#it’s the way he follows steve’s every movement for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

espinosaurusrexex · 10 months

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Professor!SteveRogers x Student!Female!Reader AU

summary: Professor Rogers was a lot of things, but for you, he was even more. A secret affair? A fun little side thing? You didn’t know yet. But you'd gladly seek out every possible moment with him until you did.

a/n: once upon a time I had a crush on my professor… this is what came out of it (don’t worry it didn’t really happen) but shame on me for keeping this in the drafts for so long

thank you @sebsgirl71479 for finding this gif and also very special thanks to @urcatslitterbox for taking the time and making one herself! you are the greatest!

word count: 3.3k

warnings: age gap (reader is of legal age of course), student/teacher relationship, a little fluff (because apparently I can’t do it without) this is obviously smut (dry humping, praise kink, unprotected p in v - wrap it before you tap it guys, slight overstimulation, voyeurism - if you squint), I don't know what else to tell you !MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

“Do you know why I asked you to stay, Ms. Y/L/N?” His arms crossed before his chest as his gaze followed the last students roaming amongst the rows of the vast lecture hall, a blonde strand of hair falling loose and settling in a soft curve over his eye. Professor Rogers looked intimidating, but so damn sexy as well. His biceps bulged beneath the checkered white and blue button-up, his sleeves halfway rolled up, restrained by his evenly muscular forearms.

“To be perfectly honest, Professor,” Your voice stayed even, a slight mockery undertone by the use of formality when you had called him far more personal things than that before. Steve, Stevie, Daddy... you shook out of it - there were still people here. “I don’t. I was quite confident that my assignment was to your... satisfaction.” A smug grin hid behind the last word, as you remembered the actual satisfaction that assignment had brought you as well.

Steve had to hide his smile, too. His eyes darted with amusement when he tilted his head forward to peer up at you through his thick lashes. Your eyes wandered to his legs. His tan chinos were tight on his muscular thighs and the way he leaned back with his knees spread even wider - holy mother of god.

He knew damn well how hot he was, and the annoying thing was that he also knew how to make it work for him. Steve reveled in the power his body language had over you.

He watched as your tights clenched together behind his desk. The simple movement of his fingers on a desk could make you keen thinking about the places they had done that before. His confidence seeped though every fucking vein in his body, dripping in thick undertones and slight remarks out of his mouth and invading your senses through his touch and smell.

He was to die for. Tall, muscular, charming, and older.

You looked him up and down again and as his head tilted to the side you knew exactly that he could read your every thought. His arms opened when the door closed behind the last student, one hand gliding to his inner thigh while the other motioned for you to step closer.

You did.

It was like an automatic response of your body. Though you leaned forwards on the wooden desk, your arms pushing inward to help the cleavage peeking through the collar of your top, Steve’s eyes pulled down in an instant as well.

“It certainly was.” He rubbed his beard. “I just thought it would be beneficial to go over it once more, highlight the good parts and make sure you know what made them so... enticing.” He leaned forward now, his fingers brushing yours on the sleek surface of the polished wood, though his eyes remained on your breasts. Steve wet his lips before his eyes flicked up to yours again. “I’m willing to thoroughly talk you through the rougher bits as well.”

“Are you implying they weren’t all good?”

“Oh, they were good, just not as good as other parts.”

It was a game. You knew that, and Steve knew that too. But the little role-playing brought an excitement to this ordeal that couldn’t be denied by either of you. He was like a magnet and your entire body felt like it was made of metal with the pull he had on you. You stood on your toes, pushing yourself further over the table, where Steve stayed entirely still. He was observing you, though. The slight intrigue in the twig of his brow when your lips came dangerously close to his. A fast glint to the double doors leading to the hallways full of students rushing to their next classes. There was no nervousness in his stare though. Steve actually liked the potential threat of getting caught. It spurred him on, enticed him, and turned him on beyond belief. You had learned that just the other week when he had dragged you behind the open door to the janitor's closet of the history building. He had absolutely no shame in getting his hands dirty while all the students walked past the dark room where Steve had his hand firmly pressed above your mouth as his other relentlessly plunged in and out of your wet cunt.

“Huh.” You pushed back. And even though the muscular blonde on the other side of the desk tried not to react, you caught his shoulder slouch in disappointment. You liked playing tough, though. While his perfume worked hard to pull you back into him, your feet shuffled a little further back, looking him up and down again. His legs were still manspreading on the chair and damn did those thighs look inviting. You knew they were.

The clock above the double door clicked louder now that the students outside had passed on to their next classes. You had one, too actually. But the professor was boring as hell and who wouldn’t trade a creepy scarf-wearing weirdo for this specimen of a man in front of you right now? Exactly: no one. But they didn’t have that chance. Steve had chosen you, reserved his glances and touches, and kissed for you and it was exciting. Getting to share his experiences, letting the older man take control of your body in such rough yet gentle ways.

Your legs strode around the desk as Steve’s eyes followed you through the room. His arms had reached out to you once you were close enough for him to grab and once his index finger looped in the belt loops of your jeans, he pulled you onto his lap. As your hands wandered to his shoulders, his snook around your waist, his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath your top. A shiver ran through you when he leaned back, his icy blue orbs piercing the air as they focused on yours, a small smile twinkling in the corner of his mouth.

“You look good.” You whispered, a hand smoothing over the collar. Steve’s lips escaped a laugh, and even though the sexual tension you build up with the sneaky conversation still lingered in the air, there was a softer, sweeter sound invading the atmosphere right this moment.

“I know you like the blue.” He mumbled when he dipped forward, his nose brushed your neck and a trial of goosebumps traveled down your back. The rasp in his voice stirred something in your stomach, a slight tingle shooting up to your brain and telling you ‘hey that’s hot!’ In bright and blaring neon lights.

Steve’s fingers ran down your legs and began massaging your thighs on each side of him. Another strand of hair came loose and fell forward. It tickled your neck as his mouth began to suck its way up to your sweet spot, your hands frantically cramming his shirt at the sudden attack. His tongue shot forward, soothing the place his teeth just nibbled on and the familiar burn ran over your skin as hisses and moans mixed in your mouth. Your hips jolted forward when he finally reached that spot behind your ear, hot breath blowing over the wet skin and a soft kiss right after.

“You smell...” A growl broke through his speech when your hips ground a second time. “So sweet...”

A jolt of confidence placed a grin on your lips. The perfume you wore had turned some heads before, but the only one that mattered was Steve’s. His mouth resumed his caress of your skin as his hand wandered to your ass, slowly pushing you forward and guiding you over the growing bulge beneath his pants.

“Ah, yes!” It was only a breath out when the seam of your jeans was pushed into your clit by the hardness in his lap, but - God did that feel good! Your back arched when he continuously ripped you over the spot, your hands buried in his hair, pressing him deeper into your skin, encouraging him to keep going.

“Goddamn...” His head switched to the other side of your neck, the skin on the neglected one already hot and tingly. But your sole focus lay between your legs, where his cock massaged your clit in perfectly firm rocking motions. The roughness of the jeans just added to the pleasure creeping through your body.

You could’ve gone like this forever, with the heat rising in your belly and Steve’s muffled panting lingering in the air, but Steve pulled away. A whine brushed over to him when his lips left your skin. You were burning from his touch but at the same time, a cool brush of goosebumps covered your body. It was crazy how much you craved his touch even when he was sitting right in front of you. His stare alone lit a fire within your stomach, butterflies flying wild patterns through every nerve ending when his light blue eyes found yours in the distance of the lecture hall. It had happened suddenly and spiraled beyond your control within days. And then, when he had finally kissed you, it was pretty clear that there was no going back. Steve was like a drug. Something you shouldn’t play with and something that was definitely illegal to pursue, but so so so freaking good because he made you feel things you could have never imagined.

His voice pulled you back to reality.

“As much as I like your ass in those jeans...” Steve tugged on your Jeans with dark eyes, the silver button glimmered in the lecture hall light when his rough fingers yanked on the material. “They need to go.” That last part was just a growl in your ear but the tire of it made you eagerly wiggle out of the blue denim.

You stepped out of your jeans once he had finally opened them and when his eyes fell on the underwear covering your heat, he pulled you closer by your hips. His thumbs drove circles over your skin, sending yet another tingle of excitement up your spine. His hands wandered back to your behind, squeezing and needing the flesh all while pressing you into his front.

Your lips attached to his neck like a magnet, your hand scraping the gruff on his chin with excited circles. A growl traveled past his lips when you reached his sweet spot - the one right beneath his ear, making him melt every time. A deviant smile spread about your face but before you could revel in the control you had over him - even if it was just for a short moment - he had you turned around, facing the rows of desks stretching to the walls.

“You’ve been doing this on purpose, haven’t you?” His hand wandered past your breasts down your front and stopped right by the edges of your panties, the other holding you by the hip, pressing his hard-on right to your back. The excitement shooting through you did nothing to hide, slick pooling between your legs, and your nipples already hard pebbles on your skin. “Putting on these scandalous little lace things thinking about how I’ll be seeing them today...” Warm breath tingled at your ear when he leaned closer, pushing his hand past the hem of the lace. “...taking them off of your perfect body.”

You moaned when his fingers slit past your folds, gathering some slick to smoothly roam about your clit.

“Maybe...” The shivers erupting from his touch interrupted your speech until you could collect yourself. “I’m always thinking of you, Stevie.” He bit your neck before his tongue smoothed over the spot again. It was a perfect interplay of pleasure and pain, the wet warm strokes of his tongue soothing the stinging and adding fuel to a desire only he could evoke in you.

“Say it again,” he growled, adding more pressure to the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs. You squirmed as the muscles in your abdomen tightened, clenching around nothing and reminding you what you had been missing. “What else are you thinking about?”

“Your hands all over my body...” Your hand guided his over to your breasts encouraging him to squeeze the soft flesh and breathing heavily when his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple. “Pushing me to bend over that desk while you fill me up with your big cock.”

“Nothing I’d rather do, doll.” Before you knew it your face was gently pressed against the cold and polished wood. Warm hands wandered to your ass where they pulled down your underwear painfully slow, having you fiddle in place impatiently.

“Now, don’t be so hasty, love. I gotta take my time.” You heard his belt unbuckle.

“Unfortunately, Professor, time is the one thing we do not have a lot of...” His hands stopped moving as you called him ‘Professor’, though you knew it wasn’t a bad thing. If anything, it probably turned him on more, which would hopefully speed up the process of him finally filling you up to the brim. Your pussy clenched at the thought of it again - a frustrating reminder of the emptiness you so wished to disappear.

“Too bad, I would have loved to play with you a little more.”

“Tick Tock...”

“As you wish, princess-” And before the words had even reached your ears, you felt his swollen tip nudge at your entrance, stroking up and down your slit to cover in your arousal as a sinful sound escaped Steve’s lips.

His hands found their way back to your waist before he finally pushed fully into you, leaving you no time to adjust to his size as he started pounding into you with an unrelenting pace. The burn wasn’t painful though. You knew he was big, and even though you had not believed that he would ever fit inside of you, Steve had managed to not only do that but also ruin you for every other man to ever come.

“Look at your greedy little cunt begging for my cock, practically sucking me in, doll.”

You couldn’t answer, too focused on holding onto the desk and controlling your body not to melt with his strokes as he pushed into you over and over again.

