marveldcmistress

[marveldcmistress]

Tech Tuesday: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You remind Lloyd you're okay with him as he is.

A/N: Reader is female, smaller than Lloyd. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: BDSM elements, Implied smut. Please let me know if I missed any.

Previous

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

You're curled up in Lloyd's lap, playing with his chest hair, enjoying the afterglow of another fulfilling session. Every time he doesn't push you into saying "yellow" you're quick to tell him how happy you are afterwards. He's been pushing a lot lately but still respecting the signals so you haven't been scared. But it can be tiring to not have so many sessions that are all green.

You know what's going on with Lloyd. He thinks clamming up is keeping it secret but he's never been more obvious. Well, it might be secret if it weren't for the conversation on your first date where, in his way, he admitted to being afraid of being in a relationship. He's been trying to push you away, pushing your limits, learning what he can and can't get away with. It should annoy you, maybe even scare you, but he keeps respecting the already agreed upon limits and the safeties of the taps or traffic light systems.

Admitting he's never really been in a relationship was quite the vulnerability for him. You could make him miserable with expectations for a boyfriend that you don't have for a casual hookup. You could rend his heart, forcing him to choose between you and himself. He's in uncharted territory and you're his only guide. It's a responsibility you take seriously.

Hopefully it's only new relationship jitters and he'll stop trying to push you once he knows he's safe. You don't know that Lloyd is the one you want to be with forever, but he's very good to you and you want to be exclusive with him. That counts for a lot. Especially as he keeps respecting your boundaries and limits.

But he's also been showing his affection in ways you're not sure he's even noticed. Other subs get close, he only has eyes for you. Some jackass in the breakroom gets too close, Lloyd steps in between and acts the asshole to get the unwanted attention away from you. You feel overwhelmed, he puts a hand on the back of your neck and reminds you to breathe. He's staked his claim and is taking care of you.

It's a shame he doesn't see what you do.

"You're thinking awfully loud there, Maestro," he grumbles. "What's going on?"

"Thinking about how good you are to me," you smile. Lloyd flashes his trademark prideful smile but you see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Thanks, again, for dealing with that guy in the breakroom for me. I'm not good in those kinds of situations."

"Too much of a people-pleaser," Lloyd nods. "Thank goodness I'm enough of a jackass for both of us."

"You are," you smirk. "And I couldn't be happier for it. Thank you for taking such good care of me." Lloyd's smile drops just enough for you to notice. "It's true," you insist. "You're even willing to indulge me when I want to watch my dumb shows."

He glares, "who the hell called them dumb? You need me to kick someone's ass?"

You giggle. "See? You're great for me," you say with a kiss to his mustache.

"I'm still never gonna get you flowers," he grumbles.

"Good. Flowers die so quickly they're hardly a good gift."

"And I get chocolates for us, not just you."

"Perfect for teasing with," you giggle.

Lloyd lets out a sigh, "I gotta take a piss. You stay here."

You help him move you from off of his lap. For a second you're worried you overstepped but Lloyd clears his throat to get your attention.

"What did we agree on Maestro?"

You think for a moment before smiling, "I am required to watch your gorgeous ass every time you walk away."

"Good girl," he grins before walking towards the bathroom.

It's going to be rough, but you know Lloyd's worth it.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @iwudbutnah; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @kmc1989; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[marveldcmistress]

Two-Factor Adoration (1)

Steve Rogers x agent!Reader sex pollen

Summary: Exposed to strange substances, you and Steve end up unable to resist each other's pheromones. Can you stop it? Will you two survive if you give in?

gif by @bannerville; based off of this post (see series) Warnings for sexual references (m. masturbation, kinda scenting??), language, slightly slow burn, probably too much exposition, and my splitting this into two pieces because I'm impatient. WC 2125

Steve rubs at the blue powder as it shimmers on his exposed fingertips. After trapping an enemy grenade beneath his shield, he thought everything trapped beneath would turn to dust—ash, specifically—but this feels more fine and then disappears as if it were never there.

He runs his thumb along the inside again.

Perhaps his mind is playing tricks on him. Perhaps his eyes are still adjusting from the flash-bangs of battle. He could swear he saw though, but there’s no time to ponder. When he tosses the shield, letting it ricochet twice before thudding against an enemy agent’s skull, all the remnants of powder dislodge and faintly rain down to the concrete floor. He assumes the glittery substance gets incinerated later once the building is set alight.

Steve doesn’t feel any different. He’s not sick or incapacitated. He returns to HQ with the usual fanfare he loathes, grins and bares it, yet notices one congratulatory handshake in particular has him relaxing significantly, a drape of rose-colored calm descending down his body after his nostrils flare and his slightly sweating palm tingles.

The woman is on Echo Team, and he supervised some of her training months and months ago. Steve keeps everything professional—always has—so he swallows the odd, overwhelming surge of desire that twists in his gut, allowing the excited newest recruits to pull him away.

He visits the infirmary later that night, concerned that he seems to be taking deep breaths that somehow aren’t…satisfying? It’s difficult to describe to the doctor, who finds nothing strange in the sound or strength of his lungs, but Steve also fails to mention the blue powder that may or may not have absorbed into his skin.

So embarrassing, you chastise yourself, tucking into the back bench surrounding the practice mats in the gym. Cap doesn’t deserve to be ogled like a slab of meat while he’s working.

You can’t help it.

It’s like a flood of intense arousal hit you—harder than the super soldier can hit, truly, the gentleman—the moment you opened the door. Normally, this is a safe place to let go of sexual tension, to flush it out of your body, because the stench of sweat hovers thick in the air.

It smells…uh god, it smells spectacular today, warm and natural.

Your core feels heavy, a boulder anchoring you to the bench, planting you squarely in the sightline of Steve Rogers teaching two Deltas a fresh evasive technique. You lean forward, burying your nose against a closed fist to block some of the aroma, trying to gain the focus and momentum to get on with your own exercise.

Instead, minutes of staring later, Jones shouts your name.

“You good? You wanna jump in?”

Rogers doesn’t look up, his face pinched and hands shoved in his pockets. “We done for now,” he says with a curt nod, the sharpest of glances whipped in your direction, and the captain excuses himself.

Jones hops up one of the bleacher steps.

“How heavy was your workout today, Pinkie? You’re sweating bullets.”

That stupid nickname will haunt you forever, damn it, but he’s right. You are perspiring enough to leave drops rolling down your back and neck. The shock of one bead dripping between your breasts causes you to sit suddenly straight, and you haven’t done anything at all.

So embarrassing.

He’s a handsome man, no doubt about that, but he’s not hanging around for your pleasure. Rogers is here to do a job, as are you.

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve starts delicately.

Nat swirls her bottle of beer, a lazy smirk blooming in anticipation. He always asks that before something pertaining to romance in the modern world. She’s discussed this tell with him repeatedly but never fails to enjoy his shy pokes for dating tips.

Not that Steve has used any of her advice, but Natasha remains hopeful.

“What did Yelena say the Red Room mind-control felt like?”

Nat’s face falls. That was a chance of pace.

“Why…”

“I just wondered whether it was, ya know, blind obedience—“ Steve props himself on his arms across the table, quiet so as not to draw anyone else in the common area’s interest “—or an unexplained loyalty? Did she feel like a…a slave or was it a kind of…”

Nat takes a long sip of her beer, eyes narrowing.

“Love,” he finishes. “Did it seem like she loved following orders from Dreykov?”

“That’s an awful way to put it,” Nat mutters, disgusted.

Steve is quick to wave it off, telling her never mind, forget it, but he doesn’t change the subject once he notices she’s thinking on it.

“As far as I know, the Widow formula worked same as the Winter Soldier’s conditioning. They had no choice, no conscious thought about obeying or not.”

“Was it from electricity?” Steve presses. “Or a powder?”

“Her cure was what was kinda an aerosolized pow—what is this about?” Nat scoots closer to him across the small space. “Why are you asking about this?”

Steve does a poor impression of a man casually shrugging and enjoying a beer but stays distracted, scanning the room.

She sucks her cheek thoughtfully. “I don’t know about the mind-control thing, but I know that’s not what the pheromone lock felt like.” After Steve perks up, she attempts to elaborate. “That I could think about how much I wanted to hurt him, but my body couldn’t do it. I began the action, my arm moved at first, but no followthrough. One of the weirdest moments of my life. I was helpless.”

He’s always appreciated how honest Nat will be with him. Both of them work to be normal in a world they don’t really belong in.

“Helpless,” she adds, “not unaware.”

That’s how he feels; Steve cannot control how much he thinks about you, how he seeks out even a whiff of you, how ingrained his need has become so quickly.

He’s watched security footage of your team trainings, listened to your comms track of mission recordings, and stole a piece of your clothing.

Technically, Steve did not intend to take anything. It just happened.

Yesterday, you ran through the hall with your laundry in an open hamper, smacked right into him when rounding a corner, and dropped something without noticing.

He could have called after you. He could have returned the thin tank that lay crumpled at his feet. He did not. Steve held the soft bundle in one fist, deliberately down by his side, until alone in his quarters. He stood there just inside the door, thinking till it hurt about how wrong he was for doing this, how wrong he was for even thinking about you that way.

