#THEY GAVE STEVE A FUCKING COMPLEX

[theshippirate22]

every now and then i get hit with the idea of what might happen if Joyce found out about the sins of s1&2 jonathan

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XVIII

Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER/violence/kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

What had once been a great fear of yours had turned into something akin to a comfort.

The basement was a lot of things—dark, isolating, and creepy to name a few—but in the weeks that you’d been exiled to it’s suffocating walls, you slowly found solace in being left with nothing but your solitude and your thoughts. At least it felt that way. In truth, you didn’t feel much of anything at all and had grown content in that feeling.

Or lack thereof.

The days blended together until it was one long endless stretch of darkness, and it gave you so much time to think. You thought about every decision that had landed you here, all the way from your first conscious memory to that fateful day when you and your friends stopped in some seemingly unassuming town for food. If you thought about it too hard, you could feel a chill creeping over your still form.

Lingering on the day your friends were murdered threatened to put you back in that headspace you’d been in when you were first brought to this house. Your breathing would become shallow at the memory of your erratic emotions and your inability to hold your bodily fluids and the time you’d nearly lost your mind at the mere sight of blood.

You had quite literally lost your mind.

You’d been driven insane by the abuse you’d suffered and had been forced to witness, mind shattering and falling apart from the actions of the same person tasked with putting it back together in whatever manner benefited him. Peter had torn you down and built you back up like some demented caregiver and despite the fact that you knew this—recognized this—you were essentially powerless to do anything about it.

You were in too deep, this was your life now, and such a thought was both comforting and suffocating. On the one hand, you knew what was in store for you. The rest of your days were laid out before you so meticulously, a breakdown of what every single day would be like for the rest of your life. In a way…it was relieving to think that you’d never have to expend any more effort into planning a single thing about your life ever again.

…but in the same breath, that was so tragic.

The excitement of possibilities and opportunities was something you’d never feel again. You’d never have that wonder about what the next day or month or even year would bring. You briefly recalled fleeting thoughts of grad school once and possibly living abroad for a while. Peter would never allow that, and even if he wanted to, Steve would never allow him to even consider the thought.

This was your life now.

Such a simple sentence brought on far too many emotions for you to handle, and so you didn’t. Handle them, that is. You didn’t feel anything and it didn’t just start and end with the complexities of your heart. You didn’t feel the pillow beneath your head nor the thin sheets over your frame. You didn’t even feel the shift in the room when someone—no doubt Margaret or Christine—opened the door and descended the stairs to bring you food.

Surely you ate.

You were still alive, after all, but you didn’t recall eating. Truth be told, you didn’t even recall bathing or using the bathroom. If you thought long and hard about it—struggling with your memory so much that it made you frown in the darkness—you could recollect brief flashes of memories that painted a picture.

Sharon’s worried face before you as she held some orange juice in front of your face, Margaret standing in front of you in the bathroom, tone pleading as she encouraged you to empty your bladder, and even Tony and Pepper standing over your bed as Pepper said something to him, her stricken expression clear even in hazy memories.

The days and everything that happened in them blended together so seamlessly that it all started to feel like a dream. How funny it was that you once feared the basement so much it was enough to give you a panic attack, and now that you were down here you felt the calmest you’d ever felt in months. You felt unreal—untouchable even in a way—and it wasn’t long before you forgot that this wasn’t meant to be forever.

You forgot that a day would come where Peter would come down—likely with Steve in tow—and tell you that your punishment was over and you could finally rejoin him amongst the world above ground. You didn’t know how you felt about that, and you found yourself wondering if you even wanted that.

Of course, you wanted that.

You couldn’t live in darkness and solitude forever, but stepping out of this room meant going back to the problems the basement currently shielded you from. When you stepped through that threshold again, Steve and Bucky and all of the other husbands would likely still be upset with you with the mentioned being more cross than the others. You would have to step back into an atmosphere where you weren’t trusted—again—and you’d have to earn it all back…again.

You supposed you still had friends in the wives, but who was to say. Yes, you’d remained silent when you witnessed Nat escape, but you had a feeling that someone like Margaret likely wouldn’t agree with what you did. You recalled a conversation you had with her once about the needs and sanctity of the house coming first. Allowing one of the wives to escape and possibly ruin everything wasn’t exactly in line with that.

Nat didn’t seem upset with you, at all the last time you saw her, but you didn’t truly know verbatim what Peter had said to Bucky to get him to take her out of the basement. Sure, he could’ve insinuated that keeping her down here and punishing her in a harsh manner after they’d been trying for a baby wasn’t smart, but he also could have flat out said to him that according to you, Nat thinks she's pregnant.

You only wanted to save her, and while you liked to think she’d understand if she knew you told Peter, you also weren’t so sure. You weren’t sure of a lot of things anymore, and your uncertainty about so much—the result of whatever truth you thought you were living being turned upside down—made you retreat into yourself even more.

“Y/N, you need to eat something…”

The familiar voice faintly reached your ears, and as you slowly turned your head, you thought to yourself that you hadn’t even heard Margaret open the door and walk down the stairs. She was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite name, and it was only after some time did you register the weight in your lap.

Your gaze landed on a tray of food, and as appetizing as the toast and eggs and sausage looked, you had no desire to eat. You felt lucid for the first time in ages, and you slowly blinked before shaking your head. The words to tell her you weren’t hungry were on the tip of your tongue, but the redhead spoke before you could find your voice.

“You barely ate anything yesterday. And the day before…and the day before,” she breathed. “Steve wants to see an empty plate.”

You blinked again at that, and despite the fact that she was repeating Steve’s words, you could see her own concern in her eyes. You struggled to recall just how long you’d been down here and just how many plates you’d barely touched. You couldn’t recall, and despite the nagging at the back of your mind, you couldn’t bring yourself to want to eat.

Even so, you and Margaret knew better than anyone how Steve could be, and so you slowly reached out for a piece of toast.

“I’ll eat,” was all you said.

She seemed relieved as she left you—albeit reluctantly—and you nibbled on the bread in your hand. The taste of it on your tongue made your stomach twist, and you put the rest of it back down without thinking. You had every intention of finishing it later, but once your food was set aside, all you wanted to do was sleep.

Your sleep wasn’t dreamless, and it rarely ever was. Sometimes you dreamt of your mom and your friends and your life before Peter took you for himself like some villain. Those dreams served nothing more than to torment you, and you often woke from them with tears in your eyes, vision blurry even in the darkness.

More often than not though, you dreamt of Peter and your life here. Sometimes it was awful nightmares about Steve—and even Bucky sometimes—where his handsome face was contorted in that perpetual frown it always seemed to be in when he laid eyes on you. Only it would be so much worse.

Your brain liked to conjure up visions of him where he was absolutely murderous, and it was no secret as to why. There’d been the brief moment here and there where you wondered if Steve would just say ‘to hell’ with all of his rules and get rid of you—in the most violent and dismissive fashion—and force Peter to find a sane wife. 

A better one.

That left a bitter taste in your mouth…and you hated it.

You liked to think that the thought of Peter with someone else only upset you because you didn’t think any woman deserved to be subjected to this. You liked to think that righteously and noble of yourself, but the truth was much more demented and depraved and twisted. No woman did deserve any of this, that was true, but the thought of Peter loving someone else made your stomach churn.

You could say it until you were blue in the face that this wasn’t love—it couldn’t be—but it didn’t change how you felt. You couldn’t fathom the thought of being tossed aside and replaced, and being replaced by someone better would only add insult to the injury. It wasn’t fair that they got to break you until there was hardly anything left only to cast you aside because they didn’t like the inevitable results of their choices.

The thought made you want to be sick.

Peter would never, and you knew without a doubt that he would never, but for all that he put you through, the least he could do was remain by your side and look after you forever. Something deep within you hated him so much for what he did—the dark-haired man worse than you initially thought him to be—but a larger part, the part that had been carefully put back together by him, only wanted him to show an endless display of apologies for the rest of your days.

You deserved that.

You deserved to be free, but that was never happening, and as it were, could you even function properly if you were allowed to walk off of this property tomorrow? Your mind didn’t work the way it did before you were brought here. It had been taken apart and scrambled and replaced with one that wasn’t your doing. You feared that you would never be able to function right again, and who would want you?

Who would want you besides Peter?

You were an abused, broken, and genuinely unwell mess…and Peter loved you for it…in his own way. You could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at you that the thought of losing you would send him over the edge, and you knew you felt the same, but you were sure it was for entirely different reasons. At this point in your life…what were you without Peter?

When you weren’t dreaming of your friends and family, and when you weren’t conjuring up nightmares of a familiar blond, you were dreaming about the man who put you into this mess. Sometimes you dreamt about who he actually was and in those dreams there was no doubt about his motives and his actions and you felt the appropriate fear when staring into his eyes.

…but more often than not you dreamt about the man he manipulated you into loving. You dreamed about welcoming him home from work and kissing him and touching him. You dreamed about the days where he simply held you as you cried, conveniently ignoring that he was the reason for your tears. In this house of horrors, Peter was your safe place, and you knew that was purposely done, but again, you felt powerless to do anything about it.

It shouldn’t be that way, but your only other choice was to spend the rest of your days in torment.

“She hasn’t eaten properly in weeks,” the soft words reached your ears, and you knew they weren’t meant for you.

There was a beat of silence, and as you were slowly gripped by consciousness, you took note of the smell of food. It didn’t tempt you, and you almost turned your head away.

“Do you think it’s because of Peter?”

Jane.

You absentmindedly wondered why she was down here and not resting. You hated to think that she’d come down here just to check in on you when she should’ve been looking after herself. You felt her hand on your head.

“She hasn’t seen him in a month…and we know how she—how they can get…”

You squeezed your eyes tight at that, heart aching for the first time in forever at those words. Had it been that long already? Had you really gone a month without seeing him, talking to him, touching him? Was that the cause of this…numbness? You were sure Peter wasn’t the only factor here, but you couldn’t deny that you missed him. You weren’t used to being without him, and this was the longest you’d ever gone without being with him since you first woke up in this house.

…but you knew that this was as much of a punishment for him as it was for you.

What if he didn’t miss you at all? What if you were in hell while each day only brought him more peace not having to be around the crazy one? That thought made your heart ache more, and for a brief moment, you never wanted to see him again.

“Steve only thinks it’s been a handful of times, but she’s not eating. At first, we weren’t too alarmed, especially considering…”

You placed Margaret’s voice now as she trailed off.

“...but then every tray just went basically untouched, and she’s lost a lot of weight. I think we need to tell Steve to contact Dr. Banner.”

You recalled a familiar face with glasses and dark hair.

“She doesn’t use the bathroom every day either. She mostly sleeps,” the redhead added.

“Have you mentioned this to Peter?”

“So he can come barging down here and start a whole other thing with Steve? They’ve only just settled back into being civil with one another. If Peter finds out she’s like this…”

Margaret scoffed, and you detected the unease in her tone.

You had never thought about the aftermath that followed your punishment and how it might have affected things upstairs. You had never thought to, you supposed. You had just assumed that Peter would fall in line with what Steve wanted as usual. After all, no matter how you felt about what you’d done, the household—or more importantly the husbands—did not agree. You’d broken their rules, and rules were rules.

It had never occurred to you that this whole ordeal—and you being at the center of it—might cause friction between Peter and Steve.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of your name, and you were loathed to admit that it took so much of your strength to open your eyes. Jane was as pregnant as ever and glowing, and she gave you a small smile when your gazes met.

“Do you want to try eating something today?

Her tone was light, but you detected a hint of pleading.

Your gaze shifted, and you looked at the tray of food in Margaret’s hands. You eyed it, wanting to eat for their peace of mind if nothing else, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You swallowed, and Jane must have seen the guilt and conflict in your eyes.

“It’s okay,” she assured you. “You don’t have to.”

You didn’t miss Margaret’s look.

“We’ll leave it here, and you eat when you’re ready.”

She touched your face, and with a few lingering looks, they left you.

It wasn’t long before you dozed off again, but it wasn’t a deep sleep, and you drifted in and out of consciousness. It felt like no matter how much you slept, you just couldn’t shake the feeling of being exhausted. Exhausted, not tired. Your whole body seemed to ache, and you dreaded the moment you’d have to get up and shower.

The next time you were even halfway lucid, you felt a hand at your back and a spoon at your lips. On instinct, you turned your head away, but the person’s hand was firm.

“None of that. You need something on your stomach,” the voice was just as firm as the grip, and it was comfortingly familiar.

Your eyes widened a bit at the familiar face, and you unintentionally parted your lips, allowing her to give you a taste of broth. It took you by surprise, and you coughed a bit, but swallowed it nonetheless. Nat gave you another spoonful, and so in shock at her presence, you accepted it.

“Sharon’s supposed to be in my place…but…Steve and Bucky are at work,” she shrugged, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. “...and I had to see you.”

For the first time in a month or so, you felt…something. For a brief moment, your perpetual numbness had lifted, and you both spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

It was said by two different voices, but it echoed as one.

“You’re sorry…?” Confusion filled you. “Why are you sorry?”

Your voice was small and unsure, and Nat looked so like you were unused to seeing her. She was normally so strong and fierce—a great source of envy for you—but now she looked sad…and regretful.

“You felt more obligated to protect me than yourself…and had I thought for a moment that you’d see me…I never would’ve left.”

Your shoulders fell at that, and you hated that Nat felt…guilty over your predicament. Your own choices had led you here, and that was what you told her after clearing your throat.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I thought the best thing that could happen was I’d get help and we’d all leave this place…and the worst was that I’d get dragged back,” she fed you more broth. “Not once had I considered that someone else would get dragged into my mess.”

You didn’t quite know how to respond, because after all, you didn’t really agree with her. You hadn’t felt obligated to do anything. It seemed like a no brainer to you to not say that you saw her that night. It was never even a question, never even a consideration to tell Peter Nat had escaped.

You swallowed, only taking a tiny sip when she offered you another spoonful. The green-eyed woman frowned at that.

“Nat…”

The words were on the tip of your tongue, but she merely shook her head.

“Bucky was practically ready to flog me for leaving him,” she lightly said despite the severity of the topic. “When they threw me down in here, I was prepared for it. Even with my possible delicate condition.”

Your eyes met hers, and she sent you a crooked smile.

“I knew only one person could talk them out of whatever they prepared to do to me…and I knew there was only one thing you could say that would change their minds…” you bit your lip at that. “Thankfully, I thought wrong, but even if I was pregnant, I’d still understand why you did it.”

She gave a small, bitter laugh.

“I may not have agreed with it nor been the biggest supporter of that decision…but I get it,” she shrugged. “After they found out what you did, I think I was scared for you more than I’d ever been scared for anyone…and I imagine that’s what you’d felt like.”

Your gaze found the sheet on your legs.

“If I had known something that could save you too, I might’ve done the same.”

When she offered you more broth, you sadly shook your head. A look passed over her features at that, and her face fell. She set the spoon back in the bowl with a small sigh before standing.

“I had to check on you,” she told you. “They said you haven’t been eating, and I didn’t realize how bad it was…”

You noticed the way she eyed you, and you suddenly had the urge to find a mirror. She set the bowl down, and she looked unsure about it.

“I’m going to leave this here. Just in case…” she trailed off, a bout of worry crossing her features. “I’ll come check on you again when I can.”

You nodded at her words, but the shock from Nat’s presence and the few sips of broth had taken more energy than you cared to focus on, and you were already sliding back down in bed.

It took her a long time to climb the stairs and shut the door behind her.

It could’ve been days later when you heard the low timber of a voice that wasn’t wholly familiar to you. It scratched some part of your brain, but not enough for you to pinpoint where you’d heard the tone before. Unfamiliar fingers were prodding at your face and neck, and the feel had you frowning in your semi consciousness. 

The man hummed to himself.

He was speaking, but you were in and out of sleep, so you couldn’t tell—nor cared—if he was speaking to you or someone else whose presence you weren’t aware of. A voice spoke back, and both sounded so muffled and far away to you.

You felt those same fingers on other parts of your body, as well as cold metal, and the intense temperature against your warm skin made you jolt a bit. You pushed at the hand, but a voice shushed you, but it didn’t sound close enough to have the intended soothing effect. Words were exchanged again, but you were already falling back asleep.

It was a dreamless sleep, the first in a long time, and it made the passage of time feel like a blink.

A voice so hauntingly and achingly familiar to you reached your ears, and you thought you were dreaming.

“I don’t give a fuck about what Steve would’ve wanted. His wife is healthy and coherent and probably getting ready to give him another Goddamn baby,” the voice hissed, interrupting a smaller more feminine one. “She’s been like this for weeks, and no one said a word to me.”

“Peter-.”

“Dr. Banner should’ve been here weeks ago. I should’ve known about this weeks ago. I should have seen her weeks ago…!”

Sleep was pulling you back in again, and the louder the voice got, the more it started to fade. The wrathful pitch grew higher and higher but also fainter and fainter until it was gone entirely, and sleep welcomed you again.

Your mind was struggling to put pieces together, and in your sleep, you thought to yourself that those words sounded like they came from some demented doppelganger, the tone sounding so much like Peter but not at the same time. You had never heard him so angry, and a voice in your head convinced you that you dreamt it, used to a sweet disposition from your dark captor, the dichotomy of which never failed to throw you into greater mental turmoil.

