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evansbby · 11 days ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: EXTREMELY HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER, heavy depictions of domestic violence, physical and verbal abuse, NON CON, smutt, major angst, rough, breeding kink, dirty talk, mean Steve, housewife kink, domesticity kink, victim-blaming, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, self-blame.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve was always a great husband. Until he wasn't.

𝐀/𝐍: SUPER DARK. Very angsty. Very heavy subject matter. This fic explores domestic violence. This fic can be triggering so please read warnings beforehand and please do not read unless you have read them.

“Sweetie, come downstairs.”

Steve only has to say it once and it’s enough for you to drop whatever you’re doing and follow wherever his voice is calling you. On this occasion, you switch off the iron and set it aside before straightening your dress and scurrying down to greet your husband.

“I’m sorry, I got wrapped up in my chores,” you explain, helping him take his jacket off before he wraps one strong arm around your waist and pulls you into him. Gosh, he was so big and strong! Steve’s physique always made you nervous and skittish – but in a good way, mostly. Carefully, you link your arms around his neck, reaching up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

“You’re still learning,” Steve says after a long, lingering kiss to your lips followed by several small pecks that make you smile. “I don’t expect you to know everything straight off the bat. But for every rule missed, you must repeat it back to me.” His hand slips down to cup your ass through the thin material of your dress, and he gives it a firm squeeze as if to prompt you. “So, what’s the rule, baby?”

“That a good housewife always greets her husband at the door when he gets home from work.” You recite it dutifully, because by now you know all the rules by heart. Steve had made you learn them before you’d got married. You remember the long days of sitting in his lap and repeating each rule after him, and you also remember the soreness of your ass each time you got it wrong.

You never got them wrong anymore.

“Good girl,” Steve praises and you glow. You take his tie off for him, all the while asking him questions about his day. How work was, if anything special happened, if he was hungry. (Of course he was hungry, you knew Steve had a voracious appetite for both food and… other things.) He could eat enough for three men in one sitting – which was probably why he was so big and strong and imposing. And scary. Well, you were definitely scared of him. Sometimes. But you try not to think about that.

“This looks great, sweetheart,” Steve sits down on his place at the head of the table and pulls you into his lap. That was another thing about Steve, another one of his rules. He preferred you in his lap instead of in your own seat – at the dinner table, on the couch, anywhere. Even in the presence of other people, which embarrassed you sometimes but you’d never tell him that. It was one of his rules, and that meant it had to be obeyed, no questions asked.

“Thank you, Steve. I tried really hard to make all your favourites.”

He feeds you and himself at the same time, and now it’s his turn to ask you questions.

“Oh, my day was pretty boring,” you accept the bite of chicken pot pie he feeds you, chewing thoughtfully and trying your best to ignore the way your heart starts pitter-pattering harder. “I did all the chores I was supposed to do, and then I did some shopping. I got us some pretty new bedsheets.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Did you buy anything for yourself?”

“No. I just came straight home after that, and…” Your voice trails off, and you hope your increased heartrate and clammy palms aren’t showing in your face.

“And what?” Steve blinks, those angelic blue eyes looking at you expectantly.

You shouldn’t lie to him. He was your husband. And it was one of his main rules, after all – you weren’t allowed to lie. And it wasn’t like you’d done anything wrong…

“Well…”

The change in his demeanour is subtle, but it doesn’t escape you how he grabs your arm, his finger stroking against your bare skin as a deathly silence falls over the room, as if he’s awaiting your next words with careful patience.

You shuffle on his lap. Oh, why didn’t you just spit it out the moment he’d come home!? Now he’d think you’d deliberately kept it from him until he’d asked, and-

You take a deep breath, “Th-The car broke down on the way back.”

Silence. You dare to peak up at his eyes to see them impassive, waiting for you to continue. He gently sets the fork down beside his plate, an unreadable expression on his face that does nothing to calm your nerves.

“I don’t know what happened, but it broke down and it wouldn’t move and I…”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

It’s a toneless question, any warmth he’d possessed earlier now gone, and it makes you start shaking even more.

“I tr-tried but there was no service, and I knew you’d be busy, and… and… I’m sorry, Steve, I know I should have called you. I know I’m meant to call you when stuff like this happens, but in that moment I–”

“How did you get home?”

Another question. His voice flat, but the grip on your arm tighter than ever. You gulp.

“L-Luckily there was someone passing by, and they said their auto-repair shop was only five minutes away, and–”

“They?”

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now, and you clasp them in your lap in a bid to get them to still. Your breathing grows more rapid, you can feel your palms grow sweatier as you squirm under your husband’s deathly calm gaze. You’re too afraid to look directly at him, but you know he’s expecting an answer. For a split second, you consider lying. But the consequences of that notion have you spitting out the truth before you can think about it any further.

“H-He.”

Steve goes deathly still. You hear him inhale sharply, his body tensing up even more underneath you. A part of you wants to burst into tears and run, run, run! But fear has you rooted in place, and even if it didn’t, he’s got a firm grasp on you, and you could never, ever overpower him.

“You got into a car with another man.”

He doesn’t even pose it as a question. No, the words leave Steve’s mouth in a statement of contempt and accusation. Except his tone is still so levelled, so dangerously low and contained.

“N-No! No, Steve, no! He offered to tow the car, and take it back to his repair shop. H-He was fixing it, Steve! And I swear I was only there for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes! I promise, and then I came straight home!” You’re tripping over your words, trying to get your explanation out. The explanation you’d subconsciously been rehearsing in your head all day because you knew it would come to this. You knew the moment that friendly stranger had tapped on your car window and offered his help. But what else could you have done in that moment?

“Steve, I know I should’ve called you the moment I had service, but I –”

“–But you were too busy with the mechanic.”

“No, no, Stevie, it’s not like that at all!” In hopeless desperation for this not to end badly, you bravely lock eyes with him, cupping his face in your hands, “I just didn’t want to bother you, I knew you had an important meeting around that time.” And I was also too scared to call.

His grip on your arm steadily tightens, till you can feel his fingers digging into your flesh. And you can see the vein in his forehead, the way his face is flushed red, the way he’s clenching his jaw, the way his eyes look so dark.

You wince, “S-Steve, please, you’re hurting me.”

“What did you do?”

“H-Huh?”

“In those fifteen, twenty minutes you were at his shop. When you should have been calling or texting me. What did you do?” Steve grips your chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing painfully down on your skin as he makes you look up at him. His expression is unreadable, his tone still low, but you can see that vein pulsing in his forehead. You know what it means.

“Nothing, I promise! I just sat in the waiting area, and…and there was no service, and–”

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not, I swear I'm not, I-"

“You were fucking him.”

The accusation drops like a pin, except it feels more like a car crashing straight into your heart. You feel everything; hurt, panic, but most of all – fear.

And Steve’s eyes are so, so dark, and his words so matter-of-fact. He’s still got a death-grip on you, holding you firmly in his lap while you start shaking violently. Oh no, no, no, no… How could you persuade him that you hadn’t done that? How you could never do that?!

“No, Stevie, I would never! I t-told you, he was fixing the car, I barely spoke to him, I–”

“You fucked him. In the car that I bought for you. And then you thought you could keep it a secret from me.”

He isn’t hearing you. No, he’s going to that place. That place where his eyes turn black and his expression goes all far away, and his anger consumes him to the point where rationality goes completely out the window. And you’d give anything to not be dragged down into his dark place, where your pleas reach deaf ears, where your tears and screams don’t mean a single thing. Well, not until it’s all over.

“I didn’t, Steve, please believe me. I would never cheat on you, never ever. Please, you’re hurting me!”

His fingers clamp down on your upper arm so hard, you know they’ll leave a mark. Another one you’ll have to hide with a meticulous makeup routine and carefully selected clothes.

It takes all your strength to pry his hands off you, and you jump off his lap like a hot poker, slowly backing away as dread fills up your stomach. Dread that increases tenfold the moment he stands up too, up to his full height that makes you cower in total, utter fear.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” his tone is hard now, louder, more biting, and your eyes zero in on his hands as they curl into fists at his side. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

You continue backing away slowly, acutely aware that he’s stepping forward each time you take a step back. And like clockwork, you know how this goes. Soon your back would meet the wall, and then… Your eyes dart up behind him, up the stairs… Maybe, if you could get to the bedroom in time, perhaps lock the door?

“ANSWER ME!”

You jump, “No, Steve, I don’t! B-But I’m telling the truth. I barely spoke two words to the man, all I did was wait while he fixed the car. Please believe me,” your voice drops down to a broken whisper, “please…”

No talking to other men. It was perhaps Steve’s biggest rule. And it hadn’t always been like that, but slowly, through time, this rule had developed into one that your husband was the most obsessed with. The most angered by if ever broken by you. And what had started out as a little bit of a jealous streak had turned into white hot, obsessive, possession – almost paranoia. He saw red if a man ever looked your way, and God forbid if he thought it was the other way around…

“You’re fucking lying,” he spits out, each word coated in pure disdain that feels like ten stabs to your heart. “Had you been telling the truth, you wouldn’t have hid it from me until I asked you how your day was. You would have told me yourself, but you didn’t. You slept with someone else, and you thought you could fucking hide it from me, didn’t you?”

“No,” you whisper.

It only takes him two strides to get to you. And you’re frozen in fear but it’s like your body goes into fight or flight mode. He lunges at you, and you know he’s going for your throat but by some miracle you dodge him. And then you run, run, run for the stairs. Two at a time, oh you could make it! You’d lock yourself in the bathroom, wait for his anger to subside. You’d done that before, sometimes it would work, sometimes–

You take the stairs two at a time, but Steve’s legs are much longer than yours. He’s bigger than you in every way possible, stronger, faster too. It’s almost laughable how quickly he catches up to you, his footsteps heavily thudding on the floorboards. On the upper landing, and you’re almost at the bedroom door when he grabs your arm and yanks you back, and then–

SMACK.

The first hit always winds you. You never get used to it – his fist connecting with your jaw, the way your head snaps to the side, the ringing in your ear that blocks out all sound for a handful of moments. And then the pain, the numbing paint that’s all too familiar, radiating and spreading like hateful wildfire as you reach up to shield your face.

“Don’t fucking run from me, you little slut.” Steve slams you against the wall before pinning your wrists by your sides. “Look at me, look at me. I’m going to give you one last chance to tell the truth, and you better think very carefully before you speak, and don't you fucking lie to me. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

A broken sob escapes your lips, a whimper filled with desperation, “N-No.”

It’s almost like he’s donned a mask as his handsome features twist into a snarl, his eyes narrowed to slits and yet you can still see the crazed darkness that consumes them like a cloud of black smoke. His lip curls in what looks to be contempt, and he shakes his head. “You’re a fucking liar.”

His grip on you tightens, if that was even possible, and his eyes flash, and suddenly he’s shaking you violently, your head hitting the hard wall with a thud as you cry and struggle against him.

“How the fuck could you? How could you sleep with him? After everything I do for you!? Answer the fucking question, how could you!?”

You want to defend yourself, tell him that you didn’t, you wouldn’t, how could he possibly believe you could? But you know there’s no point, you know he doesn’t hear anything when he gets like this. No matter how hard you cry, how much you beg and plead with him. He only sees red, never facts. And you’re still in shock from the first hit, so when you open your mouth nothing comes out.

The slap comes out of nowhere, the harsh cracking sound echoing across the hallway and bouncing off the walls as if to mock you. Your head whips to the side, and you’d have fallen down from the sheer force had he not been holding you up with his other hand.

“P-Please stop,” you croak out, finally finding your voice as the tears stream down your face from the pain of it. From both the physical and the mental anguish because you’d truly done nothing wrong! Hadn’t you? Sometimes he made you question yourself with how angry he’d get at you. “Please, Steve, it hurts, I didn’t–”

“Shut the fuck up and stop lying!” Steve roars, shaking you so hard you have to close your eyes because everything’s starting to spin now. “You thought you were fucking slick, didn’t you? Fucking someone else behind my back while I was at work, then coming home and acting like everything was fine, doing your fucking chores like you didn’t just act like a goddamned whore,” he shakes you again, his grip on your shoulders so hard you feel like passing out. “-thinking I wouldn’t’ find out, thinking I’m some fucking idiot who can’t put two and two together. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

He backhands you hard when you don’t answer, before throwing you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes. Limply, you lay there, half disorientated and half crestfallen because you can’t even find it in you to defend yourself anymore.

He strides into the bedroom before throwing you on the bed, hard. You land with a thud, still clutching your face that blooms with never ending pain. Again, you try to shield yourself, but it’s like a rabbit trying to hide from a hungry lion. A hungry lion fuelled by crazed hatred and contempt. And that’s what hurts you the most – how he looks at you like that. As if you’re the worst person in the world. As if he really hates you and truly believes you’d ever cheat on him.

“You’re mine,” Steve snarls, climbing on top of you and once more grabbing your wrists. “I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re a free piece of ass who can run around town spreading your legs for the first man who looks your way. I own you, you fucking whore, and it’s your fucking fault that I’m doing this now. But you need to fucking learn…”

“N-No, please,” you cry out weakly when he grabs the material of your dress and rips it clean in half. Oh no, not this. Please not this. Not when he was so mad, so violent, not when he had that crazy look in his eye. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t. He wouldn’t be gentle, and it would hurt so much. And you were already hurting so much. “Steve, I’m begging you, please, please, don’t! D-Don’t, I promise I’ll be better! I didn’t cheat on you but I swear, next time I’ll call you, next time I’ll–”

Another slap to your face shuts you up, and your sobs turn silent. Still there, just silent. Filled with dread and anguish and fear for the horrific roughness that is to come. That always came no matter how hard you begged. No matter how careful you were to follow his rules. You always messed up somehow. Oh, you could’ve been better! You should’ve been better and then you wouldn’t be here! And he’d still be nice, and you’d be sitting downstairs eating dinner and laughing, and…

Oh, how did it get to this?

“Everything I do for you, and you throw it all back in my face,” Steve snarls, and he’s so unrecognisable. Like a dark stranger looming above you, pelting out harsh words that he knows will cut deep, twist like a knife straight through your heart. Make you feel like you’re the worst person alive, and certainly the worst wife. Someone who can’t do anything right. Someone who can’t even keep her husband happy.

“I give you everything you could fucking want, I provide for you, don’t I?” He grabs your face with one hand, squeezing so hard it hurts. “Don’t I? Don’t I fucking give you anything you could ask for? And all I want in return is for you to listen to me. Your goddamned loyalty, that’s all I want. For you to fucking understand that you’re my property, that you need to do what I say. And what do you end up doing? Cheating on me like the fucking whore I always knew you were.”

He makes you believe it sometimes. Well, at first you didn’t, but now you’re not too sure. Maybe you were a terrible wife, because otherwise why would he always get so mad? You always tried your best to keep him happy but you never did enough. Did other wives do more than you did? Was that why their husbands never got mad at them? Was that why they were always happy and relaxed? While you walked on eggshells, waiting for him to explode? Maybe he wouldn’t be like this if he were married to a different woman. A better woman. Someone who didn’t make as many mistakes as you did. Someone who didn’t annoy him that much. Someone who kept him happy and didn’t make him so mad all the time that he had to accuse her of cheating. Someone he didn’t look at with pure hatred in his eyes, like he was doing with you now.

Steve kisses you roughly, possessively. Pressing his lips down on yours as if he wants to imprint the feel of them on you, sear it straight into your memory. As if you could ever forget. But it’s the sweet kisses from Steve that you want to remember, not the hate-fuelled way he’s kissing you now. But you just lie there limply, lie there and let him kiss you, let him pull your now tattered dress off you. And you wonder if he can taste the saltiness of your tears, and you wonder if even a tiny part of him cares.

How did it get to this?

“I’ll show you,” Steve mutters darkly, “I’ll show you who you fucking belong to. And it’s all your fucking fault, because you’re gonna feel it. And maybe this time, you won’t fucking forget it.”

You look beyond his shoulder as he unzips his fly and pulls his hard cock out. You look at the tiny speck on the wall, focus on it really hard. Focus on it till your vision blurs, focus on it so you don’t feel the excruciating pain as he forces his huge cock inside you. Focus on it till you can’t feel his hand wrapping around your throat, till you can’t hear the pure hatred hurtling out of his mouth. Maybe if you focused hard enough, it would all go away. Like magic.

It wasn’t always like this.

You remember your first date with Steve, almost a year ago to the day. Your friends had set you up with him, telling you he was only a couple of years older than you. Great looking, had an established career. But a bit shy, a bit reserved, someone who mostly kept to himself. You’d agreed, because you were shy and reserved too, and suggested ice-skating as a first date activity to help, well, break the ice.

And it had been so funny, because Steve couldn’t ice skate for the life of him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he’d huffed, awkwardly “skating” up to you in the middle of the rink. Except he was less skating and more just dragging his skates across the ice while holding his huge arms out to balance himself. It was comical, because he looked so big and out of place, and yet so cute that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“It just takes a while to get used to,” you’d answered, skating around him before impulsively grabbing his hands in case he fell over or something. And you’d immediately widened your eyes when you’d realised what you’d done, about to drop his hands like hot pokers because you were never this forward on a first date! But Steve had chuckled, keeping a tight grip on your gloved hands and pulling you closer.

“Nope, I just think it’s in my genetic makeup to be bad at ice skating,” he’d said as he’d let you guide him back to the side of the rink where he could hold the railing, and yet he didn’t let go of your hands as he winked. “Either that, or I’m actually a pro who’s faking it just so you’ll hold my hand.”

You’d gone to the Christmas market after that, and Steve had bought you a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on top. You thought he’d stop holding your hand once you were off the ice, but he’d held it throughout your stroll through the markets. You’d delicately sipped your hot drink, secretly thrilled at how nice and safe it felt to hold his big, warm hand. How he was so handsome and he genuinely seemed interested in you.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your nose,” Steve had pointed out, and before you could wipe it off, he’d done it for you. And then his hand had stayed on your face, cupping it gently while the market bustled around you, busy as ever but the two of you seemed to be in your own little bubble. And then he’d kissed you, and it had felt so incredibly right. Like coming home from a long, cold day and being met with the warm familiarity of your own house. A house where you felt safe, and content, because in that moment, that’s what he made you feel.

Safe, warm, content, happy.

“I’m never letting you out of this fucking house again, you hear me?” Steve grunts, slapping your cheek not-so-lightly and knocking you out of your reverie. You blink several times, hoping it’s just a dream. But his rough thrusts remind you that it’s not, and your mouth curls in pain as his hand goes back to wrap around your throat. “Not until you learn not to act like such a goddamned slut, not until you learn to fucking listen to me, and be good. This is all your fucking fault, okay? That’s why I have to teach you.”

“St-Steve,” you cry lightly, unable to breathe because of how he’s pressing down on your neck, “I-I can’t… I can’t…”

“Shut up!” His thrusts grow harder, even more unforgiving. And all you can do is lie there and take it, and hope and pray and wish that you were somewhere else right now. With someone else. Or no one at all. His hands, which you’d known to be so gentle once upon a time, are rough as they squeeze and fondle and slap you as if you’re an animal, a toy, something he wants to pound till he breaks. “You deserve this, you little whore. Tell me, was that fucker’s cock worth it? Was it worth ruining what we have? FUCKING TELL ME!”

So unfair. It was so horrifically unfair. Because you’d never think of cheating on him, never ever. You love Steve, despite everything you love him so much. But he didn’t love you. Of course he didn’t. Maybe he had at first, but he didn’t anymore.

What had you done to make yourself so unlovable? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

Again, you think how he feels like a stranger, a stranger who’s hurting you and violating you in the most unforgiving way possible. All while you lie there and take it. And how was this Steve? The very same Steve you’d fallen in love with less than a year ago? The same Steve who’d confided everything in you? Told you that you were the one for him, told you how much he loved you, how happy he was that he’d found you? How was this the same Steve?

You still remember how surprised your friends had been with how close you and Steve had gotten in such a short amount of time. But they’d also been happy, and taken all the credit of course, as they’d set the two of you up.

And you remember feeling so goddamned happy all the time. Happy whenever you got off work and you got to see Steve. Giddy because of how comfortable you felt around him, despite knowing him for such a short period of time. One date turned to two, which turned to five, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to spending nights at his place. Cooking for him, kissing him, climbing up on his roof and talking all night while staring up into the stars.

It was during one of those moments when Steve had told you that you were the first person he’d felt close to in a very long time. He’d told you that he hadn’t had a great childhood, that his parents hadn’t been very nice people. And because of that, he’d run away when he was sixteen and never looked back. He didn’t speak to them anymore.

He’d told you he’d had a girlfriend before, and they’d been together many years until she cheated on him. And he’d squeezed your hand then, looking up at you from where his head had been resting on your lap, and the stars in the sky had reflected in his eyes so brightly, and he’d told you that you were the first person since then that he’d felt connected with, that he’d felt like he could be himself around. That he loved you so much despite the fact he’d only known you a couple of weeks. He loved you so much and so hard, that you were all he could think about. That you consumed him. And he loved that. And he loved you.

So, where did all that go?

That’s what you wonder now, your body jolting from each unforgiving thrust as the man who is your husband fucks you relentlessly, fucks you like he hates you. Tells you repeatedly, again and again that it’s all your fault.

Your fault. Maybe it is your fault. Oh, if only you hadn’t gone out today! If only you’d just stayed at home and been good! Then the car would’ve never broken down, and none of this would have happened, and Steve would’ve been happy. And you wouldn’t have made him upset like how you always seem to do now.

“I’ll make sure you never fucking disobey me again,” he mutters, pushing your legs up and throwing them over his shoulders while you moan in pain underneath him. His cock is a blur, pummelling in and out of you like a jackhammer. And it’s crazy, the very person who’d made you feel such pleasure in the past, could be inflicting so much pain on you now. “I’ll make sure they all know who you belong to the moment they fucking look at you. Fuck, I’ll show you.”

The contempt in his tone kills you over and over again. Makes you think you’ll never be good enough to make him happy. Make anyone happy. Maybe it was you who had ruined Steve, turned him into the monster he’d become. Maybe it was all your fault, your fault that the sweet, caring man you’d met had turned into your worst nightmare. Someone you were so fucking scared of that sometimes you couldn’t even breathe.

“I’ll knock you the fuck up,” Steve grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours, “Maybe then you’ll get it through your head that you’re not the free piece of ass you seem to think you are. And everyone will see who exactly you belong to.”

You whimper, too frightened to protest, your body jolting with each thrust. And it always hurts when he’s this rough, it always burns so bad because of how big he is.

You remember a few months into dating him, when he’d taken your virginity. He’d been so sweet, so gentle. Holding you close and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while you cried in his arms despite trying to be brave. He’d told you he was big, and that it would hurt and he’d pull out if you wanted him to. But you’d held on to him so tightly that night, because despite the pain, it had been so special to you. And he’d been so kind, so tender, and you’d basked in the glow of being loved. And the pain had been worth it, because you’d felt so close to him, and he’d told you over and over again how much he loved you, how special you were. How you completed him. How you were so pretty, so exquisite, how if he could take all the pain away from you and give it to himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Now, he roughly presses his huge palm against your abdomen, and you can see the outline of his cock in your stomach as he continues to jut into you with inhumane force. Each thrust makes the bed rock underneath you, the bedposts hitting the wall with thwack after thwack while you silently lay there, the tears drying up on your cheeks, and yet your whole body still burns with pain from the constant onslaught.

“God fuck, your pussy’s still so fucking tight despite how much of a fucking whore you are,” Steve mutters through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna fill you the fuck up, get you pregnant once and for all so everyone knows not to fuck with what’s mine. And I swear to God, from now on you won’t even look at another man, let alone fuck some hick ass mechanic who’s trying to take you away from me because you’re too goddamned stupid to realise it.”

He hadn’t always so possessive to the point of insanity. Not the way he is now. You remember the old Steve, how he’d see you having innocent interactions with other men and not think twice about it. But slowly and surely, that had changed.

“I don’t like you talking to other men,” Steve had admitted to you once a few weeks into your relationship. “I know it’s irrational but I just hate it.”

“Oh, Stevie, it doesn’t mean anything,” you’d giggled, although you remembered secretly feeling so giddy that he cared enough about you to be jealous. That meant he was serious about you! “It’s you that I want, I couldn’t care less about anyone else!”

“I know,” he’d sighed, grabbing your hands and pressing kisses on them in a way that made you giggle even more. “I guess it’s just something I have to work on.”

But what had started out as simple, innocuous jealousy had morphed into something so much bigger, twisted, and ugly.

It began with a simple request; “please baby, don’t talk to him. I don’t like it.” And you found yourself listening to him, thinking he’d leave you if you didn’t. You distanced yourself from any male friends you had, including co-workers and even your relatives. You couldn’t stand to see Steve upset, and he’d asked you so nicely, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

After that, he’d made you move in with him. “It’s just easier this way,” he’d assured you, despite the fact that you’d only been going out less than two months, “I feel more comfortable knowing you’re safe in my bed at night, and then I don’t worry as much.”

Then he’d made you quit your job. “I don’t like how those men at your work look at you,” he’d said, “I’ll take care of you, sweetie. You don’t need to work anymore.” And so, you’d quit without a second thought. It’s what had made Steve happy, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

Then, he’d wanted to know where you were all the time. “I worry about you so much, you have no idea,” he’d told you once when the two of you were in bed and he was holding you close, stroking your hair while you lay on top of his chest. “I need to know where you are all the time, okay? I just… I need to know. And who you’re with. You need to tell me, or else I’ll go insane.”

Constant check-ins, constant texts. You were allowed to go out with your girlfriends, but never past a certain time. And certainly never a holiday or a girls’ trip. He had to know who your friends were, if they had boyfriends or brother, he had to know everything. And you were so in love with him, you hadn’t even realised that maybe it was all too much.

“My ex-girlfriend was having an affair behind my back for one year,” he’d told you quietly one night. One hot August night when the two of you had climbed up on his roof, and he lay with his head in your lap. His feathery lashes fanning his cheekbones, and his face softened by the moonlight, he’d looked like an angel that night. “One whole year, and I didn’t have a clue until the day I caught her. Them. I caught them in my bed.”

You’d listened with baited breath, because Steve never really spoke much about his life before you. Not his childhood, nor his parents who he didn’t speak to. And definitely never his ex-girlfriend.

“I just can’t lose you,” he’d said, staring hard at the dark night sky, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, if you left me. If someone took you away from me, I think I’d die.”

You’d kissed him then, and whispered against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere, Stevie. I love you so much, and there’s nobody else out there for me. Just you. So don’t worry, because you’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me.”

He’d sat up and taken you into his arms, hugging you so tight you couldn’t breathe – but in a good way. “Forever,” he’d mumbled into your hair, “I’ll have you forever, and then after that too. I’m never gonna let you go.”

You’d married him a month later in a small ceremony with just your family and some friends. And he’d looked so happy on that day, so handsome and happy and he’d held you close to him the whole night. You were happy too, and thrilled that he was so happy. “Now everyone knows your mine,” he’d whispered in your ear while you two slow-danced, “This is all I’ve ever wanted, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Thank you. I love you.”

“If you ever fucking cheat on me again, I’ll kill him.” Steve grabs your jaw hard, his fingers pressing against your skin until you cry out, ripped away from the safety of your memories and back into the present. “And you too. You got that? I’ll fucking kill you both.”

You’ve cried all the tears you possibly can, and so you just lay there. Limp, shaking like a leaf yet feeling so numb. So numb and alone because he wasn’t your husband. He was a monster, a monster you didn’t even recognise. Your angelic husband warped into a monster because of you, because of you, because of you!

With a grunt, he unloads inside you. His hot cum searing you from the inside out, and there’s so much of it. And he holds you up, with your legs pressed up over his shoulders, spilling load after load of his seed into you, making sure it stays, making sure it sticks.

And then he throws you aside, rising up to his feet and staring at you with blazing eyes. He’s still fully dressed in his suit, while you lie below him in your tattered dress. The one you’d chosen so painstakingly to wear for him today.

With glassy eyes and limbs that don’t move, you watch him as he does up his fly, muttering profanity under his breath. He’s still so angry, you can tell by that vein on his forehead, and the way his fists are balled up by his sides. You hate his fists. They scare you more than anything else in the whole world.

He doesn’t utter another word. Instead, he leaves. You hear him go down the stairs, hear the jangle of the car keys, the slam and lock of the front door.

He was gone.

Your body curls up into foetal position, and you hug yourself hard. It’s the only solace you can give yourself. Everything hurts. From your face, your jaw, your arms, your whole body down to your heart and your soul. Oh, you hate yourself! For being so weak, so pathetic!

But most of all, you hate yourself for making him how he’d become. If only you’d been a better wife, if only you’d been able to make him happy. Good wives didn’t get hit. So maybe this pain was what you deserved.

If only you hadn’t lied about the car…

Oh, the car! The goddamned car! You wish to God you could turn back time. But what could you have even done differently?

You remember feeling a sense of dread the moment the car had stopped working. And it had increased tenfold when you’d taken your phone out to call Steve, only for there to be no signal. Of course, the car had decided to stop working in the middle of nowhere. It was less than ideal, since you had to get home and finish all your chores before Steve got home. Otherwise, he might get mad, and then…

“Hey there, you OK?”

The knock on your window makes you jump, and you find a man peering in at you, a friendly yet slightly concerned look on his face. Oh gosh, Steve would be so mad if I spoke to this man now, you think to yourself. And yet… there’s not much else you can do. Your car won’t start back up, and you don’t know the first thing about repairing it.

“H-Hey,” you roll your window down, trying not to look directly at the stranger’s tanned face. “I’m OK, thanks for asking. My, uh, my car isn’t though. I think. It won’t start up.”

The man nods, “Yeah, that’s why I came over. Saw you on the side of the road and knew you wouldn’t be parked here for no reason.” He pauses, listening to the hum of your engine with a thoughtful look on his face. “I think I recognise the sound. If I could get this car back to my auto-shop, I think I could fix it.”

“Really?” Hope fills your heart before reality comes crashing down. Steve wouldn’t like for you to be going into auto-shops with men you didn’t know. You weren’t allowed to talk to any man unless Steve approved it. And you gulp, thinking how mad he’d be if he found out. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you think about the last time he’d gotten mad at you… No, you couldn’t go with this man, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“I, uh, I think I can get it to start back up myself. Thanks anyways though!” You say with false brightness. But after a few more failed attempts, you slump back against your seat in defeat, and the man chuckles.

“A valiant effort. But as I said, my shop’s only about a mile and a half down that way. And luckily, I’ve got my tow truck with me now. Let me help you, and you’ll be on your way in no time.”

His face softens when he sees the hesitant look on your face, and he runs a hand through his unruly brown hair before fishing something out of his pocket. “Here’s my card, just so you know I’m legit. C’mon, let me help you. I couldn’t possibly leave a lady out here all on her own with a broken-down car that’s an easy fix.”

You bite your lip. His business card did look legit. And after another quick glance at your phone – still no signal – you nod and smile at the stranger. Maybe Steve would be proud of you for taking the initiative and getting yourself out of a sticky and potentially dangerous situation.

