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cocobwrites · 2 years

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A girl van dream

Billionaire playboys (Bruce Wayne x Reader x Tony Stark)

Summary: Tony isn't happy to lose you to another billionaire.

Pairings: Dark! Tony Stark x Reader, Dark! Bruce Wayne x Reader

A/N: So here's a silly little crossover fic my brain cooked last night. I kept it short because I'm not sure anybody would like this.

Word count: 2.2k (I can't write anything long these days ><)

Trigger warnings for: Some stalking, Non-Con, possessive behavior, Some explicit stuff but nothing heavy

My other works are listed here.

DARK. 18+. You're responsible for the media you choose to consume.

Tony loves the way your brain works. It bears a striking resemblance to his...so how can he not love it? When you see problems that need solving, you don’t simply think outside the box. You crush the box and build a brand new shape from scratch. There isn’t an angle you don’t try to explore. He’s even caught you using candy one time.

It still brings a smile to his face whenever he thinks about it.

You bring a smile to his face.

Sure, he pushed you sometimes. But it’s because he’s acutely aware of your potential. You always took his criticism so well, with such a sweet expression. It made him twitch in his pants.

He sought to mold you, teach you, nudge you. Young, impressionable, brilliant… gorgeous. Clearly, you were made for him.

Which is why it was such a shock to him when he received your resignation letter. You cited how unappreciated you felt, how his “verbal abuse” made you feel small, insignificant.

How nonsensical. Maybe sometimes he had driven you to the cusp of tears. Hell, maybe he’d even seen you weep when you believed no one was watching. This was all in your best interest. Besides, he praised you just as often. He loves the way your face lights up when he does. He’s often wondered if you’d harbor the same expression if you were praised in… different circumstances.

A misunderstanding is what it was. You misread his intentions.

And now, he has to watch you on tv smiling… at him.

The glass of scotch nearly shatters in his harsh grip.

A rising star in the tech field with groundbreaking ideas, Bruce Wayne was quick to poach you. There are even whispers of a promotion coming your way soon, as head of scientific research and development, now that Lucius Fox has vacated the position and become Wayne Enterprises’ CEO.

Anger boils within Tony’s veins at the prospect. You don’t belong in Gotham, with all its filth and crime and gloom, or that weirdo who lurks the streets in a bat costume. And you definitely do not belong with Bruce Wayne, glowing under his praise at a press conference as the man’s eyes sparkle when they rest upon you.

He can barely keep the annoyance out of his tone as he makes a phone call.

“Ms. Potts, get the jet ready.”

Bruce doesn’t get to keep many things. His life is a string of tragic losses, each more heartbreaking than the last. First his parents, then Rachel, Talia, Jason, Tim… The list is endless. Every time he loses someone, it carves a deeper hole in him, a bottomless well of darkness he slowly sinks into. There is no room for light or love on the path he’s chosen to walk. He resigned himself to that decades ago.

But then he met you. In Lucius Fox’s office as he was interviewing you. With your thick-rimmed glasses, your messy, haphazardly swept up hair and your nervous squirming, you caught his attention instantly.

You were such a sweet, endearing, adorable thing. What the hell were you doing in Gotham?

At first, Bruce brushed it off, his obvious attraction to you. He kept his focus on patrolling, solving cases and training Stephanie, who recently took up the Batgirl mantle. Maybe if he dedicated all his time to yet again solving Nygma’s riddles before he can poison the city’s water supply or following up the trail of bodies left by Killer Croc in Gotham’s sewers… his mind would wander less on the way your lips parted when you were surprised, and all the lewd things he wanted those lips to say, all the things he wanted to shove between those delicious lips. One thing in particular. One that throbbed painfully whenever you flashed him that innocent smile.

Unfortunately for him, you are wickedly smart. It took you barely any time to figure out what he does at night, to see past his featherbrained philanderer persona. You saw him. And his heart was even more lost than before. No amount of sleeping with models and actresses could purge the memory of you out of his brain. It isn’t simple physical attraction. Bruce wants all of you.

So, for the first time in over three decades, Bruce finds himself hoping. Hoping that he can keep something. Hoping that he can keep you.

As you get out from under the hood of the Batmobile, still achingly attractive despite your face being smeared with grease, Bruce makes a split-second decision.

He will have you tonight.

“I’d be honored if you would be my date at tonight’s Wayne foundation’s annual fundraiser.”

As you rise and wipe your hands with a towel, a frown etches itself on your features. Confusion is quickly replaced by a look of understanding.

“Oh, is it a stakeout? Will the fundraiser be targeted? It’s why you need me, right?”

Bruce folds his arms, a secret smile playing upon his lips. God, you really are adorable. He does need you in fact. Just not in the ways you imagine. But, by the end of the night, if all goes according to plan - and his plans rarely fail - you’ll be too busy moaning and weeping on his cock to make the distinction.

“Yes, it’s for a mission,” Bruce lies smoothly.

Fondness blooms within him at how excited you get when he says that. You’re so eager to please, so impatient to prove yourself. He knows that with the right incentive, you can become all that he needs. He simply needs to be patient. Not that there’s any reason to rush. You aren’t going anywhere. He will make sure of that.

"You look gorgeous. I knew this dress would look perfect on you."

Warmth rushes to your face at Mr. Wayne's compliment. It astonished you to get home and find the blue box wrapped in a golden bow on your doorstep. The gown is exquisite and seems more expensive than anything you've ever owned combined. Refusing it was your first instinct. But Mr. Wayne sent you a text saying not to bother coming to work the next day if you didn't wear it.

As he's an incredibly straight-faced man, it's sometimes difficult to recognize when he's being facetious. But there was a hint of seriousness in his demand that made you question if it was a joke.

Surely Mr. Wayne wouldn't disrupt your life because of one silly request?

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you reply.

A momentary display of emotion fleets across his face as his forehead creases briefly.

"I told you to call me Bruce."

Is it annoyance bleeding in his voice? That'd be ludicrous. Why would your boss be annoyed at you addressing him the way you should?

Fiddling with your hands, you say, "It's still hard for me since I respect you so much, Mr. Wayne. You're not just my boss…" Your voice dips to a hushed whisper. "You're also him."

You don't know what to make of the glimmer in his gaze when you finish your sentence.

"Can I get you anything?" Bruce Wayne asks, surprising you with the suddenness of his question. "We could get drinks and go enjoy them in my private VIP lounge."

Blinking, you wonder how this relates to the mysterious mission. Mr. Wayne hasn't shared all the details with you. But he's Batman; you guess he doesn't have to inform you on every aspect of his plan to successfully carry it.

"I'm not sure…" you reply with a frown, a strange sensation dancing on your spine.

"If you play along, you'd be helping me…" His voice deepens as his eyes burn with intensity. "helping Batman. Tonight could easily go wrong if you don't help me."

A little ashamed to have doubted the hero, you lower your head.

"Oh god, of course. I'm so sorry, Mr. Wayne. Champagne is fine."

If pretending to be Bruce Wayne's date helps Batman do his work, you shouldn't hesitate. It dawns on you why he chose you and not one of the stunning, leggy models he usually flaunts at these events. It will probably be easier to use the lounge as a cover to sneak away to stop whatever threat hangs over the fundraiser in your presence, as you’re already aware of his other identity as the caped crusader.

Bruce leads you to the lounge with one hand lingering over the small of your back. And if his hand is a bit too low for two people with a professional relationship, you don't let your mind dwell on that fact for too long. He has to sell the deception after all.

A valet brings you and Mr. Wayne your drinks and swiftly disappears. The champagne sends a warm, pleasant buzz coursing through your veins. It takes you a while to realize Bruce has hardly moved, his gaze on you intent and piercing as he leans back.

Gulping another sip, you put down your drink on the nearby glass table.