So he threw the garment into the trash and went about his night normally.

Steve, however, found himself with that same hand clamped over his nose and mouth as he furiously stroked his cock in the dark. He wouldn’t wash it until another round in the morning, shamed and sticky in the bed, breathing in the satisfaction like oxygen, his heart beating fast enough to concern him again.

He hasn’t gone to the doctor though since he knows what’s wrong.

He’s infected. He suspects you might be, too.

The goddamn training videos all feature Captain Rogers fighting.

You’re going to die.

It’s torture to sit in an uncomfortable chair, flanked by ten of your fellow junior agents, and watch his body spin, his chest heave, his legs spread as he leaps farther than any of these boys can hope to. Goddamn it, you’re going to die.

Rogers lets out this faint grunt when he’s been pummeling someone for a while and the microphone and camera are close enough. The footage is a mix of real battle and simulation, with blows either not connecting with the volunteers sparring or his punches being pulled. Those struggling noises actually get worse and more frequent when Rogers isn’t truly fighting. It appears harder for him to hold back than to go full-bore.

Goddamn it, he’s so hot.

The problem is two-fold now: these glimpses of him—hints of him by sight or sound or smell—throw your hormones into overdrive, AND when your adrenaline spikes, you’re desperate for a hit of him.

After the latest successful mission, with Echo Team being transported home on one of the main jets, the ones with lockers for the Big Six just in case, you found yourself pulled to that very corner, itching all over to find the source of that utterly intoxicating musk. You had to have it. You would combust without it, crawl right out of your skin, waste away on the grating and cargo net without it.

You wedged yourself in the small space behind the lockers, smothering the Cap suit to your face, nose practically bruised by the ridges of the shining star at his chest’s center, imagining it resting against his sternum. You let the flood wash over you, the pulse of sheer passion devastating your nervous system and exploding in your veins.

You imagine the body inside the suit pressing you into the wall with those broad shoulders, those strong arms pinning you by waist, that lean pelvis crushing your hips into the metal hurtling twenty-thousand feet above the Earth, and those dextrous hands anchoring your throat to offer him the best access.

Your head thuds against the lockers, alerting your team to shout from the front, calling you to rejoin them. Reluctantly, you replace the suit in silence, petting how the supple leather one last time before locking away that weakness to which you keep succumbing.

Goddamn it.

Steve’s convinced he’s going insane until Natasha tracks him down while they prep for a big multi-national sting of Ten Rings terror cells.

“Took a look at the Red Room files,” she throws out. “Found something interesting.”

At first, Steve doesn’t catch that this isn’t about the job at hand.

“The scientists played with the controls together.”

“Huh?” He tightens a clasp on his suit and swears his brain senses a phantom hint of you. “What controls? Was Red Room ever working with Ten Rings?”

“No, I mean the mind-control and the pheromone lock. They tried to kill two birds with one stone.”

Steve slides on his glove. “And?”

“Well, the results were catastrophic, so the project was abandoned.” Her brow ticks up when she notices his sudden, undivided attention. “It was a dual-acting compound, the owner of the Widow took one chemical and the Widow took the other. For obedience, loyalty, all that shit you mentioned. Added bonus being that you could sell a specific client a Widow only beholden to him. There were test subjects it didn’t work on at all, but there were also those who…”

Steve holds his breath.

“…became obsessed with each other. The—quote—‘owner’ lost control because he was also devoted to his Widow, and you can’t care about disposable resources, can you?” Nat’s voice drips with bitterness and judgment. “So, yeah, abandoned. There’s no mention of the testing continuing. They just moved on.”

“They just—what? Cured the subjects?”

“It didn’t work, Steve,” Natasha softly hisses back at his strained tone. “That’s what I’m telling you.” Her eyes bulge, encouraging the dots to connect. “Terminated. Widows don't have attachments, either.”

“Killed them,” he squeaks, clearing his throat. “And there were different powders?”

“Funny you should mention ‘powder’ because they did color-code them.”

Steve’s stomach drops. He know what’s coming.

“One was described as rozovyy.” Natasha turns to walk with him across the hangar to their gathered troop of agents. “Reminds me of that incident where Pinkie got exposed. Spent eight days in quarantine because two of the noobs played Hot Potato with what they thought was a dud dispersal pod. You remember that scare?”

He swipes his tongue over dry lips. “I recall something of the sort.”

“Guess we don’t have anything to worry about though. Nobody got doused in azure, did they?”

Steve swallows hard, sweating, heart rate kicking up, but it’s possible that’s because you’re among the agents assigned today and he can see you, positioned in the back—unnecessarily for your current rank,— focused strategically at his feet.

He swings around, halting Nat with a firm hand.

“Was there a reason they found it worked on some and not others?”

She sighs. “The pair that hated each other, it didn’t take. They did not want to be bonded in any way. There was no mutual…let’s call it ‘respect.’ That was the best guess.”

“Right.” Steve hangs his head, catching another imaginary whiff.

If he’s not already insane, it’s only a matter of time, and he knows it.

[Part Two]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Ko-Fi]

[marveldcmistress]

'Two-Factor Adoration' Masterlist

Steve Rogers x agent!Reader sex pollen

Summary: Hit by separate chemicals at different times and in different places, you and Steve are blind-sided by a sudden and irresistible desire for each other. How do you cure it? Will you survive if you can't?

[Y'all, don't laugh. It became a mini-series. 🥲😂]

Romance 🔥 || Smut 🦆 || Angst ⛈️ || Fluff 🌼

Part One ⛈️🦆 Part Two ⛈️🌼🔥🦆 Part Three 🌼🔥🦆

*Based off of this post. See warnings at the beginning of each part.

**I have purposefully written this to not have the same Dubcon implications of sex pollen. I don't consider this to need a 'darkfic' warning, but please choose your own media content based on your comfort!

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Ko-Fi]

[marveldcmistress]

Anyways

[marveldcmistress]

High Life

Part of the Green Collection

Main Masterlist | Ransom Masterlist

Fwb!Ransom Drysdale x f!reader

Banner by me in canva, pics found on Canva and Pinterest (credit to OG posters!) | Dividers by @/kodaswrld headers by @/cafekitsune

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, copied or put through an AI machine. All of my work is 18+ Read at your own risk.

Tags/warnings: Cannabis Consumption, oral (f recieving, p-in-v, creampie, oral (f recieving) mentioned, cowgirl, accidental confessions, vaginal fingering, and this one has a smidge of angst, but! Fluff also, friends to lovers

Summary: Another meet up with Ransom starts off normal and almost finishes as such until he says something you can't unhear.

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: I know Bob won on the poll but unfortunately I didn't like some sections I'd written which caused a huge rewrite. So I'm sorry about that!

A joint. A kiss. A Saturday morning well spent on your back, arching into Ransom's mouth as he ate you out like he had something to prove.

After your second orgasm, you rolled him onto his back, to lavish his body with attention before riding him, rolling your hips every so often so you could rub your clit against the thatch of hair and muscle at the base of his cock.

It felt good. It always did. Disconnected from the world and, if you watched the light on the cieling instead of looking at his face, you could be disconnected from Ransom too. You loved him - you could admit it - but you loved fucking him just a teensy bit more. It wasn't as if he felt anything towards you. Although, you should probably tone down on seeing him so much. Almost every weekend and a couple of week days sprinkled in between was a lot, even for you.

Ransom groans and his hands find your hips holding you down onto him. You pay him no mind, your eyes are preoccupied with matching patterns in the light.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good." Ransom's hips roll into yours, sending his cock deeper. You gasp and hiccup on your next breath.

"Ran-" Your eyes flutter and more patterns appear behind your eyelids. You were close to orgasm - just one more little push over that edge and you'd be there.

"'M gonna cum baby - you gonna cum over my cock?"

You hum in agreement steeling your focus. Focus. It feels amazing. Even if you cared a little bit more than he did. But that's always how it was with Ransom. If you thought about it hard enough your friendship was always transactional - somehow. But then one bad break up led to you finally taking him up on the offer of sharing a joint, which led to a kiss, which led to wandering hands, which led to countless sleepless weekends tangled in his sheets.

Which led to you loving him in a way you shouldn't.

Focus.

Pressure builds - soft, hot, hard and wet mingled in a delicious haze as Ransom fucks up into you, lost to his own pleasure as you try to get lost in yours.

"Fuck - fuck," his hips snap hard. He was about to cum. "God I-I love you."

"What?" Your eyes flare open, ripped away from your orgasm with shock, and you look down at Ransom who looks entirely blissed out, shuddering a groan. Did he just say what you think he said?

Your orgasm is less focused, there's no tidal wave, not so much mess. If anything it's a lot more muted than usual because your mind is elsewhere, swimming amongst the dreamy haze of your high.

