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[llexeh]

This Is Not Some Twilight Shit, Sourwolf - Stiles Stilinski / Derek Hale (Vampire!Stiles) (Explicit)

Summary: Stiles didn’t think it was possible to be crushing any more desperately on Derek, but then the werewolf offered his blood after a near-death experience and, well, shit. Add some blinding pleasure and skillful tongue and Stiles was essentially screwed. 

Warnings: blood, (unexpected) blood kink, canon-typical violence, complete (okay, major) disregard of conventional vampire anatomy and folklore, smut, come swallowing, slight ooc (extra verbosity from Derek), mild future kink negotiation

Rating: explicit

Pairing: Stiles Stilinkski / Derek Hale 

Tags: Vampire!Stiles, blood kink, oral sex, come swallowing, anal fingering, dirty talk, biting, vampire feeding, smut, fluff, very mild angst, mild D/s nuances, Derek Hale is a good Alpha 

Info: canon divergence, Stiles is of age 

Word count: 10086

Prompt:  Hey! I saw you had prompt requests so I was wondering if I could prompt Vampire!Stiles needing to feed and Derek just offering himself to Stiles? ^^

Prompted by: spidey-charles  (gosh I really hope this is okay and I’m so so sorry if this isn’t what you had in mind but thank you so much for putting a request in <3)

Feeding was never easy. Stiles had Principles™ and Morals™ and he was also adamant he wouldn’t create a disruption in the ecosystem surrounding Beacon Hills. He was basically David Attenborough, if David Attenborough was a bloodsucking monster who was sorta superfast and kind to others, part of a werewolf pack whose Alpha was a Dark and Broody asshole.

Speaking of which, Derek had been surprisingly accommodating, if overly careful about dynamics and such. On his part, Stiles felt more useful in battle so his morale was improved. He was also full of Twilight jokes that got old about eight minutes after he had returned as a vampire. The adjustment period was weird. His dad was devastated, scared, and eventually supportive. Scott made it a point to scent him every day because cold skin meant no warmth to spread the scent. Stiles offered to carry a small hairdryer everywhere and earned himself a smack for it.

There was a not-so-small part of him that had hoped (once the dust settled on this new development), that he would become substantially more attractive. As a general thing, but also particularly to Derek. His stupid crush had been going on for a pathetically long time and try as hard as he might, he wasn’t able to shake it. And because his life was a joke, if dating was not happening before, dating now was definitely not happening. Not because he didn’t trust himself, but it was too dangerous for everyone involved. And not in an Edward Cullen shitty-possessive way, but the supernatural world wasn’t superkeen on vampires. And Stiles’s big mouth alone was a hazard, let alone what he had become.

So feeding was a bit of a chore. The research wasn’t great either; for some bizarre reason history hadn’t documented the rules of housekeeping vampires. How unexpected. Stiles had devised a schedule for feeding, picking older animals and draining them painlessly, occasionally accepting blood bags from Melissa when he was sure they weren’t otherwise needed. His dad donated to his culinary needs regularly, regardless of how much Stiles begged him not to.

It was less than satisfactory.

It was through a weird conjuncture that involved faeries, a talking snake, and Peter Hale that Stiles found out about obscure Ancient Greek texts describing feeding rituals. He proceeded to spend months trying to find and then decipher them enough for them to become useful. He was fortunate enough to not have to sleep, which also meant that every time Derek fell asleep in the large armchair downstairs in the loft as they worked on the translations, Stiles could take his time categorizing all the fine wrinkles and the way the werewolf’s cheekbones twitched ever-so-slightly as he dreamt, and long story short, he was crushing so fucking bad it was actually sad.

The first significant shift in Stiles’s life (other than, you know, becoming a fucking vampire after having already adhered to a pack of werewolves and other supernatural creatures, seriously what the fuck was his life?) came to be when he had a breakthrough in a particular fragment of the texts. Lydia had managed to procure a first edition dictionary of sorts and Stiles did nothing else for three days, papers and drafts covering most of the living room floor at Derek’s place.

(Stiles did have a job, thank you very much, but freelancing meant his schedule was flexible. And also he really didn’t have to sleep – 100% increased productivity, woop! And living costs decreased dramatically when you didn’t have to buy food.)

Within the feeding rituals, Stiles found information about magical rituals, as well as ways to enhance the effectiveness of blood absorption. The Greeks really were into this shit – how they dealt with the heat, Stiles had no idea. The sun was manageable, if annoying, but the heat was just the worst. In all fairness, the heat was the worst when Stiles was human, let alone now when his skin was perpetually cold.

Translating from a dead language was not fun on a normal topic, like philosophy. The supernatural gurus from antiquity probably got off on convoluted sentences. He was in the process of rephrasing some of the notes he’d taken to make sure they were correct when Derek yawned. The werewolf had been sleeping for a while, half curled up to the arm of the chair, one of his knees up, face serene and undisturbed. Derek did that sometimes. He would wake up minutely and yawn, and proceed to fall asleep again with no memory of doing it. It was the most endearing thing Stiles had ever witnessed. He had half a thought to wake the other man up and send him to his bedroom, but Stiles was selfish and would find it hard to give up the relaxing habit of looking up from his work and seeing the man asleep. This crush of his was getting out of hand.

Stiles hadn’t seen that particular page at first. He’d overlooked it due to boredom, or perhaps his ADHD was spiking, or perhaps he was crushing too hard and didn’t realise it was relevant. When he accidentally picked it up, he’d already spent so much time reading the damned things, the information seemed to pour out of the paper onto his brain. He was, for lack of a better word, shook. It was an in depth description of feeding for mates and lovers. Stiles was pretty sure that was what the word meant. The other potential translation was “potters”, but he was definitely going with “mates” for this one. The gist of it was that it was an incredible bonding experience, together with intense pleasure and contentedness. It supposedly created an extremely strong connection between mates for the duration of the feeding and the ensuring sexual intercourse as long as the blood was offered freely and the offer was backed by sentiment - it wasn’t entirely clear how that worked. There was further literature about the bond between a vampire and a human, about two vampires, and unsurprisingly none about a vampire-werewolf bond. The book explained how frowned upon it was, how intimate and now Stiles had a sharp pang of longing. He filed the information for a later time, and got up to get Derek upstairs and in an actual bed.

The second significant shift was following a rather taxing fight. Stiles had accompanied Derek and Scott on a pack-bonding trip through the preserve. He was mostly there for moral support, but also to stop them from mauling each other. With great power and all that. It was supposed to be a relaxed experience, some running and hunting for Stiles. (He was reluctant as all fuck to feed in front of the pack, and often chose to do the deed away from them, where he wouldn’t feel as judged.)

He was on such a mission, some miles away from the others, searching for a suitable animal to tide him over when he felt claws descend and slash at his back. His survival instincts (Stiles, is it survival if you’re undead?) kicked in eventually, but at that point he was finding it hard to stand up. The smell that filled his nostrils was familiar, but definitely not pack. Stray werewolf, an omega perhaps. Stiles was weakened by the wound, he hadn’t fed yet. The were growled at him, shifted and running towards him, claws out. Stiles was moderately afraid. He managed to dodge the attack, too uncertain of his strength to retaliate. Scott and Derek were not close, but he hoped they would feel his distress in the pack bonds. He kinda prayed, rather.

He took off towards where he guessed they were. The closer he got, the greater the chances that they were going to sense him and come to his aid. Among everything, Stiles’s primordial thought was that of the bond he never got to feel with Derek. With anyone. How sad. He ran, pain pulsing through his spine down his legs, lungs burning despite not needing the air. It was disconcerting, how fragile he felt, and he couldn’t help but think of before, when he was predominantly useless in fights.

The comfort of the pack smell could make him cry. The bonds vibrated, more frantic the more distance he covered. Behind him, the werewolf was relentless in his attacks, frothing at the mouth, insults tumbling from his lips.

“Abomination!” he screamed. “Blood-sucking monster!”

As if Stiles didn’t know. But also, the hypocrisy. If he hadn’t been in so much pain and so desperate to get to safety, Stiles would stop and have words with him. How pathetic. Derek. It smelled like Derek now, faint at first, then stronger, and eventually the scent enveloped Stiles in a distinct feeling of home. He was safe.

His Alpha’s growl was mighty, he thought. What a beautiful sound as he rained hell on the stray. Stiles managed to stop, but he was sluggish and ended up half-colliding with a tree, propping himself up using the wide trunk. Derek was still fighting his assailant while Stiles tried to focus on willing the pain away, now slumped on the wet forest floor. His back was on fire, his usually cold skin burning under the open wound. Derek slashed at the stray’s chest and blood soaked his shirt instantly. Stiles salivated involuntarily. So much for Pavlov jokes, he’d never live this down.

“Derek,” he managed, eyes glazed over. The hunger was real. The pain was just as real.

The Alpha stopped, one hand holding the kneeling werewolf’s head while the other one prepared to slash his throat. He looked up in understanding. Dragging the injured stray over to Stiles, he presented him to his vampire pack member.

“Don’t you dare,” the werewolf managed, blood bubbling on his lips. “I’d rather be mauled than have this monster touch me!”

Stiles felt the sting of that, but his primal instinct was to feed and survive. He started to move, trying not to fall down further and have to crawl, unsure if he could take the embarrassment.

Derek knew, though, the way Derek always knew. “Shut it,” the Alpha growled, and stepped behind the stray, covering his bloody mouth with his clawed hand. He pulled the other werewolf’s head back, and held the side of his throat to Stiles’s now desperate trembling lips.

Stiles wasted no time latching on, fangs piercing the skin with relative ease, hot blood flowing into his mouth. The werewolf screamed, Derek’s hand pressing harder to minimise the noise. After the initial relief of feeding and feeling the pain dulling, Stiles felt more. As a general rule, blood was delicious to Stiles. He’d discussed it with Boyd of all people one night when they were watching reruns of wedding tv shows on TLC. Boyd was discreet and Stiles trusted him implicitly. He wasn’t proud of taking pleasure in feeding. It wasn’t something he’d wished for, and it was difficult to come to terms to no matter how much he tried.

But this blood. Werewolf blood. Stiles had never. He’d never even presumed to ask, and no one offered, not even for science. It wasn’t something he was comfortable doing anyway, so he would find it extremely difficult. But werewolf blood was the best thing he had ever encountered. He imagined heaven would feel like that, like hot blood flowing straight down his throat, the taste rich, almost smoky.

Stiles could swear he felt his veins tingling. His entire body shook with what he eventually understood to be pleasure. The thrashing made the blood flow easier into his mouth, and Stiles refused to think of how he was draining a living person. With little to no control over his actions, he lifted his eyes to look at Derek. Alpha Derek. His Alpha. Who had provided for him in his time of need. Who was still providing for him as he pushed the dying werewolf down while Stiles fed. He felt his heart swell up with the implications. To his complete mortification, his dick followed shortly.

He was unsure why his anatomy decided it was Hard Dick Time, but it was happening, oh-my-god-was-it-happening. Derek breathed in deeply, and Stiles knew. There was no mistaking the smell of his arousal, the quickening of his phantom heartbeat that happened whenever he fed. There was no mistaking the prominent tent in Stiles’s jeans as he kneeled sucking the blood and life out of his attacker. There was no mistaking Derek’s wandering gaze travelling down straight to his crotch. Stiles moaned, the mortification now complete. He shut his eyes and focused on the taste once more, resigned that his eternal life included getting a raging hard-on because of werewolf blood while his Alpha watched.

The aftermath was infinitely less glorious than the feeding. After making sure he was okay, Scott’s mocking was merciless. Derek kept quiet, mildly amused at the situation while Stiles was sure that if he could still blush properly, he’d be flushed to shit. And Scott may have been his best friend, the closest thing he had to a brother, but Scott had a big mouth and as soon as he opened it, the entire pack knew. Stiles considered moving on the East Coast out of spite. Derek never mentioned it. Not once, and Stiles was grateful.

But Derek was almost imperceptibly different. There were brief touches, nowhere near as lingering as Stiles would have liked them. Brief touches on his shoulder when he got up to go to the kitchen. Brief touches to say thank you to Stiles for cooking for the pack. Brief touches when Stiles went home. A particular touch on the back of his head after Stiles saved Erica’s life when they were ambushed by hunters. Stiles kept them all filed for later, for when he was sure he was alone in his bedroom back at his dad’s house.

And he had revoked his own right to Pavlov jokes once and for all since every time he thought of that time in the forest his brain supplied him with not only the memory of the greatest tasting blood he’d ever tried, but with Derek’s red eyes on his mouth as he aggressively sucked the life out of the stray werewolf. And every time that particular image popped into his mind he would get instantly hard. It was a nuisance, but some of his strongest orgasms have been achieved on all fours, three fingers up his own ass, moaning Derek’s name into his pillow thinking of those eyes on his feeding.

There was no doubt his kind had their own mating instincts because all Stiles wanted to do every time he allowed himself to think about Derek was to envelop him in hugs and proceed to keep him close for eternity. He wanted to occupy Derek’s entire attention, wanted the world to revolve around him, and more than anything he wanted to feel the tug of the bond he had read about. It was heartbreaking.

None of them knew how the word got out, but it was unanimously believed to have been a coven of witches Stiles pissed off this one time. The important thing was that everyone in the supernatural world (and their fucking mother) knew there was a vampire in the Hale pack. Which attracted territory claims and overzealous contenders who felt they had something to prove. And hunters. So. Many. Fucking. Hunters.

Sometimes Derek ordered Stiles to stay back. He’d flash his eyes and growl and Stiles would nod and leave the loft as soon as he counted to thirty Mississippi. They always “had words” afterwards, and Stiles spent hours stripping his cock thinking of the way Derek’s chest looked when he crossed his arms over it in displeasure.

Stiles was not prepared to live forever. He didn’t like thinking about it, he didn’t even like the occasional thought that made him realise he would outlive his father by an eternity. His friends would all eventually die as well. But what he did realise on a regular basis was that in an eternal life there was an infinity of circumstances that could change its course. It was with this distinct thought that he found himself being carried to safety by Derek. If he had the energy he would have huffed. What was even the point in being immortal and having this extra power if he was still weak?

The pack had all left for the weekend. It was Derek’s stoicism and stubborn nature that made him stay, while Stiles promised that as soon as he’d finish his work, he would pack Derek up and shove him in the jeep and drag him out as well. It was impractical at best, what with Beacon Hills being a magnet for all things shitty and all. But it appeased them enough for them to go. Stiles had little to no inclination of joining them at the beach. It wasn’t the most fun of times to be slowly burning even in the shade. And Derek was territorial beyond words so there was no way he was being taken away from his ancestral lands.

Stiles was the first one to feel the change in the wards Deaton and him had set up. He’d let Derek now and got up to leave as well. The Alpha did his usual routine of huffing and puffing as he put shoes on, and for once Stiles was inclined to listen. It passed quickly, two hundred Mississippi, and he was out the door, running towards where he felt the wards change.

It was a good thing, Stiles would argue that until the end of time. Derek was kneeling on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, thick wolfsbane-coated chains holding him in place while two hunters shocked him time and again with high voltage. Stiles took them out first. Neck snaps, clean and nice. The others turned their focus on him, probably considering Derek too weakened to react. He was mid-fight with one of the remaining three when he felt the sharp pierce of a metal arrow in the shoulder pinning him to the wall. A second arrow got him a couple of inches lower than the first. He instantly knew something wasn’t right.

Their research hadn’t produced too many results about ways to debilitate a vampire, but there were spells and potions used to weaken them. Given how rare they were these days, it was improbable they would affect Stiles. And, Derek had added, Stiles wouldn’t even be in fights that much. Which, yes, was at least stupid, but at the time it was pointless to argue. Now, as Stiles’s vision had started to blur, he really wished they’d paid more attention to the literature.

