#steven looks absolutely cursed

[lost-doctor-who]

Official confirmation on an animation for The Celestial Toymaker.

[tearsofthekabak]

(It's not enough to make the barbies kiss, I'm mooshing them together like clay until there is only one)

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry.

Synopsis - The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. steve's got an ego, but for good reason.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 2k

Author's Note - hi lovelies!! my first steve fic!! listen, I actually really didn't enjoy stranger things, but... I love this man. he's charming and he's a softie and he's such a good character to write. hope you enjoy this - it's got me all warm and fuzzy. please feel free to send me a christmas request if you fancy, I'm in the mood to write some seasonal fics. much love, always!! <3

as always, reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics!! please, if you enjoyed, consider reblogging this so it gets further reach. comments and feedback are always appreciated!! thanks, angels. <3

Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Masterlist. Inbox. The Moodboard. Series Masterlist.

Three rocks ping off the panes of your bedroom window in quick succession.

You're applying your moisturiser in the mirror, winding down and almost ready for bed. Your reflection is illuminated by a faint glow from the fairy lights you've draped over the headboard for the festive season, warm and comforting. A soft, jazzy melody is drifting from the radio softly, a welcome noise to break up the silence.

Another rock hits your window.

You fly out of your seat and towards the source of the trouble, worried that he's going to throw one too hard one of these days.

"Steve," you hiss as you yank it open. "Cut it out. Just come through the door."

"Where's the fun in that?" he chuckles, eyes rife with mischief.

You roll your eyes but step back anyway, making room for him to climb the tree and dive through the window into your room.

"Hi, sugar."

"Hi, Steven."

He grins at you, bright and awake despite the late hour.

"Don't you have better plans on a Friday night, King Steve?"

"And miss out on seeing you in your little pink pyjamas? Absolutely not."

You shove at his chest, smacking him upside the head for good measure. He feigns pain and wraps his arms around your middle, picking you up off the ground and spinning you in circles. You shriek, and the sound makes him laugh.

"Okay, okay! I'm dizzy! Put me down!"

He obliges by throwing you unceremoniously onto your bed, smirking when you almost bounce off it.

"So," he begins, sitting down across from you. "How was it? Do you feel like a whole new woman?"

You scoff.

"What? That bad?"

"Yeah, that bad. We didn't even do it."

He quirks a brow in curiosity, tilting his head to look at you.

"I thought tonight was the big night?"

"Yeah, it was supposed to be. But he was kissing me, and it just didn't feel... right? He started grabbing at me and I realised that you can only lose your virginity once - and that definitely wasn't how I wanted to lose mine."

You shrug, trying to play indifference, but Steve can see the hurt in your eyes.

"You always deserved so much better than him."

"Thanks, Steve."

"Come on, Cherry. The guy is an asshole who happens to be attractive. His face is the only thing he's got going for him."

The mention of your childhood nickname has memories of fruit flavoured popsicles on summer days flooding back. Laughter by the pool, pushing Steve in and screeching when he dragged you with him, staying out in the sun until you were both exhausted. Cherry. You've always been Steve's Cherry, for as long as you can remember. You still wear the lip balm he bought you last year, fitting for your moniker.

"You didn't like him from the start. Actually, you've never liked any guy that has ever liked me."

"Because they're not good enough for you."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"And you're the boss of me and my love life now?"

"I'm the person that knows you better than anyone in the entire world. I think I have a pretty good view on things."

You huff, but accept your defeat in knowing that he's right. No one knows you like him. Steve always does this. He pisses you off, but makes you love him a tiny bit more each time.

He grabs your foot from the bed, pressing his thumbs into your sole. You relax instantly, tired of half arguing with him.

"I give up."

"With what?"

"Dating. Fuck it."

He chuckles, rubbing soothing patterns into your ankle gently.

"You've barely even started."

"Ooo, sorry Mr Womaniser."

"Stop it," he chides, pinching your calf. "Maybe The One for you just isn't in Hawkins. This place has always been too small for us anyway."

"Yeah, maybe. It'll all change when we go to college, hopefully."

"Exactly. It'll be a whole different ball game. There'll be tonnes of hot guys begging for your attention."

"And you'll be fighting them off."

"Yes I will."

You laugh, poking him in the chest with your foot teasingly.

"And maybe the college guys will actually know what they're doing in bed."

"Hey, some of us do know!"

"Yeah yeah, Steve's good in bed. I've heard it all before."

"Don't be jealous, Cherry baby."

"Jealous isn't quite the word I'd use."

"No?"

He drops your foot and scoots closer, settling in between your parted legs.

"You're not even a little bit curious what all the rumours are about?"

"Steve," you laugh. "I think they're probably just exactly that. Rumours."

He inches in towards you, so his forehead is almost touching yours. Running his fingers up and down the outside of your thigh, he takes a deep breath in.

"You should let me show you just how much I know. We're not all clueless, Cherry. I'm confident I could make you feel good."

You exhale with a shudder.

"I'm not letting you take my virginity, Steve."

"I don't want to. There's a thousand ways I can make your legs shake without fucking you, baby."

You stare into his big doe eyes, admiring the way a single strand of hair has fallen across his forehead. You look for a shred of doubt, or amusement, but all you see is love. Admiration. Trust. Sincerity.

"Okay," you breathe, before your mind has truly processed what you're saying. "Show me what you got, Harrington."

He grins, slow and saccharine, like the cat who got the cream.

"Steve?" you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't going to fuck things up between us, is it?"

He smiles, big and bright.

"Never. Nothing is ever going to fuck things up between us. It's you and me forever, Cherry Pie."

You chuckle at the nickname, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

"Well, then what are you waiting for?"

He shakes his head and grabs your ankle, pulling you across the bed and into his body. Wrapping a hand around the back of your neck, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"If at any point this gets weird, or you don't like it... Just say the words, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe, inhaling the scent of mint from his tongue. "Promise."

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't usually ask," you tease.

It's no secret that you and Steve have kissed a few times. Once after prom, once at a party here and there, once when you were cuddled in bed comforting him after a break up. But it's never led to anything more. Which is probably why this feels a little different.

"I know, but this is a little more... intense, than usual."

You try to ignore the way your heart swells at his consideration for you, and nod your head gently.

"Kiss me. Please."

Steve wastes no time, leaning in to press his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint and soda, with a hint of the cherry lipbalm he steals from your nightstand. You instinctively shuffle closer to him, straddling his lap as his arms bracket themselves around you. It's like he can't decide where to put his hands - they're roaming up your back, squeezing your ass, kneading your thighs. He's antsy and impatient, eager to feel you.

"Lie back," he whispers against your mouth, tipping you onto the bed.

Your head hits your pillows and you crane your neck to watch him as he crawls down your body, eyes never leaving yours.

"Steve-"

"Stop thinking so hard, Cherry. I can practically hear your thoughts."

You huff but can't keep the smile off your face, willing your mind to stop racing.

"Let me quiet things down, hmm?"

Steve presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up and up until he reaches your hip. He licks across your hipbone before nipping it with his teeth, smirking when you gasp.

Grasping the waistband of your pyjama shorts, he asks for permission with his eyes, no words needed. You nod and lift your hips, letting him slide them down your body.

You've never been so exposed, which is causing a sudden realisation that the two of you are crossing a line that can never be uncrossed. As if he can read your mind, Steve presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, tender and full of love.

"Babe, if you want to stop..."

"I don't, I promise. I'm just nervous. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," he murmurs, resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. "Never apologise. You're doing so good, Cherry. I love you."

You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't I love you. You've both said it to each other a million times, but something about saying it in this exact moment makes it feel... weighted. You'll talk about it later. You'll make sure of it.

"I love you too. So much."

You're whispering, scared to ruin the peace you've created. Steve kisses your skin again gently, gazing at you like you've hung the stars just for him.

"Let me make you feel good, okay?"

When you nod, Steve nudges your core with his nose, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you anchored in place.

"So pretty," he's mumbling. "Prettiest fuckin' girl I've ever seen."

He starts slow, easing you in carefully. Kitten licks and gentle nips, testing the waters. When you tangle a hand into his hair and tug, Steve gets the message.

"You want more, pretty baby?"

"Yes," you confirm, more breathless than intended. "Please."

He dives back in, this time with more intention. His nose keeps nudging your clit, the friction licking up your spine deliciously. It's like he can't get enough, eating you out like a man starved.

He groans into your heat, the vibrations making you whine. When he curls his tongue just right, you keen, the sounds leaving your mouth foreign to the both of you.

"Fuck, you sound so beautiful. You're perfect. God, you're perfect."

"Stevie," you pant. "So close."

"I got you. Atta girl, I got you. That's my girl, give it to me."

Maybe it's the my girl, or maybe it's the way he's slipped two fingers into you, but the coil snaps. Your back arches off the bed as white heat engulfs your body, vision going black for a moment. You can hear him talking you through it, loving and encouraging. Eventually, your grip on his hair loosens as you go lax, collapsing back against the comforter.

Steve grins at you as he licks his fingers clean, crawling up your body to kiss you. You groan when you taste yourself, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Resting his head on your chest, you run your fingers through his hair, humming gently when he relaxes.

"You okay?"

"Never better," you laugh. "You're good with your mouth, Harrington. I'll give you that."

"Told you the rumours were true."

You shake your head and reach over, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a sip. You offer it to Steve without a second thought, rolling your eyes when he downs the rest.

He plucks your cherry lipbalm from the drawer and applies it to himself, before leaning up to carefully do the same to you. He pecks your lips sweetly before returning it to its rightful place.

"You replace it, don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"The chapstick. I've had it for a whole year, and I've never even come close to reaching the end."

He blushes as he looks at you, suddenly bashful.

"It's special," he murmurs. "It's our thing, you know? And it smells good. I like knowing that I'm the only one who knows you taste like cherries."

You want to poke fun at him, say something to make him laugh. But you can't. He's rendered you speechless, for the second time in one night.

"I like knowing the reason you taste like spearmint is because I've been slipping pieces of gum into the pockets of your jeans for ten years."

"I knew it," he laughs, leaning up to kiss you firmly. "I can't tell you the last time I bought gum."

"You're welcome."

Steve shucks off his jeans and his shirt, climbing into your bed with just his boxers on. You slip your underwear up your legs before getting under the comforter with him, tangling your limbs with his.

The tunes from the radio still hum gently as the fairy lights flicker.

The room is unchanged.

The people in it are not.

read Part Two here. Part Three here. Part Four here.

@lillian-gallows @bookish-embroidery-witch @sweetdazequeen @fruityforcocoapuffs @steviespookie @livsters @diffrent-spokes @violet2022 @mrsjoequinn @valerievortex @chrrymunson

[loverofpiggies]

Oh, you watched Fiona and Cake, great!

I am curious, what were your thoughts about like Winter King or first opening? Or like about overall more mature stuff than in og adventure time

So now that I'm doing a huge rewatch of the OG Adventure Time, I will say I adore both in their own ways.

It was really cool seeing the more mature stuff in Fionna and Cake, sort of like the show 'grew up' with the audience, you know? And do NOT get me started on how much my heart was destroyed by Simons entire plight through.

See I never managed to finish the first show, mostly just got distracted, but on my rewatch I can tell I at least got through six seasons. I like how spaced out the original show is, and it makes the really sad shit with like the Ice King hit like a ton of bricks when it happens. It really feels like you're watching all these wacky people live their lives, and occasionally the horror of the Mushroom War reminds you of its effect, through Marceline, and the Ice King, and every character who was forced to live through it. I don't know, it's really nice!

Okay I'm gonna ramble so I'm putting a read more!

I was wondering if on a rewatch I'd get frustrated the way later seasons of Steven Universe made me get frustrated, but it never felt like that at all. It's just been... fun. It's just Finn and Jake on adventures, occasionally having to set down their fun and recognize the horror of things around them, and it's just. DAMN it's just done so well.

I just got to the episode where Finn meets Prismo and makes the wish, and accidentally ends up wielding the power of the crown, and all it did was break my heart. Like I was sitting there, and for a split second I was like 'wow that crown corrupted him really fast!' and then I remembered.... he was like 13 when he got the crown. He was still a child, and when Simon got the crown, he was what, in his 40s? He was just a kid, and couldn't possibly be able to handle or combat the crowns power. It just punched me in the gut.

So I very much enjoy how spaced out and silly the original Adventure Time is, because its such a unique world I love seeing more of it, and I feel like it makes the heavy scenes hit so much harder. With Fionna and Cake, I love how tight the story is and how structured things are. They're both SUCH good shows, with different ways of writing and different vibes and I adore them equally at this point.

ALSO THE WINTER KING, holy shit don't get me started, but I will rant about this mofo

(These are keychain designs but I decided to put them together on a little canvas)

Firstly, I fucking LOVE the Winter King, and I'm really sad we didn't get more of him. I do wonder if the fact that Fionna's universe wasn't 'canon' during all the universe hopping, that if somehow the multiverse will reverse some things and 'repair' the damage. I'm not even saying that because I want to see the Winter King again, it just absolutely sounds like something that could happen in Adventure Time. Hell, look how they made Fionna and Cake just-- real! Thanks Prismo you're a cool guy.

But in terms of the Winter King as a character, and in terms of his universe? I want SO much more detail. Where is Finn, where is Jake? Marceline either left the Winter King or got killed, so I'm curious there too. The juxtaposition of genuine confidence and whimsy, and the mans incapacity to feel remorse or even real deep sadness (him saying 'Oh! The dead one?' when Simon asked about Betty was... holy shit) he was just an EXTREMELY interesting character, and I so badly want to see more of him.

Also dude was just funny. The fact he straight up admitted he thought about kissing his alternative universe self was so fucking funny, and plays heavily into his narcissistic behavior and tendencies.

On TOP of that, the idea of how he ended up cursing Bubblegum specifically would be so interesting. I read online people assuming when the Ice King did his spell, it was more like "I want Princess Bubblegum to love me, so I'll do a spell so she can understand what I'm feeling and then she'll marry me!" but then the 'understand what I'm feeling' is actually just... "Hey, I feel absolute madness, here, take it off my hands!' and might have just been a huge accident. We certainly can't trust Winter King's words about it.

I don't know. He was so fascinating, and the way he put feelers out to see if Simon would feel the way he does (Specifically talking about making an Ice Betty, then realizing Simon was disturbed so he shrugged it off with a laugh, being like 'no thats immoral obviously haha') and the fact that he was so cautious and smart about avoiding telling Simon how he conquered the crown? Like he would be glad to help and teach Simon how to keep his sanity AND his power... but obviously would have never spoken his secret the more he realized Simon would morally object to it.

I dunno. This character was in the show for 20 minutes and he was so fucking interesting I almost feel robbed. I hope maybe we can get some Adventure Time comics about the guy at the VERY least!

[mochimoqa]

Hiii I just recently hurt myself accidentally while cooking 😭 so can I request how would you write any of the Moon Boys comforting the reader who feels insecure of scars or marks on their body. Would appreciate it a lot 💗

Hello, anon!

I'm so sorry that you hurt yourself :(

But nothing like a good moon boys x reader will fix that :]

WARNING: Some cursing and Intense Fluff 🤭

...

"OW- Fucking shit-" Y/n screamed at the pain of extreme heat touching their skin. You turned off the stove and went to the restroom to grab your mini med kit.

"Son of a b—" You mumbled to yourself.

You've gotten hurt plenty of times. Either from cooking, activities, etc. You've gotten insecure over the years because of the scars and marks from different activities.

The one time where you were frying chicken and the hot oil splutter on your skin. Leaving some marks on you.

You turned on the cold water from your sink and let the burn somewhat fix the burn.

You sat on the floor and opened the med kit. The irritation of your skin was a bit bad. You grabbed some aloe gel and gently placed it on your burn.

"Ow-" You winced at the pain.

While you were doing this treatment, you heard a knock at the door.

Keys jangling and swung open the door.

"Love, I'm home!"

Oh, goodie! Steven's here.

"Ah, shit-" You panicked and quickly hid the medical supplies.

"Love? Y/n! Where are you?" He was pacing around the house til he found you in the bathroom.

You were covering your hand behind your back.

"Ah, there you are! Marc, Jake and I started to become a little worried there." He hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead.

"No, no, I'm always here, baby." You chuckled nervously.

Steven cupped your face and looked into your eyes. God, his cute dark eyes always get to you.

"I feel like you're hiding something..."

Your eyes widened slightly and chuckled nervously.

"What? No-"

He squeezes your face a bit tight.

You instantly knew that this wasn't Steven anymore and it was Marc. Steven was the more gentle of the boys.

"Y/n, I know you're lying to me."

"I- no, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are."

Shit, you've been caught red-handed. (No pun intended.)

"Okay, fine. You got me." You put your burned hand in front of him.

"I burned myself while cooking..."

God, this was so embarrassing to you. You've had too many scars and marks on yourself, you thought for sure they were gonna leave you.

"The burn doesn't look too bad." He grabbed your hand and examined the injury.

"Huh? You- You're not gonna leave me?"

His eyes shot up to you.

"Why would I ever wanna do that?"

"I- because of all of the scars and marks I have on my body... you don't think it's embarrassing?"

"No?"

Marc paused for a moment and seeming zoned out. He was probably talking to Steven and Jake.

"Steven said that he would never leave you."

He looked at your wound and paused again.

"Jake said that he would be stupid to even do that."

You chuckled lightly at their responses.

"Really?" You sighed and leaned against the sink.

"Mhm, and I agree with the both of 'em. You're literally too good to be true, Y/n. Sometimes me and the boys don't even know of how lucky we are to have you."

"But what about my scars?–"

"The scars don't matter. We love you with or without any scars or marks."

He paused again.

"Jake wants to take control to get rid of that stupid stuff you said about yourself."

You sighed, "Alright, bring him out..."

You felt your hand being squeezed.

"Hola, mi amor." (Hey, my love.) He kissed your hand.

You smiled lightly. "Hey, baby."

"So, what in the wrong fucking mindset are you even in?"

"Uh, I don’t know... I just thought that the three of you were gonna leave me and—"

"Esa es la cosa más estúpida que he oído jamás". (That is the most stupidest thing I have ever heard.)

"I know..."

"Cariño, we will love you til the end."

"Thank you, baby... thank you to the three of you..."

"No hay problema, bebé. (No problem, baby.)

"Want me to fix you up?"

You nodded. "That would be wonderful..."

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this! I absolutely love writing Fluff so this was by far the most exciting story to work on!

Also, very sorry for not posting sooner I had a lot of exams so I didn't have time to post this story!

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

love: saying "i love you" even when you're scared written for @steddielovemonth day 20 (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

M | ~3.1k | tags: medieval-ish au, prince!steve, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it’s intrigue cw: torture (both implied and explicit), past & on-screen brainwashing, manipulation, angst, violence, open ending, mild gore, traditional fairytale imagery

princemær

It is not the sensation of cold steel touching his throat that makes him halt, the blade against his skin a feeling so familiar these days that he barely falters in his steps anymore. Nor is it the clearly spoken threat of, “One wrong move, Kas, and I will paint the soil with your blood so that something good may come of your existence after all.” 

