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powderblueblood · 11 months ago

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

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summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do.

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat.

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one.

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me.

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi.

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her.

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become.

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this.

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time.

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto.

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out.

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him.

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated.

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action.

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!”

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway.

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that.

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him.

So you do it again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him.

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!”

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.”

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance.

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.”

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest.

“Stay out of my way, then.”

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.”

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had.

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft.

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound.

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask–

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first.

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.”

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs.

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something.

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips.

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.”

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day.

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win.

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this.

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking.

But he’s done it.

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second.

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell.

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.”

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick.

“How was it?” you press.

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass.

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to.

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping.

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again.

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face.

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights.

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?”

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.”

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you.

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh.

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.”

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t.

You’re drunk.

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off.

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk.

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan.

And it would mean nothing.

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat.

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home.

“Oh, shit!”

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus.

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–”

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other.

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this.

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there.

“Uh– Lacy?”

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door.

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you?

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful.

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–?

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.”

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon.

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position.

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands.

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed.

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.”

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face.

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed.

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.”

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive.

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver.

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness.

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it.

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy.

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that.

So somebody must have.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile.

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet.

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada.

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax.

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.”

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts.

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.”

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare.

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing.

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.”

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night.

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover.

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s.

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life.

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess.

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day.

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that.

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi.

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?”

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.”

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van.

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you.

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High.

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.”

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.”

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.”

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?”

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.”

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would.

Until now.

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him.

Until now.

“So?” he says, all expectant.

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure.

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded.

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson?

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust.

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot.

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk.

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum.

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand.

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body.

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park.

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.”

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now.

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight.

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little.

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be.

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine.

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap.

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die.

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor.

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night.

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker.

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her.

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape.

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says.

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at.

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table.

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart.

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you.

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder

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hornyhornyhimbos · 8 months ago

Note

can we get a glimpse into the future of how cowboy steve and reader are doing? do they still own the bar he bought for them and do they have kids? it would be cute to see steve have a mini him that loves to ride bulls

so so sorry for just now getting around to posting this!! more on that later but for now, i hope you enjoy!!!!

"When She Says Baby" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: Excitement is high as the Harringtons celebrate the two year anniversary of opening their little bar. But for Reader, anxiety is also high as her yearly gynecologist's appointment rolls around…

Pairing: Bull Rider!Steve Harrington x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 3,285

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) unprotected piv sex, creampie, oral f!receiving, fingering f!receiving, breeding kink, daddy kink, sorta cockwarming but not really, sorta dubious consent (they're in an established relationship but were both tipsy beforehand), dirty talk, explicit language, alcohol consumption, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: i haven't really written a breeding kink before so if this is bad, i apologize // also really could've sworn i queued this yesterday so let's all pretend it's still filthy friday, ok??

Based On: the rest of this series and the ask mentioned above!

Originally Written: 06/23/2023 through 06/28/2023

filthy fridays | stranger things masterlist

Your veins had been burning all day with some mixture of adrenaline, excitement and anxiety.

It was the two year anniversary of opening Harrington's Honky-Tonk, which Steve had reluctantly agreed on calling it, and the day had been filled with preparation for the big party that night. Fans had come from just about anywhere in Indiana and the surrounding states when they heard Steve Harrington was celebrating the momentous occasion with half-off drinks and a big announcement at the end of the night.

Your day, however, started to go a little differently when you arrived at your gynecologist's office for your yearly check-up.

You weren't necessarily nervous because of something potentially bad. It wasn't like you were pregnant, you and Steve used two different types of protection nearly every time you had sex. And it definitely wasn't like you had an STI, considering you and Steve had been loyal to each other for so many years.

No, what had you anxious was the fact that you needed your IUD replaced. Or, maybe you didn't…

Every part of your brain knew you should've talked to Steve before the appointment about what route to take. You were a hundred percent positive that getting pregnant was nowhere in the cards for the near future. Still, some part of you knew having the IUD replaced wasn't what you wanted. So, instead of getting it replaced, you decided to simply have the old one taken out.

Some weird jumble of both guilt and relief fluttered around in your stomach the whole afternoon and into the night. The only time you'd found a tiny bit of solace was in the two shots of vodka you'd downed at the party, but toward the end of the night, it had certainly worn off and the feeling from before quickly returned.

Steve must've noticed, pulling you away from the bar and into the back room. You were tempted to down a whole bottle of vodka from the rack beside you rather than admit your secret to him, but thought better of it.

"You alright?" he asked, his hand brushing yours as if asking permission to hold it. Despite being married for over a year now and having been together for five years in total, he was still a gentleman. Holding doors for you, giving you the last of his fries, and asking permission on almost everything were practically daily occurrences with Steve around.

You nodded softly, despite being the exact opposite of that seven letter word he'd just used. "I'm okay, just stressed about tonight."

Steve's big announcement was the whiskey brand he'd been working on, and while you weren't all that nervous about the fans' reactions—you knew it would go over well, the way his fans adored him—part of you had still been a little scared about the financial aspect of it. Starting a new company was difficult—you'd both experienced that firsthand.

One of his hands moved up to cup your cheek, distracting you from your current train of thought. His thumb rubbed soft lines along your skin. "Hey, whatever happens happens, right?" he reassured you. He pulled you up for a soft kiss on the forehead, greeting you with an even softer smile when he pulled away. "It'll be okay, I promise."

'Whatever happens happens,' his words rang through your head like an alarm you wanted so desperately to turn off. Your mind wandered back to your secret, and hoped that those words would apply once again whenever you told him.

The rest of the night went by surprisingly fast and smoothly, you and Steve loosening up a little over some Jack and Cokes and a round of line dancing that neither of you were sure how you'd gotten roped into. His announcement even went over well—considering all the excited shouts and whooping that rang throughout the bar in response—and Steve seemed to be at an all time high when he pulled you toward the staircase.

In fact, you were sure you'd never seen a smile as big as the one Steve was sporting as he picked you up bridal-style, carrying you up the stairs and into your shared apartment.

The two of you had originally planned on buying a house in a nearby neighborhood, but when things fell through, you both realized just how much you liked the idea of turning the upstairs area of the bar into an apartment. Flash forward two and a half years and now, the place was transformed into a cozy little one bedroom apartment, littered with Steve's various awards and many, many pairs of cowboy (and cowgirl) boots.

Your arms were wrapped tight around his neck, a gentle smile tugging at your own lips as he kicked the door shut with his foot. Seeing Steve so excited was almost enough to distract you from the impending news you had yet to deliver.

Steve set you down on the floor, his hands making their way to your hips while his mouth locked on yours. "Did you know I love you more than anyone has ever put into words?" he asked between kisses, one hand traveling from your hip to your ass. It had been so long since Steve had gotten tipsy, you'd almost forgotten how frisky alcohol could make him.

Guilt twisted into a tight knot in the pit of your stomach. Pulling away, you decided it was best to just rip off the band-aid. You couldn't hold back any longer, you felt like you'd explode if you did. "You can't say things like that when I'm about to tell you something that'll make you hate me forever."

His face softened as he stepped closer to you. A gentle kiss brushed over your forehead before his eyes greeted yours. "I doubt you could ever do that," he countered, his hands moving back to your waist.

Your eyes parted from his, looking down at his boots and wondering just how you of all people got lucky enough to marry the best man in the whole world. A deep sigh left your mouth before the words you'd been dreading followed. "I went to the gyno today."

"Oh, yeah, your yearly appointment was today. How'd that go?"

You forced your eyes to meet his, and the remorseful feeling in your stomach twisted and writhed even harder when you saw the soft honey color that had settled in them. After that, the words tumbled out so fast that even you couldn't believe he had that much of an influence on you. "She took out my IUD! There, I said it! Stop looking at me like that!"

A string of chuckles tumbled from his lips as he bent down, his mouth melding to yours again. You couldn't lie, you were definitely shell-shocked from this unexpected reaction.

"Don't you get it?" you all but screamed as your mouths parted. "She took it out! As in, she didn't replace it! Doesn't that make you the least bit angry with me for not asking first?"

Steve shook his head as the grin from earlier made its way back to his mouth. "No, it doesn't. It's your body, you can do whatever you so please with it. It does mean a lot though that you care about my opinion so much."

Guilt was overpowered by the biggest wave of love you'd ever felt for this man. "You do realize we have to be extra careful now, right? Like, no going without a condom, taking morning after pills, the whole nine yards of precaution."

The honey color that swirled in his irises quickly turned to a lustful black. "Who said?"

You felt like you were experiencing whiplash from the amount of different emotions you'd felt in the past five minutes. You couldn't lie, you weren't opposed to having kids, but you had been absolutely positive Steve didn't want them right now, so his words definitely took you by surprise.

Your eyebrows furrowed together, but not a second later, Steve kissed away the confused crease between them. "But-"

He shook his head, already knowing exactly what you were going to say. "I never wanted to wait. Sure, a lot has happened in the past few years so the timing wouldn't have been great, but not for one second did I not want to have kids with you."

Happy tears filled your eyes as you pulled him down for a long kiss, adoration flowing from the top of your head all the way down to the tips of your toes. His hands slipped into your back pockets as he deepened the kiss, his tongue all but forcing its way into your mouth.

You pulled him ever so close, your limbs entangling like they belonged to one another. His mouth moved away from yours and down to your neck, sucking on the pulse point and eliciting a moan. Steve chuckled, pulling you toward the bed but not once removing his lips from your body.

Somewhere along the way, he kicked off his boots before pushing you back on the bed. He tugged off your sneakers, tossing them toward the shoe rack, then making quick work of your jeans. "What do you say?" he asked, kissing you again, harder and needier than he had before. "Do you want that?"

"Please," you all but begged, your hands meeting his back, nails raking the skin beneath his shirt.

"Please… what?" he asked, tossing off the skin-tight tee shirt he'd been sporting. After seeing the way it hugged the muscles of his arms and the dips of his chest and stomach, you'd been desperate for him to take it off since the moment he put it on.

Your breathing sped up as you thought about your answer. "Please," you repeated, "wanna make you a daddy. A real daddy."

His eyes were completely lust-blown by now, his fingers drawing tantalizing circles on your thigh as he leaned down to meet your still-clothed core with a soft kiss. "I like the way you think, princess."

He made quick work of your panties, his lips immediately connecting to your clit. He hummed in pleasure, the vibration only pushing you closer to the edge. Over the years, Steve had found all the perfect ways to unravel you, and you knew it wouldn't be long before you were cumming.

"Steve," you whined, your hands intertwining in his already messy hair. You guided him to where you needed him most, his tongue dipping inside you while his nose bumped against your clit. Your legs wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer.

He parted from you with a low laugh, your eyes rolling in both frustration and want. "Can't help it," he said, kissing your pussy again, "Gotta make sure she's ready for me."

His tongue slipped back into your hole, your wetness surely soaking the stubble that covered his cheeks. Moans and whines tumbled from your mouth, one after the other, until you were on the brink of falling apart. Your veins burned with arousal, your eyes nearly rolling to the back of their sockets when his mouth moved up to your clit, replacing his tongue easily with two fingers.

Fingertips grazed your G-spot, and in an instant, you were coming undone, all but screaming his name as you came on his tongue.

Slowly, he pulled his fingers out before holding them up to your parted lips. "Suck," Steve instructed, dark eyes meeting your glassy ones. You didn't hesitate, swirling your tongue around the digits and taking in the taste of your essence.

You worked to control your breathing as his fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it over your head, his eyes nearly popping out at the sight of your breasts and the way they all but spilled out of your bra. "Just think," he started, pulling one of them out of the cup and palming at it, his fingers twisting the bud and drawing out a mewl from your lips, "Gonna be so pretty and big." Steve was a huge fan of your boobs anyway, but you knew he was going to be utterly obsessed with how big they'd get if or when you got pregnant.

His lips wrapped around your nipple while he palmed at the neglected one. Your eyes rolled in desire, a small, "Fuck," falling from your lips.

Steve forced himself to remove his lips from you, knowing he'd stay there for hours if he didn't. He shoved his pants and boxers off in one swift motion, throwing them in the general direction of the bathroom. His cock sprung up, and you swore you'd never felt as carnal for him as you did at that moment.

"You ready?" he asked, being ever the gentleman. You nodded and in a second, he was pushing inside you. Groans and expletives tumbled from Steve's lips, his head falling forward as he slowly slid in. "Fuuuck," he sighed heavily, "I love you."

"Not as much- shit- as I love you," you exhaled, shifting your hips and chasing down the rest of his length. The crescent moons of your fingernails dug into his back, surely on the verge of making him bleed.

He slowly pulled out and pushed back in, beginning to create that perfect rhythm only he knew how to provide you with. "Yeah? Love me so much you're gonna- fuck- carry my baby around? Let everyone know who got you in that state?"

A soft whimper slipped from your tongue as you managed a nod, rutting your hips in an attempt to speed up Steve's motions.

"So needy," he teased, canting his hips faster, fast enough to catch you off guard. His cock brushed your sensitive spot, your back arching off the bed in response. "Just so ready for me to fill you up, huh?"

You whined, pulling him down with one hand while the other still scraped at his spine. Your mouths connected in a messy kiss, surely leaving your lips swollen when he pulled away. "Please," you begged again, "fill me up, daddy."

A guttural groan rolled off his tongue as his hips pistoned harder, his heavy balls slapping against you as he chased down his high. "Your wish is my command, sweetheart," he replied, his lips meeting the dip of your breasts. "Gonna get you all pretty and full, over and over again. Gonna remind you of the only man that can fill you like that."

Your pussy fluttered around him, your orgasm quickly approaching. "Fuck, Steve!" you exclaimed, surely loud enough for the people downstairs to hear. "I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me, baby," he said, somehow making the phrase sound encouraging yet filthy at the same time. "Cum all over daddy's cock, yeah?"

Whimpers and moans tumbled off your tongue as you fell apart underneath him, your hands grasping at his shoulders to steady yourself. Your toes curled, digging into his hips and pulling him even further inside you.

His hips rutted in a sloppy rhythm and you knew it wouldn't be long before he was cumming too. He sucked a harsh kiss on the dip of your neck, surely leaving a hickey in his wake. "God, you're gonna be so pretty. All knocked up with my babies. Showing everyone how willing you were for me to fill you up and fuck you right."

His name fell from your lips like a record stuck on a loop, a mantra you needed in order to survive. The overstimulation was too much and not enough all at once, your eyes crossing in pure pleasure as yet another orgasm built within you.

One of his hands gripped yours, lacing his large digits in between your smaller ones, his thumb rubbing soft lines along the back of your hand. Steve stopped mid-thrust, his previously dark eyes turning to gentle ones, and you swore you saw tears forming in them. He took a deep breath before leaning down to kiss you, a soft kiss so different from the rough, longing kisses from before. A smile pulled at his lips when he moved away, his eyes meeting yours.

"You sure about this? Last chance," he kidded, but you could tell there was some seriousness hidden behind his playful tone.

You nodded before kissing him again, your opposite hand slipping into his hair again and giving it a gentle tug. "I'm ready," you reassured him, now nearly on the brink of tears yourself. "Been ready since the day I laid eyes on you, cowboy."

He pushed back in, slowly building back up his pace and working both of you back to the brink of orgasm. His lips parted into an open 'O' as he thrusted one last time, emptying all that he had inside you as you climaxed for a third time.

It was by no means the first time you'd gone without a condom, but something about this time was different. Maybe it was knowing that you no longer had an IUD, maybe it was the risk of it sticking this time. Whatever it was, it had you feeling a closeness to Steve that you weren't sure you'd ever felt before.

He flipped the two of you over, allowing you to fall limp on top of him. Your chests heaved in lousy attempts to calm your breathing, the only noise filling the air being that of your exhales. His palm abandoned yours, moving up to your back and sliding soft lines up and down your spine. Parted lips greeted your scalp with a gentle kiss, before they moved down to your forehead, finally stopping at your own lips as he turned your face towards his.

"Stevie?" you said, looking up at him through previously mascara-coated lashes, the makeup surely having been sweated off by now.

"Yeah?" he answered, grazing another peck across your forehead.

You hated to ruin the moment but… "I need to pee."

A goofy grin formed on his face as he rolled you back over, gripping his hands around your thighs and keeping you wrapped around him. His cock was still buried inside you, still pressed against your sweet spot, still finding a way to make you moan despite barely having moved. "Sorry, can't do that."

Your head fell back against the mattress, a frustrated growl falling your lips. Sure, you weren't really all that frustrated—you could eat, sleep, and breathe with Steve's dick buried inside you and it still wouldn't be enough—but you really did need to pee, and you knew this was the only way you'd get him to pull out. "I'm gonna piss all over you and the bed if you don't let me move."

A sly smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Kinky," he chuckled, "I like that in a woman."

You couldn't help the snicker that he elicited out of you. Still, you shook your head in protest. "Please? I really do need to pee."

"Gotta make sure it sticks," he countered, pulling you closer to him, if that was even possible.

This time, a smirk pulled at your lips. "I doubt it won't stick, considering how hard you just fucked me," you argued. "But I'll tell you what. If you let me go pee, you can try again," you paused, kissing his neck, "and again," a kiss on his earlobe, "and again," a final kiss on those plump, pink lips you loved so much, "until it finally does stick. How 'bout that?"

He slowly pulled out, low mewls exiting both of your mouths in sync. Steve moved just enough for you to stand up, his palm slapping your ass playfully as you began to walk away. "You wanna know something?"

"What's that?" you asked, flicking on the bathroom light.

He followed you into the bathroom, his eyes turning dark once again. "I like the way you think, cowgirl."

So... surprise??

I really did mean to post this however many months ago when I got the request. But I guess I was just never really happy with this fic and I wanted to re-write it or just trash the idea and start over but nothing really ever felt right. So I'm sticking with the original and hoping you guys enjoy! I have so much more to come for this cowboy and his girl but for now, this is where they are.

To the anon who requested this, I hope you're still around. Sorry I kept you waiting for so long. I hope it was somewhat worth the wait ❤️

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe @wifeyreid @serenity-lattes-reads

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eds6ngel · 1 year ago

Note

I'll read anything you write for the teacher au. But yeah I need to know how their first date was and how Alena reacts to it <333 They just deserve to be happy :')

thank you so much nonnie! and they do :)) i hope you enjoy ♡

warnings: dad!steve. singledad!steve. 90s!au. fem!reader. mention of cleavage. swearing. food mentions. alcohol mentions. very fluffy. pet names. mutual pining. platonic stobin being my favourite duo in the world. rovickie being cute as always. alena being the biggest shipper on planet earth. it's just super cute and fluffy really! [2.8k].

full 'when i kissed the teacher' masterlist.

If Steve was being honest with himself, he was scared shitless to go on a date with you.

He tried every possible way to come up with some crappy excuse to say he was busy, but Robin and Vickie egged him on to their heart’s content.

So, that’s where he was now. Robin and Vickie had picked up Alena just over an hour ago, huge purple backpack disproportionally sitting on her body, the seven-year-old toddling out the door with the couple to spend the night at theirs, Steve’s date with you ending past her bedtime.

He felt like he checked himself in the mirror over one hundred times, or maybe he did, he’d lost track at that point.

And once he arrived at your doorstep, he spent five minutes arranging every hair on his head in the rear view mirror, mumbling to himself, “Goddamn Farrah Fawcett, why aren’t you working?”

And from the other side of the door, you were just as nervous as him. Styled in a long, sequin-covered, dark blue dress that reached the floor, hair done up in a loose bun, you almost felt that you were overdressed.

But, with Steve taking you to Enzo’s, a very posh restaurant on the outskirts of Hawkins, you felt you had to look the part.

And thank God you did, because when you opened your front door to him, he was wearing a full-blown suit. White shirt, black tie, black blazer and trousers, he was the smartest you’d ever seen him.

“Jesus…” he mutters to himself, taking in how beautiful you looked. He thought you looked pretty in your modest, child-friendly uniform, but the dress you were wearing? The gorgeous slit up the leg and the v-neck that showed just the perfect about of cleavage? It was enough to make him fall head over heels in love.

You smile at him, replying with a giggle, “Hello to you too, handsome.”

“Shit, um… Yeah, you just… God, you look beautiful. Like… so beautiful.”

You place your hand to your chest, beaming back, “Thank you!” And that’s when he noticed your nails. The overall colour was a gorgeous cream, but the tips matched up perfectly with the colour of your dress. You had been planning this out all week.

“Um… shall we get going? Reservations at 7:30,” he asks.

You hum, “We shall. How far is Enzo’s?”

“Around thirty minutes. You good with that?”

He helps you into the car, making sure your dress doesn’t get caught or tangled, you replying, “I’m good with anything, Steve.”

The drive there had Steve panicking like crazy. Did he put his hand on your thigh? Or was that too soon? Maybe it was too soon. Hold your hand? No, both hands on the steering wheel, he doesn’t want to crash.

And if he wasn’t overthinking that enough, the choice of restaurant was freaking him out even more. Was it too formal? Did you want something more simplistic? Was it too much for a first date?