“Gripping me so tight... perfect little pussy.” A slap landed on your ass cheek to which you responded with another loud moan. If there had been a care for anyone to hear you doing the indescribable in this lecture hall before, Steve had certainly fucked it out of you by now. You turned your head watching as he spit down on his cock before it disappeared in you again, his head falling back with shut eyes while he reveled in every piece of pleasure you gave him.

“Fuck!” He locked eyes with you, a determined smirk painting his face when his hand wandered around your body again, finding your clit and rubbing tight little circles over the nub.

Your vision blurred as the hot pleasure crept up your spine. There was something about Steve’s touch that made you feel as though every nerve in your body fired twice and fast. You clenched around him again, watching with pleasure as his brows furrowed.

He picked up his pace, kicking your legs further apart and hitting an even deeper angle now.

“Oh my god!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head before you closed them, trying to last longer than this. The feeling was just too good to let go of so soon. But with Steve’s hunky body towering over you and his cock stroking just the right spot with every moan he pulled from you, that seemed like an impossible task. You tried your best, though, but right when you thought that you would last a little longer, his fingers changed the direction of the circles on your clit and turned your brain to mush.

“I’m gonna- ah”

“The hell you are.” He pulled away, leaving you to whimper with the empty feeling you had never wanted back. But Steve pulled you up and turned you around in one swift motion, walking forward until you were pressed against the desk again. This time, though, he made you lay on your back with a hazy smile.

“I wanna see your pretty face when you come all over my cock.” He placed your legs on his shoulders and grabbed his dick to line it up with your entrance again. Then, he made sure to keep eye contact while he pushed himself into you once again, but this time, painfully slow.

You gripped him tight when he bottomed out, stroking the flesh on your thigh while he pulled back just to pound back in again.

“I fucking love this pussy,” he growled as his pace picked up much to your delight, “it’s mine. Tell me, baby.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s all yours, Stevie.” You couldn’t even focus on the words leaving your mouth at this point. You would say yes to anything he said just to make the feeling of his cock stroking your walls last forever.

“That’s a what?” He halted, raised eyebrows watching you expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” you smirked.

“Good girl.” The pressure built up again and when his hand found its way back to your clit, you felt like exploding. His pace didn’t falter, determination taking over while he watched himself slip in and out of you with hungry eyes.

You would be busting in seconds if he kept it up like this, your walls clenching tighter and tighter, your stomach feeling rock solid from the pleasure building up with every circle of his thumb and every stroke of his cock.

“Don’t hold back now, sweetheart. Let go. Give it to me.”

That was all it took for the knot to finally come loose. “Ah!” Your back arched off the table while your hands frantically searched for something to grip, the walls of your pussy fluttering and making your core be on fire with pleasure. It just intensified when Steve slowed his strokes to let you ride on the wave of bliss that made your body tingle.

When you relaxed again, you felt your walls pulsing with lazy delight. A weak smile shining through your hooded eyes when you watched him intensify his strokes again. Shaky whimpers left your throat when his cock brushed over your sensitive parts. He was close, too. You could feel him twitching inside of you, waiting for the perfect moment to let go. And you would give him just that.

“You make me feel so good, sir. Your big cock stretches me out, fills me up. I want you to come inside of me.”

“Fuck, keep going.” He closed his eyes, speeding up his movements and making the pressure build right up for you again.

“You’re so big. I can feel you in my stomach, baby. Make me come by just thinking about you. So sexy and strong and- ah oh!”

Steve’s movements staggered his cock twitching as his face contorted into pleasure while you felt his cum spill inside of you. The scene was erotic, and the sounds coming from the man above of you made you reach another orgasm, milking the last drop from him with every pulse of your walls.

Your chest heaved as you leaned your head back, watching the clock above the door. It was too sad this moment was ending.

Though Steve took his time. He watched his juices drip after he pulled out, whispering a low ‘perfect’ into the room that made your head feel hot.

How was this man making you flustered after shamelessly rearranging your guts in a public lecture hall?

“Put your jeans back on, doll. I don’t wanna get in trouble today.” He winked at you while he zipped up his pants and secured the buckle on top. You stood, fixing his slightly tossed hair and leaving your hand hovering over his jaw.

“Where’d you put my panties?” He kissed you.

“I think I’m gonna keep these,” Steve smiled while stuffing them into his back pocket.

“For revision, I presume?” You smiled with wicked eyes.

“Exactly.”

Here it is - finally! Please tell me what you think (hopefully it was worth the wait)! I've missed you guys so much; life is keeping me busy and excited for more. How have you been?? 💛

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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Steve gets the idea from Dustin and Robin, in a roundabout way: Robin insists on buying a camping stove from The War Zone, which Dustin pounces upon with glee as soon as he notices it.

“Oh, we’re cooking with gas now,” he says, which is the worst pun Steve has heard thus far.

Eddie snorts, almost but not quite hidden underneath the sound of the engine. Steve smiles.

“Y’know there’s a stove right here?” he asks in benign exasperation, gestures behind him to the little kitchen area of the RV.

“Steve,” Robin says, “that’s not as fun.”

“Yeah, come on, Steve! It’ll be like at Camp Know Where—”

“Know Nothing,” Steve mutters automatically.

“—we oft dined al fresco.”

“Oft,” Eddie parrots, and Steve can faintly feel the movement of him laughing, from where he’s pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat. “Al fresco. Henderson, what lab did they make you in?”

“Eddie, either shut up or back me up, I wanna get a culturally enriching experience outta this.”

“Oh, excuse me, didn’t realise this was a field trip.”

“You’re excused.”

“Okay,” Steve cuts in, “have fun playing at camping, Henderson, but don’t come crying to me if you, like, blow yourself up.”

Robin chuckles. “Such a happy camper.”

“Boo,” Steve says flatly.

He parks the RV a little bit away from a store just off the main road—heads in alone as it’ll draw less attention. Out loud, he says it’s so he can focus without hearing whining pleas to buy junk food, whether Dustin-approved or not, but he already knows he’ll cater to each and every one of the group’s demands.

Eddie, surprisingly, doesn’t put in a request, says he’s happy to just go along with whatever everyone else wants—a far cry from when Nancy had relayed, with more amusement than frustration, “He said he wants a six-pack.”

Steve figures that the whole being wanted for murder thing would kill anyone’s appetite, but it still makes his stomach sink, that the most substantial meal Eddie’s gotten a chance to eat has been lukewarm Spaghettios.

They set up ‘camp’ in a field, and Robin’s the first to rush outside, shortly followed by Dustin, both intent on using the stove she’s bought.

Steve leaves them all to it, kind of enjoys the temporary peace of just messing about in the RV on his own—it gives him enough time to find where some crockery is kept, anyway.

He’s heating up chicken noodle soup on the stove when Eddie comes back in and tells him, “They got it working, no explosions yet.”

“Oh, miracles can happen. Good timing, by the way.” Steve switches the burner off, pours the soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table—where he’s already laid out a spoon. “Yours is ready.”

At first he doesn’t think the silence is all that unusual. He’s not really looking either, focusing on rinsing out the pan he’d used. But when he does glance up, it’s to see Eddie just standing there, looking at the bowl of soup and blinking rapidly.

It’s almost like… almost like he’s—

“Woah, hey,” Steve says, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Eddie says, even though he’s still quite clearly tearing up. “Absolutely nothing. Jesus Christ.” He groans, presses a couple of fingers to the inner corner of his eyes. “This is fucking mortifying, just pretend you didn’t—ugh.”

In barely a blink, he shuts himself away in the bathroom.

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “Hate soup that much, huh?”

A watery laugh from behind the door. “No.”

There’s a silence. Steve dries the pan and puts it away before calling, “It’s gonna get cold!”

It won’t for a while yet; he can still see tendrils of steam rising from the bowl.

There’s a long, drawn out sigh, and then Eddie opens the door, sidles in to take a seat at the table.

For a moment, Steve thinks he isn’t going to acknowledge it, which is fine. But as Eddie picks up the spoon he says, head down, “It’s just. That was, uh. Really—really nice.”

Steve’s concern abates a little; he can’t help giving a slight smirk. “Would it help if I was mean instead?”

Eddie laughs again, no tears in it this time. He shrugs with a grin. “Do whatever you want, man.”

He’s eating slowly, his spoon dragging through the soup. His eyes seem distant.

“It’s just… I miss—” His voice threatens to break, but doesn’t quite get there. “I miss… home.”

Before Steve can think of a reasonable reply, Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. He drops the spoon with a clatter. “God, that sounds so—”

“It doesn’t,” Steve interrupts.

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie picks up the spoon again, keeps scraping it against the bottom of the bowl.

“Dude, what did I tell you? You’ve gotta give yourself a break.”

Steve pauses, stuck on what to say next.

He can’t even relate, honestly. Home has long become something he couldn’t… Something he couldn’t really miss, exactly.

It’s ever-changing: the luxury of eating a late breakfast in History; the crunch of leaves underfoot as he walked the railroad tracks with Dustin; the chill of the freezer in Scoops Ahoy, Robin’s snorting laugh bouncing off the walls.

Now it’s his car radio playing as he gives rides on busy school mornings. A high school basketball game. A goddamn video store.

“I think you have this thing,” Steve says slowly.

“A promising start,” Eddie says, lips twitching.

He’s finished the soup. The sight spurs Steve on.

“I think you have this thing,” he repeats, more confidently, “where you think that, like, we’re seasoned monster-killers, and you’re—”

“Uh, speaking objectively, Harrington, that’s kinda what you are.”

“My point is,” Steve says, “that you don’t need to—shit, I don’t know, man. Just. You don’t need to apologise or whatever. You’re doing fine.”

Eddie blinks. He’s cupping the empty bowl with his hands, breathing a little deeper, like the residual warmth is calming.

And that Steve can relate to: in the days after Starcourt, when Robin pretty much dragged him to her house, empty thanks to her folks visiting extended family. They both pretended that they just wanted to stay up late because they could, because they were just teenagers enjoying the summer, and Robin had made shitty hot chocolate from a powder, heating up milk on the stove; when Steve complained that he could hardly enjoy it through a busted lip, she’d said, still jittery, “I just thought—it’s just nice to hold, y’know?”

She was right.

One of Eddie’s fingers starts tapping against the bowl, the underside of his ring making a series of restless clinks. Steve wants to still his hand, gently press it further into the warmth. Settle him.

Eddie stands up with the bowl.

“I can—”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Eddie says, already at the sink. He turns on the faucet, smiles. “Thanks, by the way.”

It’s so simple, so domestic, and all of a sudden, Steve’s struck with a thought: oh, I want this.

“No problem. I’ll get you something better, after… um, everything.”

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, Jesus, I think I actually would kill for some fries.”

Steve clicks his fingers. “So we’ll make it happen.”

“We?”

“Yeah, I hate to break it to you, man, but as soon as they hear about free fries—” Steve jerks his head towards the chatter outside, “—they’re gonna demand to come with, they’re like piranhas.”

He expects Eddie to play up the joke, to groan and complain.

But while he does laugh, Eddie just sighs before saying in earnest, “That sounds fucking fantastic.”

And his eyes are warm and fond, like maybe he’s found another home in all of them, too.

#another ‘throwaway’ line from a previous ficlet wouldn’t let me go #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve and robin #steve and the party #eddie and the party #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve and dustin #eddie and dustin

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wroteclassicaly · 13 days

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18+

Desperation with Steve.

