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ad1thi · 4 years ago

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2020 fic recs!! [Part 2]

part 2 of my 2020 fic recs!! as before, ive limited this to five fics per month; and fics are ordered by the month they were published. This spans fandoms and ships, and hopefully you find something you like!! credit for the idea goes to @iam93percentstardust

***

July

this is the start: @capnwinghead

Clark and Bruce continue raising the Wayne children and encounter a number of challenges along the way.

great minds (love alike): @starklysteve

Steve’s eyes flicks down to Tony’s knees on the floor.

“Are you – are you proposing to me with my ring for you?” Steve asks incredulously, eyes wide and confused.

---

Or, Steve finds Tony’s ring for him, Tony finds Steve’s ring for him. Panic happens.

Marvels Unsolved: @iam93percentstardust

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty web-series about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

it’s a small world after all: @maguna-stxrk

“Great speech.”

Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—”

And nearly drops his champagne flute.

His world comes to a stop.

They had only spent a night together, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere.

It’s Steve.

Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him—The Soulmate That Got Away.

you’re in my blood, you’re in my veins: @nethandrake

Tony always figured that if they ever were to break up, it would be like a blaze. Scorching and hot and all-too blinding. Intense like the two of them have always been.

Instead, they break up on a Tuesday, with the rain pelting the windowpane and the midnight silence stifling.

August

Five Times Danny said he’d marry Steve (plus one): @five-wow

Danny humphs. “Look, all I’m saying is, I think I’d probably have married you by now.”

“I’d marry you, too,” Steve says.

Or: An experiment in how many times you can say something before you have to put your money where your mouth is.

Family (You’ve Always Had It): @/SunnyQueen

A black Camaro and a scowling blond was not what Junior had been expecting.

“Hi, sir. You didn’t have to pick me up.”

The blond looked up from the screen on his phone and groaned, completely ignoring Junior's statement. “You are right, I didn't have to."

Ode To Yoga Pants: @riotfalling

OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony, AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun

Through The Years: @hawkbucks

Tony brings home Natasha one day, proclaiming her to be his new sister.

Natasha takes this all in stride.

The broken road that led me home to you: @just-fandomthings

A documented list of conversations between Steve and Danny via text and phone call following the events of 10x22 "Aloha." (Where, even thousands of miles apart, Steve and Danny can't go without talking to each other.)

September

someday, we’ll pass it on to you: @starklysteve

Steve smiles.

Reaching up, he flattens his hand against his son’s far smaller one, curling gently around it. “You wanna be like him?”

“Da!” Peter agrees again.

One year old, and you already know who’s the best of us, Steve pauses to reflect, all his fears chased away by a fierce pride. “Your Dad’s coming home real soon,” he promises, “you should tell him that.”

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

Or, five times Peter did the repulsor pose as a toddler

+ one time he used the repulsors as an adult

Classic Sci Fi: @notdoingsohot

Bucky wakes up to Steve telling him he's lost his memory, but not to panic, it'll only last a few days. Easier said than done when the last thing Bucky remembers is fighting Hydra with the Howlies in WWII.

He tries to make the most of it however, and there's this guy... Tony Stark. It's pretty clear the guy hates Bucky's guts, which is unfortunate because god damn is he a sight.

He tries to figure out what he did to wrong Stark, but everyone just tells him he doesn't want to know.

They were right.

Blooms in Frost: @/Diomedes

Tony coughs up his first petal on the sixth of July. He has been married to the love of his life for two years.

Bury a Hanahaki corpse in earth and it will beget the most beautiful garden. All that love, it is said, must go somewhere.

Hanahaki AU: Established relationship

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

A Single Thread of Gold: @lovelyirony

Rhodey doesn't believe in love at first sight or any of that cheesy shit. He just wants someone who is nice, dependable, and safe.

Tony Stark is Housing Service's little problem for the school year, and now he's stuck in Rhodey's room because he's exploded the last two dorm rooms he's been in and won't live off-campus.

high roller, place your bet: @machi-kun

“Would you kiss Stark for a hundred bucks?”

“I would pay a hundred bucks to kiss him.”

October

press my luck: @omg-just-peachy

But... Steve is almost ten years his junior, and he could be with just about anyone, looking and acting like he does. And then there’s the not so small fact of Tony’s name and net worth and the fact that, okay, Tony had paid for Steve’s grad school tuition, and now he’s worried Steve feels obligated to stay. Or something.

Or, Tony is a billionaire, Steve is a grad student, and they learn to let themselves be taken care of.

see it with the lights out: @starklysteve

Tony goes on a business trip, and he does not - not at all - get jealous of Dodger hogging his husband's chest, a territory otherwise known as Tony's pillow.

(or, Steve goes on an Instagram spree and Tony misses home)

adulthood is looking both ways before you cross the street and getting hit by an airplane: @starkslovemail

It was a perfect plan, if Peter did say so himself.

The Buy In: @dracusfyre

For the ImagineTonyandBucky prompt: Mafia AU with Tony as the Boss (except he's a really good one, making the streets safe, keeping drugs away from kids etc) and Bucky as the detective sent to go undercover to catch him out but ends up realizing he's actually doing more good than harm and they end up falling in love

trinkets of your affection: @starklysteve

Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.

----------

Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.

November

“Hey Tony”: @riotfalling

Steve points out that Bucky never calls Tony by his actual name. Bucky doesn’t believe him, until he does.

Remembering You is Hard to Do: @lovelyirony

“The future’s crazy, honey-bear.”

Jim looks up.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Honey-bear. It’s weird.”

“Inside joke we have,” Tony says, chest tightening. “We thought those couples that have the lovey-dovey nicknames were ridiculous.”

overheard your heartbeat (calling me yours): @starklysteve

"Tony - "

"I wish I could promise to come home this time," he feels the armor crawl back down his arm, continuing unnoticed over Steve's red gloves, then up the blue uniform as Tony fights to keep Steve's gaze firmly fixed on him.

The last eyes Tony might get to see, and he wants to be lost in them.

In the end, his entire life boils down a few simple things: "JARVIS, take care of him for me."

----------

Or, Tony overhears a phonecall where Steve proposes, a battle happens, and a paper ring settles some misunderstandings.

i (really, really, really, really, really, really) like you.: @nethandrake

For as long as Steve can remember, he's been crushing on Tony Stark. The thing is, he's pretty sure Tony doesn't know Steve exists. And how could he? Steve's scrawny and little. He's a nobody compared to Tony who's Mr Popular and the son of a billionaire.

Or at least he thought so until Tony swings by the bakery Steve's mother happens to own to enlist Steve's help in finding the perfect Valentine's Day card.

The perfect Valentine's Day card for someone who isn't Steve.

One Song (My Heart Keeps Singing): @iam93percentstardust

When Thor is old enough to understand what a Heartsong is, he goes to his mother to ask her why he can’t understand the language his is in. He listens as she tells him about the first soulmates who couldn't understand their Heartsong until the day they meet, excited by the thought of a grand adventure, one that will take him across the cosmos in search of his One.

He’ll search all the Nine Realms if he has to.

December

Swiping Right: @s-horne

“Ouch. Definitely a hard pass for that one?”

Steve startled at the sudden comment from the row of chairs behind him and turned around. He’d been passing the time in the airport lounge by swiping through Tinder and had gotten lost in his own world. It was almost jarring to be pulled away from the screen of hot men and back into reality where the PA was screeching and there was noise everywhere.

Adjusting to the difference, Steve frowned. Wait, he knew that face. Oh, shit… he knew that face.

“No, no, it’s fine,” the man said before Steve could get out anything other than an embarrassed sort of yelp. Waving his hand through the air, the stranger smiled ruefully. “I get it. It’s the beard, isn’t it? True be told, it was a weird winter choice that year and I knew it would come back to hurt me.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He knew it must have shown on his face and could feel himself flushing, panicked and embarrassed all at once. What were the odds of swiping left on someone literally sat behind him?

set your flight path home (to me): @starklysteve

Tony puts down his welding torch. “I’m building you a plane.”

Stepping carefully over the gears and tools scattered about, Rhodey slowly makes his way to him.

“And when did you become an expert on how to build a plane?”

“Last night,” Tony grins.

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

Tony builds a plane, and Rhodey teaches Tony how to fly it. Or he would be teaching Tony, if Tony didn't distract him so much.

I Want A Man With A Slow Hand: @thefourofswords

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked on their way to a crime scene, because no time like the present, and Danny believed in ripping off band-aids.

“Why not?” Steve replied, eyes on the road. “You’re gonna even if I say no.”

“What do you like in bed?”

Danny undertakes a very important mission to get Steve laid. For his health. Ahem.

same time next year: @omg-just-peachy

“I forgot to ask. When’s your flight home?” Steve asks, draping his arm over Tony’s shoulder and settling in against him.

Tony ignores the knot that forms in his chest at the idea of it, leaving Steve again for his own impersonal apartment, his piles of books and projects and the nights without sleep.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Steve huffs a little sigh, then brings his lips to Tony’s neck. “Well, we’ll have to make the most of it, won’t we?”

Or, four (4) Christmases with two (2) idiots who can't admit they're in love.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile): @starklysteve

"You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

#adi's rec list #superbat #superhusbands #winterironfalcon #mcdanno #buckytony #peppernat #superfamily #rhodeytony #ironfamily #and that's a wrap!!!

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spaceorphan18 · 4 years ago

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99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story #25

A/N: The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

I started something like this a while back - and now I’m taking the idea and really running with it. Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character at a different point in Kurt and Blaine’s life - documenting their love story. This starts in Audition, and each chapter will be paired with a different episode until reaching Dreams Come True.

[Ao3]

***

Shane Tinsley (Asian F)

Shane Tinsley is a simple guy. He enjoys football, and Denzel Washington films, and those cute YouTube videos where the little puppies yelp at an animal much smaller such as a mouse or hamster. He also knows what he likes, and what he likes is Mercedes Jones. The girl has everything going on, she’s hot, she can sing, and he doesn’t get bored listening to her talk. So Shane does his best to be a King to her Queen. And part of that means splitting lunch table time between his friends on the football team and her friends in glee club.

For the most part, it’s fine. Finn Hudson and Mike Chang are usually around to talk Ohio State recruitments or tips on how to win at Grand Theft Auto. He’s less sure, however, on days when tries to converse with some of Mercedes’ other friends -- like Tina, who ironically spends a lot of time complaining about how she wishes everyone would talk less about how she is Asian (she is usually the one who brings it up), or Rachel, who spends the entire conversation talking about herself (usually unprovoked, whether he’s listening or not), or any of the Cheerios (he once had a conversation with Brittany about being a special, chocolate unicorn that he still isn’t sure what that had been about).

But he’s often most perplexed whenever he’s joined by Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson. And while they’re some of Mercedes’s closest friends, Shane often feels like he’s a definite outsider looking in on a world that he truly does not understand. And mostly, that’s fine. Unless he’s unwillingly dragged into it.

“Truly, I think you’re crazy,” Kurt Hummel says, as he and Blaine plop their lunch trays in the spots across from him. Shane had been busy on his phone, but the dramatic force in which Kurt places down his tray, the metal silverware clanking, jolts Shane from his puppy video. Shane looks up for a moment, and around for Mercedes. He knows she’ll be a little late today, but suddenly he wishes she could intervene.

“I am not crazy,” Blaine says, with as much indignation. “Let’s ask Shane -- Shane, do you think I’m crazy?”

Shane looks at Blaine, who seems to be joking, because he has no idea what in the hell they’re talking about, but Shane isn’t sure he wants to answer that. Kurt’s currently wearing what looks like bondage gear along with some kind of weird fur thing tied to his hip? He’s also heard Kurt discuss the pros and cons to wearing a corset. Meanwhile, Blaine has on a bowtie and suspenders, which makes him look like his eighty-year-old great uncle, who sits on his porch and gets mad at ants. And he’s heard Blaine talk about how he wants to sing a medley of Disney Princess songs at one of their theme parks. Shane often thinks they’re both crazy.

“Blaine,” Kurt cuts in. “I can’t believe you’re trying to convince me that Mercedes Jones -- THE Mercedes Jones shouldn’t be Maria.”

Okay, now the conversation has grabbed Shane’s attention.

“That is not at all what I said,” Blaine replies, rolling his eyes. “I said, while Mercedes Jones is a goddess among performers--” Blaine looks pointedly at Shane, as if to make sure they’re cool. “--I understand Rachel Berry being the viable other option. And it’s not the worst thing if they split time on the role.”

Kurt, annoyed, bites into his pizza. “Shane, tell him he’s an idiot, and Mercedes would be the perfect Maria.”

“Of course--”

Blaine doesn’t let him get in any words. “Shane, would you explain to Kurt, that if you have two talented quarterbacks, it’s not the worst thing to test them both out to see who would be a better starter when the playoffs start.”

Wait, what? Blaine’s talking football now? What is happening?

“Oh, don’t try to charm him to your side by talking about football,” Kurt says, on the end of Blaine’s words.

“And don’t try to undermine his intelligence by cutting him out of the conversation.”

“I am not doing that - Shane is perfectly capable of having an opinion.”

“An opinion you know he already agrees with.”

“What’s your point?”

They then both turn their heads to stare at him. Shane isn’t entirely sure what to say, and instead, his jaw just drops a little. All he wants to do is talk about how wonderful Mercedes is, but he knows better than to try to get into whatever weird lovers’ quarrel this seems to be.

Blaine breaks first. “Why don’t you just admit this is really about Tony.”

Who’s Tony?

“Of course not,” Kurt says, with a hard side-eye. “I said I would be fine if you had Tony.”

Kurt is clearly not okay with whoever Tony is.

“You know I would be fine if you had Tony.” Blaine says, turning to Kurt, his eyes fixated on him.

Something about this conversation has changed, and it's beginning to get weird.

Kurt relaxes. “I have already threatened the wrath of Sondheim if they deprived you of Tony.”

Blaine’s gaze doesn’t waver off of Kurt. “So… then you’re really okay with Officer Krupke or something?”

“Well, I suppose.”

A grin grows on Blaine’s face. Okay, Shane gets that they’re talking about the musical, but he still feels incredibly uncomfortable with the way Blaine is now looking at Kurt.

“You know he wears a uniform,” Blaine says, his voice getting lower. “And you know how much I love a man in a uniform.”

“Of course I know,” Kurt replies, stubbornly stuck in his mood. “It took me a year to get you out of one.”

“Not… fully out of one.”

“Blaine!”

“I mean I have offered…”

The two of them take a long moment to stare at each other.

Oh god… oh god, oh god, back to puppy videos. Shane really does not want that image in his head. This is why he avoids lunch with them. One minute they’re arguing and the next, Kurt is blushing into his Diet Coke.

Where is Mercedes? Maybe he should go find her. He thinks maybe lunch is over, but somehow, he is inevitably dragged back into the conversation.

“So, Shane, who are you voting for in the Student Body President Elections?” Kurt says, without a single comment on what just happened. “Please tell me it’s not for Brittany. I can give you twenty-five good reasons right now why she would be a disaster…”

#s.o. writes things #99 perspectives #gonna try to get these out more regularly again

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persephonesfill · 4 years ago

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breathe me in

a/n: this is the fic i promised for my 900 follower celebration! i’ve had this blog a for a while and it’s crazy to think that there’s people let alone 900 of them that care about my stupid opinions on stony. thank you guys so much!

summary: Tony tries to have a heart to heart with Steve after their fight on the Helicarrier and gets more than he bargained for. Set during The Avengers.

rating: Explicit, so explicit

warning(s): tony has self confidence issues but what else is new, heavy smut

edit: this fic has a sequel now!

choke on me—chapter one

—————

Almost dying, Tony decides, really puts one's life in perspective. They weren't kidding when they said your life flashed before your eyes, right up until your last breath. His life flashed alright, in a riot of color and noise, camera flashes, cheers, and jeers alike. And when he opens his eyes, he's greeted by Rogers kneeling over him looking distraught.

His almost death aside (he'll deal with that trauma later) Tony does what he does best to break the tension; he cracks a joke. And because today is just chock full of surprises, Rogers laughs. He laughs, and his eyes are as brilliant as the sky above them. Tony swears his heart stops again. It's happened enough for him to recognize the feeling.

Tony knows he can be an asshole. He can be rude and obnoxious and interruptive, all very much asshole behaviors. The majority of the time, it's just an act. People have come to expect a show from him, whether they know it or not, and Tony's never been one to half-ass anything. The public wants a rich, smarmy bastard? He can do rich, smarmy bastard. He's the fucking poster boy for rich, smarmy bastard.

But Rogers, laughing with him, smiling at him after dealing with Tony Stark: Peak Asshole Edition™? It makes Tony pause. The joke isn't that funny (you try coming up with a zinger after sacrificing yourself for the sake of the world), so why is Rogers smiling? It's not that Tony hates himself so much to the point where he immediately distrusts any signs of affection. But Tony's Tony. And Steve is Steve.

"That's why," he tells himself. "This is Steve Rogers. Being kind is in his blood." There's only death in Tony's.

"You're a real piece of work, aren't you, Stark?" Steve says, chuckling to himself. There's no heat to his words.

"You wouldn't like me nearly half as much if I wasn't," Tony says and immediately wants to shovel the words back into his mouth. He and Steve aren't friends. Steve isn't like Rhodey or Happy or hell, even Romanov, who Tony's still not sure what the status of their relationship is.

Instead of rolling his eyes or sighing, that slight smile stays on his face.

"Okay," Tony thinks. "That's new."

***

Tony's got a new perspective on things. Maybe Rogers isn't that bad. That doesn't mean that they're friends, not even close. But, Tony thinks, as he shuffles from foot to foot outside the soldier's makeshift quarters on the Helicarrier, that doesn't mean he doesn't want to at least try.

Tony knows how to be the bigger person when he wants to be.

He knocks on the door, and before he can change his mind and retreat to Stark Tower like a recluse, Steve is opening the door.

Tony must have caught him while he was stripping out of his uniform; Steve's still wearing the bottoms of his suit, utility belt and combat boots in all. Aside from that, Steve is shirtless. Which is fine. Tony isn't going to question why Steve is shirtless, but it is hard to make direct eye contact with him when his abs are right there in front of Tony's face. And it's not like Steve didn't have time to put on a shirt before he answered the door.

"Stark?" Steve says. "I'm surprised to see you up and running."

Right. Near-death experience. "I may have bribed the doctors in the med-bay into letting me leave early," he says.

Steve frowns. Tony's quite familiar with Steve's frowns now. There's the "I can't believe you just said that" frown and the "Captain America is disappointed in you" frown, but this one, Tony can't seem to pinpoint.

"Your heart stopped."

"After the second time, you get used to it," he says with a shrug. "Look, I didn't come to talk about my medical issues."

A muscle works in Steve's jaw. Tony shouldn't find it as attractive as he does. "Why did you come, then?"

"I wanted to apologize."

Steve arches a brow. "For?"

"For being an ass." It comes out sounding like a question. "I...said some hurtful things, and I want to own up to them instead of sweeping them under the rug."

"It wasn't just you," Steve admits. "We both were at each other's throats."

"Still," Tony says. "You're not a lab rat. Not even close."

Steve's lips quirk up. "I'm a step up from rat, now?"

"Yes," Tony says. This is good. Steve is smiling instead of punching him in the face. Tony can handle this.

"You know...what you did today, that took courage."

Oh, God. Tony doesn't want this to be about him. (Despite popular belief, his ego isn't that fucking big.)

"Don't even mention it. Please," Tony says. "If you're not gonna let me apologize to you properly, at least let me do something for you, or buy you something. I'm great at buying things."

Steve frowns again, but his interest is piqued. "Like what?"

"I don't know, like a vintage car or something. A blowjob. Whatever floats your boat." Why did he say blowjob, why did he say blowjob, why the fuck did he say blowjob?

Steve's staring daggers into him. "Did you just offer to blow me?"

Seriously, why the fuck did he say blowjob?

"It was a joke," he says lamely.

"Oh," Steve says, his face dropping and—is Tony crazy, or does Steve actually look disappointed?

"I'm sorry. You don't have to if you don't want to," Steve says. "I thought...you know what, never mind." Steve's retreating back into the safety of his room, a blush flooding his cheeks.

Tony has two options, and he has to pick fast. He can either let this whole thing go and pretend it never happened, as that seems like it's what Steve wants to do. Or...he can roll with it.

"Wait," Tony says, grabbing Steve by the arm. His skin is hot to the touch. "It...it wouldn't be a chore or anything."

Steve swallows, looking Tony up and down. Tony feels oddly naked in front of him like Steve is seeing past every mask he's ever donned. "You mean that?" Steve says.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it," Tony confesses. His stomach twists into knots. During their fight he had thought about Steve pinning him against a wall, wrapping a hand around his throat, kissing his mouth like a savage—

"Yeah?" Steve says, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

"Yeah," Tony breathes. The hallway feels like it's closing in on him.

Their eyes meet, and it's a matter of seconds before Steve's yanking Tony by his arm into the barrack.

Tony barely has any time to close the door and observe the room before Steve's on him.

He's kissing Captain America.

Tony Stark is kissing Captain America.

Steve kisses like he fights; All confidence and barely restrained power. Tony's back is pressed against the wall, but he can't find it in himself to complain as Steve's tongue finds its way into his mouth.

Tony doesn't know if they closed the door or not, and that sends an electric thrill running down his spine. Anybody could walk past and see him ready to fall to his knees and give Captain fucking America the blowjob of his life.

Steve slots his thigh in between Tony's legs, silently prompting him to spread them, and it's no skin off Tony's back to comply.

Steve's tongue is quick and clever, eliciting moans from Tony's mouth. Steve's a practiced kisser, and Tony's not sure if that bothers him or not. He had assumed that Steve was a precious virgin with 1940s sensibilities, but obviously, he had been with somebody. Tony wonders if it was recent and if Steve still thinks about them in his spare time.

The thought of Steve with another lover fills him with jealousy, and Tony finds himself kissing Steve harder. He winds his hands into Steve's hair and grinds his rapidly growing cock down on Steve's thick thigh.

Steve pulls back, chuckling as Tony chases after his lips.

"You're a needy one, huh?" he says, working at the fly of his tac suit.

"Like you're any better," Tony says, marveling at how out of breath he sounds. "You can barely get your pants down, you're so eager."

Steve raises his hands. "Alright, genius, you do it. I'll just stand here and look pretty."

Tony bites back a smile and instead makes quick work of Steve's fly.

"Oh, wow," he says softly when he pulls out Steve's cock, already hard and leaking precome. He's not a poet, but he's never seen a dick that looked so...nice. It's so hot in Tony's hands, like a brand. Steve keeps himself trimmed and neat, which makes sense, given the rest of his appearance.

Tony can hear his heart beating a rapid rhythm in his chest as the gravity of what he's about to do hits him. It's not like he's never given a blowjob before, far from it. But this is Steve. Steve, who lied on registration forms just so he could serve his country. Steve, who freed prisoners of war with little to no help. Steve, who plunged a nuke-laden plane into the ocean without a second thought.

"Hey," Steve said. "I meant it when I said you don't have to do this if you don't want to. Are you still okay with this?"

Something in Tony's heart softens at that, and he silently pushes it down. This is a one time only situation. He can't afford to get feelings involved, so instead, he nods. "Yeah," he says, "You think I'd say no to this?" And with that, Tony fully sinks to his knees.

He takes Steve into his mouth before he can ask any more questions. A sharp intake of breath escapes Steve's mouth. Tony's hands come up to rest on Steve's well-muscled thighs. It's hard to breathe at first—Steve is so big, Tony would bet his fortune that he had been like this before the serum too.

Tony takes his time, and Steve lets him adjust to the foreign weight in his mouth. He breathes through his nose because he's not a goddamn amateur, and settles into a steady rhythm, bobbing his head along the length of Steve's dick.

Tony savors the little gasps and moans that Steve emits whenever he swallows around him or flicks his tongue a certain way. He commits them to his memory like a raven collects shining trinkets.

Steve's hand curls into Tony's hair, not necessarily pushing him down, though. Just a steady, almost comforting weight on Tony's head that makes something in the back of his mind purr in satisfaction.

"You're doing so good," Steve whispers it like it's a secret.

Tony looks up at him, and Steve looks just as wrecked as Tony feels. The blue of his eyes is naught but a thin ring overtaken by a pool of black. His skin is sweaty and flushed, his lips red and swollen from where he had been biting them to stifle his moons. Tony wants to devour him.

Steve's fingers tighten in his hair, and Tony's moaning himself now. Steve's eyes flutter shut, his mouth dropping into a slight 'o'.

"How can someone be so fucking beautiful?" Tony thinks.

His own cock tents his jeans, leaking precome, but Tony will deal with it later. He's not expecting Steve to return the favor. This is an apology, after all. An unconventional one, sure, but an apology all the same.

"I'm close," Steve says. "Do you want me to—"

Instead of answering, Tony hollows out his cheeks and sucks. His teeth ghost over a vein along the length of Steve's cock, and Steve's coming with a muffled shout into Tony's mouth. Tony's careful to swallow it all, not wanting any of Steve's come to go to waste. He tells himself that it's just so that there's less of a mess.

"Jesus, Tony," Steve says, his voice all scratchy like he had been the one on his knees for the past fifteen minutes.

Tony pulls off of Steve and looks up at him with big eyes, his lashes shining with unshed tears. Something primal crosses Steve's face, and he snaps. The next thing Tony knows, he's being hauled to his feet, and Steve's tongue is down his throat like he wants to become a part of Tony. A pang of arousal hits Tony in his stomach like a sucker-punch at the fact that Steve would still kiss him after what he had just done.

Steve unbuttons Tony's jeans with deft fingers and shoves one of his hands down Tony's jeans. He finds his cock with ease. Tony wraps his arms around Steve's neck and digs his fingers into Steve's skin as he jerks him hard and fast like he's trying to punish him.

It should hurt. But a savage part of Tony's brain revels in Steve's loss of control. Steve isn't Captain America right now, America's golden boy. He's Steve fucking Rogers, and he's taking what he wants, consequences be damned. Tony doesn't even bother trying to hide his cry when he comes hot and wet into Steve's hand, pleasure lighting up every single one of his nerves as if he has been struck by lightning. Tony's knees tremble, and if it weren't for Steve pinning him against the wall, he surely would have fallen to the ground.

Steve breaks their kiss and tucks his head into the nape of Tony's neck.

"God," he says, his voice like sandpaper. "God," he repeats as if that says everything that needs to be said. In a way, it does.

"Hell of an apology, huh?" Tony says. He's always known how to ruin a moment.

Steve gives him a breathless chuckle in return. "If that was your apology, I'd kill to see your 'thank you,'" he says.

"Give me something to be thankful for."

