#steer rogers fluff

[starvine]

☾ ⋆* kiss it better

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!omaticaya reader

genre: fluff, angst

synopsis: all you wanted to do was serve your people. however, when you get injured, your mission is cut short. neteyam insists upon patching you up and decides to explain his concerns for your well-being and future together.

warnings: battle stuff, guns, blood, battle injuries, medical jargon, stitches, minor swearing (?), allusions to mating/sex ig, aged-up neteyam

word count: 7.9k

notes: IT’S HERE! i’m very excited to have started writing again, and although i’m very casual about when i write, i hope to be somewhat consistent lol. enjoy this for now, i have more planned for the future! i hope you all enjoy, pls reblog/comment/etc if you feel so inclined <33

The air was tense today, thick with disciplined focus as you keep your ears alert for any incoming airships. Reeking of smoke and burning metal, a scent that is foreign and unpleasant to your nose, you remain aware of everything and anything. Gray clouds billowing and a pungent smell that cling to the back of your throat like a hand with a vice grip—nothing was natural. 

Tilting your forehead forward, you hope your visor, decorated with teeth and interwoven pieces, will shield your eyes from the wind. You hold your bow tightly, the wood smooth against your fingers as you use your other hand to guide your ikran swiftly through the air. 

“Calm, calm,” you soothe her, tapping your fingers along her strong neck. 

You’re anxious today. Not because of the imminent arrival of the Sky People, their ships ready to fire metal bullets at you at any second; you’ve dealt with that many times before. No, the reason you’re nervous is because of Neteyam. 

Today is Neteyam’s first day participating in the raid—well, his first raid on the ground with his father’s permission—rather than being a part of the aerial surveillance team. You tried to insist that you should accompany him, but, due to his wishes, you remained in the air beside his mother. 

 “Do you see anything yet?” Neytiri’s voice asks over the intercom. 

Bringing your fingers to your throat to press the responding button, you reply, “Nothing yet.” 

“I’m going to fly down to help gather some of the gear. You stay here,” she orders, raising her bow to signal that she and her ikran were descending. 

“Let us know if you spot any bogeys. We’ve got some heavy-duty gear and need as much time as possible,” Jake informs you over the intercom. 

“Roger that, sir,” you say, steering your ikran closer to where the enemy would most likely be approaching. 

Ears twitching back and forth, you attempt to pick up the whir of an aircraft amongst the orders commanded, the creaks and minor explosions occurring from the Meg-Lev train your people have intercepted, and the wind blowing past you. You hope that maybe you could track a scent, sniffing the air a couple of times to no avail. It’s all smoke and metal. The skies were calm, except for your ikran’s screeching, however, they couldn’t be for long. There was no way those demons would allow your people to escape that easily. 

“Hey,” Neteyam breathes over the intercom, a slight huff of your name. You could hear the smile on his face. “How’re things looking up there?” 

“What happened to using my code name?” you question, peering over your ikran in an attempt to find him along the ground. “I’ll tell you if I see anything. I know how to do my job, you know.” 

“Just double checking,” 

You scoff, guiding your ikran to the right. “Maybe you should focus on gathering all of the gear instead,” 

“Oh, really? Maybe you should-”

Suddenly, your ears flex forward, focused on the faint whirring of something mechanical and man-made; something that was not naturally occurring within your world. 

“Airships spotted! Everyone, move!” you shout over the intercom. You yelp out into the open air, pumping your bow in tandem with the three shouts you release to alert your fellow brothers and sisters in battle. 

Just as people begin clambering for their ikrans and direhorses, the two Scorpions start firing. The relentless pop of military guns fills your ears, causing your tail to swish frantically and your ears to perk forward. 

Using a high pitch, you signal for your ikran to dive, swooping up and under the two fighter pilots. 

“Do not engage! I repeat, do not engage! I want minimal casualties today,” Jake commands over the intercom, the background full of shouts and grunts. 

“Jake, I’ve got to take out these two airships. They’re already taking down ikrans,” you spoke, peering up at the airships as you stealthily soar below. 

Just then, Neteyam responds. 

“No! Listen to my father, do not engage. I can lead the people to safety,” 

“There won’t be any people to lead if I don’t take these airships down.” 

Neteyam groans your name in warning, the sound of shouts heard from all around. “Would you listen for once?” 

Jake barks your name, frustrated and frantic. “Get out of there! Get back to the High Camp!” he orders. You begin mapping out the plan of your attack. “That is a direct order!”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you respond, ignoring all that comes after. 

Your ikran shoots straight up into the air, coming close to the tail-end of the Scorpion gunship. You arch over the top of the gunship, upside down and looping over to the front side. The sun high in the sky and its beams creating a glare on the glass makes it difficult for you to spot the pilot. Upon finding his location, you draw the string of your bow taught, ready to fire. 

“Incoming! Enemy on-”

You shriek upon release. The arrow flies straight through the glass, nailing your target right in the chest. 

The gunship begins to tilt forward, preparing for its decline. As a hunter and warrior, it was your duty to pay respects to the creatures you killed in order to sustain the way of life. Kneeling over them, declaring your thanks, and wishing for their safe return to rest amongst the Great Mother was a sacred practice. However, as the gunship crashed and blew up in flames, hot and angry, you felt no thanks or remorse. They did not deserve to rest peacefully, and they didn’t even deserve to die on the Great Mother’s sacred soil. Their spirits deserved to walk alone, isolated and cold from the warm glow of the afterlife. 

“You skxawng! What the hell are you doing?” Neteyam screams. 

Looking around, you see the green back of his ikran, its rider perched on top with no visible concerns except for the fury etched on his face. 

“I got this! It’s just one more,” you insist, positioning an arrow on your bow, eyeing the last gunship. 

“May the Great Mother help you when I knock-” and with that, he’s easily ignored. 

The wind whips past you, high and soft, almost like a whisper from Eywa that she too felt the tensions of battle. You would do anything to soothe her pain. She could not endure the suffering of this war much longer. 

Tightening your grip on your ikran, her blues providing a stark contrast to the grayness of the military equipment, you attack from the rear yet again. Guns firing, you duck, placing yourself as flat as you can get against her back. However, once you approach the opening of the ship, where all of the massive guns were placed, you sit up, firing quickly. 

The scream and weak grunt you heard confirms that it was a successful hit. Loading your bow with another arrow, you soar underneath the aircraft, looping around until you have the high ground. Securing your aim, your fingers release the string until the arrow flies straight into one of the Scorpion's propellers. A small explosion soon turned into a large one, the ship dipping to its left and falling from its dominant space in the sky to the dirt. 

However, so were you.

You must’ve underestimated how close you were to the ship, your eagerness to protect your people and the Great Mother clouded your judgment. 

The sound and burst of light, as well as the force, must’ve spooked your companion as she, too, seemed to have lost her place in the sky. She tumbles towards the ground, shrieks and roars released into the open air. Jaw clenched, you tried to convince her to gain control to no avail. 

“Come on!” you shout, knuckles turning a pale blue with the tight grip you had. 

As you neared the ground, panic began to set in. Your ears lay flat against your head in an attempt to not become overwhelmed by the wind, you tried to think quickly. 

You could stay with your ikran, but you would both get injured; you could also disconnect from her and leap from the group, in hopes of only injuring yourself. 

Deciding on the latter, you had one plea for the Great Mother: 

“Please don’t let Neteyam kill me.” 

Disconnecting your kuru, you leap the rest of the way to the ground, the shock of the force of your fall causing you to fall instead of landing perfectly on your feet. The ship crashes a couple of yards in front of you, the force of the blast propelling you forward. 

Rolling and skidding along the dirt, pieces of gravel and discarded glass and metal tear at your skin. Red begins to bubble up along the surface, the violent opposite of your blue skin. 

Tumbling down a hill, you lose your grip on your bow, the wood being left behind in your trail. The burning sensation of your flesh being scraped away keeps you alert, blindly clutching at anything to break your fall. 

Eventually, you slow to a stop, landing on your stomach with a mouthful of dirt. Spitting and coughing up the soil, you take a minute to catch your breath. With a slight raise of your head, you look at the ship as the flames crackle and cause a film of sweat to break out on your skin. That hunk of metal was truly ugly against the backdrop of the forest. 

You begin to slowly sit up, a sharp pain coming from your side. A cut, not deep enough to need stitches, slowly oozes blood down your left rib, crimson staining the skin. It looks swollen, screaming to be disinfected immediately. Reaching behind you to check for any more severe wounds, you arch away from your nimble fingers just upon a light graze. The heat from the explosion must’ve irritated the skin, causing soreness and slight bubbling in some places. 

Minor scrapes along your knees and elbows from what you could see and feel, makes you thank Eywa for her protection and the benign wounds. Stumbling onto your feet, you catch sight of something unnatural. 

A small piece of metal protrudes from the side of your thigh, embedded into the flesh. Staring at the shrapnel, you’re reminded that your world doesn’t just belong to you anymore. Even if the Sky People were to disappear and return back to their planet, the scientists would remain here. Their clunky gear and massive structures would continue to reside amongst the nature of Pandora. 

Something about that notion makes your heart sink. 

You lightly touch the silvery metal, trying to gauge how deep the foreign object must be. It felt stiff and unwilling to relent to your touch, confirming that it was not something you could brush off. Taking a step forward, a broad, aching pain festers throughout your leg. It hurt less if you put less pressure on the limb, however, that would be hard to do on your journey back to the High Camp. 

Picking up your bow from the ground, arrows broken and scattered around, you slowly mount your ikran, muttering expletives to yourself at the pain that dwelled throughout your entire body. 

Neteyam was surely going to kill you. 

Upon your arrival, after an arduous flight back home, you slowly slid off your companion onto the uneven rock. Blood oozed out from around the metal, the object having dug deeper into the surface the more you moved. With one hand clutching your rib and another trying to steady the object, you hoped to stumble into a healing area before you were noticed by a Sully. 

Turns out, you’re not as stealthy as you thought. 

“She’s back! She’s back!” a high-pitched cheer sounded, a small girl bouncing towards you. Tuk’s big grin slowly faded into a look of concern and worry as she sized up your injuries. “Mom! Kiri! She’s hurt!” 

The younger girl prances over to you, lifting your arms and examining your body from front to back. You feel the small girl brush against your tail, which was agitatedly flicking back and forth. 

With a sigh of your name, you see Tuk’s mother and elder sister approach you, war paint still decorating Neytiri’s face in vibrant greens and yellows. She gasps upon spotting the dirt, blood, and bruising that has blossomed across your skin, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as her eyes fill with worry. 

“We must get her to grandmother,” Kiri announces to her mother, clutching your upper arm as softly as she could without hurting you. 

“There’s no need. I can do it myself,” you try to assure her, taking a fumbling limp forward. 

“There is a piece of metal sticking out of your leg.” 

You glance down, almost as if you hadn’t noticed it at all before. It was a futile attempt, especially as you used your fingers to brace the object, preventing it from moving too much. “There is?” 

“Damn, bro!” Lo’ak exclaims, waltzing up beside you and trying his best to not laugh at your given failure. “Looks like someone got their ass handed to them by some Sky People,” 

Hissing at him, you weakly push at his chest to show him that you weren’t interested in his jokes right now. 

“Lo’ak!” his mother scolds, hitting him upside the head. 

“What?! What I’d do?!” 

Then, the two people you desperately wanted to avoid came into view: Neteyam and his father. Jake had a stern, militant look on his face—a facade that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Neteyam’s face was set into a deep frown, a look that was a delicate cross between his mother’s and father’s disappointed faces. 

“Well, would you look at the time? Looks like I better start tending to-” you attempt to walk away, only to be kept in place by Neytiri’s firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not like you’d be able to escape them as quickly or swiftly as you would typically be able to. You–apparently–had a piece of metal sticking out of your leg. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Jake scolds still dressed head to toe in his fusion of Omaticaya and Sky military gear. “Disobeying direct orders? That isn’t something I expected from you.” 

Casting your eyes downwards, you hope your flat ears and limp tail would get you out of this scolding quicker than it would’ve if he was scolding Neteyam or Lo’ak. Typically, avoiding his gaze would show that you felt regret—which, in this case, you didn’t really—and he’d let you move on. However, it’s hard to keep your eyes fixed on the ground when someone gets into your line of view. 

Neteyam crouches down, face coming into view as if he’s trying to catch your fake performance. Instead, he places two hands, worn and calloused from all of the years of fighting and defending his people, onto your cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he can view you from his natural height, allowing him to view each scrape and bruise in proper lighting. His lips twitch into a grimace, thumbs grazing over a small cut that must be on your cheek because, although there’s a faint sting, there’s no leaking blood. 

Now, everyone knew about you and Neteyam. It’s not like it was kept a secret. Wherever you went, he followed; whatever he was doing, you were right there beside him. In the years to come, you would become his mate and that was an unspoken decision between you and him. Well, there was also an unspoken rule between Neteyam and the rest of the boys his age to not even glance at you, or else he’d have their tails. However, no matter how much people smiled softly whenever you’d exchange fond glances or spare looks when you two ran off alone, it wasn’t like you publicly displayed much physical affection. Nonetheless in front of his parents. 

He unloops your visor from behind your ears, handing it to his brother without his gaze leaving your face. As soon as his hands leave you, they return just as quickly. His fingers smooth over your face, confirming that you’re breathing and here in front of him—something he’s very grateful for. Your stupidity—not so much. 

“You’re such a skxawng,” he chides, tilting your face towards his. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s not like I’m the one who took down—not one—but two whole- ow!” you yelp, stumbling forward towards the young man. 

Tuk looks at you guiltily, one finger outstretched as if she was prodding at something. 

Kiri steps forward, pushing Tuktirey out of the way in order to re-examine your back. 

“We should take her to grandmother,” she insists, “now.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to continue with your act of not being nearly as injured as you appear, but the longer you stand, the more it becomes not true. As the adrenaline wears off, the soreness and incessant throbbing grow throughout your muscles and bones. Your rib and leg are still oozing blood, warm and tacky against your skin. Neteyam loops an arm around you, careful to avoid the blisters and welts that decorate various places on your back. 

His free hand reaches for the hand that hangs limply over his shoulder, intertwining your fingers and giving them a light squeeze. “It’ll all be okay,” 

“Yeah, I know. Just ‘cause I’m walking a bit funny doesn’t mean I’m dying,” 

You could say that then, but you sure as hell can’t say that now. 

If there was one thing about Mo’at, it was that she couldn’t care less if her remedies stung like a bitch as long as they cured you thoroughly. So now, as she smears a paste along your back—the sensation as bitter and frigid as the Northernmost part of any mountain—that bites at your skin, you kind of wish you were dead. Or at least knocked out. 

This isn’t even the worst of it. 

Once the stinging fades more into a relaxing cool, Mo’at instructs you to lean backward so she can assess your torso. The older woman crouches next to you, hands hovering over the wound as if Eywa was sending her a direct message on the best way to heal you. Neteyam sits on the other side of you, clutching your hand with a grip that seems more like it’s to reassure him than you, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face. 

Neytiri stays close to her mother, observing or advising what she believes to be the next course of action—just as a tsakarem should do. Kiri stays by your feet, grinding and mashing up various plants and syrups that could be used to aid with disinfecting your wounds. Lo’ak and his father stay near the door, ready to leave if someone else should need assistance with anything to do with the war effort. However, as everyone stays well within their place, performing their necessary task, Tuk couldn’t seem to sit still. 

“Is she going to need stitches?” Tuk asks, peering over her eldest brother. 

Neteyam removes his hand from your hair, slightly readjusting the younger’s weight so she doesn’t put too much pressure on him, in turn, putting pressure on you. 

The Tsahìk doesn’t look up from your wound, eyes brightening as if Eywa had finally delivered her guidance to the woman. “No, she will just need to rest. I would advise very minimal movement for at least seven days,” the woman says, being handed a bowl of yellowish sap. 

“Seven days? But I need to be out there, it’s my duty to fight,” you plead, growing restless and inching upwards. 

Neteyam pushes you back down, delicate but firm fingers pressing against your sternum. “Down,” he murmurs. 

“It is not my fault you did not listen to orders,” the older woman retorts, using a brush-like leaf to observe the consistency of the paste before lowering it toward your injury. 

“Yeah, well it’s not my fault that I just happened to save- oh, Great Mother! Holy sh-” you yelp upon Mo’at contact. 

Neteyam presses a hand over your mouth, sending you a stern glare. “Not in front of the Tsahìk,” he hushes, palm warm against your lips. 

You groan against his hand, face twisting and back arching in pain. Unlike the gel thinly spread across your back, there was no relief from this paste. Mo’at continued to slather it all across your skin, insisting that the more you move, the more it will hurt. You squeeze Neteyam’s hand, feeling the bones shift with how strong your grip is. If you’re hurting him, you can’t tell. The look of pain on his face seems to be linked to his feelings about your injuries, your pain. Always the doting lover. 

Once Mo’at wraps the injury, using both Na’vi and human medical wraps, she places a palm over the injury, thanking the Great Mother. Then, she looks at your leg. 

Your leg was held down by Kiri throughout the excursion, as she didn’t want the shrapnel to lodge itself deeper into the skin and muscle. At the base of your leg, a piece of twine is firmly wrapped around the skin to lightly restrict blood flow. The skin was not pinched, nor did you lose feeling in your leg as you would’ve if the twine was used as a makeshift tourniquet, however, your thigh still resisted against the band. 

You haven’t cried yet, however, just with her eyes boring into your leg you feel as if you’re about to sob. 

“Please don’t take it out. I don’t- I don’t want to have to do this anymore,” you begin to blubber, looking at Neteyam as you try to sit up. 

“Shh, shh,” he placates, stroking your cheek. “It’s okay. I’m here, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

“I’ve been hurting this whole time,” you groan, “what the hell have you been-”

Then, the last two people you want to see walk into the room: Norm and Max. 

“I grabbed them as soon as I heard,” says Spider, following close behind. 

“No. No, no, no. Get the hell away from me,” you say, instantly shooting up and trying your best to scoot away, even as Kiri still holds down your leg. 

Neteyam says your name so sweetly, so full of fondness that a chill is sent up your spine—a chill that isn’t caused by the cooling medicine or a shock of pain. “He’s here to help.”

“I don’t want him here,” you spit, speaking Na’vi to the boy sitting beside you. 

“We have no choice,” he reasons, his voice dropping an octave. “They will be much quicker with their equipment than with ours. I promise that my grandmother will heal and treat you, but we need their help to make sure that there’s no extra damage that is beyond what the eye can see.” 

You shake your head, refusing to listen to him and averting your gaze. 

His lithe fingers reach for your chin, turning you back towards him. There he goes again; always making you feel like the blushing fool, especially in front of his family. 

“I will not let them hurt you.” 

What a fucking liar. 

Taking a team of three women plus Norm to hold your leg down, Max begins to lower his tweezers toward the piece of metal. With the first tug, you begin screaming. The pressure and the resistance between Max’s tweezers and the artificial shard against your tender skin and muscle caused your free leg to kick, hands tightening at your sides and clinging onto Neteyam. The fact that your whole body was tense, each muscle spasming, probably didn’t help what was already a difficult procedure. 

“Damn, she’s strong,” Norm comments, adding more pressure in an attempt to hold your leg down. “Spider, help us out.” 

You continue to sob, reaching for Neteyam to claw at his shoulder. If you’re hurting him or breaking skin, he doesn’t tell you. Instead, he cradles you as you cry against his leg. Ripping your hand from his, you squeeze his leg, nose pressed against his thigh to hide your face. There’s no guarantee that half of the clan hasn’t heard you by now, nor that a few people have poked their heads in to see who the hell was screaming so damn loud. You were well known. There’s no way anybody wouldn’t recognize that it was you who was being surgically tortured. However, if you could save some dignity by hiding yourself against Neteyam, you would do just that. 

“I’m never letting them near my body again,” you weep, gripping tight to the blue skin beneath you. 

Neteyam rakes his fingers through your hair, hands petting any inch of skin that has brought you comfort over the years. He knows you like the back of his hands. Playing with your hair puts you to sleep, rubbing his thumb across your cheek makes you keen, following the slope of your nose makes you smile, and touching your ear makes you quiet. Using this knowledge, Neteyam’s hands roam to any expanse of skin that he can reach. He must look mad, with busy fingers and frantic eyes, but he can’t help himself. His chest hurts when he sees you like this, and if he needs to kill someone to make you feel better, he’d gladly do that. 

“It’s almost out. We’re almost done,” he assures you in a soft tone, getting close to your ear. 

Your ears, which have been laying flat and folding over periodically finally perk up and away from your skull—a sense of relief. It’s quick-lived before they fall back against your hair, but he sees it as a small win. 

“Can you dress it for me?” you plea, voice breaking painfully. 

Who is he to deny you? 

“All done!” Max cheers, placing the flat piece of shrapnel into an emesis basin.

The clang of the metal against metal causes you to abruptly sit up. Neteyam’s hand is on your shoulder, but for the first time, it’s not to push you back down. He lets you take your time viewing the sizable gash in your leg, an injury that without a doubt needs extra aid. You whimper at the sight, not necessarily at the pain, but because you knew what this means: you would be under strict supervision at the battle scene. You couldn’t be trusted to be alone, especially as you were a great friend of the Sully’s and Neteyam’s prospective mate. 

Falling back into Neteyam, the cries you let out are softer but still cause your body to shake. Neteyam rubs his cheek against yours when you hide your face in his neck, tears causing the blue skin to become slick and tacky. He readjusts your top which has moved around during all of your painful squirming, protecting your modesty. The beads land softly against your shoulder, arms holding you snuggly against him. He tucks your hair behind your ear, giving him a view of the ear that is decorated with various pieces of Omaticaya jewelry. An orange bead, delicately dangling from your lobe, was a gift from him. 

“It makes me feel wiser during battle,” you told him once before sending an arrow straight through the eye of a fish that swam around in the pond. 

He touches it lightly, reminding you that everything is alright. 

“No! She’s going to need stitches!” Tuk whimpers, a frown deeply set on her face. Even through your crying, Neteyam catches the faintest hint of a smile. 

Mo’at begins to drip water over the wound, clearing away any blood that may have leaked down your leg despite the twine restricting your blood flow. 

It’s silent besides Max, Norm, and Jake’s mumbling outside of the tent as Mo’at preps a needle and thread. Kiri, Neytiri, and Spider have since released your leg, observing you and the Tsahìk. Just as Mo’at blesses the needle and thread, Neteyam speaks up. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Mo’at looks at her grandson, her gaze strong but understanding. The white bone needle stays pinched between her two fingers, amber eyes unwavering. 

“Neteyam, let your grandmother-“ 

“I said I’ll do it.” he hushes, lip curling in order to hide a scowl. 

His mother looks at her own, a non-verbal communication occurring between their stares. Eventually, Neytiri acquiesces, standing up and taking a step away from you. 

Mo’at hands him the needle, placing a worn but beautiful hand on your leg. 

“Return here tomorrow so I can check on the wound,” she orders. You nod, eyes still teary before the older woman stands with her daughter, ready to move on to the other warriors who need their assistance. 

Once his mother and grandmother leave, Neteyam grows restless. 

“Everyone out, please.” 

Kiri scoffs at him, still seated by your feet. “You can‘t be serious,” 

“Out! Get out!” he hisses, fangs bared at his sister and the human boy beside her. “You have done nothing!” 

“I wouldn’t call holding down her leg for nothing. I’ll have bruises for the next week,” Spider dismisses, standing up with Lo’ak, who is already headed towards the exit. 

“Out!” he shouts one final time, his siblings leaving as his tail flicks back and forth with irritation. 

It isn’t until they’re gone, that Neteyam leaves your right side, scrambling and pouncing over you in order to come in contact with your left leg. 

The tent is silent as he begins his work. The process doesn’t hurt much, a gentle prick or pinch here and there; you’re not sure whether it’s because your nerves are shot and can’t detect pain anymore or because Neteyam is good at his work. It could be both. Before you know it, the wound is closed and a row of sutures stares back at you in a familiar Na’vi sewing pattern. The skin is even, nothing too uncomfortable, and although there’s bruising, it appears to be that everything will be okay. 

You reach out to touch the stitches with a shaky hand, only to be slapped away. “Uh uh, don’t touch,” he tuts, eyes focused and mouth slightly ajar in concentration. 

He grabs under your knee, bending it at the joint in order to prop it up so he can place a bandage over the sutures. 

“To protect them,” he informs you, wrapping the gauze around your thigh.

He’s very quiet throughout, a reaction you were not expecting. Neteyam has always been logical, methodical; he never steps out of line or does something rash unless it’s for the means of protecting those he loves. Always quick to action, he’s usually the first to help and the first to reprimand someone (usually Lo’ak) for their stupidity. That would be the typical reaction. However, now he looked almost forlorn. 

Once he’s done, he fully stands for the first time since you entered the tent. He begins to rummage through his grandmother’s remedies that sit in wooden jars and crystal vials, concoctions she’s mastered after years and years of being the Tsahìk. After selecting a small wooden bowl filled with clear oil, he grabs another bowl of water and a rag and sits down in front of you. Dabbing the rag in the bowl of water, he lifts the dripping cloth toward your face. 

“What are you doing?” 

He looks at you, eyes narrowing briefly before they return to their normal, large position. 

“Your face is filthy.” 

He gently holds your chin, tilting it up towards him so he can begin wiping your face. His hold is steady but his eyes look nerved, almost as if he has too much on his mind to bear. His breathing matches yours, and he dodges your gaze although his entire being crowds your line of sight. There’s no way for him to avoid you, really. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he dips the rag and wrings out all of the water, approaching your face yet again. 

“Nothing is wrong,” he replies curtly, his ears twitching quickly before returning to their previous state—a telltale sign that he’s lying. 

“Oh, so you’re just going to pretend like I know nothing about you now?” you try to joke, smile falling when you notice how he doesn’t reciprocate your humor. “Talk to me,” you urge, grabbing his wrist so he can’t try to distract you or himself by caring for your wounds. 

He sighs, looking away before he slowly looks back at you. Holding your gaze, eyes squinting and lips pursing slightly. Neteyam looks at you like you’re supposed to understand him–and you do–but it’s as if he’s expecting you to know what’s bothering him. However, the problem is that you don’t. Once he comes to that realization, he sighs, still looking into your eyes. 

“I’m upset with you.” 

And there it is. Your tail swishes uneasily, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Neteyam, but he can’t bring himself to quell his emotions for your sake. He almost lost you. 

“Why are you upset with me?” 

He shrugs, almost as if he’s embarrassed or too shy to explain his feelings. Being the eldest son and the next heir, Neteyam often felt as if he had to hide his own inhibitions or concerns in order to be a good son, a good brother, a good leader. When it was just the two of you, you would often have to do a little extra prying in order to get him to reveal what was truly occupying that pretty little head of his. Even once he admitted it, it was even harder to get him to elaborate. 

“Just drop it. You should be healing,” he dismisses, trying to distract himself by wiping your face again. 

Pushing his wrist away with your fingers, you take the cloth and throw it into the bowl of water. Holding his hands on your lap, his tail swishing timidly behind him, you make him look at you by following his gaze. “I can talk and heal. The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” 

“I wish they were,” he mutters, a braid swinging in front of his face. 

“Hey,” you tuck the strand behind his ear. He leans towards your touch, almost as if he craves it, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. “This isn’t how this works. You need to talk to me.” 

“You’ve already been in enough pain today. I don’t want to cause anymore,” 

“Quit the bullshit. I’m better now. I’ll feel worse if you don’t tell me.” 

“That’s not the way it works.” 

“Um, yes, it is.” 

“It’s not.” 

“How would you know? I can already feel my leg hurting ten times more now that you won’t communicate with me.” 

“You’re not in any more pain because of me,” he scoffs, trying to escape your grasp. 

“Ow, my leg! My leg!” you feign a whimper. He cracks a small smile, your cheeks spreading as smoothly as the war paint that still dons his face. 

Neteyam looks so beautiful when he smiles. It’s a special smile, reserved only for you; it drips of sticky honey, so sugary that sometimes you feel as if you could fall ill from its adoration. He’s soft as he looks at you, coy and all things delightful. The hands that once tried to flee your own, now reach for your wrists, petting the skin in a pattern that speaks a million languages at once. And yet, somehow, not one of those languages can truly resemble how much he loves you. He loves you a lot. 

“Please,” you whisper, “tell me what’s wrong?” 

He sighs, assenting to your pleas. With one final sweep over your face, he finally indulges you. 

“I’m not happy that you took down those ships.” 

“Well, duh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I know that, but I want to know why.” 

“You weren’t careful.” 

This causes a richer scoff to form at the back of your throat, a sound that makes his ears press against his braids. “I thought we agreed to take down the enemy at any and all costs?” 

“I know, and we did—we did make that agreement. I just,” he groans, trying to find the right words. Neteyam never had the right words when it came to expressing himself. “I was scared.” 

“Okay,” you reply softly, shuffling closer to him. “Why were you scared?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be scared?” he answers, tone mimicking the same quiet tone you used. “You’re mine—my girl, and- and they almost took what’s mine away from me.” 

“God, I just got so scared that something bad would happen to you. And when I saw you hurt, how badly you were in pain, and I couldn’t do anything about it I just…” his eyes are frantic, searching all across the hut for something—anything—to provide him an answer. His hands start to tremor in your hold. “I felt helpless and so stupid. I should’ve been tougher on you, or—I don’t know—had Lo’ak or even Kiri stay with you so you didn’t have to be alone. And it’s not that I don’t think you’re incapable or anything—” he excuses, causing you to smile lightly, “—but I don’t trust them. I don‘t trust them with you.” 

Smile turning watery, you reach for his shoulder, soon deciding to hold his face instead. He leans into your palm yet again, seeking the warmth that can only emanate from your hands alone. It’s the only warmth that can rid him of any chill. 

