#bearded chris is the best chris

[chaneajoyyy]

😌

CHRIS EVANS PEOPLE’s 2022 Sexiest Man Alive

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Wrong Turn ||

Pairing: Mountain Man Silver Fox Nomad!Steve Rogers | You. 

Trope: Neat and clean ‘civilized’ Princess-like young trophy wife X Filthy beast of a wild and scary man who only got her because he has the power. 

Description: In a desperate attempt to save your life from the wrath of the mountain people that your friends and you stumbled upon and accidentally killed on a hike gone wrong, you had to offer yourself up to their Leader to use as a ‘resource’. But little did your ‘husband’ know, you had been actively getting rid of his seed to avoid actually getting pregnant. Naturally, when he does find out, he is very unhappy… And also very determined to make sure you don't make it out of your punishment without a child, or two.

Warning(s): Dubcon, barbaric!Steve, breeding kink (gone wild), unprotected p-in-v, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, missionary, he has a wife bod kink (but it is inclusive), misogyny, smut with perhaps too much plot, fear kink, size kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, age gap, hair pulling, spanking, biting, allusions to painal and Steve being a teasing sicko about it but he doesn't actually penetrate, overstimulation, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, boob play, squirting, Lloyd makes an appearance with his own young bride, dacryphilia (it's me), self degradation, Stevie is a perverted old meanie, infantilization, mind break.

Disclaimer: Very loosely based off of the movie that I do not own. You don't need to know it to read this piece but do note that it takes place in a fictional setting. Minors do not interact. 

Inspo-ish: This post.

Note: For someone who was on their period, I should not have been this horny. But I need this marriage, now. Ps, though this rotted in my drafts for a long time… in honor of Chris growing out his beard again, ig.

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have no idea how long it has been since that fateful twilight when everything changed in your life, leaving you to a lifestyle you could never have even imagined for yourself.  

“Eat up, woman” but as your barbarian of a husband commands you in his rough and animalistically deep voice, you cannot help but break out of your reverie and shudder at the sight of the barely cooked meat piled high on the platter in front of the two of you. “So you can bear me healthy children” although you're the one who was made to prepare his beastly dinner -that never fails to leave you aghast when it's gorged down- as you're his wife, you cannot help but gag under your breath and feel disgust for the loaves that sit before you in the company of a tall stone carved jug that brims full of the foul smelling mead that your husband is ardently fond of. 

You muster up your best coy smile. Keeping up the appearance of a happily mated pair is important. Or people stare. And then the old man becomes unpleasant. “I had quite a lot while I was cooking, dear” your lies sting your tongue out of the fear you feel of getting caught, but the mere hope of not doing so is better than eating this. “Y- You go ahead” you slowly turn in his muscle hardened lap, that you are always to sit on, to give him a small smile but your expression almost transforms into one of horror because of how wildly your heart jumps at the sight of his stern, predator-like face. You are quick to recover though, as it is a usual occurrence. 

“You need it. You work so hard—” there is just something about his rough looks that never fails to send a chill down your spine. You have never seen anything, let alone an actual human man like him before. 

A beard as thick as the very forest his people populate and as dark as the nights can get here in the absence of lanterns due to the heavy trees, age that streaks some of his gold locks with its silver has not marred the sternness of his jaw that remains firmly set under the heavy mane of his facial hair. His shoulders seem akin to the mountains that surround his village and his piercing dark eyes the mysterious waterfall that flows some way down south from the entrance of the settlement. The frightening mass of his shoulders is so toned that if the barely noticeable wrinkles that sometimes appear under the dark of his eyebrows and next to the crow-feather like lashes that frame his eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a man in his primeful late twenties and no older. His unrelenting strength and wolfish stamina would only further serve to bear testament to the misconception. 

Your strict husband bluntly catches your shaky hand that you extend in his direction to feed him some of the meat, the force that he uses coupled with the coarseness of his skin making you jump. You bite back a yelp and whimper when you look up at his dark blue eyes from where you were watching his bearded mouth to carefully place the food in.

“I don't care” Steve does not care much for being polite -unless it is you who disregards it in your behavior-, especially when it comes to you denying or diverting his ‘care’ for you. “You eat more” you bite back the scowl that threatens to break onto your face from how he turns your hand around in your direction instead. “Wives always need to eat more. They do so much at home for husband and children” he probably feels proud of these ‘values’ that have been transmitted to him by his elders. But all they make you want to do is to crack him across the jaw for being a misogynistic and backward shithead. Especially with you. 

Your ‘husband’ believes that everyone has a role to play; a contribution to make to their people and home. That is how this archaic village of theirs has survived in these mountains hidden away from the rest of the world for so long. 

The greasy piece of a disturbing excuse of a rare steak touches your lips and you've been here long enough to know better than to argue or worse yet, fight. So you smile and lean into his arm that cases your form against his through the embrace he holds you in from behind, his fingers playing with one of the many flowered braids your attending ladies had put in your hair a bit before his arrival at ‘home’. 

“O- Of course” you reluctantly open your open and grip your flowy dressing gown for a semblance of support for your sanity, taking the smallest bite you can -which is still a lot as the man pushes nearly the whole piece into your mouth the moment you open up- as you keep your eyes trained on his to avoid looking down. Your mind always becomes more aware of the taste when you look. “Thank you, dear” you focus on swallowing it without gagging and feel your smile split in places because of how uncomfortable you are.

He probably notices it because he slightly raises one eyebrow and snorts before hugging your smaller form -that is tiny compared to his- closer and puts the rest of the piece in his own mouth. If there is one thing you have learnt in your time with him, it's that you can never fool him. Not really. No matter how well you may think you have lied or pretended, he always sees through it. 

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

Steve finally begins to eat himself, silently offering you another piece that you politely reject by shaking your head and then quickly pressing an apologetic kiss to his scruffy cheek to lighten the blow. Apparently, a wife can never be polite enough to her husband. And though the change in his expression begins with an unhappy frown, your show of ‘affection’ seems to suffice him and he relaxes in satisfaction, now looking down the long table and at his clansmen and maidens that sit enjoying their dinner, their chatter and laughter a dull roar in the large eating hall of the Leader's dwelling. You pick up the heavy jug of mead with both your hands and obediently hold it to his lips to sip from. Steve looks away from what one of his main men are saying and gulps down a mouthful, rubbing your back as a gesture for thanks before moving his hand quickly down to squeeze your ass to heighten the effect of his expression of gratitude. 

His form shakes in mirth when you yelp and blush. He knows how embarrassing you find being openly ‘affectionate’ in front of people and that is one of the reasons why he enjoys it so much besides showing off that a thing of such beauty and youth like you is all his. You rest the jug between your boobs that he has fucked and squeezed into increasing in size and use your other hand to gently finger and stroke his golden locks that he keeps pushed away from his face outside the bedroom. Though he says nothing, you feel his usually vigilant and always firm stature slowly soften and you cannot help but smile, though what he says next quickly deflates it.

“Do you feel any change in you, wife?” You know what it means and now it's you who becomes tense. He only uses that name for you when he speaks to you as a husband inquiring about your marital matters. “Has my seed attached to your womb yet? Does it grow there?” You gulp and feign shyness, moving closer to his hair and nuzzling yourself in him. “Hm?” He closes his hugging arm around you and reaches for your stomach, fingers groping your covered skin as gently as he can -which isn't much- to feel it. “Answer me” he demands when you refuse to speak. 

“I… I don't know, husband” you always promise yourself that you'll demand more rights for yourself; ask him to treat you like the other husbands treat their wives, only to fail the minute he enters your vicinity. 

“What does that mean?” His tone turns blunt and you whimper at the tightness that snaps back in place between his shoulders. 

You get it.

That was the deal, after all. 

Healthy children in exchange for your life that was required by their judicial laws for bearing false witness to your friend accidentally killing one of their people in mistaken defense. Steve had promised you before accepting you as a citizen that if you failed to fulfill your task you'd walk the darkness in the dungeons. He had shown you how it would be before declaring you a member of their tribe and the sight you had seen was something that had given you nightmares for days. 

But that did not mean you actually wanted to have your old captor's children.

You doubted it would ever be something you'd look forward to.

“I- I mean” regret shoots up your spine in the form of fear and you lose your speech to it momentarily. But then two of your main attending ladies -by that you mean Steve's top agents when it comes to you- enter the horizon of your sight and you hurriedly blubber out the first thing that comes to your mind. “I've n- never been pregnant before, s-o I d- don't know how to…” Your husband turns to look at you, his handsome features twisting into a rogue scowl but before he can scold you, one of the two ladies, Kaira, speaks in their language to Steve. 

Not everyone here can speak English and those who do speak it do so a rather odd version of it. Naturally, you don't speak their language and so they give you the full experience of an outsider when they need to discuss the business they want to keep private from you. The thought makes you want to laugh, like you'd be able to do something with whatever informations they withhold.

But it doesn't really bother you, because you don't care.

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here. 

Especially for someone like you.

Better to be the doe eyed trophy wife of an angel who can't tell her head from her ass.

“Is that so?” Your heart jumps when Steve chooses to speak English. That means that this definitely concerns you. You place the mead down and wrap one arm around his broad shoulders before nervously combing his thick beard with your other hand. Since you have no interest in or desire to learn their language, the only word you manage to pick up on when you focus really hard is ‘baby’ and that is solely because of the annoying amount of times it comes up for you. 

“Is not this strange?” He speaks once the women step back after finally ending the nerve wracking conversation that seems to go on forever. “Do you hear what they say about you, little one?” Fuck, you're definitely in trouble. 

He is reminding you of your place. 

You put on your best charming smile but you're painfully aware that your nervousness gives it away. You can feel it. “W- What do they say, dear?” They were such bitches. They knew how to speak English, that's why they were your attendants, but yet they chose not to. And now they were glaring at you like you weren't above them— oh no, not these thoughts again. You will never become like them! No, no! 

Steve pushes his plate away now. Your head spins from the realization. It's only half finished. Your husband never wastes his food. It is a near sin for them to do so. “They tell me the most odd things” oh just fucking tell me! You mentally scream but outwardly tilt your head to the side in confusion, your chest vibrating with the rising beats of your heart. “And now that I think about it myself…” His fingers wrap around the mead before he raises it to his lips. “I see the—”

“What did they say, Steve?” Your mouth works faster than your better sense and he pauses mid sip, dark blue eyes flickering up from the stone jug to look at you. Your face flushes a noticeable hot and your ears get sweaty from the awareness. 

Fuck. 

“They say you've been getting rid of my seed” he feels played and thus angry at the both of you. Perhaps more so towards himself than you; his silly little child-wife. How could he let a thing as tender and small as you fool him so? “... Do you?” It is obvious you are guilty. Besides, he is confident that his people would never lie to him unlike one young and beautiful girl that he had found kneeling in front of him in his court while bawling her eyes out one fateful night, fear stricken as his people surrounded him like a doe trapped. 

And of course, your expressions and reactions don't help your case, as always. “W- What? No…” Your mind becomes erratic.

“No?” He himself knows not what kind of a chance he offers you with that. But typical to your nature, you make it easy for him by refusing it.

“N- No! Of course not! W- Why would I ever do such a thing to m- my husb- hubby and my b- babies?!” Steve has to clench down his scoff. 

“You wouldn't, would you?” Your naivete never fails to amuse him.

“No! I- I don't know why they accuse me so—” you mend your speech from the archaic form that tries to leech to it everyday. “I don't know why they would accuse me of that but they must be mistaken! This is a misunderstanding!” 

He hums. “I see…” His scarred fingers begin to toy with your braids again. “So you remain devoted to me and faithful to our family, don't you?”

“Of course!” You nuzzle closer to him, your heart thundering into his chest. “I don't know why they still treat me like an outsider” you purr as you nervously stroke his hair, playing a card of your own and making an absolute fool of yourself by doing so. “I try my best… like I promised.” 

“Yes, your promise” his distant eyes -they get like that when you disappoint him and you hate the sight because it never fares well for you- travel down to your empty stomach. His gaze makes it wrench. Your fear skyrockets at the same rate as your anger. If only there was a way for you to get back at those bitches without having to give birth!

“I- It takes time sometimes, dear…” You hug his shoulders with one arm. “But it will happen. I know it…” Your other hand reaches for his fingers that rest on your abdomen now. 

“Oh?” Steve raises one dark eyebrow at you. His hair is the most fascinating combination of blonde and dark brown. “Is that what your modern day sciences say?” His people were not always like this, he had told you. They did not originate from here. Rather, some families had abandoned ‘civilization’ when it was going to hell -in his words- by killing each other for meaningless constructs such as caste, creed and color differences and migrated up here to establish a system of their own; one free from such nonsense. 

Apparently.

You take a deep breath. “Stevie—” you only call him that when you find yourself dangerously close to the dungeons.

“If that is what you believe in, wife,” he never cuts you off. Usually, that is. His age that streaks his blonde strands with its silver ones has granted him enough patience. Normally, he waits for the other person -who is most often you- to mess up themselves. But whatever the ladies have told him seems to agitate him into rebelling against his own nature today. “I'll do it your way. After all, happy wife happy life, is that not what you tell me often?” Okay, you might have said that during a particularly cocky moment in bed once. 

But the intention behind that had not been nearly whatever he is moving towards now. 

“Y- You don't have to, l- love…” You nervously giggle. “You're perfect the way you are” you run your nails that he insists you keep trimmed for hygienic -as if- and practical purposes through his silver-blonde hair.

“Oh no…” Now he pushes his food farther away. “I will indulge you, little one” he moves your other leg over his laps so now you face the people down the table with both of your legs on either sides of his, ass to his… fuck. “Time conspires against us, and so we must make haste.”

Your eyes widen and your heart leaps up in your throat. “M- My love?!” 

Steve moves your flowy gown out of his way, keeping a firm hold on one of your thighs even though he doesn't really have to. Your fear of him would never let you attempt an escape. “Yes, my stars” the name is so full of sarcasm it nearly pierces you open. “Let us leave time to its devices, and us ours” your husband is usually a very possessive and private man when it comes to you, but his ire seems to get the better of him today. You hear the buckle of his own clothes come undone. The table goes silent and heads turn in your direction once they realize what's going on. Oh no… Your stomach drops. Not in front of everyone. Not when Steve makes you so vulnerable in that condition. Not in front of these lowlifes!

“Husb—” blood bubbles hot under your cheeks as you feel him align himself against you. 

Holy shit.

You feel one of his coarse hands wrap around your throat and he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can whisper in your ear. “You will contribute, my stubborn little wife,” you whimper from the menace his words hold, your well trained cunt obediently squelching open against his thick hard tip as he lowers you on his cock with the hold he has on your thigh. “Whether you like it, or not” sometimes, deep down, you fear that the dungeons are not an option anymore. 

He keeps you in the horizons of his sight too much for them to be. 

It appears as though the sentence has changed. 

It is now Steve, or Steve.

You cry out from the strain his log-like girth puts on the narrow band of your entrance. God. You will never get used to his size regardless of how many times and ways he tames your pussy in. Yes, it does not refuse him or rip around him now as it used to in the beginning -and it did that for a long time- but the size to which his cock makes it expand is like a mini-birth. Feels like it, looks like it. Only, it feels way too good. And that's why you don't mind it—

No. You don't know what that was or meant. But you don't take responsibility for that thought!

“Oh!” The balmy velvet of your cavern grazes down the bulging veins and hard skin of the brute's cock until your petals squish against his heavy and very eager balls. Your head spins when you feel his tip tickle your cervix. It never takes his dick long to find it.  

His hands are pushing you back up almost instantly so he can slide you back down. You look anywhere but at the tens of faces in front of you, instead choosing to look at the wall on the opposite side of the table. You never thought these people were capable of being this quiet until now when your pussy makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as Steve tugs you back to his leaking tip and then allows gravity to suck you back down. You desperately bite your lips and try to focus on ignoring the way your insides are beginning to thrum with the excitement and stimulation; to show these brutes that you're better than them and aren't some animal of nature. But to no avail. His slimy precum mixes too well with yours, the rough skin of his hands digs into your thighs too well and the manner in which your petals rub against his cock when he lifts you yet again -now forming a momentum- before letting you slide in again is too much for you mask with nonchalance. 

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

“Tell me, my pretty” Steve begins again, his dark eyes now finding the young and hormonal pack of unsuspecting boys who clearly do not know better. “Have you ever had a cock like mine?” He says it in their own language so the foolish miscreants see, understand and learn the fact that you’re only his. You belong to him and he will go to war for you, not that a pack of rug rats will ever be a cause of worry for him. “Has anyone ever fucked you as good as I do?” He switches back to the language you understand, roughly fumbling for your jaw before he grabs it and bounces his hips into yours at the same time. 

Your traitorous legs have begun to do what they always do; fuck yourself against him -if he hasn’t bound you, which he hasn’t- in whatever position he has you. You only realize that your breathing has become heavier when you open your mouth to answer. “Only you, my husband! Only you!” Your brain is running too fast for reason or reflection to catch up so you leave wondering why you answer him with the only words he has been able to teach you in his language to later. Your words are muffled as his fingers that grip the lower half of your face nearly slip in your mouth from the disordered urgency of the both of your actions. 

“That's right” your mouth falls open and you begin to softly pant in that animalistic way that you detest when he makes you watch yourself in a mirror while fucking you sometimes. In your defense, it is always unintentional on your part; you barely even notice it while taking his fucking. And yet, it is inevitable due to the force he does it with. “Look at you; dutifully fucking yourself up and down your husband's cock like a bitch in heat” a twinge forms in your knuckles from how your fingers hold the edges of the table to aid the gliding of your fuck hole that now slams up and down his cock in a rhythm you're all too familiar with, the smacks of your bare ass slapping against his naked abdomen making appalling noises that you're too worked up to dread over right now. “And you're a bitch in heat for me, aren't you?” His fingers move down from your jaw to your throat. “Wanting to be bred over and over again until you're so full of my children that your little belly is round and heavy to the brim, hm?” In these moments, you tell him anything and everything that he wants to hear.