"Yeah?" Steve says, lifting his head up to look at him. His eyes are bright, but there's a glint to his gaze that makes Tony feel like he's being hunted.

"Yeah," Tony says. Steve's smile cuts like a knife.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #steve x tony #superhusbands #marvel #mcu #nsfk #imperialstark fic #imperialstark writing #my fic #my writing #this one isn't too long but i'll still put it under a keep reading #lemons #lemon

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dracusfyre · 4 years ago

Note

Missed this when you first posted it, so, belated but: #12 from the 50 kisses list? any pairing is fine

The prompt from the prompt list was “ Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss,” and I went with winteriron (surprise!). Setting is CA:TFA meets Iron Man Noir. :D (Also on AO3) As a warning the set up took 3k words, which probably explains why I am constitutionally incapable of writing PWPs.

----

Bucky watched Steve leave with the lady in red – Agent Carter, Steve had called her – and felt the sour taste of jealousy on his tongue. Turning away, he downed the rest of his glass of cheap rotgut whiskey and gestured for the bartender to give him another. He hated that Carter hadn’t given him so much as a glance, and he hated that Steve had followed her without question, leaving him alone here at the bar, and he hated himself for caring about either; he should be happy for his friend, shouldn’t he, be happy that he was big and strong, America’s golden boy, a lady’s man, able to jump tall buildings in a single bound. A hero. “From zero to hero,” all the newspapers were saying. Meanwhile Bucky was what? Steve’s buddy, his pal, his childhood friend. Not Sergeant Barnes, a rank he’d earned through being the best goddamn sharpshooter in boot camp and being the most well-respected corporal in his unit when their last sergeant got blown to hell. Meanwhile Steve’s a captain, since presumably “Private America” or “Lieutenant America” didn’t have the same ring to it.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, grinding his palms into his eyes. This was what he was talking about. When had he become so bitter? He felt full of broken edges inside, jagged and vicious; maybe they’d pumped him full of poison there on that table, and that’s why Bucky felt like vitriol would come spilling out of him at any moment. He wished there was someone to fight right now, wished for the roar of artillery to drown out these thoughts and a bayonet in his hands so he could have some place for these feelings to go instead of building up inside him like a head of steam. His hands fell away from his eyes and he picked up the whiskey again, draining half of the glass in one go and hissing at the burn.

“Hope you’re drinking the cheap stuff if you’re going to chug it,” a voice said from beside him. Bucky jerked, because he hadn’t even noticed that someone had sat down and that’s a good way to get killed, isn’t it? Even here in jolly old London, jolly old safe London, home of Agent Carter, far from the guns and bombs and needles and lasers-

“Hey,” the voice said again, “are you with me?”

Bucky pulled his gaze from his whiskey and dragged it to the man next to him. The man was watching him with bright blue eyes that were sharp but not unkind; he had a hard time meeting those eyes, so he looked back down at the bar instead. “Whaddaya want?” Bucky asked gruffly.

“Good question,” the man said thoughtfully. Out of the corner of his eye Bucky saw him scratch his chin. “World peace comes to mind right now,” he said, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “A good old American hamburger is on the list,” boy could Bucky sympathize with that, “but for right now, I was mostly really curious why you look like your dog died when everyone else is just celebrating the fact that they’re alive.”

“Well, there’s your answer,” Bucky said, still staring at the bar. The truth was tumbling out of his mouth and Bucky couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to. It was fucked up, he knew that, but Bucky had used up all of his ability to pretend everything was ok on Steve. “I guess I don’t have anything to celebrate.” He punctuated that with another swallow of whiskey and wished he’d start getting drunk already.

“You leave someone on the battlefield?” the man asked after a moment, and the understanding in his voice – not the cloying sympathy he’d heard from others, nothing so soft as an I’m sorry but rather a me too, it’s fucking awful isn’t it – made Bucky’s throat feel thick.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Me.”

The man was quiet for a few moments, long enough that Bucky was sure that the man would just get up leave, and that was good, that was fine, Bucky didn’t want company, he just wanted to be left here to drown himself in peace. It’s not like he was lonely, there were dozens of people in this bar, right? He didn’t need Steve, he didn’t need Dum-Dum or Gabe or any of them, and he certainly didn’t need this random fucking stranger-

“Hey, what do you call a soldier who can read and write?”

Bucky stared at him blankly. “What?” he asked as the man just looked at him expectantly.

“What do you call a soldier who can read and write?” the man repeated.

Bucky blinked at him, but apparently the man was serious. “I don’t know, what?”

“Sir, yes sir!” The man said. “Where does General Marshall keep his armies?”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky asked, but the man just shrugged. “Ok, where?”

“In his sleevies. What’s long and hard and full of seamen?” the man asked next.

“God,” Bucky groaned with a disbelieving laugh, less because the terrible jokes were funny and more because of the self-satisfied look on the man’s face when he said them. “Why the hell are you telling me these terrible jokes? I just came from the front lines, haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Because you’re a soldier,” the man said with a grin, reaching out to flick the rank on Bucky’s collar. “If I told you good jokes, I’d have to explain them.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky said, but he couldn’t help the grin cracking his face.

“That’s more like it,” the man said. “Here, let me buy you a drink. A real drink,” he added, grimacing at the smell of the cheap whiskey in Bucky’s glass.

“Who are you?” Bucky asked after the bartender poured them both something top shelf, at least, as top shelf as it got during war time. “Because if you’re about to tell me you’re with the USO, you might want to rethink your career.”

“How dare you,” the man said cheerfully. “Made you laugh, didn’t I?”

“At you, maybe.”

“I’m Tony,” the man said, holding out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bucky,” he said, shaking it. Bucky got a good look at the man this time, realizing just now that he tall and leanly built, dressed less like a man who had gone out for a night on the town and more like someone who had just taken a break from working with his hands and planned to go back to it soon. A mechanic, maybe, or a builder, judging from the nicks and callouses on his hands.

“So are you in London on leave?” Tony asked, sipping on his drink, turning in his seat so he was facing Bucky. “Or are you on your way home?”

Wasn’t that the question? He should be going home, if he had an ounce of brains. “Leave,” Bucky said. He glanced at where the Dum-dum and the others were all still drinking together on the far side of the bar. “And I’ll probably be heading out pretty soon, I guess.” Steve was sure ready to get back into the fight, and why wouldn’t he be? He’d never been one to back down from a fight, even if Bucky had been the one to get the bruised knuckles and bloody noses. He wondered if Steve would be so excited the first time he saw what a German howitzer could do to a human body.

“You got plans before you go?”

Bucky shrugged. “Get drunk and pour myself into bed sometime before morning reveille, I suppose. Why?”

“Well,” Tony said slowly, looking down at his glass and fidgeting with it. “I know you’re wearing a uniform, but I was wondering if you might be active duty.”

Bucky went hot, then cold, with fear at the question, and glanced around to see if anyone had heard. “Are you crazy?” he hissed.

“Aren’t we all? There’s a war on out there, and I’d rather get busy living before I get busy dying,” Tony said. “If you aren’t interested, just say so.”

Bucky studied Tony consideringly. “How did you know I wouldn’t punch you in the face just for asking?”

Tony snorted. “I saw how you looked at your friend as he walked out with that beautiful dame. If you’re going to pretend to be something you’re not – or rather, pretend to not be something that you are – you’re going to need a better poker face.”

Bucky took a sip of his drink and turned the offer over in his head, suddenly aware that he hadn’t had anyone touch him, really touch him, in months. His eyes caught on Tony’s hands again and he couldn’t help imagining how they might feel on him. “What did you have in mind?” he said in a low voice.

“I didn’t think I’d get this far, honestly,” Tony said with a rueful smile. “I was out here on a wing and a prayer. But, uh, I got a room at a hotel?”

Bucky looked down at his uniform. Disheveled though it was, it was distinctive and recognizable. “You can’t smuggle me into a hotel, Tony.”

“Right. I have a workshop,” Tony ventured. “It’s not much, but it’s not far.”

“Okay.” Bucky nodded, rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. “Let’s, um…”

“Finish our drinks first?” Tony suggested.

“Sure.” Bucky took a swallow of his drink, now drinking for courage rather than to forget. “Do you do this a lot?”

“No, not with, uh,” Tony gestured at Bucky and Bucky nodded with understanding. “But…” Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Once I’m done with the – this project I’m working on, I’m going back to France. Southern France. So I came out for a drink because my workshop was too quiet, then I saw you, and I thought, he doesn’t seem like he should be alone right now, and when I talked to you, I realized that I don’t want to be alone right now, so…yeah.”

“Oh.” Bucky looked at Tony with new eyes, and saw the tiredness around the eyes, the slightly grim cast to his mouth. If Tony was working in southern France, he was probably with the Resistance, and if there was a more shit job than infantry that was definitely one of them. “Carpe diem, eh?” he asked, and tapped his glass against Tony’s.

“I want to carpe something, alright,” Tony said with a smirk.

“You Americans only want one thing,” Bucky complained, lifting his nose in the air and turning his face away. “You should be ashamed.”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that, doll,” Tony crooned. “I just want to show you a good time, I promise.” Tony risked a hand on Bucky’s leg, just above the knee, and squeezed, fingers rubbing along the inner seam of Bucky’s pants before he withdrew. Bucky almost choked on his whiskey as he inhaled sharply at the touch, heat suddenly thrumming in his veins. There was a glint in Tony’s eye as if he knew exactly the effect he’d had and was looking forward to doing more of it.

Then his face changed as he glanced up and leaned away from Bucky. “You gentlemen doing alright?” The bartender asked, and they both nodded.

“I’ll go ahead and pay my tab,” Tony said, and passed over way too much money for their bill. “Keep the change,” he said, and the bartender disappeared again.

But the reminder that they weren’t actually alone had been like cold water to the face, and suddenly Bucky was ready to leave. “You wanna get out of here?” he asked. He looked at how much alcohol was left and drank it all, coughing a little at the burn.

“Sure,” Tony said, taking one last swallow of his own before pushing it aside. Bucky stood and hesitated, remembering that the others were sitting by the front door and he’d have to pass them to get out of the bar. Tony touched his arm and jerked his head towards the back of the bar. Night had fallen while they were inside, and it took a few moments for their eyes to adjust; citywide blackout conditions meant that they only had the moonlight to see by, which was a week or so away from being full. “This way,” Tony said, and the hand on his arm slid down until Tony was curling his fingers around Bucky's palm.

The simple touch of another hand in his own made the words get stuck in Bucky’s throat, so he just held on, gripping maybe a little too tightly while Tony led him through the narrow streets and back alleys of London town. Tony stopped as their narrow alley emptied out into a larger street, moonlight gilding the pavement silver. He backed them up a bit, then herded Bucky into a dark corner away from the busier street.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky whispered, wondering if Tony had seen something on the street, like police or other Army officers or something. Instead, Tony just crowded him against the wall, arms coming up to bracket Bucky’s shoulders.

“Can I kiss you?” Tony whispered.

Bucky nodded, then realized it was probably too dark for Tony to see him, so instead he fisted his hands into Tony’s shirt and pulled him closer, sliding his hands up Tony’s chest to frame his face so he could slant his mouth across Tony’s. Tony made a soft hum, deep in his throat, and leaned in until Bucky could feel him from chest to knee. The stone wall was cold against his back, but Tony was so warm, so solid; Bucky suddenly wanted that weight on top of him, pressing him into a mattress. Tony’s mouth was hungry, and Bucky reveled in it; he could taste whiskey on Tony’s tongue and chased it with his own. Tony’s hands were fumbling at his jacket, then at his shirt underneath, trying to find skin. Bucky let go of Tony long enough to help him, trying to pull his shirt out from where he had tucked it into his pants because suddenly he wanted Tony’s hands on him more than he’d wanted anything, ever; this was glorious, it was heady, it was exactly the forgetting that he had been wanting. Then Tony was finally touching him, hands almost hot, the roughness of his callouses as he stroked along Bucky’s ribs making him feel like a plucked string. Relief swelled in him as fire crawled in his veins, making him feel lighter and more alive than he had in months. Tony slipped a thigh between Bucky’s legs and Bucky almost sobbed at the pressure against his aching hardness, especially when he realized that Tony was hard too.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Tony pulled away and Bucky could taste salt on his lips. “Bucky?” Tony said softly. “Are you ok?”

And to his dismay Bucky felt a sob burst out of him, all of the anger and bitterness and joy and loss and fear overflowing like a levee had broken. He felt arms wrapping around him and he buried his face in Tony’s neck and cried into his rough linen shirt. Tony didn’t say anything, didn’t try to comfort him or tell him well-meaning lies like it’ll be ok and you’ll be alright, he just held him close until the sobs trailed away into a stuffy nose and a headache.

Bucky finally straightened, feeling his face burning in the dark. “Christ, I’m so-“ Bucky started, but Tony stopped him with a kiss.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Tony said, digging into his pocket and handing Bucky a handkerchief. Tony’s hands came up to cradle Bucky’s elbows and he rested his head against Bucky’s forehead. “All of that has to go somewhere or it will eat you up inside. I’m glad that I could be here for you when you needed it.”

Bucky grimaced but he had to admit he felt better, like a flood had washed him clean inside. Except, of course, for the embarrassment of having cried on someone he was just about to get off with. “Do you still wanna…?”

“Do you?” Tony asked. They were still cradled in the soft darkness of the night, and Tony’s breath was a puff of warmth on Bucky’s lips; he could smell the whiskey on his breath and the faint threat of Tony’s cologne and what might be grease. There was the faintest murmur of conversation from pedestrians on the big street nearby, but it felt like they were in their own little world here, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to be able to disappear into that as long as possible. So he nodded, knowing that Tony could feel it. “Then I do, too.”

The next morning came all too soon; Bucky sighed with resignation when he saw the clock and realized he’d have to leave now to sneak back to his barracks before morning formation.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Tony offered, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Bucky’s face. They had ended up on a cot that Tony kept in his workshop, which was better than the floor but meant that they had pretty much had to be on top of one another all night in order to fit.

“No, if I get caught then it’s just breaking curfew, getting caught with someone else would just raise more questions.” Bucky kissed Tony’s forehead, the only place he could reach, then started to slide out from under him and get dressed.

“By the way,” Tony said, rolling over onto his back to watch Bucky pull his clothes on, “my full name is Tony Stark.”

“You mean, like the character from the book?” Bucky said skeptically. “Come on. You don’t gotta give me a fake name, here.”

“It’s not fake,” Tony protested. “I am the character from the book.”

“You mean he was named after you?”

“No that’s –“ Tony sat up with a huff, looking outraged. “The books are about me.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky said as he tucked his shirt into his pants. “That stuff can’t possibly be true, with Atlantis and magic masks and hidden temples and shit.”

“It is. If we had more time I’d show you,” Tony insisted. “And it’s not magic, just science we haven’t figured out yet.”

Bucky thought about blue beams of light that made people disappear as if they’d never existed, and a man who could rip his face off to show just a bloody skull underneath. “I guess,” he conceded. “So you’re a celebrity, eh? Wait until I tell absolutely nobody that I slept with a celebrity,” he said wryly, then did a double take as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, they sent you, a celebrity, into Vichy France?”

Tony winced. “That’s why I don’t tell people my real name,” he said. “It’s not like people can recognize me from the cheesy cover art of those books. I was just telling you so that…you know, in case, after the war – if there is an after – maybe you could look me up.”

“Oh.” Bucky sat down on the edge of the cot and cupped Tony’s cheek in one hand, running a thumb over his cheekbone. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

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toonqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Duckvember 2020

PART 2 OF 2

Frenemy AND Paramour

Part 1 is Here

This is my Negaverse Gladstone (Grimstone) and Nega Magica in my 87/Comics headcanon. SHELDRAKE is @cataradical 's and he’s a cool jerk. Wheee.

THERE IS CUSSING and dirty things said. It’s the Negaverse that's just what goes down there. PG-13ish?!

--------

"Is there any reason that a red bowling ball is in a cage?" Sheldrake asked a uniformed goose attendant in the silent auction. "Kinda funny… what's up with that tall wig it’s got on? Why’s it even wearing a wig at all? It’s… it’s a bowling ball, dude."

The attendant scoffed, turned up his bill to Sheldrake, and promptly walked away.

Shel raised an eyebrow at the attendant. Though he was used to people ignoring or giving him the cold shoulder, he was simply trying to do business with professionals who’d worked and trained their asses off to cater to eccentric, annoying customers. If there was anything more powerful than the hole in his chest, it was a retail worker faking pleasantries to make a sale. And this auction was technically a big hunter sale’s event.

He stepped closer to the displayed ball as he rubbed his chin. Sheldrake thought back to the kiss with Grim's wife. He couldn't pass up that opportunity of mistaken identity. Now the next time him and Grim fought, he could cheekily mention that he kissed his wife. It’d make for a great curveball, a nice distraction.

That second, deeper kiss, though... man. Woo boy.

Sheldrake suddenly realized something, and groaned irritably. Light witches and their kissing spells. It was a power boast meant for Grim's dark magic. “Shit,” he said softly to himself as he rubbed the spot on his chest. It made it harder to be stealthy if everyone hated him even more than usual. Which was something, he’d found, could actually happen. He looked up and saw a variety of both heated and cold glares from older paladins in the room. Though security seemed to want to avoid him at all costs.

Maybe Magica’s cursed kiss would be helpful in the long run.

The dark red bowling ball shifted on its own, slightly toward Shel when he had cussed. The speckled duck hadn’t noticed at first, but when he started bitching under his breath about one asshole paladin he’d partnered up with in the past, the ball moved again.

"Sounds like you are not too happy with the people here either.” It was a woman’s voice, but Shel knew only he could hear it. Telepathic dialects and all. He stepped closer to the ball. "You don't have to speak out loud to me. Just think the words, and I will hear them."

"Cool. Cool. So… Who are you?" Sheldrake tried to focus, keep the magic ball from “overhearing” his more intrusive thoughts.

"I'm known as the Brunswick witch in your universe. I was misplaced from my own dimension by a spell, and captured by your colleagues," the red bowling ball explained.

"Nice… two birds with one... ball.” Sheldrake blew a raspberry, ignoring the disgusted look from an old woman passing behind him. “A friend of mine needs your help, and I’m here to return you to your universe.” He recalled his fight with Grimstone on the stairwell-- Yeah, well, he guessed they were still friends.

"How do you plan to get me out of here? There are guards everywhere," the ball inquired.

"Plan is to purchase you fair and square… Annnd if that goes wrong, just yoink you up and run away. I got some backup to help us out," Sheldrake answered. He briefly thought about the kiss with Magica, then the memory of Grim trying to give him mouth to mouth a few missions back. If he could compare the two, they’d--

“Ahem,” the ball interrupted curtly.

"What? Don't people snog and make out in your universe? Don't tell me... when you get laid, is it called a strike?" The duck’s beak moved a little, mouthing half-bits of the words he was thinking.

If the ball could blush, it’d be an even brighter shade of red right now. "Well, I never!" she hissed, scandalized. However, given the curious and shocked reactions from people nearby, she’d been overheard.

"Great," Sheldrake grunted. He remained calm, but mentally assessed how he’d break the bowling ball free and fight his way out of the crowd with the weapons hidden on his person. To his surprise, none of the guards reacted to the outburst. That was a little confusing.

One of the attendants walked right up to Sheldrake. He hadn't even heard him come near before the attendant spoke.

“This item is not for sale... to you."

Sheldrake gave a curious head tilt. The hole in his chest was itching again but he held back scratching it. Blast that light witch and whatever she had passed on with that kiss. Fuckin’ aliens probably having a feast.

"Oh? But there’s a silent auction sheet right here. Let me just put my sect's name on there, sooo, technically, they’re buying it. Not me," he said cheekily as he reached for the auction sheet.

The attendant grabbed his wrist. “I’m sorry. This item is already sold,” he said calmly, although his grip on Shel’s wrist had tightened.

The speckled duck sighed and ripped his hand out of the hold. He’d done it aggressively, like he was ready to fight, but unfortunately could not given the social circumstances. Aw, beans; he wanted to see this guy’s face turned inside out, too.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Shel grumbled. He acted resigned and defeated, taking a moment to read the room. How exactly would he get the artifact out of here? He glanced back at the window, the fire escape stairwell attached to it.

There was a waiter serving drinks to guests. Probably one of his “partners in crime” disguised, though he couldn’t tell which one. He turned his attention back to the glowering attendant. “Well, if you’re just gonna be a big meanie, I think I’ll go get myself a drink.”

Sheldrake approached the waiter. The distinctive glare he got from the Borzoi left him to conclude it was the wife. He swiftly took a drink off the tray, said, “Sorry about earlier, sweetie. If it’s any consolation, you’re a better kisser than your husband. So where’s our boy at?”

The waiter gave a nudge toward one of the windows. Shel did not see anyone there at the moment. He knocked down his drink and placed the empty glass on the waiter’s tray.

The waiter glared then grumbled, “Well, can you get it? Without any unnecessary conflict?”

“Nope! Unfortunately, I have this effect on people. They always seem to get pretty agitated around me, like I’m some kind of big ol’ pest. Hasn’t your hubby mentioned it?” Sheldrake prodded, the waiter growing tenser by the second.

“Then you leave, and Grim and I will take care of it from here,” the disguised Magica growled. She smiled politely as a man took a drink from the tray and walked off.

“Oh, no, no. No. I’m not leaving you two alone with this,” Shel said with a cool smile.

Magica’s eyes narrowed, her chest tightening and face hot. “Then lay low. We’ll do the fighting, and you just act your normal paladin part,” she seethed, and nodded at another canine waiter--Grimstone. Shel wondered if his curse was causing her to act so bossy and high and mighty, or if the lady was always this aggressive and short. “However… I don’t see a witch locked up in here.”

Sheldrake motioned to the bowling ball a few feet away. “She’s got a weak constitution,” he said. “Prone to the vapors if you say anything naughty.”

Magica squinted at him, as if he were joking--badly. Nonetheless, she discreetly signaled at her husband, then to the ball.

Grimstone made his way over to the displayed bowling ball, examined it. He looked up, and nodded once.

Magica was surprised.

Sheldrake winked.

“Still… stay out of our way,” the witch ordered.

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” Sheldrake hummed.

Still disguised, Grim unceremoniously dropped his serving tray, smashed open the display glass, and snatched the bowling ball from its pedestal. In an instant, two guards were there to tackle him, but he leapt up on the plinth and out of the way.

Magica, spotting two more guards running to stop Grim, pushed away from Sheldrake. She threw her tray like a deadly frisbee, knocking one guard into the other. The couple’s plan had been a bit crude but simple: grab the artifact, jump out the window, and run away. The hunters probably predicted something more complicated and dangerous, essentially overestimating the two.

The guards by Grim stood up, reaching for their weapons; they stopped, gobsmacked. The waiter had transformed into a duplicate of the older guard.

The younger looked between the two. “You-- but how--”

“It’s me, Tony! I’m Mike!” the duplicate cried. “He’s the real thief!”

“What?” the older guard yelled. “That’s not--I’m me! I’m Mike!”

In the brief confusion, the duplicate slid away.

The guards that had been temporarily thwarted by a serving tray were getting back on their feet. They glared at Sheldrake, in the direction of where the tray had been thrown. Sheldrake made a playful “uh oh” expression, then stepped to the side to reveal Magica behind him. She was still in disguise, but now holding throwing daggers.

Gracefully and swiftly, Magica tossed the blades--none of which actually hit the guards. Instead, they pierced the two heads of a monstrous statue behind them. Another distraction to keep the attention off of Grimstone.

Despite the fact the room was full of hunters, none of them moved to help the guards. Surprisingly, Sheldrake was irritated by this. Sure, the plan was to get the item out of there as quickly and easily as possible, but he was still disappointed none of his colleagues actually stepped up and did anything. If he wasn't in on this couple’s crazy plan, Sheldrake would certainly, and most enthusiastically, try to stop them in what he hoped would result in a nice, big fight.

Now… Well, now that’d just be awkward, so he only took a few more steps away from Magica.

“Great party we’re having here, huh?” He attempted to converse with the nearest auctioneer. They gasped, appalled by this horrid duck, and swiftly rushed away. “Ah, that's right. Damn white witch magnified the curse. Great. Fuck, shit, and Hell.” No big explosive fight had made him grumpy.

He looked back to the couple. Magica was drawing another guard away from her disguised husband. In a flash, she threw some needle thin daggers at the guard. The spots down the side of the man’s neck and shoulder must have been perfect acupuncture to knock the attacker out.

Grimstone was at the window when another guard attempted to tackle him. He dropped the bowling ball, which made an audible grunt upon impact. Sheldrake kept an eye on the fight but also took another drink off a waiter’s tray. He spoke loudly, not really directed toward anyone specific in the room, “So we’re all really just going to stand here and watch the rent-a-hunters fight?”

Finally someone that wasn’t a guard grabbed Magica from behind. Still in her Borzoi disguise she slipped out of the hold, whipped around and stabbed the attack in the shoulder with one of her large throwing needles. Sheldrake winched and mouthed an “ou”. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but more mocking.

Another hunter that had been just watching managed to close one of the shutters on the large window in an attempt to block Grimstone’s escape. It was already clear the demonic duck wasn’t one of the real guards. This became more obvious when Grimstone blasted a fireball at the now closed window.

A young hunter made an attempt to toss a bottle of holy water at the demonic duckll. Grimstone had not noticed the bottle coming at him. Magica, however, had seen it. Grim’s disguise faded as Sheldrake came out of the crowd to catch the bottle. He held his drink in his free hand, which he unceremoniously smashed in a nearby paladin’s face.

“Turns out you did need some help, hm, babe?” Sheldrake teased as he backed up toward Grimstone. As an older hunter ran over, Sheldrake made sure to trip and kick him out of the way.

"I can't believe this is the paladin you grinded on in Austria," Magica snapped, blasting a ray of light at a pair of men attempting to intervene.

"Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you tell her everything. She’s got your balls in a vice grip," Sheldrake said to Grim before backhandedly punching an attacker in the face. He smirked at Magica. "He's certainly a keeper!"

“Most of the time,” she quipped, kicking and shoving a guard over a table--and right out the window. “I do hope that wasn’t a friend of yours.”

“Ah, I don’t have any friends here. No love lost. Maybe a friend and a half, if I generously count you guys,” Shel said as he grabbed a hunter by the head. The hunter was surprised, not expecting such betrayal--nor Shel to knee him in the chin. Shel’s grin was wide and manic; he looked back at Magica, guffawed, “I didn't realize you had to swap spit with your husband to give him a power boost!”

“Excuse me,” Grimstone huffed from nearby. He picked up a few artifacts, shook and tossed them in the air. That caught some of their attackers’ attention.