Neteyam kisses your palm, soon rolling your hand over in his, placing his lips on each knuckle as if it provides him comfort. And it does. It provides him more comfort than he could care to admit. Placing your head in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet, you place a kiss on his collarbone, lowering your lips to place another on his pec, right above his heart. The young man draws in a deep breath, holding you close to him, savoring each second, each touch. Skin against skin; heart against heart. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you apologize, your soft lips grazing his blue skin. He loves the feeling. “I just wanted to protect our people.” 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your forehead, a light kiss placed there. “I’m sorry for yelling.” 

“It’s okay. You didn’t even yell,” you forgive, cheeks pillowing against his chest. When you lift yourself away from him, he tilts his head in confusion at your smirk. “Also, we both know Kiri would be awful on the battlefield.” 

He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “True. She can’t even shoot an arrow in a straight line.” 

“Exactly! I don’t know what you were thinking when you said that. Lo’ak? Sure, whatever. But Kiri?” 

“I know, I know,” he agrees, voice growing softer as if his quietness will preserve this moment between you. 

His eyes become velvet—smooth and warm—the longer he looks at you and it instantly makes you melt. His lips look saccharine, a buttery spread of a light smile decorating his face which is just the absolute cherry on top. If Eywa hadn’t taken you during battle, she sure as hell was going to take you now with how crazy Neteyam makes your heartbeat. 

He tucks your hair behind your ear, his smile growing more and more with each expanse of skin he navigates. Dancing his fingertips over your jaw and across your cheekbones, he eventually cups your cheek and you just watch. If you breathe too hard, if you shift your weight, this moment could crumble. He’s looked at you like this many times before but it’s usually in the dark, under the bioluminescent blue and purple lights of the forest, where all you can see are the shadows of his face and the warmth of his tongue and the breeze of his breath. Now, you can see everything in pure, golden hues. The way his mouth relaxes, the way his eyes absorb all they can with each quick glance, the way the corner of his mouth tugs upwards unconsciously. You love it. 

“May I kiss you?” he asks quietly, thumb swiping along a stripe on your cheek. 

“Why do you ask now? You’ve done it many times before,” you wonder, eyes transfixed on the way his own mouth moves with each word he’s about to form. 

He chuckles, a sweet, melodic sound, “Just wanted to make sure you’re still down even when the sun is out.” 

This earns a loud laugh from you, a laugh that makes Neteyam’s heart squeeze and his lower stomach burn. He loves you. One day, he’ll say it. 

Once your giggles have fizzled into a content sigh, you bite your lip lightly before you release it and it returns to its normal place. Neteyam follows the movement. 

“I’m always down if it’s you.” 

“Yeah?” he smiles, breathy and lips plush.  

“Yeah.” 

With that, he seals the deal. His kiss is soft, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your mouth right before the initial contact. It makes you feel hot all over. He’s gentle—he always is at first—and he’s so, so kind. He pulls away briefly, returning not long after as if he needs to be connected to you or else he would suffer. In a way, he would. 

Neteyam is sweet. He still tastes like the fruit you shared before the raid and also a little bit like blood—whether it’s from him or you, you don’t care; you’ll devour it desperately just like you want him to devour you. He traces that stripe on your cheek again, his new best friend, and follows it down the nape of your neck. His other hand trails up from the small of your back to the divot in between your shoulder blades. He uses his hand to pull you closer, seeking any contact from you that he can get. 

Your hands are a barrier, shielding your chest from his, and in a way, it upsets you but also pleases you. Nobody knows what would happen if you could feel his chest pressed against yours at this moment—not even you know. Your hands glide across his chest, lighting scraping and molding against the fine muscle that hides under his smooth skin. When a lithe finger accidentally catches against a nipple, his mouth drops open pliantly, his tongue searching for yours. 

“‘S scared they took my girl away from me,” he murmurs against your lips, his own following after yours after each word. 

“Never,” you promise, kissing him firmly, one hand gripping his shoulder to ground yourself. All of this kissing was beginning to make you feel as if you could float away. “I’m yours. They could never take me or have me. You know that,” 

“Mhm,” he hums, voice lilting towards the end as he presses his mouth to yours. It makes your back arch forward, seeking more of his skin, his touch. 

His hands are growing desperate now. Neteyam knows he has to be gentle, avoiding the damaged skin on your back and remaining weary of the injuries on your rib and leg, but he so badly just wants to pull you close to him and never let go. He wants to hold you, to feel you, to be with you in every single way he can imagine so passionately. But he can’t. He will have to wait for another time. 

You, on the other hand, may roam freely. Your hands travel down his chest, exploring the taught skin of his stomach. It seems he subconsciously flexes underneath your touch, something that is rather enticing. Reaching the plusher skin of his lower stomach, although there still isn’t much give, you trace the muscle gingerly, bordering right above the hem of his loincloth. The delicate touch of your fingers causes him to lightly moan into your mouth, a sound you gladly drink down just to feel its warmth in your stomach. 

Neteyam pulls away suddenly, a loss you’re greatly upset about until he relocates his lips under your ear, traveling down your neck. He hums against the skin, tongue swiping against it as if he’s trying to taste as much of you as he can, as much as he’s allowed. 

“You can’t touch me like that,” he says, using a hand to bring both of yours back toward his chest. You cradle his head instead, tracing a finger along his ear. It twitches. 

“Why not?” you question, voice airy. Neteyam nearly preens at the sound, tail wild. “You seem to like it.” 

“I do like it,” he insists, “I love it, even.” 

“Then why can’t I touch you there?” 

He places a wet, fervent kiss against the crook of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat, a moan threatening to escape past your lips. 

“Because,” another kiss, “You are not promised to me yet.” 

“I just told you that I’m yours,” you reminded him. 

“Yes,” he nods, trailing his kisses back toward your jaw. “However, you’re still not mine.” 

Oh. 

“I could be yours. All you have to do is ask,” you say as if it’s not something he already knows. You hold his head in place, halting his journey upwards so you can whisper in his ear: “Ask me, Neteyam.” 

His tail swishes excitedly, something that makes you smile. Great Mother, you could eat him up. 

“No,” he responds, pulling away and facing you head-on. He has a lovesick smile on his face, a grin that nobody could wipe off as long as you’re around. “I want to do it right.” 

“Yeah?” you counter. “How would you do it?”

“Well,” he hums, kissing your lips. “First, I’d get all of your favorite foods. All of those fruits you like, season everything all nice,” he begins to slowly kiss your cheeks, “and get it all ready just for you to eat.” 

“What else?” 

“Then,” his kisses travel towards your ear, “Once you’re full and comfortable, we’ll go for a walk.” He bites your ear lobe and you press yourself against him. “We’ll go to our favorite spots: we’ll look at those flowers you like, go to the river, maybe swim a little. I like the way your hair looks while wet, you look so pretty,” he sighs. “You listening?” 

“Yes,” you nod. “Go on.” 

“Then I’d bring you to our sacred tree, just so Eywa can see us and I can see you under her light. I want to see you when I ask you. I want to see you if you smile or cry or decide that I’m not the one, I don’t care, I just want to see you,” he smiles, no longer kissing you but nudging your nose with his. 

“And if you say yes—Great Mother, I hope you say yes—I promise, I’ll treat you so well. I’ll hold you the way you ask to be held, kiss you in all of the places I already know you love to be kissed, and learn all of the new places I can’t reach yet too. I want to feel you, and see the way you react. I want you to feel me, too. I want you to see me, and I want to see you,” he whispers, voicing each wish. 

You nod, slowly and then desperately. “I want to see you, too,” you promise. He smiles that big, toothy smile. “Tell me when you’ll ask me? I can’t wait for much longer. I need you.” 

His eyelids grow heavy, skin heating underneath your palm. “I need you, too,” he gasps, leaning forward to kiss you again. “It’ll be soon, just want you to heal for now.” 

“Yeah?” you smile. “Soon?” 

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Soon.” 

ⓒ starvine 2023

[anika-ann]

Ocaruj me (Bewitch Me) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; drabbl-ish; a part of this pseudo-medieval-fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 2k

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers is a man with love. That love is you. His beautiful lady who bewitched his soul even without the supernatural powers you possess. He'll follow you anywhere.

It that means bathing in a lake in a moonlight, so be it.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, fluff, knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Actual title is Očaruj mě (Bewitch Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a "č" and an “ě“ in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; inspired by THIS ask (you can find headcanons and a playlist there)

A/N 2: Chronologically fits before the events of Pomiluj mě, but if you read this first, you will spoil some of the reveals.

Magic is a dark evil thing; that is what all knights of the kingdom are reminded during their studies and training.

Magic is the wicked twine that curls around your wrist when you reach out a hand, grips you tight and drags you towards perdition.

Magic takes face of a twisted beauty, a temptress, and leads you down the path of sin with a smile worth of the Devil himself.

Magic only knows curses and wrongs.

Sir Steven Rogers knows these axioms by heart.

Steve knows they are horseshit; or at least fail to fulfil the basic rule of an axiom, which is supposed to be universality.

In Steve’s eyes, people are corrupted by many things, amongst which there is the power that comes with magic. That much is true. But the nature of magic itself is pure; t reveals the person wielding it and amplifies who they already are.

Steve would only agree with part of the axiom second to last, assured whenever he sees you. He would now too, standing near the bank of a lake, still fully clothed, his gaze inevitably drawn to the enticing image in front of him.

You, standing to the waist in the water, dressed in but the luxurious robe of moonlight caressing your skin and wearing the lake like the richest skirt; your hair cascading down freely like an elaborate veil, the commonly dark ink of your tattoo reaching from the side of your neck down your shoulder shinning bright.

When you glance over your shoulder, eyes glimmering more entrancingly than the moon and the stars combined, lips curling in a smile, the last thing Steve would compare you to would be the Devil, a dark evil thing.

The truth, however, is that if you did decide to drag him towards his end, he would follow voluntarily, heart pounding just as hard as it is now, with warmth in his chest and searing heat in is gut.  

When you speak his name, a sweet ‘rytier moj’, you indeed are every bit of a temptress, the seductress steering him toward the most beautiful of sins; but not in the name of evil.

In the name of love.

“How is it that you are not cold, bosorka moja? And by gods, remind me, love, why is it that I should follow?” he asks with a grin on his lips, as if he does not feel every ounce of his body being pulled to you by the alluring image of you alone, by the promise of the feel of your skin under his fingertips, of the taste of your lips, of your wickedly delicate hands touching him in ways no unwed lovers should.

You have told him there was a deeper meaning in bathing in that particular lake on this very night, but as fascinated as he always is by your faiths and magic, you have been convincing him with your lips whispering to his own, causing his memory to be considerably less reliable, his mind much more pliant.

You turn around to face him fully, your watery skirt swirling; Steve’s mouth turns dry at the sight of your stiff nipples and plump breasts, his last reservations dispersing as his pants become uncomfortably tight.

“For this lake is believed to possess supernatural properties, rytier moj. For I know it does,” you remind him gently, your gaze trailing down his body in appreciation as he sheds his cloak, his tunic and pants.

You once told him what you saw when he did and have aided him in recalling it quite frequently.

Beauty.

Strength.

Goodness.

Safety.

Home.

And desires personified.

Steve is only a man; all these are virtues in his mind, privileges, and the one that is not makes him preen all the more.

Dark eyes glimmering in the moonlight, your smile earns a teasing edge even as your words begin with gravity.

“Bathing in the light of the full moon nearest to the summer solstice makes one stronger. Something my knight might appreciate. I know I for sure would, since he insists on recklessly risking his life.”

His own lips curl up, heart humming with tenderness; he is cared for. He is worried about. He is loved. He is not the only one who has the comfort of a lover on their mind. Perhaps it is for ‘lovers’ is not quite the word fit for where his heart quivers in the matter of you and him. Not the only word.

Desire personified.

Gorgeous temptress.

But also beloved.

Láska moja.

Bosorka moja.

Home.

“All knights do, bosorka moja,” he says as he steps into the water, the liquid welcoming him with an unexpected sensation of cold and warmth combined.

Where his skin meets the water, immersed deeper with each tentative step on the invisible rocky floor, he is enveloped with an unfamiliar sensation, the warmth seeping into his skin almost violently, leaving gentle tingling in its wake.

His lungs expand. His heart thunders. His muscles ache until they feel as light as a feather. His large bones seem to harden, his joints feel stronger but pliant. His blood pumps vigorously, forcing a shuddering breath out of his chest.

Well, he’ll be damned; he would be if he wasn’t so blessed. He would never doubt you again. Not that he ever truly did.

You watch him, a hypnotic and hypnotizing gaze, soaked in the satisfaction and desire having thickened your tenderness. Your skin almost glows and Steve understands that his eyes were not deceiving him earlier. He is not the only one absorbing power; yours might be different in nature from his, so different and ethereal, a true force of nature, but a power nevertheless. And as you soaked in the water, your immense power grew further.

“And yet, I have not seen any knight, soldier or mercenary, nor the clumsiest commoner with as many scars, nor I saved them from so many,” you oppose him, still playful; yet, your voice has earned a husky quality Steve is drawn to like a mot to a flame, his steps growing confident.

For almost every step he takes, you take one back, away from him, sinking deeper, hiding your tempting body from his hungry sight. A delightful feigned chase begins, one of which you both know will only end in bodies intertwined. A dance Steve knows, for he has felt its thrill before, for he has danced with you before; he has danced lips to lips, hands to hips, hips to hips, lips attached to your mound with hooded eyes too, senses enveloped with heady primal need, laced with love both corporal and intangible.

It all hums within him, pounds with force bolstered by the magic surrounding him. You feel it too; he reads as much in your features.

“You haven’t seen them naked either,” he notes, a slight smile remaining.

The conversation continues even as it fades.

You hum with a smile of your own, stopping at last as takes three long strides and catches up with you, gazing up at him with a sweet challenge he cannot refuse. “That is true, rytier moj.”

But that is not what your body whispers, already miles ahead when only inches from him.

Touch me, it coaxes him instead.

Hold me.

Love me.

Have me.

Fill me.

Make me sing for you. Only for you.

Do as you crave; I crave the same, just as much.

Who is he to deny a lady? Who is he to deny you, especially when the wordless pleas entice him, please him, echo his own?

The slight prickle of strength reborn, one unknown to ordinary men, still heats his very core, his lips speaking on their own even as his fingers wander with purpose, over the skin of your waist, down your hip, over your belly button, to your sternum, over the swell of your breast, stepping closer to feel your hardened peaks brush against his chest, eliciting a breathy sound of his name amongst his questions.

“What of other blessed nights bathing in this lake? Equinoxes as well?”

Your hands move with purpose too; mapping the constellations of freckles and moles on his body, caressing the planes of strengthened muscle with teasing lightness. Your touch is surprisingly warm, Steve realizes distantly, his head and hands full of you; if he did not know better, if he did not know you were a witch, he would think you an entirely different magical species.   

As you nod and explain, your hand rises above water, stroking over his shoulder – the water follows seemingly effortlessly, swirling and curling around your palm; even as you speak, he shudders under the touch where your hands could not have possibly reached him, not at so many places at once; and yet, every single of these caresses are just as warm, loving and teasing as those of your own fingers.

With how you bended the water to your will, Steve would have thought you were born to do so. He would have thought he found himself a water nymph instead. His breathtaking, enchantingly playful water nymph.

“Bathing in the lake on a new moon nearing the spring equinox breeds rebirth, ridding of all old aches, body and heart,” you explain quietly, intimately, as your fingers tease along the dip along his hips, his own hands grasping your soft flesh with urgency growing. “First new moon after the autumn equinox calls upon the forest spirits, their protection, bringing the wiseness of our ancestors with their blessings.”

Steve’s head is full of you; your words, almost fairy-tale like, but spoken with reverence of a person who knows them true, whose rituals has called upon the forces of nature and has been rewarded for it, blessed by them.

His hands are full of you too and as his heart sings.

The rest of his body vibrates with need, impatient fingers slipping lower, towards your core, teasing alongside your slit. Even as he asks the only natural question, his focus is elsewhere, fingertip dipping into your welcoming heat, his lips whispering against yours, your hips eagerly meeting his touch.

“And what of winter solstice, bosorka moja? Tell me,” he coaxes, revelling in your playful touch turning into a grip on his hip instead, other hand wrapping around his own to urge him to sink his finger deeper, for another to join.

Who is he to deny you again? His bewitching water nymph, whose heat would envelop him just as welcomingly as the water of the lake and fill him with just as much exceptional powerful sensation...

Love her.

Take her.

Protect her.

Make her mine.

“It keeps your heart warm,” you sigh, mouth chasing after his, fingertips finally brushing over his hardness, curling around the length and squeezing and twisting enough for his strained muscles to melt, rushing to lift your leg to wrap around his waist, opening you up for him, your taste, your scent, your husky voice like the most tempting trap he rushes into with vigour and pride. “Keeps your love safe. On the full moon close--- oh Steve— closest to the solstice- preserving it even through the— the harshest of winters----Steven!

The steady movements of his fingers stutter at the needy pulsing grip around them, eliciting another and another, his thumb brushing over your clit, mouth slanting over yours to swallow your cries of ecstasy, cradling your head to his as your hips keep rocking into his hand. You’ll feel like heaven, like you always do, but the burst inside him at feeling your pleasure coaxed by him is almost, almost enough.

“I’ll be here,” he promises against your lips, kissing you again, tipping your head back, your body so gorgeously pliant to his greedy touch. “I will be here, with you, every quarter a year. Every month, every day, love.”

“��ubim ťa,” you gasp and Steve makes another promise, to not meet you here, but bring you. Bring you from your shared home at last, because even by the damn equinox, he will have done you right, a ring on your finger, his everything made yours, as you deserve.

“Ľubim ťa, bosorka moja,” he whispers back, a chuckle escaping him when his eyes flutter open, offered a sight of soft sprinkles and curls of water rising above the surface and glimmering in the moonlight.

Your magic exploding outside of you as pleasure fills your veins.

Steve is certain it will never cease to amaze him; or spur him to coax something even more fascinating when chasing his own peak and yours together, even as that alone is a gift he cherishes.

Your hands slide to his shoulders for leverage as his fingers leave you empty, moving to your bottom to lift you up, sliding in almost effortlessly.    

No words are needed then. As you connect your bodies and souls alike, the water keeps dancing.

You glow behind Steve’s hooded eyes, tattoo shining as bright as your affection, beauty and goodness, a reminder that no, magic could not be further from the darkness in corporal form. In every waking moment, he would swear he has never seen, nor heard, nor felt anything more beautiful and lighter than you, even with a face and voice of a temptress you embody.

The only sin you have led him to, the only speckle of shame on his honour, is the one he will remedy soon and has nothing do with your magical nature.

No, not the Devil; a goddess in your own right.

And you have not cursed him, no. Sir Steven Rogers, tvoj rytier, entirely bewitched, feels blessed.

Other headcanon and playlist

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist

Terms of endearment from Slovak language: Rytier moj (My knight) Bosorka moja (Witch mine) Láska moja (Love mine) Ľubim ťa (I love you)

I hope you enjoyed, loves 💕 Please consider leaving feedback/reblog/anything if you did 🥰

May April be kind to you 🌼✨

[writingoddess1125]

Modern AU Buggy X Reader- Pt. 2

Modern!Buggy x GN Reader

Fluff and some Sadness! Headcanon

Art belongs to Kokodraw on Twitter!

For just 10 cents a day you can support a hungry Author

• You and Buggy had been going steady for 7 months at this point, and truthfully it had been lovely.

• While Buggy did struggle with his emotions and expressing a healthy love language he did care a lot for you.

• It was rather blissful- That and the Sexy time were hella fantastic between you two.

• Who knew role-playing Pirate Sex was so fun!!

• However of course not everything can be absolutely perfect-

• It all blew up when you meet Shanks, it was purely by accident and at the loathing of Buggy. It had been a popular bar if the area that Buggy wanted to take you there as a special date.

• He had explained the bar was a favorite of his former Guardian and Boss Gol D. Roger. It was a important place for him and he wanted to share it with you.

• Arriving at the bar you two went to get some food in drinks, when the sound of bikers arriving disrupted the peace.

• Laughing and more sounded as the doors opened and the bikers entered. Buggy's face souring as he saw who it was- Shanks and his damn posy.

• "Well I'll be damned! Buggy! How are you doing" The red head announced and came over to Buggy- Of course buggy Biting his head off with Words which Shanks seemed to gladly ignored.

• "Oh and who is this?" Shanks questioned as his eyes landed on you. Buggy's eyes narrowing at this-

• "I'm (Y/N).. Buggys partner" You say politely, Shanks smiling brightly at hearing this.

• You saw Buggy's face scrunch up in anger, practically seething at seeing Shanks who was so happy to meet you.

• "It's lovely to meet you (Y/N), I'm Shanks- Buggy's brother if you will. Same group home and guardian from the past. I never knew Buggy had such magnificent taste" He charmed- For most he was defiently charming and kind. However a peg of sadness hit your heart when you hear 'group home'.. like a foster care? Your eyes traveling to Buggy who looked disarmed and like a protective armor was taken from him.

• Shanks continued his charismatic chatter- You looking to your partner who looked almost afraid and shocked. Shanks reaching his single arm out to place on Buggy's shoulder- clearly to compliment him.

• Buggy quickly pulled his grasp from Shanks quickly, hatred in his eyes that made the red head freeze. Buggy grabbed your hand quickly and pulled you away "We are leaving" He grumbled. Forcing you out of the Bar and back to the car

• Buggy wasn't know to be good with his emotions- So you knew he was either holding it in or about to burst-

• "Buggy.. How do you feel?" You ask, Knowing what was to come next

• "YES IM FUCKING FINE! WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME THAT I-" He stopped himself, his driving slowing down as he clenched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

• "Pull over right here Bugs" You say softly, He hesitates but does as you ask. Pulling over in a deserted area of the road Buggy parked formally and glared out at nothing.

• You got out of the car and waved Buggy to follow. He did, slamming the car door as he marched to you clearly ready to snap again.

• You hugged him suddently and wrapped your arms around him tightly. "I'm so sorry Buggy... It must have been hard for you to see him again.. I'm sorry"

• You felt Buggy freeze against you, Before you felt his body slack against you and he buried his face into your neck as a sob ripped through him.

• You felt him close as he hugged you tightly and cried against you, Rubbing his back softly as he babbled through his tears.

• 'How Shanks betrayed him'.

'How could Shanks let Roger's legacy die like that'

'How he could abandon him- How his brother left him on his own..'

• The more Buggy cried the more you learned. Buggy had been abandoned as a child- Left in foster care were he met Shanks. The two begins picked up by Roger's and he raised him till he died..

• All of that fear, abandonment and pain being let out in sobs against your shoulder.

• Eventhally he stopped and pulled back enough were you could see the puffiness of his eyes and overall how red he was. Kissing his cheeks gently you ran your hand over the side of his face in comfort

• Leading him back to the car you took his keys and decided to drive yourself.

- The car ride had been silent all the way home. Buggy looking too out of it to care. Deciding it was best to stay the night with Buggy.

Back at his place, you both take showers together this time as Buggy clearly needs the extra love and care so you help him clean up and he tries the same with you. Mainly washing your back so he can lean against you in the shower.

Some comfortable clothes, snacks from the snack stash and laying in bed under the best of blankets. You and Buggy cuddled against each other, The night Seeming to wash away from you both finally.

"Im... I'm sorry I yelled at you" He whispered, his head against your chest as he laid there still and unmoving. Your fingers drawing invisible patters on his skin as you listen.

"I forgive you... I know you were emotionally frustrated" You say softly, earning a amused huff from Buggy at your choice of wording.

"God you sound like a therapist.

"Well I could say Emotionally constipated- You know reeaallly backed up in there needed-" Buggy snorted a laugh and placed his hand over your face to stop you.

"Alright Alright I get it- no shit jokes in bed" He deadpanned and rolled his eyes, You sticking your tongue out and licking his hand earning a noise of disgust from Buggy. "Nothing funnier!-"

"Nasty!" He protested with a laugh and wiped his sloppered hand on the blanket, you laughing as well as the two of you laid there together. The evening lightening up and clearly lifting both your hearts.

"Thank you (Y/N).." He whispered softly, You smiling and kissing the top of his head gently.

"Of course Bugs.."

After this there was moments of silence, you shifting a bit and feeling Buggy stating up at you.

"Buggy.. do you want to talk about it" You asked, He winced slightly at your words and sighed.

"... there isn't much to talk about- I was foster got a good foster parent and worked with him till he died" Buggy said with a sigh, You pausing your fingers for a moment.

"And the guy in the bar?.." You ask softly, Buggy body shifting a bit uncomforble.

"I thought he was my brother... but he abandoned me when I needed him the most.." He said with a sad sigh, his eyes closing.

"I-It hurts to be left you know?.." His voice trembled a little "...To know I wasn't wanted once is gard enough but twice?... T-Thats why I was so worried when we met. Happy I met someone like you but what if you left me too?"

Your heart broke at hearing this and you kissed his head again and pulled him closer.

"Buggy I'd never abandon you, I swear. I love you" You tenderly scoot him up just enough to place a kiss on his lips, Fresh tears in his eyes he returned the kiss. It wasn't sensual or deeply passionate like all the others before- but soft and filled with love...

Pulling back after a few moments you wipe the freh tears from his cheek and feel him lean against your hand in need of affection.

"I love you (Y/N).." He said softly, You heart aching at the sight of the poor man like this. Holding him close like you could shield the world from his bruised heart and kiss him once more.

"I love you too Buggy... More then I can ever express"

[lunarbuck]

Baby, It's Cold Outside (Stuckyxf!reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x f!reader (any race)

WC: 4.3k

Summary: You’ve been friends with Steve and Bucky for quite some time, but when you accept to spend the holidays with them in a cabin, friendship evolves into something more.

Warnings: friends to lovers <3, stucky, fluff, smut (p in v, p in a?), anal, oral (m and f receiving), threesome - F/M/M, polyamory, pet names [doll, baby, princess], unprotected sex 

A/N: not only is this my first time writing a Steve fic, it’s also my first time writing for a threesome… please let me know how I did/if this is something you’d like to see more of :) please also let me know if I did anything wrong!!! I want to learn <3 beta’d by the literal best, @lfnr-blog-blog-blog 💕

main masterlist | bucky one shot masterlist | my ao3

The holidays are always a tricky time of year. No one has a perfect family, and even if that problem-free family exists, you bet even they have some trouble around the holidays. You know from experience that the holiday season brings out the worst in people, so when Bucky and Steve offered to have a holiday celebration with just the three of you, you couldn’t pass it up.

You’d gone just a little overboard with their presents, but how could you not? The two of them treat you better than anyone else in your life, and you just want to show them you’re thankful.

So now, as you sit in the backseat of the car, watching the world fly by, you’re thankful that the world brought the three of you together.

You’d been working at the Tower for some time before you ever crossed paths with Captain America and his friend, the Winter Soldier. Honestly, working in legal, it was bound to happen. It was an instant connection, and you’ve been friends ever since. Inseparable, practically attached at the hip.

Steve drives carefully as he eases off the highway and onto a little side road, taking the three of you further away from civilization and closer to the cozy little cabin you’ll be staying in for the next few days.

It’s easy to lose yourself as you watch Steve drive. The way his strong hands grip the steering wheel, the way his blue eyes reflect the bright winter sky. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought of him that way. Who hasn’t? He’s America’s golden boy, the man of your dreams.

And Bucky… oh Bucky, your thoughts about him are simply unholy. The quiet, brooding partner to America’s sweetheart. As you’ve gotten to know Bucky, you’ve come to understand that there’s more to him than meets the eye, but you love the darkness that settles just below the surface. 

As if he can hear your thoughts, Bucky turns and glances back at you from the passenger seat. “How you doin’ back there, doll?” He asks, a soft smile on his lips.

“Oh, I’m fine, Sarge,” you reply, smiling back. He gives you a wink before turning back in his seat.

You’re not sure how you’ll survive three days in a cabin with the two of them; there are so many variables… so many different ways this could send you up shit’s creek without a paddle.

You’re not going to lie; the past two days have been… tough, to say the least. There have been so many innocent touches and sweet smiles that you can’t tell what’s real and what’s your fantasy anymore.

Tonight is the official gift exchange. You’re excited for the boys to open your gifts; you tried so hard to find the perfect items. After changing into a pair of flannel PJ pants, you make your way out into the cabin’s main room.

You each have your own rooms, but each night you’ve been desperate to sneak into Steve or Bucky’s room and just see what happens. You haven’t had enough courage to do it, and part of you had hoped that one of them would do the sneaking.

You push the thoughts from your mind as the three of you gather in front of the roaring fireplace. There’s a sizable pile of gifts scattered around, more than you’d expect for a group of three, but you certainly don’t mind.

Steve and Bucky both wear similar attire to you, tight short-sleeved t-shirts, Steve in white and Bucky in black, as well as matching flannel pants. 

The boys hand out the gifts, making three separate piles for each person. Butterflies flit in your belly as you run your eyes over their straining muscles. Their shirts are too small, and you can practically see everything. But you’re not complaining. No, not one bit.

“Okay, who’s starting?” Steve asks, sitting back on his heels.

“Youngest to oldest,” Bucky suggests, grinning. Steve rolls his eyes but nods, looking to you to pick your first gift.

Torn wrapping paper litters the floor, and Steve waves around the garbage bag again in an attempt to get you and Bucky to clean up after yourselves. The two of you just laugh and crumple up the paper into little balls, chucking them at Steve.

“You keep that up, and I’ll take away the rest of the presents,” Steve scolds, though his smile is big and bright, so you know he’s not upset.

There’s only one gift left for each of you, so once the little paper fight has ended and you all settle down, you begin to peel the paper off your gift.

Inside is a thin black box that you know for sure contains jewelry. Your heart thuds in your chest as you pop the box open. Inside is a simple silver necklace with a beautiful blue topaz stone shaped like a teardrop hanging from the chain. Even though Steve and Bucky have different shades of blue in their eyes, somehow, this stone perfectly encapsulates both.

