princess Diaries poster now hung proudly beside Bruce Willis, which perfectly summarized the loft’s new look. 

In the kitchen, you replaced the single wooden spoon with actual utensils, alphabetized the spice rack (because who was stopping you?), and stuck a whiteboard on the fridge that read Weekly Chore Rotation — TBD in teacher handwriting. You almost changed your alphabet magnet message from HELLO ROOMIES to HELLO FUCKERS, but you figured you’d soft launch your personality and have them get used to the harmless kindergarten teacher first. 

Perhaps you were getting carried away, but you even cleaned the entryway. Now there was a shoe rack, jacket hooks, and a key bowl because you weren’t a barbarian. You felt very smug about your work… until you opened the hallway closet and discovered the mini-armory. 

Mounted neatly on the back wall was an array of throwing knives, each blade gleaming despite the dim light. Steve’s old, battered shield leaned against the corner, the once bright paint chipped and scratched raw to the vibranium. It looked like it had been through hell, probably had. Maybe he kept it for emergencies, or maybe out of sentiment. Above the shield, resting on a shelf, sat a worn military grade duffle bag with WILSON embroidered on the front. You didn’t dare to open it, something told you that it didn’t hold gym clothes. 

And then, there was the bundle. It was tucked in the far corner, hidden enough that it could be overlooked. Before you could even begin to think about unwrapping it, keys jingled outside, and the front door swung open with a dramatic slam. 

“Guess who survived Whole Foods!” Sam’s voice rang through the loft, followed by the telltale thud of grocery bags hitting the floor. 

You quickly shut the closet door, forcing a casual smile despite your heart hammering in your chest. “Hey! So, who won the milk debate? For the record, I was team oat—”

“Hold up,” Sam cut in, eyes widening as he entered the living room. He gasped, hand clutching his chest theatrically. “Is that Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Queen of Genovia next to John McClane?!”

You followed him into the living room with a shrug. “Don’t they look cute together?” 

“Who the hell is that?” Bucky asked, breezing past with grocery bags and heading straight for the kitchen. 

“Princess Diaries,” Sam and Steve answered in unison, though Steve was a beat slower and slightly more ashamed about knowing. 

Steve bent to pick up the remaining bags, but paused as he took in the living room. His eyes did a slow sweep across the space before he broke into a pleased, golden-retriever grin. “You redecorated.”

“Holy shit, you did,” Sam added, spinning in place to look around. “No more hostage bunker, frat house adjacent. This place has… character now.”

“There’s a key bowl,” Steve noted in delight, pointing to the entryway like you’d just placed a national treasure. 

“I’m ignoring this,” Bucky cut in from the kitchen. He scowled at the whiteboard magnetized to the fridge. “Weekly Chore Rotation? This is not elementary school.”

“Also, where are the tongs?” he asked, rummaging through the newly organized drawer with increasing irritation. 

“The rusty ones?” You asked, joining him in the kitchen. “I threw them out before it gave someone tetanus, but don’t worry, I replaced them with new ones.” You opened the other drawer and showed him the new tongs. 

Bucky turned to you, arms crossed. “So you’re in charge now?” 

You smiled sweetly. “Someone has to be a functional adult out of the four of us.” 

Steve chuckled as he dropped the last bag on the counter. “She’s not wrong.” 

Bucky muttered something about “whiteboard dictatorships” as he walked off, but not before you caught him glancing at the newly filled bookshelf. 

That was the closest thing to approval you were probably ever going to get. 

——

Adjusting to your new life at the loft with three superhero roommates was… messy at best. The only man you’ve ever lived with before was Adam, and while that came with its own set of issues, chaos had never been one of them. Adam had been neat, predictable, and quiet. The exact opposite of the three men you now shared a loft (and very thin walls) with. 

The loft wasn’t perfect. It was loud, unfiltered, and filled with clashing personalities. But oddly enough, it was exactly what you needed right now. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, not to them at least, but the chaos helped. It distracted you from thinking about Adam and from falling back into the life you’d walked away from. 

Monday started off strong. 

You were in the kitchen, half-asleep and clinging to your coffee before work, when Sam practically sprinted down the stairs looking like he’d already finished at least three marathons.

“Morning, miss girl,” he beamed, already reaching for your mug as if you didn’t need it to survive. “What’s your sign by the way? Wait—don’t tell me. You’re a Virgo aren’t you? You alphabetized the spices.” 

You stared at him. You didn’t even get a word in before he declared you his ‘platonic soulmate’ three times and tried to convince you to join him on a sunrise run. It was 5:07 a.m.

Later that day, after work, you found Steve in the living room, utterly absorbed in The Great British Bake Off. You expected him to switch to something more macho when you sat beside him, but instead he turned to you with a frown.

“I just think he could’ve decorated that cake better…” 

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond at first. “You know what, you’re right. It’s lacking something and the sponge looks dry.” 

“You wanna make something better?” 

“...Sure?” 

By the end of the hour, you were in the kitchen covered in flour, while Steve was making frosting. You two were making something completely unrelated to the show, and the smell of vanilla filled the loft. Steve wore an apron that said ‘Be Patriotic & Kiss the Captain’ with an arrow pointing toward himself. You didn’t question it, but you had a sneaky feeling that Sam was the one who gave it to him. 

Steve and Sam were surprisingly easy to get along with, but Bucky on the other hand, was the human equivalent of a locked door. 

On Tuesday, he glared at you for leaving your clothes in the dryer. 

On Wednesday, you got into a five-minute shouting match because he was using your shampoo. 

On Thursday, he accused you of “hogging the hot water” like you’ve just committed crimes against humanity. 

But on Friday, your shampoo was replaced with a fresh bottle, and when you walked into the living room later, he was reading your copy of Anne of Green Gables. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you just baked the cookies that Steve offhandedly mentioned Bucky liked. He didn’t say thank you, but the cookies didn’t last a day. 

Midweek, the boys left on an impromptu mission. It was a quick recon, nothing too dangerous according to Steve, but the silence in the loft was jarring. You wandered around in your fuzzy socks, grading math quizzes with background noise from a sitcom rerun just to fill the void. 

You actually missed the chaos. 

They came back home a day later, exhausted and grumpy. You didn’t say anything, but you had grilled cheese and tomato soup ready for them. Steve muttered something about being “blessed,” and Sam dramatically asked that you platonically marry him (whatever that meant). Bucky just gave you a curt nod, which, in his language, might as well be a hug. 

On Saturday, Steve and Sam insisted on helping you grade a stack of your kindergarteners’ spelling tests while eating cereal straight from the box. 

“Why does this kid spell ‘banana’ like ‘bunahnuh’?” Sam asked. 

“Gwen spells phonetically,” you replied, like it was obvious. 

Steve, squinting through his reading glasses with a red pen in his hand, held up a paper. “What’s turlul?”

“Turtle,” you replied with a grin.

Then Sam, looking deeply concerned, held up your lesson plan. “You’re teaching them Romeo and Juliet with puppets?” 

“What? They’re five and they love tragic romance.” 

Steve chuckled. “New York kids… gotta love ‘em.” 

The week ended with you, curled up on the couch, blanket over your legs, grading kindergarten science homework while Steve sat beside you, quietly sketching. Sam DJ’d badly from the kitchen while Bucky was silently fixing the crooked picture frame you meant to fix days ago. 

“You hung this badly,” he muttered.

“I’ll fix it later,” you replied without looking up. 

“It’s going to fall.” 

“Aw,” you looked up and smirked at him. “So you do care.” 

His lips twitched just a little, but you didn’t point it out. 

Living in the loft was a mess, but it was home. 

Your home.

——

Two months into living with the boys, a rhythm had settled in. It was morning coffees with Sam’s unsolicited astrology takes, quiet evenings grading assignments with Steve, and your usual snark-filled cold war with Bucky. Against all odds, the arrangement was working. And yet, even with all the laughter and distractions, the sinking feeling hadn’t gone away. If anything, the stillness between the noise made it even louder. 

You missed Adam. Terribly and painfully, in spite of the hell he put you through. Some wounds didn’t announce themselves with aching pain, they crept in during the quiet, slipping through the cracks when you were doing everything to keep moving forward. 

You thought you were hiding it well, smiling when you needed to, laughing when expected. But somewhere deep down, you had a feeling that the boys were starting to catch on. 

It started with Sam. One afternoon after work, he appeared at your door without knocking, flopping onto the edge of your bed with a bag of chips and zero introduction. He didn’t pry or asked how you were, he just talked about nothing. He complained about the subway system. He argued about why almond milk was better than oat milk. He recalled the dream he had where Steve ran for mayor and lost to RuPaul. 

Then Steve started stopping by too. He’d sit in the armchair in the corner, sketchbook in hand, half-listening to Sam’s ramblings and occasionally offering stories about old missions and silly anecdotes about his teammates. He talked about the Avengers often that you were starting to feel like you knew them, even though you hadn’t met any of them in person. Steve never asked what was wrong, he just stayed just like Sam did. 

Bucky never set foot in your room, but the arguments with him stalled. The sharpness between you dulled just a bit. He still glared, still muttered under his breath when you used the last of the coffee, but he didn’t pick fights the way he used to. It was as if he didn’t want to add more weight to what you were already carrying. 

At one point, the quiet sadness that had been simmering beneath the surface tipped into something heavier. A mini depressive episode, maybe. If you could even call it that. It crept in gradually at first and was barely noticeable, but soon your behavior shifted in ways the boys couldn’t ignore. 

You started locking your bedroom door after work, claiming you were just tired. You bailed on loft game night more than once, always with a vague excuse about lesson planning or needing to grade your students’ assignments. Even when you didn’t have a stack of spelling tests to get through, you stayed tucked away in your room, lights dim with Pride and Prejudice looping in your TV just to feel something. 

You stopped lounging on the couch. Stopped making dinner for the loft. Stopped bickering with Sam over his abhorrent snack combinations or baking with Steve for fun. You slipped in and out of the kitchen like a ghost, only entering when the coast was clear. You timed your showers to avoid Bucky, dodging eye contact in the hallway like it was a full-time job. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t care. You did. It was that everything suddenly felt unbearable. Every noise, every conversation, every mundane task, it all felt too much. 

The worst part? You didn’t even know how to explain it to yourself or the boys. 

By the time the weekend rolled around, you’d all but vanished into your room. The door stayed closed, the lights stayed off, and not even the smell of Steve’s buttermilk waffles managed to lure you out. 

Sam, in an attempt to get you to talk, slipped a piece of paper under your door:

Are u mad at me? Yes or no. Circle one pls <3. 

You saw it, but you didn’t pick it up. 

Later that evening, the three boys were sprawled on the couch, half-watching a terrible action movie and working through their respective takeout containers. The dialogue on the screen was awful, the explosions louder than necessary, but no one bothered to change the channel. 

Then, casually, as if tossing in an afterthought, Bucky asked, “What’s going on with her?” 

He didn’t look up from his food, he just stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork. “Last night, she had this song on repeat. Something about a girl sitting in a restaurant, waiting or something. Played it for hours. I didn’t say anything. Kinda liked it.” 

Sam froze mid-chew. Slowly, he lowered his chopsticks. “Wait. Was she playing Right Where You Left Me?” 

Bucky shugged. “How should I know? I wasn’t paying attention. Her room’s next to mine, I just heard it.” 

Sam immediately placed his food on the coffee table like it had become irrelevant. “Oh hell no. That’s the emotional paralysis anthem.” 

Steve frowned. “You got all that from a song about… a restaurant?” 

“It’s not about the restaurant, Steven, it’s about the metaphor,” Sam said, deadly serious. “It’s heartbreak, it’s what you play when you’re stuck. And she’s got it on loop? Oh, I’m gonna kill that Adam guy.” 

“Who the hell is Adam?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing. 

“Her ex,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Steve and I met him briefly. Bad vibes, stank aura, absolutely zero stars.” 

“Not a pleasant man,” Steve added diplomatically. “Didn’t seem to appreciate her.” 

Bucky went quiet for a moment, then muttered. “Figures.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Figures what, Barnes?” 

“Nothing,” Bucky replied, too quickly. He refocused on his takeout with exaggerated interest, stabbing the piece of beef in his plate half-heartedly. 

Steve sighed and looked toward your room, his features softening. “I should try checking in on her again.” 

Sam was already on his feet, grabbing the extra box of chow mein from table. “Nope. We’re doing this together. This is a group effort.” 

Bucky didn’t move. 

Steve glanced at him. “You coming?” 

Bucky groaned, dragging himself up with zero enthusiasm. “Do I have to?” 

“Yes.” Sam and Steve said in unison, leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Bucky followed them down the hallway. Sam knocked first, rapping his knuckles gently against your door. 

“I know you’re alive in there,” he called. “I can hear Mr. Darcy monologuing through the wall.” 

No response. 

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “Wanna insult me? Could be therapeutic. I’m an easy target and I used up all your conditioner again.” 

Still nothing. 

Steve gave the door handle a patient turn, but it didn’t budge. “We just wanna check in. No pressure.” Steve said, his voice low and gentle.

Sam held up the box of food like you could see it through the door. “We brought noodles… and poor emotional boundaries.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky muttered. 

Steve side-eyed him. “You offered yourself up for verbal abuse two seconds ago.”

“I’m just trying to help!” Bucky snapped, crossing his arms. 

Another beat of silence followed. Then, from inside the room, you spoke up, your voice muffled, “Is it chow mein or lo mein?” 

Sam grinned triumphantly. “Chow mein.”

You shuffled to the door and creaked it open an inch. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “But only because I’m hungry and you guys are loud.”

As you stepped back to let them in, Bucky was the last to follow, but not before glancing at your TV, the frozen frame of Pride and Prejudice paused on Darcy’s rain-soaked confession. He didn’t say anything, just slipped inside and quietly straightened the crooked calendar by your door as the others made themselves at home. 

Sam looked around your room, eyebrows raised at the unmade bed, scattered tissues, and the lopsided stack of grading papers on your desk. “I love you,” he said as he handed you the box of chow mein, “But this is just… a mess, and I will be cleaning while we talk.” 

You gave a weak laugh as he started picking up the empty cups on your nightstand like he lived in your room, too. 

Steve sat gently on the edge of your bed, his tone soft. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to us.” His brows pulled together in concern. “I know we’re not… the best at this kind of thing, but we care and we want to help.” 

You looked down at the box in your hands, fingers digging into the paper. “It’s not that I didn’t feel comfortable with you guys,” you said, voice tight. “I just didn’t know how to explain it. And honestly, it’s stupid. I’ve been crying over Adam.” 

The words felt small and pathetic once they were out in the open. But the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental.

From the doorway, Bucky shifted his weight, arms still crossed tightly. His gaze stayed on the floor, then he mumbled, barely loud enough to hear. “It’s not… stupid.” 

You glanced up at him in surprise, but he refused to meet your eyes. 

Sam looked between the two of you with a knowing expression. “Well damn. If Barnes is offering moral support, then you’re officially at rock bottom.”

Bucky glowered at Sam while you flipped him off. “Whatever, Wilson,” you muttered in mock annoyance. 

Steve smiled, looking relieved that they were somehow helping. “Why don’t you go and spend a day with your own friends?” He suggested kindly, his tone gentle. “Not us, you know, like… women. People who get it more than we do.” 

“Sure! That’s cute,” You said dryly, bitterness bleeding into your voice. “Except all my friends were Adam’s friends, and when we broke up, he turned them all against me. They blocked me, every single one of them.”

“That motherf—“ 

“Okay,” Steve cut in quickly, shooting Sam a look before he could finish. “I’m calling Nat. She’ll know what to do.” 

“Nat?” You echoed, confused. “Who’s Nat?”

“Natasha,” Steve clarified, pulling out his phone.

“You know… Natasha Romanoff,” Sam clarified further, seeing your confused expression. “Black Widow…? Come on, keep up.”

“Oh no, no, no,” You sat up a little, alarmed. “I am not meeting her like this. She’s going to think I’m a loser. I mean, she kills men for sport, and I’m here sobbing into my pillow over one. I’m literally crying over someone who owns a mug that says ‘Rise and Grind’, I am beyond pathetic.” 

Steve raised his brow, but you kept going.

“It’s already embarrassing that you three know,” you muttered, tugging your blanket higher. “Just give me one more week of bed rotting and I swear I’ll bounce back.” 

“You’ve been rotting,” Sam said bluntly. “We’ve hit the compost stage.” 

“Advanced decay,” Bucky chimed in, arms still crossed. You shot him a glare. “Nat won’t judge.” Steve reassured, patting your shoulder gently. “She’ll understand more than we do.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “She’ll actually be gentle, like surprisingly gentle. You need someone who gets it, because if it were me? I’d just deck the guy and move on.” 

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed dramatically. “If I end up crying in front of Black Widow, I’m changing my name and I’m leaving the country.”

“She cried during Marley and Me, you’ll be fine,” Steve reassured as he pressed Natasha’s contact on his phone. 

——

The next morning, you shuffled out of your room in an oversized t-shirt and mismatched socks. Your only mission for the day: retrieve coffee without making eye contact with anyone. 

You failed instantly. 

All three of your roommates were seated around the dining table, and sitting casually among them, as if she hadn’t just completely caused your soul to leave your body, was her. 

Natasha. Romanoff.

The Black Widow. 

Former Assassin. Legendary Avenger. Threat to all men. 

She was drinking her coffee from one of your ridiculous mugs. She wore no tactical gear, no combat boots, just jeans and a fitted black top, with a posture so immaculate that it made you stand up a little straighter. 

Her red hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, and her gaze met yours the moment you entered. She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown, she just looked. It was as if she was quietly assessing whether you were dangerous or just a sad little mess Steve had guilted her into babysitting. 

You, of course, chose to freeze like a deer in headlights. 

Flattening your sleep-matted hair instinctively, you stood awkwardly in the doorway, wondering if you should apologize for daring to set foot in front of her presence. You didn’t understand why she was here. There was no way someone like Natasha Romanoff wasted time on strangers. She must’ve owed Steve big-time if she came to the loft immediately after he called yesterday. 

“Good morning,” Natasha said smoothly, voice low and unreadable. It was a statement, not a greeting. Like a poker player declaring her turn.  You stalled in real time, your brain shutting down in a panic. And then, you opened your mouth despite every survival instinct begging you not to embarrass yourself: 

“Hi. Wow. Is being hot a requirement to be an Avenger because… damn.” 

Silence. You could even hear the birds chirp outside. 

Sam snorted into his coffee. Steve blinked slowly like he was rebooting. Bucky coughed to hide what suspiciously sounded like a laugh. 

Natasha tilted her head, still expressionless. “Yes,” she said simply, and took another sip of her coffee. “That’s why Sam didn’t make the cut.” 

Your laugh came out before you could stop it. It was your first real laugh in weeks, and it caught everyone off guard. 

“Okay, first of all, I just didn’t sign the papers, Romanoff,” Sam shot back, pointing his fork at her like it was a weapon. “I was recruited! There were negotiations!” 

“Yeah,” she replied dryly. “Negotiations to keep you off the roster.” 

Steve hid a grin behind his coffee. Bucky didn’t bother hiding his smirk, though he kept eating like he wasn’t paying attention. 

Sam turned to you with a hand over his heart. “I’m being dragged in my own home. Do something,” he said, turning to you with pleading eyes. 

You dropped into an empty seat next to Bucky, grabbed a piece of toast, and casually stole a forkful of eggs from his plate. He shot you a look, brows knitting in mild disapproval, but he didn’t stop you. 

“Not too much on Sam,” you said with a grin. “He’s an emotional guy. He cried during Paddington 2.” 

“He went to prison!” Sam cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Why would you incarcerate a cute little bear who just wanted to make marmalade?!”

Steve nodded solemnly, like he was testifying in court. “It was deeply unfair.” 

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re all unwell.” 

“This is my life now,” Bucky muttered, sliding the rest of his eggs your way with a resigned sigh. You beamed at the gesture. 

Natasha took a sip of her coffee, eyes scanning you like she was running a background check. Then, finally, she nodded. “Okay. I like you. You’ve got potential.” 

You blinked at her, your fork halfway to your mouth. “Potential for…?” 

Natasha stood up from her chair, already grabbing her keys off the counter like this was a done deal. “Not sure yet, but you’re coming with me today.” 

You choked on your eggs. “What—why?” 

“Does it matter?” she said, already halfway to the door. 

You looked around the table like someone might save you, but Steve just gave you a thumbs up and took another sip of his coffee. “You’ll be fine.” 

“Fine or maybe dead,” you muttered. ‘What’s her idea of fun anyway?” you asked in a small, horrified voice as Natasha opened the front door. 

“Get dressed,” Natasha called. “Ten minutes. I leave with or without you.” 

Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Congratulations. You’ve been Romanoff’d.”

Bucky, now taking back his eggs, gave you a flat look and a lazy wave. Then, with zero sympathy, he nudged your chair with his foot. “Go. Now.” 

You groaned, already standing. “God help me,” you muttered, fast walking to your room like your life depended on it because with Natasha Romanoff waiting at the door, it just might. 

——

Spending the day with Natasha Romanoff was nothing like you’d expected, but exactly what you needed. She didn’t drag you to brunch to get bottomless mimosas or ask how you were feeling. Instead, she tossed you into the passenger seat of a black Corvette Stingray, drove like every red light was a suggestion, and took you to an underground boxing gym in Brooklyn where she taught you how to properly throw a punch. You expected sympathy, but she gave you bruised knuckles and a protein bar. 

Later, she made you walk through the city with her, mostly in comfortable silence, stopping only to grab overpriced lattes and people-watch like spies on a stakeout. At one point, she handed you a pair of sunglasses and muttered, “Put these on. We’re stalking your ex.” You tried to protest, but she was already leading the way, reciting tire-slashing tips like they were ancient wisdom. “Don’t worry,” she added coolly, “I’ll make sure there’s no trace.” You still don’t know how she found Adam’s car, but you did it, and oddly enough, it felt like therapy. 

By the time you got back to the loft, your head felt a little clearer, your shoulders a little lighter, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest had eased. You didn’t feel fixed, but you finally didn’t feel like rotting for the foreseeable future. 

Now, the five of you were sprawled across the loft’s living room, half-watching The Princess Diaries play on the TV. It was Sam’s idea, of course. He insisted that Bucky had to be cultured, and no one else had any other suggestions. 

Steve sat on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, fully invested. Bucky was squinting at the screen like he was trying to solve a murder. Natasha, lounging in the armchair with her legs propped on the ottoman, glanced at you. You were pitifully curled up under a blanket with a bowl of ice cream. She gave you a once-over, then turned to Steve. 

“She needs a rebound.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, maybe to disagree, but instead he gave Natasha a thoughtful look and decided to keep his mouth shut.

You choked on your spoon. “I’m sitting right here.” 

“Exactly,” Nat said coolly, not missing a beat. “You’re sitting, you’re sad, and you haven’t been laid in…?” 

“Do not answer that,” Sam interjected, hands raised. “Please, I beg.”

Unfazed, Natasha went on. “You need someone pretty who’ll tell you your hair looks good and you know… absolutely ruin you in the best way.” 

Your face flushed an alarming shade of red as you stared hard at the TV. “I need to get struck by lightning.” 

“Whatever you do,” Bucky said flatly from the opposite end of the couch, “Do it at his place. I’m not hearing that.” 

Sam gagged dramatically. “Can we not talk about her getting defiled during Princess Diaries?’ 

“Uh-uh,” Natasha cut in smoothly, already pulling out her phone. “No talking unless you’re volunteering, I need to focus.” 

Before anyone could argue, she cast her screen onto the TV, replacing The Princess Diaries entirely. Sam let out a horrified gasp as the screen flickered. 

“Nat! Princess Mia was about to give a speech!” 

“Shhh,” Natasha waved him off. “This is more important.” 

On the screen, three crisp photos appeared in a neat row. 

“These,” she said, gesturing toward the candidates like she was presenting a PowerPoint presentation, “are all people we know. Which means they’re not losers… not really. Low emotional investment, good hygiene, passably good-looking. All solid rebound options.” 

The screen displayed the following candidates: 

Johnny Storm — Shirtless in a bathroom mirror, abs flexed, sunglasses on indoors. There was a 99% chance this selfie had originally been sent to someone else, or possibly everyone else. He looked like the human embodiment of a “wyd?” text at 2 a.m. “This guy? Really?” Bucky sighed, genuinely disappointed. “Slim pickings, huh?” “I’d steer clear with this one,” Steve added with a grimace. 

Sébastien Noir — A S.H.I.E.L.D agent with a sleek black-and-white headshot, clearly pulled from a classified S.H.I.E.L.D file (because, of course, Nat had access to that). Dark hair and a darker smirk. Very French, very suave. “Could be the next James Bond,” Natasha said casually. “Or a complete poser,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Matt Murdock — The Avengers’ lawyer. Crisp navy suit, tousled hair, holding a cane and leaning casually against a brownstone like he walked out of a Jane Austen adaptation if it was directed by Scorsese. “I like this one,” Sam said with a thoughtful nod, “Lawyers have money.” 

After much deliberation and a fair amount of peer pressure, you begrudgingly settled on Sébastien Noir. Johnny had given you nothing but red flags, and you didn’t hate yourself enough to fall for a walking thirst trap with the romantic depth of a frat boy.. 

Matt Murdock, on the other hand, was too much. Too handsome, too smart, and too put together. You weren’t emotionally stable enough to be perceived by someone that kind, and to be honest, it felt borderline disrespectful to label him a rebound. 

So… Sébastien it was. 

Tall, French, and suspiciously charming, he felt like the safest terrible decision. There was a certain relief in choosing someone who came with low expectations and virtually no risk of actual feelings. If it all went up in flames, you could just blame it on ‘cultural misunderstanding’... or Natasha. 

“Are you sure about this…?” Steve asked cautiously, like he might step in and offer a better alternative if you gave him even a hint of hesitation. 

“Not really,” you admitted with a frown. “I feel like I’m setting feminism back a few decades.” 

“That’s how you know you chose the right rebound,” Natasha nodded while typing something on her phone, probably texting Sébastien himself. 