When your senses came to you again, you felt stronger than you had in probably two months at this point. You weren’t entirely sure, completely confused by the passage of time. The basement smelled different, and even the bed felt different, but as you shifted, you understood why.

The numbness that you had started to find comfort in was gone, and you could feel the bed and pillows and sheets beneath you…and they felt familiar. Too familiar. They felt like home. They felt like the place where you’d spent hours in Peter’s arms and hours sleeping and hours accepting the affections of the man who’d kidnapped you.

You thought you might have conjured the feeling up, but then you inhaled, and Peter’s scent filled your nose, and you thought of the nights he’d slept here alone in your absence. The faintest of touches disturbed the back of your hand, so featherlight that you could almost ignore it, but the slight pressure in your chest wouldn’t let you.

When you opened your eyes, his face was the first thing you saw.

His hair was a little longer, a little curlier and brushing his ears, and his face was as pretty as ever, but the dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his sleepless nights. Had you the strength to move, you would’ve reached out to touch them.

Peter was knelt beside the bed you shared and his hand was in yours and his brown eyes lit up at the sight of your own. His face shifted so suddenly and seamlessly that you would've sworn he’d been smiling at your sleeping face this entire time instead of with that pinched brow and clenched jaw you’d been initially met with.

“Hey,” he softly and slowly greeted, dragging the word out in a whisper. “...my pretty girl.”

You swallowed, blinking a few times before briefly glancing around to confirm you were where you thought you were. Your gaze caught onto the medical equipment by the bed, blinking at the bag two feet above you with unidentifiable liquid in it. You absentmindedly reached up with your free hand as you traced the direction of the tube.

“Hey, hey,” Peter softly admonished, taking your other hand too. “Don’t touch it.”

You looked down at the feeding tube going into your chest, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Confusion filled you, and you were just about to speak when Peter let one of your hands go to take your chin instead. Still in the process of escaping sleep, you could only blink at him, a million questions running through your mind that you didn’t have the capability to voice.

“You’re really weak and…you haven’t been eating,” you watched his face as he said this, and you took note of the dark shadow that passed over his features, and you thought to yourself that perhaps you hadn’t dreamt that interaction at all. “Dr. Banner gave you that because you need to eat.”

Peter appeared to get choked up, and your eyes widened a tad. Sniffing, he rose a bit to press his lips to yours, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“You need to eat, you need all your strength,” you felt his tears on your face. “...because we’re going to have a baby.”

He pulled away only enough to look into your eyes, his own looking between them as he spoke.

“My pretty girl is going to have a baby,” he whispered more to himself than you. “...and you want her to be healthy and fat, don’t you?”

His thumb brushed over your lips, but it was hard to focus on anything he said after ‘baby’.

“I need you both healthy,” he said, voice cracking, and he kissed you again. 

His arms circled around you, and you felt his wet face fall to rest against your neck and shoulder. He kissed the skin there that peeked through above the large shirt, his whispered happy words reaching your ear.

“My baby’s having a baby.”

[kennahjune]

HEAR ME OUT?? Please—

I LOVE love LOve when like, in fics, Steve has this really weird talent or interest that nobody knows about or like nobody expects but then oddly enough it sort of fits him.

And just like— it opens up so much possibility for character projection.

My favorite is writer Steve but I’ve been growing increasingly obsessed with Steve who’s hyper fixation is snakes.

The image in my head is like— everyone’s hanging out at the trailer park for one reason or another, and they hear Robin fucking /screech/.

Everyone’s on their feet in a split second, worry and confusion and deep dread forcing the way into the forefront of their minds.

Turns out: it was a snake. A really small one at that.

Eddie and Wayne offer to take it and dispose of it, the two of them having done this various other times with the other snakes people find in the trailer park.

But Steve pushes to the front of the group yelling and scolding.

“No absolutely not!”

Eddie shares a look with Nancy, both chalking it up to Steve’s hero complex acting up and him trying to protect them from the potentially dangerous critter.

“Look, Stevie—“

“You are not going to kill that little sweetheart!”

Eddie paused, shared a confused furrow of brows with Nancy and Robin, and turned to face Steve fully.

“Stevie, baby, that’s a snake.”

Steve stood with his hands on his hips, a determined glint in his eye, and nodded. “No I thought it was a squirrel.”

Eddie sighed loudly. “Then what do we do with it?”

“Well not fucking kill it for starters! It’s harmless. Aren’t you baby?”

Eddie and everyone else watched Steve step up to the snake that was hanging from the trailer’s side door. “Um, Steve what’re you doing?”

Steve ignored them completely and simply plucked the snake from its place on the door. From somewhere beside Eddie Robin squeaked in horror and Will groaned while Lucas gave a violent shudder.

“Such a small baby aren’t ya?” Steve cooed at the little snake wrapped around his hand.

“Steve— that’s a snake,” Nancy said warily, eyeing said snake like it killed her mother. “A potentially dangerous snake.”

Steve scoffed while the snake lifted the front of its body to peer at him. “She’s not dangerous, she’s a goddamn rat snake. They’re harmless.”

Just as he said it, the snake turned its head and not his finger. Where Steve didn’t even blink, everyone else freaked.

Eddie and Robin rushed over to him, Eddie immediately taking a look at his hand but keeping his hands away from the snake. Robin kept her distance but rambled about rabies or whatever.

Steve huffed and laughed quietly. “Guys, seriously. It’s a rat snake, they’re completely and utterly harmless to humans. They have such a small amount of venom it doesn’t bother humans. And besides, this little baby’s so small she couldn’t even break the skin.”

He was right, there was no sign of breakage or even redness on Steve’s hand where he was bitten.

Eddie looked at his boyfriend a little in awe and even more in love.

Jesus Christ.

Dustin and Mike walked slowly over to Steve, each asking to hold the snake.

Steve held it out gently, Dustin taking it first and holding it delicately in his hands. When he passed it over to Mike, the snake wrapped itself around his hands and a bit up his arms. Eddie was a little in shock at the giggle the younger Wheeler let out.

Dustin, Mike and Steve sat on the trailer’s side steps and held the snake together, going back and forth about random animal topics that Eddie couldn’t be bothered to remember.

When he asked later, Will and Lucas were delighted to explain that the entire reason Dustin was allowed to join The Party was because in 4th grade he brought Mike a frog he found. Lucas explained that Mike and Dustin had both gone through and extensive reptile and amphibian phase in elementary school and still held onto some of that obsession.

From then on, whenever anyone in the trailer park found any form of snake or rodent that they wanted gone, they called Steve.

[saveyoursunshine]

i love when artists explicitly write/draw eddie and steve with very noticeable, maybe even deforming scars. i love when they dont fail to mention the repercussions the things they've been through have left on their bodies. because yes, we talk a lot about ptsd and horrible nightmares and all the psychoemotional issues, but we should totally talk more about the physical side of it.

eddie with a scar on his jaw that tugs when he smiles and aches after a long effusive rant. having to use mobility aides like a crutch or a walking stick because the muscles on his leg never fully recovered and the scars on his abdomen hurt if he tries to tighten his core too hard.

steve with awful migranes and early onset hearing loss and complex vision problems and slight trouble breathing because his head/face got fucked up one too many times. the scars on his back that got infected because no one gave them notice, that are now scars that twinge when he moves his arms and hurt after a day of running around with the kids. the scars on his abdomen that restrict his range of motion. that raspiness in his voice that never went away after a bat tried to crush his windpipe.

i don't know where i'm going with this i just... we constantly recognize their heroic deeds, but i think it's also important to remember that they are not heroes. they are just teenagers who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. they were doomed by the narrative, literally cannon fodder, and their bodies tell the history of that, and of how they're still here despite it all.

[hollyseb]

I DO

Mob! Bucky x Reader - Forced Marriage AU

Warnings: swearing, violence, misogyny?, sexual content (MINORS DNI)

3.2k words

Summary; Bucky, a member of the mob, and the daughter of his enemy find themselves entangled in a complex relationship.

No fucking way.

Your throat tightened. The reflection in the mirror portrayed a stranger—pale complexion, vacant eyes.

“You look beautiful,” Nat reassured you, placing her steady hands on your bare shoulders, but you’d never felt so appalled. She was trying to comfort you but fell on deaf ears.

Your gaze dropped to the dress. It fits you perfectly, especially with your hair trailing down your back.

You wanted to rip it all off.

“Nat”, your voice meek, tears threatening to fall.

"I'll be by your side through it all, and if that mystery man dares to step out of line, well, a broken nose wouldn't hurt," she attempted a smile, but it faltered. Your best friend gave your shoulders a final squeeze.

Today is your wedding day.

As you found out yesterday. Yesterday. You seethed, manicured hands clenching.

“How could this happen to me, Nat?”, you asked through gritted teeth, the reality of the situation setting in.

Nat's gaze softened, her eyes filled with a sadness you couldn't bear to meet. "We both know why," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, the truth of her words like a knife to your heart. Your father's illicit dealings had finally caught up with you, dragging you into a web of deceit and manipulation from which there seemed to be no escape.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so naive?

And so, you became a pawn in your father’s game. An object to be bought, owned and sold off at will.

It was all a show of power. You cross me, and I’ll rob your daughter of the rest of her life. You were nothing more than collateral damage.

———————————

As Bucky adjusted his tie in the mirror, the reflection staring back at him was that of a man with a steely resolve, a predator poised to strike. His jaw clenched with determination, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“One last drink before you’re hitched?” Steve smirked, pushing a whiskey into his best friend's hand.

Bucky sent him a sharp look. “Come on Steve, you act like I'm not the one calling the shots here”, the glint in his eyes portraying a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

In a swift motion, he downed the alcohol and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His throat burned. He lavished the feeling.

“Marrying a woman you’ve never even seen?” Steve's grin widened, his tone holding a hint of scepticism.

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “All part of the game, my friend” he responded cryptically, a flicker of anticipation glimmering in his eyes.

“You never know, pal, she might be a knockout”, Steve teased, a veiled reassurance towards his friend.

”Yeah. Fat fucking chance, as long as Pierce knows I can take everything he holds dear, I’m a happy man”

With a nod of agreement, Steve raised his glass in a silent salute. "I'll drink to that," he said.

———————

Deep breaths.

You felt nauseous.

You stepped into the aisle, honing your vision on the figure standing by the altar. He had his back to you but, he was tall, broad and masculine.

Ripping your eyes from the man and planting them on your feet. Just make it down the aisle without tipping over.

Bucky turned to face you. Holy shit. His surprise was palpable. He wasn’t expecting this. You knocked the breath from his lungs. You looked beautiful. Your dress moulded perfectly to your body, skin glowing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

You felt a cool hand press against the small of your back.

“Hey”, a deep voice whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

A response far too casual for the situation at hand.

His hand moved to your waist, guiding you to face him and look at him. Fuck him. You knew this was a stupid, stubborn attempt to maintain some form of control, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

That was until he placed a finger under your chin, his touch surprisingly gentle. Oh. He is gorgeous. Sculpted face, baby blue eyes, pink lips. His touch was far too gentle for someone so evil.

“H-hi”, you stammered, your voice portraying the nervousness you felt.

Bucky’s smirk only widened at your response, as if he found amusement in your discomfort. It was infuriating. He was drinking in your wide eyes and aloof expression. You were so innocent. He almost felt bad for inviting you into his world. Almost.

He wanted to devour you.

”Well…aren’t you a sweet little thing”, his finger tilted your head back as he unashamedly raked his eyes over your features, with an almost predatory hunger.

You forced a sweet smile, concealing the disgust you felt at his patronising comment, “get your fucking hands off of me”, you retorted sharply.

Bucky’s smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, before being replaced by amusement again. “Such a filthy mouth for a pretty girl… I’ll sort that out for you”, he replied, his grip on your chin tightening.

You snarled at him, resisting the urge to clock him in his cocky face.

It was almost humorous, the way the interaction looked like a loving husband whispering sweet nothings to his wife, when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

The vows went by in a blur, all words sounding muted and unreal, until the time came to kiss the man you met half an hour ago.

Bucky couldn’t look anymore gleeful, revelling in your discomfort.

“Come on honey, I promise I’m a fantastic kisser”, he taunted, arrogance in his smirk.

You opened your mouth for a retort, but his lips landed on yours before you could protest. You hated how he was so gentle, caressing your cheek while his tongue ran across your bottom lip.

Damn it, he is a fantastic kisser.

Pulling away, you forced yourself to compose, concealing the turmoil within. He was so gentle, as if he was afraid you’d break in two at his kiss. Bucky’s touch held a power over you. You despised it, but it was overwhelming.

The reception blurred into a whirlwind of congratulatory embraces and forced smiles. Every glance from Bucky sent shivers down your spine. He was everywhere. A hand on the small of your back, an arm draped across your waist.

As the night wore on, you found yourself cornered by Bucky, his presence suffocating. His whispered promises of a future together sounded more like threats, each word tightening the knot of discomfort in your stomach.

“Is it time for that broken nose yet?” Nat whispered into your ear as you snorted at her comment, your first genuine smile all day.

“I’m ready whenever you are”, you replied, before taking her into an embrace. Her presence was a lifeline in the chaos of this ceremony.

Even after your moment of solace with Nat, Bucky's presence loomed like a dark cloud. His eyes followed your every move, logging everybody you spoke to, as he watched with an adverse gaze.

Unable to bear his suffocating presence any longer, you slipped away from the crowd, seeking refuge in the quiet solitude of the garden.

The cool night air enveloped you, offering a brief respite from the whirlwind wedding. Sitting on the wooden bench, you closed your eyes, simply focusing on breathing, before being unsurprisingly interrupted.

With a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, Bucky leaned against the stone wall, the faint glow of a cigarette illuminating his features in the darkness.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with a hint of his streetwise charm.

"Yeah? Well, I’m fine," you replied curtly, refusing to show any vulnerability in his presence.

Bucky's smirk widened, the glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sure you are," he said, his tone teasing. "But just in case you need a hand getting rid of any unwanted guests, you know what to say."

“Nobody’s watching here, you know? You don’t need to keep up this facade”, you replied, more angrily than you’d expected.

Bucky’s expression darkened at your accusation, a flicker of hurt crossing his features. “Facade? Come on, darlin’ you know me better than that”

”Do I?”, your voice echoed, not ready to submit to him.

He took a step closer, his movements fluid and deliberate. "Yeah, you do," he replied, his tone edgier now, devoid of its earlier teasing edge. "You think I’m doing this all for me?"

You found yourself unable to make eye contact with the mobster, “I think this is a game… where I’m being used as a pawn”, you confessed, a sadness in your voice.

Bucky was taken aback by your raw vulnerability. He lifted your chin with his forefinger, as he did in the ceremony, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were a cocktail of remorse and sincerity.

“A game? I won’t lie, doll, I’ve done things that I’m not proud of”, he swallowed hard, grappling with the actions that had led to this moment, “but I wouldn’t drag you into this twisted world simply to be a pawn”.

You fought internally, unsure of what to believe.

Bucky stepped back slightly, his eyes raking over your features as his finger drew an arc over your jaw. "I know this ain't the ideal situation for either of us," he began, his voice softer now, tinged with a hint of regret. "But we're in this together now."

Your features softened and you let yourself relax into his gentle touch. The voice in your head stressing about how dangerous this man was began to quieten. You needed this comfort.

"I want you to know," Bucky continued, his words measured yet genuine, "that I ain't gonna let anyone hurt you. Not while I'm around."

"Thank you," you murmured, the weight of the day's events finally beginning to lift from your shoulders. "I appreciate that."

Bucky offered you a small, understanding smile before gesturing toward the door leading back to the reception hall. "Come on," he said gently, "let's get back inside.”

Bucky flicked his cigarette into the darkness, the ember glowing brightly before fading into nothingness.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion of the day's events began to weigh heavily on you.

“You ready to call it a night?” Bucky asked, sweeping a stray hair behind your ear.

His eyes were fixated on yours until you replied with a simple nod.

You began saying your farewells to the guests, making sure to hug Nat especially hard. You eyed Bucky as he seemed to be having an enthralling conversation with a man you recalled being introduced to as Steve. You made a mental note to ask him about his friend.

You let Bucky guide you into his mansion, down the large halls, to the bridal suite. Everything was gorgeous, sophisticated and modern.

You hadn’t let your mind trail to what your wedding night would bring, you found yourself wondering whether he’d even stay in the same wing as you.

As you and Bucky stepped into the dimly lit room, the air was hot with anticipation, charged with the unspoken tension between you.

As you turned to face him, ready to bid him goodnight and retreat to your separate quarters, Bucky's gaze met yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness that took you by surprise.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" His voice was low, almost hesitant, betraying the confident facade he often wore. There was a hint of uncertainty in his words, a vulnerability that made your heartache.

It was a bold move, really, you both knew it. For a request you were so sure you would’ve declined earlier in the day, you found yourself taken aback.

“Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "Yes, you can stay."

As the door clicked shut behind Bucky, you felt anticipation in the air. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing the contours of your figure with a certain hunger.

“Let me take off that wedding dress," he murmured, his words laced with desire. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to resist him, daring you to deny the attraction that pulsed between you.