It started out as a funny joke, but something that obviously rang true, given Steve’s intense frustration.

“Someone needs to drain his balls,” Eddie had said with a laugh, pinching the blunt between his fingers and passing it off to Argyle.

“You backed up, bro? Can’t imagine that, you’re pretty handsome. Must have a lotta ladies around here.”

His jaw had tightened, tongue swiping back and forth in his mouth, hands on slim hips. The way that he looked, your brain had already begun to formulate a plan…

~*~

You can’t take it anymore, he’s had it. You’re lifting yourself up from your spot on the throw pillow beside Robin, motioning for Steve to follow you into your kitchen. “C’mon. Popcorn time. Come with me?”

“Yeah, he needs to. Real bitchy lately, that one.” Eddie echoes.

You fix Eddie with a stare, leaving Steve to follow.

You’re a ball of nerves, swaying back and forth on your scuffed, floral linoleum. He meets you moments later, running a hand through his tousled tresses. He’s flushed, flustered, not saying anything yet. You inhale a deep breath, reaching up and tugging beneath your skirt, panties sliding onto the floor around your ankles. He finally takes notice when you whisper his name, holding command in the word. “Steve?”

“What…?” And he doesn’t have time to finish his sentence, looking up to see you watching him beneath a hooded, yet vulnerable gaze. A confidence he’s never seen before flooding your features as you speak next.

“I can help you, if you’ll please let me?” You kick your panties aside, backing yourself towards the counter behind you. “Trust me, it’s okay.”

He bites his bottom lip between his teeth and releases with an, “Oh, fuck.” Before he’s striding across the kitchen floor and colliding with you, dragging you the rest of the way to the counter, his hands behind your knees, your toe leveling into the ground to help him get you seated.

Movements remain stifled and sloppy, one of your legs still near the floor, skirt being rucked around your waist, Steve struggling to fit in the cove where you are, and also your house phone. His eyes are dark, merely mossy shards as they meet your gaze. He grips your cheek, one hand fumbling for his belt, it clattering apart with a noise that you don’t care who hears at this point. He’s still maneuvering, grunting that he can’t, that’s it’s all so much. He needs to be inside, it aches, right down to his toes. His massive hand slaps beside your head, knocking the phone off the receiver, making you lift your other leg to tuck around his tailbone, helping him shove his jeans and boxers down.

And my Christ, it’s big. It looks painful. Wet already.

“You said it’s okay? Yeah?” He brings you back, fingers on your chin, his cheeks flushed pink. You know he’s burning up.

You end up rebuffing his offer to eat you out, settling on stuffing two fingers inside of yourself, in addition to one of his own. He’s shaking by the time you’re done, watching as you try to find something to hold onto. He drapes your hands across his neck’s nape, and presses inside at your insistence. It doesn’t take long before his teeth are gritting and he’s got you clawing his back, whining into his neck, his hips piling you into your counter. When your mouth opens to pant, his tongue lolls out to lick its way inside, kissing you sloppily, lewdly, but with precise expertise.

He thanks you with every thrust, praising how good you feel. And you just let yourself hold onto the back of his head, both legs against his perfect, perky ass, glad that he’s been bound up for months. He redresses you afterwards, cleaning you gently between your thighs, kissing every inch of exposed skin from your shoulder, across your breast, to your neck, all across your face, finally finding your mouth.

The moment that you both stroll back into the living room, poker faces failing, Eddie speaks first. “Where’s the popcorn, guys?”

Argyle beats your return statements. “Congrats, man. From what I heard, you really gave the lady your all.”

And everyone erupts into stoned applause. You and Steve share looks of embarrassment, only for his to turn into a slight smirk. Yeah, you know this won’t be the last time he renders you unable to walk the next day.

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georgiapeach30513 · 1 month

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Your Mark on Me, Part 14

Summary: Steve should have paid attention

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, unprotected sex, PIV sex, hard sex, mirrors, creampie, threats, I'm sorry for the pain I have caused, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Steve gives you a warm smile, watching you as you bashfully eat your food. His eyes follow every movement your hand makes before you drop your fork and try to give him an angry look, “Doesn’t look right on you, Dovey.”

“Stop watching me. You eat,” it’s unnerving how he watches you. Like he needs to memorize everything about your movements. Every moan that whispers off your lips as you eat, every happy dance you do, and even the way your eyebrows reflect how your feeling with each bite. He is obsessed with your very being.

“I already have,” he lowers his eyes, motioning towards your fork before you slowly put another bite in your mouth. Dragging out the utensil at a snail speed. Sucking on the metal hard before it pops out of your mouth, “It would be better for you and that soaking wet cunt between your legs if you didn’t do that. That’s your only warning.”

Oh, you love a warning and what happens when you don’t listen, “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you tease. Hoping that it amps him up even more.

“Ha,” his voice bellows up into the cabin and you drop your fork. Crossing your arms over your chest as you glare at him. You weren’t the same girl he met a year ago. You were a woman that could fully take and survive Steve Rogers. “Aren’t you just the prettiest little bratty slut. You really want to see exactly how I can punish you for your behavior?”

“I’ve been spanked before,” you remind him with an edge of defiance. Shimmying your shoulders a bit as you start to smirk at him. You have been able to take everything he’s shoved your way. “I wear my badge of Steve’s Dove proudly. Been marked and forbidden for anyone to touch. Would you have claimed me if I couldn’t put up with your menacing ways?”

“I’m a menace now, am I? Tell me, Dovey, who am I a menace for?”

“You’re a menace Steve Rogers, but not to me. All I see is a fool completely in love with me. And my pussy,” you emphasize ‘my’ before you launch out of your seat, and start to run through the cabin. “So in love with me that you will chase your girlfriend around this cabin laughing.”

Steve would never say the words, but he won’t stop you from feeling his emotions. You did make him a fool for you. He would never have been caught chasing you around with the brightest smile on his face. He didn’t even want to catch up to you just yet. He hadn’t felt this way in years. Like everything was just right in the world. In his world. And all he wants is to laugh and have fun with you.

“Oh, Stevie boy,” you smile, spinning around to look at him before you pull apart his button up. Giving your shoulders a shake so he can see your tits bouncing around, and he stops just to gaze upon you. “Not tempted?”

He shakes his head no, but he can’t ignore the shuffle he does with his pants. He is such a horn dog! “What about now?” Cocking up one of your eyebrows you cup your breasts. Keeping your eyes on his, as you start to pinch and tweak your nipples, “Now?”

“Not quite,” liar. You start to undo every button slowly before letting it fall into the floor, and he hisses through his teeth. His eyes drape over every inch of your skin. His gray sweatpants start to tent, and he still wants you to believe he’s not turned on.

“Really? You want to keep chasing me through the house?”

“I’d rather see you try and crack me. That’s what you’re poorly attempting to do, hmm?” He can try to deny it, but even the way Steve speaks is different. Gone was the harsh language. He still had a filthy mouth when he was inside of you, but now he is creating a different Steve. One just for you.

He glances hungrily over your naked body before walking over to the couch. Sitting down smoothly, and even acknowledges his aching cock by rubbing over his swollen pants. Smirking at you while you want to gawk. “You’re craving me, huh, Dovey? You want that sloppy cunt to be hugging this?” Those meaty fingers grip over his covered girth, and you let out a sound that is more animalistic than human.

“Make me lose control. Make me want to show you my cock that is yours for the taking. What is my little cock slut going to do?” You take a step towards him. Trying to be sexy as you saunter closer, but he holds up a finger, “Eh eh eh. Earn your seat on this throne.”

“How?” There’s only a flicker of a moment of Steve going soft. But that twinkle of an eye is gone and replaced with an evil sneer. “Captain?”

“Use your imagination. What do you think I want more of in the world,” how are you supposed to think when your pussy is throbbing. A low hum sounds through your brain and pulses through your entire body. There is only one thing on your mind, and that is you want him to fuck you. You don’t want anything sweet. You want to be destroyed. Since he’s going to be out all day. You wanted to feel him when he left.

Taking a deep breath, you softly close your eyes. Trying to recall a moment that you were the most vulnerable to Steve? When did he feel his own need to destroy you? To own you?

Like a movie playing in your mind, you open your eyes with a grin. If you were going to be destroyed, so was he. You take a deep breath and pretend the trauma that night didn’t happen. Thinking back to when that night was sexy. To the moments of Steve struggling to look at you or your reflection. He couldn’t even figure out what the best view for him was.

Nakedly walking over to the wall, you look at him through that mirror. Biting on your lip as you lean forward. Spreading your legs and sticking out your ass, so he gets a glimpse of your weeping cunt. Feeling more empowered as he adjusts himself. His chest rumbles out a low growl, and you grab both sides of the mirror.

Leaning over it low and slow as you lay it on the floor, and you look at him over your shoulder before straddling the mirror. Shimmying your hips from side to side, and his eyes move to the reflection to stare at your spread pussy. “Do you remember, Captain? You made me watch you fuck me with your gun? Had me coming all over it while I stared at my body taking every bit of what you were giving me?”

“Dove,” he warns as you start to kneel down. Getting down on all fours before you lean forward, and his Adam’s apple bobs with just how uncomfortably hard he is. His cock out of his pants, and he fists it slowly. Beads of precum leak onto the crown of his cock and you whimper. You can already feel him pushing into you.

You are ready to drool with the way he strokes his cock. Knuckles so tense trying to replicate the feeling of your tight walls. Wagging your ass before your hand goes in between your legs, and you gently run your hand through your velvety folds. Your moans match Steve’s, and you dip even lower, using your fingers to spread yourself out, and Steve’s grip gets even tighter.

“I know what would feel better, Captain,” you coo, moving your fingers to push into your warmth. Mewling as you watch him fight the pleasure that is right here. The stairway to heaven is steps away from him, and he was denying himself the greatest high he could ever imagine. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“And what’s that?” His eyes are black pools of lust. Mouth hanging open as he watches you fuck yourself. Pulling out your fingers you spread them apart, and he gulps as strings of your arousal stick to the appendages, creating a beautiful webbing of your honey. “You’re soaked.”

“Soaked and ready to be fucked. Filled up with your cum. And I get to watch all of it. Watch how my body morphs to accommodate that big fat cock of yours. Have you ever had a pussy as tight as mine?” He shakes his head no, and you adjust yourself to have your front flat on the mirror. Face on the cold glass as you look back at him. Wiggling your ass and watch him sweat.

“It’s all yours, Captain. Whatever you want. And you know you want it. Want to fuck me so deep and hard that I feel you in my throat. Feel you for the rest of the day, and feel empty because you're not inside of me. Like what you see?”

He stands up, and lets his sweatpants drop down to the floor. His cock is angry and red as he walks over to you. Sinking to his knees, but still he stares at your needy cunt. Inspecting your hole before he spits down on your puckered hole. His warm saliva drifts down your seam before it, and possibly your slick, puddles on the mirror below you. Thick, wet, and sticky. Just the way Steve loved it.

You whine. Pushing your ass into him. Desperate and needing his touch like you need the air to survive. Rocking your body into him with so much desire that you could almost come undone like this. “Please, fuck me. Own me. Destroy me. Kill any desire for another man’s touch.”

“There will be no other man,” he grunts, railing his veiny cock into you so hard, and so deep you see stars. Nails scratching on the carpet as he impales you. Giving you no time to adjust, just raw and dirty fucking, and you go outside of your mind. The pleasured pain surges all the way to the tips of your hair.

