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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

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Good Lord. This fic is everything!

🦩➩ 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝟏/𝟓)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Trailer Park!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | trailer park neighbours-to-lovers, meet-cute, fluff, AGE GAP, dilf bartender!Ari, Ari Levinson x OCs, reader x OCs (mentioned), innocent!reader, cigarette use, alcohol, 6’7” Ari, beefy hunk!Ari, soft!Ari, dom!Ari, flirting, nicknames, size difference, sugar daddy!Ari, rockstar!Ari, drunk!Natasha is funny, SMUT - minors DNI, accidental voyeurism: protected sex (p in v), dirty talk, daddy kink, degradation, dumbification, spitting, ends with second hand embarrassment (maybe)

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | The sun is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole-damn city?

♫ ·ﾟ𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝗪/𝗖 | 4.67K

𝗔/𝗡 | and he has arrived !! This fic is more of a cross between 80s/90s/00s vibes. Get ready for carefree trailer park shenanigans, everyone here is vulgar (except reader) and ofc, major thank you to everyone who sent asks, you’ve all helped me write this fic !! All mistakes are my own. ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

˗ˏˋ 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It must be following me, you think to yourself and move once again as the sun beams down brutally. You shift to the side, pressing yourself against the filling station, the blueberry popsicle falling victim to the summer heat in your hand.

Old Ricky’s is one of the many gas stations in the area, but it’s the closest to Flamingo Trailer Park which made it the perfect temporary job, temporary because you doubt you’ll be here next month.

It’s far better than the last one you worked at—Mary Jane’s had broken windows, a busted air conditioner, and smelt an awful lot like stale coffee. The reputation wasn’t the best either, plenty of the high school kids would steal like it was nothing, and Mrs. Jane didn’t bat an eye.

You often felt out of place in that dingy station, at least Old Ricky’s was clean, had a television and radio, and a fully functioning air conditioner. Mr. Ricky was a kind man, he didn’t tolerate stealing or even cursing, “I deal with enough of that foul-mouthed attitude at home, don’t need it here too, honeypie.”

Your heart breaks a little as the blue treat drips down the stick to your hand. Mr. Ricky let you have all the popsicles you wanted, as long as you kept yourself clean and presentable for the customers. At this time of day when the sun is at its highest, the station was drier than a desert, but you didn’t favour sticky hands while working. You feel around your denim shorts for a napkin, but come up empty.

Tires roll on the concrete, and after a quick peek over your shoulder, you spot a big red Chevrolet truck with thick white stripes on the sides. It’s tall, at least two—maybe more—feet off the ground with rolled-down windows and music blaring from the speakers.

You fumble with your popsicle, trying to finish it while not making a mess, god, and you really need a napkin.

The truck stops a few ways away, the door opens and closes as you put your heart-shaped sunglasses over your eyes.

“You sell smokes in there?”

You whip around, eyes wide with the cold popsicle between your lips, “Yes, s’hir.” You answer, mouth still full of the sugary treat as a few drops escape from the corners of your lips. “All kinds—I don’t know what you prefer, but I bet Mr. Ricky’s got it!”

He’s tall, seemingly perfect for his vehicle with his broad shoulders and built stature. His peach flannel is unbuttoned all the way, exposing an off-white tank top and the shiny buckle of his belt. The clean leather is looped in his blue jeans that outline his muscled thighs all the way down to his brown boots.

He seems a smidge familiar, perhaps you’ve seen him down at the Flamingo. And right now, those clothes do nothing to hide what’s underneath, he’s big, thick, and burly, you know that much and are a little ashamed as your mind teeters on the edge of the gutter.

He could probably crush you like a bug.

Your eyes flicker back up to his, and he’s already staring at you. His clear blue eyes trail over your face, and down your sweaty neck.

His dark eyebrows are furrowed from the bright sunshine, and a beard covers half his face but that doesn’t conceal any of his strong, handsome features. Thick eyelashes frame his cerulean eyes, brushing his cheekbones that are only defined by the brown facial hair, complementing his plump pink lips in a way that makes your knees a little weak.

You don’t realize the popsicle has melted down your face until he holds out a napkin.

“You’re making a mess, sugar.”

When he steps closer, your throat tightens. He’s very, very tall, you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze.

“What’s your name?”

It’s only three words but his voice strums you just right—deep, creamy and confident, with a twang of an accent you can’t identify.

“P-Pardon?” You manage,

The man chuckles, his big hand hooks in his belt loops as he cocks his hip, “I asked for your name, sweetheart.”

He drops the ‘r’ when he speaks, and admittedly, it’s got you swooning. Your eyes flicker to the waist of his jeans where the denim meets his tanned skin, but you quickly look away as the hem slips a little further down. This man carries himself with nothing less than self-assurance.

The air starts feeling a little hotter, and you suspect it isn’t because of the sun.

You introduce yourself, nervously wiping your chin with the napkin. The white fabric of your shirt is stretched and worn from the blistering heat, and already stained with the last popsicles you had.

The man runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair, licking his lips. “C’mon, kitty cat, fill ‘er up for me, half a tank.”

He leans on his truck, lighting a cigarette as you pump the gas. The humid wind brushes along your slick skin, and you plead for it to take away those lingering nerves, but alas, those stupid shys—as Natasha calls them—are stuck to you like glue.

You can feel his eyes on you, mapping out your features like a fleeting traveller. The last exhale of his cigarette is followed by a low sigh, “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You finish up pumping the gas and step back to the filling station, “I, uh, usually work closer to downtown.”

He nods and holds out a wad of bills between his ring-clad fingers. His shiny watch catches the light, it doesn’t look like the cheap ones people have tried to sell you, but it does resemble the ones from the pawn shop you used to work at.

“Oh, sir, this is too much—”

“The rest is for you, and it’d be real impolite to deny a gift.”

Clutching the cash to your chest, you peer at the station where Mr. Ricky was asleep at the checkout, work boots kicked up on the counter with his baseball cap pulled low over his wrinkled face. “Thank you, sir.”

“You can call me Ari.” He says easily, “Are you going inside any time soon?”

You shake your head, “Mr. Ricky is gonna call me for my break.”

His blue eyes fall on the station before he starts walking away, his heavy feet thumping on the ground, “Do you like cherries?” He calls over his shoulder.

“Um, yes?” You shout, fingers knotted in front of you, “wait, why—” but it’s too late, the bell dings before the glass door shuts.

You’re tending to another customer when Ari returns. As you half-listen to the older lady curse the blazing weather, he nods at you, setting a colourful little packet and a large plastic cup on that wooden bench by the newspaper stand. The woman is talking your ear off, as he hops into his truck, barely struggling with the height off the ground.

His eyes land on yours before he waves, the ghost of a smile blooming on his pink lips.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t trust a man who drives a Chevy.” The older woman interrupts, big sunglasses taking up most of her face, “All my ex-husbands had one, those things are cursed.”

What are the chances it’s the vehicle, and not the other constant, which would be herself?

You silently wish she didn’t tell you that, because knowing your gullible tendencies, you’ll load every one of those preconceived notions on the handsome stranger. You only spoke to him for a few minutes, nothing more, nothing less.

“You know why they’ve got all that room in the back?” She leans close, bubblegum painted lips in a deep frown, “It’s for the hundreds of hearts they break.”

After what seemed like forever, the older woman finally leaves. She had nearly told you her entire life story, dragging on and on about her ex-husbands and her new, young and fresh fiance living a few miles away.

Now, with slow, hesitant steps towards the station, you find yourself staring down at a bag of assorted gummies, they’re your favourite fruity flavours and next to it is a cherry cola slurpee with a pink straw. There’s a note under the cup, neat handwriting on the small sticky note:

‘Ricky said it’s fine for you to sit out front in the shade. Can’t have you overheating, keep cool, sugar.’

You don’t realize he didn’t even buy any cigarettes until he’s long gone.

“How do you do that?”

Natasha turns to you with that signature red-lipped smirk, “Easy, I make ‘em think I’m interested. Flirting on a Friday night is a game and you’ve got to be the best player if you wanna get your fill.” She adjusts her breasts in her tight dress, flipping her vibrant hair over her bare shoulder.

You make a face, anxiously tugging at the hem of your sundress. It was on the shorter side with a cute bow on each of your shoulders, the ditsy floral design made you stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of denim and leather. But you wanted to wear it because you adored the colour since it complemented your skin, and it was fitting in all the right places. Natasha even let you borrow some of her jewelry to complete your outfit, she wanted you to wear heels too, but you were set on your little white sneakers.

You hadn’t been to this bar before, much preferring the one on 5th Avenue where they had karaoke nights.

For your first trip to The Den, it was going pleasantly. You found comfortable seats at the bar, the music was a little out of your comfort zone but it was catchy, and Natasha let you have a few sips of her free drinks.

“C’mon, I’ll teach you. Watch him for a moment.” She points across the bar where another man was leaning close to a woman, a charming grin on his lips as he made her laugh. Then, almost like magic, after he scoots closer and tilts his head, she waves her hand, beckoning the bartender over.

You gulp, watching him swing an arm around her shoulder and speak into her ear. “Looks like… they’re together.”

“It just looks that way, but I’ll bet that he’s going home with someone else.” Natasha sips on her cocktail, “Maybe if he wanted her, he would’ve offered her a drink.”

By that logic, buying drinks was a ticket to the bedroom. Which only makes it more surprising when a fresh drink is placed in front of you. The glass lands on the wooden countertop as Natasha playfully nudges your shoulder.

You blink down at it, shivering at the thought of getting intimate with a stranger tonight. “Excuse me, I-I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house, sugar.”

The bartender stands before you, those familiar blue eyes twinkle under the light fixtures, the yellow glow outlines the high points of his chiselled face and defines the dips and curves.

His hair falls over his eyes, “Did you like the cherry cola? Ricky said those treats were your favourites.”

And maybe you pinned the sticky note on your corkboard above your bed, and have spent hours staring at it upside down, daydreaming of the single meeting like it was the beginning of a fairytale.

Tonight, Ari is dressed in a dark blue flannel with the top buttons undone, exposing his brawny chest dusted with thick hair. Your gaze lingers there for a moment too long, your mouth watering at the sliver of skin.

The awkwardness washes over you, practically spreading to every inch of the bar, and you fumble for a response. “I-I, yes, I do—”

“Thank you, she means to say.” The redhead rubs your back, whispering under her breath through her wide smile, “Don’t get the stupid shys, or so help me.”

Someone calls his name, “Well, tell her it’s no problem.”

“Hey, sweetie, the hunky bartender says it’s no problem.”

You’re a mess under his watchful gaze as he laughs quietly before turning to exchange a few words with a blonde bartender. Trying to get a hold of yourself, you grip the glass and tuck your other hand between your thighs, “I heard, Nat.”

She holds up her hands, casually turning to the new woman next to her, her empty glass forgotten on the countertop. Turning on the charm like a switch.

Ari faces you again, his big hands braced on the smooth dark wood, “How have you been? Keepin’ cool in the heat?” His silver knuckles gleam, the chunky skull ring sitting snug on his middle finger.

“Good and yes, um, the hours at the candy shop stretch on a little too long sometimes, but it’s inside and I get freebies every shift.”

“A new job?” He frowns, “you don’t work at Old Ricky’s anymore?”

You sip the drink, it’s delightfully sweet, the berries exploding on your tongue. There’s a slight burn from the alcohol but nothing too strong. “I never have the same job for long. Left the station a week ago, I think.”

He cocks a brow, “Don’t tell me you’re one of them irresponsible gals who fuck in the supply closet.”

You quickly shake your head, “N-No! I’ve, I’ll never do that…”

“Never is a strong word, sugar.”

In the closet? With that old broom and the endless array of tissue paper on the ceiling tall shelves?

Never, you promise yourself, never with any of those customers at the station—well, except for one, maybe.

“I get bored easily, and there are so many things to do in the city, lots of fun shops.”

Ari hums thoughtfully, his shoulders looking broader as he leans forward, “Is everyone kind to you? Even your old bosses?”

You happily nod with your lips sealed around the straw, loving the array of flavours, “Yes, they’ll even call me if they need some help in the shop and always give me something for the trouble.”

“Do you still work for them?”

“I-It’s just favours.” You briefly consider your actual life choices, they were peculiar, but they were yours.

“That you get paid for.” It isn’t a question, more of an amused observation.

“Not always in money!” You correct, “Sometimes in food, like at that fancy restaurant by the beach, I got free meals for the whole week, or in merchandise. Just last month, Tamera gave me a new kettle after I watched the shop for a few hours!”

Ari nods, chuckling, “Damn, a new kettle? Maybe I’ll have to apply at Tamera’s soon.”

You giggle around the straw, not even noticing your drink is empty until your straw makes a noise.

“Sounds to me that you have jobs all over the city, I’ve always loved women with a work ethic.”

Is this it? Are you flirting with him, or is it just a conversation?

The only thing you’re positive of is that he’s definitely flirting, has been since you got here. You stiffen, staring down at the ice cubes in the glass, and clenching your thighs together, was this his ticket into your bed?

Oh no, you hope he wouldn’t think your floral and lace hemmed sheets were childish, they were your favourite, and they were free after you helped Mr. Brown with his shop a few weekends ago.

You like Ari, you really like him.

“Levinson, Danvers! You’re up!”

“Coming!” He replies, taking the empty glass from your hand. When your skin brushes his, an undeniable warmth tingles through your body, making you shiver on the barstool. And this dark, humid bar feels like it’s on the sun instead of some lost and lively city.

You’re about to speak but Ari cuts you off, “It’s on the house again. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to pay for drinks, ever.”

“Curtis!” He calls, waving to the man with the buzzcut on the other side of the bar, “anything she wants, it’s free of charge.”

His friend snorts, smirking as he swings a towel over his shoulder, “it’s coming out of your paycheck, man.”

“Yes, boss.” Ari rolls his eyes, then trails his gaze over your features, they linger on your parted lips. “I’ve got the cash to spare. Don’t be shy, sugar, order whatever your gentle heart desires, got it?”

“Not only did you get free drinks and food all night, but for the rest of your fucking life.” Natasha swings you around excitedly. “From the cherry cola guy! You wouldn’t shut up about him that first day, and I can fully understand why.”

You giggle, “isn’t he a dreamboat?”

“Oh, he’s a fantasy on legs, just like you, baby! I’ll admit, I thought the two of you would disappear into the washroom.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Ah—not in public!”

“Not yet, I know you and you aren’t as vanilla as you let on…” She sings, wrapping you in a tight hug, her sweaty skin against yours as she leans on you for support. “I can’t even take a pinch of credit! You did it all yourself, princess, your mama would be proud of you.”

She would, and she’d ask for all the details about the prince charming in denim. “I just—I didn’t even do anythin’!”