Original, that. Eddie is not loath to admit it. 

And were this valiant knight anyone else, he surely would have worked his clever tongue to make it count, at the very least, that they should have caught him at last. Judging by the determination in the man’s hazel eyes and the absolute calm in his hand, sword unwavering against Eddie’s throat, he would have paid gravely for it. 

As it is, though, Eddie can only stare into the eyes of his imminent captor, frozen to the spot and freezing yet more when he finds no trace of recognition in those eyes. 

What did they do to you? he wonders desperately, so forlorn in the throes of distress he finds no wherewithal to struggle against four men of the Prince’s guard as they roughly disarm and bind him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Prince, aching for just a hint of recognition, even a glint of betrayal and hatred – but all he can find is cold nothingness as the Prince holds his gaze, looking down at Eddie from his royal mare. It’s not one Eddie recognises, and he is reminded of the years he has gone without those eyes in his life. 

“The King is expecting your return,” says the Prince, sheathing his sword when one of his men binds Eddie to the back of his horse; the first of many tortures, he is sure.

Or rather, the second, with the way the Prince is looking at him, speaking to him without that familiar melody to his voice. It is monotonous now, and Eddie wants to become the monster again that they all make him out to be, if only to rip out the throat of the person who did this to him. The person who took the Prince’s voice, his smile, his memories. 

He would gladly become a monster for him all over again. 

“A sword has been made for your head, after all. And a feast for your demise.” 

And with that, the Prince spurs his mare into a trot, his loyal guardsmen following just behind him, pulling Eddie with them. It is a small miracle that he does not stumble and fall, the floor beneath his feet unsteady as cotton as all feeling leaves his body and the world rewrites itself around him and this very moment. 

Prince Steven wants him publicly executed. That is not what leaves Eddie’s stomach with a wave of nausea he barely manages to swallow down, panting and gasping for air as he is from running after the horses. 

No, what leaves him with a frozen bloodstream and a panicked paralysis of the mind is that Prince Steven recognises him no longer. Remembers not the history that lies between them. The sacrifices made. 

Were the situation any different, allowing for tears and curses cried into the dark of night without threat of detection, Eddie would have wailed. Wept at the realisation that he should have never left Steve to the claws of the King and his advisor. 

What did they do to you? he agonises, staring at the familiar blues that attire the Prince so tragically familiar. And how do I get you back before you spell doom for yourself with my own blood?

*** 

Foolishly, Eddie has spent years of his life thinking he would never be presented with this view again: The palace in all its glory, sandstone nary white and golden, shining and gleaming in ways more sublime than the sun herself. It stole many a night from him, the thought of this vision and the heart it holds inside, a keep more than a palace, and just as out of reach for the hands of a man deemed a traitor to the kingdom. 

But now here he is, stumbling on bleeding feet as the horse drags him into the courtyard of what used to be his home so many winters ago he has lost count. People gave gathered in the streets and alleys and up by the windows, chancing a look at the man condemned, sweat and tears dried and crusted on his cheeks, ripped clothes showing bleeding wounds from falling when the Prince demanded they ride faster. 

He can scarcely hold his own weight anymore, his feet aching and burning, his entire body on fire and dehydrated, the world around him spinning just quickly enough that he takes too long to realise it when the Prince cuts the rope from the horse’s saddle and takes a hold of it instead. Holding Eddie like a mutt on a leash – and he’s panting like one, too. 

Still he catches his breath long enough to lift his chin and look at the Prince, showing defiance in one simple act that in another lifetime counted as devotion. But he wants to look at him. Wants to drink him in, changed though he might be. 

“Will you lead me to death now, Your Majesty?” 

The Prince says nothing as he rebinds Eddie’s wrists, securing them to his chest so he can’t easily break free and the Prince’s neck in the process. A wave of pride washes over him, even as he realises that he must succumb to being a prisoner for now with no means to escape. 

“I am but your humble subject. Where you lead, I will follow,” Eddie says with a wavering voice, just barely resisting to bow before his Prince for dramatic effect and hoping that would conceal the truth to his words. 

“One more word, snake,” he says, cold eyes boring into Eddie’s like a blade of ice and leaving trickles of fear in their wake, “and I will personally see to your death being so slow and painful, you will have forgotten your own name just before I am done, leaving you not enough time to remember. You will spend eternity wandering and finding no peace. Finding not even your name, as all you are has been replaced with pain.”  

Eddie flinches away from him unwittingly, hating the cold smirk that infests that beautiful face. His Prince wouldn’t talk like that. His Prince would not resort to threats of torture, inflicting fear wherever he sets foot. 

He had heard the stories, tales of a Prince changed, accounts of the Golden Prince dimmed and dulled, a tender heart hardened and smooth edges roughened to hurt whoever dared to touch him. The first few years he had heard the tales, and still he had chosen disbelief and doubt. Refusal to believe it. 

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

“What happened to you?” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them, and he watches as something shutters behind those familiar eyes. 

“You cut out my heart. All those years ago, when you killed him. I intend to do the same to you.” 

Eddie swallows, the words not making sense. He has killed many a man, those who deserved it and those who did not, but whom could he have killed to elicit such a response from the Prince? 

“Whom?” he dares ask, preparing for a blade in his stomach or a fist in his face, ready for the guards to pull him back and pummel him until he does indeed forget his name and the rest of the world for a while. 

But the Prince stands his ground, his cold gaze nary lifeless even as Eddie’s vision swims. 

“Eddie.” 

And all the blood flees his body in a rush as understanding dawns on him, leaving yet more confusion as he hears his own name fall from the Prince’s lips with such barely concealed grief and sadness that it makes his knees buckle. 

“I intend to repay you for what you have taken from me. Settle the blood debt. Three days from now, it shall be my hand on the sword that will have your head.”

Eddie is too stunned to speak, too exhausted from two days on his feet, dragged on his feet and on his back, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear grips his whole body and intensifies the aches and pains he feels until his legs give out and he lands on his knees in front of his Prince, close to weeping once more. 

A hand comes to rest on his chin, tipping up his face so he can meet those royal eyes, and Eddie finds himself wishing for the blade instead. 

“Good,” Prince Steven says, his voice quiet, only for Eddie to hear. “I want to hear you beg for your life.” 

Eddie cannot keep a hold of the tear that breaks free and rolls down his face, leaving a trace for the Prince to follow as he undoubtedly marvels at having the great Betrayer on his knees and at a loss for words. 

And Eddie knows he will beg. But not for his life.

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

Instead it is Henry, the King’s advisor, who takes great pleasure in taunting him, leaving his body bloodied and bruised before he applies whatever concoction he cooked up that will leave Eddie feeling like his insides have turned to flames, leaving him to grunt and bite down on his screams as Henry weaves tales out of thin air laced with blood, sweat and tears. 

“You were always so gullible, the both of you,” Henry continues, though Eddie must have missed the beginning of his words, as even these ones barely reach him through the pain. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks around a mouthful of blood, spitting at Henry’s feet, revealing in the sick twist of his mouth that Eddie can just barely make out as his vision blurs dangerously. 

“What did we do to him? Oh, even a decade later you are still the same stupid boy you were then, hmm? It is you who did this to him. It is you who betrayed him, killing Eddie Munson and becoming Kas The Betrayer. Do you not recall?” 

His world tilts suddenly as Henry fills his mouth with a bitter liquid, clamping his mouth shut so Eddie has no choice but to swallow it all. 

“Surely you do remember the way you shoved your blade between Munson’s ribs on your way out of this cell all these years ago, cutting out his heart and making it your first feast of your newly-won freedom. Surely you remember betraying the Prince’s trust and then killing his lover and his best friend. You must remember, stupid boy, and know that your execution will bring freedom to the Prince’s mind that is so trapped in its vengefulness.” 

Nausea overcomes him and he retches, but Henry prevents him from throwing up and emptying his bowels to rid himself from whatever the alchemist uses to cloud his senses and reshape the world to his very own liking. 

“Shut up,” Eddie wheezes, earning a well-placed punch for his troubles. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you… Don’t you touch him.” 

A smile fills his vision as Henry comes close to hum as he turns Eddie’s face this way and that, keeping him from shaking it as images of a false history manifest in his mind. 

“Oh, I won’t have to touch him. See, he will realise what he has done on the scaffold. The veil over his eyes will be lifted when your heart stops beating, all the pieces will fall into place, but still he will be blind, for the veil will be replaced with the ghost of you, slowly fading beneath him.” 

Henry is circling him, stalking him like a predator his prey. Eddie has not been prey in so long. He does not know how to suppress the shivers or the horror at the tale woven around him. 

“And then, sword still in hand as it drips with your blood, despair will overcome him and he will follow you. The kingdom will be freed of the King’s pest of an heir, and I will lend his grieving Majesty a helping hand in ruling his kingdom. That is, of course, until he, too, ultimately succumbs to grief for his only son, leaving only myself to rebuild and reshape first the kingdom and then the whole world just the way I want.” 

He comes to a stop in front of him, another dark green flask in his hand. 

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

More of the bitter liquid flows down his throat and Eddie almost chokes on it, coughing it up and trying to resist, but Henry is stronger than he is. Always has been. 

And with poison in his ears and his bloodstream alike, Henry’s words grow truths inside Kas’s mind; the memory of Eddie Munson dying on his blade, the blood dripping down his fingers as he takes a bite of the man’s heart, and the prince’s screams in his ear at this ultimate betrayal, for that heart belonged to him. 

When he loses his grasp on consciousness, out of breath and out of his mind with pain, he wishes for the scaffold. He wishes for the Prince to take his life and settle the debt. Avenge his love. Avenge what Kas can only ever dream about. 

***

Gradually, over the span of only three days spent in either sensory deprivation or torture, Henry manages to drain the dredges of Eddie’s false identity and replace them with what really happened; replace them with Kas. With guilt, with shame, with a debt so severe it could never be paid back as long as Kas remains alive. 

He forgets about most of Henry’s visits, wakes up with new injuries and new memories, the reserves of water left for him tasting bitter and wrong, but he is always so desperate for it, he has not the luxury of choice. 

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

They lead him out in chains and shackles, like he poses any risk of escaping. Like he doesn’t welcome what is about to come. Like he doesn’t— 

He… 

Kas falters in his steps the very second he lays eyes on the Prince, hand resting on the hilt of a broadword that looks to be expertly crafted. A sword has been made for your head, after all. He swallows, ignoring the guard that kicks him in the shin and punches him in the neck, telling him to move forward. 

His head aches the longer he watches the Prince, the world around him becoming hazy as guilt and shame wash over him, the feeling that this is right, this is what he deserves. And still, underneath it all, when Prince Steven meets his eyes, there is the nagging feeling that none of this is right at all. That the Prince should not be looking at him like that, should not be holding onto that sword, should not be his own executioner. 

It splits his head, but still he is helpless against the shackles, cannot struggle when the guards pull him along instead. 

The Prince says not a word until Kas the Betrayer kneels before him, and once again there is a wave of familiarity that comes from this action, but he cannot place it. Kas has never knelt for anyone, so it must be wrong. It must be instinct, the last desperate flare of a dying flame, leaving him disoriented, his head flooded with visions of how life could have been. 

The headache mingles with a new wave of fevered need to live, to rip apart these shackles and kill every guardsman and the King himself before he leaves the sandstone castle behind him once more. 

But there is also a strange sensation of calmness that tells him he is willing to let it happen like it must. He is willing to give this to the Prince and repent. He is willing to give it all up and give in to this. 

Kas the Betrayer is ready to die. He is too tired to alter the course of fate any longer. 

But then? Oh, a lone man’s willingness is not force strong enough to defy the will of Fate herself. 

Because when Prince Steven opens his mouth, all the bitterness leaves Eddie’s mouth, all the visions become unveiled at the sound of that voice that for decades now has held him through pain and pleasure alike, the voice that whispered promises of a future together of even just five minutes away from prying eyes. 

When Prince Steven opens his mouth, Kas becomes Eddie once more, coming to life again inside his own tired, exhausted, agonised head. 

“Any last wish?” 

For those to be the words that save him carries a strange sense of irony, and Eddie knows it’s too late. He knows the plan will commence. Maybe it’s for the better. Ten years he has suffered without his heart, ten years spent shunned and banished and labeled a traitor to all kingdoms simply because he dared to love his Prince more than his King. Ten years that have left him tired and worn out, without a purpose to his ways. 

And Steve, subjected to Henry and his alchemy, his poisons and potions, his bitterness that will turn your insides to flames. Steve, tortured and manipulated for ten years without Eddie there to protect him. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it should end now. That it should end like this. He has no strength left in his body, could not free himself or the Prince even if he were foolish enough to try. 

Still he finds himself relieved that he should die inside his own head this time. That small mercies and miracles alike will grant him this. Looking at Steve as he takes his last breaths.

So, does he have any last wish? 

“Yes,” he croaks, daring to look up into those once so beautiful eyes that hold no warmth anymore. 

Tell me what they did to you. A kiss from my Prince. Don’t turn this blade on yourself when this life has left my body. Believe me when I say this is a trap, and I am not who you think I am.

But he says none of that. Wishes for something else. Wishes not for himself.

He swallows, straightening his back. “I wish that you would… That you would just, just listen to me.” Fear overcomes him, and he knows these will be his last words.

The Prince inclines his head, intent at least on listening. Good. That’s good. 

Because now, for the first time in a decade, Eddie will utter these words to ears that will listen. Fear grips his heart, squeezing around it until it stops. And still he speaks. 

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

tagging: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @madigoround @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 (i have a permanent tag list now, lmk if you want on or off 🤍 these are only the ones who commented on the post) (sorry the first tag should be so fucked up mwah)

note: i posted this last night but then wanted to double check with the lovely lovely mod of steddielovemonth (kith for you!) if this was okay to post, and she said yes, so fever dream round 2! sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for the patience! 🤍

[moonlight-prose]

LONG & LOST

a/n: this is part of the haunted hoedown event that i've decided to take part in. i saw it on @inklore's blog and immediately fell in love. when i saw that dark academia was on the list i knew it had to go to steven. i'm a dark academia fiend and sticking him in that trope has always been a dream of mine. so here's a slightly darker take on a love story with him. enjoy!

summary: you were the poison in his veins, the pomegranate seeds on his tongue. yet he wanted more. he needed it...just as he needed you.

word count: 4.8k+

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, dark romance (kind of but honestly not really), desperation, addiction to a person, dark academia setting, spitplay if you squint, body worship, p in v sex, cumplay, cumeating.

Lamps casted a soft glow throughout the library, giving you enough light to work by yet not enough to actually see anything else clearly around you. It filled you with a sense of comfort, your body sinking further into the chair as you flipped page after page in your book. In the distance, you could hear rain pouring outside, thunder rumbling in the sky every once in a while. If you weren’t mistaken, you could hear the shuffle of the librarian walking the rows, placing the books in their rightful place.

His name was Steven, a man who had stuttered over his words slightly when you spoke. Not out of nerves, but sheer excitement—unable to get the words out fast enough as you two quickly got lost in conversation. However, that was the first and final time you spoke to one another. He seemed to evade you every time you came close enough to start up a conversation—his back, the only thing you saw most days as he walked the other direction.

Even now as you got lost in the words before you, Steven’s presence still remained. Looming in the depths of the library. You could never lose him entirely. Not when he still kept so close yet so far away—his need to be near you only grew the more time you spent in the darkened building.

Eventually a crack of lightning struck the sky, lighting up one side of the library for a brief moment, before the lamps that stood on various tables were extinguished. Leaving you in complete darkness—your phone screen, the only bright thing you could find. You cursed under your breath, setting the book on the table with a soft thump, before getting up. Going in search of someone.

But the longer you walked down the rows of bookcases, the more you came to realize…you were the only person left. Everyone either avoided the place today due to the weather, or chose to go home early. Even several of the other staff members had vanished, heading out for the night and leaving you alone with none other than Steven.

You found him wandering the rows with a flashlight, checking to see if anything was wrong. Simply the sight of him in a button down and soft jacket was enough to send your heart racing. Although you were certain he wouldn’t say the same. In all honesty you were convinced that Steven didn’t like you. That he avoided you because he didn’t want you to be a part of his life—which you accepted, giving him the space he so desired.

However, you couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Steven stilled at the sight of you illuminated by your phone’s soft glow, the knit sweater you wore doing absolutely nothing to hide what you looked like beneath it. He felt his cheeks flush at the thought of you bare—an image he refused to let himself conjure up in his head. He knew it was wrong to think about you that way, given that he’d been avoiding you. Yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Not when you looked at him that way. Your eyes soft and welcoming, as if asking him to speak, to finally give you what you both wanted.

“I think everyone went home,” you said, causing his heart to stutter in his chest.

He searched desperately for something to say, words—anything. “I’m nearly done here,” he replied, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “You can go if you want.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Oh…”

So much for actually talking to him. It seemed that Steven was more interested in getting you out of the library than keeping you in.

He caught the disappointment on your face, in your voice, and felt guilt begin to claw its way up his throat. The last thing he wanted was for you to leave. Fuck if he had his way you’d be here with him constantly. But Steven—ever the man who excelled at words—could no longer find them when he was around you. Which was simply ironic for a librarian. So, he stepped closer, drawing your eyes back up to this face, and watched as your entire body seemed to react to his presence alone.

For as much time as he spent avoiding you, he spent an equal amount of time studying you—your expression as you read, the way you lit up when something good happened in the story. He wanted you to do the same for him. To burn for him. Just as he did for you.

“Or you can stay,” he finally said, watching your sullen expression begin to lift, a light returning to your eyes.

“I can?” you murmured.

He nodded, his lips pulling up into a soft grin, and for a moment Steven swore he could see you melt. “I might need some help. Checking to see if people are still here.”

You had never heard a more brilliant idea. “Okay,” you said, a smile tugging on your mouth. Heat seared through your chest when Steven’s eyes flickered down to your glossy lips, his gaze darkening for a brief moment. Nearly causing you to combust on the spot.

“Where do we start?” you asked, breaking through the silence and dragging his attention back to your eyes. His cheeks were stained red, tips of his ears burning as he looked away quickly, realizing he’d in fact been staring.

You found it cute.

“Left side?” He pointed his flashlight down a dark and empty row. “I’ll find you after yeah?”

You set the flashlight on your phone to shine brighter. “You’re not coming with me?”

There was no reason Steven had to go with you. In fact, you knew the setup of the library like the back of your hand, so getting lost wasn’t a possibility. But this was the most you had ever talked with him, the conversation flowing with ease just as it did before. Only this time you were adamant to keep it going—refusing to return to the silence that seemed to plague the both of you.