The ride to the man’s auto-repair shop is short enough. And he spends the next fifteen minutes fixing your car, all while you sit in the waiting room fretting and typing out texts to Steve that you’re too scared to send. You need to think of the perfect way to explain what had happened with the car, the most delicate explanation that wouldn’t result in him getting mad. Oh, you didn’t want him to get mad! Not when things had been going so well recently, and he hadn’t gotten mad in a long time, and you were starting to believe that he still loved you, and wasn’t annoyed by you all the time, and didn’t hate you, and–

“She’s almost fixed!” The man had announced cheerily, walking into the waiting room and shooting you a bright smile, one that had melted off his face the moment he’d seen the look of worry on your face. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” standing up and smoothening down your dress, you’d shot the man a puzzled look. “What do you mean, almost?”

“Almost as in I need an extra part to complete the fix, but it won’t come in until tomorrow.” The man runs a hand through his wavy brown hair that curls charmingly at the base of his neck. “But don’t worry, she’ll be back home in your driveway by noon tomorrow at the latest. I promise.”

“T-Tomorrow?” your blood runs cold, and it’s insane how your hands start shaking instantaneously. “But it can’t stay here overnight, my…my husband, he’ll find out, and then–”

“Husband?” The man repeats slowly before quickly gathering himself and taking a step back. “Well, ma’am, I’m sure he won’t mind about the car, so long as you’re alright. And don’t worry, I can give you a lift home.”

“N-No, you don’t understand, he…” you swallow harshly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second and clasping your hands to get them to stop shaking so violently, “N-No, he can’t know I was here, he can’t, he’ll…”

“Why don’t you let me speak to him,” the mechanic says slowly, pointing at your phone. “I’m sure I could explain the problem with the engine–”

Your eyes widen in pure fear, “NO! I mean, uh, no, that won’t be necessary. I just, oh God, I-I…” Suddenly, you can’t think straight. If Steve found out you were at this man’s auto-shop alone with him, that he’d spoken to you, that you’d spoken back to him… Oh no, Steve couldn’t find out. He’d get so mad, and he’d hurt you, and then everything would be awful for days.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” The guy has a look of serious concern painted on his face as he stands before you. He’s tall, tall just like Steve, and looks just as strong too. “I know it’s none of my business, but you look awfully scared.”

You force a laugh that comes out a tad too high-pitched, “I’m fine! I’m totally fine! I just…”

“Let me give you a lift home,” the man says gently, taking a hesitant step closer to you. “I can speak to your husband, let him know it wasn’t your fault that your car broke down.”

“That’s not what he’d be angry about,” your eyes widen when you realise you’ve said too much. “I mean, he won’t be angry at all. Not at all. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

More than him, it seems like you’re trying to persuade yourself.

“I, uh, I’ll call myself a cab,” you say, but the man places his warm hand on your wrist to stop you, and the contact makes you jump. He’s so… gentle. It’s a strange sensation. And then he just… looks at you. For a handful of seconds that feel like ages, he just looks at you with inquisitive blue eyes, as if he’s trying to read you, or at least trying to understand.

“Please, allow me,” finally, he tears his eyes away, and he’s got his phone out and he’s already dialling the number, “the reception here isn’t great, but my phone seems to work through it.”

It’s only later, when you’re getting into the cab, that he grabs your arm once more. Well, “grab” would be the wrong word. He gently placed his hand on your arm as if to stop you, and you hesitate, half distracted by the need to get home before Steve and come up with an excuse about the car, and half curious about what the mechanic has to say.

“You have my card,” he says slowly with significance, his voice lowering to a deep rumble. “Call me tomorrow about your car. Or,” he adds when you start closing the cab door, “if you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

He holds your gaze for a moment or two, a few wayward strands of his brown hair falling over his forehead before he pushes them back. You find yourself forgetting to breathe, before you quickly shake your head and force a smile before looking away.

“Thank you for your help.”

Now, you lie alone on your bed, on your side with your knees up to your chest, shielding yourself and your poor body from whatever lies ahead. You can feel the outline of the mechanic’s card in your dress pocket, and muster up the strength to take it out.

Should you call him? It’s not like you had anyone else. Your family lived miles and miles away on the other side of the country. Steve had moved you to a different state after the wedding, claiming the two of you needed a fresh new beginning to start your new life together. And so you’d left all your friends and family behind without a second thought, loyally following your husband into the sunset because you loved him and trusted him.

You’d made new friends now, but they were the wives of Steve’s friends, and you didn’t know if you could trust them. What if they took Steve’s side? What if they recognised that it was you who’d turned him so awful and mean? That it was you who was the rotten one, poisoning everything you touched because you couldn’t keep him happy, couldn’t be a good wife?

You stare so hard at the card until your vision blurs, and then you stare some more. After a while, your thoughts just cease altogether, and you just lie there. Just wishing you didn’t exist. Wishing you were never alive to begin with, wishing you never felt the immense love in your heart that you still do for Steve. Wishing love never existed and neither did you. That you just disappeared into thin air one day and Steve could move on and be happy and be better for someone who made him better. Someone he genuinely loved and cared for and wanted to be better for.

Someone who so clearly wasn’t you.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Motionless. It’s different this time. In the past, after he’s left you like this, you’ve been able to get back up. Brush yourself off, make yourself pretty again and pretend it never happened. For the sake of both of you, just pretend it never happened.

You remember the first time he’d hit you. It was a month or so after your wedding, and Steve had taken you out to a work party of his. And you’d felt so relaxed, so pretty on the arm of your husband, wearing the dress he’d chosen for you, the jewellery he’d bought you. The diamond earrings sat pretty on your ears, a present from him that very night. He’d come up behind you while you’d sat at your vanity getting ready, and kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you, how you deserved all the prettiest things in life because you were the prettiest thing in his life.

You’d felt so at ease, being led around by Steve whilst you mingled and spoke with his work colleagues. But his good mood hadn’t lasted as the night had gone on, and halfway through the evening, you’d sensed him go silent next to you. Deathly silent. His grip around your waist had tightened to the point where it was almost uncomfortable, and his jaw was tight too. His lips set into a straight line.

He’d been just as silent on the drive back home, and it was only once the two of you were back in your bedroom, that he’d chose to speak.

“You were getting awfully comfortable with some of the men at the party,” he’d commented while you were undoing his tie.

You’d wrinkled your nose, “What?”

“Don’t say what. You know exactly what I mean.” His tone was cold, colder than you’d ever heard it. Soon, you’d grow used to the tell-tale signs that he was going into that dark, forlorn place he went to when he got like this. But back then, you didn’t really have an inkling.

“D-Did I do something to upset you, Stevie?” You’d asked hesitantly, not knowing what to make of his detached anger. You’d reached back to undo the zipper of your dress. Usually, he did it, but he wasn’t offering to do it then.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone had been so cutting that you’d physically flinched, and when he’d turned back around, his eyes were blazing accusatorily, “You were acting like a goddamned slut tonight, flirting with all those men.”

You remember the insult not even hitting you, because the absurdity of his statement had taken you so far off guard that instead, a giggle had escaped from your lips. An awkward giggle, like you had no idea what to say to such an absurd accusation.

“Do you find this funny?” You’d never forget the look he’d given you then, how he’d strode across the room, how big he’d looked, how scared you’d felt in that one second.

“No, Stevie, I was just–”

The strike had come out of nowhere. Like a clap of thunder, almost. You’d heard it before you’d even felt it. The slap that seemed to reverberate off the walls, except it was his palm against your cheek. The force of it had you reeling, and you’d lost your balance. Crashed against the wall with a thud before you’d fallen down.

You still remember how unreal it all had felt. Like an out of body experience, almost. Surreal. And the pain had bloomed instantly on the side of your face, and you’d looked up at him and he’d looked down at you, a horrified look on his face. He’d held his hand out in front of him, staring at it hard, and the darkness from his eyes had cleared.

Back in the present, and you can’t stop shaking. You feel numb, empty, and yet you can’t stop shaking. You try to think back to the old Steve, the good Steve. The sweet Stevie who was a little bit shy, and yet so charming and witty at the same time. So poetically in love that he’d made you fall for him, hook, line and sinker. The romantic Steve who’d whisked you off your feet and you’d happily followed him into the sunset without a second glance backwards.

Steve. The love of your life.

You just wish he still loved you back.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Seconds, minutes, hours, they don’t mean a thing. Not when this was to be your reality for the rest of your life. Again, you feel the charming mechanic’s card in your hand, but now you can’t even muster up the energy to hold it up.

It’s the dead of the night when he finally comes back. You haven’t moved an inch, but the sound of the front door shutting and the footsteps thudding up the stairs has alarm bells going off in your head.

No, no, no. No more hitting, no more pain. You couldn’t take another slap, you couldn’t, you couldn’t, you couldn’t! In fight or flight mode, you heave yourself up, shaking with fear. The only place you can think of to hide is under the bed. And maybe he wouldn’t care to look for you, maybe he’d stay in the guest room, maybe he’d just leave you alone.

But you see Steve’s shoes as he enters your shared bedroom, and you find that you’re holding your breath. Slowly, he steps inside, and you hear him call out your name quietly. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to be transported away. Far, far away where nothing cruel could reach you, and you could be happy all the time and not have to feel any pain, not ever, ever, ever!

It’s when his fingers wrap around your ankle that you start crying again. But no sound comes out, perhaps because you’re in shock. Or maybe because you’re just too scared. Rigid, frozen in complete fear, you’re limp as he pulls you out from under the bed.

“Oh God,” he whispers as the stark white orange light of the bedroom hits you. “Oh…Oh God… I…” his voice catches, his blue eyes clear and alert, blinking several times as he takes you in. Your poor, quivering body, and haunted, dead eyes that look anywhere except at him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he hoists you up into his lap gently as he sits on the cold floor, a mix of shock and regret on his face as he repeatedly shakes his head, surveying your face, your arms, your shoulders, your stomach, “Baby, I… Oh God, I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t…”

You find the tiny speck on the wall once more, and you fix your gaze upon it until it blurs. You're so numb, so far away, and you barely feel his hand as he gingerly touches the bruises and marks he’s left on you. Some old ones, some new. Some that had yet to turn dark and noticeable, some half covered in makeup from before.

Carefully, Steve strokes your face, the same side he’d slapped repeatedly only a few hours before. But the gentleness doesn’t register to you. Nothing does. You stare at the speck even harder, wondering if it was always there.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his tone hushed, regretful. Filled with anguish. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I… I got angry, I shouldn’t have got angry but I just…” his voice trails off as he stares hard at his own hand. As if he can’t believe he’s done this, as if he can’t believe that his own hand was capable of doing so much damage.

The speck on the wall seems to get bigger. You wish to God it would swallow you up whole.

“I swear I won’t do it again; I won’t ever hurt you like this again, I swear on my life,” Steve holds you up against his chest, cradles you like you’re a baby. And it feels so alien, to be handled so delicately. He hugs you close, burying his face in your shoulder, and that’s when you hear his voice break, “I won’t do it again, you have my word I’ll never hurt you again. I’m so fucking sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry.”

I won’t do it again. You’d heard that before. That’s what he’d said the first time he’d hit you. That’s what he said after every time. The speck grows blurry.

“Baby, please say something,” he stops hugging you, but still holds you in his lap, his strong arms around you in a way that should make you feel safe but right now you just feel nothing. His voice is thick, “I swear on everything, I won’t lay a hand on you again. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know why I get like that. Everything goes black, and it’s like I can’t think straight and then by the time I can, it’s too late. But I swear I’ll get better, I swear on my life this won’t happen again, baby, just please. Please say something.”

If you painted over the speck, would it still be there? Would it disappear entirely, or would the paint chip off after enough time had passed, and reveal the ugliness once more?

“I’ll go to anger management, therapy, you name it,” he shakes you gently, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “I want to get better for you, be better for you. I know I’m not a good man, baby, I know you deserve better and I’ll do anything. I swear, this is the last time I hurt you, okay? Please, just believe me, okay? Just say something.”

Steve stands up with you in his arms, your limbs falling limply down by your sides, your head lolling down too. Almost like you’re not real, like you’re a doll who was alive for a little while but you’re not anymore. You certainly don’t feel alive. You don’t feel anything. Just numbness.

Tenderly, he lays you down on the bed. The same bed he’d roughly thrown you down and violated you on just a few hours earlier. And a part of you, a tiny part of you from the deepest recesses of your mind, wants to muster up the courage to look into his eyes. To search for the man you love, to see if he’s still there. But the dark numbness eats you from the inside out, and so you just stare blankly at your speck on the wall.

“I promise I’ll change,” Steve repeats, the desperation now evident in his tone as he clutches your face, wills you to look at him. “Please, just listen to me. Believe me when I say I’ll change. Wh-When we… when we have our little girl, I’ll change. I’ll be a good husband and a good dad, make both of you happy. I won’t ever get like this again, I can promise you that now, alright? That’s a promise I’m making to you right now.”

A child? Would he hurt it too? Would he grow to hate it too, simply because it would be yours?

He grabs your hand, and his is so warm. Or is yours the one that’s freezing cold? It had been cold under the bed, but you’d liked it. Feeling cold was a different kind of pain, one that distracted you from the pain he’d caused you.

He kisses you desperately, all over your face as if trying to get you to say something back to him. Instead, you notice another speck on the ceiling above the closet. How many were there? Were they secretly laughing at you? Mocking you for staying so long in a speck-filled house?

“Baby?” Steve’s eyes glisten, his face so ghastly pale as he grabs your hand and presses more desperate kisses on it, “Baby, please say something. Say you forgive me. I-I don’t know why I do it, okay? I just, I’m so fucking terrified of someone taking you away from me. Taking away the one person, the only person, in my whole fucking life who means everything to me. I couldn’t stand it, I thought he’d take you away from me, and I just saw red, and I’m so sorry. I hate myself for doing this to you, baby. I’m so sorry, please say something!”

But you can’t! How can you, when it doesn’t even feel like you’re real anymore?

The specks are all around you now, growing larger and larger. You can hear Steve apologising over and over again, hugging you close as he begs for your forgiveness. But you’re too far away, so far away that you can barely hear him anymore. Lightyears away, in your own universe where you’re brave and confident and nobody ever messes with you. Nobody ever hurts you. And you take care of yourself, and it’s enough.

You find yourself hurtling through windows of time, entering one before flitting into the next as the specks grow so large it feels like they’re consuming you. You find yourself observing your birthday last year, when you’d baked your own cake and Steve had spent hours decorating it for you. Using your favourite-coloured frosting, and of course you’d gotten some on your face. He’d kissed it off for you, and told you that you were adorable.

Now you’re on Steve’s roof, the night he’d told you about his big promotion at work. You’d yelped in excitement, hugged him so hard it had hurt – but the good kind of hurt. And he’d had those stars in his eyes as he’d held you. “You’re my best friend, you know?” he’d said, “Every time anything good happens, you’re the first person I look for in the room to tell.”

Memory after memory, one cherished moment after another. And you’re so possessive of these moments, like you want to lock them up in a jar and keep them safe forever. Not let them get tainted like how he’d gotten tainted. Because of you, of course.

Maybe I’ll stay here, you think as the specks continue to consume you. It’s safe here. I’m happy here. He’s happy too. Maybe I’ll stay forever...

But something's stopping the specks from swallowing you up and taking you away. Taking you far, far away where Steve couldn't hurt you anymore, the place where there was only love and never hate. But something's stopping you, pulling you back like gravity that you simply couldn't defy. A stranger's voice, warm and sweet like honey, cutting through the freezing cold numbness.

“If you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

You feel the card clutched tightly in your hand; the hand Steve isn’t holding on to. And it pulls you back, back, back to reality. Another memory, but this time it’s a stranger with blue eyes and a friendly smile.

The specks slowly start to disappear, and you find yourself back in your bedroom. Back in Steve’s arms. Back in his warm embrace, except it does nothing to stop you from feeling so numbingly cold.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, “I love you so much, I’d die if I lost you. Please forgive me, baby. Come back to me. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

He lifts you up and hugs you once more, holding on to you so tightly as if his life depends on it. Strokes your hair and whispers sweetly in your ear, says all the words of regret that you've heard before. But you lie motionless in his arms like a broken doll, your poor cheek resting limply on his shoulder.

And it’s over Steve’s shoulder that you look down at the card in your hand, and read the man’s name, along with his number. And suddenly, a coolness washes over you.

Your finger twitches. You take a deep breath.

“Baby?” Steve draws back till you’re both face to face once more, and his eyes have those stars in them again, the stars you'd fallen in love with, the stars you'd wanted back so bad that you'd let it get this far. He cups your face, and presses his forehead against yours.

“You forgive me, don't you?"

THE END.

Okay so. That was a lot. It was a lot to write. If you're still here, then thank you for sticking around till the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope you found the story that I was trying to tell compelling. Please do let me know what you thought. What do you think reader will do now? What do you WANT her to do now? Who was the stranger? Why is Steve the way he is? IDK. Any raw thoughts and feedback would be incredible as always. Thanks so much for baring with me while I tried to post this fic. One last thing - this is a work of complete fiction. Thank you <3

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans #tw dv #tw dv mention

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chxrryhansen · 11 months ago

Text

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!

Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)

here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.

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Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.

Until Fury resigned that was.

Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.

Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.

Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.

Not that you had a choice anyway.

Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.

A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.

Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.

The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.

They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.

From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.

You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.

He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.

He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.

They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.

But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.

"Get on your knees."

"Wh-What?"

"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.

You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.

Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.

There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.

He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."

You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.

Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.

His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.

You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.

His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.

Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.

"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.

He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.

He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.

"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."

Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.

You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.

He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.

Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.

"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."

His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.

"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.

Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.

Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.

"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.

He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.

Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”

You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.

Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.

"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.

"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."

"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.

Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."

and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.

"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"

"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.

The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.

"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.

"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”

Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.

The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.

“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”

“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.

"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."

Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.

"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.

His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.

"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.

"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.

“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.

He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.

Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.

But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.

Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.

People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.

You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.

3K notes · View notes

amethystarachnid · 25 days ago

Note

Hey rose! I'm really excited for the Marvel holiday special!! Can I please request Steve Rogers x short!Reader (is this self indulgent? Maybe!😭 People literally have to bend down to hug me idk, tall genes of my family skipped me) for the second prompt- miseltoe mishap? Thank you!<3 🩷

P.s. I LOVE all of your fics 🤌✨

UNDER THE MISTLETOE

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x short!fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.2k

ᯓ★ Summary: Steve's new year resolution was simple: confess his feeling for you, but as a new year approaches he still hasn't said a word. So, after a mysterious Christmas gift you receive, you decide to take matter into your own hands.

ᯓ★ TW(s): so much fluff it needs a tw and some teasing and flirty comments from y/n

ᯓ★ I'm sorry but as you all may have noticed the requested aren't being written in the chronological order they were requested because I got confused between the asks and the comments in the post and can't figure out who has requested before who, so I'm just writing it following the prompt list. I'm sorry but don't worry, your request will be written!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The Avengers Tower is a beacon of Christmas cheer this time of year, buzzing with the energy of festive preparations. Garlands hang from the railings, twinkling lights are draped across every conceivable surface, and the smell of hot cocoa wafts from the kitchen. It’s a cozy chaos, and you’re in the thick of it, perched on a step stool as you wrestle with a particularly stubborn string of fairy lights.

Your arms ache from holding them above your head for so long, but you’re determined to get them just right. The lights have to be even—no awkward gaps or clumps. It’s a matter of principle, and besides, you know Tony will be annoying about it if you don’t.

“Need a hand?” a familiar voice asks from behind you.

You glance down and find Steve Rogers standing there, all broad shoulders and gentle eyes. He’s holding a box of ornaments, his cheeks tinged pink—not from the cold (you’re indoors, after all), but something else. The sight of him is enough to make your own cheeks heat up, though you do your best to ignore it. Steve has that effect on people.

“I’ve got it,” you reply, gritting your teeth as you stretch a little further. The stool wobbles, and his hands dart out instinctively, steadying you with a feather-light touch. You freeze, your heart doing an Olympic-level somersault.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice low and careful. “That stool doesn’t look very—uh—stable.”

“It’s fine,” you insist, though your confidence in the stool’s structural integrity is rapidly dwindling. You glance down again and catch the crease of worry on his brow. The man is the living embodiment of chivalry; there’s no way he’ll let you keep going without making it his mission to help.

With a sigh, you step down. The lights can wait. “Fine,” you concede. “Knock yourself out, Captain Christmas.”

Steve chuckles, setting the box of ornaments down on a nearby table. He steps up onto the stool, and you’re struck again by just how tall he is. He’s got at least a foot and a half on you, which is something you’re reminded of constantly—like when you have to crane your neck just to look him in the eye. Or when he easily reaches shelves that are practically a mile out of your range.

He’s annoyingly perfect. Not just in the tall, strong, and ridiculously handsome way, but in the kind, thoughtful, and genuine way too. He’s the kind of man who offers his umbrella to strangers in the rain, who remembers how you take your coffee, who actually listens when you talk. And if that weren’t enough, he’s also awkward—adorably so, especially around you.

You suspect it’s because you’re small and he worries about crushing you with a handshake. Or maybe it’s because he thinks you’re fragile, which would be ironic, considering how many missions you’ve both survived. Either way, his awkwardness only fuels your ridiculous, head-over-heels crush.

As Steve strings the lights, you busy yourself unpacking ornaments from the box he brought. Most of them are classics—shiny globes, candy canes, and snowflakes—but there are a few oddities mixed in. A Hulk-shaped bauble makes you snort, and you hold it up for Steve to see.

“Look familiar?” you tease.

He glances down from his perch and grins. “Bet Bruce loves that one.”

“He’s probably going to hide it on the back of the tree,” you reply, setting it aside. Your fingers brush against a different ornament—this one shaped like a little star. It’s simple, but pretty, and you hold it up to admire it. “This one’s cute.”

Steve’s hands falter for a split second as he adjusts the lights. You don’t notice, too focused on the star, but he notices. Oh, he notices. Because you just called something “cute” in that soft, slightly breathless way that makes his chest tighten. He swallows hard and refocuses on the task at hand.

“Y-yeah, it’s nice,” he manages, hoping his voice doesn’t crack.

Why is this so hard?

Steve has faced down alien armies, assassins, and world-ending threats without breaking a sweat, but the thought of confessing his feelings to you is enough to make him panic. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. At the start of the year, he’d made a resolution—a promise to himself—that he would finally tell you how he felt. But every time he’s tried, the words get stuck in his throat.

And now, with Christmas just days away, the deadline he arbitrarily set for himself is looming. The idea of starting another year without telling you makes his stomach twist, but so does the idea of screwing it up. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if he ruins everything?

“Steve?” your voice snaps him out of his spiral.

“Hm?” He blinks down at you, realizing he’s been staring blankly at the half-lit string of lights in his hands.

“You okay?” you ask, your brow furrowed. “You zoned out for a second there.”

“Oh, uh—yeah, I’m fine,” he says quickly, though his ears are burning. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you prompt, tilting your head.

You shouldn’t do that. It’s unfair, how cute you look when you’re curious. It makes it harder for him to keep his cool.

“Nothing important,” he lies, offering a sheepish smile. “How’s the ornament situation?”

You hold up the Hulk bauble again with a smirk. “I think this one’s going front and center.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “Bruce is gonna love that.”

You giggle, and the sound is like music to his ears. It’s one of the things he loves most about you—your laugh. It’s warm and infectious, and he’d do just about anything to hear it.

Before he can spiral further into his thoughts, you step closer to hand him the star ornament. “Here,” you say. “This one should go up top.”

Steve takes it, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It’s nothing, really—just an innocent touch—but it sends a jolt of electricity through him. He wonders if you feel it too, or if he’s imagining things.

“Good choice,” he says, his voice a little quieter now. He focuses on securing the star to the top of the tree, grateful for the distraction. When he’s done, he steps back to admire his work, and you join him, standing so close that your shoulder almost brushes his arm.

“Not bad, Captain,” you say, your tone light but genuine. “I think we’ve got ourselves a pretty solid tree.”

He glances down at you, his heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does when you’re near. You’re smiling—bright and proud—and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

“Yeah,” he says softly, more to himself than to you. “It’s perfect.”

You glance up at him, your smile faltering just slightly. There’s something in his expression—something raw and unguarded—that makes your pulse quicken. For a second, you think maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way you do.

But the moment passes, and Steve clears his throat, stepping away under the guise of tidying up.

“So, uh,” he says awkwardly, bending down to gather the empty ornament boxes. “What’s next on the agenda?”

You blink, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of his gaze. “I think we’re supposed to decorate the common room. Nat said something about needing backup with the garlands.”

“Right,” Steve says, straightening up with the boxes in hand. “Lead the way.”

As you head toward the common room together, you can’t help stealing glances at him. He’s trying so hard to act normal, but you know him well enough to sense when something’s off. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a hesitation in his words.

You wonder what’s on his mind. And you wonder if it has anything to do with the way he looks at you—like you’re the most important thing in the world.

Christmas morning in the Avengers Tower is a mix of chaos and cheer. The common room is alive with laughter and good-natured teasing, wrapping paper scattered across the floor like confetti. The massive Christmas tree glows softly in the corner, its branches weighed down with ornaments and twinkling lights.

Everyone has gathered here to exchange gifts, and the room feels warmer than usual—maybe because of the crackling fireplace, or maybe because of the bonds you all share. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pile of unwrapped presents beside you, and your cheeks ache from smiling so much.

Natasha is chuckling as Clint holds up a sweater that has “World’s Okayest Archer” stitched across the front in bold letters. “This is slander,” Clint grumbles, but he’s grinning. “I’m amazing.”

“Sure you are,” Natasha teases, her smirk sharp and playful.

Thor, meanwhile, is marveling at a “World’s Greatest Dad” mug that someone (probably Tony) had sneakily customized to include a picture of Thor holding Stormbreaker like a proud parent. “This,” Thor declares, raising the mug, “is a mighty gift.”

“Very mighty,” Tony quips from his spot on the couch, a Santa hat perched crookedly on his head. “You’re welcome.”

Steve sits near the tree, mostly quiet but smiling at the antics around him. He’s already unwrapped his gifts—a vintage Captain America action figure from Tony (complete with the original shield), a sturdy leather-bound journal from Natasha, and an assortment of hand-knit sweaters from Thor’s mother. He’s grateful for all of them, but his focus isn’t on the gifts anymore. It’s on you.

You’re radiant this morning, your laughter lighting up the room more than the Christmas tree ever could. Steve doesn’t know if it’s the cozy glow of the fireplace or the joy of the season, but something about you seems especially beautiful today. Not that you aren’t beautiful every day—but today, you’re breathtaking.

And it’s making him nervous.

Because tucked beneath the tree is one last gift. A gift for you. A gift from him.

“Looks like that’s the last of it,” Clint says, stretching his arms above his head. “Nice haul this year, guys.”

“Not quite,” Tony interrupts, pointing toward the tree. “There’s still one left under there.”

Everyone turns their attention to the tree, and you lean forward curiously. Sure enough, there’s a single box nestled beneath the branches. It’s wrapped neatly in silver paper, tied with a red ribbon, and it has your name on it.

Your brow furrows as you reach for it. “I don’t remember putting this here.”

“Must’ve been one of us,” Natasha says, though she looks just as intrigued as everyone else. “Check the tag.”

You glance at the label, but it doesn’t give you any clues. It simply says To Y/N—no indication of who it’s from.

“Secret Santa, maybe?” Bruce suggests.

“Someone’s being mysterious,” Tony says, leaning back with a smirk. “Come on, open it. Let’s see what you got.”

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers brushing over the ribbon. Whoever left this for you went out of their way to remain anonymous, and that makes you feel oddly shy. Still, curiosity wins out, and you carefully untie the ribbon, peeling back the wrapping paper.

Inside the box is a smaller velvet box. You blink, your breath catching as you open it.

Nestled inside is a delicate silver necklace, the pendant shaped like a tiny star. It’s simple but stunning, the kind of piece that feels timeless. You stare at it for a moment, your chest tightening.

But that’s not all.

Beneath the necklace, folded carefully, is a sheet of paper. You unfold it slowly, revealing a drawing—a sketch of you, caught mid-laugh. The details are astonishing, from the crinkle of your eyes to the way your hair falls. It’s you, but somehow more: the joy on your face, the warmth in your expression—it’s like the artist captured not just your likeness, but your spirit.

The room falls quiet as you stare at the drawing, your hands trembling slightly.

“Wow,” Natasha murmurs, leaning in for a better look. “That’s... beautiful.”

“It’s incredible,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. You trace the edge of the drawing with your fingertip, your heart racing. “Who...?”

“Not it,” Tony says, raising his hands.

“Wasn’t me,” Clint adds.

Everyone else shakes their heads, except for Steve, who sits frozen, his heart pounding so loudly he’s surprised no one else can hear it.

It was a gamble, leaving the gift anonymously. He couldn’t bring himself to sign his name, not when he was terrified of how you might react. But now, watching the way your eyes glisten as you hold the necklace and the drawing, he’s second-guessing everything.

Should he say something? Should he let you wonder? Should he...?

You glance up, scanning the room. Your gaze lingers on Steve for a moment, and he feels like a deer caught in headlights. He quickly looks away, pretending to adjust the hem of his sweater.

“Well, whoever it’s from,” you say softly, clutching the necklace in your hand, “thank you. It’s... it’s perfect.”

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Perfect. You think it’s perfect. Relief washes over him, followed by a flicker of pride. He spent weeks working on the drawing, pouring every ounce of his feelings into every pencil stroke. Seeing you appreciate it—cherish it—is more than he could’ve hoped for.

But then you put the necklace on, and his chest tightens all over again. The star catches the light, and it suits you so perfectly that he has to look away before he does something stupid—like stare too long or blurt out the truth in front of everyone.

“Whoever did this really knows you,” Natasha says, eyeing the necklace. “It’s thoughtful.”

“And talented,” Bruce adds, gesturing to the drawing. “That’s some serious skill.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, trying to hide his reddening face. He’s not used to compliments, especially not ones directed at his art.

“Guess I’ve got a secret admirer,” you joke lightly, though there’s a hint of hope in your voice.

“Or someone with terrible taste,” Tony quips, earning a pillow to the face from Natasha.

The room dissolves into laughter again, and the attention shifts away from you and your mysterious gift. But you’re still holding the drawing, your fingers brushing over the lines and shading. It’s so personal, so intimate, that it makes your heart ache in the best way.

And Steve? Steve sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t know how long he can keep this secret, but for now, he’s content to see you happy. Even if you never find out it was him, this moment is enough.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

The days between Christmas and New Year’s feel suspended in time—a cozy limbo filled with leftover cookies, twinkling lights, and lazy mornings. At the Avengers Tower, the pace has slowed to something resembling normalcy, with everyone enjoying a much-needed break.

You, however, have been anything but relaxed. Not since Christmas morning, when you opened that mysterious gift.

The necklace still rests around your neck, the tiny star pendant catching the light whenever you move. The drawing that accompanied it is safely tucked away in your room, though you’ve stared at it countless times since then. You can’t stop thinking about it—or, more specifically, about who gave it to you.