Bucky didn’t even bother commenting. He just sat there, slowly shaking his head like a man watching a car crash. 

“What? No notes?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow. 

“This is just… unbelievable,” He simply muttered, shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth like he was trying to eat away his disapproval. 

“To your slut era, I guess,” Sam said half-heartedly, raising his beer before switching the TV back to Princess Diaries like nothing life-altering had just occurred. 

——

Later that evening, on your way out of your room to brush your teeth, you caught a glimpse of Bucky standing by the hallway closet you jokingly dubbed the mini armory. The door was open, and dim light spilled out over the floor. He was unraveling a black bundle you vaguely remembered seeing months ago, back when you were just trying to store your cleaning supplies. 

You paused in your room’s doorway, unsure if he’d want company. 

The cloth slipped from his hands to reveal a silver prosthetic arm with a red star near the shoulder area. 

“So that’s what it was,” you said softly, stepping out just enough for him to hear. 

Bucky froze. His head turned slightly, shoulders tense. “You were looking around here?” 

“I just thought it was a normal closet, okay?” you said quickly, holding your hands up. “I was just looking for somewhere to stash my Swiffer and boom… murder closet.”

That earned the smallest twitch of his lips. Barely. 

“I should throw this thing out. Make room for your junk.” 

You smiled just a little at the jab. “I don’t know…” You said, tilting your head. “I kinda think you should keep it.”

He gave you a look. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s good to have a reminder of how far you’ve come,” you said, meeting his eyes. Then, with a wry twist of your lips, you added, “And also, maybe we can use it as a talking stick. In my class, we pass around this glittery baseball bat to stop the kids from yelling over each other. This could be our version.” 

That earned you a real smirk this time, brief but genuine. “You’re weird.” 

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” you said with a shrug, just as your phone buzzed. 

You glanced down at your phone to see a text from Sébastien. Bucky noticed, and his smirk immediately faded. 

“You’re going through with Romanoff’s idea?” He asked, crossing his arms. 

“Why not?” You replied, shrugging your shoulders. “It could be fun.” 

“You’re going to regret it,” he warned, putting his old prosthetic back inside the closet like he was wrapping up the conversation. 

“Probably,” you called over your shoulder as you turned to the bathroom, “But at least I won’t be looping Pride and Prejudice in my room anymore.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, he just gave you one last unreadable look before retreating to his room and closing the door with a soft click.

—————————————————————————————————— End Notes: this was so dumb i cracked myself up writing this one. oh and for some reason, when i was writing this i kept imagining Sébastien (original character) as Sebastian Stan when he was the mad hatter in ONCE hashsdhasdhahdfh i need to sleep oh and i will be changing the summaries to look like friends episode titles because why not

tags: @projectjuvia @vibraniumavenger @mommymilkers0526 @iyskgd @pllwprincess @hiraethmae @b1pan1cg1rly @starstruckfirecat @soupiemeowmeow @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @cherrypieyourface @lasnych @okbutiambabygorl @herejustforbuckybarnes @ilistentotayswifttocope @s-sh-ne @ficmeiguess @alagalaska

[bugsbenefit]

i'll say it again but you could literally just copy paste this into s4 and pretend he's reacting to their next plan

because even if they actually managed to burn him to death against all odds then like, what? there's small gates cracked open all over town now, and there's still a giant cosmic shadow monster living over there that's not averse to possessing people. just burning him isn't really a solution to their constant UD problem at this point

their big plan in s4 was just doing what they did in s1, and s2, and then wanted to do in s3 again but Mike told them not to, AGAIN. and shockingly it still didn't work

to be fair s4 had an additional final step to it with Nancy actually considering that the fire might not kill him so she'll... shoot him to death. with the guns that famously don't kill anything above small demodog size at best...

which is actually just her plan from s1 with the Demogorgon again i'm just realizing??

no one has original plans. the sauna test was the last shred of plan creativity that also actually did what is was supposed to and that was a whole season ago (and that might just be because it wasn't a "let's literally just kill it with fire immediately" plan which is what 95% of the other plans people are coming up with are, when it turns out that the UD is still causing them problems after... they tried to burn it to death the last time)

they really don't need Will or El to figure the UD out right now, they need to start small and primarily need someone to look them deep into the eyes and tell them that they're being fucking stupid again

if someone says, let's just burn the entire Upside Down this time in s5 i will lose my fucking mind

[ramp-it-up]

Captain. My Captain.

Mood

Summary: Steve has a kink. And you have the key.

Word count: 3.3 K

Pairing: Early CATWS era Captain Steve Rogers x SHEILD Reader

A/N: This is a fic related to Call Me Captain When I... and comes right after Mood. It is also for @avengers-assemble-bingo. #KinkyBingo. This fulfills the square: Sir/Daddy Kink This is also part of @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grabby, Stabby, Oh My Challenge. Prompt: “just the tip I promise" *holds me down and fucks me full of cum.*” I'm deep in love with Steve and Libby. Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! This Steve curses, and he is also grumpy. Steve is weak for you but a bit of a control freak. Dominate Steve, Semi-public sex act, fingering, lots of dirty talk and verbal edging, literal edging, orgasm denial, Captain and Sir kink, size kink, praise oral (m receiving), raw p in v, creampie, aftercare, soft Steve after he cums. 😜

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

It started at the briefing.

Steve sat at the head of the table, full Captain mode. The stealth suit fit him like a second skin and you’d had to will your eyes forward more than once. His jaw was set, his focus sharp. Everyone else, Sam and a few others, listened while he laid out the plan to hunt the organization behind the ambush on your training op.

The bastards who hit you were already “neutralized,” though you had yet to learn what Steve meant by that. This mission was about the ones who’d sent them. 

The ones who thought they could touch you.

It was the first time you’d worked directly with him in the field.

You were paying attention. To the plan. To him. To the way his fingers curled tight around the table’s edge. The sharp crease between his brows. The way he looked at everyone else like their Captain, and looked at you like a man who’d memorized the sound you made when you broke.

Steve’s reactions to you had always been inconvenient, but they were especially volatile now, on a mission, in uniform, with your professionalism at risk. Hundreds of people called him Captain and Sir every day, but when you said them, it short-circuited something primal inside him.

You weren’t supposed to be under his command outside of the bedroom. But this time, you were. And he was doing everything in his power to keep his shit together.

That meant no time alone. No slipping. No touching. No relief. He even insisted that you get yourself off every night to counter the maddening effects of no contact between you, but you defied him.

“Respectfully, Sir, I don’t want to.”

He’d nearly broken then, but understood. Nothing felt better than you two together. He’d decided the same. Two weeks of self-control would be hell. But he’d endured worse.

You weren’t so sure you would last.

When he asked the room, “Any questions before we move?” his gaze locked on you, unflinching.

You tilted your head innocently.

“No, Sir.”

His breath hitched. Just enough that you noticed.

Sam started talking, but you didn’t hear a word. You were too busy watching Steve’s knuckles strain, his jaw tick, and the storm brewing behind his ice-blue eyes.

He was daring you to say it again.

You straightened, hands folded neatly, waiting for him to look away.

He didn’t.

After the briefing, you didn’t even make it three steps down the hall before his hand circled your arm, pulling you into the breakroom. Not rough, but firm enough that your heart stuttered.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sweetness.

“What was what?”

“You know damn well.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Sir.” You leaned in, breath warm against his ear. 

“Didn’t mean to distract you, Captain.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was the sound of a man fraying at the seams.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll bend you over the nearest tactical table.”

Your pulse fluttered. “Is that a threat or a promise, Sir?”

His hand drifted, barely brushing the curve of your ass and it was subtle, calculated, and electric enough to buckle your knees.

“You’re walking the line, Lieutenant.”

You lowered your gaze, fighting for control you didn’t want. 

“Apologies…”

He nodded, sharp and curt. Turned to go and you watched America’s Ass. You waited just long enough, then let the last word fall like a stone in water.

“…Captain.”

He froze. Just for a second. Shook his head and walked away.

But it didn’t end there.

On the jet, the tension only sharpened. You sat across from him, knees brushing, the hum of the engines a thin veil over the silence between you. The rest of the team prepped and chatted, oblivious.

Steve didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just watched you watch him. Your eyes dropped to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock beneath the suit. You licked your lips deliberately, remembering the weight and stretch of him.

You leaned forward, passing him a file, fingers brushing his on purpose.

“Here you go, Sir.”

Your voice was husky and he knew you were wet, and probably desperate for any contact with him. So he didn’t take the file from you.

Didn’t move.

Just stared at you, like he was one slip away from throwing you over his knee in front of God, country, and S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice dark and tight.

You smiled, all sugar. “Yes, Sir.”

Steve’s jaw flexed as he turned to Sam, locking the need away with brutal discipline. You swallowed, steadying yourself. The mission came first.

It always did.

The mission’s success only sharpened the edge. By the time the gala rolled around, neither of you had cooled off, not even close. You’d basically begged him before the event. Your hands tangled in his shirt, your lips bruising his, your body pressed tight against his in the darkened corner of your quarters.

“Please,” you whispered. “Just the tip.”

Steve laughed against your mouth, but he’d pulled back, steady even with his pulse racing wild beneath your fingers. His hands cupped your face, thumbs sweeping over your swollen lips.

“We both know that just the tip would end up with me holding you down and fucking you full of cum, Libby.”

Your eyes rolled. “Please…”

Your wanton moan had him a hair’s breath from giving in. But you both still had a job to do.

“I want to take my time with you.” His voice was all gravel, thick with promise. “You’ll get all of me. But not now. Not like this.”

So you dressed for the gala, the ache between your thighs a constant reminder that Captain Rogers was still calling the shots. And you let him think he’d won right up until the Senator asked that question.

The man had the nerve to sidle up to you, drink in hand, charm dripping off him like oil, and ask what it was like to serve under Captain Rogers.

You didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, I always follow orders,” you said, slow and sweet. “Isn’t that right, Sir?”

You saw it, the way Steve’s glass froze halfway to his lips, the flicker of fire in his eyes, the sharp clench of his jaw as he forced down a cough to cover the sound of his own restraint breaking.

Five minutes later, he excused himself. You followed.

The hallway was empty. His hand caught your wrist the second you were close enough, pulling you flush against him, pressing your back to the wall. You were so wet.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. 

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

His breath ghosted your lips. 

“You think it’s funny? Teasing me like that. In front of him.”

You smiled angelically. 

“I think it’s hot. Watching you try to keep control when all you want to do is take me apart.”

His hands tightened against the wall.

“You know what happens when I lose control, Libby.”

You smirked. “I’m counting on it.”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling tight around your wrist as he dragged you into the nearest supply closet. The door clicked shut, the air was charged, and you could barely breathe.

“You wanted this,” he growled pinning you back against the shelves. His hands roamed, hiking your dress higher and higher until his fingers brushed bare skin. 

“You’ve been begging for it since the damn briefing.”

Your breath hitched, but your voice stayed steady. 

“Still am.”

The second the word Captain left your mouth, his control shattered and he was on you.

His hand covered your mouth to muffle the sounds, the other sliding between your thighs, fingers slipping deep, parting your folds roughly, desperate to feel you. He swallowed every broken noise you couldn’t hold back, his mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, your breast. His teeth grazing, his tongue soothing, and his lips branding you.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracking open at the edges.

You moaned, helpless against the waves of pleasure.

His fingers pumped harder, faster. His control slipping with every stroke. His fingers worked you harder, faster, until your legs trembled and your world seemed to bend around you.

Then, right before you came, he stopped.

“You wanna play games, Sweetheart?” His voice was velvet-wrapped steel. “You better be ready for the consequences.”

When he pulled back, he held you steady, smoothing your dress back down with those same hands that had almost wrecked you. His lips ghosted over your temple, while what he did still vibrated through both of you.

“You okay?” 

You swallowed. You couldn’t even be mad at him because you knew how much you’d teased him.

“Yeah, I….you. That was…” your voice trailed off. “...Are you?”

His smirk was pure sin. “Nope.”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked. 

“You know it would help if you didn’t look so damn smug.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, you haven’t seen smug yet. Wait until I give you at least three orgasms.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“So you keep telling me.”

—----

The second the gala ended, you’d expected him to break. To drag you into the nearest car, or corner you in some dark hallway before the flashbulbs had even cooled.

But no.

Steve kept his distance.  

All night, you’d felt his eyes track you across the room, the heat of it searing through the silk of your dress, the weight of his control stretched so tight it was a wonder he hadn’t snapped.

But he never touched you again. Never slipped. Not once.

He even sent you home in a separate car. Your heart couldn’t take it, but you knew there was more to come. And it was long past midnight when the knock came. You opened your door, heart already pounding, and there he stood.

His shirt sleeves were rolled, the tie hanging loose around his neck, his jacket nowhere to be seen. His restraint had finally cracked, written all over his face. But his voice stayed low, even.

“Pack your bag,” he said. “Now.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to. You just obeyed.

Ten minutes later, you were in his car, the city lights blurring past the windows, your thighs pressed tightly together. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you, hands flexing on the wheel like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

By the time the car stopped,  a quiet, private safehouse on the edge of the city, your skin was flushed, your pulse wild.

The door had barely shut behind you when you felt it.

His hands.

One gripping your jaw, tilting your face up, the other on your waist.

“You think you can tease me like that,” he murmured, voice like gravel, “and I’ll just sit back and let it slide?”

Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t teasing, Sir.”

His eyes darkened, and the corner of his mouth lifted. not a smile, more like a warning.

“You don’t get to play innocent. Not after two weeks of ‘Yes, Sir’ and that sweet little tilt of your head. You’ve been testing me since the briefing.” 

His thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“And you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You felt the heat pool low in your belly, your legs weak beneath the weight of his words, the sharpness of his stare.

“On your knees.”

The order sent a shiver through you and you dropped without hesitation, hands resting on your thighs, head tilted back to look at him, waiting.

Wanting.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, jaw tight, chest rising slowly.

“Look at you,” he muttered, shaking his head, more to himself than to you. 

“So damn pretty when you’re obedient.”

When he undid his belt, his fly, and freed his cock, you swallowed hard. The size of him, the sheer weight and length, was always a shock to your system no matter how many times you’d seen him.

You glanced up through your lashes, the shape of a question lingering in your throat.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. 

“You’ve been begging for this with every word you’ve said for the last two weeks. Work for it.”

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat, the heft, the impossible stretch of him. Your lips parted, and when you took him in, his breath hissed through his teeth, one hand threading to your scalp.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek, the barest encouragement as you started to bob on his cock, lips stretched wide and drool pooling at the corners of your mouth.

“Look at you. Captain’s perfect little mouth.”

You worked him slow at first, savoring the low growl of his approval, the way his hips flexed, controlled even now. But when you hollowed your cheeks and looked up at him, wide-eyed, his control cracked.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hand tightened on your head, hips pressing forward until you took him deeper, until tears dropped from your eyes. But you didn’t pull back. You wanted this, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

When he finally eased out of your mouth, his thumb wiped your lips, tracing the slick curve.

“Up,” he ordered softly, and you obeyed, rising to your feet. His hands were on you the second you stood, spinning you, pressing you against the nearest wall, his large body caging you in completely.

“You like making me lose control, don’t you?” he rasped against your ear, his hard length grinding against your ass through the thin fabric of your panties. 

“You like knowing no one else gets to see me like this.”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes, Sir.”

His hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding you soaked and ready.

“Of course you do. You’ve been dripping for me all damn night.” 

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, voice dark and ragged. 

“And I’ve been thinking about bending you over every flat surface I could find. About splitting you open on my cock until you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, grinding back against him, desperate.

“You wanted me to break, sweetheart?” 

His hand gripped your hip, his other one sliding between your legs again, fingers skating through your slick. 

“You’ve got me. But you’re going to pay for every second you spent torturing me.”

He didn’t take you to bed. Not yet.

Instead, he lifted you, like you weighed nothing at all,  and carried you to the couch, settling you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You did, your gaze locking with his as he guided you down onto him, slowly, filling you inch by impossible inch until you were gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he groaned, holding you still once you’d taken all of him. 

“You feel so fucking tight. So goddamn perfect around me.”

You clung to him, barely able to breathe, stretched to the limit. It hurt so good.

“You wanted your Captain,” he whispered against your lips. “Now you’ve got him.”

And then he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts that pushed you to the edge of madness, his mouth capturing every moan, every broken plea you couldn’t hold back. And you knew, right then, there’d be no walking straight tomorrow.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—---

You lost track of how many times he made you cum. His mouth, his hands, the punishing rhythm of his hips. Every part of him wrecked you with single-minded precision.

But it wasn’t until long after your voice was hoarse from moaning his name, long after your body trembled from overstimulation, that Steve softened.

He shifted beneath you, easing out of your body with care, murmuring something low and tender against your skin. You couldn’t make out the words because your brain was a fog of pleasure and endorphins. But the gentle tone was enough to settle you.

Strong arms gathered you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as he carried you to the bed like you were precious. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the salt of his skin, the faintest scent of sweat and his cologne.

He laid you down carefully and climbed in beside you. His big hands smoothed over your hips, your thighs, his thumbs catching on the marks he’d left behind.

You didn’t mind them. You liked that you’d wear the shape of him tomorrow. On your skin. Between your legs. In the slight limp no one would question, but he would know.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, still dazed, sated and warm. “Yes, Sir.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled the blanket up over both of you.  

“Didn’t mean to go so hard,” he murmured, brushing your curls back from your forehead. 

“Just… you get under my skin, Libby. Make me forget how to think.”

“You didn’t forget how to think,” you whispered, tracing the curve of his bicep, the hard line of his chest. “You planned that.”

His answering grin pressed against your shoulder. 

“Maybe a little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he asked, “And you knew what you were doing at the gala.”

You smirked against his throat. 

“You liked it.”

Steve groaned and pulled you tighter. 

“Liked it too much. Nearly lost it when you said Sir like that in front of the Senator.”

You laughed softly. 

“You like it when I say it in private more?”

His hand slid to the base of your spine. His grip was warm. 

“I like it when you say it when you're wrecked. When you’re trying not to come and you whisper it like a prayer. That’s when it ruins me.”

The silence that followed was full of heat, but not urgency. The hunger had been sated. What remained was the closeness. The wanting still there, but quiet now. Like embers under ash.

You moved and winced, the soreness sparking up.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s just that you’re huge,” the words tumbled out unfiltered.

Steve stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No. Not even close. Just… I’m still adjusting. In my soul.”

He laughed then, head falling back, the sound full and rich and happy. It shook the bed, and you smiled against his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could look at you. 

“Who knew you were this much of a brat?”

You gave him a sleepy, satisfied smile.

“Only for you, Captain. My Captain.”

His expression softened completely. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and for a second, there was something deeper than heat in the space between you.

Something like devotion.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Every time. Before, during, after. I love you Libby.”

You leaned into the touch. 

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know, Steve. I love you too.”

And with that, he kissed you, slow and lingering, nothing like the bruising hunger from earlier. This was patient. Tender. The kind of kiss that promised more.

Not just in bed, but in the quiet spaces between missions and chaos. In the in-between moments where your heartbeat slowed and the world finally held still.

Eventually, you drifted off, curled against him, your leg thrown over his thigh, his hand resting on the curve of your hip.

And even in sleep, you felt it, his presence wrapped around you like a shield. Steady. Unshakable. Yours.

Captain. Sir. Steve.

All of him.

——

Read Payback

[lovebugism]

miss bug I have something to ask 🙋‍♀️

i don’t know if you do sickfics but! mayhaps steve and shy!reader where she doesn’t show up for school, steve goes to her house, and she’s utterly mortified because she feels like she’s nowhere near presentable

thank u for requesting!! — king steve pays his lab partner a visit when he hears you're sick, but definitely not because he has a crush on you (shy!reader, friends to lovers | 1.6k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

Steve waits for you that morning with half a bagel and his heart in his throat.

The desks in Ms. Click’s class grow slowly full with bustling bodies — some sluggish like zombies, others too chipper for an early morning. Steve cranes his head in search of your face in the crowd. Yours never shows, which is strange for Hawkins High’s future Valedictorian.

“Where is your partner, Mr. Harrington?” Ms. Click wonders beneath the grating morning bell. She ducks her head to peer across the classroom over her sparkly, cat-eye glasses.

Steve pauses, mid-bite of his sausage-egg-and-cheese. He shrugs wordlessly, with a wad of food jutting his cheek and crumbs sticking to his mouth.

The older woman sighs, too used to King Steve’s antics. She looks past him and asks, “What about you, Miss Buckley? Where’s Carol?”

“Probably under the bleachers with Tommy Hagan,” Robin mutters under her breath, though loud enough for everyone around her to hear, causing them to bite back their subsequent laughter. Steve, himself, nearly chokes on his bagel.

“Well, you’ll just have to pair up with Steven for the day,” Ms. Click tells her.

“Oh, god…” Robin groans in a whisper.

“Get to work.”

Steve spins his chair around to face the girl behind him, who he only really knew because of how highly you spoke of her. Despite your frequent praises, Robin doesn’t even look at him, nor does she bother to make mindless small talk. She just keeps her head down and scribbles notes on a worksheet. 

Steve, in spite of their differing statuses, struggles to find the courage to talk to her.

He slouches and tilts back his chair. “Hey, do you, um—”

“We don’t have to make conversation, alright?” Robin interjects before he can even start. She keeps her head bowed but glares daggers from beneath her lashes. “Let’s just get this hour over with so we never speak to each other again.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Well, I was— I was just gonna ask where your friend was. ‘Cause I don’t think she’s missed a day since, like, kindergarten.”

Robin’s freckled face flushes. She’d feel worse about being so short with him if he wasn’t such a douchebag. “Oh. Uh, she’s— She’s sick, I think.”

“Sick?”

His chest pinches with an immediate worry. Robin bites back a smirk at King Steve’s palpable concern for arguably the biggest nerd on this side of Hawkins. “Yeah,” she shrugs. “I figured she was just allergic to your hairspray.”

Steve laughs under his breath and turns away. Robin smiles only until he looks back at her, now with a brown paper bag in hand. It was meant to be for you — an even piece of his bagel, ‘cause he knows you don’t get breakfast yourself. He figures you’d rather not want it to go to waste.

“Want my other half?” he offers to the girl across from him, like some kinda olive branch.

Robin’s eyes dart from Steve to the paper sack and back again. It goes against every code in her personal handbook to take anything from Hawkins Royalty, but she shrugs in response anyway. “What the hell. Sure.”

—————

Finding your trailer isn’t hard. He visited there, once, for a project at the beginning of the school year. It’s the house directly across from the Freak’s. Eddie made it a point to play his guitar as loud as he possibly could, knowing The Hair was around to hear it. (Munson would never miss an opportunity to annoy King Steve, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him).

Steve decides to make his entrance through your bedroom window. Dead, unmanicured grass crunches under his sneakers as he rounds your trailer. He rises to the tips of his toes and knocks four times on the high-up window. The old glass feels strangely delicate under his fist.

He waits for an answer for several long moments. When he doesn’t get one, he lifts his hand to knock again. The window squeaks open before he can — and there he finds you, standing above him, holding a half-empty box of tissues in your hand like you plan to hit him with it.

“Whoa—” Steve flinches.

You look equally shocked to see him, fear swimming in your glassy eyes. “Oh, my god—”

“Sorry,” he grimaces with his palms splayed in surrender. “It’s just me.”

“I thought you were a burglar or something…”

“And what? You were gonna take me out with a box of tissues?” His laughter feels like warm honey compared to your splitting, icy migraine.

You take in a heaving breath and swallow hard through a stinging throat. “Sorry,” you sniffle. “Come— Come in.”

As Steve climbs through your window, trying hard not to get caught in the curtains, you become very hyperaware of your living space. It is your childhood bedroom, after all — every phase of your life is stored within these tiny four walls. Posters, trinkets, slightly dated decor. And on top of all that, you’ve been living like a total slob since you got sick over the weekend.

Your bed’s a mess, you’ve got bottled water and tissues piling in the bin, and you haven’t changed out of your pajamas in two days. It’s certainly no way to greet the king of Hawkins High, though he doesn’t quite seem to mind.

“You coulda just knocked on the door, you know?” you mumble, slightly nasally, as you swipe a balled-up tissue under your nose. “I would’ve let you in.”

Steve pants and stands to full height again, finally in your room with little to no struggle (though he’s pretty sure he’s stamped his footprint on your wall). 

“Well, what can I say? I like to make an entrance,” he jokes with a lopsided smile. The rosy expression fades when your glassy eyes glaze over with a faraway look. “…You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just…” you shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. “I’m just a little lightheaded. That’s all.”

Steve rushes to your swaying form without thinking. He grasps your arms in two wide, gentle hands. His honey eyes are wide and wild as they dart over your features, sufficiently bleary with whatever bug you’ve caught. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you insist despite the obvious. “Just can’t break this stupid fever.”

“Here. Lay back down.”

He guides you the short distance to your bed, foreignly patient with your sluggish movements. He keeps a hold of you with one hand and reaches for the mussed blankets with the other, pulling them back to ease you beneath them.

“Sorry for bailing on you today,” you apologize in nearly inaudible slurs as the boy props you against the pillows. 

Steve shakes his head with a quiet smile. “You’re sick. It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” he insists and tucks the covers on top of you again. You can smell his aftershave when he leans over you, a striking minty scent that melts nicely with his deeper cologne.

“Sorry,” you repeat before you can help it.

Steve rises again and fights the urge to brush the hair sticking to your clammy cheek. “Have you had any medicine?”

“I had some… cough syrup earlier…” you slur, face half-buried in the pillows.

“What about food?” he asks with his hand on his cocked hip. “Had any of that?”

“‘M too sick for food.”

Steve laughs and fills the gloomy room with sunshine. “You have to eat, babe. So you can get your energy back. That’s, like, science or whatever—”

His eyes widen, only then realizing his use of the nickname. His heart drops to his ass. He hopes he said it so quickly that you missed it. You seem to have, as sick as you are, basically half-asleep before him.