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

“Yes!” Your voice disappears midway from how he squeezes your windpipe. His hips meet yours midway now, the wetness of your cunt and the force of his thrusts causing for his balls to try and push past the tight boundary of your sexual cavern. “Yes! Yes! I am! Please!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his free hand finds your petals to play with. “Ohhh!”

“You want to be bred, don't you?” He rubs your drenched pussy lips while his hard cock pistons in and out of your sopping cunt. “Want to contribute…?” He chokes you once more and this time his fingers pinch one of your pussy lips punishingly at the same time and you cry out. “Provide your husband with a house full of heirs?” The oxygen in your mind depletes and your eyes flutter as a result, cheeks turning red and nerves becoming prominent on your glistening temples. Your horny yet defensive pussy finally relaxes around him a bit so it doesn't hurt his dick and he savours the moment by holding you by the curve between your legs and fucking into your form that gets limp by the moment to push you towards your first orgasm. 

It always gets better after that. 

For him, at least. 

You don't choke him out so much then.

“Y- Yes!” When Steve finally lets go of your throat to let you breathe, you blubber out an an answer obediently once the light returns to your eyes. Your walls stiffen around him once more. But by then he has already worked himself closer to your womb. “Yes! Yes!” It is all your mind can muster.

“Good” he makes a point of taking both of your boobs in his hands and thoroughly massaging them to show off his ownership over you. “Now ask me to breed you” the fence of heat that has formed around your loins becomes tighter when his hands that previously fondled your clothed breasts slip under your gown -for Steve is too possessive to actually expose you to the eyes of others- and he softly rubs your tense sides a couple times before his fingers form pinches around your hard nubs. 

“Please breed me!” Your voice is so loud and strained that its quality is nearly blood curdling. “Please breed me and s- stuff me full your children!” Your hands fly to grip his from over the dress as you throw your head back and slip from the edge of your anticipation, parrotting all the words he has taught you over the course of your marriage. “Oh GOD! Please!” Your back arches from the coming undone of the hot belt of expectation and scorching gratification spills from it, seeping down your legs in the form of a nearly unbearable electric feeling that transforms into a subzero energy when it reaches your toes that curl, causing them to feel as though they are freezing. “I need your b- babies so bad, hubby!” 

Steve's own ears blush from the heat that courses through them in the form of adrenaline as he snorts, some of his blonde strands coming loose from the push and tug that he plays with your cunt. “Tell them” his balls ache from the strength it takes him not to fill you up right then. “Tell everyone that you want me to fill you up with my babies” since your sensitive body tries to curl and move away from the overstimulation, the older man wraps both of his hands around your thighs to keep you going. “Say it!” And he makes you say the words that he desires in the language of your spectators that look embarrassed for the first time since you got here. 

Save for your husband's best men who look equal parts aroused and proud. 

You want to cringe and be disgusted but your sensitive pussy is being pounded too hard for you to attempt a conjuring up of any dignity. 

“Need hubby babies bad!” You cry out again from memory when Steve's thick seed begins to fill you up at last. “Oh, my God!” The feeling of his hot cum filling you up and painting every inch of your sensitive walls penetrates your already hazy mind and the warmth that steams out of the pearly liquid steams its way up to your womb, making you shudder at the feeling. Your opening tightens around him in protest of the overstimulation and it instead causes for a barrage of bitter-sweet electric sparks to explode through your abdomen in the form of a half post-climax orgasm. Your body grows tired.

But your insatiable is far from done.

“Flattering, but no” Steve pushes you against the table before standing up when he is done fucking his orgasm as deep as he can reach into you. “The father of your children will suffice” your eyebrows furrow at his words but the older man does not give you a chance to ponder over them because now he is hooking his hands under your thighs that your rapid and messy fucking has covered in both of your juices. 

“W- What?!” Your vision is hazy and your mind dazed as you incoherently tap about. “What's— oh!” You wince from how much easier it is for him to move inside your worked open and much lubricated but torturously overstimulated walls now. “Oh! Oh…” Your hands blindly feel behind you to try and get him to stop. “Oh, no! No, please!” You cry out weakly, your upper body hanging low in the opposite direction from the exhaustion. 

“No?” The older man darkly chuckles, paying no mind to your flailing. “You think you can say that to me?” One of his hands desert their post on your thighs to roughly grab at your hair. He hasn't forgotten what started all this. “You think you have the same rights as everyone else around here, wife?”

But you're scowling from the burning pain in your walls, mind hazy and unwise. “Stop! Stop!” Your puffy folds ache from how his stiff skin rubs against them as he moves in and out of you at a normal pace… for now. “It hurts, stop!” 

“That is the part and parcel of having children” your body curves outwards as he pulls you further back and closer to himself by your hair. “And is that not why you're here?” His cocky tone along with the hungry and wondering eyes of the wildlings make you angry. “What you were spared for in the first place?” A twinkle in the eye of a man pisses you off and…

“It hurts, you old bastard!” Your young blood gets the better of you and your mouth runs before sense can catch up. “Stop, stop, stop it!” Since your hair holds you closer to him you manage to land a few smacks to his rock hard arms before you try to snake your fingers under his to pry off the hand that he coils around your thigh in a weak attempt to move away. 

Steve only chuckles, clearly unfazed by your fighting as he bounces your smaller form up in the air with each thrust. “Did your mother not teach you anything, wife?” He lets go of your hair only to restrain both your arms on the small of your back. “Good girls never tell their husbands no” your body flops forward again and you've no choice but to face the long table full of people. “They lay down pretty with their legs spread and let their husbands fill them with their children and then they express their gratitude for being granted a family.” Though your mind is confused and rather disoriented from the influx of sensation, you can make out new additions to the crowd of your humiliation from the corners of your vision. 

“Ugh!” You grunt from the rapid jabs he gives to your sore pussy, his firm hold nearly searing into your wrists. “I don't wanna have your stupid blonde babies!” Steve breathlessly lets out a real laugh at that. “Let go!” 

“There” he can swear he will never tired of you breaking the little character of the obedient wife that you so naively think you have mastered only to break it when he has you all riled up like this. “Right there, easy now” his other hand leaves your lap and he pushes your head down and against the table in the most condescending manner imaginable. Steve has got you to expose yourself for the brat you are, no need for play anymore. “Now I make a bunny out of you” his dark eyes now meet with those of the boys sitting at the other end of the table and his use of their language is a silent message. The Leader knows how his wife is desired. And he doesn't appreciate it in the least. The young males all panic and look away, gulping to themselves and praying for their lives. 

You try to struggle again, your lip curling in disdain and protest as you feel him fuck his cum right up your cervix. The bitter pleasure you get from it makes your head spin and your fingers and toes flex defensively. “Ooof!” Your cheek rubs against the table and you puff out your face to express how tense you feel down there. 

“Brat” Steve shakes in silent mirth as he reaches for your ass with the hand that he was holding your face down with. “Don't you move a muscle.” You're too busy rocking over the table and being held down to try. 

“Hubby, please!” You whine when one of his veins twitch deep up your walls and your knees shiver from the sensation. “Please!” Maybe if his cock wasn't so comically huge, it would have been easier to move past the rough friction of your raw, orgasm worn skins. But it is and so you are ready to abandon the dam that begins to form in your abdomen again if it means to avoid this pain. “Owwwiee!”

“Aw” Steve cooes as he now moves to a pace that falters your vision and causes for the great table to shake with each thrust that he gives you. “So small and sore, aren't we?” The spank he lands on your unsuspecting ass right after is the stark opposite of his tone. “Maybe we shouldn't act out so much when we are so weak and pathetic, huh, wife?”

“Oooof!” One of the shyer ladies get up before she carries her young son who stood next to the group of the young ones away and the realization of the fact that your spectators are all real people who see you everyday and will continue to do after this drips down your limbs like ice cold water. Your hips cannot help but clench from the embarrassment that you dully feel in some part of your mind way far at the back. “Hubby, please!” The spanks increase with each snap of his hips and though the turmoil between your legs takes up most of your sensory powers, your cheeks now begin to noticeably sting from the pain that builds from how the swings of his hand against your poor ass increase with each thrust. 

“Please?” Steve muses like he isn't balls deep into you and fucking the literal daylights out of you like a crazed heathen. “Oh, but I thought I was a mean old bastard” of course, your pleas always only mean that you want more, according to the brute you are married to. They cannot mean anything else, apparently. “And you didn't want my stupid blonde babies” you grunt from the frustration and land a helpless fist on the table. You are in an uncomfortable tug of war between the mutilation of your sensory glands and the tall barrage of tight hot anticipation that cannot help but form in the base of your stomach again because of how hard and rough he fucks you. 

Your husband's main man, Lloyd, laughs in a comically daft voice to tease you and be the insufferable asshole that he is. “You've got yourself a feisty little pup there, Steve” he is the only one who can refer to the blonde haired man by his name. Or maybe, he doesn't care to use the honorific and his usefulness backs him up. You wouldn't be surprised if the latter really is the case. “Don't you agree, my sweet?” He side hugs his own young bride who ironically is one of the sweetest and perhaps the only nice person in this entire village and Lloyd grins down at the girl whom you now notice is blushing furiously. 

Before you can let the humiliation swallow you whole, Steve spreads your burning cheeks and chuckles at the sight he finds glistening and blinking up at him, the madenned hammering of his cock unceasing. “Look at this adorable little button of yours, darling” you are not personally familiar with any of the faces that witness you trying to pathetically crawl away when your devil of a husband begins to tickle your pucker so you realize it was actually not quite hitting you as bad as it does now when you become hyperaware of Rainie's gaze. If it weren't for how your eyes roll because of Steve's hot seed shooting deep up your cavern again and nearly searing into your very flesh this time around from the brutality of it all, you reckon you would have tried to hide. But now all you do is let out choked blubbers as your wide eyes sting from tears due to the sensory overload. “I think it's time we deflowered it, what do you think?”  

Oh, no. 

His cock is not something that you can handle in your ass without splitting all over the place!

“No answer? No?” It feels as though you are the one who is cumming and not Steve because of how good he is at wearing the mask of nonchalance. “Hm,” he roughly pulls you backwards by your hair before hooking an arm around your waist to keep you from trying to get away from how he toys with your trembling pucker. “Maybe we should let sweet Rainie decide for you, hm—?”

“OH, GOD!” You cannot help but scream over him. 

He is too much.

Steve ignores your exclamation, thrusts delayed -more jab like- but so strong that his tip spears into your cervix with each thrust, thus causing for your head to spin from how he chooses to fuck out his orgasm. “She's your friend, isn't she?” Steve's beard gently stings the sweaty and teary skin of your jaw from how his mouth presses into your ear. “Aren't you, Rainie dear?” 

Yep, you are never looking her in the eye ever again. 

“Answer him, sunshine” Lloyd eggs his wife on and you notice through your cloudy vision that he is making her palm his own bulge. You nearly cringe back into Steve's chest from the obscenity of it all. 

The girl, a new bride herself, is shy and small next to her own flesh boulder of a husband as she meekly peeks up at you through her lashes. “Y- Yes, sir. We are friends” her voice is barely audible and both your husbands chuckle. 

If it weren't from how a dull orgasm rips itself apart somewhere deep between your loins, you would have felt angry.

It is like the assholes know that you're friends, and they're having their fun with it.

No wonder they are best mates.

“Good, good” you can feel Steve's cum splattering your thighs with each brutal jab, the sound and sprays of his shaft making a mess of your juices underneath your dress ample in its audibility. “So, do you think it's time your girlfriend's dirty little button was opened up, hm?” He keeps one hand on your pucker and reaches for your boob to grope with the other.

Rainie blushes again and furiously lowers her head the moment her eyes connect with yours. Though you don't know it, her own has been deflowered not too long ago and she isn't sure what response would be favourable by you, so that and the embarrassment of the Leader questioning her for something like that about his wife when she is on amiable terms with the girl makes her choose silence for as long as allowed. And her own husband cockily leaning into her and mansplaining into her ear how it would work for you by comparing it with what he did to her pretty ass only makes her curl further. 

“Shy little thing, isn't she, my precious?” So your husband turns his unwelcome attention back to you, bending the both of your bodies forwards so he can smack your asshole with the back of his hand easier, the impact making you rock violently forward. “Maybe you should learn some manners from her, huh?” The howls you let out from getting your pucker pinched and hit is something you would rather not narrate. All you choose to disclose of that ordeal is that sobs echo in the hall, another orgasm rips out of you and you are sure your body releases more liquid than normal for an average orgasm. “Look at how polite and nice she is, hm? While all you want to do is to curse your husband and be an ungrateful little sloth” it sounds as though a newfound annoyance causes him to grit his teeth towards the end and the tip of his fingers finds recourse in seeking for itself a passage past the tight barrier of your unwilling button as a result. 

And so your mouth begins to run in the desperate way he loves. “N- No, no, no hubby! No!” You vehemently shake your head as you feel your knees start to buckle from the exhaustion. “I- I didn't mean it!” The bearded corners of his mouth pull into a deep smirk. He knows its coming, and he loves it. 

“You didn't?” How can he not when he is the one who trained you to it and taught you the words to say during. 

“No! No!” Your voice comes out child-like from your mind's succumbing to its defeat. For the day, at least. “I d- didn't!” 

Steve is a jackhammer in how he fucks his children into you and works towards giving you more. “Oh, I see” now he speaks to you like an elder speaking to a young one, like you are no older than five winters. “Then, will you tell me why you said such naughty words to your husband who does so much for you?” He knows you're small now and so he chooses his words accordingly.

After all, it is Steve's meticulous tailoring of your mind and body which brings you to act out this specific sequence. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this. 

A shrew tamed into a compliant wife equipped with the mind of a babe. 

He may never admit it outright simply because it goes against his very code of life but Steve knows in his heart of hearts that it is this very push and pull you put up in your own passive little way that keeps him alert and your marriage interesting. 

Addictive.

“Is ’cause— hnnng, cause—!” He pulls both of your bodies back up with the intention of turning you to face him but he chooses not to do it just yet. He wants you, those silly boys and everyone else who suspects that his judgement grows soft because of his fancy for your youthful beauty and adorable personality, to hear it. Steve can always pull you right back down if wants. Your reins will always be in a hand's reach to him. Just because he lets you sneak in your foolish ways sometimes doesn't mean you've conquered his nature-gifted better sense.

“Because, what?” Everything in life calls for balance and so each time your misbehavior that you think you hide so well from him begins to rise above a level he deems no longer amusing, he is there to hammer it down. 

Quite literally. 

“Because I am j- just an i- impudent,” Steve grunts and moans, feeling his cock twitch from how you always mispronounce imprudent when you are in this state. He taught you that word and true to your little baby self and mind, you can never get yourself to say it right. “Little wife and I am a d- dumby—”

“Fuck…” Steve feels a drop of cold sweat trickle down his back from your little vocabulary. He feels himself pant from how hard he fucks you, his windpipe alight from the friction caused by the air he heaves in with each desperate inhale.

You are a proper trouble; something he has never had before, and he loves it.

“— D- Dumby sloth who dunno any real worries besides e- eating and b- being spoilt b- by my lovu hubbsy—” your tongue is kinetic jelly between your teeth and Steve has begun to moan from how fucked stupid you sound. “So I get shtoopid and u- ungateful” Steve cannot contain it anymore. In a fevered and desperate confusion of how to express the thunderstorm you cause in his head, he slaps your hair away, causing for some of the flowers to go flying about, and sinks his teeth into your flesh, growling so deep into your skin that you feel the vibrations cause ripples in your blood. Perhaps that is what Steve yearns to taste. “B- But husby always fixes” your head goes limp against his as he sucks your skin like a crazed animal for you lose a track of how long. Your vision and hearing bolts away from your comprehensive faculties like a bullet train and your body gets sucked into the vacuum of your husband's beastly grip. You are just a lifeless doll rocking in whichever direction and manner he pleases.

Next time your brain catches on with your reality, your body has been placed under his with your back against the table. You faintly notice when your dress begins to get wet that splashes of mead cover it due to your brutish husband's depraved madness. 

“Look at me, hey” he pats your incoherent face until your wandering gaze settles on him, teary eyes distant. “This is the face that you will see in those of your children, and children you shall have until this residence cannot contain any more” his promise echoes in your buzzing ears like the bestowing of an ultimate truth upon you by some powerful deity. “This is the face you will look up at as you spread your legs,” his tip is so swollen, raw and hot against your worn skin that you can feel it even in this state. Your features scrunch from the discomfort. “This is the face you will kiss and cherish” his fingers find your throat again and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts pressure on your windpipe. “And this is the face that you will look at until you breathe your last” he holds you until you are on the verge of losing consciousness, though letting go only to stifle the gasp you let out to resume your breathing with a hot sealing kiss.

Your muscles twitch and your body spasms in the position he has you in. Laxness washes over your limbs and you begin to violently shake from the dull and yet stinging quakes of sensation that bloom through your whole form. 

For some dark, twisted and depraved reason, you cum from the helplessness of your situation and it is present in Steve's amused and proud smirk that the knowledge is not lost on him. Swiping an arm around you from behind with an air of satisfaction, he collects your limp body closer to his and walks off to your chambers with your drenched sexes still connected, leaving a crowd of embarrassed, curious, satisfied as well as tamed spectators in his wake. 

You surrender yourself to him and close your eyes as your body collapses on top of his. Your mind barely works but you know one thing— fact as clear as day; you are not making it out of this without at least one child on the way. 

