#Someone should strap duke down to a chair one day and fill him in on every single thing that happened before him

[yourlocal-edgelord]

Duke: hey bruce which robin was the least troublesome?

Bruce looking out the window wistfully for extra dramatic effect: jason

Tim: *years of trauma begin to resurface*

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 31

Experiment

Ao3

Last day.... 😭

Summary: The people who kidnapped Dick are fans from his circus days. They saw his parents fall, and they saw him never fly again. They decide they want to make him fly again, even if they have to break him to do it.

-o-o-o-o-

They tell him that they were fans... way back when. That they used to follow along on Hayley’s tours and go as far as to attend as many shows as possible, just to see three performers fly. They didn’t care if the lion tamer quit, or if the bearded lady was sick, or if the contortionist sprained her wrist. They came just to sit in the front rows to watch John, Mary, and Dick—the best trapeze artists in the world—flying high above the crowd. It would sound flattering if it wasn’t creepy, especially all these years later as Dick tried to breathe through the agony, pressed against his stomach with his limbs strapped down like a bug with needles through all the little appendages. 

They say they went to the Gotham show. They say they saw his parents fall. They say they tried to find him. They say they’re sorry for not finding him quick enough before he was in Bruce Wayne’s care.

Dick hates it. Dick hates that with every passing year of his life, someone will always find him and give him another reason for his happy, joy filled memories of the circus to be tainted with villainy. He’s always in a state of pain now, hardly even able to hear their words, but he saw one of their faces. He recognized one of their faces. 

He tries to writhe on the table. All it does is cause something connected to his back to twitch. They gasp, they laugh, they congratulate themselves. 

They say they missed him. They say he’s grown so big. They say they want to see him fly again. They say they’ve spent decades learning to make him fly again.

All it took was a kidnapping, an unimaginable amount of agonizing serum injections, a multitude of surgeries where they gave him what painkillers and sedation they could and he’d wake up with pain seeping down from his back into his spine into his very bones.

By the time Bruce came and fought them all down into submission, Dick knew it was already too late. He didn’t need to hear Bruce’s gasp or Jason’s swear or Tim’s frightened sharp intake of air. He didn’t need Cass and Duke to help him sit up, he didn’t need to see Damian look at him with wide, horrified eyes. He didn’t need his family's terror to know he’s different now. To know the weight on his back isn’t his imagination. To know he’ll never be the same, because he’s different now, straight down to the little A’s and C’s and G’s and T’s of his DNA. 

He’s different now. 

And he doesn’t know if he can ever go back.

The rescue is all a blur. So much so that he’s only slightly aware of the drive back to Gotham... back to the cave. All he remembers is being cradled carefully in Bruce’s arms, feeling lighter than what he should, but more bulky thanks to the weight curled tightly flush against his back. He greets his awakening to find he’s laying on his stomach... and while he knows it’s so they don’t put pressure on his back, it also causes every single one of his nerves to sky rocket with anxiety and terror. He’s spent... months on his stomach. 

He’s too weak and he cries. Couldn’t they have laid him on his side?

Someone calls his name, but he’s too deep in his own sorrow to listen. His family asks if he’s hurting, or if he needs something, or something along those lines, but all he can do is try to clutch the medical cot against his stomach and put strength into just one of his arms. 

The things on his back jerk violently and something crashes, and he wants to see the damage he’s caused, but the movement screwed up everything in his brain. His vision blurs and his stomach rolls, but thankfully before he can throw up, he’s out like a light.

The next time he’s awake, things are easier. Though, easy doesn’t necessarily mean okay. 

The next time he’s awake, he’s not okay. Far from it. But he’s on his side, the weights on his back are comfortably laid out behind him on what feels like another cot and a table to cover the entire expanse. He wonders briefly if they’ve looked at the... at the things on his back. Took samples. Plucked feathers. Blood tests. Bone marrow. Experimented on him in a way that’s so similar and so different from his former captors. He almost cries right there, but then he opens his eyes and he sees Bruce sitting on a chair besides him, instantly perking and giving a sympathetic smile the moment he sees Dick looking at him.

Dick then knows that besides laying out the w- at the things on his back, they haven’t touched them. Dick’s been violated a lot in his life, but never quite like this. His entire body is different now, down to the hollowness of his bones. 

Bruce wouldn’t touch him without his permission. Dick can see it in his eyes. 

“How bad?” Dick asks. He can feel every nerve in the parts of his body that shouldn’t belong to him, but he hasn’t seen them yet. He’s seen glimpses, but his captors were always careful to keep them either tucked to his back or spread out and strapped down to tables against his side. Dick asks how bad, when in reality he wants to know how ugly.

Bruce sighs, looking so much older than what he is. People always get Bruce’s age wrong, especially when they see Dick first. Here Dick is, less than 5 years shy from thirty, and they expect Bruce to be well into his fifties. He’s not, he’s hardly into his late forties, but right now it looks like Bruce could be a hundred years old.

“They’re expertly attached to your spine,” is what Bruce says, and Dick closes his eyes, and pretends the report Bruce is about to give belongs to someone else. Anyone else. Someone other than Dick Grayson. “The wingspan is about thirteen feet...” Dick now tunes it out. Tunes out the weight, the possibility of flight. 

He’s heard wingspan, and now it's all real. 

It’s not a weight on his back. It’s not a pressure in his spine. It’s not something he accidentally moves when he’s trying to move his arm.

Wings. They gave him wings.

Wings—he finds when he finally works up the courage to look—that are colored similar to the feathers belonging to a parrot. Similar to the red, green, and yellow of his circus uniform. He had almost expected black and blue feathers, but it seems that when his captors and torturers said they were past fans, they truly meant it.

Red, green, and yellow. Some might immediately think Robin.

Dick just thinks of the circus. Dick thinks of his mom. His dad. The tainted memories that he now has to stuff into a jar. 

How badly does the world hate Dick Grayson to corrupt these memories? 

Cass tries to help. She says that they look pretty, and Dick appreciates it. He does. She says the colors are fun, and that they’re him. The yellow tips, the green accents, the crimson feathers on the inside. He just wishes they weren’t him. He wishes that he didn’t need to shift his balance the first time Leslie, Bruce, and the vet—who they felt obligated to bring onto the team after much questioning and digging up on—let him stand. It’s dehumanizing, for these wings to belong to him. 

He doesn’t tell Cass that.

Leslie says she’ll research ways to help him. Bruce says things will get better. The vet, a nice lady by the name of Tina Butler, says that Dick can call her whenever he needs it and he shouldn’t feel any shame to.

And then they all expect him to go back to his normal life. They expect him to smile. They expect him to get out of bed. They expect him to interact and joke. Maybe they expect him to find a way to go out as Nightwing.

Nightwing. He’ll have to change the name.

If he ever goes out again.

He has wings now. Nobody has mentioned it, but until they find a way to remove the wings without destroying his spine, he has to choose a life. 