“Mr. Wayne, shouldn’t you-”

The inquiry dies in your throat, smothered by Bruce’s demanding lips as they collide with yours. You claw at his jaw to make him stop. Instead he moans hungrily against your mouth, his tongue sliding expertly against yours.

You almost melt under the kiss, but his hands sneak under your dress, grazing your inner thigh, bringing you back to harsh reality.

“Mr Wayne!” you breathlessly yelp as he finally releases your lips. Breathless and flushed, his hot breath tickles your face. He looks undone, his eyes wild, less put together than you’ve ever seen him.

He chuckles. Grasping your chin with one hand, his eyelids droop lustfully.

“I’m on the verge of making you mine, beautiful… Call me Bruce.”

He easily tackles you to the couch, pressing his weight on you and keeping your wrists pinned above your head. When you try to scream, his other hand drapes over your mouth. Betrayal and hurt mingle inside your chest.

You thought you could trust Mr. Wayne.

Wide, teary eyes silently beg for mercy. They’re met with apathy.

The whisper in your ear fills you with dread. “Sweetie, you have to promise not to scream if I remove my hand. You know what I’m capable of.” A dusky mist hazes over his gaze. “I don’t want to have to hurt you to make my point.” Fear presses inside your chest, its crushing weight keeping you silent. You’ve witnessed him take down a dozen men in a few minutes. And break criminals’ bones like one would snap a pencil.

As shivers course up and down your frame, you nod.

Bruce slowly removes his hand. A tearful gasp escapes you. He coos gentle reassurances, his hands cupping your face.

“Mr. W… Bruce,” you correct yourself as his expression darkens. “I never agreed to that. I thought-”

Licking his lips, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I know, sweetie, which is why I had to take matters into my own hands.”

He steals your lips again, swallowing each of your shaky whimpers. Goosebumps rise over your skin as a taut bulge keeps rubbing your thigh, Bruce hissing into your mouth at the friction.

Your chest heaves as he runs his palm over your breasts while his other hand creeps between your thighs. Your legs shake and your breath hitches as he slides between your folds, grazing your sensitive nub.

“Mr. Wayne…” you mumble, lids fluttering as you tear into your lip to muffle your lustful collapse.

A long drag of his fingers against your entrance draws a sharp cry from you. He growls in your ear. “I told you to call me Bruce, beautiful. I want my name on your lips when I fuck you. Is that understood?” he inquires with the utmost seriousness.

Stray drops of salt skip over your cheeks as you acquiesce.

“Wayne… You really have to learn not to touch what isn’t yours.”

Your heart bounces in your chest at the sudden voice booming through the lounge. A startlingly familiar voice. Bruce’s massive frame untangles from you and his fingers leave your cunt. The abrupt absence of his warm body above yours stirs a strange feeling in your gut. He shields you from the newcomer, hiding your indecency.

“Stark… You let her go. She isn’t yours anymore.” Bruce crosses his arms, his eyes flickering dangerously. “In fact, I’m pretty sure she never was.”

Tony scoffs. “I didn’t hear everything but it seems to me like she couldn’t wait to get away from you.”

A tension fills the room, making your hairs stand on end. You sigh and rearrange your clothes. Getting up on wobbly feet, you look between Bruce and Tony.

“I’m calling an uber home,” you announce curtly.

They both speak at the same time.

“My driver can…”

“Alfred can…”

“No,” you say firmly. It’s clear each one is itching to say something but they refrain, and you’re grateful. It’s not the time or place for some sort of superhero skirmish.

Exhaling your relief, Tony’s voice reaches your ears as you brush past him.

“We aren’t done, honey. Not by a long shot.”

“That’s my line, Stark,” Bruce barks from the back of the lounge. “I won’t let you go so easily, beautiful.”

Gripping your head as a headache starts knocking into your skull, you scurry away before any of the overbearing billionaires can follow.

#got Batman on the brain #tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #bruce wayne x reader #tony stark x black reader #dark bruce wayne #bruce wayne x black reader #dark tony stark x reader #bruce wayne #dark bruce wayne x reader #tony stark

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cocobwrites · 2 years

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happy black history month, reblog black writers

#black history month #support black writers #black girl writing

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cocobwrites · 2 years

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This was so damn adorable!

all the things you are

pairing ~ jake jensen x f!reader

word count ~ 2.9k

summary ~ after missing out on every excuse to visit you over the holidays, he decides just visiting his friend is enough of an alibi to hang out with you, yeah, just to hang out with a friend, no other reason, not like he's in love with you or anything.

warnings ~ fluff, jake jensen awkwardness, mutual pining but they're idiots, mild language, mention of alcohol, friends to lovers

a/n ~ this one is for @stargazingfangirl18 , @navybrat817 and @drabblewithfrannybarnes happy hoelidays challenge!! as soon as i watched this movie i absolutely fell in love with the Massive Dork that is jake jensen, and literally almost jumped out of my seat when i saw this man was selected for me!! my prompts were holiday dinner, "this is not what i meant when i said we should plan a romantic holiday outing!", and mutual pining! anyways!! without any further ramblings, i hope you all enjoy!! mwauh!!

He had missed Thanksgiving.

He had also missed Christmas, and also New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, and Kwanza, even Hanukkah.

Any excuse to go visit you for the holidays had passed him by simply because he just couldn't work up the nerve.

He huffed to himself at the thought, his fingers anxiously drumming on his worn out armchair when an idea suddenly popped into his head.

Almost dropping his phone at the speed at which he ripped it from his pocket, he flipped through the screen, a hushed, victorious 'aha' escaping his lips as he tapped the calendar icon. Maybe he would just wait for your next birthday, he thought, but after scrolling much too far through the calendar, he realized how much longer he would have to wait for that, and he wasn't sure how much more waiting his heart could take.

Valentines Day? He wondered, laughing to himself. A few years ago, he probably would have kicked himself for even putting any thought on the holiday he had so often ridiculed. 'It's just a marketing ploy! It's not even a real holiday!' He would so often hear himself saying when that time came around.

But so much had changed since then.

Because now, he knew you.

He had always considered himself to be a tough guy, Jake Jensen, the technology expert, under the radar, knows everything about everyone, master of hand to hand combat and even better with the ladies, Jake Jensen, but the instant your gaze met his, he was reduced to nothing but a bumbling mess.

He was sure you had met him at his absolute worst moment, yelling and jeering at some knows-nothing coach at his niece's soccer game, wearing his treasured, highlighter pink Petunias tee shirt. How anyone could look at him and think of him as anything less than a maniac was beyond him.

It was when his friends began the struggle of tearing him from the field did he see you.

You had really only given him a passing glance at first, quickly looking back at your friend to continue whatever discussion he had surely interrupted with his outburst.

He could have sworn every bit of air was sucked from his lungs right then, he found himself suddenly hoping that none of his friends had realized how he had became so quiet all of the sudden.

It was the kind of moment he had always groaned over when he couldn't find anything but shitty romantic comedies to watch on the outdated motel television. Guy sees girl - guy falls in love instantly - guy becomes an annoyingly romantic sap for said girl - guy and girl live happily ever after. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, almost as if to push the idea from his mind entirely, but when he opened his eyes again, the fluttering, butterfly feeling he hadn't felt since he was still a prepubescent techie in middle school, still remained.

His legs seemed to speed up on their own accord as he drifted away from his friends, he couldn't remember the last time he had been so nervous, almost scoffing to himself when he felt how he could hear his own thundering heart rate in his ears.

He rounded the chain link fence, almost throwing himself onto the metal when he finally spotted you, muttering a painfully apologetic "Sorry" when he saw how you had jumped. He really hadn't meant to scare you, but if scaring you meant hearing that adorable little squeak come from your mouth, he wouldn't mind doing it again.