Steven glanced at you once more and caught the sight of determination in your eyes. There was no avoiding you anymore. No more running to hide from his true feelings. And if Steven was being honest with himself…he didn’t want to. He’d never felt this infatuated with someone—the crush so strong at times it nearly felt painful. Yet in spite of all that, he knew the feelings were merely one sided; a love that would never be reciprocated.

But you were standing before him, telling him you wanted to spend time together, and Steven felt the cloud shrouding his heart lift—allowing sunlight to break through once more.

“No of course,” he said softly, latching onto the feeling of hope that filled his chest. “I’ll come with you love.”

The nickname sent a small thrill through your body, something warm trickling down into your stomach. Without another word you turned away, starting right where he said, hearing the echo of his footsteps behind you as he followed along. Thunder continued to rumble outside, proving that this storm wouldn’t be over for a while. So, you walked slowly—meandering through the different rows and picking up books that were left behind on tables and random shelves.

It felt nice. Simply being there in silence with him. As much as you yearned for more—a conversation that told you more about him, about why he’d avoided you—this was good enough. The scent of books filled your senses as it always did, but above that you could smell him.

Steven’s scent was warm, soft, like a slow tune you wanted to listen to on repeat, a book you never wanted to finish reading because once you did, you’d grieve it like an old friend. It clung to the air, filtering into your senses until all you could smell was him.

You longed to know what he tasted like. Would his kiss be flavored with the taste of his tea? Or would it be minty like the gum he sometimes chewed? You felt the breath catch in your throat at the mere idea of kissing him—finally divulging in that one dream you kept like a well guarded secret. But that’s all it would be.

A dream.

“People rushed out of here in a hurry,” you said, noting the open books scattered on several tables. They must have wanted to make it home before the storm got worse.

“I closed up the library. Told em’ to go home before the streets got bad.”

You turned to look at him, seeing how he gently organized the books on a cart he’d found in one of the rows. “You closed the library?”

“Mhm.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He froze, eyes focused intently on the book in front of him. Steven figured if he didn’t respond, you’d drop the topic altogether. Yet he didn’t know the level of stubbornness you actually possessed in your body—the need to know stronger than anything else. You waited patiently, watching as he stepped into an aisle to place the book in its proper spot. All the while the rain pattering against the window continued to fill the void of silence that hung between you.

“Steven?”

He let out a breath, his brown eyes meeting yours—a timid look reflected in them. “You looked busy.”

A blatant lie, but you wouldn’t press him on it right away. “Busy?” You quirked an eyebrow, feeling the ghost of a smile on your lips.

“Reading,” he clarified. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

That soft and familiar warmth was back, melting into you. “You let me stay to read?” He nodded with a relieved smile. “But that’s not the only reason is it?”

Steven looked like a deer caught in the headlights and he felt like it too. For a brief second he swore his heart stopped—his nerves jumping beneath his skin. He couldn’t back away from the truth now. Not when you were so close to uncovering it yourself. Except the more you pressed him, the more he could see that this is what you wanted. To be here with him surrounded by books, in the midst of a storm.

“I wanted you to stay.” His words were a soft utter, barely a breath of air, but you heard them as if he’d pressed them against your ear.

“But you always avoid me.” It was the truth. He did what he could to make sure your paths rarely crossed. While at first you believed it was due to the fact that he couldn’t stand you. Now you could see it was something entirely different.

He looked distraught, eyes shifting between you and the shelves behind you. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t…mean to?”

Letting out a long sigh he ran a hand through his already unruly curls, a few falling into his face. “I want to talk to you—believe me—you’re just…you’re—”

“I hope there’s a good ending to that sentence,” you joked, a nervous smile flitting across your lips in the hopes of dissolving some of the tension that remained.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, his eyes drinking you in freely, thoughts running through his mind that would have made him feel bad before. Yet now he could see the want in your eyes.

The same craving running through your veins.

“Oh…”

“I didn’t avoid you because I didn’t like you. I avoided you because…” he trailed off softly, uttering the truth for the first time and feeling the weight leave his shoulders. Steven was known as a shy reserved man, but beneath the surface he wanted so much. He just never felt strong enough to grasp for it.

“I’m everything?” you asked with a breath of awe, stepping closer and watching as his whole body stiffened. But he refused to move, not when you were finally giving into what you wanted.

He nodded quickly, his breath coming in and out as if he couldn’t get enough. Your soft perfume wafted through the air, filling his senses until he felt drunk off you and yet you were still a foot away. Still too far for him to touch, to reach out and give in to his desires. Steven had finally come to a conclusion of what you were to him, what your presence did to him. You were the poison in his veins, the pomegranate seeds on his tongue. Yet he wanted more.

He needed it…just as he needed you.

“Yes,” he breathed, his cheeks stained red and eyes wide. But you weren’t focused on that. No, your eyes were solely stuck on the sight of his lips, how they were parted slightly to take more air in lest he pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Steven…” you murmured, taking the final step, and his walls came crumbling down.

Gathering you gently, his lips met yours in a feverish kiss that made your whole body melt. A kiss that turned you drunk on his scent, the warmth of his mouth against yours. The kind of kiss they described in ancient literature. You dug your hands into his curls, a soft moan pressing into his mouth as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. It wasn’t perfectly put together, pristine in all its nature, because that wasn’t Steven.

He kissed you with a sloppy passion, teeth clacking together and tongue delving into the heat of your mouth. Tasting the coffee you drank, the desire on your tastebuds. He groaned when you cupped his cheeks, licking into him deeply, your body pressing against his with a debauched fervor. In all your time of being here, of being apart from him, you always indulged in the fantasies of knowing what he tasted like—what he kissed like. Now you knew.

Now you took and took until neither of you could breathe. He worked his lips down your jaw, his spit spreading along your chin when he pulled away. You moaned, head falling back and hands grasping onto the breadth of his shoulders. Steven was adamant on finding the places that would make you sing, the sounds he craved to hear. And you keened when he bit down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, hips rolling against his in a need for friction of any kind.

“Oh—” You stumbled back, hand slapping against the table behind you. He still remained wrapped around you, reaching down and pulling your leg up around his hip.

“I want—” he gasped, burying his head into your shoulder, hips canting down to grind perfectly against yours, ripping a sharp gasp from your chest. “I need to—please love—”

“Yes.”

You shifted, ripping at the buttons of his shirt, his jacket somehow on the floor already. It flickered in the back of your mind that you had torn it off him the second he started kissing your neck. Everything was a haze in your mind, until you couldn’t discern anything but his touch, his taste.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, lips finding his again in a wet kiss, your moan swallowed by him as he fell into it. His hands stripped you of your sweater, warm palms finally touching the bare skin of your waist. It was euphoria in the best way possible. As if you were finally indulging in the one desire you always wanted. His eyes were stuck on your chest, watching as it rose and fell—the lace of your bra perfectly shaped around your breasts. You opened your mouth to ask him to touch you, but he was already ahead of you.

Leaning down, he spread his tongue along the top of your left breast, hand coming up to cup and knead the other one softly. His thumb brushing along your peaked nipple. He wanted to consume you, devour every part of you, and the knowledge that you’d let him is what did him in.

“Fuck,” you cried, your head falling back and back arched to press your chest further into his face. “Oh god!”

Groaning, he pulled down the cups of your bra—revealing you entirely—before taking your nipple into his mouth. Your hips shot up, pressing against the prominent bulge in his pants and watching as he squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth scraping against you. Something intense pulled at your stomach, heat flooding you until you could do nothing but fall back against the table. Steven followed you, unable to part his mouth from your body—worshiping any part of you he could reach.

He wanted to taste you until you were a mess beneath him. Only able to utter one word—his name. He’d never wanted something so bad, never gave into something as desperate as this.

A loud crack of lightning shot across the sky, sending light through the stained glass windows for a brief moment and you caught a clear glimpse of Steven’s eyes. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the soft brown of his irises, lust overtaking his features. He looked like a man starved. Someone who would do anything—say anything—to have one simple taste of what they wanted most.

You just so happened to be that for him.

The mere thought that he was willing to do whatever he could to have you sent heat streaking down your spine, your body bending to his soft gentle caresses. He looked at you like the most important thing he’d ever seen. As if you were a priceless carving created out of the finest stone.

You were art and he longed to admire you for as long as humanly possible.

“Need you,” you murmured, dragging his lips back to yours and swallowing his soft needy whine. “Want you to fuck me.”

His broken moan was pressed into you, his hand scrambling for the button on your pants. He mumbled something nearly incoherent underneath his breath. Whispering how beautiful you were, how lucky he was to be with you like this, how he’d let you consume him entirely. It was enough to have your toes curling and body calling out to him.

“Perfect,” he mumbled, sliding his hands down your torso. “Bloody perfectly.”

Your lips curling into a grin, eyes dazed with a fucked out look nearly sent him to his knees. Steven’s mind reeled the further he pulled your pants down, until they were in a pile on the floor and you lay before him bare from the waist up. The lace of your panties were wet. He eyed the prominent dark spot, licking along his bottom lip he practically watched you drip. Because of him.

“I want to taste you love.” His thumb ran along the edge of the lace on your hip, sending a chill through your body—your eyes fluttering shut briefly.

“Later,” you gasped, hips pushing up to chase his touch. “I need you Steven.”

He sighed softly, falling over your body, kissing up your stomach with soft delicate touches that sent a flurry of butterflies through your body. For so long he’d kept himself away from you for fear of this never happening. Yet now here you lay. Begging him for his cock so sweetly it nearly made his heart give out. His hand slid underneath the waistband, fingers dipping into your slick and his eyes shot up to yours—shock quickly spreading across his face.

“This all for me?” he asked in disbelief, his fingers dipping even further until he circled your entrance lightly.

You moaned, teeth catching your bottom lip as you nodded. “All for you. Always for you.”

Steven hurriedly reached for the button on his pants, making quick work of getting them off. Leaving him to stand bare before you, his cock pressed up against his stomach. Your eyes trailed down the length of him, admiring how red and swollen he was, how he leaked for you, practically begging for your mouth. If you were coherent enough, you’d have gotten on your knees for him, but Steven was adamant on simply tasting you. As if he’d dreamed of it since you first met.

“All for me?” you whispered, licking your lips at the sight of his hand wrapping around his cock.

He nodded, a moan falling from his lips. “Always for you love.”

Sitting up, you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him closer until you felt him press against your stomach, smearing the precum along your skin. It drove you wild.

“I want you in me,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his hips and dragging him closer. “Please Steven. Want to feel your cock in me.”

A pained groan escaped him, his hand pushing your panties to the side and thumb pressing against your clit until your legs trembled slightly. He made a promise to himself that before tonight was over, he’d be between your legs, tongue delving inside of you. But for now he was just as wanton as you. Needing to feel your cunt wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock.

Notching the head at your entrance, he forced himself to pay attention as your face went slack, eyes rolling back slightly at the feeling of him stretching you open. Inch by inch he pressed into you, until your back was arched and a garbled moan of his name was pressed against his lips. He grunted, staving off that brilliant sensation of bliss to push the rest of the way in with one swift thrust. Until he was buried so deep he felt sanity begin to slip from his mind.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “So fucking tight love. S-So perfect for me.”

Your mind went blank, a fire roaring through your veins as he simply held himself there. His cock stretched you so well it nearly burned, but you were past the point of need. If he didn’t move you were sure you would lose your mind entirely.

With a soft whine he pulled out leaving an empty sensation in you, the need to have him close nearly overwhelming you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your chest, teeth nipping softly as he pushed back in, and you lost the remainder of your soul to him. Crying out you dug your nails into his back as he repeated the motion, nearly tearing you in two with his thrusts.

“Feels so good,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “I knew you’d feel good.”

Your walls clamped down around his cock at his words. “Ah—Steven—”

“I’m here.” He reached for your hand, dragging it up and pressing it into the table. “‘M not going anywhere love. You’ll never get rid of me.”

A high keening whine tore from your throat, eyes meeting his as the sting of tears began to rise to the surface. “I don’t want to get rid of you. Never.”

“Yeah?” He sped up slightly, watching your mouth fall open, a tear slipping down into your hair. “You want me to stay forever?”

You nodded, legs tightening around his hips. “Uh-huh.” Your words came out so high pitched you should have been embarrassed, but you couldn’t. Not when Steven was fucking you so well that you could barely grasp onto a single thought in your head.

The rain pounded against the window, drowning out the sound of your skin slapping together, but above all the noise you heard it. The audible sound of his cock sliding through your slick. An echo so fucking depraved it nearly flung you off the cliff then and there. But you needed more. You needed Steven to fall with you and by the looks of him—his curls damp with sweat, face red and eyes focused on the way your breasts bounced—he wasn’t far behind.

“Oh fuck!” you cried, feeling the very crest of pleasure begin to build. “Steven—fuck please please—”

He grinned, his hand falling to your clit and driving you even higher. It happened quicker than you expected. You screamed his name and heard it echo in the empty library, the storm doing nothing to overshadow how lost you were. He watched in rapture as you fell, your cunt clamping down so tight he was sure he’d fall with you. Except he was too focused on trailing his eyes down every piece of your body, how it called to him.

Slamming his hips into yours, his thrusts became sloppy—needy as he chased his own release. And without realizing it, words began to spill free. The truth he’d kept to himself for so long. Yet now that he was buried in you so deep he’d never leave, about to spill into you, he found he could no longer hide it.

“Tell me—” He gasped, falling over your body and digging his fingers into your hip to keep you in place. “Tell me this is more.”

You nodded, unable to even speak as yet another orgasm began to build in your body.

“You’re like a sickness, a disease…” He grunted, his hazy eyes watching your face contort in pleasure. “And the only way for me to be cured of you…” Another broken sound tore from his throat, his balls drawing up painfully. “Is to let you completely consume me—”

“Steven!” you wailed, his words causing the pleasure to break within you, flooding your body with a mind numbing sensation.

He fell forward, his lips smothering yours in a spit filled kiss. “Until my body has no fight left,” he gasped, finally spurting into you. White flashed behind his eyes and for a moment he couldn’t discern whether it was his body or the lightning outside. Yet he found he loved it either way.

With a soft pained moan, he shallowly thrusted a few more times until the combined mixture of your cum began to spill out. Coating the tops of his thighs. The feeling of it only made the painful overstimulation worth it. But eventually he had to stop, your nails digging into his shoulder letting him know you were past the point of pleasure.

His hand slipped down, gathering the sticky substance on his fingers and drawing it up to your breast. Watching with a parted mouth as it shined in the night. He leaned down without thinking and gathered your nipple in his mouth, hearing your soft moan echo off the bookshelves. Steven couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t find it in himself to ever let go, because you were an addiction in his veins. He’d had a taste and needed more.

Something told him you felt the same way.

“Love?” he asked softly, stirring you from your dazed state.

Your eyes fluttered open, the sight of him slightly hazy, but it was beyond perfect. He looked fucked out and happy—the soft grin on his face caused your heart to flutter. You wanted to curl around him, to keep him inside of you until the sun came up. But you could feel the hard wood of the table dig into your hips, your body sore from being put in this position.

“I’m here,” you smiled, cupping his face and bringing his lips to yours. “Mm. The table is uncomfortable.”

His eyes went wide for a brief moment. “Right, sorry. One sec. I’ve got you.”

Pulling out and shushing you softly with a kiss when you whined at the loss, he helped you off the table. Until you were both lying on top of your clothes on the floor in a heap. His warmth felt comforting in the cold air of the library and you caught sight of a candle flickering in the distance. He must have lit it when the power went out.

Steven sighed, running his fingers down your back lightly, tracing shapes you couldn’t make out and symbols you didn’t know. When you came to you’d have to ask him what they were. But the exhaustion was slowly pulling you under. He shifted, pressing a kiss to your temple and wrapping his leg around your hip.

“Darling?” You mumbled, tapping him lightly on the chest to let him know you were listening. “Do you actually want me to stay forever?”

He no longer sounded like the Steven that was determined to fuck you within an inch of your life. No, this was the man who avoided you to hide his crush for as long as possible. This was the man who wanted to know if you meant what you said. If forever had the same meaning to you as it did to him.

You grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his chest and snuggling in further. “Until all the stars die in the night sky,” you mumbled, knowing he was smiling as he kissed your head.

“Yeah. That sounds good to me.”

“Me too,” you breathed, feeling his arms wrap around you tighter, the rain now a soft echo in the background as your ears adjusted to a different sound altogether.

His heartbeat.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Seven: Friday

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Moon Boys x F!Reader

Summary: You’re a workaholic, but now that you’re on a week’s vacation, your lives are going to take FULL advantage of your presence aka the Moon Boys keep you in bed for a whole week.

Warning: smut - use of restraints (ribbon), overstimulation, use of sex toys, dom/sub tones

Series Masterlist

You hadn't seen Marc for the rest of the day yesterday. You weren't sure if that was a good thing or bad thing considering that Steven mentioned you were in trouble with him. But when you woke up, you were somewhat relieved when Steven was the one who greeted you.

He pecked your lips and pulled himself away, murmuring about wanting a shower. You decided you'd make breakfast for the both of you while he showered.

Now as you're plating the food, Steven comes out of the bathroom, but it's not him. You immediately knew it was Marc from the way he walked.

You smile at him, "Hi, baby! I wasn't expecting you to front so I didn't make anything for you, but I can cook up some bacon and eggs right now?"

Marc stands a short distance from you, jaw clenched, arms crossing over his chest. He cocks his brow at you.

You decide to play dumb, "What's wrong?"

"You know what's wrong."

You shrug, "It's not my fault, Steven came through."

Marc takes slow steps towards you, his eyes dark. You suddenly felt like you were the prey and Marc was the predator, "It's absolutely your fault. You knew exactly what you were doing and for that-" he quickly grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, "-you need to be punished."

You open your mouth to plead your case but Marc gave you a look that make you shut your mouth.

"Strip then lay on the bed."

"Yes, sir," you squeak and you scramble towards the bed, pulling off your shirt, sleep shorts, and underwear. You scramble onto the bed, laying on the pillows.

Marc moves to one side of the bed, pulling out a satin ribbon, "Wrist," he demands and you oblige. You hold out your wrist and watch as he ties the ribbon around it. He double knots it then asks, "Okay?"

"Yes," you reply and continue to watch as he moves to the other side of the bed and do the same with your other wrist. He asks again if it's okay and when you nod, he moves to stand at the foot of the bed. His eyes wander over your body and you suddenly feel nervous under his gaze. You've done this before. It's nothing new, but you still felt...nervous.

Marc stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, a stern look on his face, "Do you know why I'm punishing you, honey?" You slowly and hesitantly nod your head, "Why?" he asks.

"Because I got Steven to front so I can get what I want."

"And when you say get you want you mean to get fucked like a greedy thing, right?"

You bite your lip, hesitating to answer. Marc gave you a look and you relented, "Yes, sir."