As Ari and Danvers performed on the stage, you sat at the bar, fully entranced by their essence and hearty tune. His long hair and shaded eyes captivated you in every way, even from his stool behind the blonde woman who sang a popular rock song. Her voice was undoubtedly gifted and paired with his skilled fingers gliding over the guitar as the soothing, everyone was victim to their show.

People danced to the deep rock ‘n roll that filled The Den, hot touches and heavy kisses exchanged in the booths and on the floor. Between sipping on fruity drinks, and munching on your unlimited supply of french fries and nachos, you couldn’t look away from Ari—at that moment, he was your Mr. Rock ‘n Roll.

Towards the end of the set, he stood up, his shirt fully unbuttoned and fluttering with each rock of his hips, magical fingers playing a rumbling bass that you could feel in your cells.

Right now, you can still feel the lingering effects of his godly talent.

“You feel that?” Your best friend yanks you close, staring down at you with her green eyes. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips as she wraps an arm behind your back, pulling you closer, “Do you feel that?”

You’re trapped and wildly caught off guard, perhaps she had too many free drinks tonight. “Uh, no?”

She leans down, going cross-eyed. “That’s fucking power. And you’re drippin’ with it.” She kisses your forehead before spinning you, drunkenly shouting at the top of her lungs, “My girls finally got a hunky fella to take care of her and I’m gonna fuckin’ cry!”

“What’s this I hear about crying?” A red Chevy pulls up next to you, the driver’s arm hanging out with a burning cigarette pinched between his knuckles. “You two ladies all right?”

A force shoves you forward, and you barely have a chance to stand upright. “Nat!” You scold, “I’m sorry, she’s had too much to drink.”

“Seems like it.” Ari notes, “You two want a ride?”

Yes, a little voice in your head pleads, but you remember the last time you went out with Natasha, your other friend, Wanda came too and her husband picked you all up from the bar. And, Natasha, buzzing with her endless free drinks vomited all over the backseats, narrowly missing your lap.

It was probably best that you two didn’t ruin Ari’s nice truck anyway.

“We’ll walk, it’s only the next block and I think the fresh air will do her good.” You cover your face in embarrassment as Natasha plops on a park bench, neck craned at an angle that can’t be comfortable, she starts singing an off-tune rendition of a Christmas carol.

“You sure? I don’t know if I can let you two be alone this late at night.”

He’s right, even this late on a Friday, the streets are as quiet as a library, and the chances of running into someone were low. Ari wasn’t a complete stranger, but you didn’t feel absolutely comfortable when Natasha was drunk out of her mind. He must sense your hesitance.

Ari ends up giving you his number, whistling low as he types the ten digits into your cute little cellphone. He returns the device and compliments the dangling heart pendant. “I mean it, text me or I’m starting a damn search party.”

Your heart flutters, “I promise—as long as you let me know too. I wanna know when you get home safe.”

“Ain’t that sweet,” Ari murmurs lowly, leaning closer with one hand on the wheel, “You this sweet with everyone in the city?”

You shrug, “sometimes… My mama says kindness is what makes the world go ‘round. Then, my cousin said if the world stopped moving, we’d die.”

A loud laugh escapes Ari’s lips, his cigarette smoke wrapping around you like a warm grey blanket. “Sounds like you’ve got a lovely family, sugar. You know what they say about girls from good families?”

The darkness of the night seeps into Ari’s throat, draping every word in a gravelly, comforting voice that pulls you in like a fish on the line.

“N-No.”

“Usually, they’re family-orientated, and for the most part, those gals are great mothers.”

Your toes curl in your sneakers as he takes a final pull from his cigarette, flicking it off to the side. The smoke floats from his lips slow and steady. “Oh, my parents want me married before having kids.”

“So, I’ve got to marry you first?”

You choke on air, fisting the skirt of your dress. “What?”

“I’m joking, sugar.” He is, sort of anyway. He watches the pensive expression linger on your face and casually winks. “I think your friend needs your help.” He nods down the street.

You follow his gaze and gasp, Natasha is lying half on the bench, her arms sprawled over her head and legs hanging off the side. In a dash, you stumble towards her, calling over your shoulder, “Sorry Ari—Nat, get up!”

She’s muttering to herself when you come closer, and with dazed eyes, she makes grabby hands. “There she is, aren’t you glad you came tonight? He’s tall and sexy, plays guitar and sings, I probably should’ve dragged you along sooner—” She hiccups, “You and Ari really hit it off. If that ain’t true love, I don’t know what is.”

Ari pulls up next to you, sunglasses holding back his long brown hair. “I’ll wait up for your text, sweetheart. You two get home safe.” Then, that red truck passes slowly before speeding up down the street.

Biting on your lip, you watch him turn a corner and disappear, then heave up Natasha, grunting softly as she hangs off you like dead weight. Her hands pull your head closer, pressing your cheeks together so she can whisper in your ear, “Oh, wait, do you hear that?”

You pant, struggling to see through the dimly lit street. “Huh? No?”

“It’s fucking wedding bells!” She shakes your shoulders, drunkenly cackling while spinning the two of you around once more. “I’m gonna be a maid of honour!”

It’s a few days later, the sun is as cruel as ever on the Flamingo Trailer Park. Today, you and Natasha spend the day by the park pool, lounging in the striped chairs until your other friend, Wanda came by with her children. The kids loved the pool, they also loved whenever you brought your floaties.

You fell victim to their adorable pouts and set off on the short walk back to your trailer to retrieve them. You haven’t been home since the weekend because of these dramatically blazing days. Natasha’s trailer was far bigger than yours and had the best air conditioner, she was always stocked with fizzy cherry colas too. You suspected you’d be spending a lot of time in the ‘Widow’s Web’ this summer.

There’s a familiar truck is parked next to your trailer. It’s deep red with white stripes, and high off the ground. The for-sale sign is also gone, and a few plants and lounge chairs sit on the small patio.

As you search for your key, you hear odd noises. Listening closer, you can make out the creaking, slapping skin, moans and groans. Only then do you notice the dull rocking of the trailer—oh goodness.

Your curiosity drags you to the open window and clutching your towel to your chest, you stand on your tippy-toes.

A gasp nearly escapes you, but you slap a hand over your mouth as blood rushes to your face, making your knees tremble.

You can’t see her face because it’s shoved into a pillow, but her skin is glowing. Sticky with sweat and other fluids, the faceless woman is bent over the wide mattress. The sheets are wrinkled and clothes are skewed all over the place, hanging off other furniture.

The long-haired man ruts into her from behind, her hair tight in his fist as he spits profanities. “Fucking whore, you gonna come again already? You like daddy’s cock in your little cunt, fucking those thoughts from your head?”

And just like that, you’re absolutely hooked, biting on the side of your finger as he spanks her ass, shoving her further up the bed.

From this angle, you can’t see much and it almost makes you pout. You can’t catch a glimpse of his cock, but judging from the woman’s breathy moans, it’s got to be hitting all the right places. He’s so big behind her, dripping with glory and dominance as his muscles flex under his taut, tanned skin.

You watch him suck his thumb before bringing it down, and a moment later, the faceless woman whines, greedily meeting his thrusts. Her other hand slips between her thighs, her moans pouring out like fresh lemonade in a glass.

He grunts through clenched teeth, “Yeah, you gonna let daddy fuck your ass too? Split that hole open on my fat cock, make you cry like the stupid slut you are.”

And then, your heart stops. Your ears flooded with something red hot, as your bones transform to metal, melting your feet to the burning ground.

He meets your gaze, groaning deep and heavy. His thrusts get rougher, driving forward with something else—more purpose—and he smirks.

“You like that, huh?”

He draws back, his cock bobbing against his lower stomach, the condom is slick and clinging to his girth. You gnaw harder on your finger, desperately wishing to see him bare, memorize—and touch every protruding vein and feel his weight in your palm, the fat, mushroom tip between your fingers, inside of you in every damn hole. Your bikini bottoms are soaked and sticky, your juices dripping down your thighs.

“That’s it, good girl.” Ari spits down, the saliva lands on his length before he rams forward, sliding deep within the woman while keeping his gaze locked on you, sweet little you. “Knew you were a filthy girl, that innocent little face didn’t fool me. You like that? Tell daddy how much you like that.”

The woman cries a muffled reply, nodding and reaching for a pillow.

He squeezes his fist, pressing her into the plush mattress. Ari’s eyes darken like the night sky, and his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Those words draw you back to the present, and your face erupts in heat, so damn hot you can barely breathe. Your towel flutters to the dirt ground as you drop low, sweeping it up and dashing away. The sound of your flip-flops in sync with that lewd, disgustingly hot sound of slapping skin.

Later that night, you get a text message:

I didn’t know this trailer came with a peeping tom, much less you, sugar.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: and here we go, all aboard the dirty trailer daddy express !!

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! Expect the next part soon, but please I don’t have an update schedule, so I’ll just let everyone know the specific date. Please don’t ask !!

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

Text

I absolutely LOVE how long this chapter is! It’s so good and well written! Thank you!

φ⌎ 𝟏. 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | dark alpha!fratboy!Steve Rogers x omega sorority!reader (dark A/B/O college AU)

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | DARK themes/elements, A/B/O dynamics, 6’6” Steve, mean!Steve, manipulation, (little bit of) soft!DARK, misogyny (within A/B/O designations), assault, sexual tension, scenting, SMUT - minors DNI, non-con to dub-con, coercion, fingering (f), dirty talk, daddy kink, size difference, degradation, dumbification, choking, spitting, p*ssy slapping, squirting, grinding (dry humping, bulge riding), spanking, (a hint of) dacryphilia (but not really, he does lick tears though), major power imbalance, possessive behaviour

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | It’s hell week at Howard College and Arcadia Phi has traded their pledges for the fresh faces of Kappa Phi, and you’re one of them. Based off this ask.

𝗪/𝗖 | 9.88K

𝗔/𝗡 | here we go ! and because this is me, the frat is full of familiar characters. I made up the frat/sorority names, steve gives me bully vibes (a bully to other people) but it’s just him acting all high and mighty bc he’s an alpha. pls don’t ask me about frat/sorority chapters, i’m making things up/changing things in this fic. all mistakes are my own. this is a dark fic, the warnings have been given—if you don’t like it, don’t read.

˗ˏˋ𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

A loud banging on the door makes you jump before you blindly scramble for your clothes. Squinting is useless in the darkness, but you make out the vague shadow looming from under the door as an unmistakable musk follows. It’s woody and smokey, and has been burnt into your brain the moment you walked into the frat house.

“What’s taking so long, legacy! Those floorboards aren’t going to scrub themselves.” A deep voice booms, followed by another round of knocks as the doorknob rattles. “You better come out before we come in.”

“Let her hide, Bucky.” Someone else laughs, “We’ll see how long until Steve breaks the door down.”

You swing open the door, “I wasn’t hiding.” You correct in irritation, holding your clothes to your chest.

“Awfully suspicious amount of time in there then. You know, some girls just got changed out in the open.” Another man quips, his cardigan hanging over his shoulders, “Why couldn’t you do the same, sweetheart? Are you shy?”

“Bryce, shut up.” The blond on your right speaks up, no longer a silent observer.

You meet those clear blue eyes that have been drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Almost subconsciously, you take a step backwards to put some distance between the two of you.

Steve is leaning on the wall, his thick arms crossed over his defined chest, the seams of his t-shirt nearly burst as he flexes. “Why did you take so long?”

You uncomfortably shift as dozens of leers fall on you, searing straight through the skimpy maid costume. “The lightbulb went out and I couldn’t see.” You tug on the back of the dress, hoping to save at least an ounce of your dignity.

The alpha stares at you a minute longer, analyzing your features before snapping his fingers. “One of you get on the counter and change the light.”

A girl your age surges forward, a bright and suave smile on her face as she passes the frat brothers. You keep your head up and slip out of the dark bathroom.

A warmth ghosts your arm, a slow Brooklyn drawl following suit, “Better get with the others, legacy.”

After tucking away your clothes, you sink back into the small crowd of girls, each of you is clad in your costumes. Varying in colour combinations, but all in the same style, right down to the little lace apron around your waists.

The volunteer from earlier returns, a skip in her step as she takes position front and centre, she’s one of the few girls completely comfortable in these circumstances.

Steve walks forward, exchanging a few words with a brunet alpha. You scan over his body, begrudgingly admiring the way his shirt clings to his biceps, well-built chest and tapering to his thin waist. Finally, you reach his long legs and thick thighs outlined by his dark jeans, but before your eyes can go rogue, you feel a nudge.

Wanda is smiling cheekily. “The pictures didn’t do him justice, right?”

You briefly recall the various photos plastered on the school’s website and social media—Steve Rogers, one of the most prominent figures at Howard College. Most known for being the captain of the football team and the vice president of his fraternity, which itself was exclusively for male alphas, leading to a rowdy bunch of men with egos the size of the moon.

You turn to Wanda and lie, “I don’t remember them.”

The beta looks unconvinced, as expected. Ever since you met her last year, she’s been able to read you like an open book, those inquisitive green eyes peeking through your brain to read the thoughts you haven’t organized yourself. Although, you’ve grown used to her poking and prodding, in an endearing way.

Glancing around at the other pledges, they’re all wearing the same hazy expression, utterly taken by the gods of campus a few feet away.

“You seem a little affected despite not remembering…” She trails off, wiggling her nose.

Your eyes widen and your arms wrap around you. “Really!”

“No, but now I know you were lying.” She replies smugly, flipping her long auburn hair over her shoulder. “As if I could pick you out amongst these ones.”

You deflate, thankful your body hadn’t proven that stereotype right—that omegas are sensual fiends and just easy toys—yet another conception that has haunted you for your whole life.

A loud clap echoes through the room, and everyone’s attention snaps to Steve. He’s taller and bigger than his frat brothers, naturally domineering every other person in the room as he slowly paces. “Welcome to Arcadia Phi, ladies, it’s a good thing you’re all easy on the eyes.” He pauses in front of one girl, frowning, “Almost all of you.”

The eruption of laughter makes you cower backwards, your chest aching for the poor girl. Steve was living up to his reputation as clear as day—the vain, cruelly praised star who couldn’t do any wrong, but on the off chance he did, no one would care. His high and mighty designation and status blind any accountability. You’ve only heard a handful of rumours where people disagreed with him, and only a few actually spoke up about it, but you don’t know what happened after the fact.

Who knows what these ruthless alphas are capable of?

The sons of other alphas who have had the world on a silver platter since their presentation. Taking over society with a snap of their fingers as everyone falls to their knees—in submission or fear.

You hated it, but it’s also all you’ve ever known. A little bit of hope sparks in your chest, a faint perhaps things will change. In your past year at this college, you’ve been blessed to avoid the inevitable consequences that come with being a young, unclaimed omega. The disrespect and objectification, and the horror stories of assault and things even worse.

It hurts even more because of your current predicament, dressed in the most scandalous outfit for the pleasure of these men.

