#krirebr

[biteofcherry]

Omg, Kris, you hit the nail on the head 🎉

It's all about Princess expectations on who she should be, how she should act, what she should be feeling or rather shouldn't be feeling. And Steve is enjoying every damn minute of her revealing those wilder and darker traits.

Thank you so much! ❤️ I loved that you saw right through this layer and your comment just made me so happy 😁🥰

Touch the Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; possessiveness; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; jealous Reader (though she claims otherwise); non-lethal poisoning; sex; turned on by violence;

word count: 6.8k

Author’s Note: I know you've waited a bit for this next chapter. I didn't exactly have trouble writing it, my muse was simply interested in other projects. But I'm always a hoe for dark Steve, so returning to him was inevitable. As it was inevitable for Steve's dick darkness to start corrupting Reader in small doses. Or, maybe, he gives her boldness to act out on instincts she would otherwise suppress, because they're not proper 😏 For a brighter side - Princess gains a genuine new friend! 🥰

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 8. Tempestuous as the sea

~ * ~

You could blame the slow process of writing on the tiredness, but it was honestly the fault of delicious macaroons you’ve been reaching for every single sentence. At least with the sweet bite the mundane typing of a bland report felt a little more exciting. Once you ate the final macaroon, only the boring part would remain. 

Of all the excitement and challenges that came with running a health center, the bureaucratic side of it was truly exhausting. 

A knock on the door of your home office startled you mid bite. 

Before you swallowed and managed to invite him in, Steve was already pushing the door open and strolling inside.

You glared at him, but didn’t comment on the intrusion. Knowing your husband, he’d say that he came in your pussy just this morning and you had no objections to it, so why fuss over a damn office. 

Pointing out that you didn’t exactly invite him into your pussy either, was a futile argument. Especially since you didn’t stop him, or even elbow him in those perfect, stupid abs of marble. 

Quite the contrary. You rocked back against him and begged, until he rolled you fully onto your front and savaged you. 

You were still disgusted with yourself for that. As well for the sex two nights before. And the one in the shower. Or the Sunday humiliation, when it became clear that the chef was in the kitchen preparing your fancy dinner while you were screaming the house down as Steve wrung three orgasms out of you, one after the other. 

So disgusted. And still giving in to the temptation that was the devil himself. 

Who walked around your desk and leaned against it, looking down at you curled in the chair and with your cheeks stuffed with sweets. 

A strange feeling knotted your stomach. 

You were barefoot, wearing a pair of leggins and a hoodie. Crumbs of gooey sweetness were sticking to the corners of your mouth. Steve was barefoot, too; which meant he came home for the rest of the day, with no plans of leaving. He had a plain, tight T-shirt paired with dark jeans, his leather jacket already taken off. He stared at your face, only briefly glancing at the almost empty plate of macaroons.

This scene was so… domestic.

Instead of unwrapping that terrifying thought, you diverted your attention to the royal red envelope in Steve’s hand. A beautiful calligraphy shimmered in gold. 

“What’s that?” You asked, swallowing the rest of your macaroon. 

Unexpectedly, Steve leaned forward. Tip of his tongue licked at the corner of your mouth, swiping the sticky sweetness. Then it plugged between your lips that opened on a soft gasp.

The kiss was short, but intense and depraved. As it always was with Steve. And your treacherous body chased it as he pulled back.

“Lemon would pair better.” He hummed, resuming his previous stance.

“What?” You blinked, confused. Your head was still swimming in dizzy fog from that unexpected kiss. As well from the fact nothing more followed.

You were married, but there was nothing marital about your relationship with Steve. There were no sweet kisses good morning or goodbye, or hugs and cuddles. If either of you initiated physical contact it was to fuck. 

But now no touching, or undressing followed. The unexpected kiss remained just that - a shard of affection a normal newlywed couple might show each other.

It messed with your mind. And pulled at a cord in your chest.

“With your taste.” Steve explained; corners of his mouth curling in a hungry smirk.

Which, really, should be followed by his mouth descending on other parts of you. 

Instead, your body filled with heat both from the kiss and his words while Steve returned to tapping the envelope against his thigh, unbothered. 

Swallowing, you pushed that spark of need down. Steve was already too aware of how eagerly your body responded to him. Especially, since you stopped fighting it too much when the desire sparked low in your core. You weren’t going to further your humiliation. 

“So what’s with that?” You asked, pointing at the red envelope. 

“An invitation.” Steve showed you the beautifully addressed front. “For Mr and Mrs Rogers.”

You ignored his pleased smirk when he said the last part. It still evoked annoyance. The realization other people were now calling you by his last name fueled that irritation. 

“To Stark’s annual post expo gala.” He said it with a roll of his eyes.

Clearly, he wasn’t thrilled. You doubted it was because he had no regard for technology and knowledge. As much as you hated to admit it, Steve Rogers was exceptionally smart and up to date with many areas of expertise. 

From what you learned about your husband over the weeks, he wasn’t a fan of boring, social chit-chat and fake politeness. Which is why he preferred his direct, brutal methods of communication. But even he couldn’t fully escape socializing with the people he had on payroll and leash. 

“I assume it’s expected of me to go with you,” you glared at him, even though a small spark of excitement flickered in your chest.

You’ve been to a few fancy parties and fundraisers, but to attend something of this caliber was a thrilling novelty. 

For one, you’d get to dress up. You liked it, once in a while, to feel like a modern sort of Cinderella, who gets to swirl around in a pretty dress and eat expensive snacks. Secondly, it was a tempting opportunity for you as a director of the health center to lure in new benefactors. The project you’ve been working on was one that would need a solid dose of funding. 

There was also the aspect of meeting people in similar fields. Stark’s expo focused on technology mostly, but that area leaked into medical fields, as well. There were a lot of neuroscience breakthroughs in the past years, which served psychiatric and psychological fields. It could prove beneficial, if you spoke to some experts.

“Princess,” Steve tilted his head, “fuck the expectations.”

You almost sagged in disappointment.

“But-” he continued- “I have a few things to settle with some people and they will be there. It saves me a lot of time to do it there. And since I’m going, you are going, too.” 

He dropped the envelope onto the desk then cupped your chin with his hand. You hated how you didn’t hate the jolt of pleasure his touch evoked. 

“First official outing as newlyweds, Princess. Gotta make an impression.” There was near cruel mirth in his blue eyes.

“Pffft!” You snorted, attempting to pull away from his grip. You still haven’t fully accepted that once Steve had his hand on you, he was unlikely to relent.

Well, your mind didn’t accept it. Your body has become a whore for it. 

“I doubt I’ll be making any sort of impression on the corrupted men who kneel for you,” unless they were disgusting pigs interested in ogling Steve’s sidepiece. “Though I guess I could use you, for a change. Your name could be impressive enough for some schmucks to donate to the center.” 

“Tell them you’re mine and they’ll fund you three centers.” Steve said it so casually, without any hint of cockiness. In his eyes, it was a simple truth. 

“I’m not yours,” you hissed, more annoyed at the heat you felt creeping over your skin.

At that Steve smirked. 

He released your chin and stood up. He didn’t even counter your claim, as if it was the most pitiful lie that didn’t require any argument because neither of you believed it. 

He stole one macaroon before leaving your office. 

You quickly stuffed your mouth with the only macaroon left, in case he would take that away from you, too. Then you returned your gaze to the project document. Suddenly, with the prospect of potential donors, you felt a new wave of energy and motivation to write it all out. 

You clung to the claim that it was the same motivation filling you with excited lightness as you donned on a beautiful evening dress three weeks later. Adamant on enjoying the fancy party and working for the center’s goals, you pushed away the nagging thoughts of going there as Steve’s wife. 

Not that you thought anyone would be interested in that, anyway. You weren’t a famous socialite, or a model, and you considered Steve to be terrifying enough that no one would imagine him getting married. Much less gossiping about it.

The smaller argument you weaved - about you not even matching your outfits, ergo no one would recognize you as a couple - died the moment you descended the stairs to where Steve was already waiting for you. 

The only time he wore a suit was at your wedding. His usual style was rougher, more practical and intimidating. A jagged chunk of volcanic rock, still pulsing with burning lava. So it was quite shocking to see him in a dark blue two piece that was cut so perfectly that his broad shoulders and tapered waist seemed more prominently outlined than when he wore jeans and tight shirts. 

The shade of his suit was dark enough to hold that dangerous, intimidating aura, but the shiny blue hue matched your choice of dress perfectly. 

He was the night sky to your moon glow. 

Steve didn’t mask the hunger in his eyes as he looked at you. Though you were thankful he didn’t utter anything about not making it to the gala, because he wanted to sate that hunger. 

