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dreamwatch · 24 days ago

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Part 1 Part 3 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt2 - 3670 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury- please let me know if you think I've missed any.

I'm posting in 3 parts, because this is nearly 12k in total, which is a lot. Mods - hope that's ok! I'll link them all together. :)

Part 2

Steve’s learned a lot about himself this past year.

He’s a good friend, for one, an excellent wing man, even if Robin continues to do her best to get in her own way.

He’s painfully patient with Dustin and the rest of the little assholes that have literally haunted his every waking moment for the last three years. He loves them, and they know it and they abuse that love on a near daily basis. Sadly, he wouldn’t change them for the world.

He doesn’t love Nancy anymore. He doesn’t want to think on that too much.

He’s done with dating. He’s done with the peacocking that comes with it, the effort of it when the person you’re with is just… okay. Nice enough. Inoffensive. He’s at that point in his life where he just needs something real, someone real, someone full of life, who makes him laugh, who wants to share everything with him. He’s done with quick fucks, the empty feeling of grabbing your clothes and sneaking out of bedrooms, of trying to get your pants on in the back of the bimmer. He wants love, and he’s not afraid to go after it now.

Oh, yeah, and he likes guys.

That’s probably not that much of a revelation, to him at least, Robin had been more intense about it.

“Now you tell me? Not when I was covered in piss and puke on the floor of a public bathroom, Steve, when I was sharing my deepest secrets with you, you tell me now, months later, you’ve had literally months, and it’s at this point in time, randomly while I am trying to re-shelve a weekend’s worth of returns, that you choose to drop this bombshell, this life changing moment, that you’ve been carrying around with you for, how long?”

“A few months.”

“A few months. A few months, he says like it’s no big deal. What is wrong with you?”

What was wrong with him was Eddie Munson. He’s still kind of getting his head around it all to be honest.

The guy thing was there for years, a low level thrum of attraction, of slightly too long looks, of grab-assing and horseplay in locker rooms and showers. Easy to pass off as nothing because they were all doing it, to one degree or another. Some, like Tommy Hagan, were less than subtle about it.

But the Eddie thing hit him like a bolt of lightning. Never saw it coming. One minute he’s a suspected murderer holding a broken bottle against Steve’s throat and the next Steve’s holding his hand while he’s cuffed to a hospital bed scared out of his mind.

There’s something to be said for seeing someone at their worst, there’s a pride from watching them climb back and knowing you had a part in that, being able to pat yourself on the back for it. But this isn’t the shared trauma that Robin talks of. This is pretty brown eyes and long lashes, this is dimples you want to sink your fingers into. This is hair you want to touch and hands you want to hold, and lips you want to kiss.

He’s spent so much time with Eddie over the last seven or eight months, and it’s snowballed; as the months roll on, the number of days they spend together has increased. At first it was to be helpful, for as much as the pair of them loved each other there was no way Eddie would feel comfortable with Dustin taking him to and from the bathroom to take a piss, or to hold his hair back when he puked, or to help him get dressed, or a multitude of other easy things that just became hard for him over night.

Steve could do those things for him. He wanted to do those things for him.

Eddie has other friends, sure, but Steve was there. He still has nights where all he can see imprinted on the back of his eyelids is Eddie’s corpse, can smell the penny scent of blood. His fingers twitch when he remembers how Eddie’s skin felt slippery, the sudden release of his chest as a rib breaks.

Those are things Eddie’s friends can’t know, and Steve is happy for them. He truly wishes he didn’t know, either.

They know things Steve doesn’t, however, and he needs their help.

Say what you want about Steve, but when he wants something he goes all out.

So dinner didn’t go well, but there’s not much he can do about that now. But just being there and seeing Eddie’s obvious pleasure at the effort at least did something to lift his spirits. And they had a nice evening, watching TV and talking late into the night until Eddie started to fall asleep on the couch and Steve took that as his cue to say goodnight, as much as he wanted to stay.

He nearly fucked up when he asked if Eddie wanted to hang with him and Robin for the day. He was like, ninety seven per cent sure Eddie would say no, the guy barely leaves the house these days, but just for a second he looked as if he was going to say yes. And that would have put a real crimp on Steve’s plans, because they had nothing to do with ferrying Robin around on a joy ride, and everything to do with Eddie.

He wakes early the day after Thanksgiving, despite the late night, which is not unusual for him; he still runs most days, he enjoys the feel of it, running through choice rather than because he’s trying to stay alive. It’s a decision he gets to make for himself, something he can own, and there hasn’t been an awful lot of that over the last few years.

But today he has a mission, and it starts with Dustin.

When he rolls up to the Henderson house it’s barely eight A.M., and there’s a good chance Dustin will still be in bed. So he does what the little shit heads would do. He bangs on Dustin’s bedroom window.

He peers through just in time to see a bundle of blankets tumble to the floor, Dustin smack in the middle of them. Dustin squints back at him before opening the window.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, what the fuck?”

“Your language is shocking, you know that? Is that Eddie? I need to keep you two apart, seriously.”

“I think my language it perfectly reasonable given it’s a holiday and it’s—“ he glances at his watch, “eight! Jesus—“

“—Christ, yeah, yeah I got it. I need help. Where does Gareth live?”

Dustin frowns at him, bleary eyed.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Uh, how about none of your business?”

“Uh, okay, how about I’m going back to bed now?”

Dustin moves to close the window, Steve reaching to stop him.

“Alright, alright. Jesus,” and for a second Steve thinks he might know where that language is actually coming from. “I’m running an errand for Eddie.”

“What kind of errand?”

This fucking kid.

“The private kind.”

“Why didn’t Eddie give you his address then?”

So, Steve’s tenacious, but maybe he doesn’t always think things through completely.

“Look, I’m trying to do something nice for Eddie, okay? The surprise type of nice, and no offence, but you’re just not that great at keeping your mouth shut.”

Dustin nearly chokes on his indignation. Steve just raises an eyebrow in challenge. The kid hasn’t got a leg to stand on, and he knows it.

“Fine!” Dustin huffs, then wanders into his room to find a pen and some paper. He’s back a second later, thrusting the yellow note paper at Steve.

“Thank you. Now was that so hard?”

Dustin flips him the bird in response.

“Okay, go back to bed you little shit. Call you tomorrow.”

“Make sure you do.”

And with that the window slams shut and Steve can’t help the fond smile as the curtains close.

As it turns out, Gareth doesn’t live all that far from the Hendersons. There’s something off about turning up outside someone’s house that early in the morning when you don’t really know them, and he can’t imagine Gareth is going to appreciate a knock on the door from him at anytime of the day honestly, so he sits in his car a few spots further up the street. He should have got a coffee and a donut, go the full Chief Hopper route.

Steve waits patiently for a little action inside the house, trying to gauge if people are up, had their breakfast, that kind of thing, when there’s a rumble from the opposite end of the street. He checks his rear view mirror and watches as a blue AMC Pacer struggles to climb the hill. He knows that car from the the Hawkins High parking lot, though it usually has music blaring from it. This morning it seems to be respectfully peaceful. He doesn’t get a chance to ponder it much further. It parks up outside Gareth’s place and Jeff climbs out, Matt pouring out behind him.

Steve waits patiently for them to go in the house, door opened by a bleary eyed Gareth with a nest for hair and blue check boxers fully on display. It takes twenty minutes for them to leave, this time everyone looking a little more awake. He pulls his keys from the ignition and opens the door.

“Hey.”

The three of them turn to face him all at once, glaring at him once they recognise him.

“Can we help you?” asks Gareth with a sneer.

Steve’s well aware these guys don’t like him, though he has no fucking clue why other than ‘you jock, me nerd’ which is total bullshit. He’s had a lot to work through this last few years, and part of that has been to stop apologising for who he was. Because firstly, he wasn’t that bad. A low key douche, but he wasn’t mean with it (Jonathan Byers being the exception, and he has apologised profusely). So you know, fuck these guys, honestly.

However, he also kind of needs them today.

“Uh, Henderson mentioned you were headed into Indy today? Shopping?”

“What’s it to you?” asks Matt.

“I need a favour. I have a— cousin? My cousin, yeah, so he’s staying with me at the moment and the guy’s had a tough year and I want to like, get him something nice, but I have no idea what.”

Jeff shakes his head. “We’re not personal shoppers, dude, how the fuck—”

“He’s one of you. He’s like a—” Steve gestures broadly at them, “Like, a metalhead, you know. And he plays guitar.”

“Oh my God,” laughs Matt, “There’s a cool Harrington? This is I have to see.”

And he and Jeff yuck it up, but Gareth isn’t. Gareth is looking at him, really looking and Steve thinks this was a fucking mistake. He feels a little naked out on this street, his insides on the outsides for this one person to scrutinise.

“Yeah, okay,” says Gareth, eventually. “So what do you want from us?”

He pulls a crumpled up page from the back pocket of his jeans. “This guitar store is having a sale, one day only. Store opens at ten, but like, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Matt grabs the paper from him. “Holy shit, you want to buy him a guitar? Can I be your cousin?”

“He— uh, lost his. And like, it was a big deal to him, you know? I can’t stretch to much, but I thought, maybe with the sale…” He shrugs.

While Jeff and Matt look at the ad, Gareth doesn’t take his eyes off him.

“Why didn’t you ask Eddie?”

It makes the other two pause and makes a little piece of Steve’s stomach drop.

“I was going to but, uh, he mentioned he was staying home. And you know, you guys know just as much about this shit as he does.”

He’s not above a bit of flattery to get what he wants.

“I need new strings, actually,” says Matt, staring at the crumpled paper.

“Shit, theres like fifty per cent off some of this stuff,” Jeff says, snatching the ad. “Time to get a new pedal.”

Gareth continues to try and bore holes through him with his eyes, so he decides to up the ante, offers to drive so they don’t all have to pile into Matt’s piece of shit Pacer, and he’ll buy them lunch, and sure, he’ll take them wherever they want to go in the city, and he’s starting to regret this, until Gareth says the magic word:

“Sure.”

It’s laced with suspicion and confusion, but fuck it, Steve will take it. He only needs them for a few hours.

The drive is uneventful. Jeff and Matt share college stories, telling Gareth about the parties they’re going to, the clubs they’ve joined, and in Matt’s case the pussy he’s getting. Steve nearly chokes on a Twizzler.

“Dude? ‘Pussy’? Really?”

“What? Since when have you been so puritanical? I can’t help it if the ladies flock to me.”

He’s desperately trying to not upset this particular apple cart, but Jesus they don’t make it easy.

Matt reaches through the back seats, looking to change radio stations, until Gareth slaps his hand and tells him to sit the fuck down.

“What about you, Harrington?” asks Matt.

Steve shoots him a look in the rearview mirror. “What about me?”

“Got any college plans?”

They have to know he doesn’t, and his skin itches with annoyance. He’s trying to be really nice for lot’s of reasons; right now because he needs them, but also their Eddie’s friends, Dustin and Mike and Lucas’s friends as well come to think of it. Jeff and Matt might not be around, but Gareth very much is. They weren’t around much to begin with, and Steve didn’t ask about that, not really his place and he kind of had bigger problems at the time, what with two friends in the hospital, El in hiding from the army and half the town crumbled to ash. But things seem to be better between them all now; Eddie has letters from them in a sweet little box he made on his desk, and a pennant from Loyola on his wall. Gareth comes over a couple of times a week to hang out with him. So it’s all on the up. But they still piss Steve off, and he’s entitled to that.

“Nope, just living the dream at Family Video.”

It’s a conversation killer, and he’s just pissed off enough not to care. Instead he cranks up the radio, Peter Cetera crooning The Glory of Love blasts from the speakers, though not loud enough to cover the groaning and Matt pretending to be sick.

They make it to Indy just before ten A.M. The store is much bigger than he expected. It also has a queue snaking down the block.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Gareth smirks at him. “It’s a black Friday sale, man. Fifty percent off this stuff is no joke. You thought you could just wander in like it’s a fricking Kroger? Jesus.”

“I want my pedal,” says Jeff as he wanders to the back of the queue.

Matt shakes his head. “Well, I’m not waiting in line for that.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to cross the street. “I’m going to Tower. I’ll meet you back at the King-mobile in an hour. Enjoy getting trampled!”

“King-mobile?” Steve mutters under his breath. “Asshole can walk home.”

He spends an awkward thirty minutes in line, listening to Jeff and Gareth arguing about music and games and a load of other shit Steve doesn’t know anything about, before Jeff tries to include him in the conversation, seemingly to Gareth’s annoyance. Eventually they’re in, and goddamn there are a lot of guitars; floor to ceiling, brand after brand, every colour and finish you can imagine. It’s oddly exciting, despite the fact he can’t play and has no idea what any of this stuff is. He gets a flash of the odd price ticket and his heart sinks. He’s not short of money, sure, but some of these would make an impressive hole in his savings account.

Jeff and Gareth desert him almost immediately, off playing with the toys, so Steve wanders through the store on his own, knocking shoulders occasionally with actual musicians trying out guitars. There’s a hum of activity, snippets of solos and songs he mostly doesn’t recognise filling the space around them. He’s out of his depth, but all the assistants are busy, and he hasn’t got a clue what he’s asking for anyway. So he does laps around the store looking at each guitar trying to size it up.

He stops when he gets to a rainbow wall of B.C. Rich guitars. He knows which one is Eddie’s, a red and black Warlock that was lost to the netherworld when Eddie’s trailer fell into the the void. They don’t have the same one, and his heart sinks a little until he spots a glossy black version He reaches out tentatively.

“Not that one.”

Steve spins, and comes face to face with Gareth.

“What?”

Gareth looks conflicted, looks around as if he thinks he’s going to be overheard. The hustle and bustle of shoppers continues, the solos and music continue to cycle from song to song.

“Not the Warlock.”

Steve finds himself mirroring Gareth, eyes fluttering around the store, falling on Jeff as he tries out a pedal.

“I don’t—”

“I don’t know what he went through back in March, but I know it was bad enough for him to sell his guitar. So—”

“Wait,” Steve starts, raising his hand. “He sold it? I thought he lost it in the earthquake?”

Gareth shakes his head. “I was with him, dude. He was so desperate to offload it he let it go for a hundred bucks. So if you’re looking to get him a new one, which I think is a bad idea by the way, then maybe don’t replace the one he just got rid of with the exact same model. I’m guessing there was a reason he didn’t want it anymore.”

“Why are we talking about Eddie? I told you, this is for my—”

“—you’re cousin, right. Well, my advice is don’t buy your cousin a Warlock. He won’t thank you for it.”

And with that he slinks off into the store, joining up with Jeff as he tests out a pedal, leaving Steve standing in front of a wall of guitars with no fucking clue what he’s doing, and feeling horribly seen in a way he doesn’t have the fortitude to unravel in the middle of a guitar store in Indianapolis.

He goes back to the car, radio playing Duran Duran while he can enjoy it before the three ungrateful shit heads pile in and abuse his good will by mocking literally everything about him. Eddie getting rid of the guitar makes no sense to him, but the more he thinks the more it dawns on him that he’s never heard Eddie play. Like, not ever. Even without the BC Rich there are two other guitars in his room, and Steve has spent a lot of time with Eddie over the last few months, and he’s never touched them once that he knows of. It doesn’t make any sense.

Except… his left hand shakes. A lot. And he rarely uses a knife, just uses a fork in his right hand, which Steve only notices because he notices everything about Eddie. Or he thought he had. He missed the biggest part of him. Eddie lost his music and Steve didn’t even notice.

Jeff and Gareth are back at the car on time, Matt only twenty minutes late, a record according to Jeff. True to his word Steve takes them to lunch, a diner called Sandy’s they all seem overly excited about. They’re talking among themselves and he finds himself content to listen as they talk about things they got up to with Eddie. Hearing about his escapades from before, back when Eddie was still just the school freak and high school super super senior, makes his chest ache. He wants to know that Eddie, wishes he’d had a chance to meet him and hang out before all the Upside Down crap stole their youth from them. But it hits him all at once that he could have had that, if his head hadn’t been stuck so far up Tommy Hagan’s ass.

He bites into his hot dog and keeps it to himself.

It’s late afternoon when they get back to Hawkins, and he drops everyone back at Gareth’s where they started this monumental waste of a day. Jeff and Matt thank him as they get out of the car, but Gareth hesitates before putting his hand on the door handle.

“Blue,” Gareth says, like he doesn’t want to, like Steve grabbed him by the throat and threatened him for it. “He likes blue. He doesn’t tell anyone, says it’s not metal.”

“Uh, okay…”

“And he gets the chilli dog, with extra onions at Sandy’s. With the cheese fries. And a large peanut butter malt. That’s his order.”

And like, what the fuck? Steve’s head spins with it, with the fact that Gareth knows something, he has seen something in Steve, and just how far does that go? How transparent is he that this kid who he barely knows has managed to just lift the lid on him and take out all his hidden parts?

“People haven’t been good to him. He likes you for some reason, so just, don’t fuck him up. That’s all I’m asking, man.”

And with that he gets out of the car, leaving Steve in a whirlwind of panic, and with problems still unsolved.

He needs to talk to Wayne.

#corrodedcoffinfest: black friday #corrodedcoffinfest #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #jeff stranger things #matt stranger things

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secretswiftymarvelfan · 3 years ago

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The Demigod From Asgard - Steve Rogers x Reader (Part 23)

Summary: Back in DC Steve’s world gets flipped upside down

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Angst! Canon Typical Violence! Slow burnn!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

Chapter 23: Ears and Eyes Everywhere

Back in DC Steve considered heading to your apartment but decided in the end to go visit the VA.

As he walked in the lady at the front desk instantly recognised him, standing up quickly from her chair. She glanced down at her outfit, smoothing out her hair, adjusting her blouse before sparing a quick glance at her reflection in the monitor. Once steve had reached the desk she had put on a winning and charming smile. Not that Steve really noticed.

“Hi I’m looking for my friend, Sam Wilson” Steve says remembering his promise to Sam the day before.

“Oh uh yeah of course. Just down that hall” she says slightly flustered as she points him in the right direction.

He thanks her before heading off in that direction. As he approaches he can hear a woman telling a story, talking about how she swerved to avoid a plastic bag, thinking it was IED. Steve leant up against the wooden pillar listening in.

He knew exactly what it was like. When fireworks went off on New Year’s and the fourth of July he’d have to remind himself that it was just a firework not a bomb. He heard a car backfire the other day, it nearly caused him to duck for cover.

Part of him thought that fighting with SHIELD would stop it, since he’d be exposed to it at work. He wasn’t sure if it was working though or just making the problem worse.

Steve hangs back as the session ends waiting until everyone was gone before he approaches Sam.

“Look who it is. The running man” Sam smiles sorting through the flyers as Steve walked over.

“Caught the last few minutes, it’s pretty intense” Steve sighs leaning up against the wall.

“Yeah brother we all got the same problems, guilt, regret” Sam sighs looking back up at Steve.

“You lose someone?” Steve asks.

“My wingman Riley. Flying a night mission, standard PJ rescue op. Nothing we hadn’t done 1000 times before. Until an RPG knocked Riley’s dumbass out of the sky” Sam sighs “nothing I could do about it. It’s like I was just up there to watch”

“I’m sorry” Steve sighs quietly, knowing exactly what it was like to just watch something happen and not be able to stop it, how powerless it makes you feel.

“After that, I had a real hard time finding a reason to be over there you know” Sam sighs.

“But you’re happy now? Back in the world?” Steve asks glancing down at all the flyers and brochures to help people adjust to life post military.

“The number of people giving me orders is down to about zero” Sam says looking around before turning back to Steve with a grin on his face “so hell yeah”

“Are you thinking about getting out?” Sam asks him.

“No” Steve says almost instantly before shaking his head, sighing “I don’t know”

“To be honest I don’t know what I would do with myself if I did” he sighs glancing down.

“Ultimate fighting?” Sam offers making Steve laugh “just a great idea off the top of my head”

“Seriously you could do whatever you want to do. What makes you happy?” Sam asks.

Steve thinks for a moment, but the only thing that came to mind was the memories he had of you.

“I don’t know” he sighs shrugging his shoulders.

“Well you’ll find something, and in the meantime if you need anyone to talk to about all of this just give me a call or pop round” Sam says grabbing a pen and scribbling down his number and address before passing it to Steve.

“Thanks Sam, I’ll see you around” Steve smiles holding out his hand.

“No problem, I’ll probably see you on your next run, if I don’t just see a blur that is” Sam smirks making Steve laughs as he shook his hand.

The sun had completely set by the time Steve made his way back to his apartment. As he made his way up the stairs he could hear his neighbour Kate talking to someone. He’d known Kate since he moved to DC, she seemed like a lovely person. You had said to Steve multiple times that there was something that felt off about her, but Steve didn’t see it.

He gives her a small smile and a wave as he passes her to get to his apartment.

“My aunt, she’s kind of an insomniac” Kate says when she put the phone down placing it in her basket of clothes.

“Hey if you want... if you want you’re welcome to use my machine. Might be cheaper than the one in the basement” Steve offers with a small shrug.

“Oh yeah? What’s it cost?” Kate asks with a smile.

“Uh a cup of coffee?” Steve suggests.

“Thank you but I already have a load in downstairs and you really don’t want my scrubs in your machine. I just finished a rotation in the infectious disease wards so” she says shaking her head gently.

“Well, I’ll keep my distance then” Steve chuckles taking a small step back.

“Hopefully not too far” she smiles and Steve suddenly realises she was flirting with him.

Yes he thought Kate was an attractive woman, and maybe a relationship with her would be easier considering he wouldn’t be working with her. But his heart wasn’t in it, she was just a friendly neighbour to him. Out of every woman he’d met none of them came close to you.

“Oh and I think you left your stereo on” Kate says as he turns away towards his door.

“Oh um thanks” he says waiting until she had gone down the stairs before turning back to his door.

Listening in he could hear one of his records being played. While Steve did own a modern day stereo, he still listened to music with his record player. Even if he had left that on this morning, considering he hadn’t been back to his apartment all day, it shouldn’t still be playing now.