Unadulterated euphoria that you have never felt before. This is fucking. A careless need to get off like the animals you were underneath all that humanity. Pulling out the most salacious sounds out of your mouth, and you’re a mess. He is implanting himself into the blood that courses through your veins with every hard thrust into you. Exploring parts of your body that you are sure he has never discovered.

His fingers dig into your hips with such force, but all you feel is fulfilled. He could use you. He could have you. Every last bit of you, and you would still beg for more. Searing himself into your body more than the tattoo could ever do. Choking out your sounds of ecstasy, and he goes harder. Deeper.

His eyes go between where the two of you connect and the reflection. Watching himself burrow into your body like some predator. Leaving behind a trail where his cock is rooted in your body. The vulgarity of seeing your body take him fully like that makes his balls tighten up against his body, and he spanks your ass to help him focus on going harder. Faster.

Crying out into the cabin because your belly tenses up. Heat centers into your core as your juices start spewing out onto the mirror. Filled up with Steve so much that there’s no room for anything else. Nothing but wet skin on wet skin. “You're perfect, Dovey. Perfect for me. My greedy little slut takes me like no other woman. Every inch of my cock is inside you, and every bit of my soul is owned by you.”

You clench your eyes shut as the pleasure becomes too much. Your body goes limp and pliant for him as he spears into you so hard you lose all control. His hands are the only thing keeping you upright. “You’re mine.”

“Mine.”

“And I’m yours,” one more hard and particularly deep thrusts hits you so deep that you travel to another plane of existence. A plane where Steve’s body is bare of all his markings and scars. A place where he is whole again. Your body is able to purify him. Cleansing him of all the turmoil that made him who he was. And you get the innocent man that you deserve.

The love you’ve craved to hear from him, you see it in these moments. He was different with you and for you. Nothing has ever been more clear in this plane than the fact that Steve was irrevocably in love with your bratty ass. It was going to be a hard life, but life would never be worth living without him in your life.

His hands go rigid on your hips as he blows his load deep into your belly. His hold softens as he lowers your body flat to the mirror. Letting his softening cock fall out of you, and you whine at the loss, “Shh,” he starts to pick you up, but you lift your ass up into the air. Getting back on your knees.

His eyes drift to your gaping hole, and he watches his cream dribble out of your body before drops land on the mirror, mixing with your juices below our body, “You’ve ruined me, Dove.”

“Good. We’re equal now.”

“We are,” he agrees, continuing to watch himself leave your body drop by drop. A masterpiece if he had ever seen one. “And I love it.”

“You asshole,” you snort. You didn’t even care to try and get him to say those three words anymore. You were content with him giving parts of himself that he had never given anyone else.

“I was going to say you were my best friend, though. Does that help?” It does. Steve didn’t trust easily, didn’t throw around words like best friend lightly. He meant it. And that means more to you than eight letters.

“It does. Now put me to bed, best friend.”

You are equals.

Steve walks into the club a little taller. Shoulders back as he struts in front of his people. Giving a few nods to them before he makes his way into his office. He has no intention of spending an entire day here. He left you satiated and sleepy, and he would love to get back to you.

He wants to spend less time here, and has even continued to think about what Bucky said. He is getting older, and things were getting more dangerous with Rumlow, and whatever Peggy was cooking up. Her time would come soon enough. You don’t double cross Steve Rogers and get away with it.

He is beginning to think about a future that doesn't include this business. Ways to spend the large quantities of money he had made with illegal bullshit. And none of them were without you. Houses in different locations, preferably at the beach so he can watch you walk around in next to nothing all the time. Maybe catch a glimpse of you dripping of ocean water and laying in the sun.

That is what life is about and seeing Bucky content with his choices had opened up Steve’s eyes a bit more. He’d give this one more year. The longer in the game you had the riskier things became. The more power you owned the more people wanted to steal it away from you. And now they had the perfect tool to hold over Steve’s head for ransom. You.

It became too clear to him that you were his everything. This life didn’t matter. The money didn’ mean a damn thing if he didn’t have you to spend it on. And a family. It looked good on Bucky. He’d never seen Bucky happier, and the desire he had to not just fully claim you and connect you to him forever with a legacy that was both of you hit him directly in the heart he thought had been nothing but ashes. And yet he is feeling things he thought were a fairytale.

You awoke something in him he thought he had lost years ago. Humanity. Passion. Fear. Need. A reason to not just survive but to live. All in this perfect human that he didn’t want to miss a single second with. And there is nothing that he wouldn’t do to keep you alive. Alive and living your life to its fullest potential. He needs that for you more than he needs it for him. His life and soul was burned years ago, but you were the beauty in his dark world.

A world that didn’t deserve your light, or the power you could wield with that light. You are remarkable. And you are his.

His head tilts towards his door as Sam walks in. His brows furrowed and they sit low on his face, “I need you to sit down,” Steve starts to respond, arguing about being told what to do, but in Sam’s calming and deep timbre, he tells him again, “Sit down. You need to see this, it’s about Dove.”

Without hesitation he moves to his chair that Sam points to, and he’s met with a computer screen of his home. He looks up at Sam curiously before the other man pushes play for Steve. The video is a bit distorted, but it was taken this morning. Watching your beautiful body walk into frame, and the teasing show you put on for Steve.

A part of Steve wants to smile at how amazing it is to relive this moment until he realizes this isn’t the location of his security cameras, “What. The fuck. Is this?” His fist pounds on the desk, viewing one of the most intimate moments he has ever had with you. How you made yourself completely vulnerable to him. Trying to erase the night that he branded you as his own in the most humiliating way. You retrieved that moment back this morning, and someone saw it.

“Skip to the end,” Sam answers flatly.

Steve reaches towards his keyboard, and skips towards the end where there’s a camera change. This one in your bedroom as he carries you into the bed. Laying you down and kisses all over your worn body. A moment so pure and perfect and it was stolen from him. Kissing over your heated skin until you completely fall asleep, and it pans over to the floor, and some stupid envelope. Staying on something so unimportant that it highlights the words that he utters, and Steve stands up just as the screen goes black.

A mechanical voice vibrates deep into Steve’s core and he seethes. This moment wasn’t for anyone. Not even for you and it was stolen out from under him. A threat. A fucking threat that makes him see red, and ready to light the world on fire, “You’ve been warned.”

With an angry growl, Steve grabs his computer off the desk and hurls it into the floor. Turning to stomp out of his office and back where he came from. “Steve?”

“How the fuck did you get this?”

“It was emailed to us.”

”You saw and heard fucking nothing. I will destroy whatever asshole did this. And I will start with Lark! But I need to know what my goddamn warning was. FUCK! That night Lark was there, did anybody come into the house?”

Sam stares at him a moment. He knows he should have told Steve sooner, and this wasn’t going to go well. “The footage was tampered with,” Steve bellows out a scream that is feral. His face becomes beet red and all he wants is you. “There’s about three minutes missing from the feed.”

“Shut it down.”

“Steve?”

“No one goes in or out of here until I get to Dove. All phones confiscated. I want Natasha to get eyes on Rumlow immediately. You didn’t see or hear anything!” Emphasizing the last word before storming off.

No road laws are followed as he races to get back to the cabin. His phone propped up with a clear view of you dancing around in your little shorts. He should be coming home to you with a smile, and instead it's anger and anxiety. To see you move about with so much joy pains him to know someone had put you at risk. You’re not going to understand. You couldn’t. Not with what was captured, and he wouldn’t explain it.

Slamming his car into park he stomps up the steps, and you run to greet him, “Hey, Captain,” you give him the brightest smile. Happy because you had already missed him. This morning was perfect, but then you see his face, and you frown. “Steve?”

He doesn’t say a word as his long strides carry him to the bedroom with a few steps. Walking right over to the envelope before he picks it up to rip open. Teeth clenching harder with every line before he crumples it and the contents up, and stares out into space. So many things run through his mind, and a part of him dies. The part he was finally getting back completely burns up, and the ashes start to blow away with the wind.

“Steve, what’s going on?” The sound of your voice hits deep into his soul. He had made a private vow to never see you hurt. And you sound hurt. And it would only get worse. Already hating himself, but one look at you, and the thought of anything happening to you is worse than death. He would rather feel the pain of torture than this. The thing worse than death is to ever see anything happen to you.

“Steve?”

“We need to pack your bags. We’ve gotta go,” his voice is lifeless as you switch the weight of your feet. Something was wrong. Off. It feels bad. He says your real name, and your lip starts to tremble. “Either you pack you some bags, or I will.”

“Are you packing a bag, too?” He wasn’t. But if it is what it takes for you to not crumble right now, it’s what he would do. You see the tenseness in his body, and want to scream at him. “Steve?”

He gulps, standing up to walk towards you. Cupping your cheek, he presses a sweet kiss to your lips, but it’s like he’s seeing right past you. “If you’re going to kiss me make it mean something,” Steve’s hands move to your ass, and he picks you up. Making you wrap your legs around him as he holds you so tight. Deepening the kiss, and you melt into his skin. Holding onto him like you are going to lose him.

Feeling every bit of the love he has for you through this one kiss alone. A kiss that reminds you that he is a man that acts instead of says. And what he says is often a lie. His words never match his actions. He pulls away and sets you on the ground before walking towards the closet. “It’s not safe for you here. Do you want to help me pack your things or not?”

Sighing you decide its best to help him. Even if he thinks he knows what’s best.

Sitting on the hotel bed you curiously watch Steve on the balcony. He spent more time avoiding your eyesight and smoking a joint than he did with you. Today should have been a good day. It started off magical, and ended in — this. Confused wasn’t even the word you would use. Hurt? Maybe.

It’s like playing a game of tug-o-war and you know you’re about to lose. All this pushing and pulling you and Steve have been doing this past year made you feel like you were winning, but now it’s like he is ripping the rope right out of your grasp. Something was off and you didn’t like it. The feeling just festers inside your gut and you want to lash out at him.

He hadn’t kissed you again. Hadn’t so much as been sweet to you. It was mostly this; his back pointed towards you. He was avoiding something. And that something is you or something to do with you, and you hate it. You try and take deep breaths as you glare at his beautiful broad back. You had three bags of things, he had a small duffle bag. He was not staying as long as you, and he was lying.

“Steve Rogers, you’re a goddamn coward,” he takes a long drag of his roach, and still doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t acknowledge you said anything. “You could at least tell me the truth since I walk around with your fucking mark on my fucking neck,” sure add in some colorful words and make him want to punish you.

“You’re the biggest coward I have ever met, and you still won’t look at me,” you watch, ready to take the punishment as long as he looks at you. “Look. At. Me,” your words are harsh and spit through your teeth. You need him to feel the panic that is settling in your body. Putting out his joint, he slowly turns to look you in the face and his eyes are haunted. “Look at me!”

“I am.”

“No, look at me! See me. See all of me,” you scream, pulling off your clothes. “I need you to fucking see me, and you tell me what the fuck is going on!” he twists his neck again, and a sickening pop runs down his spine. “What the fuck are you going to do about my fucking attitude and using this fucking language, huh? Fuck you, Steve Rogers. Fuck you,” adding emphasis you throw up your middle fingers, and he sprints towards you.

Picking you up and he throws your now naked onto the bed. His thick body goes in between your legs, spreading you out and with one hand he messes around with his jeans. Struggling to get them undone, so you reach up and help him. “You see how wet my fucking pussy is from pissing you the fuck off?”