"Can I get your number!" He yelled bluntly over the enthused clapping of the parent filled crowd.

You smiled, your nose scrunching between your eyebrows when you finally turned to him, before glancing quickly to your friend sitting on the bleachers, you scrunched your damn nose, and you expected him to not fall in love with you? He was almost too distracted to even realize you started repeating numbers, but when he finally became conscious, he scrambled, furiously patting down his pockets in search of his phone, which he apparently left in the car like a goddamn idiot.

"You get all that?" You smiled, and he could feel the creeping, furious blush that threatened to turn his entire face an embarrassingly bright shade of red.

"N-No" He sputtered, "Could you repeat that?" He tried his best not to audibly wince at his lack of suavity.

You tilted your head for a moment, "Do you need a pen? Or something?"

He looked up at you, seeing how gentle your smile had remained during his display of incapability. If you were anyone else, he would have probably ran away by now, already beginning the process of tucking this whole experience away in the very back of his mind, only to be uncovered in those odd hours of the night where his own brain decided to torment him with the memory, but he found he didn't feel the overwhelming urge to forget this moment.

He kind of wanted to remember this.

Even if you spat in his face right now, if you called him an idiot for even trying and turned your back on him, if this was all that he got from you, he'd want to remember it.

He'd want to remember you.

"No, no, I got it this time" He smirked, "I got a photographic memory."

He had to stop himself from letting out the appreciative moan that threatened to spill from him as he heard your laugh. Yours was the kind of laugh that made him want to never stop talking, just in hopes that something he said could draw that sound from you again.

It reminded him of Summer, when people almost had no choice but to step outside with a smile on their face as they felt the sunlight wash over them. He couldn't fully explain why, but your laugh had that same effect on him.

You repeated your phone number, slower this time, allowing for him to repeat each digit over and over until he was certain it had been ingrained within the ridges of his brain.

"Jake! C'mon!"

Of course. He grumbled to himself, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes in front of you, he sighed, "I'll call you later?" A hopeful, childlike smile plastered on his face.

Another boisterous cheer from the crowd cut you off before you even opened your mouth to speak, the noises accompanied by various whistles and yells from a few familiar voices coming from behind him. Your lips drew into a thin line of annoyance at the disruption before you finally nodded at him.

"Jake!" He could hear how Pooch's tone had now become increasingly exasperated, and Jake could only imagine the teasing that surely awaited him once he finally tore himself from your presence.

"I gotta go!" He yelled over the crowd, earning another smile from you, "Later! I promise!" he called, almost tripping over his own feet as he eventually turned from you.

Later, he chuckled as he thought to himself, if he could even wait that long.

A few phone calls, game nights, and coffee shop date- meetings, later, you two had become close friends.

Just friends.

Nothing less, and unfortunately, Jake thought, nothing more.

He thought of calling you, his finger hovering over your name in is contacts, but as he looked around his slowly deteriorating apartment, the tacky, patterned wallpaper peeling from every corner accented by the mismatched furniture scattered around the living room, he knew he could never bring you back here, you deserved better.

But what excuse did he have? Every other time he had called you or 'accidentally' ran into you at some popular cafe he always had an something to cover his tracks, too embarrassed to confess how he was simply just thinking of you and decided to stop by, or how he just missed the sound of your voice.

Wasn't just wanting to see a friend enough of an excuse? He wondered, taking a deep breath, his teeth pulling on his bottom lip as he thought, you guys were friends, and friend's hang out, right?

He shot up out of his chair before he had a moment to back down from his own idea, clumsily grabbing his car keys from the coffee table before heading out the door.

Jake groaned as he unceremoniously dropped the last of the grocery bags in front of your door, he wasn't sure if he'd ever gotten anything more than a few boxes of Macaroni and a six pack of beers on his weekly trips to the grocery store.

Three different types of sugars, pasta, flour, chocolate chips, vanilla extract, vanilla icing, chocolate icing, milk, tomato sauce, eggs, butter, powdered sugar, and enough rainbow sprinkles to kill the Grinch, he was even impressed with himself.

He swallowed thickly before raising his fist to knock, but what if you had someone over? He knew he should have called or at least texted you first, but he wanted this to be a surprise, or maybe he was just too worried you'd turn him down if he asked.

"C'mon Jake..." He whispered to himself before finally knocking on your door.

"Coming!" He heard your muffled, cheerful voice from behind the door, and he couldn't help but smile.

You looked flustered as you threw open the door, though your smile never faltered as you greeted him, his name falling from your lips like a sigh.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything" He mumbled, "I didn't know what to bring so I just kind of got everything..." He added, stepping aside to show you the countless paper grocery bags he had picked up, filled with every ingredient he could think of that could possibly be used to make cookies. "Sorry, it's probably too much, I-" He looked up reluctantly to look at you, "Thought we could have a fun uh, holiday outing... thing" He sputtered, before clearing his throat and correcting himself, "Well, I guess an in-ing...?" He swallowed, trying his best not to visibly cringe at his own lack of verbal competence. "I know the holidays are kinda over and all, sorry about that." His gaze was now fixed on his shoes as he anxiously rubbed his neck, silently wishing that Cougar would take him out right then and there. "But I just kind of wanted to see you."

There was a moment of silence between the two of you before you finally responded, "Jake, this is-"

His breathe hitched in his throat as he waited for you to finish, your mouth slightly opening and closing as he watched the gears turn in your head.

"What did I do to deserve this?" You laughed, shaking your head.

"What didn't you do" He quickly replied, "It's the least I could do to thank you for putting up with me."

"You don't have to thank me for that," You grumbled, a shy sort of smile gracing your lips, "It's always good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too."

He knew he shouldn't have even been giving himself the hope, but the thought that you might have been thinking of him in his absence made him want to just cradle your cheeks and kiss you right in the doorway, though he fought the urge for now.

You smiled, and it seemed that every anxiety he had been harboring since he had first left his own apartment dissipated. He watched as your face fell into that gentle, content expression that melted his heart every time, how could one person make him feel so warm?

Your soft voice abruplty brought him back to Earth, "Can I help you with these bags?"

"Jake!" You squealed, your hands too preoccupied with rolling out the Sugar Cookie dough to remove the pot of water that was boiling over on the stove.

"Got it!" He almost yelped as he grabbed the handles of the pot, doing his best to not send it crashing down onto the floor as he quickly placed it into the sink.

Jake cursed at his quickly reddening hands, only to be swiftly distracted by how you threw your head back as you laughed.

A devilish smirk grew on his lips as he watched you, "I could've been seriously injured!"

You tried to sputter out some response, but you only continued to laugh.

He could get used to this.

Jake pouted teasingly, "I could've been put in the burn-unit and you're laughing?"

"This is not what I meant when I said we should plan a romantic holiday outing!" You exclaimed, pointlessly wiping your hands on your now flour-covered apron before ducking under the counter to grab some more cookie cutters.

Jake froze, you couldn't have meant that, it probably just slipped out. Romantic? Is this what you thought this was?

You promptly shot up from the floor, various shaped cookie cutters in hand, a speckle of flour on your forehead, the ghost of a smile on your lips as you probably asked him something about what shape he preferred, but he was too distracted to care.

He hated how at home he felt with you. He hated how he knew when he finally returned to his dismal apartment, how he'd never be able to sleep knowing how his place would never feel as comforting and kind. He knew he'd never be able to have you, and yet, also knew that he'd never be able to find anyone better. He hated how you looked at him most of all. Your eyes all wide and bright and so filled with happiness. He hated how you made him feel, like he had a chance.

But then you laughed again, a hearty, genuine, teary eyed, scrunched nose laugh as you looked at him.

"You're cute when you laugh." The words tumbled from him before he even had a chance to stop himself.