He did, however, order you to turn around; with that rough, low voice that had your clit tingling. Despite the vow you made to yourself two months ago, to not so easily comply with his commands, you did as asked. You found yourself staring at your reflection in the large mirror in the entryway, your body heating up from the sudden lewd imagery of what could happen if Steve put his hands on you. Would he make you watch as he…

His ice blue eyes sparked a dark satisfaction, undoubtedly reading your body well enough to suspect where your thoughts have wandered.

But he didn’t mock you. Instead, his touch was a gentle brush that evoked goosebumps as he placed something shiny and heavy on your chest. 

He clasped the white gold necklace at the back of your neck as you stared at the incredible rock nestled in a cushion of diamonds that were so crystal white they appeared to be frosty snow. 

The rock in the middle was a hue of sundown orange, mostly transparent, but with a flame encapsulated within. Like the heart of a star. 

“Once upon a time,” Steve’s fingers trailed over your exposed collarbones and down along the delicate chain of the necklace. “There were six rarest jewels in the world. Called the infinity stones.”

Memory of Batroc asking about them flashed in your mind and you held your breath. 

The rumors were true, then. Steve was the ghost from the legend, who tore through the Greek magnate’s citadel and stole the rarest gems, without leaving a trace. If this was one of them, were the rest nestled in the rings on his fingers like you presumed once before? 

“This one is called the soul stone.” Steve traced the outline of the pendant with his fingertip, dipping it into the valley between your breasts. Your nipples hardened instantly.

“Fitting, since you’re the devil who stole mine,” your retort had no bite. Not with how breathless you sounded.

Steve chuckled, slipping his hand over your breast and lower. His fingers splayed across your belly as he pressed closer against you. His breath was a warm tickle on your skin as he brushed his lips along the column of your throat.

“I stole more than that, haven’t I, Princess?” He smirked at the flash of fear in your eyes, which dissolved into stubborn defiance. 

“Yes. My peace and chance at happiness.” You glared at him in the mirror. Which didn’t dent his amusement. 

With a chuckle, Steve kissed your neck then scraped his teeth over the spot. Thankfully, not hard enough to leave any evidence, but making your pussy clench. 

You scurried away towards the exit, before he decided to humiliate you by leaving a hickey that anyone could see. 

You tried not to show how Steve’s touch on your lower back affected you, neither on your way to the car, nor when you entered the lavish gala at the Stark Tower. You doused the warmth of comfort with a flute of champagne when Steve spent the first solid hour keeping you at his side and introducing you to various people. As his wife.

It was only after you two returned to the main hostess and Tony’s wife, Pepper, who greeted you at the entrance and then smoothly roped you into a social conversation, that Steve murmured something about attending to business.

He left you with a brief kiss to your cheek and a brush of his fingers sliding from the small of your back over your ass. Unapologetic about doing it publicly.

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at his retreating form. 

“Ah, newlyweds.” Next to you, Pepper let a dramatically dreamy sigh. 

Your gaze shifted to her, only to notice she was most amused. Unlike some of the women whom you were introduced to, she didn’t look at you with envy or disdain. Which had annoyed you, because really there was nothing to be jealous of. Well, mindblowing sex perhaps. But that was it. Nothing more. 

If they wanted Steve so much, you’d happily give him away. If he only let you. 

Pepper seemed genuine in her friendly approach, witty responses and warmth. The only flaw you found in her so far was the fact she was friendly with Steve, too.

Not overtly, in a way betraying carnal interest, or former relationship (which you sensed from a few other women at the banquet). But the platonic friendliness toward someone like Steve was alarming in itself. 

“Oh yeah,” you snorted, lifting your glass of champagne to your lips, “I’m sooo head over heels for him.”

Pepper’s laugh was soft and tinkling like velvet bells. Nothing fake, or annoying in the sound of it. Quite the opposite, you were surprised how it put you at ease after mingling with people who wore fake politeness like a family crest.

Crinkles appeared in the corners of her eyes as she looked at you and you couldn’t help but respond with your own grin.

“People often mistake my sunny disposition for naivety. They're very wrong.” Pepper said, taking a sip of her strawberry gin & tonic. 

“I know you didn't marry Steve out of love.” She stated bluntly, without judgment or conspiratory whispering. “But watching you two, some things are unmistakable.”

She lifted her left shoulder in a shrug, sparkling amusement in her eyes turning into a knowing look. Your heart halted before setting in a slightly panicked flutter. 

There were little moments when you felt certain cracks in your hard hateful shell, but you hoped that you managed to quickly hide them behind walls and under a mask. You didn’t want Steve finding more of your weaknesses. It was even worse, if someone else saw them.

Pepper barely met you and if she noticed how comfortable you felt at times beside Steve (when you forgot to remember you’re supposed to hate him and be disgusted by his touch), then the bastard must have been aware of them, too. Crap.

Still, you arched your brow as if you had no idea what she was implying. Pepper’s amusement deepened, she wasn’t buying your cluelessness. 

“There may not be romantic affection, but he sure gives you attention.” She said, angling her body so you stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the grand ballroom.

Before you snorted that you’d rather never have drawn Steve’s attention, she vaguely pointed at the room full of people. Expensive suits and dresses worth more than your half year salary, diamonds dripping, chests puffed. Women polished to perfection glued to the side of their men, sweet smiles offered on painted lips.

“That's something only very few women here experience. It’s rare.” There was a hint of disappointment in her tone, but you doubted it had to do with her own relationship. 

Tony Stark was like a hummingbird on energizer and coke - he fleeted from one conversation to the other, growing bored, acting pretentious asshole. He stopped for longer only with a few people. But every half an hour or so, he would search for Pepper and the way his attention zeroed in on her left no room to doubt his love for her.

She grounded him. Gave him a moment to recharge, even as she called him out on some of his antics. 

Many of the women at the gala, who accompanied their husbands, or partners, were there as an accessory. Beautiful, adding to the status, but few were even acknowledged by their company. 

“I’m not sure having Steve Rogers’ attention is exactly a good thing.” You pointed out. 

Everyone here may officially pretend he was a ruthless businessman, while they all knew the bloody truth. He was a mafia boss, a brutal king of the underworld, who wouldn’t blink an eye flaying someone open here in the light of the crystal chandeliers. 

No one wanted his attention on them, not really. 

“Not for most.” Pepper agreed. “Though some of the women might disagree.”

“Are you talking from experience?” You maintained a neutral, indifferent tone (mostly because you didn’t think there was ever anything between Pepper and Steve); yet there was a tiny flicker of something angry that ignited at the prospect.

It stirred with a growl and clawed out a few times that night, when a few of the women made it obvious they were wet and willing for Steve.

“God, no!” Pepper snorted, pretending to shudder. “I’m not that adventurous.”

“Yeah, bungee jumping without rope might be less of an adrenaline rush than being with him,” you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth tilted in a grin. 

“Well, it seems only fair to give back in return. What would perturb the dark overlord?” Pepper pretended to seriously ponder, tapping her finger against her lips.

“I could try setting Bucky on fire.” 

Pepper’s laugh resounded with the same melodic chime as previously, but much louder. Not a single fake note, her burst of laughter was real. It enticed your own laugh to bubble out; both of you falling into a fit of giggles behind your drink glasses. 

You drew the attention of many people, who either watched you with suspicion, or glared offended. You didn’t care. And when your gaze connected with Steve’s, who looked your way from the other side of the room while some men were babbling next to him, you didn’t even pretend to be gloomy.

“Now that was the height of entertainment tonight.” Pepper looped her arm around yours, still smiling brilliantly ear to ear. “For me, at least. Now, how to repay you for that? I can tell you all the spicy gossip. We could get drunk and no one would dare to say anything to either me or you.” 

“Not gossip, but information.” You finished your champagne and reached for another flute as a waiter passed by. “I need to know more about this swamp my so-called husband treads through. And I need to milk some of them for money for the center.” 

“I know just the right people for that,” she nodded with determination and steered you toward the first potential benefactor. 

Pepper’s company was a wonderful balm and entertainment rolled into one. She was a graceful hostess, smart and perceptive professional, but also a bubbly imp who didn’t spare you the details about some sordid affairs. 

Though she could excuse herself with her duties, she stuck with you the entire time. She also managed not to smirk at your glower when she pointed at three women who have in the past fucked Steve. 

However, her smile turned mischievous as she spotted someone over your shoulder. She reminded you of the lunch date in three days that you happily agreed to, then smoothly glided away before you managed to properly say goodbye. 

Words stuck in your throat as you felt the familiar solid warmth at your back. Steve’s shadow cast over you first, then his heat and scent engulfed you. Like a mythological fate, always reaching its grasp for the heroine, no matter the hard fight towards the light, your personal devil softly pulled you back into his clutches. 