He tsks, "You did a bad thing so you I need to punish you. You get that right?"

"I'm sorry."

Marc snorts, "Too late for that, baby," he moves to your side of the bed, opening the drawer, and pulling out your wand, "You wanted to cum so bad, then I'll make you cum. Over and over until you can't cum anymore."

He crawls onto the bed, separating your legs so you're open for him. He spreads you open and see how wet you already are. He chuckles, "You're dripping, baby. So desperate to cum already, aren't you?" he turns on the wand and it hovers over your pussy. He looks at you and asks, "Color?"

"Green."

"Safe word?"

"Pyramid."

He then presses the toy to your heat. You gasp at the sudden sensation, your hands gripping onto the ribbon for support.

Marc is grinning at your struggling form, "Feels good, huh, baby?"

You nod, "Yes! So good!" you whine, relishing in the pleasure the vibrations are giving you.

Marc turns it up a few levels, the vibration increasing.

You're writhing on the bed now, teeth gritting as you curse, "Fuck! Fuck! I'm cumming!"

"Go ahead, baby. Cum for me," Marc encourages with dark eyes.

Your body arches off the bed as you cum. Marc watches in awe as you take it, the pleasure washing over your body in a huge wave.

You fall back onto the bed with a sigh and Marc shakes his head, "No, no. You're not getting any breaks baby."

Again, he presses the wand against your core and you're gasping at the sensitivity from your first orgasm.

______________________

You could feel yourself getting weaker and more tired. Your body is covered in sweat. You don't have any more fight in you. As you grew weaker, Marc made it a point to continue to check your color and you kept saying "Green."

"Color, baby?"

"Red," you mumble.

Marc turns off the toy and sets it aside. He then unties your left hand and then your right. He assists in bringing you to sit up. You lean against the headboard trying to catch a break.

Marc swiftly moves to the kitchen, getting you a glass of water and rushing back. He hands you the glass and watches as you gulp the entirety of it. When you're done, he takes it back, gently cupping your cheek, "You okay?"

You nod, "Yeah. Just-Just got tired. Legs feel a bit sore now too."

He frowns, "I'm sorry. I-"

"It's not your fault, Marc. You kept checking in and I wanted to keep going. I'm okay. I promise."

He nods, "Okay," he mumbles, leaning and pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. When he pulls away, he sighs, running a hand through his curls, "I'll draw you up a bath. Do you want more water?"

"No, I'm okay. Thank you."

"Okay," he gets up to make you a bath.

You lay back down in bed with a sigh, allowing yourself some rest.

[justmeinadaze]

We're A Family Part 18 (Steddie X You)

A/N: This one is a wee bit different. They are experimenting in the bedroom but everyone is having a good time :)

Warnings: Dads Steddie and Mom Fem Y/N, SMUT, Pegging is the main thing here with all the regular smut that comes with these three, FLUFF and no angst!

Word Count: 4018

“So for handcuffs and a nightie, you drove two hours out of town?”, Eddie muses as he looks through the clothes at the sex store you three had traveled to. 

“I did because I love you.”, you grin. 

“Aw, that’s cute.” He smiles when you scrunch your nose playfully in his direction. “Is Harrington the test subject again or…?”

“I’m down for anything.”, Steve shrugs.

“Be careful what you say, baby.”, you sing as you hit him lightly with one of the whips you found. He chuckles as he jokingly wrestles it from your grasp and lifts you over his shoulder to carry you to where Eddie was browsing toys. 

“Are we that old? I don’t know what half this stuff is or for.”, the metalhead exhales as he picks up something random and flashes it towards you two before placing it back down. 

“What about this?”, you ask, showing them the strap on you found. “It’s a little intimidating.”

They hear your breathing stutter a bit as you continue to look at with fascination. “What’s intimidating? The thing itself or using it?”

“I mean…I’m not a guy. I’ve never had to…ya know.”

“Holy shit, Steven. It took about 8 years but we finally found something sexual that makes Y/N blush.”

Steve walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist as he leans his head on top of yours. “We can show you.”, he whispers making you lick your lips at his words. 

“O-okay.”

Eddie beams as he takes the box from your hands and bends down to kiss you. “So fucking cute.”

*** 

“Shit.”, Robin curses under her breath as Dylan beats her again for the thousandth time at his video game. “I’m not good at this! I have no hand/eye coordination.”

“All I hear are excuses.”, your son laughs. 

“Whatever. I’m going to hang out with the baby who doesn’t talk.”, she grins as she playfully pushes him to the side. 

“Mommy!”, Aurora shouts, running into your arms as you guys walk through the door. 

“Oh God.”, you brace as she jumps and you lift her into the air. “What’s going on, my love? Did you have fun with Robin?”

“Uh huh. Aunt Robin said a bad word.”

“Tattletale.”

“Why are you cursing in front of my kids?”, Steve teases as he plops himself down next to her on the sofa. 

“Why are your kids so mean? Especially that one.” She points towards Dylan who sticks his tongue out at her before focusing back on his game. “At least this one was nice to me. Weren’t you, James?”

He giggles and claps his hands at her smile. From Steve so far, James definitely inherited his big, beautiful grin and scrunched his tiny nose when he laughed which you absolutely adored. His hair was too short right now to see if he had the same smooth locks as his father but at the moment he seemed to be heading in that direction. 

“Can you say Robin? Roooobiiiiiiiiin.” Just like Ro had done when she was a baby, his only response was to headbutt her making her grunt jokingly as she passed the boy to her friend. “Alright that’s my queue to leave. See you buttheads later!”

After she left, you made dinner and then spent the rest of the evening relaxing with your family. Dylan sat in the corner with his headphones on as he strummed his guitar Eddie had given him from his own collection. You and Steve sat on the couch with your legs thrown over his while Eddie laid on the floor with James and Aurora as The Princess Bride played on TV.

“James…James…James, daddy’s hair isn’t like yours, dude. Ow.”, the metalhead whines as he tries to remain calm while the baby pulls at his hair. 

“James! No.”, Ro giggles. “You don’t pull hair. It not nice.”

“Yeah, tell him, sweetheart.”

“Mommy?” She calls your name and you answer with lighthearted hm. “When…when will I meet my…my true love?”

“Never. We’re going to lock you in a tower like Rapunzel.”

Steve tries to hide his laughter at Eddie’s joke as you make a face at his answer. “No, baby. I won’t let daddy do that.”

“You’ll have to catch me first, woman.”

You stick out your tongue as he chuckles. “I don’t know, Ro, when you’ll meet them but when you do I promise you’ll know.”

“How did you know?”

Both men’s eyes shimmer with delight and anticipation as they wait for your answer. 

“I just knew.”, you grin. 

“Oh, baby, come on. I know there’s more to it then that.”, Steve beams as you bite your bottom lip. 

“Was it love at first sight?”

“Yes.”, both boys responded in unison making you blush. Aurora looks at you with wide expectant eyes as she waits for your answer. 

“Yes, but mommy was hardheaded and had to make it complicated.”

“Comp-limated?”

“Complicated. Um, harder.”, Eddie explained. 

“Oh…why?”

“Because… I had Dylan and he was my main concern at the time. I wanted him to be happy.”

Her face furrows in confusion as she fully turns away from the tv. “I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get, babe?”, Steve asks as he motions for her to come sit on his lap. 

“You…are Dylan’s dada…” Her tiny fingers point to his chest. “But, but, but mommy had him…before she met…met you and daddy?”

Eddie smiled when you heavily exhaled. 

“Oh, I was hoping we could skip the awkward questions stage.”, you mumble as you smirk. “Ed, you want to take this one?”

“Not really.”, he giggles. 

“Hey, Ro.”, Dylan calls her name and she shifts in her dad’s lap to face him. “You remember when you asked why dad calls grandpa Wayne instead of dad and we told you it was because grandpa took dad in when he was older than you?” She adamantly nods her head. “Kind of the same thing.”

“Ooooooooh…ok!”, Aurora exclaims as she shrugs her shoulders and shuffles back down to the floor to continue watching the movie.

“Are you a child spy or something? How do you do that?”, Eddie sarcastically asks as all three adults smile in his direction. 

“You people make it too complicated.”, he chuckles. “Just answer honestly.”

You toss a pillow in his direction that he blocks with his hand and tosses back. 

#############

“What are you smiling about over there?”, Steve asks as he comes into the bedroom and closes the door. 

“Dylan. I’m just always amazed at how smart he is, you know? I’m proud of him.”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid. Always has been.”

“I hope I didn’t make you guys feel bad with my answer to Aurora’s question. I WAS being honest. He was my main priority but I didn’t even think you’d be attracted to me. Two sexy single guys across the way from a single mom in the middle of a divorce…”

While you were talking, Eddie had come out of the bathroom and sat beside you on the bed. 

“I didn’t even really think about it until you came over that first time Charlie bailed on him.” You wrapped your arms around him as you leaned your chin on his shoulder. “You both made him happy. You made ME happy.”

The metalhead turned to kiss your forehead before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you on to his lap as he leaned back. 

“Ok, I’m done being sappy.” 

Steve laughs as he lays down beside the other man and takes your hand in his as he fiddles with your fingers. 

“I like when you get sappy.”, he grins. “That being said, did you two think about who the guineapig was going to be?”

“Why can’t it be both? Unless you think you can’t handle it, baby.” The way Eddie said that was in no way meant to be mocking. Since you got shy about it in the store and even now, they wanted to make sure you were comfortable. 

“God why does this make me nervous!?”, you giggle as you cover your face.

“Because you’re adorable.”, he smiled as he pulled your hands back down to his chest. “How about we go slow and we’ll talk with you the whole way through.”

“I like when you two talk to me especially since Stevie became a teacher. Sometimes you shift into that authoritative tone when your talking dirty and it’s hot.”

“I seriously didn’t even notice.”

“We did.”, Eddie chuckles as he grips your waist and flips you on to your back. “Why don’t you go get the thing while I get this beautiful girl ready?”

Steve playfully rolls his eyes as he gets up to look for the box you hid after coming home from the shop. The metalhead gently kisses you lips as his lifts off your shirt and runs his tongue down your body. 

“Just so fucking gorgeous. Isn’t she, Harrington?”

“Always.”, he winks.

As he slides off your pants with your panties, you squirm as he continues to kiss along your skin on the inside of your thigh, down your calf, and to your feet.

When his mouth wraps around your clit, your nerves melt away as stars cloud your vision. Eddie was always a master between your legs. You assumed it was because since he used his mouth 24/7 to talk to almost anyone and everyone that would listen, he could make it work for him during foreplay. He was also incredibly patient, slowing down and using every moment to taste every part of your sex, driving you wild. 

“Yes, Eddie, please.”

His palms came to up to press down your thighs, holding your legs open wide as he shoved his face deeper into you making you moan. Your fingers threaded through his hair as his tongue flicked in and out of your entrance occasionally shaking his head to allow his nose to brush against your nub. 

“Fuck, baby. Don…don’t stop. M’gonna cum.”

Your legs trembled in his grasp as the coil in your tummy snapped and you whimper his name, tugging at his wavy mane. 

“So fucking good.”, he murmured before glancing at the other boy. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Come here, honey.” Shakily, you slid of the bed and placed yourself between Steve’s legs at the edge. “Ok, step in here.” You cling to his shoulders as he guides your movements until the strap on is secure to your hips. “Good job, baby. Now this end goes inside of you. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”

They both carefully watched your face as his hands held the base of the silicone material and eased it into your core. Your eyes fluttered closed as you moaned.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. You’re going—mmm—to laugh at me but it’s smaller than you two so it doesn’t physically hurt but—fuck—just the excitement of trying this…I feel like I’m going to cum again.”

They do laugh but not at you. They’d lying if they didn’t say they were ready to bust at any moment. Seeing you get nervous and giddy in the store made them hard mostly because they didn’t think they could have that effect on you anymore. Now that you were getting ready to use it and seeing your reaction had them struggling to keep any kind of control as their cocks pushed unbearably so against their pants. 

“Well, we have to get this cock ready since this side isn’t exactly smaller than we are.”

Spinning you around, he places you in his spot at the edge of the bed, removes his clothes, and sinks to his knees in front of you. Gripping the base, Steve spits on the tip of it making you groan at the action.

“How are you doing, princess?”, Eddie asks when the man wraps his lips around the toy and begins bobbing his head. 

“I-I can feel it. He’s making it move ev-every time he goes lower.”

The metalhead smirks as he brushes your hair back from your shoulder. “Deeper the better, right, babe? Go a little faster, Stevie.”

The man does what he suggests causing the dildo in your cunt to steadily move back and forth making you whine in pleasure.

“Fuck, Steve. Please…” Your fingers push through his hair as you pull it firmly making him mewl. Abruptly, you clenched your hand, holding him still as you thrust your hips forward making him gag and drool all over you. 

“Fuck me. That’s fucking hot. Don’t stop, Y/N. Keep-Keep fucking his face.”, Eddie moaned loudly as he pushed off his pants and rapidly began stroking his cock. “I need to cum, baby, I can’t wait.”

“St-Steve? Are you still ok?”, you asked and were met with a rush of his lips as he forcefully came up to passionately kiss you. 

“I’m so fucking fine, honey. Do that again. Make yourself cum.”

Placing your other hand in his hair, you clung to him as you thrust upwards, using him to chase your high. His own fingers dug into the meat of your hips guiding you till your vision was blinded and you came hard. Eddie whimpered next to you as you turned your head to see him release his seed on to his thighs. 

“Steve, baby. You, uh, you’ll have to go first. I need to recharge.”, the metalhead chuckles as he pats the bed beside him. 

Steve climbs up your body, kissing your sweaty frame along the way. “How do you want me?”

He smirks as your face becomes bright red and he leans down to softly kiss your lips. “Tell me, beautiful girl. How do you want to fuck me?”

“I want to see your face. I want to watch your face…” Nodding, he kisses you again before flipping over onto his back. “Eddie, can you help me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He gently moves you around till you’re in-between the other boy’s legs who in response opens and lifts them up for you, holding them up at the knee. With his palm on your lower back, he pushes you forward and as you take hold of the base of the toy, pressing it towards his entrance. “There you go, baby. You may feel a bit of resistance but that’s because pretty boy here is tight as fuck. Whenever you’re ready.”

Your eyes meet Steve’s silently asking for permission and when he nods again, you slowly begin to inch forward. 

“Oh fuuuuck…”, he moans as his head falls back against the mattress. “Ke-keep going, babe. It feels really fucking good.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as you watch him squirm and fall apart underneath you. This is because of you and it’s making you clench tightly around the toy inside of you. 

“Yes, baby, you look so fucking sexy right now. You don’t—mmm—you don’t even know. Please…please, Y/N. Take me, baby, I’m yours.”

Your head hangs as you begin thrusting into him until fingers find your chin and tilt your eyes towards the man under you. 

“You said you wanted to watch him, sweetheart. He’s so handsome when he comes apart like this isn’t he?” Eddie leans over Steve’s cock and a line of spit falls on the tip before he reaches down to stroke him, matching your pace. 

“Oh fuck you, Munson.”, he groans as he cranes his neck back.

The metalhead grins as he leans in close and continues to whisper things in your ear. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking sexy taking him like this with your beautiful tummy glistening as you pump in him. Jesus, your entire body is gorgeous, just like his. Look at what you’re doing to him. You should try rolling your hips and press deeper into him.”

His hand guided you down to Steve’s chest who promptly encases you in his arms as you did what Eddie suggested. 

“Yes, baby. Faster, please. I’m gonna cum. Cum with me.”

Your sides began to burn as you did what he requested but you didn’t care. As your forehead fell on his, his pants warmed your face and you quickly covered his mouth as he moaned loudly. You both came at the same time, your body shuttering against his as you felt his spend hit your stomach. Leaning back, you continued to stroke him, elongating his orgasm as much as you could. 

“Ok, ok, please…please.” Steve reached for your hand as he begged you to stop. 

When you gradually pulled out, you collapsed against Eddie’s chest who in turn fell back against the pillows as he played with your hair and murmured praises.

“You did amazing, princess. Look at him. He’s in heaven right now because of you. Are you ok? Do you need some water or anything? Actually, I don’t know why I’m asking.” He reaches for the glass near the bed and places the rim near your lips. “Drink this, baby.”

You do as he says relishing the cool liquid as it slides down your throat. 

“I want to make you feel good to.”

“We can do again another time—”

“Please, Eddie.”

He chuckles as he kisses your forehead. “Ok, come here, my love.”

Turning you around he places your back against the headboard with pillows behind you so you’d be more comfortable. Steve sluggishly moved out of the way as you extended your legs, lying beside you both as he continued to watch with hooded eyes. 

“Alright, sweetheart, you did so well but I’m going to take more of the control here, ok?”

“I’m ok with that.”, you grin as he straddles his legs on either side of you.  

Reaching behind him, he took hold of the toy and slowly began descending onto it. 

“Fuck me.”

“D-Do you need lube or anything?”

Eddie aggressively shook his head, his hair blocking his face as he continued what he was doing till you felt his body against yours. Keeping most of the weight on his knees he began bouncing on top of you and a strangled moan left both your lips. Your fingers extended up to trail down his chest to his stomach as you took in the sight of him. Is this how they felt when you were riding them?

“F-fuck, Eddie. You look so—mmm—so good.”

Steve’s own fingers reached out trail the sweat down your throat to your tits as he played with your nipples, pinching them between his thumb and index making you whimper. You don’t know if it was seeing him like this or having the other boy touch you the way he was but your second wind suddenly came and took over. 

Grabbing Eddie’s waist, you pushed him off of you and to the side onto his tummy, climbing on top of him, and motioning for him to spread his legs. 

He moaned at your confidence, doing what you asked, and grunting as you slid into his ass. Leaning forward, you thrust your hips as his arm flew back to press his fingers into your thighs trying to guide you. 

“I want you to feel…what he felt…” You kissed along his shoulders, moving some of his hair away from his face. “Tell me what—mmm—what you need, baby. Please.”

“H-harder.”, was all he could get out, his jaw going slack when you pounded your hips into his. 

Pushing up on to your palms, you watched as Steve slid his hand into the boy’s hair behind his head and brought his lips to his. Their tongues mingled together as you fell against his back, rolling your hips as he groaned.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”, Eddie whined against the other man’s lips as he came, rutting his hips between you and the mattress. As he pushed back against you, it was enough to send you over the edge again as you pressed your face into his back and came as well. 

After pulling out of him, you tumbled on to your back as you both tried to catch your breath. Your hand blindly slid between your legs as you maneuvered the toy out of your now aching, overstimulated hole. When you finally opened your eyes to glance their way, you found them drunkenly smiling at you with half lidded eyes; Eddie still on his stomach with Steve resting his cheek between the other man’s shoulder blades. 

“I may need to start doing some crunches or something because my abs are sore.” Their grins grow as you giggle. “Did I do okay?”