But, there was no time to worry as he turns left into the parking lot of the restaurant. After being a gentleman, taking your hand and helping you out of his car, you don’t seem to let go, letting your fingers interlace with his. His hands match the softness of when your lips first touched his, delicate and gentle.

“Hi. Um, two for Harrington?”

The waiting staff smiles, directly the two of them to a small, dainty table; covered with a red cloth decorated with golden flowers; in the back corner of the restaurant.

Steve pulls out your chair, you quickly thanking him as he sits opposite you, careful not to waste the woman’s time.

She lays the two menus on the table in front of you, “Here are your menus. Feel free to look at our wine list for the evening. Someone will be over in five to take your orders.”

You both thank her as you open the menus, Steve looking utterly confused at the very well described options.

“Okay, what the hell is an Ore— Orecchiette ai Cime di Rapa? Or a… Vermicelli Alla Puttane— Puttanesca?”

You giggle at him, “Pasta dishes, Steve. I can help you out if you want? I’m pretty accustomed to Italian names.”

He looks up at you in shock, “You speak Italian?”

You shake your head, sighing out, “I wish. I’ve been to Italy before though. So, I’ve done my research into the Italian names for pastas.”

He breathes out, smiling away, moving his hair out of his face with his hand, “I mean… I was thinking if you did, then…” He whistles, making you flirt back, “Better start taking some Italian language courses then.”

Before Steve gets the chance to reply, the waiter returns asking for your drinks. You tell her the fancy name of some simple red wine, Steve ordering the same, even if it wasn’t his drink of choice. He was trying to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

After explaining the different types of pastas they had on offer, he ends up ordering the Tagliatelle al Ragú Alla Bolognese, noticing the key words of foods he likes. You order the Pesto alla Genovese, deciding to add in some well-needed greens into your diet. It was very apparent that you and your roommate Amy had not been the healthiest as of late.

Once the waiter leaves, you lean your head on your hand, laughing to yourself as you ask, “God, this sounds so stupid… But, tell me about yourself, Steve. I mean, I sort of only know you as Alena’s dad, I would like to know about you as a whole.”

“Of course, yeah…” he pauses for a second, trying to make himself sound as interesting as possible. He doesn’t want to steer you away. But, what he doesn’t know is nothing could ever steer you away.

“I grew up here in Hawkins, went to Hawkins High and everything. Worked at an ice cream store and met my best friend Robin there, and then we moved onto working at a video rental store because the mall we worked at burnt down. Stayed there for a couple years until Alena was around two years old. Well, more than a couple… more like seven years,” he chuckles, “Then I moved onto being a bagger at Target, and have been ever since.” He smiles, before shrugging, “I know, I’m a pretty boring person with a pretty crappy job, but I am what I am.”

You reach out to rub your thumbs over the top of his hand, calming the boy, although he wasn’t presenting it on the outside. “I think you’re super interesting, Steve.”

He can’t help but let the smile creep onto his face, “Thank you. I’m sure your life is a lot more interesting that mine though.”

You wave your hand, brushing off his smooth compliment, “Oh please, you wish! Well, I grew up in Missouri, so not super far from here. Had a pretty average childhood, doing average childhood things. But, somehow, on a complete whim mind you, I got onto the education program at Perdue University. Still don’t know to this day how I did that, but nonetheless,” you smile, “Got my college degree and then worked at Hawkins Elementary. And, well… you know the rest of the story.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, “You wish, my ass. That is so much more interesting than mine!”

You open your mouth up in fake shock, “I guarantee you it is not! I’d rather work at Target than be studying 24/7.”

He snorts, “I’d rather do none.”

“Makes the two of us. I’m guessing you’re not much of an academic then?”

The mention of his academics bring back memories he forgot he even had stored in his brain. “You think an academic guy would be working as a bagger at Target?”

You hold your hands up in detest, “Hey, I’m not one to judge! It could’ve been your personal choice!”

“Definitely not.”

The rest of the date went amazingly well. A little too well for your liking. You were waiting for Steve to hate the way you eat, or for you to spill wine down your dress, or trip up on the way out of the restaurant. But, none of that happened. It went perfectly.

Your conversation points varied from favourite childhood memories, to favourite movies (which you judged immensely), to life goals and everything in between. And with each answer Steve gave, you fell more and more in love with him, as did he with you.

The car stops in front of your apartment block, Steve already getting out of the driver’s side and running around to your door, taking your hand and walking you up to the main entrance.

“I— Um, I had fun tonight,” he nervously says, looking down at his feet scuffing along the floor.

“I did too,” you smile, a small blush forming on your face as you grab his right hand, “And I was wondering if you’d like to go out again sometime.”

“Sure,” he blurts out a little too eagerly for his liking, “I’m pretty much free any night of the week. Just need to check with a friend if they can have Alena for the night first.”

“Of course,” you say, “Um… Do you have a pen or anything? I could write down my number and then you can let me know if whatever day we choose is fine? I was thinking maybe Wednesday? We can plan out the details on the phone.”

“Yeah, I do… At least I think. One second,” he pauses, sprinting back down the steps and to his car, leaning through the open window, you giggling at his rushed manner, obviously not wanting to leave you standing there alone for too long.

He returns, holding up a pen and smiling brightly, “Got it! Just, uh…” he pulls up the sleeve of his blazer, “Write it on my forearm.”

“Are you sure? Ink poisoning can be a dangerous thing.” Jesus, you were the cutest.

He brushes it off, “I’ll be fine. And if I do, I’ll happily let you nurse me back to health.”

With a messy scribble of numbers written in blue on the inside of his arm, a part of you was now etched into his skin. It felt like a connection, even if it would trickle right off in the shower he has later tonight.

“There you go!” you smile, clicking the pen off and passing it back to him. Biting your lip, you place a tender kiss to his left cheek, making the poor boy turn bright red. “Thank you for tonight, Steve. I’ll potentially see you Wednesday?”

“Yeah…” he breathes out, “Wednesday.”

And before he knows it, he’s left standing outside your apartment block with a blue pen loosely held in his hand, you leaving him to enter your home.

It was safe to say that you were not leaving his mind anytime soon.

With three raps at the door, it swung open, Alena grinning at him, bouncing on her toes as Robin and Vickie stand tall above her.

“Daddy!” she beams, body-slamming herself into his leg with full force, looking up to him with bright eyes, “How was the date?”

He couldn’t help but tell his daughter the minute he got home from the grocery store earlier that week about his date with you. Let’s just say that he had a very happy child zooming around his house for the next five hours, slightly regretting sharing the news when it took her an extra two hours to fall asleep.

“It went well, pumpkin! Miss. L/N was super nice. She’s a very lovely woman.”

It felt strange calling you by your last name, but he felt you should be the one to share that information with Alena, not sure how quickly you wanted to move past the barrier of being her former teacher.

“Yay!” she bounces, shaking his leg all over the place, him ruffling her hair to calm her down.

“So, did you two kiss?” Robin asks, wiggling her eyebrows at her best friend with a smirk plastered on her face.

“Ew, gross Robin!” he grimaces.

“What?” she defends herself, “You’ve already kissed before! It’s not like I’m way off the mark with that or anything.”

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge between his brows, “No, Robin. She kissed my cheek, that’s it. You happy?”

She scrunches up her face, before blinking rapidly and shaking her head, “You straights are so weird. I kissed Vickie on the first date and we had our own apartment three months later.”

“That’s because you lesbians move exponentially fast!”

“Hey!” Vickie butts in, “I’m bisexual.”

“Fine,” Steve scoffs, the couple knowing that he was only joking with them, “You women… who love other women move exponentially fast!”

“I would just say the straights move exponentially slow…” Robin mumbles, scratching the back of her neck.

Steve shakes his head, “Anyway, we are planning another date next week, so I was wondering—”

“Yes,” both girls say in sync.

“You didn’t even know what I was gonna ask,” Steve asks with a look of confusion on his face.

“Yes, we can look after Alena,” Robin playfully rolls her eyes.

“There’s a second date?” Alena beams.

Steve chuckles, ruffling his daughter’s hair once again, “Yes, pumpkin. There’s a second date.”

“Yes!” she exclaims, clenching her fists together and jumping up and down. “I wanna know about this date, and the next date, and all the dates ever!”

“Of course sweetpea, I’ll tell you during the car ride home, okay?”

She simply giggles, squeezing her eyes tight and showing off all of her teeth, or at least the ones that were there. Her front two were currently missing, her reaching the age where her baby teeth had started to fall out, mysterious dollar notes appearing underneath her pillow every few weeks.

“Besides, I was going to ask because I thought Vickie had that work meeting next Wednesday?” Steve queries.

But, Vickie instantly brushes it off, “Yeah, but Robin can handle her for a few hours on her own, can’t you babe?”

“Of course my love, this little cupcake is the easiest to look after, unlike her father,” she looks up at Steve with a deadpan expression, him sticking his tongue out right back at her, the most age-appropriate gesture he could think of with his seven-year-old attached to his leg. “We’ve got her for the afternoon, overnight, two days, a whole month, however long you need.”

Steve replicates her deadpan expression as she shrugs, “What? If it took you two five years to suck each other’s faces off, I will raise your daughter for the rest of her childhood.”

“Robin!” he shouts at her, signalling down to his little girl, warning her of her more mature use of language.

“Sorry,” she holds her hands up, pursing her lips.

“What my beautiful wife is meaning to say is we will happily have your daughter over whenever you have a date with your girl,” Vickie steps in, taking a more adult approach, Robin’s immaturity still shining through after all these years.

“Thanks Vic,” he smiles, hoisting his daughter up onto his hip with an overexaggerated grunt, pretending she is much heavier than she is, making her giggle, “Right, I better get this toothache home, I’ll see you guys on Wednesday!” He begins to turn around, before looking back and pointing to Vickie, “And good luck with that meeting!”

“Thanks Steve! See you on Wednesday!” she waves at him, Robin smirking and yelling at the top of her lungs, “Bye dingus!”

He shakes his head as he opens the car door, placing Alena down in her car-seat as he makes his way around to the driver’s side. He barely makes it two inches off of Robin and Vickie’s driveway before Alena shouts, “Tell me everything!”

“All right, all right,” he replies, trying not to get too scared by his daughter’s outburst, “Let me get onto the road first and then I’ll give you every last detail, okay?”

“Okay!” she giggles, kicking her feet.

And not only did the questions last the car ride home, but they continued for the rest of the day. Alena wanted to know absolutely everything that went down, from the minute he saw you to the minute he bid farewell. But, he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. It was you after all, and even if it was to his seven-year-old daughter, he would talk about you for the rest of his life.

hope you enjoyed!! ♡

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @cats00089 @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 let me know in the comments if you want to be added/removed from the series spinoffs!

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington drabble #dad!steve harrington #singledad!steve harrington #stranger things #eds6ngel

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arminreindl · 2 years ago

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Fossil Crocs of 2022

For what its worth, its been a great year for fossil Pseudosuchians, many of which didn't get a lot of attention because people always assume its just "another crocodile". We'll go through them by the order of appearance in the fossil record, or in other words oldest to youngest. Better grab some popcorn and the drink of your choice, cause this is going to be a long one.

Mambawakale

Starting off is Mambawakale ruhuhu (Ruhuhu Basin Crocodile Ancestor in Kiswahili) from the middle Triassic Manda Beds of Tanzania. The fossils for this guy had been known since at least the 1960s, after which it was named Pallisteria angustimentum, a name that was never officially published however. It was a large animal, its skull 75 centimeters long attached to what was likely an animal similar in build to what we think of for "rauisuchians", given that it sits at the base of Paracrocodylomorpha. The below life reconstructoin was done by the fantastic Gabriel Ugueto with Steve Irwin inserted in post by me, tho its not rigorously scaled it gives a general idea of the animal's size.

We can then skip over the Jurassic (no new crocs from that period) and straight into the Cretaceous, specifically the Albian some 100 million years ago.

Yanjisuchus

Yanjisuchus longshanensis (Yanji City Crocodile from the Longshan Hill) was a paralligatorid, a group of Neosuchians I fully admitt I'm not too well aquainted with. Its fossils, which include a partial skull, vertebrae osteoderms, ribs, parts of the shoulder girdle and front limbs, were discovered in the Longjing Formation in what is now north-eastern China.

Confractosuchus

One I can decidedly talk more about is Confractosuchus sauroktonos (Lizard Eating Broken Crocodile) from the Australian Winton Formation, home to animals such as Isisfordia, Australovenator and Diamantinasaurus. The genus name refers to the fact that the skull is squashed to hell and back, but its the species name thats interesting. "Lizard eating" in this case refers to the fact that this 2.5 meter long basal Eusuchian was found with preserved stomach contents. Said stomach contents being the bones of a small ornithopod dinosaur as the press release art by Julius Csotonyi enthusiastically shows. The other image here not from the paper was drawn by Joschua Knüppe (@knuppitalism-with-ue ) showing a definitely more relaxed individual.

Eptalofosuchus

We did know about this guy for a bit longer as the pre-proof has been out since 2021, but lets include it anyways because I wasn't on Tumblr last year. Eptalofosuchus viridi (Green Seven Hills Crocodile) is not a crocodile in the strict sense but a Notosuchian, a cousin to the more typical Neosuchians. This animal is known from a single distinct lower jaw that belonged to a rather small creature. Among Notosuchians, Eptalofosuchus is most closely related to "advanced Notosuchians", specifically Sphagesauridae. We also know that it wasn't alone, as described alongside it are fossils of an unnamed baurusuchid (a large carnivore) and a peirosaurid, a more basal Notosuchian. Finally, both parts of the scientific name allude to the Uberaba Formation, specifically the nickname of Uberaba being “the city of the seven hills” and the green color of the sediments there. Life reconstruction of the little guy was done by the always incredible Júlia d'Oliveira.

Titanochampsa

Sticking to South America we have Titanochampsa iorii (Ior's Titan Crocodile). A significant find no doubt tho with an estimated size between 2.98–5.88 m (sizable I admitt) based on very scant remains perhaps a little bit hasty. Alas we only have the skull table of this animal, so the precise size can still vary as you can see. But it is still a fascinating one due to the fact that its the ONLY non-Notosuchian from the Bauru Group. Cretaceous South America is almost synonymous with these mostly terrestrial crocodyliforms but surprisingly lacking a diverse semi-aquatic croc fauna. Being at the very least a Neosuchian, possibly Eusuchian, Titanochampsa seems to have filled this niche. Given that the big terrestrial Baurusuchids had relatively weak bites and reached a length of at most 4 meters, this presents an interesting contrast with the strong bite force of the potentially larger semi-aquatic Titanochampsa. And would you look at that, press release art by Júlia once again.

Eurycephalosuchus

One final croc for the Mesozoic, Eurycephalosuchus gannanensis is an animal I covered very recently so I'll keep things brief. Stemming from the Maastrichtian Hekou Formation in south eastern China, Eurycephalosuchus was a very small species of orientalosuchine. Orientalosuchina is recovered as a group of early alligatoroids in the paper, tho talking to Adam Yates (who's croc phylogeny is my go-to) there is a chance they might be closer to crocodiloids. Regardless, Eurycephalosuchus was a small animal with large teeth towards the front of the skull, blunt teeth in the back and an overall very short face (tho there is slight compression so its not 1:1 like the fossil). Over on twitter people started comparing it to DnD Kobolds, leading to the below artwork by Manusuchus (@ mmujicam2000; full body of course highly speculative lmao)

Qianshanosuchus

Following the cataclysm that was KPG, crocs held on and in China we next meet Qianshanosuchus youngi (Young's Qianshan Basin Crocodile). It's another tricky one. While important as being the first crocodyloid from Paleocene China, the material, as you could guess based on the tiny size, is that of a juvenile (I now realize this being kinda ironic given the small but adult croc above). So the phylogeny is hard to nail down and gave different results. Still it could hold significance in our understanding how crocodyloids spread around the world and entered Europe after KPG. Below a quick comparison of the material with my hand.

Coming up a duo of two new species but not new genera, I also didn't really go deep into their publication as with some of the others so I'll try to stay brief

Maomingosuchus acutirostris

Maomingosuchus acutirostris (Acute Snouted Maoming Crocodile) is a new species of the already established genus Maomingosuchus from China. This new species however, differentiated amongst other things by having a pointed, not rounded, premaxilla stems from the Eocene of northern Vietnam. The skull is about 55 cm long giving us a medium sized tomistomines. Like Qianshanosuchus, M. acutirostris could have implications for the dispersal of crocodilians, in this case the spread of tomistomines from Europe to Asia, which the authors suggest happened thrice. That being said it should be noted that, between the two main ideas of what tomistomines are, the paper goes with them being a sister group to crocs and unrelated to modern gharials as Lee and Yates suggest (the later idea like I said I am more drawn towards).

Diplocynodon kochi

Another new species in a familiar genus, Diplocynodon kochi (Koch's Double Dog Tooth) is the latest in a long list of Diplocynodon species, a genus of alligatoroid very prominent in the Paleogene of Europe. This newest species from Transylvania is known from some well preserved skull material and was recovered as being one of the most derived members of its genus. With a size of 1.76 meters it was a medium sized Diplocynodon species and small by our modern standards. What is interesting is that the fossilw as recovered from shallow marine sediments. This is unusual in so far that alligatoroids are not especially known for their salt tolerance. Tho there's exceptions like Deinosuchus, alligators usually don't venture into salt water unlike crocodiles. Still, given the shallow water and the ability of large adult Mississippie Alligators to tolerate brackish water, it might have occasionally entered coastal waters. It is noted that the skull is in such good condition that it couldn't have been transported for a very long time.

Kinyang

Back to new genera we got Kinyang (derived from various Nilotic terms for crocodile), a genus of "giant" dwarf crocodile from the Miocene of Kenya. Now this guy doesn't just introduce one new species but two: Kinyang mabokoensis (Maboko Island Crocodile) and Kinyang tchernovi (Tchernov's Crocodile). Occuring in western and northern Kenya, Kinyang was a prime example over the prominence osteolaemines (dwarf crocodiles) had in the early Cenozoic prior to the takeover of crocodylines. Kinyang was surprisingly large and had a robust, blunt skull with several traits clearly setting it apart from any modern species. Still there is some clues that could be taken. Given the robust nature and more widened skull rather than V-shaped, its likely that it went after prey as big or even bigger than itself. They appear to have inhabited the shores of lakes located in open forests and woodlands. Alas this might have been their doom too. Osteolaemines are known to build nests made of foliage and with Africa growing increasingly dryer around this point in earths history, both change in prey and environment could have been factors that drove the dwarf crocodiles into the rainforests they inhabit today while the more dry resistant Crocodylus took over their rolle in the grasslands. The first image shows all three known skulls, the second is a quick composite of the cranium and mandible of K. mabokoensis I put together before the third image was published (ironic) by Christopher Brochu.

Almost done, only two more to go.

Sacacosuchus

On the other side of the world, specifically the Sacaco locality of Peru's Pisco Formation (among others) we have Sacacosuchus cordovai (Córdova's Sacaco Crocodile). A medium sized and longirostrine "tomistomine" gharial, here is where we come in conflict between the crocodylid and gavialoid model of what these guys are. Earlier with Maomingosuchus you had the idea that tomistomines were related to crocodylids, well here we have tomistomines being a paraphyletic group leading up to derived gharials. There is some significance to Sacacosuchus for seemingly showing that gharials entered South America on two separate occassions, but imo that's not the coolest thing about it. No instead I prefer to talk about the fact that its not just a marine gharial, living in the coastal waters of the Pacific, but that it coexisted with a second gharial showing perfectly how they specialise in different things. While the contemporary Piscogavialis was notably larger (about 7 meters) it had a very narrow and long snout, better adapted at catching fish. Sacacosuchus meanwhile was only 4.3 meters long, but with much more robust jaws, showing that it was much more of a generalist than its relative. This is well shown in the reconstruction by Javier "Canelita" Herbozo, tho it doesn't show the immense size difference. The third iamge shows Rodolfo Salas-Gismondi with the material and the fourth illustration by Gabriel Ugueto does not feature Sacaco, but the much more gracile Piscogavialis.

Hanyusuchus

The final one, Hanyusuchus sinensis (Han Yu's Crocodile from China) is the youngest crocodile described this year. How young? Well the OLDEST records of the species date to the Chinese Bronze Age, 4.000 BC, while the most recent records indicate that it went extinct in the 15th century. Hanyusuchus is a large tomistomine with a length between 5.43–6.19 meters and, if historical reports are to be believed, a big appetite. Stories tell of large crocodiles in Southern China attacking livestock, deer, boats and even killing humans while other reports suggest that these animals were used to fill moats and fed with prisoners. Despite appearing relatively narrow snouted, people often underestimate just how dangerous such animals could be. Even the modern false gharial has reports of it attacking and eating humans. Unsurprisingly, in addition to spawning some unique folklore (like crocodiles turning into tigers during autumn), this lead to humans attacking and killing these animals in retaliation. Fossils from the Bronze Age bear the clear marks of human attacks with cut marks focused around the animals head and the neck. Given the age of this material humans likely used bronze axes to kill and decapitate Hanyusuchus, drying their heads afterwards. Things didn't get better later in history. Han Yu, poet and politician and namesake of the genus, once demanded that the crocodiles leave the Han River delta before threatening to kill them. Later in history soldiers were sent to kill them in masses to avenge the death of a child. Eventually all of this, coupled with habitat loss, lead to the extinction of Hanyusuchus a mere 600 years ago. The below reconstructions were done by Hikaru Amemiya and Joschua Knüppe respectively.