His hand touched your back and he spun you around. 

“Having fun, Princess?” He looked down at you. 

Icy blade of his gaze cut down men bigger than life, but, despite the first instinctive flash of fear, you felt it slicing through the layers of your clothes and defences. 

Plate by plate, you quickly reinforced your shell, to at least endure a few hours more before Steve got under your skin again. 

And into your cunt, because with his hot looks and your four glasses of champagne that was inevitable. 

“I don’t think parties of this kind are meant to have fun.” You scrunched up your nose. “But I managed to sway some rich snobs to potentially fund that educational project for the center. Leon Stavros seems keen to donate half the sum.”

You announced with a proud tilt of your chin and a smile. Tame enough to not share the actual happiness you felt with Steve. You wanted to boast about your little success, but you had to remember that he was the bane of your existence.  

Steve’s hand on your back settled heavier, while his other slid along your arm. He took your hand in his, outstretched your joined arms and in a single move swept you onto the dancefloor. 

“You’ll have to use his money for a different project.” He continued your conversation as he led you across the floor. “The psychoeducation and resources for caretakers project is already fully funded.” 

It took you a moment for his words to register, because you were still scrambling to catch up with the fact that a heartbeat ago you were standing off to the side and now you were dancing across the ballroom. 

It was truly mind boggling that your psychopath husband was a damn good dancer.

“What? Who?” You blinked, when it finally dawned on you what he said. You even cast a glance around, wondering who managed to deliver the funds so quickly.

Something sharp pierced through your chest as you realized there was only one person who knew before everyone else and could fund a project with a single transfer. Your gaze flicked back to Steve’s handsome face.

“Steve…” 

Heaviness of the situation turned worse by the second, because he wasn’t showing that smug, triumphant look, which would at least remind you to hate him. 

“You were determined to get that project running.” Steve replied easily. There was no affectionate passion in his next words, but still they chipped at the walls protecting you - “What you want, you get.”

“Thank you.” At the moment you didn’t know how else to respond. How to treat this gift. 

You could think of it as his manipulation to get you further into his sticky web, but he already had you at his mercy on all accounts. No, it flashed too much thoughtfulness.  

To preserve the comfortable setting of animosity, you asked cheekily - “What if I want a divorce?”

You were determined to keep asking for a divorce every chance you got. Officially, you believed it was because you wanted out of this fucked up marriage. Secretly, you were thrilled with the various ways Steve responded to that demand. 

“Then-” he pulled you even closer, his cheek brushing yours as he leaned down to whisper into your ear- “you get a fucking so hard, any silly ideas drip out of you permanently.” 

Steve delivered on the hard fucking, even though you haven’t mentioned divorce again that night. 

You blamed the champagne and happiness at having your project funded for making you sit so close to him in the car on your way back from the gala, rubbing your heated body against him with unrestrained need. Steve was merciful enough to not wait it out until you lost the battle with your own will and initiated sex yourself, but instead dragged you over his lap, rolled up your dress and fingered you into a dripping, screaming puddle before you made it home.

Then he took you hard, in front of that fucking mirror in the hall. With you completely naked, wearing only the necklace and watching yourself give in to the monster completely. 

You nearly passed out when he fucked you again in bed. Your almost unconscious state didn’t stop Steve from using you thoroughly and then spilling thick ropes of white cum all over your body, white drops landing around the jewel sparkling on your chest. 

Though your body was wonderfully blissed out each time you and Steve had sex - which was becoming an almost daily thing - you still refused to use the blissful adjective to describe your marriage. Or any positive adjective, for that matter. Even as the comfort of sitting next to him or sharing meals increased; or how he casually draped your legs over his lap, massaging your calves while he typed murderous decrees on his phone. 

The word domestic echoed in your head often, but you drowned it in screams of his victims, gunshots, Steve’s cold and sinister commands. 

You shouldn’t feel at ease and comfortable around the devil who kept you chained to him. You gave yourself a pass for enjoying mindmelting orgasms, it was a small reward for your suffering, but you wouldn’t let yourself get accustomed to being a wife. Not to Steve. 

So you pretended to be only mildly annoyed when he strolled into your office one day, bringing lunch as if he was a normal loving spouse, and announcing that you’ll be hosting a dinner at home. For the mayor and his wife. To his credit, Steve didn’t imply you had to be the one preparing said dinner. Having a chef was another benefit of your doom. But the expectation of playing the sweet wife and hostess to the corrupted pair of a politician and socialite made your blood boil.

Or maybe it was the fact that mayor’s wife was one of the few women Pepper confirmed to have been fucking Steve in the past.

No, you told yourself as you put on the soul stone necklace when preparing for said dinner. You didn’t care who he sank his cock into. You didn’t care, if he returned to that and left you in peace. 

But your conviction shattered to sharp, jagged pieces when mayor’s wife made obvious moves at your husband, with her own fucking husband sitting right there at the table! 

You were appalled. By her rudeness, of course. 

Mayor played a clueless idiot, probably too scared of Steve to fight for honor. Or maybe he was actually gaining something from having his wife almost drop to her knees and swallow Steve’s cock whole. You played indifference, because why should you care? 

So maybe your knife and fork scraped against the plate so loud that everyone at the table cringed in pain, when the mayor’s wife briefly touched Steve’s arm and mentioned missing their passionate art discussions. It was nothing. Just a spasm in your hand. And you gulping down half of your wine glass all unladylike was because you needed to soothe an itch in your throat, not because the floozy licked her lips and made a suggestion Steve should go with her to the new exhibition. 

Though Steve hadn’t replied to Miliana’s advances, focusing on the not so subtle business talk with her husband, he didn’t refuse her either. Which made you want to reach for the knife he had custom made for you and stab him with it, when later that night he had the audacity to touch you. 

Steve merely chuckled, absolutely amused. Mockingly asked if you were jealous. Which you were not! 

Tension slowly dropped after that, as days passed and you haven’t seen that skank’s face. Unexpectedly, however, the mayor requested an official visit to the center. It was a short one, a half an hour so the press could write about his interest in healthcare and supporting new community focused projects. You also suspected he wanted to kiss Steve’s ass.

You didn’t have a reason to deny him, especially since the press would also mention the center and new projects, which would be helpful. It was even better, because he came only with some of his office staff, no wife at his side. 

But then, just as you were breathing in relief that the circus was almost over, the mayor had the balls to invite himself over to your house for dinner the upcoming weekend. 

In true political bullshit manipulation, saying how his wife loved your chef’s scallops and couldn’t wait to taste them again and how your house provided comfort to talk business with your husband. 

At this point, you were wondering if the slimy asshole was a cuckold. 

He was bending backwards just to give his own wife an opportunity to touch your fucking husband. Maybe he really was into that. Maybe he wanted to watch. Maybe you should’ve vomited when you relayed the request to Steve and he shrugged that he’s free Saturday evening: if the greedy idiot wants to crawl begging for more scraps. 

Your appetite evaporated, as you spent days fuming at the prospect of another weird dinner when a shameless woman would be drooling after Steve while you were sitting there right opposite of her, in your own damn home. 

No, this time you wouldn’t stand for it. You would make Miliana associate your house with something most unpleasant. And a small vial stolen from one of the medicine cabinets at the center was going to help you with that.

It was surprisingly easy, really. It should shock you how calm you were as you prepared for the dinner; how a soft smile graced your lips as you set the table while the chef prepared delicious food. But now that determination guided your hand through the plan, earlier fiery aggravation melted away. 

Briefly, you wondered if the same calm took over Steve when he took lives. 

You shook that thought away, since you weren’t attempting to kill anyone. Though when a memory of her hand on Steve’s arm flashed in your mind, your fingers itched to grab a knife. 

Applying a little drop to the bottom of a crystal glass and another on the rim, smearing it along, you felt an odd kind of satisfaction unfurl in your chest. There was no hesitation, no worry about potential mix-up. No, you were certain Miliana would once again seat on Steve’s left. Just like the last time. It was cunning, since it appeared all innocent - her sitting on her husband’s right, just you were sitting on your husband’s right, the men facing each other. 

Your smile widened when the couple entered your dining room and sat exactly like you predicted. Politely fake conversation flew as the chef brought out first dish and his assistant poured wine into glasses. 

The scallops tasted even more delicious, in your opinion. Especially when after a few sips of wine the mayor’s wife had to quickly excuse herself to the bathroom. 

Few minutes later the mayor’s phone vibrated, which led to him frowning at the screen and excusing himself as well - undoubtedly to aid his wife. When he walked back into the dining room a while later, he looked nervous and embarrassed, paler too.

“My apologies. It appears my wife and I have to leave promptly, it was unplanned, but can’t be avoided.” 