Your head was spinning, the way he bounced between sincerity and domination.

For a brief moment, you hesitated, the thought of shedding the symbol of your forced marriage felt like an admission of defeat, surrendering to the forces that had brought you to this moment.

The primal hunger in Bucky’s eyes convinced you, with a hesitant nod, you faced your back to him and pulled your hair over your shoulder.

Bucky’s fingers delicately worked the fastens on your dress, his gaze transfixed on your back. You felt yourself becoming conscious, truly realising for the first time that this man was going to see you at your most vulnerable.

Sensing your apprehension, the air shifted, “you’re doing great, sweetheart”, he murmured, “Tonight, it’s just you and me”.

You eased at his words, as the fabric pooled at your feet in a cascade of silk and lace.

With a tender smile, Bucky reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek with a feather-light touch. “God, you’re beautiful”, he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

His words warmed you from the inside out. There was something more than desire in his gaze. It ignited a fire in you that threatened to consume everything in its path.

In the dim light of the room, you could see the raw hunger in Bucky's eyes, the longing that burned like a fire deep within his soul. But beneath the hardened exterior, there was a vulnerability—a longing for connection, for intimacy.

You doubted he was some sort of blushing virgin, especially with the stunt he pulled at the altar, but it was hard to believe he looked at other women like this.

“W-will you… are you going to…”, you faltered, not quite knowing how to ask him the question.

”Going to what, doll?”

“You know… it’s an arranged marriage. Are you planning to…see other women?”, you ventured, your voice hesitant, uncertain of how to broach the topic.

Bucky's gaze softened as he sensed the gravity of your words, his expression shifting from one of intensity to one of attentiveness. He reached out, gently grasping your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand.

“I understand why you might have doubts, especially given the circumstances," he began, his voice calm and reassuring. "But I want you to know that I take this marriage seriously. This isn’t a game to me. You’re my wife".

His words carried a weight of sincerity that eased some of the tension in your chest. "I won't deny that my past may have been... adventurous," he continued with a wry smile, "but when it comes to you, I'm all in. I won't be seeing other women. You have my word."

“O-okay”, a small smile playing on your lips.

“And just so we’re clear”, he added, a playful glint in his eye, “you’re not allowed to see other men either”.

You rolled your eyes at that, your smile widening.

Bucky's eyes softened as they landed on your lips, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his own. "You've got a beautiful smile, you know," he remarked, his tone unexpectedly sincere.

As you met his gaze once more, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with a warmth that mirrored your own.

“Thank you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling the electricity between you intensify with each passing moment. The hunger in his eyes mirrored your own.

With a boldness you didn't know you possessed, you reach out to him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you draw him closer. The air crackles with tension as your lips meet in a searing kiss, passion and need colliding in a heady rush of sensation.

His hands pulled on your hips, desperate to get you impossibly closer. Your head was spinning.

Bucky gently walked you to the bed, falling onto the sheets when your calves knocked the frame. He ate up the gasp that escaped from your lips hungrily.

“Fuck. I want to devour you”, he murmured against your lips, before taking your bottom one between his teeth. You could only gasp in response as he rolled it.

Bucky’s hands grabbed your wrists, gently placing them above your head. A stark contrast between his gentleness and dominance. His lips trailed down the curve of your neck, nipping and tucking, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You arched against him, a soft “B-Bucky” escaping your lips.

Bucky released a guttural moan as you bucked your hips into the muscular thigh positioned between your legs.

”Easy, sweetheart”, he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “I don’t want to overwhelm you”.

Bucky's hands trembled slightly as he fought to restrain his desire, the urge to lose himself in the moment almost overwhelming. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to control the primal urges that threatened to consume him.

His hands, which had been so commanding just moments before, now moved with a feather-light touch.

"I need to slow down," he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with effort.

You placed a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch, “we can slow down, Bucky”, you whispered reassuringly, your eyes filled with concern.

Bucky's struggle was like a battle raging within him, the conflicting desires tearing at his very core. He was used to being in control, but with you, he felt a primal urge to let go, to surrender to the passion that threatened to consume him.

But he couldn't. Not yet. Not with you.

He looked into your eyes, his own filled with gratitude and longing. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice tinged with relief. "I just want to make sure I'm not pushing you too far, too fast."

He’d never cared for the women he’d taken to bed in the past. There was something about you, an innocence he wanted to preserve, but simultaneously fuck out of you, make it his own.

“I’m okay, I promise”, you reassured him.

“No…it’s me. I want to lose myself in you but… I won’t be able to control myself. I want to do this right”, he admitted.

You caressed his face with your hand, letting a silence fall over you and your husband. He traced circles on your bare skin with his fingertips.

Bucky's arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm embrace, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Feeling the weight of the day finally catching up with you, you nestled into Bucky's embrace, allowing the rhythm of his steady breathing to lull you into a peaceful slumber.

Bucky drifted into a calm sleep, the calmest he’d had in months, until the shrill ring of his phone shattered the silence. Groaning, he fumbled for the source of the disturbance, his hand eventually finding the cold metal of his cell phone on the nightstand.

"Steve?" Bucky muttered, his voice thick with sleep as he answered the call, his mind struggling to shake off the fog of slumber.

"Yeah, it's me," Steve's urgent voice crackled through the line, cutting through Bucky's drowsiness like a knife. "We got a problem”.

Bucky sent a glance to your sleeping form, the sheets pooling around your waist, with your chest lifting rhythmically.

He ran a hand down his face and groaned, not wanting to leave you. “How bad is it?”, he asked, debating whether to throw the phone at the wall.

“Bad enough”, Steve replied grimly.

——————————

Taglist!

@casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @writingpastmybedtime @thealyrs @kandis-mom @blackhawkfanatic @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90 @melsunshine

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Losing It

steddie, omegaverse, virginity kink, loss of virginity, mdni 🔞

Steve has always been good, and good omegas kept their legs closed. His mother loved to say, “No one buys the cow when they can get the milk for free.”

Which, gross. He isn’t a cow, and any milk he has will be for his pups, thank you very much. But his mom clearly knows what she’s talking about—former stewardess who landed a hotshot business man at 21 and got him to build her a house just close enough to her dirt poor parents to rub it in. Who got pregnant a year later, stopping after Steve because, “Pregnancy is miserable, Steven. I could barely keep anything down with you! I lost weight and still got stuck with stretch marks!”

She only started saying that after he presented, while the cow thing started much earlier. Mostly about his father’s secretaries. And anyone in short skirts.

But his mother always would say, “You’re such a good omega, Stevie. So sweet and pure. You’re going to make an alpha very happy someday. Just make sure you get what you deserve first.”

Robin says his mom gave him a complex, fucked him up. “Seriously, Steve, it’s like a fetish. You get off on blue-balling your dates,” she says one night while Steve is shelving new releases.

“I do not! I just wanna make sure I find the right alpha.”

“You thought I might be-”

“Shut up!”

Neither of them needs to think any more about his drunken confession when they first became friends. How he tried to kiss her before she admitted to only liking girls and awkwardly screeching that he had nice tits but she was much more interested in playing with Tammy Thompson’s boobies.

“Besides, you’re a big ol’ virgin, too!”

“Yeah, but not because I wanna be! I’m a virgin in a loser way; you’re a virgin in a porno way!”

Steve’s lower lips trembles, his shoulders hunch, and in moments Robin is at his side.

“I’m sorry, that was bitchy!”

“No, you’re right! I’m a prude and a tease and I’m—Rob, I’m really fucked up.”

They talk it out the rest of their shift, and Steve makes up his mind to find a decent alpha and get it over with, rip off the bandaid so he doesn’t have some virgin/whore complex when he finally gets married.

But finding a decent alpha is *hard* and he goes on too many first dates and zero second dates. He’s about ready to give up, to focus on re-applying to colleges instead, when it finally happens.

He’s running late, picking up Dustin as a favor to Mrs. Henderson, forgetting he needed gas until he’s on the way.

It’s dark, and he pulls into the near empty parking lot, spotting Dustin leaned against a shitty white van. Steve parks and rushes out, apologizing as he pulls Dustin to him, crushing him to his chest.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Dustin huffs, pushing him back. “Eddie waited with me.”

“Figured we’d give you another ten minutes before I drove him home myself,” Eddie Munson says with a smile, blowing out cigarette smoke. “You okay, Harrington?”

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you,” he starts, blushing, not sure why he suddenly feels warm. “For waiting with Dustin, I mean.”

Eddie drops his cigarette, crushes it with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, of course. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Steve, you’re being weird.”

“No, I’m not! Get in the car, Dustin, your mom is waiting. See you around, Eddie?”

“Yeah, see you around.”

Steve considers showing up early next week when he picks Dustin up from Hellfire. Or hanging around the record store in hopes Eddie comes in. But in the end he decides that he’s better off being straightforward and asking for what he wants. It’s not like an alpha would say no. Not to what Steve is offering. Not when he smelled interest and fear coming off Eddie the night before.

And with how his spicy scent made Steve’s mouth water… He thinks he’ll have fixed his little problem soon.

So he gets dressed as carefully as possible, and drives to Eddie’s.

He knocks, pleased when Eddie is the one to answer and not his uncle, the alpha blinking against the daylight. “Um, hey, Steve, what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding a little bit sleepy.

“Can I come in?” Steve blurts, nervous, maybe even a little bit terrified.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie steps aside, bowing as Steve walks past him, and it might just be what he’s planning to do, but Steve’s never been so charmed in his life. “You sure you’re okay? Because you seem kinda… Off.”

“I’m fine! Honest. I just…”

“Steve?”

“Iwanyoutafuckme.”

Even with how fast he mumbled it, Eddie clearly understood. “What the fuck? What? Why! Why ME?”

“Because I’m tired of waiting, and all the alphas I know suck, and you’re weird but nice, and…” Steve pauses, swallows hard as he looks straight into Eddie’s dark chocolate eyes.

“And no one would believe me anyway, right? So no one has to know.”

Shame flames up his neck and over his cheeks, because that was part of it. The tiniest bit. But Steve bites his lip and shakes his head. “I figured you wouldn’t make fun of me. For not being good at it.”

“With how sweet you smell, I doubt any alpha would tell you that you were bad at sex, Steve.”

“They sure do like calling me a frigid bitch and saying my pussy’s gotta be too dry to feel good since ‘I’m so good at saying no.’ But, sure…” He sniffles, and Eddie steps in close.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t—” Eddie reaches to cup Steve’s cheek, and on instinct the omega leans into the touch.

He purrs, takes a step closer of his own and scents at Eddie’s neck. “You smell real nice, Eddie,” Steve whispers, his lips ghosting along the skin of his throat.

“You smell like hot apple pie.”

“Oh yeah?”

“With vanilla ice cream.”

“Nancy said my scent was really mild, and Tommy always said it was sour…”

“So, you’re just sweet for me, Stevie?”

“I wanna be real sweet for you, Eddie. Let me, please?”

Eddie can only nod. He leads Steve back to his room, watches as Steve strips out of his clothes, revealing delicate pink lace. “You really want this…”

“I really do.” Steve takes Eddie’s hand, brings it to his crotch, lets him feel how much slick already clings to the lacy fabric of his panties. “I want you to be the first alpha to touch me here. I thought about it all night, how good your knot would feel in my tight, hot pussy.”

“I don’t think I’ll last long enough to make it good. Shit, Steve, I’ve never—”

“It’s okay. We can always wait until you’re ready to go again—”

Eddie kisses him then, with far too much teeth, but Steve feels the desire in it and grins.

He’s getting what he wants.

Eddie’s right in the end, popping his knot too soon. Steve cries out in pain, his own dick going soft as he whines through the alpha’s near-violent orgasm.

But the second time is better. After that, Eddie begs to eat him out, to come all over his tits, for Steve to stuff those panties in his mouth and ride him.

By the time he leaves, he has a date for the following evening.

Now that Eddie’s gotten a taste, Steve’s pretty sure he’s not going anywhere.

[highonmarvel]

Dilated [2] | Food

Steve Rogers bumps into a woman whose pupils are larger than normal.

} previous part: [Scattered]

This is a dark fic. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Content warnings found here!

[Note: I can’t believe it’s been nearly a year, what the fuck is wrong with me]

“I’m… fine…” you manage between shaky breaths. “I’m fine,” you repeat, trying to be firm but you end up sounding agitated, which he frowns at.

“You’re not. You need help.”

As if you don’t know that, as if you haven’t been told a million times, and as if you haven’t tried. What can he offer you that centre after centre can’t? Sure, he’s a superhero, but how much experience does he have with the everyday person? It begins to anger you, that a man who deals with intergalactic forces therefore thinks he’s automatically qualified to help with the complex issue of addiction. Who the fuck does he think he is? The Avengers only deal with physical threats, and big ones, at that—what can he do for you? A woman who’s given up on getting her life back on track—a life she didn’t even like, mind you, even before all this. If anything, you feel his interdimensional experience renders him less qualified in the intricacies of the human mind.

“Thank you, for your concern,” is all you can reply without being overly rude. You pull your knees to your chest and shiver, drying sweat suddenly making you feel cold, or just on edge. Steve leaves for a bit and returns with a blanket, which he drapes over your shoulders. How did he know where to get a blanket? Was he snooping around? Did he find something?

You pull the corners of the sheet covering you into one of your fists, sitting on top of your shaking knees.

How do you get him to leave? He doesn’t seem to want to, and could you really ask him to do that after he was so kind? And how can you just tell Captain America to get out?

“I’ll check myself into rehab tomorrow,” you lie. “Just wanted one more night, I guess. I know I have to stop, I’m not in denial or anything.”

“If you were going to check yourself in you would have done that already,” he counters, with a look halfway between an eye roll and a frown in nature, like a teacher disappointed in a schoolchild for passing off an excuse as to why they didn’t do their homework. “What are you on?”

You shrug, because you genuinely don’t know; a few months ago, you overheard some people at a club saying Sharon’s got the good stuff and followed them to her, asked her to give you whatever she gave them, and it hit, so you never asked for the name.

You can’t tell if he believes you or not before he swerves to his next question. “Who do you get it from?”

You pause, unsure if you should say; of course you could: getting Sharon in trouble with an Avenger might be good revenge, but you know she’s a little more powerful than she lets on. You narrow your eyes at him. “Why should I tell you?”

He sits, leans forward—forearms resting on his muscular thighs—with a stoic expression. “Because if you don’t, I’ll make your life hell.”

A chill runs down your spine and you pull the blanket around you tighter still.

“I think you should leave. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“But I have a lot to say to you.”

You’re almost in awe at this change from the Steve Rogers you see on the news. Sure, celebrities are fake all the time, but he’s a superhero—furthermore, he’s some American Golden Boy: the absolute definition of The Boy Next Door, he represents the American ideal.

Yet now, now he might as well be holding you hostage in your own home until you listen to him, those bright blue eyes reporters and cameras adore are suddenly dark and scary.

“Look,” he goes on, voice low, “I was gonna do this an easier way, be nice, I just wanted your help.” Why would he need the help of some random woman? You are one hundred thousand percent sure there are literally billions of people more qualified than you. “But now…” his jaw clenches and he looks away, bobbing his knee up and down a few times before settling and turning back to you, gaze holding some unexpected and intense sincerity to it. “Now, I need to start making orders. What Sharon’s involved in is bigger than whatever you know, but she’s also been really close to us—the Avengers—and will know basically any move we make; SHIELD, even our most top secret agents, she knows about them.”

His switch from threatening to sincere seriousness makes you hesitate.

“And so,” he goes on, “We need someone on the inside, and someone she’d never suspect.”

“Do you honestly think I’m in any condition to work?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t give a shit. This is bigger than you, or me, or any single person. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do for the greater good.”

This time, you can’t repress the disgusted snort you let out, unsteadily climbing to your feet. “Mr Rogers, I thank you for your service to this great nation, but I don’t love this soil enough to bow down to risk my life,” you say as you make your way to the front door. You open it and look at him expectantly.

Surprisingly, he stands and walks over to the door without protest. He stops just before he steps into the corridor, leaning down to speak into your ear, his voice having dropped to a dangerously low tone, “You risk your life by saying No to me.”

Your breath catches in your throat for a moment and your lips part as he slowly straightens himself again and fixes his jacket over his shoulders, tugging just harsh enough so you get the message. And you can do nothing but stare up at him with wide eyes through wide pupils, shaking slightly, but you can’t tell if it’s because you haven’t had your fix or if you’re scared.

He gives a tight-lipped sort-of smile before leaving and closing the door behind him. For good measure, you place your palm against it, straining to hear for what would be his disappearing footsteps, but you’re so unable to focus you can’t tell if the rhythmic sounds are your heartbeats or his steps. With shaky hands, you put the key in the lock and turn it, not before dropping it a few times. And you can’t help but feel a little silly doing it—as if a locked door would keep Captain America out. With a sigh, you push off the door and make your way to the kitchen, swaying as you rummage through the little food you have for painkillers, your head throbbing like it’s pumping constant blood straight to pound right against your eardrums. You pop a few into your hand and throw your head back, pretty much downing them without water; the powdery taste wouldn’t bother you so much (in fact, you’re not really sure why your sense of taste is weakened) if it didn’t invoke a weird burning sensation scratching against your throat, which you counteract by downing a large glass of water.