And that is basically every crocodile officially published in 2022 (I think). Personally, I think its been a fantastic year for Pseudosuchian taxa, with some unique and fascinating additions.

#crocodiles #palaeoblr #mambawakale #hanyusuchus #sacacosuchus #kinyang #qianshanosuchus #eurycephalosuchus #diplocynodon kochi #maomingosuchus acutirostris #titanochampsa #confractosuchus #eptalofosuchus #yanjisuchus #prehistory #paleontology #pseudosuchia #steve irwin for scale #2022

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scoops-aboy86 · 10 months ago

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I know it’s January but I wrote a Christmas thing. No beta we die like Barb. There’s several thousand words of it and I have no impulse control.

🔞 Seven Christmases pt. 1

The Munsons (988 words)

rated: T | cw: none | tags: chubby eddie, established relationship, weight gain, belly kink, fluff, they’re in love

Steve may have spent his school years getting up early for the sake of sports, but he’s not especially a morning person. He’s okay about waking up when he needs to now, for work and shit, but for the most part he relishes any opportunity he gets to sleep in.

But not today. Today is Christmas, and he has a whole sixteen hours to pack a very special gift that he and Eddie will get to unwrap this evening—the process is part of the gift for both of them, and oh, he plans on packing it full.

“Eds,” he murmurs while cuddling up to his boyfriend, who is definitely not a morning person. Eddie is already on his side turned towards him, snoring softly, his pajama top rucked up a little to show his empty belly. Steve slips a hand underneath it, biting his lip a little as he feels Eddie up, kneading and groping soft skin and scar tissue alike. “Baby, hey, wake up. It’s Christmas morning.”

Eddie’s long eyelashes flutter. He yawns, not opening his eyes fully yet as he starts to stretch like a lazy housecat, pressing into Steve’s big hands with a contented hum. “Mmm, ‘s’at?”

Steve can’t help the smile taking over his face, knows it’s sappy as hell but can’t do a thing to fight it. He nuzzles in to kiss Eddie’s neck—which gets him a happy sigh and a wriggle further into his grasp—and then leans their foreheads together. “Christmas morning, baby. It’s time for breakfast with Wayne. Are you hungry?”

Eddie’s mouth curls into a slow, sleep-glazed grin. “Hm…” He rests his hand over Steve’s on his stomach, pressing and moving them around to his softest parts while he stretches languidly. “…I think I could eat.”

With a grin and a peck on the cheek, Steve rolls out of bed to get dressed.

Emerging from under the cozy cocoon the blankets is more of a process for Eddie. Not every day goes the way he’s planning to spend this one, but his weight has been inching up ever since the Upside Down, starting while he was still on bed rest and continuing as he relaxed into new habits and a post-government-payout lack of scarcity. He likes the solidity he has now, likes the feeling and the way Steve looks at him (and touches him, and dotes on him) when he’s full.

And he actually has an ass now, which is great, because it looks amazing in the pants he’s picked out to wear today. The dark fabric looks like denim but has an impressive amount of stretch to it, comfortable even as it already looks practically painted on when he checks himself out in the mirror. Pleased, Eddie pulls on a burgundy-red sweater that’s still a little loose and yawns his way to the coat rack by the front door for his signature leather jacket—because he can’t not be himself, even on Christmas.

He’s still blinking the last of the sleep from his eyes as Steve pulls a knit cap down over his wild curls, winds a scarf around his neck for good measure, and plants kisses on each cheek followed by one on the lips. That wakes Eddie up a bit more, deepening the kiss with a happy sound in the back of his throat.

Confirmed night owl or not, he’s just as excited about the day to come as Steve.

They’ve brought almost as much food as Wayne has prepared, the latter taking care of eggs, sausages, bacon, and hash browns while Steve is in charge of the cinnamon rolls and various breakfast breads. Eddie, still waking up, is content to sit at the kitchen table while they (mostly Steve, who manages to shoo Wayne out of his own kitchen to spend more quality time with his nephew) bustle around getting everything set out.

“Looks delicious, you guys,” Eddie says approvingly, more awake now as the sweet and savory scents wrap him up in a blanket just as comforting as the one Steve had pried him out of not long ago. His hands have gravitated into position, one by his fork and the other resting atop the not insignificant belly that rests in his lap. He licks his lips. “Wayne, you gonna start this party off?”

Eddie eats a respectable portion of everything, but clears out the cinnamon rolls almost single-handedly, heedless of any need to pace himself for the whole day of holiday celebrations ahead. Steve’s cinnamon rolls are heavenly; he has no regrets, eyes still rolling back in happy ecstasy on his last one same as the first. By the time he’s done he feels warm and full and a little sticky. Steve and Wayne are already down to just coffee, Steve’s eyes subtly glued to him over the lip of his mug whole he sips, and Eddie snags the last few pieces of bacon if no one else is going to eat them.

They unwrap a few presents each, nothing crazy. Wayne doesn’t doesn’t need much and asks for even less, so it’s just a few gifts—a new hat and a novelty mug and a few odds and ends that his uncle doesn’t need to know about the price tags for.

Because sales from Eddie’s latest book are doing great, bolstered by the recently released books-on-tape versions of the entire series so far. Eddie read them himself, and wrote all the background music to go with them; they’re a hit with fantasy readers around the country, and the overseas release is only a few months away. Things are good, and the piece of mind that comes with knowing he can provide his uncle with anything he might need is even better.

And Steve bringing him another little plate of banana bread and cranberry orange bread with cream cheese layered thick on top of each slice, just the way he likes it, certainly doesn’t hurt either.

Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

#scoops words #wg steddie #chubby eddie munson #scoops - do not unwrap fic #christmas steddie #merry belated christmas chubby steddie goblins 🎁#steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson

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dreamy625 · 8 months ago

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Overture and beginners - chapter 1

In early 1979, a junior typist at GEC Traction meets a curly-haired apprentice from the machine shop

Words: 1260

Content: Mentions of casual drinking in this chapter

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

Katie supposed she’d known Steve Clark for most of her life, though to be honest she hadn’t paid much attention to him at school. He’d been in the year above, and she’d only noticed him in the morass of spots and football boots that was fifth form boys because he was always hanging round the music rooms when she was there for choir practice. He’d had hair grown just past his collar, which was against the school rules, and she’d wondered how he got away with it. Linda, one of the more boy-crazy members of her class, had tried to cajole him into joining the choir, but he’d just shaken his head shyly and melted away into one of the practice rooms.

A few months after she’d started as the most junior of junior typists at GEC Traction, she’d recognised him in the canteen. His hair was longer and curly now, but definitely the same boy. He was sitting with the other apprentices from the machine room, a rowdy bunch that she made careful efforts to avoid because they were known to leer and whistle at any female employee who had to venture onto the factory floor. This lad, she couldn’t remember his name just then, seemed to be on the edge of the group, smiling along but not really joining in with the banter. She watched him for a minute or so as the queue inched its way towards the serving hatch, before getting distracted by the choice of soup or cottage pie.

It was months later when she encountered him again, at The Wentworth just round the corner. She usually steered clear of the pubs near work on Friday evenings - they tended to get rowdy and it was mostly just an opportunity for the boys from the machine shop to try and cop off with the girls from the electrical workshop - but it was Maureen’s last day before she left to get married, so all the women from the office who didn’t need to rush back home to cook someone’s tea had come out to celebrate. Katie had planned on staying for just one drink before her date with Gary, but everyone was in a party mood, and some of the older ladies started telling salacious stories about the managers, and suddenly it was gone seven o’clock. She used the payphone in the corridor to call Gary’s house - he hadn’t come home yet, but she left an apologetic message with his mam, maybe slightly exaggerating how much of a friend Maureen was, and returned to the gathering guilt-free.

By the time it was her turn to buy the next round, the pub had filled up and the throng around the bar was two-deep. She exchanged an eyeroll of fellow-feeling with the customer queuing next to her and then had a moment of recognition.

“You work at GEC, right?”

“Yeah, machine shop. You’re there too?”

“Yup, in the office. I type. Actually, I do more tea-making than typing.”

“Well that’s a useful skill for a Yorkshire lass,” said the young man, and cringed inwardly at such a dad-like comment.

“Actually, I think we might have gone to school together? Wisewood? You did music or something?”

Steve studied her face. “Oh yeah,” he said, nodding, “you do look familiar. You were in the choir?”

“Yup, mezzo-soprano, fourth from the left.”

“Do you still sing?”

“Only in the bath! Do you still play…” She realised she never noticed what he was actually doing in the music room.

“Guitar. A bit. ‘M in a band.” He almost mumbled the last part.

“Oh, cool. I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name?”

“Steve, Steve Clark. And you’re...?”

“Katherine. Well, Katie to everyone who’s not my parents.”

“Nice to meet you, or meet you again, Katie.” He held out his hand in a cramped elbow-up handshake, as they were still trapped in the press of people around the bar. “Are you here with…?” The question tailed off.

Katie gestured to her table, where it seemed another of the apprentices was trying to chat up Janet (120wpm shorthand and E-cup boobs, one or other of those impressive attributes making her an object of great fascination to the men in the factory). “With the girls from work. And it looks like they’ve made a new friend.”

“Oh that’s Charlie, loud but harmless.”

When they reached the front of the queue, Steve, ever the gentleman, let Katie go first. And when the drinks arrived, he offered to help carry them.

“What about your drinks?”

He flapped a hand dismissively. “They can wait. They’re all drunk enough anyway.” He turned towards the table but then looked back. “Do you play pool?”

“Yeah, badly. Why…”

“Badly’ll do.” A mischievous smile formed on his face as he headed to where the women were sitting.

Depositing the drinks, he leant in and whispered in Charlie’s ear.

Charlie grinned at the suggestion. “We challenge you ladies to a game of pool - if you win, you get to go on a date with me!”

“That was not what I…”

“And what happens if we lose?”

“You have to go on two dates with him!”

“Hey!” Charlie elbowed his mate in the stomach, but it didn't stop Steve from laughing.

Katie and Janet agreed to the challenge, if not the 'prize' and, with Caroline from Accounts chaperoning in case the boys got handsy (with four grown kids of her own, she had moved on to mothering all the unmarried girls in the office), they moved to the pool table in the corner.

Katie was, as she'd admitted, pretty terrible at pool. Steve was good, and the boys won the first game easily. As they were racking up for the rematch, Charlie suggested they mix it up, him with Janet, and Steve and Katie together. This was a transparent excuse for Charlie to try his best moves on his teammate, putting his arms around her to ‘help’ her line up her shot and somehow always needing to get to the side of the table that meant squeezing past her. Janet put up only token resistance, despite Caroline's disapproving stare. Katie found herself noticing how Steve’s awkwardness vanished when he was concentrating; there was something graceful in the way he moved around the table, and he smiled just as easily when he mis-hit and potted the white as when he made a tricky shot. His skill and Charlie's distraction meant they won the second game, with Steve claiming he was the overall champion, having been on both winning teams. He declined the 'prize' but, from the looks they were giving one another, it seemed like Janet would happily take his place.

"So, um…"

The question he was building up to was interrupted by a passing slap on the back from one of the other apprentices. "We're going for chips, you coming?"

With a glance at Katie he hesitated for a second before shyness got the better of him. "Err, okay, be there in a sec," he called. Turning back to Katie he asked, "I guess I'm off then. You alright getting home?"

"Yup, Caroline and I get the same bus so we'll go together."

"That's good… um… do you think you'll be here next Friday?"

"Oh, yeah, probably. I come in here a lot." (Massive lie.)

"Cool. So… maybe I'll see you then?"

"Sure."

She smiled and his carefully nonchalant demeanour was torpedoed by a broad grin. He raised his hand in a half-wave as he turned and took quick steps to catch up with his mates.

Chapter 2 >

#steve clark #steve clark fanfic #steve clark fanfiction #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #overture and beginners fic

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goodgirlofglory · 2 years ago

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Silver fox and the Captain - Chapter 1

/Masterpost/

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 2,8k

Warnings: Explicit language, a bit of lengthy exposition bits to get the world building over with. Nothing else for now, the juicy stuff comes later ayo

Summary: Like a silver fox, you scurry around the shadows, stealing and selling stolen Stark tech from right under the Avengers noses. It's a hard and solitary life, but the only one you got. Plus, you're really good at it, doing what you can to move unseen through the world. That is, until you turn the corner, and the Captain America sees you, sneaking around where you shouldn't be, carrying what you definitely shouldn't carry...

Author's note: Sooooo, while working on In the balance chapter 8, this cute idea of Steve and reader chasing each other around the black market world popped into my head, and lo and behold, here we are, seven chapters finished and ready to be posted.

I realized I haven't written a series with non-dark Steve yet, so that had to be remedied as well. This is slow burn, which is rare for me, so you'll have to wait until like chapter 3 until some juicy bits appear, and chapter 5 is the big smutty send off. But I think it'll be worth it, though. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it✨️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility, but I advise you to not engage if the content of the warnings upset you. My work is not to be distributed outside this blog.

Likes, reblogs, replies and asks are amazing💖💖

Enjoy!

You carefully lowered yourself down the ladder from the roof top window you’d pried open. The air inside the old, abandoned factory was stale and smelled of rust and rot. The huge, looming brick building was an echo nightmare, and even from your position among the ledges and ladders all the way up under the roof, you could hear the voices down below ring out through the spacious halls. That echo would make your mission that much more challenging. But you were good, bloody good at what you did, so you continued on, light steps and careful jumps taking you closer to the ground while remaining enclosed in shadow.

You’d monitored this place for weeks now, a particularly juicy makeshift storage facility where high end technology from none other than Stark Industries made a pit stop before venturing out into the black market. The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D had been on a rampage for months now to track down and shut down these types of facilities, jailing the culprits they found in the process.

It was a chaotic goose chase all around the globe, and you found yourself smack dab in the middle, where you had meticulously carved out a place and a purpose for yourself; sneaking in unseen and smuggling out whatever you could manage in the confusion and chaos of the inevitable busts, and selling whatever you got your hands on for a nice profit that could tie you over until the next bust. You worked alone, unseen, and had been doing it successfully for years at this point. Quite the savvy arrangement you’d made for yourself, if you could say so yourself.

You perched on a balcony on the second floor, careful to stay out of the light, and adjusted the half-mask you wore around your eyes. You’d tried a full on ski mask, but the suffocating feeling of fabric across your mouth and nose had made you discard it almost right away. You didn’t plan on being seen anyway, but some obstruction on your face was a failsafe you were wise to include.

From the commotion you heard coming from ground level, the bust was all but over. There had been some shooting and minor explosions earlier, but you usually hung out on the roof or outside during those more dramatic moments. It would be easy enough in this building, to use the many intricate pillars and dark alcoves to slip unnoticed to and from as long as you remained silent, and you made your way down to ground level and closer to your goal.

There were four large stacks of wooden crates with the smuggled goods standing neatly stacked in the middle of the grand hall of the old factory, and one lonely work table stood between them, stacked with maps, documents and take out containers. There were upended chairs strewn about the table - the smugglers had clearly been taken off guard. None of the crates were labeled, but one had been wrenched open, the one on the far side of the room. That would be your target. It didn’t matter so much what you got your hands on, as long as it was easy to haul with you and ridiculously expensive - picking up something dangerous and even deadly was always a nice plus profit wise.

Perched behind a brick pillar, you watched as the smugglers, scowling and rugged men dressed in black, were taken away in handcuffs by S.H.I.E.L.D agents. You’d become a little fascinated with watching the working ants of the organization work - sometimes they seemed more like wheels in a machine than people, they worked so smoothly. You wondered what that kind of life was like. Did they sleep in bunk beds and barracks like soldiers? What was their training like? What was their salary like? And in quiet moments, if you felt sentimental, you could also wonder what it felt like to be part of a team like that, a team of hundreds of agents who worked together towards the same goal…

“Sucks to be them,” you muttered under your breath as the smugglers were dragged away. Oh well, dog eat dog world and all that. It was no personal grief to you that those bastards got got. All men for themselves, that was the harsh reality of your world.

And there, walking among the crates and goons like gods among men, were the Avengers. Or, whatever selection had been sent on this particular mission, for it was a rare thing for all of them to appear at once. Iron Man was always there. You suspected some mighty guilt must rest on his shoulders, seeing it was his technology on detour and all. Today, Black Widow and Iron Patriot had joined it seemed, and all three of them milled about, ordering additional S.H.I.E.L.D officers to do this and move that and such. And there, in the back, Captain America appeared - like a big, hunkering boulder of a man, dressed in a rather muted version of his suit, you noticed. Dark blue, only a few silver accents, and a single, bold silver star on his chest. He was without his helmet, flashing tousled, blond hair. Of all of them, he was the one you watched the closest whenever you stalked the shadows of their busts. His natural strength and speed in close quarters? Not something you wanted to encounter one on one.

You stalked your way on light feet around the perimeter of the room, mindful of the other’s movement and line of sight.

Iron Man and Captain America spent a lifetime by the opened crate you had your eye on, talking heatedly in hushed voices, looking at its contents and intermittently glaring at each other. They seemed to have a dynamic fraught with tension. It was fascinating to witness them sometimes, like petulant children fighting over toys on the playground.

They were called over to the lone table by Black Widow, and once they all were huddled over some document or other, you saw your window, snook out of the shadow over to the crate, stuck your hand in and came back with a small trinket, no larger than your hand, made of metal so light it weighed nearly nothing in the palm of your hand. Definitely vibranium. Jackpot.

The heroes were still talking amongst themselves around the table, and in a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, you stuck your hand in a second time to pick out another of those trinkets. A rush of apprehension flushed your skin at being so exposed, taking such a spontaneous, reckless risk, out in the light for anyone to see, and you turned to bolt into the shadows again.

Safely back in the darkness, you carefully put your loot in the bag you had slung over your shoulder and made your way back the route you came, secure in the knowledge that no one had noticed you.

Reckless indeed, you reprimanded yourself, sweat on your brows, heart beating a little faster from the adrenalin of the moment. But in the end, selling two of whatever this was would make all the difference in payment. That thought almost made you smile.

It was a hard one, this life. Ungrateful and solitary, a constant navigation of dangerous situations and even more dangerous people, but at least you had clothes on your back and food in your belly, and had yet to turn to desperate measures. Your morals might have hit the road a long time ago, but you had never had to sell your body, or your blood, or your organs. You were self-sufficient and autonomous, which was much more than many women your age in this line of business could say. Plus, you were really good at it. A petty side of you also liked the notion that you were stealing from right under the Avengers’ noses, leaving them none the wiser. A silver fox, soundlessly scurrying in their shadows.

The way up to the roof went a bit slower, and you found yourself dying with curiosity to explore tonight’s catch. Stark always had the best tech. You were busy with that thought as you rounded a corner on the third floor and a shadow in your peripheral vision made you freeze mid step.

Turning around, you found yourself face to face with the Captain America, who appeared as if out of the wall itself. You stopped breathing. Adrenaline flooded your system. How could a man as big as him make so little noise, you thought frantically to yourself as you assessed him, mind scrambling.

Thank God for your mask.

He assessed you back, blue eyes like steel, face unreadable. You were suddenly dying to know how he would interpret this; You, here alone, obviously not in alliance with the culprits they’d busted, but no ally of the Avengers either.

For a painfully long moment, there was complete silence as you stared at each other. God, he was huge. Even standing a good nine feet away, he seemed to loom over you. His shoulders were obscenely broad, his stance like a bull ready to charge. And there was this energy to him, coming off in waves. Powerful and potent. You felt it like a shift in the air as his attention fell to you for the first time. You’d never studied his face from the shadows, had never been close enough to, but now, even at this distance, you could see the straight ridge of his nose, those high cheekbones that molded perfectly into a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. And those eyes, baby blue like the sky, shining even in the dim light of the building.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asked at last.

Boring questions, you thought to yourself, almost disappointed. The great Captain America didn’t have any pizzaz?

“A girl can’t enjoy some urban exploration at her own leisure?” you asked back.

His brows furrowed for a second, before his eyes dipped down to your bag before flitting back up again. Shit.

“This doesn’t have to get ugly.”

“I agree. Bye then,” you said, and went to turn on your heel. The ladder up to the roof was right behind you.

“Not so fast there, miss,” he said, halting your movement.

You turned back, feigning ease as best you could, trying to be disarming. God knew you couldn’t outrun him, not by physical attributes alone - not without being clever about it.

“Yeah, no, I got places to be,” you said, but you made no move to leave. He could kill you with a single blow if he wanted, you thought, your heart thudding a bit harder at the prospect.

“I can’t let you leave with that bag,” he said, voice as steely as his stare, and you started wondering how you could get under this guy’s skin. What button could you push to make him stumble, lose focus. Just enough for you to make your exit.

“My bag? Are you gonna make a girl reveal all her secrets? Want to know my lipstick shade too?” you asked.