Tears well in your eyes as Steve and Bucky both move to sit beside you. Bucky sweeps your hair to the side, freeing your neck for Steve to place the necklace. 

“What’re you crying for?” Steve asks, brushing a stray tear away from your cheek. You sniffle a little and laugh, wiping your face.

“It’s just the perfect gift,” you reply, looking between Bucky and Steve. The way they look at you is heated, possessive, almost, but you shake your head a little and tell yourself you imagine it. 

Bucky lets his fingers linger on your skin for just longer than he should before the two of them return to their seats on the floor. 

Steve opens his gift next; it’s from you. He tears open the present like a little kid, grinning from ear to ear. Inside, he finds a new set of paints that were a bitch to find. He’d been talking about trying out a new style, and this one brand of paints would be perfect, so of course, you had to find him.

He gapes at the paints for a moment before wrapping you in a giant hug. “You’re the best,” he whispers into your shoulder before releasing you. 

By the time you recover from the embrace, Bucky is already opening his last gift, also from you. It’s a first-edition print of The Hobbit. The way Bucky looks from you to the book speaks volumes, and you’re about to tear up again.

Tonight went so much better than you thought it would. You’re so happy to be here, with them, in this cabin, on a perfect winter night. The snow has been coming in pretty steadily, but you don’t care one bit.

The three of you clean up, casually talking about work and other things happening in your lives, and once the main room is tidied, you realize how late it is.

It’s almost midnight, and Steve never shuts up about his bedtime. Bucky gives him shit for it, teasing him for needing the beauty sleep, but a good sleep routine is necessary for your line of work, so you don’t mind.

But you don’t want tonight to end. Tomorrow, you’ll have to pack up and return to the real world. 

Fuck that. Fuck the real world.

“You headin’ to bed?” Bucky asks Steve as the two of them toss the trash bags by the back door. Instead of responding, Steve just stares at you, lips slightly parted. You cock an eyebrow at him, confused.

“It’s way past your bedtime, old man,” you tease, hoping to clear the air of the odd tension that’s fallen over the three of you.

“Why don’t we watch a movie?” Steve suggests, leaning against the wall. “My room has the biggest TV.” Bucky smiles, and you nod along. A movie sounds nice.

Never mind, a movie is torture. Bucky and Steve lay on either side of you, and you’re practically frozen where you sit. If you move even an inch, you’ll be pressed up against a muscular chest. As much as you’d like to be pressed against one of them, you’re not sure how they’d feel about it. Sure, it was Steve’s idea to watch the movie in his room, but that doesn’t mean he was consenting to you being all over him.

Bucky’s vibranium fingers trace little patterns on your arms, sending shivers through you, but you try to pretend like you don’t notice. You’re worried that if you acknowledge it, he’ll stop.

The credits roll on the cheesy holiday movie Steve had picked, and you slowly push yourself upright. You huff a bit of a breath, and both men look at you curiously.

“Well, it’s late,” you say, shifting yourself down the bed to avoid crawling over Steve or Bucky. “I should probably head to bed.” You nearly run into the dresser, feeling around for your slippers. 

“Awe, come on,” Bucky practically whines from the bed. “The night is still young.” Even though you can’t see him in the dark, you know he’s wiggling his eyebrows in a way that makes your heart squeeze.

“I– I really can’t stay,” you say, fumbling over the words as you make your way toward the door. There’s movement behind you, sheets rustling, then suddenly, a presence right behind you. If you took a big breath, you’d be pressed against him.

“But baby, it’s cold outside,” Bucky tells you, placing his hands on your hips. His warmth envelops you from behind, begging you to sink into his embrace. You shiver.

“Tonight was,” your voice falters as you search for the words. “Amazing, but really, I should head to my room.”

“Baby,” Steve whispers, suddenly stepping in front of you, blocking your access to the door. “It’s cold outside.”

Even in the darkness, you can see the way he’s looking at you. You could drown in it. The heat of his gaze sends fire sweeping through you; it settles in your belly and makes you ache.

Bucky gently tugs you back into his chest, pressing you against him. Steve closes the distance, and you’re surrounded by them.

“You’re like ice, princess,” Bucky mumbles into your ear, nudging your neck with his nose. “Let us warm you up.”

Steve’s hands cup your jaw on either side, tilting your head up. His bright blue eyes shine despite the lack of light. “Is this okay for you?” He asks sweetly, thumbs brushing over the apples of your cheeks.

“Yes,” you breathe, a weight seeming to lift from your shoulders. Steve leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, sending electricity shooting down your spine. Steve kisses you like he’s tasting you, like you’re a porcelain doll he doesn’t want to damage. 

Bucky litters kisses along your neck, sucking and nipping at all the sensitive spots. He’s leaving marks, but you don’t mind. Your right hand reaches out for Steve while your left feels back for Bucky. Both men react to your touch, pressing even closer to you.

“You know how long we’ve wanted this?” Bucky whispers into your ear. Steve keeps kissing you, swallowing the little moan you release. “The day we saw you, we knew.”

Steve releases you from the kiss and uses his grip on your head to turn you toward Bucky. His eyes are darker than Steves’s, not only in color but in intention. It makes your legs feel like jelly.

“I want you too,” you reply, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. Bucky grins and leans down, capturing you in a heated kiss. Steve’s hands drift down your neck, feeling the little marks Bucky left before reaching the neckline of your shirt.

You pull away from Bucky only long enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere in the dark room. Steve sucks in a breath at the sight of you in your bra, and you practically glow at his reaction. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve mumbles, leaving a trail of kisses from your collarbone, down your sternum, and between the valley of your breasts. He kneels in front of you as his fingers find the clasp of your bra at your back. He undoes it and carefully slides the garment off you, exposing you to his gaze.

“Stevie’s been craving you,” Bucky muses at your ear, hands sliding beneath your arms to grasp your tits. His vibranium fingers are cold in contrast to his flesh hand, and you moan at the feeling. “He’s so eager to please you.” His fingers tweak your nipples before heading south. His left hand finds Steve’s head, spearing his fingers through the blond’s hair. “Why don’t you tell our girl what you told me before this trip,” Bucky says to Steve. Your blood rushes in your ears. How is this real?

Steve gazes up at you with stars in his eyes. “I want to taste you,” the man practically moans. “I need it.” Bucky makes a sound, and Steve’s eyes shift to him. That must not’ve been the answer Bucky was looking for.

“Come on, Stevie, tell her exactly what you said.” You reach out and run your fingers along Steve’s jaw, silently telling him that you won’t judge him.

“I need you like I need to breathe, I need to feel you, need to taste you. I want to taste you on Bucky’s cock. I want to taste myself in your pussy.” You were already wet before, but now you’re soaked. The needy tone of Steve’s voice, the possessive grip Bucky has on both of you, it’s almost too much. It’s not quite enough.

Steve brings his lips to your breasts, swirling his tongue around one of your nipples while his fingers play with the other. You lean back into Bucky’s muscular body, and he holds you upright, letting his hands roam your body.

You’ve never been with two men, but the thought had undoubtedly crossed your mind when fantasizing about these two. 

“You gonna let him taste you?” Bucky asks, teasing the waistband of your pants, slowly dipping his fingers beneath the elastic. “You gonna give Stevie what he needs?”

All you can do is nod and let Bucky and Steve tug your pants down. They help you step out of the pooling fabric before Steve is pressing his lips against your panties, breathing you in.

His fingers grip your hips and ass, digging into your flesh and muscles. He eats you out over your panties, driving you wild with the need to feel him directly. 

“Please, please,” you beg, arching your back to get your point across. Bucky chuckles and reaches down to help Steve pull your panties off. You catch the way Steve balls them up and tucks them into Bucky’s pocket, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Steve dives back in without another word, lapping up your arousal eagerly. He works your clit in perfect circles bringing you right to the edge. You’re so worked up that when Bucky bites your shoulder, it sends you spiraling. Your legs buckle beneath you, but they’re both there to catch you as you come down from the high.

“That was perfect, princess,” Bucky praises, kissing you sweetly. You smile into the kiss, feeling him lift you up and place you on the bed.

“Your turn,” you say, reaching out for both men. Bucky groans at your suggestion, palming his erection. He directs Steve to sit on the bed and gets everyone into position. You love how he commands the room; he’s in his element.

You slip off the bed and kneel between Steve’s legs while Bucky kneels on the bed, hips at Steve’s head. What you’d give to be a fly on the wall watching this…

The men both remove their pants and boxers, and you shamelessly ogle them. They’re both built like gods, sculpted from marble and fucking magic. Their cocks are just like the rest of them, and it dawns on you that you have no idea how they’ll fit.

Even so, you reach out and wrap your fingers around Steve’s hard length, bringing his attention down to you. As you begin to circle your tongue around his tip, he tangles his fingers in your hair. He doesn’t push you, just moves with you. Bucky then guides his own cock to Steve’s mouth, and you notice that the more eagerly you please Steve, the harder he works Bucky.

You grin at the power you hold over both of them and work your mouth down Steve’s cock. You take him into your throat until you’re sputtering, and Steve moans around Bucky. 

The way Bucky guides Steve’s head has you moaning as you try to replicate the movement. Steve strains around Bucky’s cock but takes him so well. Bucky praises both of you, grunting about how good the two of you are, how perfect you are.

A moment later, Steve pulls you off his dick and tugs you onto the bed. Bucky is repositioning himself as well, and butterflies flit in your tummy.

“We don’t have to do anything else tonight,” Steve tells you, running his fingers down your back. “I don’t wanna push you or anything.” Bucky nods in agreement, vibranium hand cupping the back of your neck.

“This is all pretty new to you; we won’t be upset if you want to take things slower,” he adds. 

“What if I don’t wanna go slow,” you reply, sucking in a heaving breath. You want them so bad you’re practically vibrating with need. “What if I need to feel you?”

Steve whimpers at your side, and Bucky moans.

“Fuck, princess, that’s music to my fuckin’ ears.” Bucky kisses you, pressing you down into the mattress. He hovers over you, caging you in. His right hand reaches between your legs and runs along your sensitive flesh. Steve does the same from the other side, two hands working you in tandem.

Their fingers open you up, stretching you in a way you’ve never experienced before. They work without needing to speak, a singular goal in mind.

“You’re doing so good,” Steve praises, running his free hand along Bucky’s back. “So good for us.”

Once Steve and Bucky are satisfied with their handiwork, Steve guides Bucky’s cock to your entrance. “You ready, baby?” Bucky asks, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Yes, please fuck me, Bucky,” you plead as he presses into you. Even though they prepped you, Bucky is still big, and you’ve never taken anything quite so large before. It feels so good as he thrusts deep and hard inside of you.

Your eyes roll back into your head while your hand seeks out Steve, needing the connection. Finding his cock, you wrap your fingers around him and pump at the same speed as Bucky. Steve hisses in a breath at the feeling and bucks into your hand.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, princess,” Bucky moans into your ear, hiking one of your legs onto his shoulder. “So tight for me.” Your mouth falls open, your lips forming an ‘O’ as the band in your belly tightens. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, getting closer and closer to snapping.

“That’s right, baby,” Bucky urges. “Come all over my cock. That’s it; you’ve got it.” You burst at the sound of his words, coating his cock with your orgasm. He keeps fucking you, making you ride the wave for what feels like an eternity.

He pulls out once you’ve caught your breath and tugs Steve down. Steve eagerly takes Bucky into his mouth and moans at the taste. You can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of Steve sucking the cock that had just been buried inside you. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“You like what you see, princess?” Bucky asks, one of his fingers drifting to your clit, circling it slowly. “He can’t get enough.”

Bucky guides Steve off his dick, and the two men turn to face you. 

“I want both of you,” you whisper, barely able to muster up the courage to admit it. Bucky cocks a brow at you before turning to Steve.

“You hear that, Stevie?” Steve nods, seemingly in a trance. “She wants both of us.” You watch in amazement as Bucky positions the three of you in the way he wants, quickly figuring out where everyone needs to be to make your fantasy come to life.

Bucky then steps away, digs through the bedside table, finds what he needs, then returns. “Okay, Stevie, lay back and let our princess ride you.” Steve does what Bucky asks and helps you straddle his strong hips. You guide his cock to your entrance and sink down on him, watching his face contort as you squeeze his length. He fills you perfectly, hitting spots inside you that make you see stars. 

From behind you, you feel Bucky’s fingers, slick from what must be lube, slide against your ass. You shiver at the feeling but welcome it, angling your hips so he has better access. 

“You feel so perfect squeezin’ me,” Steve moans from below you, hands reaching out to grope your tits.

“Isn’t she tight, Stevie?” Bucky asks, pressing a finger into your ass. You hold your breath at the feeling, but Steve just whispers calming words to you. You relax into them as Bucky slowly moves his finger.

One finger becomes two, and you ride Steve a bit harder as you warm up to the feeling. He grips your hips and guides you on his dick, working the pleasure from you.

Bucky adds a third finger, and you feel like you’re going to explode, but a good explosion. You’ve never felt so full, and you can’t imagine how amazing it’ll feel when it’s his cock and not just his fingers.

“Please, Bucky, please,” you beg, leaning back against his chest. He kisses your neck and smiles at your neediness.

“You ready for me, princess?” he teases, thrusting his fingers at a quicker pace. 

“Fuck yes, Bucky, I need you so bad.” Bucky pulls you into a bruising kiss as he removes his fingers and replaces them with the tip of his cock.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. For us. Be a good girl and let me in.” Bucky keeps kissing you as he presses his cock further and further inside of you. Steve helps you relax, but you can tell it’s difficult for him. His strokes are getting messy as you get tighter around him.

Only a thin wall separates Bucky and Steve’s cocks, and that just turns them on even more. It turns you on even more.

They pump into you simultaneously, finding the perfect rhythm that makes your heart stutter. You’re at mercy to them, putty in their hands. Bucky and Steve worship you; they chant your name like a prayer.

All you can do is moan and beg, your brain becoming jelly the harder they fuck you. With their supersoldier serum, they last so much longer than other men. They bring you to orgasm after orgasm, pleasing you seems to be their only goal.

“I’m gonna come,” Steve whimpers from below you, fingers digging into your hips with bruising force. “Please, I’m gonna come.” Bucky leans over your shoulder, pumping into your ass with deeper strokes than ever.

“Give her your cum, Stevie; she wants it so bad. Right, princess?” Bucky’s vibranium fingers wrap around your neck, and you come again just from that.

“Oh my god, Steve, please give it to me. Please come inside me,” you moan, gripping Bucky’s arm.

Steve comes on a long, drawn-out moan, sending Bucky over the edge right after. He thrusts into you a few more times before he becomes too sensitive, then they’re both pulling out.

The three of you fall into a heap on the bed, panting and sweating. Bucky kisses you deeply before shifting to give Steve the same treatment. Steve carefully slides off the bed and grabs a warm washcloth from the bathroom to clean up with.

He takes care of you sweetly, ensuring not to irritate your sensitive skin. You clean him up, and together you care for Bucky.

Once you dispose of the washcloth, Bucky and Steve tug you down into bed between them. Your limbs tangle with theirs, and you melt into their embrace. 

“You were so perfect, baby,” Bucky whispers against your head, thumb rubbing circles into your arm. “You are so perfect.” Your heart tugs in your chest.

“I hope you know,” Steve interjects, clearing his throat. “We both have feelings for you, more than just for the physical stuff. If you feel the same way, we wanna make this work out in the real world. The three of us.” Your breath catches, and you feel like you’re dreaming. No way is he saying this.

“Really?” you ask, turning to see Bucky’s reaction.

“Really, princess. You’ve been ours since the day we saw you. We’ve just been waiting for you to realize it. We’ll take it slow, it’s not gonna be as easy as a ‘traditional’ relationship, but we’ll make it work. We want it to work for you.” Tears brim in your eyes and Steve kisses your cheek.

“Yes, yes, of course, I want this,” you reply, holding their hands. “Who gives a shit about easy? Nothing is ever easy. As long as we’re in it together, that’s all I care about.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he kisses you. When he breaks the kiss, he turns you to Steve, who presses his lips to you sweetly. It all feels so natural, so easy. 

Even though the winter wind whips at the windows, you’re comfy and warm in the embrace of your two supersoldiers. Nothing could be better than this right here. 

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[panic-in-the-multiverse]

A Pirates Life For Me

Pairings: father Killian Jones x child/teen!reader

Imagine: what it would be like to be Killian Jones child

Warnings: none really, mostly fluff, and Killian Jones being the best father ever, I guess there’s some spoilers for those who haven’t watched all seasons I guess, mention of when he died, NOT proofread yet

A/N back to writing ya’ll (hopefully), thought I’d start it of easy with some headcanons, so a few other will come out too but this is the first because recently I’ve been obsessing over Killian again along with Obi-Wan Kenobi and Hunter (from tbb)

Side note half of this got deleted and couldn’t really remember what I wrote so it’s definitely not as good as the first draft

First things first you were raised on the Jolly Roger, you would most probably grow up as a pirate, and when old enough you’d help him fighting against the other pirates that would attack you at times

I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to deal with wearing dark colored clothes, he doesn’t do light color therefore neither do you at least until you’re old enough to decide for yourself what clothes you want

You’d beg Killian to buy you the biggest hat ever as you read somewhere that pirates has hats, he never bought you that hat… he did steal a tiny hat that fit you perfectly though…

He was scared to death that he would be like his own father, but don’t worry he’s both like that he’s the best and he’d never leave you like that

Your initials are written beside the wheel (you know where he wrote with his hook for Bae/Neal)

Things you carved into the ship as a kid can still be seen in the most random places

He childproofed the ship, put child locks on nearly every cabinet not knowing if it was child appropriate things in them as the crew would put their things in random places, he did not find the thought of you finding a knife, sword, or gun and accidentally hurt yourself very comforting

Adopted child, biological child, doesn’t matter he loves you the same.

Depending on when you were born you might of watched The Dark One rip the heart out of your father’s lover

One of many traumatic events

Killian values you more than anything else, if he had to choose between revenge or you, he’d always choose you, he’d do anything for you even if it meant him dying

He still knows how to say no to things though

He made a mental list in his head on things he would teach you

1. How to sail

2. How to navigate with stars

3. Sword fighting

4. How to survive on Neverland (just in case Pan decided to kidnap you or something to mess with him)

5. How to escape from Neverland

6. What plants are poisonous or not

7. Do not make deals with the dark one

And then the list goes on and on, he would want to teach you everything he knows about everything really, he just doesn’t want you to make the same mistakes he did, or to end up being a villain as he wants you to get your happy ending

Somewhere along the road you got dragged into wanting to help your father get revenge, nearly succeeded in multiple occasions, but as it turns out villains don’t really get their revenge

You once made the crew find a hook and clothes similar to Killian’s and later on that day you’d run up to Killian, hand clutching a hook and act as if you were the captain of the ship, imitating your father (with a really bad “adult” voice). He would let out a wide smile, eyes twinkling and a soft gaze as he looked down at you trying to reach the wheel. He’d eventually pick you up and let you steer the destination as he helped you turn the wheel the other way than he had set the course too. This was also the first time he taught you how to sail. Or somewhat, it wasn’t like you took much of the information in as you soon got bored and went to watch over the railing at the crashing waves.

Btw I’m tired of fics where Captain Hooks child likes Peter Pan, why because a parents ideals usually sets with the child, meaning you’d probably hate Peter Pan and Rumplestiltskin as much as your father does

He would tell you stories of his older brother and how he was a hero and he wished you’d met him, you would eventually in hell though later as you went to rescue your father so that’s fine, turns out he wasn’t the hero your father made him out to be, but that’s fine you only need one hero and that’s your dad

He would also tell you stories of his adventures, it made for quite the long entertaining tales as he tucked you into bed, kissing your forehead before continuing his story which he altered to be a bit more child friendly and a bit more dramatic

He lets you have some of his clothes when he’s going away for a long time because he knows you’ll miss him

He lets you wear his jackets/coats, you freezing he’s already put his jacket/coat over you, even if they’re too big for you , he loves how adorable you look in it as he’s reminded that you’re still just a child and he doesn’t want you to grow up

He’d try to teach you how to paint, might succeed might not still he loves the bonding time he’s good at painting in any universe you can’t tell me otherwise

He hates seeing you hurt

If you get hurt on a raid he’d made sure whoever hurt you would suffer, you want him kiss the injury better, he’d do so in a heartbeat even if it meant his reputation would falter slightly

He starts dating someone else (Emma) he’d make sure that person treated you right, if not he’d dump said person

If he founds out you like someone he wouldn’t be overprotective, he’d still be protective but he’d mostly be supportive. He’d tease you about it until it became annoying, he’d encourage you and give you advice (even if most of his advice failed)and if it failed he’d be there to comfort you through it all

You’d blame Emma for turning Killian into a dark one and you’d blame Emma for Killian’s death

When you rescued Killian from hell he promised you he’d never die again if not of old age and that he’d never take of his good luck ring ever again as you thought he jinxed it by giving it to Emma

You were glad for his sake when he married Emma just because you saw your father happy with someone else again and not just grieving and seeking revenge for his ex lover

He hugs surprisingly great, he’s like your human sized pirate teddy bear

He misses the times when you would come into his room late at night after a nightmare and crawl under the covers and cuddle close to him, not because you had a nightmare but because he liked that you knew you would always be safe with him

He would hate that you’d have nightmares after his death and you no matter what age you are in would sometimes go into his room to make sure he was still alive and maybe even sleep beside him, he’d wake up to you sprawled out over the whole bed clutching his side tightly as if you were afraid he’d disappear

Will make sure you get your happy ending

He’s just father material it’s as simple as that (just look at Nook, love Nook though but original Hook is the best)

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

The Roger to her Jessica.

❤

Hey, Jadey! So heres my Eddie Munson x Female!Reader one shot request for you! Reader is the new girl at Hawkins High & shes super hot, like Victoria's Secret Super Model hot! Naturally all of the popular guys (aka Steve, Billy, & Jason) at Hawkins are trying to get her to go out with them, but she's very much not interested in them.

Because none of them are her Type... Until she sees Eddie 'The Freak' Munson; turns out she into the 'Rockstar' thing...

Also, because Munson looks like a younger Eddie Van Halen, she's instantly zeroing in on him. Basically Reader is Jessica Rabbit & Eddie Munson is her Roger Rabbit!

Requested by @m00nlight101

Warnings; slightly suggestive, fluff, the reader is smitten with Eddie and vice versa.

The guys in Hawkins were all the same. Being the new girl in a small town she was immediately the star attraction.

They took one look at her and suddenly she was the most sought out girl in town.

Even before school started officially she was approached by guys.

Billy Hargrove was the first to ask her on a date but she had heard enough shit about him to immediately shut him down.

He was hot but she wasn't getting involved with him, he had graduated Hawkins High and worked as a lifeguard in the community pool, he was also a hit with her mother's friends, clearly loving the older women and according to his sister Max a violent bully.

She was definitely steering clear of that one.

Steve Harrington was the next one to approach her and try to get a date. Now he was very handsome but still not her type.

Plus she was sure he was still making eyes at the girl Nancy Wheeler so she didn't want to get involved in that.

They met at Family Video when she was picking some movies for her Saturday movie night, Nancy was there too and while he was making eyes at y/n he was also pining after Nancy.

So he was a pass too.

Then finally when school started Jason Carver set his sights on her before she even sat down for her first class.

The guy was arrogant, cocky and a douche, he loved himself a little too much and those cringy inspirational speeches he did made her want to vomit.

The kicker though was that he already had a girlfriend. What a sleazeball. She wasn't stealing some girl's man.

"You know I'm the most popular guy in school right?". He leans into her and she raises an eyebrow moving away from him invading her personal space.

"Yeah, that's cool and all but I really don't give a shit about popularity. Also, you're not my type and I know you have a girlfriend so you hitting on me is gross".

He looked furious but she ignores him and carries on with her work wondering if she would meet anyone who was her type.

Jason pipes up again.

"You seriously expect me to believe you care I have a girlfriend?". Anger burns in her gut. She's fed up with men assuming things about her because she looks a certain way.

"Yes, I do very much care. Congratulations you're officially the worst guy I've met here".

Jason looks affronted and she turns away from him still pissed.

At lunch, she walks into the cafeteria and Chrissy and a few other cheerleaders call her over to sit.

She scans the crowd at lunch and her heart flutters as she spots the most gorgeous guy she's ever seen.

The curly brown hair, the leather jacket and the denim vest combo? She's smitten. He looks like Eddie Van Halen. There are major similarities.

Now this guy? This guy was her type.

What's Hellfire about she wonders as she stares at his t-shirt. The other boys sitting with him are wearing it too.

Stacy one of the cheerleaders she's sitting with snorts as she follows her gaze.

"That's the freak's table, they play this game called Dungeons and dragons or some shit. Eddie Munson the leader, the one sitting at the head of the table is the biggest freak of all, stay well clear".

Bitch. She thinks in her head and turns back to him. Noticing the guitar picks and chains too she sighs.

Oh yeah, Eddie Munson, you are fucking hot, ignoring Stacey's laughter she gets up and walks over to him. The group of guys he's with gawk at her as she approaches the table.

"Hi, I'm y/n and you Eddie Munson are exactly the type of man I've been looking for". He quirks an eyebrow and smirks.

"Yeah? Why's that princess? Move". He orders one of the guys next to him and he pulls out the empty seat for her.

"Such a gentleman". She coos and smiles at seeing him up close. His eyes are beautiful, big and a gorgeous shade of brown and those dimples when he smiled? Swoon. Surely he was aware of how hot he was?

"Well, I have all these boys wanting to date me and they are cute yes but not my type, you, however, are the sexiest man I've ever seen darling and I very much want you all to myself". She bats her eyes at him and his widen.

"Jesus H Christ, I'm dreaming right?". He whispers to the others and they gawk at her.

She's distracted by the tattoos on his arm, the visible one peeking out of his Hellfire top and waves of desire crash over her.

Lord help her this man was perfect.

"Are you free tonight handsome?". He shakes his head looking disappointed.

"I have practice with my band tonight but you're welcome to come, princess?".

Perfect.

"I'd love to, she murmurs, you play the guitar I presume?". He nods and she's delighted.

"Will you teach me how to play Eddie? I'd just love to see how talented those fingers are". Lust flickers in his eyes and she just realised how it could be taken and feels flustered.

"I'd love to show you just how talented I am sweetheart". The bell rings and she huffs disappointed and stands up.

She leans down and kisses his cheek, resting her hand on his shoulder. Her Scarlett red lipstick leaves an imprint of her lips on his cheek.

"Until later". She winks at him and is well aware of how his eyes trail down her body as she gets up.

Loving his attention she walks out of the cafeteria slowly making sure he savours every inch of her.

When she looks back at him his eyes are burning with need.

Don't worry darling she thinks and blows him a kiss. I'll drive you wild later...

[gumballavocadoharry]

A boy's best friend; Jack chambers:

*Mentions of abuse, trauma but also, EXTREME FLUFF!!!!*

*Also the lullaby is a real song from the 50's by a group called, The Spaniels.*

Jack's finger; wrapped in a gentle grip in Roger's mini hand. His soft green orbs staring into Jack's matching ones. Roger's little limp body wrapped in his thick cotton teddy bear quilt Alice knitted. It sprawled across Jack's arms; the crook of it pinching the tiny edges. Small gurgles pecked from Roger's gummy mouth; Jack gently rocking his little baby boy, cooing and whispering sweet gentle things.

"Who's my little teddy bear? You are! Who's a little baby bear? You are!" Roger's dimples eroded for his father's happiness. Soon, Roger was fast asleep in his father's arms; small snoozes whistling through his slightly ajar lips. Jack couldn't help but take a mental picture of the beautiful baby he privileged holding. He planted a light kiss on Roger's cheek before taking him to his crib and calling it a night. "Goodnight sweet prince....I love you."

That was just the beginning of an imperishable relationship between Jack and Roger. Stroller rides to the playground, fresh baked cookies made by Jack, dipped in milk pooling around in Roger's sippy cup, dancing along in the living room, hand in hand to one of Jack's records that spun to every drum beat. Bath time songs about getting clean, bedtime cuddles while anticipating the last adventure of 'Teddy McStuffins' that Jack made sound so exciting. And then the warm cloak of quilts brazing over Roger's little body, inviting the sweet warm goodnight kiss to be pressed onto his forehead like a ticket to a train ride of sweet dreams.

"Goodnight my teddy bear, I love you." The words tickled inside Roger, flushing a warm gush of love to river through him. But it was different now. Rod and Mick were Roger's buddies, his ride or dies. The three amigos were inseparable; pulling pranks, hanging out at the corner almost everyday after school, riding bikes around town and meeting up with Mick's sister and her friends who attracted the eyes of the young boys. Jack could even admit that Roger's friends reminded him of his gang around that age, but the sting still singed inside of Jack's chest. The scalding realization that he wasn't as special to his 'little buddy' anymore slaughtered him.

Jack had came through the door, smelling the seasoned scent of casserole filling through the downstairs entirely. He had taken a deep breath in from the unsparing day at the office; Frank walked with gritted teeth, training a new intern who seemed to care less about his job. He stayed stable with his senior employees, but the tense feeling still pinched tightly through the day and echoed through the office. The drive home was a flicker of street lights through the freeway and into the city.

Jack's mind puttered between work and dinner; his agonizing hunger gnawed at him the more his hands clutched the steering wheel. The only glimmer that seared through the caustic thoughts was a mental imagine of a game of catch with Roger and baking cookies with Susan. It sent a smile to his face, eyes glittering with love wanting more than anything to be home. Greeting Susan at the door with a chintzy coo: "Hey baby girl, I'm home!" Susan ran into her father's arms, receiving kiss after kiss on her rosy cheeks. "Oh I missed you so much! You, mommy and Roger!"