Suddenly, it’s unbelievably hot, and you drop the blanket from your shoulders, carelessly stepping out of it as you stumble out of the kitchen, vision swaying as you feel your way to your bedroom. There’s definitely something a little off, but with your other issue, you really can’t be all that bothered why your bedroom no longer feels like a safe space, but a representation of how stuck you are.

✯

When you wake up the next day, after throwing up a few times in the bathtub, you actually feel better—only a little, but light no longer blinds you, makes you hiss like a vampire, and it seems your body temperature is adjusting to normal; you’re not longer excessively sweating and shivering and unable to decide if you’re going to freeze to death or overheat and melt into a puddle on the floor. You decide you need to get some food down if you want to be in any condition to go for a walk, a little one, just to feel like you’ve got some control and can function as a regular person, or at least pass for one.

You freeze in the doorway of your kitchen: the blanket is gone. Your senses must still be out of whack, because you didn’t hear anything, or smell anything, but on the counter sits a plate of eggs and a glass of orange juice, with a note tacked onto the cup. You tentatively step into the living room, eyes flicking up and down for signs of life. Nothing. The front door is still locked, too. You know it had to have been Steve who made the meal, and you seriously doubt he would poison you, but something about it feels dangerous, like if you eat it, you’re certainly losing a game of some kind, or sending a subtle message of submission, which he’ll no doubt take and run with. But you really need to eat. You pick up the plate and walk over to the bin, contemplating whether to scrape off the food or just be grateful.

“Don’t be rude.”

You shriek and let go of the dish, but instead of shattering to the floor, a strong arm catches it and the voice lets out a chuckle.

“You clearly didn’t read the note,” he scoffs as he sets the plate back down on the counter. He raises his eyebrows at you and rolls his eyes. “Your heart’s gonna explode if you don’t calm down. Really—eat.”

You flinch when he puts his hands on your shoulders from behind, but are helpless as he steers you towards the barstool at the counter, giving you a pat on the shoulder when you sit and walking back to the other side, watching you expectantly.

You avert his gaze and drop your eyes down to the eggs he’s clearly carefully prepared and plated, a neat presentation sitting in the centre of the plate. He places a fork down next to you and the soft clutter feels too much of a strain on your ears, making you wince.

“I know the feeling,” he says. “Sensitive hearing. Took me a little bit to get used to it—back in the day, your thumping heart would have driven me crazy.”

Again, he brings that up, and your face twists, something like disgust vaguely playing at the invasion of privacy. As if being in your home wasn’t enough, the respite you could have taken in your thoughts is exposed, too—sure, he can’t read minds, but his irritating (and nearly scary) ability to notice the slight changes in your physiology might as well grant him the ability to detect changes in your mood.

You pick up the fork, gripping it tightly in your hand, digging your elbow into the marble countertop as you think, feeling pressure from his stare on you. You clear your throat and instead turn your attention to the glass of orange juice, with a sticky note attached to it. You lightly tug it off and bring it to your eyes, trying so fucking hard to get the letters to stop swimming.

You’ll feel better is written in cursive with a smiley face next to it.

Your gaze flickers up to him, and he offers a smile like the one he drew. You drop the piece of paper and direct your attention back to the food. You can’t refuse it anymore. Carefully, you pick a little with the fork and bring it to your lips, closing your eyes as you chew and then swallow. You can’t really taste it, but after a few seconds of it going down, you feel a little better, like the fog in your mind is slowly clearing up with each bite you take. When you finish the plate relatively quickly, you look up at him skeptically—of course it was expected you’d feel better if you got some food down, but you can’t really believe it’s just that that’s making you so much better so much quicker.

He winks at you as you take a sip of the juice. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours.” He grins. “That stuff would be a lot more potent if you were half as decent right now. It’s nearly as strong a dose as I got all those years ago.”

⍟

[my beloved taglist: @thehydraethereal, @cowboysnbugs, @buck-star, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10]

[penny00dreadful]

This is so fucking stupid and I'm not sorry. Inspired by this video of the two guitarists from DragonForce taking the piss out of Sabaton(affectionately).

Jeffington: Just ended your whole career on live 😘

Eddie scrunched his eyes closed then wrenched them open again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing on his screen. It was too early in the fucking morning for this shit. 

Whatever.

He buried his face back in between Steve’s shoulders and allowed himself to fall asleep once more.

Corroded Coffin had only started making it big in the early 90’s when they split right down the middle. As time went on they started to drift towards different subgenres. Jeff and Grant had wanted to explore a more international sound, while Gareth and Eddie were happy to stay in the power metal scene with just a touch of neoclassical. 

They had tried to make it work, but the sounds were just too different and while Eddie and Grant wanted to continue on with lyrics full of fantasy and gothic romance, Jeff and Grant had wanted to focus more on ‘the human condition’.

So they separated. Eddie and Gareth had kept the Corroded Coffin name while Jeff and Grant travelled, exploring their sound.

There was no animosity. They were all still the best of friends. Even as Jeff and Grant had settled in Stockholm, where they had quickly shot to stardom with their new band members, Eddie and Gareth made their home in California enjoying their own success. They met up as often as they could, whenever tour dates aligned or they were booked into the same festivals.

Eddie and Steve were godfathers to Grant’s youngest daughter.

He and Gareth had been groomsmen in Jeff’s wedding.

They were solid.

Which was why the text from Jeff was more exasperating than worrying. 

Plus it was like… nine in the morning which, granted, wasn't early, early but Eddie was a damn rockstar.

And he might have lost track of time reading last night and stayed up until four but that's besides the point. 

But then Steve was handing him his morning coffee with a kiss, saying Robin had sent him a link to something and fine. He’d go watch whatever stupid shit Jeff pulled.

Eddie settled back into bed because he could and it was a Sunday.

Sue him.

But he couldn’t decide if he should be fake-mad or wildly entertained because the link Robin had sent opened the VOD about an hour into the stream, just in time for Grant to say “Should we do Corroded Coffin?”

Both Jeff and Grant were sitting in Jeff’s studio space in front of Jeff’s computer with a range of instruments behind them, grinning at each other.

“Oh shit, definitely!” Jeff stood and seemed to think about it for a second before picking up one of his guitars, a bright acid green with black tendrils running throughout. “The most dramatic of the bunch,” he leaned into the mic, gesturing at the guitar before taking his seat again, “just like their frontman.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. 

“You think you can shred like Munson?” Grant asked, leaning forward and starting to tap out drum beats on the laptop.

Jeff scoffed. “Yeah right. Let me just play at five-fucking-thousand bpm and sing at the same time. It’s gonna be an approximation at best.”

Surprisingly enough the music they came up with did sound very close to Corroded Coffin’s sound. Grant relied heavily on the kick-drum and high hat to a ridiculous degree for Gareth's part and yeah, fair.

Gareth did love his high hat.

Jeff played the fastest guitar riff he could muster which honestly wasn’t that bad. He couldn’t go quite as hard as Eddie could but guitar was always Eddie’s first love and he was a master at his craft. Jeff gave the camera a cheeky wink as he used the computer to speed the guitar solo up, making it sound far more complex.

“I swear to god,” Eddie muttered to himself, “if they insinuate that I do that, I’ll fucking-”

“Eddie would never.” Jeff said, responding to someone in the chat who’d asked that very question.

Grant looked up with a sly smile. “Oh, god no. He’d never. He’s too proud for that.”

Cheeky bastards.

“You know what this needs?”

“Female backing vocals?”

“Yes!" Jeff snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Like something pulled from Jackson’s Lord of the Rings!”

“Oh come on!” Eddie pouted, but even still he could tell they weren’t actually making fun.

A notification popped up on Eddie’s phone.

Gare-Bear: Have you watched the stream?

Eddie: Watching right now. They’re starting on the lyrics.

Gare-Bear: Did Robin send you the link?

Eddie: Yeah.

Gare-Bear: Okay, keep watching.

Eddie: 👍

By the time the guys had hashed the lyrics out, punctuating them with high falsetto points that freaked Jeff’s cats out, Eddie was giggling into his coffee. The lyrics were so comically bad but they were so Corroded Coffin at the same time.

I wear armour and I am sad. I'm all alone and I am sad.  Such a lone wolf am I.  Except I'm not because here comes this hot man who's totally not my husband. Bats and demons and darkness and death. Bow down to me.  Kneel before me.  I am your master.  This is about sex. Oh, look, a dragon! I'll suck your blood then I'll fuck you through the wall. Except I won't because you're an allegory for my husband again. I'll fuck him instead. Every song involves him in some way. Because I'm a big fucking sap.

And then it happened. That crafty wench.

A message popped up in the chat.

BuckyBirdie: Needs more dick sucking lyrics.

“Holy shit.” Grant whipped out his phone. “R- Birdie? Is that you? Stay right there, hold on.”

While Jeff continued to play through the guitar, Grant disappeared, raising the phone to his ear before coming back a few minutes later and whispering something to Jeff.

Jeff’s whole face split into the most mischievous of smiles and Eddie only had time to think oh no before Robin’s face appeared, joining the stream with a tired if not slightly manic expression, all topped off by her yummy sushi pyjamas.

The first thing Grant said to her was “What fucking time is it over there, Birdie?” 

“I dunno.” She shrugged, looking down at her watch. “Like half six in the morning?”

“Oh. Could be worse then.”

“I haven’t slept yet.” She said with a bright smile.

“Dude! Why not?”

“I got into cryptography again last night and I haven’t stopped. Don’t tell Steve.”

Oh, I am so telling Steve. Eddie thought to himself.

“God. What a fuckin’ nerd.” Jeff punctuated his statement with a loud strum of his guitar.

Robin stuck her tongue out. “Takes one to know one.”

“Ouch. Right in my middle schooler heart.”

“Anyway, a little birdie told me you boys need some backing vocals?”

Eddie didn’t know how he was going to get her back for this, but he was sure he’d be able to figure something out eventually.

Like banging pots and pans in her hallway while she slept off her cryptography binge.

Though it was almost worth the hilarity because noted lesbian Robin Buckley happily sat there, singing about dick and tongues and assholes in a high ethereal voice that was then layered behind Jeff's.

By the end, the chat was going wild asking when it was going to be available to stream because even though it was a parody song, it was annoyingly catchy. Just before they signed off, Jeff and Grant let their audience know they’d ask Eddie and Gareth for permission before they’d do anything.

Eddie minimised the video and opened up his chat with Gareth.

Eddie: You wanna let them release it?

Gare-Bear: Fuck yeah!

Eddie: Awesome.

[iiconicxpersona]

Don’t Leave Me

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: After an extremely traumatic experience during the Escobar case, reader debates between staying in Colombia with Javier or leaving him for good.

Warnings: smut (18+) mvrd3r, depression, angst, read at your own risk, minors DNI

A/N: Had to repost because original only posted half 😫 to be fair I was at target lmao

Life as the significant other of a DEA agent was no joke, especially for Javier Peña. You had heard the horror stories on the news, and you knew there was much more gruesome details Javier wasn’t telling you about. He sheltered you to the best of his abilities for your sake and for the sake of his own sanity. He liked coming home to some sort of normalcy, but he loved how even after the most life threatening days all it took was holding you in his arms and kissing your lips to make everything all right again. You were his sanctuary, his home.

However, after a year into your relationship with Javi, you finally got a small taste of what Pablo Escobar and the Colombian cartels were capable of.

Javier didn’t give you too many details, but he warned you that it might be safer for you to go back to America and stay with your family until the heat cooled down. Pablo had figured out Javier and Steve Murphy were hot on his tracks and the last thing Javi wanted was for you to get hurt. Nevertheless, you fought against the idea of leaving him—even if it was just temporary—until Javi finally gave in. “You got yourself a fighter, Javs.” Murphy would tell him.

“She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.” Javier would respond.

He was right. You had absolutely no fucking idea of what you were getting yourself into, until one morning you woke up to the nonstop ringing of the doorbell to your and Javi’s shared apartment. You should’ve known something was up when you looked through the peephole and saw that nobody was there, but curiosity got the best of you.

When you opened the door, there was a package on the floor with no labels on it. You wanted to ignore it, and if Javier didn’t have to leave early for work that morning he would’ve gotten rid of it himself. You had a gut feeling not to open it, but your body reacted faster than your brain and before you knew it the package was sitting on the coffee table in front of you. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Quiet enough that if the package was a bomb, you would hear it. No such sound was made. The Devil and Angel on your shoulders raged against each other on the idea of opening it until you finally started cutting the tape off.

The scream that left your lungs at the sight haunted the entire apartment complex for months. Inside the box were the lifeless head and hands of a woman with features similar to yours. The hands cradled each side of the head while wrapped securely in saran wrap to prevent the blood from dripping. It was pretty clear that this was a message for Javi and for you. They know who you are. They’re watching you.

Javier knew right then and there that you were no longer safe from the reality of this cruel world. His home had been tainted. His sanctuary had burned to the ground. This was all his fault. He shouldn’t have asked you out the night Steve’s wife Connie introduced you. He shouldn’t have called you back for a second and third date. He shouldn’t have made love to you. He shouldn’t have fallen in love with you, but he did.

He fell hard for you, and the worst part is you fell just as hard for him too, even when there were so many signs from his job alone telling you to leave him. This package was the biggest sign of them all.

As much as he loved you, Javier wouldn’t have blamed you one bit if you decided to break up with him. He expected it to happen sooner or later, but despite everything you still chose to stay. “Javier, I love you. We’re in this together no matter what.”

“I promise, cariño, I’m done when this is over. I love you. I want you to marry me. I want you to be the mother of my children. I want to start a new life with you.”

“I want that too, Javi, so much.”

—

Life only seemed to get harder ever since the package delivery scene. As if it wasn’t enough to try and protect himself and Steve on a daily basis, now you were added to the mix. Even though he knew during the day you were safe with Connie at work, on the inside he still worried himself to death over you. He needed to know where you were at every hour of the day and to know you were safe. Steve tried to convince Javi to think of you as one of the former informants he used to sleep with and toss to the back burner while on the job, but Javi couldn’t if he tried. He didn’t love them. He loves you.

That’s the problem; you love Javier. You don’t want to be without him. You and Javier belong together. So why are you still fighting the thought of leaving him? Why are you still looking for any excuse to pack your things and walk away from Colombia and from Javi forever? Why can’t you do it when he flat out tells you “if you want to leave then leave”?

Ever since the delivery, you felt your love for Javier and your sanity struggling to balance on a sewing thread. You couldn’t get the image of the lifeless body parts out of your head. The face of the poor woman haunted you in your sleep. It was as if you were watching like a fly on the wall as her life was being taken away just for a few of her remains to be on your doorstep. And for what? Why did it have to take harming an innocent woman to scare you?

Javier could feel you slipping away from him. Every time he tried to pull you back down to earth, it only ended in an argument. He didn’t like going to bed with your back facing him. He didn’t like ending every fight with giving you the opportunity to leave him for good. He didn’t like going to bed angry and waking up to you not talking to him. He didn’t like hearing you silently sob yourself back to sleep after your reoccurring nightmares, but he had no choice. You weren’t the same anymore. He hated his job for fucking up his own sanity, but he hated it even more for destroying the one good thing he was given in his life; you.

—

After a month of trying to overcome everything by yourself, you finally decided to seek professional help from one of the therapists the DEA provided. Connie recommended for you to see her therapist, Trinidad, after Javier came to Connie desperate for some advice.

Trinidad understood the confidentiality of the ongoing investigation, so she didn’t press you for details. You explained to her about your nightmares and your relationship with Javi. In the end she was only there to let you talk her ear off and prescribe you with anxiety and anti-depressant medication. If it wasn’t for the obvious reasons, you could’ve just called your mom or best friend and did all this from home for free.

By the time Javi came home from work that night, you were already in bed with your back facing his side. You weren’t asleep—God knows you haven’t had a decent sleep in a month—instead you just stared blankly at the wall in front of you. Feeling Javi’s body weight taking his place on his side of the bed, you waited anxiously for the sound of his faint snore to signal it was time for you to yet again sob yourself to sleep.

However, you felt the weight change and suddenly his body was pressed against your back. One of his hands caressed your hip as he began trailing gentle kisses from your shoulder, to your neck, all the way to the shell of your ear.

“Cariño, come back to me, por favor.” He whispered.

Oh how your body ached for his touch. It feels like forever since he last called you ‘cariño’. You didn’t realize how much you missed him. Even though your body was telling him different, your words were trying to push him away.

“Javi, please, don’t.” You groaned as your head fell backwards and your fingers entangled in his hair.

“Please mi vida. We haven’t made love in so long. I miss you.” His hand ran slowly under your sleepwear, at the same time pushing you gently backwards until your body was fully pressed against him.

You gasped at the feel of his bare body spooning you. The arm that was holding him up snaked under your neck and secured your upper body in place as his other hand slowly massaged your soaking wet clit. A desperate moan escaped your lips and you began grinding yourself on his hand.

“Fuck. I missed you so much, baby.” He groaned against your ear.

“I missed you too, Javi. So. Much.” Your legs began spreading wider until your top leg overlapped his own.