“You better shut your fucking mouth, Dove,” finally. It is violent and intense, but he said the nickname you have grown to adore. Ripping off his shirt, he spits down to your hole. Steve’s hand grips onto his member before he runs it through your slick. “You’re such a fucking slut,” he grits out, soaking his cock in your wet heat.

“Then you better fucking do something about it,” he growls low. Gripping each side of your cheeks with his thumb and fingers before he slams into you. Taking your breath away and rolling your eyes into the back of your head. You pissed him off. Good. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Steve!”

There’s no care in the way he pistons into you. Fucking you like you were some random whore that he was using to get off. Cheapening whatever this bond is between the two of you. Something is off. “Fuck you,” your voice loses the edge to it. It hurts, and not in a physical way. He’s tugging harder and harder at that rope, attempting to take it away completely.

“Fuck you,” your voice now a whisper as he fucks you harder. Still not meeting your eyes. Clenching his eyes close, and it kills you. “Fuck you. I hate you.”

“Good,” you let out a strangled sob with that one word. Giving up as he rips on that rope harder. You are losing your fight, and he was removing every bit of the rope from your hands, “But I’ll make you this promise, Dove. I promise that you will feel me etched in every part of your skin. That when you fuck another man that you still feel my cock buried deep in your body. So deep you can’t escape it. Every time some man looks at you, you remember the way I made you so weak. You’ll hate the ground that those men walk on because they’ll never be me. You’ll crave my touch and the way that I stretch you out.”

The rope is pulled completely out of your hands, and you lie below him, limp and in so much emotional pain you’re numb. His motions, and his words still don’t stop. They cut so deep that tears pour down your face. “You’ll never escape. And no man will ever make you feel the way that I do. I have left my mark on you so deep that you’re forever changed. You’re not longer that girl that I made my slut.”

“I hate you,” uttered words that mean nothing to him. Hate is just as strong as love, and you despise that you feel for him so deeply during whatever the fuck this is. You want to feel nothing for Steve Rogers, and still you feel everything.

“And you, sweet Dovey, have left your mark on me, too,” he pulls himself out of you, and you let out a strangled no as he spurts his cum on your stomach. The last fragment of the rope gone from your finger tips as he comes on your stomach just like a slut, “Don’t call me. Don’t look for me. Don’t reach out to me.”

“I’m just your whore now?”

“You’re nothing. You mean nothing. There’s money for you in one of your bags, I’ve paid for your troubles. Create a new life and forget this,” still he can’t meet your eyes as he removes that rope, and out of your hand and grasp. There’s no emotion in his words. They’re so monotone, and you hate him. But you want to erase every bit of him instead. Nothing could ever hurt as worse as being made to be a paid for slut to Steve Rogers.

“You’re goddamn liar. Spoken like a true fork tongued lying bastard!”

You let out the fiercest scream you can muster, staring right at him, but he robotically dresses himself, throwing a towel over you, “Clean yourself up,” he whispers before he walks out the door and out of your life.

A coward if you have ever seen one.

And you were a goddamn fool.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @theinheriteddutchess @annaallicce @feyfantome @jesevans @tittittoee @bananapiedreams @onclouds999 @darkserenity24 @abbatoirablaze @ashychangeling @identity2212 @mrsevans90 @weirdothatwritess @floralwsloki @thestralwriting @ambearsstuff @kandis-mom @hoodiesandicedcoffee @awhoreformoree @nyxbellabarnes @buckybarnesisdaddy @honeylovelyy @rogersbarber

#your mark on me #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fics #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut #dark!steve rogers #soft!dark!steve rogers #drug lord au #chris evans #chris evans character

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mcondance · 7 months

Text

note: office sex, fnaf takes place in the 2000s so william’s gf is a Black juicy tracksuit hyperfem girly!, cervix kissing, praise (it’s me what do you expect), reader has braids, that’s it i believe

something along the lines of being bent over wiiliam’s desk in his office, thrown over mountains of paper spread over his desk while the words almost swim across the pages.

tracksuit pooled around your ankles, the red fabric pulled down hastily to let you and william get to the business that he finds much more important than counseling people on what jobs to get, it’s a show of desperation with how he fucks into you.

your shirt and jacket are splayed by the chair near the door, he’d pulled them off a couple minutes after you entered the room, after the candy scent that always follows you filled his nose as he hangs onto your every little word, his blue eyes dilating like a fuckin pavlovian dog, his whole body pumping blood to his cock at your smell, at the sight of the sparkling glitter that hangs onto your entire being.

your hands grip tight at the old wood, colorful acrylics sliding, trying and failing to find a tether as steve sends your body pressing into his desk. his hips are strong and rough as they slap wildly against the soft curve of your ass, big hands draped over your waist and digging just a little too hard into your dewy skin, a soft sheen casted over you, your back shimmery with sweat and sparkles.

stretched is how you feel, filled an even better word for the way he makes a home for himself inside you, fucks you so good you drool onto the desk beneath you, a disgusting pool of slick spit that you know he’ll see as a trophy after you’ve both had your fills.

a soft chuckle meets your ears, a rough hand slides up your thigh and it has you shivering, clenching down on his cock as he huffs out a groan, his eyes transfixed by how your body rocks forward and your ass ripples with each of his firm thrusts.

with every forward push of his hips the desk creaks, his hips against your ass sounds out, perverse pats and slaps filling the white-lit room. even in the poor lighting you look so pretty bent over like this, braids tossed to the side so they don’t get “messed up”, as he says, his infatuation with everything you do clear as day.

“pretty, pretty girl” he purrs, pushing in as deep as he can go now and you let you a pretty little cry, his girth stretching you out, thick tip pressing softly against your cervix. he stays there, humming appreciatively at your sounds and how you push back against him, grinding his pulsating length against that electric spot inside you.

“feels so good, so go- ah” you cut yourself off with a gasped squeak as he grinds himself just right and pushes forward. your head rolls forward, face down, and you’re pushed onto the desk again, glowy hands flexing as you tense up, teary eyes snapping shut. again he pushes, a little harder this time, and his name tag falls off the desk and clatters to the floor, the noise barely heard by either of you for being lost in the haze of pleasure.

“what, baby? finish your sentence.” he muses with a sensual lilt, delivering slow grinds. he wants to hear your slurred voice, wants to hear your heavy tongue try and fail to convey how you feel. but still, he asks, though he knows you’re too filled to even think.

he receives no response, just a hoarse groan, and his eyes find your hands; he almost coos at the way they’ve stopped grasping at his desk. you can’t even try to calm yourself down. he’s taken that from you.

shaking, you push your ass back weakly against him. he gladly follows your movements with admiration at how good you look fucking yourself on him.

“pussy fuckin’ me so good,” he groans, pulling back and pushing forward, feeding off your nasty, unbridled moans until he’s back at the pace he was before. the lewd sounds of sex fill the room again, your whined response to his groan mixing with skin against skin and the wet squelch of your cunt pervading out through the air.

your hand flies to his soft stomach, nails scraping his pillowy skin. he catches your wrist, intertwining his fingers with yours in a gesture that would be romantic if you weren’t being fucked nasty over his desk.

he doesn’t have to talk much and neither do you, you’re more than happy to just listen to the sounds that escape you both as you meet in the middle again and again and again.

#william afton smut #william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton x black reader #william afton x black!reader #fnaf smut #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x black reader #steve raglan x black!reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #pocwriters

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 2 years

Text

Future Plans

Pairing: Dark Steve Rogers x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Steve has a desire to have a family and you’re no one to stop him.

WARNINGS: Non-con; Implied Kidnapping; Forced Pregnancy.

AN: First time writing non-con, so let me know how this is. This is a small gift for reaching 900 followers, thank you guys! Please, reblog and give me feedback.

“No! Stop it!” you cry out but to no avail. Steve keeps fucking you against the matress with rough thrusts, his pelvis hitting your own in a painful way that makes you squeal.

You’re dry as a desert and it only makes your pain worse, his massive cock drilling your weak pussy. His hands hold down your wrists, his handsome face contorted with wicked pleasure as his sweat drips down to your face.

The bed squeaks with every movement, continuously hitting the wall behind it. The tears keep wetting your face as you’re unable to control yourself. You hate him so much, you just want him to leave you alone.

“Oh, fuck, I’m getting so close.” he groans, eyes rolling with satisfaction. Steve tries to kiss you, but you turn your head so his lips kiss your skin instead, sucking and spreading his disgusting saliva all over you.

“I’m gonna give you a kid, how about that?” he grunts, moving a hand to grab your face, forcing you to stare at him. Horror fills every inch of your body, the little hope you had for yourself starting to disappear.

“No, no…” you regain energy as you strongly try to push Steve away from you. A child is the least thing you need right now.

He only chuckles, followed by a moan and he thrusts into you harder, eyes glinting with intense emotion. Lust, madness.

“You’re gonna be so heavy with my kid that you won’t be able to stand properly, much less run away. I��m gonna fuck a baby into you. Fuck, yes.” Steve mutters, his thrusts getting more erratic and violent as he keeps talking.

“I’ll always keep you pregnant, heavy and full of my babies. That’s going to be so nice, isn’t it?” tears keep running down your face and you’re not sure if it’s because of his aggressive way of fucking you or because of deranged his plans.

He fucks you relenlessly until he suddenly halts, a loud moan escaping his lips as the buries his face on your face. Steve crashes down on top of you, his weight making it harder for you to breathe but he doesn’t seem to notice you trying to get away from him.

Instead, he kisses your neck and takes a deep breath, pushing his cock until you can’t take more of him. Some white cum drips down your pussy and down your thighs, the feeling is gross and you can’t wait to clean it all.

He seems to have read your mind because he hugs you, twisting your body so that you’re caged back into his arms, his cock still buried inside you.

“No cleaning, babe, we gotta make sure it sticks. We should have a little one in nine months.” Steve declares, tilting his hips upwards, as he kisses the top of your sweaty head.

You close your eyes, hoping to wake up next morning and find out it’s all just a big nightmare.

It’s not and in nine months, you find yourself holding a tiny baby as Steve fervoulsy kisses your forehead, thanking you for giving him such a beautiful bundle of joy.

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missmonsters2 · 9 months

Text

Mirror, Mirror | Six: Epilogue

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART FIVE

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You never really thought about Wanda other than the fact that she's your best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. It just wasn't in the realm of possibilites, so you never let yourself develop feelings. At least until someone points out that you have a very specific type when it comes to dating, so maybe it is all subconscious? Reader's POV

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: Mini Series is completed! Thank you so much for tagging along with me <3 Explicit version available in a week.

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~3.1k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You rarely think about sentences that could change your life.

There are too many instances that could change your life; therefore, it would be moot to think about.

You have a terminal illness.

You've won 69 million dollars.

Someone you love has horrifically died—no, there were no remains.

It's all too overwhelming to think about; therefore, you don't. Yet, somehow, if you ever did think about life-changing sentences, you didn't think it could ever be, "Hey, have you noticed how you seem to exclusively date girls who look like Wanda?"

And it was like the ground crumbled underneath you. It was such a sickening realization—not that Wanda was in any way sickening—it was the fact that you might just be subconsciously a pervert.

The more you thought about the words, the more horrifying it became. Every one-night stand, every situationship, every girlfriend—god, they all looked like Wanda.