And there isn't a single thing you can do about it.

. . .

[chrisbesitos]

Chris jsut laying on top of younger reader and starts attacking her with kisses

Cue her giggles filling up the room as Chris smooches her everywhere

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀chris attacking y/n with kisses.

It was a lazy afternoon. Y/N finished all of her stuffs earlier and Chris was on a free day, Nick and Matt were out, they denied going out to stay on the couch watching movies and eating snacks.

Y/N was lazily lay on the couch, Chris was with his head on her chest, his arms embracing her waist and his legs intertwined with Y/N's legs. Her hands were massaging Chris' scalp, curling her fingers in his curly and fluffy hair. They're watching Cars from Disney, Chris' favorite.

Then, Chris forgot the movie and lifted himself to be closest to Y/N, she grinned at him and frowned her eyebrows. The boy started to kiss her face, his red and plump lips letting little kisses on her cheek, her forehead, her jaw and her lips. Y/N started to giggled, his beard was tickling her soft skin.

"Chris, stop!" She said, giggling loudly and contorting her body. Tears were pricking her waterline, but Chris kept tickling her face with kisses and her belly with his fingers.

"I can't, I love you so much." Chris said. The living room was filled with Y/N laughs and her heart filled with love. Chris is the best boyfriend, no one in the world can make her feel happy the way he makes.

tags ; @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @strnlxlqve @stvrnzcherries @unknvhx @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sluttybitchformattsturniolo

taglist | masterlist

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

My idea is Professor Evans is your secret Boyfriend and he is talking to you after class and your wearing something cute yet sexy around him and he doesn't like how the other guys look at you in it so he punishes you for being his bad little girl.

here is a pic for inspo

Only For Me To See » Chris Evans (AU)

Pairings: College Professor!Chris Evans x College Student!Female Reader

Summary: Chris makes it very clear to you that your outfit is only for him to see by showing you who you belong to.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, age gap (reader is in her early to mid 20s), secret relationship, jealousy, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, sir kink, praise kink, light spanking, slight orgasm denial, pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @cevansbaby-dove 🩵 thank you for the picture inspo too😉🩷

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Chris didn’t like the idea of you wearing an outfit that’s cute and sexy around other guys. You wore something cute, but sexy to class today. You wore a skirt with a sweater you just bought. You took the sweater off about halfway through class, because you got hot. You had a plain white tank top on underneath it. Jealousy was coursing through his veins. Chris doesn’t like the idea of other guys looking at what’s his. He tried his best to push the jealousy aside so he can teach.

“Y/N, meet me in my office in 5 minutes.” Chris says to you at the end of class.

“Yes, sir.” You replied softly with a smile.

A couple girls who are in one of your classes gave you a wink as you walked in Chris’s office.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Evans?” You asked, closing the door behind you.

“Yes.” Chris stood up from his desk chair. “Lock the door.” He says.

You didn’t question it and locked the door. You walked over to his desk, standing in front of it.

“Is this about my essay?” You asked.

“No. Your essay is excellent.” He answers. “This is about what you’re wearing.” He says, his voice sounding a little low.

You frowned and looked down at your outfit, wondering what’s wrong with it.

“I think it’s cute.” You say.

“It is.” He replies, walking around his desk with his hands in his pockets. “It’s also sexy.” He says.

“What’s wrong with that?” You asked with a pout.

“Nothing at all. Except…” He took a step closer to you. “Guys kept looking at you.” He says.

It didn’t take you long to realize what this is about. Chris is jealous.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” You asked seductively.

Chris chuckled lowly and leaned down to your height, his lips next to your ear and his beard poking your cheek.

“I’m gonna punish you.” He whispers in your ear.

A shiver went through your body. Chris took off his glasses and put them on his desk before kissing you. You moaned against his lips. He moved you towards his desk and pulled his lips away from yours. He spun you around and bent you over his desk so your ass was sticking out towards him and your elbows were on his desk.

He lifted your skirt up so it was bunched up above your hips and pulled down your panties, revealing your wet pussy to him. Your panties were pooled around your ankles. He then landed a harsh smack on your ass cheek. You jolted forward a bit and squeaked at the feeling. Chris leaned over you, his chest against your back and his bulge against your ass.

“Here’s how this is gonna work…” Chris said softly in your ear. “You’re going to take your punishment like a good girl and you’ll address me as sir. Understood?” He says.

“Understood, sir.” You say submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises softly.

His hand rubbed the curve of your ass and gave it another spank. You hissed softly at the sting, but it felt good at the same time. A tingle shot through your body when you heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. That excited you even more.

You gasped when he rubbed his cock against your pussy, getting it wet with your slick. Your nails dug into the wood of his desk when he slid his cock in your pussy. Chris gave you a moment to adjust to his size before he started thrusting. You bit your bottom lip to keep your moans quiet so no one knew what you two were doing in his office.

“You wore this outfit to make me jealous, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Chris asks.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.” You answered mischievously.

Chris chuckles lowly. He knows you wore the outfit to make him jealous by having other guys looking at you.

One of his hands grabbed a handful of your ass cheek while the other one found its place on your hip. Chris admired the position you’re currently in. Bent over his desk with your panties around your ankles and him fucking you. That image is forever burnt into his brain and he absolutely loves it. Chris leaned over you, his chest against your back and his lips near your ear.

“You’re supposed to be a good girl and not show off what’s mine.” Chris almost whispers in your ear.

“I’m always a good girl.” You whimpered.

“You weren’t today. You were showing other guys what’s mine. You know I don’t like that.” He says.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized in a whine.

“It’s too late for sorry, sweetheart. Now, be a good girl and try to be quiet.” He says lowly.

He kissed just below your ear, making you almost moan out loud. His cock was hitting all of the right spots. You felt like you were gonna go crazy without moaning his name loudly. If you did, people outside of his office would hear what you two are doing and neither of you wanted that.

“I won’t do it again, sir.” You promised, followed by a soft moan.

“Won’t do what again?” Chris asks when he already knows the answer to that question.

“I won’t wear an outfit like this to class again.” You tell him.

“Good.” He hums. “Now…” He reaches a hand around to the front of your body and slides it down to your clit. “Take my cock like a good girl.” He says.

You gasped when you felt his fingers press against your clit before he started rubbing it in a circular motion. Soft breathy moans left your lips. Your nails dug into the wood of his desk, leaving scratches mark lines on it.

Both of you know that you won’t last long when he rubs your clit. Sometimes you can cum just from him rubbing it. This time is one of those times. You could feel your orgasm slowly building up. Your pussy squeezed around his cock when his fingers applied more pressure on your clit as he rubbed it.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” You managed to say without moaning, referring to the way he was rubbing your clit.

“No.” Is all Chris says.

“But-” You were cut off when his hand smacked your ass, causing you to stop talking.

“I said no.” He repeats.

You huffed and whimpered. You should’ve known better than to huff at him, because the next thing you know, his hand is on your shoulder and he pulls you up so your back was against the front of his body. His fingers stopped rubbing your clit momentarily.

“Do you want to cum or not?” Chris asks in your ear.

“I want to cum.” You say with a small whimper.

“Then stop giving me an attitude or you’re not gonna cum.” He says.

“Yes, sir.” You say submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises.

He bent you back over his desk and started rubbing your clit again. He sped up his thrusts. You bit your bottom lip and moaned when his cock hit your sweet spot. Your orgasm built up even more. You felt like you were going to cum any second due to how good Chris is fucking you and his fingers rubbing your clit.

“Sir, I’m- fuck!” You moaned softly. “Can I cum please?” You begged. “I’m being a good girl.” You say.

“Looks like you are.” He said. “Cum for me, sweetheart.” He says.

Your eyes rolled to the back over your head as you came on his cock. Chris fucked you through your orgasm. He gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own. He wasn’t too far behind you. Both of his hands found their way to your hips, holding them with a tight grip.

“Fuck…” He moans lowly.

He came inside of you, painting your walls with his cum. His thrusts came to a slow stop. Chris leaned over you, putting a hand on his desk just above your head. You two stayed in this position for a moment while you guys caught your breaths.

After a moment, he pulled his cock out of you and put it back in his boxers. He buttoned and zipped his pants, along with buckling his belt. You pulled your panties up and readjusted your skirt.

You turned around to face Chris, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands found their way back to your hips and pulled you against him. He dipped his head down and kissed you. You moaned against his lips, feeling a little bit of roughness in the kiss. He then moved his lips down to your neck. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access. You moaned softly when you felt his teeth bite your skin hard enough for a hickey.

“Now everyone will know you belong to me.” Chris whispers in your ear, sending a shiver through your body.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

[heauxvibez]

Sex

warning: short smut (18+)

But don't fall in love 'cause, we just havin' sex I'm gonna get you wet, we not makin' love tonight (Woah) Hickies all over your neck Kissin' all over your body, babe Girl, you gon' get it tonight

The blindfold over your eyes did nothing but enhance your senses, pushing them into an overwhelming clarity you couldn't fully articulate. His scent was richer, more intoxicating, enveloping you like a warm, heady cloud. Every word he spoke was like velvet, his voice a low, soothing melody that put you deep in your feelings. The warmth of his hands as they moved across your soft skin was a delicate yet searing touch that heated your body up like no other.

As the coarse hairs of his beard brushed against the sensitive skin of your thighs, the sensation was a delicious contrast—a feeling that made your breath hitch. He inhaled deeply, savoring the sweetness of your honey, a fragrance that seemed to weave itself into his very being. It was all overwhelming, and as your scent filled his lungs, his pretty brown eyes fluttered shut, rolling back in a moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Although feelings weren't supposed to be part of the equation, he had loved you as if they were, and it drove you mad. You were longing for him all while being confused. His touch, his presence—it all felt too real, too intimate for something that was meant to be casual. But despite what you knew was best for you, you wanted him desperately. If this no-strings-attached arrangement was the only way to have him—to feel him in this way, shape, and form—then so be it. You had learned to accept the pain, even to embrace it, because it was the only way to keep him close, even if it meant sacrificing a part of yourself in the process.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout this all day…" His words trailed into a soft whisper as his warm breath grazed your inner thighs. His lips followed, leaving a trail of soft, deliberate kisses. Each kiss was accompanied by a low, guttural grunt reverberating through the quiet room. Your body reacted instinctively, muscles tightening as your mind struggled to process his touch. It was almost too much to bear. You wanted to savor the moment, to let it linger, but the desire coursing through your veins made it impossible to stay still. You whimpered as you fought the urge to beg him to give you what your body so desperately craved.

He laid flat on his stomach on the bed, his body pressed against the soft sheets as your legs draped over his shoulders, resting along the length of his back the same way his wavy locs did. You could feel the subtle movement of his back muscles under your calves, their firmness shifting with each breath he took. Although your view was limited, your mind painted a vivid picture of those muscles—strong, taut, and perfectly defined. You imagined the contrast of his sun-kissed, tanned skin against the softness of your own, the way his body must look as he focused solely on you.

You could imagine the way he was looking at you. In your mind’s eye, you saw him closing his eyes in concentration as his tongue traced along the stretch marks on your thighs in adoration. He cherished every inch of you, his kisses following the glistening path of saliva his tongue had left behind. You could picture the way his lips would curl into that confident, knowing smile of his while you were writhing beneath him. His eyes would flicker up to meet yours, catching you in the act of biting your bottom lip to stifle a gasp. He would take in the sight of your parted lips, swollen and pulsating, almost begging for his attention. But he never worked on your time, only his own. It didn’t matter if your eyes were brimming with tears or if the sheets were soaked with your juices—he was in control. He would taste and touch you only when he was ready, relishing in the power he held over your body and your pleasure.

He pursed his lips, their natural redness now deepened and flushed from the anticipation. With a torturous slowness, he blew a gentle stream of cool air against your slick, aching pussy, the feeling both soothing and teasing. The breeze provided momentary relief from the throbbing need that worked through you, but it also served as a reminder that he had yet to touch you in the way you craved. Between the cool air and the heat of your arousal, he was leaving you breathless with want, aware of how close he was yet how intentionally he held back, keeping you on edge.

You felt him slowly sliding up your body, your legs slowly slipping off of his shoulder and now sliding down his chest. The soft sensual kisses that were on your thighs were now covering your stomach, following the path his nose made. The open-mouth kisses were like little moist massages against your skin.

"Roman.." you gasped feeling his lips wrapped around your nipple. He moaned against it in response to his name. His tongue swirled around effortlessly, slurping whenever he felt the spit getting ready to dribble down your breast, your toes curled in the air as he did so.

"Hmm?" he moaned softly, his eyes fluttering open just enough to catch a glimpse of you. You could feel his eyes tracing your every feature.

"How do you expect me not to fall in love when you're doing this to me?" you whispered. Your hand reached out, fingers tangling in his soft mane. His lips, warm and tender, began a slow journey, pressing gentle kisses along the curve of your chest.

"You'll figure it out, sweetheart,"

---------------------

This is all my brain could push out, hope ya'll enjoy! Muah!

Tags:@harmshake @southerngirl41 @sortudademais @empressdede @alichesmi

@msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @wrestlingprincess80 @headoftheetable

@trashbin-nie @tshepisho @mzv11 @sheyaish @saintmagx

[invisibleicewands]

‘I wanted to be seen as the greatest actor of all time. Then I realised that was nonsense’: Michael Sheen on pride, parenting and paying it forward

He’s the feted star who cracked Hollywood, but it was only when he swapped LA for his home town in Wales that he was able to do his most meaningful work yet

By Simon Hattenstone

Michael Sheen has been fabulous in so many TV dramas and movies, it’s hard to know where to start. But perhaps his most memorable appearance came earlier this year in a TV show that didn’t require him to do any acting at all. The Assembly was a Q&A session in which he took questions from a group of young neurodiverse people. Sheen didn’t have a clue what would be asked, and no subject was off limits. It made for life-affirming telly. The 55-year-old Welsh actor was so natural, warm and encouraging as he answered a series of nosy, surprising and inspired questions. I watched it thinking what a brilliant community worker Sheen would be. And, in a way, that’s what he has become in recent years.

“The Assembly’s had more response than anything else I’ve ever done,” Sheen tells me. “Almost every day someone will come up to me and mention it, particularly people who have children with autism. They say it was just so lovely to see something where the interviewers were empowered. I had a fantastic time.” He replays some of his favourite moments: the young man Leo who took an age to start talking, and then delivered the most beautifully phrased question about the influence of Dylan Thomas on Sheen’s life; the woman who asked what it was like to be married to a woman only five years older than his daughter; and the question that came at the end: “What’s your name, again?” He smiles: “And Harry with the trilby on. Just the nicest man ever.” You came across as an incredibly nice man, too, I say. “Aw well, it’s hard not to be when you’re among all those amazing people, innit.”

Today we meet in London, ostensibly to talk about A Very Royal Scandal, a gripping mini-series about Prince Andrew’s infamous Newsnight interview with Emily Maitlis – the disastrous attempt to defend his honour that sealed his fall from grace. But we don’t get to the show till it’s almost going home time. Sheen’s too busy discussing all the other stuff that matters to him, away from business.

Six years ago, he swapped life in Los Angeles for Port Talbot, the steel town where he grew up. These days he calls himself a not-for-profit actor – a term he happily admits he’s invented. “It means that I try to use as much of the money I earn as I can to go towards developing projects and supporting various things. Having had some experiences of not-for-profit organisations and social enterprises, I realised that’s what I want to do with my business. And my business is me.” He grins. There was a suggestion that he might stop acting in order to do good works, but he says that never made sense; only by getting decent gigs can he earn money to put back into the community.

It has to be said he’s got the air of a not-for-profit actor today – scruffy black top, sloppy black pants, black trainers. With a bird’s-nest beard and a thicket of greying curls, he looks nicely crumpled. But give him a shave and a trim, allow him a flash of that electric smile, and he could still pass as a thirtysomething superstar.

Sheen is best known for transforming into household names – Brian Clough in The Damned United; Chris Tarrant in Quiz; David Frost in Frost/Nixon; a trio of films as Tony Blair (The Deal, The Queen, and The Special Relationship); Kenneth Williams in Fantabulosa. His Prince Andrew is compelling; by turns petulant, pathetic, monstrous and poignant. He has a gift for inhabiting famous people – voice, body, soul, the works. He’s equally adept as a regular character actor – the dapper angel Aziraphale in Good Omens, pale and pinched as spurned suitor William Boldwood in the 2015 film of Far From the Madding Crowd, the tortured father of a daughter with muscular dystrophy in last year’s BBC drama Best Interests. He even plays a winning version of himself alongside David Tennant (and their respective partners Anna Lundberg and Georgia Tennant) in the lockdown hit TV series Staged.

But the work that changed his life was his 2011 epic three-day reimagining of The Passion on the streets of Port Talbot, involving more than 1,000 people from the local community. It was years in the making, and during that time he decided he would leave Los Angeles to come home. Initially, home just meant Britain, probably London. But the longer he spent with his people, the more it became apparent to him that home could only mean one thing – returning to Port Talbot, and helping the disadvantaged town in whatever way he could.

He admits that for many years he didn’t have a clue about the reality of life in Port Talbot. He had always lived in one bubble or another. His parents were hardly flush, but they had decent jobs – his mother was a secretary, his father a personnel manager at British Steel, and both were active in amateur dramatics. Sheen was academically gifted (he considered studying English at Oxford University before winning a place at Rada), a talented footballer (he had trials with Cardiff and Swansea) and an exceptional young actor. Then came the bubble of Rada and London, followed by the bubble of LA.