His hand fully engulfed your pussy and his fingers slowly worked their way inside you, massaging your walls as you tightened around him. The sound of your moans making him harder than a rock and you could feel how desperate he was to be inside you by how hard he was dry humping you from the back.

You turned your head to face him with your hand still gripping his hair and your hips grinding harder into his hand. “Kiss me.” You moaned.

He didn’t hold back. Javier kissed you so deeply that it took your breath away. Almost as if you were experiencing it for the first time. In fact, this felt almost similar to when he did make love to you for the first time. He made you feel safe. He made you feel beautiful. He worshipped your body like an absolute goddess, kissing every scar and every beauty mark he could find and devouring you like you were his only meal.

The only restraint you had on him were the clothes you had on and you knew he was getting desperate to tear them off, but he also wanted to take his time with you. He wanted to make you feel good. To release the fear and tension that held you captive from him for the past month. He was desperate just to have you back.

His hand gradually picked up the pace and you whined in pure bliss in his mouth. “Javi… baby… I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for me.” Javier whispers in between kisses.

Your lips connected once more in a deep breathtaking kiss as you came hard on his hand. Beads of sweat now starting to form on your bodies.

You rode out your high on his hand and continued to kiss him at the same time, cherishing every moment. “I love you.” You moaned in between kisses.

“I love you too. More than anything.” His hand slipped out of your pants and you both adjusted yourselves to where he was now on top of you in a missionary position. “Querida, I don’t want to be without you, but I don’t want you to live in fear with me either. You’re so pure to me, so fragile. I’ll protect you no matter what. Just please, please don’t leave me like that again.”

Tears fell down your face as you stared up at him. Your heart swelled and broke in your chest at the same time. You didn’t realize it until now, but you scared him. The entire month you shut yourself away from him scared him more than any dangerous curveball his job threw at him. He could be sitting face to face with Escobar himself and that didn’t scare him as much as the thought of knowing his last memory of you would be you scared, tired, sad and angry with him. No last kiss, no last ‘see you later my love’, no last lunch time call, no nothing. And at that moment, you hated yourself for being so selfish the past month. “I’m so sorry, Javi. I didn’t realize—“

He shushed you and gently wiped away your tears. “No llores, mi vida. You have nothing to be sorry about. Just promise me you’ll try to talk to me next time. That’s all I ask.”

You immediately nodded and peppered his lips with kisses. “I will. I’m so sorry baby. I love you so much.” You said in between.

“I love you too.” He returned each kiss and embraced your body closer to him.

Your hands gripped at his bare back as your legs wrapped around his waist. “Make love to me, Javi.” You whispered.

Without hesitation he pulled you up high enough to remove your top, exposing your breasts and you helped him remove your shorts and panties until you were just as bare as he was.

Still sitting upright on his knees, he hugged you body close to him as you adjusted yourself on his lap until his tip was pushing inside you. For a brief moment, you and Javi stared lovingly into each others eyes, saying everything you couldn’t spit out into words right now and kissed each other passionately.

Gasping as you sunk down on him, you had to take a moment to adjust to his size. A month felt like an eternity without him inside you. He groaned as your walls clenched around him and he gently pushed himself further inside you, guiding your hips with his hands as he felt you slowly grind down on him and your body relaxing.

“There you go, baby. Relax for me.” He smiled in the kiss.

You broke the kiss to throw your head back from the pleasure, but one of his hands caught the back of your head and guided you back down to him. “No baby, keep your eyes on me.” He begged and you nodded.

Javi wanted to cherish every moment when he would make love to you. He loved the way your body moved perfectly with his, how the sweat covered you from head to toe, the way your eyes desperately tried to stay open to look at him even when he was balls deep inside you. But what he loved most of all was the sounds you made. The praises that spilled from your beautiful lips, letting him know exactly how good he was making you feel. He loved hearing you moan, especially his name. He didn’t care if anyone else in the complex heard them or not, but if they did then he wanted them to know it was him and only him that could make you feel this good. Just as you wanted everyone to know you belong to Javier Peña and Javier Peña belongs to you.

He pushed you backwards until you were back in the missionary position and kissed you once more. His arms hooked your legs over them and he spread you open wider. Biting at your jawline and chin. His thrusts slammed into you harder and deeper, making you and him moan each other’s names louder. Your nails clawed at his back and he hissed.

It must have occurred to both of you subconsciously that he wasn’t wearing protection and you haven’t taken your birth control pills in the past week, but that didn’t slow either of you down.

“I want you to have my babies.” He groaned against your lips and continued thrusting deep into you.

“Then give them to me, Javi.” You moaned.

Javier lost all self restraint at that moment. He gripped tighter at your legs as his thrusts became faster and deeper, making you cry out for him even louder.

“Ahh, Javi… oh god! So! Fucking! Good!”

“You’re so fucking perfect cariño. All mine.”

You could feel that both of you are so close. His thrusts became sloppy and desperate as you fell apart underneath him.

“Are you ready, my love?” He kissed you once more and tried to keep eye contact with you.

“Give me your babies, Javi.”

And just like that, you both came undone hard at the same time and quivered in each others embrace.

Javi stayed on top of you and kept himself buried deep inside you as if he was afraid of spilling out. You smiled up at him and kissed him passionately once more.

“There’s that beautiful smile I missed so much.”

You giggled. “I’m never leaving you again.”

[lovebillyhargrove]

I made it longer

***

Steve likes throwing a bone to that loud, obnoxious, attention-guzzling motherfucker.

Who – right on the threshold of Hawkins High – impudently crossed swords with its king himself.

The fucking impostor.

The nerve he possesses. Huh.

Too cocksure.

We'll see.

And it absolutely doesn't matter that Steve gave up the throne on his own volition, and has taken on the role of honourable knight protecting the innocent inhabitants of his quiet town from one horrific death-spewing dragon.

Blood is a complex thing, you can't change the structure, you can't dilute the essence, can't rewrite the biochemistry.

Steve was born

King.

Hargrove? .. The buffoon takes too much upon himself. Trying to bite off more than he can swallow.

That's why Steve isn't above having a little fun, cause Billy just looks like a tirelessly-jumping-around cheeky fleabag that's lost its home. And direction.

A few bones – and the dog, whining and obediently wagging its tail, is going to willingly put itself on a chain.

Watch and learn, kiddos, commoners and the such.

A subtle look, thrown at the best basketball player Hawkins High school gym has seen so far, when they are rubbing at their own armpits after another game of push-and-push on the basketball court,

Catching a glimpse of tiny streams flowing over that smooth Californian-sun-kissed, salt polished skin so mesmerisingly gently, while at it. It's spellbinding, a slightly magical ritual.

Witching.

However, the shower is over-crowded and guys – Tommy, Andy, Bryan, whothefuckever – immediately break this exchange of attraction, disperse the accumulation of colliding particles with a wild guffaw or a dumb joke, or just a loud discussion of the game or the latest/upcoming party.

Harrington doesn't mind.

The look has reached its target, because Hargrove is staring back, for a very long time, Steve's skin feels his starving eyes, they scratch, they claw at it.

Gosh. Let Billy, as best he can, hide his hunger, masking it under insolence or curtaining it with luxurious eyelashes –

Steve is not an ignorant fool.

He is able to read the situation perfectly well.

At times Steve can shamelessly ogle Billy's cranberry lips that promise the imminent arrival of summer and its pleasures,

And generously allow Hargrove to see that he is staring.

For a whole few seconds.

Steve's keeping his eyes on the lips, but not too much, the game must come in moderation, because having just raised a foot over the line, there is always enough common sense to put it back – on solid ground,

And Steve looks away, still having noticed Hargrove's blown out pupils.

His sparkling gaze, bursting in wild fountains,

Scattering like fireworks, falling on Harrington's naked skin, sending a rush of tickling goosebumps, having him on pins and needles.

They burn like laser, these cold-blue eyes.

And it's even a bit tinglingly pleasant, feverishly exciting.

It's there, Steve's not gonna deny it. But.

He doesn't care about the new guy, doesn't want or need anything from him. Billy could disappear the next second, and Steve wouldn't notice.

He's not interested in Hargrove. Nah. The guy just bugs him, that's all. A show off, who should be put back in his place, that's right, at the doghouse.

However, throwing a bone is fun. Why not yield to harmless temptation?

It's never a bad idea to casually slide his tongue over the lower lip when Harrington feels the fiery ice of Billy's eyes on him.

Slightly biting his lip or thoughtfully running his finger over it, reading a textbook or looking at the blackboard in class.

Steve absent-mindedly strokes his shiny, expertly styled hair, casually throwing strands behind his ears.

Smiling at Nicole, flirt levels soaring, raising his eyebrows with interest in response to what the girl, who is simply swooning from talking to him, is saying.

Steve knows that Hargrove is watching them like a hawk, and is scraping the iron of the locker with his claws in helpless anger.

He knows, and smirks to himself, cause the guy is so obvious, it's pathetic.

Then Harrington slightly caresses his chin. Let Billy appreciate – once again – how perfect the cut is, how finely honed his jaw is,

How he, Steve Harrington, is wholly handsome, impeccable. Superb.

He knows all the tricks by heart, has learnt this particular chapter in the textbook word for word. However, most likely, he has a god-given gift, it's not from hard work at all, oh no.

It comes naturally.

An innate talent.

And now is the time to apply these skills to practice. Lately, Steve has become somehow .. discontented with life. He and Nancy broke up, now and then his buried passion tortures him with the sadness of unfulfilled dreams, a new girlfriend is not in sight.

Of course, he communicates with all the prime ladies of Hawkins High, but no one attracts him so .. Well, no-one has been able to send a light electric shock at his frequency yet.

Steve is feeling kinda low, his parents are either absent from home, or they are tirelessly pestering him about future matters, there is no third option.

The Upside Down seems to have fallen inactive for the time being, and the whole city is covered with a cold blanket of snow, everything, including all sounds, has become quieter, more muffled.

Except for Hargrove who never shuts up, always broadcasting some shit in the gym with his loud, thunderous voice,

The dude really gets on Steve's nerves, constantly running his mouth,

Driving his predatory-looking car like he stole it, tires squealing on ice in the school parking lot, breaking the usual, measured silence.

Harrington involuntarily responds to the volume, chooses flashy colors to wear, not too bright, of course, vulgar taste and Steve Harrington are two absolutely incompatible notions.

He wears clothes that make him stand out, make him feel even more confident,

And today a thin jumper of noble red color, which clings to his lean body just right, achieves the goal.

Harrington looks incredibly good.

Day after day, effortlessly, in a breeze.

Red captures attention, Steve knows from his own experience, remembers how Billy's half-unbuttoned dark crimson shirt caught his eye –

That late evening, when he and the team of teenage monster-hunters were freezing the demodog in Joyce's fridge.

He shouldn't have behaved like that at the Byers'. And he's not even talking about outright lies now,

He shouldn't have .. oh god, Harrington could make a whole list of those things.

He shouldn't have playfully put his hand on his hip, with a very strange accompanying line

"Don't cream your pants."

A very unambiguous phrase, why on earth, where from, how did it even escape his mouth ..?

There's nothing but ambiguity between them.

He shouldn't have kept his gaze on Hargrove's lips for so long

Damn, too long. Anyone would have thought that something extremely fishy was going on there.

Oh, and at the same time talk crap of the highest quality.

There was no need for Steve to poke Hargrove's firm chest with his fingers, and do it .. so slowly, so ..

Lustily, with an unidentified current to the gesture,

Spelling it out for the guy

"Get. Out."

Billy was only looking for his underage step-sister that night.

Harrington arranged an all-inclusive ride of hospitality and friendliness for him, right on the spot – a white-threaded lie, so fucking easy to see through, confusing remarks, humiliation, a passionate fight.

After all the fun ended, Steve's head ached for a week.

Fucking asshole with fists that weigh a ton each.

Harrington knows perfectly well that he will not get an apology, and he himself is not going to offer one.

What for?

There is no need for this, cause instead of a dialogue he can

Pull Hargrove, like a taut string,

He's so responsive to Harrington's little manipulations,

Catches fire in a twinkle.

A bit more – and the guy will definitely snap.

Steve is eager to help. He can sprawl on a chair in the classroom, leisurely spreading his legs,

For some reason, Billy fidgets throughout the entire class, drops pencils and notebooks and spends a suspiciously large amount of time under the desk.

No one keeps Harrington from touching his own wrists, pensively twisting the strap of his watch. On the wrists – there is soft skin with blue veins, an erogenous zone, revealing this part of the body, Steve himself gets a bit high and aroused.

His watchful eyes never miss how Hargrove often stares at his neck. Like a vampire. The dude's apparently drawn to tender places.

If Steve is all attention in conversations with the girls, he shows zero interest in Billy, why grace an empty space, that only barks and annoys, with it.

He passes Hargrove in the lunch hall, focused on the contents of his tray, but it is too crowded here,

And no one will notice an accidental light touch

Shoulder to shoulder,

No one – except for the two of them.

It can go two ways – Billy can either push back and snarl something in return, or

Relish.

Sometimes Harrington is not averse to tempting Hargrove with a milk-bone, a too transparent hint – touching his own body so that the guy imagines that he is the one actually doing it –

In the school showers under the pouring water, Steve runs his palm over his chest, deliberately teasingly sliding his fingers over the nipples, the wet skin, collecting droplets,

Billy notices all the little things, reads the signals,

Lingers there, waiting, turning to ash, black with desire.

He is so greedy. So easy. It's fun to see him choke on the tiniest crumb.

A slight alluring smile curving at the corners of Steve's mouth, like a snake, has the power of sending the boy into a fit.

Harrington does hear

A loud growl,

A fist hitting the iron of the locker,

A rude

"Get lost, Hagan! Not fucking now, I'm fucking busy!"

Steve's ears clearly catch

The powerless grinding of the guy's pearly-white teeth.

The sound of him ferociously digging ground with his paws.

When there's an inevitable, but a small confrontation, Harrington is not above playing dirty. Not throwing a bone, but stepping on Hargrove's bones instead, and listening to them crack – just like the guy's thin patience – anticipating the break. The seams are gonna rip, and it will be

Entertaining to watch.

Steve has put Hargrove on survival mode and is indifferently waiting for the moment when Billy can no longer stand it, breaks down, snaps and

Starts to sort things out.

However, not with blind rage, no.

And not by butting heads on the basketball court.

In a different way.

And then, jokingly and not thinking too much about it, Steve will break him over his knee, like a dry branch, throw the useless thing aside.

He will put an end to such a captivating game, and forever forget about it.

***

Only, after everything happens in Starcourt, Steve suddenly can't seem to be quite good at forgetting,

Losing sleep, turning everything in his head, over and over, driving himself insane and

Waiting ..?

For it to be a fairy-tale with a happy ending. The ending he would've written.

[runninriot]

Hold On For All It's Worth

written for @steddiesongfics inspired by the song Empire Now by Hozier

wc: 1971 | rated: M | cw: mental health issues, thinking about death/wanting to be dead, depiction of injuries, blood | tags: post S4V2, Vecna is defeated, everybody lives, hurt/comfort, (implied) friends to lovers | ao3

Eddie should be used to it by now. Should be used to his life being a complete shit show. Always out to get him. Always finding ways to bring him down.

Life was never easy. Sure, it made a turn for the better when Wayne took him in, gave him a safe home and guidance, the kind of fatherly love he’d been missing before – Wayne made his life bearable, good. But even that wasn’t enough to rearrange his stars. Eddie, it seems, was always meant to be a fuck-up. An outsider. Struggling to find his place in this world.

He’s tired oft trying to get back up over and over again, knowing the next bump in the road bringing him down is waiting just around the corner.

Dustin keeps telling him everything will be fine. That he has to be patient, to wait for the wounds to fully heal. Says that the nightmares will eventually stop. That it’ll take some time but eventually, things will be good again.

And Eddie knows he’s not just saying that, that Dustin and his friends have been there multiple times. They’ve fought and lost and they’ve been hurt both physically and mentally and still, they keep going.

Keep taking a step at a time towards normalcy. Holding each other up, finding comfort in their shared experience because it helps to know that they’re not alone in the aftermath of an interdimensional war.

   “You’re no alone, Eddie. We’re always here for you. You’re one of us.”

He knows they mean it. Knows that, once you’ve been part of their suicide squad (like, come on. What else can you call a group of teenagers recklessly going to literal war with creatures that should only exist in fantasy games and books, not real life!?) you’re stuck with them.

It’s something Eddie still has a hard time getting through to his thick head. He’d obviously thought (hoped) that the little shitheads would stick around after everything. But never in a million years had he thought he’d gain more than one new friend. Real ones, like Red and Erica and Robin and... Steve.

They are such a weird group of individuals. Thrown together by accident, really. But they work, somehow. And they are doing their best to convince him that he, too, is part of it now. Part of this strange little family.

And he tries, really, to show appreciation for everything they do - always asking how he is, always looking out for him. Always there when he’s feeling especially down, ready to throw it all out the window because he’s just too fucking tired to deal with anything.

Like today.

He woke up with the worst headache, didn’t get any sleep because whenever he closed his eyes, he was back in that place that nearly cost him his life. Back where those winged demons nearly ate him alive.

Sometimes, he wished they’d finished their job.