You're too scared to think about it deeper in fear of what it would reveal subconsciously every time you kissed or fucked a girl. Were you thinking of Wanda? God, you just couldn't think about it.

This was all Bucky's fault. You wished you had never gone out onto that balcony that night.

3 months prior to that night at the bar with Wanda & Steve

The cool air felt better, and the breeze settled on the back of your neck. There was definitely too much wine going around, and you only managed to escape as Tony brought out the hard liquor.

The crowd dispersed after several shots you didn't partake in. You stared into the distance, thinking idly how Tony had way too much money. Old money was ridiculous. Why does someone need a garden fountain as big as a pool?

Movement caught the corner of your eye, and you saw Wanda and Vision walking through the dimly lit garden. You smiled fondly at your best friend as she laughed at whatever charming thing Vision had managed to say.

Vision was...just okay, in your opinion. You thought he was too nonchalant about Wanda, and that was why they were so on and off rather than consistently being together. Wanda deserved someone who loved her fiercely, and you couldn't imagine Vision always putting Wanda first.

You watched with slight melancholy when Wanda linked her arms through his as they sat on the ledge of the garden fountain. You wished you had also brought someone along for this party.

"Hey, thought I saw you sneak out here."

You turned around and saw Bucky holding a glass of beer. You smirked at him with mirth. "You know what I must do when Tony starts bringing out the grey goose."

Bucky shuddered, clearly having been roped into a few shots. He came and stood next to you, catching the scene you were staring at. "Guess they're back on then?"

You shrugged. "Guess so. We'll see how long it lasts. I'm betting 3 months."

"Be realistic. It'll be 2 and a half months," Bucky snorted.

"Ye of little faith," you teased and then sighed. "I wish I also brought someone along. I should've brought that girl I met at my photoshoot."

"The brunette with green eyes?" Bucky asked, and you nod. "You know what I've noticed?"

"Hm?" you hummed in response to Bucky's casual tone.

"You seem to have a very specific type when it comes to dating," Bucky mused. "They're always brunette—save those two girls from university—and they always have green eyes."

You furrow your brows in serious thought. "I suppose so."

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, his tone still casual. "They always remind me of Wanda, especially from the back. I always have to make sure I'm careful not to mix up your date with Wanda."

Bucky ended it with a chuckle, stating he was getting cold before he left without another world, leaving you alone outside.

The connect dots snapped into place almost instantly, horrifying you as you continued to stare at Wanda from above.

Oh, fuck.

Maybe it was a good thing you didn't bring anyone tonight. You're not sure how you'd be able to take someone home into your bed with the daunting realization you go after girls who look like your best friend...because you actually want your best friend.

The three months since that discovery had nearly driven you to insanity. Since you refused to talk to anyone about it, most of your thought process was, " Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no."

But in the end, you resolved that it couldn't happen. Wanda would never reciprocate your feelings in a million years, especially since she had Vision. Wanda occasionally even talked about the possibility of marrying him down the road.

It wasn't happening. It was never going to happen.

Wanda was more important to you than anyone in the whole entire world. You would never allow anything to risk the friendship—even your feelings.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You felt like a sick sexual deviant.

Despite your resolve to bury your feelings and continue on as normal, it was getting increasingly weird to continue to see girls who looked like Wanda. Yet, you couldn't stop. It wasn't doing it for you otherwise.

But now, every time you kissed a girl, all you could see was Wanda in her. Sex was beginning to become a guilty pleasure for all the wrong reasons.

When you met Raye, it felt like another sinful thing to lust after, knowing how much she physically reminded you of Wanda. But you could see a big personality difference in the short time you spent chatting with Raye.

Wanda was the type you spoiled, indulging in her strange, wacky ideas. She could be very emotional, swinging from one side of the spectrum to another. She had such a big heart, willing to love, but also held grudges and was wicked if crossed. Wanda was a brat in all the loving ways you could mean.

Raye could be best described as emotionally consistent. On the surface, she portrayed a wicked sense of humor and was fun to be around, but she was much more guarded than Wanda. She was very independent, not liking anything that might even intrude on her freedom. Raye kept her true feelings close to herself and seemed to be teasing you to come find out.

It was different. You didn't mind, maybe liking it even (purely in the sense it was the opposite of Wanda, and you couldn't afford to keep lusting after your best friend in all possible ways).

Even so, your mind was distracted on the first date.

"Have you ever done a boudoir photoshoot?" Raye asks, her tone low and seductive.

"Can't say that I have," you smile, trying to remind yourself to be present during the date. It's been long since you've properly wined and dined someone, and Wanda kept entering your thoughts.

"Well, there's a first for everything and you might even have a willing model," Raye bit her bottom lip suggestively, her index finger stroking the back of your hand.

And while the southern twang does stir something in you, and you feel your stomach tingling, you're very aware that it's because Raye physically reminds you of Wanda. So, your mind traitorously imagines Wanda biting her lip and saying seductive things to you.

"THEY WOULD NEVER—"

You whip your head around, swearing you heard Wanda. When there was no sign of her, you furrowed your brows in confusion, turning back to Raye.

Was this a sign of insanity?

You resolve right then and there to focus on the lovely brunette before you and enjoy the date. It was easy enough if you relaxed and earnestly asked Raye questions about herself.

It was easy enough to hold Raye's hand and swing it back and forth if you just thought about how warm they were.

It was enough to giggle when Raye leaned in closer to whisper something silly or naughty in your ear if you just thought about how her breath felt on the shell of your ear.

Suddenly, the car next to you went off, the alarm beeping loudly enough to make you and Raye jump in surprise. You turned around and noticed the couple behind you were gone. You thought they looked slightly familiar, but it was too difficult to determine when they were so far away in the dark under passing streetlights.

Ultimately, you walk Raye up her steps, unsure what you want your next move to be. Everything feels strange since the revelation. You feel guilty for your lust, but specifically what causes it.

But when Raye pulled you in for a hot, searing kiss, you decided to just go with the flow...which also ended up being nothing as she got a call from her sister while clothes were discarded.

The call was only bordering on 40 seconds, but you decided your momentum was lost, and you needed that momentum to have sex with someone else while you tried (unsuccessfully) to not think about Wanda.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Fuck. Darcy.

Those were the only words that could come to your mind after Wanda texted her vague answer about whether or not she was returning home tonight.

You sighed as you scrolled through the videos and photos, trying to get a headstart on putting together the video for Tony and Pepper. As you began opening up files, many were corrupted by the inability to open or glitchy images.

With another sigh, your chair scraped against the floor as you shifted back, pulling out your phone and shooting a quick text to the videographer asking if you could meet up tomorrow to get the SD card for the originals. You got a prompt reply with a thumbs-up emoji with a time and place.

You thought you might've just heard something shuffle in your room, but you forget about it when it's quiet again.

In the end, you spent another 45 minutes scrolling through some other photos that weren't corrupted, catching Wanda in the background and staring with a lingering thought about how absolutely pretty she was.

A part of you was in disbelief that Wanda was interested in women. You had so many questions that still lingered, but you didn't want to push Wanda or make it seem like you were interrogating her, and she needed to prove it.

Still, you wondered what exactly made Wanda come to terms with the fact that she liked women.

Specifically, why couldn't you be the reason she was interested in women? You shoved those forbidden feelings down, beating them back into its box to put away.

It didn't matter.

It shouldn't matter.

You're with Raye, and Wanda may be with Darcy. Or some other girl, or maybe even with a guy again.

It's just not going to be you.

And that's okay, you tell yourself. You can love someone without having to pursue anything. You just want to be there for Wanda.

Of course, all of this changed the moment you watched a slanted confession video from an unaware Wanda while your roommate was out for lunch with a client.

Shock is the only thing that registers upon the video finishing. Were you hallucinating again? Was this like the first date with Raye where you kept thinking you could hear or see glimpses of Wanda?

But you played the video over and over, blinking every time it was finished.

Then a burst of strange laughter bubbled from your mouth, and then horror dawned on you that, 'oh, fuck. She actually feels the same way.'

It was unclear whether or not Wanda was trying to let her feelings be known or if she was also facing the same issue as you, where she was suppressing them. Either way, Wanda would unlikely be brave enough to say anything soon.

You spent the week humming and hawing about what pursuing a relationship with your best friend would mean. What would the consequences be if things didn't work out? What would the consequences be if you declined to pursue anything more despite if Wanda confessed? What would the consequences be to watch Wanda move on and love someone else?

Your stomach dropped.

You needed to break up with Raye.

Your stomach dropped.

You wait 3 more days before confronting Wanda since she's clearly a chicken.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You knew you had feelings for me for at least 3 months?" Wanda screeches. "And you said nothing?!"

"Okay, relax, you banshee," you wince at the sound. "How is that the only thing you hung onto out of everything I just told you?"

"But...but!" Wanda narrows her eyes on you. "It was getting serious with Raye!"

"Serious?" you raise your brow at Wanda. "What gave you the idea it was getting serious? We were dating but I saw her maybe a few days out of a month with how much she flies out for work."

"So, it wasn't getting serious at all?" Wanda frowns.

"Well," you purse your lips. "Maybe for Raye. She was considering transferring to another department so she wouldn't have to fly out anymore."

Wanda's mouth hangs open, her face pale with the worst thoughts of what might've been if they never confessed their feelings.

"Which," you cut in like you're able to read her mind, "obviously, I told her to not do as I wanted to end things with her."

"How did she take it?" Wanda asks curiously.

You look uncomfortable as you shift in bed, but Wanda waits patiently. "I think she just emotionally shut down. There were no tears, no screaming, or any accusations about why I was ending things. She just looked impassive as she accepted it and asked me to leave."

"Oh," Wanda bit her bottom lip. She feels bad in a way, but not bad enough to regret making you hers. "I'm sorry, bug."

You sigh as you reach over and pull Wanda close, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. The blanket shifts down, exposing Wanda's neck and collarbone where you had unabashedly marked up.

"Now, are you done with the questions, or can we resume where we left off?" You ask mischievously, pressing languid kisses against the side of her neck.

Wanda closes her eyes with a soft hum, pressing her body closer to yours until you shift and move over Wanda.

"I notice that you didn't mention anything about Darcy."

"Mention what exactly?" You say between kisses, stroking Wanda's hip. "That I was insanely jealous and wished her ill? Although, now that I know it was a fake date and neither of you had interest in each other, she seems nice."

Wanda laughs. "Even after she hacked your laptop?"

"With your help, might I remind you," you pull up and pointedly look at her. "But if she never corrupted those wedding files, I would've never got the original SD card and found out about your feelings."

"Very true," Wanda muses as she throws her head around your neck and pulls you close. She pecks your lips charmingly. "We should get her a nice bottle of wine."

"What about Steve and Bucky."

Wanda scoffs. "They're meddling little school girls who are probably kicking their feet and giggling."

You can't help but laugh before you dive in for another kiss, eager but slow. Oh, man. You were going to love Wanda for the rest of your life.

After a moment, Wanda sighs. "Okay, fine. We can give our McDonald's coupons to Steve and Bucky."

You laugh again. "Alright, brat."

"Okay, stinky."

"Chicken."

"Stupid."

"Witch."

"Here we go again with that," Wanda rolls her eyes with a smile. "I'll have you know that if I were a witch, I'd be the most powerful and best witch ever."