Dick Grayson can come out to the public about his kidnapping and involuntary body modifications, and stuff secret identities and nightlife’s into a locked box and bury it somewhere... or Nightwing can change his name and look and let Dick Grayson stop existing.

Dick chooses to not care. Dick chooses to stay in his room until someone calls him down for dinner. Dick chooses to hate himself. Hate the wings. Pluck out the tiny feathers he can reach just to throw them into the fireplace. 

He doesn’t think about how when birds are stressed, they’ll tear out their own feathers.

He just tucks the appendages that he doesn’t want close to his back and have never wanted to his back, then wraps a blanket around his shoulders to keep his chest warm and tries to pretend he doesn’t exist.

It works well for a week. It works through everybody passing by his locked bedroom door, it works through every meal hastily stuffed in his mouth whenever he finds time to go down in between everyone’s schedules to not talk to any of them.

It works until Jason bursts into his room, looks him up and down, takes in the bald patches of the wings, then grabs him by the hand.

“Jay...” Dick mumbles, trying to tug out of Jason’s grip, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works anymore. 

“We’re going outside,” Jason says. 

Fear curdles in Dick’s gut as he stumbles along with Jason. He doesn’t want to go outside. He doesn't want anyone to see him. With his free hand, he tightens the blanket around his shoulders and forces himself to ignore the softness of the feathers tickling the small of his back. 

Somehow, against all odds, they don’t run into anyone else while going downstairs and outside the back doors into the seemingly endless expanse of the Manors backyard. There’s strategically placed bushes and trees here and there, but it’s a good run away until they run into the forests’ of Bristol, and the surrounding property fences. 

There’s a soft breeze in the air, and the sun is... warm. It feels good through his unwashed hair. 

He hates that it feels good on the feathers as the outside air slips off his blanket.

“Sit,” Jason instructs after they have walked the expanse of the grounds and came across a small pond with a man-made stream leading into it. Jason plops himself down on a small boulder and sticks his bare feet into what’s definitely cool water. There’s a fish swimming in a circle further into the water.

Dick slowly lowers himself with unsure movements, careful to keep the wings pressed against his back, tied up by the blanket. Jason pulls out a bag that Dick hadn’t noticed he was carrying and opens the sleeve. 

He pulls out three books. 

“What one?” 

Dick stills; looks at the covers over one by one. No Promises in the Wind... Lord of the Rings... a big ol’ book of Shakespeare. 

“That one, I think,” Dick says, pointing to Shakespeare. Dick’s always liked Shakespeare, especially Hamlet. 

“Wrong,” Jason says, reaching into his bag to pull out a fourth book. “We’re reading Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.”

Dick can’t help it. He lets out a small, genuine feeling laugh. Jason carefully puts the other books back inside his bag and opens the book he probably planned to read from the beginning, but just wanted something to break the ice. Dick unconsciously settles and brings his hand to his chin to watch Jason read. Jason has such a nice reading voice. One that pulls you in. One filled with so much emotion that you forget your own and get sucked into the story and the characters and the imaginary problems...

So much so, that Jason closes the book close to thirty minutes later and stands up and Dick’s practically slammed back into his ruined body. 

“Let’s go,” Jason says, and Dick slowly stands up, careful of his center of gravity. 

“That’s it?” Dick asks.

“Yup.”

Dick frowns, but follows Jason back to the manor. 

As he walks, the breeze crawls under his blanket again and ruffles the feathers, practically chasing that always itchy feeling away. He risks moving his blanket so the breeze can better get to the wings. It feels really good. Better than wind through his hair.

He shakes his head and tightens the blanket again. Just because something feels good doesn’t mean it’s right.

-o-o-o-o-

Jason comes back around the same time the next day and grabs Dick by the hand once again. They make it back to the pond and sit down and Jason starts right where he left off.

Fifteen minutes pass before another body slowly sits down next to him. Damian. About two feet away, not making any move to come closer.

Dick wants him closer. He wants to hug and cuddle. It’s been so long.

But he’s afraid of the tainted wings on his back getting in the way.

The process continues over the week, each drop of fresh air becoming something that he looks forward to more and more every day. It’s the fifth day where he finds himself so engrossed in Jason’s storytelling that he doesn’t even notice that the blanket has slipped down his shoulder towards the middle of his back. Cass and Tim are out with them when it happens, and neither of them say a thing.

It’s the eighth day where Dick lets the blanket down almost fully. The wind feels really good, especially on the spots where he’s torn out his- the feathers. He’s been trying to stop. Someone in the family tattled on him to Tina about him pulling out feathers, and she gave him a cream that should help with the itching and soreness after a stern talking to that this is his body, and he’s hurting it even if he doesn’t want it.

Dick doesn’t think about it that way. They’re not a part of his body. They’re not his. They were grown from his back against his will.

He doesn’t want them.

But the wind feels good. And no one says anything.

And Jason’s really good at reading, even though they’ve gone through four books now. 

Four weeks after coming home, about two since Jason began his daily ritual of kidnapping Dick and bringing him outside, Dick decides to leave his room without the blanket on his own power. Hours before Jason is due to arrive. He sneaks past everyone, thinking softly to himself if it would be possible to make some sort of hoodie that could cover his chest but not squish the wings.

He goes outside and just walks. And walks. And it feels really, really good. Those little places of the wings where the torn out feathers are beginning to grow back practically scream with joy. 

He walks. Then runs, feeling the burning in his legs until keeping the wings against his back becomes too much. Too strenuous. Too annoying. He stops running and moves the wings twitch by twitch until they’re stretched out further than what his arm-span is. Until every single feather is alive and rustling. For a second, Dick thinks about working the joints until it feels natural, until he can work them up and down and catch the wind, and maybe...

He closes his wings. But he doesn’t frown. He just looks back at the manor and thinks that maybe his life isn’t over. Maybe he can enjoy himself just a little. Maybe... he can turn this awful thing into something tolerable. He strolls back to the pond and sits down and waits for Jason and Damian and Cass and Duke and Tim and Bruce to all come out worried out of their minds because they couldn’t find him in his usual place in his room. 

Dick laughs. Stretches his wings, and secretly enjoys how they all look shocked. 

“I’m okay,” he says, and he believes it. 

Damian immediately runs forward, and Dick meets him with open arms. His wings don’t touch Damian until he slowly risks curling them around in front of him. And when they touch Damian, they don’t taint him.

He laughs, and for the first time in a long time, he feels hopeful that maybe everything can turn out okay.

-o-o-o-o-

Hiya! I bet y'all weren't expecting a little authors not right here huh? Anyway, hi I'm Jin and I just want to tell you all how thankful I have been for all of your support. Every comment, like, and reblog means the world to me. Whumptober has been difficult but so much fun, and I couldn't have done it without any of you. Thanks for reading!

If you want more from me, feel free to go through my ao3 or my blog, I have a ton more whump from my bad things happen bingo series, and I have a few hurt and comfort fics as well, a fluff here and there. Thanks for joining me on this journey! Don't hesitate to reach out to me in asks and comments. I swear I'm not a mean person.