The metalhead’s arm shot out to tug you closer to them, resting it across you as his palm pets your sweaty head.

“Better than.”, he murmured as Steve nodded in agreement. 

Silently, they roll out of bed and pick you up, bringing you to the bathroom to get clean. As the tub filled up, Eddie sat on the edge and helped you step out of the harnesses of the strap on. Once everything was ready, the three of you piled in as you cocooned yourself against Steve’s chest. 

“How did it feel for you?”, he asked as his palms roamed along your arms.

“I liked it a lot. More so watching what it did to you two. Did you like it because of the toy or because of me?”

“Both.”, Eddie answers. “You became more confident with it. It was sexy.”

“I wouldn’t say confident.”, you laugh. “I just wanted to make you feel good. I—”

“It felt good seeing us cum and knowing it was because of you.”, Steve finished for you. “We know the feeling.”

“I love you both…so much.”

“We love you to, sweetheart.”

The baby monitor in the bedroom pulls everyone from their blissful haze as James’s loudly comes through.

“I got him.” Steve rises as he grips your arm and helps you out as Eddie follows. 

While he changes the sheets, you quickly pull on some underwear and one of the metalhead’s shirts before hiding the strap-on in the bathroom making a mental note to clean it in the morning.

Right as you emerge back into the bedroom, Steve comes back with a wide-eyed baby who promptly falls into your arms. 

“Oof. What’s wrong, baby boy? You miss us?”

Once the bed becomes available, you climb into it and place James on your lap to lean against your knees as Eddie flops down beside you in his sweats. 

“Sir, it is after midnight. You should be asleep.” The baby babbles in his direction and reaches for his finger as the metalhead tries to poke his nose. “Nope. Nothing can stop me!”

As soon as the pad of his index fingers connect, James smiles wide in his direction. 

After you took the baby, Steve disappeared to heat up the bottle, shaking it as he returned and climbed in beside you. As you lay him between you both, he places the end into his mouth, trying to hold it with his little hands as Steve holds the end. 

“I remember a time when this frightened you.”, you smiled. “Obviously, there was no reason to be.”

James’s eyes began to droop as he rubbed his fist against them. You can’t help but giggle when you hear Eddie’s light snores behind you. 

“I think we’re all exhausted.”, Steve grins as he reaches out to pet your head. “Close your eyes, baby. I’ll sit with him till he’s done.”

As you shift your body further into the bed, Eddie flings his arm around your hip and tugs you closer to his chest as his face nuzzles into your shoulder. Steve’s eyes trace along the three faces of his family as his heart swells with pride. He tried remembering a time in his life when he was happier but the only things that came to mind were from the point when Dylan knocked on their door to now. 

When James finally fell asleep, he carried him back to his room and tucked him in. As he climbed back into his own bed, he caressed both your faces before snuggling up in front of you and holding your hand as he closed his eyes. 

############

@adequate-superstar @kalinaselennespeaks @strangerfreak

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@sashaphantomhive @chelebelletx @big-ope-vibes

@munsonzzgf @munsonmoonshine86

[scarletttries]

NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)

Steven Grant (Moon Knight) + Boobs: (prompt list)

Oh Steven, Steven, Steven. It's safe to assume he's never really been given the chance to explore his feelings towards boobs before you come into his life and start to give him the intimacy he's always craved. Don't get me wrong, as a touch starved individual Steven would often think about boobs when they appeared on his screen, or he walked past a woman in a particularly low-cut top, cursing himself for the rush of endorphins hitting his brain and turning his gaze to the skies to try and maintain his view of himself as a gentleman. But he didn't realise just how obsessed he was until it was your boobs he was looking at.

He'd pride himself on making eye-contact all through dinner the first time you came over in a thin camisole, his little flat keeping surprisingly warm in a mild London spring. But when you glanced down to your plate, deep in conversation about the impressive meal he'd prepared, he'd let his eyes drift down with you, landing on the enticing curves of your chest, the slight crease of cleavage enough to have him shifting in his seat and blushing uncontrollably.

When you start making out on his couch that evening you can feel his hands nervously hovering over your ribs, afraid to touch you in any way that might make you uncomfortable, so close to finally feeling the soft skin that called to him all night. Sitting up slightly you'd make a slow and deliberate move to slips the straps of your vest down your shoulders, Steven completely awestruck with every new inch of skin and lace revealed until only your bra was between him and the objects of his affection.

"You can touch me anywhere you want Steven." You'd have to reassure before he'd be confident enough to gently cup your chest in his trembling hands, genuinely unsure if he was going to pass out from excitement as he gave your chest a gentle squeeze. It doesn't matter if you have a small handful or voluminous curves, Steven is absolutely obsessed. He knows you are the most perfect person he'll ever get the company of and when he starts the trace his fingertips over the lace of your bra and you let out a content hum at his touch, he could swear there's never been a beautiful noise in all of history.

When he finally gets the nerve to unclasp your bra, placing it aside with the utmost delicacy and care, his chest is absolutely heaving at the sight of you, boobs exposed to him full for the first time. His own aching pleasure immediately forgotten, his hands would explore you again, cupping and kneading and trying to memorise exactly how soft you feel against his palms. Drinking in the little sighs and gasps he draws from you, he'd notice your reaction to his thumb grazing your nipple, the slight shake of your hips beneath his, making him hungry for more. His lips would trail down your neck until they found the spot that made you moan, tongue tracing circles lightly over one nipple while his hand continued to tease the other, his hips grinding against yours with every involuntary buck. Steven could have spent hours greedily lapping at your chest, but was sadly halted by his own excitement proving too much and filling his shorts the minute you moaned out his name.

From that moment Steven is completely obsessed with your chest, like a teenager discovering porn for the first time. Whenever you're away too long Steven finds himself reliving that moment while he rubs himself up and down in the shower, wishing you were there so he could see the way the suds would slide off your perfect shape as he washed you all over. If you dare to send him a cheeky photo of you topless or even just in a v-neck top, expect Steven to excuse himself to the bathroom asap, or maybe even turn up outside your door looking particularly bedraggled.

As long as you're okay with it, Steven can't really keep his hands off you. You'll try and watch a movie, settled between his legs with your back against his chest, one of his button down shirts wrapped around you when you'll notice buttons gradually getting undone. Once he's got you exposed the film is long forgotten for Steven as he just lets his hands settle on your chest for a moment, comforted by being able to feel you so close, before his own hunger for your stirs and he starts to run his fingers over your stiff nipples, cold in the night air, smiling down at you as your breathing picks up a little, chest starting to rise a little faster, meeting his teasing touch as he licks his fingers before bringing the slick sensation back to your chest. He won't let up until your hips are squirming against his, so sensitive and worked up that you're practically clenching around nothing by the time Steven lets you spin around and climb on top of him, watching in pure ecstasy as your chest bounces every time he thrusts up into you.

Warning somno HC: Steven is always completely conflicted when you sleepover over in one of your little lacey tank tops. He adores when he turns over in the night and sees the strap is half way down your arm, boobs spilling free of the thin fabric while you're sound asleep, unaware of his lustful gaze. But he feels a tinge of shame as he gives into the voices in his head that tell him he should help make sure you're having sweet dreams - carefully shifting down the bed until his tongue can trace over the soft satin skin of your curves, lapping delicately at the sensitive circles until they harden from his attention. He can hear you start to whimper in your sleep when he pulls himself away to lavish the other nipple in just as much attention, kneading the soft mounds as firmly as he can without risking waking you up. When he starts to see your thighs rub together he knows he's got you all worked up, your little brow furrowing in frustration as your pleasure grows with no release in sight. He always stops himself before he goes too far, usually rewarded when you wake up a few minutes later throbbing and sensitive, and Steven gets to listen to you rub your fingers over your sticky folds, clit quickly bringing you to release with a quiet whimper of his name. But he's sure one of these nights you're going to wake up to him deep inside you as he teases your nipples, and you're going to be nothing but grateful.

[anika-ann]

Cracks in Foundation (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, standalone or part of Love on the Brain series

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 6000

Summary: Dating Steve Rogers is a curse and a gift. Even as it was always a privilege, right now, it feels like the former. You really want to smack some sense into him so this never happens again, but you know it will – after all, that’s half the reason you love him.

In other words, Steve is stupidly brave on a mission and it has consequences neither of you could foresee. But maybe you should have; because now you’re here alone to pick up the pieces.

Warnings!!: Steve being an absolute dumbass, mentions and images of death, hypothermia, PTSD, flashbacks, probably not an ideal treatment of a flashback, canon typical violence, language

A/N: reader is called “Agent Jones”, works for the Avengers Initiative; you do not need knowledge of Criminal Minds or Love on the Brains series to read this, but it will, of course, make more sense. I imagine this taking place much later - in about a year after the events of Love on the Brain; divider by firefly-graphics

In my body I fight fire With the snow, my hell is cold (SYML – Body)

This shouldn’t have happened. This nevershouldn’t have happened but it had – of course it had. You should have seen it coming, both the action and the reaction. All of you should have known better, but you in particular.

Unfortunately, sometimes, despite your ability to profile people, you still failed.

Sometimes, despite your best knowledge of Steven Grant Rogers, you still managed to underestimate him. His literally unhuman body. His profoundly good heart. His incredible strength in both muscles and psyche. His ability to have you burn for him with a single touch. His ability to touch your heart in ways no one ever could.

His extraordinary dumbassery.

You really should have known so much better.

If you had, you wouldn’t have him here, face ashen, lips turning blue, eyes wide and unfocused; he looked like death itself.

You swallowed your tears and tried to battle the ever-rising panic crawling up your throat, closing your eyes for a moment as if it could erase the terrifying sight.

“Steve? Stevie? You’re going to be okay… I’m here. You’re going to be okay…”

You repeated the mantra so many times you weren’t sure anymore whether you were saying it to him or to yourself.

The craziest thing was, it wasn’t even the worst sight of the day you were offered by your exceptional dumbass of a boyfriend; no, that had been what your own mind had shown you. Now that image was going to haunt you forever and despite knowing yelling solved nothing and it couldn’t change the past, you were going to scream your lungs out when you’d get the chance. Later. Right now, you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Like making sure Steve Rogers, your GG, would come back to you.

You needed to get to work.

It was a routine mission really, if such things as routine existed within the Avengers Initiative. It was rather routine in terms of involvement of the actual Avengers; Steve and Natasha joined missions like these – sweep a base, gather intel, make some arrests if lucky enough – on a regular basis. Tony Stark coming with? Less so. Still, one could call it routine enough, even when located in the death of tundra in Russia around 100 miles from the border with Finland.

Besides the cold and Tony, there was nothing extraordinary. Just another mission.

And it had been; until the agents scattered and you heard several voices in the comms reporting they were in pursuit of the enemies. Until you found out they were chasing them through the tunnels and suddenly found themselves outside of the base. Until you learned that outside meant the landscape of the very frozen lake Natasha had purposely avoided landing the quinjet on for the fear of the heavy aircraft destabilizing the already risky environment.

Until you heard agent Smith was down. And by down, they meant under the ice, because a thinner layer of it cracked and broke under his feet. Until Steve fucking Rogers, two hundred and forty pounds of muscle and zero brain power at the moment had the wonderful idea to rush to Smith’s aid.

You had made it out of the base just in time to see his navy-blue suit disappear and your sleep for the following nights probably with it. You had stood there holding your breath as if you were the one in the icy water, as if subconsciously testing how much oxygen – as if that was the only concern – you had left before you’d have to make it to the surface for another breath.

It was long. It was too long. You had taken at least two breaths in the meantime and you weren’t sure the panic rising in your chest with every frantic beat of your heart, with every second they did not appear above the surface, was to blame.

Your hand flew to your comms and you cursed yourself for not having done it moments ago.

“Tony-“

“I’m onto those idiots, Squirt, don’t worry,” his voice sounded in your ear, not quite easing your worry in fact.

Steve was still under. Still in the water. Even though you were aware that he survived much worse than a few seconds of icy cold water – try decades – you’d rather he was still conscious when Tony would get his stupid ass out. And the second Steve would be able to hear you, were going to yell, very loudly and probably more than a little hysterical, because what the hell had he been doing beside tempting fate to give him another involuntary icy nap. You were going to chew the hell out of him, your fists curling in your thick microfibre gloves, because you felt like punshing him too, anything, just so you could stop holding your breath.

But you needed him to get out first.

“And get to the jet, your bae will need some warming up,” Tony added, causing you to grit your teeth, even as you were grateful; not a second later, the whoosh of Iron Man’s suit flying above your head blew the few stands of hair that escaped your hat in your face.

Completely ignoring Tony’s inappropriate comment and his sound advice, you remained right where you stood, gaze transfixed where you had last seen Steve, slipping under the surface. Your pulse thundered in your temples as you watched the red and gold of Tony’s suit fly like a flare above the flood of white surrounding you all, nearing the break in the ice, no doubt searching the heat signatures you assumed were fading with each passing moment.

And then the Iron Man himself performed an obnoxious superhero-like landing, complete with fist on the ground and your anger, gathering since you saw Steve dive into a fucking ice soup without a second thought, exploded, your vision turning bloody red for a split second. What the fuck was Stark doing that for?! Did he really just feed his ego while on a rescue mission?! You were going to-

And then the fist landed again. And again and again and then it hit you. You didn’t have the capacity to scold yourself for assuming and assuming completely wrong; the realization stunned you, blood freezing in your veins having nothing to do with the snow and harsh wind hitting your face.

The ice had frozen over. Steve jumped in and before he could emerge, the ice had frozen over his head. The image of a him under water, holding Smith, the fucking moron, to his chest and fighting to punch his way through the solid surface, swinging his arm heavily through the icy water stinging every inch of his skin, losing oxygen by the minute, that was an image that would haunt you forever, even as you had never set your eyes on it.

Then again, the arm of Tony’s suit diving into water and pulling out two men as easily as if they were helpless kittens was etched into your brain just as effectively, arriving with overwhelming relief. With a wordless prayer on your lips, you squinted against the snow blowing in your face to search for a lump of beloved and hated navy blue suit contrasting against the endless white of the plain surrounding the incident.

You’d swear you could hear him coughing, hungrily drinking in air in between when he doubled over as soon as Tony dropped him off in a safe distance from the crack. In the back of your mind, you were aware of the red and gold figure carrying the motionless body of Agent Smith, flying it to the quinjet, the medical team having prepared on the ramp with a stroller and equipment, but your eyes were transfixed on the dark mass of a supersoldier good hundred feet away still. You were almost certain, even from the distance, that he also managed to empty his stomach to make him feel even more miserable. Not that you blamed him; it had to be, apart from really fucking cold, extremely terrifying. It definitely was for you. Just the memory made your feel throat as if squeezed in a vice.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, pick-up number two happening right away,” Tony assured you face-to face, uncharacteristically humourless now that he had set eyes on the momentarily lifeless body of Agent Smith.

You thought you uttered a thank you, but he couldn’t hear it as he was already off to carry your exceptionally idiotic boyfriend along. And so you ran to the jet, boots heavy with snow falling in and biting coldly into your calf and shins, legs stiff from the shock of the experience still.

When Tony finally brought Steve after what felt like a lifetime, you certainly didn’t speak a word of complaint when he also hauled him further into the quinjet into one of the medical cubicles sans a team. You followed, painfully aware of every single muscle in Steve’s body trembling, the tips of his fingers having turned white.

“You can yell at him first,” Tony told you graciously, shooting Steve an ugly look before glancing at you entering just behind them.

“Gee thanks,” you snarked back automatically, tone softening when you met his genuinely worried eyes. “Thank you, Tony, really.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, but a small smile passed over his lips. “Jarvis, heat up this room for our Capsicle, will you?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. Steve wasn’t going to live that down any time soon, probably ever, not after attempting to became an icicle for the second time.

“Certainly, sir. Gradually heating up to 25 degrees Celsius, as recommended in the medical manual,” the AI chimed helpfully, the wave of heat washing over you instantly. The air felt almost tropical after the arctic wind outside, but you were grateful. Steve would need that.

“Thanks, J,” you said, throwing off your gloves, hat and parka as quick as you managed with your fingers freezing, not bothering with more as to help Steve strip his soaking garments as soon a possible.

The silence that settled after rang a sudden alarm bells; it dawned to you at last that during the whole exchange, Steve remained quiet. Way too quiet.

You’d expect the sounds of zippers and Velcro as he was tearing off his uniform, the fabric dripping icy cold water despite the best engineers and designers having worked on the material. You’d expect his teeth to clatter in doing so, colourful curses on his blueish lips, especially when in company of only you and Tony. He had been coughing out water, quite violently, barely just having been dropped in the jet, so you’d think his air-ways would still fight spasm and the biting intrusion of ice, the raspy wet cough not ceasing.

But Steve was doing neither of that, tripling your worry for him in the process.

You moved to round him to get a look at him with an urgent whisper of his name, stomach flipping in fear when he didn’t answer.

The lack of any action or sound was incredibly disconcerting, because it could mean two things: either, he was absolutely stunned, the weight of what could have happened finally falling on him, or he had been already struck by hypothermia severe enough to be acutely in danger despite being a far cry from what Smith had looked like when Tony dropped him off.

When you finally laid your eyes on Steve’s face, your heart nearly stopped. His skin was scarily pale, his lips turning alarming blue, but that, while worrying, wasn’t surprising at all. What shocked you was his eyes; his pupils were blown wide, unfocused, misted over to the point that had he been lying on the ground, you’d swear he was--

Do not even think it. You can’t. He was going to be fine, he was alright, he just needed to warm up, he was not—He was very much alive, you were sure of it, he had to be. But the fact was, Steve couldn’t see you. He wasn’t seeing anything.

With horror, your gaze fell to his chest and in a split second, you realized that his whole body was still. Way too still. He wasn’t moving at all; he wasn’t even breathing. And yet, he was standing upright, almost as if his feet simply froze to the ground and that was the only reason why he hadn’t collapsed yet- But you knew, you knew that wasn’t possible, and despite the panic clawing at your throat, you were hundred percent certain that he wouldn’t be standing upright had his heart stopped, so how was he still standing?

It would be baffling if it wasn’t absolutely terrifying. Why was he so still? It literally looked as if he was frozen, as if-

He was frozen.

When it finally clicked, a choked noise erupted from lips, your heart shattering into thousand pieces; but your mind snapped into action, already working on solutions.

“Tony, get us as many of towels, blankets and those small heat packs, as you can manage  and give me full access to J. Make sure we have complete privacy. No one needs to see this.” Your throat was too tight for you to be able to speak on normal volume, but that was the least of your concerns, truly. You were sure Tony heard you just fine.

At least someone did.

“Kinky-?” Tony uttered, confused by your sudden escalated panic and the look you shot him – if looks could kill, he’d already be lying in a pool of his blood.