He came to as Derek was carrying him presumably back to safety. Stiles was content with knowing that Derek was alive. The pain in his shoulder was unbearable and he whimpered as he was jolted by Derek’s running. The Alpha slowed down and shushed him, cradling him gently.

“Derek?” he asked, confused.

“I’m not sure what it is, we’ll get you home in no time,” Derek replied.

Stiles coughed then and his world went red with pain. He felt it diminishing and watched as black vines appeared on Derek’s neck and jaw. He wanted to argue against it, but the relief was too great.

“How can I pass out if I don’t even sleep?” Stiles asked slowly, trying to focus on his words.

Derek’s lips curled upwards momentarily. “You’re such an idiot,” he replied.

To Stiles’s great relief, they were back at the loft. Derek deposited him on the large sofa in the living room and knelt in front of him. He disposed of Stiles’s bloody shirt and frowned at the sight.

“What is it, doc?” Stiles asked, trying to lighten the mood despite the difficulty he had formulating words. When there was no reply, he looked down. One of the arrows was still lodged under his clavicle and it burned. The wound above it was in bad shape, but at least it had stopped bleeding.

“This metal…”

“What about it?” Stiles asked, trying to keep his mind active so he wouldn’t go in vampire faintland.

“I’m not sure, it’s some kind of alloy. I’m not sure what it’s doing to you.”

“Well, for one it fucking hurts,” Stiles panted-laughed.

Derek took more of the pain away. “I’m sorry,” he started, “I’m going to have to take it out. The other one looked better after I pulled the arrow out.”

“Do it,” Stiles said.

“It’s going to hurt. The other one was bad and you were unconscious.” Derek frowned, leaning closer to inspect the wound.

“That’s okay, Sourwolf, I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose.” He lifted his hand and cradled Derek’s cheek for a second to reassure him. Derek was important, he was his Alpha, he shouldn’t be this worried about him.

“Hold on to my shoulder,” he instructed. He paused for a second, then lifted the t-shirt he’d taken off Stiles. “Here, bite on this, it won’t do much but it might help.”

Doing as instructed, Stiles braced himself. There was nothing to prepare him for the blinding pain he felt as Derek wiggled the arrow the tiniest bit. It was going to be agony, Stiles knew. He clenched his hand on the Alpha’s shoulder and held on for dear life.

Derek was distressed. He felt it in the bond pack, he felt it under his fingers, he felt it in the air, he smelled it in the room, he heard it in his heartbeat. “I’m so sorry, Stiles. The two you killed, and one of them bled to death.” He pulled once, sharply, and Stiles wanted to die. “The others two killed themselves before I could stop them, I wish I could have saved one of them for you to feed.” He pulled again, the spiked arrowhead burning on the way out.

Stiles was begging for death now. Silently, he hoped. He was pretty sure it was silently, he had no strength to form words out loud.

“I’m a bad Alpha,” Derek muttered. It could have been Stiles’s imagination, but between lidded eyes he saw the pained expression on the werewolf’s face.

Derek pulled the arrow out completely, and Stiles screamed as loud as he could, biting into the shredded t-shirt. The pain was sharp, then continuous. He bled borrowed blood he couldn’t afford to lose – his Alpha’s hands flew up to push on the open wound. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Derek repeated, cradling Stiles’s head as it went to roll backwards.

“No,” Stiles managed, feeling his throat burn with hunger. “Best ever,” he pushed out, hand still clenched on Derek’s shoulder, unaware of how much it hurt him.

“Stiles,” Derek started, “if you just open your mouth and lean forward a bit, you can feed on me, I wouldn’t mind and –”

“No,” he barked back.

“Don’t be –”

“I said no!”

Derek shook his head, opening his mouth to argue. Then his frown cleared and he gently pushed Stiles back into the worn cushions. “I’ll be right back, Stiles, okay?” he asked, getting up. “Right back, don’t you go anywhere now,” he added.

Stiles huffed in amusement and instantly regretted. The pain was there, infinitesimally less debilitating, but still mostly unbearable. “Dude, how?” The scoff came from the kitchen, Stiles heard it clearly. It was familiarity, that’s what it was. He was alive and really not well, and perhaps not even alive, but he was alive.

“Don’t call me dude.” The werewolf knelt in front of the sofa again, ripping a bit of plastic and Stiles could smell it. “Open your mouth,” Derek instructed.

He checked that it wasn’t a throat, even though it was stupid — he would have been able to smell the skin, hear the blood racing – and latched on to the straw that was offered to him. Instantly, he could feel strength return to his body as he gulped down the blood he was given. It wasn’t enough, his entire chest ached as he swallowed again and again. But it was better, he was better. He paused to readjust his head, looking at the straw longingly. “Like a Capri Sun for leeches,” he said quietly.

Derek tsked, as Derek was prone to do. “I had this for absolute emergencies. It’s the only one, though, we were going to get more next week. I’m sorry,” Derek said for the millionth time.

“Mhmm, shtop it,” Stiles grunted, a sound halfway between a whine and an annoyed huff. Then he realised. Despite the pain, his right arm – slightly less painful, although there wasn’t an inch of his body that didn’t hurt – shot up and he covered his bloody lips with his hand. “Sorry, I forgot.”

There was clear confusion on the werewolf’s face. “Why are you apologising for?” Then a pause. “Oh.” Then he frowned. “Stiles, really?” Then he cradled his head again in what was quickly becoming Stiles’s favourite touch ever. “I don’t mind,” he said gently.

“It’s not right, it’s unnatural.”

Derek wolfed out then, an eyebrow shot up in an exasperated-mocking expression. It was made ridiculous by the distinct lack of eyebrow hair, the ridge replacing his normally extra-expressive thick eyebrows not quite doing the job. “I’m a fucking werewolf, really?”

Stiles laughed around the straw, the slurping now getting moderately obscene as he neared the last bit of the blood bag. His hand was still covering his mouth, and Derek, now human again, pulled it away gently. “I’m –”

“You need to feed. I’ve got plenty of blood and accelerated healing. Just get those fangs out and feed already.” Derek had clearly switched to the authoritative voice now.

“No,” Stiles said firmly. All the little strength he got back he put in that one word.

“Stop being so damn stubborn!”

“Derek, no,” he insisted.

The Alpha was trying his hardest to be patient. “Okay. Okay, no. Why?” The silence he was met with wasn’t helping the situation. “Because the way I see it it’s a perfect situation, I’m right here and willing and able to help. Either way, you won’t make it to the preserve and I won’t let you die.”

Stiles whined quietly and waved the empty blood bag. “This is going to be enough, Sourwolf. I’ll make it,” he said with a smile. A weak smile.

“Bullshit,” Derek countered, sitting up from his heels to stare Stiles down. “What’s the real reason?” He opened his mouth to add something, decided against it, then pushed through his clenched jaw. “Is my blood not good enough for you?”

Despite the pain, Stiles stood up instantly. “What? No! What? What the fuck? No!” If it had been anyone other than Derek, he may have thought he was being manipulated, but the self-esteem was weak with this one. It was a genuine concern.

“Then?”

He sighed. “I can’t feed on my Alpha, it’s against all hierarchical spoken and unspoken rules. You’d be vulnerable, what if someone attacked us? I’m useless, you’re incapacitated, and we’d both be fucked.”

“Your wards are strong, you’d get back on your feet in no time and I’d heal just as quickly,” Derek rebutted.

Stiles was getting increasingly agitated. “Okay, maybe but also. Also, remember what happened when I fed from that stray?” He was looking down now, folding the plastic blood bag into half, then into half again, opening it up and repeating.

After initial confusion, Derek’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re not actually risking death – permanent death – because you’re worried you might get hard around me. We’ll put a cushion on your lap if you’re that concerned, just feed already –”

“For fuck’s sake! It’s the feeding ritual for mates, okay?” Stiles shouted and immediately collapsed into a coughing fit. He held on to his sides, trying to stop before he passed out with pain again.

“The what?” the Alpha asked, holding Stiles’s torso still, taking as much pain away as possible.

Eventually, he managed to reply. “In the Greek texts. There’s a bit about feeding from your mate and it creates a bond during the feeding and it’s fulfilling and pleasurable and look, I can’t presume to or that you’re my – but I don’t want to – and it’s you and – it’s more than getting my dick hard, okay? It’s intimate and it makes you vulnerable and you’re my Alpha and you’re not – you’re more important – it’s more important you stay strong and able – I would never – I can’t presume to –”

Derek covered his mouth with his massive hand, the only way he knew was effective in stopping Stiles when he was Nervous Blabbering. It was bad enough before he didn’t need to breathe, now it was just endless. “It’s okay,” he said, kindness lighting his eyes. “I got you,” he said quietly, “I got you, just…” He pulled back and looked the young man in the eyes. His hand moved to caress his cheek. “You’re the most important to me.” He brought his head forward and touched his cheek to Stiles’s.

In the quiet surrounding them, Derek’s blood raced warm and unsettled under his skin, loud enough to fill the room. His heartbeat echoed louder than Stiles’s pain. He whimpered when the werewolf moved back, the warmth leaving him.

“Let me provide for you,” Derek whispered as he moved back. His head slid to the side, eyes fixed on Stiles’s. His throat arched, tendons taut, and he breathed steadily, a decided look etched on his face. “Please feed,” he said and there was so much vulnerability in his voice, Stiles had to hold him.

His arms snaked around the werewolf’s head, holding him to his bare chest. There was pain still, sharp and pressing, but the connection he felt with his Alpha was primordial. Perhaps always, but even more so now. The werewolf was kneeling in front of him, throat barred, vulnerable. He was trusting Stiles with his life, with knowing when to stop, he was adamant he would provide for the vampire, he was caring and loving and perfect.

“Derek, I can’t…” Stiles whispered.

The werewolf growled, the sound reverberating throughout his entire rib cage. “Do it!”

Stiles’s knees buckled. Tenderly, he lowered his lips, fangs elongating and grazing the skin. “Are you sure?”

Derek nodded and lifted his throat slightly, pushing it up against the vampire’s lips. Within seconds, he felt the burn of fangs piercing his skin. It was painful, yet unlike any pain he’d ever experienced. He tensed as he felt the burn spread from the wound, flourishing up on his jawline and down his collarbone. The fangs were gone then, Stiles whispering apologies in his ear, holding on to his shoulders. Derek shook his head and pushed back to the vampire’s mouth. “It’s fine, I’m fine, do it,” he insisted.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said once more and the burn was back in Derek’s skin. He felt the way the fangs made room for his blood to trickle out, then they were gone again. The vampire’s lips latched to his skin, the tongue caressing the bites as Stiles scooped droplets of blood out.

The wave of pleasure hit Derek so hard, he couldn’t help the moan. He wasn’t ready for it, he’d never even imagined anything could feel like that. It was as if the entirety of the universe had crawled under his skin through the small incisions Stiles made on the side of his throat and proceeded to explode. His felt his very existence focused solely on the gentle tongue lapping at his skin.

On his part, the vampire wasn’t ready either. Like, holy fuck, he wasn’t ready. Like, the only other time when he had tasted werewolf blood it was out of dire necessity, not unlike this time round, but also this time it was Derek and everyone and their mother, across the entirety of the world, potentially in a couple of parallel universes knew that Stiles was adamant Derek was the most beautiful creature in history. And that the sun rose from behind his moody eyebrows and small smile. This was Derek, with the sweetest blood, the most appealing scent, the warmth of a thousand hugs, the most calming pulse in the world, even as it raced. Stiles was in heaven.

He felt arms circle his torso, holding him tight as he fed. His strength was returning steadily, he could feel the pain dull and instead pleasure bloomed throughout his body. In spite of the euphoria, he managed to pull away to allow the werewolf’s blood to replenish. It wasn’t a fast process, but Stiles wasn’t about to drain the love of his life —

“Alpha,” he whispered, delirious by now with the contentedness he felt. “My Alpha,” he said, and proceeded to pepper Derek’s earlobe with soft kisses, ignoring the blood smears.

Derek moaned. “Stiles, what are you — this is so good. I want this forever,” he replied eventually, uncharacteristically vocal about his feelings. His muscles were taut, veins standing out all over - of course Stiles noticed them. He moved back a little, enough to look at the vampire’s face. His hand cupped Stiles’s cheek. “You’re so amazing,” he whispered, eyes wide as if in genuine awe.

Stiles smiled then, lips reddened by the blood, his face filling slowly with a modicum of colour. He was content, feeling stronger, cock hard and heart full of love for the beautiful man still kneeling in front of him. There was lurking sadness behind the smile, though. “It’s the feeding bond,” he explained. “It makes you feel like this.”

Derek’s panicked expression would have been alarming if he hadn’t immediately started talking, forcing the focus on what he was saying. “What? No! I mean yes, but what about —“ he paused, hand going to cover the side of his throat where he could feel warm blood still dripping out. “What about all the other times?” he soldiered on. “What about when you sit on my floor and hum or when you cook for all of us or when you smile every time you wake me up?” He bent forward then, forehead resting on Stiles’s collarbone, the wounds under it closing up slowly. “What about every other day when I desperately care about you?” As soon as he pulled back, his eyes found Stiles’s. He moved his bloody fingers away from his throat and lifted them to the vampire’s lips. “Open.”

Stiles had no choice but to comply, mesmerised by the way his Alpha chose to feed him, lapping at the blood on the werewolf’s fingers. Unable to break eye contact, he pulled the tip of Derek’s index finger in his mouth, sucking on it gently, tongue still caressing the fingerprint where the blood had been. Derek shuddered, then presented his middle finger to the red lips in front of him, smiling when it was greedily accepted.

There was the tiniest of nips under his second knuckle, then the burn, then the sting, then the pleasure. Derek’s other hand rested on Stiles’s thigh, gripping to try and steady himself. Stiles let go of the fingers, opening the palm to kiss it, then moving to the wrist where he could feel the werewolf’s pulse better. He nipped again, sucking greedily, licking and smearing drops of blood before cleaning them. Then up the man’s large forearm, marred with a couple of scars, resting his lips in the dip of his elbow. He looked up.

“Alpha?”

Derek nodded. This time, Stiles kept his fang in plain sight. He dragged it slowly, thinly breaking skin in a clean fine line. It didn’t hurt more than a paper cut would, and Derek shivered as he waited for the burn to settle under his skin. He knew what came afterwards. Stiles looked up, making sure Derek watched him as he licked the blood.

“Please,” Derek managed, trembling as pleasure took over him, visibly struggling to hold himself back.

Stiles smiled, half-kind, half-flirty. Almost a smirk. “Ah, yes?” He pulled Derek forward by the elbow, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. Stiles’s lips rested on the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Alpha?” he asked cheekily.

“Yes,” Derek breathed. “Yes!”

So Stiles moved. Minutely, enough to bring his red lips on Derek’s, pausing for a couple of seconds to revel in the feeling of finally, finally kissing this man he’d been lusting and pining after. He bent his head slightly, working Derek’s lips with his own. They opened immediately, kissing back hungrily. It was unclear when they readjusted their positions, but Stiles was suddenly aware of Derek’s large hands on his shoulder blades holding him tightly, bare chest flushed against the werewolf’s still-clothed wide torso. Derek was kissing into his mouth furiously, tongue circling his. His affected breaths brushed his cheek and Stiles’s hips buckled helplessly.

He held Derek’s head gingerly as the man moved to scent him, kissing his neck and collarbone and moving to the closing wounds. “Alpha…” he whimpered when he felt his tongue chase the dull pain away. “I’ve been dreaming of this for – years – for ah fuck –” Derek’s lips closed around a hardened nipple, effectively shutting Stiles up.

He felt himself being pushed back into the sofa, Derek peppering his entire chest with small bites. He shuffled forward to give himself more leeway, then moved back up to kiss Stiles again. “So fucking perfect,” he whispered against the vampire’s lips. One of his hands flew up to the bulge in Stiles’s jeans, gripping it teasingly. “For years, hm?” he asked as he squeezed, opening the top button with his thumb.