It was only when he started to work on The Passion that he began to understand his home town. One day he was rehearsing with a group in a community hall when he was approached by a woman. “She told me she was the mother of this boy who’d been in my class at school called Nigel. When I was 11, he fell off a cliff in an accident and died. It was the first time I’d known someone to die. She said, ‘I’ve started up a grief counselling group here. I have a little bit of money from the council because there is no grief counselling in this area.’” She’d had no counselling when Nigel died, nor in the 31 years since. “And all these years later, she’d set up a little grief counselling thing with a bit of money, so that was extraordinary to hear.” Next time he returned he discovered that the group no longer existed because of council cuts.

Every time he went back he discovered something new. He met a group that supported young carers. Sheen doesn’t try to disguise how ignorant he was. “I said, ‘All right, what are young carers?’ And they said, ‘They’re children who are supporting a family member.’ And I’m like, ‘OK, this is a profession, they get paid, right?’ And I was told, ‘No, they don’t get paid and our little organisation gives them a bit of respite – once a week we take them bowling or to the cinema.’ I went bowling with them one night and there were eight-year-old kids looking after their mother and bringing up the younger kids. This one organisation was trying to take these kids bowling one night a week, and then that went. No funding for that, either. That kind of stuff was shocking.”

As a child, SHEEN says he was oblivious to struggle because he was so driven by his own dreams. First, it was football. By his mid-teens it was acting. West Glamorgan Youth Theatre, which he calls “one of the best youth theatres in the world”, was on his doorstep. “The miners’ strike was on when I was 15 in Port Talbot and I wasn’t really aware of it at the time. That’s how blinkered I was, because I was so obsessed by acting at that point.” Acting wasn’t regarded as a lofty fantasy in Port Talbot as it may have been in many working-class communities. After all, the town had produced Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins.

In his late teens, heading off for Rada, Sheen feared he would be surrounded by giant talents who would dwarf his. When he discovered that wasn’t the case, he suffered delusions of grandeur. “I wanted to be recognised as the greatest actor in the world,” he says bluntly. In the second year, the students did their first public production: Oedipus Rex. “I thought, well obviously I’ll be cast as Oedipus, then we’ll perform Oedipus to the public and when the world sees me for the first time I’ll be carried shoulder-high through the streets of London and hailed as the greatest actor of all time.” I look for an ironic wink or nod, but none is forthcoming.

Sure enough, he was cast in the lead role. “We did our first public production and I thought I was brilliant.” But nothing changed. It didn’t bring him instant acclaim. By the third night, he could barely get through the performance.

Were you a bit of a cock back then, I ask. He shakes his head. “No, I was having a breakdown. I was crying most of the time. I just fell apart. I spoke to the principal of Rada and I said, ‘I can’t continue at drama school, I have to leave.’ And he said just take some time off, which I did, and two or three weeks later I slowly came back and then completely changed the way I acted.”

Until then he believed acting was just about what he did. “I thought you just worked out how to say the lines as cleverly as you could; it had nothing to do with responding to other people or being in the moment. It was showing off, essentially. And there’s a ceiling to where you can get with that. That breakdown I had was because I’d reached the ceiling and didn’t know how to go any further. That’s why I fell apart.”

He gradually put himself and his technique back together. Was he left with the same ambition? “No. The idea of being considered the best actor of all time becomes nonsense.” In 1991, Sheen left Rada early, because he’d been offered a job he couldn’t turn down. He made his professional debut opposite Vanessa Redgrave in a West End production of Martin Sherman’s When She Danced. Theatre was Sheen’s first love, and his rise was meteoric. From the off, he was cast as the lead in the classics (Romeo and Juliet, Peer Gynt, Henry V, The Seagull) and the 20th-century masterpieces (Norman in The Dresser, Salieri and Mozart in Amadeus, Jimmy Porter in Look Back In Anger).

Sheen was doing exceptionally well when he and his then partner Kate Beckinsale moved to LA for her work in the early 2000s. She was four years younger than him, and already a movie star. Their daughter Lily, now an actor, was a toddler. He assumed that his transition to stardom in LA would be as seamless as it had been in Britain. But it wasn’t. His theatrical acclaim counted for nothing. In 2003, he and Beckinsale split up, but he stayed in LA to be close to Lily.

The first few years, he says, were so lonely and dispiriting. “I found myself living in Los Angeles, there to be with my daughter but just seeing her once a week. I had no career there – it was essentially like starting again. I had no friends and spent a lot of time on my own. It was tough. Slowly I realised how it was affecting me.” In what way? “I remember coming out of an audition for Alien vs Predator, to play a tech geek computer guy with five lines and really caring about it, and then thinking: ‘I can be playing fucking Hamlet at home, what am I doing, what’s this all about?’” He says he’d been so lucky – always working, never having to audition, getting the prize jobs. And suddenly in LA he was an outsider; a nobody.

He and Beckinsale are often cited as role models for joint parenting by ex-couples. In 2016, Beckinsale, Lily and Sheen staged a hilarious photo for James Corden’s The Late, Late Show, recreating the moment of giving birth 17 years earlier. Beckinsale reclines on a kitchen table with Lily sitting between her legs, as an alarmed-looking Sheen stands to the side. Have they always got on well since splitting up? “We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re very important in each other’s lives. It would be really sad if we weren’t – like cutting off a whole part of your life. I’m not saying it doesn’t have its challenges, and I’m sure it’s been harder for her than for me.” Why? “Because … ” He pauses and smiles. “Because I’m more of a twat!” In what way? Another smile. “I’m not going to tell you that, am I?”

Sheen’s break in America came when he was spotted by a casting director who told him he would be perfect for a new project. Ironically, it was to play former British prime minister Tony Blair in a British TV drama called The Deal, directed by British film-maker Stephen Frears and shot in Britain. The Deal led to Frears’s The Queen, about Elizabeth II’s frigid response to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales leading to a crisis for the monarchy. Again he played Blair, this time riding to the rescue of the royals. The movie was nominated for six Oscars (Helen Mirren won best actress) and he never struggled in America again.

The longer he lived in LA, however, the more rooted he felt to Port Talbot. And the further he travelled, around the world or just in Britain, the better he understood how disadvantaged it was. “If you’re in Port Talbot one day and then the next you’re in a little town in Oxfordshire where David Cameron is the MP, it’s fairly obvious there are very different setups there. And that was connected to a political awakening.” He started to read up on Welsh history. In 2017, he returned his OBE because he thought it would be hypocritical to hold on to an honour celebrating empire when he was giving a Raymond Williams lecture on the “tortured history” of the relationship between Wales and the British state.

He began to reassess his past. “I became more aware of the opportunity I’d had in an area where there wasn’t much opportunity. At a certain point you go, Oh, people are having to volunteer to make that youth theatre happen that I’m a product of.” You’d taken it for granted? “Completely. I was happy to think everything I was doing was because of my own talent and I was making my own opportunities, and as I got older I thought maybe that’s not the whole story.”

In 2016, the long-running American TV series Masters of Sex, in which Sheen starred as the pioneering sex researcher William Masters, came to an end. Lily was now 17 and preparing for college. “I suddenly thought, Oh, I can go home now.” And six years ago he finally did – to Baglan, a village adjoining Port Talbot. Since then he has been involved in loads of community projects.

He mentions a few in passing, but he doesn’t tell me he sold his two homes (one in America, the other in Wales) to ensure the 2019 Homeless World Cup went ahead as planned in Cardiff. Nor does he mention that a couple of years ago he started Mab Gwalia (translating to “Son of Wales”), which proudly labels itself a “resistance movement”. On its website, it states: “Mab Gwalia believes that opportunity should not only be available to those who can afford it. The ambition is to build a movement that makes change.” Its projects have supported homeless people, veterans, preschool children on the autism spectrum, kids in care, victims of high-cost credit, and local journalism, which is a particular passion. “In the early 1970s in Port Talbot, there was something like 12 different newspapers. There are none now. None. Communities don’t feel represented, don’t feel their voice is heard and don’t know if the information they’re getting about what’s going on in the community is correct or not. Those are terrifying things, and without local journalism that’s what happens.”

Perhaps surprisingly, he’s even found time for the day job. Earlier this year, he played Nye Bevan in Tim Pryce’s new play about the founding father of the NHS. He also made his directing debut with The Way, a dystopian, and prophetic, three-part TV drama about the closure of the Port Talbot steelworks that results in local riots spreading across the country. How does he feel about the rioting that has scarred the country in recent weeks? “I feel the same way I think most people do. It was awful and terrifying. I worry about how much a hard-right agenda that has been growing for a long time has moved further and further into the mainstream and has clearly got more connected. It’s frightening.” Does he think the new Labour government can deliver the positive change it promises? “Pppfft.”He exhales heavily. “More optimistic than the Conservatives being in power.” Who did he vote for? “That’s my God-given right to remain a secret, isn’t it? It wasn’t the Tories!”

I ask if he’s in favour of Welsh independence. “I don’t know how I feel about it one way or the other, but I would like there to be an open discussion about everything that entails. The problem is when it gets shut down and you don’t get to talk about it.”

Would he ever go into politics? He looks appalled at the idea. “Oh God, no. No! I’d beawful.”Why?“Because I don’t want to say what other people are telling me to say if I don’t agree with it. Look at all those people who voted against the two-child benefit cap and had the whip taken away from them. That’s bollocks. People say I should go into politics because I’m passionate about things and I speak my mind. But then you get into politics and you’re not allowed to do that any more. I’ve got far more of a platform as myself. I can say what I want to say.”

Fair enough. I’ve got another idea. A couple of years ago he gave an inspired motivational speech for the Wales football team before the 2022 men’s World Cup, on the TV show A League of Their Own. Would he take the job as Wales manager if offered it? He looks just as horrified as the idea of a life in politics. “No!” Why not? “Because it’s a completely different profession. You need to know about football. I played football when I was younger, but I wouldn’t have a clue. Wouldn’t. Have. A. Clue. Just because you can make a speech doesn’t mean you’d be any good at that sort of stuff.” He says he was embarrassed about the speech initially, but now feels proud of it. “Schools get in touch and say, ‘We’ve been studying it with the class.’ I put hidden things in. There are rabbit holes you can go down.” He quotes the line, “You sons of Speed” and tells me that’s a reference to the idolised former manager and player Gary Speed who took his life in 2011. You can hear the emotion in his voice.

I’ve been waiting for Sheen to mention the new TV drama about Prince Andrew. Most actors direct you to the project they’re promoting as soon as you sit down with them. Let’s talk about the new show, I  eventually say.

This is already the second drama about the Andrew interview. Did he know that Scoop, which came out earlier this year, was already in the works? “Yes, I knew before I agreed to do this.” Was it a race to see which would get out first? “There was no race, no. We always knew ours would come out after.” What would he say to people who think it’s pointless watching another film on the same subject? “Ours is a three-part story, so it’s able to breathe a lot more. There’s a lot more to it. In our story, Andrew and Emily are the main characters whereas they were very much the supporting ones in the other one.”

Did it change his opinion of Andrew? “No. It showed the dangers of being in a bubble, having talked about being in a bubble myself! The dangers of privilege.” He talks with sensitivity about Andrew’s downfall. “The thing that really struck me was when Andrew came back from the Falklands there was no one more revered, in a way. I didn’t realise his job was to fly helicopters to draw enemy fire away from the ships. I couldn’t believe they would put a royal in that position, so he was genuinely courageous. He was good-looking, a prince, and had everything going for him. Since then everything has just gone down and down and down.” He’s had so little control over his life, Sheen says. Take his relationships. “He was told he couldn’t be with [American actor] Koo Stark any more because of the controversy. He was essentially told he had to divorce Sarah Ferguson because the royal family, particularly Philip allegedly, was concerned that she would bring the family into disrepute.”

Did he end up feeling more empathetic towards him? “No!” he says sharply. Then he softens slightly. “Well, empathy? I felt I understood a bit more – because that’s my job – about what was going on. But he’s incredibly privileged and has exploited that. It seems like he has a lot taken away from him but probably rightfully so.”

A Very Royal Scandal is like The Crown in that it’s great drama but you’re never sure what’s real. Are Andrew’s lines simply made up? “It’s a combination of research and stories out there, and little snippets and invention.” While Emily Maitlis is an executive producer, Andrew most certainly is not. “Well, that’s the real difficulty for our story,” Sheen says. “On the one hand, you’ve got Emily as an exec, so you know everything to do with her is coming from the horse’s mouth. But everything to do with Andrew, not only is it really difficult to get the actual stuff, also we don’t know what he did.” He pauses. “Or didn’t do.” He’s talking about Virginia Giuffre’s allegation that Andrew raped her, which he denied. In the end, Giuffre’s civil case was dropped after an out-of-court settlement was reached on no admission of liability by Prince Andrew, with Giuffre reportedly paid around £12m.

I had assumed Sheen would be a staunch republican, but he doesn’t feel strongly either way. “There are lots of positives about royals, and lots of negatives.” His bugbear is that the heir to the throne gets to be Prince of Wales. “Personally, I would want the title of Prince of Wales to be given back to Wales to decide what to do with it, and I definitely think there’s a lot of wealth that could be used better.”

The biggest change for Sheen since returning to Wales is his family life. In 2019, he revealed that he had a new partner, the Swedish actor Anna Lundberg, that she was 25 years younger than him, and that she was pregnant. They now have two daughters – Lyra who is coming up to five, and two-year-old Mabli. As well as Staged, the couple have also appeared together on Gogglebox. They look so happy, nestling into each other, laughing at the same funnies, tearing up over the same heartbreakers. She also seems naturally funny. Given that two of his former partners (Sarah Silverman and Aisling Bea) are comedians, have all his exes had a good sense of humour? He thinks about it. “Yes. Yeah, you’ve got to have a laugh, haven’t you?” And he’s always got on well with them after splitting up? “Yeah, pretty much.”

When asked about the age difference between Lundberg and him on The Assembly, he acknowledged that they were surprised when they got together. “We were both aware it would be difficult and challenging. Ultimately, we felt it was worth it because of how we felt about each other, and now we have two beautiful children together.” He also said that being an older father worried him at times. “It makes me sad, thinking about the time I won’t have with them.”

Does being a dad of such tiny kids make him feel young or old? “Both,” he says. “My body feels very old. But everything else feels much younger. I’m 55 and it’s knackering running around after little kids. Just physically, it’s very demanding. And I’m at a point in my life where I’m aware of my physical limitations now. But in other ways it’s completely liberating, and I’m able to appreciate it more now.”

Has he learned about fatherhood from the first time round? “Yeah, I think so. I’m around more now. That’s a big part of it. When Lily was young, I was in my early 30s and doing films for the first time, so Kate would stay in Los Angeles with Lily and I would go off and do whatever.” Did Beckinsale resent that? “I don’t know that she resented it. Kate was doing better than me in terms of profile at the time, so it was different. Given that we then split up and I saw Lily even less, I very much regretted being away as much. So this time I wanted to make sure that wasn’t the case. That’s partly why I’ve set up a Welsh production company. I don’t want to work away from them as much.”

Talking of which, he says, what’s the time? “I’ve got to get back to my kids.”

On his way out, I ask what advice he would give his younger self. He says he was asked that recently and gave a glib answer. “I said buy stock in Apple.” What should he have said? He thinks about it, and finally says he’d have no advice for his younger self. He’d rather reverse the question, and think what his younger self would say to him if he tried to advise him.

“I saw an amazing clip of Stephen Colbert saying your life is an accumulation of every bad choice you’ve made and every good choice you’ve made, and the great challenge of life is to say yes to it. To say, ‘I love living, I embrace living.’ And in order to do that you have to embrace all the pain, all the grief, all the sadness, all the fucking mistakes because without that you don’t have all the other stuff.” He’s on a roll now, louder and more passionate by the word. “And I’d hate it if someone came and went, ‘Don’t do this, no do that.’ Then you just sail through your life. It would be death, wouldn’t it? So I’d tell my older self to go fuck himself.”

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Here we go, the end of the ride. 💚

Song Inspo: “Lost on You” by Cubaneros

Word Count: 1.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, but mostly fluff, and an ending…

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Epilogue: As Good As It Gets

Arthur was still lying low in Belize, but he was able to do you one last favor. A wire of money allowed you, John, and Ben to travel across the Atlantic—to Medellin, Colombia. There Ben took you to one of his old vacation houses.

It was a large, beautiful Spanish style house. Best of all, it was in a remote location on the cusp of a mountainside, complete with a scenic waterfall. It was like something out of Vought Geographic. You needed to take a helicopter just to get to this place.

It was the best security Ben could think of.

He had plans to renovate and beef up the surveillance of the property itself. Then you would be able to have your brother Chris and his family visit. You hadn't been able to see him or your nephew before leaving the U.S. again, but you had called Chris from the airport to let him know you were alive and well, and that you would see him soon, when it was safe.

But before all of that, there was one very important item of business you and Ben were handling together in the living room, while John was outside swimming laps in the pool.

A phone dock rested on the coffee table. The call was on speaker.

“That child represents a multi-million-dollar investment,” said Stan Edgar.

“You should’ve thought about that before you shipped us off to motherfucking Siberia,” Ben snapped. “Hell, before you decided to steal my goddamn DNA. But guess fucking what. He’s my son. He belongs with me.”

You gave him a look of pride, resting a hand on his thigh in support. He glanced at you and grabbed your hand.

“You’re not leaving me with much recourse here, Soldier Boy,” Stan replied.

Ben leaned forward. He took that as a very real threat.

“If you come after me or my family, I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen,” he said. “First off, you’re going to lose. Fucking miserably. Next, I’m going to make my way back States’ side, and I’m coming for you, Stan. You and your whole fucking world, down to the family dog. Then I’ll burn Vought to the ground and piss on whatever’s left. And then the whole world can know that I’m alive, and just who lied to them for a damn decade.”

You were uneasy with that threat, but you knew he meant it.

The other line was silent.