Turning back around he finds a window climbing onto the fire escape. He keeps himself low and he approaches his apartment from the outside. Glancing through the window all the lights were still off and he couldn’t see anyone inside. He thought for a moment that maybe you had popped round using your spare key but you normally texted whenever you did that to give him a heads up.

He finds a window, gently opening it and climbing inside his own apartment. As he walks down the corridor he grabs his shield. As he pokes his head round the corner he spots the intruder sat by his record player. Sighing to himself he drops his defensive stance when he recognises who it is.

“I don’t remember giving you a key” Steve sighs.

Fury grunts as he sits up in the chair “you really think I’d need one” Fury says leaning forward.

“My wife kicked me out” he tells Steve.

“I didn’t know you were married” Steve states raising a brow.

Fury shrugs his shoulders “there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me” Fury says.

“I know Nick that’s the problem” Steve sighs walking further into the room to turn the light on.

As he does so he notices how beaten up Fury was, letting out a small gasp. He goes to say something but Fury holds up his hand to silence him, reaching up to the lamp beside him turning it off. Fury then starts typing away on his phone before showing it to Steve.

Ears everywhere

Steve sighs glancing around realises the apartment was most likely bugged.

“I’m sorry to have to do this but I had no place else to crash” Fury says typing out another message.

SHIELD compromised.

“Who else knows about your wife?” Steve asks.

Fury stands up holding up another message

You and me

“Just my friends” Fury says taking a couple steps towards Steve.

“Is that what we are?” Steve questions arching a brow.

“That’s up to you” Fury says.

Steve didn’t get a chance to respond as bullets flew through his apartment walls hitting Nick in the chest. Steve instinctively hides behind his Shield. Once the bullets stop Steve grabs Fury by his collar and drags him to cover. As he does so, he spots the shooter through the window. He goes to chase after the shooter but Fury grabs his hand stopping him.

“Trust no one” Fury coughs slipping Steve something.

Steve looks down and sees the flash drive from the Lemurian star. He doesn’t get a chance to question it as his door is broken through.

“Captain Rogers?” He hears Kate say, glancing round the corner he sees her walking in gun raised.

“Captain I’m Agent 13 of SHIELD special service” she tells him walking further into his apartment.

“Kate?” He says confused.

“I’m assigned to protect you” she says walking past him towards Fury.

“On whose orders?” He questions his voice raised in annoyance.

“On his” She answers nodding down to Fury.

“Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive. I need EMTs” she says into a radio.

“Do we have a 20 on the shooter?” Steve hears the guy on the radio respond.

As he glances around he spots the shooter through the window on the opposite building.

“Tell them I’m in pursuit” he says before running towards the window smashing through it to into the building opposite.

He races through the office building jumping over desks and smashed through doors. He sees the shooter jump onto the roof in front of him so he smashes through the window onto the same roof. He ducks and rolls throwing his shield as he does so. The shooter however easily catches it with his metal arm before throwing it back at Steve. Steve catches it easily but the force of it still pushes him backwards. When he looked back up the shooter was gone. Running over to the edge he looked down to see the shooter was long gone. The only thing he could see was Fury being loaded into an ambulance.

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Series Masterlist / Masterlist

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#NiamhWrites #the demigod from asgard series #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #captainamerica #captain america x reader #captain america x y/n #captain america x you #marvel #mcu #Chris Evans

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builder051 · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! Happy SS! For a prompt today, could you write something where Steve is really sick and throws up in bed. Maybe he feels really bad about it because he's embarrassed and he had to wake Bucky up. If not that's okay. I love your writing! Thank you so much and happy holidays!

Sure! This is Powers/No Powers.

_________________________

Steve's on Christmas Break, which means he's finagled a Christmas (observed) out of HR to cover Friday, and he's thanking the bright minds behind the fiscal year for the new load of leave that showed up in October. He's accrued a whole 10 hours of sick time in the past not-quite three months, so he's only good to stay home through Monday, but at least it's something.

Bucky's moved back in. He wouldn't go up the stairs for a while, sleeping on the sofa and living out of his luggage, but he let Steve launder his clothes and fold them back into the suitcases stashed under the coffee table.

They went up to the bedroom together eventually, though. Had some gentle make up sex. Though that was the night the electricity went out for half the block, so it might've just been a fluke.

They're on good terms now, though. Tenuous, maybe. But nothing's come down to cause stress.

Steve's a little on edge, though. He makes Bucky coffee three times a day. Fluffs the pillows in the dryer before they go to bed.

"You're neurotic," Bucky calls him, as Steve tries baking a gingerbread cake during their early dinner Friday evening.

"I am not." He unclips the kitchen timer from his jeans pocket, fumbling to turn off the loud beeping whilst dashing toward the oven. Bucky drops his napkin onto the table and rights the Coca Cola can that'd been knocked over when they'd both been startled by the sudden noise.

"Are you going to wash the bed again?" Bucky tips his head to the side.

Steve turns around, struggling to balance the glass loaf pan with one oven mitt. His face is flushed, and sweat beads on his forehead. He suddenly feels like he's run a marathon, and he isn't sure if what's wafting up from the surface of the cake is steam or smoke.

Bucky's smiling, his question clearly not meant to be serious. His brows begin to knit, though, and his expression turns to something like concern.

The pan seems to be burning straight through Steve's oven mitt, and he quickly slides it onto the stovetop. It tips sideways between the electric burners, and the hollow charcoal top splits and spills out a pile of cinders. "Fuck." A drip appears at the end of Steve's nose, and he wipes it on his sleeve. Now he can smell the damage.

"I'm sorry--" Steve starts.

"No, it's fine," Bucky steps closer, coming up just behind Steve and leaning forward slightly so his long hair brushes against Steve's ear. "Dessert isn't, you know. So much my thing."

"Yeah," Steve sighs. He's made a complete waste of time. A mess. A fool of himself. "Here, I'll go take it out." He pokes at the glass to set it right way up, but it still holds an intense amount of heat.

"I'll get it." Bucky pulls the oven mitt off Steve's hand.

"No, no." He can't think of how Bucky will possibly gouge the volcanic brick from the baking dish without broken glass becoming involved. Steve's pretty sure the pan itself is some kind of Barnes family heirloom. Straight out of the 1940s, and probably worth a few pennies.

"I'll take care of it." Steve reclaims the oven mitt. "Are you tired? D'you want to go up to bed?" He looks around shiftily. "I can clean up real quick, and... D'you want to shower? I can heat up the pillows--"

"Will you stop?" Bucky inserts himself between Steve and the burnt cake. "We can put the dishes in the sink, then wrap that thing in foil."

"Huh?"

"Wrapping will stop the smell, then it'll go and condensate on itself while it's still hot, turn to mush, and we can scrape it out later." Bucky shrugs.

"But-- that's--" Steve can't get his tongue around his words. "Tomorrow's Christmas. You want dirty dishes for Christmas?"

"Sure." Bucky even manages to sound upbeat. "Do you know how nuts you've been being?"

"I haven't--"

"Hey, takes one to know one." Bucky gives him a sad smile. "You look damn beat." He pauses. "Actually, you kind of look like little kid you. Like when you'd come back to school after you had a cold, then run too fast and almost stop breathing?"

"That's great..." It's Steve's first real day off in... he doesn't know how long. How long has Bucky been sick? Is he better? If he is, is it bad if Steve's annoyed at him?

A sneeze breaks their awkward silence. Steve goes into the downstairs bathroom for a Kleenex while Bucky loudly loads the sink. Aluminum foil crumples, and Steve decides dry brushing with the spare toothbrush behind the faucet is a better choice than inserting himself in the kitchen. He ventures out, though, when Bucky places the oven mitt on the mantle beside the tapestry woven stockings, and follows him wearily upstairs.

Neither of them bother to tumble the pillows. Bucky puts on pajamas and swallows his meds like a good boy. Steve, on the other hand, ditches his jeans on the floor and falls into bed as if it's midnight. The clock shows an hour of 7:30. If it weren't for a lifetime of awful sleeping habits, Steve might wonder what was going wrong. But the throb behind his eyes had to be work stress, and the ache in his lower back was certainly from the Christmas lights he'd quickly hastily tacked to the outside of the window. He just lies on his back, on top of his pillow, his chin on the corner of Bucky's, savoring the warmth and the opportunity to rest.

It doesn't last, though. Steve's eyes snap open. He's bewildered for maybe half a second, then panicked. He can't breathe. The air he just tried to suck in is liquid, and his body needs to get it out. He rolls instinctively onto his side, his head falling into the crevice between the two pillows, and a retch rocks his shoulders and neck.

Vomit pools up under Steve's cheek and spills in a a rivulet down his chin and toward his chest. More comes up before he can do anything to stop it. Finally Steve gets a breath in, but it's rough and desperately itchy. He wants to hack and pant and really clear his airway, but his stomach still has other ideas.

Intense nausea pushes Steve into an army crawl toward the edge of the bed. It's maybe two feet, but lifting his head exerts enough effort he feels like he could pass out. His gut goes watery and his jaw drops, leaving his back teeth chattering against air as spit and bile pour out onto the floor.

Strings of mucous hang from Steve's lips, giving him the false assertion that he's not done, even though he's empty now. His breath comes in rattles, and when he finally forcibly coughs and clears his throat, it brings on a series of loud, aching dry heaves.

"Y'ok...?" Bucky's sleepy voice asks from the other side of the bed.

Steve curses, but the only sound that comes out is gutterral and wet. He looks at the clock, which is blurry through watery eyes, and sees that it's barely 10. Barely adult bedtime. He is, truly, the worst.

"Buck...?" Steve manages.

"Mm-hm?" Bucky twitches, tosses his hand in the direction of Steve's back while he hugs the edge of the mattress with his stump arm. Unfortunately, with their current setup, he dips his palm in the sick soaking into the middle of the bed. "Wha...?"

"Can you-- I just--?" Steve clears his throat again and tries not to tip over as he sits back on his knees. The nausea has turned to vertigo, and he has trouble finding his center on the soft bed.

"Hm?" Bucky sit up like he's swimming the sidestroke. "You not feeling so good, Stevie?"

"I, um, yeah..." Another wave of lightheadedness passes over him, this time from pure mortification, Steve's sure. "There's a huge mess..."

"Yeah, 's'ok..." Bucky's eyes are a little glazed, his words a little slow. He's still under the influence of his night meds. "C'mere." He scrubs his hand on the sheets, then offers it to Steve.

Steve grasps it like a lifeline and slowly scoots into Bucky's warm space as Bucky maneuvers his own feet to the floor.

"I got you," Bucky murmurs, tucking Steve's head onto his shoulder and wrapping him up in the corner of the quilt. "It's ok."

"It's not--I'm sorry--" Steve fusses.

"Just happens," Bucky says. "You want the bathroom?"

"Don't want to move..."

"Don't have to." Bucky shifts to lean his hip against the bed. "We have time."

30 notes · View notes

ifmywishescametrue · 4 years ago

Note

WAIT I DIDNT KNOW YOU SHIPPED SAMTONY TOO!!! another oneeee #13 "I saw you looking at it last time we were in the store together, so I got it for you." for samtony

samtony is a very pure ship 😌 thank you for sending a prompt, and I hope you like it!

It starts on a perfectly average Tuesday morning.

“Why do I do this to myself?” Sam pants out, folding himself in half with his hands on his knees. “Every damn time I say it's the last time, and every damn time here we are again.”

Bucky claps a hand on his back and almost knocks him over with one touch. “Maybe you're a masochist, Sammy.”

Sam feebly flips him off, walking off the elevator on jelly legs. “I told you not to call me that.”

“You let Tony call you that,” Bucky points out, following him towards the kitchen.

"I actually like him. We're friends."

“That's offensive. I'm literally your best friend. Your favorite person. The Abbott to your Costello. The Tom to your Jerry. The Lucy to your Ethel.”

Sam snorts, “You're not even my favorite hundred year old man in this building. Also, if anyone’s the Lucy here, it’s me.”

Bucky scoffs, but whatever retort he had coming cuts off when they enter the kitchen. “Oh, damn, are those banana pancakes?”

He reaches for one on the top of the stack, and Tony slaps his hand away with the spatula. “Where are your manners, Barnes?”

“You’ve got like ten there,” Bucky whines. “Why can’t I have one?”

“You can have one when it’s your turn.”

Bucky gives him a dramatic pout that has no effect, and Sam laughs at the scene as he collapses into the stool next to Nat at the peninsula. She gives him a raised eyebrow and a quirked lip at the complete lack of grace.

Tony flits through the kitchen, exchanging lighthearted quips with Bucky as he goes. He has on an apron that Clint gave him at Christmas last year, covered in snowflakes and purple hearts with arrows through them in a mimicry of an ugly Christmas sweater pattern. Underneath it is a t-shirt dotted with Captain America shields, and the sweatpants have a cartoon version of the War Machine suit on the thigh. As usual, all of the colors clash.

A mug of coffee is placed in front of Sam with a small smile before Tony returns to the stove, and Sam is still drinking the first sip when he comes back with a plate of pancakes for him, topped with just the right amount of syrup and a dollop of whipped cream. Tony’s gone again before he can even finish saying thank you.

“Why is it his turn before me?” Bucky complains, and Sam laughs again through his first mouthful at how petulant he sounds.

“I like him the best,” Tony says, sending a wink Sam’s way. “And they’re for him, anyway. Your favorite, right?”

Sam’s eyes widen a bit in surprise. He doesn’t remember telling him that. “Uh, yeah, they are. How’d you know that?”

Tony shrugs, “I pay attention.”

He hands Bucky a plate of pancakes with another jab at his lack of patience, and the moment passes as quickly as it came, but it keeps happening after that.

Tony pays attention to him.

Maybe it was happening all along, before that morning with the pancakes, but just too subtle for Sam to take notice at first. Now that he has, though, he sees it all the time.

The next is just a few days later, when Tony knocks on his door holding a small, nondescript black box.

“What’s this for?” Sam asks, taking it from Tony’s hand. He doesn’t get an answer before he opens the lid to a simple, leather-banded watch. It’s nothing overtly expensive, nothing that screams ‘gift from a billionaire,’ but it is exactly something Sam would have chosen for himself.

“I saw you looking at it last time we were in the store together, so I got it for you,” Tony says simply. “Figured it would go well with that suit Pepper picked for you for the gala tomorrow night.”

Later, Sam will realize that Pepper had nothing to do with the suit choice that fit him perfectly, but for now he runs a thumb over the dark brown leather and says, “Yeah, it will. Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem,” Tony replies, and he lingers in the doorway for a while longer, lower lip between his teeth. Sam is about to ask if there was something else he came here for when Tony claps his hands together and says, “Well, I should get going. Workshop things to do and all that. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He disappears quickly, and that becomes part of it, too. Never dwelling on it when he does something just for Sam. Fleeing if he can, but sometimes staying when that’s what Sam needs instead.

“You look exhausted,” Tony says, and Sam manages a grumble from where he’s slumped on the living room couch, rubbing a hand over his bruised abdomen.

The mission took longer than either him or Bucky expected, and the fights were more intense. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out type of deal. Infiltrate the base, take out the lower level minions, and apprehend the leaders. But the intel wasn’t as accurate as they were hoping, and there were nearly double the number of enemies than predicted. No major injuries for either of them, but he’ll be sore for at least a few days. Bucky’s cuts and bruises healed on the way home.

Sam doesn’t notice that Tony left until he comes back with ice wrapped in a kitchen towel. He places the ice right on the worst spot over his ribs, holding it there until Sam replaces his hand with his own.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Tony remarks. “You should probably head up to bed. You’ll feel even worse if you fall asleep here, trust me on that one.”

It’s somewhere past midnight, Sam knows, but even with how tired his body is, his mind is still wide awake. The mission replays in his mind. Every faulty move, every chance to do better, every little detail both good and bad.

Sam shakes his head, “Not ready for bed yet.”

Tony takes the seat next to him, leaving an inch of space between them. “J, turn on the Saints game from yesterday.”

Sam smiles a little and asks, “Do you even like football?”

“It’s not the worst sport,” Tony replies vaguely. He settles back into the cushions and pulls the blanket off the back of the couch to cover them both.

“Yeah, what’s the best?”

Completely serious, Tony says, “Ping pong.”

Sam laughs, “That’s not a real sport. Pick something else.”

“Of course it’s real. It’s in the Olympics and everything,” Tony grins. “Give me one good reason it’s not a sport.”

“Alright, fine, maybe it’s real, but there’s no way it’s your favorite.”

Tony shrugs, “It’s entertaining sometimes. The professionals get really into it. There’s an awful lot of grunting involved.”

They stay up for a while longer, talking about nothing of importance, and Tony slowly shifts closer to him until that bit of distance is gone. His arm presses up against him, and Sam starts to have a hard time keeping his eyes open, it seems only natural to rest his head against Tony’s shoulder.

“You can go to bed,” Sam murmurs. “You don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I don’t mind,” Tony whispers back.

Sam does regret it a bit when he wakes up on the couch in the morning with a sore back, but there’s a fresh mug of coffee already waiting for him on the table, still warm and exactly how he likes it, and he smiles to himself anyway. That night is a shift to something different, and he knows it right away.

He starts to pay more attention to Tony’s interactions with everyone else, just in case he’s part of the rule and not the exception. Generosity is one of Tony’s best traits, but even so it tends to extend even further to him. More personal and frequent.

“So there’s this place in Brooklyn that claims to have the most authentic cajun cuisine outside of New Orleans. Want to come with me? Tell me if it’s true?”

It isn’t true, and Tony comes to him the next day with another one, until they’re on a quest together to find one that doesn’t make Sam miss home after just one bite. It takes them all over the city and into Jersey once or twice, and Sam doesn’t point out that Tony doesn’t even seem to like crawfish, no matter where it comes from. He doesn’t want it to be over if he does.

“This is pretty close,” Sam says. He thinks it might be place number eleven, but he lost count a while back. “Could use a little more spice, but at least they didn’t try to add their own spin to it.”

Tony’s watery eyes widen. “This isn’t spicy enough for you?”

Sam grins and shakes his head. “Remind me to bring you with me the next time I go home. You won’t know what hit you.”

Tony’s face does something complicated at that, before it settles on a soft smile. “Yeah, that would be fun.”

Sam fully gets it then, what exactly it all means, but he doesn’t quite know what he wants to do about it yet. Tony has taken up residence in a place in his heart that he wasn’t sure was capable of opening up anymore. He did it so easily, sneaking in like a thief in the night and catching Sam unaware.

Now the sound of Tony’s laugh makes his stomach flip. He seeks it out, telling him stupid stories and jokes to make it happen more. He stares a little too much to catch glimpses of his smile, and now he can see just how often Tony looks back.

It isn’t subtle anymore, this thing between them. Lingering looks, too long touches, and every quiet gesture all build up. Bucky teases him and Natasha gives him knowing looks. Steve tells him that he hopes they make each other happy, and Sam doesn’t tell him that nothing has happened between them like that. They’re still just friends, and they don’t talk about what any of it means.

“Do you want to see a movie with me tonight? There’s that weird one with the killer robots playing downtown,” Sam suggests, and neither of them say anything when Tony slips his hand into his in the darkness of the theater. It goes unmentioned, too, when Sam holds tight after Tony almost lets go when they reach the sidewalk afterwards.

It’s another late night when the last piece finally falls into place.

Sam is nursing bruised ribs again after another mission that turned a little sideways through no one’s fault. He’s still sweaty, dirt under his fingernails and dried blood caked around a shallow cut on his cheek, but Sam still asks JARVIS in the elevator to take him to wherever Tony is. It isn’t as surprising as it should be that Tony is waiting for him on the edge of Sam’s bed.

He stands there patiently while Tony looks him over, and he looks his fill in return. It’s strange how days away from him feel longer now. His balance is off center until Tony is around to set him right again.

“I missed you,” Sam murmurs, and Tony smiles softly.

“You were only gone a couple of days,” he points out, but Sam knows now that it’s his way of saying that he missed him just as much.

Normally, Sam would let it move on from here. Tony would lead him into the bathroom, gently clean up his scrapes, and click his tongue at every bruise. It would end with them on the couch, Sam’s head in Tony’s lap or vice versa, depending on what mood it takes. Sometimes he wants to hold Tony and remember that he survived another fight so he could come home to this, and sometimes he needs to be held to forget about everything else that was lost along the way.

But tonight he reaches out to grasp Tony’s hip, and he draws him in a little closer. The room is dimly lit, and each shadow on Tony’s face is accentuated. Sam can’t remember quite the first time he looked at him and thought the word ‘beautiful,’ but it’s all he’s thinking now.

“You love me,” Sam says. “For a long time now, right?”

Tony nods, and he wraps his arms around Sam’s waist, careful not to hold too tight. “You caught up eventually. Didn’t take as long as I thought it would.”

Sam smiles, cupping Tony’s face in one palm and stroking his thumb across his cheekbone. “How long were you expecting?”

“Maybe never,” Tony admits. “I would’ve kept trying, though.”

“Stay with me tonight?” Sam asks, because nothing more needs to be said for now. They both already know.

“How about every night?”

Sam leans in slowly, murmuring against his lips, “Sounds like a plan.”

#samtony #ironfalcon #ironfalcon fic #my writing #my fic #prompt fill #tony stark #sam wilson #warmachinesocks

101 notes · View notes

wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

Text

A Perfect Proposal

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: In which you propose to Loki. Warnings: Did anyone order fluff? Well, here you go :) A/N: Sending love out into the world for anyone who needs it. If you’re feeling down on yourself and like no one will want you (as so many of us oft think) just remember your real life Loki isn’t as far away as you think :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“I love you, dearest,” Loki said, placing a small kiss to your temple.

“I love you, too,” you replied. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life and every moment after.”

“I feel the same way.”

Unfortunately, for as much as he insisted that, Loki had yet to take the next step in your relationship. He’d been your boyfriend for nearly two years now, and you were both madly in love with the other. You honestly had no doubts about that at this point, but it was frustrating being stuck where you were, nonetheless. There wasn’t even anything wrong with your relationship, per se, but it had been the same thing for a while now. The problem was that you loved him so much, you wanted more. Marriage. You’d talked about it a while ago, and he seemed open to the idea, but he had yet to pop the question. With all the hints you’d been leaving recently, you thought he would have asked by now. There was nothing else you could do short of asking him yourself.