Ransom pants beneath you and you remain seated; very rarely is there emotional intimacy after sex. Sometimes you'd lie together, chit chat for a bit, maybe even go for another round or two. Weekends like this often meant you would talk for longer, curled together, and pretend that your unspoken agreement meant nothing to either of you but eventually you'd be dismissed and go about your week like nothing more than friendly banter was exchanged between you. You hadn't minded at first; Ransom's assholish demeanour allowed for that. You'd been his friend long enough to know that his dismissal, his refusal to look you in the eyes after you'd helped empty his balls was a him thing and quite frankly a him thing you didn't want to be part of.

You loved him - you had liked him before you had started getting high together and the more the lines blurred with sex, the more you became - for lack of a better word - attached. You knew it would happen, human connection and all that, but you were surprised at how selfish you were in this situationship. Any chance to be near or with Ransom, no matter how small, you took it. Even if it meant sacrificing a little piece of your heart everytime.

However, that was before you knew he loved you.

Casting your eyes downwards to the man beneath you, you consider your options. This was Ransom; the chances of him admitting to what he said are slim to none, and even if he did there's a high possibility that he will brush it off and say it was "in the moment". You know in your heart that what you have to do is leave and stop this unnamed relationship.

Tears well and you force a smile as Ransom peeks up at you with a cocky smirk. He won't know the difference between tears of pleasure or sadness.

"You were incredible as always." He purrs, his hand reaching for your face.

He frowns when you pull away out of reach and you quickly hold onto his hand instead, sandwiching his warm palm between yours. You can feel his cock still softening inside you, his cum slowly dribbling out to coat your thighs and your pussy pulses involuntarily knowing it'll be the last time you feel it.

"You too." You manage out, more breathily than you intend before leaning down to kiss Ransom's forehead. "But I should get going."

"Huh? Why?" Ransom's frown deepens to an almost-glare. "We picked today because we had nothing on and we could smoke and fuck eachother senseless like we always do."

"Something's come up." You try weakly but Ransom sees through your poor attempt.

"Come up? I didn't notice you check your phone inbetween getting your pussy eaten and getting fucked." Ransom snaps. "What's wrong?"

"I - erm - you..." you cringe at your own words, you want to run away and escape but Ransom is holding you captive in his stern gaze. "I just remembered something I've got to do and um-"

You smack your lips and shrug, trying to look apologetic instead of upset. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" He snaps and then grunts as he folds his arms across his chest, looking irritably over at you. "Whatever. You know where the door is."

You wilt under his gaze and hurriedly dress and grab your overnight bag. You can feel him watching you as you do. You've known Ransom long enough to know he's seething and you can sort of understand why; you ruined his weekend plans of getting high and fucking like rabbits. However, you can't pretend you didn’t hear him say those three little words and pretend like he had one) not said them or two) didn't think they were a big deal. You were fine with your arrangement being one sided but you couldn't continue knowing that you both felt the same and that Ransom would still try to avoid labels and deeper human connection past fucking. That was too painful.

As you shifted your bag onto your shoulder and cast a glance backwards at Ransom, your selfishness took over. You took a step closer to the bed, where he still sat bare-chested with his arms folded and a scowl, and tried for a smile.

"Do you really have to leave?" Ransom pressed again as you closed the space between you.

"Yes," you say, throat dry. Ransom tilts his head at you, as if he'd figure out what's going through your head if you looked at you from a new angle.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks quietly, eyes a little softer. "Didn't say anything bad?"

Is 'I love you' bad?

"Err, no?" You shake your head gently. "Um, not really?"

"So I did do something." Ransom sighs, running his hands over his face with a groan. "Jesus Christ, why didn't you just say so?"

"You didn't hurt me!" You protest feeling a little guilty.

Ransom's blue eyes peek at you over his fingertips. "Then what? Did I say something?"

"Uhh..." your brain blanks out and Ransom stares you down. Anxiety builds as you fight to think of how to get him off your back. "Do you remember what you said?"

"No." He says pointedly. "I was busy thinking about how good your pussy felt on my cock while I came."

Blushing at his crass words you sigh and blink away tears, forcing yourself to look away from him. Of course he doesn't remember.

"What did I say?" He demands again.

"You said-" You stall and then concede; what was the point in lying? "You said you loved me."

Ransom's frown vanishes. "I... oh."

"Yeah."

"That's why you're leaving?"

"I- why wouldn't I?"

"Well, it doesn’t mean anything!" He says, looking at little panicked, cheeks blazing red as he sits up and half moves towards you.

"It means everything, Ran." You argue back, tears welling. "I can't keep fucking you knowing that you love me."

"Why?"

You stare at him blankly and Ransom swallows, rubbing his large palms against the sheets. "You love me, right?"

"But that's not-"

"If you love me, why are you leaving?" Ransom turns the question onto you and you frown at him.

"Don't be an ass, Ransom." You snap and then he starts to smirk.

"I think if you love me too," he begins teasingly. "You should strip and come back to bed."

"That's what you always want me to do." You huff and get to your feet but there's a tug on your left hand and you look down to see Ransom's face looking sheepish.

"Sorry. Just don't go. Let's talk some more." He gives you a pleading look. "Please?"

You drop your bag from your shoulder but don't let it go just yet, staring at Ransom to try and see if he's lying or not. When you can't come to a consensus, you sigh.

"Just tell me one thing," you say firmly. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes." Ransom answers without hesitation. "I didn't think you - I wanted to ask you - Look," he takes a breath. "If I'm honest I wanted to have the weekend with you before saying anything first but it just sort of... came out."

Then he shrugs. "I'm not sorry it happened but I'm sorry that's how I said it."

"Okay." You breathe, smiling as you finally release your bag straps and remove your shirt. Ransom's eyes shamelessly fall on your tits and he sits up onto his knees, letting the sheets fall away from his body as he watches you undress.

You re-take your space next to him, reaching for his face to plant a long, lingering kiss on his lips. His hands find your face and hold you in place as he kisses back. Worry fades as Ransom angles you backwards towards the comfort of the pillows, keeping you close so he can keep kissing you. Warm fingerpads trace up your thigh and you smile against his lips.

"I love you." You murmur, looking up into his soft blue eyes.

"I love you too." Ransom replies, dipping his fingers between your thighs to rub at your clit. Your gasp his smothered by his mouth on yours. "How's about I show you just how much?"

END

Taglist - add yourself here

Head to @grems-library for the reblogs of my fics

Everything Tags: @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @brianochka @looking1016 @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @waywardwifey @peaches1958

Ransom Tags: @stargazingfangirl18 @steviebbboi @late-to-the-party-81 @alicedopey @irishhappiness @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @pandaxnienke @fangfoxy @dontbescaredtosingalong @ryubyy @maydayfigment

[marveldcmistress]

How I feel asking for a Pt 2 😔

[marveldcmistress]

All Things Go 2

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~3.3k

Summary: It's been a few months since Steve was pulled out of the ice and immediately had to fight aliens with the newly formed Avengers. He is doing fine with all that, all things considered. Which is why he's so upset when he's suddenly benched from missions and forced to welcome a support omega into his home. He's fine!

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), Steve actually having to deal with the PTSD and depression and anxiety he would so clearly have if he'd been through everything in the MCU, this one really focuses on the depression, patterns of disassociation, pretty troubling self-talk, use of a derogatory term for sex-workers, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, possible slow burn - we'll see. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Oh boy. This one might officially be my angstiest story. I know the competition is stiff, but Steve is really going through it here. Please be sure to read the warnings and take care of yourselves, my friends!

Thanks to @bigtreefest for doing a gut-check on the parts I wasn't sure about and always being a great cheerleader in general.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The rhythmic slaps of his feet hitting the pavement were helping drown out all the noise in Steve’s head. He felt the air fill and leave his lungs as he pushed himself forward. His arms pumped at his sides, his hands curled into tight fists. He could go faster. He would. He needed to.

He wasn't sure what exactly had happened. One moment he'd been sitting across from you, the next he was on the floor. A moment later, he was on the street in front of his building, dressed in his running gear.

He’d reacted strongly to the news he was being benched for at least three months; he knew that much. It was embarrassing, losing it like that in front of a complete stranger. He was better than that. Stronger than that. He had no excuse to be that weak anymore.

He pushed his body harder, faster, needing the burn, the ache to be louder than everything else going on in his head. The scenery blurred beside him as he just focused on going further further further. Harder harder harder. He felt the never-ending cycle of pain and healing in his feet, his shins, his quads. The skin cells of his palms trying to grow back as his fingernails bit in. He hadn’t been able to decide if it was a good thing or not that nothing he did to himself ever left any marks.

He stopped short when the asphalt in front of him suddenly disappeared, wrought-iron guard rails standing in his way. Oh. He’d made it to the bay. He hadn’t realized he’d gone that far. He took a breath. Then another. He should turn around. He should go home. That’s what he should do. But he just couldn’t make himself turn around, head in the right direction. He briefly contemplated leaping into the bay, swimming to Staten Island so he could keep going, keep running. But the idea of the icy water engulfing him was too much to bear. 

“Holy shit! Is that Cap?!”