It was unfair to be blessed to not face challenges that no one should ever come across. And, that perhaps burns brighter every time you daydream about a life without any struggles or hardships, where your thoughts and words matter, where your voice can be heard and not disregarded solely based on what you are.

Everyone else was given a chance to be something when they presented, for omegas, it was the opposite. The opportunities slip from your grasp before you can even consider them. Truly doomed by your predestined fate. A mere passenger to the life already written for you.

Howard College has stated multiple times that they’re all for omega rights, but their efforts and representation within the board and council are severely lacking. Their words are silenced by their actions, only confirming their true beliefs.

You weren’t surprised.

It was an awful reflection of society itself. The divide gets thicker every day, between alphas, betas and omegas. Alphas and betas were more common than omegas—but that didn’t halt any ill-treatment, it never did and you dread it never will. Growing up, you’ve heard stories about omega trafficking, and that in some places, breeding programs are still legalized and it’s mandatory for omegas to be claimed within five years of presenting.

At least you weren’t in any of those pieces of hell on earth.

Unfortunately, worldwide, omega rights are nothing but an afterthought. Something to consider after everything else has been handled and stabilized, only when there is care and consideration to spare.

Being at the bottom of the barrel, nothing you say or do could help—so you bite your tongue, tugging at your skirt. God, the more you thought about it, the angrier you got. The audacity and self-entitlement radiating from the men across the room were suffocating. But a voice in your head warns you to steer clear of the fratboys who are notorious for coining the term; omega slut walk.

The vice president stops in front of your side of the group, looming over a beta. When he flashes a charming smile, she sighs dreamily, “A few of you are quite pleasing to look at.”

Some of the girls giggle, flirtatiously fluttering their lashes.

Steve stops short, “I didn’t say I want to hear any of you.” He raises his hand as silence takes over, “That’s better. Just look pretty and do what we say, all right? Then, you’ll all be in our sister sorority.” He pauses, a short test for any rulebreakers, but there aren’t any and he nods in approval.

“Now, ladies, this house hasn’t been deep cleaned in a while.” He stands with his feet spread shoulder-width apart, “So, be thorough, be quiet unless you’re spoken to, and I’ll put in a good word with Maria. Got it?” Everyone silently nods. “You can speak.”

“Yes, Steve.” You all say at once.

The blond cockily grins at his friends. “Good girls, now, line up for your supplies.” He gestures to the kitchen.

The group of you move towards the doorway in a neat line, lips sealed tight as the fratboys talk amongst themselves. Some outrightly compliment the fit of the costumes, their muffled lewd comments make your cheeks heat up.

“Where’s Ari?” One of the betas asks, she’s at the end of the line with her arms crossed over her chest. “He’s the president, why isn’t he here?”

The tall blond quirks a brow, “Last time I checked, his whereabouts isn’t something you need to know.”

“You can’t give orders—I heard Maria made the deal with Ari, not you.”

Steve clears his throat, an unnerving gaze locked on her face. It drags on long enough that the line has completely stalled until someone pushes ahead. Now, you and Wanda stand by the kitchen doorway. You glance back again, and Steve hasn’t moved, neither has the girl—and it’s a flicker, barely noticeable from where you stand, but she slightly recoils. And, like that, Steve pounces.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get your pledge redacted.” His voice booms as he tilts his head, “Was it worth opening your mouth, beta?”

“I—”

“Curtis, open the door.” The brunet with a buzzcut clicks open the lock, welcoming the afternoon sun as a fresh breeze blows through, but it’s futile against the tension. “Go on, walk out. Leave because you’d rather speak than join Kappa Phi.”

The girl looks at everyone else, wordlessly begging for a saviour, a courageous person to stand up against the vice president but no one does. You’re all either too afraid or too infatuated to even dare and hopelessly, she leaves. Gathering her belongings and slowly walking out of the frat house.

“Maybe we should call this the stupid beta walk.” The man from earlier, Bryce scoffs.

It’s quite comedic watching the other alphas collectively sigh, as if they’re only aware of the doucheness when Bryce opens his mouth. It wouldn’t surprise you if that’s why they kept him around, to make them look better because even within their designations, alphas need to be the absolute best.

With an ego so vast it made room for a new one, blooming from right in the centre.

One of the other brothers pulls Steve aside, he’s the one who was banging on the bathroom door. Bucky is almost as tall as Steve but his hair is longer and darker. Their build is similar, packed with muscles straining against their clothes but Bucky’s skin is slightly more tanned.

Everyone takes turns gathering supplies; some grab a bottle of cleaner and a rag, others take a small bucket and a sponge. You’re one of the last ones and take a sponge and bucket, dipping your finger in the warm water as you retreat to the small group of girls. All of the different scents overwhelm your nose, ranging from antiseptic to bitter to intensely sweet, the betas surrounding you shake with anticipation.

Alphas give each of you tasks all around the house. Some are sent back to the kitchen, the living room or one of the bathrooms. You’re all dismissed with alphas to keep an eye on you, supervisors to bark out demands.

You’re following a few girls to the living room, then settling into a corner, dipping the sponge in the bucket before scrubbing the discolouration on the floorboards. It’s probably a spill from one of their legendary parties.

As you halfheartedly listen to the alphas talk to each other and the occasional vile comment, you remind yourself why you’re doing this.

Wanda’s gleaming face appears in your head, her eyes lighting up at the thought of belonging to the sorority, Kappa Phi, one of the best for betas and omegas—although there have only ever been a few omegas accepted. And unfortunately, you weren’t one of them last year and that’s how you met Wanda, bonding over being rejected from the sorority.

Wanda called Kappa Phi perfect, although not as known as Arcadia Phi. There wasn’t a fraternity like it, with the most celebrity alums and best leaders with successful lives. Sometimes you wonder how those self-serving souls were gifted with great lives, then you realize that’s how society treats alphas—feeding into their hunger, fueling their greed and egos.

Just like that, Wanda’s face transforms into your mother’s disappointed frown, the same one she wore when you told her the news last year.

“Legacy.” A voice singsongs, “Cap would like to speak to you.”

“I can speak for myself.” Steve pushes off the wall. Anxiety scatters your thoughts, because you didn’t know he was there.

Steve can make his presence known if he wants, which has become very clear since you entered Arcadia Phi. And when he doesn’t, he can seamlessly blend in. You bitterly think about him having a choice. To be seen, to be heard, to be feared—all while you are the unseen, ignored and disregarded, and one who is fearful of people like him.

The most terrifying monsters trick you into believing they aren’t monsters at all. Playing on your trust, only to clamp their fangs in your neck when you least expect it, and yank you into their depths.

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Steve was one of those monsters, and you were positive he knew he was too.

“Are you sure? All you’ve done is stare at her like a piece of meat.” A dark-haired man speaks up, his sweater sleeves rolled up while the ring and bracelet glimmer against his pale skin.

“Actually, you two stand up.” Steve’s lips are pressed in a firm line. The girl next to you stands, her blond hair in a low ponytail and her green eyes narrowed. “You go upstairs to the first door on the left, and you,” Steve cocks his head, his gaze unabashedly dragging over your body and lingering on your breasts, “You’ll clean my room.”

The girl walks away with confidence, ignoring the alphas who praise the fit of her costume. With a straightened posture, you follow after her, facing forward with the wet sponge in your hand. Steve stands by the bottom of the stairs, emanating a force that both lures and repels you.

“What’s your name?” His hand falls to your waist like it’s been there a million times before, the warmth sinking through your clothes.

You tell him your name as you stop at the last door on the right. It’s strikingly different from the rest, as if it were painted with a fresh coat of white, it stood out among the busted, stained or cracked doors. Your reflection shines in the doorknob, distorted with visible unease over your features.

His arm brushes yours as he unlocks the door, the key slipping out before he dangles it in front of your face.

“I like my privacy. My brothers tend to just do whatever they want.”

The door slowly swings open, as silent as a breath of air. The walls are a dark blue, almost a rich navy and contrasting against the blinding white bedspread, the sheets wrinkled and half off of the mattress. There’s a desk in the corner cluttered with a shiny laptop, pens and textbooks, as messy as yours back at your dorm. The nightstands are mostly clean, apart from a small stack of books and a lamp on each.

There is an arrangement of paddles on the wall. Some are a plain light wood tone and one, in particular, is a design of red, white and blue, all of them display the same thing; Greek letters, the fraternity crest, along with ‘Big Bro Steve’ above the other name.

The wide window is open, a soft wind flows through, lightly rustling the curtains and the various posters taped on the walls—ranging from school promotions, and fraternity and football related. Nothing beyond that, not even a movie or a band which leads you to believe Steve was as one-dimensional as a sheet of paper—his life revolved around school, his fraternity and football.

Bland, but you had no protests because then he’d be easy to forget. Except, those nerves come rushing back again when you spot something on his four-poster bed. On the metal frame by the fluffy pillows are two pairs of handcuffs, unlocked and glaring at you straight in the face.

“Oops, forgot I left those there.”

The way he speaks makes you think he’s lying. Behind you, Steve dips down and takes a deep breath inches away from your head and growls lowly in his chest. Your toes curl in your shoes as your mind tells you to run far away and never come back, but Wanda’s hopefulness and your mother’s dismay root you into the floor of the house.

You needed a spot in Kappa Phi. Even if that meant risking being scented by an ill-famed alpha.

“Have you ever been handcuffed? I can imagine you have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself, you like being touched, and touching someone else.” He rasps, “But I have a feeling that you’re better at following rules than others. Putting on this little dress without any complaints, just a polite request to change in the bathroom.”

You clench your jaw when he tugs at the bow of the apron, “Can I just clean?”

You gasp and the water splashes and gets on your dress—it was a costume, made of cheap flimsy material that wouldn’t survive a gust of wind, and it definitely wouldn’t survive a strong alpha like Steve. He has the tie wrapped in his fist, the fabric digs into your front and pulls you into his chest, keeping you firmly against him.

“Did you leave your manners downstairs?” He doesn’t shout, his words are quiet and low and that only makes them more unsettling.

“N-No.” You despise the rapid beating of your heart, your natural instincts kicking in and nearly forcing you under his submission. “I’m sorry, can I please clean?” Your ass brushes over the firm bulge in his pants.

“Pretty, sweet and smart? Makes me wonder how an omega like you is still unmated.” He releases you and he reaches for your scent gland, but you quickly shuffle into his bedroom. Steve just chuckles, “Eager to please too—sounds to me that you’re picture-perfect material.”

“What should I clean first?” You avoid his gaze, finding great interest in the gentle ripples of the water in the bucket. You can’t let him that close again, and you shouldn’t have let him that close in the first place. If he touches your spot, you’d be another notch on his belt and another omega on the slut walk list—because yes, there was a list and it’s plastered in the living room.

It didn’t help that he smells so good, earthy and borderline spell-inducing. He makes you sick to your stomach and then that nausea erupts into flames of rage because he’s an asshole standing on a pedestal with his name etched in gold.

Steve made you feel so many things when you didn’t even know him. When he was just Howard College’s star player, and that hasn’t changed since you’re feet away from him. Those overwhelming and inconsistent feelings have appeared again. You don’t want him to make you feel anything. Except maybe forgotten, because then he’d leave you alone.

“How about you just get on your knees, omega?”

He doesn’t move, taking up more than half of the entryway as he gestures to the moderate mess of his bedroom. You shiver and obey, turning around and spotting a hamper with clothes hanging over the edge, some on the floor. You drop to your knees, gathering each item as his smell encapsulates your mind. You’re briefly reminded of your boring and plain bedroom, and how much better it would look with a nest.

On the walls of your brain are images of a warm and comforting bundle, varying in pillows and blankets, but most notably, there’s a heaping of fabrics that look awful like Steve’s clothes in your hands.

You start to feel sick again, and if only you could scrub your brain instead of the floorboards.

“Ain’t that a pretty view.” Steve crosses his arms, admiring the view of your upper thighs, “Don’t get any ideas, legacy.”

“What?” You toss the clothes into the basket and cover it. Standing once again, you straighten the bottles of cologne and other belongings on his dresser. It’s a little dusty, so you take the sponge from the bucket and wipe it down.

“You might want to snatch something of mine. Wouldn’t be the first time an omega tried to steal from me. I’ve been told I have an irresistible scent, I mean, it’s nothing like yours but could be a runner up.”

You try to focus on your tasks. Going from his nightstands to his closet, hanging up a few clothes that have fallen and organizing the shoes on the rack. You’re kneeling in the closet when one of his fraternity brothers pops up, you ignore them as best you can, sorting the different sneakers, boots and dress shoes.

A loud laugh startles you, making you drop a pair of sneakers.

“Oh, she’s jumpy?” You vaguely remember that voice, you’ve heard him in a few of your lectures.

“She’s cute, right? Like a little bunny.”

Your head snaps back as you glare at Steve. Every moment you spend in his presence makes you want to do something, to be more than a mere bystander, but to an extent because you didn’t want to make him too angry. You still wanted to—needed to join Kappa Phi.

It turns out your heated glare was barely anything, and all you get is a coy wink from the tall blond.

“Honey, are you okay down there?” The older alpha, Andy asks, faint dimples under his thick beard, “You don’t look like the kind to spend a lot of time on your knees.”

You abruptly stand, narrowed gaze set on the two burly men by the door. They have you caged in with a mocking gleam on their faces, daring you to say whatever your little fiery heart desires. Say it, tell them what assholes they are, how they deserve nothing they have—how their self-righteousness is just them making up for their lack of knot.

Fucking say it.

You can feel the frustration buzzing in your chest, but your throat and lips refuse to cooperate, forcing the rest of you to just bubble in silent fury. Opening your mouth would be digging your own grave, but the cold and wet dirt is better than Steve’s and any other alpha’s poisoned presence.

If only you were immune to whatever toxicity was streaming through their veins and draped in their words.

Silently defeated by yourself and their taunting expressions, you turn away and dust your dress, belittling yourself for retreating so quickly.

“Good choice, legacy.” Andy quips, “what else are you willing to do for a spot in Kappa?”

“If I tell you, will it happen?” You busy yourself with Steve’s desk. Organizing the pens and pencils into the mason jar, before moving onto the sheets of paper.

“Depends what it is.”

“I’m willing to redo that law essay you flunked on.” You face them again, and Andy has a surprised, but pleased smile on his face. Steve is the opposite, his eyebrows are furrowed while his lips are pressed in a firm line.

“Yeah? Do you want to tutor me too?”

Steve steps forward, inserting himself between you and the other alpha like a brick wall. “You can’t do a thorough job if you’re distracted. Do you want him to leave?”

You hold the papers to your chest, “Pardon?”

“Tell him, show me that you’re Kappa Phi material.” He smirks. “Tell him to leave us alone, omega.”

The sheets crinkle in your hands as you tense. Speaking back to alphas was only a fantasy, sure you’ve dreamt of kicking their teeth in, but you have never crossed that line.