For days, you’ve replayed the moment in your mind, analyzing every detail. The craftsmanship of the drawing, the thoughtfulness of the gift—it could only be from someone who knows you well. Someone who cares about you deeply. Someone who, despite their care, wanted to stay anonymous.

And you have a pretty good idea of who that someone is.

Steve.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense. He’s been acting... different around you ever since Christmas. Quieter. More awkward. You’ve caught him stealing glances when he thinks you’re not looking, and when you smile at him, he stammers like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The thought that Steve might like you—that he might really like you—makes your heart race. You’ve had a crush on him for what feels like forever, but you never imagined he might feel the same way. Now that you’ve started piecing things together, it feels almost too good to be true.

And yet, there’s still no confirmation. No grand confession. No slip of the tongue. Nothing to cement your theory. Which is why you decide to take matters into your own hands.

It’s late afternoon when you start your search for Steve. You’ve checked the gym, the kitchen, and even the lounge, but he’s nowhere to be found. Finally, you decide to check his room—a bold move, but you’re running out of options.

When you knock and get no response, you hesitantly push the door open.

“Steve?” you call softly, peeking inside.

The room is empty, neat and orderly as always. The bed is made, the desk is tidy, and his shield leans against the wall like it belongs in a museum. You step inside, glancing around for any sign of where he might be.

Your gaze lands on the leather journal sitting on his desk. The one Natasha gifted him for Christmas. It’s open, a pencil resting on top of its pages.

You know you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. But curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself drawn to the desk.

“It’s just a peek,” you mutter to yourself, your fingers brushing over the leather cover.

The page it’s open to stops you dead in your tracks. It’s a drawing—of you.

Not just any drawing, either. It’s almost identical to the one you received on Christmas morning, the same detail, the same expression, the same care in every line. Your breath catches as you realize what this means.

Steve drew this. Steve gave you the necklace. Steve has been hiding his feelings for you all this time.

A smile tugs at your lips, and a thrill runs through you. He likes you. He really likes you. And yet, he hasn’t said a word. Typical Steve—too noble, too careful, too worried about messing things up.

You close the journal carefully, placing the pencil back where you found it. You won’t confront him about this—not yet. No, you have a much better idea.

If Steve won’t confess, then you’ll make it impossible for him not to. And if that means teasing him a little, well... all’s fair in love and war.

You find Steve in the lounge a little while later, sitting on the couch with a book in hand. He looks up when you enter, and his face brightens instantly, though he tries to hide it.

“Hey,” you say, leaning casually against the doorway.

“Hey,” he replies, setting the book aside. “Looking for something?”

“Actually, I was looking for you,” you say, crossing the room to sit beside him. You’re closer than usual, your knee brushing against his. He stiffens slightly, his eyes darting to yours.

“Oh?” he says, his voice a little higher than usual. “What for?”

You shrug, tilting your head as you study him. He looks nervous—adorably so—and it only fuels your confidence.

“Just wanted to see how you’re doing,” you say, your tone light and sweet. “You’ve been kind of quiet lately.”

“Have I?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Mm-hmm.” You reach out to adjust the collar of his sweater, your fingers grazing his neck. He freezes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

“You sure everything’s okay?” you ask, your voice dipping slightly.

“I—I’m fine,” he stammers, his cheeks turning pink. “Really.”

You lean back, feigning innocence. “Good. I’d hate to think something was bothering you.”

He nods, clearly unsure of how to respond.

You spend the rest of the evening finding subtle ways to fluster him. Leaning closer than necessary when you talk. Touching his arm when you laugh. Complimenting him on everything from his sweater to his hair. By the time you part ways, Steve looks like he’s been through an emotional whirlwind.

The next day, you up the ante.

Steve is in the kitchen making breakfast when you join him, your hair slightly tousled and your sweater slipping off one shoulder. He nearly drops the pan he’s holding when he sees you.

“Morning,” you say, your voice soft and syrupy.

“G-good morning,” he replies, turning back to the stove.

You step closer, peeking over his shoulder. “Whatcha making?”

“Just eggs,” he says, his grip tightening on the spatula.

“Smells good,” you say, resting a hand on his back. You feel the muscles beneath his shirt tense, and it takes all your willpower not to laugh.

“Want some?” he asks, his voice strained.

“Sure,” you say, flashing him a smile. “Thanks, Steve. You’re the best.”

His ears turn red, and you bite your lip to keep from grinning.

By the third day, Steve is visibly unraveling.

You’ve spent the last forty-eight hours being as sweet, flirty, and touchy as you can manage without outright declaring your feelings. Every time you brush against him, compliment him, or catch him staring, he looks like he’s about to combust.

You find him in the training room that afternoon, throwing punches at a heavy bag like it owes him money. He doesn’t notice you at first, and you take a moment to admire him—his broad shoulders, his focused expression, the way his sweat-soaked shirt clings to his chest.

“Working hard?” you call out, stepping into the room.

Steve pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, hey. Didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” you say, walking toward him. “What’d that poor bag do to deserve this?”

“Just... letting off some steam,” he says, wiping his forehead with his arm.

“Need a sparring partner?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes widen slightly. “You want to spar? With me?”

“Why not?” you say, stepping closer. “Unless you’re scared I’ll kick your ass.”

A laugh escapes him, and you feel a spark of satisfaction. “I’d like to see you try.”

You grin, stepping onto the mat. “Suit up, Rogers.”

After a playful (and very one-sided) sparring session, Steve is more flustered than ever. You’re lying on the mat, catching your breath, and you turn to look at him.

“You’re holding back,” you tease.

“Didn’t want to hurt you,” he replies, still trying to recover from your relentless teasing.

“You’re sweet, Steve,” you say, your voice soft. “Really sweet.”

He looks at you, and for a moment, the tension between you is palpable. You’re half-tempted to just kiss him and get it over with, but you want him to make the first move.

“I should... hit the showers,” he says abruptly, standing and heading for the door.

As he disappears, you smile to yourself. He’s close to breaking. Very close.

And when he does, you’ll be ready.

It’s New Year’s Eve at the Avengers Tower, and the entire building is buzzing with excitement. Tony, true to form, has outdone himself, transforming the common areas into a glittering wonderland of gold, silver, and twinkling lights. The air hums with music, laughter, and the promise of a fresh start as the year draws to a close.

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror with a slight frown as you adjust your dress. The sparkly red fabric hugs your figure perfectly, but the zipper in the back refuses to cooperate. Despite twisting, stretching, and trying every awkward angle imaginable, you can’t quite reach it.

With a sigh, you grab your phone and type out a quick message:

Hey Steve, can you come to my room for a sec? Need a hand.

You press send before you can overthink it, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. You already know he won’t say no—he never does when it’s you.

Steve arrives less than two minutes later, knocking lightly on your door.

“Y/N? Everything okay?” His voice, deep and warm, filters through the door.

“Come in!” you call out, keeping your tone casual. You hear the door creak open, followed by the soft sound of his boots against the floor.

“Y/N, I—” Steve starts, but the words die on his lips when he sees you.

You turn to face him, clutching the front of your dress to keep it from slipping down. His eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat as he takes you in. The dress is a vibrant, glittering red that hugs your curves like a second skin, the hem brushing mid-thigh even with the extra height your heels give you. Your hair is styled elegantly, soft waves cascading over your shoulders, and your makeup highlights your features just enough to leave him completely speechless.

“Wow,” he finally manages, his voice barely above a whisper. His cheeks flush a deep pink, and he looks away, as if giving you privacy in a moment that clearly isn’t private.

You bite back a smile, pretending not to notice his reaction. “Thanks for coming. I need a little help.”

Steve clears his throat, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Help with...?”

“The zipper,” you say, turning around to show him the back of your dress. You hold the fabric up with your hands, revealing the delicate, stubborn zipper that sits halfway down your back. “I can’t reach it.”

“Oh.” Steve’s voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat again. “Right. Sure. I can do that.”

You hear him take a hesitant step closer, and your pulse quickens. There’s something thrilling about having him this close, about knowing he’s flustered because of you. He smells like clean soap and cedarwood, and the sheer size of him behind you is enough to make your breath hitch.

His large, calloused hands brush against your back as he takes hold of the zipper, and you have to resist the urge to shiver at the contact. He hesitates for a moment, clearly nervous, before carefully tugging the zipper upward. His fingers graze your skin as he works, and the sensation sends a rush of warmth through you.

“Is... is this okay?” he asks softly, his voice rough around the edges.

“Perfect,” you murmur, glancing at him over your shoulder. His face is closer than you expected, and the intensity in his blue eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

The zipper finally reaches the top, and Steve’s hands linger for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back, his gaze darting anywhere but at you.

“There,” he says, his voice tight. “All set.”

You turn to face him, giving a little spin. “What do you think?”

Steve stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for the right words. “You... You look amazing,” he says at last, his voice full of awe.

His honesty makes you blush, and you grin. “Thank you. You’re not looking too bad yourself, you know.”

Steve glances down at his outfit—a crisp navy suit that fits him perfectly—and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks,” he says, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re welcome, Captain,” you tease, stepping closer. “Shall we head to the party?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, stepping aside to let you pass. His hand hovers near the small of your back as you leave the room, but he doesn’t quite touch you.

The elevator ride to the party is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. You steal glances at Steve as he stands beside you, his shoulders stiff and his jaw clenched like he’s holding something back.

“You okay?” you ask, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“Yeah,” he says quickly, though the slight crack in his voice betrays him. He clears his throat, flashing you a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine.”

“Steve.” You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he protests, but the redness in his ears says otherwise.

You decide to let him off the hook—for now. The elevator doors slide open, revealing the main event: Tony’s New Year’s Eve extravaganza.

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Steve arrive. The common room has been transformed into a glamorous ballroom, complete with a dance floor, a live band, and a fully stocked bar. Guests in glittering dresses and sharp suits mingle beneath cascading strings of fairy lights, and the energy in the room is electric.

“Y/N!” Natasha calls out, making her way toward you with a drink in hand. She gives you a once-over and lets out a low whistle. “You clean up nicely.”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say, twirling for effect. “You look amazing too.”

Natasha smirks. “Oh, I know.”

Steve hangs back slightly, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he watches you with a soft smile. He doesn’t seem to notice the way Natasha’s eyes flick to him, her smirk widening.

“Well, don’t you two make a picture-perfect couple,” she says casually, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re not a couple,” Steve blurts out, his face turning an impressive shade of red.

Natasha raises her glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say, Rogers.”

She winks at you before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you and Steve standing awkwardly by the entrance.

“She’s relentless,” Steve mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She’s not wrong, though,” you say, your tone light and teasing.

Steve looks at you sharply, his eyes wide. “What?”

You laugh, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “Relax, Steve. I’m just messing with you.”

His shoulders relax slightly, but the pink in his cheeks doesn’t fade.

The night unfolds with laughter, dancing, and plenty of drinks. You make a point to stay close to Steve, brushing against him whenever you can, leaning into him when you laugh, and catching his gaze across the room. Each time, his reaction is the same—wide-eyed, flustered, and utterly endearing.

At one point, you drag him to the dance floor, your hand firmly clasped in his. He protests at first, claiming he’s not much of a dancer, but you refuse to take no for an answer.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure him, pulling him close as the band starts a slow, jazzy number. “Just follow my lead.”

Steve hesitates, but when you rest your hands on his shoulders, he relents. His large hands settle on your waist, and the two of you sway to the music, moving in perfect sync despite his earlier protests.

“You’re better at this than you let on,” you say, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Steve chuckles nervously. “You’re easy to dance with.”

The compliment makes your heart flutter, and you tighten your grip on his shoulders. For a moment, it feels like the rest of the party fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

You’re about to say something—something bold, something that’s been on the tip of your tongue for days—when the song ends, and the moment is interrupted by a burst of applause.

Steve steps back, his hands dropping to his sides. “That was... nice,” he says, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” you agree, your chest tightening. “It was.”

You’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this game of subtlety and teasing. The clock is ticking, and the New Year is just around the corner. If Steve doesn’t make a move soon, you might just have to do it for him.

The party is in full swing as midnight approaches, the energy in the room building with each passing minute. The band has picked up its tempo, and laughter and clinking glasses echo through the air. You and Steve have stayed close all night, and now the two of you make your way toward the bar for a drink before the countdown begins.

“What’ll it be?” Steve asks, glancing at the menu. He’s been doing everything he can to appear calm, but the slight tremor in his voice and the way he keeps running a hand through his hair are clear giveaways.

“Champagne,” you say with a smile, leaning casually against the bar. “It’s tradition, isn’t it?”

“Good choice,” he says, signaling to the bartender. Moments later, two glasses of champagne appear in front of you, the golden liquid fizzing enticingly. You pick yours up and raise it in a mock toast.

“To the end of a very interesting year,” you say. “And the start of a better one.”

Steve clinks his glass against yours, his blue eyes warm. “I’ll drink to that.”

You take a sip, savoring the bubbly sweetness. The two of you fall into easy conversation, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. That is, until your eyes drift upward—and you notice the sprig of mistletoe hanging above you.

Your heart skips a beat, and a mischievous smile curls at the edges of your lips.

“Steve,” you say, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Yeah?” he asks, oblivious, before taking another sip of his champagne.

You tilt your head upward, your gaze fixed on the mistletoe. His eyes follow yours, and when he realizes what you’re looking at, he freezes.

“Oh,” he says, his voice barely audible. The tips of his ears turn bright red, and he looks away quickly, as if avoiding eye contact will somehow make the situation disappear.

“Did you know Tony hung mistletoe all over the tower?” you ask innocently, though the twinkle in your eyes betrays your intent.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Uh, yeah. I might’ve noticed. He’s… thorough.”

You take a step closer, your heels clicking softly against the floor. Even with them on, you still have to crane your neck to look up at him. He’s towering above you, his broad shoulders blocking out everything else, and the nervous way he’s fidgeting is almost too cute to bear.

“So,” you say, your tone teasing. “What are we supposed to do when we’re under mistletoe?”

Steve swallows hard, his eyes darting between you and the small sprig above. “I—uh—well, I think… traditionally… people…”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting patiently as he struggles to form a coherent sentence.

“They kiss,” he finally blurts out, his voice cracking slightly.

You can’t help but laugh softly. “They do,” you agree. “It’s tradition, after all.”

His blush deepens, and he looks like he’s about two seconds away from bolting. You can see the internal battle playing out in his mind, the way he’s torn between his feelings and his nerves. The countdown begins in the background, voices ringing out in unison:

“Ten!”

“Steve,” you say, stepping even closer. “You know what I think?”

He blinks, staring down at you like a deer caught in headlights. “W-what?”

“Nine!”

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

“Eight!”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You’re not sure whether to be exasperated or endeared by how utterly flustered he is.

“Seven!”

“Six!”

“Steve,” you say firmly, reaching up to place a hand on his chest. You can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and it sends a thrill through you.

“Five!”

“If you don’t kiss me right now,” you whisper, your voice low and teasing, “I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Four!”

“Three!”

Still, he hesitates, his lips parting as if to speak but no words escaping. You sigh dramatically, rising onto your tiptoes and tugging him down by his tie.

“Two!”

Before he can protest—or, more likely, overthink himself into oblivion—you press your lips to his.

The kiss is soft and sweet at first, your lips fitting perfectly against his. His initial surprise quickly melts away, and his hands come to rest lightly on your waist, steadying you as you lean into him. Even with your heels, he has to bend down significantly to meet you, and the height difference is so absurdly Steve-and-you that it makes you smile against his lips.

When you deepen the kiss slightly, sliding your hands up to his shoulders, he lets out a quiet, surprised sound that sends a rush of warmth through you. He tastes faintly of champagne, and the sheer rightness of the moment makes your head spin.

The countdown fades into a deafening roar of cheers and applause as the clock strikes midnight, but you barely notice. For this moment, it’s just you and Steve, wrapped up in a world of your own making.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. Steve looks down at you, his expression a mixture of wonder, disbelief, and pure adoration.

“I…” he starts, his voice shaky. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

You laugh softly, your hands still resting on his broad shoulders. “You don’t say.”

“I mean, I—uh—I’ve liked you for a while now,” he stammers, his words tumbling out in a rush. “A long while, actually. Since before last Christmas. And I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how, and then the gift—I mean, the necklace—I thought maybe it would say it for me, but then you didn’t say anything, and I—”

“Steve,” you interrupt gently, placing a finger over his lips to stop his rambling. He freezes, his eyes wide and uncertain.

You smile, rising onto your tiptoes once more to kiss him again. This time, it’s slower, sweeter, a silent reassurance that you feel the same way. When you pull back, you whisper against his lips:

“Happy New Year, Steve.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes shining with so much emotion it makes your chest ache. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

And as the room around you erupts into celebration, you know this is going to be the start of something truly amazing.

I'm sorry (not really) but I can't imagine Steve as nothing else than a softie, like, I don't know where you all see the big dominant man...I see a puppy

152 notes · View notes

capquinn · 3 months ago

Text

Two Hearts | Q. Hughes

summary: you and quinn drift apart, only to be drawn back together, held by a quiet, unspoken pull that lingers even after the breakup. it’s a constant ebb and flow, where the pain of separation and the comfort of reunion blur together, making it hard to truly let go. pairing: reader x quinn hughes content: lovers to exes, angst, just super sad in general word count: 8.3k note: i've been listening to birch by big red machine and what's left of me by grace vanderwaal a lot at the moment and the next thing i knew i was writing a breakup fic. anyway, godspeed! ↪masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

When you first met, it was like falling into step with someone who already knew the rhythm of your heart. You were always together, moving through life side by side, sharing the little moments and the big ones, too. He was your person, the one you called with every piece of news, good or bad, the one you turned to without a second thought. And for a while, it felt like you’d found something unbreakable, a connection so strong it seemed like nothing could touch it.

But slowly, things changed. There wasn’t a single moment or a reason you could pinpoint, just a gradual drifting apart, like you were both holding onto something that was already slipping away. You both knew it, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud, as if giving voice to the growing distance between you would make it real, would make it impossible to ignore. So, you held on, hoping that things might shift back, that the comfort and ease you’d once shared would return. But it never did.

Eventually, you both knew what had to be done. The breakup wasn’t loud or dramatic; there were no screaming fights or betrayals. It was just the painful acceptance that something that once felt infinite had an end. You’d sat across from each other, trying to find the right words, but all that came out were half-smiles and empty reassurances, promises to stay friends, to still care. The kind of promises you both knew were hollow, meant to soften the blow but only making it sting more.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The bar is buzzing, a steady hum of laughter and clinking glasses, your friends leaning into the evening with carefree energy that you’re trying your best to match. You’re at a table near the back, surrounded by people, but the only thing that holds your attention is the TV mounted high on the wall, where the Canucks game plays on in vivid colour.

You hadn’t planned on watching, had spent the past few weeks avoiding his games entirely ever since the break up, even changing your route to work to bypass Rogers Arena and the massive banners that displayed his face. But here, in this bar, the game is impossible to ignore.

You’re nursing a drink that’s lost its chill, your eyes drawn back to the screen again and again, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Maybe it’s the few drinks you’ve had, or the way your friends seem preoccupied with their own conversations, but for a moment, you let yourself lean into the pull.

You scan the bench, looking for the familiar outline of his face, the way he used to smile just before the game started, that quiet confidence you knew so well.

And then, as if the universe heard your silent plea, there he is.

The camera lingers on him, and he’s just sitting there, helmet off, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. The sight of him after so many weeks avoiding him is so sudden that it hits you like a punch to the chest, the pain of missing him crashing over you in relentless waves. He looks good — strong, steady, like the man you fell in love with.

You sink further back into your chair, your chest tightening, and you feel the sting of tears welling up, but you blink them away. The last thing you need is for your friends to see, to ask questions, to try to distract you with shallow reassurances that you know won’t help. You’re here with them, but in this moment, you feel impossibly alone, wrapped up in a silence that even the loudest crowd can’t break.

It’s strange, this hurt. You thought time would soften it, would dull the edges, but instead, it feels sharper than ever. You’re hit with memories of all the times you’d cheered him on from the stands. The pride that would swell in your chest as he skated out onto the ice, the way he’d look up at you after a win, his smile saying more than words ever could. And now, here you are, watching him from a distance, a stranger in a bar, trying to reconcile the person you knew with the one you’re seeing now.

One of your friends nudges you, pulling you back to the present. You manage a smile, nodding along as they talk about something trivial, something that barely registers as you try to focus, try to be here with them. But it’s useless. The only thing you can feel is the cold, empty space where he used to be, the sense that you’re still tethered to him, still bound by a connection that won’t let you go, no matter how hard you try.

You glance at the screen one last time, watching as the camera shifts, capturing him from a different angle, and it’s like he’s right there, close enough to touch, yet impossibly far away.

You pull your gaze away, focusing on your drink, trying to steady your breath, trying to shake the feeling that you’ll never really be free of him. Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how many miles or weeks separate you, it feels like he’s still there, a constant presence that haunts you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Quinn drops his duffel bag by the door, letting out a long, slow breath. He’s just come off a stretch of back-to-back games, all of them wins, and the rush of adrenaline from the ice still lingers, though it’s beginning to fade now.

The apartment is dark and silent, and it feels colder than he remembers. It’s the first real stretch of time away since the season started back up and since the breakup, and the silence feels more profound than ever.

This is the part he used to look forward to — coming home, dropping his things, feeling the weight of the road lift from his shoulders as soon as he crossed the threshold.

But now, that sense of relief is nowhere to be found.

He flips on a light, and the glow seems almost too harsh, too bright against the empty space. It wasn’t like this before. He’d come home from these trips and find you there, waiting for him, a warm smile on your face and something simmering on the stove, like you’d been anticipating his return all day. The routine was one he hadn’t even realised he’d come to rely on. He’d walk through the door, and the world outside would fall away, replaced by the comfort of you, by the way you’d wrap him in your arms and hold him tight, as if to say, you made it back. You’re home now.

But tonight, there’s no one waiting for him. Just the echo of his own footsteps and the faint hum of the fridge. He heads into the kitchen, out of habit more than anything, and opens the cabinet. There it is, your favourite mug, still in its place, untouched since you left. He closes the door, pushing down the ache that rises in his chest. The space is the same, but it feels foreign without you there, without the sounds and scents that made it feel like more than just a place to sleep between games.

He moves to the couch and sits down, staring at the blank TV screen. There are still traces of you everywhere, even though it’s been months. He hasn’t had the heart to remove them, as if by keeping these small reminders around, he can pretend, just for a moment, that nothing has changed. But it has, and he feels it in every inch of the apartment, in every corner that once held your presence, now empty.

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushion, and tries to breathe through the quiet. He’s used to routines, to schedules, to the grind that keeps him going, but no amount of preparation could brace him for the silence that waits for him here.

The season is in full swing, and he’s supposed to be focused, sharp, ready for every game. But sitting here, with the emptiness pressing in on him, he wonders if he’ll ever really shake this feeling, if the apartment will ever feel right again.

He knows he should get up, unpack, settle back in, but he can’t bring himself to move. Instead, he sits there, letting the silence stretch out, knowing that it’s just another part of what he has to face now.

Another piece of you he has to let go.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s a chilly evening downtown, but the bar is warm, buzzing with people, laughter, and the steady thrum of music. Quinn is surrounded by his buddies, all of them relaxed, sharing drinks and catching up like they used to. It’s the first time in months he’s felt something close to normal. The weight he’s been carrying seems to have lifted, and for the first time since the breakup, he can feel himself starting to breathe again. He even catches himself laughing, really laughing, at something one of his friends says, and it feels good. He feels almost like himself again.

As the night goes on, his friends nudge him, pointing out a girl at the bar — a brunette, leaning casually against the counter, a slight smile playing on her lips as she looks his way.

“She’s cute,” his friend says, giving him an encouraging nudge. “Go talk to her, man. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

Quinn hesitates, glancing over at her. She is cute, and a part of him wonders if maybe he should. Maybe it’s time to try, to start moving forward for real. He takes a breath, thinking he could do it, just walk over and strike up a conversation, let himself take a step into something new.

But as he watches her, a strange feeling begins to settle in his stomach. He feels off, like something isn’t right, like he’s crossing a line he can’t quite see but knows is there. He looks down, his fingers tapping against the side of his glass as the ache starts to creep back, that dull, familiar ache that he thought he’d left behind.

It doesn’t feel right. It feels like betrayal, like he’s letting go of something he doesn’t want to lose, even if he knows it’s already gone. And suddenly, you’re there, filling his mind, your laughter, your smile, the way you used to look at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He realises he’s not ready — not for this, not for anything new. Because it still hurts, even if he thought it didn’t. It still feels like he’s leaving a part of himself behind.

He shakes his head, offering his friends a small smile. “Nah, I’m good,” he says, pushing away from the bar. “Not tonight.”

His friend raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press, just claps him on the shoulder, his expression softening. “Alright, man. No rush. You’ll know when you’re ready.”

Quinn nods, grateful that his friends don’t push it further. He stays with them for a while longer, listening to the conversations, trying to immerse himself back into the lightness of the evening, but it doesn’t quite work. The feeling lingers, a quiet ache that sits heavy in his chest, and he knows he can’t ignore it.

Later that night, when he’s walking back to his apartment, he pulls out his phone, his fingers hovering over your name in his contacts. He knows he probably shouldn’t, knows that reaching out might only reopen old wounds, but he can’t help himself. He needs to know if you’re feeling it too, if maybe, somewhere in the silence between you, there’s still something left.

He types out a message, keeping it simple, but the words still feel heavy, loaded with everything he can’t quite say: Hey. Just wanted to check in. Hope you’re doing okay.

He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the send button, wondering if it’s a mistake. But in the end, he sends it, letting the message fly out into the silence, hoping that somehow, it finds its way to you, and maybe, just maybe, you’re thinking of him too.

As he walks the empty streets back to his apartment, Quinn's phone buzzes in his hand, lighting up with a notification. He stops, heart skipping a beat as he reads your name on the screen. He hadn't expected a response — not tonight, maybe not at all. He'd half-convinced himself that you were moving on, that the silence between you was something you both needed, even if it was painful.

But there it is: your message. His chest tightens, relief and trepidation flooding through him as he swipes to read it.

Hey, I’m doing alright. Thanks for checking in. Hope you’re okay too.

It’s simple, almost too simple, but he can feel the weight of it, the way it wraps around him, bringing back memories he’d been trying so hard to push down.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, his grip tightening on the phone as he reads your words again. He can almost hear your voice saying them, that familiar tone that used to bring him so much comfort.

Quinn leans against a lamppost, the cold seeping through his jacket, but he barely feels it. He’s lost in the past, in flashes of you laughing beside him, your head resting on his shoulder, the way you’d curl into him like you belonged there, like you always would. The distance between you has been unbearable, and as much as he’d thought he was moving on, your message reminds him just how deep the ache goes, how much he misses you in ways that he thinks no one else can fill.

He thinks about replying, about saying something that might bridge the gap between you, something that might crack open the door that he knows is probably better left closed.

But his fingers hover over the screen, unsure, caught between the pull of wanting to say everything and the fear of saying too much.

Getting there, he types, pausing as he considers the truth of those words. Then he adds: I miss talking to you.

He sends it before he can overthink, and as he waits for a reply, a nervous energy builds in his chest. The night feels colder now, lonelier, as if the silence between you is stretching even further, more pronounced. The moments pass, each one a reminder of what he’s hoping to find in your response, and he knows he’s standing on fragile ground, balancing on the edge of everything he’s been trying to let go.

The phone buzzes again, and he glances down, his heart pounding as he reads your reply.

Yeah, me too. It feels strange not having you around.

Those words hit him like a punch to the gut, the raw truth in them piercing through the layers of resolve he’d tried to build up over these months. He looks up at the night sky, the city lights hazy in the distance, and he wonders if this is how it will always be: an endless loop of trying to move on, only to be pulled back to you, back to the place where everything feels right but is so undeniably broken.

He feels a shiver run through him as he reads your reply, the simple admission that things feel strange without him, that you miss him too. It's enough to reignite that small, flickering hope he’s been trying to ignore, the one that tells him maybe, somehow, there’s still a way back.

He types out a response, his fingers moving almost on their own, trying to capture the words that have been caught in his chest for months.

I thought I was moving on, but I still miss you. More than I want to admit, he writes, his thumb hesitating over the send button. But then he sends it, and the words are out there, suspended in the space between you, a bridge he can’t cross back over now.

He waits, his phone clutched in his hand, eyes glued to the screen. The minutes tick by, the cold night air biting at him, but he doesn’t move. He keeps checking the screen, hoping to see the familiar three dots, a sign that you’re there, that you’ve read his message and maybe, just maybe, you’re willing to give him something in return.

But the dots never appear, and as the silence stretches on, the hope begins to fade, replaced by a creeping sense of dread.

He reads the message back to himself, the rawness of it hitting him harder now, and he realises that he’s laid himself bare, offered up the part of himself he’s been keeping close, only to be met with silence.

He tells himself that maybe you’re busy, that maybe you’ve fallen asleep. That there’s some reason you haven’t responded. But deep down, he knows. He knows that sometimes, silence is its own kind of answer. It’s own kind of goodbye. He knows that if you’d wanted to respond, you would have. That maybe, despite everything, you’re trying to move on in a way he’s not ready for.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The back-and-forth between you and Quinn has been a fragile line, a balancing act that neither of you seem quite ready to step away from. It’s like you’re both holding onto opposite ends of a rope, loosening your grip just enough to let a little slack, but never fully letting go.

Since the breakup, you’ve exchanged a few messages, each one carefully crafted, as if testing the waters of where you now stand.

At first, there was the occasional check-in. He’d reached out to wish your mom a happy birthday, a thoughtful gesture that tugged at old memories. You’d replied with a simple thank you, feeling a strange mixture of comfort and unease. A few weeks later, you found yourself wishing him luck for the hockey season, the words feeling heavier than they should. He replied quickly, but there was a hesitation you could almost feel in the silence that followed, an echo of all that was left unsaid.

And then there were the spontaneous moments — the TikTok you sent one night, hoping it would make him laugh the way it used to, or the photo he’d shared of a sunset from his apartment window, captioned only with, thought you’d like this. These small, seemingly insignificant messages were like tiny threads, keeping you tethered to each other, never fully apart. You both knew the connection lingered, an unspoken acknowledgment that some bonds don’t break so easily.

In the spaces between these moments, you’d both tried to create new routines, to carve out separate paths. You stopped going to the places you used to frequent together, started exploring new spots with friends, hoping it would help you move on. You’d heard through mutual friends that he was doing the same — choosing different haunts, finding new ways to fill his days.

You’d both done well to avoid each other for the most part, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths would cross again, as if the universe was waiting for the perfect moment to throw you back together.