“That’s it,” you gasped, jumping up from the couch. “Sorry, Loki. I gotta go. I’ll see you later, ok?”

You gave him a quick peck on the cheek before hurrying off to find your friends, leaving a very confused god in your wake. Zooming into another common room, you found them locked in concentration on an intense game of MarioKart.

“Bucky, Wanda, Nat. Important announcement,” you said to get their attention.

“One second,” Bucky shushed. “I’m about to win.”

“In your dreams,” Wanda snickered.

You impatiently tapped your foot as you let them finish the final lap, about ready to burst with excitement from your idea. Bucky and Wanda both groaned as Nat snatched the win at the last second.

“And that is how it’s done,” she said high-fiving you. “Now, what’s the emergency?”

“I’m going to propose to Loki.”

Wanda squealed in excitement and threw her arms around you in a hug. “That’s awesome! I’m proud of you!”

“Thanks, but before I can go through with this, I’m going to need a ring.”

And so, your little band of friends snuck out of the Tower and headed to a jewelry shop in the city. You were marveling at all the beautiful bands, as your friends argued over which one would be best. They all had different ideas about what you should get, though you didn’t really have a clue yourself. You were sure you would know it when you saw it.

“I’m telling you, this is the best one,” Bucky insisted, holding up an antique ring.

“Are you crazy? It’s so worn. No offense, but who would want that one?” Nat said.

“Steve would like it,” he murmured.

“How about this one?” Wanda called.

She pointed to a slim, ebony black band in the display case. It was understated, yet pretty. You considered the shiny trinket for a moment. It seemed like something Loki would like, and yet it wasn’t quite right. Continuing to walk through the store and take in the countless options, something in your peripheral vision caught your attention. Your head snapped back to it, and you let out an audible gasp.

“This is the one,” you declared.

Your friends came rushing over to see. The ring was fashioned as a gold, double-headed snake with emeralds as eyes. Far from a typical engagement ring, but you and your boyfriend weren’t much for conventional.

“We’ll take it,” you told the chipper store clerk.

To thank your friends for their help, you treated them to some coffee. As you sat in the cafe, you began to obsess over how to propose to Loki, though they insisted you were overthinking it. They were acting as if it were easy to speak from the heart. Then again, Loki was the love of your life, so maybe the right words would just flow out in the moment. Still, you’d like to have some kind of general outline.

Your planning was cut short by your ringtone, and you knew it must be Loki as he was the only one who bothered with calling anymore. Everyone else just texted, but he hadn’t quite figured out how to do that yet. You had to admit, his ineptitude with technology was kind of cute.

“Dearest, can you hear me?” he asked. “Is this accursed magic box working?”

“Yes, my love,” you laughed. “It’s working just fine.”

“Very good. I was wondering if you would accompany me to dinner this evening. Say, 7:30, the balcony where we first met?”

“Absolutely.”

You remembered meeting Loki as if it had only just happened moments ago. You’d heard the stories of the monster he’d been at the Battle of New York, but standing there in the moonlight, he’d just looked fragile. You’d missed introductions earlier that day, having been on a mission, and approached with caution, careful not to rip him from his quiet reverie.

“Whatcha thinking about?” you’d asked softly, leaning next to him on the railing.

He’d looked slightly bewildered, whether because you snuck up on him or he didn’t know who you were, you still didn’t know.

“Nothing much, mortal,” he’d said.

“Well, that’s not very nice.”

“What?”

“Calling me ‘mortal.’”

“Well forgive me, but you did not introduce yourself,” he’d snapped back.

“Oh, well, yeah. Ok. I guess you’re right.”

You told him your name, and he said it softly, tasting the foreign word on his tongue. He tested it out a few times before coming to a conclusion.

“I like that name very much, mortal,” he teased.

“Haha very funny. How mature.”

Despite trying to sound angry, you couldn’t help but smile. You’d talked for a while after that and didn’t split up until the first light of morning began to fight through the darkness. Needless to say, you didn’t get much sleep, for even when you’d reached your room, your heart was pounding too wildly to allow you to slumber. You were too excited from meeting this handsome stranger. This god. Loki.

But that was then, and this was now. You walked out onto the balcony decorated with twinkle lights, candles, and your favorite flowers, the napkins and tablecloth your favorite color. You nervously checked to make sure you had the ring carefully tucked away one more time before going out to meet Loki in an embrace.

Throughout dinner, you mainly managed to keep your cool, but your leg would not stop bouncing with anxious energy. If Loki noticed, he didn’t say anything, though he did appear to be a little nervous himself, what with the constant fidgeting of hands and all.

Waving away your empty dishes with a flick of his hands, he began asking what you would like for dessert, but your mind was already far away. You jumped a little at the sound of Loki’s voice.

“I’m sorry, what was that again?” you asked, snapping back to the moment.

“Dearest, are you feeling alright?” he questioned, voice laced with concern. “You seem worried.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said as he raised an unconvinced eyebrow. It was now or never. “But I have something to say.”

“By all means, please share.”

“Ok,” you began, sucking in a sharp, anxious breath. “As you know, we’ve been dating for some time now, and I love you more than anything in this world. Even when we fight, that doesn’t change. Every moment I spend with you, I feel loved. Safe. Happy. You’ve been there for me in ways no one else in this world has. From the moment we met, something was screaming in my mind, ‘This is the one.’ It hasn’t stopped saying it since. I want to be with you, be there for you, for the rest of my life. Loki, my heart, my love, the light of my life, will you marry me?”

You got down onto one knee and popped open the ring box for a very stunned Loki. You gulped nervously as he seemed to regain his senses.

“Well, this is awkward,” he said. Your mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenario, assuming he was about to break up with you, but before you could speak your fears, Loki was also down on one knee, also opening a box. “I was just about to say the same thing.”

Now it was your turn to be stunned. You’d truly thought he was too hard on himself to ever actually ask for your hand in marriage, and you were elated that he loved you enough to work past that.

“In case the answer wasn’t obvious, yes. Yes with my whole heart!” you exclaimed, launching yourself into his arms.

Pulling back from him, you kissed him passionately. You slipped his ring onto his finger, and he did the same for you. It was exactly what you’d always hoped your engagement ring would look like. You beamed at Loki, completely happy.

“I love you, dearest,” he said.

“I love you, too. I can’t wait to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“And every moment after.”

221 notes · View notes

whisperlullaby · 4 years ago

Text

Just Say It and I’m Yours- Ch. 6

Banner by @dreamslikeaheartbeat

Summary: Steve’s POV. Steve and Bucky attend a dinner party you and Connor are throwing and Steve get’s a bad feeling about your boyfriend.

Words: 1990

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, controlling behavior, explicit language, angst

A/N: Thank you as always to @river-soul for her wonderful beta work. Minors please DNI. Please let me know if I missed any warnings!

Tags: @bestofbucky @syntheticavenger @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @libbymouse @sweeterthanthis @purselover2 @loveyou5everr @freyagreyson

////////////

“I can’t believe she’s still dating that defense attorney,” Steve grumbled to Bucky as they walked to your apartment. “It’s been three months; She’s way too good for him.”

Bucky sighed. “Well, Stevie, you could have told her not to when she asked.”

Steve looked at Bucky with his eyebrows pinched. “I couldn’t put her in danger like that Buck. If she was with me she would never be safe. She has a whole life ahead of her and I’m just a man out of time.”

Bucky clapped his shoulder.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he said, knocking on your apartment door.

Before Steve could say another word, you swung open the door and his breath caught in his throat. You were stunning, he could look at you all day.

“Hey, guys! I’m so glad you could make it. Come in, everyone else is already here!” You stepped aside to let them in.

Bucky gave you a quick peck on the cheek after he hung up his coat. Steve pulled you close and breathed you in. He always thought you melted perfectly into his arms and he could hold you forever if these were different circumstances.

At the sound of a voice clearing, you pulled away and Steve immediately missed your warmth. He looked over your shoulder and saw Connor. His clothes all perfectly pressed and he chuckled at the thought. You swatted at him and walked over to Connor pressing a soft kiss to his lips, Steve’s heart stopped beating until you pulled away. He didn’t miss the way Connor gripped your hip and you tried to push his hand away. He gave you an intense look and your gaze shifted to the floor.

“Hey, Connor, how’s it going?” Steve stuck out his hand and waited for Connor to return the gesture.

Connor let go of you to shake Steve's hand and he saw you sigh in relief.

“Glad Captain America could make it to our little dinner party,” Connor gestured to you. “This one has been excited about it all week.”

You huffed, straightening when Connor sent you a glare. “Well, honey I haven’t seen Steve in a month. Between his missions and our plans, it’s been hard to carve out time.”

You pulled Connor in close and whispered, “Please, he’s my best friend, be nice.”

“I don’t trust the guy,” Connor looked over at Steve and narrowed his eyes. “Go finish dinner.”

Steve was grateful and furious for his super hearing. He searched the crowd for Bucky, and when he spotted him he could tell he heard the way Connor spoke to you too. With a swift pat on your butt, you made your way to the kitchen to fulfill Connors request as he led Steve into the dining room. There were a few of your co-workers sitting around talking and Connor introduced Steve and Bucky to everyone. It was a few minutes before you returned with tears in your eyes, Steve started making his way to you.

“Hey, doll is everything okay?” Steve rubbed your shoulders voice laced with concern.

You took a shaky breath. “I, um, I ruined the roast and it just, it is one of Connor’s favorites and it’s ruined.”

Steve hated that you looked like you were going to burst into tears over a ruined roast. Why were you so nervous over a simple mistake? Before he could ask, Connor made his way over with Bucky close on his heels.

“Is everything okay over here?” Connor looked pointedly at you.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I ruined the roast. I have some pasta I can make with a simple sauce,” You offered.

“But sweetheart, everyone was really excited about the roast. Is there anything we can do to fix it?” Connor asked exasperatedly.

Bucky placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder and he realized he was clenching his fists and moving forward to intervene. You were clearly upset, how couldn’t Connor see that?

“I don’t think I can fix it Connor, please, can I just make the pasta?” You looked at the ground and stiffened when Connor pulled you into a hug.

You didn’t melt into him like you did with Steve. You seemed stiff, but you let him place a kiss on your lips and lead you back into the kitchen.

“Easy, Steve. Just because he’s curt doesn’t mean you can act like a hero. She isn’t a damsel in distress.” Bucky gently warned.

Steve shook his head. “She’s the strongest person I know, Buck. Something’s not right here.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “Let her tell us that Steve. Just be her friend.”

Steve clenched his jaw and took in a deep breath. When Connor returned to the dining room Steve craned his neck to look into the kitchen where he saw you crying chopping an onion.

“There’s been a slight change in the menu tonight, we had a little snafu with the stove so how does Pasta Primavera sound?” Connor asked, clapping his hands together.

“If Sparky is making it, then I’m sure it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever had,” Bucky grinned.

The rest of the group clapped and Connor made his way over to the bar to pour himself a drink.

“Hey Buck, can you keep Connor busy? I want to check on-” Bucky cut Steve off.

“Go, I’ll handle him,” Bucky cracked his neck and walked over to Connor.

You were sauteing vegetables when Steve came up next to you.

“Is everything okay, doll?”

Steve placed a gentle hand on your back and you jumped.

“Jesus, Steve, I didn’t hear you. Can I get you something?” You gave a short chuckle.

“I’m worried about you. Is Connor treating you right?”

Your eyes snapped to his and he saw anger flare in your eyes. He took a step back as you pointed a wooden spoon at him.

“Connor takes care of me just fine Steve. He loves me and he shows me as much. He’s not afraid to tell me what he wants.” Tears fell from your eyes and you angrily wiped at them.

“Doll I just want you to be happy.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry Steve. I am happy. Just a little stressed, and you would know that if you were around more.”

Steve felt his heart fall into his stomach. He reached out and pulled you into a hug, rocking you back and forth, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He felt you grab a fistful of his shirt and breathe in his cologne. Your body relaxed into his touch and soon you were pulling away smiling.

“Well, Cap. I have vegetables to sautee so get out of my kitchen and let me work.” You smiled at him. A real one that reached your eyes.

“Alright, alright. I can’t wait to taste it, smells delicious.” Steve kissed your forehead.

He walked back into the dining room and saw Bucky’s vibranium death grip on Connor’s shoulders as he told a story. Steve made his way over to the two and grabbed a tumbler off the bar cart.

“Hey, what are you two talking about?” Steve poured whiskey into his glass.

“I was just telling Connor about our Howling Commando’s days. Remember when I took out that guard from 100 meters away? In the rain?” Bucky forced a laugh.

“Yeah, no one ever did see you coming,” Steve added.

Connor gulped down the rest of his drink and stood up. “Well that’s fascinating but I should go check on my girlfriend.”

Connor gave Steve a pointed look before walking away.

“Were you spending that time scaring him?” Steve laughed.

“I wanted to make sure he knew what we were capable of,” Bucky stated.

Dinner went off without any more issues. Steve swore pasta Primavera was his new favorite dish. After dinner people started filtering out until it was just the four of them enjoying cocktails. Steve and Bucky were sitting on the couch while Connor sat in his chair with you on the arm. The more you drank the louder you got. Steve thought it was so cute how animated your face became while you were trying to tell a story through tears of laughter. After restarting the story for the third time Steve saw Connor tap your thigh while keeping a steady gaze on you. When you brushed him off, continuing with your story he did it again, hard enough that you jumped. Your drink dribbling down the side of the glass.

“Darling, you’ve had a bit too much to drink, why don’t we call it a night?” Connor urged.

Your smile dropped and you stood quickly. “You’re right honey I’m sorry. You have court in the morning.”

You placed your drink on the table while Steve and Bucky stood. You started moving to the door on unsteady feet. Steve watched as Connor remained seated, finishing his drink as you grabbed Steve and Bucky’s coats.

“You didn’t have to do that doll, we could have gotten them ourselves,” Steve said, grabbing his coat from your hands.

“Don’t worry about it Steve, what kind of host would I be if I wasn’t accommodating,” your words almost sounded rehearsed.

Steve took in a breath to speak when Connor walked up to you and put his arm over your shoulders pulling you close.

“Like she said, I do have court pretty early tomorrow. Thanks for coming, always a treat to have real Avengers slumming it with us regular folk.”

“Connor enough,” you stated pointedly.

Steve watched Connor squeeze your shoulder causing you to look down. Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm before he could react.

“Thanks for the delicious meal Sparky. It was one of the best I’ve ever had,” Bucky praised as his gaze shifted to Connor. “I hope we get a chance to continue our conversation. I have a few stories that I’m sure you’re dying to hear.”

Connor visibly gulped.

“You’re an amazing cook doll, we are very happy we came. It’s like we got to see a whole different side of you,” Steve stated sadly.

Bucky and Steve left your apartment and started walking home.

“Steve I know what you’re gonna say and don’t,” Bucky warned.

“Buck, he's not treating her right. She should be with someone who knows her worth and makes sure she remembers it. Not him,” Steve fumed.

“You can’t make these decisions for her. She’s smart, she wouldn’t do something that makes her unhappy,” Bucky reasoned.

“I’m going to talk to her again,” Steve resolved as Bucky sighed. “When I can spend some time alone with her.”

“Steve. You are my best friend and I love you but you are also the dumbest person on the planet.” Bucky lamented.

Steve scoffed and stopped walking. “I’m dumb because I want to make sure she’s happy? Being treated right?”

Bucky shook his head and sighed. “No, you’re dumb because you could have been her reason to be happy and you threw it away. Now you’re going to confront her, again, for dating someone you don’t like.”

“I can’t stand around and do nothing. He’s not right for her Buck.”

“I know. You do what you think you need to do, but I’m warning you. It’s not going to go how you expect it to.” Bucky continued walking.

Steve caught up to Bucky and continued walking in silence. He knew what he needed to say to you. Bucky didn’t see you in the kitchen, he didn’t catch the way you flinched at Connor’s touch. He didn’t hear the way you said you were stressed as if you had been this whole time. He knew you better than anyone else and could see through you. He couldn’t just sit back and watch the fiery person you are being replaced with this someone he barely recognized. He was going to talk to you again when it was just the two of you. You were his best friend, you’d listen to him.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #steve rogers series #just say it and i'm yours #mcu fanfiction

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munsontm · 2 years ago

Note

[ PULL ] — last one from steve i swear

[ PULL ] ; the sender pulls the receivers hair / @harringtontm

Eddie would spend days between Steve Harrington's thighs if the chance ever presented itself. They were strong, thick, warm, and spectacularly coloured by the sun that brought out crops of freckles all over. He liked to run his tongue tip over the brown spots, playing connect the dots with them until he had Steve squirming and gasping, non-too shyly asking him for more than a tease. But Eddie liked to tease so much. It was almost as good for him as the main event, reducing his partners to incoherent noise spliced with begging.

It felt especially rewarding to throw Steve off his game and make him fall apart, shed the cocky persona, and give slack to the control he usually held over himself. The guy could bark out orders and wail on monsters like a real champ. Honestly, Eddie found it incredibly hot when he did. But the problem with Steve Harrington was that he never put himself before anyone else, which forced Eddie to take it upon himself to do just that. It bugged him like no one's business to see the person he lov---was dating without a thought for his own pleasure. Eddie couldn't argue too much about it since he, too, was just as bad. Always wanting to please someone else in the bedroom other than himself. That's what he wanted for Steve, too, to take care of him in a way no other could.

"Steeeve," he said in a sing-song tone from his position on Steve's bedroom floor, knelt at the end of the bed, chin cushioned one of handsome bare thigh. Ringed fingers tapped idly on the others Nike's by his knees. He'd left the sneakers on...just the sneakers? A mistake, probably, but still weirdly hot nonetheless. Steve was flat-backed on the bed, an arm flung over his face, chest heaving. Good, that meant he'd be putty in his hands, easy to submit to the mind-blowing ecstasy Eddie intended on giving him. "Steve," he repeated, firmer the second time, lips curved into a spit shiny smirk. Almost instantly, Eddie was met with a wide gaze; pupils were blown wide enough to swallow the brown into black. Perfect. He beckoned the other closer with a curled finger, and Steve sat up comically quick, Eddie rising on his knees to meet him with a chuckle.

They kissed, chaste and sweet compared to the mauling of Steve's thighs that'd left him decorated like a Christmas tree with bite marks and hickeys. "Do you remember what we talked about, big boy?" Eddie hummed against Steve's lips, head cocked to one side. Steve thought for a second before nodding, and Eddie could've sworn those eyes somehow became darker, clouding over further with lust. "Good," a rewarding peck pressed to Steve's mouth, their gazes glued to one another. "But just to be clear one last time," because he knew just hearing it said out loud would make Steve needier than he already was. "You're gonna take that pretty prick of yours, stick it down my throat over and over until you come. Yeah?" Blunt, to the point. There was no point in mincing these things.

He could see the shiver run through Steve as he nodded, and a large hand slid into the long dark curls atop Eddie's head. "Good boy, you remembered that too," he praised, squeezing the thighs that bracketed his lither frame, earning himself a frustrated groan. "Pull hard. You know how I like it, handsome. And remember the tap-out signal." A second nod, a final kiss before Eddie sank back to get on with the job, with Steve watching him closely. He'd been down on plenty of guys, eaten his fair share of pussy. But he'd never given head to someone he lov---liked, loved, something. A faint redness coloured his cheeks. It wasn't as if people hadn't watched him in the past, and he actually liked it when they did. Yet, like with every aspect of his and Steve's relationship. It felt more intense, intertwined with those unspoken feelings, and how he wanted nothing more than to please Steve to an embarrassing degree, to hear from those hot lips how much he pleased Steve too. But that was a given with Steve; the guy always had praise on his tongue for Eddie.

A greedy tongue immediately swirled around the tip of Steve's dick, and he began to sink down without warning, sex over-filling his mouth. It had been no joke when he dubbed Steve Harrington a big boy and mastering the art of swallowing all of him had been a true labour of love. But it was worth it to have that hand tighten in his hair and hear Steve's symphony of moans and curses. It was as beautiful as the first time he heard Black Sabbath's Paranoia album. A fucking eye-opening, life-changing moment in his life. Just like when Steve changed his life when he walked into that boathouse.

Slender fingers decorated with chipped nail polish slid up to grasp Steve's hips, thumbs soothing over the shared scars. He gripped them tightly, holding the other in place while he manoeuvred to bottom out. It was kinda sweet how the other held back, and Eddie knew he was because of the tremble wracking Steve's body. Even with desperation on the horizon, Steve Harrington remained a gentleman until told otherwise.

Eddie started slow with shallow thrusts, sliding a quarter of the way up, then back down until he was buried against Steve's pelvis again. He let it build up from there to deeper, faster and harder, eventually relinquishing his hold on Steve, who wasted no time in pushing up into perfectly tight and wet heat, his hips lifting off the bed in a manic search for release. A hand anchored into messy curls like a vice grip; pulling them about to where the ecstasy peaked.

Eddie could hear the sob leaking into Steve's song, and if that didn't make it all the sweeter. That meant he was doing well, and Steve finally took a moment for himself. Goal accomplished. Hook line and sinker, baby.

Their eyes locked, Steve's beyond wrecked; he might as well have been on another planet, and Eddie's glassy, tears trickling down them from the pressure and exertion of being stuffed full. You feel so good, baby. Fucking perfect, so damned perfect, so good to me. Eddie moaned around Steve as he spoke, earning him a wicked yank on his hair that spurred him to go even faster, even harder. God, anything for Steve Fucking Harrington. The bastard that'd broken down his walls like they were made of tissue and made him fall in love.

The praise had spread all over him from head to toe in a wave of warmth. That was the moment he lived for. Hearing those words filled another kind of void in him, the one in his heart. Maybe he'd tell Steve afterwards, maybe not. Would Steve laugh at him? He didn't think so because Steve cared about him, which hit hard every time he remembered the truth of that. But right then, all that mattered to Eddie was delivering Steve that mind-blowing orgasm he promised him. The kind that solidified a guy's belief that he liked it when other guys sucked him off, and Eddie had always been nothing if not a convincing sort of fella regarding what he could do with his mouth alone, trouble and treat all wrapped up in one.

#𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐓: 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.#ship. whenever i’m alone with you; you make me feel like i am whole again (harringtontm) 🎸#harringtontm #v. volume 5.#this is basically a fic....welp.#idk how to write short smut #never have

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mymoonagedaydream · 4 years ago

Text

Lullaby

Summary: You’d learned to live with your nightmares, never expecting to find any kind of remedy

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, mentions of parent death

Author's Note: Back on it, ploughing through some lovely requests :)

---

You couldn’t believe it when you got the call.

Tony Stark had chosen you to be his new secretary, effective immediately.

Your flight to New York left the same day, but that wasn’t no issue at all, because you had very few belongings to pack and ever fewer goodbyes to say. No heartache or sentimentality, it was finally time to get away from your past and everything that reminded you of it.

Even though America was huge and bright and terrifying, it felt like your promised land, and you were eager to absorb every last drop of its mystifying beauty. You could barely stop yourself excitedly fidgeting in your plane seat.

Unfortunately, you’d greatly overestimated your capacity for adapting to sudden change. Your first day of work was really overwhelming.

You spent the entire morning just trying to familiarise yourself with the insanely complicated computer system, and a great deal of the afternoon doing the same, only getting a “break” during the hour or so you spent sitting in Tony’s meeting with Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.

They were all huge, incredibly intelligent and intimidatingly attractive- you’d really been thrown right in at the deep end.

Steve and Sam didn’t take much notice of you, giving polite smiles when they arrived but nothing more than that. You figured that, with this workload, Stark probably cycled through a new secretary every couple of months, so they’d have no real reason to learn your name or engage you in conversation.

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed a little intrigued. You felt his gaze land on you a few times, but whenever you mustered the courage to look back, his eyes immediately flicked away.

It was unbelievably difficult to focus on note-taking whilst being repeatedly studied by this statuesque, mountain of a man.

It was also unbelievably difficult to shake him from your mind even after the meeting had ended. When you finally finished for the day, you were completely exhausted and ready to just collapse.

Thankfully, your bed was only an elevator ride away.

Stark had given you a bedroom in the compound while you were looking for an apartment in the city. You told him you were struggling to find a place you liked but, truthfully, there was no way you could afford a deposit until you got your first pay check through.

You whiled away the evening hours watching some crappy shows and reading, eventually bumbling through your night-time routine and slipping into bed, hoping so much that tomorrow would be just a little easier.

---

A long, dark hallway stretched out before you. No doors, no windows, no turns, no end.

The soft padding of your bare feet against the ground echoed off the walls as your legs involuntarily marched into the darkness before you.

You focused more intently on the sound. It began to split, a distinct new set of footsteps detaching themselves and moving out of time with yours.

A cold wave of dread trickled down your spine. There was something behind you.

You couldn’t stop, couldn’t run, couldn’t turn. All you could do was carry on walking, forced to helplessly listen to the increasingly fast approach of your pursuer.

Hot, heavy breath brushed against the back of your neck. A set of long, dark claws crept their way into the corner of your vision, twitching manically, before clamping down on your shoulder.

‘Y/n!’

You bolted upright, eyes shooting open as you tried to gulp in deep breaths, heart thumping inside your chest like a jackhammer. Still struggling to separate the residual fragments of your nightmare from reality, you instinctively jerked away the hand firmly gripping your shoulder.

Bucky took the hint and stepped back from your bedside. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Jesus.’ You roughly wiped some of the cold moisture from your forehead. ‘Why the fuck are you in my room?’

‘I’m really sorry, I know this is weird but I heard you freaking out in here and I just wanted to make sure you were alright.’

Your gaze flicked towards him, the intense concern in his face confusing you a little.

He didn’t know you at all, why did he care?

You took a few deep breaths and collected your thoughts. Maybe cursing him out like that was a little harsh, he was just trying to help. Besides, if there was any face you wanted to shake you out of a nightmare, it was definitely that one.

‘I’m okay, thank you.’ You swung your legs over the side of the bed, perching yourself right on the edge as you shot him a faint smile. ‘I appreciate you checking up on me.’

‘Anytime.’

He lingered for a few seconds, rubbing his thighs nervously, before giving you a quick nod and heading back towards the corridor. Just as he reached your doorway, he paused, quickly spinning back around.

‘I’ll be in the living room for a while. Y’know, if you struggle to get back to sleep.’

You felt your smile grow into a wide, bashful grin as you watched him disappear down the hall. Your usual post-nightmare routine consisted of splashing cold water on your face and crying for an hour, so hanging out with Bucky was immeasurably preferable.

You debated how long you should wait before joining him, not wanting to miss an opportunity to get to know him better but also worried about coming across overly keen.

Ten minutes seemed reasonable.

Slipping on a sweater, you tiptoed past the other bedrooms on the corridor, hoping to god you wouldn’t wake any of the others and accidentally make a bunch of powerful enemies before you’d even spent your first night here.

Bucky was slouched on the sofa, watching TV with the volume so low that, at first, you thought it was muted. An open but untouched bottle of beer was standing on the table in front of him.

‘D’you have super hearing or something?’

His head snapped towards you, the corners of his mouth curling into a pleasantly surprised smile.

‘Something like that, yeah.’ He patted the seat next to him as he clicked the screen off. ‘There’s never anything worth watching on at this time anyway.’

‘You make it sound like you’re always awake at 4am.’

‘Mhmm. It’s nice to finally have some company.’

Chuckling weakly, you planted yourself next to him, as close as you could without invading his personal space. As soon as you were settled in, you felt him shift towards you.

‘You get nightmares often?’

‘Most nights since I was a kid.’ His mouth fell open slightly. ‘It sucks, but I’ve learned to live with it. They’re not nearly as bad as they used to be.’

‘Really? You were thrashing around like a fish out of water.’

Your face heated up a little when you noticed his playful smirk. ‘Trust me, that’s nothing. When I was eight I dislocated my aunt’s shoulder. Didn’t even wake up when she screamed.’

‘Jesus. You could’a warned me that I was risking my life earlier.’

‘Yeah, sorry. It’s just that, usually, people wait a few days after first meeting me before they come into my room while I’m asleep.’

He cocked a mischievous eyebrow at your teasing. ‘I’ll knock next time.’

‘Good plan.’

You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle a deep yawn, feeling incredibly drowsy all of a sudden, like you could drift off right there on the couch. The adrenaline from your nightmare must’ve finally worn off, it just never usually happened so quickly.

‘You good?’ Bucky obviously noticed your abrupt decline. ‘You can rest on my shoulder, if you want. Not as comfy as a bed but I can give you a hard shake if you start freaking out again.’

‘Thanks, I’ll try my best not to.’

You didn’t want to intrude too far, so you just leaned over and perched your head on the very edge of his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he shifted himself towards you, causing your head to slide neatly into the crook of his neck.

‘Did they start for a reason?’ You didn’t answer right away, needing a second to figure out how best to word it. ‘It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.’

‘No, I don’t mind. They pretty much started right after my parents died. They probably would’ve just stopped on their own after a while if I hadn’t had to move in with my aunt and uncle, pair of fucking assholes.’

He let a low chuckle escape his lips, sliding an arm around your shoulder and squeezing them lightly. ‘Well in that case I hope you did much more than dislocate her arm.’

‘I wish.’

You yawned again, unconsciously nestling your head further into Bucky’s neck and your body into his side, the soft motion of his hand stroking over your shoulder just making you all the more drowsy.

‘It’s alright, you can go to sleep.’ His soft, low voice was like a lullaby. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

As your eyes fluttered closed, you felt your breathing fall in time with his, and you slowly drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in years.

---

It was a little embarrassing when Steve came across the two of you in the morning, fast asleep on the couch, tangled together like electrical wires. Bucky explained the situation, but Steve didn’t look too convinced by his tale of nightmares and innocent chat.

Even Tony gave you a knowing look as he walked past your desk.

This wasn’t exactly the reputation you’d hoped to build in your first week, but nothing that could’ve shaken your good mood that day. Every time you thought about the night before you couldn’t help grinning to yourself like an idiot.

You even felt more optimistic about your future in the job, everything just seemed so much more straightforward and intuitive.

It was incredible what a difference some good, deep sleep made.

As you were getting ready for bed that night, your heart jumped at the sound of a soft knock against your bedroom door. You inched it open to see Bucky, looking a little nervous, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatpants.

‘Hey, I uh- I was just wondering-’ He paused for a second, narrowing his eyes at you slightly before chuckling and taking a step back. ‘Never mind, it was stupid.’

‘Go on. I promise I won’t laugh.’

You waited as he took a deep breath and steeled himself. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I slept better on that couch than I have in years. So I thought-’

‘Do you want to come in?’

You were a little surprised at how easily that’d fallen out of your mouth, and he looked pretty shocked too. ‘You sure?’

‘As long as you’re still willing to give me a cold, hard slap when necessary.’

He chuckled, nodding firmly. ‘I can definitely do that.’

You stepped aside and let him pass, quickly ducking your head into the corridor to check for witnesses before softly pushing your door closed.

After that night, you and Bucky fell into a routine of sneaking between bedrooms after everyone else had gone to sleep.

It was inexplicable, but the two of you just seemed to sleep so much better in each other's company. At first, Bucky had to wake you up and calm you down a couple times a night, but it really wasn’t long before you started sleeping through the night.

Between having him in your life, having your dream job and having the brand new feeling of being consistently well-rested, everything in your life finally felt like it was falling into place.

---

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helloprettybb · 4 years ago

Text

lot to learn

Just a quick little thing about periods. Because while he may be a little confused, you know Steve would get on that shit and take care of you.

summary- Steve does not know much about periods, but he tries.

word count- 1.4k

warnings- none really, curse word once maybe, periods if that’s a warning

7:03 a.m. Steve just returned from his early morning run and enters the kitchen to start his routine. Every morning, he wakes up at six, runs for an hour, makes breakfast for himself before showering and laying back in bed with you. But right when Steve started the coffee machine, which is way too advanced and expensive in his opinion, you walk in.

“Hey, honey. Whatcha doin’ up so early?” Steve asks curiously. You weren’t a morning person per se. So besides missions, it’s rare to see you out of bed before ten o’clock.

“Just woke up really early,” you reply absentmindedly. You walk past Steve and head towards the pill bottle cabinet. Rummaging through, Steve hears you huff an annoyed sigh before closing it abruptly.

“Need something?” Steve questions, wondering why you immediately went to the medicine cabinet.

“No,” you shake your head and yawn. “I’m just going to go back to sleep.”

“The machine will get started pretty soon if you want a cup.” Steve states. Instead, you shake your head and give him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving.

7:32 a.m. After breakfast, Steve returns to his room but is surprised when he doesn’t see you in his bed. Maybe you weren’t tired and decided to work out. Steve shrugs to himself before hopping in the shower.

11:49 a.m. It’s been four hours and Steve hasn’t seen you all day. Usually, on the weekends, you’d be clung onto him all day, which is why it’s so unusual. If you just needed your space, you could have told him. Steve reminds himself to not jump to conclusions.

But when you aren’t eating lunch with everybody, Steve has to bring it up. “Has anyone seen y/n?”

“Wouldn’t you know, lover boy?” Bucky teases causing Steve to roll his eyes.

“She’s in her room,” Natasha says casually, keeping her eyes glued on some case file.

“How do you know?” Steve asks, wondering why Natasha knows and he doesn’t.

“Because she told me she’d be there all day,” Nat responds, moving to the next file. Steve furrows his brow in confusion. Why would you tell Nat, but not him? He hopes he hasn’t done anything to upset you. Steve runs a mental list of everything he’s said or done in the past week, but he can’t come up with anything.

“Did she say why?” Steve questions, dying to find out the reason for your avoidance.

“Yeah, she’s on her period.” Natasha states, tone unchanging. The men around the table have varying reactions, but with the same level of discomfort. Steve’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his head, Sam lets out an audible ‘oh’, while Bucky almost chokes on his food. Natasha eyes all the boys and simply rolls her eyes.

She turns to Steve and asks, “She didn’t tell you that?”

Steve shook his head and says, “No,” Then he thinks and realizes you’ve never talked about your period. Not that he’s asked, but for the seven months that he’s been with you, you’ve never even mentioned it. He knows that you have one, obviously, but you’ve never brought it up, so Steve assumed it wasn’t something to talk about.

“Hm,” Natasha hums, “Well, last I checked she’s curled up in the fetal position because there aren’t any painkillers.” Steve finds it ironic that people who constantly get hurt don’t have any pain meds. But then he remembers that a lot of them have some form of enhanced healing.

Steve needs to make up the seven months of you dealing with your period by yourself and he thinks he knows how. Getting up, Steve leaves to grab his keys and hears Natasha yell, “If you’re going to the store, pick up some pads.”

12:21 p.m. This should not be this confusing. But here he is: standing in the feminine hygiene aisle and staring in confusion at the different brands of pads. Steve honestly could not tell the difference between Always and Kotex or why there are night and day pads. There are numbers that correspond to flow, which Steve did not know could be that intense. But after twenty minutes in the period products aisle, Steve has learned more about periods than any health class in the forties.

Finally, after what felt like hours of deliberation, Steve grabs four boxes and leaves the aisle. Picking out pain medication was much easier and took a significantly shorter amount of time. While strolling to the cashier, Steve spotted your favorite snack and figured it wouldn’t hurt to buy it for you.

You feel like absolute shit. Your abdomen feels like it’s trying to kill yourself while your head is starting to get the same idea. You feel like a flood comes out of you every time you try to stand up and your scared that if you move, your bedsheets will look like a crime scene.

Falling asleep helps a little, but unfortunately, your cramps painfully pull you back into consciousness every twenty minutes or so. You’re about to attempt to doze off when you hear a knock on the door.

“Can I come in, doll?” you hear Steve ask. You don’t want him to see you like this. Over the months, you’ve been able to hide your period from Steve, but for some reason, this cycle is a real pain in the ass. As if he could read your thoughts, Steve adds, “I know you’re on your period.”

You can’t tell if you should be relieved or more worried. Steve’s a great guy, but what if he’s super grossed out. The whole reason you hide your periods from him is that your past boyfriends have clearly expressed their disgust. Realizing you might as well confront it head-on, you let him in. You try to hide the pain by sitting up, which proves to be a struggle, so you settle for leaning upright.

Steve opens the door and your concerns immediately leave your brain as you see what’s in Steve’s hands. He’s holding a grocery bag in one hand and your favorite snack in the other. “Steve, you shouldn’t have!” you exclaim.

He closes the door behind him and walks over to your bed. “It’s the least I could do for my girl.” Steve says and maybe it’s your slightly heightened emotions, but you could’ve burst into tears. He sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Aw, Steve, I love you so much,” you gush, wrapping your arms around his neck. Steve sets the bag down on the bed and returns the hug. Feeling his warmth distracts you from the inconsistent pain in your abdomen.

“I love you, too. But you know I could’ve done this for you earlier,” he states after pulling away. You look down a little bashfully. Of course, Steve would have helped you.

“I know, it’s just that my past boyfriends would always get weirded out, so I’d hide it from them.” you admit to him.

“Well, I’m better than those assholes,” Steve remarks confidently, causing you to laugh. You laugh a little too hard because you feel a pang in your stomach, causing you to wince a little. Steve must have caught it because he brings up, “Oh, I also bought you painkillers and pads.”

Steve moves to grab the bag beside you. He pulls out a bottle of Advil and sets it on your bedside table. Then he pulls out multiple boxes of pads. “Why did you buy so many?” you laugh.

“I went by myself, which in hindsight, was not the smartest because I had no idea what I was looking for.” Steve confesses honestly. You look over the boxes and laugh even harder. “What’s so funny?” Steve asks.

You hold up a box and tell him, “These are liners.” Steve still looks confused so you explain, “They’re for when your period is really light. They aren’t really pads.”

“Well, I guess I have a lot to learn,” Steve states. You look for a box that actually has pads. Grabbing the box and the pain medicine, you go to the bathroom.

Returning to your room, you see Steve stretched out on your bed. “I’m probably going to be in here for the rest of the day. You don’t have to stay with me,” you tell him, hoping he doesn’t feel obligated to stay inside.

“Trust me, I want to stay with you.” Steve replies, making you smile brightly. “Now come over here. I have seven months of cuddles to make up.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine

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rovewritesit · 4 years ago

Text

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 5) John Deacon x Reader Series

GIF: @johndeac

Apologies for the delay! Work has been an absolute shit fest. The big show I’m on got canceled, but we still have to finish the season at some point so oof. Also, my boss is moving to Italy? Pray for my sanity, folks.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language. Feelings of anxiety. Angst (oooo!)

Chapter Notes: I've rewritten this chapter so many times that I don't even know what it is anymore. Angst is hard, my dudes! Why can't it all be flirty glances and quick banter?!

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Songs Mentioned:

Moonlight in Vermont - Frank Sinatra

Blues Run The Game - Jackson C. Frank

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye @hae-bee @aprilaady @theresalexis @uglipotata72829

- - - - - - -

September 1982 - The Music Inn, New York City

“Bri, get a load of all these fucking maracas!”

Brian makes his way over to where Roger is gazing at a massive wall adorned with shaker-filled shelves, dipping his head low to avoid the sea of guitars hanging from the ceiling above his long frame.

Queen was back in New York for their first-ever appearance on Saturday Night Live. Finding time in between the intensive rehearsals during the week had been hard, but Freddie insisted they would make the time for his favorite New Yorkers. When the time was finally found, he, of course, was unavailable, off antiquing at some of Manhattan’s luxury spots but promised to meet up with the group later on.

The Limbs managed to snag the other three men for a trip to the historic Music Inn. Nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, the dingy treasure trove was located a stone’s throw away from the city’s most prominent folk clubs that boasted discovering the talents of Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel.

You were quite confident that your newfound English friends would love it. Every visible space was stuffed or covered with an abundance of musical paraphernalia. So much so that you had been in the store dozens of times without ever finding out what color the walls were. Its layout was always changing to fit the ever-growing amount of items displayed, the familiar specks of dust that sparkled in the sunlight being the only constants.

“Hey, Jeff!” Steve calls out to the eccentric owner. “Where are these from?”

The aging hippie shuffles over. “Mostly South America,” he explains in his usual gravelly drawl. “A customer brought back some new shekeres from West Africa last week that have a nice sound to them.” Jeff motions up the sprawling wall. Roger immediately grabs a few, testing the sounds out against the ones Steve is already playing with - the two of them like kids in a candy store.

Jeff had been a good friend to The Limbs since their early teen years, having let the group spend hours on end attempting to learn every exotic instrument they could get their hands on. Anyone who entered the shop could count on him as a spirit guide of sorts to a wealth of worldly music. And while The Limbs had kept their first album fairly plain in context, they were already itching, particularly Steve, to experiment on the next album. Whenever that would be.

Now that a few more of their singles were moderately successful hits, Columbia Records was focused on milking it for all that it was worth. The execs were currently setting up an extensive American tour of the Mid - West Coast part of the country, all the major cities they hadn’t hit on their first tour.

“Y/N,” Jeff gestures for you to follow him, probably excited to show you a new find seeing as you were always eager and willing to give them a test run. You make your way down the staircase lined with large balalaikas to the musty lower level filled with various sound equipment and electronic instruments.

“What on god’s green earth would you use that for?” you hear Rich’s deep voice implore. He rolls his eyes as Eddie moons over an ornately engraved mandolin.

“It worked for Rod Stewart, didn’t it? That mandolin solo in Maggie May shredded,” he retorts. “Plus, look how pretty she is!”

You watch your feet as you carefully maneuver around the amps and pedals haphazardly strewn around the floor, following Jeff to the back of the room - taking special care to step around John, who is crouched low looking over the wiring of a particularly grody-looking amp.

Upon entering the store, he had taken off on his own right away, immediately entranced by the sprawling selection all about him. But you had caught the worn, far-off look in his eyes when he greeted you with a short wave earlier. You try not to let the lack of attention bother you as you pass him without so much as a glance up. The heartfelt conversation you had the last time they were in town had rooted itself in your memory. Spilling your guts like you did that night wasn't a common occurrence for you- figuring you were already easy enough to read due to the panicked expression often etched onto your face.

Why him? Even your bandmates weren’t privy to the babblings of your intimate thoughts. It couldn’t just be his boyish tooth-gap or the pleasing line of his straight nose. Maybe it was the confusing mix of nerves and comfort you felt whenever in his presence. It was unlike the persistent butterflies you were used to when around attractive humans. Feeling instead like a gentle humming that you somehow sensed everywhere at once.

You’re brought out of your swimming thoughts as Jeff clears his throat loudly to get your attention. You must’ve been staring blankly at the floor for quite a while. He gestures to a bulky item draped in a tarp, as you give him a small apologetic smile.

“Oh yes, very pretty,” you smirk at him.

He rolls his eyes as he attempts to sweep the tarp off in a dramatic reveal, but in reality, it gets stuck. The man scrambles to uncover it, and as soon as it peeks out, you gasp.

“A theremin!”

You gaze at the ordinary-looking wooden cabinet in awe. It must be old, seeing as they were mostly compact now.

“You haven’t had one in ages,” you marvel, locking eyes with Jeff.

“Which means it’s been a while since I’ve heard your ambient screeches plaguing these walls.”

Your finger points to him in protest. “Hey, I was getting better until you sold the last one on me!”

“Well, I didn’t see you making a bid for it,” he playfully shrugs.

“Let’s hear those screeches!” Eddie yells out. Rich claps his hands excitedly beside him. You poke your tongue out at them, but your eyes catch John’s, and you quickly close your mouth. Still crouched, he looks on with mild curiosity wrinkled on his brow. He lightly raises them at you in silent encouragement.

You slowly make your way behind the instrument as Jeff plugs it into the wall. Turning one of the knobs, it hums to life as you check the metal attachments protruding from the wood frame. It really is old. You have no idea how to even begin to calibrate it. Taking a deep breath, you timidly bring your hands up in position.