"You're pretty cute yourself" You almost instantly replied, like the words had been waiting on your tongue the entire evening.

A small, self assured smirk grew on his lips as he thought.

Maybe he did have a chance after all.

"Hey, could I talk to you for a minute?" He stammered, instantly wanting to pluck the words from the air.

"Yeah, of course"

He couldn't help but notice the twinge of concern that laced your tone as you reluctantly placed down your cookie cutter.

"It's nothing bad, I promise" He added, trying not to worry you too much, "I just- I wanted to thank you..."

"Jake, I should be thanking you for bringing all this-"

"No really, I'm serious" He hadn't realized how his fingers began to trace mindless patterns in the leftover flour on the counter, but his movements were instantly paused when you placed your hand over his.

"Is everything okay?" You asked, your brows furrowed as you looked at him.

"Yeah, of course!" He answered, hating how his voice shook as he replied. "More than okay actually, I just needed- wanted-" He huffed, taking a deep breath as he tried to sputter out at least a semblance of a coherent thought.

But then you gave his hand a quick squeeze as you smiled at him, nodding. He could almost hear the words that were laced within the gesture, "Take all time you need."

He found himself shaking his head, having no idea how he hadn't said the words to you already after all this time. You were always so endlessly patient with him, even when he made stupid jokes that even sent him reeling from embarrassment, even when he spent months away from you on missions, you would always be waiting for him when he returned. And even when he couldn't ever find the words to tell you how he felt for you, you still were always there for him.

Jake was certain he had never said anything more true in his life as he finally gathered his thoughts. "I love you. I'm pretty sure I've loved you since I first met you, and I don't want to ruin our friendship or anything, so just let me know and I'll shut up right now, but-"

In an instant, your lips met his. His eyes were wide from shock and confusion, but quickly fluttered closed as he melted against you. His hands fell from the counter top, trailing his fingers down your sides until finally finding purchase on your hips as he pulled you impossibly closer to his chest. He groaned in appreciation as he felt you grab the collar of his tee shirt, pulling him deeper into all that was you.

Gradually, soft, reluctant movements became more certain. His lips moved gently over yours, though there was an air of something more lingering behind his actions. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to say anything else after he finally pulled away from you, everything worth being said was being uttered wordlessly now.

"I love you." The words fell from your lips as a breathless whisper when you finally parted from him, still wrapped in each others arms.

Jake could still feel the gentle touch of your lips on his as he stared back at you, he wished he could bottle the electric feeling that ran through his spine as he kissed you. It felt like so much more than that though, like it was the combination of all the times you had offered to help him cook dinner after he got home from a mission, all the movie nights were you had both woken up on the couch in a mess of tangled limbs. It was every time he had called you in the middle of the night when sleep refused to come to him, and it was every time you answered. It was that first day he had met you, and every night he had dreamed of you afterward.

It was it was you and him and nothing else.

And he decided right then, that was all he would ever really need.

i love this himbo man, i love him. that is all. i hope you all enjoyed!! i know i thoroughly enjoyed writing for this absolute dork!! as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always always appreciated!! mwauh!! i hope you are all doing so well!!

like what you read? check out my masterlist for more!

#so sweet #a good pick me up

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cocobwrites · 2 years

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seems that Chrome has around 60-65% market share, so it’s not totally dominating the market yet but it’s worrying that we’re basically reliant on Apple and Microsoft to hold the line.

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cocobwrites · 2 years

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I know I’m late to the party, but they way you incorporated the senses into these scenes was just masterful

Necessary Arrangements: Part 4: Parley

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader; Ari Levinson x (Different) Fem!Reader Word Count: 11,245 (I’M NOT EVEN SORRY) Summary: Andy and Ari meet to discuss business and enjoy the progression of their respective relationships in between. Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Explicit language. Mob AU. Unprotected sex. Oral sex (m receiving). Mentions of murder, violence, drug trafficking, gambling, prostitution, escort services, and various other mob activities. 18+ only!

A/N: Alright lovelies, time to bring our favorite mob babes together 🥴Just an FYI: it was a little tricksy to have both Readers together in the same scene since reader inserts are usually one POV lol, so that didn’t really happen - when either Andy or Ari are with their girl, she’s the specific Reader for that babe, ja feel? Also I maaaay just have one more surprise for you, and it’s a good one! Enjoy! 😘

Necessary Arrangements Series Masterlist

Keep reading

#this is amazing #trifecta of fine

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cocobwrites · 2 years

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Well, Walt might not have been good bait for the fish, but I need to know who put him in the bag

The Devil's Crossroad (Teaser)

Pairing: EastCoastMafiaDon!Bucky x (?) x WestCoastMafiaDon!Steve

w/c: 900

Summary: When two opposing Dons start converging on territory neither of them have claimed their men start to turn up in pieces. East and West meet in the middle, but what's waiting for them when they get there?

Warnings: Murder. Descriptions of gore. A whole lot of cursing.

A/N: If this turns enough heads then I'll probably turn it into a series, but my brain put this together today and I wanted to at least put something out into the world.

Divider by @firefly-graphics , header by me

Steve was lounged back against the bench of his deep-sea fishing boat, the breeze coming off the ocean waves ruffling his blonde hair.

“Wait, so that’s all of them?”

“Yeah, that’s all of ‘em, boss. Every last guy we sent out there to gather intel, all dropped off on our doorstep this morning.”

Sam shook his head, just as perplexed as Steve was, sipping on his gin from a crystal tumbler. A few feet from them sat six black trash bags full of cubed meat, the only tell that it was human were the neatly labeled tags with the victim’s names in a loopy cursive. One of the bags sat open, a full eyeball staring at the both of them.

“You think Barnes already knows?” Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he stared into the bottom of his rum and coke. The Rogers family had been making plans to push the west coast border for months, meticulously planning routes and turf wars, spending nearly all the money they made in paying off commissioners and city council board members.

“Barnes? In Omaha? What the fuck is there to profit from in that fuckin’ corn town?”

“Meth?”

“Seems a little low brow for the Barnes family.” Sam looked skeptical over the rim of his glass.

“Maybe they’re struggling over there – linked up with a smaller family in the area, got ‘em doin’ some Hills Have Eyes type’a shit.”

Sam shook his head and fiddled with the reel on his fishing rod, nothing had bitten his line since they got out there and he thinks it might have something to do with the quality of the bait. Walt had high blood pressure and smoked like a freight train, can’t taste too good to the fish.

Steve stood from his chair, setting his glass down and closing the gap between himself and the bags. He reached down and untied the other five bags, bits and pieces of men he employed on display.

“Fuckin’ animal. It has to be the Barnes’. They sent us shark bait from the fucking Shark of the East. That can’t be a coincidence.” Steve’s frustration boiled over as he sent a kick into the side of one of the open bags, toppling it over as pieces slid out and onto the deck. His face contorted into disgust and Sam motioned to the man stood against the railing.

“Dump that shit overboard and have someone clean the deck, Torres.”

Steve anchors his hands on his hips, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and pacing back and forth avoiding stray pieces of flesh.

“Look Steve, I’ll have someone call a meeting with the Barnes’ and we’ll clear the air. Hell, maybe we can even split the Midwest and come to some kind of agreement about trafficking.”

He picked his drink back up, draining the rest of it and willing the tension in his shoulders to dissipate. He gave Sam a nod, it’s a good plan. As ready as Steve was to throw a fist in that Russian fucker’s face, Sam always kept him level headed and he appreciated that about his right-hand man.

“Yeah, alright. We’ll do the meeting. Gather the heads of all the sub-territories. Everyone is gonna need to be there. And call Peggy, I need a fucking neck massage and a blowjob.”

Sam chuckled to himself, making eye contact with Torres to make sure that he’d caught the instruction.

Bucky looks between Nat and Peter, face painted with rage.