“Fuck, yes, years! Derek –” he gasped as the werewolf stopped moving his hand and pulled back to look at Stiles “– Alpha,” he tried again, and the movement resumed. “Alpha, please!”

“Good boy,” Derek praised. He popped open the other buttons and pulled Stiles’s jeans down, along with his boxers. Stiles was not the greatest fan of his body, but to watch Derek rake his eyes over every inch of exposed skin was mesmerising. He felt the werewolf’s fingers travel from beauty mark to beauty mark, softly revealing more skin. When he finally managed to undress Stiles completely, he pushed his knees further apart and bent his head to scent the skin on Stiles’s inner thigh. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, pressing lazy kisses all the way to the hipbone.

“I’m begging you – I’m so – please –”

“I got you,” Derek repeated his earlier words. The claw on his index finger nipped the skin on his thumb and he lifted his hand to Stiles’s lips once more. “Suck,” he said hurriedly before bending forward to lick the precum that had trickled down Stiles’s neglected cock.

Among whimpers, Stiles started sucking, holding on to Derek’s hand for dear life when the werewolf finally took him in his mouth and licked the leaking slit. His Alpha pushed down with wet lips, hollowing his cheeks as he went, sucking him in. He finally reached the end of his torturous journey and Stiles couldn’t help but ogle him, with his nose buried in the hairs at the base of Stiles’s dick, breathing in deeply, cheeks hollowed, cheekbones sharp, eyes shut.

He swallowed around Stiles’s dick and to the vampire’s complete and utter mortification, he bucked his hips in Derek’s throat. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled around the thumb still bleeding in his mouth. He went to pull back when Derek reached the small of his back and pushed him in the tight opening of his throat. There was the smallest sign of a gag, and Stiles panicked because that’s who Stiles was. But then Derek opened his eyes, bright red and commanding, and Stiles thought he’d come then and there.

He let go with a filthy pop. “I’m going to open my mouth,” he started, licking the spit off his lips, “and you’re going to fuck my throat, okay?”

Stiles didn’t trust himself to speak so nodded, the taste of Derek’s blood still lingering on his tongue, the bond caressing the inside of his very soul. Derek kissed the tip of his dick, sucking loudly on the sensitive skin there. He followed through on what he’d said and opened his mouth, inviting Stiles in.

It was tentative at first - small movements, aiming to show Derek he was being good for him, but ultimately restrained. He gasped through clenched teeth, hips involuntarily pushing more dick up Derek’s throat - he felt a finger right under his balls, fondling them up gingerly and a second later another finger tapping his puckered hole, pressing gently against it.

“Derek, please! Inside, I’m gonna —“ Stiles starting fucking up harder into Derek’s mouth and throat, prompting an appreciative hum from the man.

The werewolf lined his finger up with Stiles cock, sucking it enough to wet it and brought it back to Stiles’s hole. He used his elbow to open his legs further, pushing the finger in to the first knuckle, then the second. It wasn’t enough to burn properly, or to let him find Stiles’s prostate, but together with the tight heat of Derek’s mouth and the way his cheeks hollowed as Stiles fucked his mouth, it was enough to make Stiles come.

“Derek — I’m — Alpha!” He moaned loudly, hands flying up to hold the werewolf’s head in place, dick pushed as far up in his throat as it could go and he came with a long and guttural moan. It was the most blinding pleasure he’d ever experienced, his entire body trembling as he spurted his load into Derek’s mouth. Even as he was maddened with pleasure, he could still feel the man’s throat constricting rhythmically to swallow as much as possible.

The aftermath was foggy. Stiles felt the drag of Derek’s lips as he moved to let go of his spent dick. He bucked pathetically once more, unable to help it as the stimulation became too much. When Derek’s face came into focus, Stiles thought he was somehow going to come again.

The werewolf looked wrecked. Lips swollen, hair mussed, spit and cum that had escaped his eager mouth glistening on his beard. “Good?” he asked cheekily.

“The best,” Stiles replied, and got up from his post-coital slouch to kiss the wetness off Derek’s face. He had been too distracted to notice what the werewolf had been doing, but even as he licked the mess away, savouring all the different tastes, he gasped loudly when he looked down.

Derek was still kneeling, legs apart, cock out and pushed up by his jeans. It was hard - large, thick and veiny, the head standing out as it curved upwards a little. His thighs were trembling as he panted with need. His t-shirt - still on for some fucking reason - was half-soaked in sweat and droplets of blood and spit. It had ridden up on one side, showing the damp muscles leading to – Derek rubbing the glistening head with his palm, trying to create some friction.

For the first time in a long while, Stiles was hungry for something other than blood. “None of that, get up here,” Stiles urged as he slid down, kissing him deeply when they were both on the floor. He pawed at the top, pulling it upwards and trying to get Derek out of it. When he finally succeeded, he sighed happily. “I love… this,” Stiles waved his hands at the werewolf’s entire torso.

“What, this old thing?” Derek asked innocently, flexing his pecs jokingly.

Stiles couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him, but even as he watched fondly, his hands cupped Derek’s neck then moved down on his shoulders, then down his arms. “How are you real?” he asked reverently. He went back to Derek’s collarbones then, down his chest where the hair was kept trimmed and neat. His fingers ghosted over the man’s nipples, down his hard abs.

Derek shivered as the vampire leaned in to kiss the place he’d bitten earlier. “Stiles? Would you like to feed some more?” He presented his throat, anticipation unusually present in his voice.  

Stiles moaned. “Up on the sofa facing that way.” He seemed far too commanding for how nervous he was, even as lust took over him once more.

“Bossy,” Derek mumbled, but did as he was told.

“Only if you allow it.” Stiles watched the expanse of wide naked back with hungry eyes. He pulled Derek’s jeans down to his mid-thigh, essentially trapping him like that. He went straight to kneading the asscheeks in front ot him. “Having to watch you when you walked away… every time…” He was rambling now. “So I can watch this ass… I used to sit facing the stairs so I can see you go up like some sort of perv.”

Derek gasped when Stiles jokingly bit into the outer side of his ass. He shifted more weight on his forearms, pushed his ass higher in the air. “Please,” he whispered meekly.

“Okay, logistics… Lift,” Stiles said, patting the side of the werewolf’s thigh. “And the knees, okay, there we go!” Derek was fully naked now, socks and shoes gone as well. “Beautiful,” Stiles gasped. He tapped the inner side of Derek’s thighs, getting him to spread his legs.

The werewolf was fully on display now. The small of his back dipped when Stiles grabbed his cheeks and parted them further. He felt a finger travel from the top of his crack down to his hole, where it pressed on it gently. He heard Stiles spit, the filthiness of it making his cock ache with neglect. He felt the wetness travel the same road the vampire’s finger had, then a more urgent press on his needy hole.

He went to grab his dick, but Stiles was not having it. “No no, Sourwolf, let me do this right,” he told him, the commanding tone subtle. They would have time to talk dynamics, but right now Derek was desperate for any stimulation. He would take anything the other man gave him as long as he gave it to him then. He whined when the touch was too teasing and not definitive enough. “I got you,” Stiles repeated his earlier words and dived in.

Derek barely recognised his own moan. It was desperate and downright filthy. Stiles held on to his balls with a tender hand while his tongue flattened on Derek’s hole. He licked in broad strokes, trying to get it as wet as possible. Then it sharpened, pushing in slightly, alternating between focused and wide licks. Derek was mad with need. “Stiles, please,” he heard himself beg, uncertain what for.

“Shh, it’s okay,” the vampire assured and pressed a wet finger inside. He worked it in and out, a bit more every time. Derek took it, his hungry hole swallowing everything he was given. Stiles added another finger, careful not to hurt the man. He pushed them in maddeningly slow, dragging them on the upper wall as he pulled them back, then rotating them a bit. He scissored carefully, opening Derek up to him. “So hot,” he muttered, adding his tongue to the fingers in an effort to lubricate Derek’s hole further.

On his part, the werewolf was gone. He had shifted to the side a little, face practically buried in the back of the sofa as he pushed back against Stiles’s fingers. “More,” he managed in between moans.

Stiles sighed longingly, dick hard once more. He scrambled to his feet, planting a knee next to Derek’s to keep his legs spread. He pulled the werewolf up and on the back of the sofa, slowing his fingers. “You want another finger, Sourwolf? You want me to open you up more? Are you desperate to come?” Stiles was whispering in his ear now, tonguing his earlobe.

“Yes,” Derek almost barked. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. He pushed back on the fingers, hips stuttering when Stiles twisted and curled the digits and – “there!” Derek moaned.

“Here, hmm?” Stiles asked hot breath right in his ear. His fingers pressed against the prostate relentlessly.

“Yes! I need more.” He pushed back hoping to get more friction, but Stiles had almost pulled his fingers out completely.

“None of that,” the vampire said when Derek’s hand went to his cock. “Give them here,” he asked, and held Derek’s both wrists with no real strength. It was a power move, they both knew it. Stiles especially didn’t expect this power shift to be a constant thing. At least he hoped it wouldn’t be. He had dreamt of submitting to his Alpha for ages, even if it wasn’t in a scene - there was something about Derek’s commanding nature that did things to him. Stiles removed the fingers completely, bringing them up to lick them in front of Derek’s mostly unfocused eyes.

“Fuck.”

Stiles pushed a single finger back in. “Is this not enough?” he teased, nosing behind Derek’s ear to scent him the way all the werewolves in his pack did. He added another one. “How about this? No?” Derek nodded, then moaned when he felt another finger teasing his hole. “What about another one, Sourwolf?”

He left Derek for a second to spit on the partly opened hole again. When he came back up, he went straight to licking Derek’s throat, along the bulged veins there. “I can smell your blood,” he whispered in his ear as his fingers sped up. The heel of his palm wiggled to keep his cheeks spread and he started fingerfucking Derek in earnest. “You’re so good to me, Alpha,” Stiles told him. “You’re so good, providing for us, for me - giving me your blood and your mouth, letting me pleasure you in the best way I know…” Derek pushed back in sync with Stiles’s blunt nails tapping his prostate every time. “So good,” Stiles praised once more and stretched to kiss him, wet and filthy and amazing.

Derek moved his head to the side, presenting his throat once more. It didn’t matter how mad with pleasure he was, it was ingrained in his very nature to not be this vulnerable, especially as an Alpha. This was a conscious decision and Stiles felt like crying with the implications. “Bite… me…” Derek said through clenched teeth. “Feed,” he added in a pleading tone.

Stiles wasn’t sure if this was for his benefit or for Derek’s, but he did anyway. Mindful of where he bit, sharp fangs puncturing the skin on Derek’s throat once more. Sweet sweet blood filled his mouth and he sucked it greedily. The filthy noises filled the room amidst moans, the squelching of his fingers pumping in and out of Derek’s loose hole, the way he gurgled blood hungrily.

Pleasure ran through his veins, straight down to his dick. Derek’s fangs had dropped, mouth open in pleasure. His claws were firmly planted in the sofa, back tense, and when Stiles pressed down on his prostate particularly hard, he half-wolfed out as he came with a roar, untouched and delirious with pleasure. Part of Stiles was shocked, the other desperate for release. He let go of Derek’s wrists to pump his own dick a couple of times, and came all over Derek’s ass grunting.

The aftermath was quiet apart from the heavy breathing. Out of habit, Stiles panted along with Derek, even though his lungs were not burning for air. The werewolf was wrecked, the filthy moan he let out when Stiles pulled his fingers out going straight to the vampire’s spent dick. It twitched a little, but even with the supernatural and Stiles’s relentless lust, it needed a break.

He licked the open wounds clean, drenching them in enough saliva that they would stop bleeding soon. “Wait here,” he said quietly. Derek nodded and Stiles was gone for less than a minute before he returned with a damp washcloth and a towel. He wiped Derek’s asscheeks, then gently patted his tender hole clean. He tried his best to get the cum off the sofa, but it seemed it had partly soaked in already. “We might need to reupholster the sofa,” he said just as quietly.

Despite the contentedness he felt, both because of the bond and as a result of just having sex with Derek, Stiles’s anxiety seeped in. He busied himself with cleaning as much of the surfaces as possible, trying to not voice any of his concerns. Perhaps Derek was mad at him. Or perhaps he’d hurt the werewolf, pushed for too much. Perhaps the bond was too much, the intimacy too real or –

“I can literally hear you overthink,” Derek’s lazy voice came from the back of the sofa, where he was resting his upper body still trying to gather his wits.

“No, you can’t – unless you’ve developed new powers from having some vampire venom in you and even then, for the millionth time: this is not some Twilight shit, Sourwolf,” he said, immediately going into rambling mode.

Derek snorted. “Okay, not literally, but I know how your mind gets.” He slid back onto his heels then looked back at the wet spot on the sofa. “This never happened,” he said.

Stiles swore he could feel his heart break. “Of course,” he said quickly. “I totally get it, it would fuck up the pack dynamic and now that we’ve finally got some stability we would definitely not want that. You would definitely not want that,” he corrected himself. “Like, the pack is the most important, of course, and they must never know and –” He got up and pulled his discarded jeans back on as quickly as possible. “I’m gonna go, gonna look up some service to sort the sofa out as soon as I get home - I’ll link you some good places and I can cover the costs fully.” He looked around for a t-shirt before remembering it had been shredded to shit. It wasn’t ideal, but at least he had bottoms on. If the police stopped him his dad would find out but driving around shirtless wasn’t the worst thing he’d done. “Okay, I’m gonna –”

“Stiles, what the fuck are you on about?” Derek asked sharply.

“What?”

“Well?”

“You said this never happened and that’s totally fair, I can’t even disagree –”

Derek huffed. “I meant coming untouched, you absolute idiot!” he said, pointing to his lap with both hands in a ‘this right here you imbecile’ gesture.

“Oh,” Stiles managed, shoulders slumping as part of the tension left his body.

“Yeah, oh. Idiot,” Derek said affectionately. “Stiles, in what universe would I have just had the best sex of my life and let you go home?”

“Well how the fuck would I know that – wait, best sex?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Come here,” he said, flipping over on his back and settling on the sofa. “And take those off, they’re offending,” he said, pointing to his the half buttoned jeans.

Stiles’s lust returned with a vengeance. Still, he held on to the towel and looked around as if trying to find something else to do. “I’m not…” he trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

Derek frowned. “Unless you don’t want to,” he said, lifting up on his elbows.

“No! That’s not it, I just…” Once more, words failed him.

Derek sighed and fell back into the sofa. His hands went behind his head, making himself comfortable. His chest muscles flexed as he moved, thick arms on display. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, reverence clear in his voice.

Stiles ducked his head, then went to push his jeans off. Naked with someone else wasn’t his comfort zone, not even (or especially) after sex, not after he’d done what he’d done. But he complied, bracing himself against the shame. “I’m not,” he mumbled, hoping Derek wouldn’t pick it up.

He did and scoffed accordingly. “Come here.” He moved his arms down, stretched them out in an invitation for Stiles. He wiggled his fingers, reiterating what he said. “I want to cuddle and scent you and hold you,” Derek said.

It was severely uncharacteristically vocal of him, but then again, perhaps this is what he was like with his lovers. Is this what Stiles was to Derek? He still went, unable to deny the werewolf’s calling. He kneeled between Derek’s legs, then slowly stretched on top of him. Despite the height difference, they lined up nicely together. The man’s arms went around him immediately. “Hi,” he said shyly.

“Hi,” the werewolf replied, and caught his lips in a lazy kiss.

“Cuddles, huh?” Stiles asked after they parted.

“Yes, cuddles,” Derek repeated. “I was thinking about the sofa,” he started, then went to nuzzle Stiles’s neck.