You made a sound of worried pity, but continued to cut into your own food and eating it without an ounce of genuine distraught. Steve arched a brow in surprise, but nodded his head, which seemed to bring the mayor immense relief. The man was more scared of offending Steve than for his wife’s health. 

It was less than a minute when you heard their car take off from the driveway. The sound of it and the fact they were no longer polluting the space of your home pleased you greatly. 

“Mhm, these scallops are really delicious,” you hummed, licking your fork. 

“Princess,” Steve tuned the petname in a sing-song tone. “What did you do?”

Slowly, you looked his way. He didn’t seem angry, nor worried. He angled his body towards you, propping one elbow on the table and drumming his fingers in a steady rhythm. He wasn’t asking if it was your doing, he already knew. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t permanently damage one of your mistresses. She’s just gonna spend a day or two glued to the toilet.” You snorted, clenching your fingers around the fork. “But maybe next time she’ll reconsider coming into the house where your wife lives.”

Dark gleam flickered over Steve’s ice blue eyes. 

He leaned forward, moving his hands to grip the edge of your chair and yanked it at an angle toward him. Your legs were between his, his hands gripping the sides of your chair, veins protruding in his forearms as his muscles tensed.

“Your possessiveness gets me hard.” He chuckled darkly.

“I’m not possessive!” You objected immediately, crossing your hands over your chest. 

“You demanded I marry you, the ruthless fucking king of the underworld. So now you have to deal with having a wife. And your reluctant queen won’t stand for any more humiliation.” You spat the last part, boldly leaning forward and glaring at him with all the accumulated hatred. 

“Princess,” Steve inched even closer, not the least bothered by your outburst. Quite the opposite, he appeared to love it. “My dick hasn’t even twitched for any other woman, since I tasted your lips. There’s no pleasure in standing their fake, exaggerated despair, when I have your sweet pussy so responsive to my darkness…”

Your retort died on your tongue when suddenly one of Steve’s hands gripped your chin.

“Now-” he tightened his pinch on your chin, his voice smoothly transforming into a cold warning. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.” 

“Miliana doesn’t have enough spunk and her husband is too much of a scaredy wimp to retaliate in any form.” He showed zero empathy toward them. “But there are eels and sharks swimming around us and some of them would dare to bite back.”

Holding your chin, Steve forced you to lean closer. His breath tickled your mouth as he inched forward, as well.

“And if anyone dared to put a finger on you, it would end in a bloodbath.”

Only Steve could make a psychopathic threat sound like a seductive, velvet vow of a lover.

Your brain screamed that it was wrong, that you should be disgusted by his words and scared of how easily it came to him to take lives. Yet your insides filled with heat, one spreading through your chest and a wave of it pooling low in your abdomen.

“Don’t go on a murder spree, because of some macho obligation.” You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You. Are. Mine, Princess.” Steve punctuated each word with a brush of his lips against yours. “To harm or disrespect you means to hurt or disrespect me. I have no mercy for those. I would cut off the limb, with which they hurt you, and carve out their intestines. Then fuck you while their blood pools at your feet.”

“That’s disgusting,” with how breathy you sounded, your claim felt like a lie.

One that Steve read right away.

“It turns you on.” He chuckled, grinning. 

“I know that you get so wet from the scary, unhinged things that I do.” His other hand slapped your knees apart.

“I’m not-” you frowned, ready to deny that as well. Even though your body was already primed for him.

Words went forgotten when Steve picked you in a swift move and deposited you in his lap. The hand on your chin moved to grip the front of your neck; the cool sensation of his rings digging into your soft skin made you gasp. The sound nearly stopped in your throat, because he tightened his grip. And it made your arousal burst stronger.

His right hand ventured between your spread thighs. His fingers easily slipped beneath the flimsy fabric of your underwear and teased your slick folds.

“Soaked.” Steve triumphed, running the ring-adorned knuckle of his index finger up and down between your folds. “Sweet, good-hearted Princess who lives to help people, cumming on her brutal husband’s weapons and cock.” 

The mere mention of his thick cock made your pussy pulse. The image of his gun and of the knife sliding along your skin and pressed so close to your most sensitive areas caused a shiver to rock your whole body.

Steve chuckled at your body’s reaction. He laced kisses and licks along your jaw, continuing to tease your cunt.

“As for you wanting to be a queen at my side…” he sucked your earlobe lewdly, making you moan. 

“Do you know what a queen’s role is?” He whispered right into your ear before pulling back slightly.

“To stand fierce and unbending beside her king.” He withdrew his hand, kissing your lips when you pouted at the loss of delicious stimulation. Fingers sticky with your slick, he ran his palm up your belly and over your breast. Then to your arm. 

“And to give him an heir.”

Steve’s eyes locked with yours as his wet fingers circled your arm, thumb pressing right over where your contraceptive implant was hidden beneath your skin. 

“Are you ready for that, Princess?” He asked, rubbing the spot in sinfully slow circles, as he would do your clit. “Are you ready to take out this little implant and let me breed you properly?” 

Your brain was too scrambled, even though Steve barely touched you, really. The adrenaline from poisoning a woman who dared to flirt with your husband mixed with desire that the fucker so easily ignited in you. 

The unexpected mention of impregnation? In that dark, raw way only your husband dared to speak to you? For a short moment your mind simply stopped working.

“No!” You clenched your eyes, letting the last remnants of reason fight against the threat. 

Steve didn’t seem perturbed by your refusal. Perhaps it wasn’t even something he was interested in, just another means to torment you with and make you yield to his command. 

“Until then, you remain my Princess.” He declared, cutting off your airflow for a few seconds and taking possession of your mouth. 

When he let you breathe again, you felt dizzy and pliant. Your own hands clenched on his shoulders as Steve stood up abruptly. He kicked the chair away and placed you on the dining table. 

Plates and wine glasses tumbled over, food and wine spilling across the tablecloth and dripping down on the floor. You felt the sticky wetness soaking into your back as Steve splayed you on the table, but you didn’t care. Not when he was holding you down by your throat with one hand and ripping your soaked underwear with the other. 

Then there was the sound of a zipper and Steve’s low, sexy groan as he gripped his hard cock and stroked it a few times. 

Steve held your gaze as he tapped his dick against your pulsing clit and then nudged it into your opening. A needy whine vibrated in your throat, tempting the fingers around your neck to squeeze just a tad tighter. 

He slammed into you in one stroke; dark victory flamed in his eyes as your body jerked and your pussy clamped around him. 

Buried to the hilt, with his hand around your throat and the other holding your leg bent and pressed against your chest, Steve looked down at you. Danger pulsed off of him like a dark aura, reminding you how defenceless you were.

“Don’t ever fucking endanger what’s mine.” He warned.

You glared at him, indignant at being referred to as his. But then he snapped his hips back and into you again, and your ire flowed into brain short-circuiting pleasure. 

“My good, depraved Princess.” Steve praised, fucking you hard. “Creaming around my cock so prettily.” 

You fisted the tablecloth, mewling as each of his thrust drove you closer to the peak. It was so rough, so raw and based on urges you never considered yourself to have. You hated it. Hated Steve. Hated what he made you into. And you screamed his name as you came.

[foxgloveprincess]

Ransom + What Are Friends For

This one sounds like a fun angsty one! Thanks for playing, Kris! 💜

“You don’t have friends, Ransom,” you bite, stuffing your jacket in your bag and grabbing for your jewelry case.

“I have you,” he replies, picking up your phone before you can and holding it above his head.

You huff a frustrated breath and march to the bathroom, gathering your toiletries in their bag and taking a look at yourself in the mirror. A minute passes as you stare, wondering what he means, what you’ve done, how much more hurt you can take.

“C’mon,” he pleads, stepping into view to lean on the doorway, voice dropping to a solemn tone, “please don’t leave me.”

✨Send me a character/pairing and a title to get five lines of an imaginary fic✨

[navybrat817]

KRIS. When I tell you I would be his queen in a second, I wouldn't hesitate. I might pretend to be miffed. For a moment. "I have to marry King Arthur? Oh, no!"

I'll wear nothing but a tiara while he makes me ride him on this throne.

Please.

Love and thanks! ❤️

[bigtreefest]

Ooo, can I please hear more about Intimidation Game?