You’d heard it, though. The word alone has your delicate heart beating with a newfound fervor. You can’t tell if it’s killing you or bringing you back to life.

Steve starts rambling before he realizes it. “I can whip you something up, if you want. I make a mean macaroni and cheese— In the microwave, obviously, ‘cause I’m less likely to burn it that way. Did you know that you can actually burn pasta in the microwave? Yeah, I had to learn that one the hard way—”

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can you just sit with me?” you sniffle, eyes still shut. “Please?”

He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Yeah, of— Of course, yeah.”

The boy climbs into your bed with a lot less confidence than he’s used to. This is by no means the first time he’s been in another girl’s bed, but something about this one feels different. This time, he has to keep reminding himself to breathe. This time, his hands are all clammy and tingling with an anxiety he isn’t used to. This time, he feels so utterly unsure in his body that he doesn’t know how he became King Steve in the first place — let alone how he got here, next to you.

What’d an asshole like me do to deserve all this? his mind reels.

Your breath catches when the mattress dips under his weight. He sits over the covers, but still a lot closer than you thought he might, all things considered. You turn slowly onto your back to look at him without going dizzy again.

“You’re not scared you’ll get sick?” you croak, blinking up at him with sleep-swollen eyes.

Steve shrugs with his back propped against the headboard. “Not really. I mean, what’s the worst-case scenario— I get sick and have to be quarantined here with you? That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

His lips curl into a lopsided smile that makes your chest feel sparkly. You turn away and hide your own grin in the pillow. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” you quip, half-muffled in the cushion.

“Yeah, I know,” he hums, never once taking his eyes off you. 

He can’t wait to kiss you when you’re better.

[agirlwholovesrockstars]

liar

Summary : love is not an easy to admit, are you ashamed of it?

Warnings : MDNI 18+ Rockstar!Eddie Munson x FEM!reader, cursing, unprotected sex, self-sabotage, mentions of pregnancy, loss of virginity, slight sprinkle of readers uncertainty in her relationship, insecurity, low self-esteem, miscommunication, heated arguments, that's all! :))

What to Expect : SMUT, ANGST, FLUFF, the story goes back to past and to present, set in the 1980's and let's pretend Paramore existed back then lol

Note To Reader : I haven't made a Eddie fanfic with a Paramore song and I literally love them both, so, this is my chance! 🥰

Author Note : this been sitting in my drafts for way too long now, I have to cook this up and hopefully you will enjoy it! 🥺

☆ EDDIE MUNSON'S MASTERLIST ☆

❣ AGATHA'S MAIN PAGE ❣

1986 : The Record Label approves Corroded Coffin

"Where is she?!?" Eddie heavily breathes as he whipped his head everywhere to catch a glimpse of your figure but none seems to show

"She was here a minute ago- hey, what's going on?!?" Gareth wipes his beading forming sweat on his forehead

"Jeff!" He shouts out loud he did not mean to capturing everyone's attention in the bar

He looked at his panting friend who places his palms over his knees as he heaves air on his chest, confusion is written all over his face as he walks up to him

"Dude, are you okay-" he bend slightly to meet his gaze as he places his hand over his friend's shoulder as he dismissive his hand at him

"Y/N, where is she?" The desperation is clear to his eyes, this night was supposed to be eventful but it didn't worked out the way he thought it would be

"I-I saw her hopped into the taxi with a suitcase" Jeff stammers as he looked over at Eddie's shoulder someone is approaching them

"W-What?!? a suitcase?" He exclaims but before he could ask again, a familiar voice called out to him

"Eddie!"

"Harrington-" He furrowed his brows at him

"She told me to tell you-" he cuts him off, Steve took a deep breath before saying that could scarred his friend forever

"Tell me what?" He demands as he directly looked at him

"She's leaving" ❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦

1990 : Present Day

Fuck

Yeah, seriously fuck

It's been 4 years since the last time you ever laid eyes on him, is it just you or he looked like as if you're in the top of the world

Does he still loved you? until now?

Shit, you feel guilty for what you have done, selfish as it sounds, you save yourself first

But, at what cost? is it worth it?

.....if you could put down your pride, just speak the damn truth....no, it's not worth it

You regretted everything

and now, he's here accidentally bumped into your grocery cart in the dairy aisle at the supermarket

You discreetly put the milk slowly on the cart as you stop eye contacting to him, completely nervous to see him again

"Y/N? is it really you?"

You speak without looking at him, "y-yeah"

He quickly walks up closer to you as he tries to get your gaze back to him, you take a step back slightly as he spoke again, "I asked for this"

That's where you look back at him, "What?"

"I wished and asked that I get the chance to finally see you again"

He saw the guilt flicker in your eyes, you swallowed hard, the beating inside of your chest went fast forward

"It's been 4 years, Y/N, I-I just wanted to know what happened to...." He trails off as he sighs, "To us" he gestures his finger to you and to him

You know he deserves to know

It's your own goddamn fucking pride is what should be shut down

You just look at him and blink as you ignore his question as you move past him along with your cart

"Y/N! what-"

"It's nice seeing you, Eddie"

"But-"

"Goodbye"

You said it without sparing him a glance as he stare at the back of your head as he follows your figure walking away

He took a step forward as he hesitates to tail you, he sighs as he scratches the top of his head trying to understand what made you act this way

He doesn't even recognized you, it's like you changed

It may be 4 fucking years ago but still he is starting to get pissed off

Pissed off at the fact that you are simply trying to avoid him or get away from him as much as possible

He had rewind his memory to every moment that has happened in your relationship together, if he missed out on something that you displeased you

You could've addressed it to him not acting weird like this

He self-reflected but still there is this feeling that you're hiding about something but what is it?

But still, even the heights of this circus series of life events, he remains the same old Eddie, very patient and most of all very selfless

One of the workers at the supermarket asked him to move aside as they tried to place products on the shelves that made him snap out of his train of thoughts

He continues on his errands, once again, he saw you there, already at the check out, he deflated, you didn't react that way before to him like that and it confuses him

What the hell happened?

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1984 : Prom

"Eddie!"

"What?"

You rolled your eyes playfully as he brings you closer to him holding your waist gently

You always loved how unserious he was as he stopped peppering you kisses on your whole face

You both swayed to the slow music playing at the background as he spoke again

"I've never thought that I could attend something like this"

"Yeah?" He raises both of his eyebrows as he uses his freehand to caress your bare shoulder

"To be clear, I don't hate it until I met you, now I am getting to understand why everybody else loves this" you say enunciate your point as you look around in the gymnasium

"I have no plans either, everything changed when I met you too" he says with so much certainty

"Really?" You bring back your gaze to him with hopeful look on your eyes and his heartaches how you sounded so in disbelief

"Are you kidding? you should've been the queen of the night! somebody bribed the damn thing" he dramatically exclaims as he gestures at one of the popular girls who always won every year

You laughed as you push him by the chest as he heartily chuckles

It's true, everyone's eyes are on you, Eddie reassures that you look in fact absolutely mesmerizing, he knows that you're so self-conscious and you're thinking too hard about it

"Y/N, you're so freaking beautiful" he says without a doubt as he cupped both of your cheeks

Your high from your laughter slowly died down abruptly but the smile has never left in your pretty face

You melt within his touch as you close your eyes as you place your hands over on top of him

"I....I love you" he declares it as he happily chuckles, he's so certain of it by the tone of his voice

You open your eyes and the tears starts to prick, "E-Eddie"

He shushes you, "I just wanted you to know that, it's true, sweetheart"

You slowly blink as you try not to shed any tear as he hugs you

❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦

1990 : Present Day

"Y/N, what-" he abruptly stops as he saw your expression

The cold features are sitting rightly on your face as the man stood before you as he dart his eyes back and forth at you and back in the grocery store

He watches as you aggressively put the paper bags at the backseat of the car, he clears his throat, "Who got you so crabby all of the sudden-"

"Get in the fucking car, Steve, I'm not in the mood-" you say to him as he can feel your eyes stabbing him as if he's the one who got you pissed off

"Y/N!"

Steve furrows his eyebrows in confusion as he followed the familiar voice who is jogging on the way to you

"Oh shit"

"You can say that again" you say as you slam the door shut making Steve flinch in the process as he breathes out as places his hands over his hips

"Y/N, please, I just really need to talk to you-"

"Eddie, I seriously have to go now"

"Whatever it is that I've done back then, I am truly sorry!"

Steve looks at him in apologetically as he licks his lips, "Y/N, have a heart-"

"Don't start with me, Steve, get inside of the car!" You hit the hood of the car as you point an angry finger on him making Steve's jaw clench at your stubbornness

"Y/N, we've talked about this" Steve shakes his head as he motions to his old friend

Meanwhile, Eddie is puzzled to almost like sibling argument as he spoke once again, "What is it that you both talked about?"

That's when you both stop bantering at each other as you exasperated sigh as you and Steve share the same knowing look that you're trying to avoid for 4 years

"You can't escape this, Y/N!"

"Goddamn it! just drop it-"

"Give him a fucking chance!" Steve shouts back not giving a care to the people who are overhearing this conversation

Steve had enough of it, he is so done with being considerate with you, you need this confrontation

All he ever does is to be a good friend to you but he can't just fucking tolerate this behavior of yours especially when Eddie has never done anything wrong to you

Eddie didn't know that Steve was eating up a lot of conscience for keeping a very personal and delicate information about you

But, this isn't his problem, this is your life, but also he can't help but to meddle with your stupid decisions

"You gotta stop this, Y/N" Steve scratches his chin as he spoke through gritted teeth

"I am a little lost here-" Eddie shifts his foot sideways as he looks both of you for answers

"Your girlfriend is a fucking coward, that's what" Steve punctuates the word making his point as he exaggerates it

You glare at Steve who doesn't even give a shit about that look that you're giving to him

"Fuck you, Steve"

"See? What the hell are you even doing? You're running away again"

You're not going to be cornered not this time, not ever, you will put the pin back on the grenade, you can't say it out loud now

You fumbled with your keys as you finally get inside of the car

"Get out of the damn car, Y/N, we are not finished here" Steve says at the window of your seat as you stare at him

"Back off!" You yell as you flip him off as you ignite the engine, he surrenders as he looked at you in disappointment

You accidentally stare through Eddie's eyes, swirling in so much longing, longing for you

You almost faltered but you decided against it as you drove away

"This is bullshit, she's going to tell you the truth one way or another" Steve crosses his arms as he watches your car in the distance

"Tell me what?" Eddie appears in front of him with perplexed expression

"What happened back in 1985"

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1985 : Making it Official

Mascara's running down, your lipstick is smeared, your eyes are watery, your hair is a fucking mess as Eddie got you folded into half as he thrusts into you like his life depends on it

Your clothes are scattered everywhere in his room and so does his, he is so sexy, aggressive and gentleman at the same time, the way he handles you, he understands what you needed and your wants, he prioritizes more of your enjoyment and pleasure rather than his

You don't know how absolutely you feel of the way he's treating you like this, you feel so freaking special like it's so uncommon for you and also felt wrong for you to be treated nicely

He always said that you deserve it, you're worth it, you're capable of being loved and you will always will be loved, he's trying to remove that thing out of you

That you're always telling yourself that you're unlovable

He will be the first and last to you, a few guys here and there before him trying to hit on you, it's a big no for you, the only man that can only have access to you is him and it makes you feel a lot of emotions, you feel euphoric but also you felt you're about to cry

One big loud moan escapes your lips as Eddie groans when you don't stop clenching around him

When he kept that same rhythm and motion over and over your moans started to stagger as your mouth hanging out as your eyes roll back as you lift your hips to catch that sensation

He grunts, "Fuck, Y/N" he looks down as he watches his member slipping in and out of your pulsating cunt so smoothly and easily sheaths back and forth as he kisses you hungrily making you squeal and writhe beneath him

He swallows your moans as he pants as he bottoms harder into your core, he lift your wobbly arms as he goes deeper to you as you bring your legs to lock him in place and pull him closer to you

"aah- Eddie!" You croak out as you breathy sigh and whimper, he moans as he says your name and praises you

Your eyes starts to feel heavy as you feel him everywhere, the sinful sounds of both of your bodies slapping and the squelch makes you even more wetter and you can't deny that it's turning you on

"Shit, you feel so good"

"Oh my god! Right there!"

"Yeah? You like that?"

"Don't sto-p p-please!"

He removes the hold from your arms as he lay it over his shoulders as you held him onto your dear life

He grips your hips tighter, you know you can't fucking walk for days or he will absolutely leave marks on there but you don't care, you feel like jelly

His eyes scans over the shades of purple spots are all over your neck and especially on the mounds of your breasts actually before he doves into you, you're already so worked up when he took a mouthful and kneaded your boobs so naturally

You chant his name when you tell him you're getting closer and does he as you arch your back as he lets out a guttural groan as your moans turned into high pitched tone as he sloppily kisses you, he rolls his hips once more spilling his load to your velvety walls

"Can't believe that you're my girlfriend" he says muffled as you can feel his smile at the crook of your neck

You chuckle as you try to reconnect with the earth

Both of you are breathing heavily as he collapsed on top of you as you instantly wrapped your arms around him, embracing him as you inhale his scent making you sigh in content

He gets up abruptly with the fear on his eyes, his eyes goes all over, you missed the way he looked at your stomach worriedly

You're not in the right headspace to find out what's going on as your brain feels like a mashed potatoes

"What's wrong?" You say lazily as you half-lidded awake

"I-uh- we should've used protection today, sweets"

"Oh...." you say as you take his hand in yours as you moved closer to him

The silence is deafening him and the nervousness grows even more bigger

"It's fine, Eddie, I loved how you feel inside of me"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Yes, Eddie, I do very much" you say as you yawn and he can see you're fighting off the sleep but still he needs confirmation that you're alright of what just happened

He blushes as he took a sigh of relief, "I-I am still sorry-" he immediately apologizes but you cut him off by saying

"I don't care, if you didn't pull out, I...love...you"

You left him with that as you fastly drifted to sleep, he is dumbfounded of what you just said to him, it's the first time ever you said that to him and he blinks one or twice he lost count but he just smiles as he admires you as he removes your hair out of the way from your face as he kisses your forehead

He pulls out of the covers as he carefully put blanket over to your body and his as he lift your head so you can lay over his arm as you mindlessly get comfortable from his warmth he smiles yet again when you lay your hand against his chest

"Oh, Y/N, how I love you so"

*Months later on that same year*

You feel nauseous everytime you eat, you didn't tell Eddie about it, but you've been like this for weeks now, you're having thoughts when you shouldn't be worrying about

But somehow, you're monitoring it, and it shows that you have possible signs of..... let's not go there

Eddie is so laser-focused on his music career and he's getting so well on it and you couldn't even more proud of him

A true artist, the attention to detail on every guitar chords that he's strumming and music sheets that are splayed all over his bed everytime you come over to his house, you've been so supportive of him and you always uplift no matter what happens, he works hard and he's saving up for everything that you both needed

He won't stop until he feels 100% satisfied with his work, he's very meticulous and the important of it all is that you're honest when he shows you a sample of his music, if you don't think it's a good record then he will write another set of songs, that's how much he trusts your opinion and it's like you're a part of his band, you watching them grow and help together, they're still act playful and being so goofy every so often when they're together but when it's about their goal? they're locked in with the mission to be recognized as real artists

Not some schmuck desperate rock band as the town would say

Yeah, you're brutally honest when it comes to this

But, what about your feelings?

"Eds, I'm going to take the restroom in a jiffy" you say as you swing your purse over your shoulder

He nods as he squeezes your hand, "You okay, sweetheart?"

You flash in a small smile, "Yeah, I'm fine, I think, I'm just tired is all"

He whispers, "Okay" he goes back canvassing music equipment in a department store

You finally have the restroom to yourself as you clutch in with your purse as you took a deep breath and you take out the oh-so-familiar device that indicates whether you think you are indeed carrying a child or not

You lock yourself in the stall and disinfect the toilet as you sat on it and pull down your underwear as you let your urine take a few drops on the mark

You clean yourself up as you get out of the cubicle and place the device on the neat surface of the sink as you wash your hands

You stare at it, you didn't take your eyes off it as you reach for the paper towel and you know it will appear for a few minutes

You see the one line already as you wait for the other one, you bit your lip as your knees start to bop out of your forming anxiety

The knock on the door startled you, a small gasp fell out from your lips

"Y/N? honey? are you done? I found the one that I like and I need your thoughts about it"

"Uh, yeah, just give me a second!"

You freshen up and keep it cool as you retouch your lipstick, you glance at the device and you did a double look on it

You picked it up as you slowly bring it closer to you for a better look, the second line is faded until it comes out it full color as you stumble slightly in your stance as you look yourself of your reflection in the mirror, it's positive

You're pregnant

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1990 : Present Day

"You're fucking insane"

"Trust the process, man-"

"She can't even just talk to me!"

Eddie mutters "sorry" to the people who are dining in the café

"It won't work" he whisper-shout to his old friend who is stirring his cup of coffee

"It will work" he corrects him as he takes a sip of his coffee

"When you say it, it sounded so easy-" Eddie scratches his head as he grumbles leaning backward at the seat

"You have to do it, Eddie, it's both for your own good" Steve tuts him as he states his point as he raises a finger at him

Eddie listens carefully as he sighs and nods at him to continue

"All you have to do is to corner her, she is strong-headed but I feel you're her weakness, she can't even stand you the moment you both just got reunited after 4 years" He throws his hands up as he scoffs as the scene earlier replays on his mind

"Harrington, I'm sorry-"

"What in the hell are you apologizing for?"

"For bringing you into this mess of mine" Eddie huffs as his eyes wandered around the diner as he watches people coming by

No, actually, it was you who brought up Steve into your goddamn business, but he didn't mind at all but a part of him is also feel like a bad friend for not saying the truth at all to his greatest pal that only to be reunited in this way when he wished it was other way around not like this

He also wants to fix this, it's been long overdue and he been keeping this for 4 years

"Hey, Munson"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens to you and Y/N, when you find out what really happened back then, if you did get mad at me, I understand and I deserve that and it's not my place to speak for her, she's the one must tell everything to you not me"

He listens intently as he tips his head slightly, "Well, I appreciate you for being honest"

He smiles then as his eyes lighten up, "Thanks, man"

Steve told him that you mostly walk at the park every Sunday at 8am, he said is the only peace time you have and then go back to your usual schedule

Eddie was sitting over a bench like half an hour until he straightens up seeing you there as you took in the sight of the river

He slowly get up and walks towards to you, he takes in a deep breath before he prays in his mind that this hopefully ends well

"Y/N?"

Your heartbeat stopped at the sound of his voice, you thought you're only imagining it as you slowly turn around to see the man right in front of you as he kept a personal space between the two of you

"What are you doing here?" You say as you look behind and sideways scarily

"I wanted to talk to you-"

"That's not gonna happen" you say plainly as you begin to walk off leaving him behind once again

Steve's right, you're a hard one to hold to stay put in place, "Y/N! you can't even give me a chance to speak!"

"What's there to talk about?!?" You argue as you continue to walk with the scowl on your face

He huffs with a laugh, "You can't get rid me off like this everytime-"

"Oh, yes I can!" You fight back as you stomp faster as he kept up with the pace

"Why are you dodging it?" The frustration on his voice is clear and it fuels you more

"You're fucking infuriating!" You reason with him, god, you can feel you're losing it, your time is out, you can't get away this time

He laughs in disbelief, "Wow? I am infuriating?!? and so are you!" He points to you as he breathes heavily

When you fall silent as he keeps following you, all you do is just briefly glare at him as you both walk past by people

"This is fucking getting out of hand, sweetheart, stop it" he says firmly as he shooks his head sideways

"Don't tell me what to-" you counter

"Stop it, I say!" He commands and before you open your mouth and he beats you to it

He goes right in front of you, blocking your path as you tried to get out of the way

"Look what the fuck what you're doing, scurrying away the moment when things get serious"

The tears began to prickle and sting behind your eyes as you try not to let him hold you, he hesitated everytime he really wanted to touch you, "Don't push me, Eddie-" you scoff

"Nah, I'm gonna push you once and for all, sweetheart, you're not going to win this time" your heart drops when he takes a grip tightly on holding both of your shoulders as you try to get out of his grasp but it won't budge

"Fuck you! Eddie, step away-" you cuss him out of your anger as the tears are threatening to spill anytime soon

"Stop being so difficult and just tell me!" His voice cracks and for a moment your face faltered, he saw it, all you need was a push

"I ain't got nothing to tell you!" One tear escaped from your eyes as you angrily wipe it off

"Oh yeah? What about what happened in 1985? you're not physically okay, I've never asked what's going on but I fucking know for sure something is up"

Your chest tightens when you look at him in the eyes and you can see he is determined to know what happened back there before

"N-No-" you stutter as you can't form any words after that, you have no more reasons to blew him off, you lose

He knew?

"I might be in a tight schedule in that timeline but I never overlooked of what's going with you, sweetheart, you can't fool me" he looks down at you with the same adoring eyes, it feels 1984 all over again and your stomach churns of what's coming

Your lips began to tremble as you look at him, you can't look away now, he's got you

"I know you still love me, Y/N, you're just being in denial"

"N-No, I don't-"

"What are you holding back from?"

You frown at him as the angry tears starts to roll in your cheeks as you hit his chest as he still kept holding you

"You don't remember it but I do, it was only one time you told me and I never stopped believing"

You know exactly what he's talking about

The night that you both made love for the first time

"I fucking hate you-" you cry out as you grab a fist from his shirt as you muffled sob in his chest

"We both know that's not true" he softly says as he pulls back you to look at you

The fire in your eyes has simmered down, only what's left is the fear in your eyes

"Why did you left in 1986?"

The words caught up in your throat as you gulped to his question

No, you can't lie to him anymore

"I-I was scared" another fresh set of tears cascading down as he wipes with his thumb

"Scared of what?!?"

"I was afraid!" You sniffled as you wept in front of him as you angrily ripped off his warm hands to your cupped cheeks

He looks at you as he waits for answer patiently, you try to muster up

"I was afraid of you finding out" you swallow as you duck your head down in shame

Before he asks again, in the corner of his eye, someone is running up to you

"Mommy!" the little girl with arms open wide as the small hands making a grabby action insinuating for you to pick her up

You whipped your head to scrouch down in front of your baby girl as you greet her as you manage to make a small smile as you kissed the crown of her head

Eddie knew his intuition but still he is taken aback from the revelation

You slowly meet his gaze, you thought you will see pure hatred towards you, but there was none

All you can see he is glad as you can see the corners of his lips turned upward to form a contented smile

The little girl is unbeknownst to the man who is looking at her with love on his eyes, she tilts her head as she waves at him, Eddie shyly waves back

"Okay, I'm done with cuddling" you chuckle as you put her down as she ran off playing with the other kids in the park

Eddie's eyes are fixed on his daughter and the giggle of her voice are such a blessing to his ears as he smiles at it

Your breaths are shallow as you can see him moving closer beside you

"She's beautiful"

"Yeah" you whisper

"Beautiful like her mother" he says as he looks at you as his eyes twinkle

The guilt creeps into your eyes as you're the one who takes his hand into yours as you became stunned when he gently squeezes it

"E-Eddie, I am so sorry, I know it's unforgivable for what I've done, I-I'm just so terrified-" you ramble as he dismissive his hand at you

"Of what? if I ever find out that you we're pregnant?"

You nodded and the hope is clear in your eyes, "I was mortified if you ever find out that you will..." you trail off as you shake your head

He lifts your chin up to meet his gaze once again, "I will?"

"In 1986, you brought the news to me that you're accepted in the record label and I tried to tell you so many times but I really couldn't bring it up to you and I didn't wanna be a burden on your dream, so, I just left" you sob as you close your eyes and you feel the weight of your shoulders finally eased out

"Oh honey, you will never be a burden to me" he kisses your hands as you let him embrace you

At that point, he understood what Steve meant to him at the diner last night and it doesn't matter to him anymore

All is forgiven, what's important to him that he's got you and you're back with him

The wait was worth it as he smiles down at you as he caressed your head

You pulled back with uncertainty in your eyes, "Do you hate me?" He knits his eyebrows at you

His eyes softens, "I can never hate you" he tucked a piece of hair into your ear

"Do you hate me?" He brings back the question to you as he pulls you impossibly close as you lock your eyes with his as he looks down at your lips anticipating his next move

"I lied to you, you always knew the truth" he lets you finish as he dives in

He captured your lips as you feel lushed pressing your chest against him as you throw your arms to kiss him back, melting as both your mouth and his collided to one another

"And that is?" He reaches back to peck another kiss to your lips as you smile at him, your heart is soaring as you both glance at your girl as you bring back your eyes to him as you confidently admit....

"I love you"

[orellazalonia]

Unexpected Outlook

Summary: The Avengers launch a mission to raid a known base of the organization you now work with and discuss over what they found.

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: A little shorter since it’s Father’s Day, but I also wanted to add more weight to the previous chapter and progress the story.

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

Preparations moved fast. Too fast, maybe.

Steve didn’t like that they were running with incomplete information, but the longer they waited, the deeper this organization could dig itself into global systems. And the more time you had to assist them, whether willingly or not.

Still, it didn’t sit right. None of it did.

Bruce pulled the files. Natasha studied known locations. Sam monitored chatter. Bucky cleaned his weapons with a look in his eyes like he wanted answers he didn’t have the right to ask.

Yet no one brought up your name again. At least, not directly. But it hovered beneath everything.

The way Bucky checked each plan twice. The way Natasha’s jaw twitched when she reviewed footage. Even the way Steve hesitated before calling it an official mission.

The woman Bucky liked didn’t voice objections anymore. She simply kept a kind, quiet distance, like someone watching friends argue over a lost cause.

And within a week, the op was set.

Steve gave the greenlight with his jaw tight and eyes harder than usual. The mission was clear: infiltrate a suspected communications hub. A nondescript, rural compound masked as a grain storage facility. Satellite data showed encrypted signals routing through it over the last month, signals that matched ones the Avengers used internally.