Anyway, thanks again!!! You guys are all amazing.

[batfamfucker]

Headcanons I have for the batfam (mostly just Bruce actually being a good dad because DC's still on some BS):

-All the batkids + Bruce cuddle a lot, especially on 'nightmare/night terror nights', nightmares and night terrors, unsurprisingly, happen a lot. It's not uncommon for one of the kids to either go to their closest sibling's room and pile in with them, or straight to Bruce's room. Doesn't matter how old they are, it's just a thing they do, and every member of the family just accepts it, embraces it even. No one ever gets shit for it. It doesn't matter how tired person B is, if person A comes in for any reason at all, even if they haven't had a nightmare and just want some cuddles, person B has no complaints. It can either be a no questions asked kinda thing or they can stay up and talk about it. Sometimes person B doesn't even get woken up, but instinctively grabs person A in their sleep and wraps them up in a big protective sleepy embrace. It's also not uncommon for word to get around about which room becomes the designated sleeping area for that night. Like, if Jason walks past Bruce's room and sees Damian curled up at his side, both of them fast asleep, he'll go right in and join. Then it'll continue with more joining depending on how many walk past, sometimes someone will even text the family group chat and be like 'Go to Bruce's room if you want cuddles'. It's also not uncommon for the whole family to be piled into the same bed in a singular night, especially after a rough night of crime fighting. Duke took a while to get used to this, but when he was sleeping at the manor one time, Damian came into his room. He was quiet and nervous, and Duke swears he saw him about to cry, and just opened his arms wide immediately. The moment Damian's small head was buried in his chest, it hit him why they did this, and he immediately understood. The next morning, he woke up to every sibling and one of the dogs in his bed. He couldn't stop smiling for a week.

-Mass sleepovers, which I've already described here

-Mass games of hide and seek around the manor, game night in general. Monopoly has been banned twice and still manages to get played every time

-They have a family group chat

-Steph and Duke are the only two Bruce hasn’t legally adopted, but he has everything ready should he need to

-Movie nights in the manor theatre once every month on the last Friday

-Bruce loves his kids and tells them he's proud of them often, tells them he loves them (sometimes verbal, sometimes silently through gestures, post-it notes, etc), has a separate calendar dedicated just to their birthdays, uses his detective skills to find them the perfect gifts, etc. Sometimes he just gets them gifts at random times. He'll see a cute dress in a shop window and think 'Steph will love this', Tim will complain offhandedly that he's running out of pens, and boom the next time he walks into his room, there's a brand new pack of stationary on his desk.

-Bruce has always tried to take them all to school every day and tried to pick them up as much as he can, which he's done since he first adopted Dick. He remembers how tiny Dick's first school bag was on his own back when he used to carry it for him. All neon blue with neon green straps. Sometimes he'd have Alfred stay at the manor and drive himself just so he could go on a walk and take Dick out for ice cream. He's done this with all his kids at least once.

-Adding on to this, Bruce tries to show them his support about everything, what their passionate about, school events, etc. Parents evening? It's the third one this week but he's going. Cass wants to show him her new dance choreography? He'll grab some popcorn and invite the others. Tim just took a really cool photo and wants to show Bruce? He makes sure to hype it up as much as he possibly can.

-Designated days where Bruce will hang out with a singular kid, which isn't on their birthday, to show them they're important and appreciated and not forgotten. Sometimes one of his kids will come to him, sometimes ask, sometimes some of them just kind of stand there awkwardly until he catches on, and he'll drop everything and take them out to see a movie or something. Just the two of them, just so they feel loved. His family comes first.

-Eat breakfast and dinner together as often as possible, you never know when there'll be an empty chair at the table so they try to savour as many meals (moments together in general) as possible. Every Friday night is designated family dinned night which starts just before patrol.

-Falling outs don't last that long because of this. You never know which fight you'll never get to apologise for or which word you'll never get to take back because anything can happen when you're a vigilante. You may not always return from patrol. Even Tim and Damian try to fight less after a few scares, trying not to take one another for granted. Yeah, they all be stubborn and fight now and again, but in the end, they all love each other and being stubborn and prideful isn't worth possibly leaving things on bad terms every time they put on that uniform

-Every time a newbie joins the family, they have a family meal together to watch the 'moment of truth' where the newbie tastes Alfred's cooking for the first time. They'll all discretely wait for the newbie to eat before digging in themselves, subtly watching as they try the food. It's Alfred's cooking, so they obviously always like it. The moment the newbie looks as though they enjoy the food, Alfred smiles and fills will pride, which makes the rest of the family happy, too.

-Lots of quiet but casual 'I love yous' from the kids. Dick openly says it to every sibling, with a million kisses to someone's cheeks and hair, and a bone crushing hug. Others may be quieter. Jason will leave a post-it on Bruce's computer, get a small plant for Alfred to put in the garden, grabs Tim a coffee if he's going past a coffee place on his way home, ruffles Damian's hair as he walks past and grins when Damian gets annoyed. Damian, like Bruce, takes into account people's interests or what's important to them (like when he found all of Martha's pearls for Bruce), he'll find an original book copy from an author, no matter how old is it, for Jason and Alfred, knows the exact pair of new ballet shoes Cass has been wanting for her birthday. He pays attention to detail and goes the extra mile.

-Older siblings 100% put themselves before the younger ones when in danger, especially if Bruce isn't there. If he is, he puts himself in front of all the kids. Oldest to youngest, starts with Bruce, then Jason and Dick, Tim and Steph, Duke and Cass, then Damian.

-Every Christmas, the kids that live at the manor/stayed the night will all get up and wait for each other outside Bruce's door. When everyone's there, they sneak in and then wake him up by jumping on the bed before piling onto him, crushing both him and each other in the process. Bruce swears they've broken his ribs on more then one occasion. It was fine when it was just eight-year-old Dick, but now it's anywhere between 3-8 kids, some of which are fully grown adults, just playing a game of pile on to wake him up. Either way, it makes them happy so he doesn't mind too much, even if they bruise him

-Alfred also cooks cultural meals. The family is very diverse, after all. He cooks traditional Romanian meals for Dick, Arabic cuisine for Damian, etc. Especially if he sees one of the kids looking a bit down or upset as a way of cheering them up

-Alfred is the real detective of the family, at least when it comes to food. He knows everyone's allergies without them even telling him, knows how everyone likes their food, even if they have the same meal. For example, if they're all having burgers, he knows Damian will have a veggie one, Dick and Steph like extra pickles, Duke likes extra cheese but no ketchup, Tim hates pickes, etc. Also knows how eveyone like their drinks with which meals, which drink they'll likely be in the mood for depending on their day and mood, how Damian likes his tea depending on how he's feeling, how everyone likes their protein shakes. Knows what proportions of food are perfect for each individual, Jason and Bruce eat the most, Cass and Damian the least, knows how much to plate up for each person so they won't get full but will still fill up

-Alfred and Jason bake together a lot

-Alfred and Damain have tea together

-Alfred is the only straight person in the whole family but he is not one of The StraightsTM, strong ally, loves his son and all his grandchildren no matter what. Every time someone new comes out, he just puts on a lil' pride badge and goes about his day

Bonus:

-Kate gets annoyed every time another batperson comes out (not really tho) because it destroys her cred of being the gay cousin/lesbian aunt the more and more it happpens

-Still goes to Christmas dinner with them even if she's Jewish because she likes the atmosphere and the food is good, and because loves them all

-They have a Hanukkah dinner with her in return

[anxiouslyfred]

Cursed Dentist

@loveceit​ well it was cursed from the start and I have no clue what this has become. That’s pretty much expected when giving Remus a dentist surgery though. Apparently it’s Dukexiety though?

based off of this and the ending sort of off this

xXRXx

“Check up Time!” The yell going through the mind space had half of them working out where to hide. 

