#I can be distracted from my fears so I feel like Steve would be the same

[artiststarme]

Steve is Afraid of Hospitals

Years of dealing with the Upside Down had taken a psychological toll on the entire Party. From nightmares to newly-developed phobias, no one escaped their yearly festivities unscathed. Steve was not an exception. Since his and Robin’s capture and subsequent torture by the Russians underneath Starcourt, he’d been terrified of drugs, needles, doctors, and everything else relating to the medical field. Any time he thought of having to go to the doctor, he could feel the torturer ripping his nails off with the plier. Whenever he tried to enter the ER, he felt the painful sting of the needle in his neck enough to make him dizzy. And imagining getting a shot? Well, that was enough to keep Steve away from even driving past the hospital out of fear alone. 

The closest he’d been to the white coats since the happenings underneath Starcourt was when he’d carried Eddie’s bleeding body into the ER for treatment. Even then, he hadn’t stuck around. He’d stayed just long enough to threaten the nursing staff to try their best and tell them that Eddie wasn’t a murderer. Steve waited until the doctors promised to do all that they could before he hurriedly made his way outside to escape the tightness in his chest. He waited briefly in the parking lot for Robin or Dustin or Nancy to follow him but he soon realized that they were much too busy dealing with Eddie and Max to worry about him. 

And so, he started the long trek back to his house. He knew deep down that he should’ve gotten his sides looked at, maybe even the abrasions on his neck. Irrationally though, Steve couldn’t stomach the thought of any doctors poking and prodding at him. Even thinking about being in the same room as a doctor with access to drugs and syringes caused his heart to palpitate. His reaction to everything made it worse. Why couldn’t he just get over his aversion to hospitals? Robin wasn’t afraid of supporting their injured friends around doctors. She had been stabbed in the neck with the same type of needle as he had and she had no problem being around needles now. And she could still drink the occasional beer, feel the relief of alcohol, without delving into a panic attack over loss of control. 

But Steve was weak. When he had a problem, instead of solving it, he avoided it. Even when his new friend and one of his kids was in the hospital fighting for their lives. And he hated himself for it. 

It took him a little over an hour to walk back to his house. The whole way there, the sides of his torso throbbed and his head ached. He could feel blood soaking through the dirty bandages and he could feel Eddie’s blood sticking to his skin too. He just wanted to take a shower and forget what they had all been through over Spring Break. 

He scrubbed his body clean in the warmest shower his wounds would tolerate. He was in there long after the water had run cold just trying to peel the stain of Eddie’s blood from his skin. When he was done, he tried to bandage his wounds and clean them with antiseptic but staring into the pulverized flesh reminded him too much of how his face looked after the Russian torture. So, he slapped on some gauze and fell into his bed to get some sleep plagued by nightmares. 

~*~*~*~

He called Dustin at the hospital to check on Max and Eddie late the next morning. “Hey Henderson, how’re they?”

“Um, they gave Eddie a blood transfusion and a couple of skin grafts last night. They said that he would be fine but the police kicked us out of his room and have him cuffed to the bed. He almost died trying to save Hawkins and they’re still treating him like a criminal! Max is in a coma, the doctors don’t know if she’s going to wake up or if she’ll be the same when she does.” He paused for a moment. “You’d know if you were here. Where are you? You just disappeared last night. Where’d you go?”

“Dustin, I’m sorry. I just, I just really needed some time to myself last night. I’m happy to hear they’re doing well. I’ll talk to you later,” Steve went to hang up the phone when he heard him speak again. 

“Hey, since you’re calling to annoy me, you might as well annoy me in person. Can you give me a ride home today?” Dustin asked in a desperate voice barely disguised with snark. 

Steve sighed, he couldn’t let the kid down after everything he’d been through. “Sure, man. I’ll be there in 20 minutes, okay?”

“Yep, thanks Steve! I’ll see you then.” And then he hung up and left the Harrington house in silence once more. 

Steve was a little nervous and his palms were already starting to sweat. He was just picking Dustin up from the parking lot, it was fine. He wasn’t going to get poked by needles or drugged with unknown hallucinogens. No, he probably wasn’t even going to see any doctors! All he had to do was get Dustin, drop him off at home, and go back to his own house to lick his wounds in peace. Easy peasy. 

He continued his inner pep talk all the way to the hospital and only stopped once he saw Dustin waiting at the ER doors. His stomach dropped as soon as his car turned into the lot and his vision blurred for a moment. Oh shit, he didn’t know if he could do this. 

“Henderson! Get in the car, I’m not going to wait all day!” Yeah, that’ll trick him. Steve couldn’t let anyone witness his weaknesses. It was his job to protect the group at all costs. If they knew he was afraid of such a trivial thing, they’d never trust him again. 

Dustin just shook his head and huffed as he climbed into the now-parked car. “Jesus Christ Steve, have some patience. It wouldn’t kill you. Speaking of, how are your bites? I saw some of Eddie’s after they cleaned him up this morning and they looked brutal, man.”

He reached for Steve’s waist but he slapped his hand away. “Um, no. Take me to dinner first before trying to get me to strip. Jesus Christ, Henderson. Don’t be a perv.”

Dustin pulled his hand back, affronted. “What the hell, Steve. You look all sweaty and I can see blood soaking through your bandages. Did you get them looked at by a doctor before you left yesterday?”

He reached for the hem of Steve’s shirt again and Steve grabbed his wrist. “I’m serious, Henderson. It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Henderson yanked his arm out of Steve’s grasp and went to grab the hem for a third time. Unfortunately for Steve, he miscalculated slightly and poked his pointy fingers directly into his wound. A white-hot flash of pain shot through Steve and he released a half gasp/half yelp of pain. He felt the sluggish bleeding of the bites start anew with the blunt intrusion through the bandages. 

Steve screwed his eyes shut in pain and let his head drop against the steering wheel. His horn sounded but his eyes remained closed and his breaths left his lips in pants. Dustin shot back in his seat and fumbled with the door handle. “Oh my god, Steve! I’m so sorry! I’ll go get a nurse to help you!”

He didn’t receive an answer from Steve who was still keeled over in his seat, barely conscious and reliving the pain of the bats digging into his flesh. He must’ve lost consciousness because the next thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a moving gurney and lots of people in scrubs and white coats. He jerked in his spot and started mumbling meaningless pleads.

“No, no, no. Let me leave. Please, let us go. I work at Scoops, please. Scoops!”

The doctors paid him no mind even as his limbs started to flail. They spoke over his panicked shrieks and one approached him with a syringe filled with clear liquid. 

Steve wasn’t going to go down without a fight, unlike last time. Last time, he had to bide his time to protect Robin. But now? Now he was alone. He didn’t have to take the torture lying down this time. So, when the doctor was within reach past all of the nurses and restrictive grasps, Steve punched the white coated man in the face.

“Shit, he broke my nose!” You’re damn right I did, evil Russian. Logically, Steve knew that he was in the Hawkins hospital. But he couldn’t focus on logic over the sheer panic that he was experiencing. 

“Restrain him, give him the sedative!”

“No, please, no! Let me go!”

And then he felt a sharp poke in his arm and the world went black once more. 

~*~*~*~

When he woke up again, he saw a dark room. What happened? He let out a loud groan and moved his hand to scrub at his face.

“Easy Harrington. If you keep moving, you’re going to pull your stitches.”

“My what?” Steve paused all movement and tried to force his eyes to acclimate to the darkness. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital. Dude, you went home instead of getting your sides looked at and they got infected. Nice going. They were worried about sepsis for a while there but they think you’re probably in the clear now. You’ve been getting IV antibiotics.”

When he heard about the IV, his attention was immediately pulled to the pain in his hand and he gasped as he pulled out the needle. It clattered to the ground with little fanfare but Steve could still feel it poking his skin. 

“Did you just pull out the IV? You need that, Harrington. What the fuck?”

The person turned on the light and suddenly the room was illuminated. Steve turned his head to the neighboring bed to lock eyes with an unimpressed and rumpled Eddie Munson. “Eddie?”

“Yes, Harrington. I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes and you didn’t recognize me? I’m offended.” 

Steve shook his head. He was in the hospital. Oh god, he had to get out of here. He tried to scooch out of bed but fell back in pain. 

“What’s going on, Harrington? You need to stay here. Lay back down, you’re safe. Steve, I see you trying to get up. You need to not do that.” Eddie tried to calm him down but it wasn’t working. 

After a few more failed attempts, Eddie pulled himself out of bed and stumbled to Steve’s. “Fuck man, I need you to stop moving. I’m pretty sure I pulled some stitches on my way over here and if we both need new stitches, the nurses will get the wrong idea. Hey, Steve! Talk to me.”

Steve’s vision was blurred with tears and he was pretty sure his heart was going to explode due to the pressure pressing down on his chest. “I can’t be here, man. I need to get out. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, and where the hell is Robin? Is she safe? Did the Russians get her? Where’s Dustin? I gave them his full name. Oh shit, what if they go after him now? Fuck, I have to go.”

Eddie pushed his arms onto the bed and leaned his face close to Steve’s. “Steve, are you afraid of hospitals?”

Steve had told him a little bit about their time with the Russians and he guesses that Eddie made the connection. “I just, I can’t be here Eddie. What if they come after me again? I can’t lose control like that again. The drugs? I can’t do it again, man.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Stevie, I’ll protect you. And as soon as you can be discharged without dropping dead in your escape, we can leave. Alright? Move over.” Eddie comforted him. 

“What-” Steve tried to ask but Eddie cut him off. 

“Look man, you’re afraid of hospitals and I’m afraid of being alone. Move over so we can share a bed and not be scared together. Okay?”

Steve looked at him. It really was harder to be afraid with Eddie practically on top of him. And they had been through a lot together. So, Steve nodded and made some room for Eddie. There was hardly enough room for the two of them but they managed. And when the panic started to ebb away and his eyes started to close, Steve swears he felt Eddie press a small kiss to his hairline. 

He was still afraid of hospitals, doctors, drugs, and needles. But from then on, Eddie was there to distract him and make everything just a little better. And eventually, the fear stopped being so horrific and became just a mild nuisance as long as he had Eddie by his side.

@nburkhardt @doubleb11 @zerokrox-blog @carlyv @i-less-than-three-you @newtstabber @ghosttotheparty

The long awaited medical phobia fic @ghosttotheparty. I hope you like it!

[literaryavenger]

Obsessed

Summary: Your crush on Bucky may be getting out of control.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: Dramatic Reader. Language. Angst. Fluff. My poor attempts at being Funny.

Word Count: 1.4K I'm physically incapable of making anything short.

A/N: I wrote this in like 2 hours and I don't even know what this is, just... Yeah.

Masterlist

This is terrible.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone. It's just the most horrible, dreadful, awful thing that could’ve ever happen to yo-

“Would you stop staring at him for fuck's sakes!” Natasha's hissed words make your eyes snap to her and finally away from the metal armed Supersoldier lifting weights. Shirtless.

You don't know when Bucky stopped feeling self-conscious enough to allow him to workout in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, but it has become literal torture for you.

Needless to say, Bucky's current level of undress is making it impossible for you to concentrate on the stretching you're supposed to be doing before your sparring match with Natasha.

But your very thoughtful and not at all exasperated friend makes sure to keep your attention on her during the entirety of our match by thoroughly kicking your ass.

What a lovely best friend you have.

Anyways.

Your entire mood shifts with one not intentionally overheard conversation. Steve enters the gym and goes straight to Bucky, who was putting his weight set down.

“She’s here!” Is all the blonde says to his friend and your heart stops at the way Bucky’s face lights up with a smile, not needing any more information before following Steve out of the gym.

She’s here? Who the fuck is she? Does Bucky have a girlfriend? And most importantly, she’s here? In the Compound?

Natasha can almost see the gears turning in your brain as you make no attempts to move from the mat after she knocked you on your ass for the hundredth time today. You didn’t even seem to notice her hand offering you help to get up, your eyes still looking where Bucky was just a moment ago, staring at nothing in particular while your brain drowns in your overthinking.

Natasha sighs and decides to end the match here, kneeling down in front of you and placing her hands on your shoulders, shaking you gently to snap you out of it.

“Don’t overthink this.” She tells you when she’s sure she has your attention. “It’s probably just a friend visiting.” She tries to comfort you, but you both know that’s highly unlikely. 

Bucky has no other friends outside the team. He doesn’t know how to talk to civilians anymore after everything he’s been through, and gave up trying to after the hundredth time he saw fear in a person’s eyes just by recognizing him. So his friend circle now includes the team and the agents of SHIELD that are not intimidated by him. Point is, every friend he has already lives in the Compound.

So who the fuck is here just to see him? 

Natasha can see that this is a lost battle, your eyes barely concentrating on her as you start drowning in your mind again. All she can do when you’re like this is try to distract you and keep you out of your head. So she takes your hand and helps you up, leading the way to the common room to watch one of your beloved romcoms together, because that’s how much she loves you.

Big mistake.

“Y/N! Y/N!” The excited high-pitched voice came just seconds after you set foot in the common room. And that’s about the only warning you got before the excited 5-year-old jumped on you, your reflexes thankfully quick enough to catch her.

“Hi, Maguna!” You say while chuckling as the little girl hugs you. “You seem excited today. Did you get into the sugar cabinet again?”

Morgan giggles at your joke and shakes her hand before taking your face in her little hands and dramatically saying, “No! A princess came to visit uncle Bucky! A real princess.”

You frown, confused at what she’s talking about, before you look around the room and finally notice everyone else in it. Pepper and Tony are on the couch, looking at you lovingly as you interact with their daughter.

You love Morgan, she’s like a little sister. You never miss an opportunity to babysit her and you spend as much time with her as you can. She also loves you, out of all the Avengers you’re her favorite, much to everyone’s dismay. She calls them all ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’, but you’re just Y/N. You’re her big sister, you don’t need a title. Which is why you're the only one other than Tony allowed to call her 'Maguna'.

Then you notice the other people in the room: Steve, Bucky and… Shuri. The fucking Princess of Wakanda, standing in the common room of the Avengers Compound and just smiling at you as you carry Morgan.

You’ve never met Shuri, but you know she played an important part in deprogramming the Winter Soldier out of Bucky, and you’re grateful to her for it. She’s important to Bucky, and you can’t believe you forgot Bucky has Wakandan friends.

You put Morgan down on the ground again and the little girl takes your hand and aggressively steers you towards where Steve, Bucky and Shuri are standing, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of a real life princess.

“Hi, I’m Shuri.” She offers you her hand when you get close enough and you shake it with your free hand while introducing yourself.

There’s a bit of an awkward pause and you’re about to say the first thing that pops into your head when Morgan thankfully saves you by pulling on your hand, making you look at her. She tells you to come close and, chuckling, you kneel beside her so she can whisper conspiratorially in your ear.

“She’s a princess and she’s really pretty, but I still like you better.” She whispers and you can’t help but laugh.

God, you love this little girl.

You smile brightly at her and launch a tickle attack, her adorable giggles filling the room as everyone looks at you two with warm smiles.

Your attention is solely on Morgan, until you unintentionally hear the whispered conversation between Shuri and Bucky.

“So, this is the girl, huh? She’s pretty.” Shuri says and your heart skips a beat. 

You glance at them as discreetly as you can while still tickling Morgan, only to find Bucky looking at someone behind you. You turn around less carefully and see Sharon just entered the room, and she's also looking at Bucky with a smirk. You quickly return your attention to Morgan, but your mind is going a thousand miles a minute.