Omega—he was reminding you of your designation, as if you could forget it. But you knew he only wanted to rub it in, to summon that dread and watch it bleed onto your features because omegas could never tell an alpha what to do and have the same impact of an alpha demanding an omega.

Your words would be nothing but white noise, as forgetful as an advertisement on the radio and no one would listen because no one had to. Not like omegas who bowed down at the first syllable of an alpha using their alpha voice or being subject to a great deal of pain.

You couldn’t tell an alpha what to do, not without looking like a fool, even if it was one as casual and collected as Andy.

“C’mon, I know there’s a little spice in all that sweetness. You’ve wanted to open your mouth since you walked in here, and now I’m permitting you to.” Steve comes closer until he stands a few inches from you, his stature towers over you like a mountain.

“G-Go away.”

Andy chuckles from the door, “What was that?”

Steve grabs your chin, “That’s not what I told you to say, darling.”

You can’t tell if the aching you feel is your pride or your loneliness thriving in the attention—you haven’t been the object of one's attention, alpha or beta, in a very long time.

“Leave us alone, Andy.” You’re frozen in the pools of blue surrounded by thick lashes. As if it weren’t enough for his body to be your wet dream, his face was a work of art. Chiselled cheekbones, strong jaw and a prominent nose. Clear skin sprinkled with freckles and beauty marks, and pink plump lips that stretched into a prince-like smile.

You hated to find him so attractive, but the world has never been on your side anyway.

The brunet pushes off the doorframe, “I guess I’ll check on the other girl in the bathroom. Be gentle with this one, Steve, she seems more delicate than your last toy.”

And, just like that, you’re flung back into reality. Steve is also a player, known for his various relations that never last more than a few weeks. He’s probably been with more than most think. Some are too ashamed for everyone to know that Steve Rogers had them, then dumped them like trash on the side of the road.

Typical Arcadia alphas, plucking people left and right then ditching them when they get bored or when a new spark catches their attention.

You don’t want to be that for Steve. You refuse to be the new object of his affection—because that’s how he’d treat you, something to show off until he doesn’t want you anymore.

Not to mention you just hated everything he stood for.

The easy life, the self-entitlement, privilege and downright mean attitude, selfishness and arrogance rolled into one.

You just need to keep a distance, keep reminding yourself why you’re here and that he’s just a bad man. A terrible man who shouldn’t even be touching you right now. You take a step back and distract yourself with his desk. Filing through the textbooks and setting them on the small shelf.

“I’ve seen you around campus. Do you have a dorm here?”

“I do.” You answer short. You’ve seen him riding his bike and revving the engine. Zooming down the campus streets with a leather or denim jacket. The supposed legend in the making, but right now, he was just the shadow looming over your shoulder, chilling to the bone.

Steve pulls out his desk chair and sits down, relaxing on the cushions and spreading his thighs. His foot knocks yours. “I haven’t had a dorm room, just tried for Arcadia and got in so I’ve lived here for about two years now.”

You just nod, gathering the small bunches of sticky notes and scattered paper clips.

“Those go in the drawer.” He runs a hand through his hair, a twinkle in his eyes.

You open the drawer and are welcomed with strips of condoms and tubes of lube. Your cheeks go hot as you drop the items in and slam it shut. “Those should be in your nightstand.”

“Oh, I have them there too. These are just backups.” Steve’s gaze rakes over you as his tongue pokes out to lick his lips. “You tried to get into Kappa last year.”

You’re doing this for Wanda and your mother, and you need to try even harder than you did last year. Maybe after this, your mother will finally return your calls, you can only hope that one day, she’ll recognize the wrongness in her actions. Pushing you away only because you didn’t get into her old sorority. Whether Kappa Phi didn’t accept you because of your designation or other reasons, it’s not fair of her to treat you this way.

“Unlike Arcadia, Kappa is quite easy to get into. They’ll accept anyone like every other frat or sorority on campus.” Steve rolls his eyes, “So, it makes me curious as to why you were denied, legacy.”

“Can you not call me that?” And you quickly add, “Please?”

“That’s what you are. Your mother was in Kappa Phi, and now you’re going to be in it too—maybe, I can still redact your pledge but I wouldn’t want to make momma-legacy upset. Does she know you’re trying again?”

“She would if she answered my calls.”

Steve is quiet for a few seconds before he nods slowly. You grab the sponge and try to move away, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you to stand between his legs. “What’d you do to not get in? Sleep with another girl's partner? Hook up with a professor for some extra credit?”

You scowl. “None of that.”

“My brothers and I have a theory that every omega is a whore until proven innocent.”

You stiffen as his other hand fiddles with the lace hem of your dress, slipping between the first layer to the second and finally to your skin. His fingers trail higher, and you clamp your thighs together, glazing at the open door as his grip on your wrist tightens. You want him to let go and stop, so you say the one thing that has been in your head, “You’re an asshole.”

The second those words leave your mouth, a fresh wave of relief combs over you, but then it freezes like water. The realization is icy cold, stilling in your veins and halting your breath.

“What was that?” He moves fast and stands, crowding you against the desk. The water drips down your elbow as you raise your arms and try to keep him at bay, but it’s useless. He presses against you, the water seeping into his shirt.

“An asshole—am I mean? Like your mother who’s ignoring you because you didn’t get into a sorority?” Steve asks, “I can be much worse than that, and I think you know that.”

He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he’s close enough that you can see every shade of blue and tint of green in his eyes. His lips are so pink and pillowy soft, you can’t help but lean into his touch like a magnetic force. “You’re looking at me like I’m going to hurt you.”

It’s instinctual and completely out of your control. The warmth he radiates, the raw power and just alpha compelling you. You realize you’ve been fighting him since you met him, and as vigorously as you resisted, he could turn you to mush with a flutter of his eyes.

He hums softly, drinking down your smell like a man starved. When his gaze meets yours again, the iris is a thin ring around the pupil. “And, I just might.” His white teeth gleam maliciously behind a simper.

You snap out of whatever fleeting spell he had you under and inch backwards, willing yourself to stay silent. He steps forward, his thigh slipping between yours and pinning you against the desk.

“I won’t hurt a pretty omega like you unless you give me a reason to.” His Brooklyn twang rings in your ears, drilling the threat into your brain. “So, don’t give me one.”

You nod wordlessly, gripping the sponge so tightly that all the water was gone, and probably on Steve’s shirt and your dress. You can’t move to check because he keeps you in place, provoking you to make a wrong move.

And, unknowingly, you did and Steve sighs in disappointment, you find yourself searching your mind for the cause of it—before a round of cheers grab your attention. Your face slips from Steve’s hold before he grips you again, this time with your chin between his knuckles, lightly pinching you. “Speak, sweetheart.”

“Y-Yes, Steve.”

“Good girl.” His touch trails across your jaw, then down your neck. “This is cute.” He notes, touching the silver chain around your neck, all the way to the small circle with the stamped letter. He tuts when you don’t speak. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Thank you, Steve.” You gulp, practically sitting on his desk with his thigh snug between yours. The bottom of your dress is dangerously close to exposing your panties.

“Who’s H?”

“My friend.”

He flips the metal charm, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the engraving. “Your friend.”

“My best friend.” You squirm as his other hand lands on your hip, gently squeezing, “We grew up together but he goes to Harvard.”

“Childhood friends… Isn’t that adorable?” Steve beams, “You’re sentimental, then?” He twirls the necklace around his finger as the chain digs into your neck.

With every swirl of his digit, he brings you another inch closer as his breath fans over your cheeks. “I-I guess.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, his watchful gaze locked on your face, observing every minuscule twitch. “Would you wear my name?”

“What?”

“Would you wear my name right here,” he lightly pulls at the chain, “or would you rather wear my mark,” it almost happens in slow motion. With your arms uselessly sandwiched between your bodies, his touch trails to your scent gland, applying pressure, “right here. Where everyone can see.”

His smell increases tenfold, forming a cloud around you and soaking into your brain. The smoky and woody scent is calming and awakening at the same time. This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen, but your defences are fluttering to the ground with every millisecond as he scents you—without your consent. It triggers some of your basic instincts, the innate desire to be claimed by another, to be submissive and at their beck and call.

With the chain in his grasp and a gentle touch of his fingers, he cracks the walls you’ve built to keep yourself safe and secure, to keep yourself separate from your designation and your predestined fate.

You attempt to collect yourself and through uneven breaths, you push him away. Steve doesn’t budge, he only grabs your thigh and hikes it on his waist, forcing you on the desk as your dress flips up. His dark gaze lands on your cotton panties and he growls appreciatively, nostrils flaring.

Your heart beats against your chest, loud enough to rattle your brain. “Please, don’t.” You whisper. “I can’t—I don’t...”

“You don’t?” He rubs your spot in slow circles, “If you don’t want me, then why are you getting wet?” He emphasizes his words by snapping the band of your panties against your skin, drawing closer to your warm centre.

“Because you’re—” You whine, resolve melting away with every delicate motion of his fingers, you slump under his touch.

Weak, you feel so weak yet desired. It’s a cruel curse of euphoria and you hate yourself for it, although it’s completely out of your control.

“You want me, sweetheart. I can see it on your face, I can smell you soaking your panties. I bet if I listen hard enough, I can hear your whiney thoughts begging for me.” Steve’s voice is smooth and deep, “But, all I can hear is your heart racing because you’re excited. Have you ever been touched like this?” His hand brushes over your panties and cups your mound.

“It’s not that.”

Steve’s hold tightens on your necklace as his long and thick fingers start rubbing over the cotton fabric, your wetness unmistakably seeping through. “Then what, omega?”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer, not while all of your pent-up frustration comes rushing in. The look in his eyes is hard to pinpoint whether he’s remorseless, fully intrigued or downright enjoying toying with you.

Your lips quiver as tears pool in your eyes. You hate him, and you hate how good he’s making you feel with just a few fingers. You whimper as he tugs your panties to the side, sliding between your slick folds.

“Is it fear?” His tone is light and taunting, “Because that’s even better than excitement and, it looks especially lovely on you, legacy.”

As he releases your necklace, and his warmth on your scent gland leaves too. You’re flooded with ease and without his support, you sag into the shelf on the desk, the textbooks fall and the mason jar of pens tips over, clattering to the ground as the glass rolls away.

Steve tears the front of your dress, the cheap seams giving away under his strength. Your nipples meet the cool air, pebbled and immediately pinched by the alpha standing between your legs. He growls, massaging your tits as his other hand returns to your nub.

“You haven’t been touched in a while. I can tell.” His tone is so wickedly gentle, it’s a sharp contrast to his character. “Look at you, going dumb for me already, getting my desk wet.” He rasps, “C’mon, push me away.”

Your hands land on his forearms as your last line of defence falls.

His eyes lock on yours, his pink lips part in low breaths. “Do it. Tell me you don’t want me.”

Your fingertips press into his skin when he pulls away from your cunt, his big hands land on your inner thighs. A strained whine escapes your throat, a silent plea for more.

“Or, tell me you want me, baby. Cry for me—let me know how bad you want my touch, my fingers in your pretty pussy, my knot in your fuckhole.” Steve massages your flesh, inching closer to your core but never directly touching there, “I want to hear you say it, omega.”

His words are another blow to your pride. You surrender to his undeniable authority, giving in to him because Steve was right, you haven’t been touched in a long time, and everyone was a victim to his command—that didn’t exclude you.

Do you want him?

Do you even have a choice?

“Let me hear you, sweet girl. Give me what I want, don’t you want to make me proud?”

Maybe you did and that’s why he was asking.

You consider it, which might have been your first mistake. After all the rumours you’ve heard, most of them have been proven to be true, you shouldn’t trust him or want to make him proud. Why should his commendation matter when he’s nothing but another alpha with a sense of superiority?

Because he isn’t just another alpha—he’s Steve Rogers.

And he wants you.

You should have stayed far away from him and Arcadia Phi, regardless of your best friend’s and mother’s wishes. But you didn’t, and now look at you, sprawled on his desk with his bedroom door open, scantily clad in a torn maid costume with your most sensitive spot exposed. Your scent gland is still buzzing with his touch, craving more.

Despite your hateful feelings, you want more, you want him. There’s no denying that at this moment.

That’s when the first tear falls down your cheek, leaving a shiny trail in its wake.

“Please touch me, Steve. I-I want you.” You hiccup, reaching for his hands to bring one to your face, the other to your pussy. Your knees hook around his waist, “Want you so bad, alpha.”

His blue eyes twinkle, the corner of his lips quirk up, “That’s my omega.”

You would have never expected your day to end up like this. Willingly giving in to his advances, but maybe that was why you even considered it.

Steve knows the truth. You believed you had a choice when he was going to get what he wanted one way or another. He thrives off your sweet little heart having faith in yourself, it’s adorable. And, he can’t wait to corrupt you.

“Please, Steve.” Your legs fall open, neck craning to watch his skilled fingers trace your hole, barely dipping it before rubbing your clit again. You’re aching for him and anything he can give you.

Your slick drips out and Steve’s mouth waters, he’s seconds away from dropping to his knees and devouring you whole. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? I saw you at orientation—you seemed so lost but eager.” He cups your face, leaning down until his nose brushes yours and finally, one of his fingers pushes in, pressing to his knuckle before drawing out. “You didn’t even fucking look at me.”

You whine, scrambling for his broad shoulders and falling deeper into that blissful headspace.

“As if I wasn’t even there.” He slides in with two fingers, sissoring you open. He pumps in deep, curling his digits to reach your special spot as his thumb lands on your clit, “Now look at you, baby, dripping on my desk, your cunt sucking me in. Bet you’re hungry for a knot, huh?” There’s a softness in his eyes and his touch on your cheek. His warmth sinks to your bones, burning an imprint in the shape of him.

Steve speeds up and adds more power. His bicep flexes with every thrust, working you open as your juices drip down his hand, marking him with your scent. He looms over you, huge and intimidating, making you a compliant mess. His groan rumbles his chest as he pulls out to slap your pussy, the wet noises make your cheeks heat up. “Nearly forced Kappa Phi to take you in but my ex was the president at the time.”

He captures your lips in his, slipping his tongue in your mouth as his palm falls to the side of your neck. Your jaw falls slack as he rubs your gland and penetrates three thick fingers into your tight hole at the same time. Steve growls, biting on your bottom lip before kissing you sloppily. He tastes like mint and he’s demanding and rough, while you’re needy and docile, a perfect match.

You turn away as he picks up pace, spreading his long fingers along your inner walls. Moans flow out of your body and into the open air, shameless and absolute music to Steve’s ears. He stretches you open as the shelf digs into your back, his expert touch bringing you to the edge fast. Heat builds in your belly and even in the thin dress, you feel the sweat on your skin. He spanks your clit, feeding off your mewls along with the lewd sopping noises coming from your core. Your cream has formed a mess under your ass as it’s forced out of your poor hole, dripping down to your rosebud.