Which meant either someone was watching. Or someone had been taught how.

They went in with a small team. Just Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bucky. No need for Hulk or Thor; this wasn’t a battering ram job. It was a retrieval and disrupt operation. Quiet and clean.

Or so they thought.

The quinjet landed half a mile out, under cover of dense fog rolling over the hills. The forest beyond the compound was eerily still like it had been holding its breath since before dawn.

“They want us to find this,” Natasha muttered, brushing a branch aside as they crept through the trees.

Steve didn’t argue. His shield was strapped to his arm, but he hadn’t raised it once.

They reached the clearing. The compound was just as expected. Gray concrete, flat roof, minimal security fencing, and a gravel path leading to two entrances. No guards. No movement. Even the air felt… hollow.

Sam scanned the building with a handheld sensor. “No heat signatures. Not even a rat.”

“Too clean,” Bucky said, voice low.

They breached the back door.

Inside, it was dark but not ruined. Every surface was wiped. Consoles powered down. Not destroyed, removed. Carefully like a move-out rather than an attack. Upon investigating further, files had been cleared, drawers emptied, and chairs pushed in with bland desks.

Whoever had been here knew exactly when to leave.

Steve turned in a slow circle, taking it in.

“This was active,” He said. “Days ago.”

“Hours, maybe,” Natasha said, crouching beside a desk. She tapped the edge, there was a faint spot where something electronic had been sitting. Someone had worked here… and then vanished.

Sam stepped into the central control room. There was only one thing left behind: a monitor left switched on, flickering a soft blue light in the dimness.

A single message scrolled across the screen.

Too late, Captain.

That was it. There wasn’t any long monologues. No other mocking comments. Not even a signature or sign-off present. Just a cold fact. Steve stared at it like he could will it to change. Bucky stood a step behind him, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“I don’t like this,” Sam muttered.

Natasha approached a wall panel and pried it open effortlessly. Inside, wires had been sliced. Intentionally. However, there were no explosives. No traps could be seen anywhere either. It was all just… closure.

“They stripped this place surgically,” She said. “No fingerprints, no traces. It’s like they wanted us to know they were here… but not who they are.”

Steve closed the monitor with a clenched jaw. “This wasn’t a base. It was a decoy.”

“No,” Bucky said suddenly. His voice was soft but steady. “It was a base. It just outlived its usefulness.”

They all turned toward him. He looked at the empty room, the missing equipment, and the quiet hallways. Then, to the message. And for a moment, something shifted in his eyes. Guilt, maybe or something deeper.

“They planned for this,” He murmured. “Someone told them exactly how we’d come.”

No one responded, but no one needed to. Because they were all thinking it.

-

The debrief room was thick with a heavy silence, the kind that pressed down harder than shouting. Ghost-blue blueprints and photos of the abandoned compound still flickered on the monitors, reminders of how quickly their plan had unraveled. Notes about the missing equipment and the chilling message on the screen scrolled slowly, marking everything they should have anticipated.

Steve hadn’t sat once since they returned. He stood rigid at the head of the table, hands braced on his hips, and a deep furrow like it was etched there permanently. Sam had stopped pacing but his leg bounced nervously, jaw clenched tight. Natasha’s fingers tapped against her thigh in a rhythm so steady it barely seemed voluntary.

Only Bucky remained perfectly still, arms crossed, and eyes locked on the screen across the room. He said very little since they’d left the empty compound since that message haunted him.

Too late, Captain.

The words weren’t just text; they carried a weight, a deliberate coldness that dug into Bucky’s mind. Whoever had left it knew him. Not just the soldier, but his moves, his instincts. And worse, their enemy had used the knowledge you once held to outmaneuver them.

The memory played on loop in his mind. Not just the words but the feel of them. The calculation in them. Whoever was behind that terminal… knew him. Not just facts. His patterns.

And maybe worse than that, they’d used your knowledge to do it. They probably used you to do it.

The door hissed open.

She stepped in with her usual soft elegance, cradling a fresh cup of tea between her hands like she had no idea anything had gone wrong. Dressed casual, warm, and comfortable. Like she belonged. Like she didn’t feel the same tension that pulled everyone else taut. The one you used to be jealous of had sat out for the mission after all.

“Oh,” She said lightly. “You’re all back already.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was gently surprised, as if she’d simply walked into a meeting that ended early. Steve didn’t answer right away. Neither did the others.

She blinked, smile sweet and expectant, like someone unaware they were intruding. “Was it a short mission?”

“We were too late,” Steve said flatly, straightening.

Her brows lifted, and she crossed to the table, setting the tea down. “Really? That’s unfortunate. I thought it was just one of those cleanup things. You all make those look so easy.”

Sam looked over, jaw tight. “They cleaned up, alright. Took every last trace of themselves. Left us a polite message, too.”

“They knew how we’d approach,” Natasha added with her arms crossed now. “Like they knew our pattern. Our flow. They stripped the place within hours of our arrival window.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a fingernail against the ceramic. “That’s strange. Maybe they had inside intel?”

“No,” Steve spoke, narrowing his eyes. “Not unless someone studied us long before they left.”

“Oh.” She blinked, tilting her head. “So… do you think your old administrator friend told them?”

Bucky stiffened.

Natasha’s voice was sharper now, eyes narrowing. “She’s not our anything.”

That seemed to amuse her. She let out a light laugh, the kind meant to dissolve tension, not that anyone was asking for it. “Well, you’re not wrong,” She smiled. “ She didn’t really fit in here anyways, did she?”

Bruce, who had been mostly quiet, looked up sharply. “She worked here for over two years.”

She didn’t seem phased. There was no malice on her face actually. Just soft confidence.

“I guess I didn’t think she’d be important,” She sighed simply. “Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed she’d move on.”

Sam stood, voice tight. “She did. Straight into the hands of the people trying to tear us apart.”

Her smile faltered just a touch. “I didn’t mean—look, I’m sure she was… sweet. I just don’t see how it helps to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be here. Don’t you think she made her choice?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t know that yet.”

“I mean, sure,” She said gently, “But if she’s really that dangerous, wouldn’t you have noticed before she left? You didn’t even realize she was gone until weeks later, right?”

Bucky shifted slightly. The burn in his chest deepened. Not from her words exactly, but from how true they rang.

They hadn’t noticed. They hadn’t looked.

The woman moved closer to Bucky, noticing his subtle distress as she rested her hand lightly on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I just worry about you,” She confessed softly, smiling up at him. “You’re all stretched so thin already. I’d hate to see you waste energy chasing ghosts.”

Her hand lingered. But Bucky’s jaw clenched, and for once, he didn’t lean into her touch.

“She’s not a ghost,” He muttered. “She’s a mirror. Of everything we missed.”

Her expression flickered for barely a moment. Then the sweet smile returned.

“Well, if you have to go after her,” She brushed her hand away, her expression turning more solemn. A hint of pity evident, “I hope you’re prepared for what you find. Sometimes people change… and not always in ways you can fix. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

She reached for her tea again, her fingers wrapping around the cup like it was an anchor.

“And if you do decide to keep going after her, well.” She gave a gentle little laugh, looking around with open, innocent eyes. “I hope it goes well. I really mean that. And if you need my help at all… just let me know. I’m always happy to support the team.”

The door hissed softly behind her as she walked out, quiet heels tapping against the floor in steady, graceful rhythm.

The rest of the team stood in silence for a few long seconds, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.

Steve broke it first.

“We move forward. We stop that organization before it spreads deeper.”

“And if she’s helping them willingly?” Sam asked, his voice low.

Steve hesitated.

So, Bucky answered instead.

“Then we stop her, too.”

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[unholyhelbig]

Hi,

I love the fics and honestly think you’re one of the amazing writers in here.

I was wondering about the Wandanat x reader fic the beast you’ve made of me, I was wondering if there will be more parts ? As I read the last part there is on there and I wanna know what happens next

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 5/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 4,212

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, cannon-typical violence, mentions of pain, sweating, general mentions of pain, gun use, horrible grammar I don't proof read we know this

[a/n: hi! God, it's been months. I had a bit of writers block when it came to this one but I'm back on my Wandanat bullshit, so thank you all for your patience. Not sure how I'm feeling about this one.]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The Avengers compound had an extensive library that was settled with a thin layer of dust. Most of the editions were well past your time this go around. Not the dozens of other lives you had suffered through. The spines were bound in genuine leather and the pages crackled when you pulled them apart. You would wager that no one had been here for a long time, at least, not in the last decade.

Wanda’s hazel eyes tracked you from left to right, and then left again, as you paced the carpeted floor. Large stretches of golden sunlight were interrupted by her shadow, her silhouette suffering your constant movement. It was warm in here, much too warm for your liking. Your skin felt damp.

“Okay, you’re making me nauseous.”

Wanda had stood up during your last lap and you ran directly into her. Every spot where her skin touched yours burned viciously and you were thankful for the already present heat masking your blush. The Witch gently closed the book and you reluctantly let her take it from you.

“I fear that Grimms Fairytales are not going to be of much assistance here, darling girl.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but snapped your jaw audibly shut. Darling girl was bold. Sure, she’d sprinkled a few leg-weakening pet names in there, but this nearly seemed deliberate. Your mind was swimming too much to hold onto that life raft at the moment, so you let out an indignant huff.

Wanda had been tasked with watching you. Steve didn’t say it outright, but you knew that Thor’s visit had him shaken, figuring that if the woman in front of you could deliver some tilting blows to Thanos himself, she could probably handle you.

Natasha was buzzing with anger, nearly vibrating out of her skin. Her wife didn’t’ make a move to comfort her, explaining to you that when Natasha got like this, it was better not to poke the bear with a stick unless she wanted to lose a hand, or both.

It left the two of you in the library that had considerably less answers than you were anticipating. The mythology section of the collection was empty save for the book that Wanda had just pried from your hands. The only wolf had gobbled up a poor, defenseless grandmother before stealing her nightgown.

She watched you carefully for a few moments before she adjusted the pillow on a window seat and sat until she looked relatively comfortable. She’d taken your only distraction from the pain that still ebbed against your side from broken glass. You started to fidget.

“Come here.”

“What?”

She sighed and patted her lap, like the answer should have clicked in your head right away. It certainly didn’t. Not only were you searching her face, but your own mind for what she wanted you to do.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“This morning. I almost took you and Natasha out in the non-date kind of way.”

She scoffed again, murmuring a simple ‘come here, then.’ That left no room for argument. Your body seemed to give in when you sat next to her on the cushion, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. God- maybe you were tired.

Wanda guided you gently until your head was laying on her lap. You breathed in her scent, like fresh rain over lilacs. She carried the same floral shampoo that Natasha did, but somehow, it hung sweeter on her skin. You were tense, relaxing under her nimble fingers as she started to glide them in a steady rhythm through your hair.

A content sigh, laced with the smallest bit of a growl, escaped you as you finally gave in and curled closer to her. You could feel your eyes grow heavy, the comfort of her simple touch settling over you like a blanket.  

“Go ahead and sleep, baby.”

“m’don’t want to hurt you,”

“You won’t.” Wanda assured, “I’ll protect you.”

Affection bloomed from the center of your chest. You turned your head, looked up at her. There was so much care in her gaze. She smiled softly down at you, moved her fingers across the small scar under your right eye, a constant reminder of crumbled ice on a fateful day.

“Don’t give me that look. I mean it. Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll keep the memories at bay.”

Her reassurance seemed to be enough for you to give in to the remaining exhaustion, your cheek back against the soft fabric of her pants, breathing in that intoxicating scent. Wanda’s fingers continued to trace patters at the small of your neck, through your hair. You swore, you heard her release a hum in a melody you couldn’t place, before you allowed yourself to sleep.

Wanda Maximoff had known pain before. It attracted like a magnet, dutifully dragging the metal of unwanted memories back to the surface each time she got too close. She’d been good, she’d been bad, and most of the time, she conceded to being both. There was a thin line that she threaded, and Natasha Romanoff loved her immensely on either side.

There was anguish radiating off you in waves. She felt the emotion in her fingertips where they met your skin, so soft and pale with exhaustion. This was the first time in the last two weeks that she had seen an expression of peace across your features, and she quite liked the image.

The witch could feel your curse pulsing through your veins, just as much as she could feel your warm weight against her lap. You let out the softest bit of a whimpered breath and snuggled closer, as if she were your liferaft on a choppy sea.

She was growing exhausted herself. While she’d had a certain fondness for her godly teammate, his sneering display in the conference room had left her rattled. The sun that flowed through the room was warming her, but not to an uncomfortable degree. She leaned back on the window and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of your steady breathing.

“You need to wake up, miss.” Wanda was leaden with sleep, eyes heavy and taking in lungful’s of grassy scent. The ground beneath her was damp, but soft, so she pressed her cheek closer to the moisture and tried to bat away the presence pestering her.

“Please, I’ll take no pleasure in leaving you. Not with it out here.”

It. Such a simple, yet vague word that ebbed away at the last of the tiredness that plagued her. Since she was a girl, even before the poking and prodding of Hydra’s sadistic minds, she could tell the difference between a dream, and reality.

Life had a haze to it, a softness around the edges that her dreams rivaled. They felt all the more real than her daily endeavors, and at first, that sent a steel rod of fear through Wanda. But, she’d grown to love the control she held over her dreams. They all meant something, perhaps more than her waking hours.

When she sat up, her head rushed with blood with a comfortable and familiar whoosh. The person kneeling next to her was a stranger. A slight thing with dark skin and cornflower eyes. They blinked curiously at Wanda. A long and scruffy beard hung from their chin, full of small flowers, embedded in the curls. They had a feminine figure, a masculine expanse of shoulders.  

They smirked at her. “You do not have to stare, miss. I am well aware of what I look like.”

“No, that’s not… I didn’t. You’re lovely.”

Blush had found its way to Wanda’s cheeks, and she allowed herself to be pulled to her shaky feet by the stranger. They smelled of sugar, and the slightest hint of cinnamon that reminded Wanda of a kitchen after a meal had been cooked. They smiled more genuinely this time, and the tension seemed to exit the conversation as soon as it had entered.

“What’s your name?” Wanda asked.

They frowned. “I don’t think I have one anymore. Now, we really do need to get a move on. Do you hear the thunder?”

She didn’t hear a thing past the bubbling stream and the desperate squawks of birds’ way up in the trees. These woods were lovely, but she had no time to ponder them. The nameless stranger took long strides towards their destination, and while Wanda hadn’t a clue what they were running from, she didn’t want to stick around and find out.

The stranger seemed to know where they were going, hopping easily over logs, and letting their bare toes curl into the dampness of the stream. Wanda’s fingers brushed across leaves, and rough tree bark. Though the compound was surrounded by forest, it was much too manufactured. This was wild, this made her want to howl into it’s silence.

“The beast has been pulling against us lately,” they explained, reaching a hand out and helping Wanda over a large, smooth boulder that had been warmed expertly by the sun. “For decades, we’ve known peace in our own right. As peaceful as one can be against their will. As far as prisons go, this is a beautiful one.”

Snowcapped mountains stretched far into the sky, into the endlessness of nature. She’d been imprisoned and this did not seem like one. There was room to roam, there were crops, and animals that stalked through the same trees they did. She had no right to judge-however- dreaming or not, their struggle was not her own.

“Come, I am not alone.”

Wanda was lulled with kindness, and well aware that nothing could hurt her here. She followed the Stranger to a small cabin that cut through the clearing in the forest. A stone well was nearby, as was the looming skeletal structure of a barn, slanted and rotten through.

The Stranger knocked and did not wait for an answer before pushing her way into the home. The same scent they carried bombarded Wanda with warmth. Oil lamps, and books were strewn about. It was cluttered, but comfortable. A fire crackled in a stone hearth, and a large-bearish man turned towards them, a book dwarfed within his paws.

A woman was at the stove, slowly turning a stews content around. She flicked glowing green eyes in their direction, lilting her head like a curious feline. Her movements were catlike and calculated, teeth pointed into little knives.

“They do not have names either.” The Stranger nodded solemnly.

“How long have you been here?” Wanda asked.

The bear man responded in his deep, jaded voice “Forever.”

“The dwarves, they tricked us. All of us.” The cat woman scooped broth, potatoes and carrots into separate bowls, the yellow steam curling around the oil lamp and it’s flickering flame. She frowned. “Something from each stolen in order to prevent Ragnarök.”

Wanda had heard that before. Thor said it; the second coming, an apocalypse of Asgard. It was the catalyst for your imprisonment in the first place. She was having trouble grasping the purpose of the stranger, of the cat woman and the bear man, and the place her conscious was lingering in now.

“Their chains were not strong enough. They needed elements from nature to make binds that would hold a Beast as large and dangerous as the one that they feared.”

Bear man hoisted himself from the sofa in front of the fire. He wedged a crutch under his arm that Wanda had not noticed at first. He walked with a limp and loomed above her, covered in hair, claws as long as her fingers. She gazed up at him, suddenly surrounded.

“The sound of a cat’s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of birds.” The Stranger explained. They plopped down in a creaky kitchen chair, reached for the stew before the Cat woman batted their hand away.

“All of that… for chains?”

The Stranger sneered, plucking a flower from their beard and plopping the color in the middle of the bland stew. “It’s worked, hasn’t it?”

When she stirred, the sun had lowered significantly from its point in the sky. A sorbet glow moved across the discarded book of mythology and a blanket had been draped over her shoulders. She woke gently, as she always did, with a certain degree of elegance that evaded most of the avengers.

Natasha was at the one table in the room, her chin resting on her folded arms. She’d been watching Wanda for some time now; the slow rise and fall of her chest, the comfortable expression on her face while she held you. She still held you now, her grip tightening in her own sleep.

Adoration had replaced the anger in Natasha’s eyes from earlier in the day. Though, her knuckles were wrapped in a thin layer of gauze, a clear sign that she had taken most of her frustrations out on a punching bag in the gym without the proper precautions. Wanda fought the urge to press her lips against them, to soothe the pulsing pain.

 “She’s really taken a liking to you,” Natasha whispered. Her voice held no malice, no jealousy. It was like a soothing balm, despite the small frown that formed against her features. “I put myself between her and a literal God today. A friend.”

“It’s naive of us to think of her as helpless.”

You were curled so easily into Wandas side, soft snores escaping you. Your fingers had found purchase in the fabric of the blanket, pulling it close, wrapping yourself up. It was the most peaceful she had seen you since you’d met. She ached to hold you in the same way, but swallowed the feeling in exchange for letting you rest.  

“In the atrium the other day, she couldn’t take a punch. I think this version of her is helpless. If what Thor is saying is true, then she could bring about the apocalypse.”

“Yes, in Asgard.”

Natasha breathed out, traced her fingers over the soiled gauze. She couldn’t look Wanda in the eye when she used this pleading tone. She would fold for her wife, and fold for the girl that she held in her arms. They were much too persuasive.

“Do you blame her? She was prosecuted simply because of her lineage. The whole family was. I don’t think Loki is a good guy, especially after what he did. But when you’re born into a world that thinks you’re a bastard, a mistake, and treats you like one, it’s easy to fall into the projected legends, don’t you think?”

The spy let the statement linger. Her entire life she was trained to be a killer to the point where her own thoughts were blurred into nothing but a red ledger. It had taken Clint Barton to pull her out, one single person to rip her from a life of killing. Maybe you just needed someone to care.

A small, content whimper escaped you, and Natasha looked at the way the golden sunset highlighted your features. You’d pressed yourself even closer to Wanda, if that was possible. The Witch stared at you with a soft gaze.

“What do you suggest we do, darling?” Natasha asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“They are going to bring the fight to us, stop at nothing until they have her back in chains.” Wanda frowned, a small crinkle of frustration smoothing against her nose. “We bring the fight to them. We fell Asgard before they can fell us.”

Natasha’s warmth was inevitable as she adjusted your stance. Her amber scent filled your lungs stronger than it ever had before. All of your senses were on fire. Every inch of her lean figure was pressed against your back. She gently corrected your hips, aligning them with the target.

She was taller than you by a few inches, her breath hot on your cheek and smelling oaky. You struggled not to sigh into her.  That would be wrong. She was Wanda’s wife, and they were in a committed and happy relationship.

They both flustered you beyond comprehension. Wanda had her soft touches and her commanding tone. Natasha with her assured guidance and rumbling voice. The pet names, and the lingering hands had you reeling.

“Okay, kitten, it’s important to keep your arms slightly bent.” Her hands trailed down your arm, sending shivers that you couldn’t suppress up your spine. You could feel her grin, whole body flushing with soft pink color. “Good girl. Now you’re going to aim slightly left of your target and gently squeeze the trigger. You’re going to get some kickback, so watch your nose.”

You pulled in a steadying breath. Natasha’s hands wandered around your waist and to your stomach. Again, she corrected your stance. It was ever-so-subtle. You closed your eyes for a short moment, trying to focus before pulling the trigger.

It was loud, making your ears ring. The kickback was rough against your wrist, but Natasha held you steadily. The fact that she was holding you at all made you dizzy. You’d blown a few holes through the target at the far end of the range, all just south of the belt.

“Well,” She chuckled, leaning her chin against your shoulder. “That’s one way to do it. Not necessarily fatal, but I’m sure they’ll wish it was.”

You crinkled your nose and set the gun safely down as she had instructed. Everything about it felt unnatural but you wished for her to keep holding you close as she was. You knew that she was trying her best. Both she and Wanda were. But guns weren’t your thing. Neither was hand to hand combat or the blood tests, or the stretching days of sleep deprivation.

You were aching for your routines with Jennifer in the legal offices and the shitty lifetime movies and the sodium-filled takeout that the two of you would indulge in over box wine. All things that you took for granted. All things that you ached so heavily for you could cry. It was a pit in your stomach so dense you could almost feel it.

In fact, you could feel something. A cold sweat that you attributed to the proximity of Natasha started to collect in the palms of your hands and the small of your neck. But it was quickly spreading.

Natasha seemed to notice, moving her hands to your hips and frowning at you. “You alright, volchitsa?”

“I don’t like guns,” You swallowed the muted nausea, leaning your back against the nearest wall, reveling in the coolness. “Is it hot in here?”

“No, but you’re burning up.”

She was a spy. You don’t know how you thought you could get one over on her or ignore the sudden turn of your stomach, not when a sharp pain ripped through your middle and dropped you to a knee with an indignant huff. Sweat dripped off the tip of your nose. She stabilized you with a swiftness that only she could.

“I can’t quite seem to stop embarrassing myself in front of you, can I?” You whimpered out.

“No, you really can’t.” Natasha carded her fingers through damp hair, the motion soothing. “You going to knock out on me? Go to another time period?”

You grit your teeth, tucked your head “Don’t think so, this is different.”

It was different. Something was clawing deep within you, wanting to get out. The arm that wasn’t holding you up found purchase around your midsection as if it were trying to keep your insides in. She saw the desperation in your eyes. Must have, because you were moved back to the safety of your room.

You were not delusional. It was a prison cell, a fancier version of the holding container that they’d kept you in before. It was meant to keep you in just as much as it was meant to keep everyone else out. Natasha had tucked the gun in the back of her pants before leading you back here. Carrying you, perhaps. You’d been too disoriented to know.

“It’s… hot” You said again, curled in on yourself at the edge of the bed “You don’t think it’s hot?”

Before she could answer you were pulling your shirt off, pleased by the temporary relief that it granted you. Then the jeans and the socks. This left you in a pair of tight boxer shorts and a sports bra. The lights were too bright and your skin felt like it was crawling.

“FRIDAY.” Natasha called out, tracking you carefully “Can I get a reading on vitals, please?”

A mechanical voice recalled. “Body temperature: 232 Fahrenheit, Heart Rate: 325 BPM.”

“Perfect. Please send Wanda down right away.” Natasha dragged her gaze up and down your mostly nude body. “I believe I’ll need my wife’s assistance.”

“Right away, Mrs. Romanoff.” FRIDAY responded. “Temperature is now reading 245 Fahrenheit.”

Stupid fucking robot.

You’d turned on your side now, the sheets beneath you saturated in sweat. Your breaths had changed from soft pants to deep growls of discomfort. All you could feel was heat and sharp pains. This is what you had imagined death to feel like. These horrible waves of discomfort that were never ending.

“I think,” You turned your face into the mattress fully, snarling something deep and wild. Natasha’s hand was on your back as a grounding force. “fuck.”

“What is it baby?” She was pleading with you. A brokenness in her voice that you’d never heard from her before. One that you wanted to stop. You wanted everything to stop. “How can I help you?”

“You need to… leave… don’t want to hurt you.”

You repeated the same sentiment that you had with her wife just hours before. Natasha wanted to deny you. Of course, you wouldn’t hurt her. But then your spine shifted under her palm. Each vertebrae seemed to quake and clack together as if a handler had moved the handle of a whip at the base. You groaned and clenched your fingers into the fluff of the mattress at the motion. You were in insurmountable pain, and she could do nothing to stop it except obey.

“Okay,” Natasha whispered, not sure of herself. “Okay. I’ll be right outside that door. FRIDAY will monitor. Helen is on her way.”

She got a choked groan in response. Willing herself to leave was difficult. Closing the door behind her was worse. She found herself in the same observation room that was mute to your screams. Deep in her gut, she knew what was happening. It was logical. It was in all the horror movies. It would be impossible to witness much less go through.

Wanda burst through the corridor, her socks skidding on the linoleum. Natasha softened her crash landing with her shoulder, didn’t try to push her back but kept her from going further. She’d learned long ago that telling Wanda not to do something would get her nowhere. It would set her back ten paces, perhaps even twenty.

“What’s happening? propustite menya, ya khochu yeye uvidet'.”

Natasha shook her head, resolute. “It’s better if you don’t. She’s in pain.”

“And you’re out here?” a raw type of accusation surged through Wanda’s words, she moved to pushed past Natasha again, was stopped once more. She could overpower her wife, but knew better not to. Instead, nailing her with an exasperated glare. “Why?”