Of course he’d like someone more like Sharon. She’s pretty, she’s talented, she’s a total badass and she’s not afraid to go after what she wants.

She’s not a mass of anxiety in the shape of a woman that overthinks everything and becomes a flustered mess every time she’s even near Bucky.

It’s time to admit it to yourself: Bucky just doesn’t see you like that and you need to move on. 

Natasha is right, your obsession with Bucky needs to end.

What you don’t see is Bucky almost glaring at Sharon because he knows damn well why she’s smirking. She came in just before Shuri whispered to Bucky, when he was very intent on looking at you with heart eyes as you played with Morgan.

Just before you looked at him, Bucky noticed Sharon and he had to hold in a groan at her because he knows that she’s never gonna let him live this down.

Both Sharon and Steve have tried really hard to convince Bucky that you like him back and he should make a move on you. But Bucky, being as stubborn as they come, never believes them.

He obviously makes you uncomfortable, you’re always stuttering when he’s around and you avoid eye contact whenever possible. He’s just glad that you can stand his presence enough for the two of you to work together when necessary and to hang out with the rest of the team without problems.

So he just enjoys looking at you from a distance. He loves watching you play with Morgan and his thoughts always run wild with images of you playing like that with kids that are yours and his.

But he knows that’s never going to happen. Why would you like a damaged, PTSD ridden soldier that can’t even make it through the night without waking up from a nightmare? No, that’s definitely not your type.

Bucky accepts the truth: He doesn’t deserve you and you don’t see him like that anyways. 

It doesn’t matter that Sam thinks he’s obsessed, that won’t stop him from looking at you whenever he’s lucky enough to get a glimpse of his little ray of sunshine.

Requested taglist: @vicmc624 @matchat3a @nerd-without-a-cause @sapphirebarnes @cjand10 @mostlymarvelgirl @julvrs @blackhawkfanatic @lillianacristina @armystay89 @imdoingbetternow @spookyparadisesheep @elizalexwil @aceofhearts25 @dontworryboutitsweetheartxx-blog @justab-eautifulmess @buggy14 @thedonswife13

[solarmorrigan]

The Ass of Legend

For the @steddie-spooktober day 20 prompt: Cryptid Rated: T | Words: 776 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, modern AU, Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are best friends, Eddie doesn't get paid enough to deal with them Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie swears, fumbling and nearly dropping the soapy pan in his hands as Steve’s voice calling from the living room pulls him from his dishwashing fugue state.

He doesn’t sound hurt or alarmed, nothing that would be any cause for concern, but his tone does have that petulant lilt to it that says he wants Eddie’s attention and he won’t give up until he gets it – not that he normally has to fight for it, but Eddie is busy.

“They complain that I don’t do the dishes, then they distract me while I’m trying to do the dishes,” Eddie grumbles as he snaps off the water and strips his dish gloves off. “Need to make up their damn minds.” He stomps out into the living room (as well as he can stomp with just socks on his feet) and finds Steve and Robin sitting on the couch, both staring at Robin’s laptop. “What.” he asks flatly.

Steve looks up, jabbing a finger in Robin’s direction. “Tell Robin I have a better ass than Mothman.”

“No,” Robin says, shooting a narrow-eyed look at Steve, “tell Steve that Mothman has a better ass than him.”

Eddie stares at the both of them for a moment. “What.”

Steve sighs. “I said, tell Robin–”

“No, I heard you,” Eddie cuts in, holding a hand up. “I just– Why are you even– How the fuck am I supposed to know what Mothman’s ass looks like?”

Giving him a look that says this should be entirely obvious, Robin flips her laptop around, the screen of which is covered with– ah. The Point Pleasant Mothman statue. Rather, a closeup of the Point Pleasant Mothman statue’s ass, which is, admittedly, bizarrely well-sculpted.

Eddie glances from the screen, up to Robin, over to Steve, and back again. “I’m… not sure I want to weigh in on this.”

“Ha!” Robin crows. “He didn’t immediately take your side, that means he thinks Mothman’s ass is better!”

“No! No, no,” Eddie says, pointing a finger at Robin. “I didn’t say that, don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then why don’t you just tell Steve you agree with him?” Robin asks smugly.

“Yeah, Eddie, why don’t you just tell me you agree with me?” Steve chimes in, and Eddie wonders how he suddenly became the center of their argument.

“It’s just that Mothman is a known harbinger of death and disaster.” Eddie holds up his hands in surrender. “I feel like claiming you have a better ass than him is the kind of hubris that precedes getting cursed by the gods.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mothman isn’t a god–”

“Still.” Eddie shrugs.

“–and he also isn’t here right now, so I’m pretty sure you can tell me my ass is nicer without fear of getting cursed.”

“I dunno, Steve,” Robin hums. “There’ve been sightings of Mothman in Germany, Japan, Ukraine – all over the world. Who’s to say he’s not in Indiana?”

“All the shit that’s gone down here? I’m pretty sure if Mothman was going to show, he would have by now,” Steve deadpans, and Robin tilts her head with a roll of her eyes that says she reluctantly concedes his point.

“Unless we’re drawing his attention since we’ve said his name so many times,” Eddie says.

“No, I think that might be Bloody Mary,” Robin replies, and Steve huffs.

“Okay, regardless – look at it this way:” he says, turning to Eddie, “if you think Mothman has a better ass, you can drag yours all the way down to Virginia–”

“West Virginia,” Robin corrects.

“Whatever. You can go all the way down there and touch the statue’s ass, because you’re not gonna be touching mine,” Steve concludes.

And that’s just cruel. That’s fighting dirty. Steve knows Eddie will do anything for continued ass-touching privileges.

“Welp.” Eddie claps his hands together. “You heard it here first: Steve’s ass is better than Mothman’s.”

“Ha!” Steve exclaims, practically bouncing on the couch in excitement. “Told you!”

Robin groans, snapping her laptop shut. “That doesn’t count. Eddie’s biased and you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Steve sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He’s right, it’s not cheating,” Eddie agrees. “He just used his assets.”

Robin and Steve stare at him.

“Get it?” Eddie asks with a grin. “Ass–”

“Boo,” Robin calls out, pulling a tissue from the nearby box with express purpose of balling it up to throw at him. It unballs and lands sadly on the coffee table two feet in front of her. “Go finish the dishes, you absolute goon.”

Eddie sighs, turning back to the kitchen. His contributions are woefully underappreciated around here.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Late Bloomer 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Peter Parker, Steve Rogers (Professor AU)

Summary: you start your second year of university but as the workload grows more intense, you start to feel your age. (mid-30s reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

Your confidence starts to recover as you show up to your Art Studio class. It’s in the same room as last year and the familiarity makes you feel a little less lost. As it so happens, the professor is also the same as your first. 

Professor Rogers welcomes his class in as he did the year before. He explains that the brushes, paints, and materials in the ‘community garden’. The collection if for those in need and the need is never questioned. Students are encouraged to come take what they need and leave what they don’t. With the cost of materials, it’s a kind concept. You took advantage of it more often than you liked. 

You gently unzip your leather artist’s bag while he begins the lesson. As he reads over the expectations in the syllabus, your eyes meet. He smiles and continues. You still, reluctant to distract him. 

“Last year, you would have gone over 2D concepts and techniques. This year, we will delve into 3D. Every two weeks, you will submit a project. Lessons are Tuesdays in the current slot, but the studio will be open daily for three hours after seven. Whether you work here or in your own space, I expect all work to be on time. Extensions will not be given outside extenuating circumstance.” 

His voice is rigid but you know well he isn’t as strict as he pretends to be. It’s the first day, he has to make a show. Still, you never submitted anything past the due date. Not in this class. 

“I am aware of your other classes and I have not set unrealistic goals alongside those. However, for those who have joined as elective students, you might want to make note of the withdrawal deadline,” he girds. “Now that we’re past the fear mongering, we will start the session. We’re starting standard. Clay. First assignment, molding and shaping, then we will delve into pottery. Basic, you’ll get deeper into techniques if you are enrolled in the subject course itself.” 

His tendency to overexplain can overwhelm but you are reassured by your first year. Rogers wasn’t the worst but he had standards. Besides, this is what you’re here for. This isn’t an elective, this is your major. You like this stuff and that makes it a little easier. 

You delve into the first week. After going through some foundational work, Rogers lets the room fall silent. Most students will have a degree of experience from high school or freshman classes. You aren’t entirely lost yourself. 

Professor Rogers makes a round of the room, stopping to chat with each student. You sense him coming close and knead your clay without much purpose. He stops across from you, just on the other side of the table. 

“You’re back?” He says. 

“Wouldn’t you know, I need more than one course for this dang degree,” you kid. 

“Really? Jeez.” He scoffs as he presses his fingertips to the table, “so, how was your summer? Did you go to the beach?” 

Your eyes flick up to his. You remember last year he wasn’t so... casual? You don’t know how to explain it. His hair is a little less neat and he doesn’t sport his usual button-up. You always made note of his expensive shirts and that he didn’t seem to care about the paint stains. This year, he’s in an open canvas jacket and a plain tee. 

“Yeah, but it was overcast. Didn’t feel like mixing that much grey,” you answer. “What about you? Good summer?” 

He shrugs and smiles. Something about it is stiff, “it was a summer. Taught a few interim classes. Nothing special.” 

“Oh, well, summer is overrated.” 

“Is it? Don’t tell me you’re into all that pumpkin spice?” He sniffs. 

“I’m more into winter. I love snow and hot chocolate. Simple tastes.” 

“Very minimalistic,” he praises. “Well,” he taps the table and drags his hands off, “welcome back.” 

“Thank you, Professor.” 

You refocus on the clay as you consider the various objects up for grabs. You could recreate the broken porcelain figure. It reminds you of ancient Greek ruins. Or you could go simple and claim that large silver spoon. Your indecision has always been your greatest obstacle. 

“Alright, so, from here on, you have the rest of the time to work. You’re welcome to pack up and do it in your own time but I highly recommend staying,” Rogers announces to the room. “I am here for your benefit.” 

The class murmurs back at him. Most keep on what they’re doing while a few fidget and wait only ten minutes before they leave. You would have done the same ten years ago but this isn’t just a checkbox on a list. This is you trying to reshape your whole life. You’re done with waitressing. You’re here to learn, to make this into something real. 

Besides, your roommate is a fan of metal music and it doesn’t do well for your creativity. You don’t hate the music but it’s just not the vibe. You press your fingers into the clay and stare off across the room. Your eyes haze as you fall into thought. 

Cerise texted before you got there that she wanted to meet up after and Primrose gave a staunch thumbs up. You missed them too. You can’t wait to catch up. You can only say so much over texts. 

You smile as you think of them. Your little ragtag trio. Cerise, the youngest, who always manages to get lost wherever she goes and Primrose who only ever knows exactly where she needs to be and what needs to be done. You’re the oldest, the maternal light that keeps the younger from wandering too far and the other from overthinking her coffee order. 

Your vision clears as you sense movement. You blink as you find yourself staring at Professor Rogers. Oops. You give a sheepish smile and put your head down. As much care as you put into others, you often forget yourself. While everyone assumes you have it all figured out, and you would think that you would at your age, you are just another student muddling through to graduation day. 

[ridestomars]

GIRL U WANT – S. HARRINGTON

𖥻 summary: steve harrington is in love with his coworker, y/n, and max mayfield can't stand how annoying a lovesick steve is.  𖥻 pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader 𖥻 warnings: y/n is used!! it's kinda told from max's point of view. idiots in love (obv), max and steve have a little sister-older brother relationship. bad grammar ig. not proofread (yk the deal). 3k-ish words.

💭 liv's thoughts: look at me rewriting my wip list works. this is another one that has been sitting on my docs page for ages, and i finally got the courage to fulfill it. i hope you guys like it! 

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

“Look at you with your mouth watering, look at you with your mind spinnin'. Why don't we just admit it's all over? She's just the girl you want”. 

People say patience is a virtue, but Maxine Mayfield begs to differ. 

She doesn't believe in that "good things come for those who wait" crap, because nothing nice ever came her way for just standing there until something happened. The only thing she got from waiting around was a terrible yearning sensation of what could have been if she wasn't such a wimp. That is why Max doesn't exercise the righteous quality of patience, preferring her natural impulsiveness instead. Her restlessness is just too precious not to be used – Seventeen magazine insists on telling her that it's just a thing Aries girls do. 

Her effort usually pays off, but when it doesn't, there is nothing better than a "fuck you" to tend the wounds. Rejection is always a possibility, but being disappointed because of it isn't, and with time, you learn how to deal with the negative responses… despite that, Max likes to consider herself too persuasive to ever be declined.

But she has to admit that her intrinsic sense of fearlessness can make her a little insensitive when it comes to people's fear of rejection because, to her, it's just all so simple. Though she tries to be understanding, others' stupidity can become a bit too much for her to handle, and she almost always finds herself on the verge of scolding them for their inability to be bold. It was like when she first started dating Lucas: she had a very serious talk with him about his embarrassment to complain about his wrong orders to the servers because he fears being met with a rude attitude – she still walks up to the workers to point out that his order came with pickles when he didn't want any, but just because it's him. 

For some time now, Max found herself in an annoying situation. Over her boring vacation evenings, she began visiting Family Video a lot, and began picking up on something that grew to be infuriating: Steve's and Y/N's constant bullshit. Their (initial) quiet pining was cute, at first, because it made her feel like she was watching a real-life rom-com, with an exciting "will they or won't they?" plot line… reminiscent of the late-nights where she would pretend to be asleep on the living room couch to catch the new Cheers episode, to see if Diane and Sam would finally get together. Yet, as the days passed and their never-ending coyness appeared to only grow stronger, her hopes started to falter. In fact, the situation began to get so obvious that it started to get on her nerves. Big time.

She was an observer, and easily noticed the lingering looks as they talked, one getting distracted by the other's lips, or the way their brows furrowed when attempting to flirt. Or the jealous blush that dusted over Steve's cheeks whenever he saw you talking to a good-looking customer. And then, whenever you weren't at work, she hears his grumpy huffs that turn into infatuated sighs as soon as you walk through the door, apologizing for being late. It wasn't hard to miss your affectionate words about him when he wasn't around, as if talking about your co-worker would make his absence more tolerable. 

What was sweet, quickly turned into tiresome when the instances of you two almost kissing turn into a daily thing. She can't count the times when she caught Steve leaning his face closer to yours, taking the courage to make his move, but right at the last second… the plan totally backfires. You either bump heads (Max physically cringes whenever she remembers the scene) or too distracted, ended up turning away from the other. Either option brought a burning ache to the chest. 

The blatant crush you have on each other followed Max everywhere she goes as if she was doomed to hear about it until the end of times. Steve was never necessarily reserved about his infatuation – although it seemed like everyone knew about it, except the one person that should –, and since he gives her rides everywhere, she found herself listening to him babble about the gorgeous gleam in your eyes and your shiny hair. The guy sees you as something sacred, and yet… he never admits that he actually likes you, despite the fact that you are all he ever talks about. 

To him, you are a piece of heaven on Earth, the person who understands him the most and makes him feel good about himself, among other incredibly elaborate platonic compliments.

Max knows Steve is pretty much the most idiotic guy to ever exist, but he isn't stupid. It's obvious that he just doesn't want to admit his feelings because, if he does, he will have to do something about it, and being blind to the fact that you feel the same, he doesn't want to risk it. If things went wrong, his heart wouldn't be able to take it. 