“Is this a fucking joke?”

Peter looks at the ground trying to avoid Buck’s gaze while Natasha just looks annoyed, arms crossed over her chest.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” She deadpanned.

Bucky steels his jaw, turning away from them and bracing himself at the front of his desk. No one has ever been bold enough to send his own men back to him in so many pieces, in black trash bags no less. He scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Who?” Nostrils flared he turned back to his two best. Peter rubbed the back of his neck, fearing his boss’ rage might be pointed in his direction. Nat was the one to speak up.

“We don’t know for sure, but we’ve got ears everywhere. Don’t we, Peter?” She gives her underling a sideways glance. Bucky’s gaze immediately trained on Peter.

“What does that mean?”

“I—Uh, MJ heard somethin’ down at the club about the Don in California calling a meeting in the Midwest.”

“When?”

“She called me right before we walked in.”

“Where?”

“Omaha.”

“Nebraska? The Rogers family suddenly want to make corn liquor or some shit? We only sent those guys out there to scout for storage facilities.” Peter only answers with a shrug, MJ wasn’t important enough to catch too many details so his knowledge ended with the location.

“Call our contacts in Vegas, get me a fucking date.”

Nat reached behind her to take her phone out of her pocket, scrolling through her contacts to find Stark’s name.

“Do you want me to call Miss Dot too, Mr. Barnes?” Peter offered, trying his best to put his boss in a better mood.

Bucky thought for a moment, wondering if he should indulge. “Yeah, go pick her up and bring her back here. And call the turf leaders, they’re gonna need to be ready.” He strolled around to where his high-backed chair sat behind his desk, sinking into it heavily and cursing under his breath while he poured himself a shot of top shelf vodka.

“That toe-headed fuck; sending shark feed. I’ll have his fucking heart in a jar for this.”

#coco reads #marvel mob au #marvel fanfiction #marvel mafia au

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cocobwrites · 3 years

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“Waves are but water. Wind but air. And though lightning be fire… yet it must answer thunder’s call.”

— Thor in Astonishing Thor Vol. 1 #1

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cocobwrites · 3 years

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Love it already!!!

Title: Rattler

Pairing: Dark!Nomad!Steve x Reader

Summary: It’s the eyes. They’re so kind, it’s hard to tell. At least with rattlesnakes, you can hear the danger—with Steve Rogers, you never saw him coming.

Warnings: Dubcon, Noncon, Stalking, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Mean Steve, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Smut, Obsessive Behavior, Misogyny, Breeding, Public Sex, Humiliation

A/N: i have no excuse for this, other than it’s been sitting in my head for way too long. it’s also my first (late as HELL) attempt at clearing my Writing in the Dark bingo card, given to me oh so long ago by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor. divider by @whimsicalrogers!

This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk!

🐍

Rain soaked through your sweatshirt by the time you reach the bus stop, the thick fabric sticking coldly to the damn skin beneath it. You glared glumly at the back of the retreating bus, gritty rainwater soaking into the cheap canvas of your sneakers as you watched it leave without you. At least it was dry under the bus shelter, even though it reeked of piss and was littered with trash.

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cocobwrites · 3 years

Text

I want to punch the shit outta Steve

After the Rain, Chapter One

Before the Storm

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader, one sided Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: The day you were born, you were betrothed to Steven Rogers, the prince of a neighboring kingdom. Now it’s time for you to take your place as Queen, and you truly feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Dubcon smut (consummation of an arranged marriage, loss of virginity, uncomfortable sex, no aftercare, seriously, Steve is kind of an asshole), angst (panic attacks, general sadness all around). The Reader is described as "small" but only in comparison to Steve. No one comments on her height or size.

Note: Here I go attempting another series. This AU doesn’t take place in a specific time period. I envision it being somewhat steampunk-like. Fashion is pulled and mixed from different eras. Also, I made up a lot of rules regarding Royal etiquette because I did an hour of research and decided I was too much of a barbarian to understand any of it.

I included a moodboard with the dresses I referenced for this chapter, but I’ll put it at the end so you don’t let it influence your imagination.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

Steve Rogers Masterlist

After the Rain Masterlist

I hope you enjoy! Follow @sweetlyscared-library for updates.

The reflection in the mirror betrayed the emotions that truly lingered in your soul. The pretty face staring back at you looked at peace, serene and regal. Internally, you were screaming and had been since the moment you stepped upon the harsh soils of Fearann Briste. The Kingdom you would soon call home was so different from the one you were raised in. While Fearann Briste was cold and dreary, Onsil was warm and lush. You could practically taste the nectar in the Spring air, the ripening fruits in Fall.

In a few hours, Onsil would no longer be your home.

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, ones you refused to release.

This was the life that was forced upon you from the day you were born. There was no point in crying about it now. You sighed to yourself, willing the hurt away.

You fussed with your hair, which was styled back to not obstruct your features. Minimal cosmetics were applied; your attendants insisted on showing off your natural beauty.

The wedding dress you wore was far nicer than any you'd wear and likely would ever wear. Delicate gold patterns were embroidered onto the full skirt and bodice, which was cut low enough to show the swell of your breasts, but not so much so, people would consider it lurid. After all, you were a virgin and the white silk that flowed around you was a symbol of your purity, of being untouched so that one man and one man alone could claim you.

Attempts were made to breathe in deeply, but it was impossible with the tight laced corset pushing against your ribs. You wished they had selected one meant for daily wear, but your mother insisted on getting your dress measurements with it laced as tightly as possible.

First impressions are important, my love, you heard her voice chime in your mind.

“Are you ready, your Highness?” A young woman stood by the door, her hands neatly folded in front of her.

“Poppy, there is no need to address me by my title,” you mused.

Poppy was your closest friend, and her penchant for gossip and fashion made her the perfect lady in waiting. If trouble was stirring up within the castle, she knew about it.

She was usually more relaxed in your presence, having nearly grown up with her, but the number of Royals and Nobles that swarmed the castle had her on edge.

“I just want to leave a good impression. Maybe my obedience will attract a man who fancies a well behaved woman.”

"You? Well behaved?" You smirked and she gasped in mock offense.

The two of you laughed quietly, enjoying each other’s company in the calm before the storm.

You glanced at the mirror one last time and stood up.

“How do I look?” You asked.

Poppy opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Her eyes became glassy, and she tried to maintain her composure.

“Stunning,” she smiled after a moment. “He’ll love you.”

Your stomach twisted at the idea of it. Love.

“Love isn’t part of the plan, Poppy.” You kept your eyes down, trying to hide the ever present disappointment with your predicament. You masked it well.

“Yes, but you never know!”

She was always an optimist, which you appreciated greatly since your moods tended to lean more towards blue than anything else.

From the moment you were born, everything you did was in pursuit of this day. Every lesson in etiquette, how a Queen carries herself, how a to be a good wife, how to drift through a life that never felt like your own.

Poppy was one of few people who made you feel the sun.

Like an artist, you forced a demure smile on your face with the paint of your concealed emotions, ready to impress a king you never met, to live in a land you’ve never stepped foot in until a few days ago, to ensure your kingdom’s survival.

You sighed once more, closing your eyes.

“I suppose… I suppose I should get married then?”

---

There were more guests than you had ever seen at the celebrations that took place in Onsil, and you felt increasingly more uncomfortable. Between the pressure to save your Kingdom, the multitudes of eyes that would be judging your every move, and the layers of silk and the tight confines of the corset, you were feeling more and more trapped.

Heart racing, a primal desire to run filled your thoughts. Where, you weren’t sure, but you needed to get away.

“Your Highness?” Poppy asked and noticed your labored breathing and trembling hands. “Oh, your Highness, please breathe. Slowly, in, slowly out.”