He grimaced, and the urge to take his chances in the water grew stronger. But only for a moment. Then he pasted a friendly smile on his face and turned around, waving at the onlookers. He posed for ten pictures before he felt like it wouldn’t be rude to pull away, his skin crawling the whole time, desperate to hide from the attention. He still couldn’t wrap his head around everyone having cameras in their pockets. Wanting to remember every moment like that was terrifying.

After waving goodbye to the growing crowd, there wasn’t really anything else to do but run back to the apartment. He dragged his feet as he turned around. It would be fine. He would be fine. He always was.

Not long after everything, S.H.E.I.L.D. had set him up in an apartment that occupied the entire 2nd floor of a brownstone in BedStuy. Agents lived in the units above and below him, although he wasn’t supposed to know that. He’d thought a few times about telling Fury that he might want to invest in a more subtle form of surveillance, but what would be the point? Nothing he said really mattered. To anyone.

He’d requested it when they first moved him out of HQ, a place in his beloved Brooklyn. But now, as he did his best not to look at the city as he ran past it—the skyscrapers, the neon signs, the national chains—he thought for the thousandth time how foolish that had been. The Brooklyn he loved was gone. And he would never get it back.

Too soon, he was slowing down in front of his stoop. He reminded himself to breathe. And again. And again. It would be fine. It was his home now. It was ridiculous to feel like he was scared of a place. It was just a series of rooms. It couldn’t hurt him. Not much could. Not in a way that mattered, anyway.

He pushed himself into the building, then up the single flight of stairs that brought him to his apartment. One last deep breath gave him the strength to open the door and walk into his home. Or, at least, the place where he lived.

“Oh, thank goodness!” 

Your exclamation brought his attention across his open-plan living room to where you were in his small kitchen. All of the cabinets were open, and there was a notebook lying open on the counter with a pen beside it. He quickly walked over to you. “What are you doing?”

“Huh?” you asked, looking around like you were seeing all of it for the first time. “Oh. I’m taking an inventory of your food and making a grocery list.” And then you didn’t pause long enough for him to follow up. “I know we haven’t had a chance to set up guidelines and establish boundaries, but while we’re working together, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t storm out of here without your phone. Especially when you’re in such a vulnerable state.” You took a deep breath. “I was very concerned.”

He looked at you, confused, the tension in your shoulders, the furrow in your brow. You’d changed, he noticed for the first time. You were no longer in the professional attire he’d greeted you in, but now stretchy leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that slipped off your shoulder. His gaze settled on your soft skin and the empty space at the juncture of your neck and shoulders where a bite mark would g– His gaze jumped back up to your face. “I wasn’t in a vulnerable state. I was running. For exercise.”

Your lips turned down into a thin line. You held his gaze in a way that made him both want to look away and somehow unable to. “Right,” you finally said with a sigh. “Well, in any case, I’d appreciate it if you brought your phone with you when you go out. Just in case.”

He nodded, mostly to placate you. It wasn’t that he left it on purpose. He just… never thought to bring it, hardly thought of it at all. He wasn’t used to having a phone in his home, let alone his pocket, so the idea of feeling lost without it was completely foreign to him. But everyone looked at him like he had two heads when he tried to explain that, so now he kept it to himself. It was just one of an ever-growing list of things he kept to himself.

But his nod seemed to be enough for you. You let out a sigh of relief and said, “Okay. Thank you.” 

He just nodded again. He didn’t know what else to do. 

You gave him a long, serious look. It made him want to run again. But he didn’t. “How are you feeling now?” you finally asked.

“Oh, uh.” Embarrassed. Ashamed. Anxious. On fire. Ready to bolt. “Fine,” he said. “I’m fine.” 

You hummed in consideration and tilted your head in thought. “You know,” you started, your tone too even, “I’m actually not a big fan of that word. Fine. It’s a cover-up word. I think we can do better, don’t you? While we’re working together, describe our feelings in a different way.”

He swallowed the scoff, just dying to crawl out of his throat. We. Sure. He’d been brought in front of a gaggle of therapists after he’d come out of the ice. They’d said nonsense like that, too. It was all useless. “I honestly don’t know how else to say it,” he said with a shrug.

“Can you try? Today got pretty intense, you must have some feelings about it.” 

He sighed. The only thing that made him talk was the way you were looking at him, your face shockingly free of judgment. “I feel silly,” he said quietly, “to have made such a big deal over nothing. This is just the way my life is now. There’s nothing for me to do but accept it.”

You let out another thoughtful hum. “I’m not going to argue any of those points with you for now. But. I do want to say that I will never think you’re silly for having strong feelings about what’s happened to you and the way your life’s turned out. I can promise you that.” 

He felt something move inside his chest at that. His fingers drummed against his leg. That wasn't the reaction he was expecting. Everyone expected him to adjust and move on. But the look on your face was so sincere, so accepting, that all he could do was nod once, and then look away while clearing his throat. He glanced around again at all the open cabinets in his kitchen. “Why are you taking inventory of my kitchen?”

For the briefest moment, you looked sheepish, but it was gone in a flash, replaced by the determination he was already coming to associate with you. “Well,” you said, “I started it to give myself something to do while you were gone, but then I discovered that you don’t have any food, Steve.”

“I have food,” he said, purposely not looking at all of the bare cabinets and shelves. “It’s all in the refrigerator.”

He was surprised when you rolled your eyes. Not because it felt judgmental, but because it was casual. Comfortable. It’d been a long time since someone felt comfortable with him. “Yeah,” you said, “I found the protein shakes in the fridge. That isn’t food, that’s–” you paused to find the right word. When you did, it was dripping with disdain, “sustenance.”

He took a step back, suddenly self-conscious. “I need a lot of calories a day. The protein shakes are just easier.”

You looked at him thoughtfully. “Okay,” you said. “Noted on the calorie intake. And–” you paused as your gaze softened, “I understand things like meals and such feeling too hard, but, Steve, you’re allowed to enjoy things, that’s what makes a good life.”

He swallowed around a lump in his throat, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t—couldn’t—tell you that he was pretty sure that ship had sailed for him. Even if that was the truth. 

After a long moment of silence, you spoke again. “Listen, I’m not going to make you get rid of the protein shakes. But I am going to put in a grocery order,” you held up your small notebook, the page filled with your neat handwriting, “just so we both have some other options. And” you added, glancing at the time on your phone, “I think we should order in for dinner. What do you think about some Thai food?”

He cleared his throat as heat flooded his face. “I, uh– I don’t really know what I think about Thai food.” He braced himself for your inevitable reaction. Oh my god, seriously?? Or how have you never had Thai food???

But you didn’t ask either of those questions. You didn’t act appalled or scandalized or even surprised. You just cocked your head to the side and asked, “Do you trust me?”

He just stood and stared at you, his mouth wide open as he tried to find any words that might answer that question, even though he had no idea what that answer would even be.

Before he got any closer to figuring that out, you gave an embarrassed laugh, shaking your head. “Oh my god, why did I ask that? Of course, you don’t yet. It’s only been, what? Three hours since I barged into your house? Sorry. Let me ask this instead: Would you be okay with me ordering a bunch of different dishes, and you can try any of them that look good and see what you like?”

Your phone was already in your hand, swiping across the screen. “Sure,” he said, even as dread filled him. This had happened countless times since he’d woken up in this century. He’d be presented with something new to him that was apparently commonplace now, and then whoever it was (usually Tony) would watch him like a hawk to see how he reacted. To make sure he had the right reaction. It was so much pressure. He hated it.

“Okay,” you said, with an easy smile. “I’ll let you know when it’s almost here.” And then you went back to working on the grocery list.

Surprised at being seemingly dismissed, Steve realized it was probably time for a post-run shower.

After unpacking what looked like an actual mountain of food, you must have caught Steve’s deer-in-the-headlights expression because you quickly offered to make him a plate. You explained each dish to him as you added it to the plate, then handed it over with much less of a to-do than he was expecting. You turned your full attention to your own food and mostly left him alone. It was a relief not to have to put on a show of trying new things. It was almost a new experience to just be able to taste the food and form his own opinions.

But he still felt uncomfortable with you in his home, just eating silently next to you. What would Sarah Rogers have to say about his hosting abilities? “So, uh,” he tried, in between bites, “you said you’ve done this for three other SHIELD agents?”

You nodded as you swallowed. “Yeah, I’ve been called into SHIELD three different times, usually after missions gone wrong. To help the agents at the center of it process what happened and reset. And give them a safe space to do so.”

Steve mulled that over for a moment. He wasn’t sure what exactly there was to process. Bad things happened. The wrong people survived. And everyone ended up alone. What was there to reset? “Do you work exclusively with agents?”

“Oh no,” you said, shaking your head. “The majority of alphas I’ve worked with have been civilians. I’ve had long-term assignments with eight alphas in total, so far. You’re my ninth. I do other short-term work in between. But the long-term assignments are my favorite.” It had to be the exhausting nature of the day he’d had that was the reason he couldn’t hide his shock at that number. You furrowed your brow at him. “What’s so surprising about that?”

“Oh,” he ducked his head, trying to school his expression. “I just– My understanding was that part of the point of all this for you, for omegas, was to find a mate. I thought the long-term ones often ended up that way. I was just surprised you’ve done this so many times and are still…” he trailed off at the look on your face. The only word that came to mind was thunderous.