“It was an accident!” Magica sputtered out before she could be accused of anything. “I thought he was you in my glamor spell!”

“Excuse me?” Grimstone repeated, this time genuinely confused. Magica made an irritated grunt before throwing a needle knife at a hunter that was attempting to pick up the fallen bowling ball.

“Eyes on the prize, you two, or I’ll turn this mission around,” Sheldrake lectured, teasing, “We’ll deal with any jealousy and drama later. Time to get that Brunswitch.”

Magica was still annoyed but gave a nod. She wormed around a hunter trying to grab her, snatching up the bowling ball. Grimstone and Sheldrake both played defense, keeping all would-be attackers off of her.

“Your wife is a slightly better kisser than you,” Sheldrake said to Grim as he pulled out one of his guns, firing on the burning window. He shot a hole clean through the center.

Magica, without being told, made her way out.

Sheldrake shot at other hunters in the room running at them. “Like sittin’ ducks!”

Grimstone grabbed the back of his rescuer’s coat, dragging him to the window. “Eyes on the prize, remember?!” he sniped.

“Hey, if I drink that holy water, does that mean we can’t make out for like forty-eight hours?” Sheldrake asked, allowing himself to be tugged along.

Grimstone laughed, tossing the paladin out the window before following him. They landed on a metal fire escape, next to a tall mirror leaning against the stairs. Grim grabbed Shel’s hand hard, and jumped into the mirror as if it were liquid.

They both tumbled out a second mirror in Grimstone and Magica’s barn, rolling into a pile of hay.

Magica was standing by the mirror, hay stuck in her clothing and hair. “Well, our new friend has agreed to help change back the children. I’m taking her to the school. And then we’re going to talk about your behavior,” Magica explained, directing her last comment at Sheldrake.

“Oh ho, you think I’m still going to be here when you get back? I guess that depends how busy your hubby keeps me,” Shel replied, smirking.

Both Magica and the bowling ball scoffed.

Grimstone stood from the haystack as Magica went into the mirror with the ball to their next location.

Once Sheldrake got up, Grimstone went into lecture mode.

“What were you thinking!? You could have gotten yourself in trouble with the other paladins. I need you for inside information. You could be their next big target now!” Grim complained, more like an overbearing mother than an agitated, powerful demon.

Shel opened his bill to make a sassy comment, to explain himself, but stopped to consider what Grimstone had said. “What do you mean *could have*? I just--” Shel caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby window. An… everyday Joe, green-headed mallard stared back at him. He laughed. “Damn, your lady is good.”

“It will fade in an hour or so. Next time we run into each other on a mission, let me handle the fighting,” Grim said in his usual stern, reprimanding tone.

"Sooooo, you owe me now. I did you a favor." Sheldrake wore a shit-eating grin as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"What do you want, Agent Netta?" Grimstone attempted to sound cold, detached.

"Gasp! Grim, you wound me! After all we have been through. I like it when you call me Shelly instead. Preferably breathlessly," the paladin's smirk widened.

The demonic duck rolled his eyes. "I'm not without honour. I do owe you a favor, but within reason. You know my boundaries when interfering with the dealings of mortals," Grimstone returned stoically.

Sheldrake glanced around a moment as if looking for something.

"What is it? Is someone here?" Grimstone couldn’t help but look around, too.

"Nah, just checking for hidden cameras for whatever warlock reality show you just made that dramatic speech for," Sheldrake teased. Grimstone sighed, seemingly annoyed, but Shel saw a hint of an amused smirk at the corner of the demon duck's beak. Even Grim was aware he was spouting shit.

Grimstone crossed his arms. "What did you need, Sheldrake?" His shoulders relaxed as he spoke. As much as he hated to admit it, he did trust this damn paladin.

Sheldrake explained. "There's an old paladin at that hunter convention. I worked with him once, and he shot several children in the back of the head during a mission. Seemed like something he did a lot. Usually we gotta call back-up when we find kids on the scene. Instead this dickcheese went in with guns blazing like it was any other big scary shoot ‘em up monster battle. We didn't even know if the kids were victims or transgressors."

Sheldrake stepped closer to Grim and put his hand on his arm. He gave it a light squeeze. He knew Grim just ate up small touches like these. "But, see. Remember when I was gone for several months? This bastard had knocked me out when I tried to stop him. We held a trial to get him removed, but all his friends were on the jury. Also, I mean, what’s *my* word against--well, *anyone* else’s? I couldn't hang out with you during the case because he had people tailing me to dig up dirt since I was the only witness. I couldn't even feed right with all that going on--"

"I don't need to know anymore. Which one is he?" Grimstone asked.

"Oh, I'll bring him out to you. But you have to make him suffer slowly." Sheldrake's eyes shimmered like a kid opening gifts on Christmas morning.

"Anything for a friend."

#duckvember #duckvember 2020 #magicstone #magica de spell #gladstone gander #morgana macawber #sheldrake #negaverse

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zoocross0vers · 4 years ago

Photo

HERE WE…GOOO!!!!🦔💨

Sorry for not posting this sooner, I had some problems with scanning and lighting but I’m glad that is finally done. Here are some doodles of Sonic/Zootopia crossover from my 2 favourite movies. Those two movies are complimenting each other. Remember when I told you how Tom👦 and Maddie👩🏾 (these are names of those characters from Sonic movie) remind me a lot of Nick🦊 and Judy🐰? Well, after I watched the movie (10 times in cinema, 15 times at home after pandemy, don’t judge me!), it turns out that they have lot in common indeed that I thought. Those are my favourite moments from movie with Nick and Judy as Tom and Maddie and so does other characters from Zootopia (I really enjoy also that scene akward conversation about shooting Sonic with tranq-gun, that is hilarious for me). Wish I could include more but unfortunately after I drew I realized that my paper is not big enough, dang it! Thankfully I was able for example including at least 3 important moments like Sonic looking at happy couple behind window wishing been part of company, because of fear of him all alone forever, which it saddening him (😢 „sniff“ can someone please give that kid a hug?!😭), Ozzy licking Sonic’s face (awwwwww :3) and of course “THE FINAL BATTLE WITH ROBOTNIK” (at least the confrontation). The only thing I didn’t include was Longclaw and echidna tribe, since they had small screen and I small space (dang it!). Which is bummer because I really like Longclaw, she is really interesting character and wish we could see more. There were only two scenes of her, the one from begging of the movie and the deleted where she end up in earth with Sonic for some time but died from s-sicknes-ss “sniff”😢 (I’m sorry for that but this moment always makes cry every-time I watching it😭, it’s just really personal for me for certain reasons.). I guess you questioning the Ozzy licking Sonic’s face scene considering there are no domestic animal, including dogs and Zootopia is world of anthromorphic mammals, so I thought I would use Yoshi as Ozzy as a cameo from Mario (you know because of friendly rivalry between Sonic and Mario) and also as a gift for Yoshifan, especially after seen many pictures of Nick and Yoshi who’s calling him “Mama Nick” and I found it pretty funny. After I started drawing I realized there are some obstacles that would be problem like (aside from Ozzy) raccoons, bear-head from Piston Pit, chilli-dogs (considering what meat they put on these things if, IF it is a meat), the Sonic’s shoes (the old and new ones) and of course Robotnik himself considering I don’t want to change him into some mammal. Like I said before Robotnik works better as human and he doesn’t need to change to an animal considering he put animals from Sonic’s world, anthromorphic and normal, always in danger or abuse (like making them into badniks, or robotized them). So, how are gonna fix it you ask? Well I have some idea. Like I said before for Ozzy I choose Yoshi for that role (and honestly I don’t have any other options, heheh. BUT you must admit that it is adorable 🥰), raccoons were a challenge so I came multiple ideas for example:

Instead of raccoons we use gerbil jerks from Zistopia concept art

Raccoons will be anthromorphic teens who like mess with Nick while eating from trashcans (like Mr. Big said, evolved but deep down still animals)

Since mammals are sentient how about use non-mammal “trash pandas”(lol, I like that nickname) like birds as ravens, crows or pigeons (pigeons are also known as “flying rats” – thank you Spies in Disguise)

Those are mine options, if you have other in mind I’m listening.

Then there’s taxidermy bear-head. Considering that pouching would classified as not just illegal but also as psycho (still not get over that taxidermy Moose-head from Sly 2. Yeah I know that was part of mission to blend in to not rise a suspicion but seriously, WHY those Moose have that head, did they just-…you know what let’s not think about it😖) I came up with idea instead of taxidermy bear-head how about some mask of unusual mascot like the manticore from Onward, eh eehh? (Or it can some dino but I rather prefer manticore). As for those motorbike gang at first I want to suggest those Ranger Scouts. That would be delightful punishing them that way (evil chuckle😈). But then I remembered the trash gang from Zootopia comic “A hard day’s work” and to be honest those characters are ideal for those roles: wildebeest could the black cowboy, elephant as the belly guy (oh come on, like you didn’t think same nickname after seen Sonic sprung out of his belly) and hyena with green Mohawk as of course the Bear-head jerk. But if you want combine them be my guest.😁

As for chilli-dogs since are Sonic’s favourite we cannot left them behind. Thankfully I was watching on YouTube where there mentioned Tails been vegetarian and one comment that said “Chilli-dog: Am I joke to you?” that made conversation about mobians been vegetarians. So in that case since Zootopia is filled birds (and sometimes bugs), and synthetic meat, proteins, probably tofu, we can assume that there are Chilli-dogs made especially in Zootopia universe (and honestly we do not really know, what exactly hot-dogs are truly made of).🌭

👟The shoes were honestly a very hard obstacle for me considering mammals don’t wear shoes since they are still animals, like our directors said, BUT that doesn’t mean they don’t exist in Zootopia.

Evidence 1: Gazelle – she’s wearing high heels from Preyda

Evidence 2: Poster of (parody) movie Cinderellephant, with elephant-size glass slipper

Evidence 3: Judy Hopps – she wears half-sockets in her police uniform (that still does count as a foot-wear)

So I came with headcanon that only celebrities and patients with sensitive feet wear shoes as a luxury or medical protection (I mean we have a lot of animals that can’t live on different area with their conditions, come on have someone of you seen a polar bear live in Sahara Square?) and in this case it’s the latter (plus there is in this story a human character that needs his own footwear) since Sonic is wearing his running shoes considering that his speed is high enough to burn his feet (ouch🤕).

And finally with Robotnik, we use that orphan idea and certain headcanon from Sonic X about planets that once were one until they divided and made their own time and space alterations, prof. Gerald Robotnik (Eggman’s grand-father) could study Mobius for finding cure for Maria, creating Shadow, G.U.N. etc. It could be three worlds (Sonic’s world/Mobius, Robotnik’s world/our world, and Zootopian’s world) or just two (Mobius and Zootopia), what works better.

As you can see there are some characters I included in in certain scene (aside from Yoshi), I present to you Judy’s niece named Cotton and one of Judy’s (many) sisters Violet Hopps. No, those are not an OC from any fandom, those are official characters from Zootopia universe. You already actually know Cotton but for those who don’t know who is Violet, she was introduced in Zootopia Graphic Novel in comic named “Brothers & Sisters” and considering how she is very overprotective of Judy (like any other Hopps) I thought she would fit perfectly for Rachel role (I don’t think she’s Cotton’s mother so don’t ask), and also she’s the only official Hopps sibling with name we know. I wanted also include another characters into this doodles but I like I said before I didn’t have enough space on one paper. So here are my character ideas: Clawhauser as Wade, Bogo as Major Bennington, Mayor Lionheart as Commander Walters (no surprise). For others like Crazy Carl and Agent Stone I had some problems.

For Crazy Carl I first thought about who would fit perfectly and I came up with a lot of ideas: first I thought about Duke Weaselton, since he has face for that crazyness but then I declined since he doesn’t fit on the character, then I thought about Pop-Pop Hopps but that was questionable considering in movie he had a huge aversion of foxes (red as devil) and comic he’s not biased but then I thought who could describe Crazy Carl better than well-known concept crazy theorist Honey Badger am I right?

As for agent Stone I had no idea what to do with him. I could let him stay as but that would make questions of humans and I didn’t want to put Bellwether into this position. If she was unhappy of been unappreciated and humiliated by predators then I don’t think she would really want to work with someone who is full of himself more than her and only see humanity as an excuse of stupidity and “herd of useless sheep (get it?)” and only relay on machines. And characters from Zootopia Crimes was not an option and Jack Savage was out of question no in my point. Not saying that Jack Savage could be a great option but I don’t think fans would appreciate another bad guy role for Jack and I already have something different for him in my mind. Then it came another that would fit for Stone and that is a certain platypus Dr. Starline from Sonic The Hedgehog IDW comics. He admires Eggman and his evil genius (questionable) and in comics he’s working as partner/assistant for him. But since he is mobian as Sonic we could use idea that government knows about it (partially) but does not tell and he thinks that he is an unusual zootopian platypus (after all he does wear clothes and looks “more” normal unlike Sonic) and we could do the same with Robotnik considering his past about grand-father and project Shadow if Jeff Fowler would follow some headcanons (I wouldn’t surprised if some government keeping some secrets even from employers). But then again we could use also Tony, a bunny from Zootopia Crime Files since he is shady and bland at once and already wear a suit, like agent Stone (great, now I don’t know which one to choose again).

You know what, I’ll give you an option who would fit for role of Agent Stone:

1. Dr. Starline, a platypus from Sonic The Hedgehog IDW comics

2. Tony, a bunny from Zootopia Crime Files

3. Jack Savage, a jackrabbit from Zootopia concept art/Savage Seas (you don’t have to take that third one too seriously, but just in case)

DONE (pass out from exhaustion). Haahhh so much work, editing fixing hands, oohh boyyy. You have no idea how hard this was for me to finally made it. I wish I could do more. But for now I’m so glad that I was able to draw at least some of my favourite moments because I feel they’re important for storytelling: first the introduction of main characters, their struggles, interactions and how they greatly compliment to each other (both Sonic and Zootopia). I mean you can’t just see Judy call Nick and Sonic cute and not imagine that, or there was also moment where Sonic dry like dog so his fur and quills(?) go puffy and Nick would look mesmerized by fluffiness. Come to think of it Sonic has lot in common with Nick and Judy that he would actually fit for the role as their son. You’re not believe? Well here are some examples.

Similarities between Sonic and-

-Judy🐰:

1. heroes in blue (get it?)🌀

2. pretty fast (Sonic more faster than Judy but still…)

3. impatient😤

4. first act then think (always put themselves into danger)

5. thing for get into trouble

6. sense for justice

7. never give up

8. preys but not rodents (that’s right hedgehogs are not rodents)

9. became a friend with fox (their natural predator, that was bullied in past, huh strange, just as strange as hedgehog be taken care of by owl that is also his natural predator)

-Nick🦊:

1. sly smile😏

2. mischievous trickster

3. green eyes

4. omnivores (hedgehogs eat melons, watermelons(what’s the difference?), berries (blueberries headcanon!) and insects, snails, frogs snakes🤢- uhhh I think chilli-dogs works better thank you)

5. cringy sense of humor😒

6. thing for nicknames (by Nick: Carrots, Buffalo Butt, Yakity yak, Flash Hundred Yard Dash, by Sonic: Donut Lord, Pretzel Lady, Eggman, Knucklehead, Super Observant Carl)

7. loyalty (they never left their friends behind)

8. never let them see they get to you (despite suffering a lot of emotional damage, thanks a lot SEGA)

9. smooth talker with heart of gold

-both🐰 🦊:

1. traumatic past

2. sacrifices for others

3. fight for what is right

See they had a lot in common. Anyway I am still glad I was finally able to finish this. It wasn’t easy but it was worth it.

But I guess, that I made it hard for you with those moments so how about this we use the final moments like in your fanfic Carcass Bride: FINAL BOSS BATTLE SONIC VS. ROBOTNIK because honestly this moment is epic (wish I could make it bigger), it would start Sonic running from Robotnik, like we’ve seen in beginning of the movie, get shot retelling in short whole story, like in movie only less detailed and faster the confrontation between Nick and Robotnik (Sonic would unconscious but still hear them and had a self-doubt like Naruto in first chapter/episode if you what mean until he hear the important words that’ll give him boost), the final battle and then epilogue (Sonic with his new family) with open ending (you know the Eggman in Mushroom planet and then Tails’s introuction). As for what kind of universe all of them would be I have another suggestions:

1. Sonic movie universe in Zootopia (but still happening in Green Hills only Zootopia would be San Francisco and Transamerica could be Palm Hotel like in Zistopia storyboard) and Night Howler Case never happened.

2. Night Howler case happened Nick and Judy are still cops, but later decided to live in Green Hills

3. Night Howler case happened but was solved instead of Judy and Nick by Jack and Skye who later became agents and don’t like Robotnik for his ego:

a) Nick come from Green Hills (Wachowskis live as police in GH for 50 years), but suffered from Ranger Scouts move to Zootopia became “shifty fox” until he’s saved by childhood friend Judy from Bunnyburrow (from wrong decision and targeting to become savage) and the return to Green Hills become sheriff along with his new wife.

b) Both Nick and Judy just heard about it in Green Hills.

I guess the first and third are more interesting.

Okaayy now I realized that this became more ambitious that I planned but I guess that happens when you try balancing two franchises so it can make sense (enough for headcanons). But I’m not saying that I’m proud of myself. So I’ll leave you the rest (the options and writing) so I can’t wait for one-shot fanfic good luck. And also (even though it’s late but still better than never) Happy birthday Sonic, this is for you! GOTTA GO FAST!🐰🦊🦔💨

#GottaGoFast🦔💨

#LongLiveWildeHopps🦊🐰

#StaySafe😷

#AlwaysRemember (this is for late actreesses that they will alway be remembered and in our hearts❤️)

....

Oh wow! This is really great! You put a lot of scenes from the film, this is awesome!I also see that you gave Yoshi a cameo, lol! @yoshifan30 will definitely love that, lol! I like the collage look you gave the whole thing. Also, I just realized, is that supposed to be Cotton? Judy’s niece? Thank you so much for this! I will reblog this soon so I can read it more thoroughly and discuss anything I may have missed :) And once again, this...is...INCREDIBLE!!! <3 Fantastic Job Guest! You’re really talented! :D

#zootopia #sonic #sonic film #crossover #wildehopps #awesome mini comics #comic collage #submission

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cake-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies (Kentucky)

Pairings: Steve x Reader // Bucky x Reader (mentioned)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Oral (Receiving), 18+

Summary: You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. He’d be rough with you because he understood your self-loathing, and he’d leave bruises on your hips that wouldn’t go away for a week. You loved it. He didn’t.

You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. You went to him because he liked to whisper sweet, sweet things into your ear as he made love to you. He’d tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it. He cared too much.

It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. Your little lies always slipped right through the cracks - until one night, they didn’t.

Master List

August 2015

Kentucky was absolutely sweltering. It was a hot summer, for one, and for two, Steve was from Brooklyn. He wasn’t used to such sticky, uncomfortable heat because New York summers were much milder than this and Germany’s were much of the same. He wasn’t used to the humidity, either, even after you’d managed to wrangle him into a tank top, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. It was much less stifling than his uniform or even his civvies, but he felt out of place in such bizarre, 21st century clothing.

Then again, that was exactly the point. He was undercover. You both were.

You, on the other hand, seemed right in your element as the two of you unloaded the moving van you’d just picked up a few miles away from one of Tony’s associates. It was stocked full of boxes – mostly empty ones, just for show – along with a couple pieces of furniture: table and chairs, a small sofa, and a bed.

You were wearing a tee shirt with some faded band logo on it – Steve didn’t recognize it – and a pair of short denim shorts. Those he recognized only because Sam had teased you about them right before the two of you left the compound – called them ‘Daisy Dukes,’ whatever that meant. You’d just winked at Sam, made a lasso motion with your hands and cheered, “yee-haw,” like a cowgirl. Then you and Sam shared a laugh. It was a reference that Steve clearly didn’t get, but that was fine. It gave him something to think about, to distract him from how short those shorts really were.

The flight to Kentucky had been fine. You hammed it up a bit, already putting on the newlywed façade – told the flight attendant that you’d just gotten married and darlin’, isn’t my new hubby just the greatest? and it flustered him. You were showing him off. Even if it wasn’t real, he couldn’t help but preen a little.

That said, there was no doubt in his mind that someone else would have better suited the role than him. The decision wasn’t up to him, though; there had quite literally been a vote to see who should take this mission, and he’d been selected the prime candidate because of course he was. Everyone thought it would be hilarious to shove you and him together in a box for a couple weeks, like some warped version of Seven Minutes in Heaven: you, the scandalous minx you were, and him, the prude.

Steve didn’t mind it, really. He was actually a little excited for it. Nervous, too. He was in love with you, had been for months now. He knew should have said no to the mission because of the clear conflict of interest but he didn’t.

His attraction to you started out as an objective appreciation for the way you could handle yourself in the field. He noticed the glimmer you got in your eyes from a fight, when you did something perfectly or landed a particularly good blow or when he saved your ass at the last minute. He noticed the excited flush that came over your cheeks and the mischievous look you got when you fought alongside him, the two of you working together so well that it was almost like an elaborate dance.

He’d had always known how attractive you were in other ways, too. Every now and then, he’d catch the slip of a bra strap, or you’d lean over and your shirt would accidentally reveal far too much cleavage. Sometimes, you’d wear a short, tight dress and go out to a nightclub with Natasha, and he could barely keep his eyes off of you. Other times, the hint of your thong peeked out of the top of your tac pants. Not often.

He tried not to look. You drove him crazy.

The mission itself was the easy part. The two of you were undercover in this small Kentucky town to find out where some particularly important intel had been downloaded. Tony’s satellites had only been able to pinpoint it to a one block radius, which coincidentally was smack dab in the middle of suburbia.

Your new residence was a charming little house at the end of a cul-de-sac, two bedrooms, one bath. A white picket fence bordered the yard, with pretty pink and purple flowers blooming under the windowsills and in the front garden. The exterior was painted light blue and it seemed a bit older, likely heritage – almost looked like something from his childhood, if he was being honest.

The moment Steve saw it – really, truly took it in – it made him stop in his tracks.

Some people actually got to have lives like this. They married, settled down, popped out a couple of kids, maybe got a dog. They had normal, ordinary lives. He wondered for a moment if this was what it felt like.

Your shoulder brushed against his as you made your way up the paved driveway, carrying a big box. You were humming some tune he didn’t recognize. He just stood there like an idiot, watching you as you went inside to add the box to the ever-growing pile and when you came back out, you waved at someone – one of the nosy neighbours, no doubt.

Then you gave him a sweet smile. “Honey?”

God, the word was so, so sweet on your tongue and it made his heart race. Somehow, he managed to get out an easy, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

It felt so strange and unfamiliar to use such words of adoration for you, but he certainly didn’t mind it in the least. It felt nice. While he called you ‘doll’ every now and then out of habit, he tried not to out of respect for you. Now he didn’t need to hold back.

“Do you wanna come help me with this? I can’t lift it.”

“Of course,” he responded, readjusting his grip on the box in his arms before he started up the walkway.

You waited for him at the door. When he got there, you gave him another one of those sweet, disarming smiles, and then you kissed him on the cheek, batting your eyelashes at him.

It was an act, of course, to appease the nosy neighbours and it also helped the two of you blend in. You were just trying to sell the story, and he knew that – but this was a terrible idea. He wasn’t sure how long it would to take to finish the mission, but he hoped it was sooner rather than later. You were going to be the death of him with the pet names, the southern drawl, the skimpy outfits and, just – you.

The house was pretty much already stocked with anything either of you would need. There were two bedrooms, one for each of you, but you’d have to share a bathroom. That was fine, because you’d done it plenty of times before during other missions. It was actually pretty nice that you had your own rooms, for once, because you usually had to share a single motel room or set up camp somewhere outside.

The first night, you ordered takeout because that was pretty much a moving day tradition. The two of you joked around like usual and talked about all sorts of things, but none of them were really personal. You kept the conversation breezy and light, even when it drifted to the mission at hand. Over beer and pizza, the two of you developed a plan to canvas the area. You’d distract the neighbours while Steve got into their homes and searched for the intel. Easy as pie.

Quite literally.

Steve was a heavy sleeper, but he woke to the smell of warm apple pie wafting through the house. It was still relatively early, sun just rising above the horizon, but you were already putting the plan into action.

When he came downstairs, he caught a particularly nice view of your ass as you leaned over to pull the pie from the oven. You weren’t wearing those short denim shorts anymore, but a pair of tight high-waisted jeans and a crop top.

“Mornin’, sugar,” you said with a wink.

It caught him off guard. He remembered that the two of you were undercover, but it wasn’t necessary behind closed doors like this. You were purposely trying to get a rise out of him.

He gave you a deadpan look, but he still felt his cheeks flush and, when he saw your eyes shine mischievously, he knew you’d noticed it too.

“Didn’t realize apple pie counted as breakfast nowadays,” he commented.

“Come on, Cap. We deep fry everything nowadays. Of course it’s breakfast,” you told him, laughing. He studied your face for a moment, and then, when he actually went to reach for the freshly baked pie, like this was yet some more knowledge that he’d never learnt while he was frozen – you gently pulled his hand away. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Rogers. It’s for our cover.”

You rarely apologized for anything, but for this – for him, you did. The fact that he’d been frozen for so many years wasn’t something to joke about to you, even if it was unintentional. You hadn’t meant to make a joke of it.

Steve looked a little surprised by that. It didn’t really bother him all that much when people made jokes at his expense. Sensitive topic, absolutely, but the jokes were never malicious and he knew that. It was more prodding fun at the fact that while yes, he’d certainly missed a lot, it also meant that people were looking out for him, suggesting to him things that he should look into.

Your warm fingers lingered on his hand just a little longer than they should have.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it. There’s a lot of stuff I need to catch up on.”

“Got a list going, huh?” you teased.

“Yeah, actually,” he said with a grin, pulling a small notebook out of his pocket. “Sure do.”

That morning, the two of you went through his list one by one, and you gave some comments and suggestions of your own. Instead of writing them himself, like he usually did, he relinquished the pen and paper to you.

Steve inadvertently wound up saving those notes, and on particularly bad days, he found himself studying every curve of your handwriting, like it held whatever answer he was seeking.

Over the next few days, he came to realize that you were purposely fucking with him.

You’d always been a tee shirt and jeans kind of girl, at least in the couple of years he’d known you, but for this mission all you wore were cute, dainty outfits. You started wearing floral dresses or the occasional blouse and skirt, paired with light makeup and heels. You hardly ever wore makeup or heels unless you were going out with Natasha.

You were playing a character. He knew that. But seeing you in such a different light, so sweet and girly, it did something to him. It sparked something in him – or maybe it just added fuel to the fire that was already burning for you.