And then it happens. You’re leaving your favourite coffee shop, the one you’d almost forgotten you shared, tucked into a quiet street just far enough from the city’s usual hustle. You’re caught up in a joke your friend just told, the warmth of laughter still lingering as you push open the door, balancing a cup in one hand and a bag in the other. But when you glance up, there he is, walking towards the door, his eyes finding yours in an instant. The laughter fades, replaced by the hollow thud of your heart in your chest as you both freeze, caught in a moment that feels both inevitable and surreal.

Neither of you move, and for a beat, the world narrows to just the two of you, standing face-to-face in the place that once felt like your own little corner of the world.

It’s awkward, disconcerting, like an unexpected reminder of a past that still holds you both in its grip. And as you hold his gaze, you realise that despite all the little steps you’ve both taken to move forward, you’re both still here, tangled up in the threads of a something that feels far from over.

He’s alone, a few stray raindrops clinging to his jacket from the drizzle outside. There’s a split second of something unreadable in his expression — surprise, maybe even a little hesitation, before he recovers, offering a small, polite smile. It’s so painfully familiar, that half-smile of his.

Your friend shifts beside you, sensing the change in the air, and gives you a quick, curious glance. You manage a strained smile in return, glancing back at Quinn as you exchange awkward hellos.

“Hey,” he says, his voice just loud enough to cut through the ambient noise, yet soft enough that it feels intimate. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, aware of how forced your tone sounds. “How about you?”

“Yeah, can’t complain,” he says with a shrug, his hands sliding into his pockets, and for a moment, he looks like the Quinn you used to know. The one who was always a little awkward, a little unsure.

There’s a brief pause, a tension hanging between you as you both struggle for words. He clears his throat, glancing toward the barista before meeting your eyes again.

“It’s been a while,” he says, his voice a little too even, like he’s carefully measuring each word. It feels strangely formal, like you’re two strangers making small talk instead of two people who once shared everything.

“Yeah,” you nod, shifting awkwardly. “It has.”

The conversation stalls there, the weight of what neither of you are saying settling uncomfortably between you. It’s weird, this distance — how you can be standing so close to someone you once knew inside and out, yet feel miles apart.

You don’t know where to look, your eyes darting from his face to the floor to the cup in your hand, as if it might hold the answers you can’t seem to find.

He shuffles slightly, one hand still gripping the coffee shop door, the other hovering at his side like he’s not sure what to do with it. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but the words don’t come, and you can see the same uncertainty reflected in his eyes, the same hesitation that’s keeping you both on the edge of this awkward dance.

The silence stretches, and in the back of your mind, a question gnaws at you, growing louder with each passing second: Do you still miss me? It’s the only thing you really want to ask. Because I still miss you. But you can’t bring yourself to say it. Neither of you can.

Instead, you both linger in the spaces between, skirting around the edges of what you really want to say, pretending this is just a normal, chance encounter and not a painful reminder of what’s been lost.

Your chest tightens, and you can feel the ache creeping in, the unrelenting pull of everything that was left unresolved.

“It’s good to see you,” you finally offer, your voice quieter than you intended, the words feeling hollow, insufficient.

“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze softening for just a moment, and you swear you see something flicker in his eyes — something like longing, or maybe regret. “You too.”

Another beat of silence passes, heavy and thick, and then, almost simultaneously, you both step aside to let the other pass. It’s a messy, awkward shuffle, both of you trying to avoid making it worse, and for a second, your hand brushes against his. The contact is brief, fleeting, but it sends a rush of emotion through you that you’re not prepared for.

You step back, swallowing the lump in your throat, wishing you had the courage to say what you’re really feeling. But instead, you just give him a tight smile, and he nods, stepping past you toward the counter.

As you walk out the door, the familiar sound of the coffee shop bell ringing behind you, you can’t help but wonder if he feels it too — the strangeness, the heaviness. The way this brief, awkward exchange only seems to deepen the ache.

And though you know the moment has passed, the words you didn’t say still echo in your mind, reverberating like a question left hanging in the air.

Do you still miss me?

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s a rainy evening, the kind of night where you’d rather stay home with a book or a movie, something comforting to fill the quiet. But your friends convinced you that it was time to get back out there, that you deserved to have a little fun, to meet someone new.

You sit there, trying to muster up an interest in the conversation, but everything about the date feels off. The sushi restaurant is beautiful, the lighting warm and inviting, though you feel strangely out of place.

Your date is nice — polite, even a little charming, but there's something about him that feels hollow, like you’re both playing parts in a scene that doesn’t quite fit.

He smiles, asking about your work, your hobbies, the little details of your life, and you respond automatically, going through the motions as best you can. He’s handsome, with an easy laugh and a quick wit, and you know, objectively, that he’s a good guy. But as he talks, you can’t help but compare each small gesture to Quinn, feeling the disappointment settle deeper each time he falls short.

When he leans back in his seat, his posture casual, he doesn't reach for you, doesn't offer that familiar brush of his knee against yours. You realise that you've been waiting for it, anticipating a touch that never comes, and with each passing second, the absence grows more glaring. With Quinn, there was always an unspoken connection, a natural pull that kept you close, like your bodies knew how to find each other even in a crowded room. But here, with this stranger, there's only an empty space that feels too wide and too cold.

You remember how Quinn would glance at you between bites, his eyes softening as he leaned in just a little closer, the quiet smiles that would pass between you like a secret language only you two shared. He had this way of making you feel seen, of making even the smallest moment feel significant. But tonight, everything feels forced, every word an effort, and you find yourself retreating further into memories of Quinn, of the way he made even the most ordinary dinners feel like something special.

Your date tries to fill the silence, laughing as he tells another story, his voice rising with enthusiasm, but it only makes the space between you feel more hollow. With Quinn, you never had to fill the silences. They were easy, comforting, a shared understanding that allowed you to simply be, without the need for constant words. But now, the silence feels heavy, a reminder of everything you’ve lost.

He catches your distant expression, tilting his head with a look of concern. "You alright?” he asks, his voice gentle, and for a moment, you feel guilty, like you’re betraying him by not being fully present, by comparing him to a past he can’t compete with.

You force a smile, nodding. “Yeah, just…tired. Must be the weather or something,” you say, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not quite true. It’s not tiredness; it’s the ache of missing Quinn, of sitting here with someone else and realising that the bar had been set so high, you’re not sure anyone else can reach it.

The date continues, but it feels like you’re moving through water, each word weighed down by the memories you can’t shake. When he offers you a bite of his food, finally, you want to feel grateful, but even that feels off — like a poor imitation of the way Quinn would share his plate with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he watched your reaction, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary.

And as the night wears on, you start to feel a strange sadness, a quiet understanding that you’re not ready for this, not yet. Maybe it’s too soon, or maybe it’s that you’re still carrying Quinn with you, a weight that makes every interaction feel too forced. The date ends, and he offers to walk you to your car, but you decline, needing the solitude, the chance to step out into the rain and let the cool air clear your mind.

You slip into your car, the familiar hum of the engine a small comfort as you pull out onto the quiet streets. You could head straight home, but the thought of returning to an empty apartment feels too daunting right now. Instead, you take the long way, winding through the city with no real destination in mind, just the soft glow of the streetlights and the rhythmic sweep of the wipers cutting through the drizzle.

Quinn is all you can think about. It’s strange, this pull he still has on you. You wonder if it’s supposed to be like this. If this ache is a normal part of moving on after spending so long with someone who became a part of your world. You had shared so much — the good and the bad, the mundane and the beautiful. He had seen you at your best and at your worst, and now, even the smallest things feel out of place without him. You’re not sure if you’ll ever feel quite normal again, and if there’s ever a way to fill the space he left behind.

You find yourself circling back towards your neighbourhood, the rain picking up again as you pull into your driveway. The car is quiet now, save for the soft ticking of the engine cooling down, and you sit there, letting the weight of the evening settle over you.

You sit there for a while, the rain tapping softly against the windows, and before you know it, you’re reaching for your phone. You don’t want to tell him about the date, about how out of place you felt — there’s no point in bringing that up. But you can’t shake the urge to reach out, to bridge the distance with something small, something that feels familiar.

You type out a simple message, something that feels safer, something that isn’t about the night or the ache it left behind:

Just wanted to say hi. I hope you’re doing well.

It’s casual, almost impersonal, but as you read it over, you feel a tiny sense of relief. It’s enough to reach out, and to say something without opening wounds that haven’t quite healed. You don’t want to give him too much, but you can’t keep holding onto the silence, either. You hit send, feeling your heart quicken as the message goes through.

The rain continues to fall as you wait, unsure if he’ll reply. You know he might not, that he’s probably moved on in ways you haven’t yet. And you know that whatever comes next, you’ll have to face it, step by step, without letting him fill the spaces you’re supposed to fill yourself.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s late, and the city is wrapped in the soft glow of Christmas lights, the streets lined with decorations that should feel festive but instead make the loneliness press down harder.

You wander back to your apartment, past shop windows filled with ornaments and garlands, through a crowd of strangers bustling with bags of gifts, their laughter ringing out like echoes of a life you don’t quite belong to. The air is crisp, biting at your cheeks, and with every step, you feel the emptiness settling in deeper, gnawing at the edges of your heart.

You reach your building, climbing the familiar stairs, and as you push open the door to your apartment, you’re greeted by the silence. It’s the same stillness that has greeted you for months, but tonight, it feels heavier, more oppressive. You set your keys down, shrugging off your coat, and glance around at the empty rooms, the walls adorned with a few half-hearted decorations you’d put up in a moment of optimism. But they only serve as reminders that you’re here alone, far from the warmth of family, from the comfort of familiarity.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hand, and before you even realise it, you’re scrolling through your contacts, your thumb hovering over his name.

Quinn.

You can almost hear his voice, the way it would ground you, steady and reassuring, cutting through the quiet like a lifeline. He’s been your person, the closest thing to family in this city, and though you know you shouldn’t, you know that calling him will only complicate things, you can’t shake the longing, the ache that’s been building all night.

You take a deep breath, your fingers trembling as you press call, and the ringing fills the silence, each tone making your heart race, a mix of anticipation and regret. But there’s also a strange sense of relief, a fleeting comfort in knowing that he’s just on the other side, that he’ll answer, because he always does. You know it’s selfish, reaching out like this, when you’ve both been trying so hard to move on, but tonight, the loneliness is too sharp, the absence of him too much to bear.

He picks up on the second ring, his voice soft and familiar, and in an instant, the loneliness fades, replaced by the warmth that only he can bring.

You close your eyes, leaning back, letting the sound of his voice wash over you, anchoring you in a way that nothing else has since you left. You make small talk, the words simple, but there’s a comfort in them, a reminder of all the late-night conversations you used to have, when he was the person you’d always call, the person who made you feel like you weren’t alone in the world.

“Hey, everything OK?” he asks, his voice soft and warm, as if he can sense the tremor in yours, the way the silence on your end stretches a beat too long.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, though the words feel thin, fragile, as if they might shatter at any moment. You hesitate, searching for the right words, but all that comes is the truth, raw and heavy. “Just... wanted to hear a familiar voice. The holidays feel different this year, y'know? I’m away from my family and…” You pause, the words catching in your throat, the unspoken weight of everything you’re holding back pressing down on you. “I miss you.”

There’s a silence on the other end, but it’s not empty. You can feel his presence through the phone, the way he doesn’t rush to fill the space. Doesn’t need to because he understands. He’s always understood. He doesn’t even have to say it, but you can feel it in the quiet, in the way his breath catches ever so slightly, in the way you’re both suspended there, clinging to the edge of a past that neither of you can quite leave behind.

“Would you…” He starts, his voice hesitant, as if he’s weighing each word before letting it slip into the space between you. “Would you like to come over? Have dinner? I could use some company tonight, too.” His voice is low, steady, but there’s a vulnerability there, a longing that mirrors your own, as if he, too, has been holding onto this moment, waiting for the chance to bridge the gap that’s kept you both apart.

The offer hangs in the air, filling the empty spaces in your heart, and you realise that this, more than anything, is what you’ve been needing. Not just a familiar voice, but him — his warmth, his presence. The way he knows you without you having to explain. It’s more than you had hoped for, and yet, in that moment, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You nod, even though he can’t see you, the word slipping from your lips before you can second-guess it. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “I’d like that.”

There’s a quiet relief in his response, and though he doesn’t say it, you know that he’s missed you too, that he’s been feeling the same hollow ache. The same pull that’s brought you back together tonight. It’s a fragile peace, this shared loneliness, but it’s enough for now.

The air is biting as you make your way to his building, the chill cutting through your coat, but you barely notice. Your thoughts are tangled, a mess of anticipation and uncertainty as you stop to pick up a bottle of wine — a peace offering, an excuse, something to occupy your hands and steady your nerves.

By the time you reach his door, your heart is pounding, and you almost consider turning back, slipping away before you even have to face him. But then the door opens, and there he is, with that same steady gaze, the one that has always been able to calm you and unravel you all at once.

You step inside, and the warmth of his apartment wraps around you, the familiar scent of him, of the space you once shared, filling your lungs and pulling at memories you’ve tried to bury. You look around, and it’s like nothing has changed. The walls, the furniture, the soft, warm lighting — all of it is just as you remember, a snapshot frozen in time. But then your gaze drifts to the empty spaces, the subtle absence of things that once belonged to you, and the weight of it settles in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t your home anymore.

Your favourite mug, the one you’d always reach for first thing in the morning, is gone from its home by the kettle. The cosy pair of slippers you kept by the door, ready for nights when you’d settle in and make this place your own, have vanished too. You hadn’t expected them to stay, hadn’t imagined that he’d keep these remnants of you around, but somehow, seeing the empty spaces where they once were makes it all feel final, the quiet confirmation of what you already knew: it’s over.

And suddenly, the regret hits you, sharp and unforgiving. You shouldn’t have called. You shouldn’t have come. This is only going to make it harder.

Quinn takes your coat, his fingers brushing yours as he hangs it up, and there’s a brief, awkward pause, a silence heavy with everything you both want to say but don’t. He gestures toward the kitchen, and you follow him, the bottle of wine clutched tightly in your hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you take a seat on the stool by the island. He moves around the kitchen with that same easy grace, his focus shifting from the stove to the countertop, to the little tasks he always made look so effortless. You pour a glass of wine, taking a long sip, letting the warmth spread through you, settling your nerves as you watch him.

The quiet between you feels heavy at first, stifling, as if you’re both waiting for the other to break it. But then, slowly, you feel the familiar rhythm return, that easy flow you once shared, the quiet comfort of simply being in each other’s presence. He chops vegetables, stirs a pot, reaches for spices, and it’s like slipping back into an old dance, one you both know by heart, even after all this time.

You find yourself talking, sharing little bits of your day, your voice filling the space between you, and he listens, nodding along, his gaze softening as he glances over at you. There’s something so natural about it, the way he tilts his head when he’s listening, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. It’s a rhythm that feels almost instinctive, and before you know it, you’re leaning into it, the awkwardness fading, replaced by something warmer, something almost comforting.

As you sit there, watching him cook, sipping your wine, you feel a flicker of something that almost feels like peace. The familiar hum of the kitchen, the scent of food filling the air, the quiet, unspoken understanding between you — it’s all so familiar, so intimate. And yet, there’s a bittersweet edge to it, a lingering sadness that tugs at the corners of your heart, reminding you that this is temporary, that you’re only borrowing this moment.

Quinn gives the sauce a stir, tasting it with a spoon, and you lean forward, squinting at him with a familiar look of playful skepticism.

“Are you sure you’re not overdoing it with the garlic?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shakes his head. “I thought you loved garlic.”

“Yeah, but I also like to taste the rest of the dish,” you reply, laughing softly. “Remember that time you made pasta, and the entire apartment smelled like garlic for days?”

He chuckles, the sound light but carrying that old warmth. “Hey, I didn’t hear any complaints back then ” he says, turning back to the stove with a grin.

You shrug, resting your chin on your hand as you watch him. “Maybe I was just being nice.”

He throws a glance over his shoulder, his smile softening as his eyes meet yours. “You’re always nice,” he says, almost under his breath, and for a brief second, the room feels like it used to — filled with that easy, comfortable rhythm that was yours alone.

For a moment, it’s like the past few months slip away, and you’re both just there, together, sharing space like nothing ever changed.

You take another sip of wine, watching him as he moves around the kitchen, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself pretend. Pretend that nothing has changed, that the empty spaces don’t matter, that you haven’t been living separate lives. Because in this moment, with him just a few steps away, his gaze meeting yours, you feel like you’re home again.

And then when you take a seat at the small dining table, a quiet smile lingers on your lips as you watch him bring over the plates, setting one in front of you with that same familiar care. It’s a simple dinner, but the warmth of it, the way he moves around the room with such ease, makes it feel like more.

You glance around the room, your gaze landing on the bare walls, the empty spaces where twinkling lights and garlands used to hang. There are no Christmas decorations, none of the usual signs of the season that used to fill the apartment with warmth and light, and it feels strange.

“You didn’t put up any decorations this year,” you remark, trying to keep your tone light, though the words carry a weight you hadn’t intended.

You know how much he used to love transforming this place. How he’d indulge your excitement with a grin. How he’d string lights across the windows and set out little ornaments, creating a space that felt so alive, so full of holiday cheer. You hadn’t thought much of it until now, but seeing the absence of it all hits you harder than you expected.

He shrugs, looking down at his plate, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t see the point,” he says softly, and there’s a vulnerability in his voice, a quiet sadness that tugs at your heart. “I only ever did it because you were around. I’m not really here much over the Holidays, and if it’s just for me… It just seems sort of pointless.”

The confession hangs between you, fragile and raw, and you feel the air shift, a connection sparking in the space between you, as if something unspoken has finally found its way to the surface.

You’re both quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting the weight of them settle around you. There’s a warmth building in your chest, a tenderness that you’d thought had faded, but here it is: lingering, soft and undeniable.

Without thinking, you reach across the table, your fingers brushing against his, and he meets you halfway, his hand warm and familiar in yours. The touch is gentle, hesitant, but it feels like a step back into a place you both thought you’d left behind. He squeezes your hand, his thumb tracing a soft, slow circle against your skin, and you can feel the pull, the quiet magnetism that’s always been there, drawing you closer, even now.

After dinner, you linger in the quiet warmth of his apartment, neither of you ready to say goodbye just yet. There’s a fragile comfort in this old rhythm, a sense of normalcy that feels almost like it belongs to a different lifetime. The conversation drifts between light memories and familiar silences, and you feel yourself clinging to each moment. To the ease of it all, knowing it’s only a temporary reprieve.

You’re both leaning against the kitchen counter, a faint smile playing on his lips as he talks about something inconsequential, something that makes you laugh even as you feel the weight of the evening pressing down on you.

You’re both a little tipsy, the warmth of the wine clouding your judgment, softening the edges of everything, and when he stops talking and looks at you, really looks at you, there’s a beat of silence, a tension that feels both familiar and terrifying, and without thinking, you lean in, and he meets you half-way, closing the distance between you.

When he kisses you, it’s almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid that you’ll pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, letting the warmth of his touch wash over you, letting it chase away the cold that’s settled in your bones since you walked out of his life. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, and in that moment, it feels like everything is slipping back into place, like you’re finding your way home again.

The kiss is soft, tentative, but it quickly deepens, and for a moment, you lose yourself in it, letting the warmth and the memories wash over you. It feels so easy, so natural, like slipping back into a dream, and before you know it, you’re in his bed, lying beside him in the dark, your heart pounding as the reality of it all settles in.

He falls asleep with his arm draped over you, his breathing steady and slow, and you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything. It’s so familiar, the feel of his body next to yours, the quiet intimacy of sharing a bed, but this time, it's different. It's more painful, more final, as if the weight of the breakup is settling in all over again, sharper and more relentless than before.

He had held you with a tenderness that was both familiar and agonising, his hands tracing the curves of your body, his lips mapping paths across your skin. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, as if all the pain, all the distance, had melted away beneath the heat of his touch. You felt needed, wanted, loved in a way that you’d almost forgotten, and you let yourself sink into it, surrendering to the comfort, to the longing that had been building for months. It was intimate, but not in the way it used to be.

His touch had been gentle, yet filled with an urgency, as if he, too, was trying to memorise the moment, to hold onto something that was slipping away even as it unfolded.

His fingers brushed your skin, sending sparks through you, the warmth of him pressing into you, grounding you in a way that felt both right and utterly wrong. You closed your eyes, letting yourself drift on the wave of pleasure… on the feeling of being close to him… of feeling his heartbeat against yours.

But now, lying beside him in the aftermath, you feel the full weight of what you’ve done, the painful clarity settling in. It felt so nice to be held, to be wanted, to be wrapped up in him again, but now the emptiness is stark, the regret deeper. You’re left with the cold reality that no matter how close you get, no matter how intimately your bodies fit together, there’s a distance between you that can’t be closed. An ache that physical closeness can’t mend.

He shifts in his sleep, pulling you closer, and it only makes it worse. The familiar weight of his arm and the closeness of his breath against your skin a reminder of everything you’ve lost, of everything that can never be again. You know that this was a fleeting comfort, a brief return to something that once felt like home.

But now, the sweetness of the moment has faded, replaced by a hollow ache and by the realisation that this isn’t the way back.

In the quiet, you feel the tears slipping down your cheeks, the warmth of his body beside you a painful reminder that what you shared tonight wasn’t reconciliation — it was a goodbye that neither of you could speak aloud.

And as you lie there, his steady breathing filling the silence, you know that no matter how much you both wanted to hold on, some things can’t be undone.

Some things can’t be saved.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

#I said I’d post it tomorrow but fuck it we ball #now back to regular lovey dovey quinny content <3 #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #capquinn's writing

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navybrat817 · 1 year ago

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Mission Report

Pairings: Incubus!Stucky x Enhanced!Female Reader, Incubus!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Incubus!Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: After a night with the two demons, Brock comes to collect your body and faces the fury of all three of you. Word Count: Over 4k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, threesome, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, spitroasting, blood, violence (shooting, stabbing, and more), physical and mental torture, dark elements, death, revenge, implied noncon, possessive behavior, supernatural elements, Incubus Stucky (that's a warning, lovelies!). A/N: Fic #10 and final fic for Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! I had to revisit my incubi the day before Halloween and this is a direct follow up to Ready to Comply. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Less than a day passed since Bucky and Steve claimed you as their own, but it felt like you always belonged to them. You were their eternal award for their capture. They were your reward for the pain you endured. The three of you would scorch the earth together.

Your captors weren't strong enough to endure the flames.

As you lay naked on the floor as instructed, you counted the footsteps as the squad members got closer. There were three pairs of heavy boots, one set which belonged to Brock Rumlow. You almost pushed yourself up when fiery anger coursed through your veins. You wanted him turned to ash just so you could watch the wind blow him away into nothingness. It would be glorious to smile in the face of his demise.

“She feels your rage, Buck. Reign it in,” Steve ordered from where he sat in the corner.

“No,” Bucky spoke in an almost laidback tone from the opposite corner. “Let her feel it.”

In the very short time they bound you to them, you figured out that Steve was the more assertive of the two. It didn't mean Bucky wasn't forceful when he had to be. At the moment though, he wanted you to feel a bit more of his impulsive side.

“Now isn’t the time,” Steve chastised, making Bucky scoff in reply.

You lost the concept of time the day you were unwillingly taken under Hydra's wing. Counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds did you no good as you waited for whatever horror they decided to unleash upon you. The days were no longer a precious gift, but a stark reminder that you were closer to death.

A sound reminiscent of a snarl escaped as you opened your mouth. “Hydra took everything from me,” you grumbled as angry tears sprang to your eyes. “I want their blood to stain the ground. I want it to paint the walls.”

Thanks to the demons in your cell, your demons, you would get your revenge. You would live to fight again. And you would live to serve them. You promised them forever, after all.

An odd sense of comfort surrounded you and allowed you to breathe a bit easier. “We can feel your pain, sweetheart,” Steve whispered.

Bucky hummed, the warmth doubling within your chest. “We can also feel your strength, doll.”

“We'll spill their blood,” the blonde promised as you blinked the tears away. “But not if you're impatient. We need you to act docile when they take you out of the room.”

“Stevie's right. We know you're angry. We all are. They'll pay. Trust us,” the brunette agreed. “And we'll have lots of fun along the way.”

Demons were many things and played lots of tricks, but one thing they wouldn't do was lie to you. It allowed you to let the hurt go for the time being. “I'll behave,” you whispered when the footsteps stopped in front of the door.

“That's our girl,” the incubi said in unison, the words wrapping around your heart and reminding you that you weren't alone in this fight.

The bond crackled between the three of you as the door swung open. It allowed you to remain still, just like they told you to. You made no move to cover yourself as the men observed you on the floor. Your demons also made no move to go toward them. With the symbol above the doorway, there was no way for them to escape.

Yet.

“Well, well, well. I thought we’d find a corpse when we opened the door,” Brock smirked. Instead of snapping back the way you wanted to, you made a wounded sound instead. “But I guess they fucked the fight out of you after all.”

“She was a lot of fun to play with,” Bucky said, the phantom touch of his claw moving along your back easing you. “Really does go pliant with a cock in her.”

You had to bite your lip to suppress your moan. They wrung so much pleasure out of you that you stopped counting the orgasms. You were certain their seed was still dripping out of your holes.

“She was stronger than most,” Steve added, one of his claws joining Bucky’s as you made another small sound. It was arousing as much as it was calming. As fun as it would be to beg for their cocks in front of these men, now wasn’t the time to play. And the guards weren’t an audience who deserved to watch you get off. “Feel free to bring her back.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucking freaks,” Brock sneered, his hand tightening around the taser prod on his hip. “Get up, bitch. We don’t have all day.”

You slowly lifted your head and held a hand out. All you had to do was pretend just a little bit longer. “Help me,” you whispered.

His lip curled in a dark smirk as he stayed in place. “You really think I’m dumb enough to go in there? Nice fucking try. Crawl if you can't walk.”

Bucky growled in your mind and Steve’s fury simmered in your core as you began to drag yourself across the cold floor, both of your demons itching to attack when the men laughed at your “weakened” state. You let them have their fun. It would be one of the last things they ever did in this world. And it would be your laughter ringing in their ears once their souls went to Hell.

Soon.

Once you crawled far enough out of the room, the guards finally moved to grab you. They each took an arm and yanked you to your feet, uncaring of your discomfort, as your head lolled from side to side. Brock’s eyes lewedly dragged along your shivering frame before he grabbed your chin and forced you to look into his dark eyes. There was no mercy in his gaze.

And you felt none in your heart for him.

The fingers on your chin tightened painfully, but you didn’t give Brock the satisfaction of whimpering. “Did you learn your lesson?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered before he forced you to look over your shoulder, your neck straining from the angle. Bucky and Steve’s eyes glowed a furious shade of red as they moved to the center of the room and stared you both down. It would’ve frightened you if you didn’t know that they were yours.

“I think they miss you already. Slut,” Brock taunted, saliva hitting your cheek as he roughly released you and walked down the hall. “Bring her to my office. Let’s see her fight back when she can barely stand on her own two feet.”

Steve whispered one word as the men began to drag you away. “Now.”

A surge of energy flowed through you as you harshly shoved the guard to your right away with enough force that he smacked the wall. Before the other guard could react, you grabbed his gun from his holster and aimed at his head. “Safety first,” you said, firing a bullet through his skull.

“Stupid bitch,” the first guard snapped as he straightened up. You grabbed his wrist when he reached for his gun, his skin warming under your touch as he gasped air. Just as quickly as his skin grew hot, he grew deathly cold.

“You feel that?” Bucky moaned.

“I feel it,” Steve confirmed. “She's giving us his energy.”

You didn't know how you were doing that since Bucky and Steve used sex to drain life force. Were you a conduit now thanks to your bond? Just how powerful had they made you?

“Help,” the guard gasped before you pressed the gun to his forehead and fired. You smiled when his body hit the floor. It felt like minutes, but happened in the span of seconds.

The blood along the walls also brought an unexpected moan out of you.

Blood. Red. Lust.

“That’s our girl,” Steve praised.

“Good fucking girl,” Bucky added, their pride in you making you whimper.

“Really?” Brock muttered from the end of the hall as he turned to face you, his gun in hand as you shrugged. “I should’ve known you’d do something stupid. Now I need to hire two more men.”

“Actually, you’re the one who did something stupid by giving me to them,” you said, gesturing behind you. “And we’re going to kill you.”

Your captor’s scoff made you smile more. He didn’t believe you, but you couldn’t wait to prove him wrong. “Just because you have the serum doesn't mean you're not expendable,” he said, aiming the gun at your heart. “Let's see you try and kill me with a bullet in your chest, bitch.”

“You’re not going to shoot me,” you spoke in a low and hypnotic voice. It wasn’t your own. Your demons were speaking through you. “You’re going to shoot the symbol above the door until you run out of bullets and drop your weapon.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Brock’s forehead as he slowly raised his arm higher, the veins in his neck straining as he tried to resist the order. He had every reason to be afraid. The marking was the only reason Bucky and Steve hadn’t killed him yet. Once they were free, he’d have to answer for his sins.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

“Doesn't feel good to not be in control, does it?” you replied, taking great pleasure in knowing he couldn't stop himself. “Shoot.”

You stared him down as he fired the first shot, watching him grit his teeth. Your nipples hardened as he fired again and you couldn’t help but dip a hand between your legs as power continued to move through you. It shouldn’t have aroused you so much with two dead bodies nearby, but revenge was exhilarating to say the least.

“Don’t get started without us,” Bucky called out, even as you envisioned him wrapping a hand around his cock. With a whine, you grudgingly stopped touching yourself. “I wanna taste you while he begs for his life.”

“Oh, he’ll beg,” Steve smirked, his claws scratching the wall by the door. “And we won’t listen to his prayers.”

“Shit,” Brock groaned, his arm trembling as he took his last shot.

The hall went silent as you dared to look behind you. Whatever marking that kept the demons trapped in that cell was gone now, lost in a pile of rubble and dust on the ground. “It’s time to play,” you said, urging them to come out.

The gun fell from Brock’s hand as Steve took the first step. He sighed happily when nothing prevented him from walking through, but the glow of his eyes was anything but comforting as he looked at Brock. With unnatural speed, he flew toward him as he reached for his radio. The snap of his wrist breaking was one of the best sounds you’d ever heard.

“Mmm. Break his other wrist, Stevie,” Bucky suggested as he stepped out of the room and joined you at your side. You gasped when he pulled you in front of him to grind his hips against you, his cock hard and hot against your skin. “Make him scream.”

“Fuck-” Brock screamed as Steve snapped his other wrist, his hands useless as the blonde demon grinned.

Steve brought his finger to his mouth and licked a drop of blood away. “You taste bitter,” he taunted before he lifted his head. “Another guard is on the way.”

Bucky chuckled as said man entered the hall a moment later. “All alone? That's brave and stupid.”

“Oh, my God,” he said as he surveyed the scene.

It had to be quite the sight. Blood and brain matter along the walls, the man's boss on the ground in pain, you and your demons naked and unafraid. Haunting and beautiful.

“There's no God here,” Bucky smirked as he lazily rocked his hips against you. “But feel free to pray anyway.”

“Do something!” Brock ordered through his pain.