It lets out a high pitched wail that burns your ears from being so close, and you yank your hands away from the field of current. Eddie and Rich erupt into cheers while John slowly stands, moving a bit closer to see the mechanism properly.

Jeff lightly pushes you back towards it in a gentle coax. This time you slowly bring your curled hand a reasonable distance away from the pitch antenna, keeping your other low on the one for volume. Squeezing your eyes shut to focus on the tone, you slowly move until you find your starting note. It was all about sense memory and your ears to fill the gaps with nothing to physically touch.

Uncurling your fingers, you begin the opening notes of Moonlight in Vermont - the one song you had somewhat taught yourself through hours of painstaking practice. You fumble a bit, eliciting a squeak or two while trying to remember the hand placements that produce the proper notes. While you might “play” many instruments, you were middling at many, master of none. You make it through the first verse before your head starts to pound from your jaw-clenched concentration.

“Fuck the mandolin, let’s get that for the next album!” you hear Rich tell Eddie.

“Ah, yes, you’ve heard Pet Sounds. Now prepare your ears for The Limb’s sophomore attempt, Ghost Sounds,”

Their banter is drowned out as John chimes in. “How on earth did you learn that?” You meet his struck expression and shrug lightly.

“Don’t downplay it, Bun. It’s pretty fucking cool,” Rich assures you. “And her knowing ASL also helps,” he explains to John.

“Sign language?”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s mom is deaf,” Eddie reveals bluntly. You shoot him a look.

“Sorry, hard of hearing,” he holds his hands out in defense.

John is silent for a moment as he mulls the information over, causing a speck of tension in the room.

“Your mother’s never heard you sing?” he asks incredulously as if he can’t possibly imagine it.

You give a small smile. “No, I guess she hasn’t. But I was in the car with her the first time I heard us on the radio. I turned the treble down and the bass all the way up and she bopped along to the beat pretty well.”

Rich chuckles lightly at the story. “She’s always been hoot, hasn’t she?”

You nod gently. “Aptly put. That’s how she describes herself as a matter of fact.”

John shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he takes a look around the room, his cheeks a light pink. You're unsure of why.

“I’m gonna head out for a quick smoke,” you decide, patting Jeff on the shoulder. “I know how you hate it.”

He gives your hand a light squeeze before you make your way upstairs, hoping to catch John’s eyes, but he avoids yours yet again.

A pleasing blend of harmonies can be heard as you hit the landing. You peek your head around a large assortment of bongos to find Brian strumming a small acoustic on the other side of the store. Roger, Steve, and Lawrence all crammed around, the four of them singing a rendition of Blues Run the Game.

Your heart warms at the sight, remembering the times when you and the boys would sit around a campfire and croon out the same sad tune. Eddie and Rich will be pissed they missed this. Steve notices your presence and silently ticks his head for you to come join. You hold up your pack of Marlborough’s in response to him before finally slipping out the front, trying your best to not jingle the adorned bells too much.

A cool breeze promptly passes through the knit of your sweater. It’s late September, and New York has begun to really cool off. You pull down the sleeves to cover your hands as you light your cigarette, wincing a bit on the first inhale. It was a leftover habit from your college days- scarcely used, only in social situations, or to get out of awkward ones.

Taking in the familiar street, you can’t help but giggle at the day you were having. To be showing Queen around your old hangout still felt absurd. No matter how genuinely they seemed to like the company of your band, you couldn’t fathom them wanting to spend the day with you all. Weren’t there bigger and better musicians in this city to be hanging out with?

The sound of a lighter flicking to life comes from your left, and you turn. John leans against the faded wall as he takes a drag, his eyes trained on the dirty sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, i- if I offended you with my comment about your mother,” he professes quietly.

Your brows shoot up in confusion. “What?”

“We have a friend whose father is deaf. A lovely man. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.” He sighs, finally turning to face you. “It’s just that the memory of hearing your voice for the first time isn’t something one can easily shake. I mean that in a way that- it’s just a shame really. For her to not be able to share in it when it’s something so...” he looks as if he’s racking his brain for an appropriate word. “Well, singular.”

You suck in a breath at his words. In all your years, you had never gotten that as a response to your mother’s disability. It was mostly a polite, “Oh, really? I’m so sorry to hear that.” His honesty and consideration for your feelings knock the present hum of your body up to 100.

You flinch as gentle burning hits your fingers, and you look down at your forgotten cigarette, quickly flicking it to the ground before crushing it under your heel. John shifts his weight from side to side, never taking his eyes off of you while he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“I write out my lyrics for her so she can read them as poems,” you state simply, smiling up at him. “Sometimes she makes up her own melodies and sings them around the house. It’s not the easiest on the ears, but she’s pretty inventive.” His eyes crinkle as he returns your grin - his first genuine one of the day.

“So she’s heard music before?”

“Oh yeah. She has nerve deafness, which didn’t start till her late twenties. She actually spent a lot of time around here when she was younger. Bitter End and The Gaslight are just a few blocks away.”

He hums lightly as he stares at you- like you’re a puzzle whose pieces are just beginning to fit together.

“Can you teach me something in sign language?”

Once again, your brows shoot up, shocked by his response. You blink a few times, trying to think of what to say. Going with the only thing that pops to mind, you sign out a phrase as he watches your hands intently.

“And what does that mean?”

You smirk, “You are a cheesy cow.”

“I’m sorry?” he laughs out.

You repeat it back slowly while signing along. “You. Are. A. Cheesy. Cow. It’s the first thing my mother taught me how to sign.”

He runs his hand over his jaw as he chuckles. “Rich was right. A hoot she must be.”

“I’m pretty shit, to be honest, and she read lips, so it’s mostly used for snide comments during extended family gatherings.”

You watch as he puts out his cigarette and carefully takes a step closer to you. “I’m assuming your colourful vocabulary extends to those instances as well.”

“Right you are.”

“Freddie will love that,” he snickers. “He always seems to collect vulgarities in other languages wherever we go.”

Your attention is torn away as a sleek black car rolls up to a stop at the curb. It’s out of place in the middle of the street filled with old and worn buildings, which can similarly describe the people who mill about.

“Speak of the Queen herself,” you laugh as a sunglass-clad Freddie steps onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, isn’t this quaint!” he exclaims, peering into the shop window. He straightens as he turns to you, hands-on-hips.

“Deacy. Thumper. Are we fans of freezing our tits off, or shall we go inside?”

You give John a small smile and push yourself off the wall, making your way over to Freddie, who immediately pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. The bells against the door ring out as you all enter the shop.

“Ah, Deacy,” Brian pokes his head out from one of the narrow aisles, still in a constant crouch to avoid the instruments above his head. “I was looking for you. Found these adorable teeny guitars I thought might be good to bring back for the kids. What do you think?”

“Kids?” you mumble to yourself as John makes his way over to inspect them.

“Brian has two, and John’s already up to 3. Maybe we should’ve nicknamed him Bunny.” Freddie laughs, nudging your arm. “You know… fucking like rabbits,” he expands due to your lack of chuckling.

He leans into your field of vision as he studies your statue-like expression, eyebrows knit in confusion. His eyes take in your ashen face and your lifeless expression. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing. When you lock your eyes with his, you know he understands from the sheer size of how big they become. He straightens up, glancing around quickly as if looking for something to put out a fire.

“Freddie!” Steven dances over, clicking a pair of castanets in his hands. “I wanted to show you thi-”

“So sorry, love, we can’t. Y/N promised to come to a fitting with me, and we’re already late," he announces loudly, pulling you by the arm and out the door before anyone can react.

- - - - - - -

You blankly stare at your reflection in the long mirror. Freddie had instructed his stylist to pull some outfits for you to parade around in as he tried on a bevy of metallic coats.

“You’re an idiot,” you tell the girl staring back at you.

Freddie sashays over, a shag jacket swaying with him as he places his hands on your shoulders, surveying the strappy dress you were currently squeezed into.

“Oh yes, this will do for the after-party,” he instructs.

“I’m not going.”

He heaves a deep sigh. “Darling, you already refused the ticket I got you for the show. You’re coming to the party,” he declares, turning away to look at more options.

“This isn’t really me…” you mumble, gesturing to the dress.

He regards you with a small smile. “Exactly. I say this with love, but you need a look, Y/N. Something that makes you feel unstoppable,” he gestures to his body as he twirls towards you. “Don’t you want to shock them?”

You chew your lip as you ponder that sentiment. Dawn usually just shoved you into whatever ensemble she had picked for you - leather jackets, monochromatic sets, tight jumpsuits. She kept hoping you’d find a style you fancied, but you had yet to find anything remotely likable under the lights of the stage.

“To be honest, I just want to be able to feel comfortable out there," you sigh. "But I can’t strut around in flashy outfits or conduct a whole crowd like you do." Huffing as you collapse onto one of the white couches around you. He perches beside you, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa.

“Then don’t,” he says simply.

You snort a response as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but have you tried showing them a bit more of yourself?”

“I can’t do that.”

He turns to you now, grabbing your attention with his eyes.

“And why not?” he questions.

You gaze down at your hands, which you’re now wringing together in your lap. “What if it’s nothing spectacular?” you whisper out the criticism that you'd drilled into your mind for the past year.

Freddie laughs lightly as he stands. “Let’s not start lying to ourselves, shall we?” He moves in front of you and kneels, now at eye level, making so you can’t look away.

“Sometimes people go to a concert for an escape. A big bloody show with dazzling lights and petite men galavanting around a stage in spandex tights,” he smiles.

“But most of the time they just want to find a piece of themselves in it, don’t they? Commonality. They want to hear you, see you, and feel just a little less alone than we all know we are. I saw just a slice of it at your concert, and it was indeed something spectacular. So take that as you will.”

You’re not one to cry much, but your eyes soften as you take in the icon of a man in front of you. A man loved by millions, who was currently filling in as your personal rock n’ roll fairy godmother.

“You’re a fantastic person, you know that?” you tell him genuinely.

“Yes,” he quips as he gets to his feet. “Now, are we done scurrying around the real problem at hand?”

You sigh as you look away, firmly willing yourself not to break the dam of bottled emotions threatening to spill out. Why couldn't you just feel numb? It would be better than the wave of childish self-pity you found yourself in.

Freddie huffs at your reaction. “Oh, you brat. Sorry to tell you, but you’re an open book, my dear. And not one of those big pompous things Brian reads. A bloody children’s book. One filled with pictures.”

You're sure you’ve now bitten through the entire top layer of your lip as you contemplate how to even begin.

“I’m an idiot,” you shrug to yourself yet again.

“No,” he points a finger at you. “You’re decidedly not. Though I am curious as to how someone who’s as big of a fan as your friends say you are, missed out on that detail.”

“I’m not sure either. I mean, I listen to your albums and go to your show, but I guess I didn’t pour over the tabloids or press interviews or anything like that.”

Freddie nods along as he sifts through another rack of jackets, choosing an incredibly tight white leather number.

“I assumed you knew,” he answers while glancing at his reflection. “And I would say Deacy should know better, but he’s not quite himself at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” you press, suddenly much more interested in the conversation.

He turns to you, palms up in explanation. “It’s not that he wouldn’t normally be charmed by your shy presence and occasionally crass mouth… But I’m a bit worried he’s finding comfort in your smiles for the wrong reasons.”

“Huh?”

Sighing heavily as if debating if he should keep skirting around his words, he holds your gaze. “An impending divorce is crippling lonely, even if it is somewhat amicable.”

His mouth is brought into a pout as you suck in a sharp breath.

Divorce. All your previous interactions play through your head from a different angle. Pity sneaks up on you as you remember John’s advice he’d given you. The concept of home is a funny thing. You scoff out loud at how your childlike crush had skewed your interpretation of your relationship with the man.

“I’m usually the one singing his praises,” Freddie muses, breaking you out of your inner monologue of resentment towards yourself. “But he seems more lost than usual at the moment.”

He gently lifts your chin. “I don’t normally meddle in- well, actually I do. Just don’t want to see you get hurt, Bunny. Not when the world is soon to be at your feet.”

"I'm fine," you lie, gently brush away his gesture. "I barely even know the guy. I was just shocked to have my silly fascination with him interrupted. Stupid, really."

"Don't do that," he exhales. "Don't put it on yourself. You'd have to be blind to ignore the fact that he's quite taken with you."

"I'm fine," you repeat, making your way into the back to change out of the ridiculous dress that suddenly felt even tighter now.

Shutting the door slowly, you let out a deep breath. It's all good, you tell yourself. Of course you got caught up in the attention of a world-renown musician. Who wouldn't? It's nothing special. As Freddie said, he's not even acting like himself. Although you were indeed in true form- getting caught up by the slightest of interactions. Unconsciously playing them as a loop in your head. You can't help but cringe at your own escalation of the situation.

Squaring your shoulders, you take in the image of yourself in the dress again. Perhaps it was time for you to shock them all.

- - - - - - -

“And so my grandfather goes out to the alley and sees her just wailing on this scrawny man. I mean, really going to town. So he pulls her off him, and the dude’s got a black eye and a bloody nose. And he’s like, “Thanks mate, thought she was gonna kill me there.”

Roger ruffles your hair in response to your poor attempt at a British accent. The group of cast and crew around you chuckle at the gesture.

You had decided that if you were going to be forcibly dragged to this after-party by your bandmates, you would at least aim to make it worthwhile. A debut of your new mentality. One where you weren't just acting the part of a rising rock star, but living it.

Which is why at the moment, you found yourself the center of attention, surrounded by the cast and crew of SNL laughing along to your amusing story. But this was all hinged on you carefully, avoiding the presence of John Deacon at all costs. Which, in reality, wasn't very hard to do- you had yet to see him since arriving an hour ago.

“Oh my god, who was it?!” the young cast member beside you presses. You think her name is Julia, but the sheer amount of people you'd been introduced to was dizzying.

"That's exactly what we asked him when he told us. All he said was that it was some man with big lips who was in a fur coat and looked like he hadn't eaten in a month..."

The cam op across from you gasps, "It was MICK JAGGER? God bless your grandfather, I would've wept if she murdered him."

"So would my mom AND grandmother," you laugh. "Give us each a glass of wine, and it's basically a Mick fan club."

"Who else?" Brian taps your leg, surprisingly urging you to divulge more gossip.

You can't help but smirk as the group leans forward intently.

"Robin Williams?" you tease as their eyebrows all raise.

"Horrible tipper, but he makes up for it by performing dirty puppet shows with the napkins."

"Sounds about right," funnyman Brad Hall confirms, offering you another drink.

You politely decline, determined to keep your wits about you this evening. "I'm gonna go grab some water. Anyone want anything?"

The group shakes their heads, but Lawrence jumps up to join you on your trek to the crowded bar.

"Wouldn't it be insane if this was us one day?" he exclaims as you weave your way through the mass of bodies littering the Capitol Grill.

You smile up at him, "Dream big, buddy."

"Oh, I intend to," he confirms you as you spot Eddie and Rich waving you over from a spot at the bar.

Rich promptly wraps his arm around your shoulders as you join them. He always had a stoic way of letting you know he saw through the cracks in your poorly constructed armor. Taking the role of a caring older brother, more so than your own.

"Have we lost Steve again?" Lawrence asks the group.

Eddie nods across the room. "He's exactly where you think he'd be," he scoffs as you catch a glimpse of Steve, trailing Freddie like a lost puppy.

"Um, excuse me?" a short girl mumbles from behind Eddies' denim-clad shoulder. He turns, glancing down.

"Hiya," he regards her casually, causing her a deep blush to creep across her cheeks. She shoves a napkin and pen at him.

"C-could I get an autograph? Please?"

Eddie smirks at her flustered appearance, making sure to brush her fingers as he grabs the items out of her trembling hand.

"And what beautiful name should I be making this out to?"

She lets out a jarring high pitched giggle as she stumbles over her words. "Oh, uh, Shelley."

"Well, here ya go, Shelley," he hands the napkin back to her, now adorned with his messy scrawl. "Maybe I'll see you later."

She squeaks as she hurries back to her shrieking friends who are huddled conspicuously off to the side.

"Gross," you state. "She's a child. Probably one of the executive's kids."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "Gotta keep em' interested, Bun. As the heartthrob of the group, it's my sworn duty."

"Slow your roll there, Rob Lowe," Rich interjects. "I think Y/N's giving you a run for your money in this dress."

You glance down at the Freddie approved ensemble. It was eye-catching for sure, precisely what you were going for. It's black suede straps crisscrossed strategically against your body, giving peaks of the skin underneath.

"It looks good, Bun," Rich assures you.

“Guys,” you all turn your attention to Steve, who has just joined the circle clumsily. His pupils are blown wide from his current blood alcohol content, and he sways slightly on his heels.

"I- I have something to say," he announces to the group, getting your attention. You all wait patiently as he hesitates, clearing his throat twice before lowering his voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m gay.”

You glance around to the other boys whose expressions mirror your own warm smile. You’d all known Steve was gay since high school, not that any of you had talked about it. You had just assumed it was something unspoken. That he’d tell you whenever he was ready or met someone good enough to introduce to you all.

Steve gapes at your expressions. "Where is the shock? I was expecting shock and awe, people!"

"Steve, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m assuming we’ve all known for a while," Rich says gently. You all nod lightly in agreement.

"How?"

"Do you remember the types of girls who used to throw themselves at you? Like Becky Whale? Man, I would’ve killed for Becky Whale to throw something at me. But you never took them up on it," Lawrence elaborates.

Steve smiles around at all of you, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“I had a crush on Eddie in high school,” he confesses.

Eddie pumps his fist lightly. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lawrence exclaims. “You just had to boost that ego, didn’t ya? I know pretty boys are great and all, but I’m the one with the big soft cuddles. People love big soft cuddles!”

Rich expands his arms as he brings you all in for a hug.

You kiss Steve gently on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, bud,” you whisper.

"Thank you guys, I just felt like it was time. And now that that's out of the way," Steve grunts as you all untangle yourselves. “I’m gonna go find Freddie. He said he’s taking me out to a club after this!”

He skips away with a grin, back towards Freddie, who catches your eye with a knowing smile and winks. It seems you weren’t the only band member who had found a fairy godmother in Mr. Mercury.

You all lightly laugh affectionately at your friend until Eddie and Lawrence wander off to scope out the food situation. You lean against the bar next to Rich, glancing around at the loud laughter erupting from the outgoing crowd. One person noticeably sticks out. A sullen John Deacon sits at the end of the bar, hunched over what looks like a glass of whiskey.

"Looks like he's in need of a friend," Rich surmises.

You tear your eyes away from the sorry sight to look at him. "They're around here somewhere," you shrug.

He rubs your arms up and down lightly before slinking into the crowd, knowingly leaving you alone.

You sneak a peek over at John. He runs one hand through his curls as the other absentmindedly stirs the straw of his sweating drink. You watch him sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and gulping down the spirit without so much as a wince.

Hesitantly making your way over to him, you rub your clammy hands over the expensive material of your dress. This is the opposite of avoidance, you scold yourself, silently willing your feet to change direction. But your willpower has seemingly left the building.

You carefully perch yourself on the stool next to his, as not to disturb his brooding. He glances over quickly, doing a double-take when he realizes who it is.

"Oh, hello there," he greets you with a small smile. "I didn't know you had arrived."

You nod your head lightly. "How could you? It seems you set up camp over here."

"Ah, yes," he breathes, straightening his posture. "Wasn't our best tonight, I'm afraid. Not much to celebrate."

You take a sip of your water as you continue to nod silently.

"Actually," he begins, angling his body towards yours, almost slipping off his stool as you notice his apparent intoxication. "I was thinking about that conversation we had. When I met your spritely grandfather."

"Oh?" you question. Keeping your face neutral even though your heart was already buzzing at the fact.

"Yes. Mostly about how naive I was—all that bloody nonsense about finding a home. Do me a favor and never take my advice, will you? You'll end up completely wrecking yours."

This was a bad idea.

"It's just- you draw these lines for yourself in the sand," he drawls, waving his hands about in front of him. "A stupid phrase, really. Where did it even come from?"

"The Bible," you tell him quietly.

He lets out a big sigh, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Well, it's gotten it wrong before, hasn't it?"

You simply hum an acknowledgment, too scared to probe for fear of where this was going.

"Anyway, you draw these lines. Moral, physical, promises you make to yourself, things you swear you’d never do, dreams to accomplish," he lists out. "But sand moves about, dunnit? It blows all over the place. Makes a mess. Gets in your sandwich. And those lines blur. Or fade away. And all of a sudden, you've crossed them without even knowing! Broken those promises. Skipped right over those dreams."

He's too far gone in his rant to register the growing panic sweeping across your features.

"You were right. Sometimes you look in the mirror, and it's just a complete stranger staring back at you, isn't it?"

Trying to keep your breathing steady, you stare at the crumbling man before you. He runs his large hands along his face before ducking back into his former position, signaling for the bartender to bring him another drink.

This is precisely why you should've stuck to your original plan. What were you supposed to say to the man who was so obviously hurting from his failed marriage? So much so that it was pouring out of him. You know that if it weren't for the alcohol, he wouldn't be confiding any of this to you.

But there was a reason the boys called you the mom of the group, and it wasn't because you were the only female. You feel a pang of need to comfort him. You gaze at him, not with pity, but an overwhelming sense of empathy for the man and make up your mind.

You clear your throat to answer, brushing away your own warnings about how it would only sink you deeper into your fascination with him.

"I was wrong, actually," you start as he brings his head up to look at you. "And you know what phrase I hate? That people don't change."

He furrows his brow but remains silent as you continue.

"Maybe we're not made up of lines in the sand. Maybe we're the wind?" You try not to cringe at yourself and your poor use of metaphor. "And winds sometimes blow in different directions... but that's okay because it's where life is supposed to take them." Falling silent, you decide to quit while you’re ahead.

You're not ahead. You're not even out of the gate. What the fuck was that?

A slow smile inches onto his face as he holds your stare. "How did you get so wise for someone your age," he teases.

"And what age would that be?"

His mouth opens and closes as he studies your face. "Twenty?"

"Mm, close. Twenty-four."

"Really?" he ponders. "Freddie mentioned you dropped out of university."