“Enough. Your bag. Give it here,” he said, voice stern, almost like an impatient dad. If you weren’t so used to being undermined and underestimated as a young woman alone in your line of work, you would surely bristle at the tone. The exasperation.

“Or what? You gonna beat me up for it? Tie me up and take it from me?” you asked, throwing a ball at him you thought might throw him off kilter.

To your surprise, his eyes flared, a strange glint filling them for a split second.

“Nah, I’m not really into that kinda stuff,” he said.

It took a second for his words to land, the softer, suggestive tone, like you were sharing an inside joke, and you wondered if one corner of his mouth curled upwards just the tiniest bit.

He’d made a joke. A little bit of a dirty one, at that.

You smirked despite yourself, oddly…amused in the moment. He could surprise you after all. You hadn’t really made up any opinion on the great, good Steve Rogers, but this was…not it. If anything, prim, proper and boring was what you expected.

“Too bad,” you said, batting your lashes at him for show while you took a short, subtle step backwards, toward the ladder a few feet behind you.

He huffed at your response, an almost puzzled smile grazing his lips. Then he registered your movement, and that broke him out of the moment, his face turning hard as stone again. He lunged for you, so fast your heart leapt into your throat.

You barely managed to rip the small smoke bomb you had strapped to your belt off before he was on you, and smashed the little orb into the floor the moment before he could grab your arm. Smoke exploded and hissed through the air, and you ducked your face down into the collar of your jacket, backing away and practically flying up the ladder while hearing Captain America coughing wildly below. The smoke wasn’t dangerous or anything, only distracting. A trinket of your own invention. It stung to have to use it, tech like that didn’t exactly grow on trees, but hey, they were made for this exact situation.

You didn’t look back, only hauled ass, sprinting along the roof, adrenalin pumping in your system. You were grateful you’d taken the time to set the zip-line up. You’d never gotten so close to being caught before. Never. And while setting up elaborate escape routes you’d never had the need for had become a boring task throughout the years, boy oh boy did it pay off now.

At the edge of the building, steel bolts fastened a wire that stretched all the way to the ground below, where your getaway car stood ready with a full tank. You clicked the button on your wrist, and a hook shot up from inside your jacket arm. You flung yourself over, hooking the hook on the wire and flying through the chill night air down to the ground. You retracted the wire when your feet hit the ground, so that if the Captain followed you, he’d have to find another way down, which would buy you a few precious minutes of a head start.

You made it to the car, flung it out on the hidden dirt road behind the abandoned factory and set off.

You kept one eye on the rear-view mirror, half expecting Captain America and half the Avengers to follow you. No one appeared though, and as you trekked the calm, pitch black night, adrenaline still coursed through your body. You were left with an almost giddy feeling. Your old, tattered bag with the two smuggled objects lay like a trophy in the passenger seat, and you’d successfully confronted and escaped the great Avenger Captain America.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered to yourself, unable to keep the smile off your face.

You’d only ever observed the Avengers from the shadows, studying their movement, and listening to both professional and friendly chatter. Never had you actually looked one of them in the eye or talked to them. In the wake of the incident, you felt invigorated, almost high. A part of you still stood on that ledge with Captain America, wondering how to get into his mind and finding yourself surprised by his retorts. A part of you were almost - almost - disappointed that he hadn’t followed you.

Six hours later, you crawled up the stairs to your hidden loft apartment. Your contact Waylon, the one you used every time you needed to hitch a fast and discreet flight somewhere overseas, had really screwed you over this time, and your entire body ached from the cramped, hard and bumpy seat you’d had in the cargo of a small, crappy transport plane. At one point you’d honestly feared for your life, the plane was rattling so.

You decided to investigate the stolen tech in the morning. Your thoughts were all scrambled, the encounter with Captain America playing on repeat in your head. The rush of being caught, the thrill of actually speaking with him, the absolute fucking ascension of outwitting him. Even as you smiled stupidly to yourself, biting your lip as you poured a finger of your favorite liquor (the one that burned real nice going down and gave you blessed, dreamless sleep) you knew this did not bid well for your already bloated confidence. You had a tendency to overdo things when you felt on top of the world like this.

And even as you knew it was the worst possible idea, one that could send your carefully constructed life of illegal profit chasing into complete shambles, you caught yourself looking forward to your next encounter with Captain America.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x Y/N #steve rogers x you #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america x reader #captain america x y/n #captain america x female reader #captain america x you #steve rogers x female reader #silver fox and the captain

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livwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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i got to walk in Boston’s pride parade today and it was simply the best and most joyful time (and then it ended, at which point i was slammed with the resulting overstimulation of it all yippee). anyhoo all that love and happiness got the old creative juices flowing and this is what came from it. i suppose it acts as a bit of a sneak-peek of what’s to come in this series

Steve is getting boring in his old age (forty-four, almost).

It was inevitable, he supposes when he looks back, and he likes being boring.

He likes the steady routine of the life he and Eddie (married for seven years, now) have built with their three daughters (four, seven, and nearly ten, a notion Steve is choosing to ignore because there’s no goddamn way she’s already got an entire decade under her belt), and he doesn’t often find himself making attempts to mix things up.

Naturally, Eddie was the one to suggest they make the trip into Boston with their daughters for the annual Pride parade, and when he does, Steve isn’t automatically inclined to agree.

Look - Steve knows it’s important for kids to see the world and do new things and all that enriching shit, but maybe he still bears some of the scars from keeping a semi-feral pack of teenagers alive amidst the eldritch hellscape of their hometown, and it’s not like they don’t keep themselves entertained at home - their youngest had finally gotten the gist of go-fish recently and that’s been a whole new ballgame Steve is perfectly content to continue exploring.

In the end, however, the logical side of him (and Eddie’s ever-persistent badgering) wins out, and come mid-June of 2011, they all make the drive into Boston to see the parade.

It doesn’t take Steve long at all to acknowledge that it was a good idea. He hadn’t been to Pride in many years (again - he’s boring in his old age), and he’d forgotten how much fun it is - a true celebration of love and happiness in the face of a lot of fuck up shit. The parade’s pretty good too (definitely a few floats he hopes the girls are too distracted chasing after candy to notice and ask questions about later, but only time will tell, he supposes), and so is the festival afterwards. It ends up being a really great time for all of them.

Of the whole day, though, Steve’s favorite part is the trip home, a drive that should have only been twenty minutes, but turns into nearly an hour with all the traffic on I-90, and the girls are still riding the sugar rush of an afternoon’s worth of lemonade and fried dough and candy thrown from parade floats (the littlest might be succumbing, though, if Steve’s quick glances in the rear-view mirror at the way her eyes are drooping closed in her car seat are anything to go off of), and it seems as if the day’s contagious joy had followed them into the car.

The older two have been asking a lot of questions - mostly about what floats were everyone’s favorites until their eldest, perceptive as she’s always been, hits them with, “What’s Pride for?”

which turns into, “Why do people think it’s a bad thing?”

and that becomes, “So how did you and Papa fall in love?”

at which point Eddie, who’d been fielding their daughter’s questions so Steve could keep his focus on the stop-and-go highway traffic, launches into a dramatic and involved retelling of how their relationship had begun.

“So I told him that I liked him and what do you think Papa said?” Eddie eventually asks.

“What?” the girls ask with eager smiles and wide eyes.

“Nothing,” Eddie says ruthlessly, a wicked grin on his face.

“Alright,” Steve cuts in as the girls giggle in the backseat, “Let’s not be dramatic. I said something eventually, and it wasn’t even that long later - four hours tops.”

“That’s right,” Eddie concedes, “And then we all lived happily ever after and all that jazz.”

“Good,” their daughter says, “’cos if you hadn’t, today wouldn’t happen.”

“Hate to break it to you, sweet pea,” Steve replies, “but I’m pretty sure Pride would still happen even if Dad and I weren’t there for it.”

“I mean we wouldn’t be here today all together.”

Steve blinks.

Jesus Christ, these kids are gonna be the death of him. Can’t drive the damn car if his eyes are misting over, can he?

“Yeah,” Eddie says as he reaches over to curve his hand around the back of Steve’s neck, “Yeah, bug, that’s true.”

And thanks goodness for that.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dads!steddie #the satellite and the sky #idek what this is #barely proofread srry #hopefully it isn't annoying that i didn't name their daughters #it's a plot point i haven't gotten to yet and i refuse to spoil my own shit kay?#liv’s steddie dads verse

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allandoflimbo · 2 years ago

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Take It Back: His Story (6)

Sequel to Take It Back

Previous Chapter

Summary: You and Bucky. It was supposed to be a happy ever after. Your story, home, and love was near perfect. After all, you had worked so hard and suffered so much to be where you finally were. But behind the scenes, Bucky had been dealing with more baggage from the past than he had been willing to publicly share. Steve was always the second best when it came to him and Bucky. From Nat, to you, and maybe now, even someone else. It’s been seven years since Ashlyn cheated on Bucky, but nine since she first fell in love with him. Two years after their public divorce and after starting therapy, she holds onto a dangerous mixture of jealousy and strength. With new friendships and new love on her side, she knows she should let Bucky go. But should is so hard to do when she loved as hard as she did.

WARNING:

This story will contain sex; oral, m/f penetration, anal sex, dry sex, rough sex, shower sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, porn watching, and soft sex. Very strong language, strong adult content, use of drugs/alcohol, sensitive topics like marriage trouble, illnesses (both terminal and mental), one incident of almost non-con, college frat parties shenanigans, and emotional angst.

Rating: Rated R. 18+ ONLY. 🔞 no minors.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Masterpage for Take It Back: His Story

Nat's voice catches Steve's attention. He looks over his shoulder to see her standing there in the middle of the sidewalk.

She looked gorgeous. Her blonde hair was blunt and short on her shoulders, and she wore a strikingly red lipstick. Her dress matched her lips.

There was black cardigan over her shoulders.

It takes him a second to pull himself together and to meet her eyes. When they do, he swallows hard. She had been looking at him the same way, apparently.

"Hey. I guess we did." He says.

"Might as well walk the rest of the way together." She says with a smile.

"Might as well." He gives her a smile back and pokes out his elbow for her to take.

She politely does, without hesitation.

They walk silently towards the restaurant, her short heels hitting against the pavement rhythmically.

"I hope she's nice."

"I'm sure she is." Steve responds.

"It's nice seeing you again, Nat."

"You too, Stevie."

"Are you sure they're coming?" Ashlyn asks impatiently, already disliking how the weather was starting to warm up. It was February.

Christmas was only two months ago.

She looks around the street, appreciating the restaurant Bucky chose. He always had great taste in locality and food. They were in the village at some little place; Market Place. For it being the last week of February, a whopping sixty degrees was unusual, but it looked like the entire state of New York decided to take advantage of it.

There was a lot of people and she wondered if it was a smart idea for them to get a table outside.

She could barely hear Bucky over the other tables near them that were also talking.

"Yes!" He chuckles, "They should be here soon. Come on, what are you getting?" He motions with his head towards the menu in her hands.

"I'm not sure yet. Probably something simple like penne vodka."

"That sounds good." She hums and continues to eye the menu for a few more seconds, "There they are!" Bucky says enthusiastically, eyes glue over Ashlyn's shoulder.

Steve and Nat greet Bucky with a hug and then turn towards Ashlyn.

Ashlyn stands with a smile.

They greet her with a gentle handshake.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Ashlyn." "Natasha." "Ashlyn." "Steve. Nice to meet you."

Bucky gestures to the two chairs that were across from each other on the small square table.

"You guys can sit. We've only ordered our drinks. I got you two a water to start."

"That's actually fine with me." Nat responds.

"Me too. Thanks, Buck." Steve says.

It doesn't take them longer than two minutes to decide on what they want.

Nat places her menu down and turns to Ashlyn.

"So do you live in the city?"

"No, I live about an hour out. Upstate."

"Cool. I'm assuming you were visiting and that's how Bucky met you."

Ashlyn nods and smiles.

"Yes, we met on the street."

"A little risky, don't you think?" Steve asks playfully.

Ashlyn chuckles.

"Yeah, but he didn't look like your average serial killer so I went through with it."

"How could I not? She was wearing a Darth Vader t-shirt." Bucky mumbles before taking a sip of his water from the glass.

"You a star wars fan?" Steve asks, amused and impressed. He narrows his eyes at her and moves in slightly closer to her as if in a challenging stance, "Who's your favorite character and why?"

She perks a brown and him and smirks.

"Anakin. Because he's not perfect."

Bucky smiles at her answer.

"There you go," she tells Steve before turning back to Ashlyn, "What do you do for work?"

"I work at a Diner. I'm a waitress."

"Is it like those fifties style ones?"

"Kinda." Ashlyn says with a shrug, "it's fine. I know I need a better job, but I did it for the hours. I try to stay home as much as I can because of my sister."

Nat gives her a humbling look as her eyes soften.

She looks between her and Bucky, and she knows this that they have going on, will be good for him. It was unmistakable, as Ashlyn raised a brow at Bucky across the table followed by a smirk, that she cared deeply about him.

They all eat until they're stuffed, sharing a glass of wine midway through dinner. By the end of it, they are all ready for bed. Steve and Nat hug them both goodbye and then go their separate way.

Bucky turns to Ashlyn with a twinkle in his eye.

"You want to come to my place for a bit? We can just sit and talk."

Ashlyn wants to, but she knows she needs to get going. It was already getting late. But not just that, she was beginning to feel overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. She knew being by Bucky's side through them would be the best for her, but it was late.

"I can come over Saturday and we can stay at your place. I actually need to get going. I have a lot going on right now, and I'm tired."

Bucky frowns at that.

"Is everything okay?"

"It's fine. Just tired." She leans forward and places a soft kiss on his lips, "I promise. Saturday."

"Okay. Saturday it is."

On the train ride home to her house, she tries to keep her emotion in check as much as she can. She doesn't know why she always does this to herself.

The minute everything starts looking up and being good, she brings herself down intentionally. She couldn't control the shift in her emotions. Not entirely.

She was happy. Very happy. She was in love.

But she was also furious at herself and at her life.

Why couldn't she have been living this life ten years ago? Or when her parents were alive?

The memories of her parents engulf her, and just like that she's in another trance all together. She doesn't stop the lump that forms in her throat or the tears that fill her eyes.

She had every reason to be happy. She hated herself for beginning to feel uncontrollably sad.

She wished her parents saw her this happy.

She ignores Bucky texts until she gets home, afraid she would give him an attitude that he didn't deserve.

She needed a bubble bath and more wine.

She knows you're already asleep by the time she gets home. The whole house is dark except for the porch light. She opens the door and kicks off her shoes as quietly as she can. She makes her way to her bedroom and sits on the side of the bed.

Earlier than evening she had been high on the moon, ready to concur whatever it was she needed to with Bucky. She had planned to spend the evening with him, and then just like that, she didn't want to anymore.

She felt tired.

She decided to opt out for more wine and instead makes her way into the kitchen and pours herself another glass of water. She takes it with her lexapro and gets ready for bed.

She knew she needed to stop doing this to herself.

Now in her PJ's, she looks around her room; the room she grew up in. She feels a sense of melancholy hit her, realizing that in just two months she'd be leaving it behind. She was going to miss the memories the walls held. But at the same time, it reminded her of the bad. She remembers coming home from school and crying her eyes out. She remembers the scream that left her soul when she found out about the accident.

It was time for a new slate; new beginnings.

Her phone dings. She pulls it out of her bag and squints at her screen.

Bucky

Some of us are going to Montauk eight weeks from now. It should be warmer by then. You down?

She takes in a deep breath.

Sounds good

Next Chapter

@rebloggingmyrecs @kjdara @angstsebfan @lethallyprotected @lilfuturescars @ccmarvelxx @thesneakylittleminx @empress-of-riva @death-unbecomes-you @sonicisnotsober @sebsgirl71479 @prettywhenicry4 @dhoruwolfie

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #bucky x you #marvel fanfic #fanfiction

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greatunironic · 2 years ago

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So you've said you're open to prompts, and now I can't stop wanting more 'The Most Remarkable Thing' content... I am DESPERATE for late 80s/early 90s Eddie starting to make it as a respected local musician in the Seattle Grunge scene and how he navigated it all (And Steve and the crew's reaction when he started to make it big) But like.. Eddie meeting his band, Eddie meeting other Seattle musicians we know and love (Dave Grohl's party, wassup).. Even darker stuff? Like Eddie and the Seattle scene navigating something like Mia Zapata's murder (Eddie's PTSD would say hello here again I bet)... But yeah, the whole scene is so fascinating, and I'd just really love to know more about Eddie (or Ed) finding his feet there and then finding himself amongst it all, a bit <3

in remarkable, mike and el get married in the summer of ‘93, early july. it’s obviously a whole thing — i think it’s the first big family get together since the kids all graduated high school in ‘89 and steve was the last one to move out of hawkins. there have been get togethers and family dinners and they throw eddie an album release party, the party plus robin and steve crashing at eddie’s tiny seattle one bedroom. but eddie’s been touring almost nonstop since Girl dropped + the shotguns actually just did their first european tour in ‘92 after METALHEAD is released, and hopper’s been cancer free for a year now — so this wedding is a big fucking deal. eddie wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

(more under a cut because this for out of hand)

so everyone is in indiana, at hopper and joyce’s, and eddie was almost the last to get there but he got there, uncle wayne picking him up at the airport and giving him shit about not bringing a suit and making him stop somewhere before they can get to the farm. it’s a beautiful ceremony, officiated by a local priest whose name no one can remember after, and they throw a dope ass party for the pair of them. jonathan and nancy had eloped, and hopper and joyce had a tiny church wedding back in ‘87; but it feels like this is the first big wedding for the group, the first big life event for all of them, and as it happens: everyone gets crunk.

(max’s chair lift gets a lot of action this weekend, let’s just say.)

they get married in the evening, on a friday, the 9th. the party goes strong well into the early hours of the next morning, and at around three am — while mile and el are slow dancing to the radio in the kitchen, and the rest of the party are smoking eddie’s weed in the yet unremodeled dairy parlor with jonathan and argyle, and joyce, robin, and nancy are wine drunk on the porch and talking shit about robin’s neighbors in boston — eddie’s hanging out with hopper, enzo, murray, and uncle wayne in hopper’s study — the four older men are getting blasted, playing some allegedly russian drinking game that involves taking a shot, crawling under a table, and then taking another shot and repeating the whole thing. hopper’s like “oh yeah i played this back before i adopted el, only it was called depressive alcoholism back then.”

so they’re fucking wall-eyed and steve’s there too, only he can’t drink on account of him nearly cutting off his own thumb four days prior when he, hopper, and jonathan were building the pergola for the wedding. it doesn’t seem to bother steve, who’s been moving between groups to make sure people drink water and eat slices of plain bread.

hopper, to eddie’s absolute delight, gets increasingly handsy whilst in his cups and he keeps grabbing steve and hugging him, ruffling his hair, sitting him on his lap and being like “my boy’s thinking about getting his masters next year” and otherwise just being like a total drunken mess of a proud father in between crying about el leaving him. steve rolls his eyes but blushes, and eddie —

listen. it’s been something like seven years since steve carried eddie out of the upside down; it’s been seven years since eddie got wrapped up in that shit, and it’s been seven years since it was over; it’s been seven years since eddie lost his kidney and his heart in practically one evening. and it’s fine! it’s great! eddie’s written two albums (and one got him to the fucking grammy’s, thanks), and he’s working on a third and it’s been seven years and he’s made his peace with the fact that steve harrington is probably the one great love of his life.

nights like these are just — hard.

eddie knew that, going in. he steeled himself in on the plane ride in, then the drive, and every single morning in the bathroom mirror since, and he’s doing a great job, he’s holding it together and fuck it he’ll probably get some good lyrics out of this at least. it’s only when the light catches steve’s blush so, when he rolls his eyes and mouths “help me” to eddie, when he smiles, pleased and shy, and eddie thinks he’s the only one who notices —

his pager buzzes. it’s wanjeri, he sees, when he checks it — CALL ME, all caps, nothing else — and he thinks about ignoring her for a moment. but wanjeri doesn’t page unless she truly needs to, and it’s getting close to her due date, so maybe she needs him to smack around alejandro for a bit.

he excuses himself to the hallway to use the phone there. he begins to dial, says “hey it’s me what’s up,” when she picks up.

from outside, he can hear nancy hysterically laughing while robin is shouting, also laughing, “am i a fucking liar, nancy? am i? they’re two halves of the same idiot,” which frankly could be about anyone, and enzo and murray are arguing in russian from the office while hopper and wayne giggle like little kids.

it’s midnight in seattle, and wanjeri has to repeat herself three times before eddie realizes what she’s saying, “mia zapata was murdered.”

the next five minutes pass in a blur — mia’s dead, don’t know who did it, funeral arrangements, wanjeri crying and alejandro’s soothing voice taking up the phone, telling eddie to take care, they’ll see him soon — and then eddie is somehow in the second floor guest bath, his back rammed up against the bathtub, his hands tangled in his hair. in the back of his mind, he can hear bones snapping. he wants to scream. he thinks he might be having a heart attack.

the door opens and closes and eddie looks up through blurry eyes to see steve crouched in front of him, his pretty face creased in concern. what, he wants to snap, what.