And that’s all you did for a very long moment, just stare at him silently. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, you said, “The point of all this is to help alphas, even the most bone-headed ones. I do this because I believe that everyone, no matter their designation, deserves to feel safe and happy and have access to the mental health care that will serve them best. So, no, I’m not just doing this as a way to get someone to mark me.” And then you took a large bite of food and chewed it so very angrily. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone do that before.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down. He was fucking everything up, everywhere he went. He never tried to offend, but that was all he seemed to do. And it didn’t help that no one seemed willing to ever give him the benefit of the doubt. He’d been immediately branded as old-fashioned upon waking up, and he’d quickly gathered that that was thought to be not just bad, but malicious. But no one bothered to explain things to him without judgment. If given the chance, he would swear not to cross any lines. He just needed to know where the lines were first.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, “I didn’t mean– the omegas I used to know, they wanted different things, I guess. And maybe I’m not doing a good job of catching up, but I’m trying.”

He could feel your eyes on him for a moment that just stretched on. He didn’t dare look up to see what your face was doing. Then, he heard the air rush from your lungs, and you said, “And I probably reacted too harshly, so I’m sorry for that. There’s just– there’s a lot of cultural baggage around support omegas. Some people call us ‘hookers with advanced degrees,’ or other things that are a lot worse. But I really am just here because I want to help people. Steve, I want to help you.”

He let himself look up at you and found that your anger was completely gone, replaced only by sincerity. He nodded as he moved some food around his plate with his fork.

You let the silence last for a minute, then asked, “So, what’d you think? You like any of the food?”

He took the olive branch for what it was. “It’s good. Different, but good.” He pointed to a noodle dish, “I really liked that one.”

You smiled, and it lit up your whole face. “Pad Thai. That’s a good one. A classic.”

He smiled back at you, and it didn't feel entirely fake.

When it came time for bed, he went through the motions. He changed into sleep pants and a t-shirt. He brushed his teeth. He washed his face. He said goodnight to you and watched you go into the guest room. He even went so far as to sit on his bed for several long minutes. But he didn’t lie down. He couldn’t do that.

If he lay down, then he risked falling asleep. And if he slept, then he was pretty much guaranteed to have nightmares. And after the sort of day he’d had, they were sure to be especially horrific. No. He didn’t need sleep. He’d be fine.

So he sat. And he stared at the wall. And he listened and he waited. The house settled, and everything got quiet. When things had been so quiet that you must have been asleep for several minutes, he moved into the living room as quietly as he could. Not that this room was much better, but it was bigger and he felt less hemmed in. Now all he needed to do was kill time until the sun started to come up. Then he could go for a run, and if you caught him, he could just act like he was an early riser.

But the night stretched on in front of him. He tried to read, but he couldn’t focus. He had a TV, but he never really knew what to do with that, and he didn’t want to risk waking you up. Before, he may have passed the time drawing in his sketchbook. But he couldn’t stomach it now. So he settled in for a long night of staring at the clock.

He must have been so in his own head that he was startled by a noise in the hallway. He looked up to see you walking into the living room, dressed in soft-looking PJs, trailing a blanket he’d just purchased behind you. He gaped at you for a moment. “Oh, uh– I was just–”

You shook your head. “It’s okay,” you said, gently. “We can just sit, if you want.” You settled yourself on his couch before giving him the softest look he’d been on the receiving end of since his mother died. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

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[marveldcmistress]

Tech Tuesday: Ransom Drysdale

Summary: You confront Nick before confronting your feelings for Ransom.

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Angst, Self-esteem issues, Talk of sex dreams. Please let me know if I missed any.

Previous

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

You park in front of the restaurant and turn to Ransom. "You're going to let me do the talking, understood?"

"Yes," he nods. He hasn't been able to make eye contact with you since his confession.

"Steve says he and Newbie are already in there with eyes on him."

"He's probably noticed them," Ransom comments. "Nick's pretty smart."

"No he isn't," you shake your head. "If he was really smart, he wouldn't have messed with us."

"Us?" he turns to look at you, cautious hope in his eyes.

"We're still friends, Ransom," you explain. "I've accepted your apology and you're working towards forgiveness. And after this whole thing with Nick, you and I are going to have a more in-depth, private conversation about where we stand. Understood?"

"Thank you," he breathes, eyes soft with a mix of emotions.

You direct Ransom to sit in the booth first before sliding in and sitting across from Nick.

"I didn't plan for a double date," he smirks.

"This isn't a date," you remark.

"That wasn't the deal."

"Oh no," you mock pout, "the private investigator is having memory problems!" You roll your eyes and drop the pout. "Ransom explicitly told you that I would meet you here at this restaurant at this time. There was no agreement as to this being a date nor that he wouldn't be accompanying me."

Nick licks his lips, eyes piercing, but you don't react. He smirks, "I suppose that's true. I'm guessing he told you what was going on?"

"Yes, which is why you're going to back off now before you get reported and lose your PI license." His smile drops and he raises an eyebrow, a silent question. "Legally speaking, a PI isn't allowed to divulge information about their investigation to anyone not approved of by the client. Not only do I doubt that Linda Drysdale would want you to inform her son, Hugh, that you were investigating him, but you told my friend, Ransom, that you were doing so. That is quite the breach of protocol."

Nick's smirk returns. "The wording of the rules are that I may not release information acquired during an investigation to anyone not approved by the client. Saying I'm investigating someone isn't breaking the rules."

"No, but it is incredibly unprofessional," you counter. "And how do you think someone as rich and powerful as Linda Drysdale would react to such behavior?" He flinches ever so slightly and you struggle to keep your own features schooled. "And remember, we have plenty of witnesses to this very conversation where you confirm you told my friend, Ransom, that you were looking into Hugh and that you were using this information to extort a date with me which, with the right lawyers, could easily be turned into a blackmail charge."

Nick gently shakes his head. "You're too good for him, you know. But I'll happily admit defeat to such a skilled opponent."

"I want exact details on what 'defeat' means to you."

He smirks, "I'm definitely not getting that date and that hurts because you are everything I knew you'd be and more."

You hide your instinctual embarrassed reaction by rolling your eyes. "Anything else?"

"I'll leave you and 'Ransom' alone. But I still need to get paid so I will be giving my client some of the details I picked up on a person who fits the profile of her lost son as well as where he works and lives."

"If you give her my friend's home address or personal phone number, you will be facing charges for blackmail."

"But the office is okay?" he raises an eyebrow.

"If you must. After all, even a bottom-feeder needs to eat."

Nick throws his head back and laughs. "We could have been wonderful together, but I will respect the loss. Make sure your 'friend' deletes those dating apps."

With that, Nick stands up and leaves the restaurant.

As soon as he's out the door you let out a big breath and practically collapse into Ransom. He remains silent, but gently wraps an arm around you. His touch becomes firm when you don't tell him to back off. Soon you're joined by Steve and Newbie who are all praise for how well you handled him.

"That was one hell of a verbal beat down!" Steve praises.

"I didn't insult him that much," you counter, voice shaky.

"No, but the way you were obviously in control of that whole thing was nothing short of amazing!" Newbie effuses.

You sniffle a little, feeling drained in every sense of the word. Ransom gently squeezes you and says, "maybe some food and drink would be a good idea?" You nod, wiping your teary eyes, and everyone agrees.

When you finally make it back to your apartment, you're feeling a lot steadier. You sit on the couch and pat the cushion next to you, indicating for Ransom to sit next to you.

He's felt a strange combination of relief, uncertainty, stress and he's not sure how to handle it. His old self would be making everything worse; biting comments, snapping at everyone, burning all the bridges. The instinct is still there, if only out of self-preservation. But you've accepted his apology, you protected him, you let him hold you. Even after hurting you, betraying your trust, you're still good to him. He can't ruin that. He won't.

You place a hand on Ransom's knee. "You don't actually have to go to that therapy appointment if you don't really want to," you start. "I think pushing you to do that was probably an overreaction on my part."

He places his hand over yours. "No, I think it was the kick in the ass I needed. I'll at least keep that first appointment and go from there."

"I just...I've told you before, about how my family is. Growing up with Christian Fundamentalist parents really skews your perception of things. The first time I had a sex dream, I truly believed I was being tested by the devil. But I also knew that, if I told my parents, they'd believe they needed to beat the devil out of me." Ransom inhales sharply, gently gripping your hand. "It took years of therapy and 'deprogramming' to learn that these things are okay. I learned a lot about hormones and their effects on the brain."

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. "So when I found out you'd been lying to me, avoiding me, all because of a sex dream, it threw me into a rage. You're far more educated on these things than I ever was. You're also way more experienced. So to learn that you reacted so strongly to something I've worked for years to destigmatize in my own brain..."

"I understand," he says with another gentle squeeze of your hand. "And I don't blame you, at all."

You sniffle, "thanks. But I still feel like crap for reacting like I did."

"You were hurt," Ransom counters. "Still are. And I'm the one who hurt you. And anger at those who hurt you is something that I very much understand."