The only question roaming Max's head is: he is secure, but at what price? 

It all makes days like today even more unbearable. 

They have been sitting inside Steve's burgundy BMW for almost five minutes now, with the clear window closed, the A/C turned up to maximum speed, and Madonna's 'True Blue' playing on the radio. After their arrival at Family Video's parking lot, Max had asked for a minute, just one fucking minute, to fix her shoelaces and Steve used it as an opportunity to daydream as he stared out the windshield. His eyes were set ahead, and she didn't need to look to know who he was staring at. 

This was starting to get depressing. 

"Steve," Max calls, as harsh as ever. "Stop". 

As if he had just been electrocuted, Steve turns his head to stare at the fifteen-year-old. Eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared, he defends himself, "But I'm not doing anything". 

"Exactly, you moron," she grumbles. "You gotta tell her". 

'No more sadness, I kiss it goodbye. The sun is burs-', Max interrupts Madonna by turning off the radio, stopping any possible distractions.

It's clear that Steve doesn't like where this is going, because his face contorts into that sour annoyed look that makes her take a deep breath. This is going to be difficult.

"Tell what to who?" pretending to be clueless, he purses his lips, but his eyes don't lie, quickly drifting back to Y/N's figure. There was no escape now, not with Max's sharp gaze bearing down on him.

"You're so full of shit".

"Hey! Language, Maxine," he reprimands, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about". 

"You're in love with her," she motions to his co-worker who was still blissfully unaware of the car parked outside. 

And her words rang as an absurdity to him.  

"Max, for the love of-," his protest is interrupted by the girl and the know-it-all tone he hates so much.

"Steve, you're so into her it's ridiculous," her blue eyes narrow at him, hardening her expression. He scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks in the other direction, trying not to give too much away.

They stay like that for a few seconds, with him staring out the window, refusing to take part in the discussion, and Max glaring at his blushing, conflicted face. 

But then, he breaks. 

"Fine," Steve breathes out, "I mean, I'd make out with her… like, platonically, you know?"

The word comes out as if he had just remembered it existed, and Max doesn't buy it for a second, "You can't make out with someone platonically, Steve".

He takes her harsh delivery with a contemplating face, letting it all sink in. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it did break his argument, and he finds himself agreeing with what she had said… and he gets a grip. 

"Why am I listening to a thirteen-year-old?" he mutters, in disbelief. Huffing, Steve turns back at her, already gripping the door handle, "You know what, smarty-pants? I gotta work".

"I'm fifteen, Harrington! And we're not done!"

Max trails behind him as he gets out of the car in a hurry, stepping heavily into the pavement. As Steve bursts through the glass door with the girl in tow, they catch the attention of everyone inside Family Video. He gives you and Robin an embarrassed smile, stepping onto a random aisle, trying to hide from the curious stares. 

From the corner of his eye, Steve realizes that he still hasn't gotten rid of the stubborn girl, so he gathers the cluttered tapes and organizes them, in a failed attempt to avoid Max's inquisitive look. Moving the Pretty in Pink tapes around, the redhead crosses her arms, still staring. 

"You should learn a thing or two about that movie, you know?" she says with a quiet voice.

"What are you talking about, Mayfield?" he asks with a defeated sigh, clearly getting annoyed by her.

"Duckie didn't do anything about his crush on Andie, and had to settle for being her best friend in the end," she spells it out for him, "While she got to make out with Andrew McCarthy. Arguably more good-looking and charming than Jon Cryer". 

Steve rolls his eyes, but the situation does ring out an alarm at the back of his mind. What if… no, let's not go there. "What are you trying to say, wise-ass?"

"I'm saying," she continues, not willing to let him take a breath, "Are you truly willing to miss your shot? Stop being such a coward and go for it!".

"You talk as if I actually have a chance".

There it is. 

This was what she wanted to hear. 

"Steve, the girl is almost putting up a bright sign saying 'Go for it! Ask me out, you idiot!'". 

Drifting his eyes away from the tapes he was organizing, Steve watches as you laugh at something Robin had said. His gaze softens as he contemplates the scene, his hesitancy quavering every time the sound of your laughter reached his ears. This time, seeing the longing look in his eyes made a gentle, sympathetic feeling grow inside Max's chest, so different than the impatient annoyance she was so used to. 

"Look, Steve," her green eyes droop with friendly warmth. Though she might say that this is such a rare sight, that is what he sees every day when he talks to her. "I'm just saying what I noticed, and even if I'm wrong, which I'm not, by the way, you gotta take this off your chest. This is your chance!".

Staring down at her, he can only blink. Her encouraging words are settling in his mind, screeching as they do so, and he wonders… the gears inside his head spinning out of control, smoking everything so bad he almost can't see anything. Steve feels a bit out of breath.

But, impatient as always, Max keeps going as if she hasn't just collapsed all of his plans to stay in your friendship's comfort zone. With the wisdom that few possess, she continues, "I know you're still hung up on your Nancy-heartbreak and everything, but you're standing in your own way on this one, Steve. I can't tell you what the future holds, but I'm sure that you'll feel a lot better after you tell her about it". 

His intentions to continue ignoring it all are crumbling to dust inside him right now and her words make him feel defenseless, too vulnerable to continue disregarding his own fear of possible rejection. 

"That doesn't make sense," he scoffs, though his voice is soft and quiet, "Why would I want to do something like that if I don't know what the outcome is? She might just turn me down, and I don't think I could…"

Eyes drifting back to your breathtaking figure behind the counter, he stops himself before finishing the sentence. His face lit up with an astonishing expression of realization. Steve lets out another defeated sigh… maybe Max was right. 

With a knowing smile, she tells him, "Because you know she's worth it". 

xxx

Steve has had his head in the clouds ever since his little chat with Max earlier and could barely concentrate on having any work done throughout the rest of his shift. It didn't help that he also couldn't escape the sight of you from any corner of Family Video, and had to take several breaks until closing hours to avoid his head from exploding. 

Pacing back and forth inside the employee's break room instead of helping you put everything away (not exactly the top priority on his list right now), Steve tries to muster up even the slightest string of courage to talk to you about his feelings.

Now, on top of being an absolute wimp, he can also add useless when thinking to his list. 

He takes a big breath as he replays what Max had said, and almost unconsciously, snippets of Billy Joel's 'Tell Her About It' start echoing with it. The combination was able to help him make an outline of everything he'd like to say to you. 

"I like you. I don't want the chance to slip away. It's okay if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to say something before it's too late", he mutters to himself, still walking in circles. "If yes, then, ba-ba-bam, charm her up. If heartbreak, retreat. I'll be fine. Fine. Just fine. A-okay". 

Steve feels the same rush as he felt before going to his High School basketball matches, and he can only hope that the results will be far more positive. He takes another deep breath, shaking his arms before he walks over to the door. His fingers touch the door handle, cool under his fingertips. This is his chance. The store was closing, there were no customers around, and Robin had left early for band practice. 

Let's do it, he thinks to himself.

Determined and possessed by a sense of overconfidence, Steve snaps the door open, letting it hit the wall with a loud noise. The sudden movement turns your attention on him, and he can feel his cheeks burning bright under your gaze, his faux bravado trembling below the warmth of your eyes. The quizzical look you gave made him question his own ability for the dramatics. 

"It, uh, got stuck", he offers an embarrassed smile.

Good. Already starting with a lie.

"Yeah," your expression turns into amusement, "it gets jammed all the time". 

The kindness in your voice makes him feel a little better about himself, maybe he wasn't being such a fool in front of you. His heart started to thump inside his chest, blood pumping in his ears like thunder as he walked closer to where you stood, just behind the big counter. With an intense gaze set on your face, he watched as your eyebrows furrow in his direction again. 

"Is there something on my face?" you lift your hand up to your cheek, wiping it off in a hurry.

"No! It's just-," he interrupts himself, suddenly realizing that this script wasn't supposed to go this way. What is he meant to say now? Under your expectant gaze, it's not like he can think of anything intelligible. "It's not that". 

"Oh, okay," breathing out, seeming relieved by the information, you bring your hand down. With a voice that dripped with curiosity, you ask, "Why we-were you staring, then?"

Steve feels so stupid now that he can only blink down at you, his head getting fuzzy by that cute look in your eyes and the way your lips quirked up, stifling a smile. Yeah, he's a goner.

Before he could actually think about what he was saying, he hears the sound of his voice echoing through the empty video rental store, "I don't wanna be a Duckie". 

"What are you talking about?" you laugh out loud, though it's clear that you're not laughing at him. His words took you both by surprise, and he couldn't expect any other reaction. 

"Sorry," Steve apologizes, chuckling along, "I didn't mean to say that. What I wanted to say was… well, by the look on your face I think you already know". 

Again, he just blurted it out without reflecting on it first. But it was justified. 

For the first time, he saw something different in the way you looked up at him. Maybe it was just him being impacted by Max's words, but Steve swears that he has never seen that mellow tenderness gleaming in the color of your eyes before… or at least, he had never noticed it like this. He feels like an even bigger idiot now for not realizing it sooner. 

"Know what?" your question comes as a sign of your unawareness of his new understanding, and it makes a sweet smile grow on his face.

"I like you". 

The three words come out in a far more relaxed way than he had originally imagined his confession to be. Clearly, his realization made a wave of true confidence wash over his body, putting him back in his element of ease. And to say it out loud was a relief like no other.

But when he was met with no answer, just that shocked look on your face, his smile faltered.

"It's alright if you don't feel the same," he reassures, "I just… I didn't want to keep waiting around, wasting more opportunities by never telling you how I feel, because if you feel the same, I really don't want you to get away just like that. And uh- I don't want to be just your friend, but it's fine if you-"

"I like you too", you talk a bit louder than him, interrupting his train of thought, without any remorse. "I, uh- never said anything because I thought you didn't like me back". 

He is still, like a statue in front of you, processing the information. 

And it seems like an eternity before he cups your face, the palms of his hands resting warmly over your cheeks. His long fingers graze against your temples, and just the feeling is enough to ease your hammering heart, but as he leans closer to your face, you can feel your own breath ricocheting against his lips.

Steve stares at you through half-lidded eyes, as if he is waiting for your go-ahead. And it's only when you softly nod up at him that he presses his mouth against yours, letting his lips wrap around your bottom lip in a soft, loving peck. His mind was misty with increasing thoughts of you, your candy-flavored lips, and the smooth texture of your cheeks, along with the feel of the roots of your hair on his fingertips. You were breathing in each other in your kiss, and your breath came faltering against the other cheek. It was truly world-shattering, something you had never felt before in your life. 

As you slowly, and almost reluctantly so, pull apart, Steve feels a small chuckle bubbling up in his throat. Seeing your amused expression, he smiles. 

"We have so much time to make up for". 

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! steve masterlist | main masterlist | navigation ── hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep. currently accepting requests for steve and eddie. 

𖤐 taglist: @oncasette if you want to be added to my taglist, just click here.

[flowercrowngods]

why must i think of prisoners Ranger!Steve and Bard!Eddie so constantly and why must they be so tender and why hhhh

Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess. 

Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. 

There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory. 

He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is. 

A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery. 

Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when— 

“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.” 

Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore. 

“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”

Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain. 

It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.

Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak. 

Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then. 

That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…

“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now. 

Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now. 

“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.” 

A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much? 

“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.

“Lies?” 

“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much. 

Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to to is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful. 

His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off. 

“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter. 

“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.

“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.” 

Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.” 

“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile. 

“Not with my friends, no.” 

This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft. 

“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now just how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.” 

Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.” 

Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders. 

“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.

[stvharrngton]

closer

a/n: part 2 to fuck about it is here! it’s inspired by another parx song and one of my favourites at that :^)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, unprotected p in v, thigh riding, exes/fwb to lovers, soft dom!steve vibes, angst at the start

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @variant-lokitty @kennedy-brooke

I got my space but what I’d pay, for you

The red numbers on the clock read 04:37. You weren’t sure what sleep you had managed to get, if any. Steve’s soft snores next to you now are too much of a distraction.

You were in his bed, in his bedroom, but you didn’t feel present. It felt like groundhog day, same old shit different day. You and Steve would hook up after a party or a random phone call at 1AM, you’d sleep over, go back to acting like you hated each other and do it all over again a couple days later.

You went from spending every waking minute together to only seeing each other in mutual friend spaces, to only being close in secret. And man, what you wouldn’t give to go right back to the start.

It all felt too much. Too much being here, next to him, when you didn’t belong here. Not really. You had to get out.

You gently rose from the bed, fearful of waking Steve, tiptoeing your way out of his room and downstairs to the kitchen. You sighed before pouring yourself a glass of water. You contemplated if you could get back to your place in just your panties and one of Steve’s old t-shirts without raising any suspicion.

I need you closer or I need it over

“Couldn’t sleep?” A low raspy voice asked from behind you.

It would have startled you if you didn’t go through this exact routine every other week.

“Something like that.” You shrugged, taking a sip of the cool water.

You felt his eyes on you, raking up and down your body. You couldn’t bear to return the favour, his big brown eyes eager to draw you in. The chest hair decorating his pecs, the boxers hanging low on his hips all too dangerous.

“You wanna head back to bed?” Steve asked, tone calm and quiet, “It’s way too early.” He stretched his arm around your back. A simple gesture yet one you couldn’t stand.

“I’m just gonna go home, Steve.” You shrugged his arm off you, spinning on your heel to start up the stairs again.

“What? Are you crazy?!” Steve started, quick to follow you, “It’s like five in the morning, you’re not going anywhere. Just come back to bed.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat, “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Steve.”

The boy had the nerve to roll his eyes, scoffing at your statement under his breath. “Come on, this again?” He was flailing his hands about now, “This was supposed to be fun, remember? No strings attached, no feelings.”

You laughed in disbelief, “You said no feelings, Steve. You said no strings attached. You barely gave me five minutes to process our breakup which you never gave me a real reason for, by the way.”

The tears began to well in your eyes, purely out of anger and frustration. You felt awful inside, full of regret and nausea. Except you didn’t really regret entering this agreement with Steve, not in the beginning at least, longing to get those intimate moments with him whenever you could.

“But my feelings are still very much here, Steve. And it’s just, fuck–, it’s just too much. So, I’m ending it.”

‘Cause you’re the holiday I celebrate too late, you’re the eyes that I gave up trying to captivate

Steve stood there in the middle of his kitchen dumbfounded. Lips moving but no words were coming out. He couldn’t think of anything to say, nothing that would make you crawl back into bed with him at least. Instead, he let you get angrier, get more upset, he let you keep talking.

“You’re so selfish, Steve. We always hookup when you want to, on your terms. You’re saying you never once considered how I felt?”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry, huh?” Steve asked, his tone a little harsh and condescending. He was tugging at his hair now, frustration evident in the tinge of red on the top of his ears.

“I want to know why.” You said, wet eyes blinking up at the boy, your lips downturned into a frown.

“Why, what?” Steve shot back with.

“I want to know why you broke up with me, Steve.” You sighed, shoulders slumped, “I deserve that much from you.”

He sighed, the angry, frustrated look on his face became one of sadness and despair. Tongue poking the side of his cheek, his eyes not able to meet your own. Instead his gaze was focused on his feet, a guilty feeling churning in his stomach.

“Cause I didn’t deserve you, okay?” He began, voice shaky, “So I sabotaged us, broke my own heart before you could, you know? Before you found someone better.”

You thought he was ridiculous, that the reason was some sort of cop out. The typical ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ schtick. But you knew Steve, and you knew when he was being serious or telling the truth and unfortunately, this was one of those times.