“Or, you can unfreeze my bank accounts and put them back in my name,” said Ben. “I’ll do you the giant fucking favor of staying where I’m at, and I never have to hear from any of you cocksuckers again.”

After another long moment, an exhale of breath came from the speaker.

“You’ll have access to your accounts by end of business today,” Stan said.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Ben said, his tone infused with both anger and sarcasm.

He hung up the phone with a mild slam, and he leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his mouth and beard. You smiled and managed to get up off the comfy couch, just to settle yourself into a more comfortable seat across his lap. Ben welcomed you with a supportive hand molding to your lower back, and another running up your thigh. You cupped his cheek.

“Look at my man, all protective and clever at negotiations,” you teased. You leaned in to kiss the other cheek. Ben smiled reluctantly.

“Yeah, well, I think he got the idea.”

“Mhmm,” you agreed. Your lips moved over his, and you treated him with progressively dirtier kisses. When you slowly pulled away to speak, your voice was husky, laden with sensuous teasing. “Now we can go on a proper honeymoon.”

Ben chuckled against your lips. “Already want to spend my money, huh?”

“It’s our money now,” you playfully retorted. (But you were serious.)

He scoffed, though he thumbed at the shining ring on your finger. You two got married the very night you set foot in Colombia.

“Besides, if you can’t spoil your pregnant wife, who can you spoil?” you said, with a sly smile.

Ben eyed you wryly. “So that’s why you said yes.”

You framed his face in your hands. Now you were serious.

“I would’ve married you even if you never had another dime to your name,” you said. “Even if we had to spend the rest of our lives in hiding.”

When he searched your eyes, he eventually found whatever he was looking for. He guided you down for a real kiss, hungry and claiming. His hands began to move down your body with purpose.

A whoosh of air preceded a pair of smallish feet landing in front of the couch. You and Ben parted, seeing John standing there all wet from the pool.

“Why’re there so many brown people here?” he asked. “I can see them in the town down there.”

You and Ben shared a perturbed look. You were the first to recover, turning to John.

“Well, we’re in South America. You’re going to see people of all shades and skin tones, and different races too.”

John seemed to process that information for a few seconds. Then he shrugged.

“Okay,” he said. “Hey, can we have hot dogs for dinner?”

“It might be hard to get that here, but uh, I’ll have someone look into it,” Ben said. “Hey, grab a towel before you get the rug all wet.”

The man was getting impatient at being interrupted, you sensed. You soothed a hand over his chest.

John zipped out in flight, and came back with a fuzzy towel to wrap himself in.

“This place is so big!” he said, bouncing on his feet. His excited smile was endearing. “And all the rooms are big. And all of them have a TV. Can we watch another movie tonight?”

You smiled indulgently. “Sure. Which one do you want to watch next?”

“Jurassic Park! The dinosaurs look so real, like they’re really eating people. Ooh, no, let’s watch Scarface. The cover looked cool.”

Ben was ready to agree to Scarface, but you vetoed.

“Uh, no, we’re not doing Scarface just yet. Jurassic Park is okay,” you said. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll have lunch.”

John nodded. He half ran, half flew up the stairs to his room. You shook your head with a sigh.

“That kid’s going to need all kinds of therapy,” you said.

Ben shot you a stern look. “My son doesn’t need a fucking shrink. He’s not crazy.”

“Well, he’s not normal either,” you argued. “Who knows how else they brainwashed him. For his whole life, ten years. It’s different even from what you and I went through…and I’m still not okay.”

Ben’s tight expression faded somewhat. He swept a thumb across your cheek.

“But are you happy here?” he said.

“What?” you asked. Not because you didn’t understand him, but because his question genuinely surprised you, and even more when he doubled down, staring into your eyes with a weight in his own.

“Are you?” he pressed. “Is this really what you want?”

You read the conflict in him, the flash of uncertainty behind his otherwise stoic face. It was something you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. You smiled, as tears welled up in your eyes.

“It’s exactly what I want,” you said.   

 He gradually smiled back, albeit more reserved. “All right.”

“And you?” you prodded. “Are you okay with…you know, early retirement?”

Ben let out a long breath. “Look, I started with Vought in 1944. That’s 50 years since. A goddamn lifetime,” he said. “I’ve made more money than the fucking Beatles. Drugs, booze, women, fame. Everyone in the world knew my name. I had everything…and a lotta jack squat.”

He moved his hand over yours, resting on your stomach. It took him a moment, but he dropped another confession.

“Before you, I would’ve always had nothing.”

Emotion tightened in your throat. Tears slipped down your cheeks, no matter how quickly you swept them away.

“So you’re saying thank you,” you said cheekily. He smirked.

“I suppose I am,” he said, staring into your eyes. “Thank you.”

Your emotions continued to bubble over as you read the sincerity in his. You leaned in to steal a kiss, but first, you whispered near his lips.

“You stole my line.”

AN: and there we have it! Another rocky road to a happy ending. 🥹

I hope you enjoyed the 80s and 90s vibes, the canon divergences, the character development, and all the twists! I'd love to know what you think. 💚

I'm also working on another shorter Soldier Boy x POC!Reader series called Unravel Me, but I don't have a release date on that one yet. It's still in development. 😉 Until then, I hope you had fun with this series. In some ways, it was even more of a challenge than Break Me Down!

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[kaceythecrunch]

・┆Night. ☾ M.S┆ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

FLUFF. FLUFF. FLUFF. FLUFFFFFFFFFFFF

Summary : you and Matt doing your nightly routine!

W/C : 1.2k+

Y/N'S POV :

9:30 

Currently, spinning around on my boyfriend’s gaming chair. As I sit upon his chair, I'm scrolling through edits of Matt, per usual. Until I was interrupted by his faint breathing on my shoulder.

“AAH. WHAT THE FUCK.” I yell, frantically closing tiktok. He looks at me, then my phone, then back to me. I could tell he was slightly concerned. “You’re such a weirdo for watching edits of me. I mean the editors are pretty talented. They also help me, Nick and Chris–” 

I laugh as he continues on his yapping.  Usually, I don't interrupt him when he's yapping because I know he doesn’t get to run his mouth sometimes. “Alright Mr.Yapper, ya’ ready to go to bed??” he closed his eyes. I could tell he was tired.  

“Can you help me, I'm too tired.” he says in a sleepy voice. “You want me to do your skincare for you??” He usually doesn’t like when I do stuff for him because apparently, “I apply it wrong.” He nods. 

I get up from his chair, holding his hands as I drag him to our bathroom. I sit on the counter and start reaching for the skin care. “Wait. Before that. Can you shave my beard for me? I'm tired of beard-Matt right now.” I laugh at his statement. “No more big beard bernard.” I say, as I make fun of him. I glide my fingers on his tattoos as he looks at me unamused. 

I grab one of my headbands and put it around Matt. Of course, I picked the best one I have. The one with kitty cat ears. “What the fuck is this shit.” he looks in the mirror disgusted. “It's just a headband.” I say, looking at him. “It looks so distorted..Why not pick a normal one.” he asks. “You look cute in it, shut up.”

“OKAY. Now, lemme start.” I grab the shaving cream and squirt it all on my hands. I turn to Matt as he is leaning on the sink. Propping himself up with his hands. I bring the shaving cream to his cheeks and glide my fingers on his face. Making sure everything gets covered. I laugh at him as he is scrunching his face. 

I grab the razor and gently shave off his beard. His face scrunches even more. “Hey, stop moving Matt! I don’t wanna cut you!” He opens his eyes slightly, not wanting to move his mouth. Even if he was only opening his eyes, I could easily tell what he was trying to say. 

10:23

It took almost 20 minutes, but voila. Matt makes a frowny face. “HEY! I did the job, right? Plus,  your beard is fully shaved off like you asked. Don’t make that face at me!! I literally did you a favor.” I say, as I pinch his cheek softly. “I know, I know, I'm just messing with you.” he says, smiling. “Tonight, just moisturizer and cleanser. If you want, we could do a face mask too.”

I look at him smiling. “It makes me so happy that you know what skincare is and how to do it. You know, I think we should try the charcoal mask since you just shaved.” He looks at me concerned. “Yeah, no way. I'm not gonna fucking do that shit.” I plead, “But like, there's so many benefits!” I tell him, as I rub the moisturizer on his face. “Like what. Bringing me excruciating pain? Yeah, I’ll pass.” 

10:45

I wash both of our faces and start to apply cleaner on the both of us. “Okay, I’ll give you a nickel if you do the mask.” I try to bargain. “Dude, what the fuck am I gonna do with a nickel? Play heads or tails?” He says unamused. “Okay calm down lover-boy. Chill with the mattitude.” I say, laughing at him. “Bro….” I jokingly mock him. “Bro…” I start to rub the moisturizer on his face. “Okay,” he says, I smile knowing he finally gave in. “I’ll try the mask. Under one condition though.” I slightly frowned as I stopped rubbing in the cleanser.

“You’re such a kid for that. Why is there a condition?” I roll my eyes at him. “YOU WANT ME TO BE IN EXCRUCIATING PAIN. IT'S ONLY FAIR.” I frown. “Fineeee what's my punishment..” “Can you please do the chores that Chris is supposed to do, that I DO.” I look at him, slightly annoyed. But, I agree.

11:17

I rub the cleanser off of mine, and his face. I then reach for the cup and the spatula. “Okay Matt, are you ready?” He shakes his head no. “Well you did agree to this.” I open the container and glide the spread on his face with the spatula. “I think it's stupid how we’re using a spatula. This isn’t spongebob.” I laugh, “who is your favorite spongebob character?” I think for a moment, still making sure the charcoal evens out on his face. “Low-key, I fuck with sandy. She’s a bad bitch.” He laughs, “For me, I think I like spongebob. I heavily fuck with the popsicle.” 

11:30

We finish applying the charcoal mask on both of our faces. “Is it done?” He looks slightly nervous, bouncing his foot up and down. “Almost, give it I don't know, 5 more minutes? I’m pretty sure that this is supposed to stay for about 20 minutes.” 

11:37

I turn to Matt, “I believe it's done. Do you wanna rip mine off first?” I give him an option. “YES.” He says. He rests one of his hands on my shoulders pressing down on it, so he could pull harder on the mask with the other. He grabs the mask on the side of my cheek attempting to rip it off in one slick movement. Which doesn't go according to plan. “OUCH WHAT THE FUCK-” he looks at me. “No no, trust me. This is all pure strategy.” My face is scrunched up as he only got one of my cheeks free. He then switches hands and tries to pull off the other side of the face mask. Of course, the whole thing did not come off in one tug. “FUCKING HELL MATT, OUCH.” he looks at me confused. “I thought that the harder I tug the faster I get it off?” 

12:40

This took quite a while But specifically the mask came off. There were some pieces that weren’t pulled off, but that's a problem for another time. I look at Matt with a devious look. “It's my turn!” I look at him and smile. Without warning I pull at the very top, his forehead and tug. This time, it did all come off in one simple gesture. “FUCK” Matt yells. My jaw dropped. “Okay, the case is closed. You just put the mask wrong on me, clearly.”  Matt laughs, “Whatever. It was hard to apply. I'm never doing that again though. My cheeks are so red, holy shit.” He places his hands on his cheeks. “Are yours also warm?” He places his hands on my cheek. “Damn.” I look at him, pretty tired. “I love you.” I put my hands on his cheeks and give him a kiss. He pulls out. “I love you too” as he smiles back at me

A/N : Hey, seems like you made it to the end! I'm a new writer lol so if you enjoyed this, you should totally yk flood my inbox w/ ideas! Also I hope this is good cuz I'm a Chris girl..I was just, feeling it. ykwim. Also, If yall wanna be on taglist just commenttt. anyways, thank you!

Taglist :

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿

[luvsturniolo]

hey girl i love ur stuff, do u think u could do a Matt imagine where the triplets are filming a baking video or smthn with the reader. There's a lot of speculation of whether Matt and reader are dating (idm if they're together yet or not) and reader minorly burns their hand or smthn and Matt makes a b-line to reader to comfort them? thanks ily<3

— ★ !! speculation

pairing : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis : desc is explained in the req !!

a/n : girl i'm SO sorry that this took forever. my inbox is literally so confusing & it stresses me out so bad to look at ; i need to organize it asap ! anyway im sorry this took so long, ur req got burried under a ton of others

anyway , i hope u like this bc u deserve it after waiting so long 😭 also, i'm trying a slighty different format for my posts (its so subtle idek if u guys will notice but i love it so wtv 🤞🤞)

wc : 1.8k

for the past few months, you and matt have been acting a bit differently on camera. normally, the two of you make an effort to stay decently apart so none of the his fans will notice that you're dating.

you've been friends with the triplets since middle school and you show up in their videos all the time. but last summer, matt finally asked you to be his girlfriend. you guys agreed to keep your relationship off the internet and since then, you two have been trying your absolute best to avoid eachother while on camera.

but it's harder than it sounds to keep a distance from the one you love. all you want to do it hold his hand, rest your head on his shoudler, or hug him. but you can't. and it drives you fucking crazy.

this morning, nick texted you and asked if you wanted to come over to film a baking video with them. seeing as you had nothing better to do, you happily agreed.

nick explained that you would be the one blindfolded. he and his brothers would be normal — able to speak, see, and hear freely. you were a bit nervous at first, knowing how horrible you are at baking. but you still agreed to film the video because you know their fans have been begging for you to participate in one of their cooking videos for years.

you're currently in the kitchen with matt as he sets out all the ingredients that will be used. across the room, nick is setting up the camera so you guys can film in a few minutes. chris is in his bedroom, searching for the bandana he set out for you.

"got it!" chris shouts excitedly as he rushes into the kitchen, waving the hot pink bandana around in the air.

you laugh at the sight of its bright colors before asking, "why the hell did you casually had that laying around your room?"

"don't worry about it." he responds, trying to be mysterious and dramatic.

he hands the bandana to you and you place it over your eyes. you wrap it around your head and end up fumbling with the ends of it, unable to tie it blindly. you sigh with annoyance but continue to struggle, too determined to ask for help.

suddenly you feel someone place their hands on top of yours. you immediately recognize them to be matt's. his fingertips are cold but his palms are warm, causing chills to wash over your skin like an ocean wave.

"you don't need to be so independent all the time," he tells you softly. "it's okay to ask for help every once in a while."

you feel his hands leave yours — meaning the bandana is tied. you turn around and blindly reach your hands up to find his face. you feel your hands graze his jaw and you smile, feeling the stubble of his beard brush against your skin.

you tip your head up and reach to kiss him. however, seeing as you can't see, you end up missing his mouth and kissing the corner of his lips. you feel his mouth pull upward with a smile before he moves his head to the side so you can kiss him correctly.

"i need to make this worth it." he says against your mouth. he pulls away to speak, but you lean forward to chase his lips. "i won't be able to kiss you until after the video is finished."

"then quit wasting your time talking and kiss me." you say. you feel his chest shake with an airy chuckle before he places his hands on your hips and pulls you closer against him, reconnecting your mouths to kiss you again.

"guys, what the fuck?" you hear nick's voice call out from across the kitchen. "you've been making out for the past three minutes."

"yeah," chris's voice agrees. it sounds like he's standing in the doorway. "we were trying to be nice and let you have your moment, but you just won't stop kissing."

matt lets go of your hips with a sigh. "whatever, let's get this over with."

"woah, kid!" chris exclaims dramatically. you can hear his voice move and his footsteps get louder as he makes his way over to where you and matt are standing in front of the counter. "don't sound too excited."

as unbelievable as this sounds, matt doesn't actually hate filming. he actually loves making videos for his channel. if he didn't, he would not be doing it as a job. what he hates is being away from you.

he's the literal definition of clingy. and you're like the exhausted mom who has to put up with his tantrums whenever you're torn apart.

"okay, the camera is set up." nick announces. "i'm gonna start recording, so get your coupley-ness over with so we can film."

it's kind of crazy how casual it's become for everyone to work around yours and matt's secret relationship. his brothers respect your guys' decision to stay private and they help you guys hide it from the media. it genuinely means a lot to you to know how supportive chrtis and nick are — even though they like to make jokes and tease matt for his clinginess.

"hey guys!" nick says to the camera. “today, y/n is going to be blind baking some santa-shaped cookies since it’s almost christmas!”

you can hear nick walk over to where everyone else is standing. he continues to talk to the camera when you feel matt’s knuckles brush against the small of your back — where the camera can’t see.

you smile, enjoying the physical touch. but you know how risky it is for him to do things like that. if you start blushing or acting weird on camera, the fans will easily put the pieces together and realize what it means. so you shift a little, causing matt’s hand to fall off your back and back to his side.

"okay," you hear nick's voice say. you jump at how close he is now.

"oh my fuck, nick!" you shout, turning to glare at him — hoping you're looking in the right direction. "you scared the absolute shit out of me!"

"i'm not nick." chris says.

you turn in the opposite direction and tilt your head dramatically, waiting for nick to apologize for scaring you. but instead of an apology, you hear matt say "i'm not nick either. sorry."

you huff out a scoff and turn to the last remaining direction where nick could be. this time you were finally glaring at the correct triplet.

you hear matt laugh from beside you and your stomach twists into a knot.

since you can't see, the rest of your senses have been heightened — meaning you're hyperaware of the sound of your boyfriend's laugh. everything in you is tempted to kiss and hold him and tell him how much you love him.

but. you. cant.

"as i was saying," nick continues, "matt set out all the ingredients before we started recording. so, everything is on the counter in front of you, y/n."

you nod in response, happily beginning your task. the first portion of the video is calm and kind of relaxing. you listen to the triplets' commands as you grab and pour random things into random bowls. honestly, you've lost track of what step you're on. it feels like you're just going through the movements of baking cookies rather than actually cooking a meal.

chris and nick have no problem with holding your hands or wrists to point you in the right direction. but matt? he hasn't touched you at all. he still talks to you and helps out when it's needed, but you both know better than to touch.

due to matt's intense clinginess, it's safest to stay apart. if not, nick will end up cutting out a large portion of the video where matt has to be pried off of you (it's happened before).