He’d always treated you respectfully, at least he liked to think so. Even though he’d had an undeniable attraction to you for a long time – longer than he’d been in love with you – he’d always treated you like an agent first and a woman second. Seeing you like this, though, it made that an extremely difficult task to accomplish, especially when you were calling him, “Honey,” and “Baby,” and introducing him to your new neighbours as your husband.

He loved seeing that ring on your left ring finger. There was a matching one on his, and a large part of him wished it was real.

After about a week, neither of you had made any headway in your mission yet. The two of you had tried multiple residences nearby, now, but no luck so far. It became routine, almost, the way you went about your days.

Steve was a morning person. He woke early to go for a run, much earlier than you, even before the sun started to rise. The small house you shared was a little older, and the floorboards creaked as he crept past your room to go downstairs in the early hours. It never failed to wake you, but hearing the gentle creaking every morning soon became a comfort that you never realized you’d miss until after it was gone.

You, on the other hand, were a night owl. You stayed up late on the sofa downstairs, using your work tablet to investigate new leads and potential suspects well after Steve went to bed. Of course, that only did so much to distract you from the fact that the eerie quiet of the small town got to you. It made you relive memories you’d rather forget.

When you were alone, that was when you suffered most. Unfortunately, Bucky wasn’t here to help you. You’d only recently discovered how good he was at making you forget, but for this, you’d just have to make do on your own like you’d done for so long already.

It was more difficult than ever before.

You followed Steve up to bed once, with every intention of starting something you knew you shouldn’t. He was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he found you standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him in a way that just a little bit unsettling.

He pulled his toothbrush from his mouth and asked, “What’s the matter, doll?”

He was too sweet. You lost your nerve.

“Forgot my phone,” you said blankly, before you held it up like it was proof that your intention hadn’t been anything but innocuous.

Steve just shrugged and went back to brushing his teeth, completely oblivious as to what you’d nearly done. You’d nearly crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Not again. You’d already done it with Bucky. You didn’t need to do it with Steve, too.

Despite it all, some nights you needed to be held – especially here in this awful quiet town that made it so easy for you to lose yourself in your memories. You needed to be treated sweetly, and in a lot of ways, Steve did that for you. Not intentionally, of course; just a kind look here, a gentle hand on your lower back there, not to mention the praise he offered you sometimes. He often told you after missions that you’d done a good job.

Good job. From his lips, it almost sounded like he was saying good girl.

What really did it for you, though, was that you didn’t even have to say a thing for Steve to know you were doing your best. He didn’t know you, not really, aside from one single side of you that he knew almost too well – the small part of you that wanted his praise, along with his acceptance of your mistakes. Steve had seen you make a number of them over the past couple of years, and despite them all, he always treated you so kindly. He never judged you or blamed you for them.

You never, ever let anyone else see you that way, let alone Bucky because if he did, then he’d have seen far too much. You only let people have a glimpse of who you truly were here and there, because if they saw too many sides of you, then they’d be able to piece together who you really were deep down. It wasn’t pretty.

You offered Bucky the dangerous, broken part of yourself, the one that killed and murdered and didn’t feel a lick of remorse. You got him to punish you, ruin you, break you, because that was what that part of you deserved – and he was so, so good at it. You loved him for it. You thanked him. That side of you well and truly belonged to him. You never showed it to anyone else.

Not that you’d ever tell him that.

The other part of you that Steve got to see – the sweet, clueless girl who did her best and it just wasn’t good enough sometimes – that part of you was all his.

Not that you’d ever tell him that, either.

Your weakest point was always late at night when you were alone. You found yourself coming closer and closer to climbing into Steve’s bed more frequently as the days passed, but you held strong. Somehow, you managed.

Sometimes you stopped yourself when you got to the top of the stairs, staring at his closed bedroom door. Other times, you found yourself in his bedroom, taking in every bit of his peaceful, sleeping face. Once and only once, you ran your fingers through his hair and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. On that particular night, you very nearly hadn’t stopped there – but you managed.

You always managed.

During the day, you put on a façade just like you’d always done. It was routine. It almost felt normal to do this – to cohabitate, to get groceries and toilet paper, to worry about how your lemon bars were going to turn out today – but you never let yourself fall too deep into that normal, ordinary line of thinking because you knew how hard it would be to pull yourself out of it.

Every day, Steve went for an early morning jog, and after he’d come back and showered, you finally started to rouse. By the time you sluggishly made your way downstairs, he was in the kitchen fixing breakfast for the two of you. He never failed to have a hot cup of coffee waiting for you with the exact amount of cream and sugar you liked.

It was the same every day, and some part of you – that sweet, clueless girl – loved every part of it. The normalcy. The domesticity.

Your pet names for each other started to become insufferable in the best way. You used to greet him with normal ones – honey, baby, sweetheart – and he did the same. As the days passed, though, in private the two of you got more and more ridiculous to the point that you made each other laugh with them. And, every now and then when one of them slipped out in public, it only added to your newlywed persona.

“Good morning, honeybun,” you said airily, taking a seat at the counter where you’d plugged in your work tablet the night before.

Steve gave you a grin just like he always did when you said a particularly silly one. “Morning, gorgeous.”

He didn’t blush as easily anymore when he said such sweet things to you. You assumed that he must have just gotten used to it, but it was a little bit disappointing. You loved to rile him up.

As he dished up two plates of pancakes, you took a sip of the coffee he made for you and scrolled through the new intel from HQ that had come through during the night. There wasn’t much, just another potential location to check out.

After a quick breakfast, Steve did check it out, and it was yet another dead end. It was well into the afternoon by the time he was finished. On your side of things, you spent the day distracting the residents of that particular home so that Steve could get in and out unseen.

You met up a block away, and on your way back to your new home, you remembered that you needed to pick something up for dinner. The two of you took a detour to the corner store where you usually got your groceries.

Steve was wearing his favourite baseball cap and sunglasses, and you were in a particularly flattering sundress and wedge heels. The mid-afternoon weather was lovely – hot, but not quite as sweltering as most other days. It was nice.

It was almost second nature at this point for you to reach out and lace your fingers with his. The first time you’d done it, he looked surprised as hell and the flush that came across his face made your heart race. Now, he just offered you a small smile and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand like he’d done it a thousand times before.

It still made your heart race.

All things considered, it seemed like a normal day – except it wasn’t. You should have noticed the extra staff at the corner store. You should have noticed the bulk around their waists – guns – but you didn’t. You were too focused on what to make for dinner. For the first time in a very, very long time, you let your guard down. You forgot.

Steve did notice, but it took him a little longer than normal, too. When you felt his familiar hand on your lower back press against you just a little more firmly, you immediately knew something was up but you continued to act like everything was just peachy, even when he whispered into your ear, “We need to go.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You grabbed a couple of random things from the shelves: two tins of beans, a bag of chips, and a candy bar, and then the two of you made your way to the register. You paid in cash. Steve carried the bag for you on the way out.

It wasn’t difficult to notice the two men on your tail. Your cover was blown. Somehow, your cover was blown and you hadn’t even fucking noticed because you were too distracted by this newlywed façade. You were too distracted by what it felt like to be normal.

Steve took your small hand in his free one, then, and gave you a gentle squeeze – as if to reassure you. When you glanced over at him, the way he smiled at you made your heart flutter just a little.

This isn’t your fault. Stop worrying. It’ll be fine.

You believed him.

You made your way to another house, one that had no cars in the driveway and no garage. Hopefully no one was home. It was some random residence a couple of blocks away from your safe house, but you picked the lock so quickly that it looked like you were just opening the door with a regular key. Then you and Steve walked inside like that was where you’d been living this whole time.

You watched from the second-floor window as the two men on your trail radioed something in, probably your location – and then you both slipped out the back and hopped the fence. It was a little higher than you’d normally be able to scale, and Steve helped lift you over. He put his hands around your waist to lift you up, first, but you still couldn’t quite reach, so you quickly told him, “Grab my ass, Rogers.”

Steve’s grip noticeably faltered at your request and your sundress fluttered in the breeze, but he did as you asked – slid his hands from your waist to your barely-covered ass and soft thighs, which provided just enough height and leverage to finally pull yourself over the fence.

When you landed on the other side, you felt like you’d just run a marathon. His touch had been so hot, almost burning, and he’d gripped you so firmly, so close to where you’d been wanting him to touch you for what felt like ages that wet, sticky heat had started to pool in between your legs.

Neither of you discussed it.

The run home was fast, but silent and uncomfortable. You didn’t speak much, and neither did he. You shared a dinner of canned beans and potato chips, but neither of you had much of an appetite. You needed to figure out what to do, now, but you barely had a chance to discuss it when the loud sound of an explosion shook your quaint little safe house.

You both immediately knew what it was.

The perp – whoever the hell it was – had blown up the house the two of you had gone to earlier. It wasn’t your house. It belonged to some random family. You could recall seeing their photos on the walls, a happy family of four.

Steve said something to you, but it didn’t really register. He pulled on his uniform and went to check it out. That didn’t really register, either. All you could focus on was the fact that you’d very likely gotten people killed because you’d been too stupid and distracted to notice that your cover was blown.

By the time he returned, you had turned on the news to find that the explosion was being blamed on a gas leak. The grim expression on his face told you that definitely wasn’t the case, but you already knew that.

A couple more hours passed in silence as you stared blankly at the television. You weren’t watching it. You weren’t paying attention at all. Instead, you were reliving every single mistake in your career and as much as Steve desperately wanted to reach out and hold you, help you feel better, ease your pain, he didn’t.

Things like this always hit you hard, but you never wanted comfort. You always had to handle it yourself. He’d tried in the past to help – told you that it wasn’t your fault, gently rubbed your back – and you’d shoved him away. You didn’t want to be coddled. You didn’t need it.

Except tonight, you did.

Steve went to bed first, sometime after eleven. It wasn’t that the night’s events didn’t bother him, because they certainly did. He’d just experienced things like this a lot more than you, especially during the war, and he knew how to compartmentalize. Somehow, he could still sleep at night, whereas he knew you probably wouldn’t get a wink of it.

He’d help you pack in the morning. He’d contact HQ. He’d write up the mission report. He’d do all of it for you, because he loved you. He’d do anything for you.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you stopped resisting your impulses. You crept up the stairs and, for a brief moment, paused as you stared at Steve’s closed bedroom door for what was probably the umpteenth time.

Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears as you slowly turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

The moonlight was streaming through the open curtains onto the bed, where you found him fast asleep. Of course he was. He’d always been a heavy sleeper, even now.

You brushed away a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead, and he almost seemed to lean into your touch; then you trailed your fingers down his bare chest, further south, pushing his sheets back along the way. The only thing he was wearing was a pair of soft plaid sleep pants that you’d teased him about once – said they suited him, the old man he was.

Right now, though, they were almost too low on his hips. Must have shifted sometime during the night.

His skin was damp to the touch from the summer heat. As your eyes trailed over him in the moonlight, you had a fleeting thought of how perfect he was and you stopped holding yourself back.

Your lips were hot on the sweat-slicked skin of his abdomen. He tasted like salt and smelled like heaven – like soap and fresh laundry, clean, with the slightest undertone of musk.

It turned you on.

You kissed your way up his body until he stirred with the softest, quietest moan, his muscles shifting under your touch. You didn’t stop. Instead, you met his dazed, half-lidded eyes with a sinful smile.

“Wait, wait,” he breathed, fumbling to take your hands into his. His voice was rough from sleep. “Talk to me, doll. Please.”

You didn’t.

Instead, you nudged your dress out of the way and straddled his hips, which let you feel exactly how much you’d affected him. His cock was rock hard and straining against his pajama pants, and you did nothing to soothe it. Instead, you rolled your hips against him.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, his head lulling back against the pillow. “It’s been a bad night. We shouldn’t.”

He didn’t mean it.

When you laced your fingers with his, he was so receptive – squeezed your hands right back, especially when you leaned down to kiss him. Your breasts nearly spilled out of your bra when they fell against his chest. With your dress half-unbuttoned, you saw his eyes flicker down to your cleavage for a split second before he looked back up at your face in awe, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

You kissed him, then, softly and sweetly, and sighed against his mouth, “Make me forget.”

Almost instantly, his hands left yours to cup the sides of your face, and he kissed you so deeply, so passionately that all you could think about was him. His lips were soft, but his kisses weren’t, especially when his tongue swept into your mouth as if to claim you, make you his, make you forget.

Then he trailed his fingers down the sides of your body, feeling every inch of you against him before they settled on your hips. He held you in place as he ground his hips up into yours, and you gasped against his mouth, relishing in the feeling of his hard cock against your folds – clothed or not.

The way he gathered you in his arms and lay you down on your back was sweet and gentle. He peppered kisses down your neck and torso as he finished unbuttoning your dress, before it was off entirely, discarded haphazardly to the floor – and then he sat back on his heels to just look at you.

You weren’t fully revealed to him yet, still wearing a lacy peach-pink bra and panties, but you felt absolutely naked in front of him. You were attractive, you knew that much – but the way his eyes took in every single one of your curves made your face flush like that stupid, clueless girl that had gotten people killed tonight.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss you again.

Something about the way he said it made you want him even more and you whined – actually whined – against his lips, “Baby, please.”

Jesus Christ, he could have come right then.

Instead, he pulled away just enough to press a kiss to your stomach, your navel, your hip – and then he tugged your panties down and off before he buried his face between your thighs. He’d been wanting to worship your body for ages, and you deserved it now more than ever.

Your reaction was immediate. You gasped and writhed against his mouth, so much that he had to firmly hook his arms around your legs to hold you in place. You were so god damn responsive and it drove him crazy, especially when you gripped his hair in your fingers and pulled him closer to grind your perfect pussy against his face.

The taste of you was intoxicating – sweet, just a little tart – and he barely even realized what he was doing when he slid two fingers inside of you. Not one to start like he normally would have, but two, because you were so fucking soaked and desperate for him already.

“Stevie,” you whimpered when he curled his fingers up in a particular spot that sent you reeling.

God, he loved the sound of his name on your lips.

“Does that feel good?” he cooed against your slick folds, his hot breath sending a chill through you.

“Yeah,” you responded breathily, and you whimpered when he did it again. “Yeah, honey, just like that—”

Honey.

The word spurred him on and he went right back to devouring you, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers curled roughly against your g-spot over and over. It brought you higher and higher and higher until he couldn’t hold you down anymore and your back arched off the sheets, legs shaking against his shoulders as you came with a sharp cry.

When you collapsed back against the sheets, he crawled up your body to see your flushed, fucked-out face. Before he kissed you again, he went to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand out of consideration for you – but instead, you tugged on his arm and pulled him down to settle in between your thighs.

“Kiss me like that,” you told him, and he readily complied. You could taste yourself on his lips, but you didn’t care; all you cared about was the sharp breath he took in as you slid your hand into his pants and wrapped your fingers around him. His cock was hot, thick, and heavy in your palm, and you wanted him inside of you.

Your other hand slid his pajama pants down just enough to pull him out entirely, and then you ran the head of his cock back and forth through your slick folds.

Steve broke away from the kiss to lean his forehead against your shoulder. His voice was unsteady when he started, “If you’re not sure—”

But you just wrapped your legs around his waist, then, and used the leverage to drag him inside of you. All you could manage was the tip because of the angle, but at your eagerness, he actually growled – deep and feral before he slid the rest of the way inside in one fluid motion.

“Fuck, Stevie,” you gasped, “You feel so good—”

Then his lips were on yours again, swallowing every single word you wanted to say. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t exactly gentle either as his hips rocked into yours so easily – almost like this was meant to happen, like the two of you should have been doing this all along. His tongue dominated your mouth as his hands caressed your body all over, palming your breasts, your hips, your thighs as he made love to you.

That’s exactly what it was. You knew it, and he did, too.

The realization of that brought you to the brink almost in an instant.

When he hiked one of your legs up higher around his waist, you felt even closer – both to him, and to your orgasm. It was intimate. It was perfect. The new angle was incredibly deep, and his cock reached spots inside of you that you’d never even known about before.

You broke away from his mouth to bury your face in his shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his neck. “I’m close, god, I’m so fucking close, Steve—”

Judging by the way he was throbbing so much inside you, he was close, too. His breath was hot on the shell of your ear when he rasped, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “Fill me up, honey, please.”

His hands gripped your thighs even more firmly as he held you in place, his thrusts stuttering just a little at the knowledge that you didn’t want him to pull out, no—you wanted him to come inside you. You wanted him to fill you up. You wanted him to give you every single fucking drop of his cum.

“Fuck, Steve, I’m coming, I’m coming—” you babbled mindlessly against his neck, wrapping your legs around him even tighter as you reached your peak, pleasure cascading around you in waves.

Those breathless moans paired with your walls clenching down on him so tightly were what pushed him over the edge, and he buried himself to the hilt, filling you up just like you’d begged him for with a groan of your name right into your ear. It might have been the sexiest thing you’d ever heard in your life, but your mind was blissfully blank.

He left to get you a washcloth to clean up – the two of you had made a mess after all – and unlike how you’d been with Bucky, you let Steve take care of you. You needed it.

After he wiped you clean, you curled so snugly into his side, using his chest as a pillow. He pressed gentle kisses to the crown of your head and muttered sweet nothings to you, and his soothing voice eased you to sleep.

For the first time in a very long time, Steve overslept.

At first, he thought he forgot to turn on his alarm. Then he remembered that it automatically set itself every morning. He didn’t forget to turn it on.

You’d purposely turned it off.

He knew that because by the time he woke, you were gone. He found a note from you downstairs, on the kitchen counter where you used to have breakfast every morning.

Headed to my next mission. See you around, Rogers.

It was that same curly handwriting as what you’d written in his little notebook. He recognized it in an instant, but when he realized what you meant by it – that this was a one-time thing, a moment of weakness, a lapse of judgement – he couldn’t say it didn’t sting.

What hurt worse was that, when he tried calling you, it went straight to voicemail and when he sent you texts, you read and then ignored them.

You brushed him off, because you got what you wanted.

He made you forget.

Master List

#steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #little lies

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years ago

Text

WhatsApp? Part 7. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you

A/N: I'm back, bitcheees.

Warnings: STEVE BEING AN EMOTIONAL SUPPORT.

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95

Read the rest here: Part One Part Two Part three Part four Part five Part Six

If you like to have your readings in order :): H E R E

The Charity Evening was coming way too fast for your liking - you didn't feel ready at all and only two weeks remained. All the things were just suddenly fucking up and you just watched it happen, crumbling down in front of your own eyes.

“I just... Don't know. I am just afraid that I will fuck something up. I can fall and roll down, kill somebody else... Steve, it's just too much. Plus the costumes are not ready. There is just too much going on.” - You sighed into your phone. It was a workday and you took your pause for lunch. Steve had a pretty calm day and he was up for a call. Every time you needed him, Steve was just a knight in shiny armor for you.

“Do not be ridiculous. You will do great, Y/N. Do not try to convince me otherwise. Every one of you is doing great so there is not a reason to be as stressed as you are. Besides, it's not healthy.” - Steve answered in a playful tone and you could hear some city noises in his background. You knew pretty well that he's in Brooklyn, somewhere out there, but even through that, you were staring down every guy that passed your seat. No one felt quite like Steve.

“Are you a nurse or what?” - You laughed and drank a bit of your juice. The sun was shining right at you, but the wind was blowing lightly, so you didn't feel hot.

“I am just concerned about your health. I don't need to be a nurse for that.” - He laughed a bit and you heard a doorbell rang. He just entered a shop.

“So, you're going to be at the Stark Charity Evening. Wow. Should I expect you to show yourself from the shadows?” - You asked and went to pay your lunch with Steve still on your shoulder.

Yeah. Steve Rogers just called you one evening and told you “I will be at the Stark Charity Event” and you went NUTS. Steve FUCKING Rogers will be there somewhere and even tho you knew he didn't know how you looked like, he will most probably see you. You went from “omg I will fuck something up” from “holy shit boy, I am most likely to die that evening”.

“I tend to stay in the shadows. And I don't think this is the evening you want me to show up. Trust me, you just have to wait. Be patient.” - Yes, you talked about seeing each other in person. Steve sounded like that it is everything he wants - yet he had to decline. He truly was a mystery. But mystery with a beautiful voice.

“I just have to try my chances. One day, you will say yes.” - You gave the lady the cash and told her to keep the change.

“Yeah. And that day comes. But if you ask all the time about it, you will feel like it will be a forever. I will be there and I will support you.” - Steve sighed.

---

He wanted to meet you so badly. So badly he just went to an antiquarian and looked for a thing that you might like. He got a sense of what you like and what you don't like throughout the time. Now, it was almost four months of almost day-to-day texting and calling. Sometimes he even tried his chances and flirted with you. It wasn't too often and it was hardly noticeable. But you got a small radar in your head or what, because you knew every single time.

He liked you. For real. Now that your calls were an everyday routine, he was truly feeling something. And he truly wanted to reveal himself during the Charity Event - but he was fucking Captain America and people would go nuts. He thought about it and he wanted it to be private so you had your time accepting that he was a freaking superhero.

So yeah, he would definitely be there, but watching you from the shadows. He knew which choreography will be yours because you talked about it stressing you a lot, so be made sure that he'll be especially on that part of the evening.

"You don't even know what do I look like, Steve." - You chuckled and he heard as you walked through the street as he watched those small things in the store. He wanted some jewelry - a necklace maybe? He was just searching for something at that point.

"So? I will do after the sound of your voice. I know the sound really well over that month." - Steve chuckled back.

"You know I can theoretically do the same?" - You asked him in a tight voice. He knew really well you wouldn't. You respected his privacy as he respected yours. You wanted him to see you that evening, and if he didn't wish to be seen, he knew you wouldn't go all Sherlock Holmes just to find him.

"That's fair." - Steve said. And it just bumped in his eyes. A small necklace. Nothing too crazy or big or scary. Just a simple silver necklace with a little gem on it.

"I thought about it... You said you'll go with James and Sam... I can reserve you some tickets for you to even get there. You wouldn't believe it - Tony Stark himself called us and said that the men will go crazy from our number." - You giggled excitedly. That made Steve frown a bit. Of course - your number was supposed to be slightly racy to get bigger attention and more money. And did he knew from his Captain America forties tour that men loved those ladies and couldn't care less about poor Steve.

And to see someone else flirting with you just because he could not approach you in person? Was Steve even ready for that? The answer was obviously no, but what else could he do that watch if that scenario happens?

"You can. I and the boys will love to see all of you and if you say there's only a tight chance of us actually getting there... It will be good." - Steve answered, lost in his own thoughts, paying for that damn necklace. He was thinking about how he's about to execute the plan - he wanted you to know he was there but he couldn't approach you. How to make it work?

When he looked over the cash in his huge palms, it hit him. A check. Money check for your charity with his own name on it. Anybody could be named Steve Rogers, right? But you would know in an instant, it would not be suspicious and you don't have to see his face.

And he knew he had an account which was made by Tony Stark himself, so everything it took was a... Phone call. A simple call which will bring him hours of being practically tortured by Tony Stark's jokes. But he knew that Tony is ready to help practically anytime he asked him.

"And on what name should I leave it?" - You asked concerned, tearing Steve off his mind.

"What?" - Steve asked, not having a single idea what you've talked about.

"The tickets, Steve. On what name should I book it? On yours?" - You repeated the question with tenderness in your voice. Like you knew that he's thinking about something important. He watched as the cashier carefully wrapped the necklace.

"No! No. Sam... Barnes." - He stuttered. It would be highly suspicious to have three tickets on a super hero's name. You probably didn't notice but some people would. You may be completely oblivious about his identity, but the people could be a pain in the ass sometimes. And Sam wasn't as recognizable as Steve or Bucky since he wasn't in news so often as he and Bucky were. So that was a plan right there.

"Okay. Take it as done. And I'm in front of the office, so, have a nice evening, handsome. I'll call you around six, is that a deal?" - You asked tenderly.

"Of course. Enjoy your day, Y/N." - He stated. So that was it. He was going to your number on the big Event and he was almost out of his mind about seeing you... A whole you. No matter who you'll be.

---

Since then, your day seemed to be better and better. The costumes finally arrived and they were exactly what you wanted them to be. They were truly beautiful. And shorts and shirts? They looked just great. The uniform covered it and it was easily strippable, so you got everything you needed.

Your choreography looked great, you managed to learn to dance on high heels and it indeed looked really sexy, just as Deena told you. You even felt that way and from what they've told you, that was the most important thing.

When you got home and thought about immediately calling Steve. That was usually the thing you did at home. You called him, listening to him on a loudspeaker when you cooked or watched some news. But today, you got something better for him. Something... Sexier and more intimate than everything you've done before.

You carefully slipped into the denim shorts covering you from your knees to your waist, it was practically shorted jeans, and then you wrapped yourself in a shirt, tying it around your waist. It showed only a little of your skin on your belly, nothing terrible. Then you covered yourself in the uniform consisting of a long, khaki green skirt and a fucking tight tux in the same color.

But you needed to say that the makers of those costumes were really good and it was fucking detailed from what you have learned about those uniforms. You indicated that they would be old styled. You remembered that Steve had a thing for old-styled things.

You took the photos almost an hour before everything was in its place and you looked actually good. (To be honest, you could send Steve a photo of you in a potato bag and he would find it sexy, but you couldn't actually know that.) Then, with great expectations and big nerves, you hit send. There wasn't your head, only your body in that uniform, your hip swayed so they would actually have a nice form, your legs pressed together and your hand circling your right hip. You looked like a pin-up model in that one.

Trust the narrator - you looked sexy as hell. And you couldn't know that you'll almost kill him with that photo.

Y/N: So... What do you think about our uniforms? Are they precise enough, Mr. Rogers?

---

They were just playing some monopoly at Tony Stark's tower. It was a nice tradition for them to sometimes gather around the table, all six of them with Pepper, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and Bucky, just to play child games.

Sam was extremely competitive so when he wasn't winning, he was pissed off, complaining about the rules almost all the time. Tony calmed him down with his witty remarks and the others just had fun from it.

"All I'm saying is, this,-" Sam hold some card in front of Thor's eyes and made him look at it. Thor wasn't comprehending with human games. He tried, yeah, but he couldn't get around with the rules. - "Means that you have to pay me. Gimme the goddamn money!"

"I am sorry, mister Wilson. But what if I just want to look around your beautiful land, you know, just to visit it?" - Thor asked and took a swing from his bottle of beer.

"You know, birdbrain. Thor's a traveler. He looks at things and their beauty, am I right?" - Natasha slowly patted Thor's shoulder and smiled, because she wanted to piss Sam off. She was extremely good at it. - "Why should he pay you? He pays with his soul."