“I too think about the sofa often. More so now,” Stiles replied with mock seriousness.

Derek laughed as he pressed kissed into the skin he could reach. He pulled Stiles further up on him to get better access. “We could move it to my bedroom, get a new one for the living room.”

“Oh?” He could feel his cock twitch.

“You know, for… future times,” Derek explained.

“Oh.”

“Unless you don’t want to and that’s absolutely fine,” Derek hurriedly added.

“Why would I not want to move the sofa to your bedroom?”

“Okay, now you’re just playing dumb.” Derek pulled back to look the younger man in the eye.

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, okay, a little,” he admitted. “Future times, huh?”

“If you’re under the impression I can live without doing this again you’re wrong,” Derek informed him. “Again, unless you –”

“Derek I’ve liked-liked you for years now. I figured if you didn’t go for me when I was human, there was no way it would happen now,” he confessed. “There will never be a time when I don’t want to, okay?”

Derek smiled at him then, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “Why would I not want you now?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“It’s not right,” Stiles replied. “I’m not right and my feeding isn’t –”

“Oh my god!” Derek exclaimed. “We’re all some sort of fucked up, Stiles. You think any of us are right?” he asked, mostly rhetorically.

“Well, at least the majority of this pack is werewolves, I’m such an odd one out. And the ones who aren’t don’t go sucking blood to survive!”

Derek held him tighter. “I like-like you,” he whispered. “I’ve liked-liked you when you were human, I like-like you now,” he said, using Stiles’s own terminology. He kissed Stiles’s earshell wetly, then continued. “I want to fuck you into the mattress. I want you to bite me before I come, I want to provide for you and make you come. I want you to ride me so I can watch you closely,” he added as an afterthought.

He was hard again now. “Wow, okay. Uhm, yes to all,” Stiles managed. “Are you like this with all your hook-ups?”

“Not a hook-up,” Derek clarified. “And no, only with the ones who don’t try to kill me,” he joked.

“I did have you arrested,” Stiles reminded him.

“Yeah, I have some rope I’ve been dreaming of using to pay you back for that. If you’re into that?” Derek asked almost shyly.

“You have Stiles-named rope,” the vampire repeated. “Yes, I’m into that. Have you met me?” he asked, almost giddy at the prospect.

“I have,” Derek confirmed with a smile. “I’m so glad I have. And I don’t, Stiles, I don’t normally do this,” he said, gesturing around them in a generic vague way. “But you’re special, you’ve always been.”

Stiles ducked his head again, trying to hide from the intense look. “Okay, yeah. Okay,” he repeated in an attempt to ground himself. “You hungry?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“For you,” Derek answered immediately, smirk in place, eyes lit up with amusement.

“Unbelievable,” Stiles mumbled. He moved his hips sharply against Derek’s once to prove a point. “But honestly, same,” he added.

Derek laughed. “Good. I’m gonna take you upstairs and fuck you now, that okay?”

“Very,” Stiles replied, cock filling even more at the idea.

“We can find a new sofa later,” Derek promised, and got up to move them to his bedroom. “I’ve been getting complaints this is too small anyway,” he said in between kisses.

“Do we tell the pack?” Stiles found himself asking, unable to banish the pressing thought.

Derek stopped halfway up the stairs and looked at the vampire, predatory glint in his eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’ll be able to smell me on you from a mile away.”

“Promise?” Stiles asked cheekily, and laughed when Derek slapped his ass lightly.

“Yeah, hard promise.”

Thank you for reading this filth, ily all! Send me requests and prompts and find me on Ao3 - links are a bit shit to me rn, but all my info is in my description.

As always, endless thanks to Joeybelle for her patience and support and for pointing out mistakes and shit.

This is not Yank-wanked (been laughing at this term for fucking ever, I’m never gonna stop using it hahaha), sorry for the British English spelling of words, I’ve completely given up on it.

Ask me stuff and for stuff and just write to me any time, I’m friend shaped! <3

[joeybelle]

first paragraph meme

tagged by the lovely @toxiclightsabr to post the first paragraph(s) of still unposted works (chapters). I’ve taken the liberty to post more than one paragraph for each, because they were actually pretty short. 

unedited, unbetaed, unfinished.

Starlight Chapter 27 - Cassian Andor x OFC (Rogue One)

Waiting was the worst. Cora worked and worked and when she didn’t, she made sure to keep busy, but even so she still found herself looking out the window, waiting for Cassian to come back. 

The rumours had spread and although nothing had been confirmed yet, everyone was expecting the worst. They weren’t talking openly about it and as far as Cora could tell, they were all pretending like everything was fine, but the frightened look in their eyes told another story.

Orange Blossoms - Oberyn Martell x Reader (OFC) (Game of Thrones)

The air was hot and stagnant. The breeze that constantly caressed these shore cities seemed to have disappeared for the time being, leaving them all to shrivel under the scorching sun. Nothing was moving. 

She was fanning herself with the colourful scarf she used to protect her head from the blazing sun. The awning above their stall provide enough shade to make it useless so she’d taken it off, leaving her hair uncovered and wild, something she knew her Nana would thoroughly disapprove of. It made her look frivolous, she’d say, not like a proper, working woman. She’d also unfastened a few more buttons on her shirt than she normally would. Luckily, her Nana was napping in the back of the wagon, escaping the midday heat, so she was free to slump back into the large, wooden chair, lift her skirt up to her thighs and place her bare feet on the edge of the stand

Tagging: @llexeh @pidgeonkatie @aurikhai @kd-heart @theswordofpens @jesssssah @deafield @akashne @dark-london @paperandredink @mizzyplatinum @bonemarroww @wortfinder  @redhairedfeistynerd and all of you who see this. Idk which one of you guys are currently writing, but if you do and see this please do it and tag me cause i wanna see @_@

[wndamaximov]

Hunter’s Prompt List

With the end of the school year coming, I’ve decided to start something new. Hopefully it doesn’t flop, but if it does, we’ll just forget that it happened.

Rules

All requests must be sent to my inbox, not as messages

You can request on or off anon

Requests can be for any ship in the MCU or Supernatural, as long as it doesn’t support pedophilia or incest

Requests can also be reader inserts.

You can also chose a prompt, give me a description of yourself and what you want to be called in the fic(your name or a nickname/fake name), and I’ll pair you with a character from either Marvel or Supernatural(you can specify which one). Also say whether you want to be paired with a male or female character. If you have no preference, I’ll choose.

For the quotes, you can also specify a specific situation, i.e Steve meets the reader in the library, and it turns out they like the same type of books

You can send as many of these as you wants, and prompts can be reused with different ships/inserts

You can also pair a quote with a situation

Quotes

“No matter what has happened. No matter what you’ve done. No matter what you will do. I will always love you. I swear it.”

“I wanted to tell you that wherever I am, whatever happens, I’ll always think of you, and the time we spent together, as my happiest time. I’d do it all over again, if I had the choice. No regrets.”

“I love you the way a drowning man loves air. And it would destroy me to have you just a little.”

“I never loved you any more than I do, right this second. And I’ll never love you any less than I do, right this second.”

“Sometimes I can’t see myself when I’m with you. I can only just see you.”

“I knew the second I met you that there was something about you I needed. Turns out it wasn’t something about you at all. It was just you.”

“I want everyone to meet you. You’re my favorite person of all time.”

“I don’t care how hard being together is, nothing is worse than being apart.”

“I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend. The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body. I want to know where to touch you, I want to know how to touch you. I want to know convince you to design a smile just for me. Yes, I do want to be your friend. I want to be your best friend in the entire world.”

“You’ve slipped under my skin, invaded my blood and seized my heart.”

“No matter where I went, I always knew my way back to you. You are my compass star.”

“Last night I looked up at the stars and named a reason why I love you for each one. I was doing great—until I ran out of stars.”

“Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.”

“I wrote your name in the sand but it washed away…I wrote your name in the clouds but it blew away….I wrote your name in my heart and there it will always stay.”

“There is no pretending. I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there is life after that, I'll love you then.”

“And I'm suppose to sit by while you date boys and fall in love with someone else, get married...?" His voice tightened. "And meanwhile, I'll die a little bit more every day, watching.”

“I wonder how you say goodbye to someone forever?”

“I'm trying to let him know what I'm about to do. I'm hoping he can save me, even though I realize he can't.”

“It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”

“You call it madness, but I call it love.”

Situations

You're at a party when you spot a ex. Quick, you urgently have to pretend to be dating the nearest person, who happens to be very attractive.

Couples’ therapy — what a nice way to spend your anniversary.

(Person 1) working up the courage to ask their long-time crush to dance with them at the school dance.

A florist who writes notes on behalf of a client, only to find that the recipient has fallen in love with them instead.

(Person 1) is a cop. (Person 2) is the owner of a jewelry store. A sudden rash of break-ins brings person 1 to person 2’s store over and over and over again, until it becomes obvious that person 2 might be tripping the alarm on purpose—just to see person 1. That’s illegal—but person 1’s kind of falling for person 2, too.

Two dirt-poor art students survive by sharing a nasty little apartment above a bodega. They struggle through four years, barely making ends meet, comforting one another through tragedies and triumph, but never openly admit how they feel about each other…until they graduate, and one of them gets a job in another city. Is it too late to confess their love?

(Person 1)’s a cop—one of the good ones—and when an undercover bust went bad ten years ago, (Person 1)’s wife and small child were killed. (Person 1) swore they’d never love again. Then (Person 1)’s old partner retires, only to be replaced by a wide-eyed, spunky rookie, whose seemingly impossible innocence and joie de vivre remind (Person 1) life is worth living again. This could only end in disaster… right? Dare (Person 1) make the first move?

Taglist: @rebelwriter95  @freshly-painted-duck @jim-the-fallen-fan @msmischief221b@someonebeatmeatthisname@spidergirl2017 @marvel-is-a-mood @rideandwritethingsSupernatural: @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @smilexcaptainx @rainbow-onionsandwich

Tagging mutuals for interest(sorry if i’m being annoying): @meganwayward @spnandshit@kaleldobrev @smilexcaptainx @strawberrybucky @llexeh @irn-dad@foreverwayward @rainbow-onionsandwich @verobatto-angelxhunter@beforecoffeezombie @dean-cas-in-the-impala @love-those-boys-in-flannel@desibarnes @jojowing @cross-roads-blues @ladystiltskin67 @salted-and-burned @tonystarkjr @idiotdotdotdot  @jim-the-fallen-fan @ms-mischief221b @ashley-unicorn @fandoms-are-a-gift-of-chuck@13doctors1angel @the-pet-cheetah-jason-statham @rideandwritethings@ruthiesconnells @verymuchclosetedfangirl @snailsarecute

[llexeh]

Do You Remember Tijuana? - Steve Rogers / Tony Stark

Part 1 of “Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind”

Summary: He had a sudden urge to just go to bed. Maybe he was too old and his age was finally showing. He wasn’t certain he could still blush after the super serum, but it was a blushable situation. So, yeah, he had been in the army and they were all filthy and he wasn’t actually as much of a prude of people made him out to be. But it was still a blushable situation.

He knew he should have just given Natasha her present and maybe a hug. But Steve was many things, and he thought supportive was one of them. He was right in that assumption, but at what cost?

Warnings: edible dicks, deepthroating competition, alcohol consumption 

Rating: explicit

Pairings: Steve Rogers / Tony Stark, Darcy Lewis / Bruce Banner

Tags: pre-slash, crack treated seriously, slowburn, everyone is alive, wild Dr. Foster

Word count: 6087

A/N: This has been on Ao3 for ages, I’m still trying to get the whole series finished and I’m posting it on here in a desperate attempt to kick-start my fanfic productivity. You may have noticed the “crack treated seriously” tag, it’s there for a reason. This is ridiculous and ooc for the most part, but I also love it enough to share it with everyone who will read it. This has not had the loving touch of a beta, so excuse whatever mistakes I’ve missed.

The first time he was left speechless by how attractive Tony was, it felt a lot like being hit by a train. Steve didn’t have the best track record with trains. (Ha! Track record.) When he was young, he watched people get on them and never return. He dropped Bucky from one. He watched helplessly as the one he was on sped wildly through Seoul. So the first time he realised he was attracted to Tony Stark, it felt like he turned his head and all of a sudden he was standing on the railway and headlights were closing in on him, there was no time to move aside, and his breath was stolen from his lungs.

There had been hints, and even half formed thoughts when in between insults and petty arguments, Steve thought Tony was above average. Which, he thought, as he recovered from the train running him over, was complete bullshit. And not only was Tony above average, he was god damn beautiful. Steve just gave up: his mind was a mess, and he figured this was what happened when people survive train trampling. Which was no one. Except for Bucky, but that was falling off a train, and Steve just gave up again. It was pointless.

He needed a stiff drink. It was hardly the first time the need arose, and he was perfectly aware he couldn’t get drunk, but it was more the sharp pinch of the alcohol on his tongue, the soothing way it burned its way down his throat that he wanted. It was anchoring in a way few things were. Fighting was one of those things, but Natasha was terrifying, and this was her birthday party. And on top of that, Steve genuinely cared for the redhead and wanted her to have a good time. And she was terrifying. So unless she instigated some group brawl, that was not an option.

There were plenty of bottles pretty much everywhere around the large common room in the tower, but Steve also needed a dark corner to brood for a little. There was a poignant desire to lament his inability to get drunk. Because maybe if he could, he’d pass out and it would finally get quiet in his head. Like many other things that night, that wasn’t an option. So he sat down and drank scotch straight from the bottle, trying to attract as little attention as possible.

Maybe if he thought of it tactically, as if it were a mission he needed to plan. He took a deep breath and another swig from the bottle. Situation: the reality he found Tony Stark attractive. Extra information: not only did he find his fellow Avenger attractive, he was rendered speechless, mid conversation with… someone because he found him so attractive. Problem: he found Tony Stark attractive. Gosh, Steve was well happy no one could actually read his mind. They’d either pass out with the sheer stupidity that floated around, or pass out from laughing too much.

The problem wasn’t that Tony was a man, or even that he was a fellow Avenger, or that he was Howard’s son, or that he was a dick most of the time, or that even if he was remotely attracted to men, he wouldn’t go for Steve’s righteousness and stubbornness and whatever it was that annoyed him about Steve. Oh, wait. Those were the exact problems. Maybe not the Tony being a man part, because Steve always knew he was a bit not-straight. And coming back into the modern day and age, he quickly adjusted to the fact that he didn’t need to stick a label on himself. It was a stark contrast to going into a battle against the Nazis with the distinct thought that some men wear a uniform better than others.

So, tactically. Problem: Steve was currently speechless halfway through a bottle of scotch that did absolutely nothing to him (while everyone was having a blast) because he found his friend hot and there was no way anything would come of it for various reasons. There, that was the most compact way of putting it. Steve was thankful the babbling in his head didn’t translate into his reports. Solution: drink the entire bottle, put on a smile, and join the party before someone asks questions.

The train metaphor, Steve figured, came from the abruptness of the entire thing. It was all going fine. Natasha’s birthday was coming up and she made a point to not say anything about it. It was all a bit uncertain anyway – her age, her exact date of birth – all of it buried in triple classified files hidden in underground bunkers under a lake in Switzerland; or something. The intel was her birthday was on the 22nd of November, and they accepted it as such.

She didn’t plan anything, didn’t mention it at all, and Steve was fine. He’d bought her a hand carved wooden jewelry box from a thrift shop in Brooklyn months before. It reminded him of her with its intricate edges and vintage finish, and Steve was a sucker for gifting people things he thought they’d like. He was ready to wrap it up and present her with it at midnight if she was around, or for breakfast, and he was absolutely fine with it. In hindsight, he would have preferred it, if only to avoid a metaphorical train. Steve was less and less fond of trains with each passing minute.