"I bet you would," you agree very readily. "Instead of cursing people to death, you'd be saving their lives...or causing mass chaos. Huh, I guess that's not so different from now."

Wanda scoffs indignantly before she starts tickling you. You laugh, trying to jerk away, but Wanda is persistent in keeping you in place.

"Mercy!" You laugh as you roll to the side.

"Take that back! I do not cause chaos!"

"I take it back! You're clearly an A-List superhero!"

Wanda continues to tickle you anyway. "Say you love me!"

"I love you!"

Only then does Wanda stop, grinning wickedly as she presses a chaste kiss to your lips, and you're breathing heavily.

You want to call her a menace, but you're afraid that will only result in another tickle fight.

Wanda smiles warmly.

"I love you, too."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"See, I told you Wanda would be the one to confess!" Steve smirks.

"That's because you're a little cheater who went and nudged Wanda along," Bucky rolls his eyes with a smile.

"Oh, yeah, like you're the perfect picture of fair," Steve narrows his eyes. "Don't think I don't know that you went to Bug first. I had to step in and nudge Wanda to make the odds even."

"Was it really Wanda who confessed when it was Bug who technically discovered her secret."

Steve seems to think about it before he slumps into the sofa, "I feel like that's a gray area." Then, Steve frowns. "Ugh, but then that means neither of us wins the bet."

"We can just call it even," Bucky shrugs, laying his head on Steve's shoulder.

"Oh, no," Steve shakes his head. "I won't let you wriggle out of our bet. We will watch all the Lord of the Rings movies if you lose."

Bucky groans loudly. "But there's so many and they're so long."

"You really think I want to watch the Star Wars movies?" Steve rolls his eyes.

"They're a classic!" Bucky argues.

"So is Lord of the Rings."

Bucky huffs but concedes. "Fine," he wrinkles his nose. "Should we bet on something else?"

"No, I like the thrill of two people getting together, even if it takes time. Besides, we have the time since we have to finish a whole bunch of shows," Steve says.

"Hm, which ones of our friends are due to get together?" Bucky muses.

"We could try Nat and Maria," Steve suggests.

"No, too hard since Maria doesn't live here," Bucky shakes his head and then offers, "Yelena and Kate?"

"I think they're actually already together," Steve furrows his brows. "But if they're not, I'm too scared of Yelena to get involved in her affairs."

"I think that's all our friends who are technically single with a viable date option," Bucky sighs.

Silence falls between them before Steve suggests, "Want to bet when Tony and Pepper will announce they're pregnant?"

They stare at each other for a moment before they yell out their guess at the same time.

"6 months!"

The silliness of it all leaves Steve and Bucky giggling.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x y/n #avengers imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #modern avengers au #Elizabeth olsen x reader #mm: my fics

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wanda-widow · 3 months

Text

Plum Croissants With a Side of Sunshine

Private Chef!f!Reader x Avenger!Bucky

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Bucky isn't used to people caring for him, much less being persistent with it because they think he deserves it. It all comes to a halt when Tony decided to hire a private chef who also has everyone's best interest in mind.

Warnings: slight angst, Bucky's kind of an asshole, fluff

18+ MDNI

Don't forget to like and reblog 🩷

Bucky's usual afternoon routine was work out, go for a run, and then go to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers as dinner. Simple, easy, and he was left alone. He liked the familiar routine, the limited interaction. And he was perfectly fine with it staying that way.

What he wasn't perfectly fine with was walking into the kitchen one afternoon to find it packed with agents and his fellow team members, the vast dining table filled with fresh food. He took one look and turned the other way, deciding to eat later when Steve saw him.

"Hey Buck, you gotta try some of these dishes, they're almost heavenly" Steve yelled over thx chatter, waving him over as Bucky sighed wearily, turning around to almost smack into you.

"Ah, sorry" you said sheepishly, the platter of food wobbling in your hand slightly before you steadied it. Setting it on the counter, you turned back to Bucky to take in his full appearance. Shorter hair, piercing blue eyes, light stubble around his jaw. Tall. You offered a small smile up at him.

"I'm Y/N, Tony hired me a couple days ago but I haven't seen you around. You must be Bucky, right?" you said, excited to finally meet the super soldier that the team had been telling you about.

"Yeah, it's Bucky" he responded flatly before walking to the table to get some food, cutting off any further conversation.

You frowned to yourself but decided to not take it personally. Natasha had told you he was closed off especially after the whole deal with the Accords. Not that you could blame him, he had been through enough in one lifetime. You went to go wash the dishes, wondering how you could get the surly soldier to open up to you.

A few days passed with no sight of Bucky but you weren't surprised. It was late one evening when on a whim, you decided to bake. Taking out the ingredients you needed, you hummed some song that was playing on the radio earlier, feeling yourself slip into your comfort zone again.

Bucky was up, as he always was during these late nights. Sleep seemed impossible at times, flashes of blood and chaos invading his mind every time he closed his eyes. Scrubbing a weary hand down his face, he got up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants to get some water.

As he padded to the kitchen, he paused at the sight of you dancing to your own tune in the kitchen, cleaning a couple dishes. The faint scent of a pastry layered with something sweeter enticed him but he shook himself out of the trace.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, voice rough with disuse as he slipped past you to get a glass.

"Oh! Bucky, hi. Uh, something like that. Just had the urge to make something and since I am getting paid to cook, might as well make the most of it" you said softly, stretching as you made your way to the oven.

His eyes followed your movements as you pulled out a steaming rack of croissants, the flaky pasty littered with strays of purple streaks.

"Plum croissants" you explained after seeing his furrowed brow. "Wanna try one? Steve told me you liked plums"

"No" he said flatly but his eyes kept straying back to the dessert. Frustrated, he left the kitchen with his glass of water, leaving you wondering if you had messed up.

However, in the next 2 days, the croissants were gone. Of course, the team could've eaten them but whenever you asked around, they said that they never knew they existed.

You were finishing up the last of the dinner dishes when you heard quiet footsteps behind you, freezing when you turned around.

Raising an eyebrow, you fought back a smile at the sight of Bucky holding the croissant jar against his chest, the container clearly empty.

"You liked my croissants" you stated as he scowled, putting the jar on the counter.

"They were okay" he muttered, glancing away as you held back a giggle, taking the jar to wash it.

"You uh... you like baking?" he asked awkwardly, grabbing a napkin to clean the grooves in his metal arm.

"Yeah... I think it's a little more calming than cooking" you replied after a moment, turning back around to lean against the counter, watching him.

"What." he snapped slightly, avoiding eye contact like a guilty child.

"I can't believe you actually liked the plum croissants" you laughed softly, a bright smile blooming across your face. Bucky didn't trust himself to look at you, at the sunshine you radiated.

Coming around the counter, you slid onto the stool next to him, observing his expression for a moment. Troubled.

"You don't like it when people take care of you?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"Stop prying" he frowned, glancing quickly at you before meticulously focusing on one area of his arm.

"I'll take that as a yes" you hummed, yawning and stretching your arms above your head. "You know it's not a bad thing, people are just looking out for you"

He stayed silent, staring at his arm.

"Bucky?"

"I don't need your pity"

There was a strain in his voice, barely, but it was there.

"Bucky-"

"You're just a fucking chef, what would you know" came his biting reply.

"O-oh. Sorry, I didn't... um, it's late so I'm gonna go to bed" you whispered, the words cutting deeper than you'd like to admit. Sure, you were a chef but you also knew people. Knew how to connect with them.

Bucky watched as you hurried off, wondering why his words felt so wrong after he said it. He could almost feel the dimness of your light, like he sucked it out of you.

It was easy to say he hated himself for it.

It was a week later when you found a brown paper bag placed outside your door. You were oblivious to the pair of eyes watching you, wanting you to open it.

You reached out to get it, a familiar faint sweet smell reaching your nose. Opening it, you saw a somewhat attempted plum croissant and bit the inside of your cheek to stop a laugh.

You glanced around the hall before you spotted him lingering in a corner, watching your reaction. You stood there quietly, waiting for him to say something.

"I'm.... sorry... for lashing out" he finally said, shoulders slumping in defeat as he walked over to where you stood. "I'm not used to people being so insistent on caring about me or going out of their way to make... croissants"

"Thank you for the apology. And the croissant" you said, looking back down at the sad croissant before putting the bag down and wrapping your arms around him.

He paused for a moment, not used to the physical affection before wrapping his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. After a moment, he tilted his head down so that he could nuzzle his nose in your hair.

"Can you make some more croissants though?" came his muffled voice.

"Bucky!" you laughed, slapping his shoulder as he continued hugging you while walking you backwards to the kitchen.

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afewproblems · 9 months

Text

Season 2 Halloween AU Part Three

Part One, Part Two

Eddie waits till the end of the day to strike.

It's after four, and almost everyone has left for the day with the exception of the teachers and the janitor --who has already given Eddie the stink eye for remaining after hours for 'no reason'.

But Eddie does have a reason, a pretty decent one too.

He's waiting for King-Steve to get out of detention.

Turns out it didn't take until lunch for the whole school to hear about Harrington and Wheeler. In fact, the way Eddie heard, Steve had been ambushed not two minutes after his conversation with Nancy by Hagan and Hargrove.

Now here was where the story differed depending on who you heard it from.

Tammy Thompson told her lunch table that Steve freaked out when Hargrove started talking shit about Nancy.

Mark Holmes told Jim Cutter that Hagan got punched in the face and Hargrove was simply defending his friend from Steve.

Sarah March told Jeff in their homeroom that Steve wound up with a black eye after gym class that morning and was almost suspended for the week.

Eddie knows there must be a thread of truth linking all of these stories together. And at this point, he'd much rather hear it straight from the source.

Plus with a black eye Harrington would be needing those glasses back.

Eddie snaps the gum in his mouth and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he leans against locker 109, certain that Steve will have to stop by before he leaves.

"Munson?"

Speak of the devil.

Eddie tilts slightly in the direction of the voice and blows out a low whistle at the sight of the shiner on Steve's face.

It's already a deep purple, though it isn't as swollen as Eddie would have thought. It matches the colour of the bags under Steve's good eye and is accentuated by how strangely pale he looks today. Steve's lip is also split down the middle, blood staining his polo collar.

Huh, so it didn't happen in gym.

"Looks like someone had an interesting day," Eddie smiles as he crosses one leg over the other and taps the tip of his chuck on the linoleum, Steve winces at the harsh squeak it makes.

"Look Munson, whatever you want, just get it over with," Steve manages to say through gritted teeth, his hands have clenched into loose fists but the same tremor from the night before has returned in full force.

Eddie pushes himself off of Steve's locker and watches as the other man tenses. Eddie rolls his eyes and reaches behind himself, grabbing the shades from where they are hanging off his back pocket. Steve's gaze follows Eddie's movements and barely halts a flinch as the sunglasses are tossed into his chest.

Steve only seems to catch them with his latent jock ability but still nearly drops them in surprise.

"You left these in my van last night," Eddie shrugs at the way Steve's head tilts slightly, he looks from the glasses in his hand to Eddie and back again with a frown.

"Oh," he breathes out, and the tension drops from Steve's frame like the strings holding him up are all at once severed.

"First a taxi service, now a courier," Eddie smirks, dropping his left hand to his hip, "how ever will you make it up to me Harrington?"

Steve grimaces, rubbing a hand down his face, he winces as it brushes the deepening bruise under his eye, "I'm sure you're about to tell me".