Sometimes, he wished Dustin hadn’t come back to sit at his side while he succumbed to the darkness. Because if he hadn’t, Steve would never have found them, wouldn’t have felt the need to carry him out of hell – giving in to his hero complex or whatever it is that turned Steve into this knight in shining armor, summoning inhuman strength to pick up Eddie’s lifeless body while his own body had been weakened by bat bites and sore muscles.

If Steve hadn’t brought him back, Owens’ people wouldn’t have been able to save him. To restart his heart after it had already given up the fight. It should’ve been impossible to bring him back from the dead after being out for too long, after losing too much blood with his organs spilling out of his mangled body. But they refused to give up on him.

Dustin apparently threw a proper fit, fist-swinging and feet-kicking despite his broken leg, when they tried to get him out of the hospital, away from Eddie’s side.

Steve hadn’t let go of him even after heaving his blood-drenched, ripped-apart body onto the hospital bed. Dustin told him they had to physically remove Steve’s tight gripping hand from Eddie’s before they could take him to the ER. Probably frozen in shock because Eddie can only imagine how fucked-up and horrible he must’ve looked.

Nancy and Robin threatened to reveal the government’s secrets to the world if they didn’t at least try. They had enough proof, enough to show for. All it needed was one phone call, one newspaper article to get the ball rolling – Owens knew that.

They’re the reason he’s still alive. The reason he’s forced to go to physical therapy to get his body moving again. The reason for Eddie to wake up drenched in cold sweat almost every night. They’re the reason he’s forced to keep fighting, no matter how tired of it he is.

No matter how much he hates everything about being alive when his legs won’t move and his scars itch and his head pounds and all he wants to do is cry. Cry and scream and ask God or whoever why he can’t just let him have a goddamn moment of peace?

There’s a knock on his door, followed by Wayne’s face poking in through the gap when he opens it slowly.

   “Steve’s here. Can I send him in?”

Eddie wants to say no, doesn’t want Steve to see him like this – bound to the bed because his body refuses to work, with tears his eyes – but he knows it’s useless. Steve would just wait it out, come back in a few hours or maybe keep Wayne some company because the old man has apparently formed some kind of fatherly bond with him over the past weeks, to Eddie’s misfortune.

So, Eddie resigns, grumbles a displeased response before pulling his blanket over his head to hide.

He can hear Steve enter, can hear the door closing behind him and his quiet footsteps as he makes his way over to the bed. The mattress dips and Eddie can feel a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, can feel Steve’s warmth even through the blanket.

   “Hey, Eddie. How are you?”

Eddie wants to laugh, wants to spit out words of frustration, wants to scream at Steve for putting him in this misery. For saving him, for not just letting him rot in hell so he could finally rest in peace. But none of that makes its way out of his mouth because when he opens it, all the pain and frustration and anger bubble up from somewhere deep down, transforming into a pitiful sob.

He cries and cries and cries. His body trembles and it hurts, everything hurts and he can’t stop wishing, begging for it all to stop, for it all to be over.

   “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I wish I was dead!”

A hand comes up to grab the edge of his blanket, pulling it slowly down to reveal his scarred face, his messy hair, his swollen eyes. Broken and tired and so sick of his own existence.

   “Eddie?” Steve’s voice is delicate, soft, barely a whisper and Eddie hates himself for how concerned he sounds. Hates himself for putting this on Steve.

Steve shouldn’t have to deal with this mess.

   “Can I- is it okay if I touch you?”

Another desperate sob makes its way out when Eddie nods weakly, feels selfish and greedy for some sort of comfort – whatever Steve is willing to give.

What Eddie doesn’t expect is that Steve shuffles to squeeze himself into the small, empty space beside him, lying there face to face with him, his body so close that – if it weren’t for the blanket – they’d be touching from nose to toe.

Steve wraps one arm around him, the motion bringing him even closer to the other man’s body.

   “It’s okay to be frustrated” Steve whispers. “It’s okay to lose hope sometimes. I get it, Eddie. I know what it feels like to just want to give up. Believe me, I’ve been there more times than I can count.”

Eddie listens, still not able to stop the tears from falling but at least his breathing starts to slow while he focusses on Steve’s voice.

   “I’ve wanted to give up so many times but you know what I learned?”

Eddie shakes his head, his nose brushing Steve’s skin where his face is buried between his neck and shoulder.

   “I learned that, no matter how fucked-up things are, no matter how much you hate everything and everyone, if you’re really true to yourself, you’ll find there’s always, always something worth fighting for. You might not see it right now but it’s there. It’s there and it’s worth to get through the rough days because somewhere down the line, it’s waiting for you with open arms.”

Steve squeezes him, drawing him once again closer into his embrace.

   “But what if I never find it?” Eddie asks through a staggered exhale, hot and damp against Steve’s neck.

   “Maybe you just have to open your eyes and see it for what it’s worth.”

One hand finds his cheek, the one that’s unmarred, and when Steve leans away just enough to make space, he forces him to look up. To find Steve’s warm eyes looking down at him. Smiling, soft and loving in a way that makes Eddie’s heart stutter. Makes his stomach twist into knots when he realises just how close Steve is.

And then it hits him.

All the things he should be grateful for, all the things that are worth the struggle, worth the fight. All the things that he can hold onto on days like today, where the world feels like tumbling down.

The fact that Wayne didn’t have to hold a funeral for him, mourn over an empty coffin, an empty grave because his body had been left to decay in the Upside Down.

The fact that Dustin didn’t have to make true to his enforced promise to take over Eddie’s place at Hellfire, not yet at least.

The fact that Eddie got to see Gareth and Jeff and Zach again.

The fact that he’s breathing and walking and able to play his guitar – even if it’s still hard most days and it’ll take time to fully heal.

The fact that he’s got all these wonderful people in his life, people that care about him, that will always be there to catch him when he falls and help him back up on his feet if he can’t find the strength to do it himself.

People like Dustin and Robin and Steve.

Steve, who doesn’t care about Eddie staining his shirt with tears. Steve, who is holding him, one hand gently rubbing in soothing circles on his back. Steve, who had refused to leave him behind, who had clung to him even when he was technically dead. Steve, who keeps coming back, keeps showing up, keeps pestering Eddie with his annoying care and kindness.

Steve, who-

Who’s leaning in – tentatively, almost like he’s afraid of overstepping a line that was never there because ever since the moment Eddie had held that broken bottle against his throat, he knew there was an undeniable truth taking root in his heart – and kisses him.

Kisses him soft and slow and Eddie-

Eddie kisses him back. Sees, even through his closed eyes, that this right here is worth holding on for. Worth fighting for.

Worth being alive for.

No matter how many bumps are waiting for him on the road ahead – he’ll just take it one step at a time.

And if he stumbles or even falls, Steve will be there waiting with open arms, ready to catch him.

[artmakerproductions]

BeFriend, The Blob? (#2)

The Blobs

Some space gunk fell to earth, government fucked around and it got loose. One was good, the other not so much. Going about feeding their appetite differently than the other. One passive, the other aggressive. Both living on a human host. Blah blah blah.

Over five years prior to the starting events of the story. From the deep reaches of outer space, hurdling towards earth was a meteor that housed Mother Blob. A pregnant individual of the blob species who are hermaphrodites. Much like a mosquito, to complete the pregnancy process she needed to feed… an unknowing Old Man curiously pocked the cracked open space rock. The then clear gelatinous mass striked and latched onto the old man. Consuming his flesh. Reaching the nearby town of Arborville, Pennsylvania. A small cozy little town that relies on the tourism brought in the winter for the ski resorts there. The old man barley makes it to the home of Dr. Hallen. Seeing the strange mass, he resorts to amputation and calling a higher up people who deal with diseases and other harmful stuff. By then the mass has engulfed his entire arm and reached beyond his shoulder. After being whisked away, by the time it reaches the hands of Dr Christopher Meddows, it’s completely consumed the Old Man. Within the Mother Blob are her two twins. The outer layer that is her dissolves as she splits in two. One red, the other, a milder lighter shade of red. Designated as Blob-1 and Blob-2.

..5 years later…

Blob-1 aka Irvin Edgar “Eggbert” Andrews:

Irvin is most like their mother in texture and colour. Though definitely different, both before and after Meddows’ experimenting and tests. Showed remarkable intelligence for an amoeba-like mass. From problem solving, facial recognition and even passing the mirror test. Can create complex eyes for themselves, though until later on after meeting Steve Andrews, remains an amorphous blob. Has even demonstrated the ability to be vocal and emit other noises. As a test for their endurance, he and Blob-2 (going on to be named “Russel” later) are placed in a satellite and shot into space. An unscheduled landing occurred after some stray space rocks hit it. By mother of all chances, crash lands near Arborville again. Witnessed by the 15 year old couple, Steve and his girlfriend, Jane Martin. Thinking it as nothing but a shooting star. Escaping the damaged container, both slime masses go their separate ways. Sensing the upcoming cold season, they both slink away to find shelter someplace warm and secure. Irvin towards the woods, and Russel towards town via the sewers. For the following week, and it being winter soon (though the chances of snow is at it’s lowest that year) Irvin had bunkered down at the Andrews Farm. Knowing it best to hide out and be as inconspicuous as possible. Consuming a few eggs, chickens/other poultry here and there. Even a fox once. From the sidelines, they observed Steve and his tending to the animals. A thing about Blobs is they lack a means of insulation from the cold. Unlike mammals who have fat and can padded up for long winter sleeps. Which means they’d need a host to act as their walking heat insulator. Think of a clownfish to a sea anemone or certain fishes and other critters with sea cucumbers. By accident one night while above Steve as he had began investigating the noises in the barn caused by Irvin, the wooden floorboard gave way to Irvin’s weight, BAM! 💥 The wood cracked and both landed right atop Steve’s noggin. Causing a crack in the back of his head. In a trippy sequence homaging the ‘58 films opening, representing Irvin making his way into Steve’s head and essentially replacing his brain. Though what makes up Steve’s mind/conscious is still there within Irvin and can split from it and leave it within Steve should Irvin need to leave. By the time Steve wakes up, he now has a Blob on his head and speaks to him seemingly telepathically at first, before moving on to outright talking aloud. thinking it’s just a hallucination of the head trauma, Steve just heads off to bed and sleep. Hoping to forget it by morning. Surprise surprise, it’s not a hallucination. It’s reality. Irvin strikes a deal with Steve to be his host for the winter months until around springtime/when the weather warms up. If by then he doesn’t wish to remain as his walking-talking insulator, he will depart (leaving with his body an amount of slime that makes up Steve’s mind) and find another, maybe willing, host. To satiate the blob’s carnivorous consumption, Steve feeds Irvin the eggs of their farm’s poultry. Earning him the name Eggbert at first. After a bit of time and learning more of human culture, he wishes for a more formal name. He is then christened, Irvin. The appearance of his face is the result of copying the doodles Steve does in class. Choosing it as to better express himself, especially as the knowledge of his existence among Steve’s friend group grows. With a steady consumption rate, Irvin naturally fluctuates with his growth and decrease in mass, much like a human. All the meddling around with the two blobs left them incapable of reproduction.

Blob-2 aka Russel “Wormwood”:

His differing and gnarled appearance is the result of the heavier tamperings of Meddows research team. He’s definitely got a bone to pick with the man. Far more aggressive, hungry and lacking of self control. All that’s on his mind is consume, consume, consume. After crash landing in Aborville, he slinked his way into the sewers. He found them subpar, but better than the environment beyond. Rats and whatever organic scraps that washed down there is not doing it for him. He’s REALLY hungry. While it was barley suffusive as a place to hold out for the eventual winter chills, like Irvin, he’d need a host himself… that would eventually be a poor sap by the name of Paul. Before that though, Russel had some unfinished business. He slinked his way to Dr Hallen’s and as payback for the doc’s hand in himself and sibling being brought to Meddows, he went in for the kill and didn’t even bother finish his food. Left a grisly sight of the body’s upper half dissolved and smouldering. Now to the how he and his host, Paul, meet. The teenager was about to get mugged by a man w/ a gun in an alley, when Russel (having been there by happenstance from the sewer) from the shadows he latches onto Paul pulling him backward away from the mugger and purposely knocks out the kid by hitting the wall. Mugger is stunned and before he can leave the scene of the would-be crime, becomes Russel’s meal. Cocooning the poor bastard. Russel’s central mind splits off from the slab and it slithers to the sewer to digest the rest. Russel’s got plans. When Paul finally comes to, Russel, having slithered on into the damaged skull he purposely caused, claims to have saved his life from the mugger’s bullet. “Scared him off” he says. In return, Russel needs a host for the time being, and skimps out on some details. Paul, in a sense of owing him, allows it. All “Little Shop of Horrors”-like. Much like Irvin and Steve, Paul and Russel strike up a similar dealing, but Russel is sleazy with the exacts like a used car salesman and wants to eat and eat at the expense of Paul’s own body, sucking up whatever nutrients Paul’s body takes from the food he eats. Russel is basically burning his own rowboat. He badgers the boy constantly into eating and eating, saying that if he wants him gone, he’s gotta step it up with the meals; but Paul doesn’t gain any weight, in fact the opposite. Paul becomes worse and worse for wear. To a point you can see Russel moving within under his skin. As to why the skull face? (Other than rule of cool and homage the melting of victims within the blob) Russel has a fascination and envy of vertebrates. Specifically the jaw. Unlike himself and his kind, who merely dissolves and absorbs prey items, animals can munch, crunch, bite, tear, rip, and eviscerate prey. So he copies the shape of skulls and longs for the day of having teeth and a jaw structure. He doesn’t simply wanna consume food, he wants to eat it, proper. To feel the sensation of ripping apart, chewing, and shredding of his food….

….

The names given to the Blobs are from the directors of each Blob’s respective films: Irvin S. Yeaworth Jr. for the 1958 film, and Chuck Russell for the remake in 1988.

Assistance with the ironing out the concept, @guthrie-odonto

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

any Boyd fic recommendations?

Absolutely!! It’s a long list, so I’ve divided it up by character:)) And fair warning, my preferences for fics and ships skew dark - I’ve included some major archive warnings, but also read & mind the tags on the associated works!!

Steve Murphy

Don’t Hold Your Tongue by ilookedback

It’s bordering on disrespectful to the label how quickly they’re downing the scotch. It’s one that should be savored, peaty and complex and fucking expensive. But this whole thing is a little bit not about the liquor at all and a lot about the principle of the thing and their private resentment over the ambassador continuing to block every request they’ve tried to make for what feels like the last six months.

And anyway, respect is clearly not of any concern to Steve, sitting as he is in the ambassador’s chair with his feet propped up on her desk. He’s at an odd angle, from Javi’s position on the floor, but he can still see Steve’s bright eyes and lazy-drunk mouth, how his cheeks suck in briefly as he takes a sip of whiskey and rolls it over his tongue to the back of his mouth. He watches his eyes flutter shut and Javi’s reflexes must be impaired because it takes him a second to realize when Steve’s eyes open again and are boring directly into him.

“Hey, Javi,” he drawls. “Truth or dare?”

This one was just so sweet and fun!! Bratty, drunk Steve and first time Stavier vibes! You can’t go wrong with that!

¿y cuáles deseos me vas a dar? by feygeleshmeygele

Peña's hiding something. Murphy's going to figure out what, even if it wrecks his entire fucking life.

(Or, finding out that your partner fucks dudes and losing your mind about it in a completely heterosexual way.)

If you want a gorgeously written Stavier long fic, this is absolutely the fic for you. It’s incredibly sexy, the slow burn is so delicious, and seeing Steve unravel and have to confront his own internalized homophobia is top tier.

The Corinthian

If the Devil Dress You by Mare_Adamantis

This was the crux of fighting the Corinthian, Dream thought. You could fight him. People did it all the time. Sometimes they even won, but the price was high enough that losing at the very least looked easier. Losing was often less painful than what it took to win. Sometimes it was even less humiliating.

All of Mare’s nightmare king Corinthian fics are utterly delectable and wonderfully dark, and this one is probably my favorite. Crossdressing and the Corinthian being the both the most adoring and most vicious monster??

(cw: non-con)

Tame Wolves in Dark Woods by Mare_Adamantis

Instead of a muse, Richard Madoc gets a nightmare.

Not that he knows the difference.

This is a fic that I absolutely cannot read unless I’m in a good mental place, and I mean that as such a compliment. This is incredibly dark, gorgeously written, and exquisitely constructed. Being in Madoc’s head and seeing the mental gymnastics he does to pretend he’s a good person?? Incredible. And I’ve got such a soft spot for imperfect victims, and the Corinthian is so wonderfully messy and sympathetic here.

(cw: non-con)

and when the morning light comes streaming in by romanticallyinept

“Not the first,” Cori manages, after a moment, and Dream hums in acknowledgment. “It’s just… people don’t, usually.”

“Keep you?”

“Want to.”

This one is just so fun and cute!! I don’t typically go for human AU’s, but I was blown away by how much I adore this one. Both Corinthian and Dream felt very much like themselves, despite the light setting and them being human.

A Handle on the Situation by Anonymous

"Isn’t this something that your friends could help you out with? You seem to run around with a sex-positive, anything for a friend crowd.”

“This isn’t something you can ask your friends!”