"Also, for the record, you're not the only one who's having sex dreams," you confess. "I've actually had a few of them...about you."

"And yet, you acted the adult and didn't let them interfere with our friendship," he praises. "You really are too good for me."

"Please don't say that," you shake your head. "Self-deprecation gets you nowhere."

"I'll try," he promises. "So...where does this leave us?"

"We're still friends," you reassure him. "Maybe someday we can be more than that, when I'm no longer angry at you. But for now, I think we're going to be okay."

Ransom breathes a sigh of relief. "Can I hug you?"

"Of course," you nod.

The two of you sit quietly for a few minutes, just enjoying the closeness, until Ransom breaks the silence. "Is it too soon to ask you what happened in those dreams?" he smirks. "I mean, I just want to make sure my performance was acceptable. I'll even tell you about my dream if it would make it easier for you."

You chuckle, heat rushing to your face. "I'm not saying anything!"

"Ugh, fine," Ransom softly teases. "So long as dream me treats you like the gift you are."

"Real you is doing that, too, you know?" He scoffs. "Yes, we had a minor setback, but healing isn't a linear process. And you've learned, grown, and will do better in the future."

"How can you be sure I won't hurt you again?"

"I can't. But I know it won't be intentional. And I trust you to take responsibility."

"I don't think I've ever had someone trust me," he admits.

"Well now you do."

Next

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @lokislady82; @thiquefunlover63

[marveldcmistress]

Angelfish

Part of the Sun, Sea and Sirens Collection

Header by me in Canva, images sourced from Pinterest (credit to OG creators/posters) | Dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Lloyd Hansen x f!siren!reader

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine. All of my work is 18+ so read at your own risk.

Tags/Warnings: death, blood mentions, hint of smut (nipple play, chasing, mention of having kids), sweet and fluffy too, Lloyd being Lloyd, talk of mates too!

Summary: Lloyd loves to show off his possessions; especially when when they're as beautiful as you.

Word Count: ~2.2k

A/N: I've been sitting on this one for a while, I hope you enjoy! This was supposed to be longer but I liked it short and sweet for these two 🐠

Lloyd Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Lloyd Hansen never, ever invites his henchmen to his home unless he's going to assign them to a strictly confidential job, promote them or kill them. So when Darren was invited, he was convinced he'd be one of the former two options.

Lloyd made sure to give him the grand tour, why bother with that if he was going to kill him? Lloyd's home was in the middle of nowhere, hidden away with a state of the art security system that money could buy. The house itself was modern and stupidly large; a display of wealth that Darren and many other of Lloyd's employees envied. Although, it wasn't as if Lloyd never got his hands dirty alongside his men, which was why he commanded such respect.

"Would you like to see the aquarium?" Lloyd asks, pouring whiskey into the two tumblers, handing one out to Darren. They'd ended the tour in the kitchen, either side of the island, with Darren rocking on his heels awkwardly. Lloyd still hadn't explained what he wanted.

"You have an aquarium?" Darren's eyes widen. He doesn't know why he's surprised, Lloyd lives in such a big, lavish house that of course the rich bastard would have an aquarium.

"'Course." Lloyd says smugly. "I like fish."

The aquarium wasn't just a tank.

It was a whole floor.

Walking through one heavy oak door in the basement led to a small oval room no larger than ten feet wide with reinforced glass panels from floor to cieling covering a good ninety percent of what would have been a normal room.

There was a small loveseat, brown leather, and a fur rug beneath it with an end table off to the side in the centre of the room but no lights. The light came from the tank. Huge, tree-like stems of seaweed disappeared upwards towards bright, white lights. Some fish swam by, some big some small, but Darren shivered. It felt like he was being watched.

Lloyd gestured to the seat behind him as he stepped towards the glass and rapped on it loudly. Some of the fish disappeared, some paid it no mind.

Darren took a seat, unable to shake the unease. He didn't even want to distract himself with what Lloyd did down here. He surely didn't just... watch the fish in the dark? He knew the guy was a freak but that was taking it too far.

"How much did it cost you?" Darren says, taking in the room again. It had to go further back.

"A pretty penny." Lloyd whistles, peering through the glass like he's looking for something. "Custom built and all that jazz. The filters, the fish, the food."

Lloyd turns back to Darren with another shark grin. "It spans the length of the house."

"And if it bursts?"

Lloyd scoffs and taps the glass again. "Re-en-forced." He punctuates. "But - I also made sure they put pipes throughout as a fail safe."

Darren hums in acknowledgement and Lloyd frowns into the glass, his sigh creating a little bit of condensation that he draws a smiley face in. "Wanna to see how I feed them?"

The walkways across the tops of the tank criss cross in a number of sections, illuminated only by the white lights underneath that made the dark water reflect silver. Lloyd strolled across it with practiced ease, banging a bucket full of what looked like blood and pieces of meat while Darren teetered and struggled to keep his balance.

"Here fishy fishy!" Lloyd calls out and Darren wonders if he might actually be insane.

"What- what's in the bucket?"

"Chum." Lloyd says cheerily but doesn't elaborate further.

Water ripples along the surface, a flash of white in the darkness. What the hell kind of fish does he have that are that big?

Swallowing nervously, Darren wipes his hands on his jeans and follows Lloyd until he stops. The stench of blood tickles at his nostrils and he grimaces, watching Lloyd carefully.

"Do you know I have to keep the temperature just right in this thing? Too cold they die, too hot they boil. Pain in my ass." Lloyd sighs and shakes his head, hands on his hips before looking at Darren. "You know why you're here, right?"

Darren stiffens. There's that smile again - you never know what Lloyd is thinking. It's off-putting. Dangerous.

The water ripples again, closer this time, and Darren shivers. Lloyd didn't specify what fish he had in this tank and given his nature: it probably wasn't something Darren wanted to see face to face.

Darren shakes his head slowly. "Uh. No, sir. I don't."

Lloyd clicks his tongue and hums thoughtfully. It's loud, bordering on obnoxious, but there's something about the way Darren can feel the vibration through the metal of the walkway that makes fear seep into his bones. He stops after a moment and sighs, fixing Darren with a sheepish look.

"She's a little shy today."

Darren blinks, today was getting crazier by the second. "Sir?"

Lloyd waves a hand before kicking over the chum bucket letting the thick congealed blood and offal pour into the water below. Below the surface, in the light of the walkway, fish begin to appear. There's a variety, some colourful - some not, but there's nothing as big that looks like the tail Darren saw earlier.

"Look. I know about the deal you worked with one of the agents in the CIA." Lloyd shrugs. "I get both sides; up and coming agent, a great opportunity for you to make a load of cash..."

Darren's blood freezes. He can't move. The only people that knew about the deal were him and the agent. And if that were true that meant the agent truly worked for Lloyd...

"That agent doesn’t work for me." Lloyd says, reading Darren's expression. "But he did work for a friend of mine. Problem is he was a terrible brag - that's like rule one of spy school by the way. You don't brag about your plans."

Did. It didn't take a genius to figure out the agent was already dead and gave up Darren in the hopes he would be allowed to live. That was laughable when he was dealing with Lloyd Hansen.

"You're going to kill me now, aren't you?"

"No shit, Sherlock." Lloyd snaps, shaking his head slightly. "I pay you well, I pay you to keep you loyal and you betray me? Why the hell would I let you go? So you could do it again?"

Darren winces and tries to force his feet to slide backwards across the walkway. "Gonna feed me to the fish like some mafioso?" He spits, anger finally over taking the fear. "God, you're fucking nuts Hansen."

Lloyd scratches head and then shrugs again, clearly unsurprised nor offended by the accusation. "I mean, they'll clean you down to the bone which saves me money and time. Work smarter not harder."

"You're not human." Darren says, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I never said I was." Lloyd grins.

Darren charges at Lloyd with a roar - a last ditch attempt to escape the hellish mansion, and his death by killing Lloyd first. Whilst Lloyd looks surprised by the outburst, he steps back and to the side so that where Darren should have collided with him, he is now perpendicular to him. All it takes is a hard shove to Darren's ribs to send him off the edge of the walkway and into the water, scattering the fish below.

Darren swims upwards in a blind panic and reappears gasping for air, staring up at Lloyd who is in the middle of stripping. Lloyd is mid-fold of his shirt when he spots Darren's soggy form and smiles.

"You really thought running at me would work?" Lloyd shakes his said like a disappointed parent. "Honestly, I expected mo-"

Darren disappears. There's no scream, no loud splashing. He just vanishes. Lloyd blinks at the calm of the water surface for a moment and then Darren reappears about six feet from where he disappeared, frantically splashing trying to get back to the walk way.

Lloyd watches as he takes off his shoes, hearing Darren's gargled call of his name before he vanishes again, for longer this time.

As Lloyd begins to undo the buckle of his belt, Darren's battered body is launched out of water, splashing centimeters from the walkway, soaking Lloyd. Lloyd rolls his eyes and continues to remove his clothes. Darren's body is facedown in the water; he wasn't dead ... yet.