Roman just donned his armour, pulled his helmet down, readied his sword and glared suspiciously at anything someone could hide behind, reasonable or not.

Patton tried burying himself among the cuddly toys, miscellaneous memories and childhood books that Thomas had kept memories of, ready for reminiscing.

In the hidden areas of the space, Virgil and Deceit started a rather ferocious game of rock paper scissors, glancing towards the door as they picked their options. “One of us better go first and that’s definitely you.” Virgil ground out, glaring.

Deceit just shook his head. “Wouldn’t it reduce your fears to just have it already done?” He tried to coax, but his jaw was clenched to tightly to have the tone as honeyed as it needed to be to work.

In the bathroom attached to his room, Logan was already brushing his teeth for the third time that day when the call rang out. There were few aspects of human society he really accepted being part of their lives as sides of Thomas but dental hygiene was definitely one of them.

Before any yelps or fighting could break out, or Virgil and Deceit could resolve their challenge, he walked past and away from them all, into the darker part of the imagination. Of course as he went through the door he also caught and yanked backwards Remus. 

“My check up is now. I’m going first this year.” He quietly insisted, though the creative side still fought to go and find his prey.

“You have too many teeth, Lolo. I’ve told you a hundred times.” Remus was suddenly out of his grip, moving them both instantly to be inside the dentist office he’d made years ago. “Better get to removing them now. Do you want to rope around some slammed in a door, a fist to the face or just yanking them out?”

Logan would have replied but with the change of location he found himself strapped to the dentist chair with a frame holding his lips parted already. At least this year they were just cleaned.

“Yanking them out it is then. Time to get properly knees on.” Remus nodded, as though a real agreement had been reached, grabbing some pliers and literally kneeling on Logan’s chest.

Half an hour and over half his teeth later, Logan was released, quietly gathering up his teeth and hoping it would take Remus a while to find his next client for a dental check up.

Luck must have been on Logan’s side as Remus encountered Roman before any of the others and while he’s never one to actually want to deal with his brothers teeth he did enjoy battling him. At the sight of the heavy plate armour and raised sword he was wielding his morning star and preparing for battle.

Patton had relaxed at the sounds of battle, certain the brothers battle would distract Remus from his seasonal obsession with teeth, but all too soon found two of his front teeth knocked back into his mouth and a hand on his wrist pulling him away from the sanctuary of his room. 

“That looks like a nasty gap you’ve got there Patapat. How about some good wolves teeth for your fillings today.” Remus was cheerfully rambling as he pulled them past Roman, now gathering all his teeth from around the room, armour well dented, and helmet broken in two pieces.

Still mostly praying for a way to escape Patton just nodded, “Sure Kiddo. Wolves are good family animals so that could work.” It wasn’t that he liked reducing peoples enthusiasm, but this definitely came from a twisted viewpoint and he never knew what teeth would get changed out. Every year Remus would give him some form of animal canines though.

Logan had already placed all his teeth back in their correct places when he left his room the next time. Seeing Patton’s room devoid of the side and Roman still reaching for teeth that had gotten under the sofa he decided to check what was happening with the rest of the hidden sides.

“Remus will just take one of you regardless of who wins. You do realise that, don’t you?” He asked, interrupting the never concluding games of rock, paper scissors.

Virgil rolled his eyes, turning around. “His promise to all dark, or former dark sides. We can choose who gets dragged away first..”

“Better choose quickly then. It looks like he just needs to finish with Patton before he’s coming for you.” Logan nodded succinctly, removing himself back to his room to avoid having a second check up of the day if Remus saw he had all his teeth once more. That was why he looked after them so much; it’s easier to put well cared for teeth back where they belong than ones poorly looked after. He really did just try to help when pushing his so called dental agenda on Roman.

“Kitten, Snakey, are you ready for your fillings?” Remus crooned, sliding through the door to his imagination just after Patton had hurried past, covering his mouth now.

Virgil frowned at that, standing as he thought the words over. “I thought you just wanted to shape mine, not give me fillings.”

“Ah but shaping can be called a filling by dentists given we have to have a bit of extra material to shape, especially given what you deserve, little Blustery Cloud.” Remus chided gently, now tugging him away as Deceit let his head fall on the desk.

All too soon Virgil was back, his teeth standing a little higher and each one definitely sharpened into fangs now. Deceit however was no longer present, having left only a soft snake toy where he had been sitting.

Sharing a glance Virgil and Remus snickered. “Someone doesn’t have enough teeth and is over due their check up.” Remus called, heading not for Deceit’s room but his own. 

Sure enough he emerged a moment later with a pouting and extremely grumpy Deceit over his shoulder. “I’ll even give you lollipops if you behave for your fillings.” Remus was still pretending to coax although he evidently had the control for the moment.

Getting used to, for some Remus forsaken reason, a second row of teeth and larger fangs than he usually had as the serpentine side always took a few days, but took even longer to be able to restore his normal amount of teeth.

It was while Deceit was still trying to do this that everyone ended up relaxing and having a movie night together, light and dark sides included.

As Little Shop of Horrors played and Roman remembered what originally spurred Remus to make his dentist surgery he had one question to ask. “Why always get rid of my teeth?”

“You’re my brother. You aren’t allowed teeth,” Remus just shrugged, momentarily looking like he was about to try knocking all of Roman’s teeth out for the second time that week.

“Then why do I always need teeth taking out and replacing?” Patton looked bewildered at the idea despite having grown used to the dental treatment he always got.

This time the Duke just shook his head. “Your teeth are just completely wrong. You have the wrong teeth. I’ll work out what the right ones are some year, probably. Too human regardless.”

“How can I have too many teeth? Biologically I have precisely the correct amount of teeth for an adult human to have.” Logan queried, summoning a dentistry book that he’d had Thomas read after one of Remus’s earlier dentistry days.

“Too many, your mouth is too full. You just have way too many teeth.” Remus insisted vehemently, eyes gleaming at the other.

Deceit shifted a little, analysing him. “You’re definitely still talking about teeth, but why must you force me to have so many bloody teeth? This is uncomfortable.”