“Tony, get your ass fucking moving or I’ll swear to god I’ll strangle you in a way that will make Sam McDowell look like an amateur.”

Whether he knew the name of the prolific serial strangler or simply understood the urgency in your tone, he had enough wit to take his leave without further protest and with relative hurry, leaving you focus fully on Steve. Oh Steve. The absent brilliant blue of his irises had your stomach make another unpleasant somersault, your eyes filling with tears, nose tingling in anticipation of a full sobfest.

You so couldn’t afford that now. You couldn’t afford screaming either, but good god, did you want to – you wanted to stand in front of a mirror and scream your lungs out because how could it have not punched you straight in the face right away? How could you have not seen it coming?! You only had years of experience in profiling, with dealing individuals struggling with PTSD among other things. You only known Steve for years, knew what he had endured. You only learned about the sacrifice of Captain America in high school, several years ago.

God, the icy water. Could there be any more obvious and deadly trigger?

Of course Steve’s gaze was absent, his whole mind was. He wasn’t here with you, not in time and not in space; he was in the water. In a water so icy it was turning solid, trapping him for decades to come. People couldn’t breathe under water. People couldn’t breathe when frozen in a mass of ice.

Now you understood the reason for the absolute stillness of his whole body including his chest. Steve’s mind was locked so firmly into the memory that it either shut his body – because logically, he wouldn’t be able to breathe, let alone move in the prison he found himself in – or it latched onto his survival instinct, screaming at him not to breathe to prevent the water flooding into his lungs.

You fought your instinct to gag when the iron fist that realization hit you square in the stomach and sent bile up your throat.

So not the time. You needed him to snap out of it. And you needed it fast before you’d lose any more precious seconds.

“Steve?” you called out lowly, giving zero shit about the crack in your voice. “Stevie? You’re going to be okay, but I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?” you pleaded.

Grimacing, you released an involuntarily whimper when you got zero reaction. You pushed through the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to repeat the words in normal volume. The only response you got was the ever-present unnatural stillness; and Steve’s lips gradually turning bluer.

Your thoughts whirled in your head, mind desperately trying to latch onto any knowledge and experience you had with dealing with PTSD. You had never encountered someone with similar problem, never dealt with a flashback of this magnitude; Gideon had once taken the lead with a soldier trapped in his mind, murdering civilians for he believed them to be enemy soldiers, but that was Gideon. Jason Gideon, with his mind of steel and twenty-five years of experience. Jason Gideon, one of the founding fathers of the Behaviour Analysis Unit himself.

On your own, you were at loss with someone so far gone; but what you knew had to be enough. What you knew was that the only way of breaking Steve out of the prison his mind had created was to anchor him in reality, to appeal to all his senses.

The problem was that the majority of stimuli Steve was receiving from his senses matched the very environment of his flashback. The reality you would try to ground him in was his clothes soaking wet in freezing water and him being on a planewith a voice of a woman in his ears, trying to sooth his suffering. In other words, the reality was how he ended up buried in the ice in the first place.

Aware that you were shaking like a leaf yourself, jaw set so tight it was beginning to hurt, you were also painfully aware you couldn’t just stand there doing nothing with cheeks wet with tears and stare at the strongest person you had ever knew involuntarily depriving himself of oxygen. You had to do something.

Touching him was, frankly, a terrible idea; touching anyone with a flashback would be, because you’d be risking triggering a fight or flight response instead. Touching Steve and triggering the fight part in a supersoldier however, get him run on pure instinct? Now that could result in your broken neck or crushed windpipe really quickly. That idea truly didn’t sound appealing to you; and Steve would never forgive himself. You’d rather avoid that.

You took a deep breath, releasing the air shakily as your mind raced. Alright. Time. If you couldn’t ground him in space, you needed to ground him in time.

“Steve, GG, look at me. I’m Agent Jones – I’m Sparkles,” you said urgently, taking care to voice every syllable, daring to step an inch closer to him, hoping to fill his field of vision completely. “And I’m right here with you. There’s no water. Nothing’s stopping me or you from breathing.” You exaggerated an inhale and exhale, the warm air washing over his face, but without any effect. “There’s plenty of air, GG, for both you and me. Please.”

You dug your nails into your palms when nothing happened but your love staring back blankly, unnaturally stiff.

Steve could hold his breath for a long time – much more than an average human, his lung capacity unmatched – but he had also been drowning, so you really couldn’t count on that. You were running out of time. He was going to pass out. Sure, his breathing would kick in then and hell, maybe losing consciousness would be a blessing compared to this, but that sleep would not be peaceful and there was no telling what the wake-up call would look like other than really fucking unpleasant. The idea of him escaping one nightmare only to be find himself in another and then another until he woke up to the reality just as harsh, as if freshly having lost the whole world he knew all over again, chased fresh tears into your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Tony’s voice snapped you from your focus, your heart nearly bursting through your chest.

Jesus, how long had he been standing there?

Not important; and you didn’t have time to explain. Without thinking, you spilled the truth in as few words as possible, in the very same breath you tried to appeal to Steve again, your gaze never shifting from his pale face.

“He’s having a flashback, please leave, thank you for the blankets-- GG, please. Breathe with me, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. I’m right here. Trust me. I can breathe just fine…”

You could not. You felt as if someone smashed your ribs with a crowbar for laughs and hit and hit until you couldn’t breathe in without blinding pain, but you knew, you knew it had to be nothing compared to what Steve was facing and you needed to get a grip, you couldn’t wallow in it and you couldn’t let the biting fear consume you. Not with Steve like this.

You were out of other options. Gulping, you oh so slowly lifted your trembling hand, settling it against Steve’s ashen cold cheek. You only got as far as your skin brushing his when a vice-like grip on your wrist stopped you, tearing your touch away and completely immobilizing your hand in the process.

He didn’t look at you as you hissed in pain; he was still far, far away, not moving an inch more than strictly necessary to stop you. But the jolt of pain into your wrist was accompanied by a loud gasp for air, his ribcage expanding right in front of your eyes.

A wet laugh escaped you. “Oh thank god.”

His fingers might as well be made of ice, just as freezing and just as rigid, clutching at you with all the might his body was probably capable off and it hurt. But at least it wasn’t your throat in his grip; you could both breathe. That was a tremendous win.

You still needed to anchor him further and actually bring him back, but the door to his mind were unlocked at least. Now you needed to appeal to all his senses, talk him through it, so he could open the door himself.

“Agent Jones? Do you require assistance?” Jarvis asked warily, no doubt reacting to your physical distress.

Rightfully so, because it was growing – if it was possible, Steve’s fingers dug further into your flesh, already making for a bruise, you were sure. Your fingertips begun to tingle, strange numbness spreading through your hand, but you were far too gone to give up now. You could handle this. You’d get Steve release you on his own.

“Not for now, J, thank you. We’re good—actually, Jarvis?” you called out lowly, the artificial intelligence instantly letting you know he listened. “Can you play me a song? I need to get Steve in the modern times.”

“Certainly. What would you like me to play, Agent Jones? Something contemporary?”

“Yeah. Contemporary and irritatingly ear-worming,” you muttered, mind racing.

A song Steve would hundred percent know, one his mind would without a single doubt identify as something modern. It was the biggest assholery of your mind to push the melody of Let It Go into the forefront of your overstressed brain before anything else, but a hysterical chuckle escaped you anyway, forcing you to lick off tears from your lips. It was the stupidest thing and the worst irony ever – because yeah, the cold really fucking bothered you now and it sure bothered Steve.

“Something way too overplayed on a radio, preferably without the words cold, snow, ice and such in it, J.”

It was only half a second later, when Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off came out the speakers.

Despite yourself, you snorted, fresh tears springing out. This time, you appreciated the irony. That was what Steve needed, right? He just needed to shake it off. He’d be fine.

Taking a deep breath, smiling through your tears and the growing pains in your wrist, you got to work.

You told him what he was hearing. The engines, the song, the heating running, your voice. You told him what he could see, your hair, the colour of your eyes, the Avengers logo etched onto your uniform and not an SSR one, the high-tech equipment you knew he could have never seen in his original time. You told him about the heat washing over his face and hair, your hand in his.

The owlish, painfully slow blink you elicited was a victory, bringing a smile to your face, drying your tears, bringing a softer and softer tone to your voice as you continued speaking.

“Steve? GG? I know it’s cold and I want to help you,” you said gently, trying to meet his gaze as it began to slowly roam to room; still absent, but not misted over anymore. “I could help you by taking off that wet suit, taking away the cold. But for that, I need you to let go of my hand so I can-“

You gritted your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut when the response you got was the exact opposite, as if he was mad at you for even suggesting it; you stifled the whimper at the prickling his grip sent through your arm. It was hard to tell whose hand was paler now; he definitely cut off your circulation and it was not a pretty sight. But you only had yourself to blame and you promised yourself you’d never do otherwise.

It was only when the numbness replaced the pain that it dawned to you where the problem might be.

“GG, please? I promise I won’t leave. I’ll stay right here with you. But I need you to release my hand so I can take that cold away. Only the cold, I swear.”

You nearly cried when the pressure on your wrist gradually eased, a shaky exhale sounding a lot like a whine escaping you. That was most definitely more than a bruise; you allowed yourself a few seconds of deep breaths, fighting off the dark edge in your vision.

Then, you grabbed after one of the small heating pads, snapping the thin metal plate inside to initiate a chemical reaction; in an instant, the thick liquid began to solidify and warm up. You placed in into Steve’s still open palm, hanging loosely by his side, enclosing his icy fingers around it despite the gloves getting in the way. You winced at the sharp pain shooting through your arm. Definitely more than a bruise. You repeated the process to warm up his other hand, finally going for the Velcros and zippers on the front of his suit.

Thankfully, the temperature Jarvis had set melted the microcrystals of ice around the metal, allowing you to undo it relatively easy. You felt Steve’s eyes on your now, his body slowly, oh so slowly getting on with the programme, fists unclenching when you needed to pull the sleeves over his hands without dropping the pads.

“You’re doing so good, Stevie, so good,” you praised him softly, loud enough to speak over the second playing of the song in the background. You were going to hear it for days, you were certain. And you’d hate it forever, too. “You’re a great help, GG, thank you.”

When he dropped the pads, you made a quick work of undoing his gloves too, before pushing new pads into his hands. His thick pants followed; the boots though, those were trickier.

Fuck this. You swiftly searched the transparent cabinets for scalpel, slicing the material through as carefully as you could with your still trembling hands. The water was still brutally cold against your fingers; and your wrist was beginning to throb. Almost there, you soothed yourself, wondering whether you’d manage to make Steve sit down so you could take off those boots and the pants… and underpants. You’d rather have him keep his dignity, but his boxer shorts were soaked through as well and way too close to his core… maybe if you placed enough heating pads around…

The truth was that despite your instincts screaming at you, you knew you didn’t have to worry that much about the physical effects of the low temperature on him. As awful as it sounded, you knew he could take the icy cold – that was part of the problem. It was the numbing memory constructing the perfect trap for his mind, the dissociation, that took precedence, as unusual as it was. And if you weighted the pros and cons…

Well. It wasn’t like his dick was going to freeze right off.

You stood to your full height, licking your lips as you faced Steve again. He was watching you now with surprising intent; you tried to give him a reassuring smile, raising your unharmed hand slowly enough for him to register and placed it on his ribs, almost under the armpit, ready to support him in case his muscles didn’t quite respond to his command as expected when you’d ask him to sit down.

What you didn’t expect was for him to crumble under your touch.

Over two hundred pounds of muscle was too much for your body to carry. When he leaned onto you without a single warning, his knees giving way, dropping his whole weight on your shoulders, you tumbled to the ground as you were without a real chance to slow down the fall. Your hands instinctively attempted too, but you knew you could add bruised backbone and your other wrist to the list on your injuries.

And while pain briefly shot through you very bones, you soon didn’t give a damn.

Not when Steve buried his face in the crook of your neck, arms gripping onto your body like as if it was a lifeline, harsh breaths and heartbreaking sobs escaping his lips, shaking his usually strong frame; but maybe that was just shivers from the cold. His skin was still almost icy to touch, his nose like an icicle as he pressed to your collarbone over your thermals, wet hair tickling your chin; his pants at his ankles, his boots, barely keeping together, still as his feet. You let them be as they were. Instead of stripping him further, you managed to reach for at least one of the pads and throw it into his lap, the blankets and towels too far away.

You enclosed Steve in a hug, achy hand carefully resting in his hair, the other running soothing circles on his back in a poor attempt to console him. His tears seeped into your shoulder and you never cared less for anything in your life; yours in return disappeared into his hair. Sweet nonsenses were spilling from your lips, drowned in his ragged sobs; you whispered his name over and over, his name and all endearments that came to mind and even remotely fit him. I’ve got you, love. Sweetheart, I’m here, sweet, I’m here… oh GG, my gentle giant, giant heart, I’ve got you, this will pass, I’ll help, I’ll help, I’ll help you stand up again. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, baby, so proud…

The song, thank god, stopped playing as soon as Steve broke.

You could feel his body weighting a ton, every muscle weary, strung and feeble at once, and yet, it was his mind making for most of the weight he couldn’t bear. Feelings he normally hid behind a wall as tall as Tower of Babel so he could lead others into battle with a brave face now oozed off him and soaked your skin and mind. You could only imagine the onslaught of emotions and memories, reminders of all he lost, the ghost of having woken up in the new millennium for the first time looming over him.  

The way his fingers dug into your forearm, clutched at the flesh of your waist, it would hurt later; but at the moment, those long agonizing minutes that felt like an eternity, you barely felt it, instead consumed by overwhelming grief for the kindest and strongest soul you had ever met. The best man, breaking in front of your eyes and in your arms.

It took long minutes before you dared to move, just enough to reach for the blanket and strip him off the pants and shoes at least. You never went too far. The volume of your voice decreased along with Steve’s, along with the tremble of his exhausted body. He melted into your frame, falling asleep right there, held in your considerably weaker arms and you were grateful.

In a low voice, you asked Jarvis to notify Steve’s therapist – and yours, even if with less urgency. The worst of it was over, but you weren’t naïve as to think that just because the storm was over, there would be no damage and no need for restoration.

For now, you held Steve and tried to keep him warm, not blind to the fact his body combined with Jarvis’ service was already drying off the last piece of clothing he wore. You ran the fingers of your unharmed hand through the golden damp strands of his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead every now and then, hoping his sleep was dreamless.

Minutes or hours later, Natasha was the one to find you still curled one into other, gently telling you that everyone had already left the jet and that she’d send medics over in a few. You gave her a brave smile even as you were feeling everything but, your adrenalin wearing off and leaving you on the brink of breaking yourself.

When two medics rolled Steve away and you followed, refusing to move an inch farther from Steve than necessary just in case he’d unexpectedly wake up, a third one forced you to take an x-ray as your hand was already swelling.

As it turned out, there was a crack in both your ulna and radius, the mass, however strong, having been unable to withstand Steve’s strength. The swelling was bothering your nerves and your veins, hence the painful tingles and numbness; but in the end, they were just cracks. They’d heal.

Cracks actually usually hurt more than complete breaks, Doctor Jackson told you. You thought it was quite fitting. What Steve had experienced was not a break, for he was never broken; you weren’t certain he could be. It was but a crack; the foundation of who he was had so far been strong enough to withstand horrors unimaginable. And even though the cracks hurt like a bitch, you’d be there for him to help him through the pain.

The cracks in your bones could be solved by a few pills and rest; his would be a little more complicated.

But you’d help build him up again. You’d help him stand tall. Not for the sake of Captain America, the shining beacon of hope, the façade that could be speedpaint with shines of red, blue and white with ease. No, you’d help repair the real cracks for Steve, the gentlest of giants you knew, even if it would take more time and effort than an icon.

He was worth the trouble; even as you suspected that once he’d wake, he might have a thing or two to say about that. You’d convince him otherwise; you wouldn’t be alone.

And neither would he.

With a splint all over your forearm and wrist and a promise you would do a session in Doctor Cho’s cradle to speed the healing, you settled on the bed by Steve’s bedside, the surprisingly serene expression on his face and the gentle beeps of the heart monitor making for a warm hum of satisfaction in your chest.

You’d heal together. Of that, you were sure.

I was hearing words in black and white Twisted up inside my broken mind Outstretched dirty hands just like a child Hungry little fool, but you were mine (SYML – Body)

Steve Rogers masterlist // Love on The Brain masterlist

Notes (because the first aid trainer in me screams and severe hypothermia is a bitch): normally, first concern would most definitely be the cold, hypothermia and the impending arrhythmia (can be caused by the cold), but a) it was established Steve’s body can take it (proved the hard way) and b) his suit probably kept the absolutely worst away… PSA over.

ANYWAY. I hope you – well – liked it ("enjoyed" feels like a little too strong of a word for Steve’s suffering) 🥰 Thank you for reading! Feedback is life.

P.S. – this will likely be followed by a second part called Restoration, but I make no promises.

P.P.S. - if you wish to read a fluff about "Steve fell through frozen lake" situation, I recommend Frozen by @tilltheendwilliwrite 🥰

P.P.P.S. -  if you are a CM fan, know that the title is a loose reference to Emily's issues in the second half of season seven when she tries to re-settle down with the team and at Quantico.

[melodygatesauthor]

Can I request any thots you might have on the moon boys with a male reader? (Could be the character from your pride fic idm- I just love your mk/male reader stuff 😭😭)

AND CONGRATS ON 2K!! You are such an insanely talented and dedicated writer and you deserve all this and more. Best of luck with your novel, by the way! And thank you personally for inspiring me both with art and writing! 💞💞-🦝

Ooooh yes of course! I love talking about my m!Reader <3 He might be huge but he's very precious to me lol. Wanna put him in my pocket.

And thank you so much! I'm very excited about what's next for the novel, I'm trying to get things organized before I start writing but I'm almost ready!

And to say I inspired you...I can't...brain fries...does not computeeee 🥺 <- my face rn

Fic for context: Feeling You Can't Fight

NSFW below the cut

Steven is absolutely obsessed with our Reader in Feeling You Can't Fight. The man is big, and while looks aren't everything, it's definitely Steven's favorite feature. He likes being the smol one.

Nothing get's Steven more turned on than feeling your hard cock against his ass while he's cooking dinner for you both.

Sometimes he gets whiny - "love, m'busy tryna get this squash in the oven, can't it wait?" - No matter how much he 'protests', he fucking loves it.

Half the time he'll stop what he's doing when you cage him in from behind against the counter, letting out a shudder as your lips brush against the shell of his ear.

Dinner often gets put to the side or burnt because you're bending Steven over every surface in the kitchen with your fat cock buried in his tight hole.

----

I'm going to do my best to talk about the other two without spoilers for the fic lol...

Marc I HC as a switch. He likes being on top as much as he likes being on bottom. Normally if he's going to bottom, our reader has to sort of push him into it, and it's only when Marc is feeling particularly vulnerable.