He grabbed your arm, wrapped his fingers around your wrist as you rolled your eyes, urging you to stay and listen. “I know it sounds crazy and really stupid but it was easier that way. It was too late before I realised I made a massive mistake.”

‘Cause I love you, or I want to, but I don’t know how

The kitchen was silent, save for the dripping tap in the kitchen sink, the ticking clock on the wall. The silence wasn’t awkward, nor was it comfortable. You were appreciative of his honesty, but it didn’t make it sting any less. Knowing that Steve threw your relationship down the toilet because of his self esteem was upsetting, especially when you thought Steve was nothing but the perfect boyfriend.

“Steve–,” your features softened, your pent up frustration faltering.

“No, let me finish, please?” Steve asked, eyes pleading, “It’s the least I owe you.”

You nodded reluctantly, stood barefoot in the middle of the kitchen at five-thirty AM. He started with a sigh, fingers running through his messy bed hair.

“I was stupid,” he started, taking your hands in his much larger ones now, “you know, I overthought everything. I acted crazy, because you– you were perfect and I loved you but I just didn’t know how to.”

His speech was heartfelt and sincere, a real tug at your heartstrings. In your time apart your feelings for Steve never once faltered, you still loved him, adored him. You felt bitterness towards him because he seemed fine, no heartbreak, no tears. What you didn’t know was that Steve’s head was still filled with thoughts of you, thoughts and dreams that kept him awake at night with a chest full of regret.

“Loved?” you breathed, doe eyes blinking up at the boy. You knew you had no right, but it hurt thinking that Steve had ever stopped loving you. Made your heart sink to the pit of your stomach, your brain was telling you to leave, to not stick around long enough to hear the end of the tragic song but your legs simply wouldn’t move.

Steve tried his luck, long fingers reaching up to stroke at your soft cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed at his touch, missing the soft intimacy you craved so much from your ex-boyfriend.

“Love.” He whispered matter of factly, a soft smile creeping on his lips. “I love you. Never stopped.”

There was something in the way he looked at you, a glint of hope, a glimmer of longing. You tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering throughout your stomach, tried to ignore Steve’s soft lips and the sprinkling of freckles and moles across his skin.

“Why wouldn’t you say something, Steve?” You spoke softly this time, a total 180 of your prior tone. So badly you wanted to wrap your arms around him, to pull him in closer but your head was fuzzy, unsure where you stood.

“Are you kidding me?” He scoffed jokingly, “I thought you’d never want to speak to me again, let alone have a serious conversation where I begged you to take me back ‘cause I’m a giant idiot.”

“You’re right,” you chuckled, “you are a giant idiot, Harrington.”

“You can say that again.” Steve sighed, both hands reaching up to cup your cheeks now, thumbs stroking over your skin, “I know you probably have loads of questions which I will definitely answer, but right now all I can think about is kissing you.”

“Are you asking if you can kiss me?” You asked, a subtle teasing lacing your tone. Voice playful and hopeful. Steve was right, you did have questions and you had no idea where you stood but all that could wait. All you wanted was his lips on yours.

“Can I?” Steve whispered, voice all saccharine sweet, low and sultry. Lips inching in closer to yours.

You let your actions speak for you, hands climbing up his chest, dainty fingers finding their way to Steve’s neck. You saw a glimpse of his smirk before your lips were brushing against his own.

You let yourself melt into the kiss, Steve’s soft lips sucking you right in. The kiss felt different than usual, rather than hot and messy, rushed and horny, it was sweet, passionate. Slow and soft. It felt like Steve, your Steve.

It felt like a lifetime that you were stood in Steve’s kitchen, lips melding together perfectly. His large hands began to wander your body, fists bunching his old t-shirt that swamped your body. You pulled away from one another, foreheads resting against one another, the tip of Steve’s nose brushing along the slope of yours, chests heaving as you both took a breath.

The pair of you both sported wide grins as Steve mumbled out, “That was nice.”

“Yeah, it was.” You replied, voice all sing-songy, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip playfully, “I’d like to do it again sometime.”

“Yeah?” Steve chirped, thumb swiping over your bottom lip, “How ‘bout right now?”

You squealed when he wrapped his arms around your waist, hoisting you up so you could wrap your legs around him, heels crossed at his tailbone. His lips were back on yours in an instant as he carried you through to the lounge, falling back onto the couch with you in tow.

Steve’s hands wandered down your back as you were perched in his lap, your fingers curling through the strands of soft brown hair atop his head. Steve hummed at the feeling, the vibrations rumbling in his chest as he kissed you a little harder, a little deeper. You were no stranger to makeout sessions with Steve, even post breakup, but this felt right. This felt normal, like you knew you wouldn’t ever have to skip out at seven AM again before anyone saw you.

The boy pulled away from you, lips pressing short, quick kisses to the column of your throat, mumbling between pecks, “You’re perfect, my beautiful girl.” Steve cooed.

You whimpered at both the feeling of his lips on your neck and the words that left his mouth. You couldn’t help but let it hit you right in your lower stomach, pressure building with every kiss of Steve’s lips, every squeeze of your ass with his large hands.

“Your girl?” You asked innocently, eyelashes fluttering as you felt the heat rise up your body, goose pimples simultaneously covering your skin.

“That’s right, honey,” Steve breathed, “my girl.”

Your hips began to move absentmindedly. The feeling of Steve’s lips on your skin, his hands all over your body, his words an aphrodisiac and the more he kept talking, the more needy, desperate you became.

“And what does my sweet girl want, hm?” Steve asked softly, one of his hands skimming underneath your t-shirt, his fingers brushing over your tits, thumb circling over one of your nipples.

“Fuck,” you whined, arching your back and pressing your chest further into Steve’s touch, “you, Steve. I want you. Please?”

He chuckled at how fragile you sounded, your whines and whimpers only serving as music to his ears. “I’m all yours, baby.” The boy responded, hand sneaking lower, fingers circling over your clit over the material of your panties.

You let out a strangled moan at the almost-there contact, feeling the arousal poole at your core. You bucked your hips into Steve’s hand, hands bracings themselves on his shoulders as you began to grind your heat over his meaty thigh, his fingers rubbing at your clit with every movement.

“Oh, that’s it, baby,” he cooed, “there you go. That feel good, huh?”

Steve’s voice was syrupy sweet as he whispered in your ear, urging you to chase your high, to make yourself feel good at his expense. You could only respond to his question with a high pitched whine, a sound that had Steve all giddy, grinning from ear to ear.

“God, look at you, sweetheart,” Steve mused, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy with lust, “making a mess of yourself all over my thigh. Fuck.”

Your hips began to move faster, desperately trying to get yourself to your climax along with Steve’s fingers on your throbbing clit. You whimpered the boy’s name into the early morning sunrise, eyes heavy and heart longing for him.

Steve coaxed you to your first orgasm with his skilful fingers, soft words of praise and encouragement whispered under his breath. You came undone with a shrill cry, a sweet groan of curse words and pretty noises tumbled from your lips as you shook against Steve’s thigh.

He hushed you with his lips, kisses swallowing up your moans and whines. He hummed against your lips as your orgasm washed over you, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as you let the tension leave your body.

The boy had a subtle smirk on his face when you pulled away, cheeks flushed and his bottom lip settled firmly between his teeth. You giggled as you tried to hide your face away in the crook of his neck, the smell of sleep still evident on his skin.

“Ah, ah,” he teased, “let me see you.” He spoke quietly, pulling you back gently as he cupped your cheek with one hand. “Beautiful,” he cooed with a gentle kiss to your lips.

You felt the heat creep up your cheeks at his admission, the feeling of Steve’s hands on you and his hard cock pressing into your core through the cotton of his boxers ever present in the front of your mind. You felt him tense as you moved over the bulge gently, the sound music to your ears.

“Fuck,” he breathed. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed, his large hands moving to your thighs, his fingers digging into the doughy flesh. It only spurred you on, the noises leaving his pretty lips, the way his head was rolled back against the back of the couch.

“Baby,” he whined, “fuck. I gotta feel you. Please?” Steve’s eyes were wide and glassy, pupils dilated and dark. His cock was aching and begging to be touched, desperate to be swallowed by your pillowy walls.

You nodded with intent, standing up to rid yourself of your shorts and underwear as Steve did with his boxers. You watched with a slack jaw as Steve’s cock sprang to attention, hard and thick against the thick trail of hair that decorated his lower stomach.

Breath hitching in your throat, Steve lathered up his cock with his own saliva, fingers wrapping around his length as he ushered you back onto his lap. You held onto Steve’s shoulders as you lowered yourself onto his cock, both of you groaning at the stretch.

You sunk down inch by inch until Steve was buried in your pussy to the hilt. The stretch was a sweet pain, sinful and worth every wince. The boy cursed as you began to move, gentle and slow as you gave him a nod, a hint to pull you along his length. Steve could only abide as he moved his hands to your ass, palms squeezing the flesh as he pulled you back and forth in his lap.

“Jesus,” he groaned, throaty and raspy, eyes trained on your face, how your features were twisted in pleasure, “you feel so fucking good.”

You could only whine in response, mind too busy to focus on anything else except for how the tip of Steve’s cock was brushing that sweet spot deep inside you. You began to move your hips faster, fingernails leaving pretty marks in his freckled skin, your wetness dripping down Steve’s cock, a sticky mess trickling down his heavy balls.

Steve was losing his mind, the sound of skin slapping against skin, your ass coming down against his thighs as you rode him, the poor boy was in a tiz. He didn’t know where he wanted his hands most; your hips or your waist, your ass or your tits, on your face or in your hair. The decision was impossible.

Closer. Steve needed you closer. Sure, your bodies were entwined, his cock buried inside you, your hands all over each other. But it wasn’t enough. He shifted you both forward on the couch, his arms wrapped around the small of your back, your legs instinctively wrapping around his own.

You were sat chest to chest in his lap, his hand shoving your, his, t-shirt up your chest, your nipples free to brush up against the coarse hair of his chest. You both moaned out loud at the close contact, his hands on your back urging you to grind on his length.

“Fucking hell,” Steve moaned, plump lips engulfing one of your nipples, tongue licking over the bud, “you’re amazing. Can’t believe I let this pussy go.”

Word vomit of praise and lustful ramblings was Steve’s tell tale sign that he was close to his own climax, his orgasm right around the corner. Your fingers were stuck in the boy’s hair, your lips flying to his, kissing him like your life depended on it.

“Steve,” you moaned between kisses, noses knocking against one another. Your hips seemed to pick up the pace with every roll, your clit throbbing and aching.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, forehead resting against yours, his big brown eyes wide and enticing. His lips brushed against your own with every word he spoke, “You making yourself feel good on my cock?”

“Yes,” you cried, eyes squeezed closed as you felt the coil in your lower stomach tighten, “please, I’m gonna cum, Stevie, shit—.”

“Yeah? Fuck,” Steve groaned, hand snaking between your clammy bodies so he could rub at your delicate clit. “gonna cum f’me, pretty? Make a mess all over my cock, yeah? That’s a good girl.”

“Oh, Steve,” you moaned loudly, eyes fluttering closed as you felt the beginnings of your orgasm rock your body. Your hips rocked faster, harder, desperately chasing your climax.

“That’s my girl,” he cooed, “gonna let me cum inside you? Fill up this pretty little pussy like she deserves.”

“Yesyesyes,” you chanted as the coil snapped, warmth spreading throughout your body as you came undone. Steve wasn’t far behind you, two more rolls of your hips and he was painting your insides with his seed.

He cried out your name like a song, face buried in your neck as his fingers dug in the skin of your waist. His toes curled in the plush carpet as he whined and whimpered into your soft flesh.

The orange-y pink glow of the sunrise over the horizon basked you both in a golden gleam. The rays covered Steve in a pretty radiance, one you hadn’t seen in a while. A weight off his shoulders, perhaps, or an old flame in his lap.

Neither of you spoke for a while, too busy taking in the comfortable silence. You hadn’t moved a muscle, cept to rest your head on the boy’s chest, his fingers drawing delicate patterns on your bare skin.

You didn’t know what this meant for you, both of you were pretty clueless where this left you, where Steve’s confession would take your relationship. But you didn’t care. Not one bit.

You only had tomorrow to look forward to now.

[fly1nglow]

WHEN THE BELLS RING (1).

summary ── steve is desperate to make his work environment a less unbearable place and the newly arrived teacher could be a good distraction.

pairings & characters ── teacher!steve x teacher!fem!reader, some ocs

additional info & warnings ── fluff, slow burn, reader is supposed to be a ‘big city girl’, reader is also kinda anxious, little steve pov inserted, i guess steve is not accurate but i tried my best </3, no warnings besides that, i guess

author’s notes: ok… so this is my first fanfic after sooo long, but this idea came to me in a dream and i wanted to write, i feel like it kinda sucks but i also just wanna have some fun writing again. also… i know this must be annoying but… should i say english isn’t my first language (and that i dont know how the educational system of united states works)? :/, that should be all, pls be kind <3

The breeze passed through the leaves gently, taking some to the windshield, it was a really pleasant scene to enjoy in autumn, but it was also a great change of scenery in your opinion: Hawkins, from what you knew and had seen so far at that moment, it felt like that kind of small town you see in movies, where everyone knows everyone and nothing really happens, very different from what you had grown up with and lived with all your life, which were noisy cities, tall buildings and people who really didn't care. they paid attention to you.

But sudden changes weren't very pleasant either, yet here you were, in a small town in the middle of Indiana.

After taking another sip of your coffee, hoping the drink would distract you from something you didn't yet know you feared, you grabbed your bag and threw in the items that would be needed to survive your first day of work at Hawkins Public School. Your keys, notebooks and books were everything he considered really essential for the day.

Getting out of the car, you clutched the cup with the now cold drink in your hands, placed your bag in your arms, and headed towards the clearly old but friendly-looking building in front of you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—

Steve was curious to know who would replace Mrs. Brown, because although he got along with most people, his coworkers didn't exactly fit into that category. They were mostly middle-aged people, who thought he was childish, whether because of his age or the way he acted, he still didn't know for sure, but he knew they were his age once and he hoped they would be kinder.

However, he still didn't know how meeting 'the newbie' could help his case, he figured, that maybe by getting to know him first he could get some information and then pass it on to his colleagues, maybe then they would see him as someone helpful and trustworthy, but he still didn't know how that would help him.

It was lost in these thoughts that he found himself in the still empty hallway and in front of Mrs. Brown's old door, now weathered and which he knew made a loud noise when it was pushed in a certain way and now, he was a little unsure, a very different feeling compared to the confident and playful Steve of just a few years ago. But his movements seemed not to follow his thoughts, because now he had knocked on the door.

Before he could step back and get him out of there, he opened the door after hearing a muffled and distant voice say 'come in'.

‘‘Good morning.’’ Steve laughed and hurried over.

‘‘Oh, good morning!’’ A young-looking woman, who was pasting some notices on the wall, turned to face him, left the materials on the table and approached to greet him, as he was approaching.

‘‘I’m Professor Harrington, but you can actually call me Steve, you know, I guess it’s okay, in fact I prefer to be called that…’’

Now he was rambling. He extended his hand for a shake, which she readily accepted. Now closer, he could notice a few more small details about her: her hair was slightly messy, perhaps due to the wind outside, there was also a small piece of adhesive tape stuck near the collar of her pullover sweater, but he pretended not to notice, afraid that she would think he was looking more than he should.