Bucky spoke a command in his natural tongue as the guard dropped his gun. Fear radiated from him as he took a knife from his belt and turned the edge toward his throat. “I don't wanna-” he shoved the blade deep in his neck with wide eyes before he could finish his statement, gurgling as he collapsed.

“Die,” you whispered, completing his sentence.

You had to bite back a moan as Bucky turned your head to meet your lips in a filthy kiss, Steve smirking as he looked back at you two. The carnage fueled their need as much as yours. As the coppery scent of the blood continued to fill your nostrils, you justified that this was the right thing to do. The men made their beds.

They could die in them.

“Come in,” a voice on Brock's radio rang out.

“Shh. Don’t make a sound,” Steve ordered, grabbing Brock’s radio as the operative went eerily silent. His eyes bulged as the demon began to speak with his voice. “Go ahead.”

“Thought I heard commotion in the hall. Sent David in to assist. Do you need more backup? Over.”

“Negative. Subject tried to escape and we subdued her. All clear. But no one is to go in the South Wing, no matter what you see or hear. And tell all S.T.R.I.K.E. members to gather in the debriefing room and await further instructions. Over.”

“But sir-”

Steve's eyes flashed as he continued to speak like Brock. “Did I fucking stutter? Get the men there and stay the fuck out of here. That's a direct order. Over.”

“Roger that.”

Bucky chuckled when Steve crushed the radio in his hand. No alarms rang out. No soldiers ran down the hall to recapture you. There were no lockdowns. Brock knew he was fucked.

And not in the way you would be.

“You know, Rumlow. You truly are a dark soul with a penchant for pain,” the brunette began, nipping your shoulder as his hands roamed your body. “We could’ve worked out some sort of deal with you. Given you true power. But you just had to lock us up.”

Something dark surfaced from the depths of your mind as you listened. You saw yourself curled up, naked and trembling, in the corner of a cell similar to the one they kept your demons in as Brock advanced on you. “Make yourself useful or you’ll die choking on my cock,” he threatened. It was a memory you kept locked away after they captured you and shot you up with the serum. One they thought they erased for good.

The anguish was almost enough to drown yourself in.

“And you just had to hurt our girl,” Steve snarled, swiping his claws across Brock’s cheek when you whined.

“No one hurts our girl,” Bucky growled over his cry as blood sprayed from the open wounds.

You no longer felt like you were drowning as they fed you strength, allowing you to see clearly again. You always wanted someone protective by your side. Someone to fight for you. Now you had two beside you.

“He can’t hurt me anymore,” you said as the blonde grabbed him by his hair and pulled him back down the hall toward you. He may have yanked a few strands out along the way. “Would you like to hear my mission report, Rumlow?”

His chest heaved a bit as he lay on the ground, trying to breath steadily through the pain. “Yes,” he lied, knowing better than to smart off again.

You arched your back when Bucky covered your breast with his hand, squeezing it gently as Steve joined you and began to play with the other. “You tossed me in their cell with the hopes they’d drain my energy, but I came out stronger. You know why? Because I gave myself to them. All of me,” you explained. A gunshot rang out before Brock screamed and grabbed his knee, the pistol you stole from the dead guard now in Steve's hand. “Their power flows through my veins and my soul belongs to them. We’re bound to each other.”

“And her energy is delicious. Just like her cunt,” Bucky smiled as he turned and shoved you into Steve’s arms. He sank to his knees and winked before he tossed your leg over his shoulder, nosing at your slit. “Hold my horns if you need to.”

“I supposed we should thank you,” Steve said, tossing the gun away. He brought a hand back to your breast, pinching your nipple as Bucky licked along your folds. You grabbed his horns and squeezed when his wicked tongue got to work. “Whatever you injected her with helped her survive what would've killed a normal human. And the more we fucked her, the more she needed us.”

“Such a greedy, pretty thing when she takes our cocks,” Bucky spoke against your pussy, the image of him fucking your throat while Steve took you from behind shimmering in your mind. You could feel them inside you, claiming you as theirs. “Didn’t even take much for her to come when we took her ass.”

Your holes clenched, desperate for them to fill you again. “You tried to turn me into a weapon,” you moaned, smiling as blood dripped from Brock’s leg. “I guess, in a way, you succeeded. Because we’re going to destroy Hydra.”

Bucky flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit as you squirmed. It wasn't enough. You needed more. “Three guards down.”

Steve smiled as he kissed along your neck, his lips lingering on your pulse. “And you’re next, Rumlow.”

“No,” Brock breathed, pushing himself up with his elbow. Fire filled your eyes when he met your gaze, his face going pale under your stare. Were your eyes glowing? “I-I can still join you. I can help.”

“I don’t think you can help us,” Steve said, nodding down to Bucky. His tongue stabbed deep with a moan as he swiped his hand along Brock’s thigh, his claws tearing through the tactical pants and skin. More blood splattered as he screamed in agony. “But you can bleed.”

“Beg. I want you to beg for me to save you,” you moaned, grinding against the brunette’s face before your expression twisted with anger. “I was innocent, you piece of shit.”

Where was your innocence now? Gone. Destroyed. But you made a choice. You allowed yourself to slip into darkness by joining forces with the incubi they captured. And you didn't regret it for a second.

“Please,” Brock said above a whisper, trying in vain to cover his wounds. How much had it taken for him to say that single word? “I-I was just following orders. I'm sorry. Save me.”

You regarded Brock with an unsympathetic gaze. You could show him compassion that he never bestowed upon you and let him see that there was still good in you. But where was the fun in that? What kindness did you possibly owe him?

You glanced back at Steve as you considered it, who merely smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You felt Bucky smile, too. They encouraged your fury, fueled it. These demons truly were glorious. Horrifying.

And they were yours.

“You're not sorry and you know the orders were bullshit. So as far as saving you?” You asked, smiling when the realization of his doom crossed his face. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Brock's hands flew to his head as he let out a cry of anguish. It filled the hall, like a song of agony as the lights flickered. The sound almost shook you to your core, but it fed into your growing darkness. You embraced it with a smile.

“Do you know who those screams in your head belong to?” Steve asked evenly as Brock continued to yell and thrash around. “That's the suffering of every person you ever hurt. All the pain you caused.”

Bucky pulled his mouth away to glare at him. “Including our girl.”

How many bodies had Brock and his men left on their path of destruction? How many lives had they ruined? It was only fair to return the favor.

“Stop it! Make it stop!” Brock cried, slamming the back of his head against the ground with enough force to crack it. “Stop!”

You cried out when Bucky shoved two fingers inside you, his claws careful not to cut you as he thrust deep. “You're close, doll. Dripping down my fingers,” he said, the sound of your wetness blending in beautifully with the wail of pain.

“He's close, too,” Steve said in your ear as he reached down to toy with your clit, playing with the sensitive bud with a grunt. You hardly paid any attention to Brock now, even as his body twitched and blood from his skull stained the floor. He was inconsequential to you as the light began to fade from his eyes. He was nothing. “It's the end for him.”

Bucky twisted his fingers with a smirk, your pussy quivering as you were ready to fall apart. “Come while he takes his last breath. Let go. Let it all go.”

Your vision swam as you did as he commanded, your entire body throbbing with pleasure. You felt the air leave Brock's lungs as bliss flooded you, Bucky's groan obscene as he brought his mout back to lick up your essence. Steve held onto you as you lost yourself, every part of you inside and out owned by their touch.

In that moment, you were invincible.

“Good fucking girl,” Bucky said, his mouth and chin wet from your release as he took his fingers out and lowered your shaky limb from his shoulder. “Damn. I thought he'd last a little longer. I wanted to shove his taser rod up his ass.”

“You still can,” Steve said, kissing your shoulder. “You did so well, sweetheart. You okay?”

The praise from both of them made you preen as you looked at the surrounding carnage, slowly coming down from your high. “I'm better than okay,” you exhaled, reaching out with your foot to nudge Brock's body, relief hitting you square in the chest when he didn’t move. Your tormentor was dead. And you wouldn't shed a single tear for him. “He's gone. He's really gone.”

“He is. And we're free, thanks to you, doll,” Bucky spoke, licking his fingers clean before he stroked himself, a cool shade of blue flickering from his red eyes. “Our mate.”

I'm theirs and they're mine.

And as their mate, you had to thank them. Take care of them. Worship their hard and aching cocks the way you were made to.

“Fuck me,” you breathed.

“With pleasure,” Steve smiled, putting you on your hands and knees before he sank down behind you. He shoved his thick cock inside you with no warning, the head of it practically kissing your cervix as you screamed. “This is just the beginning. We have more lives to destroy when we’re done fucking you. For now.”

Bucky tapped his cock against your cheek affectionately before he pushed inside your eager mouth. “Alexander Pierce. Jasper Sitwell. Everyone. We'll kill them all,” he promised, snapping his hips in time with Steve as you moaned, letting them use you like a ragdoll between them. But you didn't feel used in the slightest.

You felt complete.

“You're free,” Steve grunted, bringing his palm down on your ass with a sharp slap. “We're free.”

He was right. You were finally free from the shackles Hydra tried to put on you. And you couldn't wait for the carnage the three of you would continue to spread, once you could form a coherent thought. All you wanted for now was for them to paint every hole of yours until there wasn’t a drop left.

Bucky's head fell back with an excited moan, as if he read your mind. “And we have so much time to make up for. So take our cocks and let us fill your holes before we burn this place to the ground.”

That was a mission you were more than happy to complete.

So, THAT happened and I'm not sorry. Hehe. Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Stucky Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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b0xerdancer-writes · 4 months ago

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Bound Together Part 1

Alpha!Steve x Alpha!Bucky x Alpha! Sam x Omega!Reader

Summary: The Avengers are more than Earth's mightiest heroes, they are seen as one of the mightiest packs bound by years of loyalty, rivalry, trust, and love. When a new Omega joins the team, a friend of Natasha and Clint's as an Ex-SHIELD agent, it causes the trio of mated Alphas to panic and lose sleep. Shes caught not only the eye of the public, but of the alphas as well, and she might just be the key in strengthening the pack further.

Warnings: This is Omegaverse so all the warnings that come with that, I switch POVS twice, 18+ only on this as there is implied 18+content and this series will eventually have smut. This will be a bit of a passive aggressive slow burn.

Word Count: 11,409

Notes: This took me a bit to write and is my first time writing Omegaverse myself. I wanted to have a slower paced yet still getting the reader into the team dynamic as a good lil intro. Feedback is welcomed so are reblogs! Do not repost my work, the only other place i post fics on is AO3. This will eventually get added to a series masterlist/Avengers masterlist. Inspired to write this by the The Sun, the Moon and the Stars series by @crazyunsexycool, go read it!

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In the eyes of the world, the Avengers were more than just Earth’s mightiest heroes-they were Earth’s mightiest pack, years of working together having forged unbreakable bonds rooted in instinct, loyalty, and love for one another. It was no secret that while the strength of the pack was an unmovable force of unity the reason the bonds within the pack were so strong was because of the intricate web of mates and sibling-like bonds, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson were a formidable trio and example of the strength of bonds within the pack since all three being Alphas mated to one another, while other known mates were Natasha(Alpha) and Bruce(Omega), Tony(Omega) and Pepper(Alpha) who the pack had come to see as a mom like figure despite her rebuttal she was in fact not the mom friend of the group, and Wanda(Omega) and Vision(Alpha). While mating bonds were a strong presence in the pack, sibling bonds were just as rampant: Nat and Clint(Beta), Tony and Bruce, Tony and Rhodey, Sam and Clint, just to name a few considered each other with a sibling like point of view. Every bond formed within the pack made it stronger and more complex, they were one massive family that the public couldn’t help but to envy for one reason or another but also adore for just as many reasons.

In the eyes of the public the Avengers and their pack had made leaps and bounds in the world that was secondary genders; Natasha was a leading figure in the Alpha female world and Tony in exchange was a leading figure in the Omega male world, both having set up clinics and safe spaces for their designations. Clint was a prime example how Betas still had a place in a pack dynamic as the main person to calm everything down when emotions were rampant on everyone's sides and Steve, Bucky, and Sam were Icons of same designation relationships even if two out of the three didn’t really know to what extent. Everything the Avengers did as a pack from public appearances to missions that had been recorded by bystanders was on observation, life in the compound was their break away from all of it; needless to say the public took notice when a new face popped up consistently with the already gigantic pack.

Whispers and rumors spread like wildfire, “What was her palace in the pack?” or “What designation is she?” to “Do you think she has a mate on the team and if so who?”, speculation went rampant almost overnight about who the new member could possibly be. It wasn’t long before Cap and Tony were making an announcement about the newest member: An Omega, an ex-SHIELD agent like NAt and Clint, who was close with both of the other ex-SHIELD agents. They had announced her hero name as ‘Lynx’, an enhanced individual that was a force to be reckoned with just like the rest of the pack, when questioned about her abilities she had answered questions as minimally as possible, anxious to be put in front of the millions of fans who all wanted to know about her: the nickname had come from Fury as a joke about her enhanced feline like abilities and reflexes that also made her a master of stealth , on top of her ability to withstand extreme cold Fury saw her as an invaluable stealth asset.

When her name went public news articles had begun to pop up left and right about her history, when Natasha had leaked all of SHIELD’s files to the public Lynx’s files had been in there too. Though the public quickly became used to her as an Avenger and a familiar face she was most often with Natasha and Clint at the beginning of her time with the team, though the chatter about her quickly picked back up when it was noticed she had started becoming a regular presence, both in public and on missions, with the trio of mated alphas; chatter and gossip about how the three alphas might have finally found someone to balance their dynamic, though when Steve read the article aloud to the other two in the private darkness of their shared bedroom one night before they all passed out he couldn’t help but to think of just how on the nose that article was. Sam and Bucky had agreed with Steve, it was on the nose and they just had to figure out how to get the Omega to agree to court them, since her presence and scent were nagging on all three of them since they had met her; it didn’t seem that thought about making her their Omega was going to leave any of their hindbrains anytime soon either.

Natasha and Clint had returned late one night, tipsy and in good spirits, after they had canceled on a pack movie night. They had walked in on a showing of The Hobbit since it was Bucky’s night to pick a movie and he had just found out there was a film adaptation of it, which had resulted in Tony pausing the movie to pick a bone with the two who had walked in coffees in hand and laughing like mad men.

He had perked up from his spot squeezed against Pepper in the corner of the massive double sectional U-shaped couch, turning to look over the back at them as he cleared his throat; the rest of the pack rolling their eyes at his nosiness. “So, where have you two been? I think we deserve a reason as to why you both canceled at the last minute. Even your mate won’t tell us why Nat and that is just plain mean Red.”

Nat laughed, actually Laughed and it had Bruce perking up over the couch from his spot on the floor in front of the couch, he always liked her laugh and it was rare for one to come so unprompted. “We had a friend who came into town late last night, we haven't seen her since SHIELD so we went out for some drinks, grabbed some coffee, and then we walked her back to her apartment. She lives in town but often travels for work so she's rarely here in town at the same time as both Clint and I. If you must know Tony, you nosey omega, that's where we have been.”

Tony nodded satisfied but it had gotten Steve’s attention. “Since SHIELD? I’m assuming she was an agent like you?”

Nat nodded. “Yeah, she's been doing private ops stuff for Fury since SHIELD fell and we have been pestering here about putting in a transfer to join our team, she's an omega who's enhanced, so I figured she would fit right in here.”

All of the Omega’s perked up at the thought of having another Omega around, there was far too many Alphas in the tower compared to Omegas and Betas, though it was Tony who with a sly smirk plastered on his face extended the invitation. “Well, if you think she should be on this team you should bring her around. Introductions should be in order especially if she's gonna keep stealing you two away from pack nights. If we like her we can keep her.”

Clint snorted at Tony’s tone and wording like she was a stray animal in need of a home, in fact he had to take a sip from his coffee to prevent himself from laughing at the image of his friend looking like a stray dog, giving them puppy dog eyes and standing soaking wet in the rain, even though he knew she was fine where she was at and didn't want to intrude on an already heavily bonded pack.

Nat nodded, taking a sip from her own iced coffee. “Then I’ll extend an invitation, when were you thinking Tony since it's your idea?”

Tony hummed, faking that he had to think it over. “Tomorrow night, think of it as a birthday present for myself from you. If I like her, we can keep her. Deal?”

Clint snorted, amused. “She's not a stray to take in Tony.”

Tony tilted his head away, as he settled back into his spot. “We will see about that, if I like her we keep her, Fury be damned. Now deal?”

Nat nodded, placing a hand on Clint’s shoulder as a sign they would not win this argument. “Deal.”

Tony nestled back into the red blanket around him, turning his attention back to the movie, a smug smirk on his face. The rest of the team chuckled amongst themselves, turning back to the movie themselves. Though to Steve, Sam, and Bucky, the latter of which was nestled between the two other alphas, were all on edge; Whatever the cold snow-like scent that hung on Natasha and Clint had made them all perk up, they could only assume it was the scent of the friend the two had mentioned, had their attention and had them on edge for a reason they couldn’t quite place.

Once the movie concluded everyone stood, with some yawns, and shuffled off to their own apartments with some faint goodnights. Steve and Bucky lingered for a moment as Sam slowly stood, rolled his shoulders and popped his neck; he looked over his shoulder at the other two with a worried look, steve offered him a smile and stood while pulling Bucky with him, herding the two men towards the elevator so they could return to their own private apartment. When they had all finally curled up into the oversized bed of the central bedroom they all shared, none of them found fruitful sleep, tossing and turning or finding their dreams haunted by the scent lingering just out of reach.

Sam had given up on getting any sleep when he woke up for the third time in an hour, slinking into the small kitchen while the two giants tossed and turned, his shirt clung to his skin just enough for it to annoy him and with an aggravated growl he pried it off and tossed it to the couch. He was getting short tempered and he sighed in annoyance at the fact, he hadn’t been like this in a while, since he had first started having the PTSD nightmares that would keep him awake at odd hours of the night; he settled on a cup of coffee but the pale light of the stove showing 3 am reminded him it was going to be along day so he settled for setting it to an extra strength brew. Popping the small pod into the machine and pulling one of his cups down from the cabinet left him even more impatient and annoyed. When he finally settled onto the leather couch in the living room and was able to down half the cup in a matter of seconds he flicked on the Tv for some background noise to distract him, barely having the sound up high enough for him to just pick up on it he settled in for a long morning.

He must have fallen asleep cause he was pulled from his sleep by Friday calling out for everyone to gather in the conference room, by order of Pepper; Steve was in the kitchen with a mug in hand looking towards where the small speaker was set in the center of the island counter looking like he had just got back from a run, Bucky stood in the hallway with a towel over his shoulders, his hair damp, and his boxers slung low on his hips, clearly fresh out of the shower. All three of them groaned, Steve setting the cup back on the counter defeatedly, Bucky turned around back towards the bedrooms to get dressed, and he found where his shirt had landed half under the throw pillow and half over the arm of the couch and pulled it back over his head. He stood from the couch and stepped into the kitchen behind Steve, planting his forehead between the blonde’s shoulders.

“Rough night?” Steve asked him in that concerned tone of his that could make you melt by how much he clearly cared.

“Yeah.” He answered with a half hearted hum, taking in the relaxing apple pie scent of the blonde that always seemed to soothe him.

“Wanna talk about it?” Steve offered, he offered every time even when Sam wanted nothing to do with the particular dreams that often came with episodes like that.

“Maybe.” He mumbled.

“Just because you talk about something doesn't mean it will come back to get you.” Steve offered him that same in every time as well.

“Doesn't mean it will help either.” He sighed, and Steve turned around to pull him into his arms. The same dance they did everytime that these dreams plagued Sam.

“You don’t have to, if you really don’t want to.” Steve sighed himself, saddened to see one of his mates sp distraught.

Sam stayed quiet for a second. “That Omega Nat and Clint mentioned, did you notice how strong her scent was on them?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, it didn't seem like anyone else on the team did though.”

Sam nodded a yeah with a sigh. “That's the thing, why were we all affected by it so much? It was in my sleep too, but you two wanted nothing to do with me and were too busy chasing after that scent.”

Steve cupped his face and made the shorter male look up at him with a sad smile. “Hey, none of that now. You know I’m not going anywhere, especially just for some Omega tail when I’ve got you and Buck. You two know you’re my world.”

Buck walked back in that moment, Sam’s shoes in hand and dressed in his work out clothes, he frowned. “You guys talking about that Omega that’s coming tonight?”

Steve and Sam both nodded.

Bucky sighed, moving to sit on the couch and gestured for Sam to come put his tennis shoes on, nodding between Steve and Sam as he spoke. “Why is it affecting us so much? Scents haven’t followed me into my sleep since I first saw you after you took the serum and since I first met you.”

Steve leaned against the island as Sam joined Bucky on the couch to slide his shoes on, before the serum he hadn’t even presented yet and he reasoned he probably would have been a beta back then but the serum had kick started the gene into presenting as an Alpha, which he was thankful for since he had two true mates. “I don’t wanna be the one to suggest it but do you think there's a possibility since it has affected all three of us she's ours?”

Buck shook his head as he stood with his arms crossed, shutting down the idea immediately. “An Omega? No. Definitely not. It's probably just because her scent was lingering on a packmate, I mean we haven’t even seen her, how could you confirm something like that from a scent alone.”

In truth Bucky didn’t think that, even if it was true she was their true mate, that he deserved an Omega when it had taken a lot of work between the three of them already for Bucky to feel he deserved the other two. Sam tied his laces and stood, shifting back and forth before leaning into Bucky’s side to comfort the brunette.

“Hey it's okay Buck, just suggesting reasons, you're right we can’t assume anything like that without meeting her first. Sorry. Neither of you need to be worried, I’ll be by your sides all night as long as I have a say in it.” Steve soothed as Friday called out for their attendance again.

Bucky and Sam relented and Steve pressed a quick kiss to both of their foreheads as he ushered them out of the door of the apartment. In truth he had always been the dreamer of the group, he had always had an abundance of hope and an abundance of love to give; he was thrilled to have two mates to share with and when Bucky had mentioned possibly having a third even if it was indirectly mentioned he had to admit he had gotten kind of excited with the prospect especially if said prospect was an Omega of all things. Though he knew Sam was just afraid of losing him and Buck like he had lost his air force pack and that Bucky still had moments where he felt he didn’t deserve any of the things currently in his life and that meant especially his mates, he knew the two would be jumpy with the thought of another mate since it would be something else for Sam to lose and for Bucky to feel he didn't deserve but he almost hoped it was in fact the reason the scent had affected them so much since he reasoned it would give Buck a reason to feel he deserved it and would give Sam somewhere to direct the protective nature without it building up since he rarely got to be protective over Steve and Bucky; and for him he would finally get to satiate that part of his brain that got almost envious if not desirous when he would watch any of his Alpha packmates scent their Omegas in whatever various ways they did it, not that he couldn’t do that with Sam and Buck it just wasn’t the same since his scent didn't stay on them and it never fully satisfied that little voice in his hindbrain.

Steve was pulled from his thoughts as they made it to the conference room, most of the other Avengers were there save Wanda, Vision, and Thor, though they could hear the latter coming as he conversed with Jane on the phone the team had finally gotten him to use and that said female had taught him to use. The three practically fell into their chairs, half exhausted, Steve had probably gotten the most sleep that night since the only issue he was running into was the other two not sleeping well.

It took maybe another 15 minutes for the missing members to appear, Vision had to wrap Wanda in a blanket and carry her into the conference room since it was probably about 2 hours before the woman was normally up, it was seven am now and she normally did not show her face until about nine, and she definitely didn’t look pleased by the fact she was currently awake. As soon as everyone was in their places Pepper started passing around itineraries of how the rest of the day and the night would go. Interviews, a speech from Tony, there would be a makeup crew set up on the lower levels of the compound for those who didn't want to bother to get camera ready themselves, they would meet back up around 2:30 PM for last checks, and to go over limo assignments since Natasha and Clint were splitting off to get Lynx, they would be out the door at 2:30 and the rest of the team would be out the door at 3 to arrive at the conference hall at 3:30 and Natasha had pointed out the three of them wouldn’t arrive till 4, to which all Tony had to say was “Better make an entrance then.”

Pepper passed around bagels and tubs of cream cheese for the team to eat, since that's what Tony decided he wanted for his birthday breakfast and once everyone had eaten Pepper dismissed them all to finish their morning routines and to get ready before herding Tony back up to their apartment. Everyone slowly trickled back out of the conference room till just the three alphas remained.

“I need to shower.” Steve groaned

“So do I.” Sam sighed himself, still feeling the phantom of sweat on his skin from the night prior.

“Seems like I beat you two on that front then.” Bucky teased as he was the first of them to stand. “Guess I’ll try to squeeze a nap in then while you two are in the shower.”

Bucky held the door open for the other two as all three of them filed into the elevator, when they got back to their floor slash apartment he curled up on the couch with the blanket Steve had covered Sam in earlier while the other two crowded into the shower with the excuse they might as well save some water. It was around noon when Happy brought everyone up sandwiches for lunch from one of Tony’s favorite sub places, Steve and Sam had since piled up on either side of Bucky watching some movie Buck had no interest in since he had easily missed the first half of the plot. When they finally finished eating they had finished the movie and then decided they had better start getting dressed for the party now so they could make a good impression on the new Omega and everyone else that would be there of course, especially the interviewers that would be there and for no other reason obviously. They had split up, each retreating into their private rooms to get dressed without further distractions.

Steve had stood in front of his closet for 15 minutes trying to decide on which of the neatly pressed suits he wanted to wear before he finally decided on a navy one and pairing it with a pristine white button up. He sifted through his ties unable to decide on which one he figured would match the best giving each often a few minutes longer of consideration before shaking his head, the cycle repeated till he huffed and settled on a plain navy one as well figuring the tie bar that Bucky had given him with matching cufflinks would suffice; the bar and cufflinks had been made out of some of the vibranium of Bucky's old arm and the brunette had asked Stark to turn it into an anniversary gift for Steve one year. Though at the thought of the cufflinks he couldn’t find them or remember where he had last set them down at.

He stepped back into the shared bedroom and shuffled through the drawers and end tables there incase he had put them there but to no avail, he started to panic a bit and figured he would check his room one more time, though on his return trip Sam’s door was open and he stopped in the other Alpha’s door frame with an exasperated look on his face as Sam was buttoning up the sleeves of a white undershirt. “Have you seen where I put those cufflinks Buck gave me?”

Sam met his eyes in the mirror, “In your office I think, have you checked your desk yet?”

Steve took a few strides forward into his room, placing a quick kiss to the other Alpha’s cheek before stepping back out in a rush, “You're a lifesaver Sam.”

Sam offered him a lopsided grin and shot the blonde a wink. “I know it, what would you do without me oldman.”

Steve laughed and rushed down to his office, a room rarely used anymore, to find the cufflinks on a small glass nick nack tray Peter had given him and sighed in relief as he fastened them on, now all he had to worry about was what to do with his hair. Should he slick it back neatly? Let it be a little messy? Run his hands through it with some pomade to give it a kind of tousled yet neat and slick look somewhere between the other ideas he had?

Prior to Steve’s intrusion Sam had been pacing around his room, two suits held in front of him as he debated between them, holding them up in front of him back and forth on repeat until he finally settled on a sharp burgundy one and pairing it with a white button up. Saying screw it to a tie since he didn't want to even fuss with that or the constricted feeling of them in such a large crowd, he did however out on some nice silver cufflinks his sister had given him years ago though he did noticed he fiddled with getting the small metal pieces just right before Steve’s interruption drew his attention from the cuffs.

Bucky seemed at a lost, why he cared so much he had no clue, he had tried on a couple suits he thought would look fine but there was always something off about it that had Bucky peeling the thing right back off unable to decide if he wanted to keep a rugged look or seem a bit more polished tonight, he had been staring at himself in the mirror for who knows how long, he had struggled to decide on a belt of all things. He kept it simple with black slacks, he could pair any of his shirts and blazers with them and had finally settled on a plain black leather belt with gold hardware but on the subjects of shirts he was absolutely lost on what to wear. In an act of desperation he dug into the pack of his closet towards things he really never wore and ended up forgetting lived, thankfully him forgetting things that got put back there paid off when he found a black and gold corset style vest hung up; the thing was completely black with gold piping and boning, it reminded him of his arm and that was probably why he owned it but he didn’t remember when he got it or if someone had given it to him, he paired it with a simple black undershirt. He slipped into the small attached bathroom and pulled his hair half up, a thing both Steve and Sam had done at some point while playing with his hair.

None of the men had really realized just how long they had taken piecing themselves together to perfection until Friday was practically yelling at them to get their asses downstairs to the pack living room, the team had been waiting long enough for them that Nat and Clint had already left to go get their friend. They all awkwardly piled into the elevator making small compliments about how the others looked, figuring they were due for off-handed comments from the rest of the pack when they made it to the main room it was best to get the nice compliments between eachother out of the way.

Once the elevator dinged the three men shuffled out into the staring crowd awkwardly. The team was gathered in the common room with everyone looking sharp and collected in their party outfits, the room was abuzz with anticipation and excitement. Tony was leaned against the back of the couch in a red, gold, and white tux with a bowtie that mimicked his iron man suit; as the three alphas joined the small group of people he offered them a teasing raised brow and a smirk before he clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright everyone, listen up please.” Tony began, “First of all,thanks for making an effort to look good tonight. You all clean up well though I am a bit concerned with the Shield cufflinks there Steve, a bit on the branding nose there, don’t you think?”

Steve rolled his eyes but offered the shorter Omega a grin. “They were a gift from Buck, I like them.”

“A gift, sure.” Tony joked back, “but try not to overwhelm anyone with your patriotism yeah?”

Steve rolled his eyes and the room chuckled, the light banter easing any lingering nerves. Tony’s eyes swept over the team, landing on Sam and Bucky, who were both standing close to Steve but looking more anxious than normal. He knew neither male was a big crowd person so they were normally anxious with parties and gatherings but this was unusual even for them.

“Now here's the thing,” Tony continued, his tone shifting to something more playful yet stern. “We have a special guest tonight-Nat and Clint’s friend, you’ll notice they have left ahead of us to go and get her. I’m sure you’re all very excited to meet her as a possible new member to our team and pack. And by ‘you’re all’ I specifically mean you three.” He shot a pointed glance at Steve, Bucky, and Sam. “You three have been acting like nervous highschoolers before prom.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest but Tony held up a finger. “Uh-uh.” He tutted. “Don’t even try to deny it. You three took exceptionally long to get ready, Friday said all three of you were fussing over your suits and hair longer than I do. You’re all acting like you have something to prove, or something you’re showing off for.”

Bucky crossed his arms, a mix between a frown and a pout on his face. “You told us to make a good impression.”

Tony’s smirk widened. “Since when do you listen to me? But on another note: Exactly! I wanted to remind you all- especially you three- to keep it cool tonight. We are here to have a good time and relax, not to scare the poor girl away.”