Imagining Marc, just waking up from sleep, feeling the prod of your cock against his ass first thing. He's groaning a bit because he hasn't bottomed for you yet but he's not stopping you as you pull his pants down to his thighs.

You're a leaking mess and he's to ashamed to speak so he just turns his head into the pillow while the breath punches out of his lungs. When you test his entrance, he mutters a low - fuck - before you push inside.

Marc's tight, and wasn't ready for your size, despite talking tough. When his mouth opens, you fill it with two of your thick fingers while you rut into him at a steady pace.

----

Then there's Jake, who I think would be a top through and through, but once in a while, you're able to get the upper hand. Usually it's when Jake gets mouthy, you can grab him by the back of the neck - "What did you just say little Jakey? Hm?" -

He actually enjoys the way your fat dick fills him up and stretches him out, forcing him to drool like a dog all over the fresh linen sheets. He's groaning and whining louder than Steven sometimes, being as vocal as he is, muttering curses in Spanish when you spill your hot seed in his asshole.

----

Phew...I went off there haha. Thank you for the love and support <3

Melody's 2k Celebration Masterlist

[ivonhart]

the moon | steven grant x fem werewolf!reader

+ marc spector & jake lockley

— chapter three

| next

| previous

masterlist

cross posted on ao3

gif credit: @paper-n-ashes

summary: You've always hated the moon. Hated the way it made your body bend and break into a new form every month. Hated the way it tied you to one of the many gods of it. But you couldn't hate what the moon connected you to…who it connected you to.

a/n: I want to apologize for not updating much. These last few months have been one thing after another and it's absolutely draining me. I'm not sure when the next time I'll be updating but I'll try my best to write when I can.

Your movements were sluggish and uncoordinated as you stumbled around your apartment. Just seconds ago you looked out your window, only to see Steven race out of his building with a familiar storage key in hand. A copy of said key now held tight within your hand as you raced down the building’s steps.

Normally, you would’ve been on the man’s tail by now but with the injuries you recently sustained and the lack of sleep you’ve gotten your movements were slow. A string of curses fell past your lips the moment you saw Steven get on a bus. With a heavy groan you hunched over and placed your hands on your knees.

You were so tired…oh so tired, but you had to keep moving. By the time you got to the storage unit it was clear that Steven had seen everything Marc hid from him when his rapidly moving body collided with yours down the narrow hallway. Groans filled the air when the two of you hit the ground; your head smacking on the solid ground creating black dots across your sight. “Fu-Fucking hell, Steven!”

You wheezed out due to the man’s weight locking you against the ground. The sound of your voice snapped the man back into reality and he was quick to stumble up while shouting your name. His breathing was uneven and his head contented to whip back over his shoulder.

No doubt trying to see Khonshu who you saw lingering a few feet away. His eyes blew wide when he realized the state you were in. “Oh, bollocks!” Quickly, the man dropped to his knees and gently grabbed your hand. “Are you alright?” Despite the slow pace in which you stood and the slowly disappearing black dots, you found yourself swaying slightly.

Thankfully, you didn’t feel or smell any blood but you knew a splitting headache was going to form. Gods you wished to sleep. The moment you found your balance your hands latched onto his shoulders. “Steven…I need to speak with Marc.” Your words came out between heavy breaths. Coated with exhaustion and pain. The man’s mouth opened slightly.

“Wa–” He was quick to step out of your reach and grabbed the bag that dropped after the collision. The action caused you to realize what he had. “Steven…give me the bag.” His lips pulled into a thin line as he curled the bag towards his chest. “Y-You’re…with him?”

The words dripped in disbelief. Betrayal. His large eyes tore into your heart but you had to protect him. “Steven, please. Just trust me…” You took a step forward while he took one back. “Give me the bag.” When he refused once more, Khonshu stepped in. “GIVE HER THE BAG YOU FOOL!”

The scream that left Steven’s mouth ripped into your ears, causing your hands to fly up to cover them and allowing the man room to run past you. With a quick shake of the head you ran after the man and as you exited the building you heard a familiar voice. “Marc?”

-

Steven and Layla followed on your heels as you walked into Steven’s apartment. The curly haired woman spat out your name with venom. “What the HELL is going on?!” Your back was turned to the two of them as your nails began moving up and down your scared arm.

The long sleeves you wore being scrunched up after the anxiety lit your blood on fire, causing your body heat to rise. Steven turning on Marc’s phone made the whole situation even messier than it already was. The lack of response from you caused Layla to turn her attention to Steven.

“Marc? Why haven’t you fucking said anything either?” The man tensed up. “I already told you, I’m not Marc. I-I’m Steven.” His eyes shifted over to your pacing form for a second before back to Layla. “Steven with a V.”

The woman rolled her eyes with a groan. “Enough with this stupid cover-up!” During the whole route back to the apartment, the woman was adamant that Steven was Marc. “Layla, that really isn’t Marc.” Your voice gained her attention as her eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean that isn’t Marc?”

The two watched as you sat on Steven’s couch and sighed. “It’s a long story, Layla…and really hard to explain.” She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Does this “long story” have anything to do with the fact you and Marc, my best friends, suddenly upped and disappeared without saying anything.”

She took a step towards you with a scowl. “I thought you both were dead!” Your head dropped into your hands with a heavy sigh. The palms of your hands rubbing into your eyes in a futile attempt to ease the pain in your head. You had to tell them. Marc wasn’t going to like it, but you had to tell them.

After dragging your hands down your face you looked up at the two and began talking. As you did, Layla found her way next to you while Steven stood across from the two of you. You kept the details light, not saying much regarding Steven and Marc's situation aside from the fact the two shared a body.

You chose to simply focus on the Scarab. “S-So…everything he said about being an Avatar is true?” His question came out with shaky breaths as his large eyes bore into yours. Slowly, you nodded your head whilst your eyes fell to your lap. “My job is to watch over you, Steven. I was supposed to keep you out of all of this…”

Your words cracked as you felt tears burn your vision. “But I failed.” Steven watched as your nails began cutting into your scared skin once more. The past few days caused the skin to blister and bruise from the amount of attention you gave it.

The man wanted to reach out and stop you. Hold you. Love you. But before he could move at all, Layla spoke up. “Bullshit.” Both you and Steven snapped your heads towards her as she sprung to her feet. “This is all bullshit!” The two of you watched as she stomped over to the bag that had been discarded on the nearest table.

“How do I believe anything you and Marc say when you have this, the thing we fought side by side for, stuffed in a–” She flipped the bag’s strap with a scoff. “a gym bag?!” Once more her attention was back on you and Steven. “You thought you could just cut me out, huh? Is that it?!”

You shot from your sitting position and held your hands up, ignoring the sudden black dots in your vision. “Layla, what?! No!” You said back with unsteady footing. It took everything to stay upright. As if driven by instinct, Steven lunged to grab one of your hands after he saw you start to sway.

With his hand in yours, the man turned to Layla. “I am not Marc Spector.” His voice was soft…quiet, as if he'd make her more mad by being any louder. He looked over to you and saw you were just as stressed as him. Unfocused eyes, sunken cheeks and shallow breaths.

So, he kept a firm hold on your hand while he continued. “I’m Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop.” That was when his hand slipped from yours as he deflated. “Well…I used to work in a gift shop.” It was like someone kicked you while you were down at the reminder.

After the Jackal incident, you tried getting Khonshu to fix the damage but he refused. And in turn, Steven lost his job. Before anything else could happen, a sudden knock cut through the air. “Steven Grant, can we have a word?”

The hairs on the back of your neck rose as you felt the wolf stir in the depths of your mind. Pacing back and forth while growling and yapping. BADBADBADBADBAD. Any exhaustion you once felt disappeared at the possibility of danger.

You were quiet to move to the door and right before opening it, you made sure to motion Layla and Steven to get close to the window in case something went bad. And something did because the moment you opened the door you felt white-hot pain spread through your stomach, causing you to stumble back.

A scream lodged itself in Steven’s throat when he saw the blood rapidly fill your shirt from the silenced gunshot wound you sustained. “Steven…Marc…” You wheezed their names out before smashing into the ground.

-

Your pleads fell on deaf ears as you sank deeper and deeper into the darkness. Your inability to regain control of the body allowed her to ravage those around her. Allowed her to ravage your family. You floated, helpless, in the space as their screams echoed throughout the empty void. Each second their cries for mercy grew fainter and fainter as the thick red liquid encased all your senses. The iron taste of their blood invaded your mouth as the wolf tore into their bodies, one by one. All while you watched. 

You shot awake with a choked gasp before the pain finally registered. “FUCK!” The shout sliced through the silent air as you slammed back down on the ground with a groan. Your vision swayed in and out of focus as tears swelled behind your eyes; your hands immediately moved to your mid-section where you felt the blood.

That’s when you remembered what happened. “Steven…” His name came out through gritted teeth while tears began falling down your cheeks. The bullet was still in your stomach, you could feel it with each slight movement.

Suddenly, you heard your name get called out and shortly after Layla was by your side. The woman fell to her knees with a first aid kit she found in the bathroom. “Steven?” You paid her no mind as you tried sitting up once more.

The innate need to know he’s safe made you completely ignore the growing pool of blood that surrounded you. Layla was quick, yet gentle, to push you back down with a slight scold. “Don’t move.” Her head dropped as she began rummaging through the kit.

“The bullet is still inside your stomach and I need to get it out so you can heal.” You could hear as she grew more frantic. “I-I can’t find anything to get it out.” Her voice was shaky and as you turned your head, you took note of her hands.

They were covered in your blood and unable to still from the nerves rushing through her body. "Jus…” You bared your teeth as you pushed yourself to your elbow with heavy breaths. You had to get the bullet out one way or another. “Just get me something…to bite on.”

Layla eyed you with worry before eventually doing what you asked. As she searched for something you raised your free hand and slowly extended the sharp nails from their nail beds. The claws you sported growing longer and longer in order to reach inside.

You had to get the bullet out…one way or another. “Okay…I found a belt.” You nodded stiffly with quick breaths before opening your mouth, allowing Layla to put the leather between your teeth. Without a second to lose your claws launched into the wound in search of the metal. You had to find Steven.

-

tag list: @n1ght5h4d3-24 / @sunipostsstuff / @blackholegladiator / @ajeff855 / @daughterofthequeen / @faefanatic / @dropdeadbec / @sgt-morgan / @milk-bulb / @dev-angeline / @griffinkid2187 / @mxltifxnd0m / @badbishsblog / @local-mr-frog / @khaleesihavilliard / @rmoonstoner / @thewinterv / @oscarissac2099

[sunnysideprincess]

Tony Stark was a wizard well known to attract trouble with the divine. First it was Loki, who had been enraged that a mere mortal couldn't be enchanted by him. Then it was Thor when Tony cursed his brother to erupt in painful boils if he dared to step on Earth. After, it was Steven drenched head to toe in swamp water—which was very reasonable on Tony's part because the flame keeper's tantrum was hurting his largest batch of hibiscus. Though he was willing to admit there had been a slight misunderstanding due to Natasha and Fury's mingled cunning. There was also Tiberus Stone, a minor deity of an abandoned mountain, who sought Tony's land and thought the best way to do it was to flood the lower plains and destroy an entire settlement. The less it was said about how many mortals and immortals he had pissed off was better. Though the incident did gain Tony his Rhodeybear, a furious looking cloud Elf and it did mellow Steven, who now went by Steve of all names.

Coming to the present, there was a wolf blocking his way. Its fur gleaming silver like the frost and eyes glittering greys and blues like a budding storm. Tony had been warned about it. Once a hell demon going by the name of Winter Soldier, now he was seated at the council of gods as the White Wolf.

Not currently of course. Not when he was prowling around Tony in a way that wasn't unlike a predator circling a prey. A slightly difficult situation, considering Tony was all out of mana after destroying the Hydra beast lurking near a demigod settlement and his spare arc was in the carriage with little miss Wanda. He was bleeding and exhausted, hungry and stumbling.

He was a great wizard. The best. But he was also a mortal in dire need of the comforts of his home.

So he was caught unaware when a drop of his blood touched the ground, when the wolf took a deep breath and lunged, disappearing into a blur. And Tony, who was too busy in trying keep his body upright, yelped when his world tilted and he ended up facing the maw of the beast.

"Alright, that's it," he growled, pulling his only faintly glowing arc out of his pocket. "Get off, frost fleabag, before I push you—hheeek!"

He would never admit it, not even under the threat of drowning, that he squeaked like a squirrel when he felt the icy tip of the wolf's nose diving into the crook of his neck. He would also never tell of how the soft exhale which cast ice crystals over his skin made his cheeks heat in a way no mortal or immortal had ever known to or how he shivered when he felt the scrape of tongue over his skin.

"Bucky, no!"

The wolf jumped back, its teeth bared and eyes slanted in annoyance. Tony was quick to scramble up and plant his back against the nearest stump of tree, wondering why in the world was Steve marching down towards the wolf like it was a runaway dog and why in the world was the White Wolf sniffing and licking Tony.

"What in the seven heavens are you doing?"

The wolf huffed out a challenging breath then growled at the god, before tilting its head towards Tony.

"Absolutely not! No," Steve growled, erupting in his usual bright blue fames. "You know it is forbidden."

"What is," Tony voiced out loud, gathering the attention of the two divines. A flicker of annoyance washed over him, reminding him just why Gods were the most terrible of all immortal brethren. They were brutish, vicious and above all, thought they were entitled to every man's respect. "I wish to know exactly why your friend—is he not—decided to jump a weary travelling wizard?" He gave himself pause to fix his posture, then added a snide "your ever-unfrozen highness" for good measure.

The wolf huffed out a —laugh? It cast a smug look towards Steven then licked its teeth in a slow teasing reminder of what it had tasted on Tony.

Tony, like any respectable wizard, ignored the heat and tingles rising up his spine and crossed his arms.

"Well?"

"He's Bucky."

"Oh my—is he your pet? How very scandalous, your lordship! Does the heaven know about it? Does my godmother know about it? Who, may I remind you, you have pledged your eternally beating heart to."

"Tony," Steve sighed, his flames flickering back to a more manageable size. "No. He's not—He is my friend. And he, uh..."

The wolf snorted and much to Tony's everlasting surprise, Steve's flames came back roaring.

"Shift back to your humane form then, I'm not willing to be your translator for the night!"

"What are you—"

The place where the wolf was standing erupted in a flurry of snow and wind. And Tony watched, fascinated and already itching to try and create a spell which could mimic the flare of it all, as the air cleared.

The wolf was gone, and instead there was a man, almost as tall as Steven. His hair belowed with the wind, reaching past his chin in waves that would make the travelling Sphinx jealous. His left arm, bless Tony's luck, was completely encased in ice and carrying a scythe made of Wakandan moon stone. A greedy part of Tony wondered if he could somehow detach it from the god and keep it for himself, which was immediately smothered by the memory of his mama chastising him for being spoiled.

As if sensing his appreciation, the wolf-god-man bared his teeth-his fangs into a roguish smile and spoke with a deep rumble which clouded the air with a sudden chill.

"I am here to declare wizard Anthony Edward Stark as my beloved consort. And I wish for him to be seated with me in the highest council of gods."

So there you have it.

Tony Stark was a wizard well known to attract trouble with the divine. But this just might be one of a kind.

[bluehourbucky]

cookies

pairing: steven grant x reader

summary: steven helped you move into your new apartment you want to thank him with some homemade cookies

a/n: I got such a soft spot for steven he's the sweetest most cutest person ever

[dont know why everything is lower case sorry abt that i was already too far in to change it when i noticed]

| main | bucky | moonkinght |

________________________________________

you've been wanting to do something for your neighbour since you moved in since he had helped you carry your furniture into your apartment.

not only did he help with moving in he also went out of his way and asked if you need help with rearranging furniture or building something, you declined politely. it didn't help that steven on top being kind is also incredibly handsome and you had immediately developed a crush on him.

however you hadn't managed to say thank you yet.

you didn't know how to say thank you but you thought a batch of cookies wouldn't be a bad idea.

and a good idea it was, in case you had sugar which you didn't.

so you shamefully walk across the hall and ring stevens door, he's the only neighbour you actually met enough times to ask for stuff.

"hello!" you say when steven opens the door, he looks even more handsome since the last time you saw him. to be fair you've never seen him in his at home clothes and it's absolutely a breathtaking sight.

"'ello?. you alright?" it takes everything in you not to literally run back to your apartment.

"yeah yeah. great. so uh you have any sugar I promise to give it back?"

"sure, come on in, don't stand in the hallway, just gotta find it." steven curses himself for inviting you in as his house is a mess and he legitimately has shackles attached to his bed.

you awkwardly walk inside and only take two steps then you stop not wanting to overstep.

"oh you have a fish." its the first thing that comes to mind to fill in the silence.

"yeah that's gus. gus say hello to our guest." steven says and your heart does a little flip.

"oh so rude of me hello stevens roommate." steven let's out a laugh which makes you blush.

"here,love." steven gives you sugar and you blush even more, you assume the nickname was accidental but doesn't mean your heart knows the difference.

"thank you. bye." you quickly leave and almost stumble.

steven curses himself, he didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, the word just slipped without him thinking. he's had a crush on you since he saw you the day you moved in and now you probably think he's creepy.

after getting into your flat, you immediately start making the cookies. you really hope steven likes them you put a lot of effort into them.

you stand a few minutes in front of his door like a weirdo until you get the courage to knock again.

"hi! It's me again. here some cookies for you. I just wanted to thank you for helping me move in and for being so kind to me. okay bye." you push the cookies into steven's and try to leave but steven grabs your hand.

"wait. what if we ate them together? that's of course if you want to. and you really didn't have to I helped because I wanted to." steven still holds your hand and waits for your reply.

it's not like you're going to miss this opportunity and not with the way he's looking at you.

"sure."

you take the time to look around and really take in the sight of his apartment, the books, the aquarium - it's just so steven.

"please, feel comfortable. thank you so much for making this for me. i'm sure it took bit of your time."

"i wanted to, I hope you like them." you expectantly look at at steven while he takes his first bite.

"so?"

"best cookies I ever had." steven says and you blush.

" im sure that's not true." you shyly say.

"sure are."

at some point you and steven sit on the couch and talk, he tells you about his work at the museum some fun things you can see there and offered to give you a tour when he's not working.

somehow the time flies and suddenly it's 2am and when you see the time you jump from the couch.

"oh im so sorry for keeping you up so late! i should go."

"I didn't notice how much time passed I'm sorry for keeping you. I been rambling a lot." steven scraches the back of his neck awkwardly, and he really hadn't noticed the time he was really just enjoying his time with you.

"i guess I'll hold you to your promise for the special tour of the museum?" you smile at steven.