“That’s it, you going to come for me, sweet girl? This cunt was made for taking cock, for taking mine—you want my knot, omega? Since you’re this wet from my hand, I bet you’re a stupid mess when you’re in heat. You hear that?” He slaps your cunt in quick succession, “You’re dripping for me, you want me to stretch you open, fuck you until you can’t even think.” He grunts, teeth clenched as your thighs threaten to shut, he prys them apart and swats your clit harder, still pounding you with his fingers. “You’d take my cock if I just asked, huh? You’d let me fill your little cunt, breed you like a dumb slut. I bet you fucking love this.”

You cover your face as you squeal, the back of your head thumping against the wall as you convulse. Your slick pours out, soaking his skin and dripping down his wrist. His pumps don’t stutter or even slow down, he keeps up the intensity and you’ve officially lost your mind. You fist his t-shirt in your other hand, either trying to escape or pull him closer, you don’t even know.

“So fucking tight, you don’t even want me to stop, huh?” He yanks you close by the back of your neck, he spits into your open mouth. “That’s why you squirted all over me, fucking cock hungry whore.” He kisses you although you barely respond, too fucked out and dazed. When he pulls away, he messily traces through your folds, smearing your juices around as he releases your lips with a pop.

The blue in his eyes is hardly visible, but that could just be your watery vision. He brings his hand to your face, spreading his digits as your cream webs between them. “You want a taste, baby?”

You let him slip two fingers into your mouth, pressing to the knuckles and forcing you to clean him. He groans as you gag slightly, tears welling in your eyes as he fucks your mouth just like your cunt. When he deems you’ve had enough, he sucks his ring finger, eyes fluttering shut at your taste. He’s filthy with it, putting on a show, letting you know just how he’d treat your precious pussy with his tongue.

“Tastes even better than I thought.” Steve sighs, and runs his fingers along the bottom half of your face, your wetness mixed with both of your saliva dries on your skin. “Now, if you did that last year during pledge week, you would’ve gotten into Kappa without a doubt.”

You’ve barely managed to catch your breath, still riding on that wave that’s made you question your entire college career. “I-I don’t need your help.”

Steve laughs, easily picking you up and sitting in the chair. Even in his lap, he’s bigger than you. “You just need me. And with that, you’re going to get my help anyway.” He grips your hips as your tingling cunt meets his jeans.

“Wait—” You gasp, “It’s too much, I can’t—”

“You can,” He kisses down your cheek to your jaw, he sucks at the spot right by your scent gland. “And, you will. Make me even prouder, omega. Rub yourself on me, make a mess on my pants. Claim me just like I’ll claim you.” Then, his teeth drag over your spot, immediately making you pliant in his hold and to his voice. “Be a good girl for daddy.”

You tie your arms around his shoulders, wasting no time in grinding against the giant bulge. The denim is rough against your sensitive petals, but it feels so good, it feels better than your pillow at your dorm and with every swirl of your hips, Steve groans freely against your neck.

He tears the back of your skimpy dress and the fabric falls down your body. It hangs from your waist and the skirt flutters with every rock of your hips. Your cunt is tortured by his jeans, your clit rubbed raw and begging for a break, but you can’t give yourself one. Not until Steve wants you to because, despite your best efforts, you’ve fallen victim to his cruel charm and your darkest fantasies.

Steve sucks on your spot, teasing you with nips between his dirty words. You can’t even hear him anymore, your body hums with passion and want. An instinctual desire to obey his every command and be his good girl, you want to claim him—own him like he owns you.

Perhaps the stereotypes about omegas were always right, and you’ve been in denial. Or, Steve is just intoxicating with a magnetic force that draws you in. He’s awoken a longing inside you, one that you didn’t even know existed.

“They said you were one of the smartest omegas on campus, but it doesn’t seem like that now.” Steve grabs your throat with one hand, guiding you over his clothed cock with the other. “I turned you into my little omega, my dumb slut. I can feel your pussy throbbing for me, oh, my pussy—because this tight fuckhole was made for me.” He tightens his hold and licks from your jaw to your cheek. “Aw, are you crying for me? Giving daddy those pretty tears, it’s like you never want me to let you go.”

You struggle against him, hiccuping another pathetic moan as he thrusts upwards, meeting your grinds.

Steve knows you aren’t incapable, not like the rest of the dull and drab students of Howard College. You had a fight in you, albeit timid and frail, it was there and he can only imagine what other fire hides within your soul. He read the hatred and spite on your face like an open book, you weren’t as secretive as you thought and he assumed you’d be trouble. But no, you stayed quiet and obedient until he lured you out.

You had potential, you had shown that with your early resistance and how you treated Andy—fucking Andy, this morning he asked if you could clean his room, but Steve had already made his intentions clear. You were his for the day, and the next, until he was done with you. Which wasn’t anywhere in the near future.

Watching you now, teary eyes rolled in the back of your head and listening to your mewls echo through the room, he hopes Andy and the rest of his frat brothers were listening. Then, they’d know that Steve wasn’t letting you go, they could try, they could beg and fight, and he’d just tease you in front of their noses. Playing with people was fun, and with you in his corner, he’d never lose.

“Fuck, keep going.” Steve hisses, the veins in his neck tense as his head falls back. His fingertips dig into your ass, groping the flesh, “That’s it, you’re doing so good, baby.”

“Daddy, ah please, daddy.”

“What do you need, omega?” Steve pants, flipping up the stubborn skirt to watch your puffy cunt grind against his bulge. The denim is dark under you and he has the perfect view of your spread folds and swollen clit rubbing along his jeans, your sweet slick seeping through his jeans to his skin, he can feel you.

“F-Fuck me, please—I want it, want it.” You repeat, nails dragging down his shirt, your poor hole weeping for him.

He smirks, “My little girl wants my cock? Want me to stretch your tight pussy, fuck you until you don’t have any tears left, pump you full of my cum and fucking breed you?” He spanks you, making you jerk and squeak, “You want to be my omega?”

You nod shakily and reach down, weakly attempting to unbutton his pants but he swats you away. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, he takes control and moves you roughly over his dick. You let out a high-pitched squeal, knees pressing into the cushion of the seat as you try to right yourself, but it’s feeble against his strength.

“You want my cock so bad that you’ll just pull it out without my permission?” Steve’s stomach tightens as the tears trail down your cheeks, slipping into the corners of your parted mouth. “Thought you’d know better now.”

You grab onto his wrists, piercing his skin with your nails, “I-It’s too much!” Your cry.

“It’s not enough.” He grabs your throat, not tight enough to restrict airflow but firm enough to let you know he can, and it only makes you greedier. You try to meet his grinds but you’re just bouncing on his lap.

“D-Daddy, I can’t.”

“You can.” He insists, getting closer to the edge. He imagines your tight hole clenched around his cock as he stuffs his knot into you. “You can, and you will.”

You weep, “...can’t.”

Steve has always loved a little challenge and he knows you’re an omega who hoped for more, who craved for more—and it was ultimately intriguing. To tame the feisty attitude bubbling inside of you, the same flicker he sees when he speaks again. “You can’t come.”

Your eyes shoot open, a torn and angry expression on your face, “But—”

“Shush now, baby.” He groans, cheeks flushed red as his whole body tenses, and he never stops moving you over him. “I said make a mess, I didn’t say you could come. Tell me you want to be mine.”

“Daddy, please—” You whimper, the tightness in your belly becoming too much.

Steve swats your ass harshly, “fucking say it.”

Your cunt throbs between your thighs, the denim has rubbed you raw, “I-I want to be yours, daddy.”

Steve groans gutturally, his back arches as his eyes flutter shut. Throaty praises ring in your ears, his hold is so tight that they’ll be bruises tomorrow. His muscles flex, his abs, biceps and thick thighs under you, and you can feel his cock swell up under your core. His knot is going to waste and you whine.

Steve's hair falls against his forehead as he looks at you, blue eyes full of bliss and perhaps even devotion—he’s beautiful and evil.

You sniffle quietly, feeling his warm cum seeping through the denim. “You’re so mean…”

Steve’s chest heaves, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Thought we already established that, baby?”

The open air is exactly what you need as you limp down the path with your clothes in your arms, some girls can’t help but stare at you. In envy or pity, they watch your uneven steps. They’re all still wearing their costumes, the evening breeze isn’t kind to their exposed skin. You stand out like a sore thumb, clad in Steve’s t-shirt and his sweatpants. Your poor folds gaining a bit of much-needed relief.

Some of the other pledges are talking—you know it’s about you despite how quiet they try to be.

They know, everyone in the house knew what happened in Steve’s bedroom. And some of the other girls were either jealous or sorrowful. You were unsure about your own feelings too, since you’re still teetering on the edge of that omega headspace because Steve couldn’t stop touching your gland.

In particular, the Arcadia alphas were as shameless as ever. They clapped and cheered when you wobbled down the stairs with Steve on your tail.

“Legacy deserves a gold star for that performance.”

“I’m going to knock your teeth in if you don’t shut up, Bryce.” Steve spits as he pulls you to the kitchen, grabbing a cold water bottle from the fridge.

Bucky whistles lowly, “And thus, the innate need to be an asshole after getting with an omega. Don’t you all wish there were more omega pledges, fellas?”

Steve ignores him in favour of gathering snacks from the cabinets and shelves. And, for the rest of the day, you sit on his lap in his clothes, watching the other pledges sweat and scrub at the whole house.

He relaxes on the couch, one of his hands never leaving your body as he speaks to his brothers, petting and tending to you like a doll, “Perhaps little legacy is Kappa Phi material, huh, baby?”

You don’t look back once, forcing yourself to stare ahead as Wanda asks how you’re feeling, among other things. You’ll tell her when you’re at your dorm and far away from Arcadia Phi.

Steve watches from the front door of the frat house, his arms crossed as the breeze brushes his bare skin, the band of his sweatpants hanging dangerously low. Behind him, his frat brothers are discussing names of the pledges, yours pops up more than a few times and is followed by a lewd comment.

“Our sister sorority, too. You’re freakier than I thought, punk.” Bucky steps beside him, a little apron in his hands.

“I wonder if I should tell our parents about his risqué behaviour.” Another voice says as an arm swings around Steve’s shoulder, “What do you think, little brother? Will mom and dad return you?”

Steve shrugs off Ransom, glaring at him. “I’m older than you, dipshit, and that’s not how adoption works.”

“Blah, blah, blah. All I’m hearing is the sound of an overdue glorified housepet.” He teases while the blond just scoffs.

They’ve been this way since they met, their relationship was strong from the beginning but that didn’t lessen any of the bickering or fights that every other sibling has. The only difference was their resilience yet they had odd similarities in terms of behaviour and attitude. Both being headstrong and fearless alphas. It was a wonder how they had lasted this long while constantly sharing a circle of friends.

“Although, I must acknowledge your exquisite taste because that sweet girl,” Ransom points down the street, “is on every alpha and beta—probably some wild omegas too—radar.”

“Surprised she hasn’t been claimed yet.” Curtis speaks up, “actually, I’m shocked a lot of omegas here haven’t been mated.”

“Some of us have standards and most of those omegas have been strung through every bed on campus.” Ransom replies, grinning at his brother, “I admire our parallel preferences, Stevie, think I can take a go at legacy?”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, it seems that testosterone is still sky-high. I’ll ask you when you’ve had time to wind down, try out the hot tub, huh?” The brunet leaves with a wink and a slap on Steve’s shoulder, waltzing into the house and joining the discussion with the rest of the brothers.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. fuck-em-and-leave-em, but she doesn’t even like us,” Bucky laughs, “Much less you.”

“Not yet.” He licks his lips as your group disappears around a corner. The empty air still carries a thread of your scent, or maybe that’s just your soaked panties crumbled in his pocket.

He was already one of the gods of Howard College and he's going to be yours too.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: well here it is ! the first part of captain's legacy and the first dark fic I've ever posted. mean!Steve just does something to me, and I have a feeling he'll be like that for a while. this is a dark fic, so we'll see how much fluff is in the future. the ending was supposed to be longer but I think it fits better in the next part and like my other series, this has no update schedule.

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

Text

I wasn’t expecting the chapter to end so soon! It’s getting good. I’m so excited for the next chapter! Many things were revealed but now I’m interested in why Bucky is so soft. Almost as if he were human. I’m excited!

The Birdcage

Chapter Six - In Accord

In which Little Bird is saved from the Night Brethren, but not the quandary of the Night child she’s carrying. What will she do? More importantly, what will James do to her?

No specific warnings for this chapter other than AS ALWAYS it is 18+

Thank you to @nildespirandum who helped me figure out that the parents must be “in accord” (care for each other) to create a Night Child like Little Bird, and not a flesh-eating abomination like the Shadows.

Chapter 5 here

You woke several hours later, feeling like you might have been the one in the brutal fight with that vile Steven. Every muscle ached and your head throbbed, like too much information had been stuffed into your brain all at once and you were struggling to comprehend the last two (three? Was it three?) days. Your world had been so small, only the confines of your Birdcage high up in Black Hat’s mansion and now there was so much more, some even worse than you could have imagined. And Mama? When would you see her again?

Swinging your legs over to the side of the bed, you slumped there for a moment.

“Let me try to assemble this.” The sound of your own voice startled you, but you pushed on.

“Mama is alive.” That was the best news.

“James came to get me away from the Night Brethren and my disgusting half-brother.” You were very grateful for that, though you recognized the irony of flying back into your cage and holding the door closed yourself. But the alternative… you shuddered.

“James has manipulated me from the day he took me at the harbor.” Now, why would that upset you so much? Make your chest hurt? You remembered Mama’s words, that the mother and father had to be in accord for a night child to survive. She was tricked, but she had believed she loved Rogers when you were born.

Which led you to face the most difficult news. You were with child. James was the sire. The images of the shadow things screeching and tearing their screaming victims apart made you shudder and begin to cry. What would be the thing that would make your child different? You did not love James.

“Oh, Little Bird…” he’d entered the room silently, “why are you crying?”

“There are many reasons,” you wept, “any of them seems like enough.”

Keep reading

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

Text

Bro is so delusional! I’m excited to see what happens next!

Die Besessenheit: 21. Thank You, Captain

Die Besessenheit Masterlist

Summary: You have slowly worked your way through the writer’s ranks at the New York Times, finally securing your dream spot in the business section as an investigative journalist. However, turning down your boss’ advances lands you writing the article from hell: a PR-fix for the Avengers. Since the destruction of Thanos, the world has idolised the Avengers. They can do no wrong. You see through the facade and their ego. Forced to stay at the new facilities, you must live the Avenger’s lifestyle and document the life of an international superhero. You catch the eye of Steve Rogers, Captain America.

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers/Reader

Warnings: Dark!Steve Rogers, non-con, slow burn, love bombing, coercive control, stalking, non-consensual voyeurism, obsessive Steve Rogers, psychological focus, emotional manipulation, creepy Steve Rogers, somnophilia. No under 18s.