He paused, letting his words sink in for a minute before continuing with a more serious tone. “Look, I’ve seen her file, and trust me, she’s got some serious skills. If she likes the pack and we like her, I’d actually like to keep her around. So, on that note, no weird behavior, no intense staredowns, and definitely no overprotective Alpha nonsense tonight. Capisce?”

Steve, Sam, and Bucky exchanged looks between each other, each of them a little more self-aware now as Tony called out their tendencies. Steve finally nodded, a small smile tugging at his face as he covered Sam’s mouth who he could feel asking Tony why it was directed at them more so than the rest of the pack. “We’ll behave Tony. Just for you.”

“Good, because I’d hate to see her run for the hills before dessert is even served and before I get to do my big speech tonight.” Tony chuckled, his tone back to its playful lilt. “Now, let’s get out there and show everyone why I throw the best parties and why the Avengers are the best pack. We have a 30 minute drive ahead of us. Separate into your limo buddies.”

With that, Tony gave them all an approving nod and led the way to the elevator with Pepper on his arm. The team followed, the atmosphere not as charged with nerves with Tony’s words lingering in the back of their minds.

Tony had booked a conference hall in the middle of New York, a 30 minute drive from the Avenger’s compound, that was packed to the brim with guests inside and paparazzi outside. Tony and Pepper were the last ones out of the limos right after Steve, Sam, and Bucky who all tried their best to give the cameras what they were looking for but rushed through so Buck wasn’t in the camera sights too long and the paparazzi could get to the star attraction already.

Inside the room was packed and Steve could have sworn he had seen Hank McCoy talking to Charles Xavier since both men were friends of Tony’s as respected scientists and inventors like he was. The three were tense as they scanned the crowds, almost like they were looking for someone else but Bucky beelined it towards the drink table; not that it would affect him but having something in his hand to fidget with even if he got separated from his mates alleviated some of social anxiety. Sam and Steve are hot on his tail, picking up their own drinks when all three of them get bombarded by some interviewer to comment on same designation relationships, Steve manages to corral the conversation mostly towards himself since Bucky hated being interviewed and Sam didn’t like being put on the spot about this kind of thing; but just as he started commenting on a rather invasive question the attention of the entire crowd was pulled towards the entrance.

Arriving 10 to 15 minutes after the group was Natasha, Clint, and their Omega friend; Nat and CLint flanking her like protective guard dogs as she strolls between them with a graceful confidence that has all three men mesmerized. Dressed in a simply stunning backless of the shoulder draped sleeves, black silk gown that glittered under the lowlights, making her seem practically ethereal to the three alphas.

Tony slides up beside Steve with a knowing smirk as he pours a bit of a drink for himself as he reminds them: “No weird Alpha behavior.” before slipping away back towards Pepper.

The three tensed, at the immediate overwhelming scent like that of fresh snow, vanilla, and sweet juniper berries; their instaints screamed at them and Steve's heart was in his throat, Bucky shifted closer to the other two males to fight off the urge to immediately glue himself to her side, and Sam was in some of the worst shape between the three of them if the heat flooding to his face and his complete freeze up was any indication, glances between all three of them were exchanged to make sure the others are just as affected as themselves and when Steve clears his throat all three of them equally heated in the face hide behind taking a drink.

The room that was frozen lights up with an energetic buzz, the interviewer from earlier scampering off to figure out what the story is about this new girl who was escorted by two avengers. Steve and Bucky are able to pick up on some guests conversations as they whisper between each other and interviewers trying to get the threes attention, with wonders of who she was, what her role was with the grand pack, if she was a new member, why they hadn’t seen her before, etc; it exhausted them to hear the barrage of questions and they could only wonder how she didn’t already seem exhausted by it.

Steve, Sam, and Bucky try to distract themselves from her lingering presence, all parting ways to talk with someone they knew, even if that meant Bucky was in the corner talking to Wanda and Vision just trying to stay hidden, Sam was off talking to Rhodey the two had bonded over war stories, and Steve was talking to another Alpha both males were familiar with, Sharon Carter, congratulating her on her recent bonding with Maria Hill.

Sam can hardly focus on the details of what Rhodey is saying, something about how he was bunkered down on one of his tours, and it bothers him when he realizes the entire reason he is distracted from the conversation is that scent.

Rhodey touches his shoulder softly as he fidgets with his glass, a blank stare as he nodded along to whatever the other man was saying. “You okay Sam? You seem a bit out of it, did I say something that brought back something?”

Sam shook his head and sighed. “No it's not you Rhodes, does anything scent wise smell off around here to you? Like one stronger than the others?”

Rhodey sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring before he shook his head. “No, not particularly, there's too many scents to really pinpoint one unless I was trying to find my mates, why?”

SAm shifted from one foot to the other. “Have you ever had one scent stand out to you so strongly that it haunts you even in your sleep?”

Rhodey gave him a confused look. “Only my wife’s. Why? Steve and Bucky’s scents are a bit too strong in your sleep or something?”

“No,” Sam shrugged exasperatedly. “Nat and Clint brought their friend tonight, the one who is supposed to be joining the team right?”

Rhodey nodded trying to understand the other man’s meaning. “Well they came in with her scent on them the other day and it's been in my face since then, I barely slept last night man.”

Rhodey raised a brow and smirked. “Think ses your mate? That’s a pretty common thing for true mates.”

Sam shook his head. “No I already have two, three would just be absurd.”

“Would it? For the exact same reasons you just said.” Rhodey shrugged, taking a sip of his own drink. “ You already have two, would it really be that crazy for a third?”

“You are not helping the case here man.” Sam huffed, taking another swig from the cup in his hands.

Though he let his eyes wander as Rhodey laughed, finding her nestled between Natasha and Clint talking with Bruce and eagerly shaking his hand. If it was bothering him like this and Rhodey had suggested the same thing Steve had, was it really that absurd the three men might have a third mate out there somewhere, that it might be her?

Wanda was anxiously yapping away, Vision was trying to calm her but Bucky found it endearing that she was just as uncomfortable in social situations as he was and was trying to calm both of their nerves.

“What do you think of her from here?” Wanda asked, slotting herself between Vision and Bucky.

The three watching her as Tony made himself the first to greet her, Bruce joining them quickly happy to see Natasha again and shaking the other two omega’s hands. Bucky’s hand flexed around the glass, involuntarily, though he's aware that noise of the glass straining is an indicator of his tension and he is quick to swap out which hand is holding onto the drink.

“She seems nice, though she seems to definitely have a presence.” Bucky mutters as he takes a drink.

“You think so?” Wanda asks with furrowed brows and a tilted head.

“If I may put in my two cents, I believe that is only because of the fact the crowds weren’t expecting her and we were.” Vision chimed in, happy to be included.

“No,” Bucky scowled, “that’s not it, cause the attention on her is dying down and she's already been rushed off to meet Pepper, and I guess see Clint’s wife and kids again with how Lila threw her arms around her neck. You could still find her in the crowd without trying, I guess I don’t get how she's good at spy work when she can hold the room's attention like that.” He grumbled watching the new omega squat down to hug Lila before moving over to see Nathaniel with a smile on her face as she cooed at babe in a small baby tux.

Wanda stepped in front of him, a smug smile on her face and her arms crossed. “I think its just you buddy, no one else in the crowd is staring her down as intently as you are. Maybe Steve and Sam but their looks are fleeting. You sir are enraptured, bewitched, enthralled. Vis what are other words quick!”

“Uh, captivated, enamored, hooked, attra-” Vision started before Bucky interrupted.

“Okay I get it.” He grumbled into another drink.

“Soooo?” Wanda looked up at him expectantly.

“So, what?” Bucky asked, confused.

“Why are you staring her down so intently, what about her has you so worked up?” Wanda asked excitedly.

“It’s nothing.” He muttered, trying to find Steve in the crowd.

“Well seeing as how you, Steve, and Sam have all been acting weird I know something’s going on, spill.” She sighed looking up at him expectantly.

Bucky shot her a look that said drop it but only made her smile and her eyes widen.

“Oh my god,” She started.

“No!” Bucky interjected.

“What?” Vision asked.

Wandas eyes darted between the new Omega and Bucky like she had pieced something together. “You think-”

“No! Nonononono. No.” Bucky interrupted, attempting to shut down the topic.

She turned to vision, stepping out of Bucky's reach. “He thinks she’s their mate.”

“Oh! Well that is very pleasant but you haven’t even met her yet, may I ask what it is that makes you believe so?” Vision looked down at his little excited Omega, who was practically vibrating in her place, an amused look on his face before looking back up to Bucky with an interested look on his face.

“I don’t, for that exact reason, but Steve does.” Bucky grumbled, knowing he was stuck in the conversation now.

“Well then let me rephrase that, why does Stece believe that to be the case?” Vision corrected himself.

“Her scent was lingering on Natasha and Barton last night, but it was strong enough none of you seemed affected but all of us barely got any sleep cause it followed us into our sleep.” He mumbled, finding Steve still talking to the two females.

“And you aren’t convinced why?” Both of the mated pair at his side asked him in tandem.

“We haven’t met her in person one, and two is even if she’s Sam and Steve’s mate that would mean she's mine and I don’t deserve an Omega. I’ve hurt enough of them in my time as the Winter Soldier.” He sighed, he was still getting used to opening up to the pack.

“Then, if she is, make up for it.” Wanda gave him a pointed look. “But you won’t know unless you go talk to her. Go on.”

“Maybe.” He mumbled not liking getting called out by Wanda.

“Alphas.” Wanda sighed.

Steve was off. His entire composure was dangling by a string, he was hardly holding it together and it bothered him; he was trying to focus on the two women he called friends in front of them. He nodded along with a smile, chirping back an appropriate remark when it was necessary with his usual charm and speed; but as time went on he found himself floundering, taking longer than usual to find a word or make a remark, his entire being was just thrown off. He smiled, though it was a closed off one, unlike his usual smiles, and he clenched his jaw at how bothered the vanilla in the air made him; he had purposely put his back to her while talking to the other two women to try and ease his distraction because he really did want to congratulate the two, but in reality he felt it almost made the entire situation worse because of how one part of his brain seemed completely distracted on where she was and if she was okay.

He didn’t need the two women in front of him catching onto what was going on, he knew, he just hoped his two mates were coming to the same conclusion. Oh, how he was thankful when he had to dismiss himself from Sharon and Maria at Tony’s beckon, giving the couple a final congratulations as he stepped away and turned to see Tony looking down at the Omega with a hand on her back as he led her towards the primary group of Avengers.

“Duty calls ladies, again ladies congratulations.” Steve waved himself off, hurrying to find his spot between Sam and Bucky who both seemed just as off as he was feeling.

Tony begins to introduce her before he stops, “What am I doing, I am being so rude, my apologies im sure you want to introduce yourself.”

She smiled, and chuckled, and her eyes glittered in the low light, and Steve felt like he could have melted right there, with how her voice sounded like heaven to him. Sam and Bucky tensed either side of him and he knew they were in the same boat as him, and he could have sworn the sudden wave of protectiveness he felt over all three of them was enough to knock him off his feet but he was still standing.

“Right obviously you know me, Nat, Clint, Pepper, and Bruce but the rest of these guys are the rest of the team and occasional allies depending on the situation. Rhodey a good friend of mine like a brother to me, Scott and his girlfriend Hope two of our bug people and yes we have more, Thor and his girlfriend Jane, T’Challa I think you two would get along with the whole cat motif thing, Wanda and her mate Vision, Carol she stops by occasionally, the kid is Peter our other bug person but ultimately the coolest bug we have,” Tony begins introducing everyone with banter to make everyone laugh as she shakes hands with everyone.

“And these three brooding men are Sam, Steve, and Bucky. Don't worry they aren’t as scary as they seem, despite the staring thing they have been doing all night, I’m sure you felt their eyes on you.” Tony teased and she chuckled, Steve straightened himself out and stepped forward to shake her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, miss. Steve-” He started, and his heart just about jumped out of his chest.

“I know who you are Cap, you don’t have to go out of your way to give the whole spiel, the pleasures all mine.” She offered him a smile back and the electricity he felt between them was enough for his confirmation.

The slightest dilation of her eyes, told him she had felt it too, it wouldn’t have been enough for anyone else to pick up on but he could have gotten lost in her eyes almost immediately so he had picked up on it.

“Let me introduce my true mates then, although I'm sure you know them too since they are also Avengers.” Steve was floundering and he wanted to punch himself in the face so he would shut up.

She nodded and Bucky and Sam stepped up, each male offering him a small touch to his back or sides. Steve pulled his hand away from hers and gestured to each man as he introduced them.

“James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, my first mate.” Steve started, and Bucky shot him a worried look out of the corner of his eyes at being the first one to be introduced, in all honesty Steve needed to see Bucky react to the inevitable that was there.

“Pleasure to meet you doll.” He forced a small smile on his face as he shook her hand, and Steve’s eyes traced how Bucky’s grip tightened slightly and how his throat bobbed as he swallowed, taking that as the indicator Bucky had also felt the small jolt.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from Natasha and Clint, they both said you were an amazing fighter, I look forward to maybe sparring with you one day.” She smiled at him and he felt like he stopped breathing all together.

“I’d like that doll.” Bucky nodded, passing her off to Sam so he could catch his breath from the constant static of energy between their hands.

“Sam Wilson, pleasure is all mine sweetheart.” Sam winked, shaking her hand, flirting being his go to in situations like this.

She chuckled softly at his flirty comment and shook her head. “Flirting in front of your mates is bad practice Mr.Wilson.”

“I can get them to flirt with you too if you’d like that.” He teased back, trying to not lose his cool as his whole body felt charged with energy, all exhaustion from earlier leaving his being.

“You are terrible Mr.Wilson.” She laughed.

“Sam is fine, hon, no formalities required.” He felt like he was losing it standing here, any longer and he would be practically vibrating in his spot.

Thankfully Steve pulled the conversation back to him and Sam could breathe again, shooting Bucky a concerned look who looked floored and stunned.

“Let’s grab some drinks Buck.” He offered, and Bucky nodded quickly.

“Yeah, I’m just about out, could use a top off.” Bucky agreed joining Sam’s side as they scampered off towards one of the refreshment tables.

“Nat and Clint speak highly of you, how did you three grow to be so close?” Steve asked me, his blue eyes made it seem like he was actually interested in what I had to say but in truth he had kept glancing my way all night making sure his back was to me, it felt like he didn't really like my presence being there.

“We were put on several missions together, Clint and I joined at the same time, and I’m sure you've heard of what happened in Budapest though all three of us say different things happened there.” I smiled and nodded just trying to get through the conversation.

I liked the rest of the team, I really did but the three mated alphas had been glaring or staring me down almost all night, like they were uneasy about me. Earlier Bucky seemed like he was uneasy to even touch me and Sam seemed like he was ready to get as far away from me as possible despite the fake flirting.

“I don’t want it to seem like I’m interviewing you or anything because that is not the case, just curious to get to know you, but uh, Natasha mentioned you were …enhanced, what kind of abilities did you …inherit, manifest… Is that a better word?” Steve stumbled; he wasn't good at the enhanced and mutant politics or how to address things when it came to that, even with Wanda.

“You can call me what I am Mr.Rodgers, Yes I am a mutant. It manifested when I was about eight or nine, uh, I have heightened reflexes, I always land on my feet, can withstand extreme colds, and I can walk almost completely silently which makes me good at stealth. My hero or code name or whatever you want to call it was a nickname from Fury I just kept.” I laughed awkwardly, I never liked putting my mutation front and center especially since I tend to blend in with other humans perfectly fine it wasn’t something I felt I needed to push or lead with.

“Apologies if I overstepped there, it's new to me.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck like he was honestly unsure of how he should have addressed it.

“You didn't, I'm just not someone who is normally very forward with the fact I have a mutation.” I smiled back trying to relieve him of some awkwardness.

“What do you do for hobbies? Any interests, a training regiment? How do you unwind?” Steve asked, changing the topic quickly.

She smiled and answered but Steve wanted to beat himself up for how uncomfortable he had probably made her asking about her mutation, it honestly intrigued him but he just didn’t know how he was supposed to address things like that. Though the two are quickly separated as Nat shoots him a look, sweeping her back into the festivities.

As the evening progressed Steve couldn't help but to keep tabs on where Nat had swept her off to next, always introducing her to someone else, he settled at a table with Sam and Bucky, not wanting to mention it too much when he noticed both males also keeping tabs on her. As much as they were trying to stay discrete Natasha’s warning gaze had them shrinking back into their chairs like scorned pups, though the second their eyes darted away Natasha had smugly smirked to herself. They thought they were being subtle, she chuckled to herself at their antics.

“Hmm? Everything okay Tasha?” The voice drew her out of her thoughts and looked down at her close friend who had been enthusiastically talking to Bruce about some science thing she wasn’t paying attention to.

“Yeah, everything’s okay, just thought of a funny joke.” Natasha waved it off, but shared a smug knowing look with Clint who was holding Nathaniel on his hip.

The red head took two slices of cake off the table and handed one to her, and one to Bruce, before grabbing her own and taking a bite from her own slice as she ushered them over to where Clint and his family were.

As the night drew to a close and the party was beginning to wind down, Tony called everyone over to the small stage to give his normal yearly speech. The avengers all turned their attention to him with smiles on their faces, he adjusted the mic to his height and set his champagne glass on the edge of a glass table beside him. The guests quieted as he cleared his throat, all eyes on the man of the hour.

“Alright, alright, you all know what time it is, the moment where I come up here and blabber about how great I am and all that, but if I could just have everyone’s attention for just a few minutes, I promise this time its not as self-centered.” Tony started, flashing his trademark grin. “First of all, I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. It’s not everyday a guy turns… lets just say another year wiser, alright?” The crowd chuckled and Tony’s grin widened. “But seriously, it means a lot to have all of you here-friends, allies, fans, and of course the best team a guy could ask for, even if we but heads a majority of the time.”

Tony’s gaze shifted to the team, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “You know, when I look back at everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve faced, it still amazes me that we’ve come through it all stronger than before. The battles we’ve fought in, saved the world more times than you could count on your fingers, and somehow we’ve managed to keep our sanity. Well, most of us anyways.” He winked towards the team, earning a few more laughs from the crowd.

“In all seriousness though, I couldn’t have done any of it by myself, without you guys. Steve, Sam, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Wanda, Vision, and everyone who has been a part of this crazy ride; you’re not just teammates, you’re family.” He nodded towards them with a smile on his face.

There was a brief pause as Tony looked down his glasses, his voice softening. “And then there’s Pepper.” His eyes found hers in the crowd, a sparkle in them and the complete adoration in her gaze left him feeling like the only man in the world. “Pep, you’ve been my rock, my voice of reason, and quite frankly the only reason I’m still standing here today. You’ve put up with more than anyone should ever have to, and you’ve done it with more grace and strength than I ever could. So I’m dedicating tonight to you and to all all the amazing things you’ve done, not just for me but for all of us.”

Pepper smiled, her eyes glistening with welling tears, and Tony raised his glass slightly in her direction. “Here’s to you Love, and to many more years of driving you absolutely insane.”

The room erupted in applause and cheers, Tony took a moment to let the noise die down before continuing. “Now, before we wrap things up, there’s one more thing I want to share. You all know we’ve been through a lot as a team and a pack, I’d like to think we’ve grown stronger because of it. Well tonight I’m excited to announce that we’re about to grow a little stronger.”

Tony’s tone shifted to one of pride as he continued, “ We’ve got a new member joining our ranks. Someone who’s proven herself time and time again; who has the skills, the guts, and the heart to be one of us. Natasha and Clint already know her well, and after tonight I think it’s safe to say the rest of us are starting to see why they trust her so much.”

He paused for effect, then smiled warmly. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in welcoming the newest member of the Avengers, Lynx.”

The room filled with applause as Tony turned to beckon her on stage. “Come on up here, don’t be shy, you're part of the family now.”

Bucky, Steve, and Sam watched the way her hips swayed in that dress as she climbed the stairs into Tony’s awaiting outstretched hand.

“We’re thrilled to have you with us,” His voice carried a genuine note of welcome. “We can’t wait to work with you and see what you’ll do next. So here’s to the future, to the newest member of our absolutely terribly dysfunctional family, and a thank you to Fury for giving into my birthday wish. Welcome to the team.”

The applause grew louder and Tony raised his glass one final time. “To Pepper, the Avengers, and of course: Me!” He declared, and the room echoed the toast.

Tony moved to set his glass back onto the table without looking, the room seemed to freeze as the glass started falling off the small side table; Steve about to rush forward before the glass inevitably broke and cut her as it shattered with her open toed wedge heels, but before Steve could even move she had the glass in her hands and not a drop split as she sat the glass back onto the center of the table.

Tony’s eyes widened before he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, she simply smiled back at him as she turned to retreat back down the stairs. “Reflexes, they come in handy.”

The small action had Steve, Bucky, and Sam frozen on the spot, they knew Tony had read her file and said she would be useful but those reflexes had kicked in faster than either of the supersoldiers had. She climbed down the stairs to the waiting Natasha and Clint who patted her on her back, a small smile on her face as she tried to downplay the almost accident. She could feel the sets of eyes on her back and looked over her shoulder to be met with the three alphas staring her down, she shifted and busied herself with the conversation around her.

Steve wanted to punch himself in the face for the way she seemed to shrink in their gaze, making herself smaller between the Barton’s and Natasha; but at the same time knowing him and his mates affected her as much as she affected them almost made him pride himself, then a second later he was beating himself up for thinking like a stereotypical alpha that he tried not to be.

Bucky was impressed, Steve had been the only person he had ever seen move that quickly aside from himself, and he found himself wondering how those reflexes would correlate to other areas like sparring, or sparring. He wouldn’t let himself admit he was already thinking of having her in bed like he did with his other mates on the days regular sparring didn’t take that edge off and he needed a little bit more to keep his nerves balanced.

Sam was in the same boat as the other two but thinking less with his dick and more of how attractive she was in general and how impressive her brief show of skills had be, he could only imagine how she would move and fight on the actual battlefield; he reckoned that since she was a stealth master more so than Natasha or Clint were she adapted based on the circumstances, he would've put money on a bet that in their time at SHIELD the three probably had made their own bets on trying to beat her in stealth drills only to lose every time.

Steve, Bucky, and Sam retreated to a corner with their tails between their legs. The crowd began to filter out slowly, Steve had begun to talk but it was Bucky who had interrupted him. “We need to talk about this later, clearly we are all being affected by this and we need to straighten this all out.”

The other two nodded in agreement, watching as Tony talked with the alluring female across the conference hall, fighting to take their eyes off her. The rest of the avengers were all regrouping after a little bit of last minute partying that resulted in Natasha being a little too lovey dovey with Bruce and all of Clint’s kids being asleep.

They were so deep in thought they didn’t hear Pepper walk up behind them or even start talking to them. “...to leave? Hey? You three even listening? No, no you are not.” She sighed before clapping between them, startling all three Alphas to attention. “Quit being star-struck by an Omega you have barely met and maybe pay attention. I asked if you three were ready to go? We are getting ready to leave. Please, have your heads on straight, shes coming back to the tower for the night since her apartment is 45 minutes from here instead of 30 minutes from here.”

The boys all scrambled to agree and within the next 15 or so minutes they were squeezing into the back of a vehicle, the other members of their team squeezing into their own.

Steve popped his neck and stretched out in the vehicle as much as he could. “We really need to figure out why this is affecting us so much. When she touched my hand earlier it felt like static electricity.”

Sam nodded. “I felt that too but it was more like my entire body was wired with electricity despite how exhausted I was.”

Bucky growled under his breath, looking out the window at the passing lights. “It’s just ‘cause she’s new and mysterious and is being brought into the pack.”

SAm made a noise in disagreement. “You know that's not what this is Buck, I saw how affected you got especially when we went over to get drinks. You were staring out into space like you were lost in your head again. Whatever this is, it's different than just new, it's way more intense. Admit it Buck you felt something too.”

Bucky shot him a side long glare. “Okay fine, there was a tiny jolt, but not anything like you two were describing.”

Steve tried to diffuse the situation. “Whatever it is we have time to figure it out, it's not like we are in a rush. Whatever is leaving us all so tense and curious will take time to figure out until we get used to her being around and as a member of the pack we wont know if it is just cause she’s new or not. We keep an eye on her till she's used to everything and be there if she needs anything. I don’t want her thinking we don't like her or don’t want her on the team or in the pack.”

Bucky grumbled an agreement and Sam nodded, most of the cars were already here, Thor and Jane were the car ahead of them, and he was helping her out. By the number of cars pulling down into the parking garage there was only one car besides their’s missing from the fleet; probably Tony and Pepper since she had to finish arranging everything with the cleaning crew. The three trudged into the building, exhaustion finally settling into their bones and after shrugging off their party clothes all crashed into the large bed together.

On another floor Clint had escorted Lynx to her guest room on the main team communal floor of the tower. “I’ll be right back, let me go put Nathaniel down and grab Nat, Nat said she put some clothes in here for you earlier.”

“Kay, I’m gonna change then hurry back. I know you and Nat want all the gossip and know of what went on tonight.” SHe had smiled to Clint who nodded and rushed off.

I found the clothes Natasha had left for me folded neatly in the bathroom with a hairbrush and bathroom essentials, I changed into the pj set Nat loaned me: a silk set every member of the team probably had because it had little chibi versions of all the members on it and an old Shield training shirt. I brushed my teeth and my hair out, rinsing my mouth out with the sink water just as a knock sounded from the door.

I dried my mouth quickly before rushing over to open the door, a slightly tipsy Natasha leaning against the door frame and an amused Clint with his arms full of extra blankets off to the side of her.

“Hey! Get in here!” I stepped to the side and Natasha immediately threw herself onto the bed. Clint tossed the blankets onto the empty dresser before sitting down in an accent chair.

“Spill! I gotta know what happened when You weren't beside me or Clint.” Natasha mused, fixing a pillow under her chin. “What do you think of the team? How do you think the night went?”

I shrugged. “I dunno, I don’t think Steve, Sam, and Bucky like me that much. Steve seemed really unsure, and Sam while he was flirting it seemed he wanted out of the conversation as fast as possible, and all Bucky did was grumble and stare at me really. I mean I shook his hand and talked with him a little bit but he rushed off with Sam.”

Nat smiled like she knew something no one else did. “Ehhhh, don’t think a thing of it, they like you don’t worry. Bucky wouldn’t have talked with you at all if he didn’t like you in the slightest. And Sam may be a flirt but he never rushes off unless hes actually meaning his compliments, and as for Steve you somehow managed to get under his facade and made him slip up. They like you don’t worry.”

“If you say so, They just seemed to be keeping me in their sights like they were afraid I was gonna turn on someone all night.” I sighed, and Nat ruffled my hair.

“I mean it, they might be acting weird right now just because you are a new person, give it a few days hon, and it’ll be all normal.” Nat pointed out.

“How do you think it went with the rest of the team?” Clint questioned.

“I think it went okay, I liked Wanda, she seemed sweet.” I answered quickly.

“She’s excited to have another Omega around I bet. The Alphas outnumber the Omegas on this team. And seeing as the only other ones here regularly are Tony and Bruce, both of which are males, I think she's happy to have another female Omega around regularly.” Nat slurred slightly, but her point made sense.

“From what I could tell, it seemed like everyone on the team liked you, it seemed like you left everyone with good impressions.” Clint offered.

“You think so?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think so. The fact Bucky even talked to you is a sign of that.” Natasha had her eyes closed on the pillow, her words coming out slowly as she started to drift off.

“I better get her back up to Bruce before she passes out, Have a good night snowflake.” Clint stood. “Oh those blankets are for you, I grabbed them from the storeroom for you since I know Omegas are big on comfort. Feel free to keep them for when you move in.”

He helped Nat up from the bed and the two made their way back to the door. “Thank you Clint, have a good night, you too Tasha.” I smiled at them.

Natasha waved drowsily back. “Night Snow. Sleep well, see you in the morning.”

“Night,” Clint waved back as he closed the door behind him.

I stood and locked the door, picking up the blankets Clint had brought for me and began making a small temporary nest with them so I could get some decent sleep. My nerves were still going haywire at the thought of the three alphas having their eyes constantly on me, I honestly didn’t know how I had made it through the night with the constant heat under my skin at their gaze. I plugged in my phone and finally curled up in the nest of blankets, hopefully tomorrow wouldn’t feel as tense. I watched a few videos on my phone before I ended up falling asleep, thoughts of the three Alphas and their scents following me into my sleep.

Taglist: @crazyunsexycool

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base0h · 1 year ago

Note

Yo I got this idea from your pickle fic you did a couple months ago.

Monster trio,law and kidd super gluing a pickle jar and ask their s/o to open it and to their surprise their s/o opens it without any problems

I love your crack fics so much

Please and ty

a/n - I’m so glad you like my humor because sometimes I feel like I’m so unfunny 😂💜 oml kidd would break the jar (also I can’t fit all of the characters so I had to omit Sanji 😭😭)

Warnings ⚠️ - I bully Kidd, crack, g/n reader

- Bro thought that maybe he could troll you back since he couldn’t open the pickle jar a couple days ago (he’s still depressed, so no one talks about it) y’all just pretend it never happened

- zoro: hah! Remember that time when you couldn’t open the-

- everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP.

- luffy: huh?

- poor zoro 💀 he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to talk about it since they left him at the previous island

- He was all tightening the pickle jar with the glue, giggling and kicking his feet just imagining you not being able to open it like him, so you’d be embarrassed like him. (He’s evil, beware)

- he skipped over to you and handed you a pickle jar, “Hey y/n, can you open it for me while I go grab something to eat?”

- you nodded, grabbing the pickle jar and opening it with ease. Huh, that’s weird, why would Luffy ask you to open it?

- he had such a big mischievous grin when he came back and then when he saw the pickle jar sitting next to you, the cap right next to it, oml he freaked out

- “HUH? HOW DID YOU OPEN IT-?!”

- “What do you mean? It was super loose.”

- ….

- nah he’s dead now watch him go sob in the corner

- man was sobbing for about an hour or two before Sanji was able to feed him some meat to make him stop crying. Has ptsd with pickle jars now- and you felt bad so you gave him a jar for him to open (you could’ve opened it but you wanted to make him feel tough and strong 💜💜)

- “Luffy, I just can’t open this thing, can you open it?”

- The way his eyes lit up and he just RAN to help you, “MHM! Sure!”

- opened it without a problem and puffed his chest out, crossing his arms, “Shishishi~ I’m strong!!!!”

- “You’re the strongest captain ever! King of the pirates! Roger wishes he was you!!!” -you

- He was giggling, flexing his muscles and all lmfao

- man Luffy is lucky to have you as his personal best cheerleader 💜💜😭

- oh nah, the prank you did on him did not end well 💀 man literally blew up and poor killer had to just sit there in the midst of his explosion (his mental health was harmed in the process of this)

- things chilled out after you managed to give him a hug and some cuddles and coaching him through calming breaths (he does yoga to relax you can’t convince me otherwise)

- Kidd the yogi 💀💀💀

- So he decided that it’d be absolutely hilarious to do the same pickle jar prank on you bec he’s an asshole and a dumbass

- Idk how he did it, but he spent all night formulating and researching which glue was the best until he just decided to weld it shut

- “Kidd what are you doing?” -killer

- “Go to bed killer.”