"Romanoff, if you don't leave and if you don't stop encouraging Rapunzel, we will never finish the goddamn game." - Tony looked at Natasha, but he couldn't hide a smile. The thing with Avengers playing the games was like this - it always ended up with a huge argument and almost always it was started by Sam. Like the time they played Twister and Sam was extremely sure that Vision was just cheated because he has the power to actually go through things.

Bucky and Steve stopped Sam right before he was about to punch Vision in the face; forgetting about that Vision's body was made from Vibranium and that the punch will hurt him like hell.

Steve usually didn't play with them - he was making small talks, sipping his beer, enjoying being with his friends. This was everything he needed to have a good evening.

When his phone vibrated, he just smiled to himself and opened up without hesitation as he was talking with Clint about renovating his home. They were so caught up in the conversation that Steve didn't even think about covering up the display - so he almost fainted when Clint sighed loudly in the surprise.

“You, man, are full of surprises. Who the hell is that girl and what she is doing on your phone in that piece of clothing?” - Clint pointed a finger at that picture and devilishly wiggled his eyebrows. Thanks to God that it was Clint who saw her, Steve knew that if he asked him to shut up about that, he would. He was a way different than for example Tony Stark.

Steve turned his eyes to the screen as well. And he fucking flipped. What the hell? He was not too away from fainting.

It didn't mean that it didn't suit you. It didn't mean that you didn't look good - you looked too good. For his eyes, it was a dreamy sight from times he had known so well. You were so similar to... Her. It suited you, it made your hips stand out...

At that moment he realized that this is the first time he was you. Actual you. And you took his breath away for a solid few seconds. He took a close look at you. You truly were breathtaking for him. He practically studied the was that tux was hugging your breasts, and how it slowly slipped on your waist and ending on your gentle, delicate hips. That skirt was the true killer, revealing a bit of your bum, but not too much of it.

He sighed loudly and excused from the conversation with Clint. He walked directly to look out of the window, watching your photo. His brain froze for s minute or two. He tried to come up with a nice word, a compliment, something... Anything. But his brain was stuck.

From what he could tell, you were a treat for his eyes. To say that you were beautiful was a huge misunderstanding. You were mind-blowing. Dear lord, Steve couldn't speak for ten minutes straight, he just looked and in front of himself and drooled away from you.

"What happened, old man? You've seen a ghost?" - Nat wiggled her eyebrows and took a sip from her dry Martini. She looked beautiful as ever with her red dress on. Steve couldn't come up with a meaningful answer, so he just showed her the photo of you. Natasha closed her eyes a little, looking at you.

"That's practically a pornography for you, isn't it?" - Natasha giggled. She was drunk a bit, not too much, but she was tipsy already. - "But I got to say, she is beautiful. You're a lucky guy."

"That's for the first time I've seen how she looks like. I still don't even know how her face looks like..." - Steve sighed and giggled. His cheeks were rosy. He had a beautifully dreamy face and it appeared like his eyes started to shine. Natasha was happy for that man.

"Are you gonna tell her?" - She leaned her face into her palm, her full lips were smiling at Steve lasciviously.

"Tell her what?" - Steve answered innocently.

"That you're into her. And not only a bit. You have a huge crush." - Natasha winked. Steve shook his head and in that little moment, she snatched his phone and ran away from him.

"Natasha! Don't!" - Steve ran after her, but Natasha was too quick. She laughed and texted before Steve snatched the phone back. He. Was. Dumped.

Steve: Hey, Y/N, my big friend here wants to tell you that you look seriously hot! Love, Nat!

"I swear to dear Lord..." - Steve looked at her and massaged his scalp. You'll definitely go to tell him to frick off. He just knew. You looked hot. You truly did. But that just wasn't a thing that Steve would say out loud.

He would say: this suits you perfectly. Or: you look gorgeous. He wouldn't say you're hot. That was so overdone and so rude to you. But then his phone rang again.

Y/N: Thank you for that, that's just so sweet! Also, can you show him this one?

Well... If you looked hot in the uniform, according to Natasha, he was seriously considered about her opinion now. You were trying to burn him alive - he would swear that his body's temperature raised by three to four degrees, he was sweaty and he just closed his eyes to breathe it all out.

Those denim shorts... Those fucking denim shorts. He was damned to the deepest for the thoughts that have crossed his mind at that moment. He growled and excused himself.

"You're tearing the party, Rogers!" - Tony yelled with a joking tone.

"Let him be." - Clint pleaded with a smile. Natasha took his side almost immediately. - "He told me he isn't feeling well tonight. Let our pa get some sleep. The next party will be a definite killer." - Nat winked at him. And so Steve walked home in a pace of a world runner.

And he knew that he will most probably die during the next call with the image of you in his head.

#Steve Rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #tony stark #iron man #bucky burnes #the winter soldier #hawkeye #clint barton #natasha romanoff #mcu #hell yea babey #im back #hope you missed me you motherfuckers #love triangle #whatsap

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starryknight09 · 5 years ago

Note

It's Under question! In chapter 18,“You guys do know I cook for Peter like all the time now right?” Tony quirked an eyebrow.“Is that why he’s so skinny?” Sam joked.“Hey I do ok!” Tony defended. “It’s been weeks since I set off the fire alarm. Right F.R.I.D.A.Y?”“That is correct boss.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered. And in chapter 17, “I made chocolate chip pancakes.” Tony tempted him. “Your favorite.”“Really? I didn’t hear the smoke alarm go off.” Peter smiled into the pillow.“That was one time.”

Oh yeah I remember now!

I had a cute idea about it so I started writing it and then it got away from me and turned into an actual oneshot soooo…enjoy!

Tony woke up before his alarm went off. Not an uncommon occurrence for him with all the thoughts and stress usually buzzing through his brain, but he thought he’d have a harder time waking up on this morning. Peter hadn’t gone to sleep until half past two the night before. They’d stayed up watching movies in the kid’s bed on his laptop. Tony had allowed it because he knew how hard it was to shut your brain off and rest the night before a loved one’s funeral. A parent’s funeral. May’s funeral.

Tony had planned the entire day out. From the plot and gravestone down to the flower arrangements around the casket. Peter had helped with a few things here and there, like the outfit he wanted May buried in and the pictures that should be displayed, but mostly he’d left the majority of the decisions up to Tony, which had been fine with him. It hadn’t even been that much work, but it’d been difficult in a different way. The sadness of it had been dragging him down all week, mirrored by the specter of the kid essentially floating around the apartment, whenever he actually got out of bed, which wasn’t often.

It worried him, but he didn’t really know what to do about it. He was new to this whole taking care of a living breathing kid thing.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and forced himself out of bed. He had to get dressed and put together before he woke Peter up because he had a feeling once the kid was awake today he was going to require his 24/7 attention.

It didn’t take him all that long to get ready for the day, hair perfectly styled and white dress shirt on with a black tie in place. He left the suit jacket off for now, draping it over one of the chairs at the kitchen table. According to his watch, there was still an hour and a half until the funeral was slated to start. That should be enough time for him to attempt to do something with some eggs and pancake mix for the kid.

He grabbed the box of mix out of the cupboard and read over the instructions on the back. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d tried to cook, but it didn’t seem all that complicated. He handled dangerous heavy machinery on a daily basis. Mixing some things together and applying heat to it couldn’t be that hard.

He grabbed a mixing bowl out of one of the bottom cabinets after a thorough search. Adding the eggs wasn’t too difficult. He only had to scoop out three pieces of shell that fell in. The milk was easy enough to pour and then came the pancake mix, which maybe he should’ve added more carefully. When he flopped the measuring cup over, a slight cloud of mix erupted from the bowl. He stepped back and fought the urge to cough. At least he had all the ingredients together. Now he just needed to stir it. Whisk it? That’s what the instructions said. He was fairly certain he had a whisk around here somewhere. After another couple minutes of searching, he found it.

“Aha.” He grabbed it out of the kitchen drawer and quickly set to work vigorously whisking all the pancakes components in the mixing bowl.

Once all the lumps had mostly disappeared, he stopped, exactly as the recipe told him.

“Piece of cake.” He mumbled. This was way easier than rocket science. He could do this. Sure, it was kind of boring, but the kid deserved something besides cold cereal and take out. And since Tony had signed all the documents making him the kid’s official guardian, he was in it for the long haul so he had to start learning how to do this cooking thing sometime. The way things were going, it looked like maybe he was going to have a knack for it. Perfect.

Next, he found a large pan and set it on the stove, turning the burner on to the setting between medium and high heat as the directions specified. Then, he poured three distinct circles of batter into the pan. He found the spatula in the same drawer as the whisk and set it on the counter next to the stove. Now he just had to wait to flip them and he’d have some homemade edible breakfast food ready for Peter. Well, sort of homemade, if premade mix counted. Maybe next time he’d get real crazy and make them from scratch. Or maybe add some chocolate chips. That was a thing, right? Chocolate chip pancakes? The kid would probably like that. He liked chocolate. At least Tony thought he did. What kid didn’t like chocolate? On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t do chocolate chips. Candy for breakfast wasn’t exactly healthy. God, this whole responsible adult thing was hard.

His phone rang from where he’d left it on the countertop, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hey.” He answered after glancing at the caller ID.

“Hey Tony.” Steve said back. “Can I bother you with a quick question?”

“Shoot.” He said, eyeing the pan. Everything still looked okay.

“Did I leave the suit jacket from my dress uniform at your place?”

“Uh, not that I know of. When would you have done that?”

“I don’t know but I can’t find it anywhere and no one else has seen it.”

“Pretty sure it’s not here.”

“Can you just look?”

“Fine.” He reluctantly agreed. “The things I do for you Cap.”

Steve sighed audibly over the phone.

Tony smirked as he searched the living room. No missing dress uniform. He walked down the hallway to his bedroom and searched there even though he couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t have seen it if it was in his bedroom.

“Did you find it?” Steve asked impatiently.

“Not yet.”

“Check your closet.”

“Why would your dress uniform be in my closet?”

“Maybe the cleaning service got mixed up. Maybe they found it on the couch or something and hung it up for you.”

“I’m fairly sure they’d know a military uniform wasn’t mine.”

“Maybe they thought you were using it more nefarious purposes.”

“Nefarious huh?” Tony rolled his eyes but stepped into his closet to look. “I doubt it. I haven’t done any kind of kinky role play in years. And I hate to say it but the military thing isn’t really my go to when it comes to that. No offense.”

“Oh god Tony.” Steve said in half whine and half reprimand. “I definitely didn’t need to know…that. I meant maybe they thought you were doing some kind of undercover op since you’re an Avenger, remember?”

“Huh. I suppose that would make sense.”

“So is it there?”

“I’m looking. Cool your jets.” He scanned through his plethora of suit jackets. “I’m not seeing it.”

Steve groaned. “Now what am I supposed to wear to the government meeting?”

“A normal suit like everyone else.” Tony answered, looking through the last part of his closet.

“That’s easy for you to—”

“Son of a bitch.” Tony said in surprise when his fingers landed on the dress uniform jacket shoved between two of his own navy suit jackets.

“What?”

“I found it.”

“I knew it. I’ll be right up to get it.”

“I’m still trying to comprehend how your uniform ended up in my closet. When were you wearing this up here?” Tony asked as he plucked the jacket out of his closet and eyed it as if it held the answer.

“I don’t know. Maybe at that function you threw a couple months back?”

Tony remembered. “And what? You just decided to strip while you were in my apartment?”

Steve sighed heavily again. “No. I probably just got hot and took it off. It’s not the most comfortable thing to wear in case you can’t tell.”

Tony was about to make an inappropriate quip about Steve being too hot when a high pitched screech sounded through the air.

“What’s that noise?” Steve asked in concern.

“Um…” It took him a second recognize the fire alarm and realize an instant later what it was from. “Oh shit. I got to go.”

“Tony what’s going—”

He ended the call and dashed out of his bedroom, tossing the jacket on his bed along the way. He’d completely forgotten about the stupid pancakes while he’d been talking to Steve.

Smoke filled the kitchen.

“Shit shit shit.” He said, running over to the pan and turning the burner off. The pan continued to smoke with scorched pancake batter. He opened the garbage can and pried the smoking remnants of his previously perfect batter into the trash with a spatula. Three blackened circles remained behind and no matter how hard he scraped at them he couldn’t get them off. The batter and the pan had become one.

“Dammit.” He swore again.

“Um what’s going on?” Peter asked, standing by the hallway in his pajamas and rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” He said even though all the evidence pointed to the contrary

The alarm continued to blare. He should probably do something about that.

“FRIDAY can you turn that stupid alarm off?” He yelled as he dropped the ruined pan into the sink and ran water over it, trying to get the smoking to stop.

The noise cut off so abruptly the resulting silence was nearly deafening in itself.

Peter walked to his side and peered over his shoulder at the blackened pan.

“Were you…cooking?” Peter asked in surprise.

“Trying to.” He admitted. “Didn’t go so well as you can see.”

Peter glanced around, taking in the evidence of his pancake making attempt around the kitchen before turning to look at him.

The kid gave him a bemused look and pointed at his cheek. “Um you have some…stuff on your face.”

“What?” He swiped at his right cheek.

“No the other one.” Peter said. He wasn’t smiling but there was a twinkle in his eyes Tony hadn’t seen once since picking him up from the hospital.

He wiped at his left cheek and a chunk of batter came away in his hand. “Did I get it?”

“No. There’s more. And some, uh, powder stuff.” Peter said, a small smile escaping this time. “Maybe you should look in the mirror.”

“Tony! Are you ok?” Steve yelled as he burst out of the elevator into the room, brandishing a tennis racket in one hand as weapon.

“Yeah stand down Cap. It was just the smoke alarm. We had a slight pancake mishap.” He answered.

Steve let his arm drop. “I thought there was an intruder.”

“An intruder that my state of art AI didn’t tell you about?” Tony raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

Steve shrugged.

“And if there was an intruder, what were you going to do with that?” Tony asked, pointing at the tennis racket. “Wimbledon them to death? You do know we’re in a facility filled with weapons? Real weapons. Like a supersoldier’s vibranium shield. Ringing any bells?”

“I came to save your life and this is the thanks I get?” Steve crossed his arms over his chest.

“Save my life from what? My terrible cooking skills?”

Peter burst out laughing.

They both turned to look at him, surprised at the noise. Steve’s harsh look warmed and Tony smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Peter laugh. The kid had a great laugh.

“Yeah I hate to break it to you kid, but in case you haven’t already figured it out, I can’t cook worth a damn.” He said blithely as Peter’s laughing tapered off.

“That’s all right. I’m used to it.” Peter said, still smiling. “May couldn’t cook very well either. Remember that walnut date bread she gave you the first time you met me?”

Surprisingly, Peter’s face didn’t fall at the mention of his aunt. His eyes turned a little misty, but a ghost of a smile remained on his face.

“Oh I definitely do.” Tony said, keeping his response light. “Don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

“Yeah me neither.” Peter agreed. “Anyway, it’s probably understatement to say I’m used to the fire alarm going off.”

This time Tony laughed.

“You guys look like you have everything under control. I’m going to head out.” Steve said. Tony had almost forgotten he was there.

“Wait, don’t you need your suit jacket?”

“I’ll come back for it later. I don’t need it until this afternoon.” Steve said with an oddly warm look in his eyes as he regarded the two of them.

“Ok. I’ll probably be gone but FRIDAY will let you in. It’s on my bed.”

Steve nodded and gave him a smile as he stepped back into the elevator, gracefully exiting and leaving him alone with the kid. Tony realized he probably should’ve introduced the two of them, because even though Steve had seen Peter when he’d helped carry him inside the other day, Peter hadn’t officially met Steve yet. Oh well. There’d be time for that later.

“FRIDAY be a dear and crack some windows open for me.” Tony requested. He clasped Peter’s shoulder and started to steer him out of the kitchen. “Why don’t you go clean up and get ready while I wash this stuff off my face, and then we can go grab some breakfast.”

He purposefully didn’t mention what exactly Peter needed to get ready for. They both already knew.

“We’re going out for breakfast? You’re not going to try cooking again?” Peter asked and Tony could tell he was being sassy instead of curious.

“Um no. Definitely not. Not today anyway. Maybe later. Like next week, or next month, or next year. Actually, let’s just say never for now. Never is good right?”

Peter smiled and Tony took that as a win. Sure, he may not have been able to make food to feed the kid, but he’d made him smile on the day of his aunt’s funeral. That was definitely harder. He could always figure out the cooking thing later.

He tried making pancakes again a week later.

It didn’t go any better than the first attempt. The previous fiasco repeated itself almost identically, except instead of Steve, it’d been Pepper that had called him in the middle of cooking, needing him to look over an e-mail for SI. He’d done it, but he’d also completely forgotten about the pancakes. Again. The smoke alarm had gone off and had woken Peter up. Again. To his credit, the kid had tried to hold back his laughter at the sight of him scraping charred pancake remains into the trash, but he hadn’t quite succeeded. With another pan ruined, Tony had taken Peter out to his favorite waffle place instead of trying to salvage homemade breakfast.

The third time he tried making pancakes was only a few days after the second botched attempt, but instead of trying to do it on his own, he’d had FRIDAY help him. She reminded him when he needed to flip the pancakes and take them off the stove, and he’d managed it without burning them. Apparently the third time was the charm. When Peter walked out all sleep rumpled and looked borderline impressed at the deliciously perfect pancakes stacked on a plate waiting for him, Tony didn’t fess up to using his AI for assistance. The kid didn’t need to know. Besides, he’d made FRIDAY, so did it even count as not doing it on his own if it was his own creation helping him?

The pancakes had been a hit. Peter had absolutely devoured them. They’d gone over so well, Tony had decided that next time he was going to do something crazy and try adding chocolate chips, since he’d noticed by now that his kid definitely loved any kind of sugar confectionery.

As he’d watched Peter wash off the empty plate, he figured maybe he wasn’t doing so bad after all with this whole guardian thing.

#asked #and answered #missing scene #my fic #The darkest hour

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Laws of Motion / Chapter 1 (Trixya) - DenDenMonMon

Summary: “Every object persists in its state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line unless it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed on it.”

A/N:

Hi. Hello. How are you? Welcome to another crazy idea that came to my mind and have no clue where it’s gonna take us! Wooh! Usually I’m not a big fan of crude smut thrown at you right from the start, yet, here we are haha so, if that’s not your cup of tea, you can just skip that part once you reach it, there’s no other impact on the story other than it happened. Hope you enjoy the ride. Thanks for reading! -Monkey

AO3 Link

Laws of Motion

Chapter 1 - Pink.

The music was loud.

More than hear it, Katya could feel it.

She could feel the waves of sound pulsing all through her body. She could feel her blood running through her veins to the rhythm of the unfamiliar song. Her eyes were closed as her ears filled with the blaring noises of the club, clashing and mixing together. Her arms were up in the air as she allowed her mind to go blank. Her body responded to the movements dictated both by the music and the hands of the stranger holding her hips.

She could feel the man’s fingers digging into her flesh, but she didn’t mind. She could feel his semi-erection against her ass, but she didn’t care. She liked it. She liked the fact that she was utilizing him. Right in that moment, he was nothing but an object to her. He might as well be a wall she was slamming her body against while dancing, he had as much importance. His reaction to the way her body moved was all she was looking for. She liked that power. Taking advantage of that power, of the symbolic grip she had on the guy, she turned around in his arms. Her hips pressed hard against his. She could feel him through her tight skirt. If there hadn’t been clothes between them, they could very easily be fucking already.

She knew that.

He knew that.

His stare told her as much.

That was the only reason why she turned around and walked away. He called after her but she didn’t listen. One of her hands went up in the air, dismissing him completely. He really had nothing else to offer her.

She made her way through the crowd. The dance floor was completely packed and she loved to feel the pressure of hot bodies against her own, even if it was just for a second. The only problem was, it was too hot and she was sweating. She needed a break.

With a little bit of trouble she managed to step away from the moving bodies, and went to find her friends. They were all drinking and dancing in the little private area. That particular booth was permanently reserved for them. That was the type of privilege they got for being regulars at the club. The seats of the small round tables were not always filled, but that night was a special occasion.

“That was quick. Did you fuck him already?” Violet swung her long ponytail from one shoulder to the other. Her dark hair shone with the fluorescent lights blinking behind her.

Katya laughed at her assumptions, her head shaking in disbelief. “You are rotted!” And that was all the attention she dedicated to the matter.

She went around the circle, pretending to give lap dances to those sitting down, and watched them get shit-faced as she sipped from her tall glass of Coke. She felt happy, she felt alive, she felt completed. There were no visible cares in the world. All the people that mattered to her the most were right there, in that stinky booth, having fun and enjoying themselves. If only things could stay like that forever, or at least for a little bit longer, but they couldn’t. Because time waited for no man, nor woman, and life went on, leaving behind whoever wasn’t ready to catch up.

Suddenly, she noticed the bucket in the center getting empty, when it had been filled to the rim with beer bottles not so long ago. Placing her fingers between her lips, she whistled in the direction of the bar.

Her eyes caught a girl sitting alone on one of the stools. Her hair was blonde, flat-ironed, and parted in the middle. It went all the way down to her waist, creating a remarkable contrast against the bright pink dress she was wearing. Her shoulders went up and down at an erratic pace, not really following the beat of the song.

The bartender whistling back took Katya out of her trance. She shook the empty bucket, the remaining ice cubes rattling inside. No other explanation was needed and the bartender sent a waiter her way, to retrieve the bucket to be filled again.

Her eyes were glued to the girl during this entire time. She watched her fingers rapidly tap against her phone, probably sending text messages that she was going to regret in the morning. Her head hung low. She was most likely crying. Her long fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle, and she seemed to down it all in one swing. Katya had to guess it hadn’t been completely full; the girl didn’t look like the type that could drink an entire bottle of beer at once.

A waiter finally approached her, new round of beers in his hand, making her stop her observations. For the time being, she forgot about the girl drinking alone at the bar, and she concentrated her attention on making sure everybody had a drink in their hands.

It wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t miss the chance. She drank the last bit of her soda and made her way through the crowd again.

“Hey, Bob!” Katya approached the bar, the empty glass high in the air. “Oops, sorry. I touched you.” She apologized when she felt her arm bump against the person on the tall stool. The girl simply looked away, hiding her face behind the curtain of straight hair. “Another one, please and thank you.”

Bob took the glass from her hand and reached for a new can of Coca-Cola. “Coming right up!”

The process was simple, but took the bartender enough to give Katya time to analyze the blonde girl. She still wouldn’t look in Katya’s direction, which gave her the freedom to shamelessly scan her up and down. She was cute. Really cute.

Bob finally gave her the long glass back, filled with ice cubes and bubbling soda.

“You are the best.” She flashed her biggest smile his direction. “Put it on my tab, and, please, give Depressed Malibu Barbie over here a double of whatever she’s drinking,” she said as she turned around to leave.

She heard a loud ‘I’m not…’ coming from the girl but Bob quickly cut her off.

“Just take the drink.”

Without looking at them again, Katya made it back to her friends. She stepped on the cushions of the booth, holding on to someone’s shoulder for balance.

“Hi, yes, hello. May I please have your attention, you dirty whores?”

Everyone around her stopped what they were doing. They turned to look at her with amusement on their faces. Nobody knew what to expect, but were perfectly aware that there was not one time that Katya didn’t make them laugh with her speeches.

“Thank you, thank you. As you know, Miss Ginger Minj over here, AKA female Danny DeVito, AKA Tony Soprano, AKA…” She had to stop mid-sentence, laughing hysterically at her own words as everybody else chuckled slightly. “AKA my best friend and partner, decided to abandon us all and get an early retirement.”

She exaggerated a face of disappointment, only as a cover-up for the real sadness that had invaded her for months. Ginger had recently gotten married, and she was the happiest she had been in her entire life. It didn’t surprise anybody when she let them know she was leaving, wanting to dedicate her entire attention to her husband and the new life they were about to start.

“You will be greatly missed,” Katya continued with put-on solemnity. “Luckily, your BO will linger around the halls forever.” There was one more pause as she recovered from her own joke, before she actually turned serious. “Come on, now, raise your glasses and join me in the celebration of the one and only, the multitalented, the incomparable, the often imitated but never duplicated, Ginger Minj! May her smoker’s breath continue to infest every room she ever walks into, may her big juicy ass only grow bigger and juicier, and may that new husband of hers fuck her so hard every night that she can never walk straight again.”

There was a round of laughter as her friends lifted their drinks to her words.

“To Ginger!” She ended loudly, making the people around her to repeat in unison. The words were followed by the sound of bottles and glasses clinking with each other.

She got down and hugged her friend. The smile was still on her face when she turned around in the direction of the bar again. The mysterious girl was looking at her, or at them, probably their toasting had called her attention. Katya wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was intrigued by the girl, hiding behind the heavy layers of makeup that made it impossible to even look at her eyes.

Katya would later learn that her name was Trixie, that her heart had just been broken, and that she tasted sweeter than any other girl that had ever ridden her face. For the time being, she was reduced to a sad woman, drinking alone at the bar, wearing a pink dress and too much makeup.

It was very unusual of Trixie to be doing so, she had to admit as much to herself, but the circumstances called for it. The rough and sudden shift in her perfect little life didn’t seem to have any other solution but to drown it in alcohol.

She had been there before. She had been hurt by a man before, but never like this. This time it felt different. She wasn’t even sure why she had such strong feelings about it. Things had been good, but there was no reason for her to be destroyed about the end of her relationship.

Her finger unlocked the phone, even when it didn’t show any new notifications. She went to the messaging app and opened a specific conversation. It could barely be called that, if she was being honest. Nothing but blue bubbles appeared on her screen, filling up the right hand side of the unilateral discussion. The smiley emoji wearing a cowboy hat, followed by pink hearts and sparkles, at the top of the screen, suddenly made her feel sick.

Drunk texting was never a good idea, she knew as much, she was smart enough to know that. The pressure in her chest, the pain in her soul, and the alcohol running through her veins, gave her enough courage to type yet another message.

Thank you for teaching me what true love ISN’T.

She backspaced the entire thing, deleting the message and starting over.

You just made me realize how much I don’t need you.

That was a lie. She did need him. She did miss him. Or at least she missed how it felt to be loved by someone; but that was a feeling that had been gone for some time now. They had lived miles and miles and hours apart, but they had been able to make it work. She would visit him every other weekend, and he would take a trip down to meet her whenever he was available. Through many phone and FaceTime calls is that they had made it possible to stay together even when being apart. Trixie had to wonder if that was the reason why they lasted so long, because they didn’t really see each other. If she had to put together all the days they actually spent together in the course of so many years, they wouldn’t sum up to more than a few months.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed the button to lock her phone again.