“hey,” he says. “eddie, i think you’re having a panic attack. but i’m right here, okay. do you think you could try to match my breathing for a bit?”

he watches through a haze as steve breathes slowly in and out, and eventually eddie is, in fact, breathing with him. steve smiles gently, says, “that’s great, man, great job. do you need anything? can i get you anything?”

“i just wanna sit here for a sec,” eddie says. his voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming. shit, he hopes he hasn’t been screaming.

“cool,” steve is saying. he moves so he’s next to eddie, backs against the tub. he listens to his even breathing, still modeling for him to match, and after forever, steve asks, “wanna talk about it?”

“not really.”

“okay.”

eddie’s eyes burn, so he squeezes them shut. still, he can feel tears start to roll down his cheeks. steve’s hand presses up against his and eddie says, “a friend of mine was murdered.”

“shit, man.”

“yeah.” eddie scrubs the hand not touching steve’s across his face. “wanjeri knew her better. we just — we ran in the same circles, the same crowd. we opened for her band once, back when we first got started. she was nice. but i can’t remember the last time i actually talked to her and — does it make me a bad person if — if —“

“if what?”

“the whole time wanjeri was telling me, i couldn’t even picture mia’s face. i only saw chrissy.” steve’s fingers intertwine with his and eddie whispers, “i only ever see chrissy.”

eddie starts sobbing, quietly, and steve just holds his hand through it, doesn’t say a word.

but eventually he cries himself out until the only sound in the bathroom is his uneven breaths. steve still hasn’t let go of his hand and eddie tells him, “wanjeri says they’re gonna bury her back home in kentucky next weekend.”

“do you want me to come with you?” asks steve.

“what?” asks eddie.

“do you want me to come with you?” he asks again. “to kentucky. i could drive you?”

“steve,” he says. he wants to cry again.

“you shouldn’t have to be alone,” steve says. there’s a part of eddie — tiny, beaten down and locked away — that wants to think he means something else entirely, but he can’t — he can’t.

“that’s okay,” eddie says. “wanjeri will be there, and the guys.”

he can feel steve’s eyes on the side of his face, searching, so he adds, “do you mind if we just sit here for a little bit longer?”

“no man,” he says. “i don’t mind at all.”

they watch the sun rise from the bathroom, and when robin comes knocking with a vicious hangover at eight am, they’re still holding hands. they never talk about it.

#asks or whatever #stranger things #most remarkable thing #this got wildly out of hand #might need to clean it up and make it it’s own timestamp #(there’s another timestamp inspired by this ask in the proverbial hopper)#(less of a downer too)

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 || dark!Bucky Barnes & dark!Steve Rogers x reader

summary: a little fresh air never hurt anyone, right?

word count: 10.3k (yes, OVER TEN THOUSAND WORDS OF FILTH what is wrong with me)

warnings: noncon smut (incl. anal, oral m and f receiving, dp, and spitroasting), bondage/restraint (and a gag), some mild violence, lots of slapping, pussy spanking, forced orgasms, degradation/derogatory language, kinda kidnapping, a touch of stockholm syndrome?, very brief breeding kink, period-typical sexism (this is set in the late 60s but you wouldn't really be able to tell aside from that and the lack of technology)

a/n: the song that plays on the radio, and the song that just so happens to be the title of the fic, is by john lee hooker in case anyone wants the proverbial vibes

You needed a chance to clear your head every once in a while, that's what camping in the woods was for. It was the perfect time of year for it, too; the leaves were changing, the woodland animals were beginning to prepare for hibernation, and the weather was almost warm with a refreshing breeze that promised to bring the winter chill soon enough.

It was far from your first time in these woods, you knew the drive like the back of your hand by now, just as well as you knew how to hike down to the best places to set up camp.

You set down your pack and took in a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. No sounds except for the wind in the trees, the trickle of the creek, and your own thoughts which you found pleasantly blank. You'd chosen a spot by the creek, where you could spearfish on evenings that you felt especially adventurous, with a nice dirt patch perfect for a fire. The most dangerous thing about camping in the fall was that the dry leaves could catch flame so easily, so one of the key stages of setting up camp was raking away any foliage from your firepit, lest it become unintentional kindling.

The next order of business was finding a few dozen smooth stones to surround the fire, along with some logs and sticks to burn.

A knife and flint was just enough to speed up your firebuilding so that you had something solid going by nightfall, shedding your jacket to better feel the warmth as the flames grew and the sun set.

Sure, the woods could feel a little… creepy, at night, for lack of a better word, but it was more tranquil than anything. Most of the wildlife that was so active during the day stilled and silenced, bar the occasional owl’s hoot, so the loudest sounds were the crackling of your fire and the ever-present trickle of the creek. You heated your kettle for a cup of chamomile tea, something to help you get to sleep on the admittedly uncomfortable sleeping bag in your canvas tent.

The mug warmed your fingers as you filled and held it, and the steam warmed your face as you took a sip; but the contents warmed your chest, and your soul, as you contemplated the flavors; is it possible that tea tastes better when enjoyed in the quiet woods, mid-autumn?

You were already yawning by the time the mug was finished, so you set it aside and crawled into your tent, shedding the excessive layers and slipping between the fluffy down-stuffed layers of your bedroll. It was chilly at first but you knew your body heat would make it toasty all too soon, so you ignored the way you shivered as you fluffed your pillow and laid it under your head.

It was dark with only the fading light of your fire seeping in through the thick-weave canvas; and it was quiet, being the middle of the forest and all. One sound you didn’t expect were distant sirens, barely audible, which made you wonder if something had happened, but you couldn't know what so you didn't pay it much mind as you drifted to sleep.

The next morning came early, of course; as early as the sun rose, warm sunlight flooding through the canvas of your tent.

You enjoyed staying in the bed for a while, not so much because it was very comfortable (it wasn’t) but just because you wanted to relish having no need to get up yet. No job, no cleaning, no chores… though you were pretty hungry so that inspired you to get up and see about breakfast.

Slipping on a few more layers to protect yourself from the morning breeze, you opened your tent and stepped out into the woods, finding your fire had been reduced to a pile of embers meaning that you would need to find more wood to get it going for breakfast-cooking purposes. And that’s what you were about to do when you heard a snapping of twigs echo through the woods, making you glance up to the source of the noise.

Your back straightened instantly at the sight of two men, one with short blonde hair and the other’s dark and nearly to his shoulders, walking down the hill nearby just across the creek. They were still pretty distant, and yet they were much too close for comfort; close enough to see that these were not men one would want to encounter while alone in the woods.

They had new clothes— baggy and loose, almost certainly stolen— but it wasn’t enough to hide where they must’ve come from. They might as well have still been in jumpsuits with numbers on their chests.

The prison, just over five miles away. Had they really hiked this far? You kicked yourself now for ignoring the sirens last night.

You froze as they turned and caught your gaze, the three of you locked in a stare for a brief moment before one of them took a step forward: that was all the cause you needed to run like hell, turning on your heel and starting so fast you nearly slipped on the leaves beneath you. You heard them call out, chasing after you, but you focused on staring ahead and trying to remember the path back home, or at least to the road where someone might drive by to help you.

A root nearly caught your foot but you kept running, hating that you could hear them gaining on you since it didn’t actually seem to help you run any faster. You looked back and saw them much too close for comfort, but when you looked back ahead it was too late to avoid the tree right in front of you; you swerved but it still made you slip and almost fall.

But you didn’t fall. Someone caught you, and grabbed you, and pulled you into his oppressive form.

His arms held you painfully tight as his hand covered your mouth. "Gotcha," the man growled against your ear, licking the shell of it as you struggled against his grip.

Everything everyone had told you about why a lady shouldn’t camp alone in the woods suddenly flashed in your mind, your eyes squinting shut as you wished you had listened. All you could do now was kick wildly, swinging your legs in the air which didn't even do anything.

"Pretty little thing, aren't ya?” he purred as you saw the second man come into view— the blonde one, so you knew it was the one with long, dark hair that must’ve been holding you, giving you such a twisted compliment. “Just beggin' to be fucked right."

"Don't look so scared, sweetheart, we're not gonna hurt you…” the blonde man explained, “just play nice and we will too."

"Speak for yourself, Rogers," the man holding you snarled. "Been a long time since I got to feel a pussy, I wanna tear this little bitch up."

You sobbed and writhed as the one apparently called Rogers hushed you soothingly, trying to calm you. "Hey, just do what we say and it won't hurt alright? Just take it easy."

He stepped closer, reaching out towards you while you grunted and whined with every kick, smiling in a way that would’ve been soothing in nearly any other situation. He motioned to his partner who slowly lowered his hand from your mouth, and though your instinct was to scream you just heard yourself panting and whimpering instead.

“Did you hear me? We’re not gonna hurt you. We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet… I’m Steve, and this here is my cellmate— uh, friend— Barnes.”

“But you can call me Bucky, dollface,” the man behind you added with a little smile that you could hear and feel with him pressing up so close to your face.

“See, he and I just came from an awful, terrible place—”

“I know where you came from,” you cut him off with a snarl. “You’re criminals! You’re scum!”

Bucky just laughed and held you tighter until your arms started to ache from struggling against him.

“Hey now, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve corrected firmly— not angry, but stern. “I was framed, I served seven years for something I didn’t do. You’re innocent, too, right Barnes?”

“No,” he instantly answered, making Steve look disappointed. “Oh, uh, sure. Yeah, I was framed. Real sob story,” he suddenly decided, not sounding like he was trying that hard to convince you.

“Point is, we were all alone for a long, long time, and we thought maybe you’d wanna be nice and take care of us, huh?” Steve offered.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

“That’s sort of the idea,” Bucky whispered playfully.

“Let me go,” you demanded as Steve’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared, anger finally coming out when he suddenly grabbed your chin and held your face to look up at him.

“Let me make one thing very fucking clear,” he explained, nearly whispering so you were forced to stay still and quiet to hear him. “You don’t get to pick what you want. But you get to pick if you’re gonna make this easy, or difficult.”

You spat in his face; he slapped you for that, so hard that your ears rang for a moment while he grimaced and wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Difficult it is,” he announced with ill-restrained loathing, coming even closer as Bucky covered your mouth again to muffle your screams of protest. “Buck, I’m goin’ first.”

“Fuck you, pal, I was in longer and I saw her first,” Bucky replied frustratedly. “I’m not gonna take long anyway, you can go after me.”

“I just got spit in my face!” Steve reminded him. “And the breakout was my idea!”

“Your idea?!” Bucky repeated incredulously. “What, you think you’re the first guy to think ‘hey, what if we just left prison?’ because trust me, if it wasn’t for my screwdriver—”

Their argument caused Bucky’s focus to slip, that must have been why the hand on your mouth loosened and you could speak again.

"You won't get away with this, my father's a sheriff!" you yelped, interrupting their negotiation.

They both laughed darkly and you instantly regretted saying it.

"Oh, sweetheart, your old man's a cop? That's too bad,” Steve sighed. “You know what they say: sins of the father…"

"Fuck the daughter,” Bucky finished with a cold, hollow laugh as he suddenly bit down on your ear making you wince and shudder, tears streaming down your cheeks already.

He tossed you down and pinned you to the ground, his strong, heavy body on top of yours knocking the wind out of you as he began to tear at your clothes and, annoyingly, not seeming to find them much trouble at all. You whimpered when you felt your pants torn down your legs, hating how exposed and vulnerable you felt, hating the undeniable fact that you couldn’t stop this.

You tried to get up when he reached down to open his belt and jeans, but Steve’s boot came down on your shoulder and held you still again. Bucky was rushed and brutal as he pushed his pants down and pressed his cock against your ass, guiding it between your legs as you hissed and tried not to think about what was about to happen.

He pulled back briefly to spit on your hole, spreading the forced wetness with the head of his cock before suddenly pushing into you as you gasped and choked on a sob.

"Oh, that's it baby,” he groaned, “scream if you want, nobody can hear you but us."

Already he was thrusting with wild abandon, his hips slapping into your ass as his hot breath came down against your ear and neck, his face pressing yours into the cold ground.

"Fuuuuuck,” he moaned lowly, “so tight, Jesus Christ… fuckin' missed this, went almost ten years without burying my cock in a wet little cunt like this. Shit, it's even better than I remember."

You just cried and bit down on nothing, pain making violent shivers run up your spine as the width of him split you open, pushing deeper than you’d known anything could go.

Each thrust seemed somehow rougher and deeper than the last, pushing you further past your limits, making your toes curl inside your boots. He was unabashedly using your body, treating you with less care than some men might a blow-up doll, moaning loudly as he split you open with every moment.

So why did it almost begin to feel good, now that the worst of the pain had faded? Why was the ridge of his cock brushing over your g-spot just right each time he moved?

He pinned more of his weight on you as he changed his angle slightly, enough to add just that much more brutality to every stroke, the loud slapping of skin echoing through the desolate trees. You could tell he wasn’t lying about how long he’d been celibate in prison, because he fucked you with every ounce of pent-up frustration, hissing through his teeth and holding you tight enough to bruise.

Everything he did, he did enough to bruise.

“Yeah, take it, bitch,” he moaned when you made a particularly pained noise.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna take long,” Steve remembered, staring down at the two of you from where he was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.

“I’m almost done, you waited this long you can wait five more minutes,” Bucky dismissed, voice a little strained as he kept fucking you.

“Just stop and give me a turn and then you can get back to it,” Steve suggested.

“Nah, no fuckin’ way,” Bucky laughed, “feels way too good to stop. Trust me, Stevie, this pussy’s worth the wait.”

“Get her on her knees then,” Steve instructed as he came closer to you and kneeled in front of your face; Bucky manhandled your hips into place while Steve pulled your hair until you yelped and brought your head up. “I wanna fuck this pretty little throat.”

He cut off your protests with another hard slap to your cheek, tugging your hair again as you struggled to hold yourself up on shaking arms.

“Gonna teach this mouthy bitch a lesson,” he explained as he hit you again before using one hand to open his belt and jeans. “You know what’s gonna happen if you try to bite me, right? I’ll just knock you out and fuck your throat anyways. So you’d better make it good if you wanna breathe.”

You tried your best to nod with his fist tugging your hair, gasping slightly when he pulled his cock out and stroked it right in front of your face.

“Come on, baby, open up— this is the most you’ve kept your mouth shut all day,” he laughed, tapping the swollen head of his cock on your lips until you finally opened them. The flavor of his skin on your tongue made your lips curl in disgust but he held your jaw and pushed deeper, quickly hitting the back of your throat. “Fuck, so warm… come on, suck it, make it good for me.”

“She’s gettin’ wet,” Bucky informed Steve with a chuckle. “She likes it— don’t you, little whore?” he prompted as he slapped your ass suddenly, making you cry out around Steve’s length. “You like choking on a cock like you deserve?”

You made some sort of gurgling sound, and apparently they took it as a ‘yes.’

"Aw yeah, fuck, gonna fill up this little cunt,” Bucky promised. Funny thing is, you weren't sure if "this little cunt" meant your hole, or you.

“You’d better not, m’supposed to go after you,” Steve reminded him.

“Fuck, I dunno if I have the heart to pull out,” Bucky admitted with a laugh, slapping you on the ass to make your walls suddenly clench around him. “I know a sweet body like this just needs to be bred.”

Your sob was louder around where Steve’s girth stretched your lips, making Bucky laugh darkly.

"Oh shit honey, what would Daddy Sherriff say if he found out you got knocked up by a couple'a criminals, huh? By murderers?"

Steve pulled his cock out just enough to let you sob weakly before shoving back in and penetrating your throat.

"Yeah, you like it don't you?” Bucky continued to taunt you. “You like being bred by some strangers who caught you in the woods… dirty bitch."

Steve's head fell back as he started to thrust into your mouth faster and harder, the base of his cock flexing against your tongue. You assumed it was a sign that he was close and it made you hopeful that this would be over soon, but he suddenly pulled out with an exhausted laugh.

"Oh no you don't," he breathed, "not gonna come yet, still need to feel that tight little pussy of yours… if Bucky would hurry the fuck up."

"Fuck, I'm close, I'm close," Bucky rasped. "Shit, babydoll, this wet cunt is gonna make me come, aren't you so proud?"

Steve held your mouth open and rubbed his cock on your tongue, occasionally shoving two fingers in with it which were salty with his sweat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck," Bucky hissed, "oh god, fuck, I'm—!"

He pulled out suddenly, rubbing his cock against your clit as his seed shot onto the ground beneath you. You sighed with relief although you hated the way your body was actually disappointed, craving more and clenching around nothing in protest.

Bucky was hardly even finished when Steve reached under your arms to pull you up and flip you onto your back, groaning as he settled between your legs and rubbed his cock over your folds. He didn't waste any time pushing into you, and apparently being fucked by Bucky wasn't enough to warm you up for Steve because you hissed at the sting as he filled you.

"Fuck," Steve mumbled as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them down beside your head. Already he had begun to pull back only to spear into you again, reaching deeper inside you than Bucky had until you were gasping and choking on nothing.

Bucky stood up and stepped back, pulling his jeans up as he watched you two on the ground.

"You got any cigarettes back at camp, sweetheart?" Bucky asked you, and it was hard to focus on his question but you shook your head. "Damn," he breathed, pondering for a moment before coming up with his next question. "You got any candy bars?"

"Do you mind?" Steve hissed, still thrusting into you— a bit slower than Bucky but not exactly more gentle. "We're kind of busy here."

"No, I don't particularly mind," Bucky smirked.

"Can't you just entertain yourself for a few minutes while I finish this?"

"Why should I entertain myself when I've got this pretty little thing to entertain me?" Bucky smirked, kneeling down beside you as Steve buried his face in the crook of your neck. "Wanna help me out here, dollface? I'm still hard…"

He freed one hand from Steve's grip and brought it up to the front of his jeans so you could feel the hard bulge there. He opened them for you, reaching in and pulling his hard cock out to wrap your hand around it.

Feeling the thickness of it in your palm now, you couldn't imagine how it ever fit inside you.

"Yeah, that's it, I'll teach you how to stroke it right…" he groaned. "You know how many times I had to do this to myself, just imagining claiming a little slut like you? Your hands are so much softer, sweetheart…"

His hand tightened around yours and guided every movement, which was good because you had no chance of focusing on anything while Steve was slamming into you and moaning right by your ear.

"So wet," he whispered to you, "so warm. All mine…"

You felt your insides grip him harder and he smiled, lips tickling your sensitive skin.

"Yeah, you like bein' mine. You like being owned, I can feel it. I can feel that this is exactly what you needed. Is that what you were hoping for when you came out to these woods all by yourself? That a big strong man would show up and stretch out this pussy? Well I'm here now, angel, and I'm just about ready to fill you up real good."

A few more thrusts, faster and harder than ever, were enough to send Steve over the edge as you felt each pulse warm you from the inside out. Steve groaned loudly and buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, painting his come right onto your cervix while you gasped at the sensation.

Bucky stopped moving your hand and looked down at Steve. "Are you fucking serious— did you just come inside?"

Steve took a moment to catch his breath before answering: "duh."

"How come you get to come inside but I don't, huh?"

"Cause I went second!"

"Yeah, that's some bullshit," Bucky scoffed.

"Will you just leave now, please?" you whimpered weakly from the ground. "You got what you wanted, now just go."

"Oh, sweetheart, we are nowhere near done with you," Steve promised, sighing as he pulled out of you slowly.

You wanted to try to get up, but your limbs were weak and numb, and your head heavy with confusion. It made it easy for Bucky to scoop you up and carry you back the way you'd run, your tent quickly coming into view which made you realize how pitifully short your chase had been.

“Looks big enough for the three of us,” Steve noted as he tilted his head to look at your camp.

“We’re not going in yet, I think somebody needs a little creek bath first,” Bucky smiled as he started to set you down on your shaky legs. “Go ahead and strip, doll.”

You shivered, considering resistance but deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble as you started to peel off your shirt and jacket, then your boots and slightly torn leggings.

They both smiled and watched you, Bucky snorted a little when he saw how hard your nipples were. “It’s chilly,” you defended meekly.

“Sure it is,” he nodded, “don’t stop, get in the water when you’re done.”

You nodded slightly as you tossed the clothes aside, trying to cover yourself with your arms as you slowly walked into the stony creek, wishing the water weren’t so clear so it would cover you better.

You made a weak attempt to clean yourself, watching goosebumps cover your skin from the cool water.

"Wash yourself up good,” Bucky instructed firmly. “I don't want any of Rogers' jizz still in you when I take that pussy again."

With a grimace, you washed between your legs and winced when your touch reawakened the sting of soreness there.

“You’re gonna have to push it out, honey, it’s real deep,” Steve grinned pridefully.

You did your best to clean up, not for Bucky’s benefit but for your own, because you hated how it felt to have Steve’s spend still within you.

“How am I supposed to dry off?” you asked nervously as you looked around, knowing you hadn’t brought a towel as you hadn’t really planned on a full creek bath during your trip. You hadn’t planned on any of this during your trip, shockingly enough.

“You can drip dry,” Steve suggested.

“So you want me to stand naked in the cold for an hour while I dry?” you realized, irritated but still scared.