Susan pulled away, eyebrow arched a little. "Mommy?" Jack chuckled, cheeks tinting a blossom color, "Sorry, I guess it's just a habit from when you were little...." He fluffed Susan's hair, swishing her blonde coat from her dainty shoulders. Jack took in his daughter's full features: those deep dimples that poked even without a smile, those baby girl eyes that puffed sophomoric little orbs and those ginger pink lips; small and poppet.

He scanned the living room, searching for his chocolate headed boy. As Jack expanded himself through the living room, he found Roger writing at the kitchen bar, eyes focused on whatever he was jotting down. A warm jab cut through him; a sensation of special adoration pinging through him for his youngest, most fragile of the Chambers clan. It moved Jack to Roger, cupping him into his arms and pressing a sound smooch to his cheek. Jack was too clouded to recognize Roger's little disgruntled face: scrunched and furrowed.

"Hello, my little guy, daddy missed you today!" Jack cooed, rubbing his cheek against Roger's. Roger swallowed hard before pinching on a plastic smile and reciprocating Jack's sweetness, but with his own bittersweet. Alice couldn't shut the beam off her smile seeing Jack be so affectionate towards their children. "Hungry?" She cuddled up into Jack's side, placing a lipstick kiss to his cheek. Jack blushes and loosened the tie around his collar. He kissed back, allowing traces of Alice's ebony red to trace his lips. 

Jack soon entranced himself in the smell of casserole that sighed through the kitchen. The family joined for dinner and small talk around the table. Jack had sealed in a planned date with Susan; a weekend for baking cookies, working in the garden and a countryside bike ride. Jack, with a silent grin, turned to Roger, about to ask what his plans would be for the evening when: "Hey, Mom and Dad? Can I go with Rod and Mick to the game on Sunday?" Jack bit his lip, looking to Alice, who nodded her head. "I think so, Jack?" Jack swallowed his bite, and nodded,

"Sure Champ."

Jack sat on the bed bench, fiddling his fingers together, waiting for Alice to finish rolling the last curler into her hair. Jack's eyes, droopy laid themselves to Alice who pranced out of their bathroom, bouncing in her silky lavender lingerie. "Coming to bed?" Jack tilted his head, "Yeah, I'm just gonna grab something to drink." Alice watched her husband promenade out of the door and tiptoe through the hall. Maybe from habit, Jack thought, he carefully peeked through the doors of his children's bedroom.

Susan was curled up; her back turned to the door. She was wrapping a hug around her little kitty doll that she would press against her cheek every night for a blanket of comfort. Jack couldn't help but let a dimply smile lift through his cheeks. He whispered an inaudible "Sweet dreams," before closing the door back.

Jack looked into Roger's room, seeing the little boy dangle off the side of his mattress; teddy bear had been dropped on the floor and Roger's snores were next to whispers. Jack didn't hesitate to carefully sneak inside and move Roger into a regular upright position and tuck his teddy next to him. Before draping the covers over his little body, Jack kissed his forehead. He let his fingers lift a loose tuft of hair from Roger's face, skating quietly through his skin.

Roger's eyes peeked a crack before shutting themselves again. Once his father's footsteps were out of the room, a smirk appeared so sneakily. He felt every warm touch that Jack planted. It soothed him more than he would ever admit.

Jack sat downstairs eating away on orange juice and some potato chips. The light of the television flickered through every commercial till eventually, static. The TV signal had turned off for the night so that meant Jack needed too as well. But he couldn't. One nagging thought pecked at his brain like fingers to a scab. I'm overreacting he thought. But no matter what he did to reassure himself that your mind can play tricks, Jack still couldn't seem to get a satisfying redeem.

He's growing up, he needs his space. He'll come around when he's ready. We still are best buddies..... right?

The words stomped loudly through Jack. Susan was more than willing to spend time with her old man, but Roger...no....no he made new friends....Mick and Rod. They just need to get acquainted. Jack just couldn't peer into his mind for all those moments he begged his father for a game of catch or when it did happen, his father would come at him hostile, full of angst leading to an argument and tempers flaring. Those painful memories of David, smacking Jack around for 'backtalk' when Jack insisted on starting a conversation, those angry words being yelled when Jack would make a mistake.

'Stupid' and 'bastard' were tattooed on his head every time Jack would wake up, walk around and lie down. One time, Jack decided that affection would possibly cheer David up after a harsh day at the factory. Jack assumed the best when he planted a peck to his cheek only to be back handed so hard that Jack could remember the flickering lights on the kitchen floor. It was his consciousness fading in and out he found out when a few minutes later, his eyes opened and nothing had changed. The smell of wax stung into his nostrils once he lifted himself up and limped to his room.

No wonder Jack wanted something better for his children. Jack moved his hand upon realizing something wet had spotted it. He sniffled and swatted tears away before rustling upstairs to his bedroom. Jack reserved any memories of his parents for the sake of his mental health. Even Alice only knew remnants of what Jack told her.

One particular Sunday evening while Jack was helping prepare the pasta salad, Alice had brought up David wanting to visit the house for the weekend. Jack's eyes; calm and steady turned threatened and fierce. "That man is to never so much step a toenail onto our curb, let alone the house! I don't ever want him near the children!" Jack's voice was gritted through his teeth. His grip on the knife tightened along with the tranquility of the house.

A stunned silence leaving Alice, Roger and Susan to give each other confused looks while Jack just studied his knife board and the chopped up carrots on it. Dessert was later served with an explanation and an apology from Jack. 

Jack snuck up the stairs, quietly sneaking back into his bed next to a sleeping Alice. Jack's eyes stood open and active. His mind raced through the memories of David and it overloaded him to a sluggish awake. Jack dug through his mind to think of something more blithe and glee. Susan and Roger swinging at the park, Roger's toothless smile sucking on his ice cream cone, Susan in her princess dress dancing through the kitchen.

Those happy memories clouded one after another like a picture show. They brought serene to Jack. Susan; their little daddy and daughter date scheduled for Saturday. It made Jack glisten inside with fuzziness. Roger; his baseball game with friends. What Jack would've made into his and Roger's day: tickets to the game stashed away in his wallet, a pizza dinner afterwards and ice cream for dessert. Jack didn't realize he was smiling until his face dropped upon realizing that it wouldn't happen. His days of bonding with his boy were numbering. At least, that's what he thought.

Jack could feel the strings in his gut tighten. He could still feel the soft new skin of Roger's cheek pressing against his own. His arms wrapped around his baby tucked away and swaddled in this little burrito. The little boy he prayed for, the baby he wanted more than any career, any bachelor lifestyle that was in his reach...it would mean nothing if he couldn't grasp the one important piece of his life that could change everything for the better. He couldn't just let it slip from his grasp like silk from glass. So he wouldn't. Jack sealed the night with a vow to never let it go.

It would be too late for him and David, but for him and Roger....a different story. Jack slowly closed his eyes, dreaming of a fresh page for him and Roger. One Sunday couldn't cram all the buckets of adoration he had for him. But everyday could be a possibility. 

The faint grunting hum of Dean's lawnmower trimming his lawn was like an anthem for 'good morning'. Jack rubbed his groggy eyes before tiptoeing downstairs to make breakfast. He decided on surprise pancakes; making them into shapes for everyone. Susan and Alice's was a heart and Roger's would be of a teddy bear. Jack dolled out effort for its button eyes and mouth. To him, it was Roger, innocent and cute yet mischievous if you stared deeper into its eyes.

Susan was the first to wake, coming into the kitchen and smelling the sweet scent of fresh pancakes, stacked on top of each other like books. "Hey baby girl," Jack kissed his daughter's cheek soundly, "I made some pancakes for everyone." The little blonde took a seat at the table, grabbing her fork and slicing through her little flapjacks. "Here you go honey." Jack poured syrup onto Susan's pancakes.

Soon, Alice came down, taking a whiff of the honeyed smell and sat next to Susan. "Oh, aren't these cute! Heart shaped pancakes!" Alice beamed at her husband's creativity. She rewarded him with a kiss to his cheek, letting her thumb edge through his small stubble. Roger, the last little participant was still sound in bed sleeping. Jack had slid Roger's pancakes on his plate before turning the stove off and rushing upstairs to his bedroom. Jack's slippers scratched across the wood, hearing only little coos of Roger's snores from behind his door.

Jack gave a few soft knocks before entering. He could swear his heartbeat speed up to an audible echo. His little boy, sprawled out over the covers, his teddy bear tucked under his arm and his mouth slightly ajar with morning pillow drool cascading from it. Jack took a quick mental picture of this moment before gently rustling his Roger awake. "Wake up my teddy bear, breakfast is ready." His voice had returned to the same cooing gentle bird like tone he religiously used with Roger as an infant.

Jack didn't hesitate to bend down and smother good morning kisses to Roger's face. Something to Roger's chagrin.

"Come on buddy, it's breakfast time." Jack picked Roger up in his arms and decided that he would carry him to the breakfast table. "Does Mr. Teddy wanna come join us?" Roger shook his head, trying to subside a frown from wrinkling his forehead. Jack set Roger down in front of his pancakes; cutting them into little pieces after gouging them in syrup. "That's adorable! Roger's is of a teddy bear!" Susan exclaimed. Roger gritted his teeth and flashed a superficial grin before shoving his mouth full of his breakfast.

"Oh," Jack grabbed a napkin and wiped away the syrup mushed around Roger's mouth. He gave a fatherly smile and rubbed Roger's shoulder. "There you go rogie." Roger didn't respond, just internally grumbled 

The sun shimmered through the patio door. Jack was bright in his work suit; black tie with a gray suit and black loafers. Roger followed behind Susan, wearing his typical good boy clothes that would quickly mislead the common folk of an inverse to his behavior. Jack couldn't help but beam at his children. Looking at the little creations of his heart; once were droplets of dreams and now a vivid colorful reality. Jack looped his hand into Roger's little one while they followed behind Susan to the car. 

Roger just stared down at the grainy crusty pavement of the driveway, not wanting to see his father's cheesy papa lion smile. Roger felt this waver of sarcasm inside when he felt Jack had even allowed him to buckle his own seatbelt. The ride to school was full of Jack's lively chatter. His glances through the rear-view mirror, his eyes full of adoration and adulation. The emerald jade of his irises popped like candy; sugar bubbling on your tongue that puckered sourness and a sweet rush through your mouth.

But Roger just concentrated on the blazing currents of grass taped to the curbs and sidewalks sidelining the street. The stoplight around the corner of the school sent a warm patch stomping through Roger's gut. A pinch of cold gashed through him as his brain would continue to radiate over what he feared.

Validation from Rod and Mick meant more than warm papa bear hugs from Jack.

"I want you both to have a nice day at school," Jack pulled Susan in, pressing a big hummingbird kiss to her cheek. Roger slithered down the mushiness with an eye roll, ignoring the flush feeling in his cheeks. "Roger, your turn," Jack's voice, rosy and coddled while his hand motioned for Roger's goodbye kiss. Roger hesitantly made his way across to the driver's side, where Jack quickly pressed a kiss to Roger's cheek, squishing the other side with his hand. Once Roger pulled away, he grabbed his lunch before running out of the door and towards the front door of the school. Jack saw them off, before putting his bel air into reverse and speeding off to his job.

Jack thought he outdid himself: not letting one precious moment slip away with his little boy. Scanning his card through the door, clocking in and taking a seat at his office was routine for him. But the fresh whiff of the sterile office walls was like ice in lemonade on a summer's day. His documents were laid and stacked on his desk, his typewriter firmly solid on the mahogany wood and the picture of his family stood boldly among the blandness of the engineering work that weighed heavily through the day.

Roger, meanwhile, stuck in his chair, hand slouching against his face while listening to Mr. Pecker go on and on about the boring science project that was due the following month. Roger could feel the inside of his stomach gnawing at the little crumbs of his morning pancakes he had to salvage the resistance of hunger. The clock ticking was deafening; pounding louder and louder against Roger's ears; his fingers patting softly on his desk until.....

Ring!

Roger along with his grade scurried from their classrooms and into the gym. Roger pulled out his sack. He sniffled in the wavering linger of his cheese sandwich with chips, apple juice and his two oatmeal cookies. Upon pulling the sandwich from the foil, a note had fallen into his lap. Roger unfolded it to reveal the sweet message written tenderly inside. Written with such grace as the cursive of the letters were close to perfect. A recognizable signature.....one of his father's. Roger knew it had to be him; memories of Jack signing permission slips and in school detentions slips. 

The note somehow flew into the grasp of Chip Jameson, a fourth grader who was known for class pranks, one of Roger's idols. He read the note loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear, leaving a conundrum of laughter and teasing looks and glances towards Roger. His table laughed him out of the cafeteria, making Roger finish his lunch in the washroom stall.

The walk home was jittery. Susan, not knowing anything about the lunch time situation, kept pondering what her brother could be so upset about. He was fine this morning?

"Roger.....what's wrong?" Roger stopped in his tracks, handed his sister the note from his lunch that he managed to get from Chip and continued walking straight ahead.

This special lunch is dedicated to my extra special baby bear who loves his cookies! Extra papa bear love today!

Sincerely,

Daddy 

"I'm sure he didn't mean for this to happen Roger..." Roger sighed. "I know..... it's just that.....my reputation hasn't been the best with the guys and so I just wanna impress them. And this is not helping." Susan swallowed and continued walking back to the house. Neither Jack or Alice's car was anywhere in the driveway, so Susan was always tasked with carrying the third of four keys. Roger had his own, but was usually Susan's temporary responsibility on the walk home from school. "Here," Susan unlocked the door, "Why don't I make us a snack?" Roger nodded, allowing a smirk to penetrate.

Susan grabbed a few cookies from the jar with two glasses of milk. "Thanks," Roger grabbed his half as the two settled into the living room for TV time. Susan snacked on her Oreo's while multitasking between the TV and her homework. Roger stared through the TV rather than at it. Shoving soggy, milky Oreo after Oreo into his mouth, leaving traces of black crumbs around his mouth.

"Roger, don't forget about your homework." Roger grabbed his science book and notebook; studying through the pages of butterflies that he was supposed to hypothesize in his notes. The sound of the car pulling into the driveway purred through the living room just as Roger and Susan had finished their homework and chores. Alice flew into the house holding two large pizzas. "I'm so sorry kids-" Alice sat the pizza down on the counter, "I was out all morning running errands.... good thing your father made those pancakes, kept me full until now."

Susan would just stare and admire the small strands of blonde that would fly every time a slight breeze would trickle her face. The small beads of sweat still didn't dew or blotch her mascara and eyeliner or the dark magenta lipstick she had put on just before she left the house. Susan loved how Alice dolled herself up, affectionately whenever stepping out in public. The navy blue dress flowed like a curtain against the air as her the clicking of her sliver heels ran from one end of the kitchen to the other, gathering everyone's plates and drinks. Once settled, Alice slicked her long hair back and tied it back into a bun before wrapping her children in warm hugs. "Hello ducklings!" She pressed kisses to both of their foreheads before fluffing her dress out again.

Jack rang through the door, setting his suitcase down and stripping off his suit jacket. "Daddy!" Susan jumped into a hug with Jack, letting him smother her face with kisses. Roger's shoulders gained tension. Like thick rocks had been dropped onto them, becoming stiff and heavy. His legs could only stand a few places behind his sister, watching their father give his affection to her and Susan welcoming it with such keenness. Roger's blood spiked when he noticed Jack's eyes meet his own. "Roger! How was your day?!" Jack came towards Roger, using his arms to pick him up over his head before coupling him into a side hug and smooching his face all over. "Did you get my note?"

Roger's plastic smile reared, sucking in every bitter aftertaste of what had happened. "Yeah....I got the note." So did everyone else he thought.

Dinner for Roger was a delicious pepperoni and mushroom filled charm. Sipping his iced tea, washing down the warm gooey taste of cheese felt like the center of a heated caramel cream candy he loved. Five slices of pizza later, his belly was stuffed. "Here comes Master Chief, plummeting through the fields, Arton! Prepare for battle, prepare for-"

"Hey rogie bear, just popping in to check on you.....whatcha doing?" Roger held up his action figures. "Well, guess what's on TV right now?" Roger's curiosity pecked him. Jack ushered him downstairs. A sudden gripe of excitement punctured through him, a hopeful thought of an action movie or a drama mystery. Maybe that new alien sci-fi movie that all the seniors were raving about. Maybe it would be 'The Blob'? Coming downstairs, Roger saw cartoon flashes of puppets, a woman sitting in the middle of the room on the carpet with millions of puppets and kids around her.

His eyes squinted and mouth ajar. "What's this?" "The Adventures Of Captain Caterpillar!" Jack grabbed a stunned Roger's hand and led him to the couch. He wrapped a blanket around both of them while cuddling Roger in his arms wearing the same papa bear smile. Roger's cheeks were stained red, flushed with this peach rose complexion. Roger would occasionally glance up to Jack's little singing voice, tuning along with the silly dandle songs the caterpillar would blare loudly while dancing around with his lanky friends.

The cringe riveted through Roger everytime some baby nursling song would pop out out of nowhere through the black mouths of some puppet. Finally the movie ended, and so did the tight cosset hug from Jack. "That was such a good movie! What was your favorite song?" Roger racked his mind, "Uh, the one about the kitten and turtle taking turns," 

"That was such a cute one! Mine was the sharing one with Barnaby the mouse and Cynthia the pelican." Roger thought for sure Jack's screws were loose. He could never be entertained by something of this nature anymore. Roger made small talk before goose stomping himself up to his room. He dropped on his bed in total mortification. He was aghast to have even been able to sit through the entire thing!

His internal moaning didn't last as a knock on a door interrupted his moment. "Hey baby, it's beddie by time." Jack cooed. He invited himself in with a book in his hands: The Bedtime Wish Of Mr. Lemur.

Roger's mouth stood open once his eyes zeroed in on the pasty blue cover. Jack took a seat on the bed and patted the right side of it, ushering Roger to join him. "This is a story of a wise old lemur, who enjoys a good bedtime story even in his old age." Jack read the first few pages before Roger decided to peek over, accidentally slicing his finger against the sharp edge of the paper. "Ouch! Paper cut," he soothed his pointer in his mouth, "Oh, hold still rogie," Jack kissed Roger's finger, "there all better."

Jack finished the story, allowing Roger to get into his Pj's before tucking him into bed. "Goodnight my Mr. Man, sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite." Roger could only let Jack's puckering lips press against his forehead. 

Once the lights were shut off for the night, Roger's mind was still awake. It raced through Jack pampering him and swaddling him in this cocoon. Unbreakable, unable to free himself from his father's dominating love. It swallowed him at every corner, abashing his chances at a fair impression for newcomers, Rod and Mick. It chided him. Bore into him, like teeth to a cob.

But even he couldn't expect the overattentive attention that he could receive by morning. In his eyes, it was a would be a new school day, a bright chance and a resumption of himself for the third grade.

Oh, Jack sure was proud of himself. His energy didn't die until two in the morning and by then, he had knitted two sweaters for his children for those chilly fall months. A flower one for Susan and a teddy bear one for Roger. He made matching hats for them as well and made the innocent choice of a teddy bear sweater for himself to match Roger's with the idea of being a pair. 

As predicted, spring always brought warm sunny days with lulling breezes and sparkly neon flowers and other days were chilly and gray with a somber shadow looming over everything. Today was a mixture, chilly but sunny. Jack practically forced Roger to wear his new sweater, but he didn't expect the nasty surprise that awaited him after school.

While all the other kids rushed out, Roger stared to dart out after being questioned and teased for the "ugly teddy bear sweater" as he called it, he saw the same bright blue sweater hugging onto someone else. A taller lanky figure, coming closer he found it to be Jack. Roger frozen in place, his face blushing a bright blossom color mixed with coconut white in a pasty shade of fear. Kids snickered and giggled when they noticed the matching attire between father and son.

"Rogie! Come on down baby!" Roger did a walk of shame down the stone steps, slithering through the judgment of everyone and incidentally into Jack's arms. "Teddy Bear hug for my teddy bear!" A mortified Roger had little choice, but to bury his face into Jack's torso to shelter his eyes from any silly looks or bolstering laughs from everyone who watched this horror show. Jack walked hand in hand with Roger and Susan on the way home, chatting non-stop about his 'surprises' for the children when they were to arrive home. Roger's expectations were low. In his mind, it could've been anything to a baby swing or a brand new crib just waiting for him to be placed into. 

Susan seemed to indulge in Jack's blabbering about his journey into getting the surprises from the store and how they had to be custom-made from scratch. Susan's eyes grew wide with excitement. Her bippy boppy pigtails bounced the more she skipped with bulging curiosity of what her present could be. Roger, on the other hand, barely made himself noticeable.

When arriving at the house, Jack ran ahead of them, enticing them to close their little eyes while Alice would help escort them inside. Roger's gut grew with some excitement- surely it would have to be pretty big if asked to wait outside with their hands to their eyes. Alice pulled them into the house and yelled "Surprise!" with an ardent rave. Susan opened her eyes first to see a brand new lip gloss kit just for her. It had different shades of pinks and some even had glitter mixed into them. "Oh, thank you so much Mommy and Daddy! I love it! I love it! I love it!" She squealed, jumping up and down before pulling Alice and Jack into a hug.

Roger grew really excited. Susan's pre-adolescent gift was like a preview for his, right?

A giant stuffed beige teddy bear with a propeller beanie cap on its head sat on the couch. Not the skateboard he'd hoped for..... the babyish teddy toy staring right back at him, mocking his childishness with a vigor. Nonetheless, to be polite, Roger wore a plastic smile and thanked Jack and Alice. "And don't forget, these are custom-made! I had Susan's lip glosses made fresh from the counter at the mall. The brand is No7®. And Roger's came from ToysRus®. I had it made specially for him, and had his name inscribed on the bottom of the teddy bear." Roger cringed from being reminded that his 'gift' was from a toy company, while Susan's was from the mall where most adults and teens shopped for their items. Sure, people shopped at ToyRus..... for strollers and cribs along with baby rattles and bottle sets.

Later in the evening, once chores were finished, homework was done and dinner was eaten, Roger was spending the remainder of his night watching Looney Tunes. Jack took a seat next to him, propping a laying Roger's feet into his lap. His fingers gently warmed their way on the soles of his soft little feet. Squishy in Jack's hands. "Did you have a nice day at school?" "Yeah," A short diluted answer. Jack questioned again, "Do you like your teddy bear?" His voice, cooing slightly. "Mmhm." Maybe he's tired, Jack thought to himself. So, he rubbed Roger's feet harder. Only a bit. Even Roger had to agree that Jack's massages were relaxing and that his feet did need the extra attention from the walk home from school.

Jack was gentle and detailed- rubbing to a pattern that would relax Roger's little feet. Once Looney Tunes went off, the familiar twinkle tune theme of The Twilight Zone popped on. Roger's eyes grew bigger, anticipating what would be the mystery of tonight from Rod Sterling. "Oh no, this probably is too scary for you, Rogie," And with that, Jack clicked the television off to a black screen. "It's bedtime anyway now." Roger's internal glare bored through Jack as he settled Roger into his arms for a moment, before setting him down from deciding tonight was not the night his back could withstand the weight of his eight year old.

"Do you know what time it is?" Jack asked, Roger shrugged, "Bath time!" A hot flash spiked up Roger's back and stabbed into his cheeks. Once he saw the ducky bath towel sitting on the counter of the sink among the other bath toys, a sliver of fear eroded in him. Roger returned to the bathroom with just his robe on before getting into the bubbly warm bath water. It felt good against his skin; a serene little moment of peace before the storm. Jack came in, sat to the side with a wash cloth and began to wash Roger's face and body. "We did this all the time when you were a little baby. I would get you all clean and sing you this little bath time song I made up....something called 'Gilly in the tub' or Cleanie time'..... something along those lines." Roger was not impressed... in fact, it wasn't until Jack raised his arm up and cleansed his armpit that he felt the true sting of feeling babied. His open mouth to protest led to a mouthful of soapy bubbly water once Jack had rinsed the cloth and squeezed the water onto Roger's face.

He wrapped Roger in his ducky bath towel and led him to his bedroom to lotion himself and put on his pajamas, while Jack drained the tub. But when Roger went to put on his pajamas, the ones laid out for him were these sky baby blue cloud printed footie type expect without the footie part. Roger raised an eyebrow, he'd never seen these pj's before. Were these missing ones that I had forgotten about? He questioned himself. But once Jack came and explained that they were simply new ones he had gotten that day because of "how cute they looked," he couldn't resist. As if Roger's face wasn't crimson already, he got a duplex nasty surprise when he realized the pj's came with a sleep bonnet and that Jack had bought matching ones himself.

Jack pretty much insisted Roger wear his together with Jack. "And don't forget the bonnet either, baby!" Roger's face brightened into a tomato red, having the bonnet plopped on his while being called a 'baby'. Jack grabbed a book from the shelf and sat on the bed. "Curious George gets a medal." Jack read the story with such animation that he hoped would provoke an honest keen in Roger. But he was still batty with wearing baby cloud pajamas that matched his father's. Once the story was finished, Jack tucked Roger into bed. "I'm not sleepy," Jack raised an eyebrow. "Not sleepy? How about a glass of milk?" Roger nodded.

Jack left the room just Susan entered. All she had to do was take one glance at Roger, then at Jack... before bursting a loud laughter. It furrowed Roger's eyebrows before he hopped out of bed and pushed Susan from his bedroom. "Shut up!" He slammed the door before walking over to his desk with a huge pout on his face. "Hey, what's Susan laughing at?" Jack popped through the doorway, glass of warm milk in one hand and two cookies in the other. "Nothing," Roger shook his and climbed back into bed. Jack set the cookies on the nightstand before tucking Roger in. "Now I don't want you eating and lying down, okay?" Roger nodded.

Jack paused for a moment before gathering a fatherly look in his eye, "How about I sing you a lullaby?" Roger's eyes went wide, "Oh, that's okay.... this milk is gonna hit the spot I think." "Are you sure?" By then, Jack had invited himself on the bed and lifted Roger into his lap. "I have a really good one that I used to sing to you as a baby?" Roger knew he couldn't back out of this one. If his voice cracks.... Thought a close to fed up Roger. "Okay," Hesitant with no free will to decline.

"Well, it's three o'clock in the morning,

Baby, I just can't be here tonight

Well, I hate to leave you, baby

Don't mean maybe, because I love you so

Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go

I hate to leave you, but I really must say

Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight

Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go

Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go

I hate to leave you, but I really must say

Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight

Now, the sun might come and the birds

Might hear if I stay here too long

One kiss and we'll part

And you'll be sleeping

You know I hate to see you go

Goodnight, sweetheart goodnight."

Jack's voice was indeed soothing a tuned, but it still didn't stop the deep impending cringe Roger felt from sizzling inside him. "Now it's really time for bed, baby bear," Roger hated bring called that nickname.... at least some of the time. But tonight, he really hated it. He hated his pajamas, he hated his sleep bonney, he hated the bedtime story..... he hated being pacified by his father.... endlessly. Even the feeling of the thick snug warm quilt being placed over his body, sprouted hatered through him. "Goodnight little duckling, sweet dreams.... I love you very, very, very much!" 

Jack bent down and kissed Roger's cheeks- not just once; puckering a squeaky smooch to his chubby cheek, he lavished the little boy with a series of affectionate goodnight kisses. As if Roger's boiling point wasn't already bursting to a head, the last kiss was the loudest- a long 'Muah!' being hummed loudly through the entire bedroom, Jack's hands holding Roger's with a gentle grip and his face only spaces apart from Roger's. It ended with Jack's lips practically sucking the fleash off Roger's face, leaving a wet smooch mark in the form of Jack's love; heart shaping around his right cheek.

Jack gave a quick pinch to his cheek before leaving the room for the night. Roger was lying straight in bed; frown rooted on his face, shooting a glare that could chill the spiciest of things. Roger ended his night with swallowing his pride and hoping for a twist to his domain. He cuddled himself under his quilt before wrapping a gentle arm around his teddy bear. He stared into its eyes; black and lifeless, but forgiving to Roger's hidden animosity. He turned his eyes off for the night, allowing his body to drift into a weakness for slumber.

It was the middle of the week and Roger had no interventions from Jack. Thursday was promising with its spring blossoms and humming bees that whizzed past your ear. The sun poked through the glass of the classroom, allowing a sunny twinkle to splash Roger's skin during math. It was all rainbows and butterflies until a napping annoucment was made by Mr. Weschester, the principal. "Remember students, don't forget tomorrow is chaperone day. Parents and PTA staff faculty will participate as classroom helpers and lunch monitors, Friday. So, don't be surprised if you recognize one or a few people at the school!" He chuckled slightly.

It didn't alarm Roger. After all, Dad would be working and Mom doesn't even know yet. 

"Hey Roger!" He turned to see his sister running full speed through the hall, "Did you hear? Tomorrow is particiaption day, so it means Mom and Dad might be at the school tomorrow! That would be so great..... I would be able to show them all my teachers and hear them say how well I'm doing in their classes.... they'll be so proud!" Roger wasn't amused.

"I'm not surprised that you're not excited...... you're always doing something bad anyway," Roger opened his locker, "I'm not doing anything! I just don't think it's 'super cool' to have your parents show up at school.... I mean, you don't see me showing up at dad's job, right?" Susan shrugged, "It's Mick and Rod, isn't it?" Roger gave Susan a side look, "It's me Susan. You know how I've always felt about that," Roger grabbed his lunch from his locker, "Yes, I am trying to impress them right now, but....." Susan lifted a brow, "What?"

"I just don't want Dad showing up at the school. He's been so clingy lately- and don't try to deny it or stick up for him!" Susan giggled, "Oh yeah, like last night, in your matching pajamas and the matching baby bonnet that he made you wear. It was so funny!" Her voice squeaked. Roger slammed his locker door, "Whatever, if you see him, tell him I'm not his baby bear!"