She soothed you, her hands on your arms, stroking them gently, while guiding you through the panicked spell that would overtake you from time to time. It had been worse as of late, which is why you requested only a few attendants and Poppy to prepare you for your wedding.

You didn't want your mother or any courtiers to know the extent of your worry.

With Poppy’s gentle words, you felt grounded again, the world no longer closing in on you.

“Is everything okay, your Majesty?” You didn’t recognize the voice.

Upon looking, you were slightly taken aback. A man was standing in the threshold of your waiting room. He was handsome, that much was immediately apparent. His brown hair was pulled back, letting you see his chiseled jawline and dark blue eyes.

“Yes, my apologies. I seem to have some wedding day nerves,” you replied, your voice even, not too loud, not too quiet. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Ah, forgive my ill manners. I’m James Barnes, one of the King’s advisors.” He bowed, and nodded your head slightly in silent permission for him to get up. “You can call me Bucky.”

“Perhaps one day. Would it bother you terribly if I were to refer to you as “Sir” until then?”

“Of course not, your Majesty.” He smiled, his lips a pretty shade of pink. “I must take my leave, but it was a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I share the same sentiment.” You returned his smile and he bowed once more before excusing himself.

“You don’t suppose he likes an obedient woman?” Poppy whispered when he was out of earshot, and you both giggled a little.

“What would I do without you?” You said as you brushed a stray hair from her face.

Steve stood tall, jaw clenched and face unreadable. He wore dark blue trousers with a matching overcoat adorned with silver cords along the front. They weren’t his best garments, but his wife to be didn’t need to know that. His best was tucked away, having meant to be worn should he have been able to marry his love.

“Steve, keep scowling like that and you’ll scare your bride away."

“Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Steve glanced towards the man who leaned against the wall.

Before Sam could respond, Bucky returned.

“How’s it looking out there?” Sam asked.

“Crowded,” he said before looking towards his king. “How are you holding up, Steve?”

Silence.

“I saw the Princess,” Bucky added when Steve refused to answer. His storming blue eyes snapped towards the brunette man.

“And?” Sam asked.

“She’s pretty. Very proper, but she has kind eyes.”

“See, at least your future Queen is pretty,” Sam patted Steve on the back, earning an eye roll from the blonde.

“It doesn’t matter either way. I don’t plan on spending any more time with her than necessary,” he grumbled.

Bucky and Sam exchanged concerned looks, a mixture of pity and frustration for their friend’s predicament.

Steve knew this arrangement would take place. He’s known since he was on the cusp of adolescence, getting into fights with other boys. Still, he had his fun with various ladies once he outgrew his small frame. Those trysts were never important, and he was prepared to settle down once it came time to marry his promised bride.

He never anticipated falling in love before then.

So he stood tall, jaw clenched and face unreadable, because even the smallest crack in his visage would hemorrhage the anger that festered within him.

---

Steve stood at the altar, posture as pristine and commanding as a King’s should be. The music swelled and the crowd looked back at the massive ornate doors, which groaned as they were pulled open.

From the shadowy atrium, a figure in white slowly emerged into the golden light of the cathedral.

You stepped down the aisle, back perfectly straight, hands holding a bouquet of white flowers. A sheer veil covered your face, so your King could be the one to reveal you to the world.

Steve scowled all the same.

It wasn’t supposed to be you.

The woman he was meant to marry was in attendance at the court, watching him swear his life to someone he never met.

The music was far too delicate for the discontent that consumed him.

So engrossed in his own misery, he hadn’t noticed you had reached the altar until you were before him and the priest was urging him to say his vows.

Steve didn’t write his, and he wasn’t sure if you wrote yours. It didn't matter to him either way.

“Today marks the beginning of eternity, where my soul lay intertwined with yours…” He probably sounded bored, and he couldn’t make out your features to know if you’d picked up on it.

But off the side, he heard Bucky cough, and he knew he needed to attempt sounding at least a little happy.

When he was done, the priest prompted you to say yours.

He tuned you out and hadn’t noticed you stopped talking until the priest spoke once more.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, your Queen, to rule beside you from this day forward until the end of her days?”

No.

“Yes,” Steve said, imagining another woman was under your veil.

“Do you take this man to be your husband, your King, to rule beside you from this day forward until the end of his days?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“You may unveil the bride.”

He could have been more gentle when he lifted the veil, and he didn’t miss the slight furrow of your brows once he could see your face. You were prettier than he was expecting, even with Bucky’s initial assessment. But you were far too sweet for his liking. He liked his women strong, independent.

You looked like you knew nothing of pain, nothing of misfortune. An innocent soul, raised without a care in the world in the rolling hills of Onsil.

For a moment, just one moment, his heart skipped a beat, a desire to guard you flickering into his mind, entertaining a life where he needed to protect you, his fragile Queen.

The feeling was gone before it could take hold.

It didn’t matter how pretty you were, how naïve you looked. You weren’t the one he loved.

It wasn’t supposed to be you.

The feast was lavish, guests happy and entertained. Bouquets and arrangements of deep red roses were placed on every surface, making the whole hall smell wonderful.

Before food was served, you met those most important in the King’s life. Like Samuel, another advisor to the King. King Anthony and Queen Pepper of Velhavende and their advisor Natasha. Bucky greeted you once more. All were very charming, and so far, people have been kind to you.

The only person who hadn’t regarded you with any warmth was your husband.

You had long learned how to hide what you were feeling behind a perfectly crafted expression that breathed elegant contentment. It did well to hide how rapidly your heart was beating, the frenzied thoughts that consumed you.

This was your purpose in life. Everything you’d been taught, everything you were raised to do, was for this moment.

The fate of your kingdom depended on it.

It was a lot of pressure, but you were told King Steve Rogers was a kind man, a more gentle ruler than his father. You wouldn’t have guessed based on the way he lifted your veil and his general avoidance.

But after the initial shock, you nearly gasped at his beauty. He was stunning, far more handsome than you were told.

He was beautiful, surrounded by beautiful people, and you couldn’t help but feel small.

“Excuse me,” your King said, not sparing you another glance.

“Of course, Sir-” But he was gone before you could finish.

Those were the first words he said to you that weren’t his vows.

“He’s like that at times,” Natasha smiled. She was beautiful, and you couldn’t help the iota of worry that seeped into your stomach. From your understanding, she was long time friends of the King. If this what was the type of woman he was accustomed to, perhaps that’s why he seemed so disappointed with you.

“I don’t think his Majesty likes me very much,” you admitted shyly. It wasn’t proper express such feelings, not how you’d been taught. No negative emotions should ever be seen from a queen, just graceful serenity. But you felt overwhelmed.

“He will, I know he will,” the redhead assured you. “You’re far too precious to not be loved.”

You felt your face heat at the compliment.

Love wasn’t something you were encouraged to expect from this marriage. A happy conclusion perhaps, but unnecessary. Still, you hoped your King would at least be interested in your companionship.

“I hear you’re quite accomplished,” Bucky mused.

“No more or less than any other Princess.” You kept your back perfectly straight, your eyes slightly downcast.

“I doubt that,” Natasha added. “Your vows were beautiful. I take it you’ve written them yourself?”

“I did, thank you.” You don’t think Steve even heard them.

“It was very poetic. And, I do hear you’re quite popular among the common folk in Onsil,” Bucky added.

“I care for them as I would anyone,” you said but your thought was cut short when Sam approached and whispered something into Bucky’s ear. Both looked off to the side, your eyes following their gaze. Steve was walking off with someone, but it was hard to see who.

“Please excuse us, your Majesty,” Sam gave you a warm smile.

“Is something happening?” You asked.

“I’m sure it’s something stupid. You know how men get. Best not to fret about it, your Majesty” Natasha brushed off your concerns.

You didn’t press the issue.