- stfu Kidd don’t be mean to your best friend 💀

- fast forward to the time of the prank, he handed you the jar with a literal shit eating grin on his face, bro could not stop giggling (sounds like a fucking clown. And I don’t mean in a good way.)

- “Why are you giggling..?” -you

- “No reason >:)”

- You opened it, continuing to watch your show on the tv, handing it back to him. There was a moment of silence that lasted about 5 minutes. He was not moving, blinking, nor breathing for that matter. Killer walked by the room, and took a picture before walking away 💀

- man just started yelling outta nowhere, scaring the literal shit out of you

- “WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?!” -Kidd

- “WHAT THE FUCK KIDD?!” -you

- “HOW DID YOU FUCKING OPEN IT?”

- “IT WAS FUCKING LOOSE.”

- “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I WELDED THE FUCKIN THING SHUT!”

- “…..”

- “Why the fuck did you weld it shut you dumbass?” -you

- he beat you up (correction) you beat him up for even trying to beat you up

- he didn’t seem that affected by your prank earlier but trust me, he’s crying on the inside, praying to corazon and asking: why tf am I so fucking weak

- after you told him it was just a joke he was pretty mad and ignored you for about a day (before he just couldn’t ignore the love of his life anymore😂)

- but yeah lesson learned, don’t do it again

- well he thought it’d be funny to do it to you since it made him so irritated (he will not admit that and will tell you that Bepo made him do it or something like that)

- the hardest part for him was asking you for help because anytime he does you get all smirky and say: “ooooo you need my help??? 😏”

- “never mind I don’t.”

- “NO- IM SORRY ILL HELP!”

- so yeah he was a bit nervous about asking you- but he had to do it lmao

- “Y/n-ya, can you open this for me?”

- “Sure.”

- you literally opened it in seconds, you didn’t even struggle.

what the fuck?

- “Y/n. How did you open that?..”

- “It was loose, did you loosen it?”

- “…….I’m gonna go to bed now.”

- “it’s 2pm!”

- “I’m. Going. To. Bed.”

- went straight to his computer to look up

- “Is my s/o a demon?”

- “what is the strength level for opening glued shut pickle jar”

- “911 marine hq”

- “counseling hotline”

- “can glue expire?”

- “am I weak?”

- Zoro was still pretty mad that he couldn’t open the jar last time, so he’s added, “opening pickle jars for y/n, 20 reps, 2 sets, give pickles to Luffy.”

- his workout page looks like a Barbie notebook you cannot tell me otherwise

- everything is pink and neon green 💀

- anyway, mayyyyybe Luffy convinced him to do the same prank on you because Luffy kept laughing at him about it, poor moss head’s self esteem was a bit low now 😭

- So he grabbed a jar, glued the damn thing shut and went over to you (took a while because he could not find you)

- “hey y/n. Can you open this for me? I’m gonna go train.”

- “Sure.”

- he hid behind the corner, watching as you took the jar and paused, continuing to read your book before opening it with ease, putting it back on the table next to you

- man was flabbergasted.

- how the actual fuck did you do that?????

- “Zoro??? What do you want me to do with the jar?!” -you

- His plan to hide out behind the corner was ruined the moment Luffy came over and fucking said hello to him

- “Oh hey zoro!! Whatcha doin?”

- “SHUT UP!”

- “huh?”

- You turned around to see Zoro trying to shut up poor Luffy who literally wanted to just say hi 😭

- “Zoro what are you doing?? I opened the jar, is it for Sanji’s meal?”

- “….Yeah just- give it to him.”

- he looked sad, it was painful for your heart

- imagine getting stabbed, then reading something sad, listening to sad music, and then realizing. You’re sad.

- that is what this felt like

- you tried your best to comfort him (even though you didn’t know why he was sad) so you watched him train and you sat on his back while he did pushups. Seemed to make the poor guy feel better, but you still didn’t know why he was so sad in the first place :’)

a/n - poor zoro

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

The Devil Wears Armani 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

---posting to the correct blog lol---

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After the week you’ve had, the need for a strong drink is irresistible. You’re almost there. Friday. You just need to make it through the day. There’s only one obstacle in your way. Mr. Stark.

You bring him his ritualistic cafe au lait just after noon. He has an airpod in his ear, chattering on a call as he clicks around his floating computer screen. You keep your head down, making yourself invisible as you place the cup on a coaster. He leans back in his white leather chair as he speaks, reaching quickly for the coffee.

“Yeah, Rogers, maybe, I don’t know about you but I’m not looking to invest right now. I got enough eggs to hatch...” Stark sips as he rests his other hand on his thigh.

Before you can retreat, your eyes flick over and see the moving image on the monitor. You don’t react. You just backpedal and return to your desk, gently closing the door as to not disturb your call. You might commend him for multitasking if it wasn’t so inappropriate.

You cup your chin and zero in on your screen, fighting the images seared into your eyes. The woman’s ass spread wide as the man... nope. Not today.

Mr. Stark’s reputation is less than pristine. Everyone knows how he is but he’s the CEO. Who’s going to say anything? Or do anything? Coming into the role, you expected a demanding workload and a finicky boss, but not everything else. Not the blatant disregard for others and brazen lack of shame.

You glance over at his door before you dare to take out your phone. You lay it next to your keyboard and keep your hand under your chin. You look down as you press to unlock and read the messages from the other girls. Izzie can’t make it, she’s out in the field, but the others are down. Awesome.

You scroll through the gif catalogue and send a celebratory reaction. Mr. Stark’s door startles you and you slide your phone up under your monitor stand to try to hide it. You put your attention back to the calendar and swoop your mouse around the pad.

Stark approaches as he slurps loudly over the brim of his cup. You feel the weight of his gaze and meet it shyly, pushing your glasses up your nose as you sit up. You can’t quite smile as your jaw locks up.

“Sir?” You greet him in confusion.

“So, Friday,” his brown eyes dip down to consider the depths of the mug, “got any exciting plans?”

You look left then right and back at him. Your brow twitches in surprised confusion. Mr. Stark never asks about your personal life. He only ever talks about his private jet and high-life getaways to locations you could never dream of. Your cocktails are meagre compared to his elite lifestyle.

“No, sir,” you say. “How about you?”

He smirks and tilts his head. He slowly prowls around your desk and you swivel your chair to face him as he nears the corner to your right. You tilt to look up at him.

“Ah, the usual, there’s this sweet little blonde thing down in Barbados waiting for me,” he chuckles as his eyes rove over your desk, “no dates? No... partying?”

“Sir, I... just errands.”

“Uh huh,” he clucks and reaches for your mouse. Nope. He swerves and swipes up your phone as it lights up beneath the stand. Shoot. “Social hour, huh?”

“No, sir. I just shut off an alarm and forgot--”

“You’re a bad liar, stop it,” he warns as he brings your phone up and reads the messages popping up, “girls’ night?” He looks at you over the cell, “that sounds like more than errands to me.”

“Well, sir, I didn’t think... it was important.”

“Must be if you’re texting at work,” he tosses the phone at you and you catch it as it lands in your lap. “You been to Barbados?”

“Barbados? No?” You answer dumbly, no expecting the question.

“Wanna go?”

You hesitate. Is this some trick? It’s like when he was taunting Walker last week, baiting him into giving answers that made him look stupid.

“Sir, maybe one day, I guess, I never thought--”

“No thinking. I know you’re not that fucking simple,” he reaches to poke your forehead and your recoil. “Don’t get too fucking crazy tonight, sweetheart, jet takes off at six. In the morning.”

You frown and shake your head. He can’t mean what you think.

“Should I have your luggage--”

“Be there,” he demands and gulps back a mouthful. He slams down the empty mug on your desk and backs up, “if you’re still thirsty, they got cocktails on the plane.”

He turns and strides away, whistling as he checks his watch. He sighs as he approaches the office door, pausing, “when Odinson gets here, make sure he has everything he needs.” He glances back with a smirk as you peer around your monitor, “and smile, sweetheart, you got nice lips.”

You stare after him as he closes his office door and you sit back. You chew your thumb and look down at your phone. You sniff as you watch the others messages stream over the screen. Now you know better than to have your phone out at work. Now you get to do overtime. Fun.

You rub your cheek and roll close to your desk. You’re not going to miss tonight, even if Mr. Stark wants to take away your weekend. You’ve been waiting for this and you need the boost before you face whatever he has planned.

A message blips up in the corner and you click it, not daring to ignore Mr. Stark’s icon. The window spreads over the screen and the message floats over the reply bar. ‘Don’t forget a bikini’.

Huh?

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #series #drabble #au #bad bosses #mcu #marvel #iron man #avengers #the devil wears armani

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beenoeila · 10 months ago

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A list of underrated fics I adore.

▪️this don’t feel anything like sinking by

@dontcallmebree

A little over six weeks and his knee heals only for his breathing to act up. It may have been a handful of decades—coming up on a century, even—but he never did forget how it felt to wheeze through the night.

Steve sees it coming when Dr. Youssef tells him his lungs are taking a turn.

The year 2032 brings about the Summer Olympics, the coldest winter of the decade, and an end to Project Rebirth.

🔹 Learning to want by @luna-rainbow

Bucky is still trying to piece together his memories, but at least he now had Steve with him.

When Steve asks him if he wanted to meet with his sister, Becca, his response was, "I don't know about wants...I'll start with the shoulds."

Steve and Bucky goes for lunch with Becca. Steve and Bucky dealing with memory loss. Steve and Bucky being mutually pining idiots.

▪️better to speak or die by emilywithoutY (@between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place)

Summers in C. are as endless and hazy as when they were kids. All James wants is to play his part well enough that his mother stops looking at him with that twist of regret in her smile.

The only thing to break the sun-soaked monotony is the arrival of the new summer intern. While the rest of the household—and half the village—fawn over Steve Roger’s movie star looks and understated charm, James finds him aloof and his polite interest near unbearable.

But as they collide in vulnerable moments, the sparks of frustration ignite something neither has the power to stop.

Do you think Jonathan understood what happened that day David first stepped into his father’s court?

🔹The weapon remembers by pushdragon

The Winter Soldier finds old fantasies of Steve in his memory, and takes them for reality.

He's got two days to sort out all his mixed-up history, before he puts himself back in cryo freeze. Harder still, he's got to convince Steve to let him do it.

▪️Preberseeschießen by Ginny_Potter (@hipsterdiva)

Bucky takes his time, ignoring his comrades’ cheering and Gaiswinkler and Mariandl’s teasing. From his position, Steve only has an oblique view of Bucky’s face, which is mostly in the dark anyway – the strong line of his jaw, a smudge of grease on his cheekbone, a sweaty lock of hair curling on his forehead, his mouth pouting in concentration. Steve itches to draw him, to take out his battered sketchbook and reproduce that instant of perfect imperfection. Steve itches to touch him, push back his unruly curls, wipe away the smudge on his cheekbone, cup his face in his hands and…

Bucky breathes out and shoots. The bullet hits water… and there it is, the zapping sound of paper tearing.

The light turns on and off three times. Third circle. Just a lick out of bullseye.

The Howlies explode in cheers.

Or, the Howling Commandos play a shooting game with the Austrian Resistance and Steve has lots of unresolved feelings about himself, his new body, and his changing relationship with Bucky. In other words, comrades are comrades, angst looms, and Steve feels.

🔹Till there were no more wolves in the West

by @dharmasharks

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Steve,” Bucky says softly.

“But this thing sticking in my heart—the part of me that’s yours? It is the best part of me. Maybe the only good part.” His rueful smile wavers. He makes a pained expression.

“What if it’s the only good part?” he asks.

Two Brooklyn boys find themselves aboard an orphan train headed west in 1854. Across farmland, war, and the lawless frontier, a childhood promise helps them find each other again.

(A Western SteveBucky retelling.)

▪️Hiraeth by ixalit

Hiraeth

noun /ˈhɪraɨ̯θ/

[Welsh] A homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that never was.

🔹Undone by justanotherStonyfan

You’d think, given everything, that if one of them were going to regress, that if one of them were going to break down, it would be Bucky.

(Set mostly after Endgame - canon deaths remain but Steve doesn't leave)

▪️But You Can Hold Me (Only 'Cause It's a Cold Night in Brooklyn) by Voylitscope_speed (@voylitscope)

This should just be two friends getting off after the burlesque show. This should just be two pals both thinking about the girl. That would probably be okay, Bucky thinks.

But then he ruins it all when he says,

"Come here," and puts a hand out to tug on Steve's shoulder.

(Or: Sometimes, Bucky and Steve lend each other a hand, literally. Bucky tries not to be weird about it, but he's always been bad at controlling his thoughts about Steve.)

🔹Midlife Crisis by profoundalpacakitten

Steve isn’t expecting much of anything from life, he’s content to coast by, letting life flow past. Get up, get dressed, get to work, get home, get to sleep, rinse and repeat.

▪️ The Magic Touch by @broodybuck

The soldier is finally free but he has one big problem, he can't finish. Until he meets a man called Steve who apparently has the magic touch.

#stucky #stevebucky #fic recs #stucky fic

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wandaslullaby · 2 years ago

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Venomous Trap | Wanda M

summary: wanda does something sinful to get you obey her

18+ DNI

a/n: hey! i'm back ish. i decided that i want to continue this series and voila, here is another little fic that gets the story going. hope you all like it and if you have any ideas or any drabbled about bunny and wanda, send me an ask :)

warnings: fingering, downgrading, humiliation kink, mommy kink

masterlist

__________________________________________________________

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. There was no way that you got inappropriate with a teacher. This wasn't like you but somehow your cunt was already leaking at the sight of Wanda’s tits. You’d never think a woman would have such beautiful breasts but, then again, you weren’t really sure of anything.

Waking up that next morning to find a slightly alarming email that you are failing English got you shaken. You never failed a class, in fact, you were top of your classes and English was your strong suit.

It didn’t make sense.

Since you didn’t have classes until noon, you decided to go and speak to your councillor. Before you entered the office, you noticed Wanda leaning against the door.

“Hello, bunny.” Wanda purred, staring at your legs. “Who are you showing off for?”

You froze and felt the inside of your feet curl. Wanda was not only in your view but she purposely shoved her tits right near your face. Just a centimetre apart and Wanda’s hair tickling your nose, you immediately crossed your legs and looked away.

“Such a rude bunny. Not staring at your mummy’s tits.” Wanda whispered, kneeling down lower. “You weren’t as shy when you were latching onto them.”

You gulped when Wanda raised her voice, earning stares from other students.

“Are you not going to say hello to them? They missed your lips, bunny.” Wanda cooed, as she latched onto a string of your hair.

Your cheeks flushed and that gave Wanda the go ahead. She grabbed a hold of your jaw and purposely shoved your face into her chest. “Give them a quick kiss, before Mr Rogers sees what such whore you are.”

You gave each tit a brisk kiss and Wanda let out a soft moan before she released you. After Wanda was finished playing with you, you heard the door open and Wanda returned back to her normal position.

“Ms Maximoff. Ms Y/L/N. Join me in the office.” Mr Rogers spoke out, and you hurriedly entered and felt a sharp pain collide with your bottom.

“Nice ass, bunny.” Wanda smirked and followed in after you.

As you both seated, Mr Rogers turned his hand to retrieve some documents giving Wanda the idea to pull the two chairs closer.

“Don’t you dare make a sound or that pretty ass will be destroyed.” Wanda whispered, as she pinched your thigh.

Mr Rogers turned back and sat down in his seat. He was completely oblivious to the two of you joint at the hip. Wanda was stunned as Mr Rogers couldn’t see the bottom half of both your bodies which gave Wanda a little idea of her own.

“As you can see from my email, I’m regretting going to say that you are failing Ms Maximoff class. I’m not sure if there’s anything going on but I’m concerned that you won’t be graduating this year.”

Tears spilled in your eyes as Mr Rogers explained your test scores but a sudden shiver ran up your thigh. You quickly darted your head to your thighs and noticed that Wanda’s hand was up your skirt.

Wanda didn’t even look over at you, but kept a stern face as she listened to Mr Rogers talk. You decided to remove her hand which earned a smack to your cunt causing a little whimper from your lips.

“Is everything okay?” Mr Rogers asked, slightly concerned at the fuss you were making in your seat.

“Y-Yes. I’m just confused into w-why I’m failing?” You whispered, biting down on your bottom lip as Wanda rubbed her fingers on your panties.

“It says here that you haven’t done any of your assignments or handed in any tests?” Mr Rogers frowned. “This is unexpected behaviour from you.”

You were trying to concentrate on the accusation of not handing in assignments but your brain shifted to a place full of stars as Wanda moved your panties to the side and teased your clit with her fingers. The words were stumbling out of your mouth as Wanda pressed harder onto your throbbing cunt and a little groan rolled off your tongue as Wanda slammed three fingers inside you.

“I’m not sure what’s gotten into you but this is extremely important.” Mr Rogers frustratingly said. “I don’t appreciate you coming in here, and behaving like a child.”

You crossed your legs but Wanda only went faster as you were itching out a sorry. “I don’t mean too. I’m just not understanding how I haven’t sent in my assignments? I turned them in.”

Wanda let out a little chuckle and drove her fingers deeper inside you. “I’m sorry about her, Steve. I didn’t know that I was teaching such a dumb baby. Is there a way we can turn this around?”

You tried to deny Wanda’s pleasure, grabbing hold of her wrist but your fingers weren’t nearly long to wrap them around her wrist. Wanda left Steve to fiddle around with the computer and took a quick glance at you.

You were drenched in sweat. The small trinkets of water falling from your eyes was such a pretty sight to Wanda, the Adeline inside her made her even hungrier for you.

“Doing so well, bunny. Can’t believe how dirty you are? Letting me finger fuck you whilst the dean is here. Such a dirty, dirty slut.” Wanda hissed and began to use her thumb to rub onto your clit.

You didn’t say a word, as you felt your legs shake at the momentum that Wanda was giving as she was so close to reaching that spot. Steve turned his attention back to the two of you and shook his head, “It says here that you haven’t submitted anything. The system is very accurate, Wanda’s ex-husband designed it.”

As those words left Steve’s lips, you growled at Wanda but the moment she turned to look at you, you slouched into your chair as she hit your spot. You could feel your clit clenching around her fingers as she vigorously slammed her fingers inside you.

“Is there a solution here? Is there a way this dumb baby can get her grades up?” Wanda spoke up, hitting your spot once more before a huge grin sprung on her face as she felt her fingers drown in your cum.

“I think you might need to spend a lot of time with her, Wanda. Make sure she is with you at all times so she can improve her grades.” Steve blabbered on but you were so zoned out of the conversation, you let the tears spill out as Wanda rode your high.

“Is she crying?” Steve asked as he turned his attention onto you.

“She’s just sensitive.” Wanda laughed and released her fingers from you. “Sometimes she just starts crying. I think it’s because she can’t formulate her words as much so she acts like this.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as you sat quietly, wiping your tears with your jumper. You felt so ashamed and humiliated that you didn’t even know what to say.

“Pathetic, really.” Wanda started. “A grown woman behaving like a child. I think this orders some type of punishment?”

Steve shrugged, “I leave her in your hands. I think from watching how you know Y/N so well, you would be the perfect person to help her with these grades.”

Wanda nodded, “I believe so too. I will make sure each assignment is handed in and each test is 99%.”

Steve nodded and let out an uncomfortable cough. “I think that’s all we have to discuss. Wanda, can you please make sure Y/N goes to the nurse to get an examination? She looks rather flustered.”

“Of course.” Wanda chuckled. “She’s my responsibility now.”

Steve gave you an assuring smile before Wanda pulled you up from your chair as grinned at the trail of your own cum dripping down your leg.

“Dirty, Dirty whore. You are partially dripping with your cum.”

You lowered your head and tried to wipe it away but Wanda slapped your ass. “Don’t you even think about it. I want everyone to know what a disgusting whore you are.”

“W-Why did you delete all my assignments? You knew I passed them all.” You sobbed, following Wanda to her car.

“How else am I going to make you mine, bunny? It was the only way to make sure that no one would question the after class hours and one to one session.”

“You could have just asked...” You said as she climbed into her car.

“Where’s the fun in that, bunny?” Wanda laughed as she strapped you in her child safety belt.

You looked down at the extra protection Wanda has given you. “I’m not a baby.”

Wanda only laughed at your answer. “Oh you stupid bunny. I’m going to make you one. By the time tomorrow rolls in, you will be back to square one where the only words you will ever say are, ‘Mommy’ ‘Please’ and ‘More’.”

You didn’t even want to look at her.

“Don’t worry, bunny. Mommy will take care of you.”

As Wanda’s words played on your mind, you slowly began to accept that this was life and the only way to survive it, is to live it.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff #dark wanda maximoff

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jtargaryen18 · 1 year ago

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His Inheritance ~ Chapter 33

Part 33: Under Pressure

Series Masterlist

Words: 5k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mafia, reference to violence and violent acts, references to sexual violence. Strong language. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

You had just sat down at the dining room table for breakfast and it was quiet. Luca stepped around the corner from the kitchen, winking at you when he spotted you. Before he could bring out your breakfast, Dyson came wandering out of the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. Pulling out a chair at the other side of the table, he took a seat and joined you.

"How are preparations going?" you asked, delighted that you were allowed to ask now.

Dyson nodded. He wasn't a bit surprised by your question.

"Things are coming along," he told you. "I called up some extra men first thing this morning. Clint and Scott are making the rounds, making sure we won't have security issues. We'll have it locked down well before everyone starts arriving."

You nodded, smiled. "Sounds good."

Luca hustled out with your breakfast, serving you fluffy eggs and fruit. You thanked him, grinning as he pulled out a chair next to Dyson.

"What time is everyone getting here?" he asked Dyson.

"Four," Dyson told him. "That's the meeting time the boss set anyway."

Luca nodded, his gaze roaming to you. "What are you up to today, boss?" he asked.

Boss had you grinning. Plus, like Dyson, you could tell he was a little worried about how today would go from your perspective. You really appreciated that they noticed and cared.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," you told him after a moment. "I'm going to get in a little exercise, spend some time with Nat."

The two men exchanged a look and you had to laugh. "What are the two of you so worried about?" you asked. "Steve called a meeting today with the heads of the families to make sure everyone is on the same page. It's a good place to start. It'll put all the rumors to rest and Steve can start leading the families outright."

Luca's expression was bordering on comical. "I mean no disrespect but... You know you're not going to the meeting, right?"

That did have you laughing. "Yes, I'm aware."

"What's so funny?" Yelena's voice came from behind you as she walked into the dining room.

"These two making sure I'm okay with the meeting today," you explained.

Nodding, Yelena made her way to the kitchen. You turned your attention back to the two older men across the table from you.

"Thank you for caring about me," you said, "but I'm fine with not being in that meeting. I promise."

"You are?" Dyson asked, skeptical.

"I am," you assured him. "Steve is letting me be part of the family business now. I don't need to be at the meeting."

Was that pride flashing in Dyson's eyes? He nodded as Yelena returned with her breakfast, taking a seat next to you.

"Any word on Barnes?" she asked.

Dyson blew out an exhale. "Someone is coming from the Barnes family," he said slowly. "I got an RSVP."

Luca scrubbed a hand over his face. "Could be sending Killmonger," he said.

"Barnes will be here himself," you said. It was just an instinct but you knew you were right.

Setting his coffee mug on the table, Dyson's gaze met yours. "I think so too. He almost has to. Same reason as Steve. He has to show everyone he's still here."

"Male posturing," Yelena added and you chuckled.

"Let's hope not," Dyson said. "Things are more than a little tense right now."

That had you thinking... "Do the other families know what Barnes pulled? I mean, do they know he tried to take Steve and his family down?"

"The Starks do," Luca said. "The Wilsons and Odinsons? I'm sure they're aware. They just tend to stay out of the drama unless it involves them."

"That's smart," Yelena added.

"Or they lack the muscle," you said.

Dyson nodded, indicating you were right.

"If Barnes decides to try anything, we're ready right?" you had to ask.

"We are," Dyson told you. "But along that line of thinking, we need to think about where you're going to be during this meeting."

"Yes, we do," Yelena said.

You understood. "I'm sure Nat, Yelena and I can find something to do. Where would we be safest?"

"Steve's study," Dyson said instantly. "We have a quick way to get you out if all hell breaks loose."

You made a mental note of that. "Just let me know when we need to be where."

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Nat asked for the third time in an hour.

You sighed. You didn't know the young woman who Hansen held prisoner. It was disconcerting that she looked like you. Even though you had nothing to do with it, you still felt a heavy sense of responsibility. You'd arranged for her to fly back home to her family, sent Barnes' money with her. The best thing you could do for her was to get her out of Boston and back to where she had a support network. You made sure she had a way to reach you in case she ever needed anything.

"Barnes wasn't kidding when he said he was giving her a generous gift," you said. "It's a lot of money. I know that in no way makes up for what she went through but... She was in college. I'm just hoping she can take that and make a fresh start somewhere else. Finish her education. I hope in time she's able to heal."

Yelena was quiet in her seat next to Nat, across Steve's desk from you. You understood why. Yelena had been the sick bastard's captive too. Since you'd known Yelena, Hansen was the only thing that scared her. You knew why your friend and personal protection dressed in the suits she wore. Yes, she was trying to be like any other soldier, to earn respect. But it made your heart sink to think about the physical scars she was hiding. Scars that Hansen branded her with.

If the bastard was alive, and you thought he was, he'd better pray he never crossed your path again.

"What did doc have to say today?" Yelena asked Nat, changing the subject. "Everything is healing well?"

Nat smiled. "Everything is healing. But then, I didn't get shot so..."

You laughed at that. "That's just about the only thing the bastard didn't do to you."

"I'm glad he's gone," Nat said after a moment.

You exchanged a look with Yelena, both of you happy to hear that. You knew Clint was happy about her reaction to her abusive husband's death. While you understood why he took Banner out with Yelena's help, you knew he was worried about the impact of his actions on the woman he loved.

"I am too," you told her. "Now you can just be with Clint the way you always should have been."

Nat's deep sigh was the only sound in the quiet office. "I'm not the only one worried about today, am I?"

It was actually a relief that she addressed the elephant in the room.

"No," you admitted. "I don't like this any better than you do. But it has to be done."

"Why wouldn't Steve let you attend the meeting?" she asked.

"He never said I couldn't." That was the truth. "It was my decision to sit this out."

You couldn't tell which woman was more surprised. Yelena knew you were good with not going but she didn't know that. That had you smiling.

"It's not the right time," you told them. "It may never be the right time for anyone outside our family to know that I'm part of Steve's council. And if that's how it goes, I'm fine with that. I got what I wanted."

"It's more than what you wanted," Yelena pointed out. "It's where you need to be."

You appreciated her faith in you. Nat's smiled told you she agreed. You weren't worried about weighing in on situations as they arose to keep the family, all of you, safe. You knew you could help.

"I am a little nervous today," you told them, "because Barnes is coming."

"He RSVP'd?" Yelena asked.

You shook your head. "Not necessarily. Dyson said they indicated someone was coming but they didn't name Barnes. But he'll be here. He almost has to. He has to show everyone he's fit. Just like Steve does."

"After everything he did to this family," Nat said, "he gets to just waltz into our home for this meeting?"

You nodded. "He does. For now. And Steve has to be careful here. The other families have heard things. This is Steve's chance to set the record straight. To make sure everyone knows exactly what happened."

"And then what?" Nat's face was darkening in her rising anger. "We just go on like nothing happened?"

"No, then we gauge where the other families' allegiences lie," you explained. "Until we know that, we don't know how best to move forward."

"Tony Stark and Sam Wilson have been friends with my brother since high school," Nat said. "They better not even think about siding with Barnes on this. Not after everything he did."

Yelena nodded her agreenment.

"Steve doesn't think we have anything to worry about with the Starks or the Wilsons," you said. "The others? We'll see."

"What if the other families decide they don't have a problem with Barnes' bullshit?" Nat was really pissed about this.

"The only ones left are the Odinsons," Yelena pointed out.

You knew there was practically no chance of that happening but...

"If that should happen, and I doubt it will, we'll deal with it," you told her. "Barnes will be dealt with. It's the how he's dealt with that we have to be careful with."

"Didn't we lose men over this shit?" Nat asked.

"So did Barnes," Yelena said. "Plus he lost Hansen and that's a big blow for him."

Nat wasn't done. You could tell the way she was staring you down. She was just trying to decide how to frame what she wanted to say.

"Aren't you afraid?" she asked you. "Of Barnes? You could have killed him at that little meeting in the park."

Yes, you were scared of Barnes. Very much so. But the only person you'd admitted that to was Yelena. Steve had overheard you but in your defense, you'd thought he was in a coma and couldn't hear you. You steeled yourself to answer her because you weren't going to let anyone else know just how worried about Barnes you were.

"Steve will keep me safe," you told her meaningfully. "He'll keep all of us safe. The day in the park? We intended to kill Barnes that day. If I hadn't panicked at the last moment..."

From the window behind Steve's desk, you could see the cars arriving. The screen of your phone showed it was 3:35 PM. The meeting would start soon.

"You did so well," Yelena picked it up from there. "You should have seen her, Nat. He had no idea who was she until she wanted him to know. I'm not sure I could have done that."

"Bullshit," you said, smiling. "You would have done a better job. And you had to deal with him because I froze."

"It's my job to protect you," Yelena reminded you. "Not the other way around."

A light tap at the door got your attention. Clint was stationed outside the office, neither him or Nat would allow otherwise. His gaze met yours and he crooked a finger at you.

Walking around the desk, you went to the door, walking out when Clint motioned you. Clint walked into the office and closed the door, leaving you in the quiet of the hallway with your husband.

Smiling, you let him pull you into his arms. Steve was healing but he wasn't back to full strength yet. Still, he felt more solid and alive in your arms now. The blood red tie stood out against the polished silver suit he wore. The sent of his cologne, of him, invaded your senses, made you wish you could stay here a while.

Easing back, your stretched up to kiss his mouth and Steve took you off guard. His kiss was searing, demanding. He took your breath away, his kiss seeking and lusty. You tasted the need of so many nights when you couldn't make love, when you didn't know if you'd lose him. Your own need was just as strong and you rotated your hips against him, feeling the heated hard ridge you were hoping for.

"Stop," he whispered against your lips. "You keep doing that and I'll fuck you right here in this hallway."

You grinned up at him. "How much time do we have?"

Steve smiled. "Don't tempt me."

"It's almost time," you told him. "You've got this."

"Yes, I do." Steve's entire demeanor backed up his words. "And once this meeting is over, we'll have a better idea of where we go from here."

"You'll tell me everything, right?"

"I promised, didn't I?" Steve brushed a kiss on your forehead, his gaze locking with yours. "Stay in the office with Belova and Nat. If Clint wants you to move, you do it with no question. You understand?"

"I do," you told him, trying to fight back your fear. Your entire world felt like it was balancing on a knife's edge and you just wanted it to be over. To move on.