That got a definite frown and almost hurt glare. “Snakey needs more teeth. More teeth are good for you.”

Virgil burst into snickers then. “You know given how anxious I make Thomas over his trips to the dentist you wouldn’t think I have the simplest work done on our trips there.”

“Virgil is just right, practically perfect teeth. I can only improve them a little to make them the best.” Remus nodded, excited and now trying to look at Virgil’s teeth again, reminiscent of the tooth fairy from Rise of the Guardians.

Deceit would always claim the blanket slipped and forced him to push the pair into kissing, but seriously if the self appointed dentist of the mind space thought Virgil’s teeth were just right then they should just get together already.

[cake-writes]

Little Lies (Kentucky)

Pairings: Steve x Reader // Bucky x Reader (mentioned)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Oral (Receiving), 18+

Summary: You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. He’d be rough with you because he understood your self-loathing, and he’d leave bruises on your hips that wouldn’t go away for a week. You loved it. He didn’t.

You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. You went to him because he liked to whisper sweet, sweet things into your ear as he made love to you. He’d tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it. He cared too much.

It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. Your little lies always slipped right through the cracks - until one night, they didn’t.

Master List

August 2015

Kentucky was absolutely sweltering. It was a hot summer, for one, and for two, Steve was from Brooklyn. He wasn’t used to such sticky, uncomfortable heat because New York summers were much milder than this and Germany’s were much of the same. He wasn’t used to the humidity, either, even after you’d managed to wrangle him into a tank top, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. It was much less stifling than his uniform or even his civvies, but he felt out of place in such bizarre, 21st century clothing.

Then again, that was exactly the point. He was undercover. You both were.

You, on the other hand, seemed right in your element as the two of you unloaded the moving van you’d just picked up a few miles away from one of Tony’s associates. It was stocked full of boxes – mostly empty ones, just for show – along with a couple pieces of furniture: table and chairs, a small sofa, and a bed.

You were wearing a tee shirt with some faded band logo on it – Steve didn’t recognize it – and a pair of short denim shorts. Those he recognized only because Sam had teased you about them right before the two of you left the compound – called them ‘Daisy Dukes,’ whatever that meant. You’d just winked at Sam, made a lasso motion with your hands and cheered, “yee-haw,” like a cowgirl. Then you and Sam shared a laugh. It was a reference that Steve clearly didn’t get, but that was fine. It gave him something to think about, to distract him from how short those shorts really were.

The flight to Kentucky had been fine. You hammed it up a bit, already putting on the newlywed façade – told the flight attendant that you’d just gotten married and darlin’, isn’t my new hubby just the greatest? and it flustered him. You were showing him off. Even if it wasn’t real, he couldn’t help but preen a little.

That said, there was no doubt in his mind that someone else would have better suited the role than him. The decision wasn’t up to him, though; there had quite literally been a vote to see who should take this mission, and he’d been selected the prime candidate because of course he was. Everyone thought it would be hilarious to shove you and him together in a box for a couple weeks, like some warped version of Seven Minutes in Heaven: you, the scandalous minx you were, and him, the prude.

Steve didn’t mind it, really. He was actually a little excited for it. Nervous, too. He was in love with you, had been for months now. He knew should have said no to the mission because of the clear conflict of interest but he didn’t.

His attraction to you started out as an objective appreciation for the way you could handle yourself in the field. He noticed the glimmer you got in your eyes from a fight, when you did something perfectly or landed a particularly good blow or when he saved your ass at the last minute. He noticed the excited flush that came over your cheeks and the mischievous look you got when you fought alongside him, the two of you working together so well that it was almost like an elaborate dance.  

He’d had always known how attractive you were in other ways, too. Every now and then, he’d catch the slip of a bra strap, or you’d lean over and your shirt would accidentally reveal far too much cleavage. Sometimes, you’d wear a short, tight dress and go out to a nightclub with Natasha, and he could barely keep his eyes off of you. Other times, the hint of your thong peeked out of the top of your tac pants. Not often.

He tried not to look. You drove him crazy.

The mission itself was the easy part. The two of you were undercover in this small Kentucky town to find out where some particularly important intel had been downloaded. Tony’s satellites had only been able to pinpoint it to a one block radius, which coincidentally was smack dab in the middle of suburbia.

Your new residence was a charming little house at the end of a cul-de-sac, two bedrooms, one bath. A white picket fence bordered the yard, with pretty pink and purple flowers blooming under the windowsills and in the front garden. The exterior was painted light blue and it seemed a bit older, likely heritage – almost looked like something from his childhood, if he was being honest.

The moment Steve saw it – really, truly took it in – it made him stop in his tracks.

Some people actually got to have lives like this. They married, settled down, popped out a couple of kids, maybe got a dog. They had normal, ordinary lives. He wondered for a moment if this was what it felt like.

Your shoulder brushed against his as you made your way up the paved driveway, carrying a big box. You were humming some tune he didn’t recognize. He just stood there like an idiot, watching you as you went inside to add the box to the ever-growing pile and when you came back out, you waved at someone – one of the nosy neighbours, no doubt.

Then you gave him a sweet smile. “Honey?”

God, the word was so, so sweet on your tongue and it made his heart race. Somehow, he managed to get out an easy, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

It felt so strange and unfamiliar to use such words of adoration for you, but he certainly didn’t mind it in the least. It felt nice. While he called you ‘doll’ every now and then out of habit, he tried not to out of respect for you. Now he didn’t need to hold back.

“Do you wanna come help me with this? I can’t lift it.”

“Of course,” he responded, readjusting his grip on the box in his arms before he started up the walkway.

You waited for him at the door. When he got there, you gave him another one of those sweet, disarming smiles, and then you kissed him on the cheek, batting your eyelashes at him.

It was an act, of course, to appease the nosy neighbours and it also helped the two of you blend in. You were just trying to sell the story, and he knew that – but this was a terrible idea. He wasn’t sure how long it would to take to finish the mission, but he hoped it was sooner rather than later. You were going to be the death of him with the pet names, the southern drawl, the skimpy outfits and, just – you.

The house was pretty much already stocked with anything either of you would need. There were two bedrooms, one for each of you, but you’d have to share a bathroom. That was fine, because you’d done it plenty of times before during other missions. It was actually pretty nice that you had your own rooms, for once, because you usually had to share a single motel room or set up camp somewhere outside.

The first night, you ordered takeout because that was pretty much a moving day tradition. The two of you joked around like usual and talked about all sorts of things, but none of them were really personal. You kept the conversation breezy and light, even when it drifted to the mission at hand. Over beer and pizza, the two of you developed a plan to canvas the area. You’d distract the neighbours while Steve got into their homes and searched for the intel. Easy as pie.

Quite literally.

Steve was a heavy sleeper, but he woke to the smell of warm apple pie wafting through the house. It was still relatively early, sun just rising above the horizon, but you were already putting the plan into action.