Oh course you can! Intimidation Game is gonna be a Ransom fic based off a convo I had with @brandycranby a little while back. This was asked by both you and @biteofcherry 👀🫡

The basic premise is Ransom trying to be intimidating, and everyone else knowing to stay away, except for reader. They’re the only one who challenges him. And to be honest, he’s a little bit intimidated by them, too. So it’s semi rival-y, until Ransom traps reader in a doorway, you know that thing where he braces his arm above you so you’re semi-trapped and it’s kinda hot and makes your heart race? That. 🥵🫠 and he leans down real close, nose to nose. Is that a kiss op?🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ someone may get tackled with a demand for ending this dance, the tables could get turned…😏

WIP Ask game

[thezombieprostitute]

Dropping in to pay you back with your own round of FMK. That's right, it's Fanta, Mountain Dew, and Kool-Aid! 🤣🤣 So which toxic soft drink are you sharing with

Bucky Barnes

Jake Jensen

Jonathan Pine

Bonus points if you can give us specific flavors 😘

Oooo! I can't remember the last time I had Fanta or Kool-aid so I've gotta think about those two for Barnes and Pine.

Because, let's face it, Mountain Dew with Jake just makes sense. It's "gamer fuel"! I like plain Dew best and would happily share some with my cute gamer.

I'm gonna cheat a little here and use Orange Fanta and mix it with vodka to make Creamsicles to share with Jonathan. I don't think he's ever tried one before but he's the type to be a good sport and, at least, try it for me.

He's also actually susceptible to the alcohol, unlike Bucky, so it could lead to some fun.

I'd have to share blue raspberry Kool-aid with Bucky. Why? Because when I say, "this tastes like blue" I want him to have some frame of reference. He's a little out of touch on contemporary food stuffs and flavors and "blue" is definitely one of them!

[navybrat817]

This is so heartbreaking, but Curtis is going to be the best alpha for this omega. ❤️

Still Life 1

Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism, adult themes, explicit language, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me this time!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well, this is for all of you who thought you'd seen the worst angst I could possibly do. Sorry for how much this one's gonna hurt!

Big thanks to @paperweight91 and @bigtreefest who both read so much of this and helped with structuring and world-building. And huge thanks to everyone who showed so much enthusiasm for this idea. I'm so excited to share this story with you!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

It took a moment for Curtis to pull himself out of sleep enough to realize the incessant noise was his phone vibrating loudly on his nightstand. It took another moment for him to pull himself together enough to answer it. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Morning, Curtis,” a harried voice came through from the other end. “This is Yona from the Omega Welfare Center. I'm so sorry to call so early, but we've had kind of a crazy night here and we're in need of several emergency placements.”

That had him waking up. “What happened?” he asked, seriously, sitting up in bed.

She sighed, all of her exhaustion coming through. “A traditionalist compound a couple hours away got raided by the feds and ATF. They prepared for some omegas, but… There were a lot more. Kids too. It’s been all hands on deck at all five omega centers in the state. We’re over capacity, so we’re just trying to place anyone we can immediately.”

“Shit,” Curtis mumbled to himself. Traditionalist communities popped up on the news every once in a while, populated mostly by alphas on a power trip. But this one sounded bigger than most. He looked at his clock. It was just past five. “I’ve got room for one,” he said. “And I can be there in an hour.”

“Thank you, Curtis. I’ll see you soon.”

Fifty-five minutes later, Curtis was checking in at the center, his second coffee clutched in one hand. He’d been volunteering there as a foster Alpha for about three years. Mostly short-term placements. His longest one was just over a month. He provided safe touch, grounding, and a sense of security to omegas who needed to get back on their feet. He’d help them through heats when necessary, never knotting them, but whatever else they might need. Often, it was just his scent. It made him feel good, to be able to help these omegas, offer a positive alpha experience to omegas who hadn’t had many.

He’d worked with a few different case workers during his time. Yona had been the main one for the past year. He’d never heard her sound like she had that morning.

Even just at the front desk, he could sense how much more chaotic it was here than usual. He could hear babies screaming beyond the office door, endless anxious chatter. The entire building reeked of omegas in distress. It made his nose itch and his skin crawl.

After a few minutes of waiting, Yona came and got him. “How bad is it?” he asked the omega as she hurriedly led him down the hall. 

She showed him into a small meeting room as she answered, “Really, really bad. I’ve never seen anything like it. None of them are talking, but from what we can gather, most of them have spent their entire lives in the compound. No IDs, no papers. Figuring out who they are has been nearly impossible.  And as terrible as it may have been, their whole world was ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours. No one feels like cooperating. We hope you might have better luck as an alpha.”

“You think they'll talk to me?” 

She shakes her head. “Just the Omega we're placing with you. They've all been taught never to trust outsiders, but they've also been raised to see Alphas as the ultimate authority. So, it's worth a shot.”

He nodded, slowly. “What do you need?”

“Just basic identifying information for now. So we can see if she even exists in any sort of governmental system. Then we can go from there.”

“If you don’t have any information, what makes you think I’ll be a good fit for her?”

“Honestly,” Yona said, with a helpless shrug, “you only have room for one and she doesn’t have any pups. That’s it. Listen, I know this isn’t how we normally do things and I’m so sorry I’m just throwing you into it without any preparation, but we’re really desperate here. They’re all high needs, high risk. There’s no existing support network for them, and there are more of them than we have room for. So we called all of our most experienced, most dependable alphas first thing this morning so we can focus on the ones we have room to house here. I know it isn’t fair to you but–”

“Hey,” Curtis interrupted. “It’s ok, I understand. I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she breathed out, a small fraction of the tension she’d been holding bleeding out of her shoulders. “Ok, I’m gonna go bring her in.” 

She slipped through the door and Curtis leaned against the table in the center of the room as he waited. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on putting together a to-do list. He had two sets of nesting supplies always ready, one with his scent and one without. In the next few days, he’d try to figure out if there was anything else this omega wanted for the nest. He’d gone grocery shopping the day before, so his pantry was stocked, but he’d see if there were any favorite comfort foods he could grab in his next shop. He needed to rearrange his work schedule, push back some deadlines so he’d have time to get the omega settled. He had no idea what they’d be bringing with them, so a shopping trip for toiletries and clothes would probably be necessary. Depending on the omega's state, maybe he'd be able to get the shopping done on the way back to his house. He glanced at the time on his phone. Shit. Depending on what was open.

At movement right outside the door, he stood at attention. Yona came back in with you right behind her. He took a good look at you. You wore a rumpled long-sleeved floral dress that went down to your ankles. It was faded like it’d been washed too many times. Your eyes were fixed on the tennis shoes you wore, which had probably been white at one point, but now were discolored and looked like they didn’t fit quite right. 

There was a little hand-written number ten pinned to your dress. He wanted to raise a judgemental brow at Yona, but if none of you would say your names, he supposed Yona and her team had to come up with some way to keep track of you all.

He had to stifle a gasp when his eyes landed on your neck. There was a large bite scar over your mating gland. Unlike the neat and pretty, well-healed ones he was used to seeing, yours was deep and jagged, red and white, scar tissue bubbling up where your flesh had clearly been torn. This didn’t look like a mating bite. It was the sort of bite meant to inflict pain. What sort of alpha had you had??

Your eyes stayed on the floor, your expression blank but your scent said so much – panic, sadness, terror, relief all jumbled together. He wanted to reach out and touch you, his alpha instincts were going haywire, but he kept his hands to himself. 

“This is Curtis,” Yona said to you. “He's the alpha who's going to look after you until we can get all this sorted.”

You didn’t react at all, just stood there, stiff as a board with your eyes on your shoes.

He stayed where he was, conscious of giving you space. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said, as gently as he could. Then, with a glance to Yona, “Can you tell me your name?”

Your face scrunched up and the fear in your scent spiked but you didn’t say anything. He sighed. Shit. He really didn’t want to have to use an alpha command with you right now. That could be disastrous for any dynamic he tried to build with you. But they needed this information. He really, really hoped you wouldn’t make him force you.

“Omega, what’s your name?” he asked as firmly as he could, hopefully without scaring you. “I need to know.”

You closed your eyes tightly and he thought he saw the smallest little head shake. There was another moment of silence and he looked at Yona nervously. But then, you said it. So quietly he almost didn’t catch it. But you said it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yona frantically scribbling it down, but his focus was completely on you.

He tried to keep his sigh of relief to himself. “That was so good. Thank you. You’re doing so well,” he said, keeping the praise soft, hoping you could scent how pleased he was with you. “When were you born?”

You gave up your birthday a little more easily, but you left off the year. 

“That’s great. Thank you. Do you know how old you are?” he asked, maintaining his gentle tone, knowing it was possible that you didn’t.

For whatever reason, it was that that finally got a reaction out of you. You looked up at him, so he could finally see your eyes, and snarled, “I’m not stupid!”

There was a beat when no one did anything. Curtis and Yona just stared at you in shock. The snarl was frozen on your face until it suddenly disappeared and your eyes got wide. Before he was able to process any of what was happening, you’d dropped down onto your knees. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Alpha, I’m sorry.” You just keep repeating that in a constant stream, your head tucked to your chest.