“She asked me not to, begged me. Y/n just figured out what she is and now it’s coming to the surface. She wants to lick her wounds in peace. We should grant her that at the very least, even if we want to storm in there and nurse her through it.” Natasha’s voice cracked, she blinked, looked away dejectedly. “She knows we’re here. Right here.”

Wanda crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unhappy, but conceding. She stalked over to the viewing window guiltily. Natasha felt as if you were more of an animal than ever, trapped within these four walls.

“Natasha?”

“Yeah, baby?” She couldn’t peel herself from the door, had her eyes clenched shut. There was a pounding headache.

“Where the fuck is she?”

That got her away from the wall, pressing her fingers up against the window, breath fogging the glass. Wanda was true to her word. The bed was empty. The containment unit was empty. The entire room was visible from where the two of them stood.

“FRIDAY I need a location on y/n?” She was met with silence, tepid green eyes meeting Wanda’s with nothing short of fear. “FRIDAY?”

With a fizzled snap, the lights flickered out, plunging the two of them into darkness. Natasha felt her heart in her throat for a single moment. A fearful and tense moment that instantly dried her throat in the pitch black. Her forehead thumped against the glass in annoyance. In defeat.

Behind the glass, something that suddenly seemed as thin as paper, two glowing eyes stared unblinkingly at her. Tracking her in ways that she could not track back. Warm breath fogged up the divider. She could feel it, touch it

“Shit” Natasha drew out the word. “Do you think she’s pissed I keep calling her kitten?”

Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato, @aliherreraaa, @olicity-boo, @tarathia, @thinking1bee, @shayarshucky, @bstvst, alowint, jono723, kaosrsing, gemz5, inarayofmoonlight, just4natasha, woow-ies,

[dilfsona]

OMEGA/OMEGA WINTERIRON RAHHHHHHH

James who's traumatized by alphas due to Hydra, which affected his sexuality, and now he's only attracted to omegas and very rarely betas.

Tony, who hates most alphas because they're posturing and weird and sexist so his relationships have always been with betas or omegas except for pepper (she's still his best friend, same with rhodey)

James being brought to the compound, hiding his scent and refusing to show any omegan signs + unable to scent other people due to Hydra experiments. Everyone assumes he's an alpha with how growly and scary he appears

Tony isn't impressed by him, but the second James gets into the lab, he's... Almost normal. Brighter eyes, slight smiles, no slouching. His handling of the workspace is careful and delicate, patient in a way nobody else other than Peter and Bruce are. And it makes him rethink how he feels about alphas

Slowly, they grow closer and closer, but James keeps holding back, despite tony's obvious attraction, because he assumes Tony is an alpha; he can't scent him. He hasn't gone into heat, and everything he's heard about the man and how he presents himself is smug alpha with a soft side. He doesn't even trust Steve, the guy who's apparently his childhood friend (he doesn't remember that but the history books say so), but he trusts tony, and that scares him!

Finally, Tony cracks and crowds James, who's admittedly very flustered and overwhelmed, but again he can't smell Tony so he's not about to drop to his knees for this alpha who's probably dripping in pheromones, but then Tony leans up, brushes his nose against James's jawline, and whispers "alpha" and James nearly passes out

Tony stands there in confusion as James pushes him away and aggressively rubs off his scent blockers before shoving his wrist in his face and- honey and lavender and vanilla and gunpowder and oh, omega

And Tony is fucking delighted, but James is still so confused to Tony explains very quickly that he's an omega too, and James has never felt so much relief in his life holy shit

extra: alongside being unable to scent others due to Hydra 's experiments, they also took away his ability to have a heat + his own scent is dull and barely noticeable unless you're directly up against his scent glands

[ghostfacesvalentine]

Anyone’s little toy - Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader

Warnings: A tiny bit of degradation, nothing too bad, fem!receiving oral. That’s it really (?)

Type: Blurb

Request: N/A

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: Billy finds out readers lack of sexual experience.

Notes: This was originally for Jason Todd but maybe it fits Billy more? Idk shut up. Not proofread, I just needed to get this off my mind 😵‍💫 send ideas, specifically Jason Todd and Steve Roger’s in particular.

You don’t remember how the topic was brought up, all you knew was that you were sitting on Billy’s couch, your back pressed against the cushion as he interrogated you.

There had been an awful amount of sexual tension between you two. Neither of you admitted anything to the other. You were too intimidated to bring anything up to him. You were happy with coming by to hang out with him when he called, talking about his day, your day, ordering food, playing games or watching TV. Sometimes when boredom hit, you even made out, but that was always as far as it went and it wasn’t always.

You couldn’t help but fantasize about it going further, about how he would feel, what he would look like. The closest you got was sitting on his lip with his hands having an ungodly grip on your hips. His kissing always kept you from this world, you forgot everything when Billy Loomis’s spit was in your mouth.

“What is it? Have you ever been touched?” Billy asked in a bitter tone. You were both grown, grown enough to have your own experiences, god knows he had his share. You never confused in him your lack of experience.

“Um” your cheeks flushed red, adamantly avoiding his eyes, they were practically prying into you. The spotlight was on you this whole time, yet it felt like you were on a disgusting display before him.

“Yeah of course I have” you lied. Your eyes still staring at the wall behind him, a frown present on your face in hopes of disguising your truth.

It was nothing to be embarrassed about, but you were ashamed to have a pathetically stupid amount of experience in the sexual aspect of your life.

Billy stared you down like if he was about to devour you, his frown activated across his face, head tilting to the side as he tried to match his eyes with you. “I don’t know, you’re such a sweet baby. I don’t think you’ve ever been anyone’s little toy.. am I right? I could be underestimating you.”

He almost spat out the questions, there was a tinge of jealousy, again, even if you were grown he still had a piece of hope that he could be the only one to see you sprawled out and chanting his name like if he’d show you a small gesture of mercy.

His breath felt hot against your cheek, his tongue peaked out to press against your skin. Your breathing fastened, your legs clenched together in hopes of getting some feeling of relief.

He was eating this up, overly proud of the position he had you in. “Sweet little princess, why aren’t you looking at me? Are you hiding something?” He teased, what an ass. You tucked your bottom lip into your mouth, your eyes refusing to look at his directly as if you could pull one over on him.

Your skirt folded into itself as you kept yourself from getting too close to him, he never went this far and you never went this far, with anyone actually. The embarrassment alone was going to set you off in tears, this was humiliating in the sweetest way.

“N-no im not hiding anything.” You spoke up, barely.

Your squirming was a delicacy to the mercenary. His eyes were prying into your movements, watching you get uneasy. He wanted to tear you apart right then and there. He was only ashamed it took him this long, but there was a long thought process behind his actions.

“I don’t know Y/N. Somethin’s telling me you’re lying to me.” He sung, his head shaking sideways ever so slightly.

It was then his head dipped down to the side of your head, pressing a wet kiss on your cheek, slowly pulling away to watch your reaction. You were as pressed back as you could be in hopes of hiding without actually hiding. You had to check yourself to see if you were still breathing, what the hell was so shameful about this?

“Billy.” You breathed out, his face in front of yours, he slowly knelt down, hands reaching out to your thighs. He would never admit it now, but he could practically smell your arousal. Billy’s hands gripped onto you gently, the outline of his body completely covered you. He was intimidating as much as he was mouth watering.

“Mmm?” He whispered as his hands soothed your thighs gently, his eyes finally dropped down to your figure. Your panties peaked out to him, causing his eyes to focus on your lower part instead. Billy’s thumbs maneuvered to the ends of your skirt, flipping the seam to push back closer to your hips, exposing more of your body to him. He did it so slow, enough to where you could stop him if you needed to, but you didn’t want to.

You were nervous, shy, but you wanted to feel his tough more than anything.

“N-nothing. I just haven’t-“ you frowned again this time dropping your legs onto the couch slowly, sitting up in unison as your eyes finally turned to him. “I’ve never, you know. Really been with anyone. I trust you, I just-“ and there it came, the realization of what you just admitted.

Billy looked up at you, instead of pulling back, his eyes seemed to almost turn a shade darker, turning from your face, back down to your figure. “You’ve never been touched?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your response, still unclear with what you were trying to tell him.

“No, I mean I have I just. I’ve never gone all the way, I don’t know what to do.” You admitted without thinking, you absentmindedly pulled away from him and shifted yourself closer to the couch.

“Do you want to do anything with me?” His voice cracked the small silence between you both. You felt the redness approaching your face again, you only answered with a wordless nod. In return, the devious smile made its way back to his drying lips.

“Just tell me if it’s too far” he warned you as his head dipped down again into your thighs, he warmed you back up with wet kisses across your sensitive skin, nipping and sucking at he warm pieces. Your legs responded in shifts, his hands then trailed again to your soft legs, moving them over his shoulder as he pushed his head further up to your core.

There was a change in his ache for you, again, maybe he won’t admit it now but the thought of making you feel good, to be the only one to taste you and leave you scratching at his back when you can’t take it anymore, all the sinful ideas plagued his mind. The fantasy of it all awoke something primal in him, the more the idea saturated his mind, the more desperate he got.

His hands ran up to your hips, pulling you as close as he could to his face, his arms hooked around the bottom for your thighs to hold you in place, his fingers pushed your underwear aside, enough to give him some space to work, he flattened his tongue against your slick folds, causing your head to fall back at the intrusion.

You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. Billy restricted your legs as his mouth opened and sucked into your clit. A gasp escaped your lips at the obscenity of his movements, you never felt anything like it, your legs rubbed against the sides of his head as his mouth moved more desperately by the second.

“Billy-” you whimpered out as his tongue swirled around your opening, your pink cotton panties were in the way of the whole experience but he was too mesmerized by your taste to get away from your pussy for even a second. Your thighs clenched every time he hit a sweet spot, he was careful not to overstimulate you too fast, he was going to try to get you as wet as possible before he fucked you.

His tongue flattened then pierced your hole, feeling the tip of his tongue pushed out by your body, taking turns exploring your folds.

Your head fell back again, feeling nothing but the warm wet spit invade your sensitive slick. Between laps along your cunt he’d pull back to mumble sweet obscenities, the hoods of his eyes dripping down in sweet bliss as he tasted your juices. “Good girl, you’re doing so good.” He praised as he felt your legs squeeze his head again when the pressure was too strong.

You didn’t know what feeling you were chasing, all you knew was that it felt like you could stay here all day, little parts his tongue would swipe made you jolt, you could almost fall asleep in ecstasy.

It wasn’t long until Billy noticed your comfortability, causing him to start lapping at your clit, his left hand pulled apart your folds while the other pulled your underwear aside. Your body sure felt the pressure now, you twisted your lower half without thinking to get away from his tongue.

Billy’s fingers let go of your panties and his index finger made circles against your clit, causing your body to flinch and little moans to escape your salivating mouth. His finger then prodded into you slowly before then just shoving itself as far as he could. His eyes wouldn’t let you go as you squirmed and mumbled out incoherent moans.

“You look so cute when you have something in you.” He muttered, watching you flinch and curl your body forward as he added another finger. You whimpered as he kept the pace, his eyes half closed with lust as you panted at his impatience to use you up.

His fingers moved in a scissoring motion, causing you to squirm again, this time moaning a little louder. “Maybe I do believe you haven’t been played with. I haven’t even started and I know you’re going to cream all over my fingers soon” he hissed.

You pouted, your lustful eyes gleaming down to him, you would have something smart to say if Billy wasn’t rubbing his hands all over your cunt, talking to you like you were a stupid girl chasing a high. His fingers rammed in and out of you in a steady pace, his palm ever so slightly pushing against your clit with every thrusting motion. You felt your body involuntarily clench.

Billy slowly stood to his feet, his hands never stopping or halting in the process. He needed to see you cum more than anything right now, more than you needed to feel it.

“God if you could see yourself right now. You look so pretty.” He whined out as he looked down to you, you looked back at him, with a more prominent frown and an ache in your core. Your hips began to shift as he kept his pace, his left hand made its way up to swipe his thumb across your bottom lip.

“So fucking pretty. Maybe next time I’ll bust a load on your face play with your pretty little cunt and get a picture. What do you say?”

You were wordless, before you could even get the chance to answer he curled his fingers, finding your gspot took him a little longer but when he felt your pussy clench around him he kept prying. You closed your eyes in despair to keep your climax going, bucking your hips as he kept fucking you with his fingers. “Good fucking princess. You look so fucking pretty, fuck.” He moaned, desperate to toss you around, fill you to the brim, he knew better than to go crazy with you so fast, but it wasn’t like he had enough self control to take it slow.

Your body jolted involuntarily, your eyes squeezed shut as you cried out in pleasure. All those sweet noises for him to hear alone were enough to send him over the edge. This was going to be a long night.

[makehydrafictionagain]

Since I haven't updated Public Relations in weeks, here is the newest chapter.

Lots of fluff. Mentions of sex. Steve x Reader.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Sweat trickling down your back is the first thing that stirred you. The second thing was wondering if it was yours or his, not that it really mattered. You’ve already shared just about everything you have with one another, sharing sweat isn’t reason enough to pry him off of you so early.

Once you wake, though, you never drift back easily.

Mornings like this had become normal, expected, over the last month; waking up in his room and stepping over the pile of your clothes on the floor to put on something of his for at least long enough to run your room and change into something more presentable.

Like a ‘walk of shame,’ but the only shame is sleeping past 8:00 a.m. when there’s work to do.

You know you can’t go back to sleep now that your inner monologue has begun, so you lay there. The anchored grip of his arm around your waist and feather-light splay of his fingers on your belly ground you in the moment, allowing you to think about nothing else.

Maybe you think a little about last night, but you get a pass for that.

The rhythmic inhalation of your hair and exhalation of his breath lull you into a state of comfort you didn’t know existed until your first ‘sleepover.’ It’s almost difficult to imagine surviving without mornings like this. The idea of waking up and immediately checking for emails or comments on Avengers’ official social media accounts or missed calls from… Stark, mostly… It just seems like a lifetime away from this, right here. This moment for just the two of you.

Every moment with just the two of you feels like a reward for something you didn’t really do. You feel almost guilty for accepting a reward so grand; the adoration and desire and yearning he gives you is unlike anything you could ever imagine you’d deserve- and, yet, he grants it to you in a way that makes him look like the lucky one.

If the public were allowed to know what goes on behind closed doors, you’d be the celebrity couple no one shuts up about. You’d also probably be sniped by a Captain America stan, but who can blame them.

Shit, not me.

It’s simpler this way, though. And safer. You’d had the conversation multiple times about how to play your relationship in public; him laying his head on your lap while you stroke his hair, talking about what-if scenarios that would allow you to have a proper off-Compound date. Wigs and sunglasses and trench-coats kind of sneaking around- though, you both knew it wasn’t worth the risk.

You’ve expressed your concern for your public image, your career, if you got caught. Steve holds firm his belief that it shouldn’t matter- you’re allowed love, too, and who you’re employed by shouldn’t matter. “It’s not like you're my boss and I’m gonna get special treatment over the others,” he teased.

“You do get special treatment,” you teased back, though, it was certainly true.

Despite the ethical dilemma, you found yourself absolutely, without a doubt, overwhelmingly in love. That word hasn’t been used directly, yet, not by either of you. Not for any reason in particular, neither of you are holding out or waiting for the right time.

Maybe it’s because you both feel the love so thoroughly that saying the words isn’t necessary. Maybe you both already know how the other feels, so saying it out loud would be redundant. Maybe you want to show the love, rather than say it. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is the droplet of his sweat on your back, rolling down to the battered sheet you both lay on. What matters is right now, right here. You. Steve.

-

By the time your eyes blink open again, the filter of the room had shifted from dark blue and black to warm beige and white, proving to yourself that you can, in fact, shut your mind off when you need to.

You stretch your legs, bringing your knees up gently and twisting your back, settling back on the mattress facing the ceiling. Steve hadn’t moved an inch, his arm moving seamlessly with your body as you got comfortable. His breath is slow and deep, fanning the heat off your neck from prolonged skin-on-skin contact, cooling it briefly.

Your muscles, not quite used to the permission to lay dormant for so long, are becoming restless, despite your desire to stay right where you are. You twist again, facing Steve now, your arms tucked tightly between you and him. His breathing fans your face now, and it feels like heaven.

With a defeated sigh, you untuck your arms from your chest and bring your hand to his arm, caressing it gently as you slide it up and between you to roll out of bed without disturbing him. His arm moves 2 inches before pulling you in even tighter, a hum rumbling in his chest pressed firmly against your cheek.

“Where you goin’?” Sigh. His voice is so deep in the morning.

“I have to get up,” you whisper, smiling deeper into his chest.

“It’s Saturday.” He whispers back, unrelenting on his hold around you.

“At least let me put some clothes on.” You whisper back, pulling yourself up on your elbow so you can meet him face-to-face.

He lets out a whiny groan and opens his eyes just enough to meet yours through his lashes, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Fuck, he’s so hot.

You lean in slowly, pressing a soft kiss onto his lips, and pull back only to lock eyes on his again. “I don’t even know what time it is.” You whisper against his lips.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, either.” He whispers back, closing his eyes gently.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You don’t even try to stop the urge to connect yourselves together again, just as slow, but firmer now. He reciprocates in kind, meeting you more than halfway to lean into you.

You let out a squeak, then a giggle when his arm, still tightly wrapped around your waist, yanks you down flat on the bed, leveraging his kiss from above now. You don’t reason against the pressure of the kiss becoming more urgent, his lips moving more desperately with yours. You don’t think too hard about the ease with which he maneuvers you perfectly so that you don’t have to do any work to receive the love he so diligently delivers. You don’t consider the time of day when your bodies give each other the profound relief that neither of you knew you needed so much, until your first ‘sleepover.’

-

He jumps out of bed before you, finally ready to accept that the day has begun, and pulls his boxers on on the way to his dresser. You watch him with a content smile as he pulls open a drawer and finds a shirt of his that has the same polyester/cotton combination in the fabric he knows you prefer, and then a pair of boxers of his that will fit you. When he has what he thinks you will enjoy wearing on the way to your room, he walks back over to the bed and kneels next to it, meeting your gaze.

“It’s 11:00.” He whispers with a genuine smile, no regrets in sight.

Your eyes shoot open and you lift yourself onto the bed in a criss-cross position, pulling his shirt over you instantly. “11:00?!” You ask with an incredulous laugh. You lean forward and press a firm, clumsy kiss onto his lips and back out of his bed from the other side, pulling on his boxers as you walk around the bed and over to stand over him, picking up your discarded clothes. “You were gonna keep me in bed all day, weren’t you?” There is no accusation in your tone, and he knows that.

He stands up, cupping your cheeks in his hands and leaning down for another slow kiss. Your clothes hang limply in your hand as you fall into his kiss, not even disconnecting for either of you to breathe.

When your lips finally separate, neither of you care about anything else. Neither of you open your eyes and neither of you move. It’s heaven.

“I should take a shower.” You whisper.

“Fine.” He says after a resigned sigh, pulling himself into another kiss.

“What will you do?” You ask when the kiss ends naturally, looking up into his half-lidded eyes.

He sighs again, pulling you against him for a hug now. “I guess I should go for a run.” His voice is more awake now that he’s used it some, but it’s still quiet and low. “Then I’ll shower and come find you, if you’re not too busy?” He pulls away to see your reaction to his statement-turned-question.

You smile and nod, getting up to your tippies to press another firm kiss onto his lips and pushing off of him gently to grab your phone from the trail of your belongings leading to the door. Once you get to the door you look over to him with a warm smile, watching him stand in place. “I’ll see you in a couple hours?”

He nods slowly, matching the warmth in your smile. “I’ll see you.”

Your smile turns into a grin and you take your cue to step out and into the hall, looking both ways to make sure you’re not walking head-first into humiliation.

I should probably bring clothes to his room from now on.

You take long, quiet strides down the hall and around one corner to find your door, tapping your phone against the screen to unlock it (an idea that Sam exasperatedly threw out in a meeting, one of the few ideas of his that Rhodey actually implemented).

When you finally enter your room, your bed untouched and the windows still open from several mornings ago, you let yourself be the giddy, love drunk girl you feel, vibrating with excitement and almost sick with all of the corny, cheesy feelings he pours into you. You float over to your dresser, pulling out one of your weekend fits, comfortable and semi-casual, and then to the shower where you reluctantly wash him off of you.

The water is warm, almost as warm as he is. You accept its warmth with that thought alone while it removes any trace of the night… and the morning, washing yourself ready for the day.

The rest of your routine is done with the same smile; brush your teeth, pull your hair back, socks and slippers. You look presentable, prepared, totally competent, and you even stand like your thighs and calves don’t burn and tingle.

Enough of that.

Your stomach is growling and you desperately need a cup of coffee.

The hallway is as quiet as it was when you got to your room, but as you near the common room the Team's usual cadence becomes clearer. You smile, a fuzzy mixture of relief and excitement brewing in your chest as you turn the corner and enter the doorway into the kitchen.

Almost immediately a hush falls over the group, causing you to blink in confusion and force your expression to even out as you step past Sam and Wanda who sit side-by-side at the island counter. Your eyes flicker to Wanda who smiles and raises her mug in greeting, which you reciprocate with the return of your smile and a soft “good morning.”

“Morning? That what we’re callin’ it now?” Sam laughed, leaning back in the stool with his arms crossed, glancing over his shoulder at you while Wanda hides behind her mug.

Your lips part in confusion and you send him a narrowed glare before your gaze pinballs from him, to Wanda, to Nat, to Rhodey.

Jesus, guys.

“It’s… literally still morning.” You turn toward the coffee pot, not surprised it needs a refill.

“I set some fruit in the fridge for you.” Wanda smiles, setting down her mug.

You don’t look over at her when you give a curt, but kind “thank you,” because you know you’ll see 4 pairs of eyes fixed on you, and you don’t know how to handle that. So, you rinse out the coffee pot, then put it back on the burner, add water, add coffee, press start.

“Coffee, huh?” Natasha grins, walking over to lean on the countertop facing Sam and Wanda, staring at the back of your head. You can’t help but turn around to read her expression, and when you see a poorly-suppressed smile and raised eyebrow, you turn back around and hum in agreement. “Long night?”

Rhodey lets out a long sigh and you turn around again, brows furrowed, looking at each member of your beloved team, each experiencing a range of emotions that only serve to heat your cheeks in embarrassment. You don’t respond verbally, instead you turn around and face the coffee pot as it heats up, providing the only sound in the room.

“Cap seemed real well-rested when he left,” Sam’s smirk can be heard in his voice, “you know, real… limber.” You don’t turn around when you hear Wanda giggle, instead you open the cupboard and reach for a mug. Any mug.

“Steve on a run?” Your voice is too high-pitched as you nonchalantly fiddle with the mug in your hand, watching the coffee machine work. It’s Nat’s turn to giggle. You don’t turn around to that one, either.

“Steve left 32 minutes ago,” Vision chimes in, “looking flushed, but content.” You hum again, this time it sounds more like contemplation.

“Content, yeah.” Sam chuckles, turning the stool around to face you and the coffee pot, “real smug, too. Wonder what that was all about.” You set the mug down too hard on the counter, making yourself flinch and clear your throat anxiously. Sam chuckles again, turning back around to pick at his brunch.

You clear your throat again, finally getting the cue to pour your coffee, then reach into the fridge to pull out the fruit Wanda so graciously saved for you, trying desperately to keep your eyes on the task at hand.

Rhodey clears his throat now, ��he did look pretty happy, though.”

Natasha doesn’t try to hide her smirk when she immediately retorts with, “like he won the lottery.”

You look up at her with a straight face as you round the island counter behind Sam and Wanda, and then back down as you lightly set the plate on the counter next to her, “maybe he did.”

“Ohohoho, I see how it is!” Sam breaks out into a toothy grin, pointing at you enthusiastically from across the counter, forcing a shy smirk out of you and an eruption of giggles from Nat and Wanda.

“Gross,” Rhodey mutters with an almost-proud expression, bringing his focus back down to the newspaper in his hands.

You sink into your stool and satiate your hunger, equally almost-proud.

You don’t look up from your plate to see the stolen glances of affection from each member of your team.

-

You return to your office with your second cup of coffee in hand, fingers curled comfortably around the warm ceramic as you push the door open with your hip. The teasing from the kitchen still lingers behind your smile: Sam’s jokes, Nat's smirk, Rhodey’s guilty avoidance of eye contact.

You hadn’t denied anything. There was nothing to deny.

No direct accusation had been made, only the loving tease from your friends and teammates. They are happy. So are you.

The door clicks shut behind you, and instantly, the world stills.

The quiet in here is different. Stark Tower was fancy, functional, polished. The Compound is similar- still high-tech and practical, but you and Wanda had been able to home-ify it in the months since moving onsite.

Your office, though, is yours. The conference room works when you're open to the hustle and bustle of each member of the team, but on days like today… You needed your office.

You gently fall into your chair and tuck one foot underneath you before waking your screen. Your inbox is already waiting for you.

Remember it's Saturday. No stress.

You start with the low-hanging fruit: a request from a non-Avengers media coordinator trying to finalize attendees for an upcoming interview. You glance at it, check the attached list, and forward it to Stark’s newest media liaison with a note:

“Can you take this? They’re requesting someone who ‘represents the science-forward branch of the Avengers,’ which I assume means… not me.”

You hope they can take it. They’re unlikely to be there long, anyway, though. Stark complains every conference call that you won’t let him use you as a science hamster; “having 3 yous would be life-changing.”

Next you scan through the Stark Foundation bullet points, skim a congratulatory message from a middle school principal, and file it all away under “Things I’ll reference next time Tony pretends this stuff doesn’t matter.”

He knows they matter. The ‘I'm only a philanthropist to ease my guilt ridden soul' act is just one of his many ways to stop from confronting his feelings. He cares.

Then, a message flagged as “high importance” from an unknown corporate email. Your eyes narrow. You click it open.

A private defense company claiming to offer the newest form of protection systems “custom-tailored for high-risk meta-human environments.” You snort. It reads like it was written by someone who’s never spoken to a single Avenger. The subject line alone makes your eyes roll.

"Keep your heroes safe with eyes in the sky."