When he came downstairs, he caught a particularly nice view of your ass as you leaned over to pull the pie from the oven. You weren’t wearing those short denim shorts anymore, but a pair of tight high-waisted jeans and a crop top.

“Mornin’, sugar,” you said with a wink.

It caught him off guard. He remembered that the two of you were undercover, but it wasn’t necessary behind closed doors like this. You were purposely trying to get a rise out of him.

He gave you a deadpan look, but he still felt his cheeks flush and, when he saw your eyes shine mischievously, he knew you’d noticed it too.

“Didn’t realize apple pie counted as breakfast nowadays,” he commented.

“Come on, Cap. We deep fry everything nowadays. Of course it’s breakfast,” you told him, laughing. He studied your face for a moment, and then, when he actually went to reach for the freshly baked pie, like this was yet some more knowledge that he’d never learnt while he was frozen – you gently pulled his hand away. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Rogers. It’s for our cover.”

You rarely apologized for anything, but for this – for him, you did. The fact that he’d been frozen for so many years wasn’t something to joke about to you, even if it was unintentional. You hadn’t meant to make a joke of it.

Steve looked a little surprised by that. It didn’t really bother him all that much when people made jokes at his expense. Sensitive topic, absolutely, but the jokes were never malicious and he knew that. It was more prodding fun at the fact that while yes, he’d certainly missed a lot, it also meant that people were looking out for him, suggesting to him things that he should look into.

Your warm fingers lingered on his hand just a little longer than they should have.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it. There’s a lot of stuff I need to catch up on.”

“Got a list going, huh?” you teased.

“Yeah, actually,” he said with a grin, pulling a small notebook out of his pocket. “Sure do.”

That morning, the two of you went through his list one by one, and you gave some comments and suggestions of your own. Instead of writing them himself, like he usually did, he relinquished the pen and paper to you.

Steve inadvertently wound up saving those notes, and on particularly bad days, he found himself studying every curve of your handwriting, like it held whatever answer he was seeking.

Over the next few days, he came to realize that you were purposely fucking with him.

You’d always been a tee shirt and jeans kind of girl, at least in the couple of years he’d known you, but for this mission all you wore were cute, dainty outfits. You started wearing floral dresses or the occasional blouse and skirt, paired with light makeup and heels. You hardly ever wore makeup or heels unless you were going out with Natasha.

You were playing a character. He knew that. But seeing you in such a different light, so sweet and girly, it did something to him. It sparked something in him – or maybe it just added fuel to the fire that was already burning for you.

He’d always treated you respectfully, at least he liked to think so. Even though he’d had an undeniable attraction to you for a long time – longer than he’d been in love with you – he’d always treated you like an agent first and a woman second. Seeing you like this, though, it made that an extremely difficult task to accomplish, especially when you were calling him, “Honey,” and “Baby,” and introducing him to your new neighbours as your husband.

He loved seeing that ring on your left ring finger. There was a matching one on his, and a large part of him wished it was real.

After about a week, neither of you had made any headway in your mission yet. The two of you had tried multiple residences nearby, now, but no luck so far. It became routine, almost, the way you went about your days.

Steve was a morning person. He woke early to go for a run, much earlier than you, even before the sun started to rise. The small house you shared was a little older, and the floorboards creaked as he crept past your room to go downstairs in the early hours. It never failed to wake you, but hearing the gentle creaking every morning soon became a comfort that you never realized you’d miss until after it was gone.

You, on the other hand, were a night owl. You stayed up late on the sofa downstairs, using your work tablet to investigate new leads and potential suspects well after Steve went to bed. Of course, that only did so much to distract you from the fact that the eerie quiet of the small town got to you. It made you relive memories you’d rather forget.

When you were alone, that was when you suffered most. Unfortunately, Bucky wasn’t here to help you. You’d only recently discovered how good he was at making you forget, but for this, you’d just have to make do on your own like you’d done for so long already.

It was more difficult than ever before.

You followed Steve up to bed once, with every intention of starting something you knew you shouldn’t. He was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he found you standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him in a way that just a little bit unsettling.

He pulled his toothbrush from his mouth and asked, “What’s the matter, doll?”

He was too sweet. You lost your nerve.

“Forgot my phone,” you said blankly, before you held it up like it was proof that your intention hadn’t been anything but innocuous.  

Steve just shrugged and went back to brushing his teeth, completely oblivious as to what you’d nearly done. You’d nearly crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Not again. You’d already done it with Bucky. You didn’t need to do it with Steve, too.

Despite it all, some nights you needed to be held – especially here in this awful quiet town that made it so easy for you to lose yourself in your memories. You needed to be treated sweetly, and in a lot of ways, Steve did that for you. Not intentionally, of course; just a kind look here, a gentle hand on your lower back there, not to mention the praise he offered you sometimes. He often told you after missions that you’d done a good job.

Good job. From his lips, it almost sounded like he was saying good girl.

What really did it for you, though, was that you didn’t even have to say a thing for Steve to know you were doing your best. He didn’t know you, not really, aside from one single side of you that he knew almost too well – the small part of you that wanted his praise, along with his acceptance of your mistakes. Steve had seen you make a number of them over the past couple of years, and despite them all, he always treated you so kindly. He never judged you or blamed you for them.

You never, ever let anyone else see you that way, let alone Bucky because if he did, then he’d have seen far too much. You only let people have a glimpse of who you truly were here and there, because if they saw too many sides of you, then they’d be able to piece together who you really were deep down. It wasn’t pretty.

You offered Bucky the dangerous, broken part of yourself, the one that killed and murdered and didn’t feel a lick of remorse. You got him to punish you, ruin you, break you, because that was what that part of you deserved – and he was so, so good at it. You loved him for it. You thanked him. That side of you well and truly belonged to him. You never showed it to anyone else.  

Not that you’d ever tell him that.

The other part of you that Steve got to see – the sweet, clueless girl who did her best and it just wasn’t good enough sometimes – that part of you was all his.

Not that you’d ever tell him that, either.

Your weakest point was always late at night when you were alone. You found yourself coming closer and closer to climbing into Steve’s bed more frequently as the days passed, but you held strong. Somehow, you managed.

Sometimes you stopped yourself when you got to the top of the stairs, staring at his closed bedroom door. Other times, you found yourself in his bedroom, taking in every bit of his peaceful, sleeping face. Once and only once, you ran your fingers through his hair and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. On that particular night, you very nearly hadn’t stopped there – but you managed.

You always managed.

During the day, you put on a façade just like you’d always done. It was routine. It almost felt normal to do this – to cohabitate, to get groceries and toilet paper, to worry about how your lemon bars were going to turn out today – but you never let yourself fall too deep into that normal, ordinary line of thinking because you knew how hard it would be to pull yourself out of it.

Every day, Steve went for an early morning jog, and after he’d come back and showered, you finally started to rouse. By the time you sluggishly made your way downstairs, he was in the kitchen fixing breakfast for the two of you. He never failed to have a hot cup of coffee waiting for you with the exact amount of cream and sugar you liked.