“She seems lovely, Steve. I’m happy for you.” A woman with dark eyes and red lips walked next to the King, nearly glowing under the pale moonlight. “The roses are beautiful as well, decadent. I’m sure she loves them-”

“She’s not you,” Steve sighed, the disappointment he’s felt in the past several months of planning finally catching up to him. “I requested the roses for you. I know they’re your favorite.”

Peggy placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into it, yearning for more, for the nights they spent tangled in each other's arms, skin pressed against skin, lips crashing together.

“Oh… Steve, you must move on,” she whispered and he clenched his jaw.

“I can’t. You were the one for me, Peggy.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced over to her where her eyes were staring into the distance, contemplative in her thoughts.

“You are not the one for me,” she said at last and Steve was taken aback. “Steve, I love you. I will always love you. But I am married to someone else. I’m happy with my husband. I love him,” she continued, and Steve could tell she meant it.

He felt as though a dagger had lanced his heart.

“Your wife, your Queen to be, she’s beautiful. She’s kind, she’s compassionate. I’ve heard nothing but good things about her, her empathy, her wit. I’m sure you can learn to love her in time.”

Steve shook his head, “I can’t. I won’t.”

She sighed, but before she could say anything else, Sam and Bucky approached.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Bucky said under his breath as he got near, his blue eyes burning into Steve’s.

“Apologies for the language, Peggy,” Sam said and she laughed.

“What if someone saw you two? The King walking unsupervised with another woman on his wedding day? What if the Queen saw.”

“I don’t care,” Steve muttered.

“Steve,” Peggy sighed. “It’s time to stop living in the past.”

It didn’t matter what the others said, nothing could change how he felt about Peggy.

Dessert was a custard tart with strawberries on top. They were your favorite, and you wonder if someone told the King. But you needed to keep your expectations in check. A coincidence more likely, and you doubt the King had any direct handling of the wedding.

“Do you not like the dessert, my Queen?” Natasha asked.

“Oh, I do. I love strawberries,” your voice was light. “I’m waiting for his Majesty to retur-”

The chair next to you was pulled out rather ungracefully and you jumped a little in surprise at the sound of metal grinding against the marble floor. You quickly composed yourself, and Steve sat down, saying nothing to you.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

“Did you enjoy your walk, Sir?” You asked.

He said nothing as he ran a fork through the dessert.

At least you could eat yours now.

You allowed yourself a modicum of real joy on your wedding day, a smile gracing your features. Small, but genuine nonetheless. You placed a slice of strawberry in your mouth and closed your eyes and you chewed, enjoying the sweet juice that burst out of it.

The night went on, until it was time for the last event of the evening; the dance between the newly married King and Queen.

Steve was ever quiet as he led you to the center of the ballroom and a slow melody played. One hand held yours and another was on your waist. He took the lead, never sparing you a glance.

He’s had practice, you could tell. But so have you, and you kept up with the quick pace he was determined to take, as though he wished it to be over.

“My King, must we rush it?” you whispered.

“I’m not your King,” he nearly growled. You’d have stopped moving if it wasn’t for his continued pace. It was the most he’s spoken to you all night.

You knew what he meant. He was your King in that he ruled the kingdom you now lived in, but he wasn’t yours.

“My apologies, Sir,” you managed to whisper loud enough, hiding the hurt.

He didn’t respond, his gaze focusing everywhere but you. It wasn’t long until you realized his eyes were trained in the same spot in the crowd. Glancing over, you noticed a beautiful woman with dark eyes and brown hair that framed her face in waves. A picture of elegance.

Her red lipstick seemed to match her red dress, which matched the roses scattered throughout the hall. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

You didn’t know who she was, only that she captivated Steve, and you couldn’t help but feel wounded. You knew love wasn’t in the cards, but you didn’t think he wouldn't even give you a chance.

None of that mattered. You pushed it down and focused on the larger picture.

“She looks miserable,” Bucky said.

“I’d say she looks more bored than anything,” Tony mused. “I wouldn’t blame her if she was. Bless his soul, but that man can be quite the mood killer.”

“Tony!” Pepper chastised.

Your expression was neutral, if not a little happy, but that’s not what Bucky was looking at. It was your eyes, the slight sheen, the way they’d occasionally flicker down or to the side. Few would notice, thinking you were ever calm.

“I see it too,” Sam whispered. “We can only hope Steve gets his shit together.”

The festivities dwindled down, and both you and Steve were ushered into your respective chambers.

It wasn’t unusual for Kings and Queens to live in separate quarters. After all, most arranged marriages never evolved past a contractual obligation.

Poppy quickly unlaced your dress, the silky material cascading down into a delicate pile on the floor. You stepped out of it and she draped it over a chair.

Laid out for you was a nightgown. The sleeves were short and ruched, and layers of lace decorated the neckline. A satin ribbon secured the dress from behind, where it dipped just low enough, exposing some of your back. It was made of a thin material leaving nothing to the imagination. It was entirely impractical to wear to bed, but you knew that’s not why it was selected for you.

Your heart started to raise again and the room began to collapse on top of you.

In the distance, Poppy called your name and you felt yourself fall against the plush downy comforter on your bed.

“Please breathe, like Wanda taught you… slowly in and out.”

You followed her sweet voice until you felt like the world was no longer ending.

“Poppy, I don’t know if I can do this,” you choked out once your heart settled down.

“Oh, my sweet honey bee,” she cooed and rubbed your back. “I don’t envy the position you’re in, but I know you’ll be a wonderful Queen.”

“The King doesn’t like me.”

“Perhaps he’s just nervous?”

“It’s not that. He hardly looked at me, let alone spoke to me,” you sighed and remembered the way he seethed at you, venom nearly dripping from each syllable.

I’m not your king.

You bit your lip and wondered if you should admit your next thought.

“His… his attention was focused on a woman in the crowd, when we were dancing.”

“What?” Poppy nearly shrieked. “Who?”

“I don’t know. She was beautiful though. Closer to his age.

“I’m sorry, bee. I can fight him for you,” she whispered and you choked out a small laugh.

She held you in her arms and you rested your head on her shoulder.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before she pulled away. The look in her eye was sympathetic and a little regretful.

“Okay, let’s get you out of this corset,” she whispered. “Put your nightgown on, and I’ll make you some of the tea Wanda blended, for your nerves and... to dull the pain.”

The Queen would be arriving any moment.

Steve removed his coat and his boots, leaving only the loose white shirt undershirt and his trousers. He placed his hand over his heart and felt the pendant that rested there.

He rarely took it off, so much so, it felt like a part of himself. Peggy gave it to him nearly a decade ago, at the end of the first Summer they shared together. It was meant to represent the two of them: a ruby for Peggy, a sapphire for himself, and a diamond to represent their love, clustered together in white gold.

Should he remove it when he consummates his marriage to another woman?

He should, he knew that. But upon attempting to undo the clasp, he couldn’t go through with it.

You didn’t know what it was, and he was never going to tell you.

So it stayed, resting over his heart, a reminder of the love that was never to be.

A deep sigh escaped his lips when he sat at the edge of the bed, waiting to get this next part over with.

He didn’t have to wait long. A quick rap on his door, and he was breathing in deeply.

“Come in,” he commanded.

The door opened, and you took a couple tentative steps inside. You wore a white robe with the same gold embroidered patterns that decorated your wedding dress, a detail he might have noticed had he spared more than a glance at you during the night. The robe was likely to keep you modest as you walked from your room to his. There was no need, the royal living spaces were sequestered in a private wing of the castle and the servants were asked to give you two privacy. But, he supposed he couldn’t blame you, not when he could see the sheer material of your nightgown with every small step you took.

You paused when you had made it to the half-way point between the door and the bed.

It was a lot to take in.