"Ah, yes. The university I could only go to after working to afford it," you explain.

He continues to stare, the look in his eyes shifting slightly as he takes you in. A look that matches the color and intensity of uncharted, open water. You need to get out of here.

"Well, that explains your extraordinary use of analogy then."

Dragging your eyes off of his, you glance around at the party you were missing. Gladly missing, unfortunately.

"I should go check on Steve. He's having a bit of a night," you tell him as you stand. "Try not to drown yourself in those," gesturing to the new glass of whiskey in front of him.

"How can I drown myself? I thought I was the wind," he points out with a grin.

Before any more banter can ensue, you simply smile and make your way back to your friends. Thinking to yourself that maybe lines in the sand weren't so bad. And that perhaps it was time for you to start drawing some of your own.

#john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #angelofmydreams

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halfwaythereroyalwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Destressing (Steve Rogers x Filipina!Reader Kilig One-Shot)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Filipina!Reader

Warnings: SMUT. Unprotected sex (wrap it up in real life, but this is fiction sooo). Oral (M! Receiving). Fingering. Spitting. Rough. Possible secondhand embarrassment or stress. It’s a lot.

Word count: 2k+

Summary: Filipinx parties can be a lot, and Steve helps you destress before getting ready.

Kilig is a Tagalog word to describe the feeling of excitement and exhilaration and possibly embarrassment from anything remotely romantic.

Masterlist

______________________________________

The continuous pitter-patter of the locker room shower was echoing off the walls. It seemed the world was against you that day. Meetings ran late. People kept cornering you with questions. Your damn badge inexplicably stopped working resulting in a lengthy visit to IT. All of this misfortunate happenings added to the anxiety you were feeling about tonight: the night Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, would finally meet your family. Unfortunately, the invite was late. Late as in — you found out this morning. The reason for the party escaped your mind. Your family finds any excuse to throw a party, and now that they know you had finally snagged a boyfriend — especially one that is a national hero — they were really eager to finally meet him.

Surprisingly, Steve took the last-minute plans in stride despite your very frantic announcement, with you aggressively cornering Steve after a briefing and rambling at 100 miles an hour about a party at Tita Maria’s house. He was already dressed by the time you had to leave. You, on the other hand, decided to stay and workout in the gym instead before going home, trying desperately to rid your body of anxiety.

“Doll, we’re gonna be late. We still have to head home before going to your folks’ place.”

The squeak of the shower being turned off made Steve quietly sigh in relief. You appeared in front of him, wrapped in a towel, and dripping water all over the floor.

“First off, being late is fine. It’d actually be pretty weird if we showed up on time,” you explained, opening your locker and sorting through your clean clothes. “Second, I hate going to these things. They’re gonna love you. You’re their ideal man, but I am never going to hear the end of it! ‘Did you gain weight?’ ‘Did you get darker?’ ‘So when are you getting married?’ UGH! I hate these things,” you were visibly seething by the end of your rant. You plopped down on to the bench next to Steve who brought your head closer to place a kiss on your temple.

“Well I hope I’m your ideal man too, doll,” Steve mused.

“Of course you are. I just don’t like coming around there,” you pouted at Steve, placing your hand on his thigh.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” Steve offered. You couldn’t help but scoff at Steve’s naiveté. He’ll never know the level of mind games these parties require, and the very thought of going wound your muscles as tight as a vice.

“Babe, you have no idea how Filipino families can be. It’s Game of Thrones but with brown people and better food,” you quipped. Your hand massaged the sizable knot forming on your shoulder. Steve took notice and gently pushed your hand away, massaging the knot himself while you closed your eyes and leaned against him. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, doll,” Steve comforted. Damn it. This man was too perfect to be true. You had been bugging him all day about how you were dreading seeing your relatives, and yet here he was, patient and perfect, as ever. You kissed his cheek in response.

“Steve…” You trailed kisses from his cheek to his perfectly-cut jawline to his neck.

“Uh…ye-yes, doll?” Steve croaked out, his eyes closing at the feeling of you placing open-mouthed kisses on his neck.

“Can you help me calm down?”

“Ye-yeah what do you…mmmgghh,” Steve groaned mid-question as your hand made its way onto his groin, massaging his dick through his jeans. His head knocked back in pleasure — a low growl emanating from his throat. You whimpered at Steve’s hand stopping you from feeling him. “We’re going to be late. Anyone could walk in right now.” Your hand continued grinding against Steve’s growing arousal. You nipped at his earlobe before whispering into his ear.

“Makes this all the more…exciting, doesn’t it?” As graceful as you could, you got up from the bench and stood in front of him. “Steve, trust me. We got time.” You dropped your towel, got on your knees, and caressed his thighs — glancing up at him through your eyelashes.

“You’re killing me, doll.” Smirking, your fingers made quick work of unbuttoning and sliding his jeans and underwear off of his muscular legs. You took his half-erect cock in your hands, pumping a few times before licking a hot stripe up the big vein on the underside. Steve took his shirt off. His hand gripped a fistful of your hair. His head knocked back, eyes closed in ecstasy at your actions, and a low groan rumbled from his chest. A couple drops of pre-cum dripped out of the tip of his cock. Your thumb circled around the tip, kissing and softly sucking. You started licking and sucking on his balls, hand still pumping his length, making more pre-cum drip out of his sensitive tip. Steve had his eyes locked on you, and yours on him. You licked up the large protruding vein before spitting on his cock and quickly taking his length in your mouth.

“…fuuckk,” Steve whispered. The power you felt from the sight of his head knocking back in pleasure and his whispered cursing was indescribable. His hands held your hair and guided you up and down his pulsing cock. His mouth was agape, in awe of the pleasure you were giving him. Your hand was pumping whatever you couldn’t take in your mouth. Your moans of pleasure would shoot the most delicious vibrations down his cock which would make Steve groan in response, gripping your hair tighter and whispering your name over and over again, pleading with you not to stop. The throbbing sensation in your pussy was becoming unbearable, and you used your free hand to rub circles around your swollen clit, quickly coating your hand in your own arousal.

Each small pang of pleasure from your own hand made you moan on Steve’s cock. Steve gently thrust his hips up and pushed your head down, urging you to take him deep into your throat. Bracing your hands on his thighs, you gladly obliged, letting his dick slide past the back of your throat. He moved your head up and down slightly, the salacious sounds of you sucking and choking on his big dick echoing in the empty locker room, making you wetter and Steve groan louder. He pulled you off his cock, breathing hard at the sight of you, mouth and chin dripping wet with pre-cum and spit. You traced some off your chin and licked your fingers, keeping your eyes firmly locked on him. Steve roughly grabbed your jaw and kissed you, wasting no time slipping his tongue in your mouth, tasting the remnants of himself.

“Get up,” Steve growled. As soon as you got off your knees, he pulled you on top of him, your knees resting on either side of his hips, his mouth placing open-mouthed kisses on the base of your neck. His arm was around your waist, keeping you pinned to him, while his hand groped and teased your breast. He trailed down to your other breast, switching between sucking, licking, nipping, tugging, and teasing. The way he switched between your breasts. The way he would lick and grope and nip and…God, this man was going to be the end of you. Your hand was tangled in his hair, and you couldn’t help but mirror Steve’s earlier actions and knock your head back at the sensation of his mouth on your tits. “Look at me.”

You stared into his eyes that were now seemingly dark in a lust-ridden haze. His large hands gripped your hips before pushing you down to grind on his hard cock. A loud moan escaped your throat, eyes closing at the delicious friction he provided. “No,” he grunted. “Keep your eyes on me. I wanna see your face as you grind on my cock.” His hand gripped your hair as your hips were grinding on him; his groans deep and guttural, stirring your arousal even more.

“Steve, I can’t-I can’t take it anymore. Please,” you pleaded with him, your hips moving faster against his cock.

“Please, what? Use your words, doll. Tell me what you want.” His fingers started circling your clit, heightening your pleasure and making you lose your breath. He dipped his fingers into your soaked cunt, coating his fingers in your arousal. He thrust his curved fingers in you a few times, softly stroking a spot that made you roll your eyes back in pleasure. He pulled his fingers out and licked them, never letting his gaze break from yours.

“Agh! Fu-fuck, Steve…I want your cock in me, please,” you pleaded with him. Steve lined his erection up to your pussy and slowly thrust inside, letting you adjust to his length. You moaned at the sinful, sensual stretch of your pussy as Steve’s cock bottomed out. You moved your hips up and down, slowly, before picking up the pace. Steve gripped his hands on your hips, watching you in awe, slightly helping you up and down as you rode him. Your fingers tightly wound into his hair and gripped his neck for support. He whispered sweet nothings to you, as you repeatedly slammed your hips down onto his, reveling in the pleasure and heat of the moment.

Steve’s patience ran out and eagerly took back control. He gripped your hips and roughly thrust into you at a fast-paced, almost brutally satisfying way. You couldn’t help the strangled cry that escaped your treat at the raw ecstasy overtaking every inch of your body. His fingers started circling your clit, tightening the coil of your pending orgasm. “Holy shit! Fuck Steve! I’m so close. So close. Steve. Steve. Steve please…ah…ah…fuck…oh mY GOD STEVE!” You collapsed on his chest, shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. Steve’s arms circled around you, groaning at the feeling of your dripping pussy convulsing around his cock. He stroked your hair and rubbed your back as he waited for you to stop shaking, peppering your face with light kisses, whispering about how beautiful you look and how good you are doing. When your body had calmed down, Steve locked your lips into a passionate kiss. His lips moved against yours in a dance you knew all too well but could never get enough of. He pulled away and held your face in his hands. His thumbs caressing your cheeks, and your hands resting on his forearms. Steve took a moment to study you. Your pupils were dilated. Lips puffy. Your chest was still slightly heaving up and down, trying to calm down from your high. He placed a sweet peck on your lips and whispered

“You ok?” You bit your lip and nodded. There was no end to how perfect this man is. And he was yours. Steve Rogers was yours. He pulled you flush against him in an embrace. His deep, lust-ridden voice muttered into your ear. “My turn.”

To your surprise, Steve got up, keeping your body against his and slammed you against the lockers, being careful not to hurt you. You broke out into a fit of giggles before getting the breath knocked out of you from being pushed against the lockers. Steve adjusted your legs so that they encircled his hips, locking him in a vice grip. Steve groaned before thrusting his hips into yours at a rapid pace, gripping your hips. His hot breath fanning all over you as you clung onto him, lost in how fucking hot Steve was making you feel. Once again, you felt the tightening coil of your pending orgasm. “Steve, baby please. I’m so cl-close. Agh…agh…fuck!” Your breath was coming in short pants. Your nails dug into his shoulders. You screamed. Unfettered. Loud. Raw. You felt your orgasm wash over you in sweet, suffocatingly satisfying relief. Steve’s thrusts started losing their rhythm as your cunt convulsed around him. His breaths coming in hot, short pants now as well. He slammed his hips into yours, bottoming out, before pushing you against the lockers, making a loud slam that reverberated in the empty locker room. The intensity of his orgasm led to strangled, low groans by your ear, and his closed fist banged against the locker — the combined sounds making you moan. You felt his cum start to drip out of your pussy and onto your inner thighs. He thrust his cock in you a couple more times, bottoming out each time, before pulling out and setting your feet down on the ground.

You clung onto Steve for support, not trusting the strength of your legs. Steve picked up the towel you had dropped earlier and wiped you down, making sure to be gentle around your sensitive nub. “Ever the gentleman,” you quipped, grinning. Steve smirked at your smart comment, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“Ready to go now, doll?” Steve asked.

“Yes, I am,” you smiled. “But first, we have to shower.”

______________________________________

Masterlist

Requested by: @svetlana-beilschmidt

A/N: Let me know what you think and/or if you want to be added to my taglist!

Taglist: @peppermintvanillaa @fantasticcopeaglepasta @multifandomlife22 @thottiewinemom @princeabomination @svetlana-beilschmidt

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howardpotts · 5 years ago

Note

hi! may you please write a Bucky Barnes one with prompt 93? take your time :)

So… This almost took me a literal year. But here it is! Haha! Get ready for some cute clumsy Bucky! But I made it pretty long, so enjoy!

(OHMYGOD AFTER I WAS DONE, I REALISED I DID THE WRONG PROMPT!!!!! IM SO SORRY!!!!! but this prompt is too long to ditch and idk there’s a little teasing in it so i guess its a bit like???? the??? prompt????)

93. “It was so worth the injury, though!”

It was a lazy sunday for the both of you. After an intense week of training and excersizing, this sunday was well-deserved. Your muscles were a bit sore and stretchy, so a day of rest felt like heaven.

“What d’ya wanna watch?”, Bucky asks. You’re both laying on the couch; you’re on the left side while he is on the right. Your feet are in his lap and he’s softly massaging; both feet getting equal attention from him.

“Dunno, maybe a romantic comedy?”, you ask as you watch his reaction.

“Ugh, no. I’m really not in the mood for that. What about an older movie?”, he suggests. You sigh and shake your head, not feeling that kind of genre at all.

“We could also get to Disney+ and watch-”

“You and your disney addiction. Rather watch one of those romantic ones”, he smirks, unconsiously pulling your feet a little bit closer to him to get a better grip.

“Okay, so a romcom it is”, you state as you start scrolling through the feed towards the right section.

“Hey, that’s not what I said! I want to watch something exciting - like a thriller or a horror”, he responds as he gives your left foot a little swat.

“Yeah? Why don’t you try stop me?”, you challenge with a little smirk on your face.

“Oh darling, you know you shouldn’t push these buttons”, he warns as he gets a smile on his face as well; throwing your feet off his lap on the ground. Within a split second his body is on yours, his head on the same height as your breasts. His hand reaching for the remote in your free hand.

You’re quicker, though. Your arm goes up, out of his reach. Even though you could predict his next move, you still didn’t move your arm, not sure what other option you have of keeping the remote to yourself. Meanwhile you’ve found the right section and are about to start some random movie that’s first in row.

“Oh, hell no, baby”, Bucky grins and he pokes in your armpit, making you retract your arm, just before you start the movie. He gets the remote from you and removes himself from you.

“Babe, are you kidding me?”, you sigh as he gets comfortable again in his spot. He starts zapping through the sections, so now you get into action. You, however, know you’re not going to win it by strength. You need to use your brains.

How do you outsmart a guy like Bucky? Simple. You get him to not think with his brain anymore, but with his dick.

“James”, you say with a sultry voice. For a second he stops and looks at you before focussing on the screen again with a big smirk on his face.

“You’re going to use your body for this?”, he asks playfully. You know he doesn’t mean it in any way insulting, so you just bite your lip and nod, knowing he’s still watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Oh baby”, you say as you crawl to him like a tiger. “Oh, James.”

You press your chest to his arm, your hand going through his rough beard. Fingers slowly pushing his head to your direction. His eyes don’t leave the screen, though.

“Baby, you’re so sexy”, you breath as you start giving him quick kisses on his lips.

“I know”, he says to your annoyance. You desperately want to roll your eyes, but keep yourself from doing it. Your kisses start going from his lips to his neck, your hand wandering from his chest to his lower parts.

“Hm, what do you think about The Conjuring?”, he asks, knowingly stretching time to keep this little game going.

“I’d rather see you fuck my brains out right now”, you respond. He loves direct dirty talk and you know it; so you use it as an advantage.

“It isn’t working, darling”, he says with a cute little smile on his face. You pout a little, but refuse to give up. Your hand strokes a little over his clothed member as your teeth sink into his neck.

You can feel the impact your having, as his cock is slowly growing erect right under your hand. You can’t help but smirk at that.

“Insideous sounds good”, he keeps going. You don’t even respond to that, but you proceed to unbutton and unzip his jeans.

You sink through your knees in front of him, looking at him. He can’t resist to look at you. He loves looking at you when you’re on your knees in front of him. It makes you vulnerable and submissive.

You get his cock out, which is still half soft. It still needs a bit of work before you can get the real action going. And so, you get rid of your shirt and throw it to the other side of the sofa. Your hand strokes his cock a no more than two times before it’s hard.

“Isn’t Slenderman a game too?”, he then says, still searching for a god damn horrormovie. Now, you openly roll your eyes but focus on his cock after that. You pump it a few times more before you spit on it, gaining his attention immediately.

You lick it from it’s shaft up to his tip and do it two more times. Not just to get it wet, but you know he enjoys those licks too. The foreplay to the foreplay, as he calls it. Two more kittylicks on his tip before you take his cock into your mouth. Slowly you start sucking and bobbing up and down with your head. You look up at him, as seductive as possible.

A sigh leaves his mouth, his eyes flutter shut for a brief second and then watch you. You start to really get into it, and you’re moving faster and faster. Your left hand is now also masssaging his balls, your right hand digging into his leg. A few little moans to strengthen your enthusiasm.

You see how he closes his eyes again and how he lays his head against the back of the sofa. Your eyes go to the hand where the remote is at and you see it relax a bit.

Fuck yes.

Your right hand lets go of his leg and steals the remote in a flash, he didn’t even notice what was going on until you were already owner of the remote again.

“Didn’t even use my full body”, you say as you get back on the sofa, leaving him hungry for more but irritated to the bone.

“Oh, but I’m about to use it.” He moves to you - mind you, with his dick still sticking out - and kisses you harshly.

Even though you had fun with this little game, you knew it was over. The remote falls out of your hand, but you don’t even mind for the slightest since his hair is way more fun anyway. You tug is lightly as he greedily squeezes your breast.

Shit, you love hungry Bucky.

Things went quickly from there on and in no time, neither of you had any clothes on and you were moaning from the magic his finger were providing on your clit.

“James”, you sigh, now obviously more turned on than the first time. He takes it as a sign to start pumping his fingers in you. Two fingers are getting in and out of you in a fast pace, while you keep on moaning and sighing; the edge is not far from sight anymore.

“What do you want, baby?”, he sighs. The two fingers stop pumping, but he keeps them in and they start going in circled. God, how you love it when he does that.

“I want”, you sigh, not able to finish the sentence. “I want your cock.”

A little smirk gets on his face as he removes his fingers and gets himself in position to fuck you.

A little satisifying hiss leaves his teeth when he gets in you and slowly starts pumping. God, it feels good to have him in you.

He starts pounding harder and harder, both of your breaths are getting heavier. Your moans are getting more obscene, but you don’t really give a shit. He’s is hitting you good and hard, you’re on your way to your orga-

“OH FUCK”, Bucky yells as he slides out of you and back onto the couch. “Cramps. In my leg.”

“Oh, babe, are you okay?”, you ask worriedly.

He nods, but smirks at the same time. “Wanna ride me, baby?”

“A-are you sure?”, you ask a little dumbfounded. Isn’t he in pain? Instead, he nods and grabs your waist to pull you over his lap.

You let him guide you and get a leg on each side of his hip. He positions his cock for you to sink down on, which you eagerly do. If he says he’s not in so much pain, then you’re willing to go back to having a very good time.

Within seconds you’re back to where you were; very fucking turned on and an inch away from cumming. His hands help you get to a fast but steady rythm, his hips now jerking up to meet yours.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, I’m about to cum. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck.”

Your own orgams floods over you at that moment. Legs going limp, pace not steady anymore. His hips keep pushing up, hitting you just right. You loudly exclaim his name as you let yourself fall on him, chest to chest. In your mind, you’re taking a note to steal the remote more often if it gets you this kind of pleasure.

When you get off him, he immediately stretches his leg.

“Babe, are you okay?”, you ask worriedly. He just smirks and nods.

__________________________

You’re in the compound, waiting for your boyfriend to be done with the workouts with Steve. You planned to go out for diner, so you’re tugging at your dress a bit impatiently.

Steve comes out of the gym alone, though. A little grin is on his face.

“I think you’ll be late to the restaurant”, he announces.

“Oh, god. What did he do this time?”, you ask with a sigh.

“Check out yourself”, Steve chuckles as he gestures to the door he just walked out of.

As you go through the door, you find Bucky sitting on a bench. Sam was looking at his leg; the same leg he had cramps in yesterday.

“...it was definitely worth the injury though”, he grinned.

“James. Buchanan. Barnes.” You put your hands on your hips. Both men stiffen at the hearing of your voice. Oh how fun it is to have two super soldiers grow silent when you enter a room. You’re definitely going to take advantage of this.

#Anonymous #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader

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et-lesailes · 5 years ago

Text

missing linc // chapter ten

series masterlist

pairing: ceo!dad!steve x reader

word count: 2132

chapter summary: stella and peter come to steve’s place. steve and tiana get into yet another fight.

taglist: @patzammit, @lille-kattunge, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @mcueveryday, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyiamthatbitch, @sadella-adams, @aletteredaffair, @isawritesstories, @knuffeltuff, @societalfailure, @brastrangled, @anxiousstark, @captainsbxbygirl, @whimsicalatbest, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @dreamlesswonder86, @xoxabs88xox, @evanstush, @kelbabyblue, @bucky-rrogers

notes: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I AM THE WORST I HOPE U ALL LIKE THIS CHAPTER

“Alright, Y/N said we could go over to the place she’s babysitting at for the weekend! You cool with that?”

Stella looked up from her phone, smiling at Peter innocently. “Of course. I can’t wait to meet the love of your life,” she teased, standing up and getting her bag. “You driving, or am I?” Peter immediately turned red, scoffing. “I’ll drive. But hey, now, you better not be like this tonight-- there’s nothing going on between Y/N and I, we’re just friends. Don’t make her feel weird or anything, alright?”

Trust me, Peter, if she knew the whole truth, this would barely make her feel anything.

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t.” The blonde laughed instead, picking up Peter’s keys and tossing them at him. “C’mon, lover boy, let’s go.”

She was not proud of how she had come to learn of you.

There was a reason she had come here, and of course, the second she had arrived, she had decided to pay a visit to her dear sister’s home. Well, not inside, anyways. She couldn’t help but be nosy, and she justified it by telling herself she had every right to know where her son was staying. It was easy to get the address from her parents; she had simply told them that she wanted to make amends with Tiana and surprise her with a visit-- this ensured they wouldn’t tell her.