“Something like that,” Bucky confirmed. “Unless you want us to keep you warm…”

“I’ll freeze,” you decided, stepping out of the water as Bucky snatched your clothes away to make sure you couldn’t dress. “Gimme those!”

“Come and get ‘em,” he challenged, leaving you to huff and cross your arms, teeth chattering as the wind picked up.

You couldn’t imagine why they cared so much about testing your will when they’d already proven that they could take you however they wanted. Perhaps it was just that they wanted to know you’d accepted that. Better yet, they probably hoped you would participate willingly if you understood that you never had a choice.

Closing your eyes didn’t help, you could still feel their hungry gaze on you; rubbing yourself with your hands didn’t help because it just spread the cold water around on your skin, rather than actually warming you up.

It was probably less than a minute but it felt like half an hour before you relented, walking up to Bucky and looking down to avoid his stare as you meekly requested, “can I have my clothes, please?”

“But I can think of so many better ways to keep you warm,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around you, Steve moving behind you to press his chest against your back. You sighed with relief because even this was already making you feel better,�� the warmth of their bodies taking out some of the chill while their size blocked you from the wind. You mewled, ever so quietly, when you felt Bucky’s lips on your neck, your eyes falling shut as your head fell back onto Steve’s chest.

They showered you in gentle touches and teasing kisses as they picked you up and carried you into your tent, the small space beginning to warm quickly with the heat of three people inside— or was it just you that was getting hot from what they were doing to you.

Steve was groping your tits and pinching your hardened nipples, while Bucky focused most on sucking your neck or biting just beneath your ear. It was overwhelming, and impossible to ignore though you wanted so desperately not to be aroused. There were only four hands exploring your body but it might as well have been a hundred because you couldn’t tell the difference, they were touching you everywhere all at once.

"Now, are you gonna behave or do we need to tie you up?" Steve asked quietly.

You shook your head wildly, tensing up just imagining that. "Then say it," he instructed.

"I-I'll be good," you promised weakly.

Bucky grinned and slid his hand up your thigh, and though you didn’t mean to, when Bucky reached between your legs you tried to shut them and squirm away, it was instinct.

"Ah ah ah," Steve tutted. "You said you'd be good."

"Think we oughta tie her up," Bucky nodded, feigning disappointment.

"No, please, I'm sorry—"

"Too late for sorry, dollface," Bucky smirked, grabbing a shirt from your pack and tearing it into strips like it was no effort at all.

Steve held your wrists together for Bucky to tie, and they even tied your legs up bent and spread wide, finishing it off with a gag in your mouth.

Now you were helpless to Bucky pinching your clit, circling it with his thick and calloused finger, applying pressure to it until your eyes watered. At first it was exploratory, delicate, but once he’d found the most sensitive places he began to rub your clit hard and fast, laughing every time you moaned and flicking the sensitive bud to make your body jolt.

"Yeah, this little cunt's getting all wet, y'like having your pussy played with?" he smirked.

He accentuated his question with a few sudden spanks to your clit that made you jerk and yelp. The worst thing was that each slap made a wet sound that made you sure you were soaking by now.

“I know you want it so bad, don’t worry doll, I’m not gonna make you wait anymore…”

He caged you in and opened his jeans one more time, the process going much more quickly since he didn’t have to hold you down— you could squirm and cry, but that was about it.

With a little grunt, he pushed into you, and with how wet you were it actually went it much more easily. It was by no means painless though, especially since he was already moving and giving you no time to adjust.

"Yeah, that's better," he sighed, grinning as he watched you whine into the gag. "Now I can really take my time with you, show you how good I can make you feel."

He was certainly more relaxed than the first time, his pace measured and calculated as he made sure his hips met with yours fully at the end of each stroke. His width wasn’t as challenging in this position but his length certainly was, bumping into your sore and delicate cervix until you were forced to bite down onto the gag to cope.

But, in spite of the pain, or perhaps because of it, something deep and strong was forming inside you, tightening and twisting until it took all your effort not to let it spill forth.

He reached down and roughly rubbed your clit again, forcing a muffled scream from your throat as he grinned down at you. “Close already, huh? Good to know I haven’t lost my touch after all these years.”

You almost heard Steve scoff beside you, but it was hard to hear anything when your ears felt like they were full of cotton, only your own echoing heartbeat ringing louder than anything else.

"Yeah, I wanna feel you fuckin' come,” Bucky growled. “Bet you get even tighter every time."

As much as you wished not to, you fell over the edge, back arching until your chest bumped into Bucky’s where he hovered above you. He coaxed you along in his words and movements, your walls clenching in a nonsensical rhythm. More than anything you just wished he would stop moving so you could catch your breath, but his pace never faltered and it felt like you’d never stop coming if he never stopped fucking you.

“That’s it, good fucking girl,” he groaned, “makin’ you feel so good, aren’t I? Answer me.”

You hesitated, and sniffled, but finally nodded.

Even worse, your clit was so swollen now that he didn’t even need to rub it with his thumb anymore; his cock rubbed against it with each movement, the ridges of his shaft massaging you there until it felt like every part of your body had become the most sensitive place possible. You shook violently beneath him, each wave of pleasure stronger than the last until you felt like you had lost all sense of time, and space, and really anything that wasn’t being fucked in this tent like the fate of the world depended on it.

"Get outta the tent, Steve,” Bucky instructed suddenly.

"Why?" Steve protested with a scoff.

"I can't come with you starin' at me!"

"I'm not looking at you, dumbass,” he sneered, “I'm lookin’ at her. So pretty when she cries…"

"Whatever, either way, just go outside please?"

Clearly irritated but relenting anyways, Steve grunted under his breath as he got up, stepping unceremoniously over both of you. Bucky sighed with relief when Steve zipped the tent flap shut behind him, turning his attention back to you. “That’s better, isn’t it? Just me and you… way it oughta be.”

“I heard that!” Steve called from outside.

“Then stop listening!” Bucky suggested through his teeth before leaning down to whisper in your ear, holding your hips tight so he could fuck you harder than ever. "I don't give a fuck what he says, I'm coming in you this time. Not pulling out until I know every drop is in you, wanna see this pussy stuffed to the brim with my come… you want it too, huh?”

Another electrifying pulse inside you made your channel flutter around him, and how cruel that the moan he made actually turned you on more.

"Fuck, that's it, squeeze my fuckin' dick, honey. Wanna milk all the come outta my cock, don't you?"

You nodded again, hearing him moan in that perfect way one more time before you started to feel him pulse and swell within you, streams of hot come pouring into you. The amount was pretty impressive since he’d already come once, although you didn’t exactly feel ‘impressed,’ so much as horrified and confused. And numb, from coming so many times.

Bucky smiled down at you with an exhausted sigh, smacking you lightly on the face a few times to try to rouse you from your blissed-out state, but all you could do was hum sleepily into the gag.

“M’gonna untie you now, you’re too out of it to try anything,” he explained, releasing the gag first before working on your wrists and your legs. A rush of warm come oozed out of your abused hole when he pulled back, making your face heat up as he smiled and held your legs up to see it better. “Yeah, filled you up real nice,” he informed you. He gave a reassuring pat to your thigh before getting up and getting out of the tent, leaving you to stare blankly into nothingness for a while.

Eventually, you knew you had to face the world again, though you were more sure than ever that you weren’t prepared for it. Grabbing a blanket from the floor of the tent and covering yourself with it, you took a slow breath to try to stabilize yourself.

For how slow time seemed to have passed so far, you were surprised to see the sun setting when you opened the tent flap and stepped outside. You realized, with a sick feeling in your chest, that they had been using you nearly all day now. And considering they were waiting for you around the fire, giving you a glance up and down as you emerged from the tent, they still might not stop for a while.

In fact, they’d made themselves very comfortable from the looks of it. The fire was burning stronger than ever, three logs positioned around the sides of the firepit to sit on; a pot was over the fire, and you recognized the contents as some of the food supplies from your pack. Best of all, Steve had found your battery radio and adjusted the station, blues quietly playing from the speaker as he used your hunting knife to whittle a stick.

Serves you right to suffer, the smooth voice crooned from the broadcast, serves you right to be alone...

For a moment, the three of you sat in silence as you took in the scene. But when the wind changed and the heat of the fire no longer reached you, you remembered you had business to attend to.

“C-Can I have my clothes back now?” you asked Bucky quietly, seeing them draped over the side of one of the logs.

“I think if you get dressed you’ll try to run again,” Steve mumbled, not even looking up at you.

“No, I won’t, I’m too tired,” you explained. “I just don’t want to be cold.”

“Fire’s hot enough,” Bucky dismissed. “Why don’t you just lay down a while, hm? Get some rest. You earned it.”

You weren’t just tired physically, but mentally, which is partly why you didn’t put up more of a fight before going over to the log and laying beside it, the blanket around you protecting you from the cold ground while you used your clothes as a sort of pillow on the log.

It couldn’t have been that you were asleep, because you could still hear the fire and the radio and Steve’s whittling (a constant reminder that he had a knife), but with your eyes closed and the darkness getting darker it was almost like sleep. A draining, restless sleep that did nothing to shelter you from the memories of what you’d become.

So, you opened your eyes, staring into the flames instead and venturing the occasional glance at Bucky or Steve; the former always met your stare, the latter would only look up if a sound got his attention.

“You gonna take a turn?” Bucky asked Steve casually, motioning to you by cocking his head.

“Not yet, need a while to... you know, build up some energy,” Steve explained.

“Mind if I have another go then?”

“She’s all yours,” Steve approved, making Bucky grin as he got up and circled the log you were slumped over.

“Y’hear that, dollface? All mine,” he cooed, picking you up and adjusting you until you were bent over the log, facing Steve and the fire. Your clothes kept your naked torso from rubbing against the bark, thankfully, but nothing could spare you from Bucky’s incessant touch, running up your back, over your butt which he spanked a few times for good measure, and finally to your entrance which he pushed two fingers into first. “Mm, we stretched you out pretty good… you’ll be back in shape by the mornin’, but until then, I just slide right in…”

And he proved himself right with one long stroke that pushed his cock to the deepest parts of you, pushing your hips forward into the log as you tried your best to keep your breathing steady.

He was uniquely quiet this time, still moaning and grunting occasionally but otherwise sparing you from the constant taunts and filthy whispers. Steve, meanwhile, was doing his best to look unaffected, but the subtle adjustment of his legs along with the increased vigor of his carving made it clear he was distracted by the sight in front of him.

Bucky’s strong hands on your hips were sure to leave marks, fingertips digging into your curves and pulling you back onto him, spearing you on his length.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he sighed, “gonna come.”

And it was actually a relief because this was going to end (for now), which was definitely the only reason you moaned in response. He got more talkative after that, smacking you on the ass a few more times as he chuckled darkly behind you.

“Fuck, take it, doll… take all my fuckin’ come.”

It was sort of a meaningless instruction, since you had to, but he seemed to enjoy reminding you that he was about to take his pleasure from your body one more time. He made a weak little moaning noise, almost pained, as he filled you once again, slumping down on top of you and for the first time really showing signs of exhaustion after coming three times in a day. You were so out of it that you hardly noticed his weight on you, or the little kisses he gave to your ear, whispering praises that tried your best not to hear.

He pulled out and came back around to look at your face again, pulling you up slightly by your hair so you looked up at him.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned. “Open your mouth sweetheart,” he instructed, spitting onto your tongue as soon as you’d done it, then lifting your jaw to make you close your mouth and swallow.

He tugged your hair harder before he kissed you, more possessive than affectionate, but unexpected regardless. His tongue tangled with yours as he reached down to circle his hand around your neck, feeling your pulse but not going so far as to choke you.

A little groan from Steve caught both his attention and yours. "You wanna fuck her, Stevie?"

"Oh god, I want that ass, I want that fuckin ass," he answered through his teeth, making you gulp as Bucky laughed.

"Go for it, man," he encouraged, and only a second after he stood up you both heard and felt Steve appear behind you, one calloused hand spreading your cheeks; you whimpered from embarrassment when you felt a finger circle your tight rim, before slowly pushing in.

"Fuck," you whispered, and it sounded much more like a curse of pleasure than you intended.

"Yeah, you want it don't you?" he asked through his teeth, giving you a hard spank that made you cry out. Bucky slapped you when you didn't answer, grabbing your jaw roughly.

"He asked you a question," he reminded you firmly, the sound of Steve spitting into his hand and coating your hole and his length distracting you slightly.

"Yes, yes, I want it!" you sobbed.

"Where?"

"In my ass!"

Your body put up significant resistance against his swollen head, but it was no match for his rough thrust forward, the tip of him popping inside and stretching you painfully. You bit your lip but it was impossible to stay quiet when he slid the rest of the way in.

You cried out as he moaned with satisfaction, already moving so much faster than you could handle (which, to be fair, was a low bar).

"Oh my god," he breathed. "So fuckin' tight…"

The pain was sharp, and it felt like the base of his cock was impossibly thicker than the rest of him since you whined every time he pushed in.

"Aw, does it hurt baby? That's my cock ruining your little hole, sweetheart…"

"Stop," you rasped, "please… please stop…"

"Nah, I think you like it… I think what you really needed was just to be put in your place, fucked in every hole so you know exactly what you're meant for."

Bucky appeared in front of you again, stroking himself in front of your face, still slick from behind inside you.

"See what a mess you made on my cock, dollface? I think you need to help me clean it up," he groaned, holding your jaw open to stuff his cock into your mouth and stifle your sobs. The taste of your and his come was potent and musky on your tongue, his head pushing right into your open throat when you tried to gag.

Steve held you tighter as he thrusted a bit more vigorously, Bucky simultaneously using your throat as he stroked your hair and cheek.

You couldn’t remember how to do anything but just take it now. At times their paces synchronized and you felt like you were being filled to the brim at both ends. Other times they were in a syncopation where one pushed in just as the other pulled out, meaning you had no real breaks at all.

Bucky was too weak to come again, that much was obvious, but he was happy to choke you anyways; and Steve, well, Steve was moaning more now than he had from your mouth or pussy, apparently trying to hold himself back even though he had no reason to try to prolong this— unless he actually wanted to see you in pain more than he wanted to finish?

“You want me to come in your ass?” Steve interrogated you with a spank to your thigh. “Beg for it.”

You shook your head around the length in your mouth.

“It doesn’t stop until you beg me for it, isn’t that what you want? You want it to stop, right?”

Had you really fallen into his trap that easily?

Bucky pulled back to give you the opportunity to meet Steve’s request, and you sucked in a lungful of air before finally whimpering: “Please, Steve… please come…”

“Where?” he pressed, ever-determined to make you remind him where he was fucking you.

“Please come in my ass…”

“If you say so, sweetheart,” he snickered before starting to thrust faster and more erratically, chasing his peak which you prayed was close. It was, thankfully, though never close enough, and you forgot that the swell of his pulsating cock would stretch your tired hole even wider.

And, you forgot that he had no reason to pull out just because he’d come.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “that was good.”

You tried to kick him away but it was impossible with how hard he’d pinned you down to the log.

“Just stay still and keep my cock warm in this pretty ass of yours, alright?” he instructed, all the while Bucky stared down at you with a satisfied smirk on his face, combing your hair a bit with his fingers.

“You’re tired, huh?” he noticed. “We’ll get you to bed soon.”

“Will you leave?” you instantly returned.

“We need somewhere to make camp for the night, too. And since there’s already a perfectly good camp right here…”

“No,” you whined, “no, you’re never gonna leave me alone, are you?”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning, alright?” he offered.

It was truly a testament to how physically exhausted you were that you managed to fall asleep squished between your two personal monsters.

Bucky was behind you, essentially spooning you while Steve had an arm draped over your chest. And even with the heavy weight on you, physical and metaphysical, you would’ve slept through the night easily if it weren’t for the feeling of Steve running his hands over your body, groping you wherever he could reach.

You opened your eyes but it was still pitch darkness, giving you no distraction from the physical sensations of Steve's fingers delicately grazing over your skin. Behind you, the quiet stability of Bucky’s breathing made it clear he was still asleep and unaware.

“Steve,” you whispered hoarsely.

“Shh,” he soothed below his breath, right by your ear. “He sleeps like a rock, we’re not gonna wake him up with a little fooling around.”

Amazingly enough, that wasn’t exactly what you were worried about. But you discontinued your dissent as he lightly suckled the lobe of your ear, fingers tracing abstract shapes over your hip. You heard your own breath catch, and he must have too because he smiled and nibbled on your neck.

You shivered when he started to pull you closer, laying you back to reach between your legs and toy with your overly-sensitive folds. His fingers found your clit and rubbed it in slow circles, making you writhe and jolt as shocks of pleasure shot through you.

“So sensitive,” he praised darkly, pushing against you harder. “Gettin’ wet, honey? Want you dripping before I put my cock in you.”

Bucky stirred beside you, pulling you closer in his sleep though Steve kept a strong hold on your lower half. It was nearly claustrophobic being sandwiched between them like this, made even worse when Steve adjusted your hips and you felt his cock rub against you.

“Tell me you want it,” he whispered in your ear, cradling your face in his large, rough hands.

“I— I want it,” you whispered back, biting your lip to stay quiet when he pushed in. You were still sore, but the wetness helped ease his way as he filled you to the brim, groaning softly and thrusting much more gently than you expected. It was all very relaxed, and languid, and… sleepy. It was so much easier to pretend that you wanted this when it was gentle and patient like this, when you couldn’t see his face

“You two got started without me?” Bucky interjected, making you both gasp.

"You seemed pretty busy snoring over there," Steve explained with an unamused tone. “You know, Barnes, I actually broke out of prison so I wouldn’t have to sleep in the same room as you for the rest of my life.”

“Leave if you want, Rogers, I’ll keep the girl and you can take her battery radio, ya limpdick.”

“Limpdick? Were you not here for the past twenty-four hours?”

“Yeah, I was fucking this sweet little thing while you were out there by the fire doing your arts and crafts.”

And just like that, your sweet and gentle sex was gone; Steve was determined to claim you now, fucking you harder and faster until you couldn’t hold back your broken moans. "Yeah, you like that?" he growled against your ear. "You like gettin' fucked? Say it."

"Y-yes, I like it," you gasped.

"We're gonna be on the run for a while…" Bucky mumbled against your skin as he kissed your shoulder, "sure wouldn't mind takin' you with us, keeping our own little pet to fuck whenever we want."

You tried not to stop breathing entirely when he said that, distracted by Steve slowing down slightly, offering some reprieve.

"Been so long without touchin' a woman," Steve added huskily, "I don't know if one day is enough."

"Yeah, plus we've already got you obedient, trained, fucked braindead and full of come," Bucky replied, biting down on your skin to make you whimper and he chuckled happily.

"Are you sure you can share, Barnes?" Steve pressed. "I know if you had it your way she'd be ripped to shreds by now."

"Whatever man, you're the one who tore her ass up."

Steve scoffed slightly, while Bucky continued.

"You wanna come with us sweetheart? We'll be real good to you, keep your holes wet and full for a couple months straight at least. You won't have to worry about a thing, won't have to lift a finger, just keep your legs spread and you'll be peachy."

"Hey, that's what we'll call you: Peach," Steve decided. "It's perfect, isn't it? 'Cause you're sweet… and soft… and I could just eat you up," he purred.

"Wanna be our girl, Peach?" Bucky prompted.

"No, please…"

You expected anger, you expected them to hurt you, but you didn't expect them to laugh. "Looks like our sweet little Peach hasn't had a chance to realize how good it's gonna be with us," Steve announced.

"Yeah, let's show her how much she wants to be our girl," Bucky snickered, holding your hips as Steve started to move inside you again.

Bucky, meanwhile, was grabbing handfuls of your ass and groaning as he rubbed his cock against you. One finger explored your rim and slowly pushed in.

"Looks like you're still a little loosened up from when Stevie here gave it to you, huh? He was real mean, wasn't he?"

You nodded, clutching harder into Steve's chest as he fucked you faster.

"Then taking me should be a breeze."

Truly, you had no idea how this was possible. I'm the dark it all felt like a fever dream, but when Bucky pushed into your available opening while Steve was still fucking you… it was definitely real, the feeling was too overwhelming not to be.

'A breeze' was definitely an exaggeration but it was undeniably easier, especially since being half-asleep made your body so much more relaxed. You still hissed when Bucky's hips met your ass, you still choked on a breath at the feeling of two cocks buried all the way inside you, but it wasn't from pain as much as being full beyond your wildest dreams

"You were right about this ass, Rogers, goddamn…" Bucky moaned, holding your hips tight and beginning to thrust.

"Fuck, can hardly believe you're takin' both of us," Steve sighed against your ear. "I know you love it, Peach, I know you love bein' so full…"

Your lips fumbled with the desire to moan a name but not sure whose to say; so instead you just babbled mindlessly, sounded just as dumbfounded as you felt.

But they weren't having any problems speaking, in fact they were more talkative than ever, each whispering in a different ear and making shivers crawl up your spine with every word.

"You're making us feel so good, such a good girl, aren't you Peachy baby?"

"Such a perfect fucking whore, so wet already just from being used."

"Want us to come inside, huh Peach? Wanna be full of come?”