The furniture in your room was a mixture of very light greys and whites with silver accents, giving off an airy, delicate feeling. You supposed they picked neutral colors, unlikely to offend anyone. The King never asked you how you'd like your room arranged.

Much like the man who resided within, Steve’s room demanded subordination from those who entered. It was the way the dark reds and blues of the upholstery and tapestries that seemed to want to swallow those who came near. The fire was the only source of light in the room, making shadows dance along the walls in a dizzying spectacle.

“I don’t have all night,” Steve sighed when you hadn’t resumed walking, and you did your best to compose yourself, recalling all you’ve been told for this moment.

Queens shouldn’t express negative emotions, only serenity.

Allow the King to do as he must to both consummate the marriage and to give him an heir.

It will hurt, but you must continue.

Poppy told you if a man cared enough, he’d make sure sex was a pleasant experience, especially for virgins. She didn’t know herself, having her maidenhead intact, but she heard some of the older women speak about it.

You knew Steve wasn’t going to do that for you.

So you walked ahead, steeling your nerves, doing what you must for your Kingdom.

A few more steps and you stood in front of him, only inches away from his knees. Even though he was seated on the bed and you were standing, he was still so big in comparison. Most people would look small next to him.

You could see the tendons in his neck flexing under his skin, but you knew it was out of irritation and not desire.

“Take off your robe,” he said, calmer, but still impatient.

Trembling hands undid the satin blow around your waist, and the split in the fabric widened, exposing your nightgown underneath.

Steve could see your skin through the sheer silk, exposing all of you to his eyes as the robe fell off your body and onto the ground.

He wasn’t expecting his cock to twitch to life, but he was only a man and you were easy on the eyes.

“On the bed,” he said, his voice rough.

You did as he asked, nervous, unable to remain the calm and composed Queen you were taught to be. Steve didn’t seem to mind, though. Or rather, it wouldn’t have mattered what you did; he wasn’t going to care.

You laid on the bed, your arms at your sides. Steve couldn’t help but admire the way your nipples showed through the fabric as it draped over your body and hugged every curve. You weren’t expecting any reaction from him, but your relief was short lived when he pulled your gown up, fully exposing your lower half to the fire warmed air of his chambers.

He unceremoniously pushed your thighs apart with his hands, and he felt his cock harden at the sight of your untouched cunt.

Was he the first man to ever see it, he wondered.

It mattered little to him either way. You were there to fulfill an oath and give him an heir.

You watched as he untied his trousers and pushed them down. His cock sprang free from its confines and you nearly gasped.

You knew the mechanics of sex, and you didn’t know how he was going to get that inside you.

So engrossed in wondering how he was going to fit in you, you didn’t notice his hand moving towards you until you felt a finger prod your entrance.

A sharp yelp was pulled from you as he shoved a finger inside your unprepared channel.

“Fuck,” Steve mumbled, but it wasn’t out of lust. It was out of frustration.

Did he really not want anything to do with you?

Quickly, he climbed off the bed and walked off.

“S-Sir?” you stammered out and leaned forward on your elbows, failing miserably at trying to keep yourself composed.

What if he decided he didn’t want to bed you? An unconsummated marriage would be a violation of the oath your father and his made over two decades earlier. It would mean war, should Steve wish to pursue it, even if he was the one that broke the oath.

The thought of failing at the one thing you were raised to do made your heart race faster than it already was, and you began to feel the room constrict around you, and you collapsed back onto the bed. Poppy wasn’t around to talk you through it so you did your best to ground yourself, like your nurse taught you.

Five things I can see.

The dark blue canopy above you, the blood red drapes that fell off the sides of the posters, the flickering fireplace on the other side of the room, a plush chair in front of it, and your feet.

Four things I can feel.

The soft bedsheets under you, the thin silk nightgown bunched at your waist, the downy pillow under your head, and the throbbing ache Steve left when he pulled his finger from your body.

Three things I can hear.

The crackling embers in the fire, the creaking of the bed, and your own heartbeat.

Two things I can smell.

Burning wood and an earthy scent that must have been unique to Steve.

One thing I can taste.

The bitter tea poppy had you drink before she ushered you down the hallway to the King’s bedchambers.

Slowly, your breathing evened out and you fisted the bedsheets, trying to remain grounded.

Steve returned with a bottle in hand, not knowing the mental journey you had just taken nor did he how tired you looked because of it.

Without missing a beat, he poured some of the liquid in the bottle onto his hands and stroked his length with it. Then he ran his fingers through your slit, making you gasp. You’d have snapped your legs shut had his knees not kept them apart.

Leaning forward, he lined his cock up to your entrance.

“What-” you meant to ask him what the liquid was, but he gave you no room to speak when he forced his length within you in one swift thrust.

There was no warning, no kind words, nothing.

You cried out at the feeling of your walls stretching to their limit to accommodate him, and Steve didn’t give you time to become accustomed to his girth.

He started a fairly hard rhythm, his hips meeting yours with every forward thrust, making you quietly grunt as you felt the air being pushed from your lungs.

It was uncomfortable and painful. You suspected it would have been even more so had Poppy not had you drink the tea, or if Steve didn’t coat his cock in that slippery liquid.

There was nothing you could do other than close your eyes and wait it out.

Steve looked at you underneath him, a small creature in comparison to his large frame. He saw the pained expression on your face, the way your brows furrowed, the little gasps you made, your fists tightly balling his bedsheets.

He should have made it easier for you, pleasurable even.

But he didn’t care.

You weren’t Peggy, and he wasn’t going to give you that part of himself.

So he imagined her in his head, imagined she was the one under him.

After several more thrusts, you felt Steve’s pace become even rougher, and a few tears fell down your cheeks at the rising agony.

In an act of mercy, Steve groaned above you and you felt warmth erupt within you. His hips finally stilled after a couple more thrusts.

Both of you were out of breath, and Steve pulled away from your body, earning a small whimper from you. He could see his spend leaking out of your ravaged hole, and your virgin blood coated his cock.

“You’re dismissed,” he said as he tucked his cock back into his trousers and rolled to the side, his back to you.

You knew this would happen. You were warned extensively. Your marriage wasn’t one born from love. It was born of duty.

Still, you felt your heart break all the same.

Nothing could have prepared you for the coldness from your husband when he took your innocence. Nothing could prepare you for the emptiness you felt after being used.

Sitting up caused fire to shoot through your core and you whimpered at the feeling. It helped mask the wet mess between your legs.

You said nothing as you gathered your robe and hastily put it on, trying to ignore the sharp pain that pulsated between your legs with every step.

It was almost like you were disconnected from reality, because you found yourself in your room without realizing you had moved at all.

You had told Poppy she was free to go after she walked you to the King's chambers, wanting to be by yourself when the consummation was over.

Queens weren’t allowed to cry and so you never allowed anyone to see you when you did. But when you were alone with nothing but the walls to witness you, you weren’t a Queen. You were just a girl who never got to dream.

Your knees buckled under you and you sobbed, unsure if you could handle the days that were to come.

---

Notes: I missed angst.

Fearann Briste- “Broken land” in Gaelic. Brooklyn is derived from the Dutch city Breukelen, which means “broken land.”

Onsil - “Greenhouse” in Korean.

Velhavende - “Wealthy” in Danish. Why Danish? I dunno, I cycled through European languages in google translate until a translation for “wealthy” looked cool.

How I envisioned the various dresses the Reader wore. Also, you can kinda see a sliver of arm in the picture of the white bouquet. Please ignore that. I tried to get as much of the bouquet in the pic as possible, which resulted in some arm showing. The intent of that photo was to show the flowers and nothing else:

Please leave a comment or reblog (or both!). They’re incredibly encouraging and motivating. Like for real, I'm far more likely to want to work on something if I know people like it. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy this series!

#coco reads #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fiction #looking forward to more

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