Clint approached him at lunch a couple of days before with a smile (first sign of trouble), a notepad (signs two-to-five of trouble), a pen (!), and confetti on his shoulders. Steve nearly turned around and walked away. He might have looked young, but he was starting to think he was essentially an old man – what was that line in the film? Too old for this shit?

The short conversation went along the lines of:

“We’re throwing Tasha a party, tell your friends.”

“All of my friends live here, Clint.”

“You need to get out more, Cap.”

“Okay… Does she want a party?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“She’s gonna shoot all of us, Clint. And some of you are more prone to dying than others.”

“We’ll duck. She can’t shoot all of us at once.”

“She can if she gets a grenade launcher. The rest she’ll thigh-strangle to death.”

“It’ll be fine, Cap, you worry too much. Here, shopping list. Hide everything in your room, we can’t order online, she’ll know. Thanks!”

It turned out everyone was excited about it, so Steve went with it. He volunteered to be in her line of fire, shield up for when she reacted to the surprise. It went as well as expected: she walked into the dim room, shot at his shield, and pretended to be very surprised while wearing a cocktail dress and high heels. Her smile was bright however, and Steve found it endearing.

“Clint,” she started walking towards the marksman, “I know this is on you. Come, we’re doing tequila.”

Clint actually groaned. “Tasha, anything but that! Remember Tijuana?” He shuffled his feet towards the bar where Tony started pouring shots.

“Do you?” Natasha asked with a laugh. She turned to the people gathering at the bar. “Thank you so much for wanting to celebrate with me. Now drink!” She passed shot glasses to everyone and set the tone for her party.

Thor placed a crown on her head, naming her their queen for the night as soon as the bottle of tequila was finished. Someone put some lounge music on, and Steve was pleased to see his friends enjoying themselves as they mingled.

It was all very informal, with just the Avengers and their close friends. Vision trying to be inconspicuous in his white button down, drifting around Wanda as close as possible without clinging to her. Quicksilver speeding around the room smiling at Maria Hill in that downright shameless manner that made Fury cock his head ominously. Pepper and Maria converging to the side to complain about managing what were basically children. Bruce chatting to Jane and pretending not to be dumbstruck by Darcy’s pin-up dress and hair. Sam and Bucky to the side, chatting animatedly about sport, Steve guessed. It looked like a promising night. No trains in sight.  

About two hours in, Rhodey lost to Steve at arm-wrestling for the seventh time. He was about to ask for a rematch, when Natasha asked to replace him. She sat down on the bar stool opposite him, smiling widely. On top of what Steve assumed was an actual crown, she now sported a plastic tiara adorned with large silver stars that bobbed whenever Natasha moved. Her eyes were as focused as always, but there was a subtle flush to her cheeks.

“Think you can win, Tasha?”

“I don’t know, Cap. Will you let me?” She cocked her head to the side, flirty as always. The stars on her head dangled dangerously.

Tony materialised to their side with two more shot glasses. “He’s an honest guy, Natasha. Of course he won’t let you win.” He downed his and gave the other to her.

“Not even if I ask nicely?”

Steve laughed. “I value my life. Wouldn’t want to insult you.”

She nodded. “Let’s make it interesting. I’ll bet my tiara and you can bet…” She looked around trying to find something. Her smile broadened. “Ah! You lose and I get to set you up on a date!”

“Is that still happening? Okay then.” He placed his elbow on the bar and wiggled his fingers. Natasha grabbed it and signaled Tony to count. It was more difficult than with Rhodey, Steve will give her that, but in the end he was victorious.

She graciously admitted defeat. “Fair and square. Well, ignoring the super serum and the days you spend in the gym.” She disentangled the plastic tiara and placed it on Steve’s head. “I still get to set you up on a date cause it’s my birthday and you owe me for the thing in the place,” she told him.

He laughed and gave up trying to dissuade her. He’d just have to find a way out of this one as always. “You’d think there were no more people I can say no to,” he said jokingly.

“Oh, Steve. I’m only on J. We’ve got a long way to go,” she informed him.

Tony poured her another shot and drank his from the bottle. “I’ve got an updated list of Stark employees you can use. And Friday made a folder called Operation Date on the common server to simplify your mission,” he offered.

“Excellent,” Natasha said covering Steve’s groan.

The music changed to something more familiar to Steve; Bucky stopped by his side on his way to the dance floor. “Watch this,” he told them with a shit eating grin. He quickly grabbed Darcy and pulled her close. Steve groaned again.

“I swear to god, if we have a code green I’m getting the largest electromagnet in the tri-state area and I’m hanging him in Times Square,” Tony told them.

They kept an eye on Bruce as Darcy and Bucky eased into a swing dance. He had a small smile on, wiping at his glasses absentmindedly. Without the threat of a Hulk-out (and Steve was certain Bruce had more self-control than to lose his shit over this), it was actually amusing to watch. His eyes swept Darcy’s figure up and down as she moved, looking like he was trying to convince himself of something or the other. Steve grudgingly admired Bucky’s plan, but even if it worked out fine for everyone, he was still going to get punched in the non-metal shoulder for being a dick.

Once their dance was finished, Bucky put on a show of bending over Darcy’s hand and kissing it delicately. He offered his arm and led her to where their little group was gathered. Her fingers shot out towards Tony and she wiggled them in a silent plea for alcohol. Tony indulged her with a laugh.

“Well, that’s the most physical I’ve been in ages,” she told them after a quick succession of straight-from-the-bottle tequila shots.

“That’s because you keep skipping your damn training and I get bored of looking for you,” Natasha said casually. “I’m keeping track, by the way. You owe me twelve miles and four kickboxing sessions.” Darcy just grabbed the closest vodka bottle and started chugging. “And a hundred and fifty push-ups,” the redhead continued unfazed.

Bucky leaned into Darcy in a show of support. “Think how much ass you’ll kick,” he told her.

“Yeah, no, Lover Boy. There’s no motivating me, like, ever.”

“Lover –"

“It’s from a movie,” came the voice from behind them. Bruce was standing there casually, arms crossed over his chest, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Steve remembered watching it late one night when he couldn’t sleep. “Isn’t it with the ghost guy?”

Tony snorted and offered Bruce a glass of bourbon. “Yeah, no,” he said, repeating Darcy’s words. “On the right track though, so props.”

Bruce took the drink and sipped it slowly. Steve felt like he was caught in some odd power play between people who had more of a life than he did. He poured a shot of tequila and downed it just to adhere to their standards. Tony poured him another one.

“Imagine betting on Rogers in a drinking competition. You’d make millions!”

“You already have millions,” Darcy told him with a laugh. She pulled away from Bucky and pat his cheek. “Thanks for the dance, Footloose. I better go find Jane before she has too much to drink and decides to strip.”

Bruce choked on his drink. “Dr Foster wouldn’t…?”

“Dr Foster definitely would,” Darcy told him. “College was a weird time. Don’t ever look up her arrest record.”

When she left them Tony was already on his phone. Bruce made a vague noise, gesturing wildly with his half empty glass. After several failed attempts at words, he nodded and followed her general direction. Once he was far enough, Steve turned and punched Bucky as he promised himself he would.

“Ouch, Rogers! I’m wounded!”

“You will be if you keep this up,” Steve replied. “You have no business with these nice people, leave them alone.”

Bucky grinned. “But it’s so much fun, Stevie! Besides she looked great, and who was I going to dance with? You? You have eight left feet. You’re like a clumsy spider whenever you even think of a dance floor.” Steve punched him again in the same spot, really hoping it would bruise, at least for a couple of minutes. “You know, when you were just a scrawny kid in Brooklyn and I fought all your fights –"

“I thought you couldn’t get drunk, Buck. What is this, memory lane? You always did this and I had to listen to you for hours. Hours, Buck.”

The former assassin had the cheek to look offended. “Just because you’d have died if you drank too much…”

Tony choked on tequila and turned his back to Natasha for help. She hit between his shoulder blades a couple of times. “Thank you,” he told her. “I feel I’m watching Grumpy Old Men on cable during a storm when there’s nothing else on.”

Steve was confused and was about to ask what he was on about when drumrolls flooded the large common room. Clint’s voice could be heard over the noise, belting out Happy Birthday horribly off-key. It was Natasha’s turn to groan. Steve felt almost vindicated.

Clint was carrying a huge tray of what looked like reasonably sized jell-o dicks. Steve wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but he had a Bad Feeling about it. Not like when a villain would pop out of nowhere before breakfast and coffee, but close.

“Loaded with vodka, just like you like them” Clint told Natasha. He deposited the tray on the edge of the coffee table, turning to the people sitting on the sofas. “Hurry up, make some room.” Natasha groaned again, louder than before. Steve put on his best patronizing smile and pat her shoulder.

They walked to where Clint was standing proudly admiring his work. Steve counted fifteen identical phalluses in various colours wobbling on the tray. He had a sudden urge to just go to bed. Maybe he was too old and his age was finally showing. He wasn’t certain he could still blush after the super serum, but it was a blushable situation. So, yeah, he had been in the army and they were all filthy and he wasn’t actually as much of a prude of people made him out to be. But it was still a blushable situation. There were things he couldn’t shake despite everything he’d seen. And jelly dicks on a tray was one of them, apparently.

“Clint, why?” Natasha’s voice gave away some annoyance, but mostly humour. So at least she liked it somewhat.

“Remember when I had that bartending thing in Vegas? Well, there were a shit-ton of bachelorette parties and this was popular with the ladies.” He shimmied a little and promptly burst into laughter.

“I’m assuming they weren’t chewing them in front of the strippers,” Sam said casually.

“Not until much later, no,” Clint replied. “Deepthroat competition!” he said and Steve wasn’t even sure who groaned the loudest.

Jane took a step forward, and Darcy’s hand shot out to catch her shoulder. She tried her best withering glance, but it seemed the good Dr. Foster had gone to the dark side. Steve was proud of his reference, even if he had yet to watch Star Wars. That was a new thing he’d started doing, where he privately googled popular references just so he wouldn’t be lost in conversation. He just hadn’t gotten around to watch everything he missed being frozen, and that made the cheating thought a bit less poignant. Jane nodded at Darcy, and Darcy shook her head, so Jane nodded louder, and Darcy just sighed and took a step forward too. Steve recognized it for what it was: solidarity. He’d done enough stupid shit for Bucky to know it intimately.

“What is this deepthroating?” Thor’s voice managed to boom even when he didn’t mean it to.

In the slightly tense (and also curious) atmosphere in the room, his question seemed to make everyone burst into laughter. The god’s confused expression almost made Steve take pity on him, but Pepper was quicker.

“It’s when you suck on – ah, how to – ” Her inability to not be helpful left her stranded halfway through her sentence not really knowing how to go on. “Tony?”The scientist lifted his hands in a clear sign of not-touching-this-one-it’s-hilarious-to-watch-you-struggle. Pepper looked around some more, her cheeks starting to redden.

Maria Hill of all people chose to lean forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Dick sucking, Thor.” She prodded a jelly dick with her finger and then looked up at the god. “But really deep.” The entire room burst into laughter again.

Thor’s face lit up and he brought his hands together as he did before a fist fight. “Ah! Of course, it makes sense now. So, a competition,” he said and Steve knew that look.

Jane giggled, Pepper touched her hand to Maria’s shoulder in a sign of gratitude, and Darcy released another long suffering sigh. Wanda stepped closer, looking like she wanted in. Pietro shuddered somewhere to his right, and said a quick “Wanda, no,” to his sister. She smiled viciously. Steve was certain he would never understand their dynamic, even though there was a part of him that envied the feeling of belonging in a symbiosis of that nature.

“Tony, remember when we –"

“Rhodey…”

“Tony…”

“Rhodey!”

“Tony!”

Natasha stepped forward and knelt by the end of the coffee table. She looked up at Tony with a smirk. “Well, it is my birthday…”

“For the love of god, we don’t even know if you were born or if you hatched from a large egg!” Tony exclaimed.

“Come on, Stark. It’s gonna be like that time we were stranded in Atlantic City. I remember you taking off your shirt and well, are we still banned there?”

“Rhodes, I made that disappear from your record, I can bring it back.”

Clint interrupted their little spat. “Okay, okay, enough. Show of hands if you wanna suck fake dicks for Natasha’s birthday. She’s obviously gonna do it so we might as well show some solidarity…”

Jane put both her hands up, Maria joined her with one. Darcy’s finger lift up. Thor put one of his hands up and the other snaked around Jane’s shoulders. Steve couldn’t even begin to think about their sex life. Mostly because it was wrong to give it that much thought, but also because he wouldn’t even know where to start. To his surprise, Bucky put his hand up.

“What?” he asked. “Remember Jacques bet me I couldn’t stick a bottle of beer down my throat? I won that one.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He didn’t actually remember. His best guess is he was agonizing in a corner about making Peggy like him. He tried not to choke on air when Tony’s hand went up following Rhodes’s. “You are going down. Literally,” he heard the scientist say. Pepper joined them as well, downing her entire champagne flute. Bruce ran his hand down his face.

“Captain?” he heard Sam ask him with a smirk.

“Oh, I’ll pass,” Steve said with a small smile. “The serum removed my gag reflex, it wouldn’t be fair.” He was happy to make his friends laugh, but he was still not going to slobber over some vodka filled jelly dicks. Even though he could. And he would probably win. Still wasn’t doing it.

After a brief rearranging, the contestants sat or kneeled around the table. Everyone moved out of the way, and Clint made sure to put some raunchy music on before getting in position. He dished out the jelly dicks on cake plates and got Vision to count to three. As soon as the word was said, they all bent their heads and went for it.

Steve took a moment to observe without looking like a pervert. Pietro had given up on his disappointment and was cheering on Wanda in typical supporting-my-twin-forever way. Wanda, for her part, kept her eyes down and opened her mouth wide to slide down on the thing. Vision seemed mildly amused by it. Steve wondered briefly how lust worked in his case, but the snort coming from Rhodey’s general direction stopped his thought. The man was trying his best not to choke on both the jelly dick and his laughter, leaning heavily into his palms on the table. Pepper wasn’t faring much better, pulling back and clutching at her chest to try and stop laughing.

Sam sat opposite Bucky, both of them staring at each other. Steve was trying to decide if it was flirting or competing, but he came up short. Fury sat on the side of an armchair, drinking whiskey from the bottle, probably lamenting how much money went into the Avengers Initiative. Steve couldn’t blame the man. His good eye was starting to lose focus, and Steve felt a slight pang of jealousy at the ability.

Thor and Jane were holding hands on the table, both of them trying to accommodate as much as possible down their throats. Jane seemed to be doing better, but it could have been the fact that she wasn’t smiling like an idiot. Thor… not so much. Darcy kept her eyes trained on Bruce. The scientist still had his small smile on, Steve was glad to see. Even if it looked vaguely pained, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, or how to lean on the sofa better. Darcy pulled back, smirked at him, actually had the audacity to wink, and wiped at the corner of her mouth before taking most of the thing down her throat. For the first time since their competition started, Steve felt some inkling of arousal.

The whole thing was arousing in a way he supposed, but these were people he would be giving coffee to the following day when their hangovers wanted to kill them. They were the people he lived with, worked with, went to die for, trusted, and cherished. And for some reason, watching them try to deepthroat wasn’t exactly touching yourself material. Especially when half of them were at various degrees of hysterics, abandoning their task altogether in favour of laughter. Darcy was… different because Darcy was putting on a show. And Steve was many things, but not made of stone.

For some, it was a bonding experience – see Jane and Thor. For others, it was an excellent story – see Rhodey and Pepper. For others, it was blatant flirting – see Darcy and Bruce (who was cocking his head to the side; and Steve was absolutely certain that Dr. Banner was the only person in the world to watch their love interest perform a lascivious sex act and find it adorable.)