When she was casually driving by the home, she had seen your car. She parked on the other side of the street, keeping an eye on the house. It hadn’t been long before you came outside holding Linc in one arm with a bottle of bubbles in the other hand, the boy laughing and clapping excitedly for you to blow them. Her heart was racing as she stared at her baby. She had seen photos of him on Tiana’s Facebook, she had forced herself to become desensitized to the fact that he was hers and belonged to someone else-- or so she thought. As she gazed at him in real life and could see his happy demeanor and shining personality, she almost wanted to cry.

She stayed low as she watched you play with him. It was obvious to see how much he loved you. He was laughing the entire time, running around you in circles on his little toddler legs, hugging your own leg every ten seconds in bursts of affection.

The more she watched you play and the more she looked at the large estate, she felt herself getting more and more curious. What was Linc like? Did he take after her at all? Or was he more like his father? He seemed bright and happy, but now that she was here, she wanted to know more. She just wanted one chance to see him in person… that would be enough, right?

She knew Tiana would be wary. Perhaps not even let her see him at all. And so she needed another way in. Just to quench her curiosity, that was all. She hadn’t been able to come up with this other way, however, until she had seen you come to the bar with Peter. When she noticed you leave after seeing Tiana, she knew something was going on. What that was, she did not know, and although she had her suspicions, she didn’t care.

She only cared about her son.

They arrived at the doorstep about fifteen minutes later, her light brown eyes studying the huge house. Did Tiana like living here? Were she and Steve truly happy in this house? Peter clucked his tongue beside her, his eyes wide with amazement. “Damn. Y/N must be getting paid a shit ton, these people seem loaded.” Stella forced a laugh, nodding her head. “Yeah, seems like a pretty good set up.” She sounded normal, but her heart was pounding. Would you answer the door with Linc in your arms?

She couldn’t help but feel disappointed when you came empty handed.

“Hey guys!” you greeted with a smile. “You must be Stella. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”

She smiled nonetheless, waving cutely as she stepped inside. “So good to finally meet you, girl! Peter talks about you a lot.” Peter blinked and shot her a look, laughing somewhat nervously. “I, ah, would say I talk about you a normal amount. Nothing weird.” You raised a brow but laughed, nudging him lightly. “Uhhuh. Okay, c’mon, you guys gotta see this home theater. It’s sick.”

Stella couldn’t help but look around as you led them down the hallway, barely nibbling on her lip. Where was her son? Was he asleep? You and Peter were lightly conversing and so she cleared her throat when there was a pause, trying to sound like she was casually speaking. “So, Peter told me you were babysitting? Where is the baby?” She smiled, adding, “I absolutely love kids.”

“Oh, he fell asleep- but here, I’ll show you some pictures!” She saw the bright smile on your face at the mere mention of him. She simultaneously felt touched and threatened. You took out your phone and went to your photos, swiping through a few images- some just of Linc laughing and smiling, some selfies of the two of you with cute Snapchat filters, even a video of Linc “singing” Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. “Wow.” She breathed out, unable to take her eyes off of him. “He’s perfect.”

“I know right?” you replied obliviously, smile still wide as you sighed. “He’s the cutest thing. I swear, I love him like my own son.” You laughed playfully, and Stella felt a pang in her heart. “So what movie do you guys want to watch?” you asked once you entered the room, and Stella watched as you and Peter perused the collection.

“Can I use the bathroom real quick?” she suddenly asked, and you looked over and nodded with a smile. “Yeah, it’s right down the hall going back towards the front door, first door on the left.” She nodded, slipping out of the room and looking back towards you and Peter before quietly making her way to the staircase instead.

Steve sighed as he leaned back in the plush bed, eyes drifting towards his phone on the nightstand. All he wanted to do was FaceTime you, call you, even text you. He felt like a damn high schooler with a crush all over again. Ever since he and Tiana had arrived at the cabin that day, all he could think about was the kiss the two of you shared.

At the same time, he was trying to make good on his promise. Just one last weekend with Tiana. A chance to finally get some closure and move on. Surprisingly, the day had been pretty decent. No fighting, no screaming, no tears, no anger- things actually felt… normal. She actually opened up to him over a few glasses of wine, even apologizing for her behavior and explaining where her frustration had come from. She acknowledged that everything had been her fault. That she should have learned how to be transparent sooner. And he appreciated it. He forgave her, and they were able to talk and laugh about the things they used to.

Still, he couldn’t feel the same way he used to about her. While he was glad he and Tiana had made amends, it all felt incredibly platonic to him. He couldn’t help but wish you were there with him, curled up under his arm in this large bed, making out like a couple of teenagers…

“Hey Steve.” He looked up, blue eyes immediately widening. There stood Tiana wearing nothing but a lacy black slip, biting on her lip as she stood in the doorway of the bathroom after her shower. “Uh… hey.” He greeted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You look great, but what’s that all for?” She looked at him hopefully, coming back towards the bed and slowly crawling onto it. “Do you not like it…? We had such a good day today, and I just wanted to end it with something even more amazing…”

Steve blinked as she placed a hand on his bare chest, leaning down to kiss him. He froze. It took him a few moments, but he finally snapped out of it, gently placing his hands on her shoulders to stop her. “Tiana,” he mumbled softly, and she blinked as she pulled back, looking down at him- she was clearly hurt. “What, Steve? I thought things were going well… you… you really don’t want this?” He sighed, sitting up and running his fingers through his blond hair. “Tiana, you know that’s not why we came here. I told you that I wanted a divorce after this, but I also don’t want us to hate each other-- I thought we came here to just, you know… neatly wrap things up. Get closure. Peace.” Tiana looked at him incredulously, scoffing as she moved back to sit on her knees. “You really… you really don’t want to even try? Am I that horrible of a person?” Steve blinked, frowning as he shook his head. “No, Tiana, that’s not what I’m trying to say, I just don’t think we’re-”

“This is all because of Y/N, isn’t it? What, are you already sleeping with her? Are you seeing each other behind my back?” Tiana demanded, suddenly standing up and going over to her purse. Steve widened his eyes. “No, God, no, Ti- what the hell are you doing? Don’t fucking call her right now, don’t do this when she’s literally taking care of Linc for us!” He watched as his wife pulled her phone out, but she didn’t appear to be calling anyone. He watched curiously as she tapped on her touch screen a few times, seeing her suddenly look intense and focused. “What are you looking at?”

“O-oh, oh my god,” the woman muttered; Steve could practically see her turn pale. He immediately sat up. “What? What is it, is something wrong with Linc?” He immediately got out of bed, going to her side. His eyes rounded at the sight upon the phone screen. She was watching a live feed of Linc’s room, and there appeared to be a blonde girl peeking over his crib. “That’s Stella, Steve! That’s-- how-- how the fuck did she get into our son’s bedroom?!” Steve stared in shock before quickly shaking his head, grabbing Tiana’s phone from her hand. “When… when the fuck did you put a camera in there? Did you tell Y/N there would be a camera?”

“Is that seriously what you’re worried about right now, you fucking asshole?!” Tiana practically screamed, lunging for the phone. “How can you be more concerned about Y/N when this is happening right now? What if our son is in danger?! H-how did she even get inside?!”

“Tiana!” Steve grabbed her shoulders, staring down at her with heavy breaths. “Tiana, listen to me. I need you to calm down. Stella is a twenty-three year old girl. She’s not going to hurt Linc, okay? I… I told Y/N she could have friends over. Maybe Stella happens to be one of them. You need to take a breath, nothing is going to-”

“How do you know, Steve?! What if she’s back here to take him away from us? I- I can’t-- I can’t lose… you and…”

She trailed off into tears, and Steve finally understood. She was terrified. She was scared of losing the people closest to her. Her husband and her son, both at the same time. He sighed deeply, suddenly wrapping his arms around her and hugging her. “We won’t let that happen, Ti. We’ll talk to Stella. We’ll figure this out. But she will not take Linc from us, alright?” He pulled back and looked down at her somewhat sternly. “But putting a camera in the room without at least telling Y/N was wrong. Have you… have you been spying on her? Ever since we got here?”

“Oh, please, Steve, I’m just making sure our baby’s alright, okay? I-it has nothing to do with her!”

He sighed, rubbing his temples.

“I’m going to sleep in the other bedroom, Tiana. You should get some sleep too. We’re going to go back tomorrow morning and find out what the hell is happening. But for now, I don’t want you contacting Y/N, do you understand? Whatever Stella’s up to, I know she isn’t going to do anything to Linc-- especially not with Y/N in the house watching him.”

Tiana frowned deeply but slowly sat on the bed, looking away.

“Goodnight, Steve.” Her voice was ice cold, and the CEO couldn’t help but let out another soft sigh.

“Goodnight, Tiana.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers x you #ml

250 notes · View notes

starkerkeyz · 5 years ago

Note

i need a serious crack of the vibrator charging thing for real, i’m gonna die

YOU AND ME BOTH NONNIE but I see you and your arousal pleases me so we in it-

Warnings; D/s, throat fucking, oversensitivity, crying, cockwarming, vibrators, choking, and uh sub drop at the end? Oh and Thor technically listens in on Tony edging Peter to death but he doesn’t know SO UH whatever that is.

Enjoy!

Edited to add A MOODBOARD! 🤩🤩🤩

“I see you’re getting comfortable, kid.” Mr. Stark’s words don’t immediately register as abnormal or dangerous until Peter turns and sees the leer directed at his PS4 and-

Oh.

“Oh, my god, Mr. Stark, uh, you weren’t, uhm- you weren’t supposed to see that?” Peter’s cheeks are flaming so hot it kinda hurts or maybe that’s just the humiliation of having his toy found by his…his…of Mr. Stark seeing his hot pink vibrator out and charging at his PS4 dock.

He hurries over to unplug and hide the evidence and is stopped by a hand on his wrist. Peter looks up and partially over his shoulder, not turning his body but paying attention.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I want you to feel comfortable.” Mr. Stark caresses the thin skin over the wrist he’s still got. He moves behind Peter and gently, slowly, trailing his fingers up from wrist to elbow to shoulder and down, his hands migrating to Peter’s hips and holding on confidently. Peter melts when he feels the first kiss at his neck and Mr. Stark’s heat along his spine.

“I want to use that on you, right now, too. Is it charged enough for a little fun, Babyboy?” Tony says the words wetly, following it up with a gentle breath along the spot he’d been sucking and tonguing between kisses.

Tony rubs at Peter’s hips while he waits; hands sliding forward and back, forward and back, forward and just barely into the hem of Peter’s pants, then back far enough to thumb the dimples above his ass, and forward again- just a little deeper into his pants and then- back again, back toying with the hem above his ass now, and Peter’s started rolling into it so he’s thrusting into empty air at Tony’s tempo.

“It’s, uh…it should be…” Peter isn’t paying attention to the conversation anymore. His entire world is narrowed down to where Mr. Stark is touching him. The older man hasn’t gotten more than a fingertip beneath the hemline and Peter already feels like he’s going to cream himself from anticipation. Everytime those rough hands drag backwards his body follows eagerly and Mr. Stark isn’t shy about letting Peter feel just how affected he is by what he’s doing.

Somehow Peter’s been led into a rhythm where he grinds himself against Mr. Stark’s erection and then fucks forward in little rabbit bursts. His cock is leaking in his jeans.

“Think you’re too sensitive to play for long? You’re being so good for me you deserve a reward but Daddy doesn’t want to expect more than you can give, sweetheart. Give me an answer and a color.” Mr. Stark’s asking a question but Peter’s distracted by the haze of pleasure and his hyperfocus on following his Daddy’s touch by feel alone. The idea that he’s being good and that his Daddy wants to play with him long enough sensitivity might come into question penetrates through the fog of lust enveloping him. Peter blinks his eyes and tries to concentrate as hard as he can on something other than Mr. Stark’s cock.

“Green. I can do it, Daddy. Please let me show you I can do it.” There. He can use his words. Bucky would be so proud if he were here.

“Go grab the toy then, gorgeous.” Tony slaps Peter’s ass from out of nowhere and grins when he gets a gasp in response. Peter’s already keyed up to eleven and they haven’t even got his dick out. “Then turn on your set up and grab your headphones and lube; I know you and Thor were going to play Fortnite in about an hour but I can guarantee you he’s on now and would play with you if you asked.”

Peter does as he’s been told and tries his best not to rub at his erection or relieve the pressure. He’s got a pretty good idea of what his Daddy might have in mind and if he keeps thinking about it he’s going to explode way too early and ruin the night.

“Perfect, baby. How do you normally game with Thor?” Tony watches Peter put his headphones around his neck and pull out his phone to show him his Discord account. He nods; he’s never used the app himself but a quick glance shows it’s not much different from all the other messaging apps out there. Perfect for the game they’re about to play.

“Get on the couch, put your headphones on, undress from the waist down, and log in for me, baby.” Tony orders. He grinned to himself when Peter hops to it; the boy is eager to please at the best of times and it’s only magnified by the hero worship now being combined with cock worship. Not that Tony is complaining when he gets to enjoy such a responsive and obedient sub.

Peter feels hot and prickly all over but especially wherever those dark eyes trail across his bare skin. He curls his toes into the soft carpet of his apartment’s living room floor and shifts, feeling the material of his couch under his bare ass and thighs. He bites his lip when his knees are pulled apart and his hips slip forward until he had to balance his feet on the coffee table to keep from sliding right off and onto the floor.

“Beautiful.” Tony is looking at him; at his bared cock, at his flexing thighs, at the T-shirt with the dumb Fortnite meme Thor had bought for him when he declared them ‘brothers in arms both real and virtual’. Peter’s arousal only amps up from the smothered urge to cover himself under that intense gaze.

The stare off is broken by Peter startling upright a little and letting out a small yelp when his headphones start ringing in his ear with a Discord call. He looks up at Tony with a deer in the headlights look. The answering shark-grin he gets back makes him feel distinctly like prey.

“Go ahead. Answer it.” Tony lifts and lowers one leg so he’s standing with Peter’s left thigh between his own, the TV at his back and Peter in front. He grabs the lube Peter had gotten as instructed and leisurely begins unbuttoning and rolling up the cuffs to his dress shirt without breaking eye contact. “But I’m not going to stop.”

“H-hi! Hey, yeah, hi, uhh, Thor! Hi.” Peter babbles complete nonsense as his brain goes offline. The crinkle of amusement at the corner of his Daddy’s eyes only makes him feel dumber and hotter and his tongue is heavy and thick in his mouth. “I’m, um, showing Tony a few rounds of Fortnite, if, uhhh…”

Tony’s taken his cock out and Peter’s mouth is now wet and empty and what was he saying-?

“No, no, he won’t be playing. Not really, uhh, not really…his thing.” Peter’s eyes aren’t even on the screen as he starts the game. His character would have walked right into a wall if his teammates hadn’t collected it for material. There’s so many other players nobody notices -or they assume he’s new or a troll- that all he’s doing is collecting in the same small area he fell into at the start of the map. Peter’s only tangentially aware of the goings on of the game.

Tony’s finished rolling up his sleeves and eye-fucking Peter in his place and moved on to stroking lube onto Peter’s pink vibrator from base to tip. The promise in the motion, in knowing he’s getting fucked with that very soon, makes Peter suck in a quick breath that pairs with his dick jumping on his abs.

“Oh! I’m, just, uh, was being, was under fire, you know? It’s fine!” Peter’s voice cracks when he says the word ‘fine’ and he blushes down to his throat and collarbones. In the next second his character is taken out by the enemy and he’s left spectating his teammates carrying on without him. “Oops?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at the screen, taking a moment to read the layout and figure out what the problem is. When he does he turns back to Peter with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of his head in question. Peter blushes under the presumption implied in that look and ignores how his balls throb from his Daddy’s attention in any form.

“I’m normally better, sorry Thor. Just a little distracted tonight.” Peter hastily explains -to Thor- and then stops paying attention to his friend’s reassurances when Tony lowers his hand down to dick height and crooks his finger at Peter in the classic come hither motion. He sits up eagerly, licking his lips when his Daddy’s cock is pressed against them, the mic lifted just enough to give his dick room. Fingers wind into the curls at the back of Peter’s head and he’s so ready for this.

“Keep talking.” Tony orders, low enough not to carry, and then doesn’t slide his cock in any further. Just rests the head against Peter’s lips so he has to keep feeling and tasting while he talks. It’s frustrating and humiliating and all Peter can think about is how deep he can take him and how fast he can make him cum.

“Tony is checking out my new apartment. Yeah. Bucky convinced me that May would be fine. He’s out with Steve and Sam. Oh, yeah. I’ll ask him to join next time.” Peter’s glittering eyes skate up to his Daddy’s and he lays a wet kiss on the crown. Tony gives him a knowing grin, smearing pre-cum across Peter’s chin deliberately and then pushing him back into a recline.

“Leave it.” Tony strokes himself as he orders it. Peter keeps both hands on the controller and squirms his legs further apart, hard and dripping. The next round starts and Peter plays it without any physical interruption from Tony. He can still feel the sticky streak on his chin every time he sees his Daddy thumbing the tip of himself. It’s distracting but this time he manages to get a weapon and survive half his teammates before being taken out.

He’s expecting it when Tony crooks his finger for him, already halfway sitting up and mic positioned upwards. His back arches into the grip at his hair and his eyes go half lidded. He forgets himself and lets out a soft kitten sigh loud enough for the mic to pick up.

“I’m, um, dust? There’s dust. In the air? Allergies? Clearing my throat because of dust allergies!” Peter trips over his words. Then Tony pushes forward and fills his mouth with his cock and Peter has to listen, in stereo, to Thor assuring him that he ‘needn’t play if he’s feeling so unwell, little spider’ while his mouth is too full to counter-argue. The satisfaction of finally getting what he wanted mixes with the titillating realization that he’s sucking cock with Thor listening in and it’s a good thing his Daddy is already gagging him or he might have let out the needy moan growing in his chest.

Then Tony pulls him off and he’s leaning back against the couch cushions and the game’s started again and-

He’s dead already.

His Daddy ‘tsk’s at him and doesn’t even lower his hand to signal Peter closer. Peter feels his chest go cold and squeeze from disappointment but he gets the game now. He’s being rewarded for how long he survives. The longer he lives each round, the better his reward will be.

So, he’ll need to up his game if he wants to get that dick.

He tries to ignore him when the next round starts and Tony must sense that he’s cottoned on because he’s back up in Peter’s space this time instead of hanging back. He reaches down and wraps a hand around Peter’s dick, giving it a stroke from base to crown and back again to squeeze in a tight circle.

Peter makes it more than halfway through the round but this time Tony doesn’t stand up and present his cock for him. Now, instead, he’s turned the vibrator on and is trailing it up and down the shaft of Peter’s dick, the lube from earlier gliding the way.

“Oh, my god, I-I-I-” Peter drops the controller and looks up at the ceiling. It’s too much. It’s so good. He doesn’t want to cum and he probably can’t with how tightly his Daddy is collaring the base of his cock with his fist but the waves of pleasure still feel like they’re building to a crescendo inside of him. It just never ends.

“Pay attention.” The vibrations stop and Peter actually feels a quick prickle of tears. They’re gone before he can even get his hazy gaze back on his Daddy. He licks his lips and nods and wonders if it’s a good or a bad thing that the answering smile he gets makes his neck warm and chest hot. “Good boy.”

This repeats for enough rounds that Peter is both desensitized to the vibrations and can carry on a conversation with only minimal stuttering and gasping and keyed up to the point the skin of his inner thighs won’t stop twitching for minutes after Tony’s turned the toy off. Peter curls his toes and waits for (dreads) the next round to start, bottom lip red and swollen from how badly abused it’s been by his teeth to keep his noises in check.

It comes as a shock when Tony changes their routine by sliding a finger inside of Peter. It startles him enough that he cries out and the mic definitely picks that up from the immediate heckling and ribbing that starts up. None of them have guessed the real reason for his noises, but some of them have gotten close and Peter’s cock throbs.

“S-sorry, Thor! It’s, it’s, it’s…a spider!” Peter closes his eyes and wishes his brain didn’t float off into the clouds the second Tony Stark’s dick was involved. He’s so turned on he doesn’t remember anything beyond this bubble they’ve created together. Each time he has to pull his attention onto the screen and control his character comes a little bit slower, takes a little more effort as a little bit more of him stays with Tony.

Then the toy is slipped inside in place of the fingers that had steadily opened him up and Peter bolts upright, dick jumping in a valiant effort to cum around his Daddy’s grip. He’s shocked speechless from the intensity of the sensations inside of him and can only squirm, rocking his hips from side to side, balls drawn up tight and sweat plastering his shirt to his body. When the round is finally, finally over Peter squeaks out a quick breath of relief and reaches for his phone.

“B-bathroom break, gonna mute!” Peter hit the button on the side to mute before he could hear if Thor had responded. He spread his legs and thrust his hips, lifting a hand to place on his Daddy’s wrist. “Daddy, Daddy, green- but I’m gonna cum if you keep-”

“Oh, the vibrator inside is too much? We’ll give you a break then, Baby.” Peter suddenly isn’t sure if this was the better alternative because his Daddy is slipping the pink toy out of him and standing up with it and walking to put it away without another word. He gets a parting smirk instead. He had been close to cumming but the promise in that single, wickedly curled smile, had him simultaneously hotter than ever and bearing down on nothing in too eager sensitivity.

When Tony comes back he’s not holding anything in his hands but he is fisting his cock one handed while the other rests in his pocket. Peter’s mouth waters. Then his eyes widen when, instead of stepping up and using Peter for a blowjob like he’s been teasing about doing all night, he reaches into his pockets and produces a small black rubber cap that had two silver bullets attached to the sides and a remote.

“Once your break is over I’m going to put this,” The black cap is waved a little to draw attention. “On that pretty little cock of yours. Then, I’m going to sit you on my cock and you’re going to tell Thor you’re back and ready for another round while you warm my cock. The bullets vibrate at different settings but if you need me to hard stop because you’re about to cum or otherwise need to stop without using your safeword, tap my knee twice. Color?”