"Honeybear, don't be like that." Lloyd faux-pouts with a small smile, crouching to dapple his fingers into the warm water. He waits for a moment and as he goes to retreat a hand jumps from the water grab his wrist and yank him forwards; sending Lloyd toppling head first into the tank.

When the bubbles clear from his fall, Lloyd's blue eyes flit around him until they settle on a figure swimming towards him.

"My love," Your voice, serene and angelic, travels through the water clear as day. "I wish you would stop bringing trash into our home. You know how much I hate it."

Lloyd pushes forward with a beaming grin, meeting you halfway. You looked radiant - you always did - wearing nothing but your wedding and engagement rings and a delicate teardrop pearl on a white gold twist chain around your neck. All gifts from him.

You're trying to look annoyed as he twists around you, making your tails intertwine but when his hands find your hips, the corners of your mouth twitch.

"Angelfish," Lloyd coos playfully at you, his moustache tickling the back of your neck as he places sweet kisses there. "Forgive me."

You beat the end of your tail to move upwards, twisting to glower teasingly at him. His and your hair dances freely around you like halos in the light; weightless and free.

"You're lucky I love you." You dip your head to press your lips against his and allow his hands to guide your hips back down so that your pearly iridescent tail flush with his black-and-white tiger striped one. You both smile into the kiss and your arms wrap around his neck and broad shoulders lazily. When you both part, you gaze up at your mate as he spins you gently in a circle, starting to hum a song hoping you'll join in this time.

You concede to his request and for a few minutes, you both float entwined together in song - as one - and happiness radiates between you both. That is until you look up and see Darren's now-dead body and huff a bubble of irritation up to the surface.

"But I mean it, Lloyd. Stop bringing them here."

"But you know I love watching you terrify them." Lloyd half whines, following your gaze upwards and admiring the huge purple welt across Darren's ribs. "Look - you even broke his ribs this time!"

You growl quietly, frown deepening despite Lloyd's nuzzling of your neck. You didn't like strangers in your home; baser instincts came into play and more often than you'd like a dead body was left somewhere in the tank.

"My Angel," Lloyd murmurs, his hands releasing your hips and trailing to your hands, bringing them to his lips. Your frown melts away despite your annoyance. Your husband had such a way of charming you even when you were annoyed. "Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?"

"Yes," you tease, brushing your nose against his. "But tell me again. Tell me for the rest of the night."

"That can be arranged." Lloyd licks his lips slowly, eyes shamelessly roaming your figure. "You know that water bed finally showed up."

You snort and pull a face as Lloyd wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh Gods. Why would you order such a thing?"

"Because I thought, as merfolk, we should try it out." Lloyd winks at you, kissing at any bare skin he can find.

"Absolutely not!" You squeal and swim away from him quickly, disappearing around a strategically placed boulder.

"We're obligated by nature." Lloyd laughs and gives chase, inching around the boulder as you do the same, pulling yourself diagonally up the rock by your fingertips so you could pat Lloyd's ass and dart away further into the tank.

With a squawk of surprise, Lloyd makes a grab for you, missing you by centimetres.

"Playing hard to get, honey?" Lloyd teases, following you through a rocky archway. "Just like when we first met."

"Mm." You purposefully hum, looking back long enough to see Lloyd shiver at the sound and head towards the dark patch of green underwater plants, hoping to lose him.

You swim through the thick, tall vegetation but as you reach forward and you knot your hand to pull, the plant twists and you cant get free. You panic slightly as you tug and you wrist remains locked in place, excitement rushing through your veins knowing Lloyd would be on you any second.

"This is also like when we first met." Lloyd murmurs from behind you, ghosting his fingers over the exposed flesh of your stomach to make you squirm.

"Lloyd..." You pout at him.

"You know, you're just as beautiful as the day we first met." He purrs into your ear, catching your other wrist as you make a half-attempt to swat at him.

"And you're just as handsome." You chuckle as his other strong arm wraps around your waist and holds you close. His body is warm against yours and you relax into him.

"I think I'd like to see how our beautiful genes would look like combined." He noses your cheek gently, watching your eyes grow wide with surprised excitement.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly." He grins, tweaking your nipples playfully to make you whine. "Whaddya think?"

"I think," you begin, giving your husband - your mate - a breathless smile. "We should find out just how buoyant this water bed is."

Angelfish END

A/N: Hiiii! How we feeling? Just thought I'd come down here and say thank you for reading and impartl some fun facts about Angelfish that helped me build these two love birds (fish?) - because I'm a nerd like that. Definitely think I may have to do some drabbles of them in the future.

1. Angelfish are tropical and freshwater fish with variety of colours. Lloyd's tail is similar to the freshwater variant found in the Amazon (like Tiger stripes, their colouring helps to camouflage them!)

2. Angelfish mate for life and they raise their young together 🥺

3. Angelfish are super territorial ;)

Taglist - Add yourself here

@stargazingfangirl18 @irishhappiness @pandaxnienke @looking1016 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @peaches1958 @bridgetina @steviebbboi @late-to-the-party-81 @brianochka @dontbescaredtosingalong @waywardwifey @queen-honeybee-stories @alicedopey

[marveldcmistress]

Dorky & Do-able

For @yenzys-lucky-charm 's Cranky! Grumpy! Stabby! Oh my! Challenge

Pairing: Jake Jensen x f!reader

Prompt: "Are you trying to turn me on or are you just that oblivious?"

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Tags/warnings: Highly Suggestive Content, no smut but hoe thoughts ✊🏻😔, fluff, a sort of confession, Jake being an oblivious dweeb (bless him), 18+

Summary: Aisha's cute friend Jake drives you insane with impure thots thoughts. And there's only so much a girl can take.

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: I had a few prompts lined up (because this was so fun!) But I just had so many wips I couldn't make it through 🥲 shout out to @bigtreefest who inspired the sandwich one 🤭

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Jake Jensen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Alisha had warned you about flirting with her other friends - about Clay's Cassanova Cowboy charm, Roque's brtuish tough-guy facade, Cougar's silent sultriness, how Pooch was happily married... however, she had omitted to warn you about one adorably dorky and utterly do-able Jake Jensen.

He half trips over himself when he greets you and beams a smile so bright you swear puppies and rainbows magically surround him. You were smitten at first sight and tried so very hard not to flirt or flounce every time you saw him, per Aisha's warning glare.

That did not mean, however, that Jake made it easy on you for the week you spent visiting your best friend.

The first time it happens - you can kind of blame yourself. You were staring. It's not your fault he was a snack, or your fault you'd used your laptop as a bath bomb and asked him to fix it, but the way his tongue runs over his bottom lip ought to be a crime.

His eyes are fixed on your motherboard - you think that's what that is anyway - focused with an intensity that surprised you and it did things to you that was only spoken about in books.

"How did you learn to do this?" You ask more dreamily than you intend - not that Jake notices. He has to shake himself from his thoughts to give you a smile and an answer.

"Oh... you know - I was just always good at fixing stuff like this." He shrugs and turns back to the pieces of your laptop.

"Uh huh."

He picks up a tiny screwdriver and gently pries under a piece of metal. "It came in handy when my mom or sister needed me to do something."

"That right?"

Jake peeks up at you, smiling again and you want to tackle him. "It was nice to feel useful. Like a handyman or something."

"Well, it's nice to jnow you're more than a pretty face." You're about to wink at him, but the slam of Aisha's mug on the countertop startles you both, and you resign yourself to an apologetic smile her way and watch Jake's cheeks grow pink in your peripheral.

Chin in your palms you continue to watch him work, hoping he or anyone else in the room, didn't suddenly develop the power of telepathy.

You feel cursed. Wanting something you can't have is one thing but craving something you've never had is an entirely different ball game.

You had popped to the store for some snacks and had totally accidentally bumped into Jake. Well, he bumped into you. You were too busy trying to look nonchalantly to the snacks at the very top of the shelves - ones you certainly could not reach.

"Hey!" Jake greets, again with that goofy grin. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi." You try not too excited. "What a coincidence."

"Yeah!" Jake clears his throat and looks up to where you'd been staring before looking back at you. "Want me to grab those chips for ya?"

"Oh, if you wouldn't mind!"

You couldn't care less about the chips. They weren't even your favourites. Any excuse to talk to him without Aisha present was a chance worth taking.

However, as he reaches up, your eyes catch on his bright graphic tee just in time for the material to rise up and reveal his snail trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his jeans.

Time stops. You wish you could rewind time. The unbearable throb of want coursing through your body like a drug makes you want to scream in the middle of the store. You dont even notice, in your stupor, that Jake is holding the chips to you until he says your name.

"You okay?"

He looks so concerned, bless his cotton socks and you have to wipe your mouth to make sure you haven't drooled anywhere.

"Headache." You lie quickly. "I'll be fine."

"Oh, man, uh... do you want me to drop you back?"

You cant think of anything worse than being trapped in a close space with him at this moment in time so you wave your hand and tell him you'll enjoy the stroll back alone (with your impure thoughts).

The following day, everyone is gathered for a late lunch. Jake had promised the sandwiches from a local deli were the best around and the comment had gone uncontested so, suffice to say you were excited to try what was on offer. However, once again, you were only here to suffer.