“Sure it is.”

“I’m not going to just go up to Lyta and say, hey, I need some help on a story! Can I get close and personal with your bits?”

“Don’t know why you can’t. You could say it to me.”

Rose stared, and the Corinthian gave her a faintly injured look.

“I mean, unless we’re not friends. I sort of thought we were, but it’s cool if not.”

Rose needs to do some research on her novel, the Corinthian volunteers to help.

This one is SO good, and it really propelled me into being as big of a Rose/Corinthian shipper as I am. Baby dom Rose Walker figuring out her sexuality and kinks with the help of her nightmare friend/guard dog?? Yes please. (Also. Corinthian with a vagina is HAWT)

Written in Ink and Burn by Anonymous

The Corinthian knows what he is.

Now everyone who looks at him will know as well.

Look, I’m always gonna go a little feral over Dream being a mean boss who feels entirely entitled to the Corinthian’s body, and this one hit on so many levels. Sexy slut-shaming that becomes degradation fast when Dream gets involved? Hell yeah.

Vic Owen

Our Temperatures Rise, I Hear the Devil Outside by Hexate (Hexate2)

Vic can take a lot of punishment. But it wasn't the lashes, the hour bleeding at the pillory, that taught him the law.

This one is vicious in the best way. Check this one out if you’re looking for some incredibly toxic sibling dynamics and Holbrook’s character being one of the prettiest things in the room despite being a greasy, slightly mutilated mess.

(cw: non-con)

weak spot (everybody has one) by doctorkaitlyn

Dan Frost’s heavy footsteps are still within earshot when John speaks again, voice low and steady, like the rumble of thunder on the horizon.

“If you cannot hold your tongue, I will cut it out of your head.”

Again, such a wonderfully twisted dynamic, and excellent writing to boot. Bratty Vic is so fun to read, especially because he’s actually skating on very thin ice with his brother.

Donald Pierce

better the devil you know... by doctorkaitlyn

...than the one that you don't.

or, follows the plot of Logan, but with one key difference; namely, that Pierce and Logan slept together prior to the film's events.

This series is exceptional! The actual sex is so wonderfully dubious and dirty in every sort of way, and we get the treat of seeing it from both Pierce and Logan’s POVs. I doubt it’ll happen at this point, but in my heart of hearts I’m still holding out hope the author might bless us with a continuation!!

Cornered by Anonymous

Logan hasn’t been a good man for a really long time in his opinion. Donald Pierce is probably a worse man in his estimation. So he doesn’t feel particularly bad about taking some of his irritation out the little fucker to really drill into his head what will happen to him if he doesn’t back off.

After I read this fic I had to sit down and just process for a very long time. It is utterly dark and harrowing, supremely fucked up in so many particulars, but if you’re looking for something unapologetically brutal and deliciously raw, this is the fic. Donald Pierce gets put through the wringer in this, and seeing all his affectations and defenses pared away over time is so good.

(cw: non-con)

part time sorry, full time problem by the_everqueen

Logan survives.

He gets a dog.

Non-con pet play?? Non-con pet play!! I think my favorite thing about this is how, from Logan’s POV, this is just the thing he’s doing. Meanwhile, Pierce is going through probably the worst events of his life, and the juxtaposition is so, so good. Pierce is the best scrappy little survivor, and as far as gorgeously imperfect victims go, he is IT.

(cw: non-con)

girl in saskatoon by thefudge

Seven years after the events of Logan (2017), Donald Pierce tracks down Laura Kinney again.

This was not a ship I’d ever considered, but oh god did this fic make me love it. Gorgeously dark and sensual and incredibly bittersweet, and Laura as a feral creature who is so much her father’s daughter is a delight. Also, Pierce being much more mechanized in this is… very hot.

(cw: major character death)

Melancholy by shittershutter

"You're making that face again," Don tells him. "Don't."

"The the doomed lover face, that one. I can't take all the melancholy."

All of shittershutter’s Pierce/Logan fics are absolutely worth a read, but this one is my all-time favorite that I keep going back to again and again. The sex is fucking hot, and the characterizations are top-tier: Pierce’s feral vulnerability is especially wonderful, and his relationship with Logan is so raw and real and achingly human.

The Enemy of My Enemy (is Mine) by SubverbalDreams

With Laura safely (he hopes) off with her friends, Logan’s got some housecleaning to do.

Meanwhile: Pierce fucked up royally, and the Reavers aren’t known for their forgiveness. Especially with such a pretty victim on their hands.

If you want mean, but grudgingly caring daddy dom Logan, SubV is the author!! This is SUCH a tasty fic, the tangle of Pierce’s trauma and desire and shame combined with just how much Logan hates his guts (and is also coming around to him. Just a little.)

(cw: non-con)

after all is said and done i feel the same by spock

Donald's got this theory that people don't ever really change. He himself being the rule, rather than an exception.

Yeah, this one is a pure delight. Pierce is so complicated here, at points pathetic and likable and deeply pitiable. The relationship is so problematic from every angle, but somehow manages to be endearing, too, which is no mean feat! And the ending sends me straight to waterworks city.

(cw: underage)

Eli Klaber

A Sinner In Church by jackelope

what is even the POINT of having evil henchmen if you're not having gay sex with them let's be real

Klaber being from texas is not canon but idk i just thought his accent sounded texan so I went with it. anyways he's a cumslut

This is just hot as shit. Guaranteed good time. Klaber is such an eager to please dog here, not even minding how he’s being degraded. Delicious stuff.

Ty Shaw

The Going Rate by darthpumpkinspice

Ty Shaw needs to get Sancholo in on his plan, but Sancholo isn’t biting.

Fortunately, Ty knows how to be persuasive.

There’s not a ton of Ty Shaw fics out there, so I couldn’t resist sneaking my own entry in!!! If you like Ty being a conniving little sweetheart trying his best to deal with grief, you might just enjoy this!

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

WIP- new series Steve H. x reader, Eddie x reader

Working on a new series - reader and Eddie have been in a two year committed relationship. When Eddie's band books a six month tour, he breaks up with her. Steve is there for her, but he holds feelings that he can't bring himself to act on.

Would anyone be interested?

The winter air hit your bones hard as you shuffled out the car towards the small apartment complex. Boots hit the ground, tears on the verge of escaping the idiotic head of yours. Thoughts swirled as you took out the spare key from your coat pocket and approached the front door of the two-bedroom home. It didn’t belong to you, but to two of your best friends – Steve and Robin. Unlocking it, you weren’t expecting an empty living room. Maybe Robin was at work, but you were certain it was Steve’s day off.

It was only a little past noon, and he must still be asleep.

In crisis, you didn’t fathom the idea that he could have had a female over; so, you marched to his bedroom and barged in. Steve was shirtless, in boxers only. A brunette was straddling his waist, the two of them on the edge of his bed. Stunned, you stood there for a moment until Steve locked eyes with him.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry!”

Embarrassed, you fled the bedroom and hurried back to the living room. Steve yelled out to you, cursing as he rushed down the hall – he emerged with a pair of jeans on, but left his lean chest exposed. Again, you apologized and started for the door, but he gently grabbed a hold of your elbow and asked what was wrong.

“It’s not important…you have company over…”

“No, it’s fine. What happened?”

Your eyes lingered for a second, but you shrugged with a smile. “Eddie again. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here…I fucked up your thing.”

Steve flicked his hand in the air. “It’s nothing, she’s just…it doesn’t matter. What happened with Eddie?”

He pulled you by the elbow to the couch and the two of you sat, but all you could do was think of the woman in Steve’s room. Who were you to barge into his apartment, ruin his good time? He worked hard for this apartment, Robin, and him, they both did. They deserved privacy and you just violated his personal affairs. God, you could be so selfish sometimes, but you obliged and told your friend what happened. Eddie didn’t come home last night, but you didn’t think much of it because he was preparing for the tour – his band was leaving soon for the next six months. He had been working odd hours, but he always came home.

“He didn’t show up until an hour ago, I asked him where he was, and he broke up with me…”

“Asshole,” Steve murmured, reaching down for your hand.

“Two years, Steve,” you cried, rolling your eyes as the tears fell. “I was with him for two fucking years, and this is how he’s going to end things. No explanation, just see you later. Now I have to go through all his shit and pack everything up.”

“Robin and I will come over to help,” he promised, giving you a small smile. Your body relaxed and you squeezed his hand.

“I fucked up your sex thing, didn’t I?”

Steve made a face. “Please don’t ever call it sex thing again and no, it’s fine. It’s nothing, okay?”

“Sex isn’t nothing,” you smiled and got up from the couch, your hand slipping from his. “I work tonight, can you guys come over tomorrow and help me sort all his shit out?”

Steve stood up and walked you to the front door. “Yeah, we’ll come over. Don’t drive crazy, it’s supposed to snow. Did he at least check your oil like I told him?”

The look you gave answered his question and he sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it tonight. See you then?”

“Tonight.”

You managed a smile and the two of you said goodbye, he watched from his front door as you walked to the car – only closing it when he saw you get in. Your heart seemed to relax and the anxiety, hurt, it was all there but it simmered down.  

[late-to-the-party-81]

For the very first time - Chapter 4

[or 5 times the Cap Quartet slept with each other and 1 time they slept all together]

AN: As promised, two for the price of one today to make up for the gap in posting. If you're seeing this, make sure you have checked out Chapter 3 first. This is also set during the events of CA:TWS @catws-anniversary.

Once again, many thanks to @kingofsorrow20 for beta-ing

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden.

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

Master list

Chapter Summary: Getting blown up at Camp Lehigh was unexpected and so was Steve’s reaction to it. Nat can’t say she’s mad about it, in fact she’s pleasantly surprised. 

Chapter Relationship: Nat x Steve

Chapter Word count: 1.6k

CW: Teasing, Danger kink, Friends to lovers, Rough Sex, Vaginal sex, Quickie, Captain Kink

Nat and Steve - May 2014

Getting blown up at Camp Lehigh was not what Nat had thought would happen today, but then again she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she and Steve decided to go down this rabbit hole. A cache of data, to be sure? But a cache of data stored within the computerised mind of a Nazi/Hydra genius brought to the US as part of Operation Paperclip? That had definitely not been one of the things she had anticipated.

However, somehow, she was still alive, which was all thanks to Steve, his shield and his cute - but also annoying - saviour complex. 

She coughed as the dust settled around them, her body protected by Steve and his disc of Vibranium. He was laid on top of her, and despite her own strength, Steve was still a big man and Nat was starting to feel a little crushed.

“Umm, Steve. Can you get up?”

She could hear him breathing, so he was alive, but he didn’t respond. Maybe he was knocked out? It took a lot for that to happen, but it wasn’t impossible. She tried a tentative wriggle, to see if she could get out from under him, but two things brought her to a halt. The first was Steve’s voice, ragged and deep. 

“Nat, for the love of god, just stay still for a moment.”

The second was the sensation of something pressed against her buttocks. Something that was apparently the reason for Steve wanting her to stay still. 

Nat couldn’t help it. She started to giggle.

“Steve? Are you turned on by being pressed against me, or is it the danger that’s got you all fired up?”

She couldn’t see his face, but could imagine the blush that was making its way up his neck.

“I plead the fifth,” was his mumbled response, and the imp on Nat’s shoulder took control.

“Is that why you turned down all those dates I tried to set you up on? Not enough danger for you? Who knew America’s golden boy was so kinky?” She gave a tentative shimmy of her hips.

“Nat…” Steve ground out, one of his hands curling harder into her hip and Nat grinned to herself. 

It was the most ridiculous thing. They were in the ruins of a Hydra bunker, surrounded by rubble and dust and god knows what else, and here she was teasing her friend about the erection that was digging into her butt. She had started to wonder if Steve had no interest in women at all, although the kiss they’d shared on the escalator - and Steve’s reaction afterwards - had all but disabused her of that notion. 

Also, she wasn’t blind - she could see what a cute and good-looking guy he was - she just hadn’t thought he was interested in her like that, hence both her interlude, and then further conversation, with Sam those few days ago. But what if…

She wiggled again, in a way that couldn’t be considered either accidental or an attempt to get out from under him.

“Stop!” Steve barked, and a shiver went through Nat’s body at the authority in his voice. 

“Or what, Captain? You gonna take out your battle lust on me?” Yeah, she was being a teasing brat, but if that was what it took for Steve to lose his composure, then so be it.

“For fuck’s sake, Nat. Just stay still. It’ll go away in a minute and then we can never talk about this again.”

“But that’s boring, Steve. And what if I’m not adverse to you taking out your battle lust on me? What if the idea of you just fucking me and taking what you want excites me? You know I can take it.”

She heard his heavy gulp and the sharp indrawn breath. Felt the infinitesimal twitch of his hips.

“Stop joking with me. Y-you don’t know what you’re saying,” he all but stuttered.

“I’m not joking and I think I do. I’m a big girl, Captain. When was the last time you just let yourself go? When did you last just fuck? Have you ever?” She ground her hips back in a slow circle against his crotch and listened to him groan. “Think how good it would be? Just to sink inside and rut into me until I’m overflowing and crying out your name?”

“Fuck. Fuck! If I start, I won’t be able to stop, Nat. I won’t.”

“Then don’t. Let it out, Steve. Fuck me. Fuck me here in the rubble like the animals we are.”

With a sound akin to a roar, Steve pushed up from the ground and back onto his knees, pulling Nat up with him, his right arm looped around her narrow waist. She turned her head over her shoulder and Steve crashed his lips to hers.

She’d been in charge of that first kiss, but this one was definitely being run by Steve. Nat didn’t know why she’d thought he couldn’t kiss, because this - this - was mind blowing. This wasn’t Steve Rogers, this was the Captain, and he was doing what she’s said he could - taking what he needed. 

His tongue pushed into her mouth and his teeth nipped at her lower lip. His left hand palmed her breast through her top and his right had dropped down to work on the fastening of her pants. With the zipper dealt with, Steve pushed them roughly down to her knees, along with her underwear.  His large fingers wasted no time zero-ing in on her core, pushing between her folds and deftly finding her clit. Fuck, she hadn’t expected this either - hadn’t expected Steve to be so self-assured and well, good at this. However, he definitely knew what he was doing, as sparks of pleasure shot through her.

Nat moaned into the kiss, her own right hand covering Steve’s as he teased her and spread her slick over her sex. “Remember that you asked for this, Nat. I’m not gonna go easy on you,” Steve warned, his voice dark and menacing, and Nat shuddered again, filled with a dark want.

“Give it your best shot, Captain.”

Steve suddenly pressed two of his fingers inside her, and Nat groaned at the stretch, her head falling back against Steve’s shoulder and her legs spreading as far as they could with her pants still wrapped around her knees.

“You’re so tiny, Nat. Gotta get you ready for me,” Steve purred in her ear, his thrusting fingers creating lewd, wet sounds. “Think you can take a third one yet?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “I can take it.” Steve took her at her word, easing his index finger in alongside the others. “Oh, god!” Nat’s moan echoed around the collapsed building and she bucked her hips into Steve’s hand. She raised her left hand, threading it into Steve’s hair and harshly clutching a fistful. “Fuck me, Steve. Come on! Just do it!”

Steve dipped his head, lips trailing over her neck as he let go of her breast to free himself from his slacks. “Never let it be said that my mother didn’t raise a gentleman. Gonna give you everything you’ve asked for.” He pulled his fingers from Nat’s pussy with a wet squelch and before she could even take a breath, he’d replaced them with his cock, pushing inside her with one firm thrust.

Nat swore she saw the back of her own head with how hard her eyes rolled. Steve’s slick soaked hand went back to her clit, rubbing rough circles as his hips snapped, fucking into her as deep as he could manage in this position, his cock rubbing against the inside of her channel in just the right way.

Nat didn’t even try to hold back her cries. There was no-one around for miles, and even if there had been, she wouldn’t have even cared. In all of her teasing of Steve, she hadn’t realised how much she also needed this. 

This was fucking. There was nothing gentle or tender about it. It was raw and animalistic. A way to release the tension and make use of the adrenaline rushing through both their veins and she fucking loved it.

“You gonna come, Nat? Are you going to be a good girl for your Captain?”

Where the fuck had Steve’s dirty mouth come from, Nat thought. It was a good thing he wasn’t like this most of the time or she’d be walking around SHIELD with permanently wet panties. Although if she had known that Steve had this within him, she would’ve jumped his bones long ago. All that fantastic sex wasted. Fingers crossed Steve would be up for an encore some time soon.

“Yes,” she breathed out. “I’m gonna come, Captain. Oh, fuck. Gonna…”

Her whole body went taut, and then the coil snapped inside her, pleasure fanning out in waves reaching the ends of her hair and the tips of her toes simultaneously. She was aware of Steve reaching his own peak with a roar, his cum flooding her insides and leaking back out to run down her legs. She sagged into his hold, trusting in his ability to hold her upright until they were both ready to move again.

However, as wrung out as she was, she couldn’t help but tease him a bit more.

“So, what about Sam? Would you go on a date with him?”

She almost heard Steve roll his eyes.

“Will you quit it, Nat?”