"of course."

the last thing steven remembers is you going to the door and now he's suddenly kissing you?

as you were about to leave steven pulls you in for a kiss, at first you're shocked, but it takes you just few seconds to return it. it starts off rough but suddenly it melts and softens as if you're kissing another person.

at first stevens hands are on your hips but as the kiss softened they are suddenly on you cheeks.

when you finally pull away you feel like you're as red as a tomato.

"sorry." steven mutters out an apology.

"its okay. that was nice." you can see that his shoulders relaxed at your words.

"uh the tour could we turn that into a date?"

"i'd love that. good night steven."

you kiss him quickly again and leave.

"good night" steven whispers to himself.

____________________________________

"you helped the worm. it is amusing." khonshu laughs.

"it was impossible to watch that. besides he just needed a little push it was going well." marc replies and puts on the suit going off into the night.

_____________________________________

[the end]

likes comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 1 - Stratford Underground Station

Masterlist Summary: Everybody knows anything can happen on London tube. That includes meeting a handsome stranger with a strange name, who doesn't mind saving a ballerina in distress. Chapter playlist Warnings: Swearing and E-rated language (as the preview already shows). Author's Notes: So it's finally here, my opus magnum. Or so I hope. As I've hinted before, this project is the love-child of a few things - my unfading obsession with Neil, fascination with London and the love of public transport. Or something along those lines. I've no idea how long it'll be, or the exact details of what's going to happen, but I know that it's going to be fun. For both me, and them. And you, too, I hope. Chapter titles come from station names (in case you've been wondering) and I decided to go wild and attach a short, chapter-centric playlist to each of them, because why not. Enjoy and please, let me know what you think 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

The discovery that it would be a day came a mere two hours after the harsh sound of your phone alarm. Its harbinger took the form of Liam – a moderately tall, dark-haired man with an acceptable face and an ability to make you come that did not seem to get the hint.

Instead, he continuously nagged you for days after the (absolutely intended) ghosting you have implemented. While you would admit it was harsh, it was also not your fault that you had enough of him after the hook-up no 5. It was just fine, nothing spectacular and, most importantly, it was getting predictable. Solution? Ending the situationship before it could become a chore rather than a pleasure. Problem? Liam did not seem to think the same.

So, when, this morning, you finished the lukewarm coffee and picked up the phone to check the socials before leaving, only to find another string of texts with pathetic emojis, the mood has soured. It was nothing new, just more hearts, pleading eyes and invocations to your goodness, all culminating in the same way. With another proposition of date, with another love confession he could not have possibly meant. This time, you’ve had enough. You ignored the urge to smash the phone and instead broke the silence by sending him a simple message – Fuck off. With that, you let out a string of curses that probably made poor Miss Stevens next door recoil in disgust and blocked Liam. The triumphant spark did not outweigh the annoyance, however.

The second blow of the day came not that much later and could also easily be blamed on Liam. Or so it was easier to believe. There was no sense of distraction as you tied up the ribbons of your pointe shoes and started warming up. And, at first, it was all just as it was supposed to. You welcomed the opening notes of the coda enthusiastically, happy to go through the steps just as you were supposed to be. As you were taught. A turn after turn, the burning in your legs felt like a benediction. That was what you were always supposed to do.

Until it started to feel different.

One misstep was instantly noticed by Jane, who danced alongside you, perfecting the same choreography. You could hear her quiet gasp, wordlessly pointing out the mistake you would never have missed anyway. In a split second, you knew it was enough to throw you off, losing the tempo and balance, barely managing not to sprain your ankle and topple onto the parquet. Refusing to look at Jane, you slid down the wall by the barre and let out a frustrated groan. Not long after that, you decided to check out of the studio. One humiliation was quite enough.

By the time you had set onto Southwark station, intending to catch the tube back home, you were half contemplating unblocking Liam to sue him for mental damages. And the cost of reparations of your dignity. It seemed like a fair deal, considering everything. On autopilot, you descended the steps to the station, welcoming the cooling air of the metal-plated hall. While the whiteish subway tiles in most stations felt like home, the futuristic tinge of Southwark had always felt special. Even if the afternoon bustle could sour your mood and make you throw daggers at any human in your path. There was a dose of relief in the knowledge that it had already been done. You were pissed off beyond measure.

Any innocent bystander could probably see it in the angry square of your shoulders as you strode through the ticketing hall and past the gates. After all those years, there was no need to check the signs; your body knew where to go. Down the escalator, following the graphite signage leading towards the correct platform. Once you were there, you looked up at the timing screen to check the ETAs. Stanmore 2 mins. Thank fuck. Moving down the platform like god intended, you got lost in the chaotic ambience. Sometimes, especially on those difficult days, the noise was better than any music you could listen to. The babbling children, the chatting adults, and, if you were lucky, an odd bark or two in between. That, combined with the PA overhead, was enough to ground you. To take in that deeper breath.

Only that tell-tale whoosh of the approaching train could pull you back into the moment, the body yet again taking the needed steps without you ever telling it to. One step back, not crossing the yellow line. Two steps to the side, aligning with the platform edge doors, yet not standing in the way of those leaving. By the time the train arrived, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. A surveying look inside the cart told you the crowds had been avoided. Luckily. With only a handful of people occupying the space, you stepped aboard and zoned in on one of the empty seats by the window.

It was then that fate chose to intervene again.

You barely stepped in the right direction before the train started again, the sudden movement throwing you off balance and making you drop the bag hung precariously on your shoulder. You watched it fall, unzipped pouch spilling the insides onto the dirty grey floor. Another string of curses lodged in your throat as you knelt among the wreckage of personal items. Before you could reach for the notebook, another hand appeared on the edge of your vision. Long, fair-skinned fingers met yours over the moleskin cover, making you look up and follow the outline of a person. Up over the legs, clad in black jeans and over the bare forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of a dress, pinstripe shirt. Until you met the striking blue eyes of the man kneeling in front of you, having joined the fray. The stranger stared back, his piercing gaze roaming over your features, seemingly just as struck as you were.

A beat passed, and neither of you moved. You glanced up, taking note of the dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The announcement over the system began calling up Waterloo. It was the wake-up you both seemed in need of. He was the first to shake off the stupor, snatching the notebook to place it in your waiting palm. He shot you a friendly smile, the expression brightening his stunning features.

“Bad day?” his husky voice was another pleasant surprise, shooting through your brain like the restart to the systems you seemed to have been missing.

You looked up to find him one step ahead again. There was something mysterious in his handsome face, instantly making you forego the suspicions against strangers. This one did seem at all dangerous.

At least, you hoped he wasn’t.

A sardonic smile invited itself onto your face. For the first time since the morning, the expression was not forced.

“You could say that” picking up the bag, you accepted the belongings he had collected from the floor and hoped to convey the gratitude through a simple word “Thanks,”

“No worries. Hope that’s everything…” the stranger threw a final glance at the cart floor and got up, brushing the dust off his knees.

The nagging feeling in the back of your head did not ease off, helping you decide what the next step should be. After all, there was no reason to cut the interaction short. One glance out the window told you there was still time. The train had just left the Waterloo station, giving you at least a quarter of an hour till you had to get off.

Perhaps, that was your sign from the petty destiny to get your shit together. Strictly speaking.

“Looks like it,” dropping the remaining items into the pouch, you extended your hand in greeting, “I’m Y/N,” raising your head to find his gaze, you were welcomed with yet another bright smile.

Judging by the lines around his mouth and crinkles in the corners of his eyes, your mysterious saviour did smile a lot. The realisation only strengthened the conviction, pulling you into his orbit effortlessly.

His warm palm engulfed yours in a firm handshake. It lasted just a second too long, yet no complaints were to be raised.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Neil,” the gleam in his eyes was like the poisoned edge of a dagger, a fatal weapon to strike you down should you be reckless.

You knew for sure that face would be hard to forget. Even if you were to never see it again after today.

“You don’t look like a Neil,” catching onto the peculiarity of his name, you shot him a cheeky smile.

Finally remembering what started the ordeal, you took the seat you had been hovering over and motioned for Neil to join you. He did not hesitate.

It only made you like him more.

“Elaborate, please,” the curious tint in his voice, completed by a deadpan look, made you grin, unable to defy his charm.

Not that you were trying to, anyway.

Making a show of giving yourself time to think of an answer, perfected by the loud hum and a hand stroking your chin, you measured him critically. Still amazed by the man Transport for London put on your path. By the seemingly faultless features, harsh lines of his cheekbones and the kind eyes that still held uncertainty that you were all too familiar with.

“You know… a little more geriatric. A little less dashing,” you sent Neil a wink, watching with fascination as the pinkish blush spread over his cheeks.

That sort of reaction was always a compliment. A sign that you should keep going because it could only get better. The frustrating morning had been almost forgotten, having stood no chance against the unpredictability of the interaction.

You could see Neil process the compliment with rapidly blinking eyelids and a parted mouth. Westminster had been called before he spoke again:

“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it,” the blush had faded slightly, yet the disbelief in his pretty eyes told you he was not used to the flattery.

Which was a surprise considering the way he looked. But that, like all the other discoveries you had made within minutes, would have no application. You would likely never see him again.

“You should. I don’t hit on complete strangers every day,” you sent him a pointed look, meaning every word and hoping Neil would see that.

The amused smile he cracked along with a chuckle, were the rewards for the risks you had taken. Being that forward with a stranger could backfire terribly. You had first-hand experience of that. This time, though, no alarm bells were to be heard as you waited for Neil’s response, with your gaze fixed on his face. If only because it was hard to look away.

“Now I’m flattered,” the sparks in his blue eyes burned bright as he took a cursory look out the window and then back to face you with complete focus, “So… do you want to tell me about your day?” the lack of judgement in his gaze helped you decide before you even knew you were considering it.

Usually, confiding in random people met on the tube sounded like a bad idea. Not entirely off-brand for your poor judgements, but still. But this interaction was anything but usual. The temptation was too big to be ignored. You twisted in the plastic seat to face him properly and channelled the anger dormant beneath your skin. It was all too easy to do.

“There’s this guy… We’ve had sex a couple of times, and it was quite good, but now he wants more, and I- I’m not even sure I believe love exists, let alone feel that way about him. Trouble is he doesn’t get the hint, so…” becoming aware you unloaded the whole speech without taking a break to breathe, you took a greedy inhale and spit out the conclusion with a frustrated huff, “He’s just pissed me off” it was a lot.

You could tell Neil was slowly coming to the same conclusions from the dumbfounded look on his face as he processed your rant. He blinked, unseeingly staring at the Jubilee line plan above the opposite seats. The apology was ready on the tip of your tongue when he finally spoke again:

“Overeager?” the sympathetic wince in his face made that same affection stir in your heart.

All because he understood. He got it. And that was rare. Yet again, you contemplated unblocking Liam. This time, to send him Neil’s phone number with an annotation – This guy gets it. He can explain.

But it was hard to say whether Neil would be up for such a task.

“Mm, yeah,” you offered him a tight-lipped smile and a nod, confirming the theory.

“Sorry,” it was your turn to suffer through a double take.

With incredulity filling every inch of your soul, you stared at him in confusion:

“What for?” as the train arrived at another station, you glanced up to check you had not somehow missed your stop.

But it was fine. There was still enough time to continue what was slowly becoming the most fascinating conversation of the previous couple of months, if not years.

It was Neil’s turn to be amused. His eyes roamed over your face as his lips quirked into a smirk. The cheeky expression sent your heart tumbling through the ribcage. You knew he could be dangerous. You were right. Again.

Yet, no sense of foreboding danger could make you look away. That was for the weak. Or the smarter.

“Being a representative of the male species,” Neil shrugged as if his answer did not leave you agape with amazement, “I know almost everything is our fault, one way or another,” the slight grimace passing through his face told you he knew that was an understatement.

But it was better than nothing. Better than the load of self-entitlement and egocentrism displayed by most of the men you had ever met. It sure did set him apart.

“Guess that’s true,” nodding in agreement, you chose to forego the subtlety and reached out to pat his hand, “Thank you, though,” yet met his eyes, not trying to hide the extent of impression he had left on you “I can already tell you’re a better representant of the species than Liam,”

The fading anger at that man seemed so distant now. Like a dream that you could no longer remember, except for how it made you feel. Liam would stay blocked and hopefully never seen again, but now you could finally see yourself having a pleasant evening. That felt like a reward in itself.

“And he’s called Liam? Good god,” Neil’s dismayed tone was the one to bring you back to the present.

The smile played in the corner of his lips. The amused expression was fast becoming your favourite. Which could be problematic, but you were never the one to search your soul if that was uncalled for. Which it definitely wasn’t.

“I know” sharing an eye-roll with your companion, you chose to focus the attention on that second part of the shit day, “The other thing that happened was how I fucked up the ballet practice” almost automatically, you winced, self-consciously rolling the right ankle as if feeling the phantom pain of the twist that never came (thank god) “But it also can be blamed on him,”

Too caught up in the thoughts of vengeance you would never actually implement, you missed Neil’s surprise, reflecting through the widened eyes and an intense stare boring through your temple.

What you did not miss was a question uttered with so much disbelief that your head swivelled in its direction faster than you thought possible:

“Hold on, ballet practice?” Neil’s scrunched-up face, complete with a frown between eyebrows and mouth agape, was the reason for your giggle.

“Yup, I’m a ballerina at the Royal Ballet,” there was an unusual sense of pride in the proclamation.

Probably because it had been a long time since you got a reaction this stunned. You did not remember the last time someone looked starstruck when hearing about your occupation.

“I’ve never met one before,” his blue eyes still roamed over your face with amazement as Neil confirmed the obvious.

While attention was always pleasant and a reason you got into professional ballet in the first place, this kind of focus felt different. It made the rare blush dust your cheeks as joy surged in your veins from the sheer force of being noticed. From being seen through the best you could offer rather than the multitude of shortcomings that were all easy to find.

“Well, now you have,” you opened your arms in the ta-dah motion and added, “A second soloist, to be exact,” the hierarchical promotion was still an additional point of pride.

A result of years of practice and mental conditioning to try and improve. The culmination of hours of pep talks, pleading to your strength not to give up. To keep on trying. A proof that you were good enough. But it was also a reminder that you were not there yet. That there was still more to achieve.

“I’ve no clue what that means,” the apologetic tone in Neil’s voice was another reason for a smile.

Without thinking, you nudged his shoulder with yours and grinned upon noticing the bashful blush creeping back onto his cheeks. That alone was a reason to delve into the explanation:

“That I’ve still got a long way to go if I want to get promoted to principal dancer. Which is the dream,” hope waged war with scepticism as you chose to stare at the window opposite the seats, taking note of the passing darkness of the tunnels outside. That moment of wistfulness inspired the next thing you said, “You could come to see me if you wanted to,” it was another risk taken.

Another potential to end the conversation prematurely by misjudging the limit. Before you could find the tenacity to see the reaction, Neil’s question got rid of the doubts:

“Are you hitting on strangers again?” the smile in his voice was matched by a cheeky grin on his face.

The brightness in his eyes told you he was enjoying the conversation, that it was not just you who been silently wishing for more time. For more opportunities to continue the back-and-forth, testing the limits of what was acceptable within an unusual connection like yours. Because, surely, there were limits. Right?

“You’re not a stranger anymore, Neil,” instead of searching for the lines drawn in the metaphorical sand, you laid a careful hand on his shoulder and watched with the breath caught in your chest as he glanced at it and back at your face. The only indication that too was not a misstep was the darkening shade of pink on his cheeks and the persistent smile, motivating you to land a double strike, “I am, though. Is that bad?” innocently batting your lashes, you signed off the move with a quick stroke of fingers, tracing the collar of Neil’s shirt.

He swallowed hard, clearly reacting to your risqué move. The goosebumps rose on his skin following your touch, making your smile widen. Unwilling to stop the fascinating game just yet, your fingertips skimmed down the front of his shirt to strengthen the invisible lines in the collar and encircle the tortoiseshell button. As your fingers drifted ever so closer to the bared sliver of the chest revealed by the two buttons left undone, Neil gasped and met your searching gaze with an intense look of his own. It was easy to see the curiosity there, brewing underneath the composure. Not for the first time since you met, you wondered what else was hiding behind that steel-like grip of control. What else was there to discover?

“I’m not complaining,” answering your question with ease, Neil did not flinch away from your taxing gaze.

It was good to know. Just because.

Unable to look away, you realised that your hand was outstretched with the fingers lightly touching the collar of his shirt. The heat from his skin radiated onto your palm, making your fingers flex unconsciously. It was your turn to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat, as yet again you found yourself arrested by his gaze. Like then, the time seemed frozen, leaving you stranded between one heartbeat and the next. You were content to stay there.

Only the familiar announcement over the PA system could wake you up. The train is now approaching St. John’s Wood. Your body jolted awake with the curse ready on your tongue:

“Shit, that’s my stop” a spiteful glance at the darkness of the tunnels outside was a reflex, born out of the annoyance for the world that did not seem to care about your happiness or the desire to stay in that Jubilee line train cart till the very end of times. The anger passed quickly, yet you knew the frustration would persevere long after you made it home. The only way to push back against it was to turn your focus back to Neil, “It’s been a pleasure. I’d say I won’t forget you, but I’m not sure I can promise that,” the exaggeration in the statement, and the knowledge that it was unlikely you would forget him, were better left unsaid.

As much as the chance meeting was everything you never dreamt of experiencing, it was just that. A pleasant outlier. The one-off happening, that would never happen again. You could feel the sharp prickle of that realisation stab at your consciousness as you checked whether all your belongings were accounted for and got up from the seat. The train was slowing in the approach at the platform, forcing you to grab onto the nearest railing.

“Try your hardest,” Neil’s response made you whip your head back up to stare at him in confusion until the meaning of his words caught up.

Then you could only grin, willing to stretch the limits one last time.

“Or?” the question was accompanied by the tip of your tongue running over your lower lip as your eyes traced Neil’s gaze.

He caught the hook. The intrigue and hunger in his stare proved the point as he glanced at your mouth, not even trying to resist the obvious trick. You were glad it worked.

One look at the world beyond told you there was no time to lose. The familiar voice called out to make sure everyone minded the gaps, and you could not help but throw one final glance at Neil. His dirty blonde strands caught the fluorescents and created a washed-out halo-like effect. The blue eyes were still fixed on you, observing and calculating. Yet again, a wayward thought begged you to stay. To say fuck it and check what could happen if you had more time. But the courage was not quite there when the train came to a stop, and the doors slid open.

Before you could take that decisive step outside, Neil replied:

“I’ll be disappointed,” the smile in his voice was an easy trigger, bringing a breathless chuckle to your lips.

You still laughed as the doors closed behind you and the train started moving away from the platform. You did not look back, letting the crowd of commuters carry you along the tunnels and towards your apartment. It was better that way.

Only once you got back home did you realise one crucial fact. One simple observation easily missed in the rush of thoughts about striking blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. It had been hours since Liam crossed your mind. And somehow, it all made sense.