You hit delete without finishing the third paragraph. Hard.

There’s no fire to put out. No timeline looming. The stack of easy tasks moves smoothly under your hands. The light tap of your keyboard. The rhythm of completion. A few drafts saved, a few folders updated. You don’t feel overwhelmed. You don’t feel scattered.

You feel capable.

You move on to the weekend intelligence digest more out of habit than necessity. It’s Saturday, and technically no one expects you to review regional surveillance or security briefs today, but you do it anyway. You always do.

You scroll and skim. Nothing urgent. Nothing new.

Then something shifts. Your eyes catch a line that reads like background noise until you really look at it. Like it's not meant to be read by someone who isn't looking for it.

“Increased informal travel and trade patterning near decommissioned supply corridors along the West African coast. Monitored as non-aligned traffic. No official recommendation at this time.”

The language is soft. Intentionally so. Informal, non-aligned, no recommendation. It's a placating mention, like they know it has to be in writing somewhere, but for plausible deniability they pretend not to know enough to worry.

But you know better. You’ve seen this kind of phrasing before. It’s what they write when they’re still hoping it won’t become anything. When they want to keep it off the radar just a little longer.

It's not nothing. I can feel it.

You scroll back up, read it again. Then again. You tilt your head slightly as if angling your body might shift something into focus. It doesn’t. But you tag it anyway.

You highlight the passage, add it to your internal watchlist, and type out a quiet note to yourself.

“Not urgent. But don’t ignore it.”

Your cursor hovers for a second before you hit save.

And then, almost without warning, your thoughts pull backward. To the conference you learned about Avengers-adjacent international happenings at the same time as… Non-Avengers. The conversation you couldn’t bite back at least until you were out of the Geneva Convention Hall corridor. Rhodey’s firm explanation, too logical to be upset about.

You really weren't angry. You didn't cry or get an attitude or demand an apology. You said you understood. You did.

You still do.

But that doesn’t mean it didn’t sit with you. Doesn’t mean it didn’t leave a mark in your self-esteem, your existential understanding. Where you are, what you're doing. Why.

It wasn’t about trust. It wasn’t about strategy or protocol or even convenience.

It was something much stronger than that, something warm and beautiful and terrifying.

It was about care. About the people closest to you trying to protect you from something you hadn’t asked, or been asked, to carry. A conscious decision by the leaders of the team to exclude you from this topic because they wanted to shield you from stepping into business beyond your necessary level of understanding. Because to understand it is dangerous.

You weren’t benched because they doubted you. It was because they cared.

You’re not on the bench anymore.

You’re not boots on the ground. You’re not on the jet or holding a comm or mapping out entry points, not in any actively significant ways…

But your fingerprints are on this pattern now. You see it. You track it. You notice what others don’t. It feels dangerous.

Still. Maybe a better timed announcement could have taken place.

Eventually, your thoughts drift. Not toward work. Not toward duty or patterns or flagged reports. Something quieter. Softer. Steve’s birthday.

It’s still a few weeks out, but it’s been in the back of your mind since the calendar flipped over to August. You’ve already circled the date in your planner twice.

You open a new browser tab and stare at it for a moment, fingers hovering over the keys like they might type something better without your help. Then, finally, with a resigned breath, you type out the query you’ve already tried once this week and hated yourself for:

“Thoughtful birthday gifts for boyfriend who doesn’t want anything.”

The results are just as bad as you remember.

Matching coffee mugs with dumb sayings. Keychains shaped like puzzle pieces. A “customized love coupon book” that actually makes you groan out loud, alone in your office. You scroll further, hoping for something that feels even remotely like him. Something simple. Something grounded. Something true.

But everything is either too cutesy or too performative. Too impersonal. Like you’re shopping for someone else’s idea of a boyfriend.

You click away from the page with a sharp sigh through your nose.

You lean back in your chair, pulling your blanket tighter around your legs as your hand drifts toward your coffee. It’s lukewarm now, but you drink it anyway, letting the bitterness ground you. The silence around you stretches, gentle and wide. The hum of the Compound feels distant, like it’s happening in another building. Another life.

You’re not sure how much time passes… Five minutes? Ten?

You haven’t touched your keyboard since. You haven’t opened another email. The cursor still blinks on the screen. And somehow, the stillness feels earned.

The door opens.

Quiet. No knock. Just the subtle sound of the latch releasing and the shift of air as it swings in.

His hair is still damp, pushed back casually with no real intention. A soft gray hoodie clings to his shoulders, still holding the warmth of the shower he just stepped out of. He has a water bottle in one hand, his posture loose, unguarded.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t explain himself. Doesn’t need to.

He just nods, barely, more a question than a greeting and glances toward the couch. You lift your hand without thinking, palm open in a quiet, wordless yes.

He crosses the room like he’s done it a hundred times before, like this is where he ends up when the day settles and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. He drops onto the couch with a soft sigh, unscrews the cap of his bottle, takes a long drink. Then leans back, head resting against the cushion, exhale slow.

And just like that- he’s here.

Like he belongs there. Like he always has.

Here is the rest. ♡ - Public Relations: Foundations

Here is the prequel. ♡ - Public Relations: Age of Ultron

[lavenderstobins]

Hopper’s talking to her, telling her to breathe, but all Nancy can focus on is Robin, dead, in front of her.

She barely registers when Steve stumbles in. Hopper’s moving before she processes it, trying to gently escort him out.

Steve’s a mess. Wild-eyed, his face streaked with tears, hair unkept.

“I need to say goodbye,” Steve begs, fighting against Hopper’s steady arms. “I need—I need to tell her I love her and that I’m sorry and—and I need to find the fuckers that did this—”

Steve knows about her ‘gift’. He looks directly at her, a plea on his face.

Nancy thinks of Barb, still and silent in her arms.

“Let him stay,” she croaks.

“Wheeler—” Hopper starts. She shakes her head.

“Let him stay.”

Hopper relents. Steve scrambles over, faltering when he sees Robin.

Nancy understands. It’s not a pretty sight.

At open-casket funerals, the deceased undergoes hours of careful preparation to make them look presentable. To make sure they look as close to how they did in life as possible.

That is not the case here. Robin’s skin is a sickly white, freckles stark in contrast. Ugly purple marks cover her throat and neck. Strangulation, from the looks of it. Nancy doesn’t want to imagine it.

Steve strokes Robin’s hair, the gentlest Nancy has ever seen him. Fresh tears have started running down his cheeks.

“Steve,” she starts, equally gentle, because how can she tell him this? How can she describe the sensation of having your whole world stopped, started, and stopped again?

“I know,” he says, not taking his eyes off Robin. “I’m ready.”

She wants to say, You can never be ready.

Instead, she nods, and taps one finger to Robin’s cheek.

The effect is instant. Robin gasps, eyes flying open, one hand automatically going to her throat.

Steve lets out a sob, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should’ve been there, I’m sorry—”

“Dingus,” Robin rasps, and she’s crying too. Nancy averts her eyes, a pang in her chest.

Hopper must decide to let them have their moment because nearly five minutes pass before he comes over. He asks Robin questions, the standard procedure, and Robin answers shakily, her hand held in Steve’s.

Robin didn’t fully see her attacker. It was a man, that much she knows. She’d managed to flee the initial attack but he’d caught up to her when she tried to lose him in the woods. She thinks he was less prepared because of it, but things are hazy. She remembers being pinned down, hands around her throat, and these cold, terrifying eyes. His face had been covered with only his eyes visible.

Hopper takes notes, frowning. Finally, the questioning comes to an end, Robin out of answers. His head slowly swivels to Nancy.

Steve’s still clutching Robin. They both look at her with a sad understanding on their faces.

“I’ll find him,” Steve says quietly, resting his forehead against the top of Robin’s head. “I’ll find whoever did this and I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.”

Robin just smiles sadly. She murmurs something too quiet for Nancy to hear, but she doesn’t miss the devastation that flits across Steve’s face.

They look at her expectantly, both clearly trying hard not to cry. They’re still holding hands.

Nancy can’t do it.

“Wheeler,” Hopper says, low, a warning.

“I can’t,” Nancy whispers. She knows what will happen if she lets Robin live. The same thing that happened when she couldn’t let Will die again, when she couldn’t let Eddie die again.

The universe rights its wrongs in its own way. If it can’t have its death, it will take another. When she’d brought Will back and kept him alive, a well-loved local, Benny Hammond, had died. When she’d let Eddie live, Jonathan and Will’s stepfather Bob had a heart attack out of nowhere. There’d been seemingly nothing to cause either death.

If she lets Robin live, someone else will die in her place.

The worst part is that Nancy finds she doesn’t care.

She can’t let Steve lose his best friend the way she lost hers. She can’t let this be the end of Robin’s life.

Kind, funny Robin, who has always been so full of life, so loved by everyone around her. Nancy’s never gotten the chance to really get to know her, but she’s always wished she had.

“I can’t,” she repeats, her voice steadier now. “I won’t. It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair.” Hopper’s voice is kind. She doesn’t deserve it.

“I won’t do it. Steve—”

Steve looks stunned, a hopeful expression dawning on his face. Hopper looks at him and sighs.

“I can’t force you. But… well, on your own head be it.” He shakes his head. “I’m going back to the station. You’re causing me a lot of paperwork.”

As he leaves, Steve turns to her. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you—”

“As far as you’re concerned, Robin survived the attack.” Nancy keeps her voice steady, avoiding eye contact with both of them. “Robin…”

Robin’s eyes are on her. Curious, focused, like they’re studying her. Nancy swallows hard.

“Robin, you should avoid going anywhere alone for a while. If your attacker thinks you could identify him he’ll try and finish the job. I won’t be able to do this twice.”

Robin gives a short nod. “I’ll lay low for a while.”

Her voice is soft, raspy. Steve, maybe afraid Nancy might suddenly change her mind, thanks her one last time before helping Robin up and ushering her out.

Nancy watches their retreating backs, a heavy weight in her chest.

In the nicest way possible, she hopes she never sees Robin again.

[19blackbutterfly97-blog]

Drabble? Fic? One-Shot?

Intro to an Omegaverse I'm thinking about writing when I finish one of my current fics. Feedback welcome!!

Word Count: 1530

>>>>><<<<

While most Omegas are loud and proud with their bubbly, vivacious personalities little Alice Belova was not. Raised in a family of Alphas and Betas, she was the middle of a pack of three brothers and one sister, Yelena. She was constantly surrounded by their naturally loud and brudish nature. Alice found solace being separated from others. She was usually found with her nose buried in a book in some corner of the world. When she presented at the later age of sixteen Alice decided it was time to look at a world beyond her boorish brothers and the long line of Alphas she somehow descended from. With much argument from her parents they reluctantly signed the agreement to allow their meek daughter to move to New York and join S.H.I.E.L.D..

The program was experimental. Of course they couldn't risk Omegas being field agents but right away S.H.I.E.L.D. saw the impact the office Omegas had. They’d usually start off in a call center of sorts. Some that could keep up and weren’t easily shaken would move on to become data processors, intelligence analysts, mission report scribes or lab assistants. They would mold themselves to their teams, allowing themselves the honor of serving their country and providing the support needed to get their people home safely. Then there was Alice.

Now closer to twenty-three, Alice has quietly risen through the ranks to one of the top Intelligence Analysts in the coveted Avenger’s Compound. While she doesn’t work directly with the team Alice has proven herself useful to the Director. Within six months on the Compound Alice was working on Avenger level cases, usually providing intel for locations and possible threats. She was the adorably silent side character that hid in her office waiting for the next case file to appear across her desk. It was a bit undeniable that Sam “The Falcon” Wilson turned to her when he agreed to aid in the search for James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes AKA The Winter Soldier. While she wasn’t a pivotal part in the search for Barnes, she did at least help with the initial search after his grand escape from Hydra.

The world had since healed from those events. Captain Rogers and the others were able to clear Barnes’ name and he eventually (and reluctantly) joined the team. Bucky made amends with Tony Stark and continually worked to heal some of the pain he caused but always somehow managed to overlook his own pain. He was resigned to believing that he was a defective Alpha who would never be able to protect or provide for an Omega the way she’d deserve. His friends however saw things in a different light.

“Look. I know you said we’re not allowed to intervene but it’s time. I can’t keep sitting here watching him mope around like this. It’s depressing!” Sam whispers to Steve. They’re sitting across the Avenger’s common room watching Bucky stare out the window. “He’s been there most of the day. Just like he was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.”

“And he’ll probably be there most of the day tomorrow, too. He’s been through hell. Let him mope.” Steve answers, still watching his friend with concern. Steve would never admit it out loud but he was always silently begging that Bucky would wake up one day and decide to fully join the rest of the world again. Sam grumbles a reply under his breath before standing up and disappearing to another part of the team’s living quarters.

“He does know I can hear him, right? Even when he’s whispering.” Bucky says a few moments later.

“If he does, he doesn’t care.” Steve says and pries open his sketchbook. “He’s just trying to help.”

“Well he can stop. I don’t need it.”

Steve hums in response to his best friend’s argument. “What if I can’t stop him from helping? You know Sam. Once he gets an idea in his head he’s going to be stubborn about it.” 

“What’s his plan?” Bucky asks with interest and turns around to look at him.

“No idea.” Steve answers with a barely hidden grin as he picks up his pencil and starts drawing.

Meanwhile, Sam had decided he was tired of watching his friend mope about. Deciding it was better to act now and worry about the consequences later he made his way down to the Intelligence office. Once there he was set on finding the quietly helpful Omega from a year ago. Alice, as per usual, was sitting at her desk with her full attention on the case file splayed across her computer monitor. The sweet scent of vanilla, lavender and honey wafted in the air as she worked. A pretzel stick poised neatly between her teeth as she concentrated on a few particulars of the case before sending it off. Sam smiled a little when he entered the cubicle behind her and waited.

“Just a minute please, Sam.” Alice says, never looking away from the screen.

“Take your time. I know how you are.” He answers and looks around the space. “Oh, I see your parents went to Prague. How’d they like it?”

“Fine that I know of. They invited me along but I turned them down. We had more important things going on here.”

Sam frowns slightly at that but doesn’t comment. Contrary to what others may believe about him when it comes to an Omega he does know when to keep his mouth shut, especially when one is as skittish as Alice. “We’ve been working on another Hydra case. I heard Tony and Steve talking the other day. Might be bringing an analyst on full time for this one.”

“Uh-huh.” Alice mutters as she sends off the case file on her screen before turning around a bit. “Any candidates?”

“Not yet. I was thinking about tossing your name in if you’re interested?”

Alice nods a little, a strand of hair falling over her face that she’s quick to push away. “Sure, thanks. Did you need anything else?”

“Me? Nah, just trying to avoid tense Alpha energy upstairs. It’s usually calmer here.”

“There’s not as many Alphas here. They’re usually training or something. Not that I mind.” She finishes with an eye-roll. “Aren’t you supposed to be training?”

“Technically, but hey, can’t a man come down and hang out with his favorite analyst?”

Alice raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m nobody’s favorite and we both know it. Plus, Alphas and Omegas - especially the unbonded, unmated ones- usually struggle with being just friends. Work acquaintances? Maybe.”

Sam smirks proudly. “Look at you coming out of your shell to argue with me. Did somebody go on a date?”

Alice groans. “Oh god, not you too. You sound like my mother right now. She asked me the same thing when I talked to her earlier.”

“That should tell you something about your life if more than one person is asking that question.” Sam teases and leans against the desk. “So, I’m assuming it went badly?”

Alice sighs and grabs another pretzel stick from the bag. “Yes. He was the typical egotistical Alpha that was only interested in talking about his last mission, his last rut and my heat cycle.”

“The audacity!” Sam feigns offence, dramatically clutching his chest. “Who was it? I'll knock some sense into him.”

“Remember Derek from team six?”

“The guy with the bad highlights that makes him look like a kid in a 90s boy band?” Alice nods, chuckling a little from the description. It’s accurate and the jab at Derek is enough to start lifting her spirits again. “Seriously? That Derek?! What were you thinking? You know he’s either slept with or tried to sleep with every Omega in this place.”

“I know, I know. I just… I guess I was just looking for something.”

“Hopefully not the number to a hairdresser.”

Alice laughs again and shakes her head. “No, gods no. I guess I was hoping there was more to him than what meets the eye… Ya know? Derek is no king of mystery but I was still holding out that he’d surprise me at least a little. Or at least be able to hold an intelligent conversation about something other than his knot.”

“Ever the hopeless romantic, are we?”

“Maybe a little. But you know me. I was raised in a pack of Alphas. I’m used to them being loud and egotistical asses.” She pauses when Sam makes a noise of mock offence. “Present company excluded of course. Anyway, I guess I’m just waiting on the one Alpha that actually cares about what I think, not just what I can do.”

“You and every Omega on the planet. Doesn’t mean you’re going to find them.” Sam says, though that’s nowhere near what Sam was thinking. He’s currently decided that he’s going to make sure Alice is the analyst put on the case with the Avengers. He’s making plans to knock Bucky down a few pegs with the tiny dark-haired Omega in front of him. Sam is concocting and scheming the best meet-cute he can possibly think of.

[gelphiecore]

Sub Eddie Week, Day 1 — Affirmation (non sexual)

Eddie has Bad Days. Days Steve isn’t sure what to do with him, because it kills him inside to see him get like that and be so helpless to fix it.

There are a lot of factors, he gathers. They don’t always talk directly about it. It’s obvious when it’s the trauma of what they went through; what Eddie went through, specifically — being eaten alive, nearly dying.

Other times it seems like some other trauma Steve is unaware of. A lot of shit from his childhood that Eddie doesn’t ever want to bring up. Steve knows his dad plays a big part of it, especially thanks to Wayne’s input. The loss of his mom too. He hadn’t exactly had an easy childhood, and things didn’t really improve for him into his teenage years.

So Steve has stopped trying to root the source of Eddie’s episodes. He focuses instead on what he can do in the present, what he can try, to drag Eddie out of them.

They’re not always the same, and Steve is prepared to deal with them as they come, in whatever form.

Some days it’s Eddie being surly and snappish, lashing out over little things. Sometimes Eddie goes quiet and still, and he curls up on himself, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. Those are rarer, but they’re Steve’s least favorite — because they’re the most un-Eddie. Eddie should never be small, or silent.

Most of the time though, Steve doesn’t know what happens at all, because on those days, Eddie shuts him out completely. Doesn’t want Steve witnessing his vulnerabilities, or is too wrapped up inside his own head. It’s something they’re working on.

Like today, as Steve presses himself against Eddie’s bedroom door, head tilted to catch the sniffling sounds of Eddie on the other side.

“C’mon, Ed.” Steve begs. “You know you only get worse when you do this. I’m right here.”

And Steve knows they’re making progress when, after a few seconds, the lock on the door clicks open. Steve edges it open carefully, and takes in the sight of Eddie crammed into the only uncluttered corner of the room. Tear tracks shine on his cheeks, highlighted by the red lining under his eyes.

Steve has never seen him cry before. Not in this context. He knows he does, but Eddie is always careful to never let him see it. The only times Steve gets a glimpse of Eddie letting those walls down is when they’re having sex — when the dynamic they’ve found themselves in allows Eddie to trust Steve implicitly, to allow that wall to come down and not fear the intimacy of being seen.

Something about that clicks for Steve, right then. The idea of that dynamic, brought out into moments like these.

It’s worth trying.

He kneels down beside Eddie, hand extended as though asking permission to touch him.

Careful, careful, careful.

“Hey,” He whispers. “Do you trust me, Ed?”

There’s hesitation on Eddie’s face, but it’s alright. Steve knows how hard it is for him sometimes. How many times he’s been hurt by the people he was supposed to be able to trust most.

Eventually though, he nods. It warms something inside Steve that he can, that they’ve come far enough that even in the depths of a bad day like this, Eddie knows that Steve is Safe.

“Thank you,” Steve breathes out a sigh of relief, hands coming up to gently cradle Eddie’s face. “Baby boy. My good boy.”

Eddie’s eyes widen.

The words are purposeful, chosen specifically. The names Steve usually reserves for the bedroom play, the praise offered when Eddie is being submissive and sweet for him.

There’s a moment, a pause where Steve waits to see if Eddie accepts it. If he’ll sink into the request to bring that dynamic out here — for Eddie to let go and hand himself over to Steve to take care of, to comfort. To take away the bad from him and assume responsibility for it all.

Eddie’s eyes gradually slip shut, and he nods.

Steve strokes Eddie’s cheeks a few times. “What do you need right now, sweetheart?”

Eddie’s eyes open again, and his gaze connects with Steve’s in something challenging. Something tinged with sadness around the edges, like he’s anticipating rejection.

“Tell me you love me.”

And that’s…something they haven’t done yet.

The words they haven’t said aloud, too much baggage surrounding them on both sides. Steve had thought it had been understood, though. The unspoken truth that ran both ways.

Now, he realizes what a miscalculation that was. Now, he looks at the anxiety pouring out of Eddie, the uncertainty. The way he’s braced for the worst, like it’s really a question how he feels.

Steve swallows down any residual trepidation, and he sets aside his own fear, the whispering voice that tells him his love is too much to be accepted by anyone if he doesn’t hold it back. Eddie needs to hear it, whether he feels the same way or not.

“Eddie,” he says, taking hold of Eddie’s wrists, thumbs pressed to his pulse points. “I love you.”

Eddie’s breath catches, and his voice wobbles as he responds, “How long for?”

Steve feels thrown for a loop. “What?”

“How long,” Eddie repeats, something wretched in his tone. “Until you’re sick of me? Of this? How long until it’s too damn much and you realize you’re better than it all? When you wake up and realize that I’m not somebody worth sticking around for?”

Steve lashes out all at once with his hand, gripping Eddie’s chin to force him to make eye contact once again.

“Eddie Munson,” he utters with command, “You listen to me. You don’t get to talk about yourself like that — like you aren’t worth the effort. Because to me? Loving you isn’t effort. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done, in fact. And even if it was hard, I’d walk uphill both ways just to earn the privilege of it. So don’t you dare talk about yourself like that. Do you understand?”

Eddie’s eyes are big again, shocked and unsettled, but he nods, an instinctual response to the particular tone of Steve’s voice.

“Good. Good boy,” Steve praises, releasing his chin to stroke his hair.

“As for the other part…I’m not going be naive. The romantic in me wants to promise we’ll be in love forever, but you and I both know things happen, people change. I’m not going to lie to you about something I can’t know. But what I can tell you is that I’ll love you forever. Just like everyone else I’ve loved before, you’ve carved out your very own place here, Munson,” Steve taps his chest. “And that’s never going away. Even if by some stretch of the imagination it one day changes form, I’ll still love you. I’ll always love you. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to leave you today, tomorrow, or for the foreseeable future. Because I love you, and you are worth loving. Do you understand?”

Eddie nods, but this time with tears squeezing out the sides of his eyes.

Steve draws him into his arms, offering a tight embrace of support for the next part.

“This might be hard,” Steve says, “But I’m going to need you to repeat after me now.”

“What?” Eddie asks, beginning to pull away, confusion etched on his features.

“Eddie,” Steve reprimands him. “Aren’t you going to be good for me?”

Eddie catches himself, a brief moment where his desire to flee the vulnerability of the unknown wars with his obedience — but then if fades into submission, his body sinking pliantly back into Steve’s arms.

“Yes.”

Steve rewards him with a kiss on the top of his head.

“Need you to say exactly what I tell you to,” He says.

Eddie’s hands fist into Steve’s shirt, holding on tight. “Yes.”

Steve nods.

“Tell me that you’re good, and kind, and worthy of love.”

“Steve-“ Eddie starts, but Steve doesn’t let him object.

“Say it.”

Eddie swallows back anything else, taking a steadying breath.

“I—I’m good, and kind, and worthy of love.”

Steve rubs a hand up and down his back.

“Tell me that you’re not hard to love. That the people who love you don’t want to leave you.”

Eddie whines, burying his nose against Steve’s chest, voice muffled. “I’m not hard to love. The people who love me…”

Steve nudges him, waiting for the rest. Eddie swallows audibly.

“The people who love me don’t want to leave me.”

“There we go,” Steve coos. “Not so hard after all, huh? You did so good. My good boy.”

Eddie goes limp against him, all the tension sapping at once from his muscles.

“Think we’re gonna work on that more regularly,” Steve says, petting Eddie’s hair as he wraps an arm around his waist. “And I’m going to have to remind you just as often that I love you.”

Eddie’s arms latch around him. “Hey, Stevie?” He calls, quiet. Soft.

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

Steve stumbles over the surprise of it, only for a second — but then he beams, light pouring out as warmth floods through him.

“I know,” He says. “I know.”

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

TO BE ALRIGHT.

PAIRING — bucky barnes x steve rogers

CONTENTS — ficlet; fluff; very light angst; anti-endgame (in my head this is the ending we got, okay??); happy birthday bucky!

SUMMARY — In a world where so many things have changed, at least one thing remains consistent.

WORD COUNT — 1.2k

NOTES — another one for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s bucky’s birthday bingo event. i am going to keep these short and sweet because i feel like i might go crazy otherwise 😵‍💫 this is also my first standalone stucky fic 🥺 they make me so soft, i should do this more often!!

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog ✩ bingo event masterlist

It’s been a tough day. 

The mission was ultimately successful, but only just barely. Bucky stands in front of his apartment door, taking what’s supposed to be a deep stabilizing breath but it doesn’t do much to ease the tension in his shoulders. 

He quickly checks his phone again, seeing the same text he got from Sam a few minutes earlier saying that Joaquin was finally out of surgery, but there were no further updates since then. 

Bucky heaves a heavy sigh. Injuries were going to happen, it’s the nature of the job, but he can’t help but feel like he’s directly responsible this time. If only he hadn’t frozen out there like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, then the kid would’ve been spared the injury. 

What the hell even happened? Bucky has seen more than his fair share of violence—explosions, gunfire, everything in between—but he’d never even flinched before today. 

Why did he stop then, why did he want to shrink away today instead of retaliate? He knows what Dr. Raynor would say, what everyone chooses not to—PTSD. Strange, having seventy years of unspeakable trauma boiled down to just four letters. 