Eddie grins, pretending to consider his options as he lifts a ringed hand to his chin to hold it thoughtfully for a beat while Steve stands before him, looking more and more frustrated with every passing second.

"Where's the fun in that?" Eddie says with a sly smile as he steps closer, nearly into Steve's space, and leans in.

"Maybe you'll owe me one," Eddie winks as he says it before dropping his voice into a wheezing Italian affectation, "perhaps one day soon I'll call upon you for a favor--"

"What?" Steve sputters out in a strangled laugh, leaning away from Eddie's sudden proximity.

From this angle Eddie can see the slightest flush creeping down Steve's neck.

"The Godfather? You know?" Eddie raises an eyebrow at the blank expression on Steve's face, "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse?"

Steve's brow pinches in confusion as he shakes his head.

"I mean," Eddie huffs, moving out of Steve's space again, "you'd probably like it, you have plenty of practice rejecting offers don't ya big boy?"

It takes a second for the words to register for both of them.

Steve's eyebrows cut creases across his forehead as they rise into his hair and Eddie immediately wants to fling himself off the gymnasium roof.

Of all the stupid, stupid things--

"Is this about the weed?" Steve asks slowly with a frown wrinkling his nose, it would be cute if Eddie wasn't beside himself with relief.

Focus.

"Yup," Eddie manages to say with a straight face despite the way his heart is racing. He clears his throat and leans backwards to drape himself against the lockers again, miscalculating how far he's moved away from them after Steve showed up.

Eddie loses his footing and slams into the metal with a loud bang, sliding down onto the floor in a leather clad heap.

"Jesus Christ," Eddie hears from above him, opening his eyes to find a pair of wide hazel ones staring into his own.

"Did you hit your head?"

Eddie ignores the question and the heat that rises in his face and ears. He wants nothing more at this moment than to tell Steve to fuck off, to leave him to crawl into a hole now and finally live the rest of his days as a Hobbit.

But King-Steve is persistent.

"Come on Munson, we should go before someone comes to see what happened, I'm not getting another detention for you," Steve huffs as he holds a hand out in front of Eddie.

Eddie looks from the outstretched hand in front of him, to Steve's face. His stupid, earnest, beautiful face, and takes his hand, grunting as he rises back to his feet.

A door opens down the hall, near the admin office and both men freeze as a pair of heels begin to click and clack their way down the hall.

"Shit," Eddie hisses at the same time Steve barks out a frantic, "Go, go, go!"

They scramble to get away from the lockers and make a beeline for the side exit, a mixture of laughter and curses echoing after them.

Eddie doesn't stop running until he reaches the driver's side door of his van.

He pants out a wild laugh and shakes his head as Steve bends at the waist with his hands braced on his knees. When Steve rights himself, there's a flush of exertion and a bright smile that is only slightly marred by the black eye and split lip.

"You're a trip Harrington," Eddie breathes out before clutching his throat, "I think I swallowed my gum back there".

Steve laughs loud and bright and Eddie can't help but watch the way his head tips back, exposing the long column of his neck. He looks up again, his eyes seem to search Eddie's face briefly before he shakes his head with an expression Eddie's never seen before.

"Yeah well," Steve huffs, his good eye crinkles at the corner from his smile, "you're not what I thought you'd be like either Munson".

And Eddie just doesn't know what to do with that.

Instead, he clears his throat and kicks at a piece of gravel that careens across the empty student parking lot.

"Where's your noble steed?" Eddie asks, his head on swivel. Harrington's car was fairly iconic around here, no way it would have been missed among the sea of beat up Ford's and Gremlins.

Steve tilts his head and frowns slightly, "I left it at Tina's remember?"

And yeah, shit, that makes sense, he must have caught the bus that morning and completely missed it with detention.

"...do you need a ride?"

"Okay".

Part four up!

Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @airconditioning123 @steveshairspray @hellfireone @sunswathe @eddielives1986

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @strangersteddierthings @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @henderdads @stevesbipanic

#stranger things #stranger things season 2 au #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #steve and nancy breakup #what would have happened if eddie had been at tinas halloween party?#this fic is going places apparently #eddie is having all sorts of complicated feelings about steve here #add a little bit of misunderstandings in the van as a treat #i will never get tired of halloween party breakup aus #you can pry them from my cold dead fingers #afewproblems writes #cw marijuana #cw injury #eddie is a clumsy goblin man and i will die on that hill #well love a man that can make us laugh with his antics and so does steve

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famwhy · 9 months

Text

Right Way Up (04)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Synopsis: You always hated when your favourite characters died in shows or movies; always longed to have the opportunity to save them. So when you're transported into one of your favourite shows of all time, what else are you supposed to do besides save your beloved characters?

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

Note: omg guys, I came across an account that said their current favourite fic was this one in their bio. I'm acc so happy, tysm

prev part. masterlist.

04. bring unto me peculiarity

trait: e.m.

YOU blinked, jaw hung open and muscles tense as her grip around you tightened—constricting your movements and clogging your airways. Though, breathing was the least of your concerns when it came to tight hugs at the moment, not when you had your dumb arm to worry about.

As if on cue, a sharp rupture of pain spiked your side, and you winced, grunting a little before sucking a breath in through your teeth and asking—albeit with scrunched up features—"...sorry, do I know you?"

"Wha—?" She pulled away at that, and the look she gave you—oh, the look she gave you—it was full of heartbreak, emotional turmoil spanning as far as the eye could see. "It's me, baby, it's mommy."

"Mom?"

You thought you didn't have a mother.

"Yes, baby, it's me. It's mom." She smiled, pupils shaking in—and you could be wrong about this, but—what seemed like... desperation?

What's up with that?

And, if this lady really was your mother, where the hell had she been all these days?

"Y/N? The hell is taking so—?"

A strange sense of déjà vu drenched your form as your eyes followed the new voice, landing on the slightly-parted lips and wide, almost-disbelieving eyes of your second oldest brother—hands still covered by the huge, red gloves he often adorned.

Then, his features scrunched up—though, it wasn't like yours had just done—no—his were harder, more purposeful; his were clouded in a storm consisting purely of loathing so unadulterated, you had half a mind to think he was staring—no, glaring—into the form of his worst enemy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" And as he spoke, venom spat out of his mouth, launching itself straight onto the woman still loosely holding you and causing her face to scrunch up in a pained wince. "Shouldn't you be on one of your fucking five-year-long business trips?"

"Oh honey—"

His glare grew sharper. "Don't call me that."

"I..." she trailed off and you blinked, helpless to the scene that was playing out right before your very eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck got into you but you can't just waltz in here like..." his face scrunched up, brows furrowing as he paused the sentence for one... two... three seconds before continuing, spite still as prevalent as ever, "like you belong!"

You watched as her face dropped even further at that—the barely visible bags under her eyes looking about ten times worse than they did before.

Now, you had no idea what type of past you were meant to have shared with this woman—how horrible it truly was—but surely someone who greeted you so warmly at the door couldn't be too bad?

So with that thought in mind, you narrowed your eyes by the slightest amount—a little... hesitantly—before lightly scolding, "Hey. Curt, maybe tone it down a little?"

His attention averted from the woman—hateful, dark eyes that were once throwing daggers her way, now unapologetically directed towards you. "'Tone it down a little'? Do you hear yourself, Y/N? That woman missed almost every single birthday of yours! Every. Single. One!"

Alright, so, you didn't usually consider yourself to be much of a coward, but being the recipient of that deadly gaze was enough to make you yield just this once—both of your hands flying up to rest in the air beside your head. Hey, you tried, he just didn't listen.

Besides, you were only a mere bystander in this squabble anyway. Sure, you felt bad for the woman, but not bad enough to get socked in the face by a boxer for her.

...okay, now you just sounded like a jerk.

Feeling your heart tighten slightly, you shook your head to rid yourself of those awful, intrusive thoughts and parted your lips in an attempt to redeem yourself.

Keyword: attempt.

Before even a word could breeze past your tongue, another voice entered the fray—one a lot more grounded than any other you'd heard since you opened the door—"What the hell is with all this—? Mom?"

You tilted your head just enough to catch the approaching form of your oldest brother—his figure growing with each step he took—and the closer he grew, the clearer his facial expression became.

His brows were furrowed, but instead of the hostile way that Curt's were, his were more... well, confused?—shocked, perhaps?—or maybe a better word for it would be baffled? Either/or, he didn't look like he was terribly upset with her appearance, further grinding your theory of her not being that bad into reality.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just thought that—" the sudden lack of warmth around your arms had your head whipping back, eyes watching as the same fingers that were once wrapped around you, now awkwardly rubbed the woman's other limb, "—maybe it was about time I spent some quality time with you all?"

Before you could even register what she had said—Curt's voice hastily cut through the air; a tone of finality you hadn't heard him use before laced so deeply within it, "Too little too late."

Though—if you were being entirely honest—you were starting to tune it out—all of it: the apologies, the confusion, the arguing; all of it. A familiar sense of surrealism washed over you as you witnessed the events unfold; as you watched their mouths move soundlessly—your new brothers seemingly arguing with a woman who held the looks of your mother but seemed to act nothing like her.

It was weird, strange. You weren't even sure how to feel. From the looks of things, this... mother of yours seemed to not be around much—and one of your brothers hated her for it, while the other merely seemed to... well, you weren't entirely sure what he felt yet. Hell, you didn't even know what you were supposed to feel.

Should you be sad? Mad? Indifferent?—'cause that's what you felt right now. This world wasn't even meant to have you in it at all. There was no character named Y/N who looked exactly like you and had two older brothers with a seemingly neglectful mother and who-knows-what-happened-to-him father.

Even if you wanted to copy the mannerisms of the Y/N belonging to this world, you couldn't because there wasn't one. She didn't exist.

How the hell were you supposed to react?

You could've asked yourself that question a billion more times, but the sudden rush of air that hit your face crashed you straight back to reality—just in time too, for not even moments later, an abrupt 'slam!' echoed from behind.

Confused, your gaze found Cain's.

"Give him some time. He's probably off to go fuck some chick and get his mind off this."

Slowly, you nodded.

Then, you heard it; the sound of her voice continuing to speak behind you with that broken lilt—the one she just couldn't seem to drop—laced so deeply in her tone.

"I'm so sorry, babies." The woman—your mother—reached out, and you felt her fingers graze you again, "I'm so so sorry."

"It's... alright, mom," Cain responded before you could—voice seeming almost... hesitant, "It's all good."

There was no chatter after that—not a single sound escaped their lips. That was your cue; your cue to either condemn her down to hell or forgive her for this supposed neglect you weren't even around to experience.

"Sweetie..." her voice was shaky—desperate, no doubt, and seeking the forgiveness of a daughter that didn't even belong to her, "please..."

"Uh..." you weren't sure what it was, but something was holding you back from saying anything; from doing something—

—and it looked like she noticed that too.

"It's okay, I understand..."

She seems a bit... what's the word?

With hands that were once hopefully clasped around one another, now pitifully falling by her sides, and eyes that seemed to droop just a tad bit more despite the small, ingenuine quirk of her lips upwards; her whole demeanour almost screamed...

Ah. Forlorn.

Your chest felt heavy at the sight—tight and weighed down. Some type of... guilt was it? ebbed away at you. Though you didn't know why—it wasn't like she was your real mother, after all. In fact, