#old man steve has no power here

[hansensgirl]

☠️ — 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

summary. | Steve Rogers and his wife have a precarious arrangement in which she can have as many affairs as she likes, as long as she doesn’t ask for a divorce. But a man like him only has so much patience. And there you are, his child’s babysitter, too sweet to resist.

pairings. | Dark!Steve Rogers x baby-sitter!fem!reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter (brief), Peggy Carter x numerous OMCs (implied/mentioned).

warnings. | NON/DUB-CON (leaning more towards dubious consent), smut, age gap, Halloween celebrations, deceit, manipulation, Steve is mean to his wife, obsession, possessiveness, implied murder (not the reader), mentions of masturbation (m), fingering (f), kissing, nipple play, Sir kink, mild Daddy kink, creampie, dirty talk, power dynamics/imbalance, praise, mild degradation, pet names (sweetheart, sweetie, honey, baby, love), missionary, rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism, mentions of riding, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~4.8k

author’s note. | hello! happy belated halloween! i know i’m a bit late—i’m sorry. here’s the dark!steve fic i was talking about. it’s a Deep Water!AU. please enjoy and heed the warnings! thank you @cuttlefjsh for beta-ing and putting up with me! let me know what you think. thank you for reading! taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY

The leaves fall apart underneath the pace of his feet. The hill slopes downwards, and the branches snap and hit the ground. Steve keeps pushing—keeps running even though he’s long devolved from a jog. The burn in his lungs is beautiful. He’s breathless.

For once, he doesn’t have to think about little Sarah and her mother. He doesn’t have to worry like a housewife, even though he was once the man of the house.

Millions in revenue. Two vacation homes. Endless income. But it’s never enough for her.

When Steve reaches the creek, he stops. The Apple watch on his wrist clocks in an unhealthy amount of steps. Unhealthy for everyone else, at least. He’s always been above average, and now he’s just like the rest.

Another greying head in the sea of a crowd. Another typical client his shrink has with the same old problems—a cheating wife, a midlife crisis.

His phone buzzes, and Steve half-expects a reminder he doesn’t need. But it’s better—so much better than he could ever predict.

It’s you—your name with a heart. His spouse doesn’t even have that—she’s just got her entire government name with “wife” in parentheses.

Hi, Mr. Rogers. Hope you enjoyed your weekend! I wanted to confirm that I’m coming tonight. I texted Mrs. Rogers yesterday, but I haven’t received a reply yet. Sorry to be pushy. I just need to know in time. Thanks, and Happy Halloween! 🎃

He sighs. He’s never understood why you always go to Peggy first, even though you’ve seen her incompetency more than you do your own family. He’ll have a talk with you tonight—while Peggy is out on a date with her latest suitor.

Hey, honey. I hope your weekend is as wonderful as you are. Yes, we’re still on for tonight. Don’t worry about my wife. From now on, just come to me, okay? Be here by 7:00, please. Thanks. Happy Halloween! 👻

Steve replies a few minutes later, but you read his message immediately. The timestamp makes him smile. Soon, the ‘typing’ icon pops up and following it is your message.

Great, thank you so much! See you then :)

You even leave a ‘heart’ on his text message; he does the same to yours. A sigh escapes the older man’s chest. His heart has returned to its regular rate, and the sweat on his back has cooled.

The scene before him is gorgeous—but doesn’t even hold a candle to your beauty. The thought of you is more addictive than any illicit substance. It calms him down when he needs to and riles him up at the worst times.

Steve says it’s not fair. Peggy shouldn't have all the fun with her boyfriends—even when her husband gets rid of them quicker than need be. It’s exhausting to deviate from law enforcement for a woman who doesn’t care about her own family.

She gets to devise grand schemes and say mean words to him. She doesn’t bother with her own daughter. She doesn’t lift a finger or pay for a thing with money she earned. Steve has to live in the shadows—and he’s tired of it.

The almost 50-year-old man follows his usual trail back home. Sirens pass behind him, heading toward some emergency that he undoubtedly has nothing to do with. Not this time, at least.

He feels like a dog in the manger. Everyone can have Peggy (to a certain extent), but he can’t have anyone himself.

Fake cobwebs and pumpkins sit outside houses on each side of the road. It’s the spookiest night of the year, yet you have no plans. No parties to attend with some stupid little boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you the way he would.

When Steve unlocks the front door, he finds his wife’s heels strewn on the floor and his daughter watching cartoons in the living room. He kisses Sarah’s head and ensures she’s eaten the entirety of her breakfast. He tried his best with ghost-shaped pancakes, though they turned out more like blobs than anything. She doesn’t mind at all.

Sarah’s a brainiac, her new hobby being those kits that teach you how to hook wires into potatoes and other vegetables. Steve applauds her creations every time she shows them off, noting the little technological genius in her that he must’ve contributed to.

That is, if he’s her biological father.

The television screen plays her choice of cartoons, with a Halloween theme for the special day. He smiles when she laughs before heading upstairs.

Peggy has the largest room with the nicest furniture. She spends little time there unless she’s getting ready to go out or recovering from a hangover.

Steve knocks on her door. Despite there being no answer, he unlocks it and lets himself in. His wife is wide awake, eye makeup smudged a bit, but she’s wearing her signature jeans with a tank top.

She turns around and smiles at the sight of him. “What do you think?” she asks, gesturing to the costume she has laid out.

It’s a vampire—that’s as much as he gathers. The little voice in his head tells him how fitting it is—Peggy has sucked the life out of him for the last seven years.

“Perfect,” Steve tells her, giving her his most forced smile, and they both know she sees right through it.

“Good. And what are you going as?” she questions, turning her back to him. He genuinely contemplates this for a second.

For the last few years, he’s always worn a cheap cape and said he’s a superhero. But he’s tired of the same thing all the time.

“I’m not sure. I’ll come up with something, though. What time are you leaving?” Steve asks. “Oh, probably around six. Don’t wait up for me. You’ll take Sarah trick-or-treating, right?” Peggy smiles, unwilling to take ‘no” for an answer.

Steve says nothing and simply leaves. He takes his phone out of his pocket—sleek screen and a photo of you and Sarah as one of his wallpapers—and pulls up his conversation with you.

Hey, hon. Do you mind coming a bit earlier? 6:30 will do.

He doesn’t even have to wait for your reply.

Sure! Do you want me to stay the night, too? I don’t mind.

Always diligent. Always a sweetheart.

Please do. The door will be unlocked.

You give his message a thumbs-up, and he sighs.

Tonight will be the night. Tonight, he’ll finally get what he wants, and no one can stop him. Not even you.

You give the door a knock three times, even though you’re more than welcome to simply enter. It feels wrong, though. Too familiar, too casual.

Halloween is one of your favourite holidays. It’s a day full of excitement and creativity, and the month leading up to it is terrific. The turning leaves and the cold weather that lets you wear your coziest sweaters. The candy is the cherry on top of the entire delicacy.

You’ve never been on for extravagant costumes due to your procrastination. Tonight, you’re an angel. You don an all-white get-up; a lace dress, sheer tights, and matching shoes. You have a borrowed halo on your head and floppy wings on your back. It’s the best you can do for now.

Steve opens the door a few moments later, and he’s wearing a black suit. His hair is gelled, and he has a toothy grin—a change from his usual scowl. You smile at the sight of him.

“Happy Halloween!” you cheer, and he laughs. “Happy Halloween, sweetheart. What are you supposed to be? The devil?” he jokes. “Hardy-har-har. I’m an angel. But what are you? A CEO?” you ask, raking your eyes up and down his body.

The older man basks in your attention, his ears burning red.

“Actually, I’m a groom. Something different from the superhero thing, you know? It was the only thing I could come up with,” he sheepishly admits, and you wave his shyness away. “I love that! I never see anyone do something simple yet unique. But no decorations?”

You glance back at his front lawn and see nothing but withered flowers and yellow leaves from the neighbour’s over-arching tree. His porch simply has a bowl of candy with a threatening “TAKE ONE (1)” sign, assumingly written by Sarah.

“Nope. But there’s always next year!” he reassures. You giggle and nod your head. Your cheeks burn from smiling so much. Do you find him amusing? Or is it forced? Steve has numerous questions running through his mind, some exciting the butterflies in the attic that is his stomach, and some boiling his blood.

“C’mon in. No jacket? You must be freezing. You’re better than that, honey,” he chides like the father he is. He locks the door behind you—chain and all. “I didn’t think it’d be this cold,” you admit, removing your shoes. Steve takes them from you and places them on the rack where Peggy’s usual ankle boots would be.

You note the absence of her items and the lack of noise from the television. You don’t pay them much mind.

“Ah, rookie mistake. If you want, you can borrow a jacket from me,” he offers, picking up a stray black feather from the floor. You set your small backpack on the bottom step and follow his lead.

“So… What’s Sarah’s costume? She kept talking about being a minion, and then a cow, so I’m not too sure,” you laugh, and Steve does the same. “Peggy wanted her to be one of those Mario characters, but you know Sarah. Tonight, she’s Albert Einstein. Including the wig, of course.”

When you enter the clean living room, you expect to see her adorable face dressed as the notorious physicist. But she’s not there—and neither are the family photos.

“Um, sir, where is she?” you question, and he gestures to one of the sofas. You take a seat and wait for his return. He comes back with two drinks and hands you one of them. “Sarah is at her grandma’s. Peggy is at one of those parties she always goes to,” Steve coolly explains.

“Oh, are we going there? Or do you want me to stay back and give candy out?” You take a sip of your drink—a cherry limeade you once raved about to him. The sparkling water fizzles on your tongue. “No, she’ll be going trick-or-treating with her cousins.”

There’s a beat. A moment. And it lasts for a while.

“Uh, so what am I doing here?” you query. “Sweetheart. I’m a bit disappointed. You probably think that’s all I want you here for, don’t you? C’mon, you’re more than a babysitter to me.”

Steve places emphasis on his last word. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers, but I really don’t understand what you’re implying,” you profess, downing more of your drink out of sheer nervousness. Are you being fired? Are they moving? Did you do something wrong?

“Oh, honey, c’mere,” he says, even though he comes to you. He moves from his position across from you—standing tall in his full, towering height. Steve sits down next to you and places his large, warm hand on your cold left thigh. “Don’t be scared. M’not gonna hurt you. You’re not in trouble,” he says in a low tone.

When he’s this close to you, you can see the details of his face entirely. Whenever you’ve tried to admire him from afar, it’s like he knows when you’re looking.

“You’re so sweet… So pretty. I bet you’re nice and soft, too, hm? And you’ll be a good girl for me?” he asks, and you furrow your brows. You open your mouth to say something to him, but you’re quickly shut up with a searing kiss.

Steve presses his lips against yours, and it’s better than anything he could have ever imagined. The fantasies he’s had during those late nights or showers with his fist wrapped around his cock don’t even compare.

He takes charge, pushing his tongue inside your mouth and exploring within. His strong hands scoop you into his lap, one of them holding the back of your head. You lean back as Steve’s forwardness dominates you. You’re not sure what to do, so you place your palms on his shoulders and use a bit of force to try to push him away.

The married man doesn’t budge. It’s getting hard to breathe, and you feel like he’s sucked the air out of your lungs. You sink your teeth down lightly on what you think is his tongue, and he hisses as he pulls away.

“Sir– We can’t do this. It isn’t right. I– I mean, you’re my boss, and you have a wife—and poor Sarah, she doesn’t deserve this–”

“Fuck Peggy. Do you really think she cares? I don’t love her, never have. I only love you, darling. Now, what you just di–”

“Love me? Mr. Rogers, I think you’re mistaken. Maybe it’s just because we’re alone, or you and Peggy have been distant, but you don’t love me, Sir. I won’t mention this to anyone, I swear. And I’ll find another job if you’d like,” you breathlessly explain, shaking your head.

Steve shushes you with a snarl. “You’re not leaving me.” His voice is stern, and his tone says it all—there’s no arguing. “Please,” you try to get off the older man’s lap, but he holds onto you tightly. “We’re perfect for each other, honey. Don’t you see? Sarah loves you, and you love her. And look! I’m your groom, and you’re my angelic wife,” he exclaims, pulling the halo and ripping the wings off.

You gasp at his strength and audacity. You’d try to fight him, but you know you’d end up more hurt than anything. “Please don’t make this difficult,” he demands, adding your name. The mention makes you flinch, as he rarely says it.

“Look at those eyes… All blown out. I bet you’re soaking, aren't you?” Steve asks, but you don’t reply. His blue irises seem much darker in the dim lighting. His pupils are wide, and it’s like looking at a man who’s been possessed. “You’re probably making a mess of your panties, and we’ve barely even started. Does that always happen when you’re around me? Gosh, I bet you smell so sweet.”

His words make you whimper, and he smiles. “Oh, and look at those perfect tits,” he hums, groping them. Your nipples are stiff as peaks, and the rough touch from Steve has you shuddering. “Pl– Please,” you beg as he pulls at the nubs. The pain teeters on pleasure, and you squeeze your thighs to put an end to the thrumming at your core.

“‘Please,’ what, sweetie? Hm?”

“Please, Sir,” you whisper.

The title makes him groan. “Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting you,” Steve expresses. You don’t want to know. “Ever since we met… D’you remember that floral dress you wore? That you kept pulling up? God, I wanted to take you right there…”

You remember that day all too well. Seeing Mr. Rogers in all his glory was riveting, and the slight crush you developed lives on. Now—you’re not sure. Your brain is a mess, and you can’t think straight.

Your boss lifts you up bridal style, and he doesn’t let this go unnoticed. “See? We were meant for each other, honey. And we don’t even need a wedding.”

He sets you down on the bed in the room on the main floor. You’ve stayed here from time to time when Peggy likes to come out at two in the morning, and Steve is beyond worried for her.

Was it all a farce? You remember those times and how he never called her or insisted on picking her up.

Steve’s hands pull at your cheap dress, and he rips it down the middle. You regret your choice of not wearing a bra, but either way, it would’ve done nothing.

He cups your breasts, and you moan at the touch. He latches his mouth onto one nipple as he plays with the other. His mouth is skilled—his tongue flicking and teeth slightly grazing the sensitive skin.

Mr. Rogers’ fingers are just as talented. They pinch, pull, and twist at your other peak simultaneously. He switches eventually, and you’re a puddle beneath the imposing man.

Your back is arched slightly, and you’re practically pushing your chest into his face, and he chuckles. “So desperate. You need me so badly, don’t you?” he says, nodding his head and smiling when you mimic him for a split second. “Atta girl—so good for me.”

Steve pulls back, and you whine. He soothes you and pulls his jacket off. You can see the ripples of muscle beneath the white collared shirt. He unbuckles his belt with swiftness. You gnaw on your bottom lip despite its swollenness.

Soon, he’s back on you. Your boss hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, and he pulls them down your legs, admiring the strings of slick that break from the distance. He pushes the cloth into his pocket, and you clench when you think of the things he’ll do with it later on.

In your mind is a tiny voice that chides your every wrongdoing—how you haven’t fought back as much as you should. But there’s a louder one that was once lovesick over the married man before you, and it’s far more convincing.

Steve spreads your legs and curses at the sight of your sopping cunt. You involuntarily clench from the exposure. “You’ve got such a pretty pussy, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over you. One arm keeps him up, and the other bends your knees, giving him better access.

His fingers slide against your folds, collecting wetness as he caresses your lips. You let out a pleasured sigh, secretly wishing he would stop tormenting you and just get it over with. “So sensitive, too. I bet you’ll make such a mess on my cock.”

You never knew Steve could have such a filthy mouth—and God, do his words have your head spinning.

He quickly finds your swollen, throbbing clit and lightly touches it. The sensations on your little pearl are mild, but they’re enough to have you writhing beneath Steve. He draws light circles with the tips of his fingers. Your mouths brush against each other, and he teases you until you’re whispering pleas against his lips.

“Shh… It’s okay, love,” he reassures. Once he knows he has you worked up enough, Steve pushes the first digit into your pussy. The intrusion has you gasping, which turns into a whimper when he shoves another in. “Lookatcha, honey. You’re takin’ my fingers like a champ. This cunt is so tight, though. I’m really gonna have to stretch ya to fit my cock in there.”

The idea of his large cock barely fitting inside you makes your muscles involuntarily constrict against Steve’s fingers.

It takes a moment for you to adjust to the intrusion, though your walls welcome him like a familiar friend. His fingers are longer and thicker than yours, and with ease, he reaches that sweet spot most boys your age miss.

Eventually, Steve begins to fuck you on his hand. His digits slide in and out of you with ease as he picks up the pace. The skin glistens from your slick, and it’s a sight to behold. He creates a scissor motion with his two fingers every now and then, stretching you out while having you at his mercy.

It doesn’t take long for your moans to get louder while your face forms a frown of pleasure. The squelching sound of your cunt and that build-up just above your core are tell-tale signs that you’re about to come. “Oh, sir…!” you wail, and Steve picks up the pace.

“I can feel that cunt clenching on me, honey. God, you’re so beautiful this way. C’mon, make a mess on my hand. Come for me,” he rasps, rubbing his cheek against yours.

Your eyes squeeze shut when you come undone on Mr. Rogers’ hand. Your aching hole squeezes his fingers, and he makes you ride your orgasm out. Your back arches, and you let out a loud moan as pleasure shocks every nerve in your body. The lewd sounds of your cunt are noisy.

You find yourself immediately wanting more, even though you shouldn’t.

“Good girl—such a good girl for me,” Steve coos before slowly sliding his fingers out your channel. Your inner walls already miss the presence of his digits. You struggle to catch your breath, but in the midst of it all, you hear your boss pull the zipper to his pants down.

“I can’t wait to get inside of you, sweetie. I need you so badly it hurts,” he says while pressing kisses against the side of your neck. Steve climbs on top of you as he frees his aching cock from the confines of his boxers.

He grips himself by the base, his entire hand wrapped around his hardness. He gives himself a few strokes as pre-cum leaks from his slit, sliding down his bulbous head. His size is marvellous, a raging purplish-red with a thick base. Steve slaps the tip of his cock against your clit, and you flinch from the unexpected jolt of pleasure. “Fuck…” he curses.

“Are you looking, sweetie? This is such a special moment for us—I hope you remember it well,” he hums in your ear, and out of your natural obedient instinct, you lift your head to where you two are about to be connected. The sight of Steve’s cock makes you whimper. “Shit, what a good little slut.”

He drags the head of his dick through your dripping folds, and then he pushes in. The sudden stretch causes your skull to fall back against the bed. You try to close your legs, but Steve’s presence makes that impossible. He refuses to let you hide what’s his.

The older man completely sheathes himself inside your pussy. The squelching sound has you cringing in shame, but that quickly disappears when the feeling of fullness takes over. Steve’s balls touch your ass when he bottoms out, and your breathing is rapid from the sensuality of it all.

A hand wraps around your throat—though gentle, it scares you at first. Your eyes meet with Mr. Rogers’, and he looks at you with what appears to be adoration.

“You feel just like heaven,” he simply tells you. “I’m never letting you go after this—never was plannin’ on it, anyway.”

Before you can even process his words, Steve starts to fuck you. His pace is slow at first, and he hits your sweet spot with ease—a feat most boys your age are incapable of. Your moans are wanton and loud, teetering on the verge of pathetic for someone who was fighting against him at first.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, and your reaction makes Steve smile. “You love this, don’t you? Yeah, always knew you needed a real man to fuck this cunt.”

His thrusts are a bit quicker now, and he pulls in and out of your wet pussy roughly. The sound of skin on skin is thunderous, nearly covering up the wet noises from your stickiness. His thick cock shines from your juices. Steve ruts into you like a starved man—because he is one.

His pelvic bone hits your clit every now and then, and his swollen, heavy balls are against the curve of your ass. He’s relentless in claiming you as his, sucking, biting, and licking at the skin on your neck.

“Oh my God—Steve–” you mewl, the pleasure blooming inside you almost too much to handle.

“What’s wrong, honey? Are you gonna come again?” Steve questions with faux pity. He punctuates each word with a thrust, fat cock pushing into your tightness. “What a pathetic little slut, making such a big mess on her boss’ cock. And I’m married too. You just can’t help it, can you?” he teases, and his filthy words have you squeezing his length from the filthiness. He lets a groan out from the feeling, and he keeps the fervour going.

That elastic band inside your stomach begins to tighten, and you can feel another orgasm build up quickly. “Go ahead. Make a mess on Daddy’s dick, baby,” he urges, and as if on command, you cream around his thickness.

Your back arches off the bed, but you don’t go anywhere far with Steve’s chest keeping you pressed down. Your hardened nipples rub against the cloth of his shirt, and the added friction makes your climax all the more breathtaking. The older man pounds into your cunt vigorously.

Stars appear in your vision until you come back down. Mr. Rogers doesn’t stop fucking you, forcing you to endure the overstimulation. Even with your legs shaking, he refuses to give up. “Good girl—such a good whore for Daddy,” he praises. The tip of his cock pummels against your G-spot continuously.

Your tits bounce with each push of Steve’s cock. Sometimes, he grazes your cervix, but the mild pain dulls away when he presses chaste kisses to your face and brutalizes your g-spot. “‘S too much,” you mumble, legs involuntarily trying to close. “Nu-uh—It’s enough when I say it’s enough. Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna fill up that pretty pussy real soon,” he says, and as if on cue, there’s a change in the way he pounds into your cunt.

His thrusts become more sloppy, but they keep the same passion and desperation that he started everything with. There’s an intensity you can’t describe because it just feels so fucking good. The hand on your neck moves and begins to caress the rest of your body. Your pulsating walls hug him, practically refusing to let go. Your skin is hot and sticky, just like his—if not more.

Wandering hands grope your body, going pliant underneath Steve. Guttural groans leave Steve’s mouth while you’re gasping endlessly. “Shit—you were made for taking this dick, sweetie. I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking down your thighs,” he promises, and the threat of it sounds terrific to your fucked-out mind.

“Be a good girl and soak Daddy’s cock one more time,” he orders. The blur between your previous climax and the one that takes you over now has your head spinning. You grasp the bedsheets from the overwhelming pleasure. A silent scream leaves your mouth, which Steve accompanies with a grunt followed by a string of curse words. “Fuck.”

You squeeze Steve’s length tightly, soaking him in your wetness. Electric shocks run down your spine and unto every nerve in your body. You feel like you’re floating for a split second. You’ve never come that hard—ever. It’s difficult to breathe, and Mr. Rogers is mean enough to make you take the euphoria he’s doling out.

Wetness stains the skin that surrounds where you two are filthily connected. Your ass is sticky, and some of your cream stains the trimmed hair at the base of Steve’s shaft. It’s a mess—one he intends on adding to with his semen.

His cock twitches inside your pussy, and with a final shove, he stills with his pelvis pressed against your clit. Steve’s balls clench, and he shudders as he reaches his own high. Ropes of cum spurt from the fat tip of the older man’s cock, painting your insides. The feeling makes you whimper as you’re filled to the brim with his seed.

For a few moments, Steve stays in that position, catching his breath while he recovers from his orgasm. Your eyes dance along his face, taking in the pinched yet relaxed look he dons.

Eventually, your boss resurfaces from the depths of his climax. You’re more than exhausted and have half a mind to fall asleep right then and there.

But the sound of the front door opening and closing shocks you from your stupor. Worry is written all over your features when Steve looks at you. “Aw, don’t worry, honey,” he hums, and though it may seem impossible, you can feel him get harder inside your pussy,

Whether it’s your evident fright or the thrill of getting caught, you’re not sure. Both make you dizzy.

Peggy’s notable accent slurs a call for Steve. “Think we should put on a show for her?” he jokes, grinding his cock further into your pussy.

You’re sure that no matter what you say, he won’t listen. And what will follow will be a nightmare you can’t escape.

But those thoughts ebb away when you hear your other boss curse a storm and abruptly leave, even though she hasn’t walked in on the pornographic scene that’s taking place in the guest room.

“Well, there’s always next time—if she’ll even make it,” Steve grumbles under his breath, but the words are too vague for you to dwell on them. “Think you’re up for round two, love? I wanna play with those tits while you ride my cock.”

For the nth time, your body betrays you and tells him your true desires. Either way, he still would’ve gotten what he wanted. Steve Rogers always gets what he wants.

[ladykailitha]

A Gentle Bloom

I don't know where this came from but I think I lost the plot a little bit at the end there. But enjoy.

~

Eddie walks into Family Video and immediately Steve smiles. He can't help but smile back. He comes up to the counter where Steve is filing returns.

"Hey there, big boy," Eddie teases, "did you know you smile every time I come in?"

Steve blushes and ducks his head, shaking. "I didn't."

"Sure do."

Steve chews on the bottom of his lip. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Nah..." Eddie says brightly. "It's a nice change of pace from what the rest of the town does."

Steve smiles even brighter. "Then I'll make sure to smile even more now when I see."

"You do that," Eddie says deeply serious and fond.

Steve busies himself with work while Eddie walks the aisles making commentary to see how long it takes for Steve to laugh. It never takes long, so tries to see how many times he can make him laugh instead.

Total? About seven before he accidentally makes a rude comment with some old bitch right around the corner and has to stop. Steve admonishes him in the moment but after she's gone, tells him he thought it was funny, too.

~

The warm smiles Eddie gets from Steve are enough to power him through even the worst days. It's like drinking a cup of hot chocolate all at once on a cold winter's day.

It's on a warm June day when everyone is over at Steve's for a party when the edge of the knife they've been balancing on finally tips over. Eddie works late so he arrives most of the way into dinner which was hot dogs and hamburgers grilled up on the back porch next to the pool.

There's this old swinging deck love seat nestled in the woods a little bit a way from the house. It's still on the property and Eddie stops there for a smoke before joining the party.

Wayne spots him. Because of course he does. He comes over and sits next to him on the swing.

"You do know that boy is sweet on you, right?" Wayne says jutting his chin at the man of the hour who is happily chatting with El and Lucas about something.

"Whatever you say, old man," Eddie says shaking his head and then taking another drag of his cigarette. It's not that he doesn't believe him. Not really. He's just too tired to think about it right now.

Wayne chuckles. "I'll show you."

"Show me what?" Eddie asks and then shakes his head again.

Wayne gets up and Eddie can hear the exchange.

"Hey, Steve," Wayne greets.

"Hey, you enjoying yourself?" Steve asks brightly.

"Sure am," he says warmly. "Eddie's here."

Instantly Steve perks up and looks around.

"He's just feeling a bit tired and not ready to join the party yet, if you wanted to say hi." He points the direction of the swing. "He's right there."

Steve looks over at him and smiles. "I know how that goes. Take as much food as you want." He pats Wayne on the arm and heads in toward Eddie.

Eddie can't help but smile at the boy as he comes over to sit down.

"Rough day at work?" Steve asks gently, putting his arm over the back of the swing.

Eddie just shakes his head. "Just long." He looks out at all the people having fun. "So what's the deal with the shindig? It seemed pretty important that everybody be here."

Steve blushes and pulls something out his back pocket and hunches over the piece of paper in his hands.

"What's that then?"

Steve straightens and clears his throat. "Would you help with my speech? I wrote some of it down so didn't forget stuff. Robin says it makes me sound like a dork, but because I am, it works. But I'm still not sure."

Eddie softens. "Sure, Stevie. Wha'cha got?"

"Thank you all for coming to--"

Eddie holds up his hand. "I'm gonna stop you there. This isn't a business meeting or telling people you're dying. Unless you are dying?"

Steve shakes his head and digs out a pen from his front pocket. He scratches out the first line. "I've always been the kind guy to rip off a bandaid instead of little by little, so you're wondering why you weren't told first, the only ones I've told are Robin..." he continues and sticks out his tongue as he writes and talks at the same time, "and Eddie because they help me write it..."

Eddie smiles at him. "I like that. Doesn't hurt anyone's feelings."

Steve looks up at him and gives him the biggest smile yet. Eddie melts a little bit more.

"So the truth is that I'm bisexual," Steve continues looking back down at the page and misses Eddie's stunned reaction. "It doesn't mean I have both male and female parts despite what it sounds like."

Eddie barely manages to stifle his giggle but as Steve grins too, he figures it's a deliberate joke and let's it slide.

"It means I like boys and girls," Steve says after a brief pause and a sigh. "It also doesn't mean that it changes my previous relationships in anyway. I'm not half gay and half straight. And while I recently figured it out, I've been this way for awhile. I didn't know that other people didn't have crushes on both actors and actresses. On pop princesses and rock gods."

"Yeah..." Eddie says drawing out the word, "that should have been a pretty clear indication you liking both, pretty boy."

Steve blushes and clears his throat. "And even though I've never kissed a boy or anything like that, doesn't mean it's only thet--throg--the--"

Eddie looks over his shoulder. "Theoretical," he says sounding it out for him. "It means you don't have the practice so it doesn't count. Or at least it does in this context."

Steve nods. "That's basically the end of it anyway. I just say I'm going to be dating guys and girls now and to not freak out when I do."

Eddie scoots closer to Steve on the swing. "Do you want it to be practical?"

"Huh?" he asks, that slightly vacant expression on his face that he gets when he's really confused.

So Eddie cups his face and kisses his lips gently.

"Oh."

"Would you like to have a boyfriend before going in there and reading your lovely little letter to all your friends?" Eddie breathed, still cupping his cheek.

"Yeah," Steve breathes and they kissing again.

~

Steve's nearing the end of the speech and Eddie is so close to giggling that Robin keeps glaring at him and mouthing the words, "I know what you are, Eddie Munson."

It's not helping keeping the giggles in, if he's honest.

"And I had this big paragraph with a lot of big words about how I never kissed a boy but that it didn't mean I didn't know if I really liked boys or not, but I don't need that anymore."

Max raised her hand. "Before you get all giddy about your boyfriend and steamroll over the bisexuality part, can we talk about that for a minute?"

Steve shoves the paper back in his pocket and says, "Shoot."

"You say it's not 50/50 but what does that mean exactly?" she asks.

"Oh, good question," he says proudly and she blushes. "So for me at least, it's mostly girls with some guys. But it can be anything from that one member of the same sex and then the rest is opposite sex and vice versa. And everything in between."

"How did you know you liked boys?" El asks, tilting her head in that way she does.

"The things I was feeling for girls," Steve explains, "the butterflies around certain boys, the blushing, the wanting to be around them all the time, or in the case of actors wanting to meet them not because I thought they were cool but because I wanted them to sweep me off my feet. Does that help?"

"But both?" Mike asks. "I don't understand. You say it feels the same so how did you not know?"

"Ah."

"Because liking your own gender is scary," Robin says from her perch behind Steve. "And so you might think it's something else. Jealousy, envy, or even just think you want to be them. It's same if you only gay, too."

They all look at her wide-eyed. "Oh, I guess this is my coming out party, too. Hi, I'm gay!"

Steve turns around a gives her a high five.

"If it'll help," Eddie says, "We can do a heads up seven up type deal. Only Steve will see, but if you feel attraction to girls, raise your hand, if you feel attraction to boys raise your hand and he figure what to say easier. Erica you don't have to participate if you don't want to."

She makes a face. "Boys are gross, but in a cootie way."

Steve nods.

"I'd feel more comfortable if it wasn't just Steve," Nancy says, arms folded across her chest.

"Robin or Eddie?" Steve asks, "because everyone knows what they are and won't judge."

They vote and it's Eddie, so Robin goes to sit with the rest of them so she take part too.

"Girls," Steve calls out and gets a head count. Five. And the ones he expected on that one.

"Boys," he calls out next. There are four, just not the four he was expecting. The surprise squirms a little as if they can feel Steve's gaze.

And one exception.

"Huh," he says. "That was certainly interesting. There is one who answered both and another that answered neither."

Dustin wrinkles his nose. "How can you not like either boys or girls?"

Joyce actually raised her hand. "I can answer that, I know I wasn't supposed to peek, but I kinda did," she winces bobbing her head back and forth. "Anyway. There are people who no matter who just aren't able to experience attraction that way. They don't what causes it, but they think it might just be like being gay."

"Can they still fall in love?" Will asks shyly. And Steve knows that Will knows who the exception was.

Joyce's expression softens. "Of course they can."

"Liking your own sex," Steve says, "is fine and good. And if you like both, that's fine too. But you get to chose your coming out when and to who. Just like I did. And if you need advice, you come to any of us privately."

Eddie and Steve share a look. They know the three who over the next couple weeks would be coming to Steve for advice. Will. El. Mike.

"So," Steve says clapping his hands together, "if there aren't any other questions. As of..." he looks at his watch, "twenty-seven minutes ago, Eddie and I are dating."

Eddie takes his hand and kisses it as the entire room explodes. Mostly in congratulations but some dismay. Like Mike.

But in the end they are all happy for them. Mike will come around.

He always does.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Wrong Turn ||

Pairing: Mountain Man Silver Fox Nomad!Steve Rogers | You. 

Trope: Neat and clean ‘civilized’ Princess-like young trophy wife X Filthy beast of a wild and scary man who only got her because he has the power. 

Description: In a desperate attempt to save your life from the wrath of the mountain people that your friends and you stumbled upon and accidentally killed on a hike gone wrong, you had to offer yourself up to their Leader to use as a ‘resource’. But little did your ‘husband’ know, you had been actively getting rid of his seed to avoid actually getting pregnant. Naturally, when he does find out, he is very unhappy… And also very determined to make sure you don't make it out of your punishment without a child, or two.

Warning(s): Dubcon, barbaric!Steve, breeding kink (gone wild), unprotected p-in-v, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, missionary, he has a wife bod kink (but it is inclusive), misogyny, smut with perhaps too much plot, fear kink, size kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, age gap, hair pulling, spanking, biting, allusions to painal and Steve being a teasing sicko about it but he doesn't actually penetrate, overstimulation, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, boob play, squirting, Lloyd makes an appearance with his own young bride, dacryphilia (it's me), self degradation, Stevie is a perverted old meanie, infantilization, mind break.

Disclaimer: Very loosely based off of the movie that I do not own. You don't need to know it to read this piece but do note that it takes place in a fictional setting. Minors do not interact. 

Inspo-ish: This post.

Note: For someone who was on their period, I should not have been this horny. But I need this marriage, now. Ps, though this rotted in my drafts for a long time… in honor of Chris growing out his beard again, ig.

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have no idea how long it has been since that fateful twilight when everything changed in your life, leaving you to a lifestyle you could never have even imagined for yourself.  

“Eat up, woman” but as your barbarian of a husband commands you in his rough and animalistically deep voice, you cannot help but break out of your reverie and shudder at the sight of the barely cooked meat piled high on the platter in front of the two of you. “So you can bear me healthy children” although you're the one who was made to prepare his beastly dinner -that never fails to leave you aghast when it's gorged down- as you're his wife, you cannot help but gag under your breath and feel disgust for the loaves that sit before you in the company of a tall stone carved jug that brims full of the foul smelling mead that your husband is ardently fond of. 

You muster up your best coy smile. Keeping up the appearance of a happily mated pair is important. Or people stare. And then the old man becomes unpleasant. “I had quite a lot while I was cooking, dear” your lies sting your tongue out of the fear you feel of getting caught, but the mere hope of not doing so is better than eating this. “Y- You go ahead” you slowly turn in his muscle hardened lap, that you are always to sit on, to give him a small smile but your expression almost transforms into one of horror because of how wildly your heart jumps at the sight of his stern, predator-like face. You are quick to recover though, as it is a usual occurrence. 

“You need it. You work so hard—” there is just something about his rough looks that never fails to send a chill down your spine. You have never seen anything, let alone an actual human man like him before. 

A beard as thick as the very forest his people populate and as dark as the nights can get here in the absence of lanterns due to the heavy trees, age that streaks some of his gold locks with its silver has not marred the sternness of his jaw that remains firmly set under the heavy mane of his facial hair. His shoulders seem akin to the mountains that surround his village and his piercing dark eyes the mysterious waterfall that flows some way down south from the entrance of the settlement. The frightening mass of his shoulders is so toned that if the barely noticeable wrinkles that sometimes appear under the dark of his eyebrows and next to the crow-feather like lashes that frame his eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a man in his primeful late twenties and no older. His unrelenting strength and wolfish stamina would only further serve to bear testament to the misconception. 

Your strict husband bluntly catches your shaky hand that you extend in his direction to feed him some of the meat, the force that he uses coupled with the coarseness of his skin making you jump. You bite back a yelp and whimper when you look up at his dark blue eyes from where you were watching his bearded mouth to carefully place the food in.

“I don't care” Steve does not care much for being polite -unless it is you who disregards it in your behavior-, especially when it comes to you denying or diverting his ‘care’ for you. “You eat more” you bite back the scowl that threatens to break onto your face from how he turns your hand around in your direction instead. “Wives always need to eat more. They do so much at home for husband and children” he probably feels proud of these ‘values’ that have been transmitted to him by his elders. But all they make you want to do is to crack him across the jaw for being a misogynistic and backward shithead. Especially with you. 

Your ‘husband’ believes that everyone has a role to play; a contribution to make to their people and home. That is how this archaic village of theirs has survived in these mountains hidden away from the rest of the world for so long. 

The greasy piece of a disturbing excuse of a rare steak touches your lips and you've been here long enough to know better than to argue or worse yet, fight. So you smile and lean into his arm that cases your form against his through the embrace he holds you in from behind, his fingers playing with one of the many flowered braids your attending ladies had put in your hair a bit before his arrival at ‘home’. 

“O- Of course” you reluctantly open your open and grip your flowy dressing gown for a semblance of support for your sanity, taking the smallest bite you can -which is still a lot as the man pushes nearly the whole piece into your mouth the moment you open up- as you keep your eyes trained on his to avoid looking down. Your mind always becomes more aware of the taste when you look. “Thank you, dear” you focus on swallowing it without gagging and feel your smile split in places because of how uncomfortable you are.

He probably notices it because he slightly raises one eyebrow and snorts before hugging your smaller form -that is tiny compared to his- closer and puts the rest of the piece in his own mouth. If there is one thing you have learnt in your time with him, it's that you can never fool him. Not really. No matter how well you may think you have lied or pretended, he always sees through it. 

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

Steve finally begins to eat himself, silently offering you another piece that you politely reject by shaking your head and then quickly pressing an apologetic kiss to his scruffy cheek to lighten the blow. Apparently, a wife can never be polite enough to her husband. And though the change in his expression begins with an unhappy frown, your show of ‘affection’ seems to suffice him and he relaxes in satisfaction, now looking down the long table and at his clansmen and maidens that sit enjoying their dinner, their chatter and laughter a dull roar in the large eating hall of the Leader's dwelling. You pick up the heavy jug of mead with both your hands and obediently hold it to his lips to sip from. Steve looks away from what one of his main men are saying and gulps down a mouthful, rubbing your back as a gesture for thanks before moving his hand quickly down to squeeze your ass to heighten the effect of his expression of gratitude. 

His form shakes in mirth when you yelp and blush. He knows how embarrassing you find being openly ‘affectionate’ in front of people and that is one of the reasons why he enjoys it so much besides showing off that a thing of such beauty and youth like you is all his. You rest the jug between your boobs that he has fucked and squeezed into increasing in size and use your other hand to gently finger and stroke his golden locks that he keeps pushed away from his face outside the bedroom. Though he says nothing, you feel his usually vigilant and always firm stature slowly soften and you cannot help but smile, though what he says next quickly deflates it.

“Do you feel any change in you, wife?” You know what it means and now it's you who becomes tense. He only uses that name for you when he speaks to you as a husband inquiring about your marital matters. “Has my seed attached to your womb yet? Does it grow there?” You gulp and feign shyness, moving closer to his hair and nuzzling yourself in him. “Hm?” He closes his hugging arm around you and reaches for your stomach, fingers groping your covered skin as gently as he can -which isn't much- to feel it. “Answer me” he demands when you refuse to speak. 

“I… I don't know, husband” you always promise yourself that you'll demand more rights for yourself; ask him to treat you like the other husbands treat their wives, only to fail the minute he enters your vicinity. 

“What does that mean?” His tone turns blunt and you whimper at the tightness that snaps back in place between his shoulders. 

You get it.

That was the deal, after all. 

Healthy children in exchange for your life that was required by their judicial laws for bearing false witness to your friend accidentally killing one of their people in mistaken defense. Steve had promised you before accepting you as a citizen that if you failed to fulfill your task you'd walk the darkness in the dungeons. He had shown you how it would be before declaring you a member of their tribe and the sight you had seen was something that had given you nightmares for days. 

But that did not mean you actually wanted to have your old captor's children.

You doubted it would ever be something you'd look forward to.

“I- I mean” regret shoots up your spine in the form of fear and you lose your speech to it momentarily. But then two of your main attending ladies -by that you mean Steve's top agents when it comes to you- enter the horizon of your sight and you hurriedly blubber out the first thing that comes to your mind. “I've n- never been pregnant before, s-o I d- don't know how to…” Your husband turns to look at you, his handsome features twisting into a rogue scowl but before he can scold you, one of the two ladies, Kaira, speaks in their language to Steve. 

Not everyone here can speak English and those who do speak it do so a rather odd version of it. Naturally, you don't speak their language and so they give you the full experience of an outsider when they need to discuss the business they want to keep private from you. The thought makes you want to laugh, like you'd be able to do something with whatever informations they withhold.

But it doesn't really bother you, because you don't care.

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here. 

Especially for someone like you.

Better to be the doe eyed trophy wife of an angel who can't tell her head from her ass.

“Is that so?” Your heart jumps when Steve chooses to speak English. That means that this definitely concerns you. You place the mead down and wrap one arm around his broad shoulders before nervously combing his thick beard with your other hand. Since you have no interest in or desire to learn their language, the only word you manage to pick up on when you focus really hard is ‘baby’ and that is solely because of the annoying amount of times it comes up for you. 

“Is not this strange?” He speaks once the women step back after finally ending the nerve wracking conversation that seems to go on forever. “Do you hear what they say about you, little one?” Fuck, you're definitely in trouble. 

He is reminding you of your place. 

You put on your best charming smile but you're painfully aware that your nervousness gives it away. You can feel it. “W- What do they say, dear?” They were such bitches. They knew how to speak English, that's why they were your attendants, but yet they chose not to. And now they were glaring at you like you weren't above them— oh no, not these thoughts again. You will never become like them! No, no! 

Steve pushes his plate away now. Your head spins from the realization. It's only half finished. Your husband never wastes his food. It is a near sin for them to do so. “They tell me the most odd things” oh just fucking tell me! You mentally scream but outwardly tilt your head to the side in confusion, your chest vibrating with the rising beats of your heart. “And now that I think about it myself…” His fingers wrap around the mead before he raises it to his lips. “I see the—”

“What did they say, Steve?” Your mouth works faster than your better sense and he pauses mid sip, dark blue eyes flickering up from the stone jug to look at you. Your face flushes a noticeable hot and your ears get sweaty from the awareness. 

Fuck. 

“They say you've been getting rid of my seed” he feels played and thus angry at the both of you. Perhaps more so towards himself than you; his silly little child-wife. How could he let a thing as tender and small as you fool him so? “... Do you?” It is obvious you are guilty. Besides, he is confident that his people would never lie to him unlike one young and beautiful girl that he had found kneeling in front of him in his court while bawling her eyes out one fateful night, fear stricken as his people surrounded him like a doe trapped. 

And of course, your expressions and reactions don't help your case, as always. “W- What? No…” Your mind becomes erratic.

“No?” He himself knows not what kind of a chance he offers you with that. But typical to your nature, you make it easy for him by refusing it.

“N- No! Of course not! W- Why would I ever do such a thing to m- my husb- hubby and my b- babies?!” Steve has to clench down his scoff. 

“You wouldn't, would you?” Your naivete never fails to amuse him.

“No! I- I don't know why they accuse me so—” you mend your speech from the archaic form that tries to leech to it everyday. “I don't know why they would accuse me of that but they must be mistaken! This is a misunderstanding!” 

He hums. “I see…” His scarred fingers begin to toy with your braids again. “So you remain devoted to me and faithful to our family, don't you?”

“Of course!” You nuzzle closer to him, your heart thundering into his chest. “I don't know why they still treat me like an outsider” you purr as you nervously stroke his hair, playing a card of your own and making an absolute fool of yourself by doing so. “I try my best… like I promised.” 

“Yes, your promise” his distant eyes -they get like that when you disappoint him and you hate the sight because it never fares well for you- travel down to your empty stomach. His gaze makes it wrench. Your fear skyrockets at the same rate as your anger. If only there was a way for you to get back at those bitches without having to give birth!

“I- It takes time sometimes, dear…” You hug his shoulders with one arm. “But it will happen. I know it…” Your other hand reaches for his fingers that rest on your abdomen now. 

“Oh?” Steve raises one dark eyebrow at you. His hair is the most fascinating combination of blonde and dark brown. “Is that what your modern day sciences say?” His people were not always like this, he had told you. They did not originate from here. Rather, some families had abandoned ‘civilization’ when it was going to hell -in his words- by killing each other for meaningless constructs such as caste, creed and color differences and migrated up here to establish a system of their own; one free from such nonsense. 

Apparently.

You take a deep breath. “Stevie—” you only call him that when you find yourself dangerously close to the dungeons.

“If that is what you believe in, wife,” he never cuts you off. Usually, that is. His age that streaks his blonde strands with its silver ones has granted him enough patience. Normally, he waits for the other person -who is most often you- to mess up themselves. But whatever the ladies have told him seems to agitate him into rebelling against his own nature today. “I'll do it your way. After all, happy wife happy life, is that not what you tell me often?” Okay, you might have said that during a particularly cocky moment in bed once. 

But the intention behind that had not been nearly whatever he is moving towards now. 

“Y- You don't have to, l- love…” You nervously giggle. “You're perfect the way you are” you run your nails that he insists you keep trimmed for hygienic -as if- and practical purposes through his silver-blonde hair.

“Oh no…” Now he pushes his food farther away. “I will indulge you, little one” he moves your other leg over his laps so now you face the people down the table with both of your legs on either sides of his, ass to his… fuck. “Time conspires against us, and so we must make haste.”

Your eyes widen and your heart leaps up in your throat. “M- My love?!” 

Steve moves your flowy gown out of his way, keeping a firm hold on one of your thighs even though he doesn't really have to. Your fear of him would never let you attempt an escape. “Yes, my stars” the name is so full of sarcasm it nearly pierces you open. “Let us leave time to its devices, and us ours” your husband is usually a very possessive and private man when it comes to you, but his ire seems to get the better of him today. You hear the buckle of his own clothes come undone. The table goes silent and heads turn in your direction once they realize what's going on. Oh no… Your stomach drops. Not in front of everyone. Not when Steve makes you so vulnerable in that condition. Not in front of these lowlifes!

“Husb—” blood bubbles hot under your cheeks as you feel him align himself against you. 

Holy shit.

You feel one of his coarse hands wrap around your throat and he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can whisper in your ear. “You will contribute, my stubborn little wife,” you whimper from the menace his words hold, your well trained cunt obediently squelching open against his thick hard tip as he lowers you on his cock with the hold he has on your thigh. “Whether you like it, or not” sometimes, deep down, you fear that the dungeons are not an option anymore. 

He keeps you in the horizons of his sight too much for them to be. 

It appears as though the sentence has changed. 

It is now Steve, or Steve.

You cry out from the strain his log-like girth puts on the narrow band of your entrance. God. You will never get used to his size regardless of how many times and ways he tames your pussy in. Yes, it does not refuse him or rip around him now as it used to in the beginning -and it did that for a long time- but the size to which his cock makes it expand is like a mini-birth. Feels like it, looks like it. Only, it feels way too good. And that's why you don't mind it—

No. You don't know what that was or meant. But you don't take responsibility for that thought!

“Oh!” The balmy velvet of your cavern grazes down the bulging veins and hard skin of the brute's cock until your petals squish against his heavy and very eager balls. Your head spins when you feel his tip tickle your cervix. It never takes his dick long to find it.  

His hands are pushing you back up almost instantly so he can slide you back down. You look anywhere but at the tens of faces in front of you, instead choosing to look at the wall on the opposite side of the table. You never thought these people were capable of being this quiet until now when your pussy makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as Steve tugs you back to his leaking tip and then allows gravity to suck you back down. You desperately bite your lips and try to focus on ignoring the way your insides are beginning to thrum with the excitement and stimulation; to show these brutes that you're better than them and aren't some animal of nature. But to no avail. His slimy precum mixes too well with yours, the rough skin of his hands digs into your thighs too well and the manner in which your petals rub against his cock when he lifts you yet again -now forming a momentum- before letting you slide in again is too much for you mask with nonchalance. 

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

“Tell me, my pretty” Steve begins again, his dark eyes now finding the young and hormonal pack of unsuspecting boys who clearly do not know better. “Have you ever had a cock like mine?” He says it in their own language so the foolish miscreants see, understand and learn the fact that you’re only his. You belong to him and he will go to war for you, not that a pack of rug rats will ever be a cause of worry for him. “Has anyone ever fucked you as good as I do?” He switches back to the language you understand, roughly fumbling for your jaw before he grabs it and bounces his hips into yours at the same time. 

Your traitorous legs have begun to do what they always do; fuck yourself against him -if he hasn’t bound you, which he hasn’t- in whatever position he has you. You only realize that your breathing has become heavier when you open your mouth to answer. “Only you, my husband! Only you!” Your brain is running too fast for reason or reflection to catch up so you leave wondering why you answer him with the only words he has been able to teach you in his language to later. Your words are muffled as his fingers that grip the lower half of your face nearly slip in your mouth from the disordered urgency of the both of your actions. 

“That's right” your mouth falls open and you begin to softly pant in that animalistic way that you detest when he makes you watch yourself in a mirror while fucking you sometimes. In your defense, it is always unintentional on your part; you barely even notice it while taking his fucking. And yet, it is inevitable due to the force he does it with. “Look at you; dutifully fucking yourself up and down your husband's cock like a bitch in heat” a twinge forms in your knuckles from how your fingers hold the edges of the table to aid the gliding of your fuck hole that now slams up and down his cock in a rhythm you're all too familiar with, the smacks of your bare ass slapping against his naked abdomen making appalling noises that you're too worked up to dread over right now. “And you're a bitch in heat for me, aren't you?” His fingers move down from your jaw to your throat. “Wanting to be bred over and over again until you're so full of my children that your little belly is round and heavy to the brim, hm?” In these moments, you tell him anything and everything that he wants to hear.

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

“Yes!” Your voice disappears midway from how he squeezes your windpipe. His hips meet yours midway now, the wetness of your cunt and the force of his thrusts causing for his balls to try and push past the tight boundary of your sexual cavern. “Yes! Yes! I am! Please!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his free hand finds your petals to play with. “Ohhh!”

“You want to be bred, don't you?” He rubs your drenched pussy lips while his hard cock pistons in and out of your sopping cunt. “Want to contribute…?” He chokes you once more and this time his fingers pinch one of your pussy lips punishingly at the same time and you cry out. “Provide your husband with a house full of heirs?” The oxygen in your mind depletes and your eyes flutter as a result, cheeks turning red and nerves becoming prominent on your glistening temples. Your horny yet defensive pussy finally relaxes around him a bit so it doesn't hurt his dick and he savours the moment by holding you by the curve between your legs and fucking into your form that gets limp by the moment to push you towards your first orgasm. 

It always gets better after that. 

For him, at least. 

You don't choke him out so much then.

“Y- Yes!” When Steve finally lets go of your throat to let you breathe, you blubber out an an answer obediently once the light returns to your eyes. Your walls stiffen around him once more. But by then he has already worked himself closer to your womb. “Yes! Yes!” It is all your mind can muster.

“Good” he makes a point of taking both of your boobs in his hands and thoroughly massaging them to show off his ownership over you. “Now ask me to breed you” the fence of heat that has formed around your loins becomes tighter when his hands that previously fondled your clothed breasts slip under your gown -for Steve is too possessive to actually expose you to the eyes of others- and he softly rubs your tense sides a couple times before his fingers form pinches around your hard nubs. 

“Please breed me!” Your voice is so loud and strained that its quality is nearly blood curdling. “Please breed me and s- stuff me full your children!” Your hands fly to grip his from over the dress as you throw your head back and slip from the edge of your anticipation, parrotting all the words he has taught you over the course of your marriage. “Oh GOD! Please!” Your back arches from the coming undone of the hot belt of expectation and scorching gratification spills from it, seeping down your legs in the form of a nearly unbearable electric feeling that transforms into a subzero energy when it reaches your toes that curl, causing them to feel as though they are freezing. “I need your b- babies so bad, hubby!” 

Steve's own ears blush from the heat that courses through them in the form of adrenaline as he snorts, some of his blonde strands coming loose from the push and tug that he plays with your cunt. “Tell them” his balls ache from the strength it takes him not to fill you up right then. “Tell everyone that you want me to fill you up with my babies” since your sensitive body tries to curl and move away from the overstimulation, the older man wraps both of his hands around your thighs to keep you going. “Say it!” And he makes you say the words that he desires in the language of your spectators that look embarrassed for the first time since you got here. 

Save for your husband's best men who look equal parts aroused and proud. 

You want to cringe and be disgusted but your sensitive pussy is being pounded too hard for you to attempt a conjuring up of any dignity. 

“Need hubby babies bad!” You cry out again from memory when Steve's thick seed begins to fill you up at last. “Oh, my God!” The feeling of his hot cum filling you up and painting every inch of your sensitive walls penetrates your already hazy mind and the warmth that steams out of the pearly liquid steams its way up to your womb, making you shudder at the feeling. Your opening tightens around him in protest of the overstimulation and it instead causes for a barrage of bitter-sweet electric sparks to explode through your abdomen in the form of a half post-climax orgasm. Your body grows tired.

But your insatiable is far from done.

“Flattering, but no” Steve pushes you against the table before standing up when he is done fucking his orgasm as deep as he can reach into you. “The father of your children will suffice” your eyebrows furrow at his words but the older man does not give you a chance to ponder over them because now he is hooking his hands under your thighs that your rapid and messy fucking has covered in both of your juices. 

“W- What?!” Your vision is hazy and your mind dazed as you incoherently tap about. “What's— oh!” You wince from how much easier it is for him to move inside your worked open and much lubricated but torturously overstimulated walls now. “Oh! Oh…” Your hands blindly feel behind you to try and get him to stop. “Oh, no! No, please!” You cry out weakly, your upper body hanging low in the opposite direction from the exhaustion. 

“No?” The older man darkly chuckles, paying no mind to your flailing. “You think you can say that to me?” One of his hands desert their post on your thighs to roughly grab at your hair. He hasn't forgotten what started all this. “You think you have the same rights as everyone else around here, wife?”

But you're scowling from the burning pain in your walls, mind hazy and unwise. “Stop! Stop!” Your puffy folds ache from how his stiff skin rubs against them as he moves in and out of you at a normal pace… for now. “It hurts, stop!” 

“That is the part and parcel of having children” your body curves outwards as he pulls you further back and closer to himself by your hair. “And is that not why you're here?” His cocky tone along with the hungry and wondering eyes of the wildlings make you angry. “What you were spared for in the first place?” A twinkle in the eye of a man pisses you off and…

“It hurts, you old bastard!” Your young blood gets the better of you and your mouth runs before sense can catch up. “Stop, stop, stop it!” Since your hair holds you closer to him you manage to land a few smacks to his rock hard arms before you try to snake your fingers under his to pry off the hand that he coils around your thigh in a weak attempt to move away. 

Steve only chuckles, clearly unfazed by your fighting as he bounces your smaller form up in the air with each thrust. “Did your mother not teach you anything, wife?” He lets go of your hair only to restrain both your arms on the small of your back. “Good girls never tell their husbands no” your body flops forward again and you've no choice but to face the long table full of people. “They lay down pretty with their legs spread and let their husbands fill them with their children and then they express their gratitude for being granted a family.” Though your mind is confused and rather disoriented from the influx of sensation, you can make out new additions to the crowd of your humiliation from the corners of your vision. 

“Ugh!” You grunt from the rapid jabs he gives to your sore pussy, his firm hold nearly searing into your wrists. “I don't wanna have your stupid blonde babies!” Steve breathlessly lets out a real laugh at that. “Let go!” 

“There” he can swear he will never tired of you breaking the little character of the obedient wife that you so naively think you have mastered only to break it when he has you all riled up like this. “Right there, easy now” his other hand leaves your lap and he pushes your head down and against the table in the most condescending manner imaginable. Steve has got you to expose yourself for the brat you are, no need for play anymore. “Now I make a bunny out of you” his dark eyes now meet with those of the boys sitting at the other end of the table and his use of their language is a silent message. The Leader knows how his wife is desired. And he doesn't appreciate it in the least. The young males all panic and look away, gulping to themselves and praying for their lives. 

You try to struggle again, your lip curling in disdain and protest as you feel him fuck his cum right up your cervix. The bitter pleasure you get from it makes your head spin and your fingers and toes flex defensively. “Ooof!” Your cheek rubs against the table and you puff out your face to express how tense you feel down there. 

“Brat” Steve shakes in silent mirth as he reaches for your ass with the hand that he was holding your face down with. “Don't you move a muscle.” You're too busy rocking over the table and being held down to try. 

“Hubby, please!” You whine when one of his veins twitch deep up your walls and your knees shiver from the sensation. “Please!” Maybe if his cock wasn't so comically huge, it would have been easier to move past the rough friction of your raw, orgasm worn skins. But it is and so you are ready to abandon the dam that begins to form in your abdomen again if it means to avoid this pain. “Owwwiee!”

“Aw” Steve cooes as he now moves to a pace that falters your vision and causes for the great table to shake with each thrust that he gives you. “So small and sore, aren't we?” The spank he lands on your unsuspecting ass right after is the stark opposite of his tone. “Maybe we shouldn't act out so much when we are so weak and pathetic, huh, wife?”

“Oooof!” One of the shyer ladies get up before she carries her young son who stood next to the group of the young ones away and the realization of the fact that your spectators are all real people who see you everyday and will continue to do after this drips down your limbs like ice cold water. Your hips cannot help but clench from the embarrassment that you dully feel in some part of your mind way far at the back. “Hubby, please!” The spanks increase with each snap of his hips and though the turmoil between your legs takes up most of your sensory powers, your cheeks now begin to noticeably sting from the pain that builds from how the swings of his hand against your poor ass increase with each thrust. 

“Please?” Steve muses like he isn't balls deep into you and fucking the literal daylights out of you like a crazed heathen. “Oh, but I thought I was a mean old bastard” of course, your pleas always only mean that you want more, according to the brute you are married to. They cannot mean anything else, apparently. “And you didn't want my stupid blonde babies” you grunt from the frustration and land a helpless fist on the table. You are in an uncomfortable tug of war between the mutilation of your sensory glands and the tall barrage of tight hot anticipation that cannot help but form in the base of your stomach again because of how hard and rough he fucks you. 

Your husband's main man, Lloyd, laughs in a comically daft voice to tease you and be the insufferable asshole that he is. “You've got yourself a feisty little pup there, Steve” he is the only one who can refer to the blonde haired man by his name. Or maybe, he doesn't care to use the honorific and his usefulness backs him up. You wouldn't be surprised if the latter really is the case. “Don't you agree, my sweet?” He side hugs his own young bride who ironically is one of the sweetest and perhaps the only nice person in this entire village and Lloyd grins down at the girl whom you now notice is blushing furiously. 

Before you can let the humiliation swallow you whole, Steve spreads your burning cheeks and chuckles at the sight he finds glistening and blinking up at him, the madenned hammering of his cock unceasing. “Look at this adorable little button of yours, darling” you are not personally familiar with any of the faces that witness you trying to pathetically crawl away when your devil of a husband begins to tickle your pucker so you realize it was actually not quite hitting you as bad as it does now when you become hyperaware of Rainie's gaze. If it weren't for how your eyes roll because of Steve's hot seed shooting deep up your cavern again and nearly searing into your very flesh this time around from the brutality of it all, you reckon you would have tried to hide. But now all you do is let out choked blubbers as your wide eyes sting from tears due to the sensory overload. “I think it's time we deflowered it, what do you think?”  

Oh, no. 

His cock is not something that you can handle in your ass without splitting all over the place!

“No answer? No?” It feels as though you are the one who is cumming and not Steve because of how good he is at wearing the mask of nonchalance. “Hm,” he roughly pulls you backwards by your hair before hooking an arm around your waist to keep you from trying to get away from how he toys with your trembling pucker. “Maybe we should let sweet Rainie decide for you, hm—?”

“OH, GOD!” You cannot help but scream over him. 

He is too much.

Steve ignores your exclamation, thrusts delayed -more jab like- but so strong that his tip spears into your cervix with each thrust, thus causing for your head to spin from how he chooses to fuck out his orgasm. “She's your friend, isn't she?” Steve's beard gently stings the sweaty and teary skin of your jaw from how his mouth presses into your ear. “Aren't you, Rainie dear?” 

Yep, you are never looking her in the eye ever again. 

“Answer him, sunshine” Lloyd eggs his wife on and you notice through your cloudy vision that he is making her palm his own bulge. You nearly cringe back into Steve's chest from the obscenity of it all. 

The girl, a new bride herself, is shy and small next to her own flesh boulder of a husband as she meekly peeks up at you through her lashes. “Y- Yes, sir. We are friends” her voice is barely audible and both your husbands chuckle. 

If it weren't from how a dull orgasm rips itself apart somewhere deep between your loins, you would have felt angry.

It is like the assholes know that you're friends, and they're having their fun with it.

No wonder they are best mates.

“Good, good” you can feel Steve's cum splattering your thighs with each brutal jab, the sound and sprays of his shaft making a mess of your juices underneath your dress ample in its audibility. “So, do you think it's time your girlfriend's dirty little button was opened up, hm?” He keeps one hand on your pucker and reaches for your boob to grope with the other.

Rainie blushes again and furiously lowers her head the moment her eyes connect with yours. Though you don't know it, her own has been deflowered not too long ago and she isn't sure what response would be favourable by you, so that and the embarrassment of the Leader questioning her for something like that about his wife when she is on amiable terms with the girl makes her choose silence for as long as allowed. And her own husband cockily leaning into her and mansplaining into her ear how it would work for you by comparing it with what he did to her pretty ass only makes her curl further. 

“Shy little thing, isn't she, my precious?” So your husband turns his unwelcome attention back to you, bending the both of your bodies forwards so he can smack your asshole with the back of his hand easier, the impact making you rock violently forward. “Maybe you should learn some manners from her, huh?” The howls you let out from getting your pucker pinched and hit is something you would rather not narrate. All you choose to disclose of that ordeal is that sobs echo in the hall, another orgasm rips out of you and you are sure your body releases more liquid than normal for an average orgasm. “Look at how polite and nice she is, hm? While all you want to do is to curse your husband and be an ungrateful little sloth” it sounds as though a newfound annoyance causes him to grit his teeth towards the end and the tip of his fingers finds recourse in seeking for itself a passage past the tight barrier of your unwilling button as a result. 

And so your mouth begins to run in the desperate way he loves. “N- No, no, no hubby! No!” You vehemently shake your head as you feel your knees start to buckle from the exhaustion. “I- I didn't mean it!” The bearded corners of his mouth pull into a deep smirk. He knows its coming, and he loves it. 

“You didn't?” How can he not when he is the one who trained you to it and taught you the words to say during. 

“No! No!” Your voice comes out child-like from your mind's succumbing to its defeat. For the day, at least. “I d- didn't!” 

Steve is a jackhammer in how he fucks his children into you and works towards giving you more. “Oh, I see” now he speaks to you like an elder speaking to a young one, like you are no older than five winters. “Then, will you tell me why you said such naughty words to your husband who does so much for you?” He knows you're small now and so he chooses his words accordingly.

After all, it is Steve's meticulous tailoring of your mind and body which brings you to act out this specific sequence. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this. 

A shrew tamed into a compliant wife equipped with the mind of a babe. 

He may never admit it outright simply because it goes against his very code of life but Steve knows in his heart of hearts that it is this very push and pull you put up in your own passive little way that keeps him alert and your marriage interesting. 

Addictive.

“Is ’cause— hnnng, cause—!” He pulls both of your bodies back up with the intention of turning you to face him but he chooses not to do it just yet. He wants you, those silly boys and everyone else who suspects that his judgement grows soft because of his fancy for your youthful beauty and adorable personality, to hear it. Steve can always pull you right back down if wants. Your reins will always be in a hand's reach to him. Just because he lets you sneak in your foolish ways sometimes doesn't mean you've conquered his nature-gifted better sense.

“Because, what?” Everything in life calls for balance and so each time your misbehavior that you think you hide so well from him begins to rise above a level he deems no longer amusing, he is there to hammer it down. 

Quite literally. 

“Because I am j- just an i- impudent,” Steve grunts and moans, feeling his cock twitch from how you always mispronounce imprudent when you are in this state. He taught you that word and true to your little baby self and mind, you can never get yourself to say it right. “Little wife and I am a d- dumby—”

“Fuck…” Steve feels a drop of cold sweat trickle down his back from your little vocabulary. He feels himself pant from how hard he fucks you, his windpipe alight from the friction caused by the air he heaves in with each desperate inhale.

You are a proper trouble; something he has never had before, and he loves it.

“— D- Dumby sloth who dunno any real worries besides e- eating and b- being spoilt b- by my lovu hubbsy—” your tongue is kinetic jelly between your teeth and Steve has begun to moan from how fucked stupid you sound. “So I get shtoopid and u- ungateful” Steve cannot contain it anymore. In a fevered and desperate confusion of how to express the thunderstorm you cause in his head, he slaps your hair away, causing for some of the flowers to go flying about, and sinks his teeth into your flesh, growling so deep into your skin that you feel the vibrations cause ripples in your blood. Perhaps that is what Steve yearns to taste. “B- But husby always fixes” your head goes limp against his as he sucks your skin like a crazed animal for you lose a track of how long. Your vision and hearing bolts away from your comprehensive faculties like a bullet train and your body gets sucked into the vacuum of your husband's beastly grip. You are just a lifeless doll rocking in whichever direction and manner he pleases.

Next time your brain catches on with your reality, your body has been placed under his with your back against the table. You faintly notice when your dress begins to get wet that splashes of mead cover it due to your brutish husband's depraved madness. 

“Look at me, hey” he pats your incoherent face until your wandering gaze settles on him, teary eyes distant. “This is the face that you will see in those of your children, and children you shall have until this residence cannot contain any more” his promise echoes in your buzzing ears like the bestowing of an ultimate truth upon you by some powerful deity. “This is the face you will look up at as you spread your legs,” his tip is so swollen, raw and hot against your worn skin that you can feel it even in this state. Your features scrunch from the discomfort. “This is the face you will kiss and cherish” his fingers find your throat again and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts pressure on your windpipe. “And this is the face that you will look at until you breathe your last” he holds you until you are on the verge of losing consciousness, though letting go only to stifle the gasp you let out to resume your breathing with a hot sealing kiss.

Your muscles twitch and your body spasms in the position he has you in. Laxness washes over your limbs and you begin to violently shake from the dull and yet stinging quakes of sensation that bloom through your whole form. 

For some dark, twisted and depraved reason, you cum from the helplessness of your situation and it is present in Steve's amused and proud smirk that the knowledge is not lost on him. Swiping an arm around you from behind with an air of satisfaction, he collects your limp body closer to his and walks off to your chambers with your drenched sexes still connected, leaving a crowd of embarrassed, curious, satisfied as well as tamed spectators in his wake. 

You surrender yourself to him and close your eyes as your body collapses on top of his. Your mind barely works but you know one thing— fact as clear as day; you are not making it out of this without at least one child on the way. 

And there isn't a single thing you can do about it.

. . .

[j4gm]

SPOILERS!!! REFERENCES AND EASTER EGGS IN F&C ep. 10: CHEERS

The finale!

Pawn Swan! This was another character who first appeared in Steve Wolfhard's post-finale loredump about the 1000+ world. I never expected to actually see him in the show.

Nuts how this is like the third time we've seen Simon's ass. I love how Shermy is just chilling and playing video games while GOLB lets this random old man take a turn at the wheel.

This establishing shot of Fionnaworld shows that it's very small. By the time it is restored at the end of the episode, this ominous white border is gone and there are more buildings, implying that it became a complete world.

I can't believe Gary was thirsting after Scarab in this situation.

There is a shop called Evergree Flowers; likely a reference to the episode Evergreen.

This shop window advertises that you can learn to kick bugs. Appropriately enough, Cake kicks Scarab through this shop window while in her Godzilla form.

The Betty statue has become GOLBetty.

It should be clear by this point that Casper and Nova are a parallel to Simon and Betty, with all of their decisions being made by Casper with little consideration for Nova due to their unbalanced power dynamic. This is why Simon realises that he should have been more considerate of Betty's dreams, rather than single-mindedly chasing the Enchiridion and the crown.

The credits confirm that genderswapped Ash is named Ashley. I wonder what happened to her after she fell into the void. Probably nothing good.

Poor Marshall never gets to finish his songs. Truly he is the genderswapped Marceline.

The name "GOLBetty" is now canon; Simon uses it in this scene.

I'm not sure what's happening to GOLBetty here. A loose thread to pick up if this story ever gets a continuation, perhaps.

Simon steps through several different universes, including all the ones we saw during this miniseries. I'm not sure what this world full of tiny bears is meant to be.

Some kind of industrial capitalist hell universe.

This is the Water Park Prank artstyle, implying that Water Park Prank takes place in a separate but canon universe. So Water Park Prank is now canonically canonical! (what a ridiculous phrase)

Some kind of Jake universe.

A universe featuring Magwood and his volcano lair, from the episode Evergreen.

The snail! It's not dead after all. And it's a great way of symbolising a return to regular Ooo, as is the reappearance of the smiley butterfly.

This was a strange selection of characters. I hope Jay hasn't left his younger siblings on their own if their dad is dead. At least baby Finn won't have to grow up in Vampworld, though part of me liked imagining what that would have been like.

Fionna mentions that his is her top fantasy. The other two of her top three fantasies were Cake being able to talk and a kingdom made of candy.

She gets a hammer, like she had in the dream sequence at the very beginning of the miniseries.

Kheirosiphon goes back to working in a teashop, just like he did on The Drift before he was imprisoned by Scarab. Also Marshall's outfit here is incredibly gay, it's great.

There is an ad here for a daddy issues themed comedy night. Sounds like Marceline's kind of place.

Prismo's face glitches for a second. Ominous.

Simon definitely needs to move out. This is probably an even more important realisation than coming to understand his influence over Betty.

In the credits of this episode, Simon is finally at peace.

And with that, the miniseries is over! Back to the long wait. Will this be it for Adventure Time? Or is there yet more to come...

[steddielations]

Steve walks into utter chaos.

He was stopping by just to see Max, but all the increasingly concerning noise coming from the Munson’s trailer drew him over there instead. Worried that all the cursing and clattering would drown out any chance of a knock being heard, Steve lets himself in. 

Eddie doesn’t even notice him come inside, too busy scrambling around the complete wreck of a kitchen.

“Dude, are you cooking or just banging pots and pans together? I thought you were dying in here.”

Eddie squawks and jumps about a foot in the air. His hair is even more disheveled than usual, barely tied down with a bandana. He’s got flour splotches on his face and all over the frilly grandma apron he’s wearing (which Steve is definitely getting a photo of and showing Dustin later) along with a suspiciously sticky goo on his fingers.

“Stop laughing at me,” Eddie groans. 

“I’m not laughing,” Steve laughs, going to join him in the kitchen, “What are you doing, man?” 

“Well, I’m trying to bake Wayne a cake, but at this point, I might as well give him a frosting covered rock for his birthday,” Eddie sighs, frustrated hands scrubbing the flour off his apron, “I don’t know, man, usually I just get him another mug and a pack of smokes, and he’s never asked me for anything, but I’ve put him through hell this year I just wanted— I don’t know like, to do something special but I can’t even—”

“Alright, take it off.”

Steve folds his arms and waits while Eddie just gawks at him for a moment, cheeks reddening under the patches of flour.

“What?”

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Eddie scoffs, starts muttering like he does when he’s nervous and Steve cracks a smile when he realizes why.

“The apron, Eddie,” he gestures, “Hand it over.” 

Another moment of confused staring and Eddie slowly gives it to him.

Steve wastes no time shaking out the flour and tying it around himself. He moves past Eddie, gets right to work clearing the mess and salvaging what ingredients he can.

“You…” Eddie peeks over Steve’s shoulder, “You know how to bake?”

“I can make a cake,” Steve shrugs, “Robin obsesses over shit sometimes, calls them her “little brain worms” or whatever. She couldn’t stop thinking about this cake she swore she had for her 5th birthday but couldn’t remember the flavor. So we made every cake recipe in her mom’s cookbook until we found the right one.”

“So Harrington’s got a secret Betty Crocker power-up, impressive.”

“Nah, just small stuff. I help Claudia with Dustin’s birthday cakes. Little shit is very particular about his red velvet.” 

Eddie snorts and Steve waves him over to start washing the dishes. He does so with a small salute that smears more flour on his forehead. The word cute comes to Steve’s mind but he just rolls his eyes. 

“So you dusted off your oven mitts for little old me, hm? I’m flattered.”

“Only because I like Wayne and I’d prefer if you didn’t give him food poisoning,” Steve teases, dumping out Eddie’s abomination of batter into the trash. Though he softens when he sees the way Eddie winces at it. “And I think it’s nice, you know, you doing this for him. I wanna help.”

Eddie clearly holds back a smile, looking down at the bubbles in the sink, and the cute word comes back to Steve’s mind.

“Okay well, take it easy on me. Not everyone has a bunch of mom friends teaching them to bake.” 

“Oh yeah, then where’d you get this grandma apron? You just had this little number in the closet with your leather and chains?”

“No, it’s Mrs. Bennet’s and she’s not my friend,” Eddie bristles and Steve senses a hell of a backstory there, “I stole it off her clothesline.” 

Steve laughs and makes Eddie tell him the whole story, all the inner workings of Forest Hills feuds. It’s nice, Steve’s been spending more time here since everything, listening to Eddie’s stories and sharing his own. It’s easy to be around Eddie, even though that pesky word won’t get out of Steve’s head.

Once the batter is finished, Steve dips a finger in to test.

“How does it taste?” Eddie asks, “Better than mine I hope.”

Steve hums around his finger, “So good, here taste,” he meant to slide Eddie the bowl, but the wires must’ve gotten crossed somewhere, because now he’s holding out a dollop of cake batter on the tip of his finger to Eddie’s mouth. 

They both look down at it, then at each other again. Steve knows he should apologize, drop his hand and say it was a mistake but there’s something about the way Eddie’s looking at him, the way he subtly licks his lips is almost like— He wants this. 

So Steve lets him have it.

Eddie leans in, keeps his hands at his sides and slowly guides himself down on Steve’s finger. His eyes fall shut as his mouth closes around it, like it’s too much, watching Steve watching him. It’s a lot for Steve too, the wet warmth of Eddie’s mouth, one swirl of his tongue almost makes Steve’s knees buckle. 

Something comes over him, he presses his finger down just slightly, feeling Eddie’s tongue curl around the tip. It elicits a soft noise from Eddie that sends heat thrumming all through Steve. Eddie’s eyes flutter open, brows turned upwards and mouth in a plush little O around Steve’s finger, looking up at him through dark lashes, a dot of flour on his nose. The sight makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat. It’s fucking cute and hot.

Steve has to swallow his own noise when Eddie pulls off. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, a slight grin on his lips, “Really good.” 

Steve’s about to do something crazy, put his finger back in Eddie’s mouth, maybe more than one this time, or just his lips on Eddie's, maybe even slip his tongue inside instead of his fingers, lick all that sweetness away until he just tastes Eddie, something— but a sudden loud knock on the door has him dropping his hand like it’s made of cement.

It’s Max, wanting to know why Steve ditched her for Eddie. She comes inside to ‘help’ which means she leans against the counter, talks about her day, complains, teases Steve and makes fun of Eddie for being demoted to dish duty. 

Steve puts the cake in the oven and focuses on cleaning and composing himself. He can feel Eddie trying to meet his gaze, trying to see if Steve's going to freak out on him after that. Once Steve can look at him without feeling like he’s going to burst into flames, he gives Eddie a small reassuring smile, even throws him a wink when Max isn’t looking. Eddie gives him a smile back.

And later, after Wayne comes home and they sing happy birthday and eat the cake that Steve insists Eddie helped him with— Just the tasting part, Steve says and revels in how Eddie covers a blush with his hair— and after they walk Max home, Steve pulls Eddie behind the trailer and kisses him until he doesn’t taste like cake anymore.

for the prompts "You heard me. Take. It. Off." and "Stop laughing at me" for @highkingpenny and anon, thank you and I hope you enjoy this!!

[stevie-petey]

we don't talk about it (we don't have the time)

﹂ season one of “come home”

being dustin henderson's older sister and jonathan byers' best friend is usually an uneventful affair, but when will byers goes missing and a girl with a shaved head claims she has super powers, your duties as a sister and a best friend become a lot more complicated. (it also makes your feelings suddenly complicated, which you're choosing to ignore). (and steve harrington definitely isn't helping). (as usual).

episode one: the vanishing of will byers - jonathan smuggles you free food in exchange for friendship, will goes missing the one time you listen to jonathan, hopper doesn't really like you, and steve harrington almost hits you with his car as you're sobbing like a damn baby (in a cool way).

episode two: the weirdo on maple street - you use your limited psych knowledge to help a bald girl, you force jonathan to accept $20 and he's later an ass to you, steve doesn't know what a "missing" poster looks like, and it's really hard being a single mother to now four kids.

episode three: holly, jolly - you and jonathan talk it out and things are better (spoiler alert: they aren't), you somehow end up agreeing with steve harrington ?? then you have a minor breakdown in front of the kids and once again fail to prevent them from experiencing more trauma.

episode four: the body - you basically have a "no babe don't cry over ur dead brother ur so sexy" moment with jonathan, hopper plays mr love doctor (cute date idea: coffin shopping), and somehow nancy wheeler makes you realize that you're a horrible babysitter and an even bigger idiot. meanwhile: steve harrington is frustratingly charming.

episode five: the flea and the acrobat - you and dustin have a long overdue Sibling Moment, at will's funeral you and jonathan exchange information and surprise ! it's all horrible news ! nancy has awful timing and when you leave her alone with jonathan one damn time you and steve end up trauma bonded on her front porch #bffs.

episode six: the monster - so nancy and jonathan are a Thing now and you really just need a good nap, the three of you go shopping for monster hunting supplies (which honestly isn't the weirdest thing you've done this week), an old man sells you a sentimental knife, and steve kind of accidentally kidnaps you with a sexy black eye.

episode seven: the bathtub - your brother basically places himself on the fbi's most wanted list and el flips a van with her mind, now you have to create a giant salt tub because of course you do, nancy tries Talking About It but hasn't she read the title ? you don't have the time. sidenote: you've somehow become a steve defender during these trying times. typical. meanwhile: steve's inner thoughts are pathetic.

episode eight: the upside down - drinking game time ! take a shot every time jonathan tries ditching you or every time you almost die at the byers house, you find out that steve really is an athlete and tbh it's hot, but you know what's even hotter ? saving hawkins and reaching a tentative compromise with steve after he loans you $5 for snacks. after, jonathan makes a promise you really hope he can keep.

⌑ set between seasons 1 and 2

﹂ episode nine: the beginning - BONUS EPISODE TIME ! steve becomes bookstrorindary's favorite loyal costumer, jonathan buys you a bug for christmas, you freak out your poor coworker alex, and suddenly steve is really hot and you're feeling so many feelings (bad ! it's all bad !).

⌑ status: FINISHED

⌑ season one title based on this song x

⌑ blurbs set within "come home" can be found here x

⌑ “come home” season masterlist

*note: this is a part of my stranger things rewrite, “come home”, and other seasons can be found linked above :)

[longwuzhere]

Some cool Easter eggs I caught watching My Adventures with Superman that I want to show to people so they can be in on it with comic book readers pt2

Episode 1 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 3 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 4 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 5 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 6 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 7 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here and here

Episode 8 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 9 of My Adventure with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Episode 10 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

(SPOILERS obviously):

An obvious one, but a classic, the "up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman!" line reference. This one never gets old.

Jimmy next name drops Flamebird. in the comics Nightwing and Flamebird were Kryptonian superheroes adopting their names from a species of Kryptonian birds. This is where Dick Grayson gets his Nightwing identity from. The page here is from Who's Who: The Definitive Directory of the DC Universe #17 (1986) drawn by Curt Swan and Karl Kesel.

At the climatic battle of part 2 of Adventures of a Normal Man, we see Leslie Willis become blue and look more like her traditional Livewire look. Her first appearance was in Superman the Animated Series, season 2 episode 5 "Livewire" where she was voiced by Lori Petty, a.k.a. Tank Girl. In the show Leslie was a shock jock radio DJ slinging hot takes live on air knocking down Superman a peg or two

Obviously MAwS took Leslie in a whole different direction, design choice, and occupation change, but I am excited to see what happens next for her.

Before we see Clark battle Leslie we see this guy. White hair, wears orange and black, its Slade Wilson a.k.a. Deathstroke. This fool here in like 20 to 25 years will have his life spiral out of control and get his ass kicked by a bunch of colorfully dressed teenagers.

Deathstroke makes his first appearance in New Teen Titans #2 (1980) (W: Marv Wolfman and George Perez, P: George Perez, I: Romeo Tanghal, C: Adrienne Roy, L: Ben Oda) where he is hired by H.I.V.E. to kill the Teen Titans. In the comics he's a major piece of shit, but a damn good assassin.

After the fight we see Supes clean up and he picks up a billboard that reads Amazotech.

This is a good reference to Professor Anthony Ivo, a mad scientist of the DC Universe who built the Amazo robot who could adapt and replicate any power that the Justice League has and weaknesses. Both Ivo and the Amazo robot make their first appearances here in Brave and the Bold #30 (1960) with the cover art done by Mike Sekowsky and Murphy Anderson.

At the end of the episode Slade name drops Task Force X better known as the Suicide Squad. The name "Suicide Squad" is from the Brave and the Bold #25 where it was the name of Rick Flag's unit in the military. The Suicide Squad pop culture knows first debuted in Legends #3 (1987) as seen below (W: John Ostrander and Len Wein, P: John Byrne, I: Karl Kesel, C: Tom Ziuko, L: Steve Haynie).

The team at this time was composed of Rick Flag, Bronze Tiger, Captain Boomerang, Deadshot, Enchantress, and Blockbuster. The team members have changed out with each new Task Force X/Suicide Squad iteration.

Behind Slade, here is Amanda Waller, the most fearsome woman in the DC universe. She's ruthless, politically powerful, and will not hesitate to blow up anyone in the Suicide Squad if they screw up. She makes her first appearance in Legends #1 (1987) same comic series in the previous picture. Very excited to see where My Adventures with Superman goes with this cuz you don't see Superman interact with Deathstroke or Suicide Squad all the often.

Link to Episode 1 of My Adventures of Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 3 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 4 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 5 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 6 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 7 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here and here

Link to Episode 8 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 9 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

Link to Episode 10 of My Adventures with Superman Easter Eggs and references is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Heyy can i request a wanda x fem reader oneshot where r is the queen of a nation which is similar to Wakanda and the avengers need this nations help for something (sitting on the throne looking badass moment ) and she is graceful and so badass like: sitting at dining table uses knife to point towards empty seat, “oh. sit, please.” R has powers and helps them out. Wanda being head over heals and finally them dating. I am sorry for the long request 😭

Mother Nature

Summary: A queen so powerful, myths have been written about her. An island so mysterious, no one knows where it is.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x female!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2505

a/n: listen…this got a little out of hand

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @wandsmxmff @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

Dragonstone is a volcanic island in the North Atlantic Ocean, just below Greenland and Iceland, but it’s not visible on any maps. Not many know of its existence, as the island is surrounded by such powerful magic, making it invisible to the naked eye. If anyone were to sail towards it, violent storms and currents will make even the strongest of ships sink. It has become a myth to the outsiders, an area such as the Bermuda Triangle, where everyone disappears into the nothingness. This keeps the island, and its population, in safety and peace. They have fought no wars, nor have they suffered in the hands of man made concepts.

However, the fights have started to get bigger, sometimes having the faith of the whole Universe in their hands. That much they figured out after Thanos. Which is why the Avengers know of Dragonstone, and its Queen, and how to get her help.

Everyone holds onto their seats as the Quinjet’s autopilot navigates through the dark clouds, often going through turbulence. “Are we sure this isn’t actually just some freak of nature spot? Is there anything here?” Tony grumbles as he tries to fasten his seatbelt impossibly tight. “We have very expensive cargo on board, and by that I mean me and my suit.”

“Fury seemed confident in his knowledge.” Steve reminds, slightly more calmly, though he is also nervous.

Wanda has her eyes closed. She tries to stay inside her mind, ignoring everything going around her. Air traffic has never been her favorite, but this is next level. The Quinjet does sudden dives and turns, throwing anything loose around. This is why Fury said to fasten everything to the walls and roof, but like usual, Tony didn’t take the advice to heart.

She can feel Natasha’s hand holding her own, calming her down slightly. Wanda doesn’t personally know Fury that well, but she knows Natasha thinks very highly of him, so she is pretty sure he wouldn’t lead them to their certain death. However, she can’t be sure, as this is starting to feel like a wrong way to the supposed island.

“Why couldn’t Fury come here himself? Or the Queen to us?” Kate almost shouts at a particularly violent spot.

“Because when we ask for help from royalties, we show them respect.” Steve states, his *all the younger generations have forgotten respect* personality every old person has shining through. “Did none of you learn this in Wakanda?”

No one gets to answer him, as the Quinjet starts going up, up, up full speed, making everyone yelp. After it has reached the correct altitude, it goes down headfirst. For a moment, the team is sure something has gone wrong, that they are plummeting towards their death. But right before it hits the water, the Quinjet turns the right way and continues flying forward, now in a completely calm climate.

They instantly calm down, letting out breaths of relief and relaxing their tense muscles. Natasha is the first one to get out of her seat, going to the cockpit and looking out the window. “Well, at least the island is real.” She calls out. The others start to pile up in front of the window.

At first glance, it looks like they’re flying towards a big pile of rocks, but at a closer look, they can see the rocks form big walls and even a bigger castle on the island. They’re in awe of the view. The water and air are so calm now that they’ve gotten past the barrier.

They stare out the window while the Quinjet lowers itself to the ground, right outside the walls. Once they step outside, they see two people waiting for them. “Welcome to Dragonstone!” One of them smiles. “My name is Sylvia and I’m the Queen’s advisor. And this,” she gestures to the person next to her, who is wearing an armor, “and this is Calen, they’re the head of protection in this island.”

They bow their head down as a greeting, not saying anything to the guests. The look on their face is serene and their posture is straight, like a proper soldier’s. Sylvia on the other hand shows more excitement through her body, even though her hands are behind her back, they’re still wiggling around, and the smile on her face is one that can light up a whole room.

“Thank you for granting us access to your island.” Steve speaks up, being the unofficial spokesperson when it comes to formal situations.

“Fury is an old friend of Gaia, any friend of his is a friend to us. Now, if you’d follow me, I’ll take you to the castle to meet our Queen.”

They start trekking the land towards the castle, first walking on the bare land and then moving to narrow walkways as they go inside the walls. Most of the walk goes by in silence, the team taking in their surroundings. They’ve never seen anything quite like this.

Wanda drags her hand along the stone fence, her fingers going along the bumps and ridges of it. She smiles. The magic of this island feels different than her own, but not in a threatening way, it feels like it’s dancing with her own.

Finally they get to the castle’s entrance. The huge wooden door opens inward, two other soldiers pulling it. Calen and Sylvia greet them as they go past them. “The Queen is in the throne room.” The latter tells the group, leading them through hallways before stopping in front of a door.

The door to the throne room is also wooden, but it’s a lot more decorated compared to the other ones. It’s carved from top to bottom with different pictures, making it look like a story. Calen pushes the door open, letting everyone walk through it before closing it again. At the end of the room, the Queen sits on her throne. The royal seat has been made out of purely white stone. The backside of it is tall and the sides are wide enough for the Queen to lay her arms there comfortably, but it still looks delicate.

“Gaia.” Sylvia lowers her head in respect and Calen goes down to one knee to bow. The Avengers, quite hesitantly, bow in some way too, bot sure of the island’s customs.

“There’s no need for that.” The Queen’s voice makes all of them rise. Sylvia and Calen take their respective places near the Queen, while the team stop in front of the stairs to the throne. “I hear you are friends of Nicholas Fury.”

Wanda stares at her in amazement. The way she looks so soft yet regal makes her heart pound faster than normal. She can see her chest moving up and down as she breathes, the armor like steel plate moving with it. The dark blue fabric is thick for colder weathers, but flowy enough to move easily. Wanda’s eyes move up to the top of her head. The crown on her head looks like it’s made out of steel as well. It makes her look sharp and strong. She looks majestic sitting on her throne.

“We are,” Steve smiles, “thank you for agreeing to meet us, your Highness.”

“Please, Y/N.” She states. “That’s the name my mother gave me.”

“Y/N. I’m sure you’re aware of a recently defeated threat from space called Thanos.” He continues once she nods, “unfortunately the other worldly threats don’t stop there. We’d like to ask your help to prevent these kind of attacks more efficiently.”

“Certainly.”

Wanda shudders from the way Y/N says the word. Her pronunciation, the slight rasp of her voice and how she rolls the letter r, make her feel dizzy. She is sure the look on her face is stupid, and lovestruck, her eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. The whole conversation going on is going past her. Only thing in her mind right now is something she really shouldn’t be thinking about, but she just can’t stop herself.

“Would you give me the honor of joining me for dinner today? We even have enough guest rooms if you wish to rest before your trip back to America.”

“We would be honored to join you.” Natasha answers. She has been glancing at Wanda during the conversation with a grin on her face, she can read her face easily, knowing what the witch is fantasizing about.

The Queen stands up, her dress falling perfectly to her feet. “I’m glad to hear that. I shall see you in the dining room in an hour, in the mean while, Sylvia will show you where you can refresh yourselves.” Sylvia nods and gestures for them to follow her. Wanda keeps her eyes on Y/N as she walks away, noticing a small smile growing on her face.

After an hour, the Avengers gather into the dining room by Sylvia’s lead, where Y/N is already waiting for them. “Gaia.” Sylvia says before leaving the room.

Y/N stands up, pointing towards the empty chairs. “Please, sit.” She says with a smile, sitting down once again when they get around the table. Wanda sits next to her. She can see the small details of her breast plate from this close.

The table is already fully catered with different foods and desserts. It works like a buffet, everyone takes what they like to their plates. “Can I ask you,” Wanda starts when her plate is full, “why do they call you Gaia, if your name is Y/N?”

“Gaia is a title of sorts. Every queen before me was called that as well, because we keep this island alive and safe. It means Mother Nature.” She explains with a gentle smile on her face, holding eye contact with Wanda as she talks to her. “It is an honor to be called Gaia.” Wanda nods, not able to look away from her stormy eyes.

“How does the next queen get chosen?” Tony asks.

“It’s more faith than decision making,” she pauses, looking for best words to describe how their queens get their role, “we’re born to it, but not in a traditional sense. We are born from the previous Gaia, they mold us from magic.”

“So, there’s no…” he moves his fingers around in a promiscuous manner, which makes Steve look at him disapprovingly. They’re in front of the Queen after all.

But she only finds the situation amusing. “No. Children born in a traditional way are random, and our queens need to be precise. They’re all women and they all have powers. They need to be born from magic.”

Although they don’t really understand the process, and none of them want to ask about the specifics of it, they still find it fascinating. It’s a whole new country with completely different customs compared to theirs. Wanda especially listens to her intently. Her smooth voice practically drilling its way into her brain.

“Can the queen have relationships? Even if they don’t have any part on the next generation of rulers.” The question makes Wanda’s head snap to look at Natasha, who has a wide grin on her face.

“Yes. There are no rules on relationship. The partner just has to know they have no rule over the island.”

Satisfied with the answer, Natasha nods, sending a discreet wink towards Wanda. Her cheeks turn a shade of pink. She tries to hide it by eating the food.

They keep a light conversation going while they all finish their food. Once the plates are empty and the stomachs full, they start leaving the table and go to their rooms. The Queen doing the same. However, she isn’t alone for long.

There’s a knock on her bedroom door.

“Hello, Wanda.” Y/N smiles, the door now open wide. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Wanda steps into the room, the door closing after her. She looks around the room, trying to keep her eyes off of Y/N’s thin night gown. A big bed is in the middle of the room, it has light blue veil over it and a white fur on top. A window, almost the size of the wall, is on the right side of it, but it’s already covered with dark curtains. Otherwise the room is quite plain. A wooden dresser. Mirror with steel decorations. What catches Wanda’s eyes are the tapestries on the walls. They’re bright and colorful, each one having its own story. “Beautiful.” She mumbles.

“They tell our history.” Y/N steps beside her. “Every queen makes one. These are the oldest ones, the rest are in the library, visible for everyone. One day mine will be there too.” She sounds proud when she speaks of her ancestors.

“Your mother, is she still alive?”

“No. The crown passed down to me when I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N turns to her with a smile. “Nothing to be sorry about. She’s with her mother and grandmother, and so on. And one day I will see her again, until then, I will make her proud by keeping the people on this island safe.”

However beautiful the idea is, Wanda still feels sad for her. She knows what it’s like to lose your mother young. But she doesn’t comment on it more, clearly it’s not something appropriate to discuss now. “The magic. It feels different here.”

“Yes, it’s not the same as yours. The magic is part of me as much as it is a part of the island. We’re connected. We can sense each other. I can control it and it can influence me.”

“That’s why they call you Mother Nature?”

“Sort of. There’s a long history there. But yes, my ability to control the sea and the air around us is a part of it.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to tell me some day.”

Her smile widens. “Maybe.”

Wanda smiles too. She notices how Y/N’s eyes twinkle in the dim light, as if they had their own light source. “You’re beautiful.” The words stumble out of her mouth. She had no intention on making any mind of move this soon, but she couldn’t help it. This felt like a right moment.

With a small giggle, Y/N looks down, trying to cover her warming cheeks. She doesn’t usually get nervous, but Wanda sounded so sincere. “I’m flattered you think so.”

“Do you think you could go on a date with me? Later, of course. Do you have any rules on that?” The nervousness starts growing at the bottom of her stomach again, the lapse of confidence leaving her body quickly.

“There are some rules, but nothing major. I could definitely go on a date with you, I’d actually really like to do so.”

Letting out a breath, Wanda nods. Her hands are moving her rings around. “Great. I- uhm, that’s great.” She laughs quietly. “I’ll leave you now. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Y/N gives her a small wave, smiling widely even after the door closes.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (4.2)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Horny Teen, part two (see previous or series)

Summary: A late-summer heat wave hits you and Steve hard.

Warnings for smut (kinda unprotected sex, momentarily--guess that's dubcon to be safe--fingering, lots of foreplay things and dirty talk but Steve can't actually talk dirty, so...hot talk? IDK, gang, I 'bout died writing this. Prepare thy loins, babes). MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this series is not for you! WC 3.1k

A/N: This part contains a cannibalized version of the original idea for this series, but since we've developed differently to this point, it is very different.

He calls ahead. For the first time in a year of visiting, he calls ahead and knows you aren’t working the night he’ll be here.

You work in the garden as long as you can stand before hopping in a cool shower. You aren’t even wrapped in a towel when the trill of your room phone—extension 14, as Steve now knows it—blares through multiple closed doors.

He’s checked-in, and in Room Two, but no pressure, if you want, if you don’t have plans, he’s here. It is the most adorable and awkwardest conversation of all time. It also never gets old to hear him scramble for the simplest of sentiments.

Translation: I’m excited to see you.

Your heart soars then immediately stalls in the stifling weather.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” you chuckle.

Of course, he opens his arms for a bear hug the instant the door labeled ‘2’ swings wide. Steve has fewer troubles with platonic affection when alone, that’s for sure, but who could blame him? You’re elated he’s here under any circumstances.

Record-setting heat this late in the summer has left all the AC units taxed to the brink, running constantly, and even with the in-room thermostat set stupidly low, a tank top and shorts is too much.

This means another first: both of you, in bed, naked.

Nothing’s happened, mind, because the swelter of the day zapped energy out of every creature for miles and miles around. The ice machine can’t keep up with eight rooms and your family needing relief from the blaze. From the bright stripe of red across Steve’s cheeks and his earthy musk, he was outside plenty. He’s wiped, too.

You wonder absently when the last time he wore cologne was and what it smelled like. Perhaps he never used it. Perhaps he misses small luxuries more than he ever realized.

Steve looks on the brink of heat-stroke, so you inched yourself onto one side of the bed to start, thinking skin-to-skin contact might be unwelcome. You barely got your palms on the sheets before he pulled you to him. You did not fight it.

It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him—and it is.

Your cheek settles on his chest, eyes watching through the sheer curtains as dusk takes over the sky, a happy man stretched like a cat beneath you, smiling, heart beat slowing in your ear. So strong, so steady, so secure.

He’s safe. He’s comfortable. That’s all that matters.

You peer up from your perch. The thin worry lines on his forehead have relaxed. He seems younger. Freedom looks good on Steve Rogers, just as good as it looks on Captain America, maybe better.

You fall asleep straddling his hips, one knee hitched so the crook of your ankle drapes his thigh, slowly pushed up and down by his deep breaths.

You’re drifting, rocked gently by powerful waves in the nothingness of your blank mind, free like him, blooming in the warmth of a bright sun embracing you.

The glow continues until Steve gently shakes you awake.

The room is pitch black, the lights of the parking lot too muted to pass through the gossamer layer over the window.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare,” his rough timber booms close to your ear.

“No, I—“ you wipe at your face “—I don’t think I was dreaming.”

Steve’s not so relaxed under you now. His abs quake slightly, and those slow breaths have become stunted, shallow with control.

“Did you?” you ask, looking towards his face, useless in the dark but your drowsy brain hasn’t caught up yet.

There’s a shuffling noise above you.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Did you have a nightmare? You alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes,” and you lift your arm to brace on his chest. It unhooks your leg from his, and the hard length of his erection moves from its perch at your ass, nudging the joint of your hip and thigh from below.

“Not—not a nightmare,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

Steve’s voice is husky, his grip on the back of your knee tight and unyielding, keeping you from trapping him between your legs.

Your impulse is to soothe him, to tell him he is fine and it is okay to be turned on, generally, when naked and pressed to someone you find attractive—hell, you definitely are—but if he wants you to ignore it, if he’d rather not, if it’s too soon or too hot (metaphorically, physically) or just too much right now, then you respect that. None of this has ever been about making him feel like how he chooses to receive affection is wrong.

Without moving any limbs, your fingers retract and relax, a gentle, nailless scratch to his broad pec beneath your hand, and his cock twitches, tapping your leg.

“Sorry,” Steve huffs.

“Do you want me to get off of you?” You suppress the urge to make a minor edit in that statement because it’s very close to what you want to do.

The shuffling noise sounds different.

“No,” he says softly.

You slide your hand up his chest to his neck and around the back of his head, petting the corner of his bearded jaw just below his ear, careful to use as few muscles as possible.

His cock taps you again anyway. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

You ignore it, as asked, and continue scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Hey,” you start in the darkness, “is this comfortable?”

You run your fingertips over his features while he nods, following his jaw up and down. 

Unable to see, this paints the most vivid picture of Steve’s reactions. You feel the vibration of a hum through his cheek, the draw and release of his brow as you skate over his forehead. You hear his short chuckle when you brush ever-so-gently across his long lashes and boop his nose. Finally, you trace his open-mouth smile with the edge of your thumb, his ragged exhale rushing over your palm.

Tap.

“Sorry.”

“Comfy though?”

His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Yeah.”

The drag of your fingers past the edge of bristly stubble and down his throat makes him shiver.

Twitch.

“Sorry.”

You flutter across his collarbone, wondering if that means he’s ticklish on more than just his sides.

“Comfy?”

He hums. You feel it rattle your cheek as much as you actually hear it in your ears.

You continue. His corded muscles giving only slightly to the pressure of your touch. His arm, his chest, down to the hand he keeps on your leg.

Several more breathy apologies sound above you. Steve’s other arm is draped over your waist, and with every pulse of need that betrays him, his grip tightens just a little. His fingers now dig into your soft flesh absently.

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how his abs won’t stop tensing, searching for attention where he denies it. 

You flatten your hand to his chest and make to move.

“May I?”

Steve’s swallow is louder than the ‘okay’ he returns.

You are careful not to push him in any weird angles as you raise up to your knees and straddle him, pinning his erection beneath you, not directly between your folds but nestled at the apex of your legs, just so he won’t have to worry about every involuntary poke. 

With such fresh contact, he clenches his ass hard in response, lifting your whole weight completely before he settles again. The surge of heat to your core has you biting your lip to muffle a moan.

“Comfy?” you rasp at the same moment Steve offers a strangled “sorry.”

The low, constant whine of the air conditioner fills the hollow space around your cocoon of anticipation.

“New plan,” you laugh, relaxing your fingers to splay across his warm skin, “both of us stop doing that, huh? You have nothing to be sorry for, and I’ll trust you to tell me if you aren’t comfortable.”

“So…” Steve shuffles on the sheets, but whatever he moves doesn’t affect your position. “Can I touch you?”

You bite your lip harder before answering, your voice dropping to a sweet reassurance. “Yes. Of course you can, Stevie.”

You keep your pets of his chest and arms light, trying not to tickle him. He’s always so hesitant; you’re worried the tiniest misstep will send him back into his head—not in a good way.

The silence now feels purposeful, dense with possibility, and then rough fingertips land like a foreign explorer who’s braved months at sea solely to experience this moment.

A calculated inhale and exhale rock your pelvis, a wave of nerves foaming in your gut.

He starts innocently enough, mapping your thighs, muttering something about how soft they are, but you don’t dare lean to hear him better. No sudden movements. None. Even though your skin lights up as explosive as those 4th of July fireworks you missed.

Since there’s nothing to see in the room, you feel everything.

He keeps to the periphery of you at first, abandoning your legs to brush the same arms touching him, running fingers together, separating them just as quickly, caressing your palms gently, and dragging his short nails up your wrists without pressure.

You stiffen in pleasure, fighting not to shrink away from the purest intimacy you’ve ever experienced.

His long arms reach the curve of your shoulders, flit across your collarbone, and you’re doing your damndest to keep it together, leaning your head back in lieu of talking.

Don’t scare him.

It can’t last; you’re only human.

Steve’s hands slowly descend over your breasts, middle fingers catching your peaking nipples, and a lewd and aching cry tumbles from your bitten lips.

The force of it surprises you, but more surprising still is him, unfazed, encouraged to linger.

In that low timber, he growls.

“You like that… Knew you would.”

Your body throbs, pulsing with need and emptiness.

That means he thinks of you. He’s imagined this. He’s wanted this.

Stunning electricity shoots through your body as he pinches and twists, squeezes and kneads. Nothing too harsh, but he’s highly motivated when you purr and gasp atop him.

What else does he think about doing? How long has he fantasized? Is this as good as his imagination?

Yours aren’t the only noises now. He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan.

Arousal pools at your folds, and without realizing you started to move, the shy momentum of your hips has nudged his length to lay flush with your dripping center. His tip glides over your clit.

Again and again.

Again and again.

A hot pressure builds in you, faster than ever, kerosene dumped on your wet-dreams and burned to life, a spell manifest in the night.

Steve shakes beneath the palms you brace flat on his chest, the heels digging into his diaphragm.

He moves to grip your thighs hard.

Fire spreads beneath your skin as you two pant and gasp, his whole cock slick and slotted so close to where you truly long for him.

“Wait,” Steve groans, but you can’t understand.

No one could imagine how good this feels, how much you need this, how—

He sits up to stop you, accidentally notching himself at your entrance, your residual motion sliding the thick head of him past the that first, tight ring.

Steve’s lusty moan is barely eclipsed by your own, and you’re too close to halt sheathing him within you, arms instinctively wrapping his shoulders. Desire winds the coil in your belly too taut, the thought of losing this climax unbearable.

“N-uhhh god—“

He’s too sensitive though. He flips you both so your back crashes to the soft sheets and digs his grip into your side, his other hand thumping to anchor on the headboard. Steve sucks air through his teeth like he’s afraid the faintest smell of sex will set him off.

“Don—don’t move,” he orders in thick command.

It makes things worse.

You’re so close, vaulting off the ground and suspended by legs clamped around his waist, dangling on the precipice of ecstasy. You whine and clench, totally unable to control yourself, your nails digging into his back.

Steve cries out, choked at the hilt by your desperation and lost to his own finish.

His hand races from your side to your ass. He pulls out of you only to slot himself there and thrust his cock between your cheeks, cum shooting on the sheets below.

Mindlessly, you ride the cut of his abs, his course pubic hair adding almost enough friction to keep ascending toward your own end, but the void left behind is too consuming. The fire sputters and dims.

Steve buries his face in your neck, breath cooling the sweat lining your skin as he curls away from you, overwhelmed.

“Swear I was gonna wait,” he confesses to the tender spot behind your ear. “I swear.”

“Please,” you croak, tears prickling your eyes in lament for your ruined orgasm.

“Was gonna be better. Swear I’ll do better for you.”

You grope and claw at those thick arms which hold all but his face far away. “Please,” you beg pathetically, “fucking touch me, please.”

A drawn out grunt vibrates the column of your throat.

“Y’shouldn’t have ta beg...”

He shifts to his forearm, caging you in as you plead over and over. He kneels to hover, and your thighs weakly squeeze at his own to emphasize what you need.

“Sounds so pretty when you do…”

Something between a screech and a snarl erupts from your chest.

Steve shushes you, smoothing a big hand across your damp cheek, and quietly, he commands you, “show me what to do.”

Your quivering hold guides him by the wrist down your body. Words to instruct him won’t form in your sex-steeped brain. As luck would have it, he doesn’t need specifics.

“Next time I’ll taste you.” One finger teases your folds in search of his entrance. “Next time you’ll have to beg me to stop.” Two fingers drive forward, displacing a gush of your shared juices. “So wet,” he groans, agonized to silence when you jerk his hand to thrust faster.

“More.” 

He sets a loving and delicate pace, the heel of his palm working your clit. 

Too delicate.

“More,” you gasp.

He obliges, muttering how good he’ll be to you from now on. You’ll always be first. He promises.

The fire takes over again.

“More, Stevie. Please.”

You grind down on him to prove your point, and he marvels that this isn’t too rough for you.

Each strangled breath ties your moans together in a crescendo worthy of Carnegie Hall.

“God,” he rumbles by your ear again, “I know that sound. You’re close, aren’t you?”

Steve’s pumping fingers bully your body farther and farther up the bed, using only a taste of his real strength.

Your chant of ‘yes’ catches in your taxed lungs. He doesn’t need an answer though.

The super-stretched band snaps, a plateau of peace and weightlessness tipped at the vertex until—crash—nerves are razed all along you like a carpet-bombed battlefield.

“Uhnn, is that what you’re gonna feel like around me?” He sighs at the thought and stills his hand just to commit the ripple to memory. “How’m I s’pose to last?”

You slap a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hold in your yelp of relief.

That mouth…that fucking mouth of his is a weapon all its own.

Tiny explosions wreak havoc on you, body and soul, as his fingers greedily coax you to keep coming—just a little more—just for him—one last rush—give him everything.

His lips open in your palm, but you grip his face harder.

You can’t. You can’t listen right now. You can’t hear one more dangerously sexy, completely innocent thing fall from his beautiful mouth.

Steve lets his hand go lax but doesn’t take it away from your clenched and spasming thighs.

He tries to speak again then gives up, waiting.

Finally, before you can collapse boneless to the bed, he hooks his arm behind your leg so you don’t land on the cold, cum-stained sheets.

He shakes off your forgotten grip of his jaw.

“Tops?” he whispers, patience personified in the long pause before you hum acknowledgment. “Can I kiss you?”

That fucking mouth…

There’s barely enough breath in you to make a sound, but the instant the ‘ye—’ forms in the back of your throat, Steve’s lips are on yours.

It's your first real kiss, of all the ways, after all this time, following all that.

You’d laugh if you weren’t smiling, suffocating in the gentle press that becomes deep and adoring. He kisses you thoroughly after each frantic gasp for air, savoring you, even in the reckless passion of the moment.

Steve rolls to lay you atop him again, more intimately than before. He keeps his face close, sharing breath even in the heat and stench of sex in the room, your wetness now smeared from his navel to his knee.

Turns out, he is a very good kisser, focusing on the act of physical connection. Not only do your lips touch, but he likes to nudge you into whatever minutely different position with his nose. He likes to nuzzle his beard on your sensitive skin until you giggle and squirm. He relishes you like you relish him. 

He whispers things too soft to make out at first. It takes him a while to find his voice, to push past his insecurities, to find his confidence, but eventually, you hear it.

He mumbles how he should have been better, more prepared.

You weave all your fingers through his hair, propped on his chest by your elbows, smiling so he’ll be able to tell in your tone.

“Take the win, Cap.” 

You freeze.

You’ve never called him that, and Steve stays silent for an excruciating beat.

“Sorry,” you offer in the dark, air conditioner churning out sobering drafts of reality.

Steve runs his knuckles gently in patterns across your bare back. There’s a short huff and an amused snort, you mind scrambling to plan some explanation as to why you’d haul the drama of out there into his safe space.

He guides you to settle against him again, tucking you into his strong hold with his chin resting on your forehead.

After what feels like an eternity, he simply asks, “comfy?”

A/N: In case you were wondering...

[Next part: Desperate Man, part one]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @mrsevans90 @lemonadygirl

[plussizefantasia]

Trust Issues

Bucky x BlackCat!reader

Chapter 2/6 of the BlackCat!reader story that I had a request for!

<Prev / Next>

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Language, Bucky and Reader being kinda mean to each other.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The first words Barnes has uttered in nearly two hours. “There's only one fucking bed.” It didn’t occur to you to ask the front desk woman if there would be two beds, after all, you and Bucky were supposed to be playing a couple this weekend and couples didn’t need two beds. “Well buck up, Buckaroo, looks like we're sharing for the weekend."

“I’m not sharing a bed with you, you kick in your sleep and snore like a buzzsaw.”

“You’re a filthy liar Barnes, I do not snore.”

“No comment on the kicking?” He raises an eyebrow at you. You just roll your eyes and push further into the room. 

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the ground. So you can either be a chivalrous manbaby and curl up in that tiny-ass armchair or be a grown-ass man and split the bed with me. Your choice.”

Bucky grumbles under his breath, in a language that you don’t speak but hearing it admittedly sends a shiver running down your spine. You don’t really have time to stay and talk him out of his funk. The two of you are only here for the three nights and the last night was the gala so any and all recon needs to be done before then. 

Of course, the team of low-ranking agents who just want to do their fucking part to save the world or some bs like that have already put together a file of information for you. You’ve been burned before though and like to take care of yourself more often than not.

So you inwardly thank Tony Stark for the nice digs and head to the bathroom to get changed into your suit. 

You want to scope out the event space tonight as well as the governor's office the only problem was that the two buildings were practically on opposite sides of the city and you’ll have to take pretty much the whole night in order to get what you need. 

That means despite the fact that you are ridiculously tired from being in the car all day you’ll have to dawn your fur-lined catsuit right away and book it to the State Capital building before the last of the over-caffeinated halfway to burnt-out political interns leave for the night and your usual slip-in-behind-someone-who-isn’t-paying-attention entrance will fall off the table.

You pretend that you don’t see Bucky’s eyes bulge when you walk out of the bathroom in your full get-up, but you feel flattered nevertheless. There’s something to be said about the way donning your suit makes you feel, when you have the mask on and the suit zipped all the way up you feel invincible, powerful, badass, and let’s not kid anyone, sexy as hell.

The way Bucky can’t keep his eyes off you as you move about the room gathering the things you’ll need for your night of recon makes you think that he’s on the same page as you about that last one. But that’s all it is, you remind yourself. You’ve got good assets and when they’re tightly wrapped in a nice little bow they look alright, Barnes doesn’t like you he’s a man… he likes tits and ass. They all do. 

“I’m heading downtown, need to scope out entrances and exits and see if there’s anything in the governor's office that could help us bring him down.”

“I’ll come with.” Bucky moves to grab the bulletproof leather jacket that Steve had gotten him for Christmas this past year.

“Thanks but no thanks Barnes, I’m perfectly capable of doing recon on my own. Besides, you’re not exactly what I would call… stealthy.”

“I’m stealthy as fuck kitty.”

“Don’t call me kitty, and whatever you need to tell yourself, old man. I'll be back. Treat yourself to room service or something, I heard brooding makes you hungry.”

“I don’t brood.”

“And I don’t snore. See, we can both lie.”

Your night is uneventful. The only thing catching your eye is how suspiciously squeaky clean the governor's computer is. You don’t find much that can help you in your mission. The ballroom is a bust too although you do manage to come up with several escape routes should things go sideways the night of the gala. You end up rolling back into the hotel room at around three-thirty in the morning. Not expecting Bucky to still be awake you try your best to make as little noise as possible so that you don’t wake him.

It ends up not being necessary as he is already awake, lounging in the armchair nursing a glass of whisky, and staring at the door you've just come through.

“Don’t tell me you waited up for me? That’s so sweet Barnes.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to tell Fury that his favorite pet got in some trouble.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Barnes, I am not Fury’s pet any more than you're Steve’s.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He scoffs and takes another sip of his drink.

“Well, you’re off the hook I guess I’m back safe and sound so you can finally go about getting some much-needed beauty sleep.”

“You really can’t take anything seriously, can you? I’ve been waiting here for hours because you left without letting me in on your little plan.” Bucky stands up and places his glass on the side table next to him. You have no idea where the hell this anger he has is coming from but you’ll be damned if you let him talk to you like this. “We’re supposed to be doing this mission together and the first moments you’re left to your own devices you run off and risk yourself unnecessarily.” He's getting heated and it's rubbing off on you.

“What the hell is your problem James?  I didn’t ask you to wait for me! You’ve been a bit of an ass all day and I’m really fucking tired of it. I’m here to do my fucking job, are you?” Hindsight is a bitch though and you realize after you say the words to him that poking the bear is probably not your best option at the moment, nevertheless, you’re a glutton for punishment so you dig in even more. “I mean first you get all moody in the car because of some shit you brought up in the first place, then you stay up waiting for me like you’re my dad or some shit making sure I get home safe. I know that you don’t like me, I get it and if I’m completely honest I don’t really like you either. No matter what you think or want though, we have a mission to complete and I’ll be damned if I let some metal-armed brute fuck up my perfect completion record.” You don’t really remember taking breaths but obviously, you have or you’d be passed out after that long ass speech. 

It doesn’t get you the reaction you want though, instead, Bucky just clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and lets out some long-suffering sigh like you’re the bane of his existence or some shit. You let him throw his grown-man tantrum and don’t move to stop him from huffing and puffing around the room until he goes to lie down on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you ask, every syllable dripping with exasperation.

“Sleeping, what does it look like?”

“Yeah, I can see that your trying to sleep like a caveman on the cold hard ground what I don’t understand is why, given the big ass bed right here.” You carelessly lift one hand and gesture towards the California King bed with admittedly really comfy-looking sheets spread across it. 

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you Kitty, I thought I had told you that.” He practically snarls.

“I thought you were kidding. What? Afraid you’ll get cooties or something?” 

“I’m not sharing a bed with you Y/N. Drop it.”

“Fine. You know what? Fucking be like that.” You grab a pillow off the bed and throw it down at him. Before grabbing one for yourself and taking up position on the floor a few feet away from him.

“What are you doing?” 

“Funny, I thought I just asked you that.” You reply laying down on the ground with your back towards him.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor Y/N it’ll mess up your back.” `“Well then I guess you have a choice to make. Either you get over yourself and we both get to share the nice bed, I’ll even put up a pillow wall to protect your dignity if you’re that worried about it.  Or we both sleep on the floor and I wake up tomorrow morning as grumpy as you because my back hurts.” You let the silence reign for a few seconds after you're done, still facing away from him and waiting for him to make the decision.

“God you’re so annoying you know that?” Bucky groans out as he moves to sit up and make his way towards the bed.

“I’ve been told it’s one of my best qualities.” You stick your tongue out at him and follow him to the bed. You follow through with your promise of a pillow wall placing three pillows length-wise between the two of you. Afterward, you turn around and turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. 

You wait for a few minutes thoughts racing endlessly in your mind. “Bucky?” You call out.

“What?” he mumbles back.

“Will you tell me a bedtime story?” You ask.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?

“Go the fuck to sleep.” You do.

_________________________________________________

The next morning you wake up to an empty bed, but an intact pillow wall so deem the night a success. Rolling over to check the bedside clock you see that it’s about seven and groan at the fact that Bucky’s absence apparently woke you up an hour before you had planned.

Bucky’s absence doesn’t last long, however, as minutes later he comes strolling into the room. He’s wearing a simple grey tee shirt and some black sweatpants but the entire front of his shirt is soaked making the grey a darker shade than it was originally. Similarly, his hair is dripping wet and you honestly can’t tell if he’s taken a shower yet or if he's just soaked with sweat. What confuses you more is that you don’t know which you’d prefer.

“Morning Sarge.” You call out from your place in bed. Bucky jumps a little like he forgot that you’d be in the room. 

“Morning.” He mumbled before making a swift turn and essentially hiding away in the ensuite bathroom. When you hear the shower turn on you know he's still in a mood from last night. You swear to whatever god there might be that this man is going to be the death of you. 

“I’m calling room service for breakfast do you want anything?” You shout at the bathroom door.

“Eggs and toast.” He calls back. You roll your eyes at his basic order but relent anyway and pick up the phone to call for the food. 

His shower finishes right about the same time that the food arrives. When he walks out of the bathroom in just a towel wrapped around his waist and a smaller one in his hand ruffling his hair to dry it you about choke on the food you hadn’t even started eating yet.

“Your foods over there.” You point to the little sitting area on the opposite side of the room from you. You're sitting crisscross across the ottoman at the foot of the bed. A plate of stuffed French toast with a side of sliced peaches perched on your lap.

“I figure that we should probably talk about the plan for the rest of the weekend, to avoid any more… angst between us.” You speak between bites of your breakfast.

“I thought we already had a plan but apparently that doesn’t mean much to you does it.” He turns his body to face you and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m not starting the morning off like this, James. You can either talk to me like an adult or you can sulk in the corner it’s your choice.” 

“I don’t sulk.”

“For a guy who doesn’t sulk or brood you sure spend a lot of time doing both.”

“I just- I don’t know why you always have to be putting yourself at risk.” You aren’t prepared for the tone shift of the conversation.

“I’m an adult Bucky, I can make those kinds of choices for myself.”

“I know you can, I just don’t see why you feel the need to.”

“What do you mean?” You can physically feel yourself start to get defensive. 

“I mean that for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always gone the extra mile, covered every base that needs to be covered and even some that don’t. You push yourself to the point of exhaustion and you don’t seem to care. You do the job of ten people when you don’t need to and it makes me tired just watching you.”

“I-”

“I wasn’t finished. Take last night for example. You went out and re-did recon that our team already did for us because you didn’t trust that they had done enough and what did you find? Nothing. Nothing that you didn’t already know from reading the mission file.”

“When did this become a fucking therapy session? I don’t recall giving you my insurance information Dr. Barnes and I’m not sure I can pay your hourly rate.” You try to deflect. He's right, you didn’t find anything new and you’d been a little pissed at yourself because of it, but you don’t need that shoved back into your face.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Push away your real feelings with jokes, Peter and Tony do the same thing and it drives me up the wall.” He stares at you.

“I don’t know what you want from me Bucky. I don’t know who you want me to be, you call me a kiss-ass when I try too hard, but you’ve been pretty clear on the fact that you don’t think I can be redeemed. You seem to care about me and yet give me shit about anything and everything that I do. I don’t know what to think or feel around you and it throws me off.”

“I do care about you.” 

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything. You and Bucky sit in silence for what could’ve been seconds minutes or hours. Neither one of you is willing to be the one who breaks the spell that has settled over the room. Both of you are saved by the bell when Bucky’s phone rings on the desk in front of him.

“It’s Steve, I’ll be right back.” He gets up and moves to take the call out in the hallway. You still don’t say anything. But you do flop onto your stomach across the bed the moment the door closes behind him. 

You grab the nearest pillow to your outstretched hand and bring it to your face, screaming into it and letting out as many muffled curse words as you can before you run out of air. When you’re done throwing your mini tantrum you stand up, run a hand through your hair, and take in the deepest breath you’ve ever taken in. 

It seems that Bucky’s call with Steve is going to go longer than you thought so you might as well get ready for the day. You put on the flowing wide-leg pants and halter tank that you packed, it gives just the right amount of classy that goes along with your cover in case you needed to interact with anyone, while still being easy to move in and pretty damn comfortable to boot.

You return to your perch at the foot of the bed, this time with the mission files in your hands. Despite how many times you’ve poured over them you still want to make sure that you’re ready for the gala tomorrow night. The best use of your time right now is trying to figure out the best way to get close to the Governor at the party.

Since his computer had been a bust the best way to get him was going to be a verbal confession to some of his backroom dealings. Maybe with more time, you’d be able to pull together a bit more of a sting operation and pull out all the stops trying to catch him but you were on a time crunch. The gala is tomorrow and then after that the governor starts his reelection campaign.

Bucky walks back into the room and throws his phone on the bed next to you, “Steve said the analysts back home got word that there’s a new player to be aware of tomorrow. The Governor's son is gonna be there, he's been flouncing across Europe for the better part of the last five years and we’re not exactly sure why he’s back but we know it’s important. Think you can handle it?”

“Did you actually just use the word ‘flounce’ in a sentence.”

“Can you handle it or not.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist Barnes, I got this.”

“I don’t doubt it, Kitty, in the meantime though maybe we should do some asking around to see what we can get on the kid.”

“Honestly, James I’m a little hurt that you think I’m that far behind you. Besides, I know exactly where to look to get the answers I’ll need.”

“And where is that exactly?” Bucky looks at you and raises an eyebrow. 

“His Instagram.” Snapchat, Twitter, and any and all other social media you can get your hands on. You know rich kids better than any other group of people in the world, they’re incredibly naive most of the time and some of the easiest targets because they’re sharing their entire lives with the world. If there's something to know about this guy, you’ll find it on his socials. 

You and Bucky spend the rest of the day and well into the night, doing your research. At some point, you’d been given access to the full guest list which allowed you to add some names to your internet stalking session. By two in the morning, you can confidently say that you know this guy and several of the other guests who would be attending better than they knew themselves. 

“Alright doll, it’s time for sleep.” Bucky grabs your laptop and closes the lid before taking it off your lap completely and plugging it in for you.

“What? I was just getting in the groove! I found another rabbit hole.”

“I don't know what that means but I know that it’s late and we have to be on our best game tomorrow so sleep it is.”

“You can sleep, but I need to keep working,” Bucky calls your name.

“This is the type of stuff I’m talking about, working yourself to death. Trust in the work you did today, trust that you’ve got everything you need. I do.”

You will never admit to the way that your heart thumps when you realize just how much faith Bucky has in you. 

“I’ve made that mistake before, trusting myself and trusting others, it never goes well for me.”

“Well then, work yourself to death and be sloppy and tired tomorrow if you want, but do it over there with just a desk lamp because I’m going to bed.”

“Fine. I will.” Stubbornly, you pick up the notebooks and files that surround you and move them all to the too-small desk in the corner of the room. You flick the lamp light on and groan at the dimness of the bulb. Bucky’s words bounce around your skull, you wouldn’t be sloppy. You were never sloppy. Sloppy meant getting hurt or worse. You couldn’t be sloppy.

Fuck. You couldn’t be sloppy, especially with Bucky’s life on the line too. 

You growl low in your throat as you flick the lamp off and begin getting ready for bed, pretending not to hear the triumphant snort that comes from the lump on the bed.

“Scoot over, you fucking starfish, leave some room for me.” You shove at Bucky’s back, nothing happens of course but he takes pity on you and scooches over anyway. “Do I need to construct another pillow wall Your Highness or do you think you’ll be okay for one more night?”

“I think I’ll survive. But know that if you kick me in the middle of the night I reserve the right to shove your ass onto the floor.” 

“Noted.”

[ishipallthings]

Cap Iron Man Rec Week 2024 (Tues)

Time Travel Tuesday - July 23rd for @cap-ironman Rec Week

Time-y whimey shenanigans!

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

finding my way back to you by Anonymous (MCU)

Ten minutes after a botched attempt at proposing to Tony, Steve is thrown back in time.

More Than Gravity by JenTheSweetie @jenthesweetie (MCU)

“Aw, time travel, no.” On Christmas Eve, Tony came unstuck in time.

Marty McFly Never Had to Deal with This by sweatervest (MCU)

Tony's latest project goes less "renewable energy" and more "slightly explosive time machine," and Howard Stark arrives from 1946. Why, Steve would like to know, are time and space going to such lengths to cockblock him?

feelings that never left by hollyandvice (MCU)

The last thing Tony expects while working on the time machine for the so-called Time Heist is to be confronted with the very man he thought he'd made his peace with. Guess some wounds run deeper than we think.

Atomic Clock by imparfait (MCU, EG)

It’s ten am on a Tuesday in May when Tony Stark appears in Clint Barton’s barn. Clint trips over him while looking for a toolbox and swears, then swears again, then thinks I need to call Nat, which makes a half-sob punch out of his throat.

A Time to Be Alive by babesrgrs (MCU, EG)

The mission to get the Mind Stone and the Tesseract from 2012 goes a bit differently AKA the slightly snarky but sexy Endgame scene that didn't make the final cut.

Lover Come Hold Me by RurouniHime @thegertie (MCU, EG)

One by one, the stones must go back.

hunters seeking solid ground by laramara @commandersteverogers (MCU, EG)

In the wake of the battle with Thanos, Steve feels unmoored in a way he hasn’t since before he ate shawarma with a group of virtual strangers and thought maybe, maybe he could one day find a place here. Steve returns the stones, and has a few unexpected interactions and makes some decisions along the way.

Mobius Strip by dirigibleplumbing @dirigibleplumbing (MCU, EG)

Steve sets off to return the Infinity Stones. It ends up not being quite as straightforward as he'd imagined.

The Five Stages of a Time Loop by AirlocksandAviaries @airlocksandaviaries (MCU, EG)

Tony Stark looks Thanos in the eye. He raises his gauntlet in defiance and states his iconic phrase. He snaps, expecting death. But death doesn't come. Instead, he's back in his basement, completed time travel model in front of him. He builds the time machine. He snaps again. Again, and again, and again. Tony can't for the life of him seem to change the outcome of this story. What does change, though, is his feelings around it.

That Time Back Then by navaan @navaan (616)

An accident sends Steve and Carol back in time and watching Steve and Iron Man interact gives Steve a new perspective on how blind both of them were all those years ago.

Beside You In Time by Kiyaar @kiyaar (616)

The world is ending: Tony is evil, Steve is old. So there's nothing to stop him from making the (terrible) decision to travel back in time in a last-ditch effort to spare them both: by killing Tony's past self to spare them both from ending up where they've ended up. The Universe has other plans. An honest-to-god fix-it for Superior Iron Man, Hickman's entire run, and pretty much everything since Tony decided it was a good idea to take Extremis way back in 2005.

Mind over Matter by Missy_dee811 @laexploradoraaa (616)

For a brief moment in time, Steve had the power of the universe in his grasp, and he squandered it. The Infinity Gems, with the exception of one, ceased to exist. The Illuminati's last attempt at circumventing the laws of the universe and stopping the incursions before they targeted Earth-616 were eliminated when the precious stones shattered. But that wasn't the only thing that was broken that day. His faith in himself never recovered.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs, and stay tuned! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists :)

[stervrucht]

Read on AO3

Steve is tipsy—actually tipsy—and it has everything to do with the rockstar currently stuck at his side. He doesn’t know how old he is—old enough for booze at least. He takes whatever Eddie hands him and doesn’t know what he’s drinking half the time. It doesn’t matter. Good company makes everything taste honeysweet; makes his thoughts move slow like syrup.

The combined power of a shaky buzz and Eddie Munson’s heated presence has him blushing and faltering as he tries and fails to compose himself.

He has never felt like this before, had a single person consume his thoughts so fully. 

The music is loud and the club is dark. They’re sitting in a VIP booth and Steve wonders why they’re in a club at all when they’re not dancing. Light bounces off their faces, each color painting Eddie’s features in a new enticing view.

There are fewer girls now. Not all of them joined their detour to the club.

Detour from—Steve doesn’t dare to finish that thought. It isn’t like that at all. Eddie invited him because…because…

Steve looks over to the girls again, with their bare shoulders and flushed cheeks, sitting close to the other band members, draped over their bodies like cloth heavy with water. 

Touching

Whispering

Kissing

It isn’t like that. Not between them. Not for Steve. 

Something about the night is off. Mid-sized concert halls, taxi rides, but a VIP booth in an Indiana club? And the drinks…the thing is, Steve knows his drinks, knows wine. His father has expensive taste, and what little knowledge he lacked was supplemented by the hotel’s wealthier guests.

The drinks they order don’t make sense. 

Expensive mixed drinks for their guests, yet they order the cheapest wine for themselves. 

Wine that remains untouched.

It’s posturing. Peacocking. A way to impress their guests probably. Steve’s not gonna judge because after tonight he’ll never see them again. 

Still, it’s odd.

And they hardly need it anyway, the girls are all over them.

And Steve...

Involuntarily, his eyes move to Eddie’s grip on his waist, an arm draped across his lower back and their legs flush together. They’re close. So close he could count the lashes on Eddie’s eyes, smell the spice of his cologne that makes Steve’s head swirl and his mind go still.

There’s no denying what it looks like.

They don’t talk much. Maybe Eddie isn’t the talking type. Steve hardly knows anything about the man by his side besides their next gig (Chicago) and his opinion on Indy (eh).

Somehow, it doesn’t seem to matter.

Eddie laughs at something one of the guys says and buries his face in Steve’s hair. It’s so intimate and unprovoked it makes his heart jump. They don’t know each other, yet it feels right. It makes Steve flush with embarrassment at the part that hangs unspoken between them.

Makes him crave more. 

Eddie leans close to Steve’s ear because the music is loud and the lights are low and talking is hard. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” Eddie drags his nose just below Steve’s jaw, lips only an inch away from skin and he feels his breath ghost over it, anticipation building in his gut. 

He’s fucked. 

He’s so fucked and he’s not gay. Yet, Steve feels excitement grip him tight and heat rise to his cheeks like hot air. 

He swallows heavily, tries to compose himself.

He knows what it means. 

He knows what it looks like.

Read on AO3

[runninriot]

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 5

To Be Me

prompt: Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What i Want | rated: M | wc: 2568 | cw: bad coping mechanisms (mentioned, drinking and sex with strangers) | tags: daddy issues, Steve Harrington is a Mess, self-discovery, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending | complete fic on ao3

Steve Harrington has everything.

At least that's what people think when they look at his life from the outside. When all they see is his last name and the money that comes with it.

It’s easy to think that he’s always been one of the lucky few when they remember him from high school where he was king. Where every girl turned her head when he walked past them and gave head when he asked for it.

So easy to mistake his expensive car and fancy clothes for signs of a life without worries because with money comes power and with power comes inviolability, right?

People think he's got it all, is even fortunate to have the looks to go with the rest – pretty rich boy, ladies' man, go-getter.

He can't blame them for misjudging him, for having opinions about him. And he knows they’re talking behind his back, call him daddy’s pride or daddy’s boy, because it’s no secret how he got to the top of the firm without having the necessary skills nor the ambition.

Steve doesn’t mind, it’s the truth. But sometimes he wishes he could make them see what lies beneath the surface.

Because if there’s something he’s most definitely not, it’s his father’s pride.

If anything, his father would rather have no son than the pathetic waste of skin he unfortunately was cursed with as an heir to the Harrington empire.

Steve is a failure in his father’s eyes, a fuck-up that barely made it out of high school and wouldn’t have gotten into college without his father’s name.

He never lived up to his father’s expectations, no matter how hard he tried to be a version of himself that could be respected by him.

The parties, the girls, the preppy clothes – it all belonged to the part he played to please his dear old dad. To no avail.

He was never good enough.

Not when he was 8 and politely said thank you for the toy car he got for his birthday when really, he wanted a doll.

Not when he was 12 and worked hard at basketball practice when secretly, he watched in awe when the cheerleading squad did their flips and jumps.

Not when he was 16 and sat quietly through business dinners with his father’s associates, when all he wanted was to scream.

Steve tried so hard all his life to play by his father’s rules, tried to make it seem like he was who he’s supposed to be, renouncing his true self. Always acting, pretending to be something he wasn’t, isn’t.

Now, at 23, Steve doesn’t know who he is anymore. He feels empty, burned out, sick of this pretentious life and his minuscule existence. So, he tries to escape, finds solace in drinking and purpose in giving his body up to nameless faces with warm mouths and greedy hands for a few moments of pleasure.

It’s all he has, all that keeps him going.

continue reading here

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly. 

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s  three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water. 

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?” 

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive. 

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness. 

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout. 

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

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Square O2: therapy session

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Let Me Love You | Javier Peña (One Shot)

Javier Peña has been the bane of your existence since you arrived to work for the ambassador. When you find yourself at a loose end following an altercation in the street on your way home, Javier is the only person you could turn to which turns your evening into something you'd never dreamed of.

Pairing | Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings | Smut, oral sex (F receiving), Protected PIV sex, descriptions of physical assault/robber, alcohol consumption but nothing else I can think of.

Word Count | 5.2K

Authors Note | Been holed up in bed this weekend rewatching Narcos and this is the result. I hope you like it! Like, Reblogs and feedback are my lifeblood so please let me know if you enjoy this! Just a warning that I am very high on painkillers and this hasn't been proofread so apologies for any spelling mistakes.

Javier Peña wasn’t used to rejection. Whether he liked it or not he was the epitome of a ladies’ man and had no issue in getting whichever woman he wanted that night into his bed. That was until you came bounding into his life with your apathy and disdain towards him. What he should have done was leave well alone but if there was anything Javier enjoyed it was a challenge and you had become a very personal one to him. 

You’d been an assistant to Ambassador Noonan for a few months now – everyone back at home in El Paso had been so proud when you’d beaten everyone else for the role in Colombia, it’s the only time you’d ever seen your father cry. His little girl, all grown up and off to play with the big guns at an overseas posting. 

Colombia had been a culture shock, there was no getting around it. It was busy and loud and all sorts of colourful that you weren’t used to but in the best way possible. When you phoned home each Sunday to catch up with your parents you could feel the desire to go back to your old life fading a little. 

The only aspect of your job you weren’t fond of was Javier Peña. Almost immediately one arrival he’d made it his personal endeavor to conquer you as another office romance. Almost all the office girls had filled you in on his reputation as the DEA’s resident womanizer and you’d done everything possible in your power to avoid becoming just another notch on his bedpost. 

He hadn’t made it easy for you though. It didn’t help that he was just your type. Tall and handsome, with dark brown eyes that pierced right through your own whenever he spoke to you. You’d learnt from the girl who sat on the desk next to you that he was also from Texas and the rumor was that before coming to Colombia he’d jilted his soon-to-be wife on their wedding day. 

“You know he’s got eyes for you, right?” She’d said one afternoon a few weeks ago when Javier had tried to get you to shift the ambassador’s entire schedule around so he could present new intelligence. 

“I don’t care, miel,” Was what you’d replied, using your limited Spanish to call her honey, the pet name you’d fallen on for each other in the short months you’d worked together, “I worked too hard to get here to become just another of the girls Agent Peña has slept with.” 

“Girl, take it from someone who knows, you would not be disappointed.” 

You’d waved her off before gathering a pile of files for the ambassador, using the need to drop them off as an excuse to end the conversation. When you arrived back at your desk, Javier’s partner Steve was waiting at your desk. 

“Agent Murphy, what a nice surprise.” You weren’t lying, you much preferred to deal with Steve when it came to the pair of agents, he was married and you appreciated that unlike his partner, he didn’t openly gawk at you when trying to hold a conversation. 

“Javier sends his apologies, he had to head out to follow a lead…” You shrugged your shoulders at him, “Anyway, he asked me to bring this down for the ambassador and said if you could make sure it lands up on the desk before the end of the day, he would be most appreciative.” 

“You know, if you’d come down and asked without mentioning him, I would have done that, but you can tell him the ambassador is very busy and it’ll wait until tomorrow.” 

“Oh come on,” Steve groaned, “If not for Javi then for me? He’s gonna chew my ass if I don’t get this sorted.” 

“You can tell him if he’s got an issue he can take it up with me personally, surely that’ll get you off the chopping block?” 

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself in for.” Was all Steve replied with before throwing the file down on your desk and walking away. 

*** 

It was late. Later than you’d normally stay at work, but the ambassador had asked you for some financial reports which were proving trickier to put together than you had anticipated. Everyone else had left a while ago, the only sounds in the office were your pen scrawling across paper trying to make the numbers make sense and the far-off sounds of the cleaners in the hallway. That was until you could hear shoes on the flooring coming towards you. 

“Querida, what are you doing here this late?” 

“I could ask the same of you Agent Peña.” You replied, not looking up from the scrawls of numbers in front of you. 

“I just came back after following up on something and Steve said you wouldn’t give the ambassador our intelligence today?” 

“Ambassador Noonan is a busy woman, what do you want me to say?” You finally put your pen down to look at him, stood in front of your desk in his stupidly handsome leather jacket with his stupidly handsome hands on his stupidly handsome hips. 

“Do you know how important that information is to catching Escobar?” He asked, his eyes boring holes into your own. 

“And do you know how many people stand at my desk and insist their files are the most important thing she’s ever going to read in her life?” You countered. 

You watched intently as he used one of his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose, you could tell he was thinking about what to say next. 

“Listen, I know we’ve not always seen eye to eye,” He began, which earned a scoff from you as if to say no shit, “But this was really important.” 

“Like I said to Steve, she’ll get it first thing in the morning.” 

Without saying a word back to you, Javier turned on his heels and walked away to leave, before stopping to turn back and say two words you don’t think he’d ever said to you. 

“Thank you.

***

Weeks had passed without incident. Javier and Steve hadn’t been around all that much – as far as you’d managed to find out they’d been in and out chasing up leads on Escobar out in the field. You hadn’t even bumped into Javier in the apartment building you all lived at. The only sign of life being the sounds of him and whatever woman he’d bought back that night. It was one of the only downsides to your living arrangement – living right next door to him and having to come up with inventive ways to get to sleep when all you could hear was another woman calling his name. 

You’d worked late again. It was a Friday night and everyone else had left a while ago to the bar just around the corner from the embassy. Some of the girls had begged you to go with them but you wanted to get ahead of the ambassador’s schedule for next week, opting instead to spend your Friday pouring over briefing documents and getting everything in a row. 

It probably hadn’t been wise considering there had been an increase in cartel violence on the streets – but you knew that the narcos were smarter than to try and attack the American embassy or anyone who they watched entering or leaving. As the clock struck nine you decided to call it a night. There was a long bath and a glass of wine with your name written all over it at home. Picking up your handbag and swapping your office heels for something more comfortable to walk home in you started making your way to your apartment. 

You weren’t exactly sure when you became aware that someone was following behind you. You’d noticed the sound of feet on the pavement, but it was a Friday night so that wasn’t all that unusual. Something in your subconscious had told you to speed up a little and you’re sure it was when the footsteps behind you did the same that you began to panic a little. You were only a few blocks away from the apartment building. All you needed to do was make it there and you’d be safe. 

The mysterious person behind you had other ideas. You were a street away from the building when you felt a tug on the strap of your handbag. It dragged you backwards and you came face to face with a man. He was much taller than you and had a heavy build. Your brain immediately deciding that fighting him off was impossible. 

You tried in vain to drag your handbag from his hands, but his strength was obviously greater. You gave a good fight but suddenly felt a sharp sting across your face. Whoever this man was he’d just hit you. Hard. You could already feel the telltale slither of blood falling from your nose and the impact had caused a cut to your lip as well. The force was enough to make you let go of your handbag and you watched miserably as the man ran back off down the street with it. 

You wished him luck – there was a tiny bit of money and the keys to your apartment door but not much else. You tried as hard as you could to stifle a laugh at the situation – a bloody nose, cut lip and judging by the ache behind your eye, a black eye, for a few pesos and a useless door key. 

Thankful that you were just a few minutes’ walk away from your apartment you arrived, ready to down a glass of wine until your headache dulled before realise whoever that piece of shit was, he had your keys. 

You groaned out loud, leaning yourself against your apartment door. Connie and Steve lived upstairs but it was late, and you had no intention of waking their new baby and invading their apartment. There was only one option. Javier. 

You prayed to whichever God out there would listen as you knocked on his front door, hoping that had chosen the comfort of his own home and opposed to a brothel for the night. If he did, it was a lovely night on the floor for you. 

It took a moment, but you could hear shuffling at the other side of the door before it swung open to reveal Javier, top buttons undone and without a belt on his jeans. 

“Jesus Christ, Querida,” He exclaimed, taking in the sight of your face, bloody and already bruising, “What on earth happened?!” 

“Some guy tried to take my bag as I was walking home, when I tried to fight it back from him he hit me,” You explained, “Stupid of me really considering he was at least twice my size.” 

Javier ushered you inside, closing the door behind you before motioning for you to sit on his couch, “Was there anything important in there?” 

“No, I don’t take papers home with me, just a few hundred pesos and my apartment keys.” 

“Okay, that’s good, we can get you a new set keys in the morning,” He spoke over his shoulder as he rooted around in his freezer, “Does it hurt?” 

“Are you seriously asking if my bloody nose, split lip and potential black eye hurts?” You shot back, deadpan as he wrapped some ice in a towel, “Yes, it fucking hurts Javier.” 

“Alright, I’m sorry, just take this and rest it where it hurts.” He spoke, handing over the ice before heading back to the kitchen. 

He returned with two glasses filled with amber liquid which you could only assume was whiskey and popped two pills next to the glass he set down for you, “You know you’re not supposed to take pills with alcohol right?”  “Trust me, I’ve been doing it most of my life and I seem to be alright,” Was his response as he sat down in the chair away from you, “Both will help take the sting away, I promise.” 

At this point you would do anything to get rid of the dull ache behind your eyeballs so, putting down the ice, you popped both pills on your tongue at the same time before draining the whole glass of whiskey in on go. When you opened your eyes, Javier’s were trained on you, staring. 

“What?” You challenged, picking up the ice again, “Never seen a girl shoot a whiskey before?” 

Without a word, he stood from the chair and took a few wide strides before he was on his knees on the floor in front of you. 

“Let me see.” He all but demanded, moving your hand that was holding the ice to your swollen lip. 

Once the ice had moved, he used his hand to lean your chin up so he could see your injuries better. Your breath and caught in your throat at him being so close to you. His eyes were pouring over your face as he turned you into the light to get a better look at each injury. 

“Whilst he did a number on you, hermosa,” Javier spoke, “I don’t think you need stitches.”

“Thank the lord for small mercies.” You replied as Javier walked to the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of whiskey, stopping to pour a shot into your glass before doing the same to his own glass. 

“Do you want to have a shower?” He asked, “You can get yourself clean and I’ll see if I’ve got some clothes you can wear for tonight.” 

You gave a small smile, suddenly feeling quite helpless about the whole situation, “That would be nice Javi, thank you.” 

***

The warm water of Javier’s shower did wonders for loosening the joints you hadn’t realized you’d tensed so much. Watching the blood from your nose wash down the drain was concerning, and you were sure the headache you had was getting worse, but you hoped the pills and the alcohol would do their job soon enough. 

Once you were wrapped in a towel and stood in Javier’s bedroom, you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. He’d lain out a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, the only clothes you think he could find that would fit you. Once you were dry and had slipped on the clothes you took a moment to gather yourself. 

You wondered how many other women had been in this room, wearing his clothes. Granted, you doubted that very few of them, if any, had received a slap round the face in exchange for their bag, but there was a telltale pang of jealously that this felt like something he would do for every girl fresh out of his shower. 

“Hermosa…” Javi dragged out of his mouth when he caught site of you leaving his room, before couching a little to cover up the obvious slip of the tongue he hadn’t meant to let leave his thoughts. 

“Thank you, I feel much better now.” You replied, taking up your old seat on his couch. 

“You shouldn’t be walking back this late on your own by the way.” He offered. 

“It’s never been an issue before,” You spoke softly, taking a sip of your drink, “I know things are getting more dangerous, but it really is only a few streets, and I don’t drive.” 

“Whenever you need to work late you tell me,” He ordered, “I’m usually always around and I’ll drive you back.”  “I don’t need you to be my chauffer, Javier.” You snorted. 

“I’m not asking to be your chauffer, querida, I’m asking to be your friend.” 

An involuntary snort left your mouth when Javier spoke, “You don’t want to be my friend Javier, you hate me.” Was your response. 

A sigh left Javier’s lips, “I don’t hate you querida,” His voice was low, “Quite the opposite actually.” 

“What the hell are you talking about Peña?” 

Another ragged sigh left his mouth as he pinched the bridge of his nose as if to collect his thoughts, “I like you, okay?” He looked you dead in the eyes, “I Like you very much.” 

“But you don’t know anything about me, Javier?!” You exclaimed, not understanding how the man in front of you, who had been the cause of most of your problems since coming to Colombia, was admitting he liked you. This had to be a joke. 

“I know enough to make my judgement, hermosa,” He replied, “I know that you’re one of the only women at the embassy who won’t stand for my shit, I know that you’re fiercely intelligent and that you’d do anything in your power to help those you care about, I know you’re from Texas and that tequila is what you like to drink on a Friday when you want to forget about your week. I know you call your family every Sunday and it’s the part of your week you look forward to the most because that’s what you always talk to the girls in the office about when Steve and I come for Monday briefing.” 

As he trails off you sit on his couch dumbfounded. Javier Peña liked you. Maybe every time he’d tried to coax you into leaving the bar with him hadn’t been for just another conquest. Maybe when the girls in the office had told you he was flirting with you, it was because he was and not because he wanted you to slip his files to the top of the ambassador’s pile. 

“Listen querida,” Javier spoke again, moving so you were caught in his eyeline, “I might not know everything about you, like your favourite colour or how you like your eggs cooked in the morning, but I know that you are the only woman in this godforsaken place that makes me feel anything.” 

“It’s orange.” You spoke without thinking, looking him dead in the eye. 

“Hmm?”  “My favourite colour, it’s orange.” 

Javier chuckled, pushing himself up from his seat to sit next to you on the couch, placing a hand lightly on your thigh, “Mine is blue.” He offered, causing you both to laugh at each other. 

“Jesus Christ Javi, just kiss me already.” 

He didn’t need telling twice. Aware of the injuries to your face, he used his hands to cup either side of your face before pressing a soft kiss to your lips, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on the swelling. He needn’t have worried because almost immediately you snaked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in closer, allowing your mouth to open slightly to him. 

Javi immediately accepted the invitation of your open mouth, tentatively using it to tangle his tongue with your own as he deepened the kiss. The faint taste of blood in your mouth had him pulling back. You could tell he was searching your face for any signs of discomfort. 

“Javi it’s fine, it’s a split lip, just…” You trailed off, pulling him back closer to you, “Don’t stop.” 

Instead of latching himself back onto your mouth, Javier used his bodyweight to push you back so you were led on his couch with his body covering yours above you. One of his hands was placed next to your head to keep him held up above you, the other was resting at your hip as he looked down at you. 

“You look lovely like this querida,” He breathed, “Trapped underneath me all breathless and wanting.” 

“It’s not nice to tease, Peña.” Came your response as you bucked your hips towards him slightly, letting him know you needed him. 

He smirked down at you before taking the assault of his mouth to your neck. He pressed open mouth kisses down your throat and along your collarbone as his hand slowly worked the hem of your shirt free from where you’d tucked it into your skirt before tracing his fingers up inside the material to rest just under the band of your bra. 

A moan ripped from your throat as Javier bit down on the skin behind your ear, sucking gently but enough that you knew there would be a mark there in the morning. 

“You like that huh?” He whispered into your ear, “You like it when I mark you?” 

“Mmm Hmm.” Was all you could manage to get out as Javier continued to trail his mouth over your exposed skin. 

“Words, Hermosa,” He stopped, lifting his head to look you in the eye, “Use them.” 

“Ye…yes, I like it whe… when you mark me, Javi.” Came your strangled reply. 

“I bet you do,” He rasped into your ear, “I bet if I slipped my hand into your panties you’d be wet for me, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes!” You called out without even thinking, “Oh my god Javi please take my clothes off and touch me.” 

You almost expected Javier to tease you more at this point but instead, he pushed himself back so he was knelt between your thighs before making quick work on situating himself on the floor on his knees. 

“Sit up for me hermosa.” He spoke, helping you to move yourself so your ass was only just hanging onto the edge of the couch with your back up against it. 

Almost on instinct your spread your legs wide for him, watching as he bunched your skirt up against your waist, revealing the light grey cotton panties you’d thrown on this morning. If you’d known then that by the evening you’d be baring them to Javier’s face, you’d have picked something sexier. 

You looked down at him between your thighs and saw his chest was heaving slightly with his heavy breathing, “What’s this?” He asked, before brushing his fingers over the material that was covering your core, “You’re soaking already, this little wet patch is giving you away.” 

A light moan left your lips as his fingers moved from the wet patch at your entrance all the way up to where he could touch your clit. His touch was feather light but just like anything he’d done in the past few minutes it was lighting you on fire. 

“I’m going to eat your pussy, darling girl,” He spoke, hooking his fingers around your panties to drag them off, “Is that okay?” 

“Only if you’re good at it, Peña.” Came your response. 

If he wanted to respond to your smart mouth he thought better of it. Pulling your panties all the way off and discarding them somewhere on the floor behind him before bringing his face as close to your pussy as he could get without touching you. He stayed like that for what felt like hours as he watched your wiggle your hips and move about to try and get his mouth to touch you. 

When he finally did put his mouth to you it was like the universe exploded. He licked a single stripe from your entrance to your clit, using the tip of his tongue to tease the bundle of nerves before pulling away. A petulant whine left your mouth but Javier had waited a long time for this so it wasn’t long until his tongue was back to teasing your clit. He switched between light flicks of his tongue to enveloping your clit between his lips to suck on it. Within no time your hands were tangled in his hair and you were grinding your pussy into his mouth, begging him to make you cum. 

“You want to cum, hermosa?” He asked, tearing himself away from your pussy, “You going to make a mess of my face?” 

“Oh god,” You moaned, “Javi please, it’s too much.”  You looked down and watched as he smirked at you before latching his mouth back around your clit. You’d never felt like this with anyone before, you could certainly understand why most of the girls in the office were obsessed with this man if this is what he could do to them in mere minutes. A flash of jealousy seeped into you which you tried to push to the back of your mind. 

Suddenly you felt him push two fingers inside your aching pussy. Your felt him expertly curl them upwards, hitting a spot inside you that you weren’t aware could feel so good. Your hips began moving to meet the thrusts of his fingers inside you as his tongue continued teasing your clit. You could feel the telltale tightening in your abdomen and just silently prayed to god that he didn’t stop.

“I can feel you getting tighter around my fingers hermosa,” Javi groaned from your pussy, “I want you to cum for me.” 

His words mixed with the assault of his fingers and mouth were all you needed at that point. Your thighs tightened around his face as you cried out his name whilst his mouth worked your through your orgasm. 

Once Javi had worked you through most of the aftershocks of your orgasm he sat back on his heels to look at you. 

“I don’t think anyone has made me cum like that,” You spoke breathlessly, “That was insane.” You took the time to look at Javi, from his place sat on the floor. 

His mouth was glistening with your slick and the further you let your eye roam the better the view got, until your eyes settled on the prominent bulge at the front of his jeans. 

“Looks like you’ve got a little problem there, agent.” You teased, pointing to him. 

“Little?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “You’re going to regret that.” 

He stood, making light work of removing the belt that held his jeans up, “Turn around and lift your skirt up.” He ordered. 

You did as you were told, draping the upper half of your body over the back of the couch, widening your legs so Javier had a view of your ass and your exposed pussy. You looked over your shoulder to find him fishing a condom out of his wallet before shedding himself of his jeans and boxers. Little had been as far from correct as you could have been. His cock was hard and you watched intently as he rolled the condom on swiftly. Your mouth watered at the thought of having him heavy in your mouth. 

“Enjoying the show?” He asked as he moved behind you, letting two of his fingers dip into your pussy, “So wet for me hermosa, you ready for my cock?” 

“Yes Javi,” You breathed, moving yourself back in an attempt to get him closer to you, “I want you to fill me up.” 

“Whatever you want, darling girl.” Was his answer. 

You felt him scoot up behind you, taking your hip in one of his hands, using the other to guide the head of his cock to your wet slit. The friction caused when he started pushing inside of your was delightful. He was big, the biggest you think you’d ever taken but the feeling of fullness was overwhelming. 

You could hear soft grunts from behind you as he pushed himself all the way into you, stilling once he had bottomed out, “You okay?” He asked softly into your ear as the hand at your hip squeezed lightly. 

“Fuck Javi,” You moaned, “You’re so fucking big, it feels so good.”  “Yeah?” He asked, a slight chuckle to his voice, “You like my cock inside of you?” 

“Uh huh.” You managed to drag out from your mouth as he slowly pulled out and thrust back into you. 

The pace was slow to begin with, giving you a chance to get used to his size within you and half because Javier knew if he started his usual bruising pace with you, he would be done in mere seconds. God you felt good around him. 

“Javi please,” You begged, “I need you to move.” 

“You want me to fuck you?” He asked, pulling his cock almost all the way out of your pussy before stilling, “Needy little thing, begging for my cock like that.” 

He wasn’t one to deny a lady what she wanted though so he set about giving you exactly what you wanted. Soon enough he was pounding into your pussy from behind. The strangled cries that he pulled from your lips were enough to let him know you were enjoying yourself – pair those sounds with the way your pussy was clenching around him every time he pushed himself into you and he was ready to come undone. 

“You’re such a good girl for me aren’t you?” He cooed into your ear as the hand that wasn’t keeping him upright tangled in your hair, “Put your hand on your pussy baby,” He ordered, “Make yourself cum on my cock.” 

You did as you were told, snaking one of your hands underneath your body. You used one of your fingers to circle your clit, the wetness dripping from your entrance enough to slicken you. 

“That it’s baby,” Javier spoke in encouragement, “I can feel that pussy clenching around me, you going to cum for me?” 

The entire thing was overwhelming – the filth falling from Javi’s mouth, the feeling of his cock filling you up and your fingers on your clit pushing you to the edge. Your second orgasm creeped up on you, falling over you in waves as you cried Javi’s name. 

“God fucking dammit,” Came a voice from behind you, “Baby I’m going to cum.” 

Words had failed you, but you moaned in approval, doing what you could to push your pussy further into Javi’s hips. A few more thrusts and he stilled within you, letting out a raged moan as his hand squeezed hard enough to bruise at your hips. 

Javier stayed still for as long as he could, letting the two of you catch your breath for a moment before he pulled himself out of you. Without his body to keep you upright you collapsed into the couch, doing what you could to pull your skirt down so you weren’t bared to the room anymore. 

Javi padded back into the room after disposing of the condom in his bathroom. He sat down on the couch, lifting your legs to rest against his thighs. He was still dressed in his shirt and had thrown on a fresh pair of boxers on his way back to you. 

“Javi…” You spoke, drawing his attention to you. 

“What is it, hermosa?” 

“I think we skipped right past friends, don’t you?” 

A laugh erupted from his mouth. You think it’s the first time you’ve seen him properly laugh and you like it. 

“You mean your friends don’t eat your pussy and fuck you like that?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at you. 

You let your hand swat his arm, “You know, I can’t say they do.” 

His eyes darkened slightly as they looked at you, “Does that mean they don’t wrap you up in bed, let you sleep for a few hours and then wake you up to bury themselves inside of you?” 

Your eyes widened at the insinuation. You’d assumed you’d spend the night sleeping on his couch until you could slip out and get your keys sorted. 

“You want me to sleep in your bed?”  “Hermosa….” He breathed, “We won’t be sleeping much at all.” 

[seths-rogens]

82 and steddie for the ANGST

i wrote this ENTIRELY ON THE CLOCK i feel both powerful and insane anyway here u go bestie, some lovely steddie angst <33

word count: 1.1k

——————

82. “This is a one time thing.”

He should’ve known.

Should’ve known when Eddie’s eyes fell hooded. Should’ve known when his back was pressed hard against the wall of his hallway. When Eddie’s tongue was down his throat. Should’ve known when Eddie pressed in slow and his head fell back against the pillow.

It should’ve been obvious. He should’ve known.

But now, lying bare, covered only by the thin top sheet, Steve frowns as he watches Eddie sit up and start searching for his clothes.

“What’re you doing?” He fiddles with the covers, pinching and twisting them between his fingers.

Eddie barely spares a glance over his shoulder.

“What does it look like?” He reaches down, shuffles as he pulls on his boxers. The low light casts shadows over the curve of his back, illuminates the Gauth tattoo he got a week last Friday. “This was a one time thing, Harrington. Did you expect me to stay and cuddle?”

Steve’s stomach drops like he’s falling from a height. He feels sick, anxiety rolling through his stomach.

Is this all he’s good for? A quick fuck and nothing more?

Does he not deserve more than just this?

Spiralling is never a nice feeling.

He laughs, cold and harsh, plastering on that old ‘King Steve’ persona and crossing his arms tight over his chest. Nothing can break through that tough exterior. “Course not. Why would I expect anything from you?”

Eddie has his shirt on now. He’s stood, searching the floor for where he tossed his jeans. He meets Steve’s eye at his stern tone.

“Woah, whats your deal man?”

“My deal? There’s no deal.” Steve shakes his head, a glare settled on his face.

“I mean, clearly there is. You were fine like five minutes ago and now, what? You’re acting all bitchy for some reason?”

“Fucking rich coming from you, Munson.”

Eddie’s eyes widen in shock. “The fuck?” He mutters under his breath. “What’s gotten into you? You haven’t called me Munson in months!”

Steve glowers, tosses the covers back and strides, naked as the day he was born, into the bathroom. “You can see yourself out.”

A clean break will be easier. He can lose it in private once Eddie’s gone.

He goes to shut the door but a palm slams down, holding it open. Steve flinches, eyes flicking up to meet Eddie’s.

“Wait a goddamn minute, man. What did I do?” Eddie looks desperate now, where before he seemed apathetic. Steve can’t help but be confused at the shift.

“Why do you care? I thought this was a one time thing?”

“It is! That’s what you wanted!”

Steve let’s out a short breath, ducks his head and punches the bridge of his nose. He can’t help the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “You didn’t even ask me.” He chokes out.

“What?”

“You didn’t ask me what I want.”

A crease appears between Eddie’s eyebrows, confusion swimming in his eyes. “You’re not a queer, Steve. You just wanted to get off, right? It’s okay. I’m not mad that that’s all you want.”

Steve laughs, letting go of the door and running a hand down his face. A couple tears spill over. “And you were just there, right?”

“Exactly. We’re friends. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve’s voice breaks. “You think I would use you like that? That’s how little you think of me?”

“What? Stevie, sunshine, no. I think the world of you.”

“Then why is it a one time thing! Why can’t I be more? Am I not good enough? Don’t I deserve it?”

“Sweetheart—“

“No.” He puts his foot down. “You don’t get to call me that if you’re just gonna fuck me and toss me to the side.”

Eddie flinches as if struck. “I—“

“I’m so tired, Eddie. I’m so tired of being this person everyone thinks is only good for sex. I don’t even care about sex that much!” Steve runs a hand through his hair, before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his hips. He’s too exposed. “Like yeah, sure, it’s fun. But I want more than that! I like the hand holding and the dates and the inside jokes. I don’t want just sex. I want to be loved.”

Eddie’s expression softens, his eyes a little wet. “You are so loved, Steve Harrington. Robin and Dustin and the rest of the kids love you so much. Hell, they would die for you.”

Steve shakes his head, staring at the floor. Eddie’s holy socks next to his bare feet. “That’s not what I mean. That’s different.”

“You want to be in love.”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“Well, I—“ Eddie starts. Steve looks up at him, a glimmer of hope lighting in his chest. “No. Never mind, I don’t even know what I was going to say.”

He takes a step back, steps into his jeans and pulls them up. He’s fiddling with the belt buckle when he says, “I should get going. I’m sorry I upset you.”

He makes for the door but doesn’t get far before Steve stops him. “Eds?”

Eddie stops but doesn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“What were you going to say?”

Eddie shakes his head, croaks out an answer. “Nothing, Stevie. Promise.”

“No.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as he whispers the plea. “Please say it.”

Eddie turns around.

His eyes are closed. His fists clenched so tightly his skin is pulled white. “You could never want me. So why ask for more when I could have you for one night?”

Steve makes a pained noise but says nothing, sensing Eddie isn’t finish. Eddie let’s out a shaky sigh.

“I thought I was protecting myself. Limiting it to one night, one time. I thought we could just move on. Just be friends who had sex that one time.” He laughs, soft and self deprecating. “But it’s never that easy with you, Stevie. I knew as soon as we finished that if I let myself stay, if I held you for even a moment, that I’d never recover.”

Steve steps towards him, hapless to resist.

“So I acted like it meant nothing. And I’m sorry I did, truly. If I knew you felt like that, I wouldn’t have.”

“How do I feel, Eddie?”

Eddie’s face scrunches up, pained or maybe nervous. “You… you love me? Right?”

Steve nods. Takes another step forward. “And?”

“And I love you.”

For the first time all night, Steve smiles. The full, gleaming one he doesn’t let slip often. It lightens his eyes, bares his teeth.

He steps closer still until they’re almost chest to chest.

Steve wraps his fingers around the handcuffs that make up Eddie’s belt buckle. He tugs and Eddie stumbles forward until they’re flush.

With his other hand, Steve loosens his towel. Lets it fall.

He cups Eddie’s jaw in his hands, leans in until there’s only a whisper of space between their lips.

“Well then, maybe this doesn’t have to be a one time thing.”

—————

send me a prompt!