Repeatedly mixed into that jumble was a number. It took Curtis a few moments to realize it was your age. You were answering his question. He quietly repeated it to Yona, then dropped down to his knees as well so he could be closer to your level. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. You aren’t stupid. I can already tell how smart you are. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He wanted to reach out and touch you, wrap you in his arms, even, comfort you however he could. But he was too afraid that that’d make you panic even more. That was a boundary he couldn’t cross. Not yet. He stayed down there, whispering reassurances to you for as long as it took for you to stop apologizing, and a few extra minutes for your breathing to calm down. Once you seemed like you were back in the present moment, he moved to a crouch. “Think you can stand up for me, honey?”

You nodded, but you were back to keeping your eyes downcast. “Yes, Alpha.”

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to call him ‘Alpha,’ that ‘Curtis’ was just fine. But that could wait until you were a little more comfortable. Once he had you home, maybe. He could already tell that picking his battles was going to be important.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood up to his full height, and you did as well. “You answered my questions so well. You gave me exactly what I needed.” He looked to Yona to see if there was anything else.

“Do you have any questions for me or Curtis?” she asked you.

You shook your head, emphatically, hunching your shoulders. The room filled with the scent of fear again.

“Okay… that’s fine,” Yona said, and he could tell how much she hated this. “Well,” she turned to Curtis, “I’ll go get the paperwork and then you two can get home. I’ll be right back,” she said to you, then left the room. 

This was happening too fast. In normal circumstances, you would have already been at the center for a few weeks, at least, with access to mental health professionals, life skill classes, and support groups. He’d be the last step before going back to the real world. You’d be ready to spend time with an alpha. Ready to work through processing positive physical attachments. Ready to learn how to share space with someone who wasn’t a threat to you. You’d be ready to slowly take steps into the world, with him there to support you.

You had backed yourself into the corner now. He could see the way every single muscle in your body was trying not to cower. You weren’t ready. You were nowhere near ready. But with all the resources for at-risk omegas pushed to their limit by this raid, what would happen to you if he didn’t take you? As insufficient as it might be, his help could be all you’d be able to get. This wasn’t how it should be, but he’d do everything he could for you.

Yona came back in and he watched her take you in, sighing at your state. He knew she was thinking the same things he was. “Ok,” she said, handing him the packet of forms to sign. “No changes since last time. You know the drill.”

He nodded as he grabbed them and sat down at the table, getting to work signing where he was supposed to. As he did, he felt your eyes on him as the scent of your apprehension filled the room.

Yona called your name. “Let’s go outside for a minute while Curtis finishes up.”

You both left quietly. This, too, was part of normal procedure. She was asking if you were sure you were comfortable leaving with him, telling you you had the option to say no, getting your verbal and written consent, and giving you cards with all the emergency numbers on them. He was afraid this situation might stretch the legal definition of informed consent. Based on everything he’d seen so far, he couldn’t picture a scenario where you’d say no. 

Nothing about this felt good, but everyone’s hands were tied. And he knew that he’d do everything he could to keep you as safe as possible.

A few minutes after he’d finished signing the last page, you and Yona came back in. A worn knapsack hung from your fingers. It was small, confirming Curtis’s suspicions that you didn’t have much in the way of clothes. Alright, that was priority number one.

Yona had a thin folder in her hand that she immediately passed to Curtis. “The regular information, along with her schedule of appointments for the next few weeks, both doctor and therapist. And the card for the agent in charge of the investigation into the compound, in case anything pertinent comes up.” Then she turned to you with a small box. “I’ve got a couple packets of suppressants for you. Do you want them or do you want Curtis to keep track of them for you?”

Your eyes cut to him suspiciously then flitted back to the floor. “Alpha,” you muttered.

“Okay,” Yona said, handing the box to Curtis as well. Then she clapped her hands together, her face set in grim determination. “I won’t keep you any longer then. I’ll see you both next week.”

On the way out of the center, Curtis was all too aware of the way you walked exactly three steps behind him, one step to the left. That wasn’t just old-fashioned, it was archaic. He’d never seen an omega do it in real life.

At his truck, you looked at the truckbed in a way that made him worried you might try to ride back there, so he opened the passenger door for you and waited for you to get in. He resisted the part of his alpha instincts that wanted to buckle you in. And after a gentle request, you did it yourself.

As the two of you hit the road, he reached over to turn the radio on. He tried to move slowly, but you still flinched. “Want some music?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t respond, so he found an oldies station and left the volume low. His plan for the day had shifted a bit. You definitely weren’t ready to go shopping. That was fine. There was nothing that couldn’t be delivered.

About five minutes into the drive, the strong scent of your tears filled the cab. He looked over at you. You were huddled against the door, as far away from him as you could get. Your face was pressed against the window, so all he could see was the back of your head. But he could hear your sniffles and he could smell your distress.

It took everything in him to not pull over right now and reach over to comfort you. Pull you into his arms. Rub soothing circles on your back. But he knew that would do more harm than good. His touch wouldn’t be welcome. Yet. You weren’t ready.

And god, he wasn’t either. He wasn’t ready for any of this. But damn it, he was going to try.

Tag List is open!

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23 @thiquefunlover63 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stellar-solar-flare @crazyunsexycool @littlelearningbrat

[veltana]

Hi Cate! 31 and 42 for the weirder asks, please!

From this

31. Old rock music like Iron Maiden's early stuff and Queen but also fun Disney songs! 😂

42. I play a game called Merge Cartoon and I accidentally got my partner and brother-in-law hooked on it too. I play that a lot! 😅🙈

Thank you for playing ❤️

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Happy birthday, Caplan!!! 🎉🎉🎉

ilysm <3 thank you so much <3

[biteofcherry]

So, I've been thinking about RG!Ransom and Leaf pretty much nonstop since you posted their intro. They're rocketing their way to being my favorite RG couple.

I'm wondering if you could share any favorite kinks for each of them?

Love and thanks, Eva! 💜

Thank you, Kris 🥰 It makes me smile so hard seeing the love they're receiving.

When it comes to Dom Ransom and Leaf their kinks are a tad bit more specific than most of the couples. Beside the general D/s power exchange, that is. Servicing (food, drinks, massage) is one of the main kinks, because Leaf is very much a service submissive and it also brings Ransom pleasure. Sometimes servicing takes a form of holding position for a long time (including being a “table” for Ransom’s drink, but I will try to write it softly, without actual depersonalisation and objectification, because I don't feel good with that). Maid/slave costumes are definitely their thing, too 🤭

Not much discipline through impact. I mean a few spanks might happen, but generally it won't be their thing. Ransom will rather use the "positive" rewarding system than punishment system, so expect more spoiling and praise, lots of overstimulation and edging.

[darsynia]

Oh my gosh I'm so running around in circles in my mind all excited!! I'm so glad you like this so far! I'm super proud of this story (it goes places that are supported but unpredictable, we'll say), thank you so much for reading! Your kind words absolutely buoy me up and I'll be floating all night! Eeee!! don't mind me, i'm just making sure I get the most out of my exclamation mark subscription before it renews

Me, driving to the next chapter:

Just Right | Ch 1

(Steve Rogers/F!Reader, post-Ultron multi-chapter)

gif by @dailystevegifs

Summary:

You've been in love with Steve Rogers for at least a year, but he treats you the same way he treats every other member of the team-- with respect, but nothing more. It takes an inter-dimensional mistake and a whole second, more assertive, actually interested Steve for you to realize that you don't want just any version of Steve Rogers-- you want the one you've been pining for all this time.

Length: 2,998

FIC MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER | MCU MASTERLIST

Ok so the thing is, I adore @ronearoundblindly, and I decided to write her this. The idea I got also very happily fits with my Avengers Bingo square of 'Is it permanent?' It's not my first Steve fic, but it is my first Steve/Reader! I hope you like it Ro.

Reader's nickname 'Dine is pronounced 'Dean.'

Chapter One

You simply can’t believe this is happening.

Fifteen minutes ago, while you were going over proposed alterations to Sam Wilson’s Falcon suit, a person who looked exactly like Steve Rogers walked through the wall right beside you.

“Oh my God!” you’d immediately said. “Do not tell me that Stark created some kind of matter splitter that lets a person walk through walls, please? I live here. I don’t want to put alarm lasers in my bathroom, but I’ll do it!”

Steve had looked behind him at the solid wall and seemed surprised. “I’m sorry miss, but just a second ago, that was a doorway.”

“If you two are trying to distract me out of noticing that the controls for Redwing are different, it’s not going to work!” Sam said, his focus remaining on the sketch you’d mocked up for him.