"now, you need to put the cookie tray in the oven." nick tells you. from the sound of his voice, you can tell that he's reading instructions off the back of the cookie box. you hear him set the box on the counter before he continues. "while you do that, i'll put the dirty dishes in the sink; chris will clean the counters so you can decorate the cookies when they're done; and matt can make sure you don't catch the house on fire."

"alright." you agree with the plan. you reach forward to grab the tray of cookies. you pat thepalm of your hands on the countertop, trying to find the metal board. but you can't find it. "what the fuck?" you mutter, knowing it was just right here.

"right here," matt's voice murmers against the shell of your ear. he reaches over you, his chest pressed against your back. you hear the cookies slide agianst the counter before you feel the cool material of the tray touch your hands.

you clear your throat awkwardly, trying not to think about him too much. "thanks."

"mhm," he hums. as he stands up straight, the warmth of his chest leaves your back and you're left feeling cold and empty without his presence.

you mimick his actions by standing up straight. you then carry the tray in your hands as you walk around the island to where you know the stove is. you're about to set the tray down to open the oven, but you hear someone come up behind you. matt tells you to just hold still and he'll open it for you.

you do as he says and wait for him to open the oven door. when you hear it unlatch, you reach down to slide the tray onto the rack.

apparently, you miscalculated the distance between you and the oven. because just as you were going to set the tray down, you felt a sharp pain in the knuckles of your pinky finger.

"fuck!" you shout in pained breath before dropping the tray to the ground.

"what happened? are you okay? are you hurt?" matt rushes out a string of questions, immediately taking your hand into his. he twists and turns it, examining the injury.

"yeah, i'm fine." you tell him. "i shouldn't have dropped the tray like that, it was kinda dramatic."

you hear him sigh, "what did i tell you? it's okay to ask for help."

"i didn't think i needed it." you tell him, dropping your voice to a whisper as you tell him your next concern. "plus, you might wanna get away from me. we're still filming."

"fuck the video, y/n." he says, pulling you into a hug. he holds you against him, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "you mean way more to me than a bit of speculation."

tags : @kasqnxx @lvrsparadise @prettysturniolo @strniolo @urmyslxt @cupidsturniolo @opheliaofficial07 @thetriplets3 @sturn1olo-ffics @uhnanix @deadxrx @kitaysworld @slaysturniolo @wilmalovegood @ladylokilaufeyson5 @sturniolopepsi @strnilolo @knowingnothingnoel @its-jennarose @lea0518

[n6ptunova]

how to grow a beard • matt sturniolo

a/n: idk how i feel abt this one and i wanted to do it with chris but i barely write for matt so this is for my matt girls <3

summary: matt thinks his beard is patchy so you offer to help him grow a full beard but it’s not what he expected :)

warnings: nsfw and not proofread.

you walked in on matt in the bathroom with shaving cream on his face and a razor in his hand. your eyes widened as you screamed, “NO MATT DROP THAT!”

he flinched and put the razor down to put his hand on his heart. “don’t do that. you scared the living shit out of me.”

ignoring what he said you grabbed the razor from his hand, “why are you shaving? i love your beard.”

“babe it’s so patchy i can barely call it a beard. it looks stupid.”

“you’re stupid.”

“woahhh-”

“you could’ve just asked me for home-made remedies, i happen to know some very effective ones.” your tone sounding smug towards the end of your sentence. he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“why’re you saying it like that…” he trailed off. “just wash this off your face and meet me in my room.” you winked at him before walking away. he’s never been more confused yet intrigued in his life.

he did as he was told and followed you to your room, shutting the door behind him. “ok now what wer-” you cut him off with a kiss your arms around his neck pulling him as close to you as possible and walking backwards to your bed.

you pulled away keeping your arms around him. he smiled down at you, “not that i’m complaining but where did that come from?”

“wanna know the secret to a full beard?” he nodded for you to go on, “let me sit on your face.”

he was so taken back, his face heating up, “what- i mean yes, but what’s that got to do-” “it’s been proven that if you eat pussy well enough, the juices will help you grow the best beard.”

it finally clicked in his head and he smirked at the thought. “well in that case i’ll have a full beard in no time.” he walks you backwards till the back of your knees hit the bed and he lays you on your back, getting on top of you.

he kisses you more passionately this time, going from your lips to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot making sure to leave a mark. he kisses a trail down your chest, to your torso and right before he reaches your pussy, he turns his head and starts kissing your thighs, gripping them hard as he moves closer and closer to where you need him most.

you can feel his breath against you as you arch your back and quietly whine signalling him to relieve you already. “you’re so eager to help me grow a beard huh?” his voice low as he looked up at you. god this is the best view.

“matt, please.” he chuckled and lowered his head down to lick a stripe from the back to the front then immediately latching his lips onto your clit, sucking and twirling his tongue eliciting a pornographic moan out of you. his dick twitches at the noises you’re making and he smiles against you, you feel his beard rough against your pussy. you’re so glad he decided to keep it.

as he continued his movements with his tongue, he inserted two fingers slowly into you while he sucked on your clit. you grab a fistful of his hair and tug on it causing him to moan and send vibrations that have you closer to releasing.

matt could tell you were close so he sped up his actions. you bucked your hips, whimpering and whining for him to not stop as you reached your climax, legs shaking, breath out of control. he licked you clean collecting all your juices leaving nothing behind.

he came back up to kiss you and you could taste yourself on his lips. he pulled away giving you a small smile, “ready for round two?”

“how about you fuck me instead?”

“oh trust me, i will. but if this patchy ass beard has you like this, then i need a full beard asap.” he lowered his head for the second time. “gotta hear your pretty sounds again, can you do that for me, baby?”

[biteofcherry]

Happy Wetnessday 💦

Let's play with your professor universe but put you in it.

You're the new chief of staff and so far you really like your new position but you can't help but notice that almost all professors are insanely handsome. At a staff party you get to know some of them better, which of the three flirts offer to get to know each other better in their office to you take follow there?

International relations professor Ari, who has been eye fucking you all night

Law professor Andy, who straight up told you he'd like to fill you and watch it drip from between your legs for the rest of the party

Criminal defense professor Lloyd, who told you he's not a one pump chump like the others here and would ruin you forever

So who do you follow? Or are you holding out for another professor?

xoxo Wetnessday anon 💦

Wetnessday Anon, my beloved naughty enabler! 💖😁 Hope November treats you well!

When you started this ask with let's play with professor I was instantly giddy 🤭 Let's play with him, let him play with us, yesss.

Picking Ari would be my usual way, especially with the recent fluffy Ari 2.0 look that Chris is showing. He's always a great choice, so flirty and seductive and irresistibly hot. You know that he'd get you all worked up just from the way he looks at you, how he says your name, how he licks the rim of his glass suggestively while holding your gaze.

Professor Lloyd would be a wild choice, but perhaps that's what you actually need? You're dealing with those stuffy professors on a daily basis, who have sticks so far up their asses and know clit only from a poster in biology class, but would sooner die than touch it. Lloyd is not one of them. He's incorrigible, playful and so crass, but damn it wets your panties.

But right in the middle of my period I'm horny for some strict, mean fucking and professor Andy gives me that vibe 🥵

He looks fluffy and charming, can act that easily, but when it comes to taking your body, he's a mean, merciless fucker. He told you he wants to bend you over his desk, fill you and watch it drip out of you.

Your brain ceased to function for a split of a second, no coherent words coming to the front to object.

When you finally opened your mouth, about to scold him for the inappropriate behavior, Andy put his finger to your lips.

"Save it," he reprimanded you, instead. "You may think it's best to play the part of a proper lady, but what you need is to be taken hard and filled like a cumhungry slut."

Your pussy clenched; heat flooded you.

You still managed to frown at him, but your eyes shone with pleading need. It blew your pupils wide, glazing your gaze as Andy pushed you down to your knees in the semi-darkness of his office.

He ordered you to open your mouth, not an ounce of soft coaxing in the way he gripped your jaw and tilted your head as he fed you his thick cock.

"Such a needy slut and yet so untrained." Andy hummed when you gagged.

"Don't worry," he cupped both sides of your head and held you in place, showing no mercy as you choked and your eyes teared up.

"I'll train you."

He promised the same later, when you were hanging off his massive desk, your body limp and twitching as he twisted his thumb into your tight asshole while your pussy leaked his cum.

With a growl of approval, Andy watched a thick dollop of white cum spill out as he smacked your ass. You moaned, your hole clenching tightly around his thumb.

"What a dirty girl," he mocked, twisting the digit in your rim.

"Stuffed full of cum and getting turned on from her tight ass being played with. You're making a mess in my office." Andy's low grunt resounded right next to your ear as he pinned you down with the weight of his body, his beard grazing your tear-streaked cheek.

"Leaking your juices and my seed onto the floor and my shoe. You're gonna be a good little cumslut and clean it all."

[wildestdreamsblog]

Santa Tell Me

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You needed protection. Steve was only too un(willing) to take you in his mountain.

Warnings: Swearing, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: One shot that has more that 5k words. One day, I’ll get over Chris Evans. But today isn’t the day. My Christmas gift to you hihi merry christmas lovely humans~

“No.”

A door slammed on Bucky’s face. He had not even said a word and yet, his best friend, Steve Rogers took one look at him and decided that it was best to slam the door in his face.

This punk, he thought.

Bucky took a deep breath before turning to look at the lady hiding behind his back. He offered you an assuring smile, pointing his thumb on the closed door before making a face as though saying that his friend was unnecessarily grumpy.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I think it’s menopause.”

Bucky cleared his throat before knocking once again.

The door opened with excessive force and once again, the brawny man appeared. Now that he didn’t slam the door, you were able to see what he really looked like.

What your supposedly temporary sanctuary looked like.

What he looked like.

When Bucky Barnes showed you what his best friend looked like, you thought that he seemed like an old-fashioned yet friendly man. From what Bucky told you, Steve used to be a captain in the military, until he quitted. The man just one day decided to retire because, and you quoted Bucky, ‘the man was simply fed up with people’s bullshit’.

You thought he looked handsome in his military uniform.

The hulking man in front of Bucky looked like the man in the photograph, yet at the same time so different. The Steve standing tall in front of you had beard on his face. In comparison to the photo, he now sported a longer hair that framed his manly face. You noted that his locks looked darker now. He was even bulkier now, too. The man on the photo looked like a hero. The one in front of you looked like an anti-hero.

“Heeeey,” Bucky grinned at Steve before slapping his arm in a friendly gesture. “I was just talking about you! So this is-“

“We’re the same age,” Steve cut Bucky off, glaring at him with his intense eyes before stepping closer to the equally huge man. You almost wondered how Bucky did not look intimidated at all when you remembered that underneath Bucky’s friendly persona was a man as deadly as him.

Steve never once looked at your direction as if you were inconsequential to him. Well, you thought, of course you were. To him, you were a nuisance. Bucky was not the one assigned to your case, yet you were immensely grateful that he stepped in once he noticed how the other man was bungling your case and almost caused your demise. That was to say it kindly when in truth, you walked out of their office one day after meeting with the other sergeant to go over your case. He assured you that the case was simple and that your life was not in grave danger. One moment you were crossing the road and was about to enter your car, and the next thing you knew a car was driving alarmingly fast to where you were standing. Your fight and flight instinct seemed to fail you as you did nothing but looked at the car with wide eyes and stuck limbs.

You should have been dead.

You would have been dead if it weren’t for Bucky’s quick reflexes and impeccable speed. And well, his metal arm. You felt a powerful arm tugged you behind a car, shielding you with his body and metal arm as the assailant pointed a gun at you and began shooting. The loud bangs from the weapons felt like it went on forever. Bucky had his other arm wrapped around you and he felt your uncontrollable trembles. He looked down and noticed how pale you were.

And he hated it.

He loathed seeing someone took advantage of helpless people.

Perhaps, that was what made him snapped. With practiced precision, Bucky pointed his gun and with a singular shot, he managed to hit one of the wheels. The car crashed to the post with deafening sound of collision. A moment passed before the forces were able to cautiously walked to the car, their guns pointed at the injured assaulters.

Bucky thought they were all useless.

After he made sure that you were indeed unharmed, Bucky gently dragged you back to the headquarters and berated the sergeant in charged of your case. He called the man, and you quoted: ‘a simpering buffoon’, ‘an intolerable fuck waffle’, ‘a spam email’, and lastly, he likened the sergeant to a wet sock. By the time he was done verbally kicking the man, the sergeant looked like he was one insult away from crying. Bucky thought that he deserved it. One mistake could cost someone’s life, and it almost costed yours.

Had the man simply looked deeper into the case, had he just noticed the familiar patterns of the crime, then he would know that the man you unknowingly outed was none other than the villain they had tried so hard to capture. He could not simply hand this case to another person. No, he knew what needed to be done, what level of protection you needed in order to get out of this disaster alive, and who could protect you as he resolved the case.

Which brought the two of you in front of his old friend’s cabin in the middle of nowhere. Okay, that might have been a tad bit exaggerated. Technically, Steve had neighbors in this mountains…just not near him…for miles..

Bucky cocked his head to the side, clearly confused as to what Steve said. “What?”

“We’re the same age. Therefore, If I am experiencing menopause, shouldn’t you be too?” Steve answered scathingly, clearly taking offense on Bucky’s senseless quip. He squinted his eyes at the equally tall man. Bucky’s jaw dropped dramatically, his hand covering his mouth.

“What?” He gasped theatrically. “Meaning to say you can still procreate?”

Steve clearly wasn’t amused. He stepped closer and to your astonishment, Bucky ran behind you. He humorously cowered on your back, using you as a human shield between him and the slighted former captain.

And that was the first time Steve Rogers laid his eyes on you.

To an untrained eye, no one could see him paused. But Bucky saw it. It was as though someone knocked the air out of his friend’s lungs. It was as though you were an occurrence that he never saw coming.

As the case may be, Steve led the two of you in his cozy cabin. The fire from the chimney made the place considerably warmer. Steve wordlessly placed a steaming cup of tea in front of you. Before you could even express your gratitude, he was already turning his back on you and sat on the chair in front of you and Bucky.

“Where’s my tea?” Bucky asked, looking longingly at the cup in your hands.

Steve merely spread his legs further, getting comfortable as he leveled his glare at his best friend. “She’s a guest.”

“I’m you guest, too!”

Steve shook his head slowly, “No, you’re not. You’re an unwanted nuisance, my acquaintance at best.”

Bucky could only blinked owlishly at his best friend. How could he categorized him as an acquaintance as if he didn’t grow up with him? The audacity. The nerve. But then he remembered, he must be kinder to Steve because he was the one needing a favor from him.

After Bucky went to the kitchen and served himself a tea all while mumbling under his breath how hospitable and recluse his friend had become, he went straight to business.

He laid out the facts, and Steve in turn listened intently. Bucky could see that he was just an inch closer to agreeing, and he needed just a push.

“She knows how to cook! She wouldn’t be a bother to you, right Y/N? You know how to cook?” Bucky exclaimed, his expression hopeful as he looked at you.

You shook your head slowly and you could see him visibly deflate.

“She knows how to do the laundry. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger while she’s here-“

You tapped his broad arm, before scooting closer to him. You whispered sheepishly to him, “I don’t know how to do that, too.”

“What?” he whispered back in astonishment and utter confusion.

Steve watched the two of you with a bored expression. His arms were crossed in front of him as he assessed the situation. This was not the first time Bucky used his space as a safe house. Usually, they only stay for a couple of weeks because that was how quick Bucky moved. When his best friend was intrigued with a case, he became so hyper focused that he only breathed for the case. In addition, the last time Bucky brought someone, he promised that it would be the last one.

And yet, here you were.

He could already feel the headache coming.

“Maybe you two want to talk it out first?” He asked when few minutes passed and you two were still conversing under your breaths.

Bucky offered him a sincere smile. “Come on, punk. For the spirit of Christmas, do it for me.”

He looked at him with deadpanned expression, “It’s October.”

He did not know how, but you and him watched as Bucky drove out of the property with a victorious smile on his face. How he was able to convince him was lost on Steve.

The first week went by quickly. You were somehow starting to be familiar with Steve’s routine. You noticed that early in the morning and before he locked the doors in the evening, he did parameter check. No matter how cold it was outside, he would do it without fail. You would admit that it made you feel safer. For the first time in months, you felt as though you were out of harm’s way. And in turn, you attempted to cook him meals. But that ended up a peril to the both of you…and his house.

You tried your very best to do his laundry, even his underwear. You were confused at first why you were having a hard time removing the stains form them. The look of horror in Steve’s face when he saw you hand washing his delicates was priceless. He was a man of great stature and nothing and no one managed to faze him. Until you.

He was so focused on your hands holding his underwear that he failed to notice how you were able to turn his white shirts into red.

He was still blushing and was unable to look in your eyes when that night, you gently place a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He nodded his gratitude to you before engulfing the cup with his massive hand. He took on sip before he started coughing uncontrollably. In your panicked state, you went to him and touch him for the first time. You rubbed his muscular back, looking at his reddened face.

“What is this?” He asked between coughs. Only when he looked like he was near dying did he look at you.

“A coffee,” you answered.

“With salt?!”

A look of confusion passed your face before you realization dawned on you. Hurriedly, you went to him to take his sorry excuse for a coffee away from him. You were pouring it on the sink when you heard his concerned voice near you. In fact, you failed to notice him move and stand beside you because of your embarrassment.

“What happened?”