It’s just his luck that the serum which kept him alive all these years could slow down aging, could fix bruises, mend broken bones, and repair wounds that would be devastating to any regular man in record time, but it could not fix his damn brain. 

He gets a new text from Sam just then. The kid’s awake and already flirting with his nurse. They’re sending him home the day after tomorrow. 

Bucky breathes a short sigh of relief, but his other hand is still clenched tightly at his side. He forces himself to ease his grip, reaching into his pocket for his keys. 

He doesn’t know what to say yet, so he doesn’t respond to Sam’s text right away. He’s never been good at this whole texting thing. Instead, he unlocks the door and opens it, footsteps faltering when he’s instantly hit in the face with a cloud of warmth that smells of something sweet. 

Brows furrowing in confusion, he removes his shoes and places them on the rack by the door, in between a pair of familiar boots and another pair of sneakers that aren’t his.

There are paintings hung up on the walls that used to be bare, a brown leather jacket hung up on the coat rack next to the door, and another set of keys already sitting in the bowl on the table. 

Flowers in a vase on the coffee table, books littering the shelves, and the sounds of someone tinkering in the kitchen—constant reminders that Bucky no longer lives alone. 

It’s why he doesn’t like bringing work home with him anymore. It didn’t used to matter when he was alone, but he wants to be considerate towards his new roommate. 

Steve is only six months into retirement, after all. 

It’s a sight Bucky’s still not used to. Steve is facing the stove, his front cloaked under a plain dark blue apron as he grabs a potholder and pulls something out of the oven. 

So domestic, he thinks. Even back in the 40s, when Bucky began staying over at the Rogers’ brownstone more often so his best friend wouldn’t feel too lonely in the early days after Sarah’s passing, it didn’t feel anything like this. 

Maybe because back then, even though it was always ‘till the end of the line and even when I had nothing I had you, neither of them really acknowledged what this was. 

“You’re home!” Steve’s voice snaps him back to the present, and his eyes refocus to see a tray of freshly baked cupcakes, perfectly golden-yellow on the tops, being set down onto the counter. “Ack, I wanted to surprise you.” 

“Surprise me?” 

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” For one comical moment, Bucky tries to remember if he’s forgotten some kind of anniversary. “…You okay?” 

That catches him a bit off guard. He tries so hard, yet it’s never easy hiding things from Steve, the only person who could read the micro-expressions on his face as though they were written in ink for all to see. 

“I’m good,” Bucky says noncommittally, swallowing hard before changing the subject. “What did I forget?” 

Steve bristles a bit at that, a loaded question if there ever was one. “It’s your birthday, Buck.” 

He’s stunned for a minute, had indeed forgotten, but memories have a funny way of surprising you. He hasn’t celebrated a birthday in such a long time, nor has he ever had cause to remember, but the smell of the cupcakes brings something back, almost like a vision—

A woman and three young girls, smiling and giggling and smothering his cheeks with kisses, presenting him with a three layered white cake with vanilla frosting and rainbow sprinkles.

A stern-looking man watched, peeking over the top of his newspaper, the hint of a smile in his eyes betraying a thinly veiled affection. 

And of course, Steve, back when he was much smaller, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners as he and the rest of Bucky’s family clapped and sang happy birthday. 

“I didn’t think I could bake a whole cake like Winnie used to,” Steve scratches underneath his eye a bit sheepishly. Despite himself, Bucky feels the corners of his mouth lifting. “But these came out of a box and I’m pretty good at following instructions, so they should be good.” 

“They smell good,” Bucky says with a small smile.

Steve pops a cupcake out of one of the tins, using a butter knife to spread some vanilla frosting over the top. He chuckles quietly when it starts to melt, the cake still warm from the oven, and carefully hands it over. Bucky takes it with an almost shy little smile. 

He’ll tell Steve about the mission later, he decides, because he knows Steve of all people would understand. Even if he didn’t, at least he would listen—without judgment, without expectations, without any unsolicited advice. But for now, Bucky wants to enjoy this quiet moment for just a little longer. 

Remember what this feels like, he tells himself, for future bad days. Because there will be a lot of them. 

But as long as Steve’s here, this is what it feels like to be alright. 

“Happy birthday, jerk,” Steve says, his voice low and soft. Bucky looks up at him expectantly. “Shut up, I’m not singing.” 

“Coward,” Bucky laughs as he shakes his head before taking a large bite. His cheeks are warm and he stares down at the half-eaten cupcake, dotted with rainbow sprinkles that look like bits of confetti—just like Ma used to make ‘em. But to offset some of the shyness he’s feeling under Steve’s watchful eye and crooked little smile, Bucky mutters with his mouth full, “You’re a punk.” 

His best friend in the entire world—his balm against the ache of a lifetime gone by, his steadfast tether in this otherwise turbulent sea of confusion and woe—just grins. 

Steve helps himself to one of the treats, blue eyes sparkling just like the boy from Bucky’s memories as their gazes meet. Bucky grabs a napkin and smushes it against a smear of frosting on Steve’s nose.

“Ow, easy!” Steve hisses, batting away Bucky’s metal hand with a huff. 

Something swells in his chest as he takes another bite, and Bucky thinks he can finally acknowledge it now. 

It tastes like love.

fin.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[wheneverfeasible]

Sickness of the Heart

wc: 5.5k || rating: T+ || cw: sexual themes, language, slut-shaming (but for a good cause) || summary: After ending his FWB relationship with a!Eddie, o!Steve must deal with the humiliation of a self-imposed rejection sickness while interacting with the other members of Corroded Coffin. Flight of Icarus compliant. Angst with an open ending. || ao3

Note: This fic does contain a brief summary of Paige’s involvement in Flight of Icarus, so while it does contain some spoilers, this also means that you do not need to have read the book to enjoy this story. Also, while this is technically a Steddie fic, Eddie doesn’t actually make an appearance in the story itself lol.

This fic is partially inspired by @fkinkindagauche ‘s fic The Unbearable Horniness of Steve Harrington in relation to Steve’s rejection sickness. Excellent read if you haven’t yet!

-

Steve was going to murder Dustin.

Or maybe he’ll let him live, he hasn’t decided yet. The kid didn’t really know the whole story, after all, so it wasn’t like he knew how utterly lost and devastated Steve felt right now, the rejection sickness curling through him in sharp pangs and dull aches. He didn’t know how much Steve’s heart was breaking with every step Steve took towards Gareth’s garage.

The only benefit was that Steve knew Eddie was out of town, setting things up with Paige for their chance of redemption. The pretty beta had reached out after the news of Eddie’s trial had made front page news even outside of Indiana, her boss apparently wanting to give Eddie a second chance at making it big in the music industry.

Eddie had been floored, energetic, and even the boys in Corroded Coffin couldn’t fault him if he ditched them again to make a better life for himself. They all knew he deserved it after everything. Except, Eddie had told them point blank that he was never running again, never turning his back on those he cared about. Had agreed to the offer to audition properly, but only if all of Corroded Coffin was invited too. All or nothing, he’d said.

After a bit of back-and-forth, Paige’s boss agreed.

It had been the final nail in the coffin for this thing between him and Eddie.

The facts were this:

During Eddie’s first senior year, Paige, with her fancy music scout assistant L.A. job, had been visiting her family in town and stumbled across Corroded Coffin playing at The Hideout. As anyone with even a passing interest in music could clearly see, she discovered Eddie and was instantly impressed with his talent and passion for music. They had…hit it off.

It had led to an offer to audition. But just for Eddie. And Eddie? Young and stupid and running away from a town that already hated him just for being his father’s son? Well, he had agreed. And then said father had come back and ruined everything, had burned those bridges for Eddie before disappearing once again and taking with it Eddie’s chance of a better life.

Had, in fact, been directly responsible for Eddie getting into drug dealing with led to…everything.

The relationship with Paige had ended messily, but not as devastating as it could have been. At least, that was Steve’s understanding of things. Over the course of his and Eddie’s…thing…the older alpha had talked about his past, slowly revealing all of this to Steve who had opened up about his own traumatic past, about his guilt over Barb, his and Robin’s torture at the hands of evil Russians, and how his parents had never truly loved him, made all that much more obvious when his secondary gender presented as omega.

It had been nice. For a moment, Steve had been able to pretend that it was something more than it actually was. Could pretend that when Eddie called him beautiful as he moved inside him, that the alpha had meant it as more than just what a good lay Steve was.

It had never been more than that, however. No matter how much Steve desperately but secretly wished otherwise.

Helping Eddie recover, then also serving as a character witness for Eddie’s trial, the two of them had grown into something actually resembling genuine friends and not just two people thrown together because of otherworldly forces and trauma. Eddie even spent a large part of his time at Steve’s house as they all prepared for Eddie’s trial, whether with the larger group or just on his own.

And then Eddie’s rut hit, unexpectedly and most likely brought on by stress from the trial, and…well…well Steve actually hadn’t had a decent lay in a while since he’d been dating betas and other omegas almost exclusively since Nancy. He missed being with an alpha. Missed being able to let himself go and fall into omega space, which he trusted Eddie with since he was his friend first and foremost.

The offer had been met with incredulity, but Steve had pointed out that things with the trial and his defense would get messy if Eddie lost control if he either tried to weather it alone or find another omega to share it with, and Steve was game if Eddie was. Purely transactional, just two bros helping each other out, never to be spoken about again.

Except neither had been prepared for how compatible they were with sex, even if they weren’t always compatible in their day-to-day friendship. So, after the embarrassment and awkwardness went away, they settled on a deal. When Steve’s heat came around, Eddie would help him out too. And he did not too long later, and it was just as great as the first time too.

And then they had sex when neither rut nor heat was present.

It was drunken sex, sure, celebrating not only Eddie’s freedom with the long trial finally being over but also celebrating the high school diploma Eddie had received in the mail that day, but it was sex all the same. And then it kept happening. Just two bros helping each other let off steam while enjoying some fantastic orgasms. Friends with benefits and that was it.

Except that wasn’t it for Steve.

No, his days of just enjoying being casual ended when he’d fallen in love with Nancy, when the idea of a Winnebago full of pups had begun to seem like something he could actually have, and he’d been chasing that high ever since. Even when he casually dated after Nancy, it has always been in search of someone to share that future with.

Enter Eddie Munson, a ridiculously nerdy and unhinged alpha who loved Steve’s honorary pups as much as Steve himself did. And yeah, they bickered all the time, clashed and argued and didn’t really have much else in common and sometimes jabbed each other with pointed insults from high school, but the sex was fantastic and Eddie was…surprisingly sweet. Sensitive. Caring. Considerate.

Eddie was annoying and hyperactive and made Steve want to tear his hair out sometimes, but he was also exactly the sort of alpha that Steve had always wanted. Steve wasn’t certain when it actually began, but it was when he was watching Eddie carefully roughhouse with the pups one day that he found himself looking forward to how Eddie would be with their pups.

And that horrifying realization had been the beginning of the end.

He knew Eddie didn’t think about him like that. Honestly, how could he? First of all, Eddie deserved better than the town slut, not that Steve ever felt ashamed about being said slut. He liked sex and he though he eventually wanted a happily-ever-after of his own, he wasn’t opposed to sleeping around until he found it. If he ever did.

Now though, realizing that his inner omega had apparently decided on yet another alpha that he knew he could never truly have, he began wondering if he was just doomed to never being properly mated. But then it wasn’t just his inner omega craving Eddie’s alpha. It was Steve himself craving all of Eddie.

He had fallen in love with Eddie Munson. And he didn’t even know when it had happened.

Which, of course, meant that he had to end things. Immediately.

The rejection sickness he’d gotten after Tina’s party had been…intense. He’d been angry too, or really just heartbroken. He’d only been able to push it down, reason with the sickness, when he decided that it was just the alcohol and the stress and the guilt and had decided to apologize for…whatever he needed to apologize for. And then It happened and the sickness was pushed back even further to deal with everything until…

Well, when he saw Nancy and Jonathan and smelled them, he knew it was well and truly over. Then the sickness hit him back harder than ever. He knew he couldn’t suffer through that again, not like that. And he knew with a certainty that losing Eddie would make his previous sickness feel like a walk in the park if he let himself fall even more deeply in love with Eddie than he already was, if he let his inner omega start even more of the courting process than it had already tried.

It hadn’t been pretty. It wasn’t that Eddie had any genuine feelings for him outside of friendship and lust, but Steve suddenly breaking things off had been…complicated. More than he had expected it to be. But Paige had come sniffing around again by then and Steve knew…fuck, he knew how considerate Eddie was.

If he knew that Steve felt the way he had, that Steve’s omega had already claimed him as his alpha, then Eddie would be a self-sacrificing idiot and give Steve what he wanted even if he didn’t want it. To spare Steve that pain. Especially if Steve accidentally got knocked up, which was seeming more and more of a possibility when Steve’s stupid omega brain kept forgetting to take his birth control because it wanted to be knotted and pupped up.

Eddie had his whole life in front of him, and now a chance to actually make it out of Hawkins and live his big rockstar hero dreams. And the chance to be with the only person Steve knew that Eddie ever had actual feelings for. Steve couldn’t take that from him. So he broke up with him…as much as you can break up with someone who was just your friend that you’re ostentatiously just using for good sex.

Eddie had been rightly annoyed when he’d arrived at their regularly scheduled dick appointment time only to be kicked out with blue balls and told that it was never happening again. Among a few other sharp words to get the point across.

Steve probably should have called him before Eddie made it to his house, before Eddie had paid for the dinner he was bringing that night, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to say the words over the phones that for all he knew were still tapped by the government.

Steve could tell that Eddie had been a bit offended too, and worried. Of course Eddie would worry that he wasn’t doing enough in bed, that he wasn’t good enough in bed, which had to be a kick to an alpha’s ego no matter who it was. Steve couldn’t really just say that he was ending things so that Eddie could get with Paige again and move out of Hawkins, however.

So he played up the angle that he was growing bored, that he was looking for something new now, even as his inner omega railed against such lies. He wanted more, certainly, but more with Eddie. Which Eddie couldn’t give him. Sure, Eddie might stick around like a martyr if Steve flashed him that pleading omega look he knew Eddie’s alpha was weak for, but that didn’t mean that Eddie himself could give Steve what he most desperately wanted: Eddie’s heart.

Which led to now, with Eddie meeting with Paige at her big fancy grownup job and no doubt rekindling old flames, and Steve stuck in Hawkins having to return one of those Dipshits and Dingbats books that Dustin had borrowed from Gareth.

The band was practicing, even without their frontman Eddie being present, and as Steve turned off the engine of his car and grabbed the ratty old book in question, he could make out something over the sporadic noise about behind the scenes footage and their eventual rise to fame.

Which…yeah. Steve knew that it wasn’t a question of if but of when. Metal still wasn’t really his preferred style of music, but he’d gone to some shows, had even been to a few of the band’s practices after he and Eddie started messing around, and he knew the boys were talented. Any music exec would be stupid to pass them up.

He grimaced a little behind his sunglasses when, with a discordant screech of Jeff’s guitar, the racket stopped. The boy in question was glaring at him, which…fair, he supposed, since he was the one that broke off the thing with Eddie, but it wasn’t like it was anything more than just sex. Nothing to warrant the glares he was receiving from the whole band.

But then, they’d never really been too keen on Eddie being friends with him, much less hooking up, and it wasn’t like they could hide that with how their scents had begun mingling. Another sign that it was high time to break it off, before it entered beyond accidental courtship and drifted into accidental bonding.

“What are you doing here, Harrington?” Gareth growled, the scent of annoyed alpha only causing Steve to fumble slightly as he brought up one hand in mock surrender and the other holding the book.

“Henderson wanted to make certain you got this back before you left,” he huffed, pushing his sunglasses up over his head to squint at the trio glaring back at him. He waved the book a little, hoping one of them took it from him so he didn’t have to step further into the garage. No one did.

“Why didn’t he just bring it himself instead of sending you of all people?” Gareth scoffed with a small sneer, never having really been Steve’s biggest fan. Not that Steve could really blame him; he knew people like Steve hadn’t made Gareth’s life easy, including Gareth’s own father.

“Ask him yourself, asshole,” Steve muttered, cocking one hand on his hip impatiently. Though the other two were only betas and thus didn’t have much in the way of scents, their posturing didn’t leave any doubt that they didn’t like him.

He just…didn’t know why. Besides Gareth, the other two had seemed relatively okay with Steve hanging around. Jeff had even once been actively friendly, while…uh…fuck. Steve always forgot the other one’s name. Stan? No. Doug? No. Grant? He was fairly certain that was wrong too. Whatever. Anyways, he had only cared that Steve didn’t get in the way of practice or their non-Hellfire DnD games after Eddie graduated.

Now they all looked at him like how they had at the beginning, when they hadn’t trusted the former jock, when they had only seen King Steve and hated everything about him on principle, only seeing another Jason Carver instead of the dude who had stood up for their friend in trial. Whatever. It didn’t matter. It didn’t hurt.

At least, that’s what Steve kept telling himself.

He didn’t let himself think about how Jeff had once clapped him on the shoulder when he had embarrassedly brought some fudge he had made, trying out a new recipe to take to the Hopper-Byers’ during one of their semi-regular get-togethers that had originally cropped up during preparing for Eddie’s trial. Now it just became a thing they did for fun.

He also didn’t think about the other one (Jesus, seriously, what was his name again?) had jokingly argued with Eddie about what class Steve would be, certain that he’d be a basic fighter while Eddie had been adamant that he’d be a paladin. Steve hadn’t known what any of it meant, but the two of them had laughed at the end and it had been with Steve, not at him.

Even Gareth had, on occasion, been almost nice to him, settling Steve on the worn red couch at the back of the garage with noise cancelling headphones and some magazines of his mother’s when practice had run long and Steve was supposed to pick Eddie up to meet up with Jonathan and the others.

Now everyone just stared at him with unconcealed looks of annoyance and disdain. He hated it. Even though it wasn’t them his omega wanted, he still felt another sharp spasm of pain from the rejection of Eddie’s pack.

It must have showed on his face, or the way his body twitched and the arm holding out the book dropped, because a brief flash of concern whisked across Gareth’s expression and he stood up from his seat behind the drums, his nose crinkling.

“You smell like shit, Harrington,” he stated, moving around the drums to get slightly closer. At least the smell of annoyed alpha was dissipating.

“Gee, thanks,” Steve dryly said with a roll of his eyes. He swallowed against the burn of bile in his esophagus and held out the book once more. “Look, just take the damn book so I can go.”

A part of him was tempted just to drop the book, to let it fall and hit the concrete ground uncaring if the edges got fucked up or not. But these were Eddie’s friends and his inner omega wouldn’t let him do anything that might upset the alpha he wanted as his own. Pathetic as that was.

Gareth moved closer then, and Steve finally thought the younger boy would finally take the stupid thing from him, but instead Gareth’s hand shot out to grab hold of his wrist with a frown on his face. The touch of another alpha that wasn’t the one he wanted sent another roil of nausea through Steve’s belly, and he struggled hard to get his arm released, causing Gareth to simply tighten his hold.

“Let go of me!” Steve hissed. He saw the other two move forward towards them, but Gareth waved them back with his free hand, which they reluctantly listened to, though Jeff frowned as he glanced over his shoulder towards the back of the garage.

“You look sick, Harrington,” Gareth said instead of doing as he’d asked. “You smell sick too.”

“He’s right,” the other one, the bassist, said after a moment of consideration while Jeff’s head cocked to the side, an unreadable expression on his face. “I can’t smell you all that well, but you look terrible.”

“Don’t tell me,” Gareth scoffed, taking a long, deep sniff over Steve that caused him to blanche. “You really have the audacity to have rejection sickness when you’re the one who dumped Eddie?”

Steve pursed his lips and grabbed the book with his free hand to shove it at Gareth’s chest, forcing the younger boy to fumble and take it while moving back a step. He glared at them, wiping at his now freed wrist as though he could wipe off Gareth’s touch. Asshole.

“Don’t be such a fucking knothead,” Steve snarled, and no, maybe he didn’t get to have the intimidation of an alpha, but omegas would be fierce in their own ways. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the others who were more or less gaping at him now.

And he knew, okay? He knew it was weird, being sick when he had been the one to call it off, and it wasn’t like they were even anything other than fuck buddies letting off steam together. There had never been anything but friendship and lust between them. But try telling Steve’s omega that. His nesting had been insane.

It was only by some miracle that Eddie hadn’t been clocked in to Steve’s growing emotions and affections. That he hasn’t seen just how delusional Steve had been for that brief moment when he actually thought, maybe, just maybe, just for once the person he liked might like him back, might see him as something other than a stupid, used up, good for nothing, filthy, dirty, worthless—

“Look, I’m not an idiot, okay?” Steve snapped out, flushing not just in anger this time but also embarrassment and shame at the way his eyes suddenly grew wet. He blinked rapidly, his fingers digging into his biceps. “I knew what it was and what it wasn’t. I know it was just sex for Eddie, okay?”

Steve huffed out at Gareth’s suddenly blank expression, pleased that he had at least gotten the jackass to shut the fuck up and stop stinking the place up with his pissed off alpha pheromones. He deeply sighed, moving his sunglasses to hook in the collar of his shirt to run a hand through his hair before glaring at Gareth who had moved a couple steps to the side. Putting more distance between them maybe?

“I know that someone like Eddie and someone like me would never actually happen,” he muttered, and putting it into words with someone else had the bone deep aches from the sickness sending another wave of pain.

“What do you mean, ‘someone like Eddie,’” the bassist scoffed, his hackles rising, though he exchanged looks across the garage with Jeff. Gareth sneered as well, but there was also a shrewdness in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he took in more of Steve’s scent.

Steve rolled his eyes, throwing up a hand in frustration. He didn’t know why he was even still here, why he was trying to defend or justify himself, but his omega was telling him that these were his alpha’s packmates and thus deserved the truth.

“Like I said, I’m not an idiot,” he reluctantly said. “Eddie is…Eddie’s…” Steve huffed at himself next, scrubbing his hand over his eyes at the prickly feeling of fresh tears. He normally wasn’t much of a crier, but the hormones affecting him from the rejection sickness had him closer to blubbering at all hours of the day more than he would like.

Worse even than when it had cut through him after Nancy.

“Eddie is brilliant, okay?” he finally managed to get out, even if he was annoyed at needing to say this at all. He wished he could have just dropped the book off and left. “He’s so much braver than he gives himself credit for, he’s amazing with the pups, he’s creative and smart and and considerate and kind and probably one of the best people I’ve ever known. He’s a goddamn hero, whether he wants to believe it or not.”

Though these three had no idea what Eddie had gone through, not truly, they did know that there was more to the story than they had been told. Steve had always been quite vocal about talking about how amazing Eddie had been for the trial, and though he had to flub some of the details, everything he said had been true. Eddie was a hero, even if Eddie himself always denied that.

“And he’s hot,” Steve couldn’t help adding, with another small flush of embarrassment. “He has those stupid doe eyes that you want to spill all your secrets to, and that stupid grin that’s larger than his face, and the stupid way that even when he can’t seem to sit still, his entire focus is on you when you talk…”

Steve scoffed, ashamed of how wet it sounded, and rolled his eyes as he once more wrapped both arms tightly around himself. “And then there’s me. The asshole. The douchebag extraordinaire. The bully. The slut whose only redeeming quality is how easy of a lay I am and daddy’s money, which, by the way, I’m probably being cut off from soon, so really, what else do I have to offer except a used up pussy half the town has been in?” he sneered.

His self-hatred was probably a little too obvious with that, and he didn’t know why he said all of that anyways. Probably it had just been festering away inside of him with no one to unload on, at least no one who wouldn’t try to soothe him and lie to him and say that he wasn’t any of those things.

And yeah, maybe saying he’d slept with half the town was an exaggeration, but he had probably slept with at least half the chicks (and some of the guys) in high school, no matter their designation.

The problem was that Steve’s omega craved human connection. He never really had it growing up, his alpha father too focused on everything wrong with Steve and his beta mother too focused on making certain her husband didn’t stray to inbetween an omega’s legs…again. So Steve found physical comfort where he could, even if it meant opening thighs or mouth for anyone who shot him an interested look.

And then there was Eddie. Eddie, who never treated Steve like something shameful. Eddie, who had admitted he was wrong about Steve, even if Steve didn’t think he had been. Eddie, who even in rut had checked in on Steve and made certain he felt safe and unharmed. Eddie, who for a short amount of time almost made Steve feel good enough.

Which was the problem. Because Eddie didn’t mean it the way that Steve wanted him to, didn’t see Steve as anything other than a friend he could conveniently get off with, an omega who would never form attachments or come up with unrealistic ideas about them.

Except Steve thought he had probably been attached even before Eddie’s rut. Had too many ideas that were beyond unrealistic; they were straight up impossible. Eddie would never want Steve the way that Steve wanted Eddie.

Not when he had someone like Paige waiting for him, not when he had a future ahead of him outside of this stupid town. Steve couldn’t trap Eddie into a life he never wanted.

“So, what, you broke it off because Eddie doesn’t love you?” Jeff finally asked, his voice sounding odd and a bit louder than necessary. Steve wished he’d shut up. “You’re a used up slut of an omega with no redeeming qualities so obviously Eddie would never want to actually be with you outside of sex because he’s such a great guy and you’re not, is that it?”

Steve didn’t know why Jeff was repeating what Steve had said like that, but the words still caused him to flinch back slightly to hear someone else say them. He glared at Jeff, even as he had to hastily wipe away a traitorous stray tear that had slipped down his cheek.

“What does any of that matter,” the bassist asked. “Why would that send you into rejection sickness if you know nothing could ever come of this thing you two had? You were just using him for sex too, weren’t you?”

Steve’s frown cut across to the other beta, brow furrowing. Why did he sound weird, like he was leading Steve to say something he absolutely could not say? Not because it wasn’t true, but because it would break his heart to say it out loud.