Steve shook his head, chuckling. "I'm not used to you being so acquiescent. I could get used to this."

"Don't," you told him. "Because I'm not always going to be so easy to get along with."

"At least you're honest," Steve said. He stole one more kiss that had your heart hammering against his. Every part of you was in knots right now. From tension, fear, and lust. When he broke the kiss, his breath and yours came fast. "Let me get through this meeting... I need you so much right now."

Just as much as you needed him.

"Just make sure you're up to it," you said. "I want you too but I'm willing to wait if that's what's best for you."

"You are what's best for me," he said with feeling.

It was then you spotted a tiny spot of your lipstick, smudged on the collar of his pristine white shirt. "Shit," you muttered, reaching to see if you could get it off.

Steve caught your hand. "Leave it," he said. "I want Barnes to see it."

You just wished more than anything that Barnes wasn't coming to your home. A sense of foreboding had you shivering.

"Go back in the office," Steve told you. "I love you."

"I love you too," you whispered.

Steve tapped on the office door and Clint came out the door in an instant, ushering you back into Steve's study to Nat and Yelena. Somehow, with their company, you made it through the next two hour while the meeting took place.

"They're all here, boss," Dyson said from behind him.

Downing the rest of his Scotch, Steve set the empty glass on Luca's small kitchen table and blew out an exhale. It was time.

"Barnes is here?" he asked.

"Sure is," Dyson said. "Brought Killmonger and Zemo with him."

Turning to face his man, Steve prepared himself.

"You're going to handle this, you know?" Dyson said.

"As long as I know she's safe, yeah, I am going to handle it."

"Nothing is going to happen to her," Dyson said meaningfully. "I promise you that."

Well, then...

Steve headed for the conference room, not stopping until he reached it. When he opened the door to let himself in, he saw his own men posted around the room, led by Scott who stood just behind the chair at the head of the table. His.

Steve's gaze met that of Tony Stark, then Sam. Thor Odinson watched him with cool blue eyes, his raven-haired brother Loki sitting by his side. They were the only unknowns in the room. Steve knew he had Tony and Sam's loyalty.

Then there was the man of the hour, Bucky Barnes himself, situated between the Odinsons and the Wilsons. Killmonger and Zemo stood behind his chair. Barnes had no trouble meeting Steve's gaze but he was thinner than the last time he saw him, his pallor uncharacteristically pale. Belova and his wife had done a number on him.

And Barnes would seek revenge. Steve would need to be a lot more vigilant in protecing his wife, his family. Everyone considered Hansen was out of the picture, but it would be unwise to forget about him. And Killmonger had always been the one he respected most. He was quiet, calculating, and deadly efficient.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming," Steve said to the room. Taking his time, he took his seat.

It didn't feel the same sitting there now. He'd only held one other such meeting as head of the families. That day he'd been excited, eager to take over, to rule. He'd been naive.

Things were different now. Yes, he'd sat on the throne, won the wife and her heritage. And he'd almost lost all of it because of arrogance. As he took in the heads of the other four familes, one by one, he knew he'd never take this position for granted again. Now he could feel the weight of all the responsibilities that came with it. Steve wanted to make his father proud. Her father proud.

Mostly, he wanted to keep pride in his wife's eyes. The way she'd looked at him in the hallway. She believed in him. She loved him. And there was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dyson standing behind him. Yeah, he didn't want to let him down either. Dyson was his right hand, yes. But he was a father to him. He was a father to her.

He had no intention of failing Dyson either.

"What's on the agenda today?" Tony asked with his characteristic smirk.

"I'm just going to be direct," Steve began. "There has been some dissension in our ranks."

"Dissension?" Thor asked.

Steve nodded. "Since I took the leadership of our five families, my family has been attacked numerous times." He caught Barnes' gaze and held it as he continued. "Barton was shot, Lloyd Hansen brought goons to my house in an attempt to kidnap my wife, my wife and my sister have suffered considerable injuries, and all the while my leadership has been called into question."

On that last, Barnes grinned. But before he could speak, Steve absolutely could not let anyone steal the floor from him at this meeting, Steve cut him off.

"All of it stops today," Steve said slowly, dragging out each word.

Loki grinned from his seat, his gaze sweeping around the room. "This is going to be fun."

His brother Thor looked skeptical. "Word on the street is that Banner is the one who shot Barton. Barton was having the man's wife, right under his nose. He dealt with his wife. None of these personal items have any place in this meeting."

"Dealt with his wife? My sister?" Steve kept his demeanor nonchalant but on this inside he was fuming. "That's what I thought too until I learned Banner had been talking with Barnes about business without my knowledge. My own consigliere. See, Barnes' consigliere is about to retire. Banner was under the impression that if he helped Barnes bring my family down, he'd be serving the Barnes family as their new consigliere. That changes things."

Thor's gaze cut to Barnes who now wore his poker face. Still, he looked unrepentent.

"No one has seen Banner," Thor pointed out. "Has that been dealt with? If what you say is true, that's quite a betrayal."

There it was. A subtle challenge to his leadership, but a challenge nonetheless.

"Banner has been dealt with," Steve said. "Barton found him hiding in Stark's turf... Why was he hiding there? Why wasn't he under your protection, Barnes?"

The pure anger in Barnes' steely blue eyes told Steve he was hitting his mark. When he remained silent, Steve continued.

"I allowed Barton to deal with Banner how he wanted. And anyone else who ever tries to deal with my sister? That man will meet the same fate. Is that in any way unclear?"

A low murmur across the table. Tony wasn't doing even trying to hide his enjoyment of the meeting so far.

"You had proof of Barnes' traitorous actions before you made these decisions?" Thor asked, not letting it go. "I'm sure you realize these are serious allegations."

"Do I owe you or anyone a fucking explanation?" Steve shot back, pissed.

"Yeah, you do," Barnes chimed in. "Because the evidence suggests you're not managing your own turf all that well, boss." He put an ugly emphasis on the word "Boss." "You've taken hits to businesses you're supposed to be protecting. People who depend on you are losing business, people are getting hurt."

Smiling at the reminder, Steve sighed. "People getting hurt. Like the murder and rape your men committed in that shop on my turf? Like the girl you allowed Hansen to kidnap from a donut shop in my territory? She got hurt. He kept her for days."

"I didn't give him that order," Barnes said cooly.

"Doesn't matter," Stave said. "He still acted under your authority."

Barnes was now staring him down and Steve silently willed him to say something else. Say it. Tell them you were poisoned by my wife's guard. See how much respect you get for that sloppy shit.

"Anything else?" Steve dared him.

Cold silence.

"I get that you're still raw I took the lead," Steve told him, rising from his chair. "That's why you promised Banner a position at your side that I don't think you ever meant to give him. It's also why you turned Loguidice against me, got him to give you inside intel. You got him killed by Hansen."

"That was on Hansen." Barnes couldn't produce much color in his anger, likely from the poison, but his face darkened enough for Steve to see that he was really getting to him. "He knifed me, betrayed orders."

Like my wife's guard knifed you? A woman?

"You all know why, right?" Steve walked around the table even though Dyson had advised him against it. But he liked to pace when he talked. "Hansen and Neal took Dyson which I think was your plan. Right? They were supposed to draw me out, finish me off."

Thor listened intently to the exchange, not as amused as his brother seemed. No, he was dead serious and Steve had him on the hook.

"Hansen decided to lure my wife out instead," Steve told them. "Shot Loguidice in the face. What did you promise Neal for turning on me anyway?"

Barnes' smile didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't have to promise either of them much at all."

"The point is," Steve went on, "that you couldn't even control Hansen. Your own man. And you think you'd make a better leader of these families than me?"

Barnes was out of his chair, ready to lunge at Steve. Killmonger struggled to hold onto him.

Steve chuckled, watching the scene he'd created. Around the table, Tony and Sam watched passively, the Odinsons were attentive. Dyson looked proud and that was everything to him in that moment.

"Are you really the one leading your family, Rogers?" Barnes yelled. "Because all the nasty little presents you sent me just didn't seem like your style."

"What are you implying?" Thor asked him.

"Word has it Rogers got shot that day," Barnes said to the room. "After that, I got some none-to-subtle reminders of the bad blood between us. But they weren't his style at all. I think he got shot and he's struggling. I think Mrs. Rogers had a hand in this."

Tony's gaze moved from Barnes to Steve, almost comical interest so plain on his face.

"You're so fascinated with my wife, aren't you?" Steve said. "Why don't you tell them all of it?"

Tell them that you were bested by a woman and let's be done with it.

"Wait," Loki said with an artificial calm that didn't match the sheer glee in his eyes at the scene he was witnessing."Not to be indelicate, but isn't Mrs. Rogers your half-sister, Barnes?"

If looks could kill, Loki would have been dead on the floor. Steve had a hard time not laughing at that.

"She's not my anything," Barnes hissed, still struggling in Killmonger's hold. "She's an evil fucking bitch that you'll regret marrying one day, Rogers! I'd watch my back if I were you! Remember what her mother did to my family?"

"I thought she was a ballerina," Tony chimed in. "Huh."

Loki laughed out loud as Barnes managed to shake off his man's hold and charged at Steve. Scott and another of Steve's men caught him first. That didn't stop Steve from approaching, getting up in his enemy's face.

"You got shot, didn't you?" Barnes demanded.

"If I got shot," Steve said, "why are you the one who looks physically weak right now? Something you want to tell us?"

Steve could have shamed him there. He could have told the entire room what really happened to Barnes. But considering what Barnes had just shouted to the room about his wife, it was best to draw no more attention to her.

"I'm the head of these families, Barnes," Steve said in a calmer tone. "I won't tolerate any other challenges to this position."

The warning was clear, the room quiet now. Shoving Scott to the side, Killmonger took Barnes' arm to take control of the situation. Barnes' had broken out in a sweat, his face unnaturally pale and he was struggling to breathe.

"We understand," Killmonger said to Steve, struggling to keep his boss up because he looked ready to pass out.

Steve tipped his head towards the conference room door, giving his consent for Killmonger to get him out of there. Zemo, looking more than a little alarmed, followed them out.

The tone of the meeting was much calmer with their departure, tension thick in the air. Even Thor had nothing else to say as Steve went over his plans for the families moving forward. When the meeting dismissed, Steve lingered until it was only him and Dyson, Scott and another soldier outside the door.

"You made the statement," Dyson told him. "That means if Barnes so much as breathes wrong, you know what you have to do."

Steve nodded. He would have to take Barnes and his family out, ensuring nothing was left.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it," Steve told him.

Dyson nodded. "Still, it was a good meeting. It set the right tone."

Steve nodded but inside, he was elated. Dyson approved of the way the meeting was handled, how he dealt with Barnes. It was a new start, it was everything.

He couldn't wait to tell you about it.

When Yelena didn't answer your question, you glanced her way.

She was looking out the window. "The meeting couldn't be over yet," she said.

Was someone leaving?

Getting up, you walked to the window. Your first instinct was stand back and not make it obvious you were watching.

But wasn't this your house? You could stand in the window if you wanted to.

So you did. And sure enough, one sleek black luxury sedan was moving in the circular drive. It startled you when it stopped in line-of-sight from your window. The rear passenger window powered down and Buck Barnes was staring out that window in your direction. At you.

After a moment, the car started moving and the window went back up. You shivered at what the simple gesture meant for your future. The meeting only started fifteen minutes ago. That wasn't a good sign. At least no one else seemed to be leaving.

I'll get you!

Bucky Barnes' threat ran through your mind as you watched his car drive away.

A/N: There's a marathon smut scene coming next and it was either shorten it and tack it onto this chapter or make it a chapter on its own so... Very soon. Thank you!

@valsworldofcreativity @21stcenturywitchcraft @coconutqueen21 @bval-1 @caffiend-queen @sadlittlecountess @candy-and-writing @capsicle-shield @chaoticfiretaconerd @chrisevansgirl @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @coldmuffinbanditshoe @daughterofthenight117 @hv-chw3 @iheartsebstan @imanuglywombat @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @justrae9903 @lokislastlove @mariaenchanted @maxwelllee2020 @nekoannie-chan @nerdwholikesword @notyourtypicalrose @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @peaceinourtime82 @rainbowkisses31 @rayofdawnworld @richonne4life @rissysthoughts-blog @saiyanprincessswanie @scarletsoldier21-blog @shygirl-00 @supernaturaldean67 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @team-iron-wannabe-man @titty-teetee @tonib666 @villanellev @vitamingummies @what-is-your-plan-today @what-is-your-wish @xoxabs88xox @rosalynshields @naturalthrone22 @marvelovernfan @gotnofucks @eralen @kawairinrin @bluemusickid @geminievans1 @daughterofthenight117 @sunmoonandbuckyrecs @jesevans @kandis-mom @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @kmc1989 @curiousandjoyous @marvelouslyme96

#HIs Inheritance #Steve Rogers #Mafia AU #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #Bucky Barnes #Yelena Belova

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anonymityisfunwriter · 4 months ago

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My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader Summary: The rains that end your perfect, shining days whisper things in his ear that you'll never be entrusted with. But your boy only breaks his favorite toy.

a.n. - day 3!!! i hope you guys are enjoying! anyway, how many tortured poets inspired fics do you guys think i have in the drafts? hint, too many.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Anon's Birthday Celebration

"Then maybe you're better off without me!"

No, you're not.

You're not.

You fly up from the edge of your bed, doing everything to get him to see reason, to get him to see you, for once, "I never said that!"

"You didn't have to!" he booms.

Your hand reaches out to grip his bicep, but he wrenches his arm away.

And standing in your highest heels, in your best dress just for him, you chase after him, "I just want you to talk to me! I want you to not push me away!"

He snatches his tux jacket up, shrugging it over his shoulders, "I don't want to talk!"

"You don't want to talk or you don't want to talk to me?"

"Both!" The words are so casually cruel. He says it without pause, without remorse. He doesn't even notice the pained look that his words leave on your face like all the wind has left your lungs.

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing as she hears the argument echo through the walls of the Compound. "Oh, here we go again..."

The moment he whips open your door, you know what this night will look like.

You'll be his perfect doll, his trophy for the night. He'll smile, hold your hand, and won't speak more than a word to you the whole night.

He'll leave you wondering what went wrong, what you did wrong, what sent him spiraling into the abyss all over again.

And he'll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever went wrong.

"Steve!" You reach for his hand, but he drops your hand and keeps walking without so much as a second glance. "Steve!"

"Steve!"

He doesn't turn back around.

As you watch him walk downstairs, you feel a warm hand rest on your shoulder. "You okay?"

You nod, trying to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling down your cheeks. "He's just - in one of his moods, I guess."

"A mood?" Nat quirks an eyebrow. "That's the excuse?"

You suck in a breath. It's a shitty excuse. And it only sound worse with every time that you have to use it.

You sound like a broken record, a broken toy. You practically beg Natasha to pull the string for the latest excuse. "You know how he gets."

He only runs because he loves you...

"It's ironic that he always does this right before you've got to put on your best face in public."

You let out a long, deep sigh, "Nat..."

She raises her hands in surrender, "I'm just saying. You look amazing tonight, but tears don't go with the dress."

The urge to defend him bubbles within you.

It doesn't matter how much he breaks you, it's you he chooses to break.

You're his favorite toy.

He only runs because he loves you...

After a few moments to make sure the rivulets don't descend on your plastic smile, you go after him.

You find him seated in the car, sitting in the backseat like he knew you would give in and eventually follow after him.

It's all painfully silent. He stares out the car window, drowning in a darkness that you'll never get to see. You sit with your hands in your lap, the smooth silk of your dress crumpling under your fingers.

You hated nights like these. These galas were never fun for you. Still, you don't remember it being quite this hard.

As you step out in front of the flashing lights, Steve grips your waist, just enough to lay claim to you.

Because, in the end, you're still his favorite toy.

You roll back your shoulders. Your cherry lips pulled into a smile that you can only hope looks more genuine than it feels.

You can barely recall a time when your shining smile didn't feel so plastic. You were an Avenger. You were strong, independent. You stood tall and held your own. You were beloved in your own right - or at least, you used to be. Now, you were nothing more than the girlfriend to Captain America. Nothing more than his favorite toy.

You stand beside him in the line of reporters.

He refers to you often. He barely spares you a glance.

He presses loving kisses to the top of your head. He doesn't offer a single comforting word.

You've spent all night watching and waiting for the worst of his tortured heart to hit that you've barely noticed the night passing you by.

The reporter before you politely points the microphone at you. She smiles, tilting her head, "So what's it like?"

You blink at her, realizing that you've hardly been paying attention. You fix your distant smile with a chuckle, "What's what like?"

"What it like being the woman behind the man? Being the woman behind America's Golden Boy?"

"Oh..."

What is it like?

What's it like being queen of sandcastles that he destroys?

What it's like being his favorite toy?

The one he holds so tenderly, caresses with the most gentle of touches, only to be discarded and broken as he pleases?

You crack a smile, pretending to be coy. He hates it when you talk about him, about your relationship. He says he likes his privacy. He likes for it to be seen, not heard. But you think he means you.

You find yourself pulling the string, reminding yourself that he loves you. He only runs because he loves you.

You rest your hand on his chest, looking at him with all the adoration in the world, "I mean, he's - he's Captain America. What else it there to say? Like you said, he's America's Golden Boy."

You swear you can feel something break inside you. He's finally done it. His favorite toy is finally all smashed up.

You feel broken.

His favorite toy.

His broken toy.

He doesn't stay for the party, never does. It's a blur as he guides you back to the car with a hand on your hip.

The silence fills the car once again.

It's all silent as he calls the rain to end your days of wild once more. Back at the Compound. In your room. Watching as he stands before you. He means what he says, he doesn't want to talk, and he most certainly doesn't want to talk to you.

As you sit on the bed, watching as he methodically takes off each piece of his tux, he offers his first voluntary word of the night, "That camera guy was hitting on you."

A pang of joy flashes through your broken heart.

After all, your boy only breaks his favorite toy. You are his favorite toy. You always will be.

"I didn't notice. I was too busy worrying about you."

He rolls his eyes, "I told you to leave it alone."

And out of all the hearts he was offered, it was your tortured heart he stole. And one thing about Steve Rogers, he plays for keeps.

Your eyes snap up at him, examining those blue eyes that you feel in love with. "Why won't you ever just let me in?"

He refuses to hold your gaze, too afraid of what you might see. If he sees forever in your eyes, he'll smash it up.

The voices in his head are so much louder than you. And worst of all, you have no idea how to fight them off. The rains that end your perfect, shining days whisper things in his ear that he'll never trust you with.

You know that. And in some ways, you've always known that. It's a give and take, a push and pull. And as long as he keep pushing, keeps taking, you'll pull him as close as you can, you'll hold him through any storm. What other choice did you have?

For the second time tonight, you pull the string yourself. He only runs because he loves you.

"You're better off anyway," he whispers.

But you're not.

You're not.

You're not...

Steve Rogers Masterlist Anon's Birthday Celebration Inspired by Taylor Swift Series

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sunvmars · 1 year ago

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citrus | s.r. [4]

pairing: steve rogers x fem/afab reader

↞ previous | next ↠

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none i can think of

summary: steve explains himself

a/n: guys i literally spent two days writing this and couldn’t manage to stretch it to 3,000 words :,) this is not the end of the series contrary to how the end of the fic sounds. also my birthday was on tuesday so i apologize for the late update!

You sigh deeply, not knowing what to expect.

"Alright, I'm listening."

You walk over and sit on the edge of your bed. He follows to stand in front of you, awaiting directions on where to sit. All you give is a shrug and pat the spot next to you on the bed.

"I don't bite," you joke with a smirk.

He returns your smirk with one of his own, "Not typically," he says.

Your heart pounds with anticipation when he sits next to you. Anxiety seeps off of him and threatens to crawl into you.

"So, what's going on?" you question.

Steve takes a deep breath in and then out, trying to find the right words to start with. He knows there aren't any right words to start with in this situation, but he searches his brain for them anyways. He also knows that you probably won't wanna be around him, or with him, again after he tells you what he's been keeping from you. So, he seizes the opportunity to fully take you in: soft and bedridden hair, pajamas that hug your figure, eyes illuminated by the dim lights.

"It's about your past, y/n. And, before I start, I need you to understand that I didn't want to keep this from you but I thought it was the right thing to do," he states, his voice low and steady like he's walking on eggshells.

Your heart skips a beat at his words. Elaine Caldwell, the woman who raised you, wasn't your real mother and you've always know that. She never kept it a secret from you so you were bound to find out, but she wasn't open about your real parents either. She'd always say that she would tell you everything you wanted to know someday when you were ready. Elaine passed only a few months after you turned 18 and left you with all of her belongings, but nothing she owned told you anything about your parents. You have looked for any trace of your parents and family for years, but you always turn up with nothing.

"Do you know something…?"

"I know everything," he admits.

You listen in silence as he begins to tell you everything he knows about your parents, Genesis, and Zepher Hawthorne. You listen in stunned silence as he tells you about how you're the only trace your parents left behind and about how strong you truly are. It's like something out of a movie, you struggle to process everything he's telling you. And when he's done explaining, all you feel is a mixture of confusion, irritation, and fear swirling within you.

"Why now, Steven?" you question with a shaky voice. "Why are you telling me now? Why didn't you tell me before?"

His shoulders slump slightly when his gaze meets yours. He's more than aware that his decision to keep all of that from you hurt you more than he could know. The fact that you're hurt and he's the one that caused it makes him feel unimaginably guilty and regretful. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding to you.

"I should've told you earlier, I know, and I'm sorry for keeping it from you. I thought I was protecting you," he admits, his voice filled with remorse. "It's stupid, but I had your best interest in mind, y/n. The whole reason I'm telling you this tonight is because Hawthorne doesn't just suspect you're alive, he knows it now, and he's getting closer to finding you. I wanted to find him before I told you any of this but now the circumstances have changed."

"Hawthorne knows about me?"

"Yes, he does. I got a letter from him two days ago stating that he knows who you are. He's not only aware of your existence, but I think he also knows that you've been with me. And that's exactly what I was afraid of."

"What does he want?" you ask.

Steve's jaw tightens as he tries to choose his words carefully. He doesn't want you to worry too much- that can't be good for you or the baby. Yet, he refuses to lie to you or sugarcoat anything again.

"I don't know for sure, not yet. However, given his history, he might see you as a threat, but it's more likely that he…he could have other motives."

You already know what 'other motives' he's referring to. Hydra isn't very secretive with how they operate; he'd use you as a weapon or an experiment. You find yourself becoming overwhelmed as you contemplate the danger you're in.

"Do you have a plan..?"

"We're working on it. I promise to keep you updated from here on out."

"Who's we?" you ask curiously with an eyebrow cocked up at him.

"Me and Buck," he mumbles.

"No. No, no. One, or both, of you are going to get hurt. We have to tell somebody else, I can't lose either of you-"

"Y/n, we're both going to be fine. We're going to be okay," Steve says, cutting off your rambling. "You're going to be fine," he adds,

"Hydra infiltrated SHIELD once and I won't risk the information getting into the wrong hands. Everything about you relates to your adoptive mother, and that's how it appears in the SHIELD database, so let's keep it that way for right now."

He's right, and you hate that more than anything.

"What about Bucky?" you ask with concern. "He's putting himself in danger to help us, we can't just let him face this alone."

His eyes reflect concern for Bucky just like yours do. "We've come up with a plan to minimize the risks for him and we're staying in close contact. Bucky's resourceful and calculated, plus he's got experience with Hydra. If I even suspect that he needs me then I'll go, but right now I have to be here for you."

"You left me, Steven. Now you decide you have to be here for me? Didn't seem like a top priority a few weeks ago. What changed?"

Steve winces at your words that feel like a punch to the gut. He hates that he hurt you at all and he especially hates that you think he wanted to. He knows he deserves every bit of your anger and frustration, but it doesn't make hearing it any easier. He sighs deeply as he reaches out to gently take your hand. You hesitantly allow him to hold your hand in his.

"I can't take back the pain I caused you, no matter how badly I want to. But I can promise to never keep anything from you again, no matter how difficult or dangerous the truth may be."

You look into his crystal blue eyes and see the sincerity in them. You see more than the truth in him though. Despite the mistakes he's made, you see the man you fell in love with who only wants to protect you. Guilt pangs in your chest at how harsh you'd been, although he likely deserved it.

"I'm sorry, I appreciate your honesty. I'm just confused and angry and…I don't think there's an emotion I haven't felt since we sat down, actually."

"I understand. It's a lot to take in, yeah?"

"There's just one thing I still don't understand," you say before looking over at him.

"And that is?"

"If I've got all these mental abilities, why can't I use them?"

"They could be dormant or suppressed," Steve replies. "It's not entirely uncommon for superhuman abilities to stay hidden until certain conditions are met or an event triggers them."

"I don't want you to try to use your abilities until we know more about them," he adds, "Bruce can probably run some tests for us."

"But what if we run out of time by then? What if he finds me? If he's still with Hydra, we have a better chance of taking them down if I know how to use whatever abilities I have."

"We have time, y/n," he reassures you gently, "Besides, you're in a tower full of superhumans and skilled agents. You're as safe as you can be here."

"I can't just sit here and wait for something to happen, Steve… If there's a chance that I can use these powers to protect us then I need to try."

Steve sighs when he sees nothing but pure determination in your eyes. Being as stubborn and insistent as you can be frustrates him sometimes, but he's well aware that he loves that about you. You're a fighter- you always have been and he only hopes that you always will be.

"Okay," he concedes. "We'll talk to Bruce tomorrow then, hm? We'll see if there's a safe way to test and develop your abilities. But you have to promise me you'll be careful and, if anything goes wrong, it's under my discretion whether or not you fight."

"I don't need you to be my damn father, Steven," you grumble, irritation laced in your voice.

He chuckles at your statement, earning an eye roll from you. "Believe me, I know you don't. But you mean everything to me, honey, and I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you or our baby."

"The baby," you whisper to yourself.

Your hand instinctively moves to your slightly bloated belly as you absorb the situation at hand. The baby growing inside of you, your unborn child, is at risk because of the secrets of your past. You begin to feel selfish for hardly thinking of the baby before you thought about yourself. A frown plants itself onto your lips and it makes Steve frown too. Then, when his words finally sink in, you repeat them almost like a question.

"Our baby…?"

A familiar lump forms in his throat. He finds himself unable to come up with a response, thinking he'd said something wrong. All he can muster up is a, "Yeah, our baby."

"You don't have to say that just to make me feel better, it's only going to make things worse."

"I never didn't want this baby, just like I never didn't want you. I didn't mean what I said earlier. I want both of you forever and I've never wanted anything more," he reassures you, trying his best to offer up a small smile.

"Are…are you sure? You can't take it back again."

"Wouldn't dream of it, I've never been more sure of anything else."

"Steve," you mumble. "I just wish that you had trusted me enough to tell me about this sooner."

"I should have. I should have trusted you with this from the start and I'm sorry for not doing so, but I will fix this, y/n. I'm going to make this right."

You don't respond, unable to find the words to say. He takes that as his cue to say something he probably shouldn't.

"I don't expect you to believe me, but I will do whatever it takes to make this right. And however long it takes for you to forgive me, I'll wait for you, even if that time never comes. You can hate me forever but I will never stop loving you; you're it for me, baby."

He doesn't mean to say it, but there it is. "Baby." Who knew someone could make a word sound so good? It could never sound so good rolling off of someone else's tongue and you hate that. You want to hate him, you want to hit him and fight with him for lying to you, but you can't. You're pissed with him yet all you can find yourself wanting is to be in his arms again- to be his baby again.

"Y/n? Did I say something wrong?"

You're not sure if it's the hormones, his willingness to protect you and the baby, or just you but something urges you to lay your head onto his chest- so you do that. Your head rests on his warm chest and your arms snake under his arms to wrap around his waist. You'd never fully grasped how much you missed the sound of his heartbeat until now. A heartbeat: It's something so simple but it makes your heart feel complete again, like both of your hearts are back in sync as they should be.

Steve's mind blanks and his body stiffens at your sudden movement. At first, he thinks he's simply daydreaming, but then he feels your grip tighten on his shirt. Your body shakes slightly and, even though you're silent, he knows you're crying. You're crying for the second time in twenty-four hours and it's his fault. He slowly, cautiously wraps his arms around you to pull you closer to him.

He lets you cry into him, not saying anything as you do. Sometimes words can't heal wounds and he knows that. He knows he's hurt you, but he's ready and willing to give you all the time and space you want to process everything.

Minutes pass in silence until your tears subside. You pull back slightly from Steve's chest, sniffling as you wipe away your tears. Your eyes make their way up to meet his.

"I just… I wanted to hear your heart again," you confess softly.

"I'm here, and I always will be. I'm so sorry for ever leaving you, y/n."

His eyes soften and he reaches up to cup your cheek. He smiles softly, wiping a stray tear from under your eye with his thumb. You find solace in his touch. You're so, so angry and confused but it's as though the tenderness in his gaze has the power to soothe your ache. In this very moment, it's easier to give in and let him care for you than to fight yourself on it. Honestly, you're not sure how much fight you have left for the day. So, you let out a shaky sigh and then lean into his touch for a moment.

"I know you're sorry, Steve," you reply softly. "And I want to believe you, I really do, but it's going to take time for me to fully trust you again."

"I know, and I'll give you all the time you need. I just want you to know that I'm here now, forever."

"I'm… I'm so angry with you still, and it'll take a while to get over that, but I don't think I have the energy to be angry anymore tonight."

"What do you need from me, honey?"

"Just wanna be us again for tonight," you admit, vulnerability laced in your voice.

"We can do that."

For now, the weight of the truth lingers in the air and so does the pain it's caused. You offer him a faint smile and he returns it with that perfect one of his own. From the way his heart flutters when he looks at you, he can't believe he went without you for so long. His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and back again. Then he finds himself wanting needing to kiss you.

"Y/n," he whispers gently, almost so gentle that it's inaudible.

His thumb continues to trace along your cheek. It's a tender caress that says everything he can't put into words. You can feel your heart pounding hard in your chest under the intensity of his gaze. The ache in your heart, the sudden need for his presence, it all becomes overwhelmingly clear.

"I don't want to rush things, but…"

He doesn't have to finish for you to know what he's going to say because you already know. You feel it too- that magnetic pull between you. Without hesitation, you lean in, closing the remaining distance between both of you. The kiss is short and sweet. It's soft and filled with a yearning that has been building up for weeks. It's a kiss that carries the weight of the words neither of you could find it in you to say. It carries the promise that you're still here and that he's willing to fight for you and the baby.

Steve rests his forehead against yours when your lips part. His eyes lock onto yours and he traces your jaw with his thumb. He knows that this doesn't mean things will instantly go back to how they were before, but this moment is one he appreciates anyways.

"Y/n," he coos softly, "I'll spend every day of my life making it up to you if I have to. I'll prove to you that I'll never let you down again."

You offer him another small and weary smile. It's a start, a tiny step towards rebuilding what once was. Neither of you has all the answers or knows what the future holds, but for now you have each other. And that's more than enough.

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