You contemplated whether you should tell him, but for his safety (and the safety of his food) you told him. With a deep breath, you turned to look at the tall man beside you.

“I lost my sense of taste.”

“Why?”

“Traumatic brain injury,” you admitted as though this was not a big deal, as though you didn’t almost die that night.

He didn’t need to know how- he had an inclination. Your enemy was powerful. Remarkably powerful that Bucky had asked for his help when he promised never to again. You were in danger.

You thought Steve would attempt to say something comforting like other people. Yet, all he did was to look at you intensely and nod his head as if in acknowledgement of your pain.

The next morning, you woke up to find all the ingredients in the kitchen with label, his beautiful handwriting on each of the container.

It was a cold night in November when Steve and your dynamic changed. You couldn’t sleep that night, your thoughts and anxiety about your future was getting ahead of you. It was as if you no longer had something to look forward to, as if it was solitary or death. You tried everything- from counting sheep, to reciting the alphabet backwards. And yet, you still couldn’t sleep. And so, you decided to warm a glass of milk when you heard it.

A sound of pain.

Fearing that something had happened to Steve, you ran to the side of the house you had never been in. You were thankful that the door was not locked when you barged in. The only weapon in your hand was a wooden spoon you would have used to stir your milk. Your eyes swept over the darkened place to fight the danger off and found none. The danger was in Steve’s mind. He was groaning in his sleep, his brows furrowed, showing his distressed. The sheet was entangled in his muscular limbs, sweat was rolling down his forehead.

He looked like he was in pain.

And you knew what it was, you had experienced what it was. It was something you wanted to run away from, and yet, you couldn’t. You were trapped in your own mind. And tonight, Steve was trapped in his own personal nightmare.

Softly, you brushed your hand on his hair, trying to soothe him. You called his name to wake him up, running your other hand up and down his arm in a pacifying manner.

“Steve, come on. Wake up,” you whispered when he started struggling, his muscles rippling from the intense emotions and anxiety rolling off of him.

“I’m here. No one’s gonna hurt you,” you buried your face on his chest. You had read somewhere that pressure was a good thing when someone was experiencing this to keep them grounded. You had desperately prayed that someone would be there for you when you felt like dying.

“I’m here for you..”

You repeated saying that until you felt him move. And only when his breathing turned normal did you look up at his confused and frightened eyes. Seeing as he was now awake, you attempted to move only for him to shackle you to his front with his muscular arms. He looked at you as if he couldn’t believe you were there with him, as if you were an angel that saved him the moment he thought he would perish.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. You were wary at that point. You felt as though you were crossing a line- something that you could never go back to. With his face so close to yours, you could feel something you never should have felt for this was only a temporary dwelling, your resting place.

This had a deadline.

You had gotten good at ignoring how handsome he was, how strong he was, how gentle he was to you… and how patient he was to all your shenanigans.

Most importantly, you were almost successful at ignoring how protective he was of you that he did not even let you cook. Or how he always had his hand on the small of your back when you two were walking outside. Or how he always checked on you each night and bid you good night. Or how he said without words how no harm would come upon you.

Or how feminine he made you feel.

It was so unlike how other men you had dated treated you. No, they didn’t treat you wrong… they just didn’t treat you the way he was treating you. Or look at you the way he was looking at you right now.

“Please,” he whispered.

And stay, you did.

It was before sunset when you opened your eyes. A heavy arm was thrown on your stomach, you back so close to his front that you could feel his warmth and a hardness you knew what it was. You felt a tinge of heat on your core. It had been too long… You could smell Steve this close. And by heavens, he smelled like home.

He smelled like yours.

But you knew you shouldn’t get attached. This would only bring chaos to his peaceful life. You weren’t ignorant to assume that his life in the military was peaceful. He wouldn’t be like how he was last night if not for the terrors he faced during his service.

And falling for him would only bring terror in his life. You could not bring yourself to ruin the peaceful and idle life he made for himself in this mountain.

With a firm decision, you left his bed.

Steve couldn’t remember sleeping as peacefully as he did…or waking up as late as he did that morning. Yet, all the calmness he felt vanished when he woke up without you. He knew he did not dreamed you. You were there. He felt you there. He held you in his arms. You soothed the demons living in his mind.

But where were you now?

His movements were abrupt as he scanned his room. He hastily moved out of his room, sweeping a look at every room he passed. He placated himself by thinking that you might have moved back to your room to sleep only to be disappointed. Your room looked cold. You weren’t there. He felt his heart beating, the sound drumming out of his ribcage that it hurt. He felt as though he could not breathe. With a poorly constrained terror, he started calling out your name loudly as he moved to every room of his house.

And still, you weren’t there.

You left, he was convinced.

And he felt betrayed.

How could you leave just like that when you brought color to his bleak life? When for the first time in years he felt that he wasn’t alone? How could you leave like that when you were able to silence the demons he tried so hard to kill?

He was hunched over the kitchen counter when he heard a door open. Unknowing that you left a bomb to explode by stepping outside, you flashed Steve a small smile. In your hand was a bunch of flowers you had plucked from around the area. Your smile froze when he walked to you like a bull ready to eviscerate his opponent. Barely stepping back, you were unprepared when you felt his powerful arms around you, his body trembling with anger and anxiety.

“S-Steve?”

If he heard you, he didn’t give an ounce of indication. His hold on you tightened, his face buried on your dainty shoulder. It went for so long that you started feeling uncomfortable. Your mind was set from your morning walk that you would go back to treating him like a friend. You were attempting to get out of his hold when he finally did speak.

“Do you even have an ounce of idea what I would do if you end up getting hurt?” His voice was cold when he spoke. He let you go to look at you. His anger was palpable. The calm and quiet Steve you knew was gone.

“I just went out to-“

“And you didn’t think of the danger?” He asked in indignation. The way he was looking at you made you feel like a petulant child, as though you did a terrible mistake. “You didn’t think that Bucky placed you in my care only for you to get hurt because what? You wanted to pick up flowers? Are you that thoughtless-“ He finally trailed off when he saw tears threatening to fall. Your lips were quivering from hurt. Steve suddenly felt at loss. He went too far, he was afraid to admit.

Without meeting his eyes, you stepped out of his hold, placed the flowers on the counter, and went up to your room.

It was hours later when a knock disrupted you from your hateful thoughts toward him and pitying thoughts for your situation. You were pouting when the door opened, revealing the person who vexed you today. You didn’t say anything, merely threw daggers his way. Steve didn’t know how to deal with someone like you, yet he knew he was in the wrong. He let his emotions get the best of him.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he said, watching your expressionless face. You hated how he talked to you. There was already someone bungling your life and making it miserable and making you feel like you were so small that he could step on you. You didn’t need another man to do that.

Coldly, you replied, “I only accept apologies in cash.”

And that was how you found yourself in town. Steve was on guard as he walked with you, his towering height made it possible to see everyone. He was serious while you were jumping up and down from excitement. It had been close to half a year since you were out in the public, and this felt like a treat to you. You were so used to living and providing for yourself that when shit happened, it was a big adjustment for you. Yet now, you had no qualm spending his money. It was reparation for damages that he did to you, you thought.

You smiled evilly as he paid for the camera that you bought.

It was not the fanciest, you were not that evil. But it was so long since you last held a camera. You were a photographer, one of the best actually. You were winning contests left and right. One day, you were innocently taking a photo of a landscape, admiring the nature and the vast land before you. Your focus was on the deers wandering aimlessly. You went home that day like any other work day. It was the next day when you were reviewing your photos that you noticed that just behind the deers, almost hidden behind the trees, were three men. One man looked like he was running, the other two was laughing with guns in their hands. It turned out you were a witness to a crime. Not long after, the body was found.

And that was how you got entangled in this whole fiasco.

It was almost December, and the market was already decorated with Christmas lights and in the middle of it all was the huge tree. You pulled Steve in front of it, lifted the camera, and took a picture of the two of you. You were looking at the camera, and he was looking down at you with a small smile in his face.

December came. It was the day before Christmas when Steve found you in the kitchen, attempting once again to cook properly. Regardless of the taste, Steve always ate your food without any reluctance. Yet, what you were cooking looked festive that it confused him.

“Is there an occasion?” He asked as he sipped his coffee, thankfully no longer salty.

“I’m one year closer to death.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s my birthday.”

You faced him with a smile. Steve walked to you, before embracing you in his arms. “I am so happy you’re alive, angel. Happy birthday,” he whispered in your ears. He wanted to say how happy he was you were here, too. Yet, he didn’t.

That night, he laid out the table so beautifully. Candles were lit in the middle. Steve cooked for the two of you, and he took out wine from his cellar. You and him were sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with wine glass in your hand.

“You never asked me why I had a nightmare,” Steve stated, he was swirling the wine as he looked at you. You could feel his body warmth this close. The wine, the candle, and the way he looked at you felt like this was something intimate.

“I figured if you wanted me to know, you would.”

“You weren’t curious.”

“We all have demons to live with. That’s what I thought. And I hope you defeat your demons,” you admitted before sipping from your glass.

What you didn’t know was his demons were becoming less and less strong the longer you stayed with him, he thought. You could silence them.

“Did you enjoy your birthday, angel?”

“I did. Also, why are you calling me an angel?”

“Because I feel safe with you.”

“What?” You sputtered. If anything, he should be the angel with the way he took you in when he didn’t have to. “If that’s the case, you’re the angel, Steve. You make me feel safe,” you stated with sincerity in your voice.

“I know I’m an imposition to you. I’m thankful that you took me in. Bucky mentioned that he’s almost sure that this will end soon. Thank you for letting me stay here, Steve. Soon, you can have this haven all to yourself. I will never forget your kindness. You’re my angel.”

When you finally looked up, you noticed how serious he was looking at you. His eyes drifted to your lips. Unconsciously, you licked your lips. Suddenly you felt as though you were parched. Steve hated the thought of him living in this mountain without you. You had been here for only close to three months and yet, you changed him. His house no longer felt cold. His house no longer felt empty. He hated the thought of losing you.

He thought that you were meant to be here.

Steve lowered his face to you, inch by inch. Until you felt his lips on you. He kissed you slowly at first, so softly that your eyes fluttered close. It was only when you opened your lips did he kiss you with such intensity that it made your breathless. His hand was on the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. His tongue demanded entrance, and you were too willing to give in. The taste of mint and wine on his lips made you kissed him deeper. With his strength, he pulled you on top of him. You were straddling him, and his hands were discovering your curves. The hard evidence of his pleasure was pressed on your core.

You were humping him, all rational thoughts flew out of your brain the moment his lips touched yours. From this angle, you could feel how big he was. You were moaning when his lips skimmed to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses. Your pulse was erratic, he noted. You were as affected as he was. With barely restrained impatience, Steve placed you on the carpeted floor, his body closely following as he topped you. He caressed your soft thigh, your dress falling to your waist which gave him access to your core. As if to tease you, Steve ran his hand from your neck to your chest, down to your stomach, and finally to your thong.

“Naughty girl,” he whispered in your ear. “I bet you’re dripping wet for me.” Without any warning, he tore your thong away from you. He was in the middle of your parted legs, his look dark as he focused on your core. His finger traced your slit, making you moan as he smirked at how wet you were for him. “Fuck, you’re so wet. Your cunt is so wet for me.”

He slid down. Steve opened your pussy wider with his fingers and with his tongue, he tasted you. You were shocked at how much pleasure he was giving you that when he dove in and ate you like a man starved, you felt yourself go. Yet, he didn’t stop. A finger eased in you as he sucked your clit, moaning with gusto. You were so tight that he wondered how he would fit in you. He was thinking you were his, only his after this.

You were on your second orgasm, your legs shivering when he finally lifted his face. His beard was drenched with your essence, his hair falling on his forehead as he looked at you with heat in his eyes. Your dress was the next to go.

You were too in hazed from your orgasms, and his mouth sucking ferociously on your breast that you didn’t know how he got you and him naked. Yet, the next thing you knew, he was pressing his hard cock against your pussy. He kept pressing the head against you.

“You want me,” he said darkly. It wasn’t lost on you that it was not a question. Yet, you nodded your head. Because at that moment, you did want him more than anything else.

Steve rub his cock on your swollen clit before sliding it down on your tight hole. And then he shoved it inside you, pushing you to the edge once again.

He was only too glad you were too into it that you didn’t notice he had no protection. Or that he came inside you.

He was only too glad to taste you when you were awake. He had craved hearing your moans.

He was only too glad that you were a heavy sleeper some nights that he was able to spread your legs and taste you. He even marked your pussy with his cum on some nights. Of course, you would never know that. It was his secret.

Your talk about how this would all end, how he was going to be alone soon made him crazy. You didn’t know, but you unknowingly traded a dangerous man to another devil. He’d have a talk with Bucky, of course. Bucky would understand that he had to keep you. You’d go nowhere. You were his. He had been good all his life. Didn’t he deserve a Christmas gift, too? You and a baby soon, perhaps?

He smiled at your sleeping form. He couldn’t stop himself from hugging you closer. The snow was falling beautifully outside, the fire had long simmered. The sun was starting to rise. This was what Christmas truly felt like, Steve thought.

When you finally stirred, he whispered, “Merry Christmas, my angel.”

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hey I just got my wisdom teeth removed so I’m wondering if you can write a fic where Chris Evans’s and Sebastian Stan’s characters takes care of reader after they got their wisdom teeth removed please 😊

Wisdom Teeth » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier and Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Best Friend!Female Reader x Best Friend!Steve Rogers

Summary: Bucky and Steve take care of you after you get your wisdom teeth removed.

Warnings: Fluff, language, brief mention of blood, dentist, hugs and kisses, cuddling, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @fangirltrash15 🩵

A/N #2: My friend @buckys-wintersoldier wrote something similar with Chris Evans so just know I’m not copying her in any way.

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found these one Pinterest.

“Please don’t make me wake up early.” You whined, pulling the blanket over your head to block out the light.

“I know you don’t want to wake up this early, but you have to go to get your wisdom teeth removed.” Steve says softly, pulling the blankets off of you.

You groaned and sat up against the headboard, crossing your arms over your chest with a pout on your face. Bucky and Steve couldn’t help but smile at your cuteness.

“Would it make you feel better if I let you wear one of my henleys?” Bucky asks softly.

“I want the red one.” You say.

“You can wear that one.” He says.

You smiled and kissed his bearded cheek and kissed Steve’s bearded cheek before they left your bedroom to give you privacy to get dressed. When you were done getting dressed, you walked out to the living room where Steve and Bucky were.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks.

“Do I have a choice?” You say.

When you got to the dentist office, the three of you sat in the quiet waiting room. Steve hand his arm around your shoulders while you played with Bucky’s vibranium fingers to help calm your nerves.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” The hygienist says.

You looked at Steve and Bucky before standing up.

“You’ll be fine.” Steve says softly, kissing your forehead.

“We’ll be out here when you’re done.” Bucky says, kissing the top of your head.

You nervously followed the hygienist to the exam room and sat down in the chair.

“How are you feeling this morning?” She asks.

“Scared and nervous.” You say, playing with the sleeve of your- Bucky’s- henley.

“That’s completely normal. You’ll be done before you know it.” She says with a smile.

You watched as the hygienist gave you some anesthesia. Your eyes felt droopy and soon you fell to sleep and they started the procedure. Afterwards, you were groggy and tried to process what just happened.

“Morning.” Steve and Bucky say in unison.

You looked at them and gave them a smile.

“Hey! I know you guys!” You pointed at them. “You’re Stevie!” You pointed at Steve. “And you’re Jamie!” You pointed at Bucky.

Steve and Bucky couldn’t help but smile at your anesthesia induced state.

“She’s good to go home. The anesthesia should wear off in about an hour and this medication will help with the pain afterwards.” The hygienist tells Steve and Bucky.

“Yay!” You shouted. “Let’s go home!” You say loudly.

You stood up from the chair too fast and lost your balance. Steve was quick to catch you.

“You’re tall.” You stared up at him. “So are you.” You say, looking at Bucky.

Steve and Bucky walked you out of the dentist office and helped you get in the car and the three of you went home.

“Dog!” You looked out the car window. “I want to take it.” You say, still looking at the dog on the sidewalk.

“You can’t just steal someone’s dog, doll.” Bucky says.

“Why not?” You pouted.

“Cause he or she has owners.” Steve says.

You made a grumbling sound and slouched in your seat with your arms crossed over your chest and a pout on your face. When you guys got home, Steve and Bucky helped you get comfortable in your room.

“What’s this red stuff?” You asked, staring at the blood on the back of your hand that you just wiped off of your chin.

“That’s blood, sweetheart.” Steve says.

Steve grabbed a tissue and wiped the blood off the back of your hand and off your chin. Bucky took the bloody gauze out of your mouth and put fresh gauze in your mouth.

“Did my tongue just fall out of my mouth?” You asked while staring at the bloody gauze, tears brimming your eyes.

“No, doll. Your tongue is still in your mouth.” Bucky says, reassuringly.

Alpine walked in your bedroom and jumped on the bed, head butting your arm to tell you that she wants pets.

“What’s she doing?” You asked.

“Alpine just wants some pets.” Steve says.

You gave Alpine gently pets, earning purrs from her. You laid down and continued to pet her.

“Get some rest. We’ll check on you in a little bit.” Steve says.

“Keep our girl company, Alpine.” Bucky says.

Soon you fell asleep. You woke up to the feeling of pain in your mouth. You whimpered as you held your cheek. You walked out of your bedroom to the living room where Steve and Bucky were. You sat on Bucky’s lap, laying your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Steve says.

“How’re you feeling?” Bucky asks softly.

“Hell.” Is all you said.

That told Steve and Bucky that the anesthesia wore off and your mouth is hurting. Steve got up and got the pain medication and some water.

“This will help with the pain.” Steve says, handing you the medicine and water.