You’d looked back over to Steve, and that’s when you noticed that something was… off. First of all, you hadn’t designed that uniform, but he did have a few vintage ones still floating around. Second of all, his hair was longer than it had been the previous day at the monthly midday meeting.

The third difference was the way he was looking at you. Admiringly. Something he’d never done before-- you would have noticed. 

Sam asked a question about one of the altered features, and as you went through your explanation, you’d kept an eye on the way Steve was wandering through the large room. He seemed to be growing more and more confused, picking up an item to frown at it, walking around one of the free-standing computer terminals, and generally seeming lost. More than once, you’d caught him looking over at you in confusion.

With alarm bells going off in your head, you had made a decision. “You know what, Sam, I think I just caught a problem with this. Can I fix that and have you go back over it tonight, after the dinner thing?”

“Sure, ‘Dine. How many wings did you sign up for?” Sam had said challengingly.

“Oh no you don’t! That’s confidential information. Not as many as you, that’s all I’ll say.”

“You know it. See ya, Steve,” he’d said on his way out. You’d walked along with him, and once Sam was through the door, you hit a very specific button on the panel next to it.

“I think you know I could probably break through any one of these walls,” Not-Quite-Steve said from across the room. He sounded regretful.

“I mean, you could try, but this room is fortified. We test prototypes here, and not every invention behaves as expected,” you’d replied, a little proud of your deliberate double meaning. The button had sent an alert to just Stark, for now, but it also turned on a live recording of the whole room, displayed in certain spaces all throughout the complex.

“That’s why there are no windows,” Faux-Steve observed calmly. “Basement of the tower?”

You had willed yourself not to react to that. After the disaster with Ultron, after losing Bruce to fury and almost losing Stark to guilt, they’d all moved upstate, away from the bad memories. Was this Steve from their past or a whole other future? Was he really Steve at all?

“What were you doing right before you came here?” you asked, walking slowly over to the locker area. You’d probably fit into a few of the things there, if you had to.

“Arguing with Tony over something I thought he shouldn’t be doing.” He’d offered her a thin smile and slipped his hands into his pockets, like that would make him seem less dangerous. You knew better. “Look, whatever it was, it sent me here, and this ‘here’ isn’t my here.”

Natasha had taught you never to give too much away. “Oh?”

“My ‘here’ doesn’t have--” 

Before Fake Steve could finish his sentence, Stark burst into the room completely suited up, and things had gotten chaotic from there. 

You’re on your way up to one of the open office rooms to write down everything you can remember, but as you get closer to the correct floor, you slow down. You have a bit of a dilemma, and no amount of reassuring yourself is helping.

The sticking point is how you realized something was wrong, what first made you recognize a discrepancy. The longer hair thing will probably be enough, but it isn’t the whole truth. You don’t want to reveal the whole truth, because the whole truth involves something you’ve kept to yourself for over a year.

The real truth is you are head over heels in love with Steve Rogers. Your Steve Rogers, except he isn’t yours. He’s never looked at you the way this one just did.

You haven’t let that be a problem, of course. You’re in your dream job; after being in armor fabrication and development at Stark Industries for years, you’d been recruited by Tony Stark himself to work with the Avengers. It’s been a genuine pleasure creating individual designs that are tailored to each fighter’s strengths and weaknesses, instead of the mass-produced stuff you’d worked on for Stark Industries. 

You’d tried hard not to let yourself show any favoritism, after you’d realized your crush on Steve wasn’t going away. You don’t even call him Steve, except in your own head-- but all of that is at risk right now. You’re tuned to indifference, and the open interest you’d caught a glimpse of today is sending your senses reeling.

“Hey, ‘Dine. Tony sent me up to make sure you’re okay, said you looked a little shaken up.” It’s Natasha, and she’s coming your way down the hall. Now you’re even more shaken, because if Stark noticed, Nat sure as hell will.

“I need to write this shit down, but yeah, a little bit,” you admit. “It’s like if instead of Vision, the model in the cradle was Rogers, and they got him 95% right.” With a 5% ‘thinks I’m cute’ flaw, you don’t say aloud.

Nat follows you inside and stands waiting as you busy yourself with finding an incident report and the exact right pen. You handle it right up until you start writing your name and her shadow darkens the rest of the paper.

“Something you need?”

“You’re freaked out.”

“Well, yeah. If an interdimensional version of St-- Rogers is able to stroll into our test room, we’re going to need some equally interdimensional protections for this place, not to mention a thousand thousand other important locations all across the country!” You’d just picked something out of midair to bluff her, but it’s the truth, and now you’re even more worried. You set down the pen and look up at Natasha. “What if they need him, Nat? What if we can’t send him back?”

“If it’s something Tony built, Tony can build it,” she says pragmatically. “One worry at a time.”

“There she is!”

You’re late to the gathering, and you’re going to have to make up an excuse, because the forty-five minutes you spent dithering over your clothing choices had everything to do with the image you wanted to present tonight. You ended up going with something casual, dressed-down, because as much as you’d felt a little thrill at the way Alternate Steve had looked at you, it had been disconcerting and alien. No way did you want to foster more of that.

You look up and smile weakly at Sam-- until you remember something. “Shit, Sam, your thing! I’m so sorry, I didn’t go back in the room after--”

He comes over and slings an arm around your shoulders, comfort bred by familiarity. “No, I get it. Don’t worry, manufacture isn’t set for another week.”

You relax into the hug, slip a hand around his waist and squeeze before both of you let go. “It’s just that I promised--” This time it’s Sam’s expression that interrupts you.

“You know you design this stuff, you don’t have to act like armor yourself, right? You sensed something right away, didn’t you? And you got me out of the room.”

Stark’s loud, defensive voice cuts through your mumbled explanation.

“-veryone’s giving me shit over this, but I’m not the one who screwed up! And I’m the one who’s going to fix it, so lay blame on the correct Stark! Who is, for once, not me.” He’s been making his way over to you to thrust your favorite beer in your hand without asking. You look around for Sam, but he’s gone. “If anyone should be mad, it’s ‘Dine,” he shouts over his shoulder. In a quieter voice he adds, “Don’t tell them I said this, Brigandine, but I apologize on behalf of my bumbling alternate universe counterpart. Who knows what kind of weird traits IMPOST-Steve has that our version doesn’t!”

You already feel sick, and you haven’t drunk or eaten anything yet.

Stark drags you over to the catered wings and fills a plate for you without paying much attention to the cues you’re trying to give him, which is tipsy-typical. Honestly, you’re kind of grateful; with a plate piled high you’ll have every excuse to focus on your meal instead of the cluster around the Steves. Your gregarious boss at least carries it for you, and you indicate the farthest table. This earns you a bit of a concerned look, but you just clink your beer against his and tell him to shoo.

It’s interesting watching the seemingly identical men holding position, holding court, really, as the various Avengers and associated staff ebb and flow around them. It takes a good hour (and half of your plate) for each person to get some time with the newcomer, after which the lights dim a bit, along with everyone’s senses. This is the open-bar payment for the all-hands monthly midday meeting of the day before. Not all the attendees actually live at the compound; you only see the whole team once a month.

With the lights down low, your corner is practically dark, but when a familiar figure approaches, you know who it has to be.

“Have they settled on a name for you yet?”

“Tony seems to favor ‘Major America,’ which is better than I would have expected,” Not-Steve says as he pulls out a chair and settles into it. He turns his head toward you and smiles, the relaxed, almost-flirty kind you’ve always wanted from him. “I get the feeling that if it weren’t for the contrast in uniforms, most of these people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

You make a non-committal noise and finish off your beer. It takes a few gulps, but he just watches, like there’s anything more to see than an anxious, embarrassed woman incredibly out of her depth.

“What about you?” you ask, afterwards.

“Well, we don’t have this complex, which I think I gave away when we met the first time. Tony asked me not to go too deep into the changes--”

“No, no, I get it,” you interrupt. “There could be something we don’t know about yet.”

“And vice versa, yeah. It might have taken longer for me to figure things out if it weren’t for one of the biggest differences. I’ve never seen you before.”

The half-bottle of alcohol hits you just as he says that, and you stare at him.

“Yeah, seeing Sam so comfortable with a complete stranger in a room that strangers probably shouldn’t be allowed in ticked some ‘danger’ boxes for me,” AU Steve says. 

The light from the only nearby lamp edges his profile in yellow, and you decide to call him Gold Steve in your head, because ‘AU’ is the periodic table symbol for gold, and that’s what passes for clever for you right now. You’re so proud of this that you miss the next thing he says, and have to ask him to repeat it.

“I said, how did you know? You knew right away.”

“Your hair is longer,” you say, a little too quickly.

Gold Steve tips his head sideways and regards you with a look that amplifies your blood alcohol content to dangerous levels. “It’s a subtle difference. You noticed that?”