Clint pulled back to cheer on Natasha who was still going strong in the middle of them all, golden bejewelled crown crooked on her head. Steve felt proud of her determination, and also slightly turned on by the way her lips held on to the jelly.

Fury clicked his tongue from Steve’s side and it spoke volumes about how distracted Steve actually was. “Aren’t you glad you’re their leader?”

Steve nodded. “Hey, if all else fails, at least they can suck dick.”

Fury snorted in his glass. “I’m wondering who Clint used for the mould.”

“I don’t think I –”  

Freight train.

Tony leaned on his elbows, bending the jelly dick so he could suck on it and also look straight ahead. His eyes seemed glued to Steve’s thighs. He figured, as a last desperate thought, that the scientist was staring at whatever was in front of him, and at the highest point he could without rolling his eyes. Steve wanted to ignore the way the man’s throat bulged as he relaxed it to accommodate the phallus. He really, really did. But he’d seen the Godfather, and there was a bit there where Michael gets hit by lightning when he falls in love and Steve had no idea why that was where his mind took him, but it damned felt like Thor unleashed his thunder god power right through his spine. Tony swallowed around the thing, and Steve would swear until the end of time that the bottle of tequila he didn’t realise he was holding most definitely didn’t shatter in his fist. He was utterly speechless. And would you look at that, he could blush.

There was a vague sound of Rhodey whooping and Natasha clapping and Bucky cursing softly and Darcy laughing and Clint patting Tony’s shoulder. It all registered in the back of his head, including the proud look Tony threw him, and Maria inviting them all to eat a bunch of dicks. Steve turned away and walked to a bottle of scotch, conversation with Fury forgotten.

He welcomed the relative quiet and solitude while he tried to command his thoughts to re-enter some sort of order. He went to run his hands through his hair and of course he’d forgotten and watched the man he was suddenly aware he was attracted to deepthroating a jell-o dick while wearing a plastic tiara. Because being frozen for seventy years wasn’t ridiculous enough. He uselessly drank some more.

The music had changed by now, and everyone swapped impressions about their competition while swaying to it. Or at least he thought they were, he didn’t care all that much. Tony was showing Natasha his throat, explaining something about it and Steve’s mind brought back the image of the bulge, and what it treacherously decided to paint as heat in Tony’s eyes. Steve really wanted to get drunk. And yes, it wasn’t his party, but he could cry if he wanted to.

Bruce sat next to him, and if Steve were to chose, the man was probably his safest bet. With his kind eyes and gentle demeanour, at least he wouldn’t get chewed for being less than subtle. Steve handed him the bottle and they shared it between them in companionable silence. When Bruce pulled a second one from seemingly nowhere, Steve nodded his thanks.

“At least I can get drunk,” Bruce offered, and Steve found himself laughing. It was useless to think people hadn’t noticed his reaction, but this, this he could deal with.

“Well, I’m not a quitter. At least there’s less for all of you to drink, and that makes me happy.”

“Vicious,” Bruce said. “Not your normal mood, but I like it.”

“She’s really into you,” Steve said, not really caring at this point. “You should ask her out –”

“Yeah, no,” he repeated her earlier words, and Steve couldn’t help but find it endearing. “I tend to kind of break things when I get out.”

“Then ask her in. At least some of us would be home, if it makes you feel better.” Steve drank some more. “Besides, she’s not the type to anger people. Unless you can Hulk out from laughing too much.”

Bruce snorted. “Never happened before. I don’t laugh much.”

“From someone who has absolutely no idea what they’re doing to someone who’s conflicted as all hell: just spend some time with her. She’s probably the second kindest person I’ve ever met.” Bruce was too polite to push. “After you, I mean. Bruce, she’d be good for you.”

The scientist turned to face him. “Okay, are you sure you can’t get drunk? Cause you’re saying some liquor-wise things right now, some of which are complete bullshit,” he laughed.

Steve joined him. “Trust me, you’d know if I were drunk.”

“Well, I’ve got a nice buzz to get me to sleep, so I’m gonna cherish it and maybe improve it.”

“Bruce –"

“Steve, don’t. We can sit here all night with me getting drunker by the minute, and you staying as sober as always, and I could be listing a thousand and one reasons why it wouldn’t work. And honestly, I’d rather have a drink with a kindred spirit and then go to bed.”

Steve was many things, but not made of stone, and not a quitter. And focusing on someone else took his mind off his own shitty thoughts. Steve was many things, and even maybe a bit selfish. “So she’s younger than you.”

Bruce nodded vehemently. “Exactly! A whole life ahead of her!”

“So choosing for her is the way to go?”

There was a pause. “Well, no. But I’m making a conscious decision to not get her caught in this even if she thinks it’s what she wants.”

“So you’re choosing for her.”

“And she’s way out of my league!”

“Right.”

“And she’s funny and kind and perky and I’m not.”

“Okay…”

“And I can’t offer her stability or a family.” Bruce drank, passed the bottle to Steve, waited, took it back, and drank some more. “Or going out clubbing!”

“Of course.”

“Stop agreeing with everything I’m saying, Steve. It’s a low tactic.”

“Absolutely.”

“And she –"

“She’s beautiful,” Steve interrupted.

“So beautiful,” Bruce agreed with shining eyes. “She has this small smile on sometimes and a frown on her left side when something doesn’t make sense. And her face lights up when she talks about something she’s interested in.”

“Mhm.”

“And she knows I prefer almond milk and makes sure to add it to all the cups of coffee she brings me.” Bruce sighed. “And in the afternoon she makes my tea for me and brings me food sometimes when she knows I’ve been to busy and forgot to eat.”

“And of course, you do nothing similar for her,” Steve told him casually. He knew the only reason Bruce was so talkative was a lethal combination of misery and alcohol.

“Well, there was that exhibit I recommended. And I save her dinner every now and then.” Bruce sighed again. “I put away all the mugs in the labs so she doesn’t have to.” There was a long pause before the scientist spoke again. For a while, Steve thought he’d fallen asleep. “Oh, I also named a star after her. I mean she’s never going to know, but it’s just one of those things –"

There was some reward in staying sober when no one else did. Steve was certain to remember the moment Darcy Lewis stepped on the steel ledge at the bottom of the bar, leaned over the tall structure, gripped Bruce’s shirt, and pulled him for a kiss. And Steve was lonely and kind of miserable so he watched them because the warmth in his chest was beautiful, and it was so much better than the loudness in his head.

When she pulled back, Bruce was dazed and very confused. He managed a weak “What?”

“I stood and listened to you go on and on about this and that and maybe I’d have walked away and processed everything and then come up with a plan. But then you mentioned the fucking star, and I swear to god Banner, you’re the worst!” Darcy told him in one breath. She looked at Steve and grabbed the bottle out of his hands with a quiet “thanks,” then poured a glass and downed it.

“I… am?” Bruce asked uncertain.

“Yes! I spent the last six months of my life trying to find a way to be close to you, and you go and do some dumb shit that I can’t even begin to understand.” She turned to Steve. “Like, how do you even name a star after someone?” Steve shrugged helplessly.

“Darcy…”

“Don’t you Darcy me! With your stupid curly hair and your glasses,” she took a deep breath when Bruce unconsciously pushed them back up on his nose, “and your rolled up sleeves, and your kindness, and your smiles! Acting like you can decide what’s best for me.” Bruce had the decency to flinch at her accusation, his face flushed at her aggressive compliments.

“I just don’t think…” he started.

“That’s the thing. For someone so fucking smart, you’re being an idiot.” She turned to Steve. “Now, you. Both this dummy and myself and kinda drunk and I need you to bear witness to all this for when he’s trying to deny it all in typical fashion.” Steve nodded solemnly, trying to hold his laughter in. Everything was surreal. His entire life was a joke. “Now, you’re gonna get up,” she said, pulling at Bruce’s hand, “and walk with me over to that massive armchair. I’m gonna climb in your lap and you’re gonna tell me every reason you have for not wanting me –"

“But I do!”

Darcy was unfazed. “And I’m gonna counter-argue with my vast debate skills – what?”

Bruce sighed and walked around the bar. He rubbed his face with both his hands and pulled Darcy in a hug. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

Steve really wanted to get drunk before he punched someone for being stubborn and impossible. Bruce. Before he punched Bruce and got him to Hulk out and Steve was going to stop that train of thought right there. Trains. God damn it.

“So…?”

“So I think you can do better and I’d rather not waste your time,” he finally admitted defeatedly.

“I swear to god,” Darcy said and lifted her head to kiss Bruce again. The warmth in Steve’s chest was back, and maybe he wasn’t dead inside yet. She broke their kiss again, and stayed glued to Bruce’s side as she walked them away. “Thanks, Steve, you’re the best!” she said loudly, and Steve wanted to duck. Everyone who heard her turned to look at him.

Trying to at least look normal, Steve lifted his hand to salute them and touched plastic. He forgot about the tiara again. No, seriously. His life was a joke. He gave up completely and just let his head fall forward on his forearms. The metal on his back made it clear who it was that came to comfort or confront him – he had no idea.

“So, Stevie. Should I get Stark to dance with me as well? It seems to be working tonight,” he said and Steve could hear the smugness in his voice.

He lifted his head to look his oldest, best friend in the eyes. “Fuck off, Buck.”

Next part

Masterlist

This can also be found on Ao3.

Send me opinions and thoughts and random things, ily all x

[llexeh]

Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind

Masterlist

Summary: Five times Steve was left speechless by how attracted he was to Tony Stark, and one time he couldn't shut up about it

Rating: explicit / mature 

Warnings: alcohol consumption, language, check individual posts for more warnings

Tags: crack treated seriously, ooc-ness, truth or dear dare trope, group chat trope, auto correct trope, slowburn,

Part 1: 

Do You Remember Tijuana? 

Part 2: 

Santa Baby - 1 / 2

Santa Baby - 2 / 2

Part 3: 

Oh, Tish. That’s French.

[llexeh]

Fanfic Masterlist

Series:

“Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind” - Steve Rogers / Tony Stark

Prompts:

“This Is Not Some Twilight Shit, Sourwolf” - Stiles Stilinski / Derek Hale

[llexeh]

Santa Baby (2-2) - Steve Rogers / Tony Stark

Part 2-2 of “Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind”

Summary: All Steve wanted was to make some nice memories with his new family. You know, get a tree up, have a nice dinner, sing some carols. So what if he got a bit overenthusiastic? He absolutely did not want to google Tinder, or be struck by how attractive Tony Stark was. Again.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, ridiculousness, sad handjob, mild angst  

Potential trigger: Brief scene that can be construed as self harm on Steve's end. Just for full disclosure purposes, he uses scalding water knowing it would heal almost instantly. This is not done in a fit, or with the self harm end goal in mind. But I know first hand it can be triggering so I thought it would be worth mentioning. (Stay safe x)

Rating: mature

Pairings: Steve Rogers / Tony Stark, Darcy Lewis / Bruce Banner

Tags: pre-slash, crack treated seriously, slowburn, everyone is alive, Christmas fluff, group chat trope, auto correct trope

Word count: 5592

Pietro was allowed around the tower on the 24th. They’d visited him and decorated his hospital bed and even put a nice wreath on the door. Wanda tied bows on it, and Darcy covered it in glitter and silver beads. They took to singing loudly whenever Pietro’s whining got too much, which was roughly eight times a day that they knew of. Bruce kept feeding him sweets to quiet him, and Clint smuggled pizza in one night.

When he was finally allowed to leave the room, his anticipation was palpable. He literally shook with excitement, although if it was for the holiday or for being anywhere else, Steve didn’t know.

He shrieked when he saw the tree, trying to make his wheelchair go faster. “It’s so great,” he said in awe. He turned to Wanda, then to all his teammates gathered around it. “It’s been -”

“Yeah,” she said and ruffled his hair. “Come on, we saved the star for you.”

Pietro’s eyes widened. “Really?” he asked Steve, who was always the man he turned to for confirmation and orders.

“Really,” Steve replied and handed him a large silver star. “Darcy and Clint insisted that we put the A on it,” he said and pointed to the cardboard letter that was glued to the glass ornament.

Pepper pushed Tony in, throwing a sweater at him. She put the large box she was carrying on the floor and joined them. “Hello Pietro, are you excited?” she asked, a beaming smile on her face.

“Yes!” Pietro said and turned to Wanda. The girl gently lifted him up to the top of the tree. He slid the upright branch into the ornament and clapped loudly. The A was truly ugly. Steve loved it more than anything. Wanda lowered Pietro to be at their level.

“Do it, Tony,” Pepper ordered. “Remember I have blackmail material and I am not above using it to make you do things for me,” she said, her voice getting that singing lilt again.

“You used to be such a nice girl, Pepper,” Tony said, sliding the sweater over his head. He emerged with crazy hair and a scowl. When he rolled it down his torso, the knitted Grinch on it was his spitting image. “What happened?”

“I started working for you,” she replied and pushed the box towards them. “Come on, grab a sweater, put it on, stand around the tree. Someone help Pietro, please,” she instructed quickly. “We need a photo of the official team - Rhodey go next to Tony, maybe some of your maturity will rub off on him. Photo for the auction first, and then we can take some for us.”

She arranged them and fixed the camera on the tripod. “Okay, on three say ‘Avengers’! And because that doesn’t work, also smile. One, two…” The shutter went on a couple of times. Pepper went through the photos she took and consulted Darcy. “Okay we got it! Now for the other ones.” She urged them all to gather up once more for their personal photos before setting the timer. “Go crazy, guys, it’s our first Christmas together.”

Steve could have kissed her.

They had to take a vote on when to open presents. Some of them advocated for Christmas Day, others for the Eve. Once they started on the eggnog, the vote swayed towards the Eve, and in the end it was settled for midnight.

Steve had been prepping for the dinner for days. He had a lot of help from Darcy and Clint and even Vision, and it was a labour of love but he was extremely ready to not cook for a while. He was also nervous about the food; he tried cooking people’s favourites, and foods that were traditional to where they were from. Some ingredients were impossible to get, and he improvised the best he could. When they sat down to eat, Steve was so tense he could barely touch anything. It was a litany of appreciative noises from around the table, and Steve felt his shoulders relax slightly.

“Kholodets!” Natasha exclaimed as she lifted a lid. “Steve, kholodets!” She turned to look at him and leaned over the table to kiss his forehead. Pietro joined her in wondering at the traditional Russian dish while Wanda mouthed her thanks.

“We normally celebrate on the 7th of January,” Wanda said casually.

Steve stopped eating. “Why didn’t you say something? It’s not fair to -”

“Hey,” she interrupted him, “Christmas on the 25th is better than no Christmas. Pietro and I, our parents weren’t religious and back there it was religious for a lot of people. So it’s the thought, the family,” she told him, trying to keep the conversation private. It didn’t work at all, of course.

Natasha smiled. “I remember when Christmas didn’t exist. They moved it to the 1st of January. In the… in the Red Room we knew there was a celebration on the 7th and we knew what it was, but we were never allowed. It was just another day.”

Bruce coughed once to draw attention to him and immediately regretted based on his lost look. Darcy touched his hand and smiled. “My aunt gets drunk every year and slaps the turkey,” she offered with a shrug.

Natasha snorted and turned to look at the large bird on the table. “Do you take after her side of the family?”

Darcy grinned and fluttered her lashes. “I guess we’ll find out,” she said and winked at the turkey.

Clint shoved pigs in blankets in his mouth, throwing Steve a thumbs up and an enthusiastic nod. Bucky thanked him for making the roast potatoes the way his mother used to. Steve smiled widely and pointed towards the turkey. “Not that slapping it wouldn’t be amazing to watch,” he rolled his eyes, “but who wants to carve it?”

They looked at each other, trying to figure out what he meant. Tony was surprisingly the one to answer, not even lifting his head from his potato salad. “You, of course. And hurry up, I want to get to that crisp skin sooner rather than later.” When no one said anything, he looked up. “What?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s your tower, Tony. Maybe you should do it?”

Tony made a show of leaning back and rolling his eyes because he was the biggest drama queen, no matter how many tantrums Steve threw. “This is your tower as well. You all have rooms and little nooks of happiness and the building is actually in all of our names.” He sipped his mulled wine. “What?” he asked again in that impatient voice.

“Tony did you forget to tell them?” Pepper’s voice taking a slight shrill quality. “Tony, I sent you thirteen god damned emails and got Friday to sing to you. What did you do, sleep through all of it?” Tony stayed quiet, looking anywhere but ahead of him, where Pepper’s hand shot up to rest on her hip. “You’re an idiot,” she announced and kicked his shin under the table.

“I was working on a space suit and then I passed out and when I woke up Mr Fantastic was calling me and I just flew out to beat the crap out of a Doombot and to avoid Reed’s annoying voice. And I guess I forgot,” he finished lamely.

“Tony.” Steve’s voice was serious, he knew, but there was no accusation behind it. Tony forgot to eat and sleep and sit down, this was not new.

“When we rebuilt this,” he gestured around him, “I put it down with the Avengers as the owners. Then I kept adding people to the list of what the Avengers mean. It’s not a big deal, your name on the papers or not this is your home.” He pushed the turkey symbolically. The bird was huge. “Now carve it and feed us, Captain… Captain? I’ll have to think about it,” he told Steve, and that was the end of it.

On his part, Steve did his best to carve it as neatly as possible. It wasn’t like he had a lot of experience, or any really. Steve didn’t know a lot about a great deal of things. So he stood and tried to remember any circumstance in his life where carving a turkey had been a thing. If he’d known this was going to happen, he would have allocated three minutes to a youtube tutorial, risking the merciless teasing from Tony. In all fairness the scientist had been good with mocking Steve about his searches, but there was a knowing look. Maybe Steve was also paranoid on top of everything else he was discovering about himself.

He picked up the fork, feeling very self conscious about how slow he perceived his movement. Maybe they had drunk enough not to notice the slight tremor in his fingers. Steve bashed people’s heads in with his shield. This was ridiculous. He went for one of the legs, trying to position the knife as well as possible. The small shriek when a manicured hand shot out and slapped the turkey’s breast absolutely did not happen. Steve would go to his grave claiming that. Darcy howled with laughter at his little jump, and the others were in various degrees of hysterics. Steve hated all of them. He cut through the crispy skin with a scowl on his face. This was ridiculous. Again. He pushed the leg down with the fork, then cut straight through the ball joint.

The drumstick went on a plate, and it was out of Steve’s hands how they were all going to fight over who wants what. He kept going, piling up slices of almost-evenly-carved meat on a large platter. He was about to sit back down when he remembered. He picked the fork up again and poked through the skin on the remaining breast, then pulled slightly.

“Plate,” he said quietly to Tony, whose head snapped up looking around frantically.

“Don’t let them see us,” he whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear him.

“Stark give me the damn plate before I eat all the skin off this bird in front of you and make you watch,” Steve said in a normal voice.

“Promise? I love watching,” came the reply and Steve was about half a wrong breath away from smacking Tony’s hands with the carving fork.

“I’ll make sure to put on a show,” he said sitting down, trying hard for unimpressed and annoyed. That should definitely be the title of his autobiography if he ever decided to write it. Actually, a couple more words: frozen, frustrated, confused - the usual.

Dinner was a success as far as Steve was concerned. The teasing was familiar, and they shared stories of the few happy things they could remember about Christmas. When the conversation turned darker, Vision starting blasting “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and then awkwardly singing along. They tried to keep Steve from helping with clearing the table, but he still managed to sneak past them and start loading the dishwasher.

There was a sharp poke between his shoulderblades just as he was bending to rearrange some plates. It didn’t hurt, but it was uncomfortable enough to make him turn and look up.

“Come on, you can do dishes tomorrow as well,” Tony said and started pulling at his shoulder and then tried to push him towards the door. “There are about eighteen mugs in my lab and at least six bowls you can wash if you feel like it. Tomorrow,” he added, and tried moving Steve again.

“Just go sort out the drinks, I’ll be done here in a minute,” he tried for reason.

“No more doing things around the house tonight, you’re too big to be a house elf. And they’re not as cute. Now move,” he kept prodding at his chest, pulling at his arms, and even yanked his hair a little.

“Harry Potter, right?” Steve checked.

“Yes, yes, now come along.” When there was no sign of success Tony sighed, cocked his head, tutted, sighed again, and lightly backhanded Steve’s shoulder in the quickest succession Steve had seen. “Wanda!”

“Told you,” came her voice, and Steve found himself being floated away from the almost loaded dishwasher.  He scowled and waited for it to be over.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn? Literally one more minute, Stark.”

“Yeah, yeah, and then you’d have wanted to scrub the oven, and polish the silverware, and knit some warm tiny socks for homeless kittens, and we’d have been here all night waiting for you. Now sit down,” he said just as Wanda lowered him on the sofa, between Bucky and Pepper.

Getting presents was always an uncomfortable experience for Steve. After his mother died, Bucky was the only one who got him anything, and even that was cut short when he left. So Steve was awkward and a bit uncertain what to do with his hands. He tried to be as normal as possible when he unwrapped them, and he was grateful at everyone’s enthusiasm for not noticing the slight shaking of his fingers. He was amazed at how much thought they’d all put into what they got him. Steve received a new sketchbook, all the Star Wars movies, new pencils and -

“T-shirts that fit. Yeah, that’s right, no more gallivanting around the tower looking like your arms are being strangled,” Sam said with a smirk.

“What is wrong with you?” and “Are you actually insane Wilson?” and “What’s next, getting him in a bin bag?” and “Pepper, now! Take them away now when he’s not looking!” and Steve was honestly baffled.

“What are you talking about?” he asked looking around the room.

Natasha patted his head gently. “You don’t worry about this now,” she told him slowly.

“Nat…”

“Oh, it’s about your clothes.” He shook his head. “You know, the two sizes too small, match the sky blue colour of your eyes… the usual.”

“What?”

“Some of us have an appreciation for nice things in life,” Pepper offered. “Like how your back looks in blue t-shirts that are two sizes too small. And Sam Wilson The Traitor,” she added casually, “wants to take that away from us.”

“Pepper, I don’t -” Steve tried, but got interrupted again.

“Pepper, just take the damn things away and we’re all going to be okay!” Tony shouted and Steve reacted by holding his new clothes tighter.

“I think I’ll keep them,” he told them with a smile. “I wouldn’t want Sam to be offended.”

“You ruined Christmas,” Darcy shouted and then turned to Bruce. “You know I don’t -”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” he said, and kissed her temple.

If Steve was more conceited, he could have sworn Bruce said “I know he’s hot”, but he refused to accept it. He urged them all to keep shredding wrapping paper and they mercifully agreed. He caught Tony’s eye for a second and was left confused about what the scowl on his teammate’s face meant. There was a distinct annoyance in the way Tony stared at the t-shirts. Steve moved on to unwrap a cologne from Natasha and a foldable easel that had his initials brutally carved on the side. He could recognise Bucky’s ugly handwriting everywhere.

“What did you use, a butter knife?” he asked.

“My teeth,” came the quick reply and Steve burst into laughter.

Clint’s new controller set was a great hit with him, and Bucky caught the one the marksman threw at him. They settled on the floor quickly and immersed themselves into their usual friendly competition that involved about twenty swear words per minute. Natasha kissed his cheek softly for her new necklace, and Darcy threw herself at him in “eternal gratitude” for her new taser.

“Tony can add to it, I’m sure,” he told her as she hugged him repeatedly.

“We can probably put a small arc reactor in it, maybe even make it sing,” Tony confirmed. “Come to my lab some time, we’ll talk,” he said and nodded at Steve. “Thanks for my mug, Darce,” he added, using both hands to hold on to the huge mug. It had bad drawings of the Avengers and it was absolutely glorious.

Pepper thanked him for the leather journal, and Bruce thanked him for his new fountain pen. Steve decided again he loved giving presents because it was never about him. He accepted the hot chocolate with a nod, and settled to watch his family rejoice in their gifts.

As a general rule, Steve could go with almost no sleep at all. Sure, he felt tired, but it wasn’t a tragedy. He tried to keep a balanced life, tried to sleep enough and eat right, and exercise - all of which Bucky called overkill, and used to mock him endlessly. Steve remembered what it was like to feel like no air would ever enter his lungs again, or how it felt to not be able to jog for ten feet. So Steve was grateful, and honestly? he actually liked salads and working out. Bucky mocked him for that too, saying that it was natural he liked it when he already had the body for it. Steve punched him then, and all was good in the world again.

Steve spent hours watching the ceiling after their casual party finally broke up around two in the morning. He got up and tried drawing, but his hands didn’t cooperate - it seemed a common thing these days. He tried reading the new book he got, but he couldn’t focus. He tried doing crosswords, but his mind was loud and eventually he gave up and waited. He could normally fall asleep as soon as he wanted, courtesy of years having to do it in various army settings, but it seemed not even that worked right. Steve was a downright mess.

He kept hearing Tony’s harsh words, then Tony’s protests towards the t-shirts that fit better, then what he thought was some sort of friendly flirting, and it took forever for him to actually manage to sleep. When the knock came on his door, Steve felt like it was too soon, and grunted his dismissal. Much later, when he finally got up and showered, his head hurt in a way it only did when there was a physical injury. He wondered if it was actually a memory of the headaches he used to get before the serum. It was close to noon when he emerged from his room, and his stupid fast metabolism reminded him that it needed food and it needed it soon.

It was one of those split second things when he saw the red and gold wrapping paper. He had actually shut his door when the thought sunk in, and walked back in to investigate. The second he realised what he was looking at he could have punched himself in the face. The present for Tony, the one he spent ages on was sitting on his desk patiently. Steve was an idiot.

He picked it up and hurried to the living room. As soon as he walked in, hair sticking out from running his hands through it, present perched on his hip, and eyes looking around wildly, Steve felt it. The same train from last time, with the same precise speed and the same merciless power. Steve felt like someone stabbed him in the kidneys. The force of his recurring epiphany was enough to make him stop abruptly and any words he might have thought of saying died in his constricted throat.

Tony was on the floor, wearing a Christmas hat and his Christmas sweater, surrounded by children who rallied around him. There was a little girl on one of his knees, and a little boy on the other. They both kept touching his beard and his face, as if to make sure he was real. Steve had a very distinct urge to do the same. Behind him, the tree was revolving slowly, and Steve checked around the room for Wanda. There was no one else there except for Tony and the children. Wouldn’t that be a great band name? Even a great superhero team name.

Outside, the snow had some fairy tale qualities to it, falling down peacefully with large snowflakes that were sure to stick to everything. Steve wasn’t fond of the snow or the ice, or even the cold really, but it bathed the room (and subsequently Tony) in some dreamy-fairy-crap light and Steve found that he could start liking it.

“Look kids, it’s Captain America! In his glorious tracksuit bottoms and mercifully tight t-shirt, and sans shield but with a present inste - Steve that won’t help in battle,” he said, tickling the two kids on his lap slightly.

Steve was in love. This was it.

Some of the kids looked up and their eyes widened dramatically before they ran up to him. They all stopped just shy of jumping up into his arms, and turned back to look at Tony. “Go on, he’s not gonna get mad at you! Are you kidding me, this is Captain America! You could shoot at him and he’d still hug you!”

Steve would have denied it, but he knew it was true. He put the gift down and squatted to be closer to their heights. “Hi, I’m Steve.” he offered simply.

The kids smiled and started shouting their names at him. He shook every single one of their little hands and accepted that Ben, who was almost five, wanted to hug him. He picked up the kid and walked back to sit down opposite to Tony.

“Did you know our tree’s called Ben?” Steve asked the little boy who shook his head from his hiding place in Steve’s neck.

“It is?” Tony asked.

“Oh, yes,” Steve said and patted Ben’s head slowly. “Darcy named it when she was riding around it on her mighty steed.”

“There was a horse in here?” Tony asked, his tone even more perplexed.

“Not a horse, Tony, a mighty steed!” he emphasised. “How about you bring the box of decorations over here,” he asked the kids, “and I can get you up on my shoulders so you put them in the tree?”

Ben leaned back and looked at Steve. “Is that okay?”

“Of course! Go on, we’ll be here.” As soon as the kids were half into the box, Steve turned to Tony. “Did you seriously think there would have been a horse in the tower?”

Tony shrugged. “There’s a Norse god, The Hulk, and two enhanced kids who can kick as - butt! I said butt, Steve!” Tony yelped at the kick in the shin.

“Tony said butt!” one of the kids yelled and Steve loved the blush spreading on the scientist’s cheeks more than anything in the world.

“Would it be hard to believe there was a horse? Our washing machines sing ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?’ when we put them on,” he whispered.

“When was the last time you touched the washing machines? Actually when was the first?” Steve whispered-shouted back.

“When I made them sing!” Tony said and burst into laughter.

Steve was gone. This was it, he was gone. Good bye forever. Tony’s eyes crinkled and it physically hurt Steve because he just wanted to hold the man. He wanted to hold the man and sit on the floor and look at the stupid revolving tree -

“Tony why is the tree moving?”

“Ah, well. You see. There was a sort of. You know, I don’t actually know why. Maybe it’s some Christmas miracle -”

“Tony.”

“I just fiddled with this scrap metal I had in the lab, put an engine on it, it’s no big deal,” he finally replied, looking around the room to avoid Steve’s face.

“When did you even have time to do it?”

“Well, last night when I didn’t sleep?”

Steve didn’t know how it happened, but he just found himself blurting, “I forgot to give you your present!”

Tony nodded, then shrugged. “It’s okay, I just figured you didn’t get me anything.”

Steve spluttered. “How? I got everyone something.”

“Sometimes you don’t like me much, and I don’t blame you, it’s not a big deal.”

Steve honestly, honest to god, as honest as he could possible be, felt like crying. He also felt like kissing Tony, and punching him a little, and hugging him, and kissing the stupid lines in the corners of his eyes, and run his hands through his hair, and Steve needed to get a fucking grasp on reality sooner rather than later.

“That’s bullshit,” he whispered, wary of the kids hearing him.

Tony gasped and clutched at his chest. “Captain! America! How could you? Kids, Steve says we should all sing some carols while he picks you up and you can ride him like a horse - AH I see!”

“Told you. And I’m a steed.”

Marie had a lisp so when she said “steed” repeatedly while perched on Steve’s shoulders, he struggled not to laugh and shake her even harder. Tony started singing ‘Santa Baby’ before it dawned on him that it was not exactly appropriate or a carol, and moved on to ‘Deck the Halls.’

All the Avengers came in to say hi, shepherded by Pepper who brought them cookies and hot chocolate. Jane was a hit with a couple of little girls who wanted to be scientists, and Natasha showed some of them how to get out of a hold before she was rushed away. “I’ll be good,” she shouted, “just let me tell them what not to do when they’re attacked from the side.”

Vision let all the kids touch him, and giggled when tiny fingers poked at the Mind Stone. “I don’t think it likes the tickling,” he said trying to stifle his laughter. The kids were fascinated by Bucky’s arm, even though he wore a long sleeved top to try and hide it. They lifted the sleeve and started counting the segments, asking what it could do and if they could draw on it. When Bucky informed them crayons wouldn’t show, he offered the alternative of paper and his company. They readily agreed.

Steve found Tony sitting on the kitchen counter by the fridge. He was waiting for the coffee to be ready, idly rearranging magnets. “You okay?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. I’ll be back to belting out Rudolph’s name in a minute.”

“Please don’t,” Steve said with a smile. “I don’t think the serum was meant to protect me from such things.”

Tony smiled back and it warmed Steve’s heart. “Is that for me?”