You took the pain medicine and patiently waited for it to kick in. Steve left the living room again and came back with an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

“Here you go.” He says.

You took the ice pack from him and put it against your cheek, sighing when the coldness of it soothed the pain of your mouth. Bucky’s right hand rubbed your back to help take your mind off the pain.

“I’m hungry.” You say.

“What would you like?” Bucky asks.

“Donuts and cookies.” You say, wanting your favorite comfort foods.

“I don’t think you can eat those right now, but we have ice cream. You want that?” Steve says.

“Yes please.” You say.

Steve got up and went to the kitchen to get you ice cream while you maneuvered yourself to the spot next to Bucky and grabbed the remote off the coffee table. You flipped through the channels for cartoons. You settled on SpongeBob.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” Steve says, handing you a bowl of ice cream.

You took the bowl from his hand, not taking your eyes off the TV.

“What’re we watching?” He asks, sitting down next to you.

“SpongeBob.” You tell him.

You watched SpongeBob while eating ice cream. The coldness of the ice cream soothed your mouth. You put the empty bowl on the coffee table and maneuvered yourself again so your head was on Bucky’s lap and your legs were on Steve’s lap. You fell asleep after watching three episodes of SpongeBob due to the side effects of the pain medicine. You stirred in your sleep when you felt Steve laying you down on your bed. Your eyes fluttered open to see Steve and Bucky walking out of your room.

“Wait…” You called out to them. “Please stay with me.” You say quietly.

Steve and Bucky smiled and laid down on either side of you. You laid your head on Steve’s chest while Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist. Alpine jumped up on your bed, joining the cuddle party. She walked up the bed and laid down on your pillow next to your head.

“I love you guys.” You mumbled sleepily.

“We love you too.” Steve and Bucky say in unison, kissing the sides of your head.

🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[r-f-m-writes]

A Lark In a Hollow Chapter One

Really, she doesn't have a choice.

Lark barely remembers the huge shadow of a man sitting beside her in the dead heat of Mrs. Poppy's office at the children's home. He is silent, stoic, and completely terrifying.

Christopher Hollow.

Muscled.

Six foot five.

Storm blue eyes.

Dog tags outlined under the straining stretch of his black tee-shirt.

"Lark," Mrs. Poppy says, gently, "you're happy with this arrangement? You want to go with your Godfather?"

There's no money left for her to live off until she finds a job - if she finds a job.

Her Dad is dead.

Lark doesn't have a choice.

Lark Douglas didn’t know who Christopher Hollow was when Mrs. Poppy brought his name up to her on a hot Saturday afternoon in her office. The additional details that he had served with her Dad in Afghanistan and was her appointed legal guardian and Godfather did nothing to help jog Lark’s memory.

      In fact, it was a full week after Mrs. Poppy informed Lark of Christopher Hollow’s existence that the girl finally managed to scrounge up a single, short, fuzzy memory of the man.

         She was home.

         The door to their flat was open, the old ceiling fan had been turning in slow circles over her head. It did nothing to fight against the mid July heat that was so stifling and muggy it made her skin stick to the linoleum floors. She had sat on the couch playing with Labrador, her stuffed toy dog, when Mom walked in with someone.

        Lark was five, she thinks, and she hadn’t paid attention to anything that was being said, or looked at who had stepped the room after her mother. She only glanced up from where she was making her stuffed dog do backflips off the worn-down couch cushions when big, black boots stepped into her vision off the edge of the sofa.

       The man who stood in front of her was tall, wearing camo pants and a fitted grey tee-shirt. His face was hard to remember, but Lark thought he had sandy brown hair and the start of a thick brown beard. He had crouched down, setting aside a battered black duffle bag, looking at her like he expected something.

     Lark had only stared at him.

      Mom’s voice had a strain in it when she spoke.

     “Say hi to Chris, baby. He’s come all the way from the airport just to see you.”

     The man spoke before Lark had the chance. He had a deep, rough rumbly voice.

     “Don’t worry her about it, Lori. Been two years. I’d be surprised if Pet remembered me at all.”

      Pet.

      That was the only memory Lark had of Christopher.

      She wasn’t even sure it was real and not just something she had made up in the recesses of her mind as an unconscious effort to help herself fill in the gaps and feel less uncertain.

     She had lots of memories like that.

      Memories no one else could verify. Memories she wasn’t sure happened, but couldn’t shake as being real.

      This was what led Lark to where she stood at the top of the worn flight of wooden stairs.  Seventeen years old, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to her, feeling entirely unsure of what the future would hold.

      Seventeen, and only three weeks and four days shy of her eighteenth birthday.

     It was ridiculous.

     Stupid, even.

     Why couldn’t she just wait it out at the girl’s home?

     Why was Mrs. Poppy was obligated, by law, to reach out to relatives Lark had never even heard of and negotiate with them down the phone, asking and then, after the eighth rejection, pleading with each of them to come and pick her up?

      “Just a month - no, no, you wouldn’t have to commit to adoption, Mrs. Tanner - not at all. I am only reaching out because Lark is your niece, and I am sure you want the best for her -”

     The list thinned, name by name. Lark saw them each time Mrs. Poppy opened the manilla envelope with her initials on it, glancing over the struck off phone numbers and feeling nothing.

    The rejections didn’t surprise her.

    She knew from lived experience how reluctant people were to help a stranger.

     It took less than half a week for them to reach the last one.

     His name.

     Christopher Hollow.

     He was who Lark was waiting for as she hung onto the banister, her dark eyes fixed on the panes of frosted glass in the door, anticipating seeing a shadow blot across the panels when he stepped onto the porch and rang the buzzer.

     Floorboards creaked.

     Lark moved too late when Mrs. Poppy stepped out of her office that stood at the side of the stairs. The stacked blonde beehive of her hair bobbing into the girl’s view as Lark tried to scurry back out of her sight.

    Too little, too late.

    The kind wrinkles around Mrs. Poppy’s eyes doubled and deepened as the sound made her look upward and spot Lark.

     “Lark, there you are! I was just about to come and find you, dear. Nip down into my office for a moment, I’ve got some things I want to discuss with you before Mr. Hollow arrives.”

    The old stairs squeaked loudly as the girl walked sheepishly down the grossly worn-out blue carpet runner, rounding the curved banister at the bottom to follow Mrs. Poppy into her office.

    It was sun warm inside, light spilling over the faded hardwood floor and shiny varnish of the big, brown desk, highlighting the dozens of ring-marks stained into its top by mugs of coffee past. Mrs. Poppy rounded the desk, having to skirt sideways between the edge of it and the rows of heavy metal file drawers that flanked the room on all sides.

   Taking her perch in a black wheely chair, the woman gestured for Lark to sit in one of the two big, green, retro velvet sofas that faced her desk.

      Sinking down into her seat, Lark folded her hands in her lap and looked at the woman, waiting to be spoken to. She had been thoroughly taught from a young age that she was to be seen and not heard. There had also been plenty of occasions when Lark wasn’t to be seen or heard. Those were moments when her half empty pink, princess wardrobe came in handy.

        Mrs. Poppy placed a pair of up-swept cat eye spectacles on the tip of her tall, gently crooked nose, and took out a notepad. It was one of dozens she had, this particular piece of stationary sported Lark’s name on its front, written in black pen and then broadly underlined in purple marker.

       “Miss Douglas today is a big one for you. How are you feeling, hon? Excited? Nervous?”

        The soft slip of her southern accent calmed Lark some as she fought against the urge to fidget, keeping her fingers still in her lap.

        “Excited, Ma’am. Dad didn’t like to travel much, so seeing the Appalachians sounds like a real adventure.”

        Lark stuck a quick smile onto the end of her lie. She had rehearsed it in her head a hundred times since she was told the good news a week before.

        Christopher Hollow wanted her.

        He was driving the whole way down the coast from his home in the Appalachian Mountains to come and collect her. Lark couldn’t even comprehend where the Appalachian Mountains stood, just that they were stupendously far away.

        Mrs. Poppy grinned at Lark, genuine and radiant, as she wrote something in fast scratching cursive over and empty line of the notepad.

       “Always such an optimist, Lark. I’m sure Mr. Hollow will be delighted by you.”

        Lark’s left thumb twitched. When she smiled, it felt tight in the corners, “I certainly hope so, Ma’am.”

        And she truly did. Lark knew the way men behaved when they weren’t delighted by her.

~R.F.M~

         A fist gripped long, brown hair tightly enough to tear dozens of strands out of Lark’s scalp as she was dragged down the hallway by her head, the girl’s frame stooped almost to the floor as she clawed at the hands restraining her.

       “Fucking little bitch coming to steal from me? Think you’re slick, huh?”

         In honesty, Lark did.

        She had stolen from the man before on countless occasions, rummaging through the contents of his worn leather wallet, fishing out loose coins and dollar notes that wouldn’t be missed. Before, he was always too out of his mind to realize, so Lark had gotten greedy.

        Twenty dollars was a lot of money to people like them. She was foolish for thinking she could snatch it away without his notice.

       Lark didn’t know his name, or his age, or anything about him other than the fact he bought pot on Thursday afternoons and left the door to his apartment wide open with 90’s music playing full volume while he sat out on his balcony in a beat-up pink recliner, back to the living room, smoking.

         By all accounts, the man wasn’t very smart. But he was still a man, a man much stronger than Lark.

[live-laugh-lenney]

Hi, you are literally the best Clarkeey writer I've seen and I love you for that sm! Please can we get some more fluffy smut for george?

thank you, thank you! i love you! <33 CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT.

sometimes, george just craves closeness.

he longs for intimacy, he longs for the comfort, and he longs for the gentle atmosphere that comes with it. where he is always surrounded by the male gender, living with the two arthur's and chris, he's used to the boisterous and noisy behaviour that comes along with them all living together... so when he finally gets the escape at yn's flat, he just drinks it in. he's thankful for it. the peace, the cosiness, the loving and soft atmosphere making him never want to leave.

and he loves it there.

knowing that she lives alone and it's her own space without someone else to make him feel awkward. knowing that they'll never be rudely interrupted by others wandering around and not knowing what the word privacy means. knowing that it's just the two of them and only them in the flat with no nosey occupants there to listen in to what the two of them were up to. he could lay on her sofa and watch what he wanted on the television when she occupied herself with her chores and her errands. he could eat what he wanted. he could rummage in her cupboards and eat the biscuits she had or each the fruit she had on her kitchen counter. he could walk around in his comfy clothes or just his boxers and not need to worry someone would see him.

it was just her.

and she made the flat hers.

she had canvas prints and tapestries hung around in the bare corners of her living room, fairy lights hanging on the many shelves she had on her walls, candles in every room an an oil burner to accompany it with the same smells being given off by the heat, lots of family photos hung on the walls and photos of himself and her in photo frames on her windowsill and on her bedside table. a television on the wall and a reclining sofa with the softest throw blanket draped over the back that he absolutely loves and fell victim the the warmth it gave when he laid beneath it.

her bedroom was almost the same as her living space. with a double bed and plenty of decorative pillows (and a teddy bear, holding a love heart, that he had brought her for their very first valentines day), an en-suite bathroom, and a window that overlooked london - which he says he could sit and stare at all day. her bedroom walls painted with the colours of the sunset on the good days.

and he loves the vibe it gives. cosy, warm, full of love.

on particular nights, moreso the nights where his days had been busy and he hadn't been able to sit down and have time to himself, all he wants is her.

his yn.

and, as if their feelings were synced up and as if she knows that he's had a long and tiring day without speaking to him, she wants him.

in a way that's sensual. almost animalistic. like it's all that can suffice their feelings on the inside. as soon as he steps foot through her door and before he can kick off his shoes, in the middle of taking off his jacket, and she's attached to his front. hands cupping his cheeks, his stubble tickling her upper lip and his beard scratching her chin, and he can't tear himself away. stumbling in the direction of the sofa, not the bedroom, because they're desperate. craving the pleasure that the other can give. in dire need of something.

and he would take it in any form.

letting it happen anywhere that they felt comfortable.

a blowjob. a handjob. his head between her legs. cowgirl. missionary. on the floor. against the wall. on the kitchen counter. neither of them really cared, just as long as they were happy. her legs around his waist, hands on her bum, arms around his neck, fingers twisting into the tufts of hair at the back of his head.

"i missed you."

it was mumbled against her lips, almost completely incoherent, but she knows what he says.

"you saw me yesterday, doofus," her lips are swollen, his cheeks are flushed pink, and the ache between her legs was positively pulsing as soon as she made eye contact with him, "you miss me that much?"

he nods, almost pathetically, and she smiles ever so softly. her thumb brushing over the skin of his cheek as her other hand combed the brown locks on his head, their breathing rhythmic as their exhaled breaths mixed between the two of them.

"always. hate it when we're apart," he practically whines it out and she feels her heart flutter, "love to be with you. next to you. sleeping with you and sleeping with you."

she smirks and he feels the sofa against the back of his bare legs. his chino shorts feeling tight against his crotch as they stretched across the bulge forming behind the material. her legs unhooking from his waist so he could sit himself down but his hands stay firm to her hips. there was no way he was letting her get off.

"right here?"

he nods to her question and she's quick to attach her fingers to the button of his shorts, unbuttoning the button and unzipping his zip, tips of her fingers tucking beneath the waistband and his hands leave her hips for a moment, just so he could push himself up so she could pull his shorts, as well as his boxers, down. far enough down his legs to free the boner that was silently begging for release.

"are you sure?"

"baby, yes. christ," he murmurs and his hands are back at her hips, hoisting the oversized jumper (which he was sure had come from his wardrobe) up her figure, hooking his thumbs into the sleep shorts on her lower body and pulling them down with ease, "i need you. right now."

her hand wraps around the girth of his cock, thumb brushing over the tip, and he could feel himself ready to burst under her touch. a soft whimper rolling off his tongue, head rolling back, and his hips buck up to the feeling of her warm palm.

"right now?"

"baby," he chokes out, "come on. don't tease me now."

"but it's so fun," she hums softly and he rolls his eyes dramatically, feeling the fingers on one of his hands tickle up her thigh and stop in between her the flesh of her legs, the tips of his fingers dangerously close to where she wanted to feel him, "i'm sorry."

"you're lucky you're just so damn irresistible," he murmurs, brushing his fingers over where she needed him the most, toes twitching at the feeling of the tips of his fingers nudging the bundle of nerves, "like that?"

she hums in delight and bites down on her bottom lip, stopping her hips from moving as she let him do the work, keeping her attention on his cock in her hand. jerking up and down, up and down, as a short form of foreplay before the real thing... not that either of them ever needed a warm-up. he was always rock solid for her and she was always soaked for him.

neither of them need to ask the other if they were ready... his hand takes over from hers, giving himself a few pumps with his wrist, and he takes it upon himself to line up the tip of his cock to the heat of her folds, filling her up and letting her take control of the motions. a shiver running down his spine and a gentle moan leaving her mouth as she takes him in, deep and hitting right at the spot that makes her quiver for him.

and he would be lying if he said he didn't go weak at the knees with the sounds she made.

the grunts, the moans, the whimpers, the soft profanities when he bucked his hips up to meet her movements. her hands tugging on his hair as he covered her neck with kisses, letting his mouth leave a line of wet pecks alongside the occasional hickey that he had gotten a little too carried away in leaving behind. her thighs tensing and shaking, her grinding motions falling sloppy as she felt more and more tired.

"i need-"

"me too," she admits and he lifts his head from her collarbone, lips shining with saliva, and he has a deep and dark, lust-filled look in his eyes that told her exactly what he needed, "me too."

"together?"

she nods and his hands grip tighter to the flesh of her hips, nails deep in her skin, and she can't resist letting herself go. head rolling back as she grunts out her orgasm, loud and satisfied, with george's orgasm filling her up. his own moans mixing with her hers as their movement sounded sloppy and wet, her body convulsing on top of him.

and they sit, in a comfortable silence, that wasn't proper silence due to the rise and fall of their chests as they inhaled and exhaled tiredly.

"good?"

"so good," he grins tiredly and her arms wrap around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, holding him tightly in a hug, "always."

"always?"

"always," he reiterates and he closes his eyes in contentment, "nice to actually be loud."

her cheeks redden and she's glad he can't properly see her because he would have teased her like there was no tomorrow; but, she had to agree with him. be free in her own home, no need to be quiet, and it felt good to take in everything instead of rushing to get their clothes back on in case someone walked in during their post-sex haze.

"you're the best."

"nah," she shakes her head and looks at him, giving his lips a quick peck, "you're the best."

"i love you," he brings his hands up and brings her face closer to his so he could leave kiss after kiss after kiss on her lips, "i love you so so much."

"sex makes you soppy," she teases him and he frowns, "but i love you too. so so so much."

if you made it this far, thank youuuuu! always love the soft smut you guys make me write... blessed to have someone enjoy it as much as you guys do! xx

[navybrat817]

Gym Seb is hot, but what about gym Chris?

Both are hot, nonnie, but how about Ari?

Can you imagine it? Your friend convinces you to go to the gym near her place. She swears the extra distance for you to go is worth it. You figure she means it's because it has the best equipment or amenities. Otherwise, it doesn't make sense.

You get it when you meet Ari.

He introduces himself with a small smile and you struggle not to whimper when he shakes your hand. Not because his strength hurt you, but a trainer has no right being so handsome. With muscular arms on display, eyes like the ocean, and long hair that you wished you could thread in your fingers, the man is stunning. A god. You'd worship him just to get a feel of his beard between your thighs.

And you nearly walk into a piece of equipment when he leads you around since you're too busy staring at his ass.

But there's no way he'd check you out, too. He may have to put his hands on you, but it's his job. He's just going to help you get in better shape. Nothing more.

Right?

Love and thanks! ❤️