Chapter 5

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796, @christywrites, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @endlesstwanted

[stxrvel]

what is it with all these secrets? (6)

series summary: you woke up from a long coma with no memory of a part of your life only to be told by your teammates that you're married to the man you hated seven years ago. even though that seemed to be the only problem, as time goes on you're realizing there's a lot more history and mystery behind the accident that left you in medical care for months. blackouts, more memory loss, mistrust and a strange man who seems to be connected to everything. every day it gets harder to trust anyone around you, but you won't stop until you can finally uncover the truth behind the accident.

chapter summary: everything starts being suspicious when everyone in the complex dissappears. but just then, you learned some things that may be or not connected to something from your past.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: counting

warnings: just some bad words.

note: hi guys. i can't believe i got this out in one night, but i hope it is as good as i think it is inside my head. im really tired rn because i got sick and my whole body's just exhausted. so here it is for you guys! hope you like it and see you next time 💜

masterlist | next | series masterlist

You hadn't seen Bucky in two days. You had gone through and tossed and turned every room in the Complex, but he seemed to have simply disappeared. He'd been swallowed up out of the ground, as if he'd never been there at all.

And, being honest, at this point in the game you had no idea what to think. There was a jumble of thoughts and emotions inside your chest, all so crazy and frantic that you couldn't quite conjecture. That Bucky really hadn't existed would make as much sense in your head as the reality of that strange voice you'd heard out of nowhere in the middle of astral travel less than five days ago.

What the fuck was going on? Why couldn't you find Bucky? Why'd you had those memories when they weren't even yours? Whose voice was it? Why did it make you so suspicious of the team? Why did it seem like you were agreeing with it…?

Being alone with your thoughts wasn't the smartest choice of all, but Dr. Cho was done with the exams for the day and you had absolutely nothing to do. Probably by that time you had memorized every path, door and room in the Complex and were close to learning the color of every wall on every floor. The boredom was extreme and the ignorance did not make up for it.

Oddly enough, you hadn't met any of the team either.

It just seemed that every person you knew had disappeared from the Complex.

Alone with your luck, you wandered through every corner of the huge building until your head completely consumed you. You had in your mind only the memories of the last two weeks and that anything further back than that had disappeared. And you had tried to force the memories to come out, to give you answers and explanations, because no one around you seemed to have them or didn't want to give them to you. You had meditated, done grounding, watched hypnosis videos on YouTube, but you only got weird dreams in response. You tried everything, but it seemed like you simply hadn't had a life before the last two weeks. Were it not for the fact that it was impossible, you'd even doubt the few memories Bucky and some of the team had shared with you.

Like when one of the afternoons of the first week after several studies when Natasha and Steve came to keep you company and, among some of the things you were able to get out of them, they told you that you had once donated hundreds of dollars anonymously to several animal shelters that were about to close due to lack of funds across the country. Natasha also shared with you that one time when you were out on a girls' night out with the other girls on the team, you got so drunk that you bought five rounds in a row to everyone in the bar. The club gave you a membership after that.

Another day, Clint told you that you had rescued the two dogs that lived with his family in the field and for that alone his children considered you a real hero. He also told you that you had picked out many of the tattoos he had on his arm.

You also got Carol to tell you some things the first and last time you saw her. She told you that you two met in the middle of a fight and that you had beaten her. At that moment you remembered that you had laughed and asked her genuinely surprised how it was possible that someone with your physique and little fighting ability had been able to defeat one of the most powerful avengers, and she had only told you that you had caught her off guard. You didn't know it before, but you should have.

Tony was the one who shared one of the best memories with you. Your wedding day with Bucky. You hadn't even been able to get that information out of your own husband. He told you minute by minute what had happened that day, as if it had been his own. He told you how you had been nervous but confident since the morning, between hair and makeup, accompanied by your bridesmaids and him. He described the moments from the time you finished fixing your dress until you walked down the aisle and when you and Bucky said yes. He laughingly told you that Sam Wilson had gotten drunk on Asgardian liquor and gave the craziest and funniest speech of the night; he assured you that one of those days he would show it to you.

Between those and a handful of other stories, it was the only thing you had that assured you that you'd had a life before. And you were glad to know that you seemed to have lived it to the fullest, but that joy was mixed with a sour uneasiness in your chest that increased within you the desire for everything to go on as it had been before. But life being as unfair as only it could, you could only settle for imagining those memories that at some point you were able to evoke so vividly in your memory.

You also tried to ask questions about the blessed accident, about what had happened that day, but you never got a concrete answer. It seemed that every time you asked about it everything lined up around you so that the people you were with had to leave or simply left on their own with excuses that were too lame.

So, even though it seemed like you had maintained a good relationship with the team members and you had been a part of their lives and they had been a fundamental part of your life, you didn't trust them at the time. None of them. They never gave you any reason to trust, other than to talk about things in the past, and that maybe gave them the benefit of the doubt, but they hadn't done much on your behalf, so you weren't going to do it. You preferred to cling to doubt because it seemed to be the only certain thing among so much darkness.

Bucky seemed to be the only person you could really trust, that's why you had confessed to him what had happened in that hallway. But seeing now how he just disappeared, what were you supposed to think? In a situation like that, being the person you thought you were, you couldn't afford to trust just anyone. Especially when you didn't remember anything about anyone. Maybe you knew them well before, but what about now?

You went back to the control room when your feet started to hurt, the place where you started to spend more time those almost three days, mainly because you had magnificent view of all the cameras in the Complex and because your footprint was still registered with free access to the room, for some reason. It was past noon and you got tired of searching for answers in that meaningless labyrinth.

There was always a TV in the background on mute. You didn't know why. Maybe the person who should have been there instead of you liked to watch the news on mute. That seemed rather strange to you, almost suspicious. That every time you walked into the room there was no one there. You didn't even know if someone came in after you left or before you came in because you never saw anyone near its vicinity. But that didn't hold you back enough not to satisfy your curiosity.

You were watching that little screen when some familiar people started to appear in a corner of the newscast.

It was Steve and Carol.

With a frown you reached for the TV remote, which wasn't too far from the camera panels. You unmuted it and the words began to come fast.

“… the Avengers seemed to be having trouble with it. It's been over a year and it looks like this is a threat we won't be able to get rid of.”

As the presenter finished speaking, videos of the Avengers, many half-recorded with lousy cell phones and others with aerial views, took over the big screen. They seemed to be in different parts of the world, but the panorama was always the same: destruction and total chaos. Another voice began to narrate over the videos.

“October 27, 2022 is the day everyone remembers as judgment day. The sky turned purple and darkness surrounded the planet for seven whole days. Although scientists searched for answers, they did not think to look outside this planet. One man, an extraterrestrial, with immeasurable powers of destruction, has unleashed chaos on the planet ever since. He has not been credited with a name, but people call him-”

The screen went black and all you could see was your own stupefied reflection.

“What are you doing here?”

That voice stunned you.

You'd never heard it before, nor had you ever tried to get close enough to do so. For some reason you always preferred to stay away. And to have her show up now, right at that moment…

Still, even though she was the person you trusted the least on the team, and only because she had turned the TV off on you when you were discovering something that everyone had surely kept hidden from you and that had generated quite a bit of annoyance, you turned around and faced her.

“Who was that man?”

Wanda Maximoff didn't seem surprised by your question and your coarse tone of voice. She had indifferent features on her face, an unflappable seriousness that a person could only maintain after years of disappointments and suffering. At that moment you wondered if it had been the right thing to expel completely from your memory the fact that she had been one of your bridesmaids.

“A very bad man.”

“I'm not a child. Who is he?”

“No one you should care about.”

“Then why the hell did you turn off the TV? And why did you show up just then? Were you spying on me?”

Wanda didn't answer you, only focused on the control of the device she had levitating with one of her hands surrounded by that reddish mist so characteristic of hers. A shiver ran through your body, because you didn't even realize the moment she took it. Her eyes never left yours, and though you tried to keep your composure, she was too intimidating.

“Stop asking so many questions.”

Her open palm closed and with it she shattered the control. Its pieces fell noisily to the floor, interrupting the heavy silence that followed her words. If you had any doubts about taking that as a threat or not, you were left with none when you looked up from the floor, from the shards of the control ruined by her telekinesis, to see her face enserrated with eyes so dark you felt they could devour you.

Wanda wasn't playing around. For some reason she didn't want you to know anything about that man on the news.

Regardless of what she did or said, one thing that was certain was that this man was diabolical. The pictures and videos of the disasters, massacres and general destruction spoke for themselves. And even more so the fact that it seemed that the Avengers, united, had been unable to defeat him. The mere thought of his power, such that an entire group of super people couldn't stop him, made you shudder.

“Who do you think you are to say such things to me?”

Wanda rolled her eyes, and you saw her determined to turn around and head for the exit at once, as if that conversation with you wasn't even worth the effort, so you raised your voice:

“Does he have anything to do with what happened to me?”

You saw her stop on her feet, face inscrutable but her eyes glinted slightly. A small glint of surprise that gave her away. You almost pointed your index finger at her. It disappeared as fast as it could, but it had been there, you were sure. And her defensive stance didn't help her to maintain her nonchalant posture. You had hit the nail on the head. You didn't want to say you were right, but….

“It does have to do,” you mused.

“No,” Wanda spoke up, but too late for her liking. She had already changed and now looked like she wanted to rip her tongue out just because she had set out to answer your questions in the first place.

“Why is he related to me, is he to blame for me not remembering anything?”

“Stop it. That man has nothing to do with it.”

“You are a very bad liar.”

Wanda's eyes suddenly looked surprised, as if your words had been the answer to a problem she'd been searching for a solution to for years. Suddenly she didn't look terrified but… hurt. You couldn't help but compare that expression to the one Bucky wore the few times he had talked to you about things you didn't remember.

But her mask came back quickly and with a scowl she pointed accusingly at you.

“Stop asking questions and shut up.”

That time she left the room without you being able to think of anything to stop her.

-

You didn't know what to do anymore. You had spent hours thinking about what you had discovered and Wanda's expressions, but you couldn't find a connection that was big enough to justify the drama everyone was making about the accident. If she had tried to hide it from you like that it must be related. That, or maybe it was simply someone who had hurt her deeply and she couldn't bear to see him or talk about him.

Mmm…

So, if what had happened to you was because of him, that man personification of chaos, there was only one way to put it together: being an Avenger, you were sent on a mission to fight this great villain, but in the course of the fight you couldn't defeat him and he left you so wounded that you had that memory problem.

That's it. That must have been it, right?

But… it sounded so small compared to the fuss that seemed to surround the accident.

No one ever mentioned it, nor did it ever escape their attention, even if they were distracted. They were trying to avoid the subject at all costs and run out of your reach as fast as they could. That they did those things, that they avoided the subject like the plague, didn't fit so well that in the end that was the simple explanation. It had been a fatal accident in the field, surely it had happened to them before. It was an occupational hazard. So why were they hiding it from you like that?

There must have been something else going on, and you had no way of finding out about it, because you didn't happen to have a cell phone or internet access. You'd never questioned it before because it seemed like the logical thing to do, seeing what you were recovering from and they didn't want you to have information overload, but now it just seemed too suspicious.

With so many things inside your head, you decided to leave the Complex. You had never gone farther than the distance of the parking lot within what you could remember, but you knew that the back was full of trees and surely green trails that your peace of mind would enjoy very much in those moments.

There, as you walked away from the building, your mind went back to Bucky.

He was the person you least wanted to stop trusting, but for him to disappear from your sight after what you said to him was so strange. And that the others weren't present either was also suspicious. Bucky had done nothing but support you during that short time you remembered and all the memories you had of him only focused on his kindness and understanding. There was no way to paint him as the bad guy in the story.

Then, there was the other thing you really didn't want to think about…that voice… what it had said…

Whoop, wait.

What's that?

You stopped in the middle of the trees.

You didn't know how far you'd walked, but it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes since you left the Complex. You had been so focused on distracting your mind that you narrowly missed the strange thing that seemed to be in front of you.

An iridescent glow appeared a few feet away. It appeared and disappeared. It appeared somewhere else and disappeared. It was like bubbles. Or like the light that caused refraction when the sun rested directly on a clock or a mirror.

They weren't very powerful, you could barely notice the colors. But it did seem to be everywhere at the same time.

As you got closer, you noticed that your vision started to get a little blurry. Even though you touched your eyes, it wouldn't go away.

When you finally got close to it, to that kind of anomaly, you could notice that indeed the colors seemed to be everywhere because of the sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees.

You also noticed that the blur did not disappear. But with a quick glance back and sideways, you realized that that strip stretched the length of the forest, and seemed to curve a few miles into the background.

What the hell was that? Your head was hammering for an answer, but you really couldn't understand what you were seeing. You could only process surprise and fear.

You raised a hand to reach through the blurry blanket and…

And…

You couldn't.

It was hard.

Too hard.

You moved your hand again, this time with your palm extended forward, and as soon as you made contact you could see ripples move from where your hand was upward.

That was a barrier.

And seeing how it extended sideways and upwards…

It had to be a dome.

But why was there a dome surrounding the Complex?

Your mind had barely begun to ask the important questions when you felt it. Everything happened very slowly.

An electric current passed from the barrier to your fingertips. You saw it coming from above. From your fingers it moved quickly to your arms and suddenly seemed like shock waves. You felt five currents, there gawking and dumbfounded, until the sixth electric current was so strong that it sent you flying a few meters back.

Surprised, you couldn't even react. You felt the emptiness of a fall as your body moved backwards, until you finally hit solid ground making a loud, elongated sound. You had crawled a little on the grass. In pain, you writhed on the ground, letting out slight groans. What was that supposed to be? Why had it thrown you like that? You hadn't even gotten out of a few questions and you were already entering another pile of questions.

When you sat down on the grass expecting to see the dome a few feet away, you were struck dumb when you saw that you were a long way from the trees. And several of them looked like they were cut down, very specifically they looked like they were cut in the direction you were thrown.

Without taking your eyes off that long path you stood up. It seemed to be that the current from the dome had thrown you so hard that you had gone all the way through the trees back to the entrance of the path. Even in the distance you could still glimpse the iridescent glows of the dome.

You were too surprised that you felt pain, but not too much. How could you not be in tremendous pain after crossing through fifty or so trees that fast?

But before you could continue thinking about the unreal situation you were going through, you heard a commotion in the back. In the parking lot. Being that the entrance to the trail was relatively close to the parking lot, you didn't have to walk too far until you began to make out faces.

They were the faces of the Avengers, especially Bucky.

You started walking faster when you spotted him and he wasn't far behind. It looked like he'd seen you sooner because he was already trotting towards where you were.

“Where were you?” you spoke quickly when he reached your side.

He didn't respond, just kept his gaze fixed on you. You barely noticed the dirt smudges on his face, and with a quick inspection he didn't seem to have any serious injuries on his body.

“Bucky?” you spoke again after several seconds with no response.

His body seemed frozen with his longing gaze fixed on your face. You missed his attitude, but at that moment you had important things to ask.

“Bucky, did you know there's a dome over the Complex?”

The aforementioned shook his head slightly. That question seemed to snap him out of his trance.

“And I saw someone on the news today. A man. Very destructive and evil.”

Bucky discomposed his face more and more. Suddenly, it looked like only fear and confusion made his expression. You didn't know if the right thing to do was to press on with asking or wait for him to say something.

The rest of the team, instead of entering the Complex, stood behind Bucky. You barely glanced past everyone because you really didn't want to see them, and you didn't want to have that conversation there either.

“Why don't we go inside?” you asked Bucky with pleading eyes as you grabbed his wrist to make him walk.

“There wasn't anything you could do, was there?” Bucky finally spoke, and you wondered for a moment if he was really talking to you or to what was going around in his head, because from the look on his face you could almost swear he was lost in thought.

His eyes were shining, emotions were passing too quickly across his face to identify them carefully. But one stayed with you: heartbreak. He looked like he had just been told that the love of his life had died. You thought for a moment if that was the expression he'd had when he found out about your accident.

The accident.

“Bucky, we have to-”

He embraced you. Hastily, he took your hand that had gripped his wrist and pulled you until he had you contained in his arms. His grip was so tight you feared he might bury your clothes in your skin. Still, his embrace felt like a welcome. Maybe that's how he would have hugged you if you had awakened from your coma with your memories intact. But you also felt desperation pouring from his pores, with the way he moved his hands over your arms and the way his breathing quickened and wouldn't calm down, even though you were so close. It seemed he feared you would disappear, that you would be gone again, out of his reach.

His thumbs caressed your skin, but it felt rough, hard, desperate. Bucky seemed to want to remedy something with that embrace. Maybe his guilt, maybe your pain. Maybe the time together you had lost. His touch almost surrounded the abuse, but his ragged breathing seemed to make up for it.

You wanted to push him away so you could go inside. You wanted to tell him what you had discovered in such a short time, the things you had surmised, but you couldn't find it within yourself to push him away. Not when it seemed he would faint if a millimeter of his skin didn't touch yours. Not when it seemed that your breathing near his ear was the only thing keeping him sane.

“I'm sorry. I really am,” was all he said, after several seconds.

His grip didn't lessen much over time. Rather, it stopped being a little desperate, but it was still strong. He didn't want to let you go.

And, for a moment, you decided to share his feelings. You hugged him back just as hard and also decided not to let go.

You hoped you were making the right decision.

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