Notes: This is a collaborative project with the beautiful @sophiria . Please heed the warnings and tags, these will be updated as the story progresses. If you wish to be tagged please let us know!🖤 Please feel free to comment and reblog! We’d love to hear your thoughts 🖤

Chapter Notes: It’s been over a year since this has been updated, I'm sorry. The love wasn't lost but things got a little overwhelming in the burrow. But we're back and Dark!Steve is on a mission. Thank you so much to @caffiend-queen for beta'ing like a mad boss.

I promise this isn't a filler chapter - it's setting up the groundwork for the endgame. Yes, we are in the endgame. Seven thousand years after we began this journey with this story, we are finally in the endgame.

If anyone is actually still reading this story, I don't blame you if you've given up on me, then I hope you enjoy.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

21. Thank You, Captain

Brave. Altruistic. Honest. Integrity. Selflessness. Inspirational. Decisive and quick to action in their convictions.

These are the qualities we expect of our heroes, but it wasn’t always so.

Before the year 2011, the world had not had a man truly worthy of being called a superhero since the Second World War, that is until SHIELD came upon a crash site in the frozen Arctic.

A hero was reborn that fateful day and the world finally had a dependable hero to call its own. One that a country in peril could rely on to save the day. Where a nation of children could look up to this brave individual for courage and be inspired to be better.

That man was Captain America: Steve Rogers.

This great United States is proud to call this national hero our own.

This is his story in his own words.

************

Discontent. No.

Blasé perhaps? No.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands fisted on his knees and back straight, Steve Rogers’ brows furrowed. He was ill at ease, fatigued as he waited for you patiently. Inside the bathroom, he could just make out the soft shuddering sigh as you languished under the hot water of the shower.

The heavy feeling in his stomach had made its home not long after that cold, dark morning in the cemetery. He shouldn’t feel this way, having finally gotten his way after months of battling to subdue you down into his perfect, acquiescent wife. Five blissful weeks without so much as a hair out of place, a foot out of step. Obediently writing his memoir and succumbing to his every desire under the sheets of your bed…

And yet, something didn’t sit right.

His attention was momentarily brought to the sound of the shower as he picked up the scent of your sweet body wash and soft tune as you dutifully prepared yourself for him.

Perhaps he missed the thrill of the chase. For weeks he had stalked you like prey, like the other women In his life and now he had no need for those games. You were his, wholly. The need had been satiated. Right?

Standing up, he slowly made his way into the expansive walk-in closet. His fingers caressing the soft texture of your silk dresses, he stalked around the shared space, breathing in the heady scent of the perfume he had bought you. Steve could not shake the juxtaposition of this room compared to the one he had broken into in the compound. Once woody and fresh like citrus, now sweet and floral. Fingers lingering over the lingerie drawer, he was overwhelmed with the memory of your stockings covered in his come as he sat on your bed…

Pulling the drawer open, he carefully considered the luxurious contents. Silk and lace panties tempt him, calling to him to touch them, smell them. Obliging their song, he breathed in the heady scent that was unapologetically you married with the clean scent of detergent. The material was soft against his tongue and skin as he savoured this moment.

Was it all too easy now? Had his dark flame been extinguished by the death of the challenge?

God, the high he would relish in following unsuspecting women back in the day… and yet that had not been enough. He had needed more then…

Yes, he needed more now.

The sound of the shower shutting off brought his attention from the dark clouds and back to reality. His reality. Yours…

Steve sat back down onto the bed you share, his fingers picking at the comforter as he listened to you fuss about in the bathroom drawers. Were you purposely delaying your grand entrance or were you being a good girl and making sure you looked especially pretty for your Captain?

He smirked at the memory of you kneeling between his knees that morning and batting your eyelashes at him as you sucked him off whilst he had read over his memoir. The one you were devotedly putting pen to paper for. An ovation of sorts for the man who had saved the world time and time again, sacrificing his life for the small, inferior masses.

Retirement was a funny beast, bringing out a myriad of emotions in the mercurial and attention-needy man. He deserved more than to wander the halls of the child-free house… Perhaps these feelings would dissipate once you were pregnant with his baby. And yet still you weren’t.

Why you hadn’t fallen pregnant to his ravenous appetite is beyond Steve. Wasn’t it his right, hadn’t he earned the privilege to call a child his own? After everything, he had risked his life for.

His jaw clicked as the wave of white noise ebbed and flowed, his focus steeled on the minute drop of blood on the cream carpet before him. It reminded him of the blood his mother desperately tried to hide from him as a child. The odour of vinegar hit him hard as he gripped his knees tightly. She had fought so hard to protect him, like a good mother. She would have done anything for her boy. Why couldn’t you…

“Captain?”

The wave was gone and he snapped his attention to his angel, you, standing in the warm light of the bathroom, wearing naught but the tiered pearl necklace and silky charcoal stockings he had surprised you with.

His cheeks burned hot as you swayed your hips towards him, your stained rouge lips calling to him. You are a vision, his vision, exactly how he had fantasised all those months ago in the compound. His perfect little doll. Standing before him, you dropped to your knees on the carpet, the red drop and stomach-churning smell was gone, and the dark flame reignited, albeit small.

“Did I do something wrong, Captain?” In the low light of the bedroom lamps, your eyes sparkled.

Fuck, he’d missed that. The fear. The respect. The adoration. He didn’t need an army, he just needed you.

“No, doll.” His smile was lazy as he gently cupped your face, “I’m just relieved to see you safe and unscathed. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you. Thank God I was able to get to you in time.”

The familiar pull in the corner of your lip wasn’t there, the one that told him you weren’t his. His heart expanded as you clasped your hand over his. “Thank you for saving my life,” you cooed, pressing your lips to his with a hunger he had desired for so long.

He smirked. The fight had finally gone, extinguished the morning he had fucked you on the frigid ground of the cemetery. The very night he closed the door tightly shut on your old world, keeping you tightly locked in his forever. Finally, Steve Rogers was victorious in this war to reclaim you.

You nestled against his naked chest, brushing up against his hardening cock. “I love you, Captain Rogers,” you purred, the sweet scent of your perfume invading his senses as his fingers cascaded over your clean skin. “How can I ever repay you for saving my life?”

Clutching your chin, he examined your reaction closely, waiting for the veil to fall and that fight to rear its ugly head. Nothing. Steve wasn’t sure if it was disappointment burning in the pit of his gut, or excitement, but the feeling was quickly forgotten as you slowly brought yourself up onto your feet and climbed up onto his lap.

He smirked, his hands moving to grasp your ass as he trailed his eyes over the tiers of pearls. “How would you like to carry the child of Captain America, doll?”

You were numb as you slowly rode Steve’s thick cock, feigning words of praise and admiration for the false superhero as the strands of pearls bounced against your chest. For weeks now you had slowly taken every ounce of hatred and resentment and buried it deep inside your gut, building walls of fake love and submission around your heart. He must be none-the-wiser to your grand plan to bring down the great Steve Rogers. Your very life depended on it.

As the tip of his cock brushed against that sweet tender spot, you thought back over what you had camouflaged within the bullshit memoir you were forced to compose for the egotistical man you now called husband. Deft hands pulled you from the encrypted words you planned in your head as you obediently fucked him, his lips littering your skin with hot kisses as he sat up.

“Please Captain,” you lied, poison dripping through your veins, “please put a baby in me.” You prayed that this was another unsuccessful attempt of his to further bind you into his world. It had been a miracle thus far that you hadn’t fallen pregnant to the supersoldier. Perhaps there was somebody on your side.

Your attention was brought back to the golden-haired man as he flipped you onto your back, pulling your leg up towards your chest and tugging you into a heated kiss.

“Come on my cock,” he demanded, exaggerating his hips as his fingers danced along your clit. “I command you to come.”

You dared not disappoint, clenching his length and giving in to the crushing waves of pleasure. There was no faking the effect the man had on your body, but your heart - you could never willingly hand that over. He would have to kill you first.

“Good girl.” The praise was like nails under your skin, drawing small strips of your waning fortitude. “You feel so good around my big, thick cock. It’s like you were made for me.”

You drew yourself back into the safe, black fortress as he crushed you with a cloud of approval. Like a broken record, it was a script of circular self-love, masked by his adoration for you. It had been hard to ignore the creeping cloud of something sinister coming over your captor over the past weeks.

Graduating from the sickening role of needy daddy to smug Captain had come with the same force as his dark appearance in the stealth suit. From carer to ruler, it had been a juggling act trying to cater to his ever mercurial sinful needs.

“Please, Captain,” you huskily mewled, drawing your fingers over the crest of his muscular back, widening your hips and emitting a breathy sigh for show, “please come inside me. Make me whole with your baby.” You lavished him with thanks and praise as he fucked you harder before spilling himself deep inside you, anchoring you within his stronghold. Grunting in your ear with hot air, he jutted his hips, drawing another orgasm from your wretched, apostate body.

As the night drew on, the pressure was unforgiving as he held you close to his chest, sharp eyes constantly searching you for the slightest swell of anger or hatred. You lost yourself in the rise and fall of his chest, your mind incessantly on work as you planned out the next chapter of your own memoir. The downfall and demise of Steve Rogers, America’s greatest anti-hero.

**********

Standing over the grave, I made a promise that day that I would never allow another man to lay his hands on a woman. I would do anything to protect my mother from the toxic traits of men. I would move heaven and earth to remove any ounce of my father from my soul.

And I upheld that promise, long after my mother was laid to rest.

For she taught me one essential lesson: women are to be cherished and treated with the utmost respect.

For years I held women at bay, protecting them from the dangers that my new serum-enhanced brought into the world. I never thought I would find love or be worthy of it, too afraid to open up and risk a broken heart after losing my beloved Peggy.

That was until I met her. My Angel. My saviour… She breathed new life into my world, and I hers.

Next Chapter: Coming Soon

🖤 Please feel free to comment or reblog. Tag list is open. 🖤

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

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Reblog to read later

sooo my chris evans drabble is gonna be a full fic😭😭 here’s a bucky drabble while i work on it

cw: penetration, fem!reader, daddy kink

“fuck yeah ride that dick baby” bucky groans out throwing his head back as his metal hand slams down on your ass causing you to whine as you clench down on his dick.

he moans at the stimulation looking down to see your little cunt swallowing him up. strings of slick connecting from his balls to your cunt appear every time you move yourself off his cock; followed by the sloppy pit pat of your ass meeting his thighs.

he loved to see you like this; all worked up because of his big cock. your eyes glazed over, tears forming in your eyes, and little pants and moans streaming out of your mouth. your tits jump with every bounce of your hips, and he can’t resist the temptation of your lewd display and shifts to move his lips to your nipple while he plays with the other with his hand.

you moan loudly and shudder at the added stimulation. he grins against your nipple before moving away leaving a strand of spit connecting the two of you. it’s clear to him that you’re worked up; your whines are breathy and your nails are digging into his chest, as your bouncing becomes more frantic.

“aww is my little baby close? is she gonna cream on daddy’s dick?” he coos down at you leaving another slap on your ass. his words have you clenching on him as you moan and nod your head; your face pinching as you work yourself towards an orgasm.

“shit- here let daddy help you fuck” he moans out as he sits up further arms wrapping around you as he plants his feet. he then begins a torturous pace; hips slapping against yours as his fat cock hammers against your g-spot causing you to cry out; tears falling down your cheeks at the feeling of being fucked so thoroughly.

“did daddy find your little spot, baby?” he snickers as he continues to pound into you. he moves a hand down to your clit and you jump at the feeling of metal on your sensitive bundle of nerves. he grins at this before rubbing small circle’s against your nub and the feeling makes you squeal as you babble out.

“m’ gonna cum, gonna cum please please need to cum daddy” you sob out as you push your face into his chest. he groans at the increase of tightness before fucking into you faster.

“fuuuck little girl cum on this cock” he groans out continuing his ministrations.

his words are enough to push you off the edge; legs shaking as you babble thank yous out to him. your cunt squeezing down on him as he continues his pace he moans as you cream on his dick leaving a sticky ring around the base of his cock.

“suuch a good girl” he praises you as he continues to pound into you.

“im gonna fuck you full baby so be a good girl and take it, we’ll stay here until you’re dripping, okay princess?” he says before continuing his brutal pace.

and as he pounds into you;

you realize it’s gonna be a long night

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

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Reblogging to read later!

lemonade

neighbor!bucky barnes x housewife!reader

devastated by the spreading talk of your husband’s affair, you’re desperate to find a way to get back at him— and who to do it with.

warnings: smut (cunnilingus, unprotected sex, dirty talk, manhandling, praise & light degradation, creampie, breeding) mutual cheating, insecurities, hints to abusive relationships

(highly inspired by this song)

“How is it?”

The incessant whirring of the washing machine is tunneling in your head, adding to the stress induced migraine you’ve already received. But the man in front of you is more than chipper, smiling as he takes in more of the pie you’ve prepared.

Keep reading

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

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Reblogging to read later! I love Bucky!

little lily.

pairing | mob!bucky x fem!reader

summary | you unknowingly bring out a side of bucky he never knew was there.

cw | fluff, minor angst

"Francine!" you call out to your housekeeper as you make your way down the stairs. It wasn't uncommon for her to show up earlier than her usual time as she'd sometimes bring you the freshest flowers from her home garden.

"Good morning, Miss!"

You stop in your tracks as you spot her at the end of the staircase, holding the most adorable baby with the chubbiest cheeks and fluffiest hair. The baby lets out a booming laugh as she sees you and you give her the brightest smile in return.

"Hi, honeypie!" you exclaim as your reach the end of the staircase, extending your arms towards the baby as she makes grabby hands of her own. You take her from Francine and she immediately begins to play with your hair.

"Who's this?" you ask Francine as you continue to play with her.

"Lily. She's my granddaughter," she tells you proudly.

"Francine! You're a grandma? You have to tell me what you do for your figure!" You tease her playfully.

"Oh hush, Miss." She says with a radiant laugh. "I was just dropping off the flowers and then I was going to take her back home. Her mum isn't in town so I have her for the week. Little Miss cried all morning," she says gently pinching Lily's cheek.

"No, don't take her back! I'll watch her for the day!" you plead enthusiastically.

"Oh no, Miss, I can't ask that of you,"

"Please, Francine?" you ask with your biggest puppy dog eyes, hugging Lily as she babbles incoherently. "We'll have so much fun! Plus, you'll be here the entire time."

"You're both such adorable troublemakers," she says as she walks off to do her job, leaving you and Lily to your fun.

Spending time with Lily made you realize just how lonely you really were.

Bucky was busy and away most of the time, rightfully so. It was his job. The both of you had gotten a little closer since the other night when you had told him how you felt about him coming home late all the time. He truly was doing his best to keep his promise but he couldn't deny his duty.

Luckily, Lily didn't complain even once. She was a happy baby. Francine gave you her bag before she left and you fed Lily and she ate contently.