‘‘Well, I’m a physical education teacher. I thought it would be a good idea to stop by and say hi.’’

She then introduced herself.

‘‘That’s very kind of you, Steve.’’

‘‘Well…’’ Steve looked around the room, but his mind was looking for some way to keep the conversation going, or maybe an excuse to leave. ‘‘Do you need help? Do you already know the building? You know I can…’’

Great, he was rambling again. Good way to make a good impression, right?

‘‘Actually, if you guys have a coffee machine, I’d love to know where it is.’’

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—

You definitely hadn't thought much when you left your room and decided to follow Professor Harrington to the staff room, a small room, with white walls, two windows, shelves full of books, papers, some chairs and tables. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable place you'd ever seen. But you just wanted to distract yourself from the hustle and bustle of your own thoughts, because the first day of work had left you exhausted and it hadn't even started yet.

Also, you weren't the type to jump to conclusions because of appearance, but the first thing you noticed was that Steve had adorable eyes that seemed to match the type of person he was. And at the moment he seemed like a lovely person. That he talked a lot.

He had recently talked about how he grew up in the city and how it was a little strange teaching the children of people he had known all his life. You also shared some facts, about where you grew up and where you studied, all while he observed you carefully and asked some questions to keep the conversation going.

‘‘So why did you come here?’’

‘‘Salary, obviously.’’

You tried to joke and he chuckled weakly at your little attempt at being funny. Steve looked away from your figure, as you were drinking the second cup of coffee of the day, he observed the other person who entered the room, but who still didn't notice the presence of the two of you in the room. This made Steve get a little closer to you, still keeping an acceptable distance but so that only you could hear him whisper:

‘‘That’s Professor Watson, from physics… A pain in the ass at first, but if he likes you, he might get you a discount on drinks at a bar.’’

‘‘Discounts in a bar? Why?’’ You whispered back, while trying to focus on the new figure that appeared: it was a small man in comparison to Steve, his hair already showing signs of getting gray and he had a serious face.

‘‘His sister owns one of the bars in town, she always gives discounts to his friends and colleagues.’’

‘‘And you, do you have a discount there?’’

‘‘No, he hates me. But who knows, maybe you’ll be luckier than me.’’

‘‘Good strategy, Harrington, you barely know me and you’re already trying to use me to get discounts at bars?’’

You both laughed and soon the sound caught the attention of the person who was previously the center of the conversation. Steve quickly distanced himself and silently indicated with signs for you to follow him and then, there followed another one of those social formalities that people tend to forget happened easily: introducing yourself.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—

And introducing yourself was the key word and the pattern that followed for practically the entire day: introducing yourself to your colleagues, students and some parents.

The students were as you expected them to be, lively students who preferred talking to their classmates rather than paying attention in class, but, luckily or perhaps your own teaching talent, you managed to get them to pay attention to what you were saying. and they were able to apply their knowledge well to their tasks. As for your coworkers, excluding Steve, your colleagues weren't exactly the warmest and friendliest people you knew, but that didn't take up much space in your mind.

Not long after the last bell rang, you were getting ready to end the day at work and return to your cozy home. Until two knocks on the door distracted you.

Peeking through the half-open door, you quickly realized who it was: Steve trying to be helpful again.

‘‘Do you need help there, newbie?’’

You didn't mind the small informalities when you were quick to decline his help.

‘‘No need, I was already finishing it anyway.’’

He pretended to look disappointed, you couldn't help but chuckle at his theatrics. You quickly finished your things and grabbed your bag, and left the room with Steve following right behind you.

‘‘You know,’’ Steve began as you both walked down the corridor, ‘‘that’s the good part about being a physical education teacher, I don’t need a room, just some balls and a court.’’

‘‘It’s easy when a good number of children love the chance to be aggressive without being reprimanded.’’

‘‘It is,’’ Steve agreed, a fond smile on his face. ‘‘Kids can be a handful, but they mean well. Today, one of them lobbed a ball right at my stomach, but they made up for it with a lollipop as an apology.’’

‘‘A lollipop," you chuckled, ‘‘the universal peace offering.’’

‘‘If lollipops didn't work wonders, doctors wouldn't hand them out after every appointment,’’ Steve quipped, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

Steve walked you to the parking lot, soon stopping near what you assumed was his car. You turned to see him and to say goodbye.

‘‘See you tomorrow, newbie,’’ Steve grinned.

‘‘See you tomorrow, Professor Harrington,’’ you replied with a playful smirk.

He rolled his eyes and got into the car, making your way to your own car as you watched him get further away. Placing your arms a little closer to your body to avoid the cold, you could reflect a little on that end of the day as you once again observed the parking lot, now a little darker as the sun was already hiding, but which you expected to see for a while, for many more days.

In that silence, you could conclude that the first day of work had not been as horrible and terrifying as you had expected.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Rabbits have teeth

AN: It’s taken me a while to get here, but here’s another instalment of our kidnapped penthouse wife and her three soft dark! Lovers. This part actually includes plot, which harks back to Loyaulte me lie, but don’t worry, there’s still smut. 

Beta’d by @kingofsorrow20

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Likes are loved but reblogs are golden.

Master list | Series Master list

Summary: There’s something that’s got your three captors men worried, but they won’t tell you what it is, distracting you the only way they know how whenever you ask. When all becomes clear, how will you react?

Relationship: Soft! Dark! Steve x Soft! Dark! Bucky x Soft! Dark! Sam x Reader (Bunny)

Word Count: 3.3k

CW: Dub Con (due to universe), Stockholm syndrome, Explicit sexual content, Free use, Cum marking, references to rough sex, mild degradation, oral sex (m receiving), spanking, face slapping, super-soldier refractory period, Canon typical violence, Gun use, Minor character death.

Things had been relatively quiet since Steve’s outburst a few weeks ago, something you’d been glad off, but it was inevitable that it wouldn’t stay like that for long. 

Your three captors men were out - you didn’t know where because they hadn’t said and you hadn’t asked - and you were busying yourself with some baking in the kitchenette. They’d only been gone an hour, so you weren’t expecting them back yet, especially as it wasn’t like you could leave with the biometric locks in place, so it was startling when the door careened opened, bouncing off the wall. Steve stalked through, dragging Bucky behind him with an iron grip on his right bicep. Bucky was obviously not too put-out, otherwise he would have dug his heels in. 

Neither of them spoke, just headed off to one of their bedrooms as you looked on, confused. Sam followed them through the door, pulling off his goggles and shedding his wing pack, dumping them down without ceremony. He crossed over to you, a serious look on his face.

“Sam? What’s going o-.” He moved behind you, as silent as the other two had been, and pushed you down and over the counter. His fingers, callused and rough, pushed up your robe and probed between your legs. Unsurprisingly, you were wet - a combination of the load that Bucky had deposited in you first thing this morning and the fact that your body seemed to be fully attuned to your situation, experiencing a Pavlovian style response to being touched by any (or all) of the three of them. 

Without preamble, he freed himself from his tac suit and sunk into your cunt, his hips pressing up against your ass, before starting up a leisurely pace, an arm curled almost tenderly around your waist. Your own hands gripped the counter and your throat let out pleasured moans and sighs, sounds that were stark in comparison to what you could hear coming from the other room. Bucky’s cries, which didn’t sound quite as ecstasy filled as your own, rang out through the apartment.

“It’s not like I don’t like it rough,” Sam commented, unprompted. “I do, but there’s a difference between rough and rough, yanno?” He ground against you and you let out an unrestrained moan as you nodded. “At least with there being two of them, they can take their frustrations out on each other and be healed by tomorrow. And you can keep me company until neither of us need to fear for our unenhanced bodies.”

“But what’s gotten Steve so mad?” you asked tentatively between Sam’s thrusts. His hand trailed down from your waist to where the pair of you were joined, his fingers toying with your clit.

“‘S nothin’ for you to concern yourself with, baby. You just keep doing what you do best. Take our cocks and make us feel good. It’s nice knowing you aren’t burdened with the things we are.”

He pulled you upright, pinning your back to his chest, and your head fell back onto his shoulder. His lips found your throat, his short beard scratching over the delicate skin as he sucked and nipped, hips still thrusting. You knew he was trying to distract you, and damn if he wasn’t doing a good job of it. You tightened around him as your pleasure built, his deft fingers driving you higher, until you clenched down hard, your body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

You were still dizzy from it when Sam turned you both away from the counter and pushed you down onto all fours on the kitchen floor. He immediately followed you down, sinking right back into you and pounding your cunt with a speed that made your teeth rattle as you clawed at the tiles.

“Yeah, you like it rough too, don’t you, bunny?” With a crack he spanked at your bare ass and then grabbed cruelly at the heated flesh, causing you to wail at a loud enough volume to challenge Bucky in the other room.

With a grunt, and a final few thrusts, he spilled into you, withdrawing at the last moment to pump twice over your warmed backside.

“Fucking beautiful. Stay like that for a bit, baby. I wanna admire my handiwork.”

You settled down on your forearms, naked ass still in the air and tried not to think about what you must look like with cum over your ass and dribbling out of your pussy.

The next morning you woke to the sound of the front door closing, and the muffled voices of Steve and Sam conversing with someone you didn’t recognise. Was it a woman?

Climbing carefully out of bed you tiptoed across the bedroom and opened the door. However, you only managed to see through the thin gap for a few seconds before it was quickly pushed closed. All you saw was the back of Steve’s head and a flash of red hair.

“Нет, Банни. Это не для тебя. Возвращайся в постель.”

Bucky’s right hand held the door shut, but his left arm had snaked around your waist, his cool fingers splayed over your stomach. You twisted in his grip to pout up at him.

“I don’t want to go back to bed. Who is that? No-one ever visits here.”

“Никто не важен.”

He bent down to capture your lips, but you pressed a hand against his chest.

“Not important? Bullshit. I know something’s going on. And I deserve to know what.”

With superhuman speed, Bucky grasped your jaw in his right hand and gave your head a little jerk.

“Перестань быть своевольный и делай то, что тебе говорят”

You scowled at him, not doing anything to combat his accusation of your brattiness, but he just scowled back before picking you up and crossing back over to the bed. He’d been with you last night, fucking you to exhaustion, before pulling you close in a surprisingly sweet way and holding you as you’d slept. However, he obviously wasn’t done with you because when he put you down he pushed you to your knees.

Bucky didn’t need to say anything. Even if you were unused to his and the others habits and wants, his semi erect cock, two inches from your face was more than enough instruction for you. You placed your hands on his thighs, feeling the rough hair under your palms, and took him into your mouth.

You looked up at him and felt a surge of pride at the way his breath caught in his throat, before his hands came to rest on your head and he started to thrust into your wet warmth.

He started slow, like always, savouring the feeling of coming to full hardness inside your mouth, but in no time at all he was abusing your throat, forcing you to take the full length of him until your eyes watered and your head spun, before pulling back to allow air to rush into your tortured lungs.

Your pussy gushed with arousal, and you still hated yourself for getting off on being treated like this - for accepting the safety and shelter these three men could provide and paying them back with your body and pliancy. The old you would be furious at your acquiescence, but she’d probably also be dead. 

Above you, Bucky was letting out those small noises that signalled he was nearing his orgasm, so you pulled out all the stops, pressing your tongue to the underside of his cock and moving one of your hands to fondle his balls and press up behind them. When he pulled back to let you breathe, you dragged as much air into your lungs as possible, knowing this would be the last chance you’d get until he came. You had no wish to pass out this early in the morning.

His hips snapped, piston-like, as he fucked your face, and there were dark spots clouding your vision when he eventually came with a shout, spilling down your throat. The world came back into focus as he withdrew slowly, slate-blue eyes fixed on the ribbons of spit and cum that joined the pair of you as they stretched and then snapped.

The super soldier serum gave both him and Steve extreme endurance and short refractory periods, so the fact that Bucky’s cock was still fully hard was no surprise to you. His gaze shifted to you, almost dispassionately, before he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Сидеть. Ехать.” he commanded, and you pulled yourself up with your grip on his broad thighs. Two steps and you were straddling his lap, then with a change of grip, you were sinking down onto his cock, letting your eyes roll back as you enjoyed the stretch and the feeling of fullness.

A gentle, at least for him, slap to your cheek brought you out of your pleasured stupor, and you began to lever yourself up and down. Bucky’s hands curled around your hips, gripping tightly, and you couldn’t hold back a moan at his domineering treatment. Your own hands took hold of his shoulders, allowing you to move easier and he ducked his head to suck and bite meanly at your breasts.

Your cunt fluttered, your engorged clit rubbing against the rough thatch of hair at the base of him, and more salacious moans fell from your lips until you came with a loud cry.

In response, the least communicative of your lovers took over, his hands now moving you atop him, using you like a living cock sleeve until he too came with a grunt and ragged cry.

As you drifted off, your sweat covered body plastered to his, you realised he’d successfully distracted you from whatever was going on, out in the main part of the apartment.

A few days later you were enjoying one of those rare times where none of the men were making use of you, and you were sitting on the sofa, legs curled under you, as you read a book. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed reading until you’d been brought here and it became one of the few hobbies you could indulge in. 

It was mid afternoon, and Steve and Sam had been out for most of the morning - some kind of meeting as they hadn’t gone in their full tac gear, although it hadn’t escaped you that Steve had still taken his shield. Bucky had taken you to the bathroom, and made you warm his cock in the deep tub as you’d washed his hair. Afterwards he’d risen straight up with you in his arms, water streaming off the pair of you, and wedged you against the wall, fucking up into you until you’d both come twice. You’d then both settled down for a nap, and that’s where you’d left him - snoozing away, looking almost innocent - when you’d woken up an hour ago. 

When you’d made your way into the lounge you’d noticed that the other two must be back - the Shield was hung up by the door, and both their pairs of shoes had been discarded. They must have been in the other bedrooms, either separate or together, but if they’d wanted you, they would have come looking.

You were two chapters down when Steve appeared. He smiled gently at you, although it didn’t meet his eyes, before he came to join you, settling down onto the sofa cushions and letting out a sigh. Instinctively, you put your book to the side and your hands moved to his fly, but he halted you, by capturing both your wrists in one of his hands.

“No,” he said, and you cocked your head at him, searching his face for an explanation. “Believe it or not,” he continued with a wry chuckle, placing your hands back on your own lap, “I don’t always want to have sex.”

“Could have fooled me,” you replied, teasingly.

“Yeah, I deserve that. But in my defence, I am sharing a space with three very attractive people. You can’t blame me. However, I would like to hold you, if that’s alright.”

“You’ve never asked my permission before.” Your censuring response left your mouth unbidden, but you still climbed into his lap, allowing him to wrap his thick arms around you. He buried his face into your neck, breathing you in. 

“Hmph…” was Steve’s own reply before he lapsed into silence. You cradled his head and stroked his hair as you let your mind wander. This was totally new territory for the pair of you. Both Sam and Bucky had their affectionate moments with you, but Steve was far more stand-offish. Was this change in behaviour linked to whatever it was that they didn’t want you to know about? Was their reticence to tell you linked to a need to protect you, or because they still didn’t trust you? In truth, the latter was a fair consideration. You were still confused yourself, constantly torn between fully accepting your new life and wanting to escape your gilded cage because it was still a cage.

“Steve-.” You’d decided to voice your concerns, hopefully use this quiet moment to get some answers, but suddenly the door burst open, a group of what appeared to be guards or soldiers flooding in, followed by a tall man in a black trench coat, a shaved, bald head and an eye patch. Before Steve could put you aside and stand, three guns were pointed at him.