It was the same every day, and some part of you – that sweet, clueless girl – loved every part of it. The normalcy. The domesticity.  

Your pet names for each other started to become insufferable in the best way. You used to greet him with normal ones – honey, baby, sweetheart – and he did the same. As the days passed, though, in private the two of you got more and more ridiculous to the point that you made each other laugh with them. And, every now and then when one of them slipped out in public, it only added to your newlywed persona.

“Good morning, honeybun,” you said airily, taking a seat at the counter where you’d plugged in your work tablet the night before.  

Steve gave you a grin just like he always did when you said a particularly silly one. “Morning, gorgeous.”

He didn’t blush as easily anymore when he said such sweet things to you. You assumed that he must have just gotten used to it, but it was a little bit disappointing. You loved to rile him up.

As he dished up two plates of pancakes, you took a sip of the coffee he made for you and scrolled through the new intel from HQ that had come through during the night. There wasn’t much, just another potential location to check out.

After a quick breakfast, Steve did check it out, and it was yet another dead end. It was well into the afternoon by the time he was finished. On your side of things, you spent the day distracting the residents of that particular home so that Steve could get in and out unseen.  

You met up a block away, and on your way back to your new home, you remembered that you needed to pick something up for dinner. The two of you took a detour to the corner store where you usually got your groceries.

Steve was wearing his favourite baseball cap and sunglasses, and you were in a particularly flattering sundress and wedge heels. The mid-afternoon weather was lovely – hot, but not quite as sweltering as most other days. It was nice.

It was almost second nature at this point for you to reach out and lace your fingers with his. The first time you’d done it, he looked surprised as hell and the flush that came across his face made your heart race. Now, he just offered you a small smile and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand like he’d done it a thousand times before.

It still made your heart race.  

All things considered, it seemed like a normal day – except it wasn’t. You should have noticed the extra staff at the corner store. You should have noticed the bulk around their waists – guns – but you didn’t. You were too focused on what to make for dinner. For the first time in a very, very long time, you let your guard down. You forgot.

Steve did notice, but it took him a little longer than normal, too. When you felt his familiar hand on your lower back press against you just a little more firmly, you immediately knew something was up but you continued to act like everything was just peachy, even when he whispered into your ear, “We need to go.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You grabbed a couple of random things from the shelves: two tins of beans, a bag of chips, and a candy bar, and then the two of you made your way to the register. You paid in cash. Steve carried the bag for you on the way out.

It wasn’t difficult to notice the two men on your tail. Your cover was blown. Somehow, your cover was blown and you hadn’t even fucking noticed because you were too distracted by this newlywed façade. You were too distracted by what it felt like to be normal.

Steve took your small hand in his free one, then, and gave you a gentle squeeze – as if to reassure you. When you glanced over at him, the way he smiled at you made your heart flutter just a little.

This isn’t your fault. Stop worrying. It’ll be fine.

You believed him.  

You made your way to another house, one that had no cars in the driveway and no garage. Hopefully no one was home. It was some random residence a couple of blocks away from your safe house, but you picked the lock so quickly that it looked like you were just opening the door with a regular key. Then you and Steve walked inside like that was where you’d been living this whole time.

You watched from the second-floor window as the two men on your trail radioed something in, probably your location – and then you both slipped out the back and hopped the fence. It was a little higher than you’d normally be able to scale, and Steve helped lift you over. He put his hands around your waist to lift you up, first, but you still couldn’t quite reach, so you quickly told him, “Grab my ass, Rogers.”

Steve’s grip noticeably faltered at your request and your sundress fluttered in the breeze, but he did as you asked – slid his hands from your waist to your barely-covered ass and soft thighs, which provided just enough height and leverage to finally pull yourself over the fence.

When you landed on the other side, you felt like you’d just run a marathon. His touch had been so hot, almost burning, and he’d gripped you so firmly, so close to where you’d been wanting him to touch you for what felt like ages that wet, sticky heat had started to pool in between your legs.

Neither of you discussed it.

The run home was fast, but silent and uncomfortable. You didn’t speak much, and neither did he. You shared a dinner of canned beans and potato chips, but neither of you had much of an appetite. You needed to figure out what to do, now, but you barely had a chance to discuss it when the loud sound of an explosion shook your quaint little safe house.

You both immediately knew what it was.

The perp – whoever the hell it was – had blown up the house the two of you had gone to earlier. It wasn’t your house. It belonged to some random family. You could recall seeing their photos on the walls, a happy family of four.

Steve said something to you, but it didn’t really register. He pulled on his uniform and went to check it out. That didn’t really register, either. All you could focus on was the fact that you’d very likely gotten people killed because you’d been too stupid and distracted to notice that your cover was blown.

By the time he returned, you had turned on the news to find that the explosion was being blamed on a gas leak. The grim expression on his face told you that definitely wasn’t the case, but you already knew that.

A couple more hours passed in silence as you stared blankly at the television. You weren’t watching it. You weren’t paying attention at all. Instead, you were reliving every single mistake in your career and as much as Steve desperately wanted to reach out and hold you, help you feel better, ease your pain, he didn’t.

Things like this always hit you hard, but you never wanted comfort. You always had to handle it yourself. He’d tried in the past to help – told you that it wasn’t your fault, gently rubbed your back – and you’d shoved him away. You didn’t want to be coddled. You didn’t need it.

Except tonight, you did.

Steve went to bed first, sometime after eleven. It wasn’t that the night’s events didn’t bother him, because they certainly did. He’d just experienced things like this a lot more than you, especially during the war, and he knew how to compartmentalize. Somehow, he could still sleep at night, whereas he knew you probably wouldn’t get a wink of it.

He’d help you pack in the morning. He’d contact HQ. He’d write up the mission report. He’d do all of it for you, because he loved you. He’d do anything for you.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you stopped resisting your impulses. You crept up the stairs and, for a brief moment, paused as you stared at Steve’s closed bedroom door for what was probably the umpteenth time.

Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears as you slowly turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

The moonlight was streaming through the open curtains onto the bed, where you found him fast asleep. Of course he was. He’d always been a heavy sleeper, even now.

You brushed away a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead, and he almost seemed to lean into your touch; then you trailed your fingers down his bare chest, further south, pushing his sheets back along the way. The only thing he was wearing was a pair of soft plaid sleep pants that you’d teased him about once – said they suited him, the old man he was.

Right now, though, they were almost too low on his hips. Must have shifted sometime during the night.

His skin was damp to the touch from the summer heat. As your eyes trailed over him in the moonlight, you had a fleeting thought of how perfect he was and you stopped holding yourself back.

Your lips were hot on the sweat-slicked skin of his abdomen. He tasted like salt and smelled like heaven – like soap and fresh laundry, clean, with the slightest undertone of musk.

It turned you on.

You kissed your way up his body until he stirred with the softest, quietest moan, his muscles shifting under your touch. You didn’t stop. Instead, you met his dazed, half-lidded eyes with a sinful smile.