Each time you arched your back, it only somehow pushed them both deeper, so deep you couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Bucky was moving at a much slower pace than Steve, such that they would only occasionally thrust all the way in at exactly the same time— and when they did, you heard yourself moan but refused to believe it was you making the sound because it sounded nothing like you, it didn’t even seem like something you would do; enjoying this that much, that is.

“You’re close, huh? Gonna come for both of us?”

You found yourself nodding, even though they couldn’t see it, but Bucky must have felt it against his shoulder because he laughed a little, grabbing your face and turning you back to kiss you hungrily. When he moved his kiss down to the back of your neck, Steve captured your lips instead, less dominating than Bucky’s but no less intense. The moan that undeniably signalled your orgasm was nearly lost against Steve’s tongue, but they both heard it and began to pump into you faster, keeping you suspended in your pleasure.

Steve lost it first, spilling into you with a choked groan and a tight grip on your arms that was sure to bruise. Bucky was close behind, panting with each hurried thrust until he finally moaned and filled your ass with ropes of hot come, a sensation you never could’ve imagined, let alone predicted you would experience twice in one day.

Bucky rubbed your thighs while he caught his breath while Steve peppered your face in tender kisses, both of them showering you in affection you had no idea how to handle.

“Whaddaya say, dollface?” Bucky prompted as he kissed just beneath your ear. “Y’like bein’ our little Peach, don’t you?”

You stammered over a few different responses, none of them very good, until Steve finally instructed you: “say yes.”

“Yes,” you repeated instantly.

“I can tell you do, you soaked my cock real good,” Steve praised with a grin you could feel against your cheek and hear in his gravelly voice. “We’ll head out in the morning, alright? Soon we’ll be somewhere where nobody knows who we are, what we’ve done… doesn’t that sound nice, Peach? A chance to start over?”

A fresh start never hurt anyone, right?

Months on the run made the night all blend together, you didn’t even know what state you were in anymore and you couldn’t find the energy to care.

It was definitely harder to hitchhike with three people, and a disturbing amount of truckers offered to take you alone but not your companions— and obviously they would never allow such a thing. At this point, you were better off with the devils you knew, anyways. At least with them you knew what to expect.

Specifically, you could expect Steve to be aloof and brooding until he occasionally snapped and became possessive over you again, asserting his dominance over you and Bucky however he could manage— usually by covering your body in his marks and every once in a while by covering your face with his come. You could expect Bucky to taunt and mock you, cornering you into consenting to his relentless barrage of pleasure and pain, over and over again watching you struggle to maintain your sense of denial and disgust, reminding you that you loved being fucked just how he wanted.

In fact, today was a pretty typical day while the three of you crashed in a motel, Steve staying silent and distant while Bucky kissed his way down your stomach that rose and fell shakily with each breath.

“Bucky, p-please,” you whispered, closing your eyes so you could more easily pretend it wasn’t you begging him for more.

"What's that, Peach? Want me to lick up your juice?" he grinned.

You shuddered and he chuckled as he knelt down between your legs to give a long, slow lick over your sex. Your entire body jolted when his rough tongue slid over your swollen clit, so he focused there until your legs were quivering and your head fell back.

"Mm, so sweet…” he cooed. “Come getta taste a’this, Steve.”

“I’m busy,” Steve refused, turning the page of his newspaper.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Bucky sighed, standing up straighter and leaving your pussy ignored; you whined a little, but it fell on deaf ears. “I’d love to see what you’re reading that could possibly be more interesting than this.”

“There’s an article about us,” Steve answered sternly, looking up from the paper to meet Bucky’s gaze, before glancing to look at you. “All three of us.”

Bucky huffed and stood up, leaving you naked on the bed as he crossed the room to tear the paper from Steve’s hands. His eyes scanned the page until he landed on the part Steve must have been referring to. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Look, Peach, you made the papers!”

He brought over the article for you to read, and you sat up straighter when you saw that a photo of yourself had been included alongside the mugshots of Steve and Bucky.

Two escaped prisoners, one missing woman, spotted in woods near Schenectady, NY...

“When is this from?” you asked nervously.

“The paper’s from today, but we were in Schenectady two weeks ago,” Steve explained. “They aren’t anywhere near us.”

It brought back memories of TV broadcasts you’d seen in hotels, radio news Steve had turned off before you heard too much. Phrases like ‘statewide manhunt,’ ‘federal investigation,’ and ‘trafficked woman,’ which had once been foreign to you, now represented your deepest anxieties.

Bucky saw the fear on your face and knelt down on the bed beside you, stroking your face gently. “Aw, Peach, don’t be scared… they’re not gonna find us, I promise.”

“If they did… what would happen to me?” you asked weakly. You truly had no idea if you’d be returned home and treated as the victim of a crime, or if you’d be arrested and charged as a perpetrator, as a collaborator who aided in the escape and continued flee of two violent criminals. They’d already gotten you in on a few robberies, even one bank— could you defend yourself by saying that you were forced to do it?

“Nobody’s gonna take you away from us,” Bucky assured sternly, not quite answering your question but making it clear that was all you were gonna get. You reached up to rest your hand atop his where it held your cheek, letting your watery eyes fall shut before you looked back up into his enrapturing gaze again.

“Kiss me, Bucky, please,” you whispered, making him laugh and shake his head.

“No, Peachy, I would but I know where that mouth has been. Steve woke you up in the middle of the night to choke on his cock, thought I wouldn’t hear, huh?”

You gasped a little and Steve crossed his arms where he sat in the chair. Bucky turned his attention back to Steve with a look of challenge on his face. “She’s scared, Stevie, won’t you come over here and make her feel better?”

Steve sighed but relented and stood up, crossing the room to stand beside the bed and stare down at you. For a moment you didn’t know what he intended to do, until he knelt down and grabbed your hips, pulled your spread legs closer to the edge of the bed where he latched his lips onto your slick and swollen folds.

“Oh god,” you moaned, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his hair, his tongue pushing inside you right away, twisting and thrusting and licking right over your g-spot until your eyes rolled back in your head and your back arched up off the faded quilt. Bucky grinned as he watched you, leaning down to kiss your neck, then suckle on a hardened nipple, then lick over your hips until finally he bit down on the inside of your thigh. You yelped a little and felt him smile against your delicate skin.

“I told you we’d take care of you, babydoll,” he mumbled, voice all deep and throaty like it got when he was about to spend an hour reminding you who you belonged to.

Sometimes you dreamed of the life you had before this, of the person you were when you only belonged to yourself, but that life was gone forever and it wasn’t coming back. Each day you mourned it in a different way. At first it was just the loss of dignity, then it was the loss at any chance of gaining that dignity back. You missed your friends and family, but you realized they wouldn’t welcome you back with open arms after this long.

You realized it was well and truly over the first time a man on the news called you an accomplice to the ‘rampant crime spree’ of Bucky and Steve. Just a few weeks later, the stories changed from two prisoners and their kidnapping victim, to three prisoners. And yes, you were a prisoner, but the police didn’t see a difference between you and them anymore. You had no reason to run, no motive for escape. They were the only thing keeping you alive and free now, even if this freedom wasn’t exactly overflowing with liberties.

So, you accepted as quickly as you could that this was your new life; every morning you banished the memories of who you used to be, and every night you prayed that your lovers wouldn’t be caught. And it wasn’t so bad of a life to have, even if it wasn’t the life you would’ve chosen for yourself— there was something nice about it, really, never very calm but still having its moments of peace and domesticity. Like falling asleep in the backseat of a stolen truck while Steve played blues on the radio. Like sitting in Bucky’s lap as he told you all about the beautiful tropical islands they’d take you to someday. Like when Steve robbed a jewelry store and told you he’d picked that one because they had the ring he’d seen in a magazine ad, the ring he decided he wanted you to wear from now on. Like being Mrs. Barnes when Bucky introduced you to his criminal connections, and being Mrs. Rogers when Steve did the same the next night.

Maybe you’d forgotten how to be anything else but their sweet, quiet, obedient Peach, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad wrap after all.

#dark!stucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!stucky noncon #dark!stucky smut #dark!stucky au

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boxofbonesfic · 3 years ago

Photo

Hello my bone babies!

I just hit 5k, and I’m feeling like a celebration is in order. Since I already have my Spooktacular Smutfest going on, naturally I thought “why not another challenge?” Autumn/Winter is my favorite time of year, that’s when you stay in, watch movies, get cozy, snuggle up with friends and family. There are so many seasonal things I love about this time, so I thought maybe you all might want to share in that joy with me!

Let’s get into it! (Yuh)

🍁Rules🍁

You may either write a fic for this challenge yourself, or you may request one from me, using the theme and character wheels!

I have listed below several themes to choose from that I feel are “central” to the season. You must pick one, and run with it! Same for the character wheel! Your theme must be apparent in your work!

Your entry must be able to be read as a stand alone piece, and I would prefer if it was written specifically for this challenge.

There is a hard 2.5k word limit! Less is fine, but let’s not go over! If your fic exceeds 250 words, put it beneath a cut!

This challenge is open to almost all categories, fluff, smut, dark, soft!dark, AU, etc! But your fic must be tagged and warned appropriately, and I will not reblog it if it isn’t!

BECAUSE OF THE NATURE OF MY BLOG, AND THE MAJORITY OF CONTENT FOUND THEREIN, THIS CHALLENGE IS 18+ ONLY. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT! Your story does not have to include smut, but my 18+ rule still applies regardless.

NO: Bestiality, toilet play, snuff, or necrophilia, though Monsterfucking is actively encouraged 😉

This challenge will run until January 1st, 2022! Please tag your submissions as “bonetastic bombastic 5K”, and also tag me in them so that I can see them! I do, however, reserve the right not to reblog any work I find offensive or that does not follow the rules.

🍁Themes🍁

тнємє ωнєєℓ

Fireplace

Snowed in

Baby it’s cold outside

Meet the parents

Happy Holidays (Thanksgiving, Xmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, New Years, ETC!)

Hot cocoa

Apple picking

Cuffing season

His sweater

Snowball fight

Winter getaway

Getting sick

Warm me up

Baby, maybe?

🍁Characters🍁

¢нαяα¢тєя ωнєєℓ

Chris Evans

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Jake Jensen

Andy Barber

Ransom Drysdale

Eddie Brock

Peter Parker

Thor Odinson

Clark Kent

Sam Wilson

Lee Bodecker

Arvin Russel

Curtis Everett

🍁Quote Prompts🍁

“Well, you know. Tis the season.”

“I didn’t get you anything—” “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re enough.”

“I thought you wanted to go somewhere for the holidays!” “Yeah! Somewhere! I didn’t think that would be here!”

“It’s beautiful.” “Yeah, you are. I mean, it is! I mean—shit.”

“I never actually… made a snowman before.” “I mean, for your first try it’s adequate.” “Hey!” “I mean, he’s perfect, babe! Frosty himself would be jealous!”

“It won’t be so bad!” “Your parents hate me.” “They don’t hate you! They just… don’t… like you very much.”

“Are you telling me we’re stranded?” “I’m telling you the snow is higher than the goddamn door!”

“Maybe we should share the blanket. You know, for warmth.”

“Already got my present right here. Stay still, doll, gotta unwrap it.”

“So what you’re telling me is you’re not interested in wearing matching sweaters?”

“I don’t know that you’ll get any presents with that filthy mouth.”

“I can’t sleep without you. It’s too cold.”

“What? Nonsense. It’s the perfect time for scary stories.”

“My hands are cold.” “Then you should let me hold them.”

“Tell me you didn’t.” “Didn’t… what?” “Didn’t get baked in my parents backyard and then eat all of the dessert for this evening.” “That… depends.” “On what?” “Whether you want me to lie or not.”

“Mom, this is my [significant other].” “Oh no. What happened to the doctor?”

“You have to help me get revenge!” “Revenge? [insert character name here], he’s seven and he hit you with a snowball.” “He knew what he was doing!”

“This is… a pregnancy test. And it’s… positive?” “Merry Christmas?”

“We’re under the mistletoe, and you know what that means…” “You’re holding it!” “It still counts!”

#marvel x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #chris evans x reader #andy barber x reader #peter parker x reader #fic challenge #marvel challenge #holiday challenge #bonetastic bombastic 5k

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randomshyperson · 4 years ago

Text

Wanda Maximoff/Reader - The One Where You Punch Tony Stark - Part II

Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Read on AO3 (Complete Work)

Thanks to @gingerbreadcookieforlife for letting me know i did not upload the entire work here.

Summary: When the rumors that you punched Tony Stark in the face spread around your school, some interesting events unfolded. Or enemies to Lovers in high School.

Warnings: 18+; Enemies to Lovers; Angry Sex; Underage Sex; High School AU; Violence; Fights; Inappropriate language; Fluff and Smut; minor mentions of Reader x Carol and Reader x Jessica Jones.

Notes: This work was already finished on AO3, but i forgot to continue this on Tumblr. I hope everyone who thought that was a one shot, enjoy the rest of it.

//-//

Sometimes is just a kiss

The news that Steve Rogers and Tony Stark kissed behind the bleachers spread quickly through the school. And it was only 10 o'clock on a Monday morning.

You had no idea who had spread the rumor around the campus, but knowing your luck, you were just waiting for the bomb to drop in your lap.

Besides, you hadn't spoken to Wanda since you gave her an orgasm against the walls of a locker room. You saw her briefly in the hallway between history and biology class, but she looked away quickly, and you rolled your eyes without patience.

It had been good sex, and you repeated that it was just that. Sex. That it shouldn't have happened, mainly because you were incompatible, and there were too many social barriers between you.

You should have known that Wanda would not break the expectations they had of her, to stay as someone as broken as you.

Closing the locker with more force than necessary, you walked out toward the history room.

Taking your place in the last chair by the window, you sit down as you wait for the class to begin. You have about five minutes of peace before an angry Tony Stark enters the room and walks toward you pointing his finger in your face in a threatening manner.

- I told you to mind your own business.

- What have I done to deserve this, Lord. - You grumble without patience, ignoring Stark completely. He lets out an angry exclamation and punches the table, making you jump with surprise.

- You'll pay for this, bitch. I'm going to-

You cut off his speech by pulling his hair and forcing his head against the table in a blow that makes a loud noise. He staggers back, shocked that he has been hit again. The room erupts in a hubbub and someone holds Tony back to stop him from jumping on you.

You stand up, gathering your notebooks, seeing that the history teacher was already signaling for you to talk to the counselor.

- You never learn, Stark. - You sneer, taking one last look at the boy's bloody nose before you leave the room, most of your classmates laughing.

- I'm so angry with you right now. - said your mother as soon as you both left the school. You didn't respond, walking with your hands in your pockets to the car. She started mumbling to herself, and only when you had been in the car a few minutes did she speak to you again.

- And the worst of it is that you hit my boss's son!

You let out a wry laugh as you looked out the car window at the view.

- I doubt very much that Howard Stark knows any of his employees, Mother.

- It doesn't matter. - she retorted, turning the wheel. You watched the landscape change as you turned the corner.

- At least I didn't get expelled. - You commented, your mother let out a wry laugh.

- Suspension is not a good thing! - she replies in an irritated tone. - And I even had to miss my shift to come get you. I honestly didn't raise you for that.

- That's the point, isn't it? - You retorted angrily, finally turning to face your mother. - Did you ever raise me? Last time I checked, I've been raising myself for a long time.

Your mother assumes a disapproving expression, denying it with her head. You throw yourself back on the seat with your arms crossed.

- You've always been so unfair, you know. - She begins. - Who's picking you up from school now, huh? And who puts a roof over your head? Food on your plate? You raised yourself, that's a joke.

She grumbles again, but you just ignore it, shutting yourself off from your surroundings.

You barely register when the car pulls up in front of your house, startled when your mother slams the car door as you get out. You take off your seat belt, and step out.

- You are grounded, three months. - she says, and you just nod. It's not as if she was present enough to know where you were going anyway. - And you are going to help your aunt in the store while you are suspended.

You let out a protesting grunt.

- Really, there's nothing worse for me to do? - You ask, throwing yourself on the sofa in the living room, your mother giggles.

- Weren't you the one who was thinking that suspension is better than expulsion? Well, you're not going to be sitting around this week. - She said as she left her purse on the kitchen table, and walked towards the small office table in the corner of the room. - Now go to your room, I'm working from home today.

You roll your eyes, getting up. Dragging your feet to your room, you slam the door as you enter, throwing yourself against your bed.

You hope Tony Stark's nose is hurting.

You are very surprised to see Natasha Romanoff enter your aunt's mercenary, shortly after school hours. She smiles at you with amusement, walking over to the counter.

- Wow, interesting look. - She jokes, commenting on the blue uniform combined with a sailor's hat that your aunt makes her three employees wear. You laugh at Nat.

- How can I help you, ma'am? - You asked in an amused tone, she leaned her arms on the counter.

- I'm looking for a fighting dog. Do you sell these here?

You laugh at the insinuation. And then a customer enters the store, Nat moves aside for you to attend to a lady buying tomato sauce and noodles, and then as you check out, she speaks again.

- You caused a fuss at school with your fight. - She remarks, and you just grumble, counting the money. - By the way, how did you find out about Rogers and Stark's secret affair?

You shrug, smiling. - I saw them kissing the night of the game. Stark freaked out, by the way, typical.

Nat laughed, and began to look around the store. - It is nice here. I didn't know you worked.

- It's my aunt's. - You say, finally finishing counting the money in the cash register. - And I worked at the junkyard on Avenue Two until last year.

- Aren't you going to tell me that you were fired for fighting? - Nat teased, making you laugh.

- No, I asked to quit. - So you say. - I wanted a quiet senior year.

Nat nods, and walks around the store, stopping at the magazine section. You see three more customers before she returns.

- I have to get home before my mother freaks out. - She announced as soon as she reached the counter. You nodded. - But I want to know if you want to do something with me?

- I thought you had a boyfriend. - You joked, and Nat rolled her eyes humorously.

- Don't be a smartass.

You laugh.

- I will be helping out in the store during this week. - You say. - Because of the suspension. I leave at seven.

Nat nodded, assuming a contemplative expression for a moment.

- Do you know where Avengers' Bar is? Three blocks past the municipal hospital?

You nod, smiling.

- Sure, Nat. - You say. - I've already driven past it.

- Why haven't you ever gone inside? I'm always there.

- I wasn't in that area to drink. - You remark with a suggestive smile, and Nat just laughs and rolls her eyes.

- Well, I'll be there on Wednesday. Some colleagues from State are playing there. - She says, and writes down a phone number on one of the papers on the counter. - Text me if you're going to show up.

- Are you sure it's not a date? - You joke and Nat just winks at you before you leave. You keep her number in your uniform pocket.

Even from outside, you could hear the music from the bar muffled against the windows.

Avengers's Bar was a popular place in town, but only for a certain kind of people. Mainly frequented by punks, bikers, and artists, it was exactly the kind of place you liked but should avoid. With its history of fights, it wasn't exactly the kind of place you went to anymore.

A dark-haired girl in metal-working attire smiled at you from the doorway, looking at you mischievously as you walked through the door. You just nodded slightly.

Inside, you looked around for Natasha and her friends, but with the amount of people in the bar, it wasn't so easy to find them.

- Y/N! - shouted Thor when he spotted you in the crowd. You smiled, walking over to where he was standing. - We're on the top floor, Nat got a table. Come on, I just came to get some drinks.

You followed him to the bar, and helped him carry the drinks for the others. You didn't recognize any of the drinks they were making there, so you decided to just drink from everyone's glass, which made Thor laugh.

- Look who I found. - announced Thor as soon as you two arrived at the table. The group smiled when they saw you, and you greeted everyone with a kiss on the cheek and sat down next to Nat.

- We heard that you were suspended. - commented Clint, but he seemed almost proud. You shrugged awkwardly.

- She wasn't content to just punch Stark, she also slammed the bastard's head against the table! - Said Natasha excitedly, and the group laughed. You laughed half embarrassed, as you took a sip of the pink drink Nat had ordered.

They started talking about some scandal that happened at the federal school, and you did your best to react to it, not really knowing who the people they were talking about were. And then Valkyrie let out an exclamation, as if she had spotted someone, and stood up. A very pretty girl approached, smiling and hugging Valkyrie.

- I'm glad you could make it, Carol. - Valkyrie said the girl who waved to everyone. When you looked closely, you finally recognized her. Carol Danvers was an ex-student of your high school, having graduated last year. She used to be very popular, and you noticed the military silver necklace around her neck.

Carol sat down next to Valkyrie, and the two of them seemed so close that you thought maybe they were dating.

When the show started, everyone exclaimed with excitement, quickly getting up and walking to the stage area. You smiled as Nat dragged you by the hand, liking the feeling of having friends.

The band was surprisingly good, and you danced with excitement, feeling the alcohol make you lively and loose. You were surprised when Carol began to dance with you, her hands on your waist.

She was very attractive, so you didn't mind her kissing you. And you pushed away the feeling that she wasn't the person you wanted. When she pulled you into the bathroom, her hands roaming over you as she tugged off your clothes, you ignored every part of your body screaming that this was wrong. When she made you cum, you bit your lip to keep yourself from screaming Wanda's name.

Your suspension was finally over, and you gave the key to the store back to your aunt before you went to school.