There were loud shouts, and Bucky and Sam skidded in from the bedrooms on opposite sides of your apartment, the former still naked, but seemingly uncaring of that fact. Multiple guns were also trained on them in an instant, and both of the men flashed Steve a look. He replied by holding up a cautioning hand, halting them although they still stood tensed and ready to fight.

The man in the coat stalked forward. “And there I was, thinking that you’d lost all sense, Rogers.”

Steve’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Fury,” he said in acknowledgment, but there was clearly no deference in his tone.

“I’m not a stupid man. I know what you’ve been planning, and have decided it’s time to remind you who’s in charge here.”

“Any planning was only as a direct response to attempts to hurt me and mine, Director. I don’t like bullies, remember.”

Fury snorted and moved even closer, absolutely confident in the fact he had the upper hand.

“That’s rich, you know that? So narcissistic that you don’t even realise you’ve become the thing you profess to hate.”

You could feel the tension in Steve’s body, and you felt a frisson of fear, something you hadn’t felt so keenly since the day you’d been taken.

“And let’s face it, Captain, if I did want to hurt you, I’d go after the weakest link in your little pack.” He stopped right in front of you, looking down at you with condescension. “You leave her here, alone, for hours on end, while you're out, plotting your take over. I could have hit you hardest at any point I wanted. Why go after the highly trained and the super-powered when there’s an easier, softer target.”

You ground your teeth and glared up at the person who was apparently in charge of the entire conclave. Steve, Bucky and Sam may have kidnapped you, may have heavily persuaded you to take your place within their relationship, but they had never treated you as less because of your apparent physical weakness. And this man - Fury - didn’t seem to have really thought about what your life had been like before you were brought here - how you’d survived in the outland for as long as you had. You may look weak and were undoubtedly not a match to any of them, even Sam, but you weren’t a wilting flower to be easily trampled.

You glanced around, properly taking in the scene, the placement of soldiers relative to you and your lovers. It was them who were targeted. Not a single gun was trained upon you, non-threatening as you apparently were.

“So,” Steve asked tersely, “Where does that leave us? Where do we go from here?”

“You? Well you go nowhere. You, Barnes and Wilson stay right here, drowning in pools of your own blood. If you’re not going to respect the chain of command, then I’m going to remove you from it. As for me, I’m leaving with this sweet thing in tow. Looks like she’d be good breeding stock and she’s already broken in.”

You were moving before Steve could flinch, a snarl on your lips. “Not fucking likely!” You reached forward, under Fury’s coat to the pistol holstered at his hip. Your thumb flipped the safety and you pulled the trigger as you pressed the muzzle against his ribcage, angled slightly upwards. “Softer target, my ass.”

Fury’s mouth dropped open in shock and for a moment nobody moved, and then he coughed, blood welling up out of his mouth and he dropped to the floor.

Steve twisted on the sofa, sending you careening to the side, rolling over the arm and onto the floor in a tangle of your own limbs, the pistol still in your hand. The sound of gunfire filled the air, and the pained sounds of people being hit. However amongst that were also the sounds of bullets ricocheting off metal - presumably Bucky’s left arm and Steve’s shield - you knew both Sam and Bucky could use it, because the three often talked tactics on an evening, you sitting on one of their laps or on your knees between a set of thick thighs.

As the sounds of fighting died down, the reality of what you’d done began to sink in. You’d killed the leader of the New York Conclave. The director of Shield and de facto overseer of the Avengers. Your hands began to shake and the gun rattled in your grasp.

“Hey. Bunny. It’s alright.” A large hand came down over the one that had a deathgrip on the pistol, steadying it, before the other hand eased it from you. You looked up, wide-eyed into Steve’s cerulean gaze. He smiled down at you, a true smile this time. “You did it, sweetheart. You saved us all. We’re so proud of you. Come on, up you get.”

Steve helped to pull you to your feet from down the side of the couch, and you took in the scene around you. There was blood and bodies everywhere, including tell-tale splatters over the three men. You even saw some on the edge of the shield, now held in Bucky’s loose grip. Your legs buckled and bile rose up in your throat. Immediately, Steve swept you up and he strode over the corpses towards his bedroom.

“Sam,” he said over his shoulder. “Call Nat and Barton. Tell them it finally happened and get them to help clean up. Quietly. We’ll need to meet with Tony, Pepper and Rhody in the morning, but we need to look after our girl first. I’ll run her a bath while you take out the trash, then you can both join us.” He returned his gaze to you. “You’re truly our equal now, sweetheart. And when we take over the running of this place in the next few days, you’ll be the most powerful woman here.” He ducked his head and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. “First though, we’re going to show you how grateful we are, and ruin you again in the process. Our fierce bunny.”

Bucky says

Нет, Банни. Это не для тебя. Возвращайся в постель.  - No, Bunny. That is not for you. Come back to bed

Никто не важен. - No one important.

“Перестань быть своевольный и делай то, что тебе говорят. - Stop being bratty, and do what you’re told.

Сидеть. Ехать. - Sit. Ride.

Tag list: @christywrites, @doasyoudesireandlive, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds,

@apenny4thots, @endlesstwanted, @king814318

@km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

[berrieflan]

1# Brahms x Reader (One-Shot) but he is ace:

Soo, I have seen many headcanons, quotes, one-shots of this man but all have sex content and well, everyone writes what they want but I really don't feel comfortable with that content so I'll write mine, from me to my ace fellas.

~♡~

Cuddling together:

- Late at night, you were preparing some cheese sandwiches for your partner, Brahms. Months ago you had arrived at the Heelshire mansion looking for work and you met this man.

He was kind of childish, but you loved him that way.

Once ready, you served hot milk and took the food to bed, where he was waiting for you somewhat anxiously. His eyes lit up when he saw you, you could see it under his porcelain mask.

You sat next to him and felt his arms wrap around you in a warm embrace, you kissed his hard forehead and gestured him to take off his mask. Brahms shrugged and shook his head sheepishly, not wanting you to see his face.

You tilted your head, placing it on his shoulder as a way of urging him to do it. Apparently he blushed because of how he tightened his grip around you, he took one of his hands to the mask and only raised it to the middle of his face, leaving only his mouth visible.

He took one of the sandwiches and put it in his mouth, slowly savoring its flavor and then smiling widely, even his pupils dilated. He ate another immediately and shuddered at how delicious they were.

— God... your food is exquisite — He kissed your cheek, quite excited.

— You can say that I made it with a lot of love — You whispered kindly and combed a few strands of her hair that were out of place.

— You haven't bathed, hmm? — You took one of his locks, noticing that it was very greasy. — I thought I had already asked you to do it, what happened? —.

Brahms sighed, looking embarrassed. — I... I didn't want to, I got distracted by something...—.

— Ah... with something? with what? — You asked confused, he leaned over you until your foreheads collided.

— With you... — He responded, looking at you intensely.

You gave a slight smile, and he just laughed back, caressing your cheeks. You stole a short kiss from him and laughed even more when you saw how he was shocked and his cheeks turned a bright red.

— Oww... dummy... —. They hugged for a few minutes and then you passed him the milk, Brahms took a sip and relaxed... but he got sad at the same time. You raised an eyebrow.

— What's wrong? — You were worried, fearing that something would hurt, the black-haired man looked away and murmured.

—My mother also used to prepare my milk like this —. Your expression softened and you pulled him closer to you, snuggling his head into your chest. — I understand... I understand... —.

— I… I miss them so much… it was my fault, I… I put a lot of pressure on them, they had always said I was weird… but… I never thought they would get sick of me… — He squeezed even more his grip and swallowed, closing his eyes.

— I remember... I remember how sometimes they invited Emily home, she was like their perfect daughter... always comparing me to her... — He hid his face in your chest and you felt drops fall on your blouse, possibly tears.

— When she died, their behavior towards me changed completely... and... I could feel how they had stopped loving me... it's my fault... I could never meet their expectations... — He looked up, you could see how his eyes were red and swollen, your heart broke.

— Will you leave me too? — Your eyes widened at such a question, you were speechless, completely stunned.

— Of course not! — You exclaimed, taking his face in your hands, lifting his mask a little and squeezing his cheeks.

— I love you! did you hear me? I love you! — You kissed his lips, once... twice... three times. Marks from your lipstick were spread all over his face, his body trembling beneath you.

— Ow... ow... — He moaned softly, even redder than usual, he tried to stop you with his weak hands but you kept going, smothering him with your kisses.

— How about we finish eating and go to sleep, hmm? I'm going to sing to you until you fall asleep — You gave him a smile and he couldn't even answer you because of how embarrassed he was.

Brahms just nodded and finished his milk, laying down on the bed and holding out his arms for you to tuck him in... you covered him with the covers and lay down next to him, stroking his head as you hummed his favorite song to him.

— I love you... — He said.

— I love you more... — You responded.

[terry-perry]

Smile Through Your Fear and Sorrow

Pairings: Ex!Steve Rogers x Odinsdottir!Reader, Steve x Peggy (implied, but can also be open to interpretation)

Genres: Angst, songfic? (more of a story inspired by listening to a song multiple times), Family fic

A/N: Another AU for my popular AU. Basically a "What If...?" scenario where Steve and Odinsdottir break up because he stayed in 1945. However, he returns sooner than what we saw in Endgame. And not alone...

Inspired by ABBA's "Angel Eyes," as well as Charlie Chaplin's "Smile."

Enjoy the angst!

"No!"

"Yes!"

It was the talk of New Asgard now. Last night had been such drama.

"Last night, I took a stroll along the waters, and I saw him with this new woman! They looked very happy together."

Thor narrowed his eyes at the two women discussing this so openly at the bakery like this was entertaining gossip.

"You should've seen the way he looked at her. Absolutely spine-chilling!"

"Was it anything like how he'd look at the princess?"

"Oh no! This was even more intense!"

He had half a mind to lift up his hood and let his intimidating presence put a stop to their conversation. He had more important matters to attend to though. He turned back to the pastries displayed in front of him and pointed at the sweet bread he knew she loved. He hoped it would lift up her spirits for at least a moment.

Yes, it was true. Steve was not only back but has returned with another woman. They ran into him in New York after everything. It was not only a surprise to learn that he was back, but was with somebody else. Apparently, this was someone from his past that he brought back with him after returning the Infinity Stones. Someone he just couldn't be without.

Thor wanted so much to confront them, to at least talk to this woman about how she better be careful. This was all just a game to Steve. Everything might be lovely now, but it won't be long until there's trouble in paradise after realizing who he truly is. She'll be deceived by his charms and be forced to pay the price when the time comes.

Thor thought Y/N would think so so. He thought she might be hurt by Steve's sudden return, but she maintained that everything was fine. In fact, she kept going on with how happy she was for them.

Then the siblings decided to host a lovely gathering to help celebrate Mid-Summer. They invited their Midgardian companions who were very excited to help enjoy this celebration of light, fertility, and music. Even though Steve came and brought along his new female friend, Y/N kept insisting it was all right. Everything did seem to be okay at first, with everyone distracted by all the fun. Bonfires, traditional music, and the burning of corn dollies to celebrate the brightest time of the year were wonderful ways to forget about all worries.

Then last night happened.

On the third and final night of Mid-Summer, the new couple took the opportunity to announce their engagement. That was when Thor witnessed it. It was only for a brief moment, but he managed to spot the tears springing into her eyes and her lips trembling.

A dull, hollow feeling filled his chest as he saw her. Then, a flicker of light appeared. He saw her with a smile and a fresh face, which was nothing like the broken look he just saw. The split second of changing energy was too quick for everyone else to notice as they were in the midst of congratulating the newly engaged couple. He was the only one worried about what she would think, and he finally saw that everything wasn't okay.

Try as she might, Thor finally saw how not-okay Y/N actually was.

To Be Continued...

[nekoannie-chan]

Not another lonely Christmas

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.!Reader.

Word count: 489 words.

Summary: Steve feel lonely in Christmas until he found you.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, feelings of loneliness.

A/N: This is my entry to @sstan-hoe’s Vee’s Holly Jolly Challenge with the prompts:

"I’m not a lot of people’s favourite person..."

"Therapist."

"Steve Rogers."

"(Fear of) Spending Christmas alone."

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighsss @marvelatthisonee @caplanbuckybarness @sapphire-rogerss @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club  @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot5555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard

As the Christmas season approached, Steve began to feel a knot in his stomach. Ever since he woke up from the ice, his Christmases had been spent alone. For several years, he had tried to spend them with others, but there was always some excuse, and now he found himself tormented by the thought of spending the holidays alone.

Steve looked at the calendar; he was still going to the therapist, as the adjustment process was more difficult than it seemed, and yet Steve felt he didn't belong anywhere... Steve, his voice trembling, confessed his fear of spending Christmas alone.

Steve left the office feeling a little more relieved but still worried about how he would spend the holidays.

While walking through the busy streets of New York, Steve stopped at a small bookstore to take shelter from the cold. That's when he ran into you, as you were browsing through a book in one of the aisles. Steve recognized you immediately; there were a few times they had crossed words, although basically it had been on missions.

Maybe it was a good time to meet you and distract him from his thoughts. So, it was time to take the first step. He approached you.

“Are you all right?" Steve asked gently.

You looked up, surprised. Since no one knew that this was your secret place, you were stunned for a few seconds to see that Steve Rogers was the one who was in front of you.

“I'm just looking for something to read during the vacations. I'm not a lot of people's favourite person… So I don't usually have plans for Christmas," you answered sheepishly, not even understanding why he was talking to you.

“I don't have many plans for Christmas either, so how about spending Christmas Eve together? We can share stories and make the night a little more special."

You were dumbfounded; you had never expected such a proposal, but you could tell it was different. Probably what Steve needed was a friend or someone to talk to. Many times, you had heard what others said about him, but deep down you thought he was lonely, so you accepted.

Christmas Eve came, and the two of you met in a cozy little cafe. You spent hours chatting, sharing laughs, and telling each other stories about your lives. As the evening progressed, you and Steve discovered that you had a lot in common and enjoyed each other's company.

At midnight, you two decided to take a walk through the city illuminated by Christmas lights. You stopped in front of a brightly decorated Christmas tree and held hands.

“You know, I really like Christmas, but I never usually say it. I decorated my house with a huge tree and lots of bows. I have the best Christmas village in the whole city." You boasted proudly.

“Next year we could decorate together," Steve proposed.

“Is that a promise?"

“It's a promise.“

[sarahmadisonxoxo]

An idea that  @spectrum-spectre had inspired a scene in the dark pits of my mind.  Soulmate  AU’s in which people see color at the sight of their soulmate. The rules aren’t specific on whether that is only true if the meeting is in person, or if looking at photographs or videos brings on the same effect.  Soulmates AU Part 2 ---------------------------- Steve returns from the kitchen holding a large bowl of popcorn and two cans of coke from the fridge. Dustin’s been staying with him for a while, and as usual their afternoon consisted of watching television until their bodies screamed for sleep.  This particular afternoon Steve let Dustin choose what they’d watch. Dustin was usually left to make the choice simply because Steve wanted him to be comfortable, but it wasn’t something they mentioned. He’d so far been enjoying Dustin’s pick, the MTV music awards. There had been several artist that Steve adored. Tears for Fears. Madonna.  Dustin however was watching for Corroded Coffin, his newest favorite band that he listened to seemingly nonstop these days. The kid was obsessed, but again Steve didn’t complain because his home was Dustin’s home if he accepted it. It was nice to have someone around to liven up the overwhelming emptiness of the Harrington estate.  Steve set the popcorn down on the coffee table, dropping down next to Dustin on the couch, when his eyes came up to see the television screen color burst from the center of his gaze flooding out to adjust his vision until everything settled and grey was changed with vivid colors he’d only heard about in books.  His soulmate... the only issue was the angle of the camera was showing dozen’s of faces. He’d never be able to tell which one of them sparked the change. It was the whole point of it, making finding soulmates easier. Of course Steve would find a way to fuck his up.... he’d never find them. That show was several states away, the likelyhood of ending up in a room with one of them was nearly impossible. Even if he did, now he wouldn’t have a way to tell him who it was.  “ I think I am going to go to bed..” Steve hums.  “ Bed? Steve it’s eight thirty? “  “ Yeah... Work was just a lot today and I guess it’s just hitting me how tired I am” Steve explained.  Dustin didn’t seem to buy it, but he didn’t argue.  “ Okay.. Goodnight man. “  “ Night”  Steve cried his eyes out that night... over someone he didn’t even know.  ----------- “ thanks for driving me Steve.. I can’t believe they are coming Chicago on a day I can actually attend the convention. “ Dustin stood next to him in the line to get in to meet one of the guy’s from Corroded Coffin.. Steve planned on leaving the line before Dustin went behind the curtain, but he didn’t feel like being alone in here. Everyone seemed chill.. He was just feeling overwhelmed.  “ No problem Dustin.”  Slowly the line progressed foward, Steve eventually dropping out to go stand at the edge of the booth to wait. Letting himself get distracted by the excitement of those leaving the booth. Smiling at them as they ran out with their autographed pictures. He caught sight of Eddie.. or at least that’s who he assumed it was with the sign. The guy was pretty. His smile was bright and filled his face, dimples standing out to soften the rest of the edge his clothing might lead you to think he had.  When he heard Dustin’s voice Steve could only smile at the pure joy and excitement of the kid meeting one of his favorite people. He couldn’t remember hearing him so happy about anything other than when he’d finished building his Cerebro last summer.  The curtain opened, Steve’s eyes met Eddie’s for the first time that day as the man was telling Dustin goodbye.  They didn’t make it far from the booth before he heard someone calling Dustin’s name.. them both turning around to find Eddie running toward them.  “ Sorry I didn’t know your name...” Eddie apologized, taking Steve’s hands in his own. A small crowd forming around them with people muttering how Steve was living everyone's dream right now.  “ Steve? Is everything okay man? “ Steve questioned, Eddie’s face falling as he noticed the utter confusion written over Steve’s features.  “ you didn’t see it” Eddie questioned. “ See what?  “ The color? You didn’t. Oh shit. “  “ The color?..” Steve started, his eyes looking off in thought “ Oh... it was you. On the tv.. I must have seen you. “  “ TV? “  “ The MTV Awards...”  “ Steve that was nearly a year ago... you’ve had color for? “  “ Nearly a year yeah...”  “ Oh shit..” Eddie thought allowed, processing that the confusion was because Steve had been seeing color the whole time. “ Can I take you out sometime? You know if you want. I don’t know if you do this whole thing, but I think it would be pretty cool”  “ Eddie”  “ Yeah”  “ I’d love to go out with you sometime”  “ Great” Eddie cheered, a small smile pulling at his lips, offering his sharpie over to Steve. “ just write your number on my arm”  Eddie tugged his sleeve up to give Steve space in a place that could be hidden on his arm. Both of them smiling like fools the entire time.  “ You should get back to your fans.. “  “ Yeah.. I will call you tonight. “  “ I can’t wait” 

[tatumslollipop]

Ghostface!Sidney Prescott X Ghostface!Reader

this has been in my drafts for a while

Y/N was sitting in Sidney's room waiting for her girlfriend to come back. Wanting to surprise her. But then Sidney came running in her room covered in blood. Y/N runs up to her and says "Omg Sidney are you okay?". She is worried. "Y/N ... this is not my blood" Sidney confesses to her girlfriend. Y/N looks at her confused and also horror. "Sidney. No. You don't mean that you" Y/N says in shock and panics taking a step back from her girlfriend. "Y/N I did. But believe me darling. I would never hurt you. I just killed Billy's Mom" Sidney says with a sight of pride and worry that her girlfriend will betray her or see her as something evil. "Why Sidney?" Y/N says sitting down on Sidney's bed trying to hold onto her feelings. "You know my mom left right?" "How could I not remember." Y/N says.

Y/N and Sidney just came back from school when Sidney saw a letter saying to Sidney. She read it and tears start falling from her eyes and hugged her telling her everything is gonna be okay. She gave me the letter and it said that Sidney's mom is leaving her forever because her dad has cheated on her with Billy's Mom. This night we just laid in her bed and cuddled. She didn't went to school for days. After School I would always visit her and comfort her and bring her my notes and some little gifts like flowers or sweets. We would talk and just cuddle. "I needed to kill her. I hate this bitch. I have a plan I need you to help me with. Please say yes baby" Sidney said with excitement. "Yes" Y/N said. She would do anything for her girlfriend to make her happy. But needless to say she also for a fact thinks of killing a lot. It charmed her. "Billy's Family stayed together. That isn't fair is it" Sidney said. Y/N shakes her head. "Well I want to kill all his friends and family to make him suffer through life till in the end. We kill him. Will you be my partner in crime?" Sidney's eyes darkened. She looks psychotic just insane but also so hot. "Yes Sidney. I will but promise me something." Y/N says almost looking crazier than Sidney "What is it my love?" Sidney says looking deep into Y/N with passion that is indescribable. "Come over to my house when you are covered in blood. You look so hot right now." Y/N says starting to kiss and bite Sidney's neck tasting the blood. "God I love you so much" Sidney says coving Y/N cheeks with her hands and kissing her. What happens after that is our little secret. They start planning the murders this night and start with Casey and Steve since she was Stu's cheating Ex which gives him reason to kill her and her boyfriend. Y/N and Sidney's love for eachother just grows with every kill. They are both psychotic but insane is the new sane.

And finally the day of act 3. Y/N was throwing a party to distract the people from the murders to make then feel better with the saying "We are saver together". Sidney just killed the principal on the football field which made everyone run to the school expect her friend group. Y/N kills Tatum while Sidney murders Gale and her camera man and Y/N Dewey. When Sidney finally takes off the mask they two man are shocked. "Suprise Billy" says Sidney with the voice changer. "How could you" Billy says in fear and shock which made him look even more pathetic than usual. "Because of your bitch mother. Your family stays together but mine doesn't. That's not fair now is it Baby?" Sidney says tracing her knife at Billy's cheek and looking at the other masked killer who is holding a gun at Stu's throat. Y/N takes off her mask and they look even more shocked. "No its not." Y/N says cold and kisses Sidney's lips gentle. "We are gonna blame you two for the murders and come out as the victims. The Final Girls. And don't worry your little dad is also here to give us company" Y/N opens the closet door to reveal Billy's dad completely tied up. "Well the party can begin now" Sidney says stabbing Billy in the stomach and Y/N shooting Stu in the head. "I love this baby" Y/N says as she licks her finger covered in blood. After killing everybody Sidney and Y/N clean the weapons and stab eachother in the shoulder and then run into windows to look like victims. When the police finally arrived they got called the Heros of the Woodsboro murders and lived a life of fame and Love. Only they knew what they did that Summer.

[medusapelagia]

C - Crush

C is for CKeys (@cxwzkeys) who is always super kind to me and is helping me overcome my fear of the discord vibrating peach!💜

I hope you will enjoy your present 🎁!

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve /Eddie WT: injection, needles, FtM Eddie Munson Words: 1176

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Eddie sighs, looking at the box where he hides his meds.

Of course, he forgot that today was the day he was supposed to have his shot, and of course, Gareth chose exactly that weekend to go home, and of course there is a party downstairs where they invited all the guys on the campus, and of course…

Someone knocks on Eddie’s door and he quickly hides his box

“Come in.”

“Hi, I’m Steve, sorry to bother you but I was looking for Gareth.”

Oh, yeah, and of course his long-time crush would get in his room while he was panicking!

“Are you alright?” The boy asks, looking at him with worry.

“Peachy. Sorry but Gareth has gone back home this weekend, it’s his grandma's birthday or something like that.” Eddie replies, trying to calm himself even if he feels his heart beat so loud in his ears that he can’t even understand what the boy says to him before leaving.

The door closes and Eddie stares at his box of medicines: it’s just a fucking injection of hormones. He has done so many before! Well… not exactly him… Wayne and Gareth were always the ones who actually did the injection, but he has been on testosterone for a couple of years now and he should be used by now, still, the idea of stabbing himself with a needle never got easier for him.

“Fuck!” Eddie swears again, while he hides the little syringe and closes himself in the bathroom.

It’s easy: clean the skin with alcohol, pinch the skin, stab himself, and then clean the skin again. 

He just needs to take a deep breath and… no. No fucking way. He can’t.

Eddie looks at the offensive object in his hand, he has been on testosterone for so long that waiting for a couple of days will not fuck everything up, right?

A knock on the door distracts him from his thoughts.

Shit. He has closed himself in the only bathroom and there is a party going on downstairs, it was easy to understand that someone would have needed the bathroom sooner rather than later.

“One… One moment.” Eddie says with a squeaky voice.

“Are you ok? You have been in there for quite some time.”

Steve fucking Harrington is outside of the bathroom. Great! Absolutely great!

“Yeah, I just need a moment…”

“Can I come in?”

“NO!” Eddie yells, almost dropping the syringe.

“Ok, ok, I just wanted to be sure you were ok. I don’t want you to have an allergic reaction or…”

Eddie glares toward the closed door “What the fuck are you talking about?” He growls.

“It’s fine. Sorry. I thought you needed some help, but I was wrong.”

“Help with what?” Eddie asks.

“Eddie.”

He opens the door and glares at the other boy “Help with what, Harrington?”

The boy sighs and then replies “With the injection.”

How the fuck does he know?!

“Look, we don't have to talk about that, I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

"I'm perfectly fine, thanks."

"I'm really good at doing injections."

"Oh, are you now? How lucky I am." Eddie snarls, but Steve's smile doesn't falter.

"Would you let me give it a try?"

What the hell! He needs his injection and if Harrington is so willing to be the one giving him his shot so be it. 

Eddie opens the door just enough to let Steve in and then he closes it behind them.

"Where do you usually do them?"

"In my tight."

"Ok, so pants down and I'll be done in no time."

Eddie sighs and lowers his pants, sitting on the wc, his eyes pinned on the needle.

"You don't have to look, you know that, right?"

"What if I want to look at you?" Eddie replies with a sensual voice: flirting is the one thing in the world he was always good at.

"In that case..." Steve takes his phone, goes through the video, and gives the phone to Eddie. In the video, he is wearing a crown and a toga and he is definitely drunk.

Eddie feels just a little pinch "All done. You were such a good patient." Steve praises him while disinfecting the area.

"Do I get a popsicle for being a good boy?"

Steve smiles while he throws away the syringe "Not today, honey, maybe next time."

"You have a very gentle touch. Gareth usually stabs me."

"I have a lot of practice." Steve replies with a sweet smile.

"Are you into med fet?"

The boy stares at him and then bursts out in a loud laugh "No, I'm volunteering at the local hospital as part of my degree."

"Oh, so you are going to be a doctor?"

Steve gives him a wry smile "My parents will be happier, but no, I'm going to be a simple nurse."

"There is nothing simple about being a nurse!"

"You don't have to lie to me, I know that being a doctor sounds fancier." Steve replies, then he writes his number with a kajal pencil on a tissue "If you need help in the future just give me a call."

Eddie gets back to his room, searching desperately for his phone: Gareth replies at the second ring.

"You ok?"

"Do you remember Harrington?"

"Your long-time crush? Steve 'oh my god look how hot he is' Harrington? No, it doesn't ring a bell." Gareth replies sarcastically.

"Fuck you. He just gave me my shot."

"Oh. And?"

"I think I like him."

"I know you like him, but what about him?”

“I don’t know! He just appeared and asked me if I needed help with my shot and I wonder how the fuck did he know that I'm on T."

The line goes silent for far too long.

“Gareth?”

"Ehm... I might have gone to the college nurse when you got the flu because I didn't know if you still needed the injection even if you were feeling like shit... and he might have been there too. But he promised not to tell anyone! And it's a good thing, right? He didn't, like, freak out or else so..."

"So?"

"Maybe you have a chance?"

Eddie sighs, looking longingly at the door of his room: maybe Steve is still downstairs, he could go down, grab a drink, and make some conversation, pretending to be the social butterfly he is not.

He stares at the tissue with Steve's number.

“He loves chocolate.” Gareth suggests “Why don’t you grab one with him tomorrow?”

Hot chocolate! That’s a great idea!

Eddie closes the call without even saying goodbye and sends a message to Steve’s number.

Are you free tomorrow to grab a hot chocolate with me?

It’s Eddie btw.

A few moments and Eddie’s phone lightens up.

Sounds good. 3 pm at the cafeteria?

Eddie stares at the phone for the longest time before replying, then he changes into a well-loved band t-shirt and goes to bed, tomorrow he has a date and he wants to be well-rested.

[flowercrowngods]

okay due to popular demand (3 people mwah!), here's all i have on prisoners ranger!steve, bard!eddie, and the royal entourage accompanying the diplomatic mission that went so horribly wrong

Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess. 

Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. 

There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory. 

He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is. 

A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery. 

Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when— 

“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.” 

Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore. 

“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”

Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain. 

It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.

Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak. 

Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then. 

That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…

“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now. 

Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now. 

“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.” 

A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much? 

“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.

“Lies?” 

“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much. 

Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to do is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful. 

His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off. 

“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter. 

“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.

“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.” 

Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.” 

“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile. 

“Not with my friends, no.” 

This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft. 

“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.” 

Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.” 

Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders. 

“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.

———

Steve wakes to something cold touching his forehead, moving to his temple where suddenly a jarring pain wrecks his body and he can’t quite suppress the flinch. 

“Forgive me,” comes a quiet voice from above and Steve opens his eyes to the darkness of a cell, only faintly illuminated by the flickering light of a torch somewhere and the redness of the setting sun. “But I am glad to see you awake.”

The voice belongs to Eddie, who is looking down at him, a piece of cloth in his hand. Gently, he presses it to Steve’s forehead again and the cool sensation comes back, gentler this time. It takes a moment for Steve’s tired and frayed mind to catch up with reality, but when it does, he realises that the bard is washing away the dried blood and cleaning his wounds. 

What an odd picture they must make.

“Tell me,” he says before he has time to consider his words. “Is it normal for a bard of Northlands to take care of wounded Rangers?” 

“No,” Eddie says and there’s something to his voice Steve can’t quite identify. He’s not sure he likes it, not sure what it does to his insides. “There are never any Rangers there.” 

Even through the dim light, Steve can see the mirth in his eyes and it makes him laugh – if only briefly, for his body is quick to remind him that any sort of movement is a bad, terrible, truly horrid idea. He just barely manages to suppress a groan, but nothing could get past the bard’s eyes, and his hand moves from Steve’s forehead to his cheek almost immediately. 

“Careful, my friend. You shouldn’t be laughing.” 

“Stop making me laugh, then. That would make it all so much easier.” There’s no heat behind his words and he doesn’t even try not to lean into the touch. 