No message was sent.

She looked around instead, noticing for the first time how loud the music was. She had been immersed in her own pathetic little world that she had taken no regard on the people partying behind her.

The spinning of the stool was enough to make her dizzy, she decided to sit still, like she had been doing the whole night, and asked for another beer.

The tall man behind the counter, Bob, looked at her with a side grin. “Girl, don’t get me wrong. I’m from New York. I’m all about getting plastered and then riding the train home at the same time that people are going to work.” He laughed at his own words, taking the empty bottle from her hand. “Are you sure about that drink?”

“Oh, my God! I’m so glad you asked!” Trixie’s sarcasm was not missed by the bartender who laughed wholeheartedly. “Yes, I’m sure about that fucking drink.”

The beer was placed in front of her, then a bottle of water landed right next to it. “Meet me halfway?” The guy asked with the same shit-eatting grin.

Trixie rolled her eyes, but took the cap off of the water bottle anyways. “I’d really appreciate it if you stayed away from my business. Thank you.”

He lifted his hands in surrender and moved along to serve other customers. No other words were said. For a moment, Trixie was sad the interaction was over. She had finally been given a distraction from her own destructive thoughts and she had pushed it away. All she could do now was watch the bald man as he laughed and handed out glasses filled with liquor. Trixie wondered if he was giving them a hard time as well, if he was always protective of his customers or if he had felt pity for her. She was drinking alone, and visibly crying, after all.

That had to stop immediately.

She drank the entire water bottle at once, not really realizing how much her body needed it until the first drops touched her tongue, and stood up. With the phone in her hand, she made her way to the bathroom. Walking was a struggle, and her high heels were not helping. Maybe she was, indeed, drunk.

She entered the last stall of the row. Her body felt heavy as she sat on the toilet. Her elbows landed on her knees and she let her head drop to her hands.

As Trixie was receiving the epiphany that she needed while peeing, on the other side of the club Katya felt claustrophobic. There were too many people in the small space with the extremely low roof. The room felt hot and air was not circulating enough. Ironically, she knew that the thing she needed to be able to breathe at peace again was a cigarette.

She stepped outside and the warm breeze hit her face. It was as much as she could ask for a LA night and she took it gladly. Up until that moment she hadn’t realized just how sweaty she was. The belt around her waist was too tight, making it even harder for her to breathe normally. She liked her top, and was grateful for picking something see-through. It allowed air to flow and her tattoos to show, but the feeling of mech against her arms and torso was itchy. She could feel every piece of clothing sticking to her skin. It wasn’t a nice feeling but it was one that she was rather used to.

The calming effects of the nicotine worked wonders right away. She could feel her lungs expanding as they filled with smoke. Her thoughts immediately stopped racing and a sense of utter peace enveloped her whole.

She kicked pebbles with the tip of her shoe. One arm was wrapped around her waist, the other one finding support on it to place the cigarette to her lips. Everything around her was quiet. And she liked it that way. She could see the cars driving on the street, their lights bright enough to reach her all the way at the end of the alley.

Her peaceful moment was disrupted by the back door of the club opening roughly. The girl from the bar walked out, her steps stomping hard against the pavement as she walked with alcohol induced confidence.

“That’s right,” she said to the phone glued to her ear. “I am walking to the dumpster right now. I am taking the key out of my purse,” she narrated her every move. “If you don’t say anything right now I will throw it in there, and you will never see me again.” There was a pause, which clearly didn’t give her the answer that she was looking for. “Fine. It’s done. Bye, see you never,” she assured as the small piece of metal landed on trash bags with a small thud. “I guess you don’t love me after all.”

Forcefully, she pressed the red button to end the phone call. She turned around and spotted Katya for the first time.

“Ex-boyfriend?” Katya asked, respectfully blowing smoke in the opposite direction.

Trixie nodded her head. “Ex-boyfriend’s voicemail, to be exact.”

Katya smiled, throwing the butt of the cigarette on the ground and stepping on it. “You are too hot for him anyways.”

Her eyes grew wide open in surprise. “How do you know that? You don’t know him, or me.”

“But I have eyes, and I can see you are hot, Barbie doll.”

“Trixie, my name is Trixie.”

“Nice to meet you, Trixie. Say, do you feel like dancing the depression away?”

The girl extended her hand and Trixie took it, allowing the total stranger to pull her back inside. She didn’t realize, but Trixie never got the girl’s name. It didn’t seem to matter then, not when their bodies grinded together and the music did all the talking. The name was going to be a big deal in a few hours, though, when Trixie’s orgasm was going to rip her to pieces and she was not going to know which name to scream in delight. Right that instant, however, it was irrelevant.

Trixie allowed Katya to press her body against hers, to let the song that was playing loudly from the speakers to provide the necessary words to fill up the space around them. It felt good. It felt nice to have soft skin brushing against her own. It felt electrifying when nails dug on her flesh. It felt hot when the perfectly round ass rubbed against her crotch.

Hot.

It was hot, both the room and their dance. Katya was a complete mystery and an enigma. She would whisper silly nothings into her ear, making Trixie laugh with joy, and, at the same time, use her body to set Trixie’s on fire. She had never felt like this before, so free, so careless, so turned on. Trixie knew her heart was still torn into a million pieces, but the thin girl exploring her body with her hands, was melting her in such a way that the broken parts seemed to glue themselves back together.

Everything around her was spinning, and Trixie didn’t seem to find another anchor that it wasn’t Katya’s body crashing against her own. She became the gravity center that she needed. And the pull was so strong that Trixie couldn’t help it when she suddenly found herself pressing her lips against the other woman’s. This was something completely new to her, but the feeling was so amazing that she didn’t want to deprive herself from it.

Katya smiled for a moment, moving her lips to Trixie’s ear. “You are drunk, bitch.”

The new position only allowed Trixie to plant a kiss on Katya’s neck, never stopping the swaying of their bodies. “So are you, so what’s the problem?” she said against her skin. She simply couldn’t stop herself. She wanted– she needed more of her. “Wanna get out of here?”

Katya pushed her away, just enough to look her in the eye. “Are you sure? You may regret this in the morning.”

“Are you really that bad in bed?”

Both looked at each other for a moment, before erupting in uncontrollable laughter. Katya was the first one to recover her voice. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

“I’ll get us an Uber.”

The car drive was made in silence. Katya had enough conscience to leave some space between them in the backseat. Trixie had been drinking, a lot. Katya wanted to give her that time to sober up and think if that was really what she wanted. Trixie seemed to be doing just that. Katya observed her from the far end of the seat, kept a close eye in the way she looked out the window, the city lights making the glitters on her face shine bright. It was a beautiful sight of a beautiful girl.

Trixie was completely aware of Katya’s eyes on her. She liked that feeling. Something in the bottom of her stomach had been set on fire, and the heat spread all the way down to her most private area, making her throb with desire she had never felt before. It was new and interesting and she couldn’t wait to explore the feeling some more.

She turned around abruptly, expecting Katya to look away and pretend she wasn’t watching her, but she didn’t.

“Are you one hundred percent sure you wanna do this?”

If there was any trace of doubt in Trixie’s mind, the sincerity in Katya’s eyes made it fly out the window. “Are you kidding me? Yes, of course I am.”

They both held their stares for a moment too long until Trixie extended her hand, taking Katya’s and interwinding their fingers. Still holding hands, they walked inside the apartment building. It wasn’t until they were inside the elevator that Katya even tried to make a move.

Still holding hands, they walked inside the apartment building. It wasn’t until they were inside the elevator that Katya even tried to make a move.

“Come here, Mamma.”

Trixie did as she was told. With a side smile on her face, she moved to stand right in front of Katya, towering her. Each of her hands flanked Katya’s head as she leaned forward, pressing her lips softly against hers. It wasn’t a kiss, not really, it was a tentative move, almost as if they were testing the feeling under these new circumstances. There was no loud music or sweaty people dancing around them. There was nobody but them in that small metallic box, space that kept feeling smaller and smaller the longer they kissed. Because the elevator was not big enough to contain the immense waves of desire that washed over them like tsunami tides.

The door slid open with a ding, revealing their own image reflecting on the mirror across from them. They looked a hot mess. Katya stared at herself, at the mascara creating dark circles under her eyes, where it mixed with the liner that had already ran. Her hair was gone beyond the point of no return.

If she had gotten into this state, just by dancing, she couldn’t imagine how she was going to look like walking out of that apartment, all fucked out by the real size Barbie doll dragging her through the narrow hallway.

They stopped by the door with the letter F on the front. Trixie pulled her closer, her lips once again meeting Katya’s as her hand fished the key in her purse. Doing both things at the same time proved to be too difficult for her, but she didn’t stop either. She allowed her mouth to continue devouring Katya’s as she pushed the key into the knob. Her tongue was running against each of Katya’s teeth when the front door closed with a bang.

“You need to take off your shoes,” Trixie informed her between kisses. She turned around and found stability on the wall in front of her, trying to kick off her high heels.

That was when she felt Katya’s hands on her ass. “I think you need to take off your panties.”

What happened next, Trixie felt in slow motion. Her eyes closed when her dress had been moved up. Katya’s finger hooked on the sides of her underwear and she pulled it down her legs. Trixie’s hands were planted on the wall, holding on for dear life, when she first felt Katya’s tongue against her center. Her legs spread by themselves, giving Katya more access. Her back arched, as she forcefully pushed herself against Katya’s mouth. She pressed her front hard against the wall, just because her upper half needed some attention as well.

Nobody had ever eaten her out like that.

Nobody had made her legs feel like rubber with simple touches like that.

Nobody had brought her so near an orgasm within the first few seconds like that.

She could have been softly moaning, she could have been screaming loudly, she didn’t care. Except that, when a particularly loud moan escaped her lips, suddenly something came to mind.

“Oh, my God. Kim!”

Katya smiled against her thigh, kissing it softly, and speaking against her skin. “Oh, so you wanna role play?”

“No, you stupid.” Trixie stood up straight, reluctantly moving away from her spot, away from Katya’s hot lips. “Kim is my roommate. I don’t know if she’s ho–” She couldn’t even finish her sentence when she fully looked at Katya, kneeled down right next to the front door, mouth and chin wet, both with saliva and what Trixie could only imagine was her own arousal. She bit her lower lip, her want increasing by the second. “You are so hot.”

Katya took Trixie’s extended hand and allowed her to pull her up. Katya let her take the lead as Trixie kissed her roughly one more time, forcing her to walk backwards and guiding her towards the bedroom. Their lips never parted until they reached the last door at the end of the small apartment.

Trixie walked inside and turned on the light on the bedside table. Suddenly they were surrounded by nothing but pink. The shade on the lamp was bright pink, bright enough to almost drown the different shades of the same color around the room. The pillows, the sheets, the comforter, and even the picture frames on the wall, were all pink.

Her observations stopped once Trixie entered her space again. “I want you so bad,” she whispered so low it barely reached Katya’s ear. But she heard it, and she took the invitation happily.

She reached down and took a hold of the hem of Trixie’s dress, pulling it up and above her head. With deft fingers she found the hooks of her bra and Trixie put her arms down so it could slide off of her. There she stood, one of the most amazingly beautiful girls she had ever seen before in all her naked glory. Her breasts were full, and her small waist provided the perfect contrast for her fleshy hips. She pushed Trixie on the bed, making her land softly against the mattress.

Without even thinking about it, she knelt down between her opened legs again. She could tell Trixie was not expecting to have sex that night, which turned Katya on even more. She ran her fingers through the slightly uneven pubic hair until she found her entrance. The first finger entered with ease, making Trixie’s hips buckle up to the touch. Katya moved it around in circles, preparing the girl for the second one, which she took without a problem. When the third finger found its rightful place inside of Trixie, Katya made sure her mouth paid attention to the delicate bundle of nerves as well.

Katya fucked her with her fingers and her mouth for what felt like an eternity. The scream-like moans falling out of Trixie’s lips were enough to make her feel close to the edge herself.

Just when she felt Trixie’s walls clenching around her fingers, everything stopped. Trixie pushed herself up, propping herself on her elbows. “Can I sit on your face?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Katya replied with a smile.

She stood up, removing her belt in the way. Her top found the floor right after, and Trixie helped her unzip her skirt and toss it to the side.

It was now her turn to lay her back on the mattress. Trixie’s thighs flanked her head and she couldn’t wait to have her again. She stretched her neck and gave her a quick lick. Trixie giggled and held onto the headboard, asking her to wait until she was ready. Katya couldn’t. She reached up and caressed Trixie’s breasts as her tongue entered her over and over. The mixture of sensations had Trixie reaching her orgasm almost immediately. Trixie’s legs gave out and she literally sat on Katya’s face, her thighs sending her to a blissful state of suffocation. Even that wasn’t enough to stop Katya, she continued licking her, sending electroshocks through her already sensitive body.

“I want to taste you,” Trixie said after a few seconds, her body was still recovering from the earth-shattering orgasm.

Katya didn’t protest. She saw how the girl started a trail of kisses down her body, dedicating extra time to her breasts. Nobody had to tell her, Katya knew Trixie had never been with another woman before, she could tell by the way she bit on her nipples, the way she unskillfully sucked on them. That was the reason why she paid close attention when Trixie’s face got lost between her legs. She wanted to see her reaction, which was just how she expected.

“You know, you don’t have to do it if you don’t like it,” Katya said with a reassuring smile.

Trixie’s face relaxed from its contorted state. “No, I do want to.”

No other word was spoken. Katya closed her eyes to the feeling of wet tongue and hot lips. Turned out the girl was pretty good at it. Her tongue went up and down and around, in patterns of a few seconds that already had Katya losing her mind. Her hands took a hold of Trixie’s hair, trying to find anything that could ground her to her Earthly surroundings. She truly felt as if she could touch the sky in that mere instant. It only took one hard suck from Trixie on her most sensitive spot to have Katya screaming out her name. Her hands pressing Trixie’s face against her core so she wouldn’t move from her spot.

As soon as she relaxed, Trixie moved up to lie down next to her. She wrapped an arm and a leg around her, and Katya had no energy to move her away.

“Will you stay the night?” Trixie asked, kissing her shoulder. Her eyes already closed from exhaustion.

Katya didn’t reply, because she couldn’t. She couldn’t stay the night. She waited until Trixie fell asleep to extract herself from her embrace. Katya found her clothes scattered around the floor and turned off the small lamp. Walking out of the room, she got dressed by the front entrance. When she put on her shoes, she spotted the pink thong she had rolled down Trixie’s legs and picked it up. She stuffed it in the pocket of her jacket as she exited the apartment, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could.

End notes:

Thank you so much for reading, and giving this crazy story a chance. You seriously have no idea all things I have planned for you. Expect the unexpected. As always, would love to hear what you think.

#rpdr fanfiction #trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #violet chachki #ginger minj #bob the drag queen #smut #exploration of sexuality #lesbian au #dendenmonmon #submission #laws of motion

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silkspectred · 7 years ago

Text

love the sin, love the sinner

Relationship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Universe: MCU, post The Avengers (2012) Rating: Explicit Words: 10586 Notes: Steve Rogers pov, angst with happy ending, smut, lack of communication, realistic sex, old man Tony, oversensitive Tony, crying during sex. Warnings: panic attacks, barebacking.

thanks to @cptxrogers for reading this and encouraging me <3

on ao3

There’s been tension for months. Not the kind of tension they experienced on the helicarrier that first day, a different type. After New York they started talking, started agreeing, or at least disagreeing in a productive way; there were lingering touches and lingering gazes, soft smiles and whispered tactics, murmured ideas.

Jess Jones needs to be trained, Shellhead, she’s strong but has no technique.

Yes, Winghead, but I just don’t think you’re her type of teacher.

Now there are little gestures too. Steve goes with Tony to one of the Maria Stark Foundation galas, because Diya from PR thinks Captain America’s presence can affect how much money rich people feel like donating to charity (she is right). The next day Steve finds a new uniform in his room, the one that yesterday was still weeks away from being ready, made of a new fabric Tony developed, more breathable but still bulletproof. A week later, during breakfast, Steve mentions that he’s out of some art supplies, but the mission S.H.I.E.L.D. assigned him to prevents him from doing anything about it at the moment. When he comes back, everything he was planning on buying is already on his desk with a note that only says T. Steve asks JARVIS if he can access Tony’s penthouse while Tony is in R&D, and leaves a yellow rose on his pillow.

So when it finally happens, it’s not really a surprise. They’re in the gym, sparring, and everything seems normal until they’re both on the floor, Steve on his back, Tony on top of him between his legs. But instead of trying some move to keep Steve from freeing himself, instead of scrambling to his feet, instead of doing any of the million things Tony could do in a situation like this– Tony sets his jaw, braces his hands on the floor on both sides of Steve’s head, takes a deep breath through his nose, and presses his hips into Steve’s.

Steve was already half-hard from the adrenaline of their fight, he tells himself it’s normal and it happens very often to a lot of men and it’s nothing to be ashamed about, really, but it never happens when he’s sparring with Carol or Sam or Luke, only Tony, for some reason. For some damn reason.

Tony is ahead of Steve, already rock hard in his yoga pants (and even that, Tony in yoga pants, seriously?), and the heat, the pressure, the weight of Tony’s body on him, Steve is on the same page in the span of seconds, and he would chalk it up to the serum but… yeah, it’s not the serum.

Tony looks at him like he’s asking for some sort of permission to go on, like they can still come back from this, he can say his knees just gave up on him, apologize, pretend he didn’t mean it, pretend it never happened. Steve looks up at him, quickly, afraid that a sign of acknowledgment could break this spell. So he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t nod, he just averts his eyes from Tony’s and pushes his own hips up, gives back what he received and lets out a breath of relief when Tony just looks at his face for a moment and then starts moving, once, twice… seven times, and Steve really wishes his Captain America brain would just shut up for a minute, he doesn’t need to write a report about this.

Then Tony suddenly sits up and Steve has only time to think no, please, no, before he realizes that Tony is shoving his pants down his thighs and scrambling at Steve’s waistband, urgent, trembling in a way that makes it look like he’s keeping the worst of it under control and this is what spills out because he just can’t hide it all.

Tony avoids looking at Steve, gathers saliva in his mouth and spits in his hand, takes both their dicks in his fist and starts stroking, fast, and Steve’s brain after that, oh, Steve’s brain is just useless. Tony’s hands aren’t small but his fingers can barely circle around his own dick and Steve’s, and oh my god the things he’s doing are just. Just.

Steve surges forward, unable to stop himself, places his hands oh each side of Tony’s face and drags him down for a kiss, but Tony moves away before their lips can touch, looks down, keeps stroking. It happens in seconds and Steve doesn’t even have time to process it, to be disappointed or sad at the rejection because he’s very suddenly coming, soaking his shirt, hitting Tony in the chin with stripes of white. Tony buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, opens his mouth and licks behind Steve’s ear. Steve shudders, Tony comes without making a single sound.

Afterwards, it’s not awkward. Tony makes a small joke, helps Steve up. Steve heads for the gym showers and Tony for the elevator. In the following days nothing really changes between them, maybe they’re a bit more polite than usual, but they’re normal, really. And if Steve goes tense every time Tony enters a room, it’s no one’s business but his own, okay? Okay.

But Tony really seems normal. He looks at Steve when he talks to him, passes him fruit during breakfast, discusses tactics with him like they’ve done thousands of other times before, they talk about the team, about improvements for their weapons, about the last super villain that really thought he was gonna rule the planet starting from Manhattan, about movies and books and food and everything. So what if Steve can’t sleep at night, thinking about Tony’s skin on his? What if he can still feel Tony’s tongue on his neck, the scent of his come, his hand on his dick? What if he sometimes thinks, okay, but if that was going to be our only time together, I wanted to be able to kiss you, even just once. The pang of regret is eating him alive.

But before Steve can drive himself completely crazy about it, something else happens. It’s almost a month after their first (only) time together and they’ve just finished a sparring session that didn’t end with them covered in each other’s come, if only because Matt and Jess were also there as far as Steve is concerned. After everyone leaves, Steve goes to take a quick shower, but he lingers under the hot spray of the water, lets his muscles relax, and it still feels impossible that he can, that he’s allowed this small pleasure. He’s distracted, so he doesn’t hear Tony opening the glass door of the shower, he only suddenly feels someone behind him, calloused hands caressing his shoulders, and he should really do something about the fact that now apparently he can recognize Tony by touch alone. He’s so fucked up.

He lets Tony manhandle him into position (he would let Tony do anything to him, really, holy shit) and he finds himself facing the wall with his hands splayed on the white tiles, his elbows and knees locked, his legs spread apart. Tony slips under his arm, kneels down between his thighs and then Steve’s brain short-circuits again because goddammit, Tony’s mouth. Everything in Steve’s world is wet and warm, his dick slides easily in and out of Tony’s lips, saliva gathering there and making it all slick and hot, and oh, this is perfect.

Tony keeps moving his head, his eyes closed, but then he looks up at Steve for a moment, places a hand on Steve’s ass and pulls him in and Steve gets it, fuck, he gets it, and Tony nods and quickly averts his gaze, which, okay. Steve braces himself on the wall and starts fucking Tony’s mouth, gently but determined, careful but with no hesitation.

He goes slow at first, to gauge how much Tony can take, yes, but also to look down, to fix his eyes on the point where his flesh makes contact with Tony’s, where his dick slides almost all the way out and then again in Tony’s hot mouth, to feel the head drag against Tony’s soft palate, Tony pushing his tongue up against Steve’s length while hollowing his cheeks and sucking, careful to cover his teeth with his lips.

Steve looks and looks and looks, thanks his eidetic memory and curses it at the same time, because he wants to remember this image forever, yes, but – shit – he’s gonna remember this image forever and he’s so, so screwed.

Tony splays his left hand on Steve’s thigh, grabs the meat there, a silent, keep going, and Steve doesn’t need to be encouraged twice, he starts fucking Tony’s face in earnest, faster, still thoughtful of Tony’s comfort but that bar has been placed much higher now. In an attempt to gain some control over what’s happening, Steve pulls one of his hands away from the wall, places it carefully on Tony’s head and waits for a reaction. Tony’s eyes are closed again, and he jumps a bit when he first feels Steve’s hand in his hair, mostly out of surprise, but then he does nothing. Steve takes it as permission and grows bolder, grabs a fistful of Tony’s hair and yanks, keeps Tony’s head in place, his mouth where he can fuck it, his body trapped between the wall and Steve. And for the first time since Tony came into the shower, for the first time Steve’s ever heard, Tony moans, deep in his throat. And for a moment, just for a small moment, Steve gives in to the illusion that maybe he gets to keep this, that he gets to keep Tony even after their orgasms.

Steve feels something move against his right leg and he realizes it’s Tony’s arm, Tony is touching himself in a brutal, almost punishing way, Steve can hear the slap of skin on skin; doesn’t it hurt is a fleeting thought in the back of his head because he feels the heat in his belly coalesce into something electric and he barely has time to grab the base of his dick to slip out of Tony’s mouth, but Tony’s hand moves urgently from Steve’s thigh to Steve’s ass and he pulls him in again like he did earlier and Steve comes down Tony’s throat, Tony’s tongue caressing him still, his cheeks sucking all rational thought out of Steve. Tony swallows the most of Steve’s come but some of it slips through his lips, slides down his chin, catches in his goatee and Steve can only murmur, “Fuck,” against Tony’s silence.

Tony suddenly shudders, briefly, and then goes very still and very stiff and Steve feels something hot and liquid, something that is not water, spray the insides of his thighs, his balls, and – oh god – his ass. Steve’s hand still braced on the wall makes the tiles crack.

Steve pulls out of Tony’s mouth, releases his hair. Tony opens his eyes and smiles, says something easy and friendly that doesn’t allude to what they just did, quickly exits the shower and goes wash himself in the next stall.

That night, while he keeps tossing and turning in his bed counting sheep, Steve realizes that he not only has never kissed Tony, but he has also never touched his dick.

He doesn’t know what to make of it. If Tony wants to set some boundaries, if there are things he doesn’t like to do then Steve is more than willing to respect his wishes, but somehow he doesn’t think that’s the problem here. He can’t help but feeling rejected, in some way he doesn’t really understand, by Tony, and at the thought a small tear slips past his control and down his cheek.

—

It keeps happening. Not often, just once or twice a month, but it keeps happening. Always in the same way: it’s unplanned, sudden, unexpected, Steve is surprised and eager, his dick goes from zero to one hundred in two seconds, Tony’s touch is electric, everything he does drives Steve crazy, but he never lets Steve kiss him, he very rarely looks Steve in the eye, he never talks, never makes a sound when he comes, never mentions it later.

What they do, though, that changes: Tony avoids being touched by Steve for a couple more times, but then he starts to slowly allow it. Steve gets Tony to fuck his fist, and Tony is different that time, his eyes are not just closed, they’re shut tight, there’s a deep furrow on his brow, his face is twisted in a pained expression.

The time after that, Tony sucks Steve off against a wall, Steve is so on edge that his orgasm hits him after only a few minutes, and when he comes to, he fixes his eyes on Tony, who is jerking off with that same merciless and ferocious pace he set on himself that time in the gym shower. Steve crouches down next to him, slowly brings Tony’s head up with a hand under his chin. Tony’s eyes flutter open and before he can close them again, Steve holds his gaze for a moment, then looks down at Tony’s lap, then Tony’s eyes again. Then he licks his lips. It’s a silent question, a voiceless request for permission, but it’s a very obvious and clear one, and Steve has no intention of proceeding until Tony allows him to.

Tony nods, once, sharply, and Steve places a hand on his neck, under his ear, holds him in place, brings their foreheads together. He doesn’t try to kiss Tony, doesn’t want to ask for more trust than he’s already been given. Slowly, he lowers his head until he’s almost lying stomach down on the floor, propping himself up with his elbows. Tony’s dick is inches away from Steve’s face, Tony’s hand is still moving fast and unforgiving. Then suddenly Tony stills, his whole body goes tense, and Steve knows it’s now or never. He leans down, opens his mouth, takes the head of Tony’s dick between his lips and sucks, once. Tony’s come is hot and thick on his tongue, the taste isn’t as bitter as he thought it would be. He lets his mouth be flooded, swallows as much as he can, lets the rest run down his chin freely, shamelessly, makes a mess of himself, lets it drop back down Tony’s length, on his hand, on his neck. And again, like some strange force beat it out of him, like he’s violating some sort of cosmic law just by thinking about allowing himself this, Tony moans, and Steve still isn’t sure if it’s out of pleasure, of pain, of both.