You tried not to think about it too much, about how many college opportunities you had missed with that stain on your record. But if you were honest, you didn't even know if you wanted to go to college anymore. Every day the possibility of buying a motorcycle and traveling aimlessly getting closer to your real calling.

Many people stared at you when you arrived at school. The vast majority didn't even bother to look away. You rolled your eyes impatiently, reaching into your jacket pockets as you walked through the main doors.

You were slightly startled when Jessica Jones approached you in your locker, but you smiled awkwardly, taking off your headphones.

- Girl, you are a legend! - she said excitedly, pushing you lightly by the shoulders against the lockers. She stood close, and you thought maybe that was flirting. - By the way, I didn't have your number to text you.

She took a pen from her bag, and grabbed your hand, writing down her own number while flashing you a mischievous smile.

- Text me, let's do something this week. - She says as she lets go of your hand. You blink slightly, and nod, a little awkwardly. Jessica doesn't seem to notice, and smiles, leaving afterwards.

You hear a whistle, and Nat looks at you with curiosity.

- You are stealing hearts, huh. - She teases, and you feel your face heat up, still surprised by the whole interaction. - By the way, are you and Carol on a real thing?

- What? - you ask in surprise. - No, I don't think so. It was just sex in a concert restroom, Natasha. I don't think she even knew my name. - You remark as you turn toward the redhead. She laughs, finishing putting her books away.

- Actually she asked me for your number. - She says, and you look at her in surprise. - But then I see you with Jones, and I have to admit, it's a tough choice. - Nat teases, making you laugh. You start walking down the hall together, walking towards the classrooms. You think Nat has said something about the show, but your attention is elsewhere. As you walk past Wanda and Peter Maximoff, everything seems to slow down, you notice the slight flush on Wanda's cheeks when her gaze meets yours, and you both hold your breath as you walk past each other. But the next second everything is as it was before, and you sigh, focusing your attention on Nat.

When you arrive in the literature room, you are happy to know that Nat sits next to you.

You hate the cafeterias. So when Nat invites you to join her at the outside tables you think it's the best lunch you have ever had.

The outside courtyard is relatively less crowded than the other places in the school, and you are in the middle of a discussion about the new TV series that launched over the weekend, when Nat signals to something behind you.

Coming out of the school, and heading towards the table where you were standing, was Sharon Carter, accompanied by her pet friend, Pepper Potts. And you really thought you could have a quiet lunch.

- To what do I owe the honor, Carter? - you asked ironically as they reached your table.

- You stay away from my boyfriend. - She spoke in a serious tone, and before you could say anything, she tipped the glass of soda she held over your head.

You felt your whole body boil with irritation and you stood up abruptly, seeing red. But Natasha tugged on your forearm, whispering something about your suspension. Sharon and Pepper seemed to be slightly startled by your posture, but they let out a wry chuckle and went back inside the school.

You tugged on Nat's arm, then left the courtyard and headed for the changing rooms. You needed a cold shower to calm yourself down, or you would do something that would surely cause your expulsion.

Since the athletic games period had not yet started, the gym locker room was empty. You sighed with relief as you found your spare change of clothes in your locker.

Walking toward the bathroom stalls, you quickly undressed, and stepped into the shower, letting the cold water wash all the soda and anger from your body.

Leaning your head against the wall, you let out a sigh, thinking about all the shit that was going on in your life in less than two weeks. And then your mind went back to Wanda, and you let out a breathless groan, laughing humorlessly. The cold water didn't help to chill the new heat that settled under your stomach. You turned off the shower, then stepped out to put on your clothes.

On your way out of the locker room, you saw something you would rather not have seen. The universe seemed to be testing your anger today.

Wanda was being pressed against the wall of the indoor bleachers, which at that time was empty and perfect for those who wanted to make out in a secluded spot. It was a tall boy, but you couldn't see his face, which was buried in Wanda's neck, kissing her. And then she opened her eyes, and looked straight at you. You saw him pull down his pants and enter her, and she moaned with her mouth ajar, without taking her eyes off you. She had a gleam in her eyes that made your whole body tremble.

You gripped the strap of your purse tightly, controlling the impulse to go over and beat the boy until he passed out, and spun on your feet, walking out the back door.

Fucking day, you thought as you walked back to school.

Eventually, you thanked Nat for keeping you from hitting Sharon. She shrugged, saying that she didn't want you to be expelled now that you were becoming friends, and you tried not to be too happy about it.

On Wednesday, Carol Danvers showed up at the door of the school on a motorcycle. This is sure to be a long-lasting gossip, you thought as you and Nat greeted her on the way out. Several students looked at you, many of them impressed by Carol's motorcycle, others impressed to see her back at school, but the vast majority trying to ask how you knew her.

- What's up, Danvers? - You say to her with a slight nod. Carol looks at you as if she wants to undress you right there, but you have your gaze on her motorcycle, attentive to the details of the vehicle.

- Hey, pretty girl. - She answers while leaning against the vehicle.

- Jesus, you are not even seeing me. - Nat teases and Carol just laughs, giving her a kiss on the cheek. - Tell me, what brings you back to your beloved school?

- I came to say hello. - says Carol. - And to invite you both to a concert on Saturday.

- And you didn't text me because you missed me. - Nat rebuts in a provocative tone, Carol smiles, and then looks at you, before confirming. You don't really know what to say.

- If the music is good, I'm in. - You joke and Nat agrees. Carol takes two tickets out of her pocket and hands them to you.

- I'll pick you up, okay? - She offers it to you. You think about refusing, without really knowing why. But you nod in agreement before you can think about it too much.

- Okay, lovebirds. I'll leave you two alone because I'm starting to get the urge to puke. - Nat jokes one last time, before heading out toward the parking lot. You imagine that she will use the break time to smoke a bit.

You shift your weight between your feet before turning your gaze back to Carol.

- I was surprised to hear that you asked Nat for my number. - You comment, and Carol smiles.

- I like to talk to pretty girls. - She says, and you roll your eyes humorously at the flirtation. She laughs, biting her lips, and you allow her to rest her hands on your waist, perhaps too low.

- Are you looking for something serious, Danvers? - you ask with a slight irony. Carol looks at you in mild surprise.

- You don't think it has anything to do with me, do you?

- Sorry, the motorcycle and the leather jacket gave you away. - You respond humorously. - I get it, because it's my game.

Carol laughs.

- I'm enjoying our time together. - she confesses. - But I'll be back at the station in a few weeks. I can't make any promises.

You nod, without really being bothered by it. Carol is not the one you wanted to be with. And to push those thoughts away, you kiss her. She smiles, deepening the kiss slightly. You think she squeezed your ass, but you're not really paying attention.

And then you break apart, and she smiles at you.

- I'll see you Saturday, right? - she asks, and you nod, letting her kiss you one last time.

When she finally starts the motorcycle and drives away, you notice the mischievous and suggestive looks you receive.

And you try not to let your anger peak, but then you notice Stark's group in the corner of the school, laughing openly. You'll need to walk past them to get inside, and you really hope that none of them will test your patience.

- Hey weirdo, who was your girlfriend? - shouts Tony Stark. You know, you really think maybe he is brain damaged. His friends laugh at the joke, and you think you will ignore it, but then he shouts again. - I'm talking to you, dyke!

He throws something at you, missing you by inches. You watch the red liquid run down in front of your feet.

You think, this is it. This is how I'm going to get expelled. By sticking a straw in Tony Stark's eye. You wondered if prison life was worth it.

But then the laughter died down in the next second, and you watched Tony turn pale.

- Mr. Stark, please come with me. - A male voice sounded behind you. The school principal was a scary man, and he was hardly ever seen outside his classroom. He never witnessed his students' conflicts, and Fury never bothered him with such matters. Tony's paleness was understandable.

- P-Professor Thanos, I don't...

- Now. - says the man finally, and Tony stiffens his jaw as he follows him. He gave you an angry look before leaving.

The buzz started as soon as they entered the school, but you didn't really pay attention to anyone. Ignoring the middle finger Steve Rogers threw at you, you went back inside the school.

Tony Stark was punished with detention. You rolled your eyes when the rumor reached you. They had also said that his father refused to pick him up and that the driver was the one who talked to Fury. You would have sympathy for Stark if he wasn't a complete imbecile.

You had chemistry again, and you really weren't in the mood to see Wanda, but you had no choice.

And then Professor Agatha was feeling particularly inspired today, and decided to switch lab partners. You ended up on the same bench as Darcy Lewis and Pietro Maximoff, you being the only trio due to the odd number of students. You sighed against your bad luck.

The experiment that Mrs. Harkness performed was not difficult, but it could be dangerous if you didn't pay attention. So you just listened to Darcy's instructions, and everything was working out fine. Then Pietro Maximoff decided that his attention was better placed on a girl sitting behind him, and started flirting. Darcy rolled her eyes, smiling at you.

In the blink of an eye, you heard a scream of pain. Pietro had forgotten the limits of the counter itself, and stretching his arms most likely to impress the girl behind you, he slammed his hand against the chemical glass jar behind him. Darcy stepped back to avoid being hit, but you were quick to help Pietro, pulling his arm into the sink on the counter, turning on the faucet as you hurried to get as much of the acidic liquid off his skin as possible.

Pietro sighed with relief, probably feeling the pain disappear as you rubbed the soap into his skin. He was extremely surprised, as was the rest of the room.

- Very efficient reaction, Miss Y/L/N. - commented Ms. Harkness as she approached you, holding a cloth to dry Pietro. - I'll add an extra point to your average for that. Mr. Maximoff, please go to the infirmary.

Pietro wrapped the cloth around his injured hand, and looked at you with a mixture of hesitation and confusion in his eyes, but he nodded in thanks.

Harkness asked someone to call the janitor to clean up the shards, and then continued the class. You found it hard to concentrate when you noticed Wanda's gaze on you.

Jessica Jones kisses you against the wall of the second floor locker room.

You exchanged a few messages, mostly innocent jokes. And then Jessica said she had something amazing to show you, and when you met her after third period, in the not-so-isolated locker room, she pushed you up against the wall and kissed you on the mouth.

Jessica tasted like coke and something sweet, and she likes to bite.You had to remind yourself that you were kissing someone while you were doing it, not feeling connected to her really.

And then two girls came into the bathroom giggling and she let you go.

- Sorry for the scare. - She joked, her lips swollen. You shrugged, smiling slightly.

- What inspired you to do this? - you teased, putting your hands on her waist.

- You of course. Punching assholes and saving people. It's hot. - She says and then she checks her cell phone. - Damn, I have chemistry now. I can't be late.

She steals a kiss from you and quickly leaves. You blink, not really understanding what has happened.

As you go downstairs, you realize that the cheerleading squad is coming out of the locker room, and Sharon and Potts give you a death stare as you walk past them. And then, as you pass through the door to the women's dressing room, you hesitate. All your logic tells you to go on your way, but then your feet are turning and you walk into the dressing room, looking around.

You let out a sigh as you find who you were looking for. Wanda is changing clothes, wearing only her cheer skirt, and a bra. Your intimacy pulsates with the image. Wanda lets out a surprised exclamation at seeing you there, but then she lets out a mischievous smile, and continues undressing.

Slowly, she lets the skirt slide down her thighs. You bite your lower lip hard as it falls to the floor.

And then two other cheerleaders come out of one of the aisles behind you, and the giggles die down when they see you. One of the girls turns to Wanda:

- Is this girl bothering you, Wandy? - she asks in a honeyed voice.

- And what are you, a watchdog? - You retort before Wanda can answer. The girl gives you a death glare. - Mind your own business, nosy.

The other girl approaches you, looking at you with disdain. - We don't like street trash here. Why don't you go back to your junkyard?

You swallowed dryly, trying to control your anger. The smaller girl giggled, and you looked at Wanda, who looked in shock, before you stormed out of the dressing room slamming the door.

You knew you shouldn't do that, but your feet dragged you out into the field of trailers.

You walked a long way until you arrived. And when you entered the courtyards, many of the residents looked at you with a frown. But you ignore them, as you walk between the houses. You knock hard on the door of one of the trailers farthest away. It takes a moment before a tall, muscular boy answers it.

He lets out a wry laugh when he sees you.

- Visiting old friends? - He teases, you don't smile.

- I need to break something, Erik. - You say simply, and he sighs. And then he closes the door, and you walk together in the opposite direction, out of the trailer park.

You have known Erik Killmonger since kindergarten. His life wasn't exactly the easiest. You used to hang out together in high school, but then Erik started getting into a lot of fights, and it was rumored that he joined a gang. He didn't tell you anything, and when you asked, he told you to mind your own business. And then, in the second year, he was expelled for breaking the jaw of Johann Schmidt, one of the seniors at the school. You remember never seeing Erik so angry. But you never knew the reason for the fight. And then he drifted away, and even though you missed him, you didn't push him.

- Here it is. - Erik said as you reached an abandoned area a few feet beyond the trailers. He handed you a wooden stick, and you took a deep breath before you started smashing through the abandoned objects there, most of them junk.

- Fuck that fucking school. - You shouted as you hit a bottle, the glass splattering through the air. Erik just stood at a safe distance, his hands in his pockets. - Fuck Tony Stark. - You shouted, a wooden box shattering with the blow of your bat. And then you noticed a tall dead tree trunk a few yards away, and you stepped forward, aggressively slamming your bat several times against the tree. - Fuck Wanda Maximoff. - And the staff shattered with the force of your blow. You let out a sigh, throwing the object to the ground, as you sat down down on the grass.

Erik walked over to you, and he said nothing about the tears streaming down your face.

- Do you want to talk about it? - he asked as he sat down beside you. You nodded in denial.

- I want you to tell me something about yourself. - You said, wiping your face.

- Um, let me think. - He says, putting his arms behind him and leaning back, he looks relaxed. - My mother is in town.

You turn your head to him in surprise. He smiles.

- Yes, I know, that's nice. - He comments. - But I won't get my hopes up. She could leave at any moment.

- I hope she stays. - You say.

- So do I.

You stand there in silence for a moment, then Erik stands up, then offers his hand to help you stand. You sigh and accept.

- Let's get something to eat, you're paying. - He says, causing you to smile ironically.

You end up at one of the dinner stands across the main road from the trailer park. You buy Erik a hamburger and fries, but you decide to just have a milkshake.

- This is all about a girl, isn't it? - he asks after a while, and you almost deny it. But you just shrug your shoulders in agreement, taking a sip of your milkshake. - Is it someone I know?

- Maybe. - you say, and Erik frowns humorously. He eats some chips, assuming a thoughtful expression.

- That's hard, I've never seen you paying attention to anyone at school. - he says. - What about that redheaded girl in the locker next to yours?

You laugh and nod your head in denial. Erik smiles, thinking again.

- What about that girl in your chemistry class? The one you said was smart?

- Darcy? - You ask and he confirms, you just smile. - No, I wish. Darcy would be less complicated.

Erik laughs, and then pushes the rest of the potatoes to you.

- Why don't you just tell me? - he asks, but his tone is not accusatory, just provocative.

- Because I don't want to admit it. - You confess, accepting the potatoes. It takes a moment, and then you speak. - I think I'm falling in love with Wanda Maximoff.

You don't look at Erik, fearing his reaction. But then he lets out a sigh, and drags his hand across the table, offering it to you. You accept, and he holds your hand warmly.

- You, my friend, are totally screwed. - He teases, making you laugh. - But keep calm. Passions go away as fast as they come.

You nod, squeezing his hand before letting go. You eat in silence, and you can't help but think how much you missed him.

Debates test your patience. And as if that weren't irritating enough, you still share this class with Wanda.

You don't look at her when you enter the room, but you feel her gaze on you. Throwing yourself on the last chair in the room, you stand with your headphones on and sink your head into your arms on the desk, wishing for the school year to end soon.

When Professor Hill enters the room, you are surprised that one of your classmates nudges you to warn you, and you smile in appreciation as you straighten your posture and put your cell phone away.

- I hope you have read the book I asked for, children. - She announces as she puts her bag on the table, and walks to the front of the cabinet, leaning against the wood as she looks around the room. - We will discuss it in class today.

The room lets out a chorus of displeasure, but the teacher lets out a chuckle. Her debates were famous for ending up in heated discussions, plus they made up about fifty percent of the grade. If you didn't say anything, you had to write a report of the discussions.

The teacher took a copy of the book from her purse, and held it with both hands.

- "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man, possessing a good fortune, must be in need of a wife." - She read, walking around the room. - Who can tell me what the line implies about women?

- It's the old-fashioned way of saying that women prefer rich guys. - Steve Rogers sneered, drawing giggles from his teammates in the room. Mrs. Hill, however, just sighed with disappointment.

- No, Mr. Rogers. - she said, cutting off the laughter immediately. - If you have no intention of participating seriously in the debate, I suggest you remain silent.

Steve let out a lame laugh, shrugged, and whispered something to his tablemate. You rolled your eyes impatiently, resting your face in your hand. And then you watched Wanda Maximoff raise her arm up.

- Yes, Wanda? - nodded Mrs. Hill waiting for the answer.

- I think it's about a reaffirmation of the status of the man. As if the woman is a trophy to prove his status and position. - She says. - It objectifies women completely.

You blinked, slightly impressed. Wanda was always smart, after all. But then the boys in class giggled, and the redhead seemed to shrug her shoulders. Professor Hill, however, smiled at her.

- Interesting position, Miss Maximoff. - she said, and walked back around the room. - Let's talk a little about the main romance of the book. - She says, and looks reproachfully quickly at two boys who are whispering, and they fall silent. - I'd like to know what you think about Elizabeth and Darcy's relationship, and how we can bring the book's issues into our current society. Do you believe that the same prejudices are faced today?

The room explodes into excitement, and you feel like going home. Mrs. Hill looks around, and waves to calm the students.

- Please, class. Raise your hand who believes that Elizabeth and Darcy would easily marry today?

The vast majority of the students raise their hands. And someone makes a comment that they would get laid on the first date, and many laugh. You play with your pencil, twirling it on your finger, and then feel a light elbow on your arm. Your classmate nods her head forward, and you blink in confusion, realizing that Ms. Hill has called your attention.

- I'm sorry, Mrs. Hill. What is it? - you ask, straightening your posture. She smiles tenderly.

- I asked why you didn't raise your hand. - She repeats. - Could you share with the class your position?

You let out a sigh, thinking about it. And then you lean back in your chair, putting your hands in your pockets, and trying not to get intimate with the stares in the room.

- I really don't understand how everyone here can say that we no longer have social rules for relationships. - You say. - If Darcy and Elizabeth were from the present day, the prejudices portrayed in the books would only be different, but they would still be there. We have many ways of forbidding people to relate to each other, even in this school.

- Interesting. Please continue. - the teacher said, leaning back against her desk. You let out a sigh, trying to organize your opinion into words.

- I can give an example of how we divide the social groups around here. - you say. - It's not like the jocks are seen hanging out with the kids in the theater. Elizabeth would definitely be one of the smart girls, and Darcy would be the dumb brat. Sort of like a Tony Stark.

The room erupted in giggles, and you watched Steve Rogers lock his jaw, commenting something to his classmate. Professor Hill gave you a warning look, beckoning the class to be quiet.

- So you believe that Darcy and Elizabeth would not be together in the present days? - she asks you, and you shrug.

- I don't think Darcy would break the expectations people have of him for Elizabeth. - You state. - And besides, she can do better than that.

Some students laughed at your comment, and Mrs. Hill smiled at you. And then she asked if anyone had a different opinion, and you were slightly surprised to see Wanda raise her hand again.

- I think they would end up together. - She says. - They are really in love, and just like in the book, I think Darcy just needs time to understand everything, and to build up some courage.

- And Elizabeth should expect him to have some guts, then? - You cut Wanda off. The room looks at you in surprise, and Wanda turns in her chair, a look of mixed defiance and surprise, but you don't back away. - While he decides whether she is worth it, should she just wait around?

- Elizabeth needs to understand that Darcy also has his own issues. - Wanda retorts. - That it's not easy to let go of all the expectations people place on you.

You laugh lightly with irony.

- Of course Darcy would be quite comfortable keeping Elizabeth waiting. - You say with mild irritation. - Besides, Elizabeth is also going through a lot. She deserves to have someone who chooses her.

- That's not what we're arguing about. - Wanda replies. - No one is questioning Elizabeth's worth. I'm saying that they would be together, but that they need time.

- And I'm saying that Darcy has to stop being such a gutless pussy and make a decision soon. Elizabeth is not going to pause her life just to wait for him.

- She would do that if she really liked Darcy. - Retorts the redhead, you blink in disbelief.

You think the room held its breath with your debate with Wanda, and you would have continued if the teacher hadn't interrupted.

- Okay, I think we're getting a little nervous. - She cut in, and you blinked awkwardly, stopping to look at Wanda. The room murmured quietly again as Wanda turned back to face the front. - Thank you for your opinions, ladies. Now let's move on, who can offer a reflection on marriage in the book?

The class continued for a while, but you completely disconnected. Your heart was racing and you realized that the discussion you had was not about Darcy or Elizabeth. Wanda was asking you to wait for her. And you felt a strong urge to punch something. And then you focused your attention completely on the literature report, ignoring the debate completely.

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