Eddie hums but stays quiet otherwise and keeps wiping Steve’s face clean, watching his every reaction. A frown slowly forms between those brows and Steve wonders what that is for. Did something happen while he was out of it? Time passes differently in the desert, yes, the sun and moon following different paths, but he can’t have been unconscious for more than three hours. It is barely yet nightfall, their cell colder than before. 

Three hours. And Eddie still sits cross-legged with Steve’s head on his thigh. 

Guilt and embarrassment shoot through him and he wants to move, wants to get up and release the bard from his demeaning task of playing nurse to a wounded Ranger, but his ribs protest and his head pulses with white-hot pain before it sends his world spinning again and Steve sags back into the warmth of Theodore. 

“I must be painting the most pathetic picture of her Majesty’s Rangers. I swear, most of us are better than this.” 

It comes out light hearted as always, despite the pain it leaves inside his chest to be presenting himself like this. Representing all Rangers to the kingdoms of the South with his weakness. All that on top of losing Will. Again. 

He closes his eyes against the pity he is bound to see in Eddie’s eyes. 

“You paint a picture of bravery such as I scarcely saw it before. Never in my life did I see a man move so slowly, so unseen unless as I was looking right at you. You are excellent with the sword and the bow, and even the weapons of the desert folk are natural to you. I can imagine the pain and suffering you have seen, some of which you must have caused in the name of justice, yet you carry inside yourself a light-heartedness that is refreshing to say the least.” 

Steve swallows, has never been good at taking compliments, and luckily hasn’t been in the position to accept them in quite a while. 

“Light-hearted?” he rasps. “You can’t be talking about the same Rangers I know, surely.” 

“I was talking about you, Steven,” Eddie admits quietly, and his voice is so tender when he says his name that it makes Steve’s breath hitch. 

“Oh,” he says intelligently. Swallows. “Then the head injury must be severe.” 

“Admirable of you to hide a concussion for so many days. I think healers of all kingdoms would have a lot of questions for you if they knew.”

Steve huffs and smiles through the pain of his undoubtedly broken ribs protesting. “My apologies, Eddie. Queen Joyce of the West and Sir James himself would both have my head if I taught you our concussion-hiding ways.”  

“A pity,” Eddie says and there’s that smile in his voice again that doesn’t show on his lips, at least in this light. Steve doesn’t care, though, as he smiles up at him. 

This moment in time belongs to the both of them as Steve finds he can’t quite look away, and it’s not the pain that keeps him. 

Eddie opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again. The frown reappears between his brows and Steve wants to reach out and smoothen the creased skin above his nose. If only moving his arm didn’t require such strength that keeps evading him, the night weighing heavy on his limbs.

After another minute, Eddie does find his words, though they are quiet this time. “I worried.” 

“About what?” Steve asks when he doesn’t continue. 

Eddie resumes his endeavour of washing the crusted blood from his hair and face, the sensation soothing his skin but not his nerves. Steve does reach up this time to still his hand, and the bard meets his eyes again. 

“That you wouldn’t wake up.” It comes out small, void of that usual easy confidence. 

Steve swallows every comment on the tip of his tongue about how the rest of their group could easily keep Eddie entertained without any concussions bothering them. It’s not often that he has control over his tongue, but in the face of such open worry and vulnerability, his heart aches and he wants to say the right thing. 

“I’m awake, Theodore Munson. It takes far more to put me out for good.”

It’s a lie, he knows. It would not have taken that much more, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that. 

“Don’t let them hear that, they will take that as a challenge.” 

Steve only gives a non-committal hum and closes his eyes again. If he didn’t, the darkness of the cell and the kindness in Eddie’s eyes would have made him say stupid things like, Let them, if that means everyone else is safe. That would surely dim the light in those black eyes and very likely make Jim throw a boot at him. And Steve really doesn’t want to have to deal with either of those things. 

Eddie resumes his task of gently cleaning him, and Steve gets the feeling that the bard must be doing it for himself just as much as for him. It’s something to keep himself occupied, and the way he talks betrays his intentions in turn of keeping Steve awake and occupied, too. 

A gesture that is almost too kind to bear, as dusk turns into night and the silver light of the full moon illuminates their cell. 

———

Jim lies just a few feet beside them, and now that his eyes have had the chance to adjust to the darkness properly, the concussion already weaker than it was earlier, Steve can see that his eyes are open. Or, one eye is; the other is swollen too badly. Another wave of guilt and shame clouds his senses for a moment and he has the urge to ask forgiveness. He feels responsible, even though he knows Jim would hit him over the head if Steve so much as mentioned that.

His eyes cut back to Eddie above him when a yawn interrupts the bard’s steady movements with the cloth that is barely wet anymore. 

“You never got any rest, did you?” he asks – stupidly, because the moment the words leave his lips Steve remembers the very reason for Eddie’s wakefulness. He winces before the other man even gets the chance to answer. “Right, my fault. Forgive me.” 

If the ground beneath him could open now, he would have a banquet in its honour. With a groan, he moves to sit up and free Eddie of his dead weight, the motion pulling on his cuts and bruises, irritating his broken and burning ribs in a way so sudden it steals his breath for a second. Steve is well acquainted with pain, but the all-encompassing nature of it right now is thoroughly unwelcome.

Hands come up to steady him, guiding him to sit up and lean against the stone wall, his own shoulder coming to rest against Eddie’s, who only slowly lets go of him. 

“Thank you,” Steve breathes, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. 

“It’s hardly a question of fault,” Eddie says in that calm, soothing way of his that keeps making Steve want to reach out and hold on. Hold him. “And it was no hardship to stay and… be gentle.” 

Something in the back of his mind wants to tell him something but it’s too foggy to grasp. 

“Gentle,” he says, inquiring, as though saying the word out loud would tell him its meaning. 

“Even Rangers of the Kingdom deserve gentle hands and smiles. Even if they are too badly beaten and concussed to recall their request.” 

Eddie’s words aren’t making sense, but what they do is make his heart beat faster for some reason other than shame and embarrassment. He presses his lips together and tries to find his voice.

When he finds it again, it’s barely more than a whisper hidden in the moonlight. “Allow me to return the favour, then. Rest, Eddie. Find some sleep while I ensure it is safe.” 

Something shifts in those black eyes and Steve wants to chase it. Eddie cast in silver light of the moon is different than the golden figure of the past days. Less imposing and more… fragile. Gone is the teasing, replaced with something more… More. It suits him, the light of the moon, as much as it makes Steve’s heart and mind race. 

“Will you smile at me still?” Eddie asks at last, and even the darkness cannot veil the quiver in his voice. 

Steve is reminded of something he must have dreamed of earlier, but he cannot focus on that, not with the way the moonlight catches in those dark curls that have managed to slip out of the band keeping his hair bound at the back of his skull. Not with the way it illuminates the twitch of his lip or the impossible way he is looking at Steve still. 

“Always,” he says before he can even think about it. Always, he thinks. However long that may yet be.

Another smile twitches and tugs at the bard’s lips, lingering in its nature as he closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall behind them. It can’t be comfortable, and Steve has half a mind to offer his own lap, but there is something about seeing Eddie so calm. He doesn’t dare to interrupt him. 

He waits until Eddie’s breathing has evened out before he gives in to the urge to brush the treacherous curl behind his ear. It leaves his fingertips with a tingling sensation that makes him want to do it again, so he does. Sitting there, trying to breathe through his broken ribs and his fluttering heart, Steve doesn’t dare to do it a third time, as much as he yearns for it. 

He rests his own head against the wall, too, and watches the bard, because watching him is easier than letting his gaze wander and be reminded of the situation they’re all in. 

The moonlight guides his gaze towards Eddie even as he tries to look away, and Steve watches as it caresses the bard’s features in such a way as though that is what it has been sent here to do. 

It makes Steve smile even as the ache in his chest grows stronger. He is starting to realise what this is, and he’s too weak to fight it. Not in this prison cell, not in this foreign country where the sun is out to kill you and the moon will watch you shiver helplessly. 

How could he fight the moonlight and its tender caress, the world tinged in silver as he lets it work its magic on him? Only a fool would be able to resist. 

“Steve.” 

He just barely manages not to flinch as Jim’s rasping voice rips him away from his musing – no, his yearning. Turning his head, he finds his eyes in the dark, though he can’t make out any question or command in them. Has Jim caught him? Does his old mentor know his thoughts regarding the bard, has he seen the twitch in Steve’s fingers as he refused to let them reach out and touch? 

Jim’s silence is as good a command as any, and summoning all his might not to let his face betray the pain shooting through his body, Steve gets up with a suppressed groan and walks over to his old mentor. 

As slowly as possible without giving away the pain that feels like his ribcage is being both torn apart and pressed together, he sits down beside Jim, guiltily thanking the swollen eye and the darkness, for he seems none the wiser to Steve’s injury. 

“Don’t do that again.”

Steve freezes, his thoughts tumbling over themselves trying to figure out what exactly Jim refers to — the guilt still warring inside him insists that there are many things he should not have done. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, feeling like he is but a green student again, getting berated by his mentor after he did something wrong. 

“Take a beating for me. I understand why you would do it for the others, but—” 

“Jim,” he tries to interrupt him with a gentle sigh, but the old man won’t have it. 

“No, Steve. They hate me more than you, we don’t need you riling them up and making things worse for yourself.” 

“I will not let them break your arms and ribs, James. I can take it, I’m—” 

“If you say you’re younger, Steven, I’m going to throw you out of the window..” 

An innocent grin spreads his lips and he inclines his head, meeting Jim’s good eye. “But I am.” 

He sees the hand coming, shooting out from below, but his range of motion and reflexes are still heavily impacted by his injuries that he can’t manage to get out of Jim’s reach in time. Before he knows it, Steve loses his balance and falls flat on his back without any grace but with all the more agonising pain. 

Nobody would have been able to hide broken ribs and a nearly split skull like this, but Steve still mentally kicks himself as the wheezing groan of pain leaves his lips.

All traces of mirth leave Jim’s expression and everything turns into worry as he, too, sits up with a groan to check over his former apprentice. 

“By the Gods, Steve, are you okay?” 

Another groan that is supposed to be somewhere between “Just peachy” and “Fuck off”, but even that sound is pathetic with the way the air has been pushed out of his lungs at the impact. All he manages is a whimper, and he doesn’t try to open his lips for more than that.

He doesn’t even attempt to sit up this time, can only try to catch his breath and breathe through the agony with more wheezing, rattling whimpers. Hands hover over him in the dark, but he shakes his head rapidly, scared that Jim would try to touch and feel the injury, only to find a broken rib or two. Or five, at this point.

His lungs don’t work right and he can’t quite catch his breath. It is only experience that tells him this is normal, this will pass, he will breathe right again. Hopefully. 

“For God’s sake, why would you hide an injury like that, Steve? Why would you… You idiot!”

There is movement around him in the cell, the others waking up from Jim’s anger and worry and guilt, but Steve keeps his eyes closed lest the tears fall. 

“Breathe,” Jim tells him, and Steve finds that to be a wonderful idea, actually, so he tries. And he tries again. “Yes, good. Breathe, Steve. It’s all going to be fine, you’ll get through this.”

“Have to,” he presses, barely any sound to his wheezing. “So you can throw me out of the window.” 

“Fucking moron,” Jim mutters, though Steve can hear the emotion in these two words. It makes him smile despite the situation.

“S–sorry,” he wheezes again, and trusts that Jim understands that he means more than his sarcastic retorts or the hiding of the wounds. Sorry for losing Will again. Sorry for not saving Elanor in time. Sorry for failing the mission. Sorry for being weaker than you need me to be. Sorry for—

“It’s alright, Steve,” Jim promises and there are fingers in his hair again, wetness running down his cheek. Did the fall open his head injury again? The situation must truly be dire if Jim is being outright gentle and worried. “Just don’t do it again. Let me take them next time.” 

He wheezes again, but won’t make that promise. If their captors come back, he knows he won’t sit and watch them hurt his friends, won’t sit and watch them treat Jim the same way they treated him on the journey here. 

It takes a moment for the world to right itself again and for the cell to become quiet, but somehow Steve manages to get his breathing under control and the pain subsides from agonising to miserable, like before. He rolls his head and looks at Jim through a blurriness in his eyes that he has to blink away. 

“You think we’ll make it out of this alive?”

Maybe it’s the pain clouding his mind, maybe it’s the darkness that has always made it easier to ask such questions, but Steve finds the words falling from his lips easier than they should have. 

Jim’s expression that just a moment ago has been filled with worry and anger sobers now, and Steve doesn’t quite like what he sees. 

“Will is still out there,” he says, evading the question and answering it in the same moment. 

“Yeah. He is,” Steve says, not sure if he believes it or not. Not sure if it changes anything. “You’re right.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the moonlight catching Jim’s eyes in a way that highlights the emotions in them. The desperate hope that Will is out there, alive, and reunited with his sister — they have their ways of finding each other against all odds. Always have. Steve likes to believe that they won’t stop now, that a desert can’t keep them apart. That they found friendly faces who won’t betray them, and bring them home. 

Bring them home even when Steve and Jim can’t follow them. And Maxine. Princess Elanor would turn the desert into an ocean before she left Maxine to die. But down in their cell, the ocean would leave them to drown all the same. 

Jim has hope, though, and Steve decides to follow his mentor again. Just for tonight, when all he feels is pain, when his head is being split open, his chest crushed and bursting, his limbs bloodied and bruised. Just for tonight, he will allow himself not to think, not to worry, and to trust Jim blindly like he did all those years ago. 

“Sleep, Steve,” Jim says then, and only now does Steve realise how tired he is, his eyes closed long ago.

He spends a brief moment thinking about Eddie and the promise he made the bard to be there when he wakes up. It’s silly, because he’s merely a few feet away, but it still hurts to have abandoned him to lie there by himself while everyone else has company. When he never moved while Steve himself was asleep.

“You should sleep, too, Ranger.” A sudden wave of warmth washes over him when he hears that voice with its foreign inflections. “You both need your rest, I can stay awake for some time to keep watch and wake you up at the first sign of danger.” 

“Eddie, I really don’t mind—“ 

“I insist, Ranger James. You two have taken the most of their hatred and displays of power, it’s the least I can do.”

Jim seems to hesitate for a moment, but Steve doesn’t open his eyes to look. His lids have become far too heavy, even heavier still when a certain hand is back in his hair to comb through it in even movements, mindful of his wounds. He doesn’t fight the secret smile this time. 

“Well, if you insist, bard,” Jim finally concedes, never one to really pass up an opportunity for sleep. “Good night to you, then.” 

“Goodnight, my friend,” Eddie says in that calm, kind manner of his that is still new to them, and Steve feels as though he breathes easier for it. “And you, Steven,” he lowers his voice, appearing closer now, “truly are a fool.” 

“Oh?” he says, wishing that it wouldn’t hurt to laugh or even just to huff. “What happened to brave, kind-hearted, and whatever else you said earlier?” 

“You can have those back when you stop lying about being injured.” 

“Keep them then,” he says, and it’s meant in jest, but that doesn’t translate well when you barely have enough strength left for a voice, he finds. 

“Sleep,” Eddie repeats, gentler this time, though he sighs long and hard after. “You impossible man.”

It makes Steve smile again, even as an impenetrable darkness wraps around him. 

He’s sure that the hum and the whispered, “I see you’re keeping your promise still,” are figments of his imagination, his tired mind playing tricks on him. But it’s a dream he likes to sink into, filled with moonlit skin, gentle hands, and kind words.

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