Their progress, after that, is pretty clear to Steve: Tony needs time to get used to Steve’s touch, needs to build up some form of physical intimacy, needs to be the giver at first so he can be comfortable receiving. Steve is willing to be patient, he always asks Tony’s consent before doing anything new, but he tries to kiss Tony a couple more times, more out of a mixture of mindless arousal and muscle memory from the few other times he has had sex than anything else, but Tony always shifts away, and Steve tries to swallow his disappointment down and deal.

But still, Steve kinda feels like shit afterwards, every time, and yet he doesn’t have it in him to put a stop to it, he wants Tony. If this is the only way he can get him then he’s gonna be a big boy and suck it up and be grateful that life has at least conceded him this.

So yeah, Steve feels like shit. Steve feels like shit in the deserted gym and the attached showers multiple times, he feels like shit on his couch and on Tony’s couch, in Tony’s penthouse against the glass wall (Jesus Christ), in Tony’s penthouse on the rug in front of the fireplace, in Tony’s penthouse on one of the bar stools, on a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, on the roof of Avengers tower (which, honestly, what the fuck), against a table in Tony’s workshop right after a mission with Steve still in his uniform and Tony still in most of his armor, one night against the fridge in the communal kitchen (which isn’t just fucked up but also very possibly unsanitary, and Steve feels so bad afterwards that he stress-cleans the whole room after Tony leaves), and the list goes on.

The first time Tony puts his fingers inside of Steve, Steve sees stars. When he gets to reciprocate, Tony’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s gritting his teeth, he trembles and shakes for minutes after coming. Steve offers to hold him through it, but Tony doesn’t really want to be touched.

The first time Tony fucks Steve is at night, on the floor of Steve’s bedroom. Steve gets the idea mostly because it’s practical, since the bedside table with the bottle of lube is right there. Steve can’t really tell how they got naked, it’s all kind of a blur, it happens so fast. In no time, he’s lying on his back, the carpet soft on his skin, Tony looming over him, two fingers already making their way inside Steve.

The first push of the blunt head of Tony’s dick is a heady mix of pleasure and pain that makes Steve go limp. He spreads his legs further apart, brings his knees up to accommodate Tony’s body into his. Steve has his arms above his head on the carpet, and Tony carefully circles one of his wrists and holds it down, hard. Steve feels something that can only be described as bliss rushing through him. He looks up at Tony and he’s very surprised to find that Tony is already looking at him. Steve gets lost in his eyes, it’s the longest and deepest Tony has looked at him ever while they have sex, and Steve is determined to make it last as much as possible, to use it to tell Tony all the things he can’t say with words. You’re safe. I’ll protect you, always. I’ll never do anything to hurt you in any way. You can trust me.

Tony starts moving, slowly, and so, so carefully, like he’s afraid.

Don’t be afraid.

Steve locks his feet around Tony’s back, pushes him deeper still. Tony braces himself with one hand on the carpet and one holding Steve’s wrist, and then he’s not afraid anymore.

Tony’s thrusts grow hard and fast, like his hand has always been, and the rhythm is driving Steve out of his own mind, the pleasure building up and solidifying inside of him into something that makes his skin burn, his vision blur, his breathing ragged.

It’s dark in Steve’s bedroom, the only source of light is nestled in Tony’s chest. Steve doesn’t think, and places a hand on it.

What happens next feels like a bucket of ice water. Tony gasps, like he’s being choked, pulls out of Steve suddenly, without controlling his movements (and ouch, that’s not pleasant), scrambles on the floor away from Steve, sits with his back to the wall and brings his knees close to his chest; his eyes are screwed shut and he’s still gasping, trying to control his breathing with no success and he’s murmuring something that Steve can’t quite catch.

Okay, Steve severely misjudged how comfortable Tony would be with someone touching the device that keeps him alive, makes him pilot the Iron Man suit, is the source of at least 60% of his traumas.

Shit.

Steve gets up, walks closer to Tony making some noise so Tony doesn’t get startled. He musters up his gentlest voice.

“Tony? Hey. It’s Steve. You’re safe. You’re in my bedroom, we are in Avengers tower. Everything is fine, you’re not in any danger. Tony?”

Tony is still breathing shallow and fast, there are tears on his cheeks. Steve takes a deep breath himself. Okay.

“Tony, concentrate on your breathing. Follow me, let’s breathe together, slowly, slowly,” Steve says, and starts inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, and despite the fact that he can’t still keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, Tony does as instructed, and calms down a bit. “There you go, you’re doing great. That’s really good, Tony, really good.”

Steve doesn’t touch Tony, but sits close to him and keeps guiding his breathing. When Tony opens his eyes he can’t quite look at Steve, but Steve grabs Tony’s shirt from the floor and offers it to him. Tony puts it on uncertainly.

“I’m going to the bathroom to get you some water, okay? I’m not leaving you, I’ll be back in a minute, is that alright?” When Tony nods, Steve gets up.

Tony takes the glass of water with trembling fingers, drinks it slowly. Steve passes him a damp towel, and he wipes at his face, the cold clearly soothing on his heated skin.

“Do you want to get up? Let’s get you to bed, okay? You can rest here, I won’t leave you,” Steve smiles, but Tony is still not looking at him, he keeps his head down like he’s ashamed. Steve guides him towards the bed, still without touching, waits for Tony to crawl under the covers, then walks to the other end of the room and puts on some clothes, drags a chair to the side of the bed. Suddenly, Tony speaks.

“Come here. Please?”

Tony’s voice is rough and cracks, but Steve leaves the chair and goes lay down next to him under the covers. They’re facing each other. Tony whispers, “Thank you,” and falls asleep.

When Steve wakes up, the sun is just coming up, and his bed is empty.

–

The next time Steve sees Tony it’s almost four days later, and Tony has apparently spent all that time in his workshop. He emerges one morning when Steve has just got back from his run and the kitchen is still deserted, except for a sad and sweaty super soldier who’s trying to beat some world record for how much water he can drink in one sitting. This is how Steve thinks of himself now. Mostly the sad part.

When Tony realizes who is in the kitchen, Steve can tell he wants to run away, but then he puts a chagrined smile on his face and soldiers through it. No one can say Tony Stark is anything but brave, or that he ever backs down from a challenge. They make small talk for a minute, exchange a few updates regarding the team. Tony makes himself a smoothie; Steve looks at him, his dirty shirt, his greasy hair, the blurred shape of his goatee, the streaks of motor oil covering his arms. Tony clearly only washed his hands with the dish soap he keeps in the workshop bathroom before coming up to the kitchen.

Steve’s heart is beating so fast. He’s in love, so sue him.

The words come out of his mouth before he can stop, before he even realizes he’s saying them. “I’m sorry about the other night.”

Tony puts his glass down on the counter with a soft thud and an air of finality, his shoulders tense up under Steve’s scrutiny. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes again and turns to look at Steve. “Thank you. For helping me,” he says, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat.

“No problem. I’m glad I could.”

Tony lowers his gaze again, but there’s a small, sincere smile on his face. He leaves without saying anything else, and Steve goes to his room to take a shower, and isn’t as sad anymore.

–

The next time it happens is almost two months later (yes, Steve was driving himself completely crazy wondering if Tony actually hated him now, if this whole thing between them had ended that night, with that mistake), and they make it to Tony’s bed by some miracle. It’s just after lunch when Steve goes up to the penthouse to tell Tony that Kamala texted saying she’s coming for dinner with her physics homework (“Urgh, her teacher is an incompetent and questions my methods.” “Most people are incompetent compared to you when it’s about physics, Mr. Big Brain.”) but at some point the conversation turns into Tony shoving his hand down Steve’s pants, which, okay, okay.

Tony is sucking on Steve’s neck, like he often does, and Steve places a hand on Tony’s ass and lifts him up, Tony puts his arms around Steve’s shoulders and his legs around Steve’s hips. Steve turns and presses Tony up against the nearest wall, breathing hard.

They look at each other. Steve leans up. Tony leans down.

They stop with their mouths separated by only an inch of thick, warm air. The moment breaks, Tony lets his forehead rest against Steve’s.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Steve says, he just can’t keep it in, doesn’t even really want to.

Steve leans back but doesn’t let Tony down, walks towards the bedroom still holding him up, lets them both fall heavily on the mattress.

When Tony enters Steve’s body this time the room is full of light.

Tony fucks Steve hard, and if he was a lesser man Steve might think the lack of finesse is a belated punishment for that unwelcome touch that still makes him feel guilty, but at this point he knows that’s just how Tony likes it. Steve likes it too.

He feels something touch his head, and through the dizziness of pleasure he realizes Tony is stroking his hair, staring at Steve’s hairline like it holds all the secrets of the universe, his bright eyes wide with wonder.

Something deep in Steve’s lower belly shatters, releases a spike of energy that rushes through him like an electric current, makes him shiver. Tony doesn’t stop thrusting, smears Steve’s come on his abs, rubs it up to his chest and oh god, this can’t get any dirtier, but it’s like the mere thought is a new challenge for Tony, who lifts his hand up and sucks his fingers into his own mouth, tasting the product of Steve’s pleasure like it’s a religious experience.

Steve stares up at Tony, completely rapt, and groans, Tony is still fucking into him relentlessly and there, there it is, Tony is tensing up and coming, eyes shut and teeth gritted, deep inside Steve. Tony buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and Steve caresses his back through the aftershock of his orgasm, murmurs it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay, tries not be overwhelmed himself by all of this.

Almost two minutes later and Tony’s body doesn’t seem to have any intention of stopping with the shaking, Tony is silent but his breathing is ragged and he’s still hiding his face in Steve’s neck. Steve can’t really tell how much time has passed, but it must be at least ten minutes before Tony stops trembling, his dick has long since softened and slipped out of Steve by itself. Tony gets up, doesn’t look at Steve, says, “God, I need a shower,” with a fake smile on his face, and goes into the bathroom without another word.

Steve starts gathering his clothes with a sigh and wipes Tony’s tears from his neck with the palm of his hand.

–

In the following weeks, Steve kind of goes through the motions when it comes to Tony. As usual, Tony acts normal with him, but Steve feels like some form of very delicate equilibrium has been broken, like Tony knows that crying during sex revealed something to Steve, something about this whole messed up thing between them, and Steve knows that Tony knows that Steve knows.

And there’s also the fact that Steve told Tony that he had missed him, revealing something himself despite the fact that Tony didn’t acknowledge it in any way.

The thing is, Steve can’t figure out what exactly the problem is. If there even is a problem. Maybe Tony simply doesn’t love him, considers this whole thing just casual sex, and there’s nothing deeper than that. Maybe Tony has sex-related traumas that he doesn’t want to talk to Steve about. Although this doesn’t fit the narrative of Tony Stark, playboy extraordinaire but… well, it’s not like the Captain America comic books are an accurate depiction of his life and character, so it’s pretty easy to dismiss it all as a press myth. Tony has been with Pepper, briefly… Steve tries to imagine how the sex could have been between them, but he feels uncomfortable and rude, so he stops that train of thought. It’s just…

In some way, it’s like Tony keeps testing himself, seeing what he can handle each time, experimenting like any scientist would. It’s not really about intimacy, Steve thinks, he’s pretty sure Tony would agree that you can touch someone’s soul while sucking them off, penetration isn’t some higher form of sex act. But the physical sensations are different. Erogenous zones and all that. And yes, Tony looks blissed out whenever Steve fucks into his mouth, but he’s pretty sure coming inside Steve made him feel a whole lot of new different things, from a purely sensual point of view.

So maybe it’s that. Maybe Tony is very sensitive, gets really overwhelmed and worked up during sex, to the point of tears, and needs to build trust, go slow, step by step.

But why doesn’t he want to kiss Steve? That still doesn’t add up. It makes no sense. It’s unlikely that it’s a germ thing, Tony has put his tongue inside Steve’s ass, and good God Steve still gets goosebumps thinking about that time.

So in the end, it’s just weird. But Steve decided long ago that he isn’t going to say anything about it, that he’s going to respect Tony’s boundaries and not ask about any of them. Not about the no kissing rule, not why he avoids looking at Steve, why he keeps as silent as possible, why there’s some unspoken law that forbids them both to talk about all of this. And Steve could, really, he could simply go fuck it all and just ask Tony, demand an explanation, he has the right to it. But he is scared. After that night when he triggered Tony’s panic attack (and Jesus, Steve would kick himself in the face if he could) he is afraid that the wrong word at the wrong time could put an end to this whole amazing clusterfuck. Like this, he still gets to be with Tony. Sporadically, quickly, with Tony acting as closed off as any human could possibly be during sex, but he gets something. Sure, he feels like he has to pick up the pieces of his soul every time and put them back together after the devastation laid by hurricane Tony, but still. It’s Tony. Steve can’t say no, can’t bring himself to do it. Doesn’t want to at all, actually.

So it goes on. Their activities vary now, depending mostly on the place they find themselves in, if they have lube on hand or not, if they have to be really quick about it because Fury is waiting for them in the conference room.

But Steve starts to wonder what it would be like to come inside Tony, you know, just because he really likes feeling like a kicked puppy, and because that’s the thing that never happens, and, sure, it could just be that Tony doesn’t like bottoming, plain and simple; not everything Tony does has some weird, hidden motivation that Steve isn’t privy to. But Steve wonders, and the more he wonders the more it doesn’t happen.

Until, well. It does.

It’s a rainy day. Big, dark clouds have been covering the sky since the early morning, the rain hasn’t let up for a moment, lightning and thunder chasing each other between the skyscrapers.

Steve has spent most of the day in his room, listening to the sound of the water hitting the windows, reading, catching up on work, getting so bored that he doesn’t even want to head down to the gym and let out some energy because he feels like he has no energy at all. He’s tired from doing basically nothing the whole day. He makes himself a sandwich and eats it while going through his sketchbook.

He draws the city skyline multiple times, using different styles and colors, but after a while his heart isn’t in it anymore, and he closes the sketchbook, puts it back in its drawer in the desk. Steve picks up his favorite pencil and walks to his bed. From the bottom drawer of his bedside table he takes out another sketchbook, hidden behind his socks. He leafs through it.

This is his guilty pleasure, his greatest shame, Steve doesn’t know how to define it. It’s where he draws Tony. Everything about Tony: his clever hands, his bright eyes, his nose, his hair, his face, his muscled shoulders, the arc reactor in his chest, the curve of his back, his wiry thighs, his lean legs, his bony feet. Tony hunched down at a table in his workshop with three thick books and four screens in front of him, Tony with his tongue poking out from his lips while he’s concentrating unscrewing something deep in the Iron Man armor, Tony covered in grease, Tony in the gym, Tony aiming repulsors at the Sinister Six, Tony in a designer suit at an Avengers press conference, Tony naked in the shower, Tony jerking off, Tony smiling, Tony crying, Tony with his head in his hands.

And then at some point, Steve started drawing himself. Just parts of his body at first, Tony’s lips around his dick, Tony stroking them both together, the drawing cutting at Steve’s chest. Then Steve started sketching his own face, with more and more details as the weeks went by and this sketchbook became more wish fulfillment than fixing memories to a page.

There’s them having sex, yes, in ways they have and in ways they haven’t (yet, Steve can’t help but hope). But mostly, there’s Tony staying. There’s Tony looking at him straight in the eye, Tony laughing while Steve’s inside him, there’s Tony with his mouth open in a moan, or a scream, Steve can’t decide. There’s Tony being the little spoon, Tony sleeping with his face buried in Steve’s ribs. There’s Tony waking up, Tony bringing breakfast in bed to Steve. There’s Tony offering Steve a flower, eyes bright with happiness and love. There’s the two of them out on a date, sitting at a fancy restaurant, and on the next page they’re at a crappy hole-in-the-wall italian place that Tony has randomly decided has the best tagliatelle al ragù in the city, while Steve just laughs because Tony thinks it’s cute to be this rich and eat there… except those actually end up being the best tagliatelle al ragù Steve has ever had.

There’s a love life that Steve dreams of, but doesn’t have. He has bits and pieces of it, but not the full picture. And this is the only way Steve can find to cope with the fact that he can’t have what he wants, and yet he still feels guilty about this, like these pages are some ugly part of him screaming that Tony isn’t enough, which is not true. Tony is everything to him. He’s his best friend.

Steve reaches a blank page and starts drawing some lines, with not much thought behind them. Someone knocks softly at his door. He closes the sketchbook and puts it under a pillow, goes to see who it is.

It’s Tony. He doesn’t look nervous, not exactly, but he’s usually more controlled than this. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a couple of days, which isn’t much for Tony’s standards, but his eyes are red, his head looks too heavy for his shoulders. He’s wearing a suit, one of Steve’s favorites, a light grey Tom Ford three-piece with two buttons, a white Yves Saint Laurent shirt underneath, the dark red Brunello Cucinelli silk tie, custom italian leather shoes. And really, the fact that Steve can be this accurate about Tony’s clothes… fuck.

Steve gestures for Tony to come into the room and Tony does, without saying anything, without really looking at Steve. He sits on the edge of Steve’s bed, fiddles with his tinted glasses in his hands for a few moments and then puts them in his pocket, sighs.

“They didn’t sign.”

Oh, so that’s why Tony is upset. The big I’m-buying-this-whole-grocery-store-chain-in-particular-because-I-saved-a-nine-year-old-girl-from-a-burning-building-once-and-she-told-me-she-was-alone-at-night-because-her-mom-was-working-shitty-hours-so-they-could-afford-food-and-I-just-couldn’t-fucking-stand-it business.

“I’m so sorry Tony. There’s nothing to do?”

“Nah, it’s actually not half as bad as my face makes it look. My guys are working on it, it’s just a legal hiccup, but I thought it was a done deal, so, you know.”

Tony shrugs and looks down at the carpet, Steve walks up to him, crouches down in front of him. Slowly, like Tony might break, like Steve’s heart might break, he places a hand on Tony’s knee. When Tony does nothing, Steve kneels between Tony’s legs, rests his cheek on the inner muscle of Tony’s thigh. Tony lifts his hand, uncertain, lets it hover in the air for a moment, then buries his fingers in Steve’s hair, kneads his scalp.

The life that Steve dreams of, the life that only exists between the pages of his secret sketchbook, the life that he keeps hidden in his sock drawer like a shameful secret, that life, suddenly materializes in Steve’s room. It’s in the heat radiating from Tony’s hand and into Steve’s head, it’s in the softness of Tony’s silk pants on Steve’s cheek, in Tony’s aftershave filling Steve’s nostrils, in Steve’s hand still resting on Tony’s knee, in the comfort of the silence between them, in the muscle memory that comes from knowing each other intimately, in the rain washing over the windows.

That life refuses to stay hidden, is called out of its drawer by tender touches and careful understanding. It claims its own existence, demands to be acknowledged, crashes into Steve’s room and makes the biggest mess possible, so it won’t go unnoticed again, so no one can pretend anymore. It wants to be real, so it makes itself real, despite all the precautions Steve had taken to ensure it would stay just a fantasy.

“I love you.”

It escapes Steve’s lips, like so many other things he shouldn’t have said; it slips away from his fingers like so many other things he shouldn’t have done.

Steve barely realizes that he said anything at all. It’s the other Steve, the one that is made of pencil lines and got his happily ever after with his Tony, that speaks through him, claims his place in the real world. A happiness made of paper and buried under cotton is not enough for him.

“What.”

Tony has tensed up, is pushing at Steve, wants to get up.

“What.”

Steve is still kneeling on the ground, he’s confused, trying to buy some time but… it’s done. It’s over.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m sorry, Tony, listen–”

“Why would you even say that?”

And that’s it, really. That’s the moment. To hell with it.

“Because it’s true. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me?”

And honestly, Tony doesn’t look mad. He looks sad, but also like he’s about to explode.

“You. You love me. As in. We are friends. Right?”

“No,” Tony’s face crumbles, and dammit, Steve keeps fucking this up, “I mean, yeah, we are friends, but I didn’t mean to say that I love you as a friend.”

“Then…?” Tony makes a face, like he really can’t think of any other possible option here.

“Tony,” Steve gets up from the floor and walks closer to Tony, takes his hands in his. Tony is numb and pliant, Steve could pick him up and place him over his shoulder with minimal resistance. Not the right mental image for the moment, but you get what your brain gives you. “I meant to say. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time, actually. Maybe even before that first time in the gym.”

And yeah, Tony’s head is definitely gonna explode. He puts a hand on his chest, over the arc reactor, and starts rubbing at it, loosens his tie with his other hand, undoes the first three buttons of his shirt. He walks over to Steve’s desk, takes his jacket off and carefully drapes it over the chair, then does the same with the vest. He goes back to sit on the bed, resumes rubbing at his chest.

Great. So now Steve gave Tony a heart attack.

Tony looks up. “You’re not joking, right?”

“No, Tony, I’m not,” Steve says, his voice soft and sad. He sits next to Tony, leans to the side to rest his head on Tony’s shoulder. Tony turns slightly to look at him, his lips brush on Steve’s hair.

Steve kisses Tony’s neck, slowly, as delicately as he can, his lips barely pressing at all over Tony’s skin. He works his way up over Tony’s jaw, his cheek, his ear, his temple, his forehead. Tony is like a puppet under Steve’s mouth, the only sign of acknowledgment comes from his barely-there breathing, the air still between his parted lips.

Tony closes his eyes.

Steve keeps kissing his face, the grey hair at Tony’s temples, the lines at the sides of his nose, the sharp edges of his goatee, the little dimples in his cheeks. It’s slow, but not uncertain, and Steve knows everything is going to shatter in a moment. Tony is letting him say goodbye.

Steve stops, leans back, looks at Tony even though Tony can’t look back right now. Says what must be said.

“I am in love with you, but I understand if you don’t feel the same way. We’ll work it out. Right?”

Tony is hesitant for a moment, then opens his eyes and looks at Steve.

“You gave me a yellow rose.”

What?

“What?”

“Months ago, after I bought you art supplies. You gave me a yellow rose. For friendship.”

“For– For gratitude and affection. It was supposed to mean affection.”

“It’s just that a yellow rose, you know, it’s not necessarily for romantic affect–”

“I left it on your pillow, Tony,” Steve takes his head in his hands, props his elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched low, sadness and resignation evident in the shape of his back. “God, what a mess,” he sighs and sits back up. “Anyway. I’m sorry. Really. I’m sure you have a lot of work to get back to so I won’t keep you.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Tony lowers his gaze, fiddles with his hands. Opens his mouth as if to say something else, then thinks better of it and closes it again.

Slowly, and very, very carefully, Tony reaches up to intertwine Steve’s fingers with his own, stares at their hands. Steve can’t breathe. This can’t possibly mean–

Tony leans in, kisses Steve at the corner of his mouth, Steve can barely feel it, it’s so delicate. Tony’s mustache tickles at Steve’s skin.

“Tony–”

“I lo–,” Tony pauses, grimaces, sighs, takes a couple of deep breaths, steadies himself, “I love you too. As in, I am in love with you. Too.”

It’s like a punch to the gut, if a punch to the gut was the best thing that could possibly happen to anyone and you spent the last two years dreaming of taking one from a very specific person.

Steve surges forward, places his hands on Tony’s neck, looks at his face searching for an answer to his question. Tony nods once, and Steve doesn’t need anything else.

The kiss is very slow at first, tentative, uncertain in a way they have never been when doing far less innocent things. Steve presses his lips to Tony’s, Tony’s scent fills his senses, makes him dizzy with desire, with happiness.

Tony opens his mouth just enough for Steve to catch his bottom lip between his, suck on it with the barest hint of teeth.

That’s what does it.

Tony kisses back, holds onto Steve as if he might run away, licks into his mouth like it’s the cure for every illness and Tony is the most sick man in the world.

Steve grabs at Tony’s clothes, yanks at his loosened tie, starts undoing Tony’s buttons but he’s not really in control of his strength at the moment and he feels some of them shatter between his fingers. Tony doesn’t seem to care, he’s pulling at Steve’s sweater like it personally offended him.

Steve breaks the kiss, stands up, undresses in under a minute like the perfect soldier he is, always quick and efficient when necessary. Tony just stares at him. Now he can.

“It’s the first time you’ve dared to look.”

Tony’s face falls, Steve didn’t want it to sound like an accusation but his brain is slow right now and he doesn’t really know how to phrase it better. Tony sighs.

“I know, I’m sorry, I just. That first time in the gym I just felt, well. You looked at me like you loved me, and I couldn’t risk believing that. So I tried to stop looking at you. I was afraid I’d let something stupid slip out of my mouth like I always do, so I kept my mouth shut too. It’s stupid, I know, I–”

“It’s not stupid. I mean, it’s ironic, really, that you didn’t consider the possibility that I looked at you like I loved you because I actually loved you, but to be honest… It’s such a you thing to do.”

Steve is smiling, easy and soft, still completely naked in front of Tony, and Tony can’t help but huff a small laugh in reply and shake his head.

Tony walks up to Steve, goes on his tiptoes so he can kiss him, takes his time, goes as deep as he can, presses his clothed body to Steve’s skin. When he pulls away, he lowers his head, looks at Steve’s chest, caresses it with his hand. He looks thoughtful, but Steve can’t say what he’s thinking about.

Tony walks to the chair he used as a valet stand and slowly takes off the rest of his clothes, arranging them with care. When he is finally naked he turns to look at Steve, who’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What? This is a nice suit, and you already ruined my shirt.”

They look at each other in silence for a few seconds, and then they can’t hold their laughter in anymore, they let it flutter over them, fill the room, die against the ceiling.

Steve takes a moment to look at Tony’s body as well, slides his fingers, feather-like, over his right arm, blue with half-healed bruises. The result of their last fight with Doom and his bots. Dear Victor is gonna pay for those the next time Steve gets his hands on him.

Tony lets Steve take his hand and guide him to the bed, falls on top of him and presses his hips into Steve, like he did that first time, and yet not at all like that first time. Steve groans, deep in his chest, and reaches into his nightstand for the bottle of lube he keeps there, in the first drawer. Steve passes the bottle to Tony, who takes it uncertainly, stares at it, sits up, then pushes it back into Steve’s hand.

“You don’t want to–”

“No, no, I do, I just. I was just wondering. Did you notice a, uh, a pattern, let’s say, to our activities.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t want to risk too much so I tried to see what I could handle each time,” Steve nods, so Tony continues, “But we never did it like–”

“I figured you prefer the other way.”

“Yeah, I– I don’t, I mean, I don’t have a strong preference, either way, it’s just that it– it can be– it can get too much for me so I–”

“Okay. Okay. So you want me–”

“Yeah, I want you to.”

“Come here.”

Tony crawls back on top of Steve, all hot skin and soft muscles, the hard edges of the arc reactor digging into Steve’s chest, Tony’s goatee scratching at his neck.

Steve holds Tony tight, his hands roaming on Tony’s back, down and up again and again. His body feels small against Steve’s, he is relaxed but there’s an underlying tension in his bones, Tony is trying to hide it but isn’t doing a very good job of it.