Just then Sam, Bucky's right-hand man and best friend walked into the room. You were laying on the floor observing the Lily's facial expressions as she intently studied her toy.

"Who's this little princess?" he asks as he makes his way towards you, laying down next to you as Lily gives him a big smile. He holds his finger out to her and she grabs it instantly.

"Francine's granddaughter, Lily," you tell him with a smile. Sam was a good man, you'd become good friends with him over the few months that you'd moved in. His banter and bickering with Bucky never failed to put a smile on your face.

"Francine's a grandma?" he asks incredulously.

"I had a hard time believing it too!"

"Gamma!" Lily babbles as she recognizes her grandma's name.

"Yes! Gamma!" you exclaim as you scoop her up in your arms to take her out to the garden.

"Buck'll be back in a bit," Sam informs you. "He told me to remind you to eat because you forget sometimes and that he's already eaten so you don't need to wait up,"

"Sure, thanks Sam," you respond, your cheeks going warm at the thought of Bucky's concern.

Bucky was confused to see the plethora of toys scattered on the living room floor as he walked in. He scanned the house for you and called out when he couldn't find you.

"Y/N?"

"In the backyard!" you respond.

Bucky had had a long day today. His meetings had run longer than they were supposed to and he was tired of dealing with everything.

But somehow after seeing you and the way you were interacting with the child in your arms made him forget all the weight he was carrying on his shoulders.

"Hi," you say softly as he walks towards you.

"Hey, who's this?"

"Francine's granddaughter. She's adorable, isn't she?"

"The most." he replies with a smile. "May I?"

You nod, hiding your surprise. Lily makes grabby hands at him as he picks her up, babbling at him.

"Hey, sweetpea," he coos softly as she looks up at him with wide, curious eyes. "Do you like the flowers?"

"It's getting late, you wanna head inside?" you ask him.

"Gaa!" she exclaims in agreement.

He makes a mental checklist to buy out every toy store in town right then and there.

"Sure, c'mon."

Just as you close up the backyard, Francine heads towards you, done for the day. The surprise on her face is evident as she watches the most dangerous man in New York interact lovingly with a baby.

"Was she good all day?" she asks you.

"The best. You oughta leave her with me more often!" you laugh.

"Oh, I'll be sure!" she says taking Lily from Bucky.

"Do bring her by more, Francine," Bucky says. "She's a real doll."

"Yes, Mr Barnes, most definitely!"

Just then, Bucky receives a call and he excuses himself.

"You're changing him," Francine says suddenly.

"What?"

"You're good for him, Miss. I've never seen him like this before. It's you."

You almost cry at her words as you walk both her and Lily out.

"Thank you, Francine." you whisper.

She responds by simply giving you a warm smile.

"Bye bye, honeypie! Come back to play with Auntie Y/N soon! " You say as Lily waves back at you enthusiastically.

Later that night, you told Bucky everything about your day with Lily as you began getting ready for bed and he listened to you with intent and admiration.

"I liked the way we were today," you say at the end, your entire body heating up. "And thank you for asking Sam to check up on me. It was really sweet."

"Of course, doll. I care about you."

He cares about you

"I care about you too, Bucky."

"Sweet dreams, doll," he says, the smile evident in his voice as he turned off the light.

Sweet dreams indeed.

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

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IT IS! IT IS WHAT WE DESERVE!!!

You’re my hero! Haha.

The is @team-iron-wannabe-man coming at you from my personal page because we can’t send asks through side blogs 🙄 but anyways… the fact that you make Bucky and Steve and all the fine fellas ENORMOUS (in more ways than one) gots me all… idk how to even describe it. It’s perfect. Good lord, life isn’t fair. I need men like that in my life! Huge men like that. Haha

All our men are huge and beefy. We get pinned down and dicked down😌. It's what we deserve

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

Note

Will this be a thing? Are you in the midst of another masterpiece? Oh god. I need this. Please, please, please! I’m usually not one to beg because I’m stubborn, but for this… I’ll beg however you want me to!

I love your writing!

Sex pollen with Ari- I- Um- Ma'am- My systems are overheating-

This 6'6" man under the influence of sex pollen 🥵🥵🥵🥵

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

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Just… yes to everything. Yes, yes, yes! Geez Louise. This was perfect. I am so hot and bothered because of this. I hope you’re happy with yourself.

No man can live up to these fan fictions you amazing humans write. This is why I will forever be alone. Unless you have magic and can physically conjure up a man for me. Haha.

I wish!

Another amazing fic! I am so blessed to have you in my life!

Drown In You

Summary: Ari might be your dad’s best friend but that’s not stopping him from taking you every chance he can get.

Pairing: DBF!Ari x Reader

Word Count: 4K.

Warnings: Age gap (reader is over 18, Ari is 40), Ari is 6'6", smut, public smut, oral (fem receiving), praise kink, major size kink, slight spanking, choking kink, dirty talk, jealous, possessive Ari.

A/N: Beta’d by the wonderful @maladaptivexxdaydreaming, @soldatsass & @offcast-plus1 . Divider by @maysdigitalarts.

|Masterlist|Ari Levinson Masterlist|Coffee|

A breeze, salt-tinged and warm, sweeps across your face, carrying the fresh scent of evergreen from the tall, majestic trees lining the beach. The wind catches the bottom of your dress, sending it fluttering around your legs; the lacy material sways back and forth, ballooning out in a sea of lavender, the urge to twirl like a ballerina seeps into your skin and you rise on your toes.

Hearing your name, you settle back on your heels and spin around with a carefree grin, and wave at your dad.

“Really?” your smile falters at the sight of him struggling to carry all his gear, his ‘tools for success’ as he calls them. The bottom of his prized grill is hooked under his arm, spatulas, and knives precariously balanced in his hand, bags of god knows what are flung over both shoulders, making him waddle from the strain of their weight as he approaches you.

You try not to laugh. You really do. But then, you see he’s carrying a bottle of seasoning between his teeth and you lose it. Your bright laughter travels across the beach in loud spurts, almost snorting despite your efforts to rein it in.

“Help please,” he mumbles around the dented container of the old bay.

Sprinting across the warm sand, you manage to catch a few bags before they hit the ground. “You know I would have helped, right?” You ask, nudging him with your shoulder. “Or you could have made two trips.”

Your dad throws you an offended look as he pushes the legs of the grill into the sand. “Two trips? You know we aren’t a two trip household.” He puffs his chest out with pride. “I made it, didn’t I?”

“Barely.” More laughter spills out. You take the knives from his hand and set them down on a plate you rummaged out of one of the bags by your feet.

“And I accept help all the time. I even let Ari grab the steaks.” He mutters distractedly, too busy analyzing his setup to notice your eyes widening; brows nearly hitting your hairline. “He’ll be here any minute.”

You almost choke on your spit. Hitting the top of your chest, you swallow a few times to clear your throat. “Excuse me,” you croak out, leaning down to snag a bottle of water.

“Oh yeah, I told him about our annual trip and the poor guy was going to spend the weekend all alone and I-” he cuts off, waving his arm in the air. “Ari, we’re down here!”

“He’s going to be here the whole weekend,” you whisper, anticipation coursing through you.

Keep reading

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team-iron-wannabe-man · 2 years

Text

Beeeeech! I needed this in my life. I need you in my life. Gaaaawwwwd! This was so fucking delicious. DELICIOUS!

I’d make you my god if you’d make me a man like that. Lord, I’d want every version of Bucky you can come up with in that pretty little head if yours!

Now please excuse me, I need to cool off. Haha.

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Fling

Part two to Sting

Pairing: TattooArtist!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: Your tattoo artist left you hanging and you’re fed up enough to come and collect his excuse.

Warnings: 18+. Smut and mean Bucky.

Words: 5,OOO

A/N: I made a promise and I'm not one to break a promise. So here is part two to a fic you all really enjoyed. I said I wasn't elaving and I meant it!

Chewing your lip, you blankly gaze ahead of you as your friends smoke and talk some more. The entire street is filled with people from the strip, everyone trying to catch a breath and cool off as the summer night air simmers through the city. Crossing your arms over your chest and bouncing your leg, your mind trails off to the previous week.

You swallow hard and gently brush your thumb over the spot where Bucky had left the tattoo over your ribs. Every time your mind travels back to that day, you want to scream. It’s like you can hear the disturbing ‘ding’ of the tattoo shop door opening when it penetrated your lust-filled mind – like you can still feel the cold air brush over your nipples when Bucky’s mouth abandoned you.

And the rest is a blur.

A blur where one of his old time clients showed up unannounced to get Bucky to work on one of the larger pieces he had been asked to do and where Bucky somewhat uncomfortably, even with his oozing arrogance and indifference, sent you on your way. You didn’t have to pay for the tattoo and your cheeks were burning with heat once you passed the old time client who was giving you a strange look while Bucky led him to the room he defiled you in.

Safe to say you are pissed. Still to this day. It had been hard enough to get an appointment and to avoid Bucky’s presence along with it. And you completely failed, had to bear the uncomfortable half hour of him giving you your tattoo, then he had the fucking nerve to rile you up and turn you into a weak puddle of a person, only to send you on your merry way like you were any other client before he could fulfil all of his empty promises. As pissed as you are for the way he treated you and how you wanted the ground to swallow you whole from the embarrassment you felt, you are mainly just furious because you have not been able to shake him since.

It's like there is a permanent burning between your legs, as if Bucky put a dark magic in the ink of your tattoo that keeps chanting his name through your body, like you’re tethered to him at all times. Your orgasms were mere bumps instead of the usual mind-blowing peaks, your skin has never been this sensitive and every brush of air is making your body stand on alert. Your hands have never been this restless and at one point, you were so frustrated, you could barely do something as simple as pour a glass of water.

All because your grumpy, piece of shit tattoo artist Bucky Barnes, had left you hanging after probably the best foreplay of your goddamn life.

So when your slightly fuzzy brain spots his figure towering between the drunken crowd and slipping into the alley you know had the back entrance of his shop, you can’t stop your feet from moving. It’s primal, the instinct that forces you his way. Like it’s addicted to him and could find him in any crowd, anywhere. Without taking your eyes off your target destination, you mumble a reason for your departure to your friends, shouldering yourself through the crowd until you approach the dark alley.

What the hell is he doing here in the middle of the night?

You pass a couple pressed against the brick wall in their own passions and give them a brief glance as they fail to notice you before returning your gaze to where you know a metal door is hidden in the wall. And sure enough, fumbling with the lock of the door, is the metal-armed artist.

“What the hell are you doing here at this time?” You ask him, crossing your arms over your chest as you pop your hip out and look him up and down.

His shoulders sag and Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh before slowly turning his frame to face you. It’s almost as if he was waiting for you to show up, like you are the one thing he was trying to avoid.

“Excuse me?” He raises an unimpressed brow at you, shooting a brief glance at the dry-humping couple at the end of the alley way before his eyes land back on you.

You have no reason to talk to him that way – like you know him and are allowed to scold him – but you don’t care. The alcohol has slightly affected your inhibitions and you are still pissed off.

“You heard me.” You bluff.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?” He grumbles, clearly annoyed by the intrusion as he still rests his metal hand on the door handle, ready to leave.

You try not to look too offended when you hear his tone. Like you’re just any lost woman trying to catch his attention and he’ll not-so-gladly return you to your designated friend group to get you off his ass. Just when you think your fury couldn’t get any worse…

Giving him the deadliest glare you have in your arsenal, you fumble with your purse and grab your wallet, hands shaking with fury and again, embarrassment. Of course he wouldn’t remember you. Frantically searching for the notes of money buried in there, you fish out a sum large enough to cover for the tattoo, walk over to him and shove the money into his pocket.

“Realised I still owe you for that tattoo.” You spit out, biting back the litany of names you want to scream at him for treating you like some cheap slut.

Turning around and barging off, you don’t get too far as a firm hand wraps around your upper arm and pulls you back. Stumbling on your feet, you collapse with your back into what you assume is his hard chest and with an angry huff, that same hand grabs your head twists it to the side to face the open door and pushes you into the dark and abandoned building.

The metal door slams closed and for a second, there is so little you can see, you have to squint to see the exit sign at the end of the hall. That’s when red lights flicker on and a buzzing sound permeates the air, the lights slowly illuminating more and more of the hallway.

“Always with the goddamn act. Ready to make a fucking scene.” He spits and you feel a push in your back, making you stumble forward. Following the silent order, you drag your light feet forward until you hear another door open and turn around to watch Bucky hold a random door open for you.

“Don’t get shy now. Walk.” He grunts and you give him a long look, unable to spot anything, before shuffling inside where you immediately recognise the interior of his shop, soft neon brightening the walls that are littered with his designs.

“Why are you here at this time?” You asks, your voice softened in comparison to earlier.

“I have shit to do.” He answers and starts rummaging around the shop.

“In the middle of the night?” You frown and turn back to him.

“How is your tattoo?” He asks, blatantly ignoring your prying question.

“Healed. Not thanks to you.” You retort.

Walking over to the check out desk, you take a seat at the bar stool under it, waiting for to ascend from behind the desk. You hear him grumble and huff, small curse words slipping through his complaints before he pushes back to a stand.

“Good. I’m glad.” He murmurs absentmindedly and walks off to the sink, filling a glass of water as he turns his back to you.

You frown at him and bite the inside of your cheek, “Are you? Because I’m pretty sure you couldn’t care less when you sent me away after your slutty tricks.”

He turns around after putting the glass down, resting against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest, his dark eyes piercing yours as he glowers at you.

“I couldn’t.” He shrugs after a moment of silence and you refrain from letting your jaw drop to the floor at the sheer audacity of the man opposite to you.

“God, you’re a fucking piece of shit, you know that?” You groan and slide off the stool, grabbing your purse and stalking off towards the back door again. But once more, Bucky’s hand stops you dead in your tracks as he holds out the sum of money you shoved in his pocket earlier.

“Take this.”

“No.” You seethe up at his dead-panned face, “You keep it and let it weigh on your guilty conscience that you earned that by feeling me up.”

One of his brows rises and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, his grip tightening on your arm as he leans down until his breath fans over your warm face, “In that case, sweetheart, I’m a little more expensive.”

Your eyes widen with white hot anger and you rip your arm from his grip before shoving his chest with all the power you can muster, making him smirk even more blatantly as he barely loses his balance. You thump your fists over his chest over and over, growling with anger at his outrageous statement.

“You fuckin-” You scream at him and he merely laughs as his hands wrap tightly around your fist and hold up your hands to stop your vicious attack.

“That’s enough.” His voice is unbearably deep.

“Not nearly.” You push through gritted teeth and he gives you a bored glare.

“Yes, it is. Would you let me explain?”

“And give you the chance to pretend you don’t know me? No, thank you.” You roll your eyes and struggle to pry your wrists free from his grip.

He drags you over to the stool and manhandles you with ease until you’re sat on the puffy cushion before grabbing the glass of water, slamming it down onto the desk and looking down at you with a serious expression on his face – not too different from his usual expression.

“Drink some fucking water and hear me out.”

You narrow your eyes at him, pondering over your choices until your curiosity wins the inner battle and you nod faintly at him to start speaking.

“That client isn’t exactly one of the friendly kind.” He starts, “I got into business with him because he makes good money and I can’t exactly ignore him. But I didn’t want him to ask any weird questions, so I got you out of there as soon as possible. He’s a bit ruthless when it comes to things he wants to get his hands on.”

“I can handle myself just fine.” You mutter, a weak defence to the slight shock of his story.

“I don’t doubt that. But not on my watch.” He grumbles and you can see his jaw clench tightly, the tension rippling through the muscles of his arms and shoulders. Bucky is fighting for his life to keep his composure. You’re too feisty for your own good and it makes him want to scream in frustration and pull out his hair.

As stubbornly quiet as you were the last session, he should have known you’d get worse in a situation like this. And perhaps he should have let you stand outside in the alley and get back to your friends, but he’s never felt guilty for being a dick before. It’s always been easier to keep people at a distance, but he realised after giving you your tattoo and sending you off after turning him on beyond comprehension, that he didn’t want any distance between you. The chance of you coming back or running into him was slim and he couldn’t take it.

He is more than happy that you’re a feisty one, because that’s what brought you to confront him after last time. And when your eyes flash with fury and your fists ball, all he wants is to sink to his knees and make you stutter and stammer while you continue to try and be angry with him. He wants those grabby hands wrapped in his hair like when he had your perky nipple in his mouth and he wants to feel the throbbing of your cunt on his thigh, all warm and welcoming.

“You’re mean, you know that?” You mutter as you finish your water and put down the glass next to your purse.

“You’re not very nice either.” Bucky lies fluently. You could threaten him with a knife and he’d melt on the spot. You’d still be fucking nice to him. Not that you would ever find out. And Bucky has to bite back a smirk that you’d come back to him even after he’s been a complete ass to you.

You slide off the stool again and slowly pace the tattoo shop, nodding slowly as you contemplate his words. That’s when you decide to leap. Whether it’s the alcohol making you do it, or the fact that you feel your skin still burning from his touch (or lack thereof), or that the gravel in his voice makes your stomach tense up with anticipation, you don’t know. But you’re not used to guys like him and you want to explore some new territory. So you turn around, only to find him closer than you expected and with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.

“I like it when you’re mean.” You mutter, your voice seemingly not your own, and Bucky cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as they trail over all your features. The silence becomes unbearable. Not because it’s uncomfortable, but quite the opposite. It’s thick and suffocating, his gaze on you making blood rush to the surface of your skin. You almost look down at yourself to check if you’re still clothed.

You wish you weren’t. Wish his mouth was on you again. Wish to feel the scrape of his stubble against your chest and the vibration of his voice against your sensitive skin. You wish the warmth of his tongue over your breasts and the pressure of his thigh between yours.

“God, you’re pathetic…” He rolls his eyes and you swallow hard, conflicted by his words. You’re not sure if he still wants nothing to do with you, or if he’s buttering you up to devour you.

“Is that all you got?” You bluff, hoping to coax the latter from him.

His smirk is dark, the blue neon making him look even more threatening. He steps over, three long, slow strides and shoves his hands into his pockets, peering down at your glassy eyes.

“You know it’s not.” He drawls lowly and you straighten your back.

Show me. Show me. Please, show me.

You feel like if you scream it in your head loudly enough, it might reach him, even when as keep your face straight. But you don’t know about Bucky’s advantage. Except for the arm and the obvious strength that ripples from his stature, you don’t know about his heightened senses. His hearing that picks up your thudding heartbeat, his eyes spotting every little tick in your face that gives away your racing thoughts. Or the smell of you that permeates the air and makes Bucky fight for his life not to let his eyes roll to the back of his head. But he’s not one to beat around the bush and he likes seeing you squirm.

“Fucking hell, I can smell you from here.” He almost growls as his eyes lustfully drop down, instantly activating a fluttery pounding between your legs as you drench your underwear. While you rub your legs together at the sensation, his eyelids flutter as if he smells the heady scent of fresh arousal before lifting his eyes back up to yours where he notices your frozen state.

“S-Smell me?” You stammer and his face turns serious, his arm raising to take your chin between his fingers.

“Does that make you nervous?” He mocks, cocking his head to the side and you straighten again, your eyes falling to his lips. Those sinful lips.

“No.” It’s more of a breath than anything else.

“Then let me have a taste.” He breathes back, his words almost a whisper as he leans in so close, that his lips almost brush over yours, making your eyes fall closed at the mere teasing from his proximity.

“Taste…” You repeat, your bottom lip briefly brushing his top lip as you breathe the word. It is taking all of your brain capacity to figure it out. His request. How many ways there are for him to have a taste. How many ways you’d like him to have a taste. And you nod, almost melting into his grip on your chin.

“Say it.” He breathes again and your lips part as you feel his breath brush over the freshly bitten skin. One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. Your heart pounding thrice as fast.

“Taste me.” You choke out and he’s on you.

Your moan that spills into his mouth the second it connects with yours gets swept away by his tongue against your top lip to lick into you, both his hands at your jaw as he tilts your head further back and hauls you up against his mouth. He’d devour you if he could.

Fingers clasping onto the worn fabric of his shirt to make sure you have some grip as Bucky ravages your mouth, uses your mouth, simply because you don’t think he has any other purpose than to do so, your eyes nearly roll back at the intensity of his kiss and the throbbing between your legs intensifies.

While your hands slide up his neck and into his hair, his own slide down to your waist to claw at you and pull you nearer. When the pressure of your body against him is semi-satisfactory, Bucky’s hands grab your ass and pull you over his thigh, your drenching core instantly warming into his jeans. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet before.

You’d expect more self control from the cynical tattoo artist, but he still has more of a grip than you do. He could shove you to your knees and you would instantly open your mouth and stick out your tongue for him. Though Bucky seems more focused on the feeling of your heartbeat against his thigh and the warmth that permeates through the fabric of his jeans, so you roll your hips against him, tugging at his hair as your breath hitches and your kiss comes to a halt.

His brow presses to yours, squeezing the flesh of your ass and making your hips roll into the same movement again, causing the same stutter in your breath as heat bursts through your skin and reaches him.

“Good girl.” He breathes and your eyes flutter at the praise. The long-awaited praise.

“Bucky…” You gasp and you want him – no, need him to take over, because you don’t know what to do with all that frantic desire coursing through your bloodstream. And then you feel your dress being shoved over your ass, the harsh lash to your flesh from his hand snapping you back to your sanity slightly.

“Don’t go dumb on me now.” He hisses, “I haven’t done anything yet.”

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to snap. For you to up your game and become his match. Your eyes snap open, the dark lust in them almost stealing his breath until you pull at his hair, roughly enough to grant you some give, which you then abuse by shoving him to his knees in front of you.

The flash of delight across his face makes you swallow hard as you peer down your nose at the man who is struggling to keep his eyes on your face. You can almost read his mind. How he argues with himself to watch your eyes, your lips – until dismissal echoes in his head and his eyes drop to your panties, his hands firmly on your thighs. And his lids lower, the breath he inhales sharp and strained when he focuses all his attention on his next meal.

His fingers play with the thin fabric of your panties, curling and twisting and snapping. Tugging and scrunching. Like he’s waiting for permission. And when he looks up, a cocky look of suggestion in his eyes, you grit your teeth to steady yourself.

You’re not sure you are ready for his mouth. For the things Bucky is capable of. You’re not sure you can handle his relentless and inevitable teasing after all the time that has already passed thinking about him. But you can’t help the appreciative stroke of your fingers through his hair and you may have imagined the slight flutter in his eyes at the touch.

“Taste me.”

His pupils explode below his dooming brows and his voice is hoarse when he simply rips your underwear off you, the sting of the fabric like a zap of lightning up your spine, “Yes, ma’am.”

Instead of gently leaning forward and daring a taste, the next thing you know, you get dragged to the floor, waiting for an impact that never comes. Before you can register your position lying on his floor, you get hauled towards Bucky and he engulfs you whole.

The warmth and wetness of his eager mouth lapping up every drop you spilled for him between your folds, has your back arching to the ceiling and your hands clawing at the floor for leverage. He makes it his job to drink up all of your arousal before plunging his tongue into you as far as it goes, the pulsations around it making him growl against you.

His metal arm clamps over your writhing hips to keep them still, his hand pressing into your abdomen perfectly, while his other hand grabs onto one of yours and guides it to his hair. Instantly following his guidance, both your hands curl into his brown locks and pull, subsequently making Bucky go rogue on his feasting.

And after all the foreplay, after all that tension, it doesn’t take long for your spine to tighten, your legs to tremble and your fingers to start feeling numb. The sound alone of the man panting and licking and sucking and groaning between your thighs is enough to hurl you so close to the edge, you are sure your sanity will tumble along with your climax.

All it takes is one thick finger pressing into you and curling into your spot and you tighten around him while pleasure explodes through every limb, your head airing out. The hoarse cry that falls from your lips and the attempt of capturing his head between your legs permanently have Bucky going into overdrive to haul you through your orgasm, every twitch of your body to his touches being echoed by a twitch in his jeans.

Bucky is painfully hard by the time you’re nothing but soft breaths of satisfaction. Devouring every piece of evidence of your orgasm, he strokes your body soothingly as you come down.

“Turn over, sweetheart.” He orders and tugs at your hips until you roll over onto your stomach. His greedy tug at your hips and kneading at your ass have you press into him wantonly. The warmth of his body crawls over you and his breath fans over the back of your neck where he leaves a gentle kiss, “You taste fucking delightful.”

You swallow hard at the praise and flinch when his warm hand cups your entire pussy, running fingers through you to rile you up again. Lazy drags of his lips over your shoulders and back of your neck have you shudder with need.

“Bucky…”

“Your warm little cunt has been crying for me…” Bucky grumbles against your skin, his fingers teasing and teasing and teasing, “For me to give you a good pounding. Set you straight. Fuck you stupid.”

You let out an agreeing whine, your pride long forgotten after your first orgasm, and you’d melt at the quiet sound of his dark chuckle if your body didn’t spring to full attention at the sound of his pants coming undone. It’s purely instinct that drives your ass up into his crotch and it instantly earns you a harsh snap of his palm against your ass cheek, making you hiss and press your brow to the cold floor in obedience.

His cold metal hand presses between your bare shoulder blades and presses you into the ground, grinding his hips against you roughly to show you exactly who is in charge. The pressure makes you huff and you reach back with one of your hands for him, only for him to straighten up slightly and pin your wrist to your back.

You want to protest, whimper at least to let him know how badly you need him, but every thought leaves your brain when you feel the silk length of him glide through your folds, pressing into your clit, before gliding back again.

“Oh God…” It’s barely a whisper, but Bucky hears it alright. He is narrowed in on every tiny, little response your body has to him.

So when you go still in an attempt not to test him again, he smirks and breaches your entrance slowly, the slow stretch of you around the throbbing head of him almost making him buckle over and crush you under him. And to make it even worse, you let out the filthiest moan he thinks he’s ever heard.

Retreating slowly and pushing back in another extra inch has you panting from underneath him. Out. And in a bit further. Out. And in. Out….

And Bucky glides home in one large stroke – so far, so deep that he curls into you to groan into your ear. Chest attached to your back as he barely holds himself up, he ruts his hips into you, nudging into your spot over and over and over until your vision starts to spin.

His wet pants in your ear, together with the sound of your own whimpers and the sound of him striking into you so hard, you can’t describe the feeling. You can’t possibly describe the combination of frustration and relief of finally having him inside of you. Like smouldering fire – so hot, so intense, so slow yet so rough.

It’s dirty, the way he has you.

Bucky’s metal hand plants back into the floor beside your head as his other hand snakes under you to your clit, two of his finger strumming over the throbbing bud as the pace of his thrusts increases. Harsh, shallow and fast, each of his strokes hit their target and make your body tingle and tremble underneath him.

You’re close. So close. His fingers grinding over your clit make you gasp for air, a pressure between your hips growing that you fear might kill you. Or worse, make you addicted to Bucky. Make you his.

Neither of you can utter a word. Both of you swimming in pleasure and never wanting this to end. Bucky might go insane with the grip you have on his cock, the breathy sounds that leave your tempting lips, the satisfaction that he made you obey in the end.

“I’m… I’m-” You can’t get the words out, but Bucky already knows and gently bites your ear lobe.

“I know, I know…” He murmurs, his voice nothing but deep gravel, “Just a second longer. Need to feel you a second longer.”

He’s breathless and you can’t help but feel pride swell in your chest at the sheer desperation lining his lovely, warm voice. And you agree, you want to feel him more, feel him longer, feel him deeper. So you clench around him and curl your fingers against the floor.

His thrusts become sloppy and wild, wilder than before. His breathing more uncontrolled and heavier, shallow too. You’re trying everything in your power not to come, but something shifts in the both of you and you feel his permission. Feel it in the way his teeth sink into your shoulder and his fingers press deep circles into your clit.

And with one particularly hard thrust, you get flung off the edge. Your orgasm crashes into you like a tsunami and Bucky seems to fuck you into the floor even harder, the grunts at the feeling of your pussy clenching like a tight fist becoming a dull roar in your bliss.

A few lengthy thrusts have Bucky spilling himself inside of you and you sigh softly at the feeling of warmth, shockwaves whacking your body beneath him as your orgasm continues its relentless attack on your body.

When Bucky slowly pulls out after coming down form his own high, you’re nothing but jelly on his floor, the coolness of the surface sizzling against your flushed skin. The aftermath of the dirty and rough fuck you just had with Bucky makes your body tingle, your core aching from it’s emptiness.

You don’t know what Bucky is doing as he gets up, you’re far too occupied scrambling your brain back in order. But then, you feel two warm palms massage into your ass, kneading and spreading your cheeks apart, pulling your hips up slightly.

“Talk to me.” He coos, his voice teasing and mocking as you feel his stare on your abused pussy, the feeling of his warm spent seeping down your thighs. He needs to hear your voice.

“Hmm…” You can only hum, pleasure still weakening your muscles.

“You look like a fuckin’ meal right now, you know that?” He grumbles, mostly to himself it seems, and you barely manage to move you head and take a peek behind you where Bucky is on his knees with indeed his eyes back on your tingling heat. You smirk lazily and close your eyes again, a long sigh leaving your lips.

“Have at it, Buck.” You tease back with a hum, expecting a laugh from the usually stoic man. What you don’t expect, is what he does next. But while your body tenses up at first, the deep swirl of his warm tongue cleaning you up has you back to melting into his floor.

At this rate, you’ll let him tattoo his name on you.

Joke’s on Bucky though, he already has a design of your name all thought out.

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