“Come on, Harrington,” Gareth took up the goading next, taking a predatory step towards Steve who hastily took a step back. “You were just fucking, weren’t you? It didn’t mean anything to you. You were just treating Eddie like some glorified sex toy to get off, admit it. Just after an easy knot.”

“That’s not true,” Steve muttered, ducking his chin down even as he glared at Gareth with all he was worth. “I would never…” He shook his head in frustration. “That’s not how it was.”

“Nah, I think that’s exactly how it was,” Gareth said with a cruel smirk. “Why else would you have dragged him around, using him whenever you needed a good dicking. You got bored of him, isn’t that it? That’s what you said. You had enough of trailer trash like him, your bit of rough and rumble, and so you booted him so you could move on to the next target. What, gonna crawl back to Hagan next?”

Steve jerked back as though slapped. “That’s not true!” he repeated in a louder shout. “I would never use Eddie like that. He’s not trailer trash. He’s better than anyone else in this goddamned town, which is why he has to leave and never look back.”

Gareth smirked, his scent turning pleased, like Steve had said exactly what he wanted to hear. “So you broke up with him because you thought he deserved better?” he mocked, stepping closer again, though this time Steve didn’t budge. He glared furiously at Gareth, his chest heaving with his fury at the boy’s words. “Why the hell would you ever care about trailer trash like him?”

“Because I love him, dammit!” Steve yelled, eyes snapping with all the pent up emotions he never let himself actually feel, and—oh.

It truly did break his heart to say those words aloud. Steve’s face crumpled immediately, all the tears he’d been fighting back now overflowing his eyes spilling down both cheeks.

Even Gareth reacted, taking a step back and further to the side, obviously putting more distance between him and Steve’s distressed omega smell. The other boys shifted uncomfortably, likewise disturbed even without the superior senses to pick up just how much of Steve’s distress and rejection sickness was eating away at him. God, Steve felt so pathetic.

Hastily wiping at his face (not that it mattered as fresh tears continually replaced those wiped away), nose snotty and leaking, Steve glared as much as he could at the three of them. He was so angry, and so hurt, and so resigned to know that this changed nothing.

“Are you happy now?” he spat out, hating how his voice warbled and cracked. “Do you think I’m seriously stupid enough to think I ever had a chance? That I wasn’t anything more than an easy lay for him too? People like me don’t deserve happy endings. Not like Eddie does. He was going to end things anyway so I just did it for him. Assholes,” he muttered, finally turning away to leave because what else was there to say? How much more could he be hurt?

Steve paused. Right.

Turning back around, he bared his teeth as he pointed aggressively at the younger boys, shoulders back and tone once more falling back into the old familiar role of King Steve, even through the tears. “And don’t you lot say shit about this to anybody. Not to Eddie, not to the kids, not even to your fucking grandmas, are we understood?”

Jeff snorted, and Steve hated him more than he ever had for the amused look on his face. “Oh, we won’t say anything. Don’t worry, Stevie.”

Hurt clawed its way back up his throat, jaw quivering at the old familiar nickname, his sickness sending bile he had to rapidly swallow back down. All he wanted was to crawl into bed and wallow and tried to forget the alpha he wanted more than anything to be his and his alone.

Turning back around, Steve shoved his glasses back on his face before wrapped his arms around himself as he made his way back towards his car, fighting back the sobs that wanted to overtake him as he felt the rejection over and over and over again with every step away from his alpha’s pack.

He almost wished he had never met Eddie at all, had never met someone who, for such a short time, made him feel seen and heard and, biggest lie of all, like he was worth something after all.

As if he could ever be more than the bullshit he knew he was.

~

“You get all that?” Gareth asked finally after the three of them watched Steve’s car drive away. He glanced over his shoulder as Jeff moved around the drum set to the camcorder they’d set up to film today’s practice.

Jeff fiddled with the device that had been hiding in plain sight this whole time, the red light indicating it was recording until Jeff switched it off. He pressed another button and the side popped open, allowing him to pull out the vhs with a triumphant wiggle of his brows.

Gareth grinned at the other two with a pleased set to his shoulders, two matching grins meeting his own. “Excellent. After all, we said we wouldn’t say anything to Eddie. Not our fault if he overhears something he wasn’t supposed to when viewing our practice session,” he said with an easy shrug.

“Thank god, because I was sick of his moping. Should we send it overnight express to him now, or let them suffer a little longer?” Jeff laughed, wiggling the vhs in his hand.

“God, I’d say let them suffer because they are going to insufferable after this, but Eddie would skin us alive if we let his omega suffer like that for a moment longer than necessary,” Gareth grimaced, the others wincing in agreement.

“Ugh. And we thought they were bad before,” came the grumbling response, and Gareth could only snort as he glanced at the boy on the bass.

“How soon until they’re pupped up do you think?” Jeff slyly teased.

“After Eddie sees that tape?” Gareth asked with a roll of his eyes. “Same day, Jeffy. Same fucking day.”

Still, Gareth knew they were all three pleased for their friend, and as they ended practice early to get the tape sent out as soon as possible, he had the distinct feeling that when they left town in a few days, Steve would be with them.

-

Hostage tag: @derythcorvinus

Promised tag: @katyawriteswhump

[mags6422]

It Happened One November - Part 19

Part 18 | 0 | Part 20

A/N: Mildly NSFW, minors avert your eyes or whatever

......

It's a normal Wednesday afternoon, and he and Max are just back from their patrol. They never find anything but last time it took a year for the thing to come back so Billy's not really surprised. Besides, he's started to like the one on one time with Max. Mostly they rip on the people they see around town and insult the music on the radio, occasionally taking snipes at each other but not in the way they used to. Shit at this point he might even call her his friend. 

What was the world coming to?

Anyway, he was in his room, ostensibly to work on his English essay but really he's rereading all the notes Steve keeps leaving in his locker.  He unfolds the one from this morning, the drawing is of the sun with some clouds around it and the message is the sappiest one yet. ‘You are the best part of every day - S’. It's the cheesiest shit he's ever seen and it has him grinning like a fucking loon, he so happy about it. 

He's folding it away when his walkie goes off. “Gold Leader to Blondie, come in Blondie, over.” 

“Blondie?” He can hear the kids all yacking away from Max’s room most nights and he's heard the all hands messages in the mornings, usually when someone had a nightmare and needs to hear the roll call to make sure everyone was alright (fuck, these kids needed therapy) but this was the first time someone had tried to contact him directly. 

“What do you want, Henderson?” 

“Dude! You're supposed to use codenames! And you're supposed to say ‘over’ when you're done with your message, over.” 

“Nope, not happening, and you better come up with a better codename for me than ‘Blondie’” he's just fucking with the kid, mostly. Henderson and Wheeler are the easiest to get all riled up. 

“Uuug, you're the worst!” Billy grins, too easy. “Fine! I need help picking out a Christmas present for Steve! What do you think I should get him? Over” 

“How the fuck should I know?” Shit! What did Henderson know? Had he seen something? 

“Uuh, because you're his best friend, duh?” And fuck, here comes the goofy grin again, he can feel it. Steve told Henderson that Billy was his best friend. What is he, 12? Why is this effecting him? “So what should I get him? Over.” 

“I don't fucking know, Henderson, make him a drawing out of macaroni, isn't that what little kids give their mothers?” He can practically feel the frustration pouring off the kid through the radio, it's great. 

“Why are we friends with you again? Over.” He huffs. 

“Cause I'm good with an axe.” Is his immediate smug response. 

“Fine! Yes! You're good with an axe. Will you take us to the store on Friday? The only other person we know with a car is Steve and obviously he can't take us. Over.” 

He's already planning on doing it but just to be a dick he asks “What's in it for me?” 

“The satisfaction of knowing you did the right thing? Over.” 

Billy just blows a raspberry into the walkie. 

“Oh my god, fine! I'd own you one! A favour of your choosing to be cashed in whenever you want.” 

“You got yourself a deal, Henderson.” He had no idea what favour he could possibly need from the twerp but it's always good to have people in his dept. “Meet me at my car after school on Friday. Don't be late or I'm leaving without you.” 

“Yes! Roger that! Over and out!” 

“Fucking nerds.” Billy had never said that with more affection in his life. 

The conversation did get him thinking though, what should he get Steve? Should he even get him anything? He'd never had a full on relationship before but in the movies and stuff they always exchanged gifts.  Shit, Steve's family was loaded, there was nothing that Billy could get him that he couldn't just buy for himself. And even if he thought of something, he had no money to buy it with. 

“Fuuuck.” 

He thinks about it for the rest of the week. He drives the kids three towns over to where they have a single department store because Hawkins remains the fucking worst and does some browsing himself, getting something for Neil and Susan. He's had a new skateboard tucked away for Max for a few weeks to replace the one he broke so she's all set. He even picks up a couple little trinkets for the rest of the kids. But he still can't find anything for Steve. 

The kids are successful at least, they pooled their funds and got him two shirts, one for the band Wham! And one that says ‘Worlds Best Mom.’ with plans to personalize it before they give it to him. Its fucking funny and Billy can't wait to see his face when he opens it. The doofus will probably wear it too. Not to school or anything, but around the house for sure. 

He's still trying to think of something as he drives over to the guys house to pick him up for their date that night. 

Yesterday, he and Steve had stayed late at practice to work on their free throws. Of course it had escalated as they both tried to show off for each other and it turned into a bet. Whoever sank the most baskets got to choose their date on Friday, whoever lost had to pay.  Their game had gone on for almost an hour, long after everyone else had left the gym, going shot for shot until Steve cheated and pinched his ass as he was squaring up for a three pointer. Asshole. 

Whatever, Billy couldn't even be mad because he definitely made up for it in the shower after. 

They tried not to make a habit of fooling around at school but Steve was so fucking hot and wet and naked, Billy was crowding him in against the wall before he even fully decided to make a move.  And Steve was so fucking responsive to everything they did, full of soft noises and gasping breath. This time Billy managed to get a hand around both of them, guiding Steve's hand down to join his, so they could get a good grip.  The dual sensations of their combined hands and Steve's hard, hot cock thrusting alongside his had them both shooting off in record time, clinging and shaking together as the warm water streamed over them.  They had dried each other off after, helping one another into their clothes. Soft fucking romantic shit he would never admit to loving. 

“So, you're taking me to the movies tomorrow after you're done with the kids, baby?” teased Steve as he gently towel dried Billy's hair. “Terminator is still in theatres, I think you'll like it.” 

Billy had already seen it with Tommy and Carol back in October when it first came out but he wasn't going to say no to anything Steve asked for right after they had just got off together so he agreed to pick him up at 7:30. Besides, the movie has been out long enough that Billy is hoping for a mostly empty theatre so they can make out in the back row.

Billy was so close to getting his wish but as the previews drew to a close, another couple sat down in their same row.  To add insult to injury, the other couple barely even watched the movie, they make it through the first 15 minutes to a naked Kyle Reece which apparently put the chick in the mood because then she was practically crawling into her date's lap. 

Amen sister, he couldn't even be mad because he had been planning on doing the exact same thing.  He leaned over to point the other couple out to Steve, snickering, so they could both enjoy the bonus show that was being included with their popcorn. Steve just rolls his eyes and shakes his head at him.

Steve tries a couple times to take his hand through the movie but that's not safe with someone sitting so close, no matter how distracted they seem, so he gives his fingers a ‘later’ squeeze and deposits his hand back in his own lap. “I'll do a hell of a lot more than hold your hand tomorrow, baby.” he whispers as Sarah Connor limps her way through the factory. 

To his surprise, instead of the quick comeback about hand jobs he had left wide open for the other guy, Steve just averts his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

Was it something I said?  

Steve is clearly mad about something but Billy can't figure out what. As far as he can tell, things have been going great between them. The sex is great, they make each other laugh, hell he's even got Billy being nice to the brats! So what gives? They are up and out of their seats the moment the credits start rolling. And Billy can feel the tension between them, can feel his own shoulders going up, his temper rising in response. 

What the fuck did Billy do? He took him on the stupid date, he drove around his stupid kids, he barely even flirted with the girl at the popcorn stand despite the come-fuck-me eyes she had been giving him. So what the fuck was Steve's problem?! 

The silence is an oppressive weight as they both climb back into the Camaro and Billy revs the engine a couple times before peeling out of the parking lot. 

Shit did he want to break up? 

Fucking why?! Things were great!

Well he wasn't dumping Billy without a fight, that's for damn sure.  If they're going to have a stand off, he's not doing it on Harrington's home turf, that's for sure. So he drives them out to the quarry instead. 

The drive is silent except for the radio, but every time he shoots a look across the console, Steve is looking away from him out the window. The dick.  Billy turns up the radio to the max and feels his temper rising right alongside it and the speedometer. The takes the turn off the main road and feels the back wheels spin out as they leave the paved and plowed roads. 

The quarry is empty this time of year even on a Friday night. No one else is dumb enough to be sitting in a car when it's this cold out so Billy is able to floor it as they slip and slide toward the water.  And Steve is still not saying anything! He's not even paying attention! Just looking out the fucking window!

Fuck it. Ignore this, bitch.

Billy slams on the brakes and skids to a stop, closer to the edge of the quarry than he intended (Steve might have a point about those snow tires) and that gets a reaction out of brunette, finally! 

“What the fuck Billy!” He yells, clinging to the holy shit bar with a white knuckle grip. “You could have killed us!” 

“What the fuck is your problem?!” He yells back. 

“What's my problem?! What's your problem!? That was way too close!” Now he's waving his arms around, smacking one on the roof of the car. 

“Well excuse me for being distracted when my fucking boyfriend is about to fucking dump me!” He hollers back, not caring that he can feel spittle flying from him mouth as he slams his palm into the wheel. 

“What?!” Cries Harrington, and he's even got the nerve to try and sound surprised, the dick head. “Why would I break up with you?! What did you do?!”

“You tell me fuck face! You're the one who's been acting like I took a dump in your swimming pool.” 

“Ew!”

“So get on with it Harrington! Tell me why you've decided to kick me to the curb!” 

“Oh my god! I'm not breaking up with you! I want the opposite of that! I'm fucking pissed that I can't even hold your hand in the goddamn theatre!” 

“What?!” Now Billy is the one who's confused. 

Across from him, Steve takes a couple deep breaths and runs his hands through his hair a few times, clearly gathering himself. “I really didn't see this conversation having this much shouting or reckless driving charges.”

Billy just gave him his best ‘bitch please’ look and Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, fine, that's on me.” He took one last deep breath before turning fully to face him. “Ok, here goes. It bothers me that I can't show you how much you mean to me when we're in public. It pisses me off when I see other couples kissing and shit and we can't do that. But what really messes me up is that you don't seem to feel the same.”

“What do you mean, I don't feel the same?” what the actual fuck? Does Steve not get it?

“Why doesn't it ever seem to bother you? That we can't have a normal date where we hold hands and kiss where people might see?” and shit, he was serious, wasn't he?

Ok, I guess I'm going to have to spell this out for him.

“Because this is as good as it's ever going to get for me! For people like me . I'm never going to be able to show my feelings in public.” And shit, now he's crying. God, he hates crying. “I can't legally marry anyone that I could actually love. I can never have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. This is the best that I can possibly hope for.” and fuck! Now Steve's crying. God could this car get any more fucking gay?

“Billy-”

“There's a reason why people like me have to stay hidden, Steve! And if you can't handle that, then we need to end things right here and now. Before I -” fall in love with you . He can't say it. Not when everything they have is so close to getting torn away. 

Steve isn't like him. He knows that. Steve could wake up tomorrow and decide that all this, all of Billy, wasn't worth the risk, the effort, the heart ache. He could walk away, find some girl, get married with kids and a fucking dog and live happily ever fucking after. But not him. Not Billy. He'd known it for years. Billy was a fucking fag and no amount of faking it would change that. Trust him, he'd tried. 

Callused hands on his cheeks bring him out of his mental spiral, turning his head so he was staring at his (for now) boyfriend's tear stained face. He felt rough thumbs gently wiping away the mortifying wetness on his own cheeks. 

“Billy, baby, I'm not going anywhere. I want to be with you, ok? It's worth it, you're worth it. I just wish there was a way I could show you how much you're worth it every day instead of waiting until Saturdays.” And fuck how was he real? Who just says that shit? And fucking means it too? “I just wish there was like a secret gay code or something so you'd know. And I'd know you know.” 

Fuck, his boyfriend, had the best ideas!

“We could make one! Like flagging and the earrings and Friends of Dorothy!” he brought his hands up to grip Steve's wrists, turning his face to give his palm a little kiss.

“I don't know what that means? Who’s Dorothy?” Steve asked, wrinkling his nose.

“She's your friend.” he shot back with a smile. God, if he wasn't careful he was absolutely going to fall in love with this clueless small town hick. 

“Do you mean Dorothy McAlister? The librarian? She's like… an acquaintance at best.” And that set Billy off in a blubbery laugh, still crying a bit but he was such a lovable idiot sometimes. 

“What I'm saying is we can make our own code. Like, what do you want to do most when we're at school?” 

Steve blushes at that, ducking his head before looking back up at him through his lashes. “Call you pet names, like baby, sweetheart, that kind of thing.” 

“Fuck, you're so fucking cute. Ok, how about ‘dude’? Our pet name for each other can be ‘dude’ and we don't use it for anyone else, ok?” Billy can't hold himself back anymore, he leans forward and kisses the small pleased smile off Steve's lips. 

“And… I want to give you little kisses, like on the cheek and stuff. Good morning kisses are the best, dude.” Fuck, he can already feel his heart warming at the casual ‘dude’ thrown in there already. But Steve is also blushing so he'll forgive himself for being a fucking sap in the privacy of his own brain. (Eleven, you better not be fucking listening right now!) 

“Fist bump?” He says, offering up his own curled hand between them. “Any time you're thinking about laying one on me when we're out and about, you give me one of these.” Steve shyly presses his own fist to Billy's, eyes still shining with tears that he's not even bothering to wipe away, even though he cleaned up Billy's. 

“And I want to hold you, hug you, keep my arm over your shoulder.” He's almost whispering now and shit. It's all so fucking wholesome, the shit that Steve has been beating himself up over not being able to do. 

“We can trade jackets. The letterman jackets are all identical, but yours smells like you, it'd be almost as good.” He's already shrugging his own off his arms to slide around his boyfriends shoulders. Steve is wearing a grey wool peacoat today but he switches them out all the same. “Just make sure you don't clear out the pockets on that one. I've got some precious cargo in there.” 

Steve frowns and immediately starts digging through all the pockets before he finds his little stash of locker notes and other mementos from their time together. He's kept all the goofy notes as well as a napkin from the diner they went on their first date with the time and date scribbled on it, a ticket from one of their games and now the ticket stub from Terminator tonight. 

“Shit, Billy, are you secretly a romantic?” Steve laughs, looking through the notes again. 

Billy shoves him away, hard enough that he crashes into the door behind, laughing out an oof “Shut up, and you owe me a jacket, asshole.” 

Steve just grins at him, tucking away the notes in their pocket as his eyes rake over Billy. He's looking hot as hell if he does say so himself. He gives Steve a once over as well and fuck if it's not doing something for him, knowing that it's his jacket he's all wrapped up in. 

“C’mere,” Steve whispers, offering a hand and Billy's powerless to resist as Steve guides him over the centre console, helping to settle him into the older teens lap. Steve is gazing up at him with dark eyes full of heat and lust and something softer that he's way too emotionally vulnerable to name right now. 

Billy traces his fingers across the brunette's full lips before meeting him in a soft kiss, settling his arms around his shoulders and sighing as he feels hands grilling his hips.  The kiss starts out slow and languid, like they have all the time in the world before Steve slips a hand into the back of his jeans and groans when he finds out that Billy is going commando today. 

“Jesus Christ,” he pants into Billy's mouth and suddenly it's a race to see who can get the others cloths off first. Jackets and shirts get thrown in the back seat. Jeans are shoved down just far enough to free their dicks and then Steve is gathering them both into his big, rough hands, giving them a hard stroke. 

They groan into one another's mouth as Steve sets a punishing pace before diving back into the kiss. It's hot and heavy, a battle of tongues and teeth and they rapidly hurtle toward the finish line. 

“Steve!” Fuck he's not going to last long, he can feel his balls drawing up, his breath panting, heart racing and when he meets Steve's eyes he sees all his feelings, even the warm mushy ones that he can't talk about being mirrored back and he's done. He lasts for one, two more strokes before he's shooting off, painting both their chests and stomachs in white stripes. 

“Jesus, you look so freaking hot like this, Billy.” pants Steve's hand not missing a beat and Billy has to whine in overstimulation, pulling back until Steve releases him from the hold. He smacks his hand away when Steve moves to continue working himself, taking over the steady pumps and adding a flick of the wrist at the top. 

“Yeah baby, next time I'm gunna get you in a bed. Lay you out like a fucking feast and suck your fucking brains out of your dick. Gonna give you the best head of your life, baby.” He's whispering every filthy thing he ever wanted to do to him in Steve's ear as he nibbles his way down his throat. “If you're really good, I'll flip you over, open you up on my tongue, get you slick and wet and open so I can take you.” 

“Billy!” And there he goes, cum firing out of his dick hard enough to hit Billy on the chin, his eyes hooded and blissed out. Billy wipes at the jizz on his face, then pops his fingers in his mouth, moaning at the taste and the wide eyed look he gets from Steve. “God, what's so hot.” He whispers and immediately pulls him down into a kiss, chasing the taste of himself from the younger man's lips. 

The two eventually part and Billy twists around to grab the tissues out of his glove box. He throws a couple loose ones in Steve's face just to be annoying and they clean up in silence, stealing a couple kisses before they are presentable again and Billy dumps the used tissues out the window to float away on the breeze. 

“Fuck, we should fight more often.” Teased Billy as he slithers back into the driver seat and starts up the engine again, turning the heater on high, it's fucking cold here in the sticks. “You got any other gripes we can air out, dude?” He throws a little wink and offers his fist for a bump. He's not expecting the excited grin on the other guy's face, or the way his heart flips over when their knuckles meet. 

“Not right now, but I'll be sure to think of something. I'm gunna wait till you're not driving next time though, I'm still pissed about you almost sending us to the bottom of the quarry.” 

“Please, I knew exactly what I was doing.” 

“No. You didn't. You skidded out on the ice because you refuse to get snow tires!”

“Oh my god, dude, shut up about the snow tires!” 

“Never!” And he was off on his safety rant, but they were both ruining it by smiling. 

……..

They didn't get the chance to meet up that weekend because Billy had family stuff to do for the holidays. Christmas break was fast approaching and Billy was starting to panic about what to get Steve.  They were getting closer and closer each day and he wanted it to be something special but he had absolutely no ideas. It was time for the last resort. 

“What?” Called Max through her closed door when he knocked. Neil and Susan had gone out to run some errands so it was just the two of them in the house right now. 

“Can I come in?” Once upon a time, he would have just barged in, but he was working on being nicer to the little shit lately. 

“Yeah, it's open.” Of course it's open, neither of them were allowed locks on their doors. He entered anyway.  Max’s room was a riot of colours, every wall covered in posters and drawings and photos. Like she was determined to fight the bleak Indiana landscape with ink alone. It kind of hurt his eyes, but in a good way. 

“Yeah? What did you want?” Max herself was seated on her bed, homework spread around her and her headphones hanging around her neck. He could hear the tinny music from here but couldn't name the song. 

“I wanted to ask… your advice.” Shit, he hadn't thought this through. Max knew, of course, what was wrong with Billy, the reason they had to move from California. She had even lied for him a couple times. And he suspected that she had seen him making out with Alex that one time. 

But they had never talked about it. He'd never admitted it to her. And she had never accused him of anything.

But she had also been the one to let it slip to Neil. Had given away just enough details that he put the dots together. Managed to find them that night.

She had apologized before, begged him to forgive her while he was still in the hospital. He hadn't been able to, back then. And now it felt like it had been too long. 

Fuck it, here goes nothing. “What should I get my… person I'm dating for Christmas?”

“Holy fuck! You're dating Steve!” Max whisper yells at him. It's not loud enough to carry outside the room, let alone the house and Neil isn't even here but he's still launching himself across the room to shush her. 

“Jesus fucking Christ will you shut the hell up?! And how the fuck do you figure that?!” 

“He's literally the only person over the age of 14 that you spend time with, idiot!” She shoves his hand away from her mouth and she's got the smuggest fucking grin. Jesus, this was a mistake. “ Aaaand I've seen the way you look at him.” 

“Aah! Fine! Ok! Yes, we're dating, have been basically since That Night. Now are you going to help me or what?” He's off the bed again and pacing, pulling at his hair. 

Max knowing is dangerous. He trusts her to not tell anyone explicitly that he's boning some dude, but she's only 13 and doesn't always understand that other people are also capable of reading between the lines. 

“You haven't got him anything? Christmas break starts next week!” 

“Yes, I am aware, thank you Maxine!” A little part of him grins at the annoyed look she gives him at using her full name. But at least she seems to be thinking about it. 

“Well, what's he like? As a boyfriend, I mean? Is he cocky, sweet, shy?” 

And Billy just knows he's got the dumbest smile on his face right now. “Honestly? He's the sappiest little shit I ever did see. He wants to hold hands at the movies and gave me his letterman jacket and leaves cute little fucking notes in my locker.” 

“Awww, so he's a romantic! Classic boyfriend behaviour. Hmmm… you should totally make him a mix tape of badass love songs!” she gushes, already rooting around her room for a blank one.

“Fuck no! That's so lame!” Billy doesn't make people miss tapes!

“Exactly! He'll eat that shit right up! I guarantee he will play it every time you're in the car together!” She unearths a blank tape from an old shoebox under her bed and shoves it into his hand. “And the card has to have some heartfelt shit in it. Tell him why you picked every song.” 

Fuck, she wasn't wrong. He could absolutely see Steve doing something like that. 

“Aaaand, then you won't have to listen to Abba when he's driving.” She wheedled. 

“Dammit, fine. You got any ideas for songs?” She did, and strong ones too. They spent the rest of the weekend arguing about it. 

Read the whole series on AO3

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