“Wait, wait,” he breathed, fumbling to take your hands into his. His voice was rough from sleep. “Talk to me, doll. Please.”

You didn’t.  

Instead, you nudged your dress out of the way and straddled his hips, which let you feel exactly how much you’d affected him. His cock was rock hard and straining against his pajama pants, and you did nothing to soothe it. Instead, you rolled your hips against him.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, his head lulling back against the pillow. “It’s been a bad night. We shouldn’t.”

He didn’t mean it.

When you laced your fingers with his, he was so receptive – squeezed your hands right back, especially when you leaned down to kiss him. Your breasts nearly spilled out of your bra when they fell against his chest. With your dress half-unbuttoned, you saw his eyes flicker down to your cleavage for a split second before he looked back up at your face in awe, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

You kissed him, then, softly and sweetly, and sighed against his mouth, “Make me forget.”

Almost instantly, his hands left yours to cup the sides of your face, and he kissed you so deeply, so passionately that all you could think about was him. His lips were soft, but his kisses weren’t, especially when his tongue swept into your mouth as if to claim you, make you his, make you forget.

Then he trailed his fingers down the sides of your body, feeling every inch of you against him before they settled on your hips. He held you in place as he ground his hips up into yours, and you gasped against his mouth, relishing in the feeling of his hard cock against your folds – clothed or not.

The way he gathered you in his arms and lay you down on your back was sweet and gentle. He peppered kisses down your neck and torso as he finished unbuttoning your dress, before it was off entirely, discarded haphazardly to the floor – and then he sat back on his heels to just look at you.

You weren’t fully revealed to him yet, still wearing a lacy peach-pink bra and panties, but you felt absolutely naked in front of him. You were attractive, you knew that much – but the way his eyes took in every single one of your curves made your face flush like that stupid, clueless girl that had gotten people killed tonight.  

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss you again.

Something about the way he said it made you want him even more and you whined – actually whined – against his lips, “Baby, please.”  

Jesus Christ, he could have come right then.

Instead, he pulled away just enough to press a kiss to your stomach, your navel, your hip – and then he tugged your panties down and off before he buried his face between your thighs. He’d been wanting to worship your body for ages, and you deserved it now more than ever.

Your reaction was immediate. You gasped and writhed against his mouth, so much that he had to firmly hook his arms around your legs to hold you in place. You were so god damn responsive and it drove him crazy, especially when you gripped his hair in your fingers and pulled him closer to grind your perfect pussy against his face.

The taste of you was intoxicating – sweet, just a little tart – and he barely even realized what he was doing when he slid two fingers inside of you. Not one to start like he normally would have, but two, because you were so fucking soaked and desperate for him already.

“Stevie,” you whimpered when he curled his fingers up in a particular spot that sent you reeling.

God, he loved the sound of his name on your lips.

“Does that feel good?” he cooed against your slick folds, his hot breath sending a chill through you.

“Yeah,” you responded breathily, and you whimpered when he did it again. “Yeah, honey, just like that—”

Honey.

The word spurred him on and he went right back to devouring you, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers curled roughly against your g-spot over and over. It brought you higher and higher and higher until he couldn’t hold you down anymore and your back arched off the sheets, legs shaking against his shoulders as you came with a sharp cry.

When you collapsed back against the sheets, he crawled up your body to see your flushed, fucked-out face. Before he kissed you again, he went to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand out of consideration for you – but instead, you tugged on his arm and pulled him down to settle in between your thighs.

“Kiss me like that,” you told him, and he readily complied. You could taste yourself on his lips, but you didn’t care; all you cared about was the sharp breath he took in as you slid your hand into his pants and wrapped your fingers around him. His cock was hot, thick, and heavy in your palm, and you wanted him inside of you.

Your other hand slid his pajama pants down just enough to pull him out entirely, and then you ran the head of his cock back and forth through your slick folds.

Steve broke away from the kiss to lean his forehead against your shoulder. His voice was unsteady when he started, “If you’re not sure—”

But you just wrapped your legs around his waist, then, and used the leverage to drag him inside of you. All you could manage was the tip because of the angle, but at your eagerness, he actually growled – deep and feral before he slid the rest of the way inside in one fluid motion.

“Fuck, Stevie,” you gasped, “You feel so good—”

Then his lips were on yours again, swallowing every single word you wanted to say. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t exactly gentle either as his hips rocked into yours so easily – almost like this was meant to happen, like the two of you should have been doing this all along. His tongue dominated your mouth as his hands caressed your body all over, palming your breasts, your hips, your thighs as he made love to you.

That’s exactly what it was. You knew it, and he did, too.

The realization of that brought you to the brink almost in an instant.

When he hiked one of your legs up higher around his waist, you felt even closer – both to him, and to your orgasm. It was intimate. It was perfect. The new angle was incredibly deep, and his cock reached spots inside of you that you’d never even known about before.

You broke away from his mouth to bury your face in his shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his neck. “I’m close, god, I’m so fucking close, Steve—”

Judging by the way he was throbbing so much inside you, he was close, too. His breath was hot on the shell of your ear when he rasped, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “Fill me up, honey, please.”

His hands gripped your thighs even more firmly as he held you in place, his thrusts stuttering just a little at the knowledge that you didn’t want him to pull out, no—you wanted him to come inside you. You wanted him to fill you up. You wanted him to give you every single fucking drop of his cum.

“Fuck, Steve, I’m coming, I’m coming—” you babbled mindlessly against his neck, wrapping your legs around him even tighter as you reached your peak, pleasure cascading around you in waves.

Those breathless moans paired with your walls clenching down on him so tightly were what pushed him over the edge, and he buried himself to the hilt, filling you up just like you’d begged him for with a groan of your name right into your ear. It might have been the sexiest thing you’d ever heard in your life, but your mind was blissfully blank.

He left to get you a washcloth to clean up – the two of you had made a mess after all – and unlike how you’d been with Bucky, you let Steve take care of you. You needed it.

After he wiped you clean, you curled so snugly into his side, using his chest as a pillow. He pressed gentle kisses to the crown of your head and muttered sweet nothings to you, and his soothing voice eased you to sleep.

For the first time in a very long time, Steve overslept.

At first, he thought he forgot to turn on his alarm. Then he remembered that it automatically set itself every morning. He didn’t forget to turn it on. 

You’d purposely turned it off.

He knew that because by the time he woke, you were gone. He found a note from you downstairs, on the kitchen counter where you used to have breakfast every morning.

Headed to my next mission. See you around, Rogers.

It was that same curly handwriting as what you’d written in his little notebook. He recognized it in an instant, but when he realized what you meant by it – that this was a one-time thing, a moment of weakness, a lapse of judgement – he couldn’t say it didn’t sting.

What hurt worse was that, when he tried calling you, it went straight to voicemail and when he sent you texts, you read and then ignored them.

You brushed him off, because you got what you wanted.

He made you forget.

Master List