“For all you know, it’s my job to keep everyone up to regs,” you joke. 

His slow, easy smile is familiar enough, but for the fact that you’re alone together in a dark corner. “I wouldn’t mind that at all,” he says warmly.

It’s time to get out of here before your lost dignity is your only legacy here at the Avengers compound. Already the tipsy feeling is fading, but the Steve Proximity Alarm is blaring at full volume.

You didn’t actually know how accurate the thought was until Gold Steve stands and gallantly (bafflingly) offers his arm, and you hear a second familiar voice behind you.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, is it? She just had the one beer.”

Gold Steve reaches up to rub the back of his neck, clearly chastened. “No, of course. Just instinct, I guess.”

“This is above my pay grade,” you squeak, and set off toward the door. You’d been looking forward to talking to Clint while he’s here. There’s a containment idea you’d had for some of his more dangerous arrows-- but there’s no way in hell you’re staying around to watch Steve Rogers talk Steve Rogers out of paying attention to you.

As you slip through the door, you hear one of them call out, “‘Dine, wait!” but you have no idea which one of them it is.

The next day brings with it a more detailed plan of what to do with Gold Steve. You’re on the periphery and busy with the planned upgrades to Sam and Clint’s gear, so you only hear about it at lunch. 

From Gold Steve himself.

You hadn’t even planned to go to the cafeteria area, but as always, your minifridge is sadly devoid of take-out when it really matters. The kitchen looks safe when you get there at two PM, late as usual, but in your defense, you were really caught up in the creative process. 

One of the things you love about the Avengers Compound is the random thoughtfulness scattered everywhere. In the cavernous freezer, there’s always a supply of various frozen meals, almost as if you were living back at home and digging in your mom’s fridge to find something she’d made two months ago. They’re made biweekly but eaten any old time, and you score a hit on the back bottom shelf: your very favorite hearty soup.

You’re mid-microwave with it when Gold Steve walks in to rinse out his bowl. Seems he’d made the same exact thing. You wonder who helped him, where that person is now, and why Stark had thought it necessary to design a kitchen with only one way in or out. Hasn’t he ever seen Jurassic Park?

“Oh, hello,” Gold Steve says. You aren’t looking over at him, but you can hear the smile in his voice. You don’t answer right away (because your brain is running through a fragmented list of things to say, and every time you grab one it’s garbled. ‘Soup is for the winter,’ is right out. ‘It’s nice to not expecting to see you here’ makes you nearly abandon the kitchen and push past him out of sheer desperation), and he fills the silence for you. “Oh, that smells familiar, is it the soup?”

You nod, hoping like hell that his version of Tony Stark hasn’t designed telepathy.

“Maybe it’s bad form to joke about it, but I wouldn’t mind taking that recipe back with me. If we figure out how to send me, of course.”

If this was your Steve you would have said something like, ‘I imagine we’d just write it down and put the notecard in your pocket.’ You do joke with the guy, it’s not like you never interact. It’s just that those interactions are as platonic as two houseplants sitting on the same indoor windowsill.

The microwave dings, and you excuse yourself to grab the spoon over near where Gold Steve is standing. After a stir and a taste determines it needs more time, you grit your teeth and start the timer for another minute.

“I’m sorry I make you so uncomfortable, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“You don’t!” you lie, but Gold Steve’s crossed arms lay on the guilt too much to ignore. “I’m… not used to the attention,” you say delicately. His brows furrow, and somehow there are still forty more seconds on the timer before you can be saved by the bell. “She who is seen and not heard?”

“I don’t believe that for a second. Sam Wilson hugged you at that thing last night, you don’t get there by being seen and not heard.”

“Yeah, well, I’m one of the only people who love Redwing as much as he does,” you mutter.

To your delight and horror, Gold Steve comes over and rests a heavy hand on the microwave door, inches away from you. “I cannot imagine being in a room with you and not seeing you,” he says.

The traitorous microwave beeps loudly, startling you sideways into his arm for one shocking second. You back away, saying the first thing that comes to your head.

“Why?” You close your eyes tightly as you realize you’re basically asking for a run-down of compliments from the guy, rushing to say, “I don’t mean that. I mean, I do, but I’m just--” 

You hear the sounds of the microwave being operated, and confused, you just stand there with one hand clapped over your mouth, eyes closed. After two loud beeps and the start button, the microwave runs for a few seconds, beeping loudly again. It’s so unexpected that you open your eyes and see Gold Steve with an encouraging look on his face, one hand held out placatingly in your direction.

“Can we start over?” he asks.

Next chapter...

[foxgloveprincess]

Soooo.... I saw that you're working on a Curtis story. I'm sure you've gathered that I'm such a whore for him. 🙃 Any thots/details that you're willing to share?? 💜💜

Kris, I 👏🏻 got 👏🏻 you 👏🏻

So, you remember this little blurb? Curtis and the club?

The story I’m working on has sort of become a prequel to it. How Curtis and his reader got to the point where they’re so intoxicated by each other, addicted to each other’s touch. At this point, Curtis has got his curvy reader over his shoulder in the club and is carrying her off. 🤭 Also, in my WIP at this point, he calls her Smush.

[navybrat817]

Alright, Navy. FMK

😏

I see what you did, Kris! Did I deserve it? Maybe, maybe not. 😇

F - Bucky

I know, I know. I'm sure many of you are so shocked. Winter Soldier version would give me the dicking down of a lifetime and I'm here for it. There's a universe out there where we are married after he gets some more therapy and finds the much needed happiness he deserves.

M - Will

Will, like our super soldiers, has gone through some trauma. He has also shown to be loyal, caring, and strong. I think he would be an amazing husband and I'd have the best brother-in-law in Benny. Pope and Catfish by extension.

K - Steve

Instead of fucking off to the past, Steve Rogers dies a heroic death and finally gets to put down the shield. In another universe, we'll get our chance together. It's just not this one.

I don't know, lovelies. How did I do?

Love and thanks! ❤️

[bigtreefest]

For the fic I associate with you, you know I'm going with The Rainmaker. 💜

Hehe Kris!! How did I know??😂

Hmmm, a secret about this fic…I feel like I’ve been pretty open about this all, but I’m gonna give you a bit of dialogue that I really tried to make work, but just can’t with the way I want the story to go!

I had a plan that Bee was gonna visit the city to see Decks to talk to her instead of on the phone like I did in this chapter. But there was also gonna be a surprise visit from Curtis and Cherry while Decks is in a grumbly mood.

It was gonna be like:

Decks: “Where’s Cherry? She’ll tell me what I wanna hear?”

Bee: *eye roll*

Cherry: *walks in* “no I won’t. He will, though.” *points back over shoulder*

Curtis: *peeks out from behind her* “it’s true”

Hehe, I know they’re your friend OTP

Ask based on this post

[foxgloveprincess]

Okay but like why has this got me so flustered????

God, if Lloyd just winked at me I’d be a puddle on the floor.

Thanks for the brilliant wake up, Kris. 😂 You’ve certainly made my day. 💜

[navybrat817]

Has no one asked about the gambler yet??? If not,

Kris, he's the only one no one has asked about! Let's discuss.

In this universe, Ransom is a gambler. He has money and loves the high he gets when he gambles. Managed to make a living out of it.

Loves giving the guys a hard time, particularly Curtis as he's the most recent addition to the group.

Car of choice: BMW 3.0 CSi, of course

Met you at a casino when you, a publisher, won a round of poker. He rarely loses and you carried yourself with confidence that rivaled his. He was hooked, though he likes to think you fell first.

First gift: Crystal Decanter Set

Favorite lingerie on you until he takes it off: Bustier with Garter Straps

Relationship status: Dating, but getting ready to propose

Another fun one. Love and thanks! ❤️

Silly Boys With Silly Toys

[bigtreefest]

Kris! When you first sent this, I was in a bitter, bitter mood and tbh Andy was making me mad. But now that I’ve slept it off, here are some Andy thots.

- well, first off, I can’t stop trying to read his lips. All I’ve got is “Jacob practically was at _____”

- but his eyes. Ohhh, look at them, there’s a sparkle of something in them. It’s teasing and a little condescending.

- let’s pretend he’s not saying what I think he’s saying, I think the two of you would be hosting a party at the house, and lock eyes across the room as you’re speaking with your respective friends. He grows a small smile with a tinge of mischief, and mouths for you to meet him upstairs. Except, you can’t quite read the last bit, so you just keep mouthing back ‘what?’ Until you accidentally say it out loud and everyone turns their head and looks at you with confusion. “Sorry, I’ve uh, gotta go check that we’ve got enough ice in the cooler. Could be a minute.” So he gets exactly what he wanted, but not nearly as discretely as intended