He stormed away, leaving Susan behind with a graded worry and confusion. The lunchroom was filled per usual, only this time, Roger found a slightly more isolated table. The incident of the last time haunted him enough to keep his space empty or at least less crowded. But upon opening his lunch, Roger once again found a letter in his bag.

Dear Roger,

I just wanted to write about how special you are and how much fun I've had spending time with you the way I have. Our little walks when it's time to go home are pleasurable, our time together on the couch is relaxing and entertaining, but most importantly.... it's our bedtime that's my absolute favorite time with you. We get to read stories and I get to hold you in my arms as you slowly drift off to dreamland. And of course, sending you off with goodnight kissies and huggies to end the night, is a very important ritual to me. I love you more than anything and I hope you have the best day at school my guppy puppy!

XOXO

Love,

Daddy!

Roger scanned through the note before crumbling it inside the pocket of his jacket. He sat and ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich without any surmising feelings of anyone.

Friday arrived. The sun was bright and early, the birds were awake and breakfast was already on the table. Toast with melted butter, orange juice, bacon and eggs were served with a ginger smile from Alice as she set the last plate of food down on the table. She dusted the flour off her aporn before taking a seat with the rest of her family. Roger, unsupecting to Jack sharing a smile with Alice before looking back to their children.

Susan eating her toast peacfully while looking through her assingnment and Roger sipping his juice while sharing his looks between his plate and the wondering eyes he sensed from the table. 

The ride to school was filled with songs from Dean Martin. Roger just let the base of the radiowave take him as he anticipated every melody from the singer. He noticed Jack having this grin shaded on his face; unbreakable even when the traffic jamed and when a j-walker stepped out in front of the car and he had to slam his breaks and his horn at the same time. It didn't grind into Roger until they pulled up in the parking lot and he noticed Jack turning off the car. He turned around to Roger, "Puppy, Daddy's going to go in with you this time..." 

Roger looked to the side before turning back to his dad. "Is something going on?" "Well, sorta..... I'll tell you about it later," Now Roger was really confused. But, for once, he obeyed his father and followed him out of the car. Jack wiggled his fingers into Roger's little hand and held a tight grasp to it, like he was dangling from the edge of something and Roger was his lifeline connection. "Remember when we used to hold hands when we would to school some mornings?"

"Yeah..." Jack smiled down at Roger. He rubbed the back of Roger's hand with the side of his thumb. It made Roger self conscience- all eyes seemed to bore directly in their direction, like an alien was walking in broad daylight amongst the public eye. But they weren't. Only a few giggles broke through the clambers of laughter and causal chatting amoung the students. Father and son made it into the school where Roger broke free from Jack's pyhsical grasp and started on his way up the stairs after a quick aloof goodbye. "Nugget! What about your kissy kissy?!" Jack shouted; shuffling through the groups of children that seemed to stand in the way of his getting to Roger.

"I have to kiss you, baby bear!" Roger just stood frozen. Shocked and horrified at those little sentences. He shot his head around to see the slather of classmates mocking and teasing him much to Jack's complete oblivion. Roger stumbled down the stairs, struggling to meet Jack's gaze before being enveloped in a firm bear hug and receiving a resounding kiss on his forehead. And of course, Jack completely smothered his little face in goodbye kisses. One 'Muah' after another. Roger's face didn't seem to fade from its crimson color. It got bolder and bolder with everything Jack seemed to do that would humilate Roger to no end.

Why does he always embarrass me at the worst times? Roger's mind wasn't shy about conveying a few malefic thoughts of Jack of his own. "I love you, baby cakes. Now run and get to class now." "Baby cakes?" A boy questioned. Roger wiggled out of Jack's hug and ran to his class as fast as he could. Couldn't Jack see the slur of students he gathered around them? The crowd that was drawn because of his yelling? Like ants to an abandoned potato chip lying on the pavement.

Roger's day could only get worse as he realized out of his entire class, Jack was the only parent who showed up for particapation day. The realization made Roger want to scream. Jack would pop into the classroom ocassionally to help with passing out papers and cleaning up after the kids. He never seemed to busy enough to squeeze in the occasional hug or kiss to Roger. Pinching his cheek or rubbing his head wasn't barred either.

At lunch, Jack was chaperoning the students- paying extra unneeded attention to his own: wiping his mouth, feeding him the pudding he put in his lunch ealier, and the finale..... burping him; patting his back while his head was craddled against his shoulder. Then recess rolled around.

"Hey Mick, watch this!" Roger swung on the rod of the jungle gym, intending a front flip, but instead landed on the concrete asphalt. His knees were scrapped; blood trickling down them like tears. Roger tried getting up, but was stagnant on the ground. "Roger, are you okay?!" Mick ran to his friend and tried helping him up, but the watchful eye of Jack caught them and with lightning speed, flew over towards the boys. "Rogie! Are you hurt?! Did you get a boo boo?" He bent down and examined Roger's scraped knees. "Oh, you poor baby, it's okay.... daddy's got you," Jack lifted Roger and carried him to the nurses, bridal style. "Dad! Everyone's looking at us!" He whined.

"Oh, don't you worry about them... let's take care of Roger first." 

The bell rung, recess was over and Jack was to be back at Roger's next class. Roger came limping back from the nurses with his legs cleaned and bandaged. "There's my little pookie bear, do you feel better?" Roger's cheeks stung again. "Dad.... I'm not a pookie bear," His teeth were gritted, "Well, you're my pookie bear.... forever and always." Roger sucked up an eyeroll. 

The last class of the day seemed to shot by fast. Out in the hallway, Roger noticed Jack with Mitch and Rod, huddled around together. Roger's heart sped up, his breath became shaky and his mouth dry and metallic. He caught the tip end of Jack's memory of Roger's little daycare accident; his diaper being poofier than his whole little body and Jack speeding through track just to get there to change him. "I was so worried that Roger was going to get a diaper rash..... I think I went to five different stores to find the right diaper cream for his little bottom...."

Mick and Rod burst out laughing. "Can you tell us more stories of baby Roger?" Jack giggled, "Of course- in fact, I have pictures of him as a baby." Before Roger could intervine, Jack had whipped out pictures of baby Roger in the bathtub or comepletly nude on the living room rug. Jack's eyes had this twinkle of adoration in them- he loved talking about his children when they were little. "Roger was so adorable- oh and had the roundest little bottom I ever seen! I had made up this little song called 'Icing on the cake', and I would sing it while changing Roger's diaper."

"Why did you call it 'Icing on the cake'?" Rod asked, side eyeing Roger with a little smirk emerging from his mouth. Roger's eyes grew big, praying that Jack wouldn't reveal the most embarrassing story of his life. The most humilating secret that he would never let out for anyone. "I called it that because when I would put diaper powder and cream on Roger's little bottom, he would get fussy, so I would sing it for him to soothe him.... and because it was like icing a cake. His little bottom looked like a fluffy cotton ball.... that's why sometimes I call him my RoRo Bear."

Roger was in utter disbelief. A shock of total and utter humilation. His most embarrassing secrets were revealed right to the very people who he worked so hard to impress and entertain. The nickname he hated being called and the story he never wanted out was now in full circle, ready to blowup to the whole school. Jack finally spotted Roger, flashing him an innocent fatherly smile. "Hey munchkin, I was just talking to your friends Rod and Mick- they're very nice!" But Roger's face was stuck, stuck in a dark crimson colored dispair. "What's wrong?" Now Jack's voice rang concern. Roger furrowed his eyebrows into a deep glare and walked around the trio; going straight to his locker, pulling his backpack and walking out the front door, hoping to get trapped and lost in the rushing rabble of the students.

"Roger! Roger!" Jack caught up to him, and pulled him close to him. "What's the matter baby?" "I'm not a baby! I'm not a muchkin! Or a pookie poo or pookie bear or whatever, I'm not any of those things! And I'm not your little baby either! How could you do this to me?!"

"To you?" "Yeah! Why did you have to run and tell Mick and Rod about the Icing on the cake story or reveal my RoRo bear nickname?! Why did you have to come to school anyway?! Or buy matching Pj sets or kiss me everytime you see me or sing me a stupid lulluby? Or...Or......." Roger just scoffed out of Jack's grasp but stopped, fully allowing the boiling point come to a head, "I'M NOT A BABY ANYMORE! SO STOP TREATING ME LIKE ONE!" Roger huffed off, running all the way home with tears streaming down his little rosey cheeks. The crimson was wearing off, but the sting still stayed behind, leaving escars of disgrace deep in him.

Roger stopped at the corner, wiping his face from the thick rill of tears. "I'm never talking to him again." He said to himself. Roger looked around hoping to beat Jack's green chevy bel air to the house. He stormed in, said a quick greeting to his mother before locking himself in his bedroom, spending the next fifthteen minutes with a deep glare sprawled across his face.

Jack came in wearing a sullen teary eyed frown. "Jack?" Alice came over and sat him down on the couch. "What's wrong what happened?" Jack looked down, "He hates me,"

"Roger?" Jack slowly nodded, "I accidentally embarrassed him at school and he got angry and ran home, I'm assuming." "Yeah, he just ran upstairs not too long ago- what did you do?" Jack swallowed, "I guess I got carried away with being affectionate with him..... I babied him a little too much..... I always forget that's a sore spot with him!" He slammed his fist down on his thigh. "I'm gonna go talk to him." Jack's eyes looked toward the stairs.

Jack's feet were whiny against the wood of the stairs. He held tight to the railing, not allowing his legs to wobble him unbalenced. He could feel the tension from behind Roger's door. It only spotted a speck of softness once he heard the faint sniffling sounds on the other side. It made him want to break through the door and wrap his little one in a hug, but a sharp pinging sense of misgiving halted any mollycuddling thoughts. Instead, he delicately pittered a knock on the door. "Come in," Jack slowly tiptoed into Roger's bedroom, scouring his soft sniffles from tears that he had been crying alone in his bedroom.

"Roger.... can I sit?" He shrugged, "Whatever."

Jack took a seat across from Roger, "Rog..... I never meant to embarrass you...... I was just trying to-" Jack stopped, racking his brain for the right words, "I just wanted to be close to you. I thought that if I showed you how much I love you..... we would be close again."

"When were we not close?" Even Jack couldn't answer that. He realized just how overexaggerated his idea really was. "You made new friends and-" "Now I probably won't have because of you!"

Jack had to bite his tounge and swallow the shallow pettiness of pride he had from his callous mistake. No matter how he would spin this, Roger would never the plot. Jack himself was though. He made it all about him more than he ever could've for Roger. All because of a haunted memory he carried with David. Jack wanted to be better, he wanted to be opposite. So much....... that he forgot what was right in front of him. His pride was shaken so much, that looking Roger in the eye would be very painful....more than it should've.

"I'm so sorry Roger. Honestly, I am. I know you're not a baby...... it's not always easy for me to admit that to myself everytime I see you growing up and doing things on your own. In my mind, I guess I was thinking of some of our best memories being when you were just so.....so....little. So helpness and fragile.....you needed me then. You needed me so much, and I just felt so responsible for being this positive influence in your life that....... I couldn't help it. I still see you as a baby on some days and.... I guess I got a little carried away,"

"A little?" Jack gave a tight smile, "A lot." Roger turned his sight back to the floor, "Roger, look at me darling," Roger slowly lifted his eyes back to Jack's. "I'm very, very, very sorry about.... everything. You're not a baby and I was wrong for being that way...." Jack's eyes softened, a soft tiny smile rippled on face, "I look at you now.... and I'm so proud of you. I love you very much, and the last thing I would ever want is to make you cry or be angry or in pain."

Jack held out his arms, "Do you forgive me?" Roger eventually let a smile cross him, giving into his father's pout and falling into each other's arms. "Of course." Jack squeezed Roger tightly, never wanting to let go. "Just promise me one thing....."

"What?" Asked Roger. Jack pulled away to look into the green of Roger's eyes. "Promise, no matter how big you get.....you'll still be my little baby bear?" Roger smiled, "I promise." The father and son hugged each other tightly, running through the strainds of hair on the back of each other's heads. Roger felt Jack's hand rubbing and craddling his little head, while Jack felt Roger's little hand rub in between the back of his scalp and neck.

Jack decided to savour the little present moment without any doubts or past memories to cloud what already exsisted......

Their love for one another.

[jamneuromain]

When Pigs Fly

Steve Rogers x You (Reader)

Warning: Swearing, a lil humor, a lil fluff, agent!reader

W/C: 1.7K

Summary: Is there a chance for Captain America, to be your friend?

A/N: Big smooch to @rogerswifesblog, who forms this idea with me together.

Steve is using his serious face again.

He crosses his arms, standing upright, looking down at you with a stern look.

“You were reckless in the field, Agent.” He addresses you coldly, “I will not tolerate that sort of behavior.”

This isn’t the first time when you argue with Steve Rogers because of the way you behave in the field. If you are being honest, Captain Rogers himself is also behaving recklessly, doing stupid shit all day, with no one up on his ass.

“And I saved the team. You’re welcome.” You retort back, fiddling with your tactical suit and the stains of dirt.

“Nearly killing yourse-” Anger bubbles in his stomach. Steve takes a deep breath, calming himself, “until further evaluation, you’re on desk duty.”

You don’t care about desk duty. You could fool those tests easily and get back into the field in no time. But you can’t help but tease him, wiggling your eyebrows, “killing myself? Care so much about me, Capitaine? What, you have a crush on me or something?”

You swear, some newbie gasps in the background.

Utter silence.

You witness Steve’s ears flush red, while his jaw clenches.

Quinjet is so quiet that you could drop a needle on the ground, and the whole team can hear it.

“Landing in five.” A pilot speaks through the broadcasting system.

“NO.” He pushes the words out of his tight lips, “no, Agent, I do not have a crush on you. Now sit back and report to the mission center after landing. You are off the team for a month. End of discussion.”

Wow, I wonder if someone takes the wrong medicine this morning.

They would’ve taken you off the team completely if you weren’t one of the best field agents.

They still need you.

But you’ve poked the Captain enough for today.

“Aye aye, Captain.” You buckle yourself into the uncomfortable seat, patting the dust on your sleeves.

“Damn, desk duty again?” Sam, who’s around the mission center when you submit your evaluation form, asks you in surprise, “what did you do this time?”

You press your lips into a flat line and shrug, “reckless. Guilty as charged.” You eye your paperwork while mouthing “Captain America”.

Sam huffs out a laugh, “c’mon, it’s been what, two weeks? Since you have been back on the field? You really pissed him off, huh?”

You nod to the mission dispatch lady at the front desk, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. You can’t tell if you pissed off THE Steve Rogers. However, you know, deep down, that if he is angry, you will face something much worse. You don’t know how you will face an angrier version of him, which makes you slightly uncomfortable.

You choose to steer away from the topic, “I’m heading to the weapon room to return my stuff, you coming?”

“Uh-huh, I’m picking up my gears there.” Sam smiles, gesturing to the special elevator five feet away, “might as well use the shortcut.”

The weapon room is a few floors below. Instead of taking the staff elevator, which is three hundred feet away, Sam is kind enough to let you ride the “Avengers only” elevator with him, leading to the conference hall floors below.

You can hear two voices before you even reach the conference hall.

“…can’t do this, Buck.”

“…then what?”

Sam murmurs quietly: “Speak of the devil.”

“…risking her LIFE! I can’t exactly watch…”

The conference hall is empty. The only possibility is that Steve and Bucky are talking in one of the conference rooms down the hall.

The voices getting clearer as you approach one of the rooms, the glass door of which clearly leaves on open by accident.

“Geez, calm down, punk.” You hear Bucky speaks in a low voice, “you like her or something?”

Awkward silence.

Sam spares a glance at you briefly.

You keep your face strict. Even the world’s most impressive interrogator couldn’t read anything from your expression right now.

“…I don’t like her.”

You hear Steve say.

Cold. Distant. Indifferent.

It will be lying to admit if his words didn’t just hurt you.

All this time, you thought at least, you and Steve could reach the bar of “barely-friends”.

Hearing he doesn’t like you is like a bucket of ice water dropped from your head, helping you realize that work buddies don’t socialize. Colleagues will never be true friends.

Not in your line of work.

Well, it’s his loss. You scoff, walking further away from the room they are in, nearly stomping your boots off.

Bucky catches a glimpse of Sam passing from the door. He lowers his voice even more: “I’m on your side, punk. I can tell-”

Steve shakes his head, carrying the shield on his back, clearly doesn’t want to continue this conversation,“see you in the training room in twenty.”

Steve pushes through the door.

He does not have you in sight, but his super hearing captures Sam and you.

“I’m sure Steve means it in a good way.”

“Yeah, when pigs fly.”

It is two weeks later when Steve sees you in such a big compound again.

He is supposed to deliver his mission report to the mission center when he runs into you, knocking over the box of files in your hands.

You look surprised, but only a little, crouching to pick up the files. “Hello, Captain.”

“Hello Agent.” He feels sorry, helping you to put the files back into the box, “how’s desk duty? No hard feelings, right?”

You don’t know whether he’s mocking or just caring.

“Not as exciting as in the field, but I’ll manage.” You cover the box with a lid, avoiding his gaze, “not my first time anyway.”

You speak with a careless tone, as if nothing truly frustrates you.

Steve has checked your evaluation progress. There is only one assessment left. His own.

He has been pending the result for three days, yet he still could not determine whether or not to let you back in the field.

On the one hand, you are one of the best agents he knows. You are loyal, decisive, and above all, capable.

On the other hand, you are truly reckless. Some might even say cold blood when you are evaluating your life against others.

You tend to choose others over your own.

Two weeks ago, if it hadn’t been you taking out the last bomb on the very last second of the countdown, it could have been one-half of the team that was buried under the building, him included.

You also could have died because you try to disarm it even if he told you to retreat to rendezvous.

“Do you need anything else, Captain Rogers?”

You ask him with the heavy box under your arm.

He feels sorry for you, somehow. Steve wants to make it up to you.

“We’re having pizza night, tonight, in the compound. Sam, Bucky, Nat…a small group of people, basically everyone you know. We thought it’d be nice if you could join us.”

They didn’t.

They don’t know about this.

It is purely his idea to have you join them. To get to know you better.

It’s not even pizza night tonight. He said so because he figured you would be more comfortable with familiars around.

“Raincheck.” A polite smile hanging on your lips, “schedule’s full tonight. Sorry.”

Your heartbeat perks up, because you are lying, and he hears it.

“…OK. Maybe sometime next week?” He asks hopefully.

You love pizza. But he made it clear to you, socializing with heroes is dangerous. And he might not want you there. He doesn’t even like you. He probably asks you out of politeness.

Why would you embarrass yourself when you don’t know all of them that well?

You come so close to smiling at his attempt, “Captain Rogers, we’re not the same kind of person. I get it. You don’t have to do this. We don’t have to be friends.”

He sighs, putting up his hands as a sign of giving up, “not the slightest of chance?”

“When pigs fly.” You joke, “seriously, though, have a good night, Captain Rogers.”

Steve goes to bed that night, can’t stop thinking about you.

He mutters God knows how many times “I don’t have a crush on her” before he could go to sleep.

Two more weeks flew by when you receive an anonymous note.

Two simple words.

“Look outside.”

There’s swooshing sound outside. Your colleagues are rushing out of the compound in laughter. Some open the window, also laughing.

You wonder if there is a gas leak.

However, you follow them out of the building for your own sanity, looking up as most of them point their phones to the sky.

Swooshing sound grows louder.

You crane your neck and see the most unbelievable thing in your life - and you are saying this when you can see Hulk’s transformation and Ironman’s suit on a weekly basis.

Ironman’s suit - no, a small Ironsuit with a pig in it, is flying across the compound in low air.

The Ironsuit literally has four legs.

The pig is squeaking, thrusters are booming, ridiculous and laughable at the same time.

Never in one day of your life have you ever thought of the proverb “pigs fly” would come true.

“We’re doing pizza night, wanna come?” A familiar voice stands on your left. You know who spoke before you turn your head and look.

“Pigs fly. Steve. Wow.” You exclaim, “how did you get it done?”

Steve Rogers beams, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He is only wearing a simple shirt and jeans, his hands in his pockets, giving off a relaxing vibe.

“Well, Tony helped. Clint too, he offered a piglet.”

“Unbelievable.” You shake your head in amusement.

“So, pizza night…?”

“If pigs can fly,” you point to the sky, a genuine smile on your lips, “why not?”

Bonus:

You meet Tony on your way back to the building.

Tony pointed at Steve with his index finger, “you, Mister Rogers, owe me. Big time.”

Steve and you exchange a knowing look. Steve grins, “thank you, Tony. The plan worked.”

“Oh no. That’s not what I’m talking about.” Tony grinds his teeth, “Nobody told me that pigs could shit their pants ... shit their suit.”

You smother your laugh with your palm, shaking like a leaf in the autumn air.

The billionaire let out a shriek, “now that lump of meatloaf has ruined my million-dollar custom-made suit. Shit. Shitted - HOW AM I GOING TO EXPLAIN THIS TO PEPPER???"

[gatorbites-imagines]

Police man Steve Rogers x Male Reader Fluff...

I'm thinking just fluff about how they meet (I'm thinking maybe the male reader gets pulled over for speeding and Steve instantly falls in love and starts flirting terribly with the reader) and then you can put their first date and how they start like officially dating then maybe you can show what their relationship is like.

And maybe add some drama like when Steve comes out some of his coworkers don't accept him and act like assholes (maybe his police coworkers can be the other avengers) that's up to you.

Officer Steve Rogers x Male reader

Headcanons

I know nothing about police except for what I’ve seen on tv, so I’m going off of that.

Hope you enjoy this :)

-          It was like any other day, or it mostly was as you were late for work, so you might have been speeding a bit, or maybe more than a bit as you were pulled over.

-          You thought about banging your head on your steering wheel, as your day was just going from bad to worse. Your alarm didn’t go off that morning, you realized you hadn’t turned on your laundry the other day, and you were out of your favorite cereal.

-          And now you were being pulled over. You adjusted on your rumbled tie, trying to brush down the folds in your button up as you watched through the review mirror as the police cruiser pulled up behind you.

-          You reached into your glove compartment to grab your needed papers and dug through your wallet for what you needed. Your eyes strayed from your papers as the officer stepped out of the vehicle. If it was any other day, you’d let your eyes widen and jaw drop at the hunk of a man coming towards you, but the stress of the barely started day was just binding together to a horrible headache.

-          What you didn’t realize was just how appetizing you looked. Half undone tie and sleep ruffled hair. If Steve was a weak man, he would immediately buckle and stutter over his words. He had to remind himself he was at work, and started his spiel, though it was filled with quite a lot of flirting.

 

-          When the officer got to your window, you rolled it down and said your greeting, looking up at the tall man through your lashes.

-          You were too sleepy to realize as you handed over what you needed, that was until Steve handed your papers back with no ticket, but a piece of paper with his number on it. He looked kinda sheepish as he told you, that you didn’t have to text him or anything, but he would like it if you did.

-          That’s when you blush, and turn your gaze downwards as you bash yourself for not picking up that he was flirting the entire time. When you look up you make some comment about thinking about it, still blushing as you said so.

-          Steve grins a smile bright enough to rival the sun and shoots you a cheesy wink before half running back to his cruiser.

-          When he pulls off, he waves at you from his car, and you give him a small shy wave in response.

-          When you got to work your manger almost gave you a verbal lashing for being late, but the feeling of Steve’s number in your pocket distracted you from the scolding.

-          When you get home from work that day you started texting Steve. In the beginning it was just small talk and getting to know each other, but surprisingly you were very compatible, and you really enjoyed talking to the man.

-          At some point you both agreed to go on a date, and on your next mutual day off you went.

-          You weren’t really sure what to wear, since the two of you agreed for your date to be at a casual diner somewhere between the two of your houses. You ended up putting on what you were most comfortable with, swallowed your nerves, and left for the diner.

-          When you got there, you could see Steve through the glass front of the establishment. He was sitting at a table and was looking at his phone, but as if he could feel your gaze on him, he looked up and locked eyes with you.

-          Steve smiled, seeming to light up on the spot. You made your way inside and he got up to greet you. The two of you ended up hugging as you reached him, you fighting the internal struggle not to give him a squeeze to feel the muscles of his body.

-          The two of you sat down, ordered, and went on about your date as anyone would. Though, unlike first dates you’d been on in the past, this one was actually enjoyable and not awkward or tense.

-          Steve and You went on multiple more dates after that, going places anywhere from cinemas to parks. When you finally became official it just felt right.

-          Your relationship kept growing, and after a while you moved in together, you moving into Steve’s house since it was quite a bit bigger than yours.

-          Steve and you were quite domestic most of the time, Steve’s close friends Bucky and Sam even comparing you to an old married couple.

-          Their teasing went up a notch when they caught you dancing in the kitchen, Sam almost collapsing on the floor form laughter as he compared you to his grandma and grandpa.

-          The two of you ends up getting a few pets, a dog and two cats, both named after fictional characters you both loved.

-          Steve would take the dog on morning runs before work, and you’d laze in bed with the cats before you too had to leave.

-          The two of you tried to split up chores, and switch it around every now and then, though it tended to be Steve that got breakfast ready and even made you lunches to bring to work, and you’d make dinner since you were home earliest.

-          Some of your own friends would make jokes about when the wedding was, and they’d wiggle their eyebrows at you when Steve would go completely red at the comments.

-          At some point Steve proposes, and that’s what leads you to meeting his coworkers.

-          Turns out Steve hadn’t officially come out, so him being gay was a “huge surprise” to some of the people working there.

-          The one who seemed to have the most issues was one named Brock Rumlow, who, from what Bucky and Sam told you, started to make jabs at Steve and his relationship.

-          Steve being who he was defended you, but there apparently wasn’t much he could do, as the leader of the station, Alexander Pierce, had the same thoughts as Rumlow.

-          When Steve came home on yet another day, looking downtrodden and sad, and when all he wanted was to cuddle up in your arms and sleep you had enough.

-          On your next day off you dug deep into rules and the like about the workplace, send so many emails you lost count with videos and pictures, all courtesy of Sam and Bucky, to as many places as you could. And now it was just a waiting game.

-          Turns out you weren’t the only one to complain about the two, but since you had so much proof there wasn’t anything the higher ups could do except fire or move the offending officers.

 

-          Weeks pass and you started to lose hope that anything would happen, Until Steve comes home and tells you Brock and Alexander had both been fired and replaced. By two officers, Nick Fury and Anthony “Call me Tony” Stark.

-          That’s when you told Steve what you did, and though he was a little put off about you fighting his fight, he was still very happy that you cared so much about him.

-          That evening the two of you stayed home, enjoyed takeout, and cuddled with each other and the pets on the couch, watching your mutual favorite movie. Steve would every now and then kiss you wherever he could, forehead, cheek, mouth, etc.

-          The two of you end up falling asleep, all curled up around each other, with empty food containers on the table and the ends credits of the movie playing in the background.

[starstruckunknown-princess]

I’ll Do Anything

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff!

Summary: After a mission with Steve goes awry, you end up with a massive cold so Steve stops by to take care of you.

Word Count: 857

A/N: Fluffcember Day 5! I’m loving the love these fics are getting, seriously I’m flattered. Hope you reblog/follow/like this one! Enjoy!

Your entire sinus cavity felt filled with lead, the pressure causing a monstrous headache. You were surrounded by used tissues and half-drunk mugs of tea that had all gone cold. Your body ached all over and your throat burned when you tried to swallow. 

“Damn you, Rogers and your stupid muscle-y frame. Cracking the ice and shit, being all superhuman and not getting sick but guess who gets to feel like shit for a week? Me!” You mutter to yourself as you haul your comforter over your shoulders as you sit up on the couch, looking for the remote.

On a mission last week, you and Steve had been chasing a HYDRA agent across a frozen river. You both had thought it was frozen solid, but the second you’d gotten too far away from the shore you found that it wasn’t. You’d both plunged into the icy water, and now the universe was kicking you while you were down. Not only had you lost the agent you were pursuing, but now you had the worst cold you’d had in a long time.

“Well if that’s how you feel,” Steve’s voice sounded from behind you. You turned sharply and saw him at the door to your apartment, holding a steaming pot of something between two oven mitted hands. “I guess I’ll just bring this back upstairs.” 

“Wait, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Don’t leave!” You croaked and Steve chuckled, moving toward the stove in your kitchen and placing the pot on top of it.

“Tony’s got you isolated, huh?”

“I’m surprised he even let you come see me. Who knew Stark was such a germaphobe?” 

Steve chuckled. The sound was music to your ears. “I’m sure he’s got a full decontamination shower waiting for me outside the door.”

Laughing hurt, but you did anyway as you pulled the comforter along with you, getting up from the couch to go investigate exactly what Steve had brought, but the supersoldier was on you faster than you could blink.

“No way, you need to rest,” he said, gently taking your shoulders and steering you back to the couch. 

“Can I at least know what’s in the pot?” You asked, eyebrow raised.

Steve brushed some of your hair out of the way and cupped your face in his palm. His fingers were warm on your skin and if you hadn’t been so feverish you would’ve noticed how your body heated at his proximity. Your eyes closed against the touch, leaning into it like a cat and wishing he would touch you like that more often. Preferably when you didn’t feel like death warmed over.

“It’s chicken noodle soup, secret family recipe. You want a bowl?” 

You only nodded. His hand disappeared and the warmth with it so you opened your eyes and watched him ladle two bowls of soup. He brought them over and sat next to you, closer than he normally would’ve, you noticed, and you couldn’t help but lean against him a little, curling your body around the steaming bowl and further into your blanket.

The two of you ate quietly, the only sounds in the room from the show you’d been binging and the gentle clink of spoons on the ceramic bowls, followed by gentle slurps. The quiet was comfortable, though, and neither of you felt the need to break it.

When you’d finished, Steve collected your bowl and brought them over to the sink before coming back and collecting all the mugs you’d accumulated on the coffee table. 

“You don’t have to-” you started, but he interrupted.

“I know, but I want to,” he smiled up at you and your heart skipped a beat. “It’s the least I can do after plunging you into that river.”

“I was just kidding, you know, I don’t actually blame you.” Your voice followed him to the kitchen sink where he dumped out the mugs and loaded them into the dishwasher.

“I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t blame myself.”

You whipped around, noting his tense frame and the white-knuckle grip he had on the rinsed bowl. He blamed himself for so much, and you just had to run your mouth and add to his grief. You reached out your hand and gently said, “Hey, come here.”

Steve complied, leaving his chore. His large fingers wrapped around yours. You tugged him toward you, sitting him on the couch next to you. “I really don’t blame you. I’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t like seeing you hurting, doll.” He traced his hand over your cheek again and you swore that if he kept doing that you would, indeed, start purring. “Wish I could do something.”

“You can.”

“Anything.”

“Cuddle me?” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him and a smile split his face wide open. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you threw your legs over his lap. You rested your head against his broad, muscled chest and listened to his heartbeat while whatever you’d been watching kept playing. Eventually you fell asleep, wrapped in Steve’s warm embrace, and even though you felt like garbage you’d never felt more content.

[coltrainbat]

A fluff where Steve Rogers and his wife reader dropping off their daughter or son to college for the first time. The two cried on how much their child has grown up

Off to College

A/N: Wait.. why am I crying 😭 This is, in my opinion, one of my best fluffs yet. Stop cutting onions guys!

WARNING: Tissues on hand needed.

“She’s too young.” Steve’s hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes focused straight ahead.

  “She’s 18 Steve. That’s the average American age to go off to college.” You replied to your husband. 

“You know I’m right here and can hear you guys, right? Like, theres no soundproofing between the back and the front seats.” Your daughter Sarah pulled out an air pod from her ear, jumping into the conversation.

“Well as I was saying, I don’t care I still think you should of stayed back a year at home.” Steve retorted, looking in the rear-view mirror at his little girl who now resembled that of a young woman about to go off to college.

“May I remind you, DAD, that at 18 you were joining the army to go fight in the second world war. Whereas I’m simply moving across the state.”

“In many ways my daughter going off to college and war are the same thing to me.”

You turned behind you and shared a puzzled look with your daughter. While she mostly resembled you, she had Steve’s piercing blue eyes. 

“How so?” You egged on your husband to elaborate.

“I’m scared shitless about both of them.” He let out a loud sigh.

“Dad… its fine!”

“Repeat to me the rules.”

“Omg not this again.” You put your forehead into your palm, dreading to listen to this speech for the 50th times.

“Dadddd” Sarah whined in the backseat

“So, help me God I will turn this car around, unless you repeat to me the rules, Sarah Mae Rogers.” He turned his head to the backseat, giving her his classic “I’m not playing around” eyes. 

“No drinking. No drugs. No “philandering” with the opposite sex…is that even word?”

“It is.” You and your husband said in unison

“No staying out past 1 and in the case of a national emergency inclusive of war, alien invasion, terrorist attack; extra-terrestrial...

“And domestic... don’t forget that!” He interjected

“…and domestic I am to find immediate shelter, call you to give you my location and wait until the ship arrives to take me to the safe house.” She groaned finishing the spiel.

“Good.” Steve smiled, satisfied with her memorisation of his rules.

You gave your daughter a sympathetic smile, knowing while some rules may get broken you had raised a smart, young woman with her wits about her. 

It’s not that Steve didn’t trust his daughter who he had trained in hand-to-hand combat since the age of 3, it’s just that he knew the world was scary. Sending his only daughter off alone, miles away from home terrified him. He wouldn’t be there to protect his little girl anymore. 

You exited the car to the chaos of move in day at the popular university. Steve insisted he take all the boxes up in one trip. All stacked high above him, he didn’t break a sweat carrying them up the 5 flights of stairs towards her dorm. 

Your daughter bowed her head in embarrassment as she walked 10 steps behind her father, watching as people stopped and stared at the superhero, whispers filled the halls as he gave kind nods to everyone who he walked past. 

You came up beside her,

“Mom everyone is staring why didn’t he just wait in the car!”

“Well neither of us were going to carry the boxes, besides your father is a respected man, he saved humanity that’s nothing to be embarrassed about!”  

“Yeah, I get it but he’s still embarrassing!”

You wrapped your arm around your daughter’s shoulder.

“You know he’s just as nervous as you are right?”

“Why would he be nervous? He’s not the one who has to be known as Captain America’s daughter!”

“No, he doesn’t.” You sighed stopping her in the hall and pulling her off to the side. 

“Do you remember when you were five and you really wanted to jump off the roof into the pool?”

“Yeah...”

“And we said no but you climbed up the ladder anyways and being five you miscalculated the distance between the ledge and the pool.”

“Yeah…”

“Who caught you before you hit the ground?”

“Dad…”

“Right and when you were 10 and you fell over your bike, breaking your arm… who was the first person who came to your aid and took you to the hospital?

“Dad”

“Exactly and when aliens invaded earth 3 years ago what was the first thing your dad did before going to headquarters?”

“He came to school and picked me up.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is from the moment you were in my belly your dad has spent every moment of his life trying to protect you from the world. He realises he’s not going to be right by side anymore… and he’s scared. Scared of losing you.”

“He’s not going to lose my mom, I’m an adult now I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.” 

“I know that, and he knows that. But it doesn’t matter how old or big or strong you get he is always going to care about you. It will always be his number priority to keep you safe and that’s not going to change anytime soon.” You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Your daughter looked down, biting her lip. 

“Come on let’s go unpack.”

You walked her into her dorm. 

You got to work setting up her room. She put up fairy lights on the wall, while you fluffed the pillows on her bed. Steve assembled all her little bits of furniture.

As a final touch, Steve pulled out a framed photo. Sarah in the middle, between both of your arms. She was only 3 in it, a big smile between her chubby cheeks, her arm up in superhero pose, dressed in her mini captain America shirt. It was his favourite family photo and lived on his bedside table. He looked at it a little, wiping a tear from his eye before he placed it on her bedside table.

“Alright you’re all set! We are going to head out now sweetheart you need anything else?” You chirped.

“Nope, I’m good. Thanks for helping guys.”

You gave your daughter, your final hugs and kisses and exited the room down the hall. 

She studied her room, satisfied with her interior decorating skills. Then suddenly, she noticed the photo that appeared had on her bedside table. She picked it up and held it in her hands. Suddenly, she felt the tears well up in her eyes.

“Wait!” She ran down the hall, just catching you both before you went down the stairs. 

You both looked back to see your daughter running towards you. With a thud she landed against her father’s chest. Wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug. Instantly, Steve hugged her back, pulling her tightly towards him. 

“I love you dad.” She whispered against his chest. 

Steve’s head fell to the top of his little… now big girl’s head. His hand encompassing her head. Kissing her forehead tenderly. “I love you too kiddo. Be safe.”

“I will.” Tears welled up in your eyes watching their embrace. She pulled out of the hug, gesturing towards you. 

“I love you mom.” “I love you too baby.” All 3 of you huddled together in an embrace. Both parents wanting to hold onto their daughter for a little longer. 

You all pulled out and said your now final goodbye. Brushing away tears. 

You held your husband’s hand as you exited the college dorm building.

“She’s too old for me now babe.”

“She’s never going to be too old for her daddy.”

He pulled you into his arm, kissing your forehead. 

Sarah was going to be just fine. And besides, she’ll be home in 2 weeks anyways to get you to do her laundry. 

TAGS: @royalwriteroftheuniverse (girl you're gonna wanna see this!)

[sagidaviswrites]

A Little Selfish

Pairing: Nomad!Steve x Female! Reader

Summary: You and Steve have been close for as long as you could remember, sticking beside one another, no matter the circumstances. But one day, while on the run from the government, Steve catches your mind wandering during an important mission, that causes potential dangers, which doesn’t make him very happy. After a night of arguing, you both learn certain truths that were going to reveal themselves one way or another. 

Genre: Smutty, Smutty, Smutty, a lil fluff at the end

Warning: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ only please - unprotected sex, oral sex - female receiving, vaginal sex, bearded Steve 

A/N: I think we’ve all got the memo of how much I’m obsessed with arguments and make-up sex afterwards. It was a pretty good plot for Stephen Strange, so why not Nomad Steve Rogers? I’ve had this one-shot idea for about a few weeks now and after dealing with a frustrating case of writer’s block, I’m actually very, very proud of this one. Apologies if it’s fairly long, but I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do and please, please, please leave a comment or reblog! Love you guys <3

____________________________

Red imprints dug inside his calloused palms from gripping the steering wheel too hard, Steve’s blue eyes taking long moments to openly stare daggers at you in the backseat through the old, lopsided rearview mirror, before glancing at the deserted road ahead.

The usual sarcastic and humorous side of you took the liberty in staying discreet for the past few weeks, quietness and severe deep-thinking taking it's place fairly quickly.

Who could blame you though? A year of dodging the World Government left and right, bouncing from motel to motel, and a diet only consisting of TV dinners and vending machine snacks would do that to most people. You rested your forehead against the cool window, watching as raindrops against the glass slowly dissolved with the cool wind, avoiding his gaze.

You knew the man was upset with you; you could practically feel the anger radiating off of him as you sat behind the driver's seat.

Due to your recent distractions and mind-wandering, you could have blown the mission that had the possibility of getting you and your teammates killed or worse, ruined a year's worth of careful concealment.

It's not like you weren't apologetic... you were just exhausted.

But the former U.S. Army soldier didn't see it that way. For him, it was always a sense of never stop moving and doing what he strongly felt was right. The man was known for being independent and taking initiative, which was two of the most favorite things about him that you both respected and loved.

You just wished that he would take a moment to at least try to cut you, of all people, some slack.

You flickered your eyes quickly up toward the same mirror, praying that he was too busy paying attention on the road, and not at you. Luckily he was, eyes intently staring forward, his unshaven jaw tightly clenched in aggravation as Nat was giving him directions from the passenger seat.

But then again, you and Steve had always had a weird relationship. Of course, you didn't want to call it that, because in reality, it wasn't. It just left you confused most of the time. The two of you were beyond close, the start of the friendship dating back to when he first joined the Avengers after being plunged into the ice. You enjoyed his good sense of morality and how he was never afraid to be honest, while he loved your witty quips, along with your ability to see right through him.

Your relationship had consisted of the good things, from going on missions together and mending his wounds afterwards in your apartment bathroom, to falling asleep with one another on the couch, during the weekends, enjoying the day off from superhero duties. It also consisted of the not-so-good things, like when you hadn't shown up to work for two days straight, worrying the fuck out of him to the point where you woke up to the sound of pounding at your front door in the middle of the night and him calling out your full name, similar to what parents did when you were younger every time you got in trouble. What he thought would be a night of him playfully lecturing you for not showing up and disregarding the responsibilities of being a hero turned out to be him holding you in his arms instead, as you cried about the death of your father, which had happened the previous day.

And yet, throughout these entire years of your friendship, you two had never even kissed. Much to your dismay.

There was no way you could spend almost every day with a man, who has seen you at your absolute worst and has allowed himself to become your safe haven, without having some sort of budding feelings for him. 

You just didn’t like the thought of being rejected by him. 

So, you’ve never said anything pertaining to romance and neither did he. 

The car continuing to bump along the quiet street, you were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Sam’s hand tightly gripping your knee, drawing you back to reality. 

“You good?” He asked in a low voice, most likely so that Steve wouldn’t hear him in the quiet vehicle. 

Too bad the man had enhanced senses. 

You simply gave him a tight smile, leaning your head against the seat. “Yea.”

“He’s just frustrated. Try not to take it so personal, alright?” 

His hand gave your leg a slight pat, before he shifted comfortably back into his spot, closing his eyes. 

Sam had a habit of being the one to do damage control when there were any kind of disruptions within the group, which it didn’t happen often, but it was good to have someone diffuse the situation when needed.

That’s why you knew his heart was always in the right place. 

Except for the fact that it did feel personal.

Especially with the painful lecture that was awaiting you.

__________________________________

Steve veered the stolen vehicle in front of the cheap motel, putting the station wagon in park and turning the engine off. Relief rushed inside your body like a waterfall, eager to escape the moving hellhole that was suffocating you the whole way here. Not to mention, Steve’s incessant stares were growing irritating by the second. 

Quickly slipping out of your seatbelt, you started to get out of the car with the others, your door accidentally making contact with Steve’s hard chest, due to his stupid attempt at trying to open it for you. He didn’t say anything, just held a hard gaze on you as you stepped out, ignoring him completely. 

Ironic how even in the midst of a growing argument, it didn’t stop him from being a gentleman towards you. 

After duffel bags were grabbed and divided from the trunk, Steve locked up, the four of you headed to the lit-up lobby before the rain had a chance to pick up. Walking up to the welcome desk, Steve greeted the old hotel attendant respectfully. “Hi. I would like to check into two rooms please? Whatever you have available will be just fine.”

The lady gave him a wrinkly smile, accepting the wad of cash that he gave her in exchange for two room keys. You suddenly grew impatient, sick of watching Steve’s smile, pushing in front of him to snatch one of the keys off the counter and turning to walk down the hall. Glancing down, you mumbled the room number under your breath. 

Room ten. First floor, thank God.

“Y/N.” Steve’s deep voice echoed down the hallway behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around. 

You just wanted to take a hot shower and go the fuck to bed. 

Finally making it to the room, you struggled with the key for a few minutes, Steve coming up in your peripheral vision. 

Shit. You just wanted to be left alone. 

Finally able to get the key correctly inside of the lock, you jiggled the door handle until it opened, rushing inside and throwing your bag on the single bed against the wall. In situations like these, you never minded the hotel rooms that had only one bed because you never minded sharing one with Steve. You felt safe and content with his warmth beside you every night, your back against his front as he held you close. 

But today, you needed some fucking distance. That he unfortunately wasn’t wanting to give you.

Before the door could click shut, Steve slammed his hand against it, closing the door behind him. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Steve, I can’t do this with you tonight.” You winced tiredly, roughly searching through your clothes for something to sleep in. “Just please go sleep with Nat or Sam, and then you can lecture me all you want in the morning.” 

The grown man crossed his arms across his chest, his long-sleeve shirt lifting in the process. “We need to talk about this right now.” 

“Talk about fucking what? There’s nothing to talk about than what you already said to me in the car, Steve.” You exclaimed, throwing your clothes on the bed and looking at him. “It was a mistake that I have apologized multiple times for, so can we please just drop it?” 

“No, I’m not going to drop it. Because that mistake that you’re talking about could have gotten us easily infiltrated or even killed you! You weren’t focused and completely disregarded your Captain’s orders.” He spoke firmly, his words making your head pound as you continued to go through your things, blatantly ignoring him. 

Ah, so now he was just casually throwing out military titles as if you guys were just colleagues, and nothing more.

Fucking great.

“Y/N. I’m talking to you.” 

“And I told you to drop it until tomorrow, but like always, Captain America doesn’t know how to fucking take the word no.” 

Your slick comment made him silent for a moment, placing his hands against his hips and taking a long exhale, while his eyes bore into the side of your face. 

“Do you even care? Do you even care about why we’re doing this?” He began in a low voice, which caused you to stare up at the ceiling and laugh harshly at his ridiculous question. 

“Oh my god Steve. Do I care? Seriously?” 

“Yes, it’s a genuine question, do you care? Because you have been distracted for the past few months and you won’t even come to me and talk about it, despite all of my efforts.” He glared at you, growing angrier by the second. 

“Because I don’t want to talk to you about it.” You answered, shaking your head.

“Really? You don’t want to talk to me about it?” 

You paused, letting out a sigh. You could tell how hurt he was by your unwillingness, but you didn’t want it to lead to another pointless argument. You already felt like shit and you just wanted to rest to find some sort of solitude and temporarily forget about your growing problems.

“No, I don’t.” 

“Because I thought we meant more to each other than to keep secrets.” 

“I’m tired!” You admitted, throwing your hands up in the air in aggravation. “I’m tired, Steve. I’m tired of being on the run. Not having a steady place to call home… it’s hard.”

Your words hung in the air silently as you stared at one another, you finally being able to let them out of the restriction they had against you for so long... only they weren’t good enough for the super soldier standing in front of you with an unreadable expression. 

“Then you should have said no when I asked you to come with me.” 

A lump formed suddenly in your throat, watching him run his hand through his blonde hair that he decided to grow out right above his shoulders and shake his head with his eyes closed. As if he was the one getting chewed out here.

You weren’t sure why but his sentence stung you to your core, not missing the slight bite in his tone as he said it.

“It sounds a lot like you wanted me to say no.” You tried to keep your voice steady in order to sound more in control of your feelings, but you could already feel the process of tears forming.

“You know that’s not how I meant it, Y/N-“

“I have backed you up in almost everything you have stood up for Steve.” You raised your voice, disregarding the way his muscular arms flexed in his shirt as he leaned them against the dresser with his head down. “Busting my ass in DC and going against the people I have worked alongside with for years in order to be there for you. Same with Germany. And I didn’t do it out of pity o-or because I felt manipulated or whatever the stupid ass reasoning your mind is trying to conjure up right now. I did it because you’re important to me.”

He angrily slammed his hands on the piece of furniture. “You don’t think I already know that?”

“Well fucking act like it!” You yelled at him, walking over to the bed to grab your things and stomping to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

Steve just stood there in the quiet room, staring at particularly nothing as the faint sound of the shower running rang inside of his ears.

He hadn’t meant to upset you so much.

It just hurt hearing you say how exhausted you were with the kind of life you guys lived right now. And it was because of him. His incessant need to stand by what he knows is right. Just because he was willing to risk his role in society and what people thought of him didn’t mean that you were. He had just assumed so when you agreed to go with him.

Sighing to himself, he made the decision to sit in the armchair in the room, waiting for you to get done with your shower.

You guys had come to far for him to lose you over one argument.

He wouldn’t allow that.

Half of an hour had slowly passed of Steve resting his eyes, his head leaned against his palm, when the sound of the shower shut off, alerting his senses. He stood up, giving you a few minutes to put on whatever you were sleeping in tonight(you’d physically kill him if he walked in on you naked again), listening in through the barrier between you two.

Once he felt like it was all clear, he turned the doorknob, opening the door slowly, his eyes greeted to the sight of you standing over the sink with your eyes closed, your body in a short slip dress.

Fuck, you were perfect.

Much to his surprise, you didn’t scream for him to leave or try to push him away when he shut the door closed, resting his back against it and taking a deep breath.

But that’s how you usually were. You hated conflict because it would drain almost everything out of you.

“I hate arguing with you.” He muttered, scratching the side of his beard.

You let out a dry laugh, your wet hair sticking to your face. “Funny, seeing that we don’t normally do it at all.”

“I know. That’s why I hate it when it does happen.”

All you could do was remain quiet, both of you standing in peaceful silence over the unspoken fact that neither of you meant for things to go the way that they did. He knew that he had overreacted when he could have easily just been there for you and actually listened. Of course being on the run was a struggle, for all of you. But he never realized how much of a toll it took on you.

When all he had to do was ask.

Guilt coursed through his veins as he stepped closer to you, grabbing your waist and placing a soft kiss on the top of you head. The smell of shea butter soap that the motel provided went up his nostrils as he inhaled your scent, calming him down a little.

It’s not like both of you hadn’t cuddled or held each other’s hands before, but something about the way he touched you right now… it was different.

You relaxed in his arms, trying hard not to overanalyze the amount of grip his hands had on your body and to just enjoy that you two had forgiven each other.

“I should have let you decide for yourself. To come with me or not.” He said quietly, pressing his forehead against the back of your hair. “Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so guilty right now.”

“I would have gone with you either way, Steve-“

“Once the morning comes, we can find some place for you to settle down in when we head back to the quinjet. Where no one would look for you.” He interrupted quickly, his thoughts racing. “You could start a new life, be a new person… wouldn’t have me holding you back.”

Quickly turning around in his arms, you cradled his face in your hands, making him look you in the eye. “And none of that would matter, because I’d have nobody to share it with.”

Your hands were warm on his skin. He liked it.

“I was selfish.” He whispered, never leaving eye contact with you.

His beard was soft in between your fingers, stroking your thumb very close to his pink, plump lips.

He was always trying to do the “right thing” all of the time. And you knew that his heart was in the right place, but that wasn’t the point at all.

“You have spent your entire life thinking about everybody else and what makes them happy… laying down your life to protect the world and everyone in it. I think you’re allowed to be a little selfish.” You explained, but he just shook his head, studying where his hands laid.

“Not with you. I could never be selfish with you.”

In that tender moment, you weren’t sure what to say — just smiled softly at him while the man pulled you in a hug, nuzzling his face inside of your neck. Closing your eyes, you didn’t miss the way the material of your night dress gathered through his rough fingers, causing the length to lift up above your exposed thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat as you shivered, Steve’s lips and hot pants ghosting over your skin, both of you just standing there basking in each other’s warmth. Your hands gripped his covered biceps, while his began to explore along your body — raising along your lower back and back down over your ass.

Fuck.

“Steve.” You whispered into his neck, completely lost in the feeling of wanting. Wanting him and only him.

You had dreamt of this scenario a thousand times in your head, in different settings and times and none of them even came close to what was happening right now.

“Hmm?” He hummed mindlessly, beginning to place soft kisses against the side of your throat, his hands gently kneading your ass. You let out a breathless moan at his actions, igniting the hunger that he’s spent years constantly pushing down out of respect for you.

Not anymore.

His innocent pecks grew dangerously erotic, using his left hand to press you harder against him and the right to steady the side of your face as he sucked bruises into the skin. Your throaty moans beside his ear encouraged him to keep going, licking, biting, marking you in the way that he always wanted.

He’s always wanted this. You.

Waiting until he was satisfied with the hickey, he pulled you back, holding your face in his hands as he gazed down at you. Your mouth was open from panting, staring at him with dazed eyes.

You were so beautiful this way.

“Tell me to stop right now and I’ll stop.” He ordered breathlessly, moving strands of hair away from your face. “Otherwise, I’m taking you right here on this sink and doing things to you that I have been imagining over and over again ever since DC.”

You stared up at his fiery blue eyes, drunk off the way he assaulted your neck and touched your body.

He’s been wanting you since DC? The same way that you did. You both just didn’t have enough balls to admit it out loud to one another.

“I love you-“ You confessed, not even able to get a breath in before Steve swallowed up your sentence, lips pressed against yours passionately. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, begging for entrance which you gladly gave to him, detaching his hands from your face so that you could wrap your arms around his neck, wanting him closer. He decided to take the other pair of cheeks in his hands, grinding himself against your sensitive core. Cursing under your breath, you felt yourself getting wetter by the second from his doings, pleasure filling your body.

Steve gave you one last peck before his lips traveled to your throat, cleavage, and down to your bare thighs, the man lowering to his knees in front of you. He stared at you intently, watching you watch him leave open-mouth kisses along your thighs, gnawing on your bottom lip.

He was so… in control and dominant with you and you couldn’t take it. This man has had a hold on you for so long and you finally were embracing it.

His eyes were still on yours as his fingers took ahold of each side of your thong, sliding it down your cold legs. Only then did he glance down at it, smirking at the wet stain that accompanied them.

“Steve.” You whined, not wanting to hear whatever smug comment he had to get out of his system. You couldn’t stand the loss of his warmth any longer.

He set them on the floor beside him, lifting up your dress so that he was facing what was waiting for him. “You know it kills me knowing how wet you must have been, laying beside me those nights we would sleep together, too scared to even speak up about it.”

“You didn’t tell me either.” You retorted back before you gasped, feeling him lick your folds, his facial hair tickling your inner thighs. He simply grinned at your response, loving the feeling of your fingers pulling at his long hair, urging him to keep going.

You tasted like heaven.

Your arousal drenched his tongue as he dug deeper, bumping into your clit. Both of his hands held your hips steady against the counter, in fear of your legs giving out on you by the way they trembled in pleasure. He could almost feel you getting closer, the grip you had on his hair tightened each time, your breath quickening. In response, he suddenly stopped and got up, his name falling from your lips in frustration, giving him enough time to lift you by the thighs, setting you roughly on the edge of the sink.

Pushing his sweatpants and boxers down, he pulled you closer to his chest, convincing himself that you were too far away from him.

He needed you now.

You leaned up and kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue before Steve hungrily nipped your bottom lip in the process, allowing your hands to grip the edge of his shirt and lift it over his head. The shirt was carelessly tossed on the floor, Steve cupping your pussy to make sure you were still ready for him.

Of course, you were.

He took his hard cock in his hand, pumping it and slowly pushing the head against the sensitive nerves. You watched as he did it, completely aroused by the way it was slowly disappearing inside of you. But he didn’t give you the satisfaction, thrusting hard against you, fitting himself all in one move. You moaned loudly, throwing your head back and holding onto him for dear life.

He was compelled by the feeling of you clenching around him… but he couldn’t stop staring at you. The way your body matched his perfectly, bouncing up and down to meet his thrusts, your nails digging into his back every single time he hit the spot you enjoyed the most, his name sounding like a prayer as you repeated it over and over again.

You were his. You always had been.

It just took time to actually admit it to himself.

“I love you too, you know. I always have.” He panted, driving into you faster.

Those words made you open up your eyes to look at him, a smile ghosting over your lips with nothing but adoration in your eyes.

He took his hand and placed it on the mirror behind you, using the hard surface to go deeper. Overwhelmed by the pleasure that was budding inside of your stomach, you lifted your head and hide your face in his neck.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Steve moaned, never letting you go. “Tell me where you want this cum baby.”

“Oh god- fill me up Steve. Please, inside me.”

“Not until you do.” He whispered in your ear, panting. “Cum for me, cum for your Captain.”

You were already on the brink of that release but somehow his words, him commanding you sent you over the edge. A silent cry erupted from your throat as your orgasm ripped through you, the man still fucking you through your high. Not far behind you though, Steve grunted your name under his breath, using both of his hands to hold you close, shooting ropes of cum inside you like you had told him to do minutes before. You breathed heavily with your eyes cracked open, Steve resting his head on your shoulder.

Both of you were in pure bliss.

About five minutes had passed of you gathering your strength, Steve pulled his pants back on, holding you in place and turning the faucet on behind you. You were quiet as you watched him search for a small towel, soaking it in warm water and wiping you from the mess he had made.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.” He said after a few moments, pulling your dress down. “I overreacted.”

You couldn’t stop a yawn from escaping your mouth, your exhaustion catching up to you. “You didn’t. You were worried and scared about me.”

“You’re right, I was.” He agreed, caressing your face. “I couldn’t lose my best girl.”

Smiling at the usual name he called you, you yawned again, making him lightly chuckle.

“Alright, I’ve exhausted you enough. You need to rest.”

Lifting you up in his arms, he carried you out of the bathroom and to the queen-sized bed, laying you down on the mattress and covering you up. It didn’t take him long to check the door and switch the lights off, climbing into the bed next to you, holding your body against his just like all of the other times.

Only this time, he followed your advice and got to be selfish, just once, in all of his years of living on this earth.

Because he wanted you, and both of you thought that he damn well deserved it.

[lavenderbang]

Are We Just Friends?

Best Friend! Kim Taeyoung x reader

Genre(s): Best Friend to lovers, non-idol au, fluff I guess??? some angst because I couldn’t resist, Maybe slightly suggestive if you squint, and mentions of some of the other members of cravity

Warning(s): swearing, weed use, but that’s about it

Summary: Your best friend invites you to hang out late at night; that’s expected, since you usually hang out at night, but what you didn’t you didn’t expect was him to tell you something that has been on his mind recently

A/N: I AM IN LOVE WITH KIM TAEYOUNG. Okay but actually, I just really wanted to write this because I’m a self-indulgent fic writer and I want to hang out with Youngtae so badly bruh... So I’m writing this now. I hope you enjoy :)

HE IS SO PRETTY !!!!

Dumbass: I’m outside loser :p

You quickly slipped your old fleece jacket on before stepping out into the crisp cool night. It was late; later than you would usually hang out.

But with Taeyoung’s busy work schedule, you were just glad you were able to go see him. His junky grey car sat idling beside the curb; you could always hear it before you could see it, probably due to the shitty transmission or problems with the wheel bearings that Taeyoung didn’t have the money to fix.

He worked at your town’s local grocery store, mostly stocking shelves. He said it was only until he could find something better, but three years later he still spends almost everyday arranging boxes in the back and accounting for the shipments. 

“Hey nerd, what’s the plan?” You said stepping into the car and closing the door behind you. He was wearing a simple black tee-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. He also had the bracelet you gave him for his birthday wrapped around his wrist. It was a simple silver chain, but you had an almost identical one that you wore everyday.

“Wow, not even a ‘how are you’?” Taeyoung huffed, shaking his head playfully at you, “Straight to business I see...” You couldn’t help the smile the crept up onto you face as you rolled you eyes at him.

“Okay sorry,” You said sarcastically, going to buckle up your seat belt, “How are you?” “I’m good, thanks for asking.” Taeyoung said flatly, grinning softly at you before putting his hands on his steering wheel, “Is it okay if we go down to the river? Or is it too spooky for you this late?”

You lived in a small town out in the middle of nowhere; the population was low, mostly just families that had been there for generations and the occasional newcomer coming in for work. It was tucked up in the hills and surrounded by woods; It also bordered a river, which was a hot spot for people to visit in the summer to escape the blistering heat. Even though it wasn’t too hot now, it would still be nice to sit out there in the shroud of night and get a nice summer breeze off the edge of the water.

“That sounds fine dude,” You replied, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket, “But it wouldn’t be this late if you would have invited me out sooner.”

“Sorry, some of us have a job.” Taeyoung scoffed, putting his car in drive and pulling away from your house. Without looking away from the road, he tosses his phone into your lap, “You have to DJ because I have to make sure we don’t hit anything.”