Tony dips his head down to kiss Steve, buries his hands in Steve’s hair to keep him in place.

Steve moves quickly, coats his fingers with lube, reaches down Tony’s body, smears lube between Tony’s cheeks and massages the puckered skin there before pushing one finger in. He looks at Tony’s face: his eyes are shut and his mouth closed tight, he’s holding his breath and has gone very stiff.

Well, that’s just not right.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” Steve’s voice is nothing but a murmur, but it latches onto something deep inside Tony, snatches the cap off everything Tony is trying to keep bottled up, releases all the tension at once: Tony’s eyes fly open and he stares at Steve, his mouth twists in a gasp, his breathing becomes ragged and shallow with pleasure, his body goes limp, melts in Steve’s arms.

Tony moans, loud and deep and so unlike anything Steve is used to hear from him, so different from that one other time he got to do this to him, before, when Tony got so worked up that he could barely stand Steve’s touch. Steve pushes his finger deeper inside Tony, experimentally, looks, transfixed, at Tony’s face, every breath and moan and groan like a declaration of trust, a promise, a commitment.

Steve slides another finger in, and Tony bites at his skin, and Steve almost comes right then and there.

Steve takes his time fingering Tony, slowly, but he knows what he’s doing now and there’s no hesitation in his movements, pushes deep and deep and deep as far as he can go, as far as Tony can take it. There are tears in Tony’s eyes, and Steve pulls him in, hugs him even tighter with his free arm.

“Hey. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he whispers an inch from Tony’s mouth and Tony just looks at him, completely lost, sweat peppering his forehead, pooling at the hollow of his throat. Steve sucks at it, savors the salty taste of Tony’s skin. “I’m not leaving you. I’m here. I love you.”

Tony sobs, lets a tear roll down his face, musters up all the strength he has left in him, all his brainpower, and pushes out the words like it hurts to say them but he has to nonetheless, “Love you, too.”

Steve is not a poet, he is versed in different kinds of art, but this is it, this must be what centuries of literature are about: holding someone, that someone holding you back, promises of never letting go.

They stay like that for a while, with no rush, Steve working Tony open with clever and deliberate flicks of his wrist. Tony’s inner walls feel hot and tender against Steve’s fingertips, and when he finds Tony’s prostate he rubs at it very gently, just once, and Tony jerks in his arms, his whole body shudders and Steve holds him through it all, true to his promise. When Tony seems to relax again, Steve goes back to the knot of muscle deep inside him, and the more Steve touches it, the more Tony gets used to the sensation, handles it better, with deep groans leaving his chest to die into Steve’s mouth, against his skin.

“Okay, you feel ready to me, what do you think?” Tony’s eyes go wide and he almost looks worried for a moment, like he didn’t expect that all the things they did up to this point would actually lead to this.

“If you don’t want to anymore or you changed your–”

“I want to. I want to. I haven’t changed my mind. It’s just–”

“I know, I know.”

Tony smiles.

Steve rearranges their bodies on the bed, lifts Tony like he weighs nothing to him (he doesn’t) and makes him lie down on his back. Steve hovers over him, balancing himself up with one arm on the mattress. He takes the base of his dick with his other hand, lines himself up, looks down at Tony’s lap and–

“You’re not hard anymore.”

“I’m not thirty-five anymore.”

Steve huffs a small laugh through his nose, shakes his head, worry leaving his face as quickly as it clouded it; he doesn’t really need more explanation than that. Tony nods at him, a silent go on, it’s fine.

He stares into Tony’s eyes while he pushes in painstakingly slow, and stops when the crown of his dick catches at Tony’s rim. When he feels the ring of muscles’ initial resistance finally give in, he releases the breath he was holding, tries to follow his own advice and relax, calm down a bit, but–

He is inside Tony. For the first time. And already he wants to crawl into Tony and stay there forever, doesn’t want to leave if it means that this is gonna stop, that he won’t feel like this all the time. He feels euphoric. He feels a kind of happiness he didn’t know humans could feel, didn’t know existed at all. Having sex with Tony has always been incredible, heady, an impossible mix of wild emotions that Steve didn’t know how to control. But this. This is love.

In every drop of sweat, in every soft touch and whispered word, in every shallow breath and deep kiss, in Tony’s tears, in his soft dick and his jokes about his age, in their quick understanding of each other, in their smiles and playful banter, in every careful explanation, in every tiny hesitation that disappears when one hand holds the other, when their eyes meet, in all of that– there’s love.

And Steve can only marvel at how easy it is to love Tony now that he knows he’s loved back: before, everything felt confusing, and complicated, and impossible, but now, this seems like the most effortless thing to do.

Tony is staring back up at him, so intense he seems intent to make up for all those times when he refused to look at Steve as if it might burn him, scar him forever; now it’s as though looking at Steve is everything that has ever mattered to him, everything that has ever had any consequence at all in the world, like Steve is the solution to every problem, the answer to every question, the cure for all his aches. Being the focus of this kind of attention makes Steve’s head spin.

He resumes pushing into Tony, very slowly, still lost in Tony’s eyes, in this infinite moment where nothing matters except them, their eyes meeting, their souls melting into one. When Steve bottoms out Tony lets out a sob, and a few more tears spill freely from the corner of his eye and down his temple, in his hair, on the pillow. Steve leans down, kisses Tony’s face, kisses his tears, his mouth. Tony kisses back and it feels like that now he has started he never wants to stop.

Tony places one hand on Steve’s bicep, meaning move, and Steve does. He starts slow, letting Tony get used to it, pulls almost all the way out and then pushes back in, over and over again, with heavily controlled movements. The air catches in Tony’s chest, he gasps a few times, Steve keeps looking at him because he loves him, because he wants to make sure all Tony’s reactions come from pleasure and not pain or discomfort. Tony seems to not care either way, like he would take anything right now as long as it comes from Steve, and this level of trust scares Steve for a moment, makes him feel unworthy and unfit, undeserving, like it’s inevitable that he’s going to screw this up eventually and betray it, betray Tony, until-

“St– Steve,” Tony grunts, and just like before Steve feels like Tony’s making a huge effort to drive those words out, but he’s still hell-bent on doing it. His Iron Man, through and through.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

“I’ve– I’ve got you, too.”

There he is, the golden avenger to the rescue, always ready to catch Steve when he falls, whether it is from a high building or in a dark pool of self-doubt and fear. Steve strokes Tony’s hair, kisses him again, a way to say thank you more than anything else.

He suddenly wonders if the rhythm of his thrusts is good to Tony, if he likes to be fucked the same way he likes to fuck, hard and fast and rough. Before Steve has time to decide and do something, Tony croaks, “M-more lube, please?” and Steve doesn’t need to be told twice: he palms at the mattress to retrieve the bottle, sits up, uncaps it, aims, squirts a good amount of lube right on his dick, and proceeds to fuck it right into Tony. Tony seems to be left speechless by Steve’s actions, but then he moans so loudly Steve wonders if someone is gonna hear them from the gym, three floors down, soundproofed walls be damned.

“Ah– faster,” Tony says, so the answer to Steve’s question is: yes .

Steve speeds up, and with his thrusts Tony’s breath quickens too, every push of Steve’s hips matched by a moan. He’s so loud. Steve is so happy.

Steve braces himself on the bed, his hand right next Tony’s head. Tony grabs his wrist and squeezes, and Steve fucks into him faster, and harder, and as rough and careful as he can be at the same time.

Tony screams. Steve swallows it all in a kiss and comes, hard, deep inside Tony, all his love and care and affection gather in his lower belly and transform into a shock of energy that runs through him head to toe, makes his muscles spasm and shake uncontrollably, his vision goes white and he distantly feels Tony’s short nails scratch at his back, his other hand still tight around Steve’s wrist.

Steve comes around, the fog slowly clearing from his head, and he sits up, pulls out of Tony inch by inch. He looks at Tony’s lap and his dick isn’t as soft as before, but it’s not even half-hard. Tony looks down at himself.

“Yeah, that’s. That’s normal. Just give me a minute, ‘kay?” Steve nods, wonders if he can touch Tony or it would be too much. “Can I touch you?” he asks, because there’s no point in not doing it. Tony makes a gesture with his hand.

Steve slides down the bed, between Tony’s legs, hooks one arm around Tony’s thigh and places the other on Tony’s groin, thumbs at his balls, and with deliberate movements takes Tony’s soft dick into his mouth.

Tony emits a pitiful whine, shudders, but not in a way that tells Steve he wants him to stop. Steve sucks delicately, lets saliva trickle down past his lips, bobs his head up and down and feels one of the most incredible things he has ever felt, possibly even better than coming inside Tony just now: he feels Tony’s dick become hard in his mouth.

And seriously: he can’t believe Tony trusts him this much that he would share this with him, this awkward confession about himself, this shameful and embarrassing weakness, this humiliating sign of age and change and mortality.

But the only thing Steve can really think is: I hope one day he will do the same for me, I hope we will reach that day together, I hope we will still want to do this, in any way we can. I hope we will still be in love. It makes him tear up.

Steve frees his hand from under Tony’s thigh and catches Tony’s hand in his own, holds onto him, now, and for as long as Tony will let him. Slowly, Steve starts stroking Tony’s pubic hair, his balls, slides down to thumb in circles at his perineum, and when he feels like Tony is truly losing it, Steve pushes two fingers inside him, meeting no resistance at all, lube and his own come gushing out of Tony, coating Steve’s hand, making a mess of his sheets.

Steve establishes a fast rhythm with his head, just the way he knows Tony likes it, hollows his cheeks and sucks hard, keeps his teeth covered with his lips, uses every trick he knows, everything he has picked up from Tony or looked up on the internet; he doesn’t stop fucking Tony with his fingers, and after a while Tony lets out a long, guttural groan, ripped off from deep in his chest, and comes down Steve’s throat, while Steve has to keep Tony’s legs still, so he doesn’t kick Steve or hurts himself while he shakes, violently, tears streaming down his face. Mindless of Tony’s come dripping down his chin, Steve crawls up on top of Tony, careful not to crush him with his weight but still determined to hold him through the aftershock of his orgasm. It takes minutes before Tony comes down from the rush, and he’s still oversensitive when Steve tries to stroke his arm, but he smiles sweetly at Steve, one eye open and the other closed, and curls up with his head under Steve’s armpit, happy, sated, blissed-out.

Steve knows from the rhythm of his breathing that Tony isn’t asleep, and after a few minutes of silence and overthinking he decides that he’s gonna ask Tony, after all.

“So you didn’t kiss me, before, because…?”

“’Cause if I started I’d never stop. It’d have felt too real. Harder to pretend it was just sex.”

“Real clever. You must be a really smart guy.”

“Well. I’m Mr. Big Brain.”

Steve tips Tony’s head up with a finger under his chin, and kisses him.

–

Steve is in his room, gathering the last of his clothes. He hasn’t slept here in months, but moving all his stuff to the penthouse has been a slow process, even though he doesn’t even own that much stuff.

He empties his drawers, and when he reaches the last one – the one that used to contain all his socks but now only has the old ones he always avoids wearing because the elastic band is loose after washing them too many times but he can’t decide to throw them away – he realizes that something is missing.

His secret sketchbook isn’t there anymore. He panics for a moment, then remembers where he left it the last time. He looks around, and there it is, under the bed, fallen there from under his pillow through the space between the mattress and the headboard. He picks it up with a smile on his face.

He’s gonna show it to Tony later.

#stevetony #stevextony #stony #superhusbands #my writing #mine*

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ziggory · 7 years ago

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Riverdale Liveblog 2x08 - House of the Devil

Sooooooo, I heard there’s no Kevin in this episode. No silent!Kevin. No background!Kevin. No abruptly-cut-off-after-his-only-line!Kevin. So yeah, that’s hard for me. I hope he lead a successful campaign against the Kingdom of Theodore or whatever he did off-screen

Anyways, onward!

I hope Debbie Pelt and her horrible crimped fringe comes back in this episode

The sight of Jughead writing in the Whyte Wyrm is perfect, and I love it. I see you Christmas lights!

Sex montage. Great. That xenomorphs line was much appreciated

Death Makes Life Possible bdum-tsh (this is a dumb in-joke of mine. This is horrible documentary. Please don’t watch it if a loved one has recently died unless you want to laugh so as to ease the pain)

It’d be funny if Veronica’s next sexual partner is a lousy lay

Dun DUN DUNNNNN!! Of course it’s the same house and the story from creepy Farmer Candyman McGinty checks out

Maybe Betty can’t go to Sheriff Daddy Keller, but someone else could! Don’t cross out your resources!

Overcrowding saves the day, eh

I think it’s hilarious that Varchie also finds it weird that they’re being asked to look into the case

Oh, Cheryl. I don’t think it’s going to work out for you

GO AWAY JANITOR SVENSON!! Go grow a mustache and a thicker Swedish accent

Ofc Cheryl’s towel is red

NOOOOOO, COME BACK SHERIFF KELLER!! This is so unfair, and I’m being punished. But lol, did he call her “Ronnie”? How cute! And you know she’s still shook because she’s imagining what’s underneath that uniform... Lmao, I really am going to download this episode for that one fucking scene

They want Archie as additional protection after the disaster of the Red Circle?? Then again, I guess Hiram instigated that. He knows how much of a malleable tool Archie is

I’m really glad the Whyte Wyrm doesn’t have to worry about losing their liquor license because of the presence of underage minors. It helps with the five thousand fic ideas I have! And yay for that Sweet Pea solidarity

“I LOVE YOU” drama is the most boring drama!! I hate it every time it pops up in a show I watch!!

Hey, Fred! It’s been awhile. How’s that opioid addiction going?

Lmao at Hiram preferring that Archie keep the “l” word out his mouth

FAlice rhymes with phallus, right?

YAAAAAS AT THIS RETURN OF SHERIFF KELLER

Lol, so I guess this is finally the explanation for why he takes case files home with him. Though he probably still takes too much home.

Sheriff Howard, eh? ARE WE SURE HE’S REALLY DEAD!?!? Well as many murderboards as Keller makes, I don’t think we have to worry about him losing his mind since he won’t ever get to solve any of these season mysteries. But if he wants to take up shirtless night jogging to clear his mind, I’m all eyes

The Jones men took this drive just so they could have a pretty place to talk, eh. JUGHEAD YOU FUCKING DOPE. Oh, the joys of being 16, I guess. And heck yeah, he’s been writing every day!

Oh hey there, subtle return of Josie/Reggie. And oh, Cheryl. I don’t think it’s going to work for you

The dorky Pop’s uniform has not killed the hotness.

“A LEADER OF MEN” Oh, you precious doof. Those rose tinted glasses are just welded on, aren’t they

Toni is a bartender??? I LOVE IT. Give me more of this weird ass worldbuilding. None of my fics can even COME CLOSE to touching the actual canon weirdness

BETTY, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?!? ABORT! ABORT!

Poor, Toni for having to do that dance especially after trying to get rid of it as an initiation thing. Ew. She really would watch Mindhunter in fits and spurts! Because I know I can only take so much of Fincher jerking off to having serial killers refer to women as “cunts” every other word. But I‘m sad that ofc female recruits don’t get to the beat the shit out of each other and instead do a ~sexy dance

Lol, fuck you, Debbie! You’re amazing, and I love it

Jughead, you sitting down with Mayor McCoy ain’t going anywhere. Maybe if you knew about her little affair but nahhhh, that drama is being saved for some other rainy day

“Fetching”, eh. LMAO at the idea of Betty being the “soft underbelly”. Jughead is his own soft underbelly

THIS IS SOME IN COLD BLOOD SHIT!!

Yes, Veronica! Put those pieces together! Apparently, the cloak is a clear signal of getting prime Veronica awesomeness

Why can’t Kevin be in this scene. He helped last season! Let him help this season! I just...want him to be involved

Yessss, I’m loving Veroncia being so absorbed in the case! No time for your stupid love drama, Archie!

Why would you come for the poor janitor like that. God, this poor dude wins for most traumatic backstory. And a fucking random was the Riverdale reaper? Oooo, mob justice. No wonder Sheriff Howard went crazy, lol. Maybe that’s why Sheriff Keller tried to nip the Red Circle in the bud since he doesn’t want his retirement being forced the same way, ha

Veronica’s parents are fine with her going to a biker bar?? And ouch, that sucks to realize your parents are in a loveless marriage.

FRED IS OKAY WITH THIS TOO!?!? Do you remember the last time your son was at this particular location!?!?

I want that neon Serpent sign

This is like some True Blood shit. Please lean more into this trashiness.

I guess Betty will be Alice’s DD

This is like a flashback to “A kid is DEAD, Archie!”

Lmao at all the Serpents booing them for leaving the stage. They understand the first rule of karaoke!

BETTY, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!!!?!?!? I almost choked on my phlegm

LMAO, is this when the nameless deputies of Riverdale burst in!?!?

A long day in hell before a snake lets a pig tell ‘em what to do? Well that’s some fuel for my FP/Sheriff Keller hatesex ideas. I also still yearn for Jughead&Kevin friendship. Just..anything that utilizes Kevin more in regards to this understandable animosity

Ohhhhhh, FP. I know why you did what you did, but it still hurt

I’ve been wanting Veronica to be free so I’m good with this. I guess Andre’s skill in “the martial arts” allowed him to defend the idling town car in the parking lot

Oh no, not the tears. They make her eyes even bigger. Just ouch in general

And oooooh boyyyyy, that Barchie setup, lmao

Well this is what happens when Kevin is just randomly missing from the action. Whatever, just give me Christmas Kevin!!

#long post #Riverdale liveblog #Sheriff Keller #Riverdale #FP Jones #Janitor Svenson

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justsomebucky · 8 years ago

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The Only Exception (Part 10)

Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,937 (End!)

Warnings: language, fluff, it’s an innocent lil epilogue

A/N: Sorry I get so cheesy in this space. Thank you to the people who encouraged me along the way, most of you total strangers who didn’t need to stop and take time out to do so, but did it anyway because you’re good people. Thanks to the other writers who sympathized with and cheered for me, I adore you. This is dedicated to you empathetic, beautiful people.

Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

Six months later…

The lobby of the Red Wing Community Center was tremendously crowded, and for that you were grateful. You’d only caught a glimpse as you walked past, but it was more than enough to make tonight’s dedication ceremony that much more exciting.

As you walked back to your office, you thought about all you’d gone through to get to this point. So much had happened in your life, and you felt like a completely different person now, for the better. You were leading your own group and one-on-one sessions now, and you really felt like you were finally getting a chance to make use of all that training and empathy you’d accumulated over the years.

Maria had been given a psych evaluation that yielded some interesting (read: alarming) results, so she was now in a treatment facility designed for criminals. It was better to have her there than roaming free to hurt others, and rotting in prison without working out her issues would have been useless.

You hoped she would someday feel sorry for the harm she caused to everyone.

It turned out that Leah’s unemployment stint led her to a new job with the New York Yankees organization. Rumor had it that she was also sleeping with one of the top stars of the moment.

May Parker’s employment was terminated when Tony Stark dissolved September Media. You hadn’t heard a peep about her since.

Scott Lang was now no longer reporting on engineering feats, he was designing them himself under Stark Industries.

Bucky’s surrogate mother found solace in becoming the head cook at the new kitchen for the less fortunate members of the community center, which was part of tonight’s dedication ceremony.

Bruce Banner became a top investigator at his station. His research skills helped save many lives since this promotion, and Brooklyn had never felt safer.

Steve and Natasha were still a thing, and you knew from a little birdie that Steve was looking for a bigger place for the two of them to move into together. It wasn’t easy keeping that a secret from your best friend, but you were getting pretty good at no longer spoiling things for other people.

You smiled to yourself as you flipped the light switch, illuminating your renovated office.

The two of them were cute, sure, but you knew someone even more adorable. You walked over to the wall behind your desk, where a calendar was hanging next to your trauma certifications and degrees.

The featured image for May was a woman you hadn’t met yet, but she looked damn good standing in her firefighter uniform and holding a big brown puppy. The New York fire stations all did charity calendars benefiting Brooklyn non-profits. Steve and Bucky’s station was going to make a calendar to benefit the community center, but you convinced them not to after your grand idea came into play.

Instead, they did a charity calendar for the local animal shelter, and it sold so fast they had to order more prints. Every single firefighter there posed with animals that were up for adoption, and you absolutely adored it. You had a copy for work, and one in almost every room of your new apartment (except the bathroom, because that would be really weird).

You flipped the calendar to Steve’s Mr. July picture, complete with a bunch of golden retriever puppies all dressed in red, white, and blue ribbons. Natasha had almost passed out when she saw it.

That wasn’t even the best part. No, your favorite was Mr. October. When you got to that page, you grinned at the photo of Bucky in nothing but his pants, suspenders, and fireman’s hat, holding a tiny orange kitten in his muscular right arm, and a tiny black kitten in his left. They were posed around pumpkins for a Halloween theme.

You couldn’t wait for October.

“Could you please stop ogling me? It’s embarrassing.”

You let go of the calendar page and turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway, shaking his head at you.

“I just really love kittens and Halloween,” you joked, moving around your desk to stand in front of him. “I can’t help it that you’re in the picture, too.”

“Funny.” Bucky reached for you, grabbing you by the hips to pull you closer to him. He leaned over and brushed his nose with yours, then placed a sweet kiss on your lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck. “How was your shift?”

He shrugged. “Nothing too dangerous.”

“Good. This city had better keep my hot fireman safe.”

Bucky was your biggest source of comfort and strength in the months following Maria’s arrest. He never pushed you, never expected anything out of you, but instead was simply there for you when you needed someone. He helped build your confidence back up.

Along the way, you found yourself genuinely falling for him. It was more than the bar date had been; that was just banter and flirting, you knew that now. No, this was blossoming more every day into something incredible.

This time around, you and Bucky had a partnership.

“You see the crowd out there?”

You nodded. “Sam is beside himself. There’s so much attention on the center now, he’s going to have to hire another assistant.”

“Maybe an intern? Steve knows this kid from Queens who seems really caring, like he wants to help people.”

“Tell him to talk to Sam.” You reached up and brushed his hair back. “I guess we should be going, they’re going to be expecting us.”

“You,” Bucky corrected, his blue eyes bright as a proud smile formed on his face. “They’re expecting you, Doll. Not me. You’re the one who brought this all together.”

“I had help. I couldn’t have done any of this without Sam and Mr. Stark.”

“And his money, don’t forget.”

“That too.”

After Tony Stark offered to find you a new place to live (and you now lived in a top-floor, elevator-accessible apartment in Williamsburg, a much nicer part of your beloved Brooklyn), he wanted to know what else he could do to make things right.

There was only one thing you could think of. Money wouldn’t change what happened to you. Money couldn’t take away the pain Maria caused.

It could, however, improve the lives of a shit load of New Yorkers who needed the help.

Sam’s center ran almost entirely off of funding from generous donors. You knew he had a wish list of additional programs he wanted to start, as well as other helpful improvements to the center itself. One of them was the soup kitchen. Expanded group rooms, temporary housing for domestic violence victims, a new gym and rehabilitation center for injured vets and first responders, and on-call support staff were a few of those things.

Now, thanks to Tony’s generosity, they were becoming a reality, and you couldn’t be happier for Sam.

“Y/N? You look lost in thought aga-“

You interrupted Bucky by brushing your lips across his again, having spent far too long talking and thinking instead of kissing. It was hard to find time for yourselves lately, with all the extra work you had to do for the center, and all the crazy shifts Bucky was on.

Bucky seemed to agree with this new direction. He pressed closer to you as he deepened the kiss, his fingers digging into your hips just a little. The two of you were so lost in each other that you didn’t hear Sam until he cleared his throat in exaggeration.

You and Bucky pulled apart, sheepishly turning to look at him.

“They’re about ready, if you two are done playing tonsil hockey,” Sam said. “Y/N, I want you to be at the front and center, if you would.”

“Nah, Sam. This is your dream. This is your hard work. You deserve it.” You smiled at your friend, mentor, and boss. “Helping people is the only thing I ever wanted, and you gave me a chance to do it. Anything else I do for you is just me trying to return the favor.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re something else, Y/N.” He turned, motioning for you to follow.

Bucky took your hand in his as the two of you walked behind Sam to the main lobby, where a crowd of supporters, neighbors, and press were gathered to watch Sam and Tony Stark cut the ribbon on the expanded facility. You found a spot off to the side so you could get some good pictures on your phone.

“He’s right, you know,” Bucky murmured in your ear.

“Hmm?” You stood on your tiptoes to try to see if Tony was there yet, and bit back a grin when you saw him shake hands with Sam.

Bucky continued talking. “Although, you aren’t just something else to me. You’re everything. I love you so much.”

You turned to look at him with wide eyes, feeling a little speechless.

Bucky’s eyes were sparkling as he lifted a hand to cup your cheek gently. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m not just saying it to say it, either. I’ve been thinking about it for a couple months now, but you’ve been so busy with these amazing projects…anyways, I just wanted you to know that I love you.”

He dropped his hand from your face and shoved both hands into his pockets, turning to face the front where Sam and Tony were ready to cut the ribbon.

He was so casual about it, you wondered for a moment if you imagined it all.

Did he just…?

You heard Sam’s voice as he thanked everyone for coming, and then thanked Tony for his generosity. It all became white noise as you focused on the man beside you.

This wasn’t some blundered attempt at making up. This wasn’t a cover-up for a mistake. It wasn’t a last-ditch effort to not lose you.

He really did mean it.

From where you started with Bucky and where you were now, it seemed like there was a whole lifetime in between. There were moments of happiness and sadness, tragedy and triumph…moments you’d love to forget, and moments you’d cherish forever.

That was the point of anything, wasn’t it? To live life to the fullest? To take the good with the bad, and find someone to walk beside you along the way?

Not one human is flawless; everyone has both a good side and bad side. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how you use those mistakes, how you learn from them, that shape you into a better person.

You’d been reading about other people’s romances your whole life, while slowly developing that now-infamous cynical attitude toward all of it. Deep down, though, your heart had always longed for a love life worthy of a Jane Austen novel. Hell, for a while there, you were even willing to settle for a little Sophie Kinsella-type romance. But what you really ended up with was more like that bastard Nicholas Sparks, with his flair for melodrama and deep connections.

You pulled Bucky’s hand out of his pocket and gripped it tightly in your own, causing him to look at you in surprise.

The two of you locked eyes as if you were the only two in the room. It was straight out of Pride and Prejudice movie or something, when Elizabeth stares at Darcy while they’re dancing. Only you weren’t dancing, and this wasn’t a romance from classic literature.

This was real.

There was a brief pause before you finally found the courage to let the words slip.

“I love you, too.”

Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

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