Steve nodded and handed him the box. “I don’t know how I missed it, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, how dare you not reciprocate my thoughtful gift of an improvement on the shield that isn’t ready because I didn’t get round to manage to steal it from you and now it’s too late cause you already know so can you bring it downstairs soon?”

Steve huffed, trying not to get closer to him. He was leaning on the kitchen island, safe from giving in to his now constant wish of touching the man in any way he could. “I thought you gave me the Star Wars boxset?”

“And the Avengers figurine collection,” Tony added patiently.

“The shield’s fine as it is, don’t worry about it. We had a spending limit anyway!”

“Steve, I’m Tony Stark, I’ve never had a spending limit,” he said and sipped his freshly poured coffee. “Now hand it over and let me see.”

Steve fiddled with it. “It’s really not that great,” he told him. He really wished he’d remembered to give Tony the present the day before so he could have opened it then and it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal.

“Shhh, hand it over, there you go, that’s a good Captain, okay now let go, okay? Okay, great, now step back a little? Perfect, thank you.”

Steve was more nervous than before battle. Battles were routine, he trained for battles. They ran scenarios, sparred, tried to plan for unpredicted, and Steve was a soldier so battles gave him a rush of sorts. But this was new and horrible and Steve really wanted his shield.

“I’m gonna go back to -”

It wasn’t like Tony said anything, but he was halfway through unwrapping the box - and this time he didn’t just tear at it like a savage. Steve wanted to go, maybe even to get the shield and bring it back, and he was sure there was something to do with the kids, but Tony took the lid off and gasped and Steve was rooted to the marble tiles he was standing on.

It took weeks to be able to put together the photo album that Tony was currently caressing, apparently afraid of opening. Steve had talked to Peggy and Peggy had directed him to some other old SHIELD members, who then pointed out archives for him. Then he had to physically spend time sifting through papers and reports, then to make more phone calls and pull rank in order to get copies of the photos. A couple he actually stole because there was a limit to his patience, and rude people were not a helping factor.

The pages were filled with black and white photos of young Maria and Howard, of baby Tony, of Jarvis holding Tony, of Peggy cuddling him on the floor, of a toddler Tony sleeping with a toy Captain America shield. There were photos of Howard trying to calm Tony down as he was holding a meeting with what looked like officials. It spread out over years, and Steve had to persuade Vision to put in a good word with Friday to get some photos of teen Tony, and he was now torn between regretting everything and moving to the depths of the Arctic Ocean, and kissing the man’s watery eyes.

“How?”

“Called in some favours, talked to Peggy, the usual. Is it okay? I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped the line or -”

Tony hopped off the counter and took the few steps to where Steve was standing. “No no don’t. I mean I could have lived three content lifetimes without you ever seeing that photo of me and the toy shield. Or the one where I’m drooling on Peggy’s shirt - that’s not even really cute and I’m pretty sure I don’t do that anymore, I don’t actually know, there was no one to comment on it so I don’t -”

“Tony.”

“It’s perfect,” he said quietly, “thank you so much.” He placed it next to Steve and slowly lifted his arms to envelop Steve in a hug. On his part, Steve was still, letting Tony do his thing at his own pace. Once he was sure the man settled, he hugged him back; they stayed like that for a few moments.

“Tony, why are there children in our living room?”

The man burst into laughter, shaking both of them as he pulled back. He went to wipe the dampness under his eyes that were not fully formed tears, but Steve knew. “You played with all of them for hours before asking, really?”

“I don’t mind!” Steve said defensively. “I love spending time with them, I was just curious.”

“I just forget how accepting you are of things,” Tony offered as a very subtle apology in case he offended Steve. “Pepper looks after them through the foundation. They’ve either been abandoned or orphaned. A couple of them… their parents were killed in action. She called this morning and asked if she could bring them over. Their caretakers were delighted with the idea and I said yes because Christmas is hard.”

Steve wanted to hug Tony again, but there was a time and a place and probably a limit on how many times they could do that. If Steve had his way he would hug Tony at the smallest of prompts. Oh, Tony woke up? Better hug him. Oh, Tony walked? Better hug him. Now there was a precedent - Steve thought fleetingly there were quite a few of those happening recently - and Steve knew how it felt. Things were not going to get any easier.

“I know you’re not a fan. I really wanted us to have a kind-of-family thing just to make some nice memories, you know?” Tony nodded. “Thanks for making the tree spin, Clint is ecstatic.”

“Thanks for making the tree happen,” Tony countered and they left it at that.

The silence was oddly not uncomfortable. Steve ended up getting coffee for himself and Tony would occasionally open the album at a random page and smile. It was a good feeling to have done something nice for someone he cared about.

“Come on,” Tony said, packing the album back in its box and heading towards the door. “The kids will leave soon and I wanna say goodbye. Pepper’s got gifts for them, as well.”

Steve nodded. “Go ahead, I’ll tidy up a bit and -”

“Seriously? You’re going to load up the dishwasher now? This is deja vu. Why are you doing this to me again?”

“Just go!”

“Fine. But Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you could have ordered all the decorations and everything on Amazon, right? I mean we do have Prime and just saying, you could have if you wanted.”

Steve was mindful of the kids hearing, but he still couldn’t help himself. “Fuck off, Tony.”

A/N: Natasha’s talk about Christmas is based on her age according to the MCU wikia and historical developments in the Soviet Union. “Khodelets” is a traditional dish in Eastern Europe, although whether this is the word actual Russains use or not, I really can’t be sure. My apologies if I got something wrong. 

The 7th of January is the actual date of Christmas according to the Julian calendar. Many Orthodox people celebrate it then. Sokovian customs are influenced by the Eastern European customs I grew up with since it’s not an actual country. 

Part 1 / 2

Masterlist

This can also be found on Ao3. 

Send me opinions and thoughts and random things, ily all x 

[llexeh]

Requests and Prompts

There was a time in my life when I used to do pornshots requests for a while and I had such a good time with them. I haven’t done it a long time, though, and since I’m literally too depressed and tired and so not in the mood to write, I’d like to rekindle that old relationship. Because tbh I love writing the most, even though sometimes I go full ooc and I hate it afterwards, and even though I spend 0.8% of the time I could be writing actually writing. I do love it and this is what this is about.

I’m asking y'all (like, five of you) to send me prompts and requests and get me writing. Handy list of shit I can do:

cook

deepthroat

okay sorry, actual useful list of things I’m able and willing to write:

Steve / Tony

Thor / Loki

Stiles / Derek

Hermione x [pretty much anyone] with a definite penchant for Slytherins (yes, including Snape, no I don’t need to hear it)

Draco / Harry

most MCU ships, tbh, but I reserve the right to say no to some because I’m super emotional and if something strikes me as ouchie, I won’t deal well

Eggsy / Harry

Napoleon / Illya

myriad of other ships in other fandoms, just ask and the odds are I’ll write it

This is not limited to smut, it can be just fluff, or pre-romance, mostly crack, crossovers, you get it. Best way to go about it is ask, I’ll get back to you on it.

Find lists of prompts here and here, as well as whatever other prompts / requests you’ve got, drop me a line and I’ll work on writing something for y'all.

[llexeh]

if you’ve sent me a prompt pls know i haven’t forgotten about you or the prompt, and i will get around to writing all of them - been struggling with shit as usual, so fic might be a bit slow, but it’s def coming thank you and much love 

[joeybelle]

10 words/phrases tag

Write 10 words/phrases that describe the theme/aesthetic of your current wip.

Tagged by the lovely @paperandredink

1. Orange blossom

2. Hot

3. Summer

4. Yellow and gold

5. Kisses

6. Sunkissed skin

7. Tangerines

8. Sandalwood

9. Hands

10. Back alleys

Guess what it's gonna be.

You guessed it, it's smut.

Tagging: @llexeh @adayforducks @aurikhai @mizzyplatinum @salty-saph @jesssssah @deafield @bonemarroww and everyone who sees this. Yes, you too. Hate me another time.

[joeybelle]

T, R, X!

Thank you so much for the ask

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Hmmm... I’m not sure exactly what’s considered a trope and what isn’t but I’m fine with most things I guess. The cheesier the better lol. Is mpreg considered a trope? I don’t know but if it is, yeah, not a fan of mpreg. 

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

I like Stephen King’s style of writing because for me it’s easy to read and very immersive. I wish I could achieve that one day. Also, @llexeh is the reason I’m writing and it’s readable. She’s the most supportive beta and friend anyone could wish for. And @superceia‘s smut helps me write my own scenes.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

My OC’s/Readers. They are my favourite puppets. Also Cassian. Idk why but he just attracts angst. 

[joeybelle]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, Thor (Marvel) Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, yes still only a bit to go now please bear with me, Everyone is at least a bit ooc, I screwed Steve over big time in this one but he's fixable promise, Steve's got the following, Anxiety, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Insomnia, it probably sounds worse than it is, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Pre-slash fluff galore, Tony bakes cupcakes because he's a wonderful human being, they also give Bennu the goat a new pair of hind legs and i cried writing it ngl, Thor speaks goat, which means I have to tag, Crack Treated Seriously, Steve's PSA videos from Homecoming make an appearance, Profane language, hugs hugs hugs (maybe like a hug and a half?), easy goat related puns incoming cause i have no shame, the Author Needs a Hug, The author is asking for patience and support Series: Part 5 of Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind Summary:

If rock bottom was a place, Steve was its main resident. Add a horrible nightmare and even more horrible panic attack, and he was just about ready to go hide in a hole for the rest of his miserable life. And he really really didn't need Tony to see him like that. Oh, and his birthday was coming up, of course it fucking was.

[joeybelle]

List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on: writing, art, gifsets, whatever.

Tagged by @warqueenfuriosa​ <3

I can generally work on only one piece at a time because I am procrastinator and I very easily lose focus, so this will mostly be made up of the things that I have planned. I have a thousand new ideas per minute, but not many of them crystallize in anything coherent.

Starlight [Cassian Andor x OFC]   Status: Work in progress Setting: Pre-Rogue One Type: Multichaptered, 17 chapters posted, around 10 more to go. Synopsis: Cora's usually uneventful life as a medic on an Imperial Star Destroyer takes a new turn when a wounded rebel barges into the med bay. Could that be her ticket to freedom or will he be the death of her?

Hello [Bucky Barnes x OFC] - Soulmate AU Status: On-Hold, in need of a major makeover Setting: Winter Soldier, Pre - AOU Type: Multichaptered, 9 chapters written (60k), a billion more to go... Synopsis: In a world where the first words your soulmate says to you are etched on your wrist, having a "hello" as a soulmark doesn't give you much hope. Well, Juniper, a young unemployed programmer living in Washington DC, didn't have much hope in general, until she accidentally stumbles upon the Winter Soldier and ends up working for SHIELD.

[Mystery Fic] - Will be announced at the right time Status: Planned, not divided into chapters yet. Setting: Star Wars universe Type: Multichaptered, maybe 10 to 15 chapters long. Synopsis: COMING SOON.

[Poe Dameron x Fem!Reader] Status: I have a general idea of what should be in it. Setting: Pre-TFA Type: Multichaptered, but hopefully not more that 5, with the possibility of turning into a series because I can't write short things. Synopsis: Reader has had a crush on Poe Dameron ever since she became a pilot for the Resistance, many months ago, but he never noticed her. Rumour has it that he doesn't want a relationship anyway, so all of his dates generally end in one night stands and nothing more. So when he finally notices her and asks her on a date, she knows what to expect. But what if things don't really go as planned? Stupidity and smut ensues.

[Cassian Andor x Leia Organa] - Darkfic Status: General idea planned, I know how it starts, I know how it ends, no idea if I will ever start writing it. Setting: Star Wars Alternate Universe, Drug Empire Type: Multichaptered Notes: The idea for this one came to me when my depression was at a new high this year, so I may never write it. It will be a fic that will have a bad beginning and a very unhappy ending and a generally hopeless feel, and will deal with all sorts of trauma, and not really in a healthy way. It will be one way for me to channel the destructive thoughts that I have when I am depressed. However, it may be a little too plot-heavy for someone not very smart, like me.

Tagging: @llexeh, @kd-heart (where are the fics?), @agentpeggyfreakingcarter (cosplays???), @cassianxreader, @bagheerathefirst, @brynwrites

[joeybelle]

Tagged by @warqueenfuriosa <3<3<3 These are the rules:
 Rule 1: Always post the rules.
 Rule 2: Answer the questions that the person who tagged you asked you and write 11 new ones.
 Rule 3: Tag 11 people and link them to the post.
 Rule 4: Actually tell them you tagged them   1. What skill would you like to master? I wish I could speak more languages. At least 6 or 7. Always envious af of people who can speak more than one foreign language. Or dancing. Dancing would also be nice.

2. What was your favorite movie when you were a kid? I don’t really remember. Maybe I didn’t have one, because we only had cable when I was older, so not that many children movies for me, so I guess...Titanic?

3. Are you ticklish? Very.

4. Are you organized or messy? Horribly messy. There is no order in my life...

5. Have you ever pranked someone? I guess. April fools was a serious business when I was a kid. I just can’t remember any specific pranks, so I guess they were all kinda lame...

6. If you could be any superhero ever, who would you be? Probably Scarlet Witch. Her powers are awesome both in MCU and comics. Or Iron Man. For the Money, Smarts, and Flying suits, in that order.

7. If it was not possible to fail, name one thing you would do right away? Write a book and publish it.

8. What book/tv show/movie have you seen lately that you would recommend? Ugh, I have nothing. I am very lazy. Watched nothing since GOTG2. So I guess, GOTG2.

9. What is the bravest thing you’ve ever done? I don’t think I’ve ever been put in the situation of having to be brave, so I really don’t know.

10. Have you ever cried over a movie/book/tv show? All the time. Ugly sobbing and shit.

11. What is one of your goals for this year? Survive. And that’s about it.

I really don’t know 11 people on tumblr, so I tag: @llexeh, @agentpeggyfreakingcarter, @kd-heart, @female-x, @cassianxreader and @warqueenfuriosa if she ever feels like doing this again.

The questions for you:

1. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live? 2. What do you consider to be one of your guilty pleasures? 3. Who do you consider to be your weirdest celebrity crush and why? 4. If you could trade lives with anyone, who would it be and why? 5. What is your Hogwarts house? 6. What song are you currently listening on repeat? 7. How would you describe yourself (in less than 3000 words)? 8. What was your dream job when you were a kid? 9. What is the type of fictional character do you always fall in love with? 10.What type of character would you be if one day you woke up in a fictional world? 11.If you could change your name, what would you change it to?

[llexeh]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, Thor (Marvel) Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, yes still only a bit to go now please bear with me, Everyone is at least a bit ooc, I screwed Steve over big time in this one but he's fixable promise, Steve's got the following, Anxiety, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Insomnia, it probably sounds worse than it is, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Pre-slash fluff galore, Tony bakes cupcakes because he's a wonderful human being, they also give Bennu the goat a new pair of hind legs and i cried writing it ngl, Thor speaks goat, which means I have to tag, Crack Treated Seriously, Steve's PSA videos from Homecoming make an appearance, Profane language, hugs hugs hugs (maybe like a hug and a half?), easy goat related puns incoming cause i have no shame, the Author Needs a Hug, The author is asking for patience and support Series: Part 5 of Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind Summary:

If rock bottom was a place, Steve was its main resident. Add a horrible nightmare and even more horrible panic attack, and he was just about ready to go hide in a hole for the rest of his miserable life. And he really really didn't need Tony to see him like that. Oh, and his birthday was coming up, of course it fucking was.

The fifth time Steve was left speechless by how attractive Tony was, he was furiously wiping tears off his face. It hit his chest like an explosion, and it hurt just as much. It wasn’t even a matter of attractiveness anymore, not really. He opened his mouth and stayed like that, unable to form words and push them out.