“Green, Daddy.” Peter’s voice is breathless and shaky and eager all in two simple words. Tony could listen to him for the rest of the night like that. If only he didn’t have plans to keep breaking his babyboy down bit by bit- next time, maybe. Bucky could join in; Tony has been dying to see the man’s mouth wrapped around Peter’s cock from up close ever since that performance for him on the gala balcony.

Definitely next time.

“Unplug your headphones from your phone but keep them on. Keep the mic down and lay out on the table for me, sweetheart.” Tony watches Peter move for him. His shirt is stained from the amount his erection has dripped onto it during their extended play. His pale skin is flushed and glistening, overheated and oversensitive. He’s beautiful.

“I’m going to fuck your throat, sweetheart.” Tony kneels by Peter’s head where it hangs over the coffee table he’s had his feet propped on. Peter’s cock is so hard it’s pointing towards his belly button. Tony’s words only make it twitch and leak worse. “You’re not going to touch yourself and you’re not going to cum. Think you can learn to be Daddy’s good little cocksucker?”

“Yes, Daddy. Please teach me.” Peter’s wanted to learn how to deepthroat ever since he saw Tony do it. They’ve worked at it and talked about technique and expectations (turns out a lot can go wrong if you try just shoving a dick down your throat without prep) but this is the first time they’ll put one of the positions into practice.

“So good for me, baby.” Tony praises. He grips himself and aims for Peter’s waiting mouth, sliding in past Peter’s usual gag reflex easily from the way this opens his throat up. He pulls back and gives the younger man a moment to breathe, to get used to what just happened, and then he does it again. He doesn’t go slow but he does go steady, smooth dips in and out of Peter’s throat, training him to relax and take it one inch at a time.

“Just look at you. Fuck, I’ll never get over how well you take it.” Tony pauses, fully buried down to the root. He can see the bulge his dick is making from the outside of Peter’s body. He traces his fingertips up the shivery skin, from collarbone to stretched out lips, enjoying the feeling of himself under his palm when he wraps his hand around Peter’s neck. He squeezes enough to feel the constriction on his cock as he pulls back.

“Green, sweetheart?” Tony asks casually. His hand is still on Peter’s neck when he nods. He strokes the tender skin lovingly, caressing gently at the red forming where his fingers indented. Then he bears down and fucks his hips forward, burying himself deep inside Peter’s throat and fucking into his own hand at the same time.

“Such a good slut for Daddy. You’ve learned how to suck cock so fast. I’m so proud of you for being able to take all of me like this.” Tony lays on the praise as heavily as he’s laying into Peter’s mouth. If only he had the stamina and cocaine of his youth; he’d love to cum down his throat and fuck him ten minutes later, too.

“Break time’s over, baby.” Tony teases as he eases back. Peter’s a wreck; his face is red and his chest is hitching like he’s been crying or running a marathon. His eyes are hazy and far away as he sits up and follows Tony’s directions back onto the couch in a fog.

Tony kneels and preps the little vibrator cap, kissing Peter’s bare knee and then upwards all the way to his dick. He slips the rubber over the sensitive tip, grinning at the way his babyboy’s cock jumps from the sensation. Tony pushes the remote into Peter’s hands. “Hold this, baby.”

Tony gets up off his knees and onto the couch beside Peter. He fists his cock for a second but doesn’t otherwise undress before patting his lap with a grin and a crinkle at the corners of his eyes. Peter moves over, letting rough hands grip under his thighs and lift him up and over the crown of his Daddy’s cock. He’s still wet and fluttering from the leftover stimulation of his vibrator and it’s all he can do not to squirm down and try and blindly catch it on his rim himself.

Then Peter’s being lowered down his Daddy’s bare dick and it’s so much better, so hot and solid but flexible and rubbing his sensitized walls so good. He tips his head back onto a firm shoulder and bites his knuckle to keep in his moans. He settles in Tony’s lap, the older man’s cock buried to the hilt, his pants scratching at Peter’s bare and sensitized thighs.

“Turn it on. I wanna know what you think of it.” Tony orders directly into Peter’s ear. Peter’s finger hits the button before he’s finished registering and then he loses the ability to think.

“Oh, fuck yeah, Babyboy. Just look at you.” Tony slid his hand around Peter’s waist, touching lightly to the younger man’s stomach. Even through the shirt he can feel the deep, full body contractions that ripple up Peter’s abdominals with each gentle pulse from the bullets. Peter’s finger is still caught between his teeth but each surge from the toy drags out a broken gasp or stuttered, choked off keen. It coincides deliciously with the way Peter’s inner muscles are grasping onto Tony’s cock in time with the toy. Tony pets at Peter’s quivering belly for a moment just to enjoy the feeling.

“Now, listen up, Gorgeous. You’re not going to move during this round. Nothing but your fingers on the controller is allowed to move, babyboy. You can keep clenching and pulsing just like that for Daddy but you’re not going to squirm or whimper or beg. They’re listening to you, Baby, so you have to be quiet and you have to be good.” Tony picks up the phone and the remote and flicks the mic down on Peter’s headset. He places the controller back in Peter’s grip.

“Daddy, I- I can’t, this, this-” Peter’s shaking and he can’t stop it. His entire body is lit up from the inside out and he wants to be good but his Daddy wants so much from him. He’s finally, finally gotten Tony’s cock inside of him but now he can’t move?

“Color?” Tony turns the bullets’ off. Peter feels the tears he’s been fighting the entire night spill over. He wants to be good and he will. For his Daddy.

“G-green. Green, Daddy.” The remote is flicked back on and Peter sobs harder. He looks up at the TV and can barely see the screen through the tears and the pleasure coursing through him. The pulsing really is spaced out but Peter’s sense of time has spaghettified so much it feels endless. He’s holding perfectly still like his Daddy asked but his thumbs and fingers are flying. He has no idea what’s going on beyond his rim fluttering and grasping onto Tony like his body is determined to milk him dry without Peter’s conscious input.

Distantly, sounding far away and right in his ear, Peter hears his Daddy talking.

“He’s just very invested in his character, Thor.” Tony says it calmly, with just enough deadpan delivery to make everyone laugh and go back to the game. He thumbs the tears off one of Peter’s cheeks at the same time and nobody in the chat has any clue. They think Peter is some weird germaphobe having a breakdown over dust in his new apartment. They have no idea that Peter is one second away from throwing the controller across the room and begging to be fucked into the ground.

Peter’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t understand at first what’s going on when Thor starts congratulating him. Does he know? Did Tony tell him what they’re doing? Peter’s so far under that even Thor telling him ‘Good Game’ in that booming voice of his makes him preen and warm in the chest and stomach and dick.

But it isn’t Thor praising him for being such a good cockwarmer for Daddy. It’s Thor praising him because somehow…

Somehow they’ve won?

“Good job, guys. It only took you, oh,” Tony checks his watch with the hand not petting Peter’s stomach. Peter can tell he’s grinning even out of his mind with pleasure and on the brink of the best orgasm of his life. “Two hours for you to win a round?”

Peter stops tracking when his shirt is pushed up and his nipples (ignored until now) are pinched. He didn’t think he could feel anymore but he was wrong and it’s so good. Tony twists and pulls and flicks with one hand while the other is on Peter’s stomach, holding him close, keeping him perched in Tony’s lap crying his eyes out.

Peter follows directions and keeps holding still no matter how hard the tears start coming.

“-think we’re gonna call it a night. End it on a high note, you know?” Tony’s words register and Peter realizes he’s missed a chunk of the conversation entirely. He doesn’t care; he’ll apologize to Thor later. Right now he’s keyed into Tony’s every move -inside and out- and can’t concentrate on anything besides the bliss coursing through his synapses. The headphones are slipped off and Peter’s body tightens up.

“You did so good for me. You deserve to cum, don’t you, babyboy?” Tony slides his hand down from Peter’s stomach to his cock. He kisses him on the side of his neck and grips him, stroking and praising and kissing his wonderful boy. “Go ahead. Cum for me. Show me how much being good for Daddy gets you off.”

Peter wails when he cums; spurt after spurt rockets out of the openings in the cap, dribbles following after, balls throbbing and squeezing out more than he’s ever managed before. His entire body locks up for a solid few seconds that feel like an eternity. He feels like he’s floating and everything is warm, soft, and good.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You’re good. You’re so good for me.” Daddy’s words don’t really penetrate so much as permeate the fog. He’s wrapped up in it like a blanket. He hopes Daddy came, too. He’s so wet and tingly he can’t tell.

“I did, baby. I came when you did because you looked so gorgeous I couldn’t help myself. You were perfect. Can I wash you up now, sweetheart? Daddy’s made a mess of your pretty hole.” Tony can tell this session sent Peter off the charts. He’s proud that the kid trusts him so much that he could let go like this.

Now it’s Tony’s turn to take care of someone in need. He smiles looking down at the blissed out, half lidded gaze looking up at him.

He’s going to enjoy pampering Peter.

This was so much fun omg edging is my JAM and stupid ideas being done seriously is my JAM and Peter crying is my JAM and Tony fucking his throat is my JAM and-

#starker #nff #very #very nff #d/s #dom!tony #sub!peter #edging to tears #oversensitivity #semi-public sex #i guess?#mentions of Bucky because this is a tie in to my winterironspider au #but if you want to think of this as a stand alone #feel free to skip those 2-3 lines #GOTTA GO THIS WAS EDITED SUPER QUICK SORRY IT SUCKS #HOPE YOU LIKED ANON LOVE YOU AND YOUR PROMPT

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ghostspideys-moved · 4 years ago

Text

All For The Best

Chapter Eight

A/N: I’m actually pretty proud of this chapter. Don’t forget to leave a comment or reblog if you’ve been enjoying this ride so far.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairings: Steve Harrington x OC, Nancy Wheeler x Jonathan Byers x OC

Summary: While El looks for the flayed, Hawthorne reveals a secret he’s been keeping in for a long time.

Somehow, Hawthorne was stuck sitting in the waiting room, watching over the kids. He supposed someone had to look after them, especially since Nancy and Jonathan decided they’d be the ones to visit Mrs. Driscoll.

He was sitting next to El, who was reading a magazine, mostly flipping through and glancing at the pictures. He’d already heard about her break up with Mike, and he didn’t need to be able to read her mind to know it was bothering her. Especially when he’d caught her glancing over in Mike’s direction a few times.

“How are you holding up?” Hawthorne asked. El glanced up at him, a confused look on her face. “You know, with you and Mike?”

El shrugged. “Okay.”

As she turned back to her magazine, he debated exactly how to help her out. It wasn’t exactly Mike’s fault, though he hadn’t been the smartest either. Hawthorne remembered what Hopper said about his “talk” with Mike, and he couldn’t help feeling that was the real problem here. Not that he was surprised. Even he was a bit annoyed with Hopper handling this the way he had.

“You know, I think you two should talk,” he finally said. “I mean, you both seem miserable without each other?”

“Miserable?” El set her magazine down, clearly wondering what he was getting at.

“You know, like...sad. But, like, really sad,” Hawthorne explained. “If you two don’t talk to each other, I’m sure it could get a lot worse.”

She at least appeared to be considering her words. Sure, he didn’t know how solid his own advice was, but he was a little tired of watching them tip-toe around each other. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Like Nancy and Jonathan.”

Hawthorne sighed, slumping in his seat. “Yeah, something like that,” he said. “They’re working it out, but it happens. Fights happen.” It wasn’t like he was some expert on relationships, and he didn’t really know where all of this was coming from, but he hoped it was helping her, even if only a bit.

Turning to her, Hawthorne gave El a reassuring smile. “Just don’t hold a grudge against him, okay? Most guys your age do dumb things.” He was glad that part earned a laugh from her. “Hell, I do dumb things all the time.”

For all his attempts to keep Nancy and Jonathan together, it was taking a toll on him. And, though it was taking some time, it seemed like the two of them were finally making progress. There was still some understanding needing to be reached, but it was something. He didn’t plan on mediating forever. Eventually, they’d have to own up to their own mistakes - they both had some apologizing to do, he was sure - and he was just glad to help kick-start the process. If anything, he didn’t want El and Mike to let this sour their relationship. They were kids, and they deserved to learn from their mistakes just as much as anyone else.

Hawthorne let his advice sink in and left when Mike came over to talk with El. He was more than happy to give them space to work things out, though he made a mental note to have a talk with Hopper about the mess he’d made.

By now, he was starting to realize Nancy and Jonathan had been gone for a while. And maybe there was nothing to worry about, but he had an awful feeling. It was sitting in his gut, constantly pestering him. With how easily things went to shit again, Hawthorne hoped they were okay. It occurred to him to check on them, but there was no way he was going to get past the receptionist. And if he did manage that and it turned out he was worrying for nothing, he would just feel like an idiot.

Just as his anxiety was starting to get the best of him, the lights started flickering. Normally, Hawthorne might pass it off as nothing, but that usually wasn’t a good sign. He’d learned that by now. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one to notice, and even worse was how jumpy Will was. The poor kid looked pale and unbelievably freaked out. It was becoming abundantly clear to Hawthorne that he may well have been right to be worried.

Will’s shaky, “he’s here,” was enough for it to dawn on Hawthorne that this was about to get pretty intense, as much as he hated it.

At the very least, they’d missed the action so far, but neither Nancy nor Jonathan looked like they were in very good shape. And as soon as they explained everything that happened, they were off to the cabin.

Rex came running over when Hawthorne let them all inside, and El ended up locking herself in her room as she tried to track the flayed. Hawthorne tried to busy himself with feeding Rex while everyone else was working out their plans. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t sure how to help, and he felt pretty useless. He’d hardly done anything to help. If only he could stop being a coward for just a minute, he might be able to contribute something.

He’d been so deep in thought that he’d accidentally spilled some of the dog food. His only response was a deep sigh as he moved to clean it up. Hawthorne looked up when he noticed Nancy trying to help. She opened her mouth to speak a few times, trying to find her words.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asked.

If there were any words to describe how he was feeling, “okay” was not one of them. “Fine,” Hawthorne lied, standing again.

It was clear she didn’t totally believe him. Even when they finished cleaning, she didn’t let up. “If this about what’s been happening between Jonathan and I, I’m really sorry you got caught in the middle of it.”

Sure, that might have been part of his stress, but he had no clue how to even explain everything that was going on in his head. It was so much more than that.

“No. I mean, not really.” Hawthorne sighed, looking down. “I guess I’m just stressed out with everything that’s been happening. After last time, I really hoped all of this was behind on.”

The concerned look on her face only made him feel bad for putting all of this on her. Nancy had much bigger things to worry about. Seeming to sense his apprehension, she took his hand and made him look her in the eyes.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, okay?” Whether it was true or not, he almost believed her. “We’ll get through this just like last time.”

“Nance, I don’t even know where my sister is, or if she’s even okay. I don’t know where Hop is either, and I feel like I’m doing a terrible job of keeping it together.”

Nancy paused for a moment before asking, “You saw it, didn’t you? When you were walking in the parking lot?”

Hawthorne had almost forgotten about his vision, but he could never forget the dread he felt in that moment. “Yeah. It wasn’t much, really,” he admitted. “But I freaked out.” If it came down to it, he wasn’t sure if he’d really be able to help any of them. This was worse than last year, and he just knew that, given the chance, he’d freeze. Just like he always did.

Somehow, Nancy always had a way of making him feel better, and this was no exception. “You’re stressing yourself out too much,” she said. “Don’t forget. You’re not alone. You have me, Jonathan, the kids, your family. None of us will ever make you deal with this alone.”

Deep down, he knew that. It felt good to hear it, though. Sometimes, he needed a reminder that he wasn’t carrying all of this weight alone.

Hawthorne offered a slight smile as she kissed him on the cheek. Now that he was feeling at least somewhat better, he let her get back to planning. He let her borrow the phone in the meantime, and he actually managed to feed Rex. The poor dog probably needed it. Hawthorne was feeding him as regularly as possible in all this mess, but he felt bad for leaving him for so long every now and then.

Just as Hawthorne was settled, Nancy finished her final phone call, none of which produced any results. It wasn’t looking so good. With no clue where any of the flayed were, they had no clue what they were doing. It was like they’d just disappeared, and they weren’t any closer to finding the source of the flaying.

Worse still was the argument happening between Mike and Max. Hawthorne didn’t feel so inclined to agree with either of them, no matter how much they yelled. Realistically, both of them were right. He’d learned the hard way that even if they explained to El how damaging it could be to push herself, that didn’t mean it would stop her. Mike was very adamant on finding a new plan, though, and Hawthorne couldn’t blame him. El had been locked up for quite some time now looking for the flayed.

“You’re treating her like some kind of machine when she’s not a machine, and I don’t want her to die looking for the flayed when they’ve obviously vanished off the face of the earth,” Mike snapped. “So can we please just come up with a new plan? Because I love her, and I can’t lose her again.”

His words were met with silence as they sank in. Hawthorne could hardly believe what he’d heard, but Mike said it with such confidence and conviction that it was almost frightening.

Before anyone could say more, El finally came out of her room. She looked fine, if not a bit exhausted, and Hawthorne thanked whatever omnipotent being there may or may not be that she was okay.

“What’s going on?” El asked, glancing at each of them curiously.

Mike was quick to cover for them. “Nothing. Nothing.”

“Just a family discussion,” Lucas added.

“Oh.” El seemed satisfied enough with their answer, even if she didn’t totally believe it. “I found him.”

El usually needed some quiet when she was tracking. The TV was turned on, only playing static for her, and her blindfold was back on. Everyone was trying to stay quiet for her sake in the hopes she would find something.

Thankfully, she found Billy, just like she’d said, though they didn’t have much to go off of with the information she had. He was sitting in his room, which Max confirmed wasn’t normal. It was clearly a trap.

But El was insistent that she might know a way to figure out where he’d been, and while Hawthorne didn’t want her to push herself, he knew it was the only way to get anywhere. They hadn’t been having any success on their own.

After taking a break, El put the blindfold back on and tried to look again.

Hawthorne sighed and sat back while she gave it another go. “So, what do we do if this doesn’t work?” he asked quietly, trying not to bother El.

“Don’t you have powers?” Mike asked. “Can’t you help somehow?”

Nancy gave him a stern look. “Mike.”

“We’ve never seen him use them. Maybe he just doesn’t have any,” Lucas said.

“If they took him to the lab, he has to have them.”

Hawthorne raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, hi. Standing right here.”

“Well, do you?” Mike asked.

There was no way around this. Hawthorne was going to have to explain himself eventually, and he knew that.

“Yeah. It’s just...not a good idea for me to use them,” he claimed.

“But whatever it is you can do, it might help El.”

“I haven’t used them in years. The last time I did that things went wrong.”

“We can’t push everything onto her, though. She’s going to wear herself out.”

“You told her you’d trust her, though.”

“And I do, but I know she could use the help.”

Max finally cut in. “Okay, seriously. You’re gonna break El’s concentration.”

Hawthorne and Mike finally shut up, but they gave each other one last look of disdain. Nancy pulled him and Jonathan over to the kitchen where they wouldn’t bother El.

“Hey, don’t worry about him, okay? He’s just worried,” she said.

Hawthorne sighed, leaning against the counter. “I know. I get it,” he replied. “I’m just as worried she’s going to wear herself thin, but I don’t think I’d even be all that helpful.”

“What happened the last time you used your powers?” Jonathan asked. “It sounded like it was pretty bad.”

That felt like the understatement of the year. But if he trusted anyone with this, it was both of them. He might as well get it off his chest.

“I just...they made us do a lot of tests, you know? The scientists liked to up the stakes each time, and they’d already learned a lot about my powers. I really just tried to go along with what they asked of me because it was better that way.” Hawthorne swallowed dryly. “Whenever I touch people - any sort of skin contact - I absorb their strength, memories, abilities, sometimes even pieces of their personality. But it always wears off eventually, and they just pass out until it wears off.

“One time, I guess the scientists were curious what would happen if I tried it on one of the other kids. Maybe I could absorb their powers. And they were right. It worked the first few times, and it only lasted about half an hour at most. They’d always be fine afterwards. But one time, it didn’t go that way at all. There was this kid they had me try it out on and-” Hawthorne almost couldn’t finish, but he dismissed their looks of concern, trying to press on. “It didn’t wear off that time. And he went into a coma. Pretty sure he didn’t make it.”

Jonathan placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring look. “How long did it take to wear off?” he asked.

“It didn’t.” Hawthorne avoided their eyes, knowing he’d break down otherwise. “I still have his powers. I don’t use them, but I could any time. It’s kind of been eating at me.”

They shared a look, almost seeming to debate if they should ask him anything else. But he knew they’d stop if he really asked them to.

Nancy finally braved one more question. “What exactly were his powers?”

Hawthorne hesitated. “Shapeshifting.”

In his mind, it wasn’t anything monumental. Nor was it going to do them any good. And while he had his powers mostly under control by now, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel about knocking anyone else out if he didn’t have to.

Before he could go into it any further, El announced she’d found the source. They raced over as Max asked where it was.

“Brimborn...Steelworks.”

Jonathan grabbed the phone book and flipped through the pages in a hurry. “Found it. 6522 Cherry Oak Drive.”

“That’s close,” Nancy realized.

El still hadn’t come back yet, which was beyond worrying. Mike was trying to call her back, but it didn’t seem like she could just yet. There wasn’t anything they could do to bring her back. She had to do it herself, but it didn’t look like she was ready yet.

The room went silent as they waited hopefully for her to get out of there. El finally threw off the blindfold, screaming.

Hawthorne felt his heart sink when she started crying, throwing herself into Mike’s arms. He raced back to the kitchen and grabbed her a glass of water as Mike calmed her down. They made her sit down and take a drink, giving her enough time to bounce back from whatever she saw.

Hawthorne was taken by surprise as she clung onto him, clearly exhausted and scared beyond belief. He tried to calm her down, wrapping his arms around her as he let her cry. If he was having any doubts before, they were only growing and settling in his mind, but he would never back out on any of them, but least of all El. Mike had been right about her needing all the help she could get.

Taglist: @charmedtenderness @nxncywheeler @koibecomedragons

#steve harrington #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington one shot #jonathan byers x oc #jonathan byers x original character #jonathan byers x reader #nancy wheeler x oc #nancy wheeler x original character #nancy wheeler x reader #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things fic

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