"Oh fuck -" Jake moans around his sandwich loudly and as he moves it back, he's licking away sauce from his lips and fingers. "Tastes so good."

The table creaks under your white knuckle grip. You are close to your fucking limit with this guy. Your jaw sets, your thighs clamp shut and you beg for mercy on your soul. Someone this hot cannot know what he's doing.

You are seconds away from slamming your face against the table when Jake's blue eyes flick up from his sandwich (which does look ridiculously good) and meet yours with an innocently curious gaze.

"You not gonna eat?"

There is only one thing on your mind right now that you want to eat and that is one Jake Jensen.

"It's good I promise." He continues when you only stare at him wide eyed as he licks a finger again. "It'll blow your mind."

"Are you trying to turn me on or are you just that oblivious?" You blurt suddenly, causing Pooch to almost choke on his sandwich and Roque to gag on the straw of his drink.

Jake's cheeks go pink and he half gapes at you like a fish unsure of what to say while you continue to stare him down waiting on an answer. You then point at Aisha who's sat across from you.

"Did she put you up to this?"

"I - what - no!" Jake blunders looking around the table for help but his friends are either being rescued from choking or snickering to themselves.

"I didn't do anything." Aisha protests and fixes you with a sarcastic smile. "But watching your brain break has been great."

"I hate you." You say flatly, staring at your best friend in disbelief, trying not to let the corners of your lips twitch. "This week has been torture."

"Uhhh, can I ask what this is about?" Jake says quietly, taking another bite of his sandwich and looking between you and Aisha.

"To answer your previous question; yes he is just that oblivious." Aisha says, leaning back to pop a fry in her mouth. "And your ban is lifted."

"Oh wow," you raise your eyebrows. "That's.... wow."

Jake shakes his head slightly going back to his sandwich. He'll just have to make sure he asks you later.

Later, as you pad to the bathroom ready to complete your nightly routine, you bump into Jake on his way out; hair and skin sparklingly moist, taut muscles and tats on display all the way down to the towel cinched around his slutty waist like nobody's business. Without his glasses he looks just as good, if not better. You can't help as your tongue darts out across your lips, it's the best you can allow otherwise you would be licking him.

"Hey."

"Hi." You eke out, mouth dry. You force your eyes to stay on his face but there's taunting rivulets of water running down the lines of his muscles, following his snail trail and into the towel.

"I need to-" he points past you to his room and you jump out of his way.

"Sorry."

As you enter move to enter the bathroom, he calls your name and you turn back and he's studying you closely, as if trying to catch you out.

"Earlier today, at the table." He begins slowly. "What was that about?"

This is the worst interrogation ever.

"Uhhh... when?" Playing dumb was a dumb play.

"About me turning you on?" He presses, making both of your cheeks grow hot.

"Maybe don't... say it like that." You wince a little but somehow managed a smile. "But look at you! You're gorgeous! Who wouldn't want a piece of that?"

Jake's blush deepens, spreading pink splotches over his neck and chest too. But this was an opportunity to get it all off your chest, you couldn't not take it! Anything to make that boy blush...

"Aisha made me promise not to flirt with you - since I have a bad habit of collecting cuties." You lean against the doorway, hoping the shift in your legs draws attention to them (it does) but giving a half chuckle of relief. "I stuck to my promise but holy shit, you did not make it easy."

"I didn't?" Jake is a strawberry now, clutching his towel in a death grip.

"Nah," you snort. "But since Aisha lifted the ban; you're fair game now lover boy."

He blinks for a moment and then a grin spreads across his face. "You're gonna put the moves on me?"

"Not just the moves," you say proudly. "My moves."

"I think you're going to eat me alive." He chuckles, raking a hand through his wet locks; inadvertently flexing his muscles.

"And then some." You add quietly, glancing up at him to catch a delightful deer-in-headlights look. "But I should let you get to bed..."

You sigh dramatically before fixing him with a smirk and sultry gaze. "Unless you want to jump into mine?"

Jake swallows thickly and has to adjust his towel while you try not to giggle. "Yeah, um, that... that works."

"Let me brush my teeth and I'll see you in five." You wink at him and skip into the bathroom feeling higher than life. This week just got so much better.

End

A/N: if you haven't seen this post, @buckyys-babydoll and I are trying to boost engagement across fics in the writing community. If you liked this fic, please reblog - you dont have to leave a comment. You can leave a reaction image, gif or emoji(s)!

Support writers. Support artists. Support the fandom.

Love ya! 🫶🏻

A/N 2: I didn't think this was 1.6k - it was supposed to be a drabble! 😩 but that's 2 of 13 fics done 💪😌

Taglist - add yourself here

@stargazingfangirl18 @late-to-the-party-81 @irishhappiness @looking1016 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @peaches1958 @alicedopey @brianochka @steviebbboi

[marveldcmistress]

Need Steve bruising my cervix fr

you go to the hospital for your mysterious gut pain and they explain to you very kindly that, whatever monster toy you're using, you've got to find a smaller one, and stop being so rough with it. meanwhile steve's parked in the chair to your left wide-eyed and tight-lipped, bouncing his leg because he happens to be the monster toy

[marveldcmistress]

If I wasn't already horny from ovulating, this made me feral🤤🥰

ENDGAME STEVE: Clean-shaven + long hair.

[marveldcmistress]

[marveldcmistress]

[marveldcmistress]

Starved for You

Written for @steverogersbingo. D3 - Touch starved.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Steve Rogers Bingo | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 728

Summary: Steve never believed himself to be touch starved. At least until he met you. Then, he became addicted, always wanting more.

Warnings: not much; mostly fluff and self-awareness on Steve's part

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

Steve would never admit that he missed being touched.

He definitely wouldn't admit that he was a little starved for a loving touch or even a simple touch that most would take for granted.

No, he wouldn't.

He wouldn't.

Yet, he really wanted your touch.

No, that wasn't quite right.

He craved your touch.

He found excuses to get your hands on him anyway he could manage it.

This didn't go unnoticed by any of the Avengers, either.

Well, almost any of the Avengers.

You never seemed to notice how much he craved and sought out your touch.

No, you were the sweetest person on this planet, happy to give him whatever he needed without hesitation. It was just your nature to be so tactile with others, and that included one Steve Rogers.

It had all started innocently enough.

He'd been injured during a mission. Nothing major, just a cut along the shoulder and across his cheek.

Thought nothing of it really, too.

Well, he didn't until you spotted him when he entered the common room.

You'd jumped up from where you'd been reading the latest from your favorite author, gasping at the two streaks marring his otherwise unblemished skin.

One of your hands grabbed his chin, tilting his face one way or another. No doubt trying to see the cut on his cheek at every possible angle. The other hand stayed on his uninjured shoulder, keeping him from moving away.

While he could feel the firmness of your grip, you soon surprised him with letting his chin go and running a finger beneath the cut. It'd been such a soft touch that he almost missed it. If not for the way his nerves lit up, he would've.

You refused to let him go, either, until you'd cleaned him up and put bandages, unnecessary as they were, on his cuts.

You insisted on it, moving him backward until his butt landed in one of the bar chairs near Tony's extravagant bar. One finger came into his line of sight as you commanded, "Don't move. I'll be right back with the first aid kit."

He didn't dare move, either.

Maybe he couldn't move.

You'd certainly seemed to paralyze him with a single, simple touch.

The clean up proved easy enough.

Soon enough, he sported two Captain America-themed bandages, leftovers from a kid-friendly event you'd helped to organize, where he'd been cut. They'd be gone by morning as the serum would've done its job by then.

What wouldn't be gone, however, was the way your touch unlocked something within him. Something he hadn't thought he'd missed until you took such sweet care of him. Your gentleness and your warmth infused him in ways that he hadn't felt since before going into the ice. Maybe ever.

He'd decided to ignore it.

He really did try anyway.

The next time you touched him happened at a gala event that Tony insisted they host at the Tower.

Tony himself had shooed Steve towards the dance floor with your hand wrapped up in his. He refused to let Steve leave until he had at least one dance that evening, tired of seeing Steve sitting on the sidelines.

You'd felt right in his arms, too.

That'd been the worst and best parts.

It turned that switch again in his mind. The same one he'd decided to ignore after you patched him up. Made it harder to want to ignore how much you affected him.

Two songs later and he finally let you go.

That had been the hardest part for him.

After that, he couldn't ignore what he needed, what he wanted. He sought you out for every little cut and scrape. You patched him up just like the first time. Your fingers never straying from their gentle purpose until he felt better.

Every time he had a rough day, he'd find you and let you play with his hair.

Oh, that'd been a heaven he hadn't even known he was missing. He'd heard stories from Bucky and a few of the others, but he'd never experienced it until you. After that, he had more 'bad' days just for the excuse of having you twirl his growing locks and scraping his scalp soothingly with your nails.

He had it bad, and he didn't even care.

As long as it was your touch, he'd never care.

[marveldcmistress]

[marveldcmistress]

Sorry officer I was ovulating