“roger that.” You hummed, scrolling through Taeyoung’s Spotify to press shuffle on a playlist titled ‘The Jams’. The song didn’t really matter, since it was just background noise anyways.

“How was work today? You were there pretty late tonight huh?” You asked only for Taeyoung to groan dramatically.

“For some reason, Serim’s dad ordered a double shipment of a bunch of our items, so I had spent ages counting them out,” Taeyoung huffed, stopping at a red light and turning to you, “Why did he do that to me?! When Serim hooked me up with this shitty job at his dad’s grocery store, I thought it was supposed to be fun!”

Taeyoung started waving  his hands around as he ranted. You couldn’t help but grin; it was a habit he had that you noticed almost immediately after becoming friends. You think it must just be from him getting too worked up over stuff, because you also noticed he did it when he was excited as well.

“I thought I was supposed to be chill because Mr. Park has always been super chill when we go to their house to hang.” Taeyoung continued, “But nooo! When I work for him, he orders a double shipment out of the blue or asks me to count everything again ‘just to be sure’. I swear he purposely makes me stay longer at work.”

“Youngtae,” You hummed, pointing out the front window at the traffic lights, “Green.” Taeyoung let out a sigh before pressing on the gas.

“If you hate it so much, why do you stay working there?” You asked, rolling down the window to let the cool night air in. Taeyoung approaches the edge of town, turning down the dirt road that would lead you both to the river bank.

“I heard the gas station Minhee work at is looking for someone. You could ask him to help you out.” You suggested, earning a  “mmh-hmm” in response from Taeyoung.

“Maybe, but I’m pretty sure the owner hates me for shoplifting candies when we were in middle school.” He said sheepishly, cringing at the memory and pulling off the road; he drove through the long grass to the edge of the river before putting his car in park.

“Besides, I don’t want to be in this hellhole for much longer.” Taeyoung confessed, turning his car off and taking his seat belt off.

“No?” You replied, taking your seat belt off too, opting to lean the seat back a bit more before continuing in a teasing tone, “This place doesn’t tickle your fancy?”

“Not at all,” Taeyoung chuckled, pushing his dark hair out of his face, “You guys made being here manageable, but I can’t stand being here. I feel like I’m going to be stuck.”

“I get that,” You said, staring at your hands in your lap, “We all feel the same, I think...”

“Do you have your pen on you?” Taeyoung suddenly asked. You silently pulled it out of your pocket and handed it to him. He takes a hit of it before frowning.

“What flavour of cart is this? It tastes like ass.” Taeyoung complained, handing the dab pen back to you. You take a hit of it too, humming as you let the smoke fill your lungs.

“Its blackberry I think..?” You replied, bringing the pen up to your eyes to look at it. You shrug, taking another hit of it, “I wanted to try something new. Besides, it’ s not that bad.”

Taeyoung took it from your grasp before placing it between his lips. His eyebrows furrowed as he inhaled with a disgusted look on his face.

“Remind me to never buy blackberry.” He grumbled, giving it back to you as you giggled at him. The two of you sat in silence for a moment. You glanced at Taeyoung’s side profile, as he was seemingly staring out into nothingness.

“Did you hear Seongmin got into university?” Taeyoung broke the silence, and you nodded. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel while thinking, before leaning back, “I’m happy for him. He moves into the city sometime at the end of august. He asked me and a few of the guys if we’ll drive him in and help him move stuff into the dorm.”

“That’s really wonderful for him,” You said genuinely, eyes drifting away from Taeyoung to look out to where he was staring at. You could see the reflection of the water from the light of the moon, as it was pretty clear that night. You turned back to Taeyoung, trying to read his expression, “don’t you think its wonderful?”

“Yeah, of course.” Taeyoung said, smiling at you weakly before taking a deep breath, “Its just... I’ll miss him, y’know? I think it’s one of the big reason I haven’t left yet. I’d miss you guys too much...”

“Yeah, I understand what you mean.” You said, looking out your open window, “But I think it’ll be okay.”

Taeyoung looked at you, but you were leaned away from him against the window, closing your eyes just to bask in the night atmosphere. He could barely see you in this light, but your figure looked calm and relaxed in the light of the moon.

“You’re not worried about drifting apart?” Taeyoung asked, anxiety laced through his tone as he fidgeted in his seat. You glanced at him before sitting up in your seat.

“Not at all.” You said simply, smiling softly and brushing your hand through your hair, “I think if we all put in a effort to talk or text regularly, no distance could force our little group apart.”

You turn to face Taeyoung, who chewed his bottom lip nervously. His eyes shone like diamonds from the reflection of the sky, and you couldn’t help the grin that came across your face.

“It’s all about doing your part to nurture the relationship, y’know?” You concluded, taking your pen out and having one last hit of it before throwing it haphazardly in the cup holder.

“I guess you’re right... I’m just scared because it’ll be really different.” Taeyoung hummed. He picked at his nails, peeling the polish you did a week ago off them.

“Different doesn’t mean bad,” You replied, before smiling playfully and grabbing his hand to stop him from picking off the nail polish, “Hey, don’t pick off all my hard work!” Taeyoung chuckled at you, looking down at his fingernails and then back at you.

“Sorry.” He said and laced his fingers in between yours, “You’re right. everything will be okay. Besides, we will all move at some point, right?” You hummed in agreement, turning to look out the window again at the river.

Taeyoung’s hand was warm in yours; he felt clammy from the summer humidity, but it fit almost perfectly in yours. Like it was meant to belong there...

You sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, nothing heard but the sound of crickets in the reeds by the river and the quiet melody of the song playing on Taeyoung’s phone. 

That’s how it was with Taeyoung, comfortable.

You and him had always been close, you’d even go as far as saying he was your best friend in your little group of friends. But more recently, you’d been feeling a bit awkward around Taeyoung after an incident that happened that planted this annoying thought in the back of your head...

~

Jungmo had a party about a month ago at his house; His parents were out of town that weekend, so of course all of your friends were invited, plus a few other people you graduated with. Well, of course that lead to a bunch more people showing up (people you didn’t really know), but nobody really minded at the end of the day, since the more the merrier for it.

You, Taeyoung and a few of your other friends were sitting out in the backyard, overall having a good time. There were a few other people around, but you didn’t really notice to much; you were absolutely high at the time, as was Taeyoung and the boys from your friend group which were sitting with you.

“No you’re not listening to me (Y/N)!” Woobin shouted, taking slow, long blinks while putting his hands up in defense, “You would need to go to the boat, Like they do in the movie.”

“no no! I’d just swim around until the flood ended,” You argued, crossing your arms, “Besides, they didn’t even get to the boat in the movie, they just stood up on a rock and the water went away.”

“But the water only went away because of that dumbass squirrel and it’s acorn!” Woobin said with a huff, “Besides, you’ll get tired after swimming for a while. The only way to survive is getting on the boat.”

“What are you two arguing over? I can hear you yelling from inside...” Allen said with a drunken giggle, closing the patio door behind him as he sat down and cracked open the can of beer in his hand.

“How we would survive if we were in Ice Age, The Meltdown.” Taeyoung explained, grinning as he tossed his dab pen to Allen, “Ruby insists you’d die without getting to the boat and (Y/N) thinks they could just swim around until the water went away.”

“You’re both wrong and stupid,” Wonjin said playfully, wagging his finger around the circle before tapping on his head, “I’d just climb up onto the ice wall honestly.” You all let out exclamations in protest, talking about the water coming from the ice wall and Allen let out a hearty laugh at your antics. 

“Youngtae,” You huffed in a whiny voice, leaning your head on his shoulder and sticking your lip out in a pout, “You think I could swim to survive, right?”

“If we are going based on the events of the movie,” Taeyoung hummed, tapping his chin clumsily while pretending to think, “I think you could swim for long enough to survive.”

“Ha!” You shouted, sticking your finger in Woobin’s face with a satisfied smile, “See? Youngtae agrees with me, which means I win!” You giggled happily and leaned more into Taeyoung, who slung his arm around your shoulder lazily.

“Whatever, I’m not listening to dumb and dumber.” Woobin said while rolling his eyes. You and Taeyoung immediately began bicker on who was dumb and who was dumber.

“I’m going in to get something to eat, anyone wanna come or need me to bring anything?” Woobin stood from his spot on the lawn and stretching his arms up over his head. Wonjin murmured something about chips while laying on his back and counting the blades of grass near his face. Allen shook his head no, before taking a sip of the drink he had in his hand.

“I wanna come! I have to pee anyways.” Taeyoung cheered, lifting you off of him to stand up. You grabbed onto Taeyoung’s arm and asked for a drink of water, to which Taeyoung acknowledged with a ‘roger that!’; then the two boys went inside, closing the patio door behind them leaving you with Wonjin and Allen and the few strangers from before. It was a girl you didn’t recognize accompanied by a guy you went to high school with, but didn’t really talk to, since he was a few grades above you.

“Hey guys, I think I took too much weed.” Wonjin said with a sigh, flicking the grass lazily, “My eyes feel like they are made of liquid and my body feels like it weighs a million pounds.”

“My mouth is just super dry...” You said, smacking your lips and touching your tongue with your index finger, “My thongue theels like thandpaper”

“You guys should have just had alcohol instead then,” Allen boasted, grabbing your arm to take your finger out of your mouth. He let out a little giggle, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, “I mean, I had waaaaaayyy too much so I’m not any better off.”

“You probably came outside to make sure you didn’t puke on Jungmo’s carpet...” You hummed, earning a ‘bingo’ from Allen, who chuckled along with you before taking another swig from his beer and then setting the can down in the grass.

“You’ll be fine, Taeyoung is bringing you water for your precious tongue.” Wonjin said and sat up, pulling his phone out and turning it on only to put it back in his pocket. He then smiles gently to himself and snickering, “And Ruby is bringing me chips so I’ll be fine too, hehe....”

“You guys didn’t need anything, right?” Allen asked the strangers sitting off to the side. You turned to look at them and giving them both a polite smile, which they reciprocated.

“No we’re good.” The dude said simply, turning to the girl beside him and kissing her cheek with a grin. She leaned further into him as he pulled her closer, “Right baby?”

“Yeah, we are good.” She smiled at him before looking at you sweetly, “So, how long have you been dating?”

“....Huh?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows at her, “Dating who?”

Just then, The patio door opened to reveal Woobin with a bag of tortilla chips and Taeyoung with two glasses of water in his hand.

“We have come bearing gifts!” Woobin cheered, throwing the bag of chips down onto the grass only for it to be snatched up quickly by Wonjin. Taeyoung gave you the glass gingerly, before sitting back down beside you with his own glass.

“What happened while we were gone?” Taeyoung asked, looking around at all the members in the little group.

“I was just asking your partner how long you two had been dating for?” The girl said, nodding her head towards you. You felt your eyes widen and your face heat up, as you quickly stared down at the grass. The girl turned to the boy beside her and placed a quick kiss on his lips, “Me and Christopher have been together for only a few months now, but it feel like its been forever. I was just wondering how long have you been dating for?”

“Me and (Y/N).... Uhhh...” Taeyoung mumbled, clearly taken aback by this girl’s question. He scooted a bit away from you, brushing his hair out of his face. The other boys looked between the two of you awkwardly, as you kept your eyes trained in your lap and the grass below.

“We aren’t a couple actually.... Just good friends, that’s all.” Taeyoung replied, embarrassment clear by the tone of his voice and the redness rising from his neck up to his ears. The girl had gone pale, letting out a quiet ‘oh’ before silence fell over the group.

“I’m sorry I assumed.” She apologized quickly, “You guys are just so touchy with each other and I saw the matching bracelets so I assumed. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, you didn’t know.” Taeyoung laughed awkwardly, picking at his fingernails and looking anywhere but you beside him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at all. You felt your stomach sink and a horrible feeling of nausea washed over you as you tapped the edge of your water glass.

It went silent again, and you felt like everyone was holding their breath. You hated it. Were you and Taeyoung too clingy? Did people really think you guys were dating. There is no way you’d ever date Taeyoung, he’s your best friend! Why did you feel like your stomach was doing back flips and your face was on fire? You hated this whole situation; it was all too much for you right now.

You lazily checked your phone, pretending to look at the time before you downed your glass of water. You stood up, earning the attention of the rest of the group.

“Its pretty late and I had too much weed, so I’m going to go to bed.” You said with a weak smile, nodding to the couple of strangers, “Nice to meet you both.”

“Are you sure, (Y/N)?” Allen asked, standing up too. He gave you a subtle look of pity as you nodded, plastering a fake smile on your face. You felt like you were hyperventilating with all the eyes on you. It was all to much for you in this state.

“Good night boys.” You mumbled before retreating back inside, not sparing a glance at Taeyoung. Why did this situation make you so anxious. And why did this make you question your relationship with Taeyoung? Was your relationship perceived as more then friends by most people? Aren’t friends clingy anyways, or was it to a different degree you and Taeyoung? But most importantly, why did the idea of dating him not sound so bad to you when you really thought about it? You were going to be sick if you thought about it longer.

It was too much, so you pushed those thoughts as you retreated to Jungmo’s spare room and lock the door behind you, not to come out until the next morning, where nobody brought it up, not even Taeyoung. 

Even when you hung out with him a week later, and then last week too, Taeyoung didn’t mention the incident at all, but you both knew it caused a change in the comfortability of your relationship...

~

It felt strange to hold Taeyoung’s hand after the incident. You weren’t sure what happened after you went to bed, but you were feeling a sense a relief that he did hold your hand when he needed it. It was a sign that maybe your relationship could be going back to normal maybe? Taeyoung brushed his thumb subconsciously over the back of your hand. Now buried in the relief arose a strange feeling, the one where your stomach was doing flips and your started to feel a bit warmer and that little thought of dating him crawled its way out of the back of your brain.

“Your hand is super sweaty dude.” Taeyoung laughed, giving it a little squeeze. You let out a laugh too, releasing his hand and wiping yours on your pant leg.

“Sorry, I guess I’m a little hot right now.” You confessed, “I shouldn’t have worn this shitty jacket...”

“I love that jacket, even though it’s so old and shitty,” Taeyoung said playfully, leaning over to grab near the pocket and smiling when he felt the crispy outline of a burn hole, “I remember when we all went camping last summer and you got hit by a stray spark from the campfire and it burned this hole in it. I remember you standing up so fast and me and you patting it out before it could burn you.” He chuckled at the memory, looking up at your face as you felt around the burn hole too.

“That was fun, minus me almost getting lit on fire.” You said grinning at the fond memory before looking at Taeyoung in the eyes, “We should go camping again sometime. Although, preferably when it’s not so hot outside.”

“If you’re really that hot, we could go for a swim in the river?” Taeyoung suggested nonchalantly, the corners of his mouth curling up into a cat-like grin.

“I’d love to, but do I look like I’m wearing a swimsuit stupid?” You chuckled, gesturing to your body before laughing a bit at the idea.

“Not a problem!” Taeyoung hummed, before surprising you by suddenly tugging his shirt up and over his head. Your eyes went from his bare torso back up to his face with a look of shock.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before because being in your underwear is basically the same thing as being in a swimsuit,” Taeyoung deduced, opening his car door and starting to undo his belt. His torso seemed to glow in the moonlight from the sheen sweat from the summer heat; he must have been just as hot as you were, but somehow you started to feel it even worse now that Taeyoung was more exposed. You couldn’t take your eyes off him and you felt your heart squeeze a bit, which was increasingly concerning.

“You coming or..?” Taeyoung asked with a smile, leaning down to make eye contact with you. His hands dipped into the top of his jeans, however he did not pull them down yet. You realized he was waiting for you to agree before doing so, which made you feel much more comfortable.

You thought for a moment. You knew this wasn’t a good idea, as the little voice in your head that arose form the party was getting stronger and you could feel the rational part of your head be clouded over by not only your other thoughts, but also the haze of your weed kicking in. You chewed you lip nervously before smiling softly back at Taeyoung.

“Fine Youngtae. Fuck it. It’s too hot” You sighed, taking your jacket off before stepping out of the car too. You piled all your clothing (besides your undergarments) haphazardly on the passenger seat and placed your shoes on the car floor in front of the seat. Now that you were out of the car in nothing but your underwear, you felt the coolness of the night air. However, you still felt just as hot, if not worse. You couldn’t shake the nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach or the beating of your heart the felt like it was going a million miles an hour from adrenaline. 

Your nervousness must have showed, because you could hear a hearty laugh come from your best friend as he walked around to the front of the car.

“Relax a bit dude, it’s just me here.” He said, brushing his hair back once more. You refused to look anywhere south of his belly button, for your own sanity, but you did notice his boxers being a ugly plaid pattern from your peripheral. 

“If I would have known you’d be seeing my underwear, I’d have worn nicer ones...” You said, trying to sound as casual as possible, but inside your body was on fire. Your brain was shutting down and your body felt jittery and nervous.

“Don’t worry about that, you look fine.” Taeyoung complimented, making your stomach drop. Taeyoung walked past you, going down to the very edge and walking along it, calling after you. “Come on, slow poke! The shallow area should be around here..”

You shook your head, trying to get a hold of yourself; taking a deep breath and following Taeyoung to the shallow part where people usually swam during the day. He stepped off the bank and into the water, having it come up to his ankles when he let out a few curses and curled his fingers into fists at his side.

“Brrrr! Its freezing!” He cried out, wincing at you as you laughed at how cute he was, “I’m going to become a Young-sicle after this I’m sure...”

“I guess I’ll be a (Y/N)-sicle then,” You said, stepping in beside him and feeling a shiver immediately run up your legs from the cold water. Your eyes meet Taeyoung and you both burst out in laughter at the knowing look of biting cold that you both are experiencing.

Taeyoung begins to wade out a bit further, complaining the whole time when you get an evil idea. You follow him, water getting up to around your knees with your grin growing as you close the distance between the two of you, so that you are are now standing maybe a couple feet away from each other again.

“Hey Youngtae!” You called to him to get his attention. He turned to look at you and before he had time to react, you dig your hands into the ice cold water and splash him. He shrieked due to the surprise of water hitting his body and the cool temperature of it of his skin. You laughed at his reaction, quickly doing a few more splashes so he doesn’t have time to recover, getting water all the way up to near his face.

“Quit it! It’s freezing!” He places his hands out to try and block the water from hitting him. Your laughter quickly goes from joyous to scared as he starts wading over to you.

“No wait! I’m sorry!” You said through a fit of giggles, weakly splashing at him to try and keep him away, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Youngtae, don’t!”

“You should have thought about that before you splashed me, stupid.” He giggled back, grabbing onto your arm and pulling you towards him so he can wrap his arms around your frame. You let out a squeal as he lifted you a bit, dragging you into deeper water. 

“Youngtae, please don’t! I’m sorry.” You struggled against his iron grip, smacking his arms playfully, but you felt the chuckle leaving his chest as he held you still in the water.

“Sorry,” He hummed sarcastically, “Next time don’t start something you can’t finish.” 

With that, Taeyoung quickly lifted you off your feet and promptly dunked you in the water, almost crushing you by laying down over you, just to make sure you couldn’t avoid the icy plunge. You screamed from the cold, while Taeyoung sucked air through his teeth at the freezing water rushing over his back. He let you go and you quickly spun around to face him before smacking him on the shoulder.

“Kim Taeyoung I swear, you’re dead meat!” You scolded while giggling at him. His expression mirrored your own, with only a slight hint of pride residing in his features.

“Hey! You were the one who splashed me first!” Taeyoung laughed, leaning back to sit in the shallow water; he crossed his legs, letting the water comfortably wade just under his collar bones. You mumbled in agreement, letting your laughter die down before you sat beside him.

The cool water was frigid at first, but after a few seconds of getting used to it, it felt refreshing. You let out a sigh of relief, feeling the heat from earlier subside even a little bit as you closed your eyes. You and Taeyoung were silent, just listening to the sound of the running water and the faint tune of Taeyoung’s car radio fill the air.

That is, until you best friend broke the silence.

“Hey, uhm.” He mumbled, causing you to open your eyes and look at him; you almost wished you didn’t. He looked beautiful, hair slightly damp, tan skin shining, soft eyes trained on you with his bottom lip slightly tucked between his teeth.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Taeyoung continued, scooting closer to you, causing the water around the two of you to ripple; much like the butterflies that arrive in your stomach from the possibilities of this conversation.

“What is it?”

“Well, I..... uhm.”

“Youngtae.” You said flatly, expression softening as you reached out for his arm to place a comforting touch to it, “talk to me.” 

You could tell Taeyoung was anxious from the way his eyebrows furrowed and how his lips were pulled into a thin line. He had the same look before the talent show in middle school; It was the first time he performed in front of anyone and he was so nervous he almost threw up. But, just like now, you were there for him to make sure he was okay.

Like you’d always be.

He let out a sigh, before looking away from you, “I wanted to talk about what happened.. Y’know... at the party.”

It was your turn to be anxious now, body freezing up before you turned to look away too, focusing on the way the moon reflected off the dark water. Was this it? Did Taeyoung not want to be your friend anymore because of how you acted at the party? Did he think you were disgusted with the possibility of dating him? Would he be weirded out if he found out you felt quite the opposite?

“Look, I’m sorry.” He started out, struggling to find the words, “I know you were really uncomfortable and I.... I should have been more aware of how my behavior can be perceived by others. I know that we are just friends and I shouldn’t be so clingy...”

“Please don’t apologize! You didn’t do anything wrong.” You quickly countered, looking down at the way your body distorted through the water. You wanted nothing more than to drown yourself there.

You were the one who froze up and didn’t say a word. You were the one who left him alone to deal with the situation. You were the one who was slowly growing relationship-changing feelings... “It should be me who is apologizing.”

“For what?!” Taeyoung gasped, whipping his head to look at you.

“For making you think that I was upset with you! For leaving and making it awkward between us.”

“You weren’t upset?”

“No.” You huffed out, feeling your face heat up. You take your cold hands out of the water to pat your cheeks gently as you let out a sigh. Your mind felt cloudy and your heart beat went steady against your chest. You blamed the weed for allowing the truth to tumble out of your mouth, “I should apologize because I’m still making it awkward between us...”

“How so?” He mumbled, eyes burning holes into the side of your face as you looked out at the other shoreline. You heaved a heavy sigh, hanging you head before letting all the true thoughts and feelings you’ve been having spill out.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about how much I love you.” You confessed, words flowing from your lips much easier than you anticipated, “Not in a platonic, ‘we are best friends!’ way, but in a ‘I think about you all the time and want to wake up next to you everyday’ kind of way. I didn’t realize it until the party, but I am in love with you and I maybe always have been.”

The silence was deafening, with the only sound being the thumping of a nervous heart and the rushing of the cold water surrounding you. You drop you head, feeling the weight of what you just said.

Taeyoung was quiet beside you, seemingly from shock or being deep in thought.

You allowed the silence only for a moment before you turned to look at him. You couldn’t bear the uneasiness any longer.

“I’m so sorry.” You mumbled, your gaze catching his, “I know we are just frien-”

Taeyoung quickly cut you off by rushing forward, placing a hasty kiss on you lips. It was so quick, you weren’t even sure if it happened as you just stared at him, too stunned to speak.

He...

He kissed you?

“I’m sorry, I should have asked before I did that!” Taeyoung huffed out, running one of his wet hands through his hair as he smiled, mouth slightly agape. You noticed the redness creeping up his neck and cheeks.

“I... I’m just.” He stutters, brain seemingly short-circuited before he cleared his throat and took a deep breath to collect himself, “I just never thought you’d like me back.” “You... like me?” You asked, heart leaping into your throat.

“Well duh!” He giggled, “I mean, I thought I was pretty obvious about my feelings for you, but I just assumed you never saw me as anything more than a friend. And I’m more than happy to just be a part of your life.”

“Wow, I must’ve be blind...”

“No, just stupid.”

“Okay, that’s a bit uncalled for.”

“Sorry.” Taeyoung hummed, shifting to tuck his knees up against his chest as he wrapped his arms around them. He chewed his bottom lip nervously as his eyes darted down to the dark murky water, “So..?”

“So?”

“Now what?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know!” Taeyoung huffed exasperated , throwing his hands in the air, causing the water around the two of you to ripple. “Are we still just friends or....” He let his voice trail on, giving you a hopeful look, “Does this change everything?”

“I mean,” You spoke softly, feeling the heat rise to your face. Why was it all of a sudden so hard to talk to Taeyoung? You felt like you were choking on the words as you cleared your throat and meekly whispered, “I wouldn’t mind a change...”

Taeyoung nodded, smile slowly spreading across his face as he registered what you said. He turned to you, scooting a bit closer so that your shoulders touched and your faces were a few inches apart.

“I think I’d like that too.” He whispered, voice just barely audible as his eyes wandered your facial features. Without another word more, you slowly leaned in, giving him plenty of time to move away before you placed you lips against his.

You were felling so many things at this moment; joy, excitement, nervousness. But above all else, you felt right.

Being here with Taeyoung, kissing him and letting yourself love him just felt right. Like it was all falling into place and meant to be. You thought about your future with your best friend and how that was all going to change; but you had hope that it would be for the better.

—————————

A/N: In my Taeyoung vibes and I just didn’t have a way to finish it so please forgive a rushed ending. I love this man SOOO much !! Believe it or not, he’s actually my main man in Cravity, even though I haven’t posted about him lol. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!!!

[ao3feed-sambucky]

CLOSER CLOSER FARTHER CLOSER

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/lcy1nIt by Writer_Lethogica Bucky Barnes can see numbers on people's hands. He doesn't know why he can or what they mean, but he can see them. And he sees the numbers on both his hand and Sam's start to tick down the moment he steals that steering wheel from Sam. EXCERPT: Bucky felt a delirious sense of déjà vu suddenly pulling a steering wheel from someone’s car. Someone with eyes like a sunset afterglow on an Onyx Odyssey Hellebore. Rich mahogany brown skin. Mesmerizing gap in his teeth. Screaming like Bucky just tore a steering wheel off mid-drive. Other people in the car. Also screaming. Was that Stevie? And Bucky would focus on one of these things. He would ask what he was doing with a steering wheel in his hands or why Stevie was in this car or who the hell this heaven-sent glad lad was, but Bucky wasn’t pulled from whatever haze he had been in just because of a memory about his adrenaline junkie, snake charmer of a mother. No. Bucky was pulled out of his haze because he felt it. A number forming on the back of his hand. A number which immediately started to tick down. Words: 18538, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 8 of SamBucky Summer Bingo 2023 Fics Fandoms: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Sarah Wilson (Marvel), Steve Rogers, AJ Wilson, Cass Wilson, Ayo (Marvel), Sharon Carter (Marvel), Helmut Zemo Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson Additional Tags: full beta we survive like final girls, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: s01e06 One World One People (The Falcon and the Winter Soldier TV), Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Moment or Realization, Getting to Know Each Other, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, POV Bucky Barnes, Platonic Cuddling, Literal Sleeping Together read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/lcy1nIt

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"No One's Gonna Harm You." Buddy Swanson/Metal Killer X AFAB! Reader.

We re-watched Stage Fright (2014) in the Boiler Lounge and I miss Buddy and The Metal Killer so fuck it! Here I am doing this! It has been coming for a while and I hope you all enjoy it, some fluff, some angst, some smut, it’s got it all really, self indulgent and needed, lets go!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.1K. Buddy Swanson/Metal Killer X AFAB! Reader. No Pronouns Specified. Warnings: Stage Fright Spoilers. Fluff. Banter. Emotions. Trauma. Mentions Of Assault And Coercion. Chase. Murder. Blood Play. Emotional Confession. Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Dirty Talk. Rough Sex. Confession Of Feelings. Begging. Forced Orgasm. Cream Pie. Cunnlingus. Mild Overstimulation. Roger Sucks. Artie Getz Sucks.

—

Roger McCall was a weird dude. 

You never liked him. When you first showed up to Centre Stage and were introduced you decided very quickly that something was off about him and you steered clear. Whenever he came around you would do your best to leave soon after and make yourself scarce, you had better things to focus on, other things you’d rather be doing anyway. Namely, a certain camp cook you had been shamelessly flirting with all summer long, Buddy was cute, funny, biting, sarcastic and an all around good time. He would write your name on your cup along with a joke every day, he would sneak you extra dessert and would talk while you lingered behind in the mess hall, speaking across tables that he was collecting messy trays, abandoned by your fellow campers without care.

“Don’t you have a class you should be getting to?” He inquired, expression light despite him picking up the truly disgustingly food-caked orange tray, moving it into the current stack he was working on and you fired back, “Shouldn’t you have these dishes done and be prepping lunch?”

You and he stare each other down over the three tables between you and him. The tension was going to kill you at this rate, a dance wondering who was going to make the first real move. The silence is broken but the eye contact is maintained as he says, “Seems we both have things we should be doing.” 

“Seems like.” You said as you made yourself get up, you walked over, handed him your tray with a question of, “I’ll see you at lunch?”

“You will.”  He affirms as he takes it from you, a small brush of your fingers makes you smile wider before stepping backwards, towards the door, eyes on him still, you ask. “What are we having?”

“You’re just gonna have to wait. Don’t let the suspense kill you now.” He teased and you threw both hands over your chest dramatically, as if you had been shot, as you continued your backwards walk to the exit. “I don’t know how I shall ever make it but for you? I’ll try.” 

A fond roll of his eyes, head tossed back as he jokes, “So brave, your sacrifice won’t go unnoticed. Now get outta here! Go build a set or something.”

“Bye Buddy.” You called as you turned, finally close enough to the doors you pushed them open and set out. 

You found yourself thinking of him all the time. In class, while walking the grounds, doing just about anything.

Even when you were actually set building, Artie Getz behind you, complaining that the text on the outside of the theatre set didn’t look “oriental” enough, (whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean), you were thinking of Buddy. Ignoring Artie Getz and his fucking racist bullshit was no easy task but your attraction to him outweighed your hate for the faux leather tribly wearing asshole you were all forced to call director. 

The small moments you stole with him meant a ton. It wasn’t like you hated camp, there were some things to be learned here, actual skills, enjoyment to be had but there was still a lot to hate. Roger and Artie are big parts of that hate, the fact that you didn’t like theatre, and to be honest you didn’t like the show, the idea of reviving Haunting Of The Opera seemed tasteless, setting it in Feudal Japan with an all white cast downright crass. You found enjoyment where you could, in hammering nails and pretending they were Artie’s stupid fucking hat covered head, in paint, in the admittedly talented kids who played instruments in the pit, in the silly fucking moments you’d see and then share quietly with Buddy. 

“No way.” He laughed, a shake of his head, a bounce of those curls, you said, “Yes! Way! Liz had the worst voice crack I had ever heard and it startled Sam so bad he tripped when crossing from stage right and fell flat on his face! Broke the fucking mask in two, they need to make a new one in like less than two days for opening night-” 

He had to cover his mouth with both hands, bending slightly at the waist, the pair of you laughing it up and trying to keep it down. Everyone had been served lunch and was eating but you were lingering up near the serving line, talking with him and letting your tuna melt get cold. When he did finally pull his hands away, a deep inhale, wiping at the corners of those blue eyes, crinkled at the sides from sheer joy, steeped in mirth the same way the mess hall was in mid afternoon sunlight. “Holy shit that is too good.” 

Reaching out, his hands on your shoulder over the trays he said empathetically, “Thank you for sharing that.” 

You feel warm at his touch and you say, “No problem. I knew you’d be the only one to properly appreciate it.” 

He lets you go, you wish he wouldn’t. Camp would be ending before you knew it, once opening night happens, they do another week and a half of just shows, then clean up, tear down for half a week and then it’s over. Maybe you should make that move sooner rather than later, you had the feeling inside that if you didn’t do something about this clear thing between you both that you’d regret it. You aren’t sure you can keep waiting for him to make a move, you might just have to be the one to do it. 

“You gonna keep talking to me all lunch or are you gonna eat?” He asked and you fired back with, “Aren’t you gonna eat? Actually, better question, when do you eat? I’ve never seen you eat anything.”

“I usually eat after the freaks have.” He admits and you feel a bit sad at that thought, him eating alone in the kitchen, at least previously he’d have his sister with him before she ran off to join the play. You wonder if he’s lonely, instead of asking that question you pose a different one, “You wanna eat together?”

A gasp slips out, wide eyed he exclaims, “Are you asking me out?” 

You laugh, “I’m asking you to eat lunch together, not out to the four seasons.” 

“I’m just busting your balls, sure, let’s eat together.” He said with an easy kind of smile and a shrug. 

Lunch was nice. 

You helped him round up trays after the “freaks” as he called them cleared out, the longer you spent here the more you were inclined to agree with him however. Once back in the kitchen, sitting on a prep table, sharing the food he re-heated as well as a great conversation. Legs dangling off the edge and sitting nearly hip to hip and joking about something yet again, “Did you see him earlier?”

“When he spilled on himself? Yes! Does he just own that one flesh toned leotard or does he have a bunch of them?” You asked and he said, “Well did you see him go to his cabin to get changed? What do you think?”

You made an over exaggerated gagging sound that almost made him choke from how funny it sounded coming from you, a hand over his mouth, his other hand still holding half his sandwich, “Fuck, not while I’m eating!” 

“Awe c’mon now, it’s not that bad. Not like you got soda out the nose or something.” You tease and he asks, “Have you ever had that happen?”

“Oooh yeah, so there was this time in fourth grade-” And you told him and he listened excitedly. By the time you were done with lunch you felt even closer to him, emotionally, physically too, you were almost leaning on him. When he had to get to making dinner you made yourself scarce, you were already almost an hour late to class as it was but you made plans to do it again sometime soon. 

In the mad dash to opening night that ended up not happening, especially when Artie Getz turned up dead. Things got lost in the shuffle and you were honestly disgusted by everyone’s behaviour and insistence for the show to go on. It was fucking appalling and you were certainly not going to do anything to help put the show on and were not going to attend it, in fact, you were going to do what you could do stop it.

Turns out your feelings about Roger were spot on.

Roger isn’t a good guy.

You tried to talk some sense into him, multiple times, he wasn’t having it and when you were trying to speak to him while the show was going on he snapped. You didn’t think he had it in him, didn’t know he could put up a chase like that. You couldn’t circle back to the playhouse and that is where EVERYONE was so what could you do with him after you, capable of God knows what?

As if drawn, hopeful, maybe he would be there and if not at least you could get your hands on a knife to defend yourself, you run towards the mess hall and most importantly, the kitchen.

You break into the backdoor, run past the sinks and towards the heart of the kitchen, you hear the door slam open, he is hot on your heels and when you are about a foot away from that big fuck off knife you wanted to get your hand on, Roger’s hand, was on you. 

Hand locked on your wrist and he pulled hard, you stumbled and crashed into him, his other hand on your shoulder, “You talk, way, way too much.”

You tried to struggle, he didn’t let go, he gripped tighter and kept talking, “I knew you were a bad fit here, you aren’t like everyone else! Running your mouth all the time. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get back to this point? I’m not going to let-”

He was hurting you, red faced and spitting and you were honestly terrified, “-some stupid, idiot, smarmy fucking camper who can’t carry a tune in a basket ruin my show coming back!”

You were stuck, there was no way you were getting out of this one, his hand lifted, he was reaching for the knives and your eyes shut tight, you waited for the first blow, reluctantly accepting your fate but instead of a stab of pain you felt a spray of warmth and hear a sound of pure agony. Your eyes shoot back open upon the sticky warmth hitting you, to see Roger standing there, seemingly shocked and his throat slashed open.

The shock hit you too, his grip was loosening and you see him next, the tall imposing figure clad in black and white, holding what looks like a saw blade with finger holes cut into it for a handle?

You were terrified, wondering if you were next, what the fuck was happening but he ripped Roger away from you, threw him to the ground. Roger was choking on his own blood, coughing, apparently the masked stranger wasn’t satisfied by that. He swung one leg over, a flourish of that long black coat, his boot falling heavy to the floor and he crouched down, got closer and with one hand fisted in Roger’s shirt, the other gripping the saw blade he wasn’t done yet. 

It was brutal. 

By the time he was done hacking and cutting he was heaving, bloody, that mask was stained red, droplets of it were caught in the creases and groves of the mask, the wild black hair of the mask was weighed down by sticky crimson. 

You felt glued to the spot. Watching him, kneeling over Roger’s now lifeless and disfigured body, breathing heavily behind the mask. Finally, his head turned up, he looked right at you, he stood and you started to back up, “No, no, please! Don’t hurt me! I-I won’t say anythin-”

Gearing up to run away but he stood up fully, coming forward quickly, you try to move at the same speed, stumbling as you attempt it but you are still in shock, he moves quicker, drops the saw blade in his hand and calls out loudly, “Wait!”

You stop. 

Eyes wide and he is less than a foot away, you weren’t sure you heard him right, that voice. You swallow thickly, tongue feels too big for your mouth, too dry and you watch black leather clad gloves push his mask up and you see it’s him. A face that is smeared with spots of blood, smudges of black makeup and sweat soaked curls come into view. He is still breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling in time with his breaths and then he speaks again, “I’d never hurt you.” 

“Buddy?” You ask it so quietly, he sets the mask down and he has his hands out, holding them out in front of him to show you he wasn’t going to attempt to reach for another weapon, he eases his way to you, slow steps he asks, “Are you okay?”

A small sniff, tears welling up and you aren’t sure, you say, “I-I think so? M’ not hurt-”

Thanks to him.

You could still see it, running through your mind, weapon in hand, Roger’s throat slashed open, you kept your eyes up, refusing to look at the corpse still leaking blood on the ground. Roger was going to kill you, he was clearly nuts, you should be thanking Buddy, but you were so confused, why was he at the ready? Did it no hesitation, in that costume, with those weapons too, you KNOW he isn’t in the play, so what was he planning to do tonight in that get-up? Your mind was running a mile a minute, his head tips forward, a sigh of relief, “Thank fuck, I’m so glad.”

“You were…Worried about me?” You asked softly and his head came back up, brows furrowed and he said, “Of course I was! I came in here and saw him and was so terrified of what he was going to do to you, he had a knife in his hand and I just-” 

A shaky exhale before taking a deep breath in, eyes closed, he clenches his fists as if the thought of Roger doing that, harming you, killing you was too much to bear. The question is too much, weighs too heavily, you ask, “I am really thankful you were here to stop him but Buddy…Why are you here in the kitchen right now in this outfit?”

His eyes opened again and he looked at you long and hard. As if debating something heavily in his mind before he decides it’s worth it, that you are worth it. “Roger…Is terrible, he is a disgusting, awful man, an abhorrent monster. He used to be involved with my…Uh my mom. I know how people talk around here, I am sure you heard that Cam and I’s mom was the lead in the original Haunting and Roger was the producer and they were seeing each other and my mom she…”

He stopped, a deep breath again, “She cheated on him, he found out and he…He butchered her on opening night.”

You gasped and he pressed on, “He did it in front of me he told me it was my fault, he hit me, and worse. I was so, so fucking scared this whole time ever since then I just…When he wanted to do this show again and Cam got the lead it was like I was ten years old again, like it was some unthinkable nightmare, I thought the worst would happen to the only family I had left and I was scared, I felt so out of control and weak and powerless.” 

He was coming closer again, but you weren’t scared. “Seeing how everyone was treating Cam, her falling victim to the same things…It was more than I could take and I realised something, I’m not that kid anymore, I could do something, could stop him, take revenge for mom, for Cam, for me.”

His hand skates across the stainless steel prep table you were next to as his approach continued. He was now so close to you, he reached out, gloved hands took yours, he said, “I care about you. Nothing is going to happen to you while I’m around and can do something about it, okay?”

You believe him. All of it, every word but especially him saying nothing would hurt you while he was around, I mean fuck, he killed for you, saved your life. “Buddy I had no idea, I am so-so sorry.” A ghost of a smile and he mouths, “Thank you.”

After a pause you ask then, “And does Cam-”

“Know? No, no she doesn’t. I tried my best to keep her out of it but she doesn’t know what Roger did, doesn’t know I’ve been holding onto this all this time I wanted to…Fuck, save her, protect her from it if I could.” He looked like he was hurting so much, the pain in his eyes is soul crushing and you reach out, touch him, hands cup his face and your thumbs brush over his cheek bones, more makeup is smeared, “You’re a great older brother.”

It makes sense. Artie Getz must have been his work too and you didn’t blame him, you had stumbled in one afternoon on him and Cam and she seemed less than happy about his hands up her shirt, you caught on quick that he might be making her do things she wasn’t all that enthusiastic about to hold her place in the play. You are glad he is looking out for her. Your heart goes out to him. His hands squeeze yours and he asks, “You’re not scared of me?”

You shake your head, “God no. I…Buddy I don’t think I can ever truly understand all you went through but I don’t need to in order to understand why you did it. Hell I would probably go on a killing spree for less if pushed.” You joke and he lets out a weak laugh, that smile you love coming out, white teeth cutting through messy black paint. 

“You’re the best, you know that?” He asks and you laugh, “What? You’re saying this now?”

“I mean it! When else am I gonna say it? You made this summer fucking bareable! Getting to talk to you was the best part of my day.”  

It’s still him, that smile breaking through the charcoal and the sweat and the blood, he felt the same was as you had, you weren’t crazy there was something that had been steadily building between you both all summer long and you say, “I feel the same way, getting to spend time with you kept me going through every horrible singing practice and all the splinters I got building that awful set. Buddy? You’re the best.”

You were still holding his face, he was still holding your hands and yet you both got closer, you tugged him nearer and he took that just as you wanted him to, as his in, releasing your hands, his now settled on your waist and he kissed you. He tasted like cheap make-up, iron and salt and something under all of that was slowly starting to reveal itself, the true taste of him, head swimming you tug him nearer still.

Hopped up on the adrenaline of it all, the almost murder of you, the actual murder of Roger, the mutual confession of your now painfully obvious crush, the fact you were still alive and here and even more than all of that, him, totally high on him. He was being rather bold, pushing you back into the table, holding you there, kissing you fiercely, you were completely swept up in it, he was the first one to break away, a panting breath of, “I’ve been wanting this for way too long-” 

His hands were starting to move, “-I’ve been fucking dreaming of this and when I came in here and saw Roger with that knife, fuck, I thought it might never happen, thought he was going to take you away from me.”

He felt your chest up through your tank top, bloody head prints stain white fabric, his head tips back with a groan, he kneaded the flesh and you matched him vocally, it felt right, needed, you’d been thinking about him touching you like this for just as long as he had. “God, Buddy, you’ve been dreaming about me?”

A shaky nod, “Fuck yeah I have. Been thinking of feeling you, tasting you, craving you so bad.” 

Tasting you? He dreamt of tasting you. The image of thick brown curls between your thighs with your fingers tangled in them takes over your mind and you moan.

Lord did you want to know all he did to you in those dreams he had, every sordid detail. He kisses you deeply, like he needs to, a hum against his lips, you return it, your hands reach and land on his shoulders. The mess of make-up and the rest makes your lips glide smoother against his, you were sure your own face was being made a wreck in the process but you don’t care, this is way too good to stop. He breaks this current kiss and you were breathing much harder along with him, his hands lifted up, ripping his gloves off, throwing them down on the table behind you, he wanted to feel you, really feel you. 

“I was so fucking angry seeing him put his hands on you.” It seemed like it, there was this manic look in his eyes, almost like he seethed at the memory, “Yeah?”

Soon as he had the gloves off you pulled his hands back to you, he slid them up under your shirt, felt the lace underneath and you arch closer with a sigh and he curses at the softness of the cups in his hands. “Yeah. Made me see red, him touching you, I coulda cut his hands off, no, I should have.”

You inhale sharply, he was being shockingly possessive, saying he wished to commit a violent act so cavalierly but it didn’t bother you, it did the opposite, it turned you on, made you press your thighs together. You feel a bit weak in the knees as pads of his fingers brush over your nipples, a shiver runs through you. A whimper of his name, your hands slide down, one between your bodies, you feel him through his pants, painfully hard the same way you were achingly empty. He pushes his hips forward into your touch, a low groan and you are encouraged to open his pants, nervous and trembling fingers unbutton, yank the zipper down and his hands move quickly too, freeing you from the confines of our own clothing. More heated kisses exchanged as you tug and pull and enough skin was exposed to do what you were both desperate for.

It’s rushed but so fucking good, your underwear is pushed to the side, skirt hiked up and strong hands lift you up onto the table you were leaned against before. His fingers touch you, bare skin on bare skin and you shudder, his fingers feel sticky, you realise the blood must have leaked through his gloves and your legs jerk from the rush of arousal that tears through you at the thought. It was filthy, he was still painted scarlet from the man he killed for you and touching you with his tacky blood stained fingers. He found your clit with ease but when he brushed it your loud moan, head falling back gave it away. 

“There?” He asks, even though he knows, you love that he asked and you tell him, “Yes, right there-”

His own pants open, your hand is around him and starting to touch him in kind, stroking up and down and he groans, his own pace quickens on you and it works, the sound he pulls from you is beautiful. His voice cuts through, rough and strained; he says, “He’s always touching my stuff but you’re not his.” 

You shake your head, panting out, “No I’m not.” 

“No?” He asks, he wants to hear it, and you shake your head, “No.” 

Your wrist twists on the down stroke and it proves too much, he pulls his hand away and you do the same, legs spread wider and his hands on your hips, you shift, adjust, help him as he lines up and finally with another deep breath slides in, you both share a moan. You cling to him, arms loop around his neck, your fingers bury in his curls and you tug, he grunts as he bottoms out and his hands grip your hips tightly, it aches in the best way. He holds deep and asks low in your ear, “You’re mine, right?”

“Yours, all fucking yours.” You pant and he starts to move, the pace is anything but slow or easy. It’s hard, rough, possessive and needy. 

It’s making up for lost time.

His hands are everywhere just like yours are, the force of his thrusts causing the table to shift, the pleasure far outranks the slight pain from how his digits dig into your skin or from the bites laid on your throat. He was surely leaving marks, bruises, as if he needed evidence carved into your skin, signs of ownership so you couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to forget this, even after the blood and grease paint is washed away. 

Another bite makes you cry out, you tug on his hair again and he groans, his hips falter and you know now that he really likes having his hair pulled. You attack his mouth since he let up on your neck, another deep kiss, your tongue in his mouth and he was on cloud nine.

The need to have him closer overtakes and your leg hooks around his hip, pulls him tight and he wasn’t expecting it, his footing slips and you pull him with you. One of his knees on the table, one of his hands on the table top next to your head and the other now under you on your lower back, he is almost chest to chest with you, not so much thrusting, more a grind, a slow writhe deep in you that brushes a spot in you just right that makes you sob. Your leg is still hooked around his hip, hands never leaving in his hair, your back arches and you beg, “Fu-fuck! Do-don’t stop-” 

“I won’t, no way-” A breathy laugh and a shake of his head, “-not till I make you scream-”

You clench around him, your clit is throbbing, you are being forced to the edge by this new angle, his head dips down, nips at your collar bone and at your neck and you twitch under him, a small and quiet chant of his name spilling out between gasps for air. You have the smallest, quietest thought in the back of your mind, “Where does he get the energy?”

He wasn’t letting up on you for a second, holding you to him as he was deep in the process of fucking you totally dumb, seriously where the hell was this spot inside you before and how did he stumble across it so easily and learn to abuse it so totally? Praise fills your ears, fractured between the sound of table legs scraping the ground, skin on skin, how soaked your cunt is and the heaving breaths and moans, “God, you’re addict-ing, wanna live in you, cou-could die inside you happy.”

Christ he was going to kill you at this rate. You whined, you are almost there, so fucking close, you tug on his hair again, your knuckles ache and you want to cum on him, need it more than the air you are struggling to suck down between moans, an attempt of warning him, a feeble, “Cl-close.”

“Can feel it, practically sucking me in, c’mon, please.” The way he says please, as if he is needing it as much as you are, as if he wants it more than his own pleasure, as if every second you aren’t cumming is physically paining him does you in. You tumble over the edge and do as he wanted, couldn’t hold back, the scream ripped from your throat as the pleasure tears through your core, head thrown back against the table as you tremble through your high. 

He fucked you through it, held you tighter to him, didn’t let you squirm away and only when you are coming down, panting out you realize he is the one who is almost whimpering, panting out, “Gunna cum, fuck, so close, cah-can’t hold it, shit-” You know what he needs and you tell him that one word, leaning up before you lips meet his you choke out one rushed word, “Inside.”

You kiss him and he melts into you, another few rocks of his hips and he does, cums deep, holds to the root as he unloads inside you, groaning into the sloppy open mouthed kiss. That same kiss slows, less hunger, it becomes lazier and softer, sweeter until you pull your tongue out of his mouth and your head lays back, his body is on top of yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath. He slowly pushes himself up, light kisses over your neck, jaw, cheeks and he slowly pulls out with a hiss. You lay there on the table, not wanting to move even as he gets off of you, not in any rush, your eyes slip closed as you feel him leave, no more points of contact. 

Hands lock onto your hips and tug, you make a sound of surprise as your sweat slick back slides across the metal table with ease, you prop up on your elbows and the view is heart stopping. Him there, on his knees, your legs now over his shoulders, his mouth dragging up your inner thigh and more smudges of black paint are transferred. He looks insanely hot right now, hungry eyes, his face a wreck with all those different aforementioned substances, his mouth getting higher and higher and you ask, “What are you doing, Buddy?”

“I made a big mess tonight. I’m just taking responsibility-” His thumbs rub over your hip bones and he leans in, tongue licking from hole to up and over your clit, you tense with a loud moan and he pulls back, licking his lips and a soft laugh rumbles out before he tells you, “-and cleaning up.” 

You are sure he is more than capable of cleaning up his messes and after he cleans up the one he left inside you then he will deal with the one that has grown cold on the floor, but he wouldn’t have to do the ladder alone, you would help. It’s the least you could do.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"It Now Belongs To You" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 2/10: "Sailing Lessons" Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: T Word Count: (2.2K/10.6K) Summary: When Emma and Killian receive a pair of magic beans as a wedding gift, they take a voyage on the Jolly Roger for their honeymoon- but a wrench is thrown into their romantic getaway when they run into a notorious pirate who's staked a claim on the Jolly Roger. Chapter Summary: Now that their voyage on The Jolly Roger is beginning, Emma decides it's time to dress the part- and Killian is awestruck as ever. He then teaches her how to steer The Jolly Roger and they share some sweet moments together. Tags: post-canon, canon compliant, fluff, no smut, suggestive themes, alcohol, gambling, self indulgent fluff with a sprinkling of angst Author's notes: I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as you loved the last one! Cheers!

Also on Ao3!

Emma took a final glance in the mirror in the captain's quarters. How long Killian had been holding onto a piratesque outfit that was conveniently a perfect fit for her was beyond her understanding, but she cut quite the figure in it. The shirt was white, cut low, and it paired with a flowing black skirt with a side slit cut almost too high. There's nothing too incredibly piratey about that, but when matched with a jeweled belt, a few jeweled bracelets, and mismatched earrings- as well as a hairstyle that Emma felt fell somewhere between Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth Swann- the overall effect was, well, rather piratesque.

 As soon as David had heard about Hook and Emma's plan to visit the Enchanted Forest, he'd made sure Emma was well equipped with the finest sword- who knew her dad's overprotective nature could be so cool sometimes?- and she slid the sword into the sheath in her belt, completing the whole ensemble.

 She walked down the ship's hallway to the top deck, stepping through the hatch into the sunlight. Once she was topside, she made her way up the stairs to the top deck, where her husband stood at the wheel.

 Traditionally in this realm, he'd wear his captain's jacket, but apparently the day was warm enough that he felt the need to forego it, wearing instead simply his his leather pants and a black button down shirt- half the buttons unbuttoned, of course, but Emma didn't expect anything less from him.

 She was a bit taken aback at how at peace he looked, falling in love even more with him just simply seeing him in his element, at home at the helm. How she’d managed to land the hottest pirate in all the realms was still a mystery to her, but she counted herself fortunate to have done so.

 His tranquil moment was interrupted by her presence, but in the way chocolate chips interrupt a batch of cookies, or the way the bloopers interrupt the end credits- like that moment was merely a vessel for her arrival. He turned to her with a dazzling smile, but when he saw her it fell into an awestruck one, eyes widening, jaw dropping.

 He looked at her like he'd been looking for her all of his life- and wasn't about to lose her, like she was a typhoon and he was ready to be devastated, like she was his light and world.

 Emma blushed a little as she realized that he was looking at her, looking at her again like she was everything he ever wanted, ever needed. She glanced down at her shoes, wondering what Killian thought of her new look- but she quickly realized she didn't need to read his mind to know she had him wrapped around her little finger right now- and she may as well have a little fun with it.

 She walked up to him and placed her hand and chin on his shoulders, whispering in his ear even though they were the only ones around.

 "Smooth sailing today, captain?" She asked.

 His eyes were still glued to her, and he blinked a few times and nodded in response, then swallowed the lump in his throat.

 "Aye, love," he said, breathlessly, and stepped back so he could see her whole form better, "Gosh, Swan."

 "Something catch your eye, captain?" She smiled a little and winked.

 He shook his head, smile so wide and breath so heavy a laugh followed it.

 "I wish, I, I don't have the words- not the ones you deserve. Any attempt I could make to convey your beauty to you with my feeble words would be an insult, a cheap apparation reflected against rough waters." He took a step back closer to her, and touched her chin, lifting her head, almost as though he was unsure she was real.

 Emma didn't know how to respond to that besides blushing and placing her hand on his wrist, her other hand on his face.

 "I love you." He said, "I love you. I love you. I love you. No matter how many times I say it, it still doesn't feel like enough."

 "I know what you mean." Emma smiled, "I love you too, Killian. I love you more than words can say."

 He smiled, blushing a little. "Maybe… maybe we could use our lips for more than just words then?"

 "I'd like that."

 "Oh, thank heavens." He smiled, "I couldn't bear another second."

 His response was rushed, as he wasn't usually a man of few words, but his passion seemed to overtake him, and he threw his arms around her as his lips met hers. He held her tightly, her hands on his chest, his hand and hook chasing each other across her back and her side.

 She slid her hands down his shirt, then under his shirt, and up his back, tracing patterns in his skin like ancient runes.

 "Oh," he breathed down her throat "oh, oh, yes, love."

 "Your shirt would be off by now if we were below deck." Emma teased.

 "Then what are we doing up here?" He asked, and she squealed a little as he picked her up.

 "Shouldn't someone be at the wheel?" Emma asked, draping one of her arms around his neck, "You ordered the men to stay below decks so we can have the topside to ourselves."

 "I can call them back up here." Killian said, and he began kissing her again, still holding her in his arms.

 "There'll be plenty of time for that tonight." Emma pulled back. "I'd still like lessons in steering your ship before we next make port."

 "As you wish." He sighed and rolled his eyes as he set her down gently in front of the wheel.

 "Now," and he turned her around, taking her hands in his hand and hook, and placing them on the pegs of the wheel, guiding her arms with his, "steering a ship isn't much different from driving a car- turn the wheel portside, go portside, turn it starboardside," and he shifted the wheel in their arms a little, "go starboardside."

 "Sounds simple enough"

 "The difference between this vessel and your yellow bug though is that, while the dangers of a car involve speed, the danger of a ship comes in its size, making it hard to maneuver. You need to think a few steps ahead, and watch the horizon."

 "Got it." Emma nodded.

 "And you also have to make sure you don't get off course." He took his hand off the wheel a second to gesture with it, then placed it on Emma's hand. "We're heading due north, but if we veer from our course half a hook breadth, we could find ourselves miles off course in half an hour."

 Emma looked down at the compass on the "dashboard." (Killian had never told her what that part of the ship was called, but since the steering wheel was mounted onto it, it only made sense to refer to it as such to herself.)

 "Looks like we're a little off course."

 "Aye, love." Killian said. "You catch on quick."

 "I've got a good teacher."

 They turned the wheel together and set themselves back on course.

 "Think you're ready to steer it on your own?" Killian asked.

 "Yeah." Emma said, "I think I got it."

 He took his hands off hers and placed his right hand on her shoulder, his thumb resting on her collarbone, on the bare skin her wide-cut shirt revealed. His hook rested on her side.

 "This is nice." Emma said. "Almost soothing."

 "Aye." Killian smiled. "I've spent many a year staring out at these very seas, across the deck of this very ship, hoping the waters could smooth and erode the rough edges of a hole in my heart I thought could only be filled with revenge." He chuckled a little. "But it turns out all I needed was love- for someone to see the darkness I reveled in and encourage me to pull myself back into the light."

 "That's what I needed too." Emma said. "I had a hole in my heart- lost love, and parents, and friends- and I chose to fill it by blocking it off and pretending it wasn't there. If it wasn't for you, I probably wouldn't've stayed in Storybrooke."

 "Neither would I without you." He said. "I may have helped you realize you had a home, but you, you gave me a home. Thank you."

 "You're welcome."

 She felt his lips on the top of her head, then his hand gently massaging her shoulder.

 "That's good." She nodded and smiled and bit her lip.

 "Manning the helm can often leave one sore." He said, "Especially for those less experienced. A good shoulder rub can help. I only wish…"

 She thought she felt his hook leave her side and turned down to see if it had, then followed it with her eyes to where he looked down at it in shame.

 "Killian," she said, taking her hands off the wheel and placing them on his hook, "I love you just as you are. You know that, right?"

 "Be honest. Would you love me more…"

 "Hook." She said. "That's the only name I knew you by for so long, and before I met you, Captain Hook was some cartoon fool, some guy always getting chased around by a crocodile or something- but you, you're a hero, my hero."

 She pulled his arm closer, placing his hook over her heart. "Now, when I hear the word 'hook,' I think of a man who sacrifices, who fights for those he loves, who's not gonna back down in the face of any fear. This hook is a reminder that you loved someone so passionately you were willing to sacrifice for them- that no matter what, deep down, you're always the man I fell in love with, the one who fights for true love.

 "So, no." Emma said, holding his hook as naturally as though it were his hand, "I wouldn't love you more if you had a second hand- I can't love you any more than I already do- I love you, hook and all," and she brought his hook to her lips and kissed it as a knight might when meeting a fair maiden, "and don't you forget it."

 He pulled her hands to his lips with his hook and nodded, then kissed both her hands. He then swung his arm over her head and she followed it, now facing the wheel again.

 Emma turned the wheel again, as they'd strayed a hair off course, and Hook placed his hand on her shoulder again, this time a little closer to her neck, more of his fingers on her bare skin.

 And as Emma stood there, dressed as a pirate at the helm of a ship, her hot pirate husband rubbing her shoulder, nothing around but them and open sea, she thought to herself that nothing, nothing, could be more perfect than that quiet moment together- and then she realized she was wrong, because the moment somehow became even more perfect, because, ever so softly, but sweetly, and deeply, Killian began singing.

 It wasn't a song Emma knew, and it didn't sound like any shanty she was familiar with, melody like a lullaby and lyrics like a lovesong- but she ignored the "forest," the words he sang, for the "trees," for how the notes dripped from his lips, like crashing waves against the beach, like her own personal symphony.

 She sighed and leaned back a little, resting her head on his chest and smiling at up at him. His hook brushed her hair out of her face so he could see her more clearly, and his hand trickled across her shoulder, then down her side, then around her waist, resting on her other side, thumb stroking her waist slowly, with the tempo of his song. He wrapped his left arm around her as well, arms crossed near her heart- much like how a pirate buries treasure under an "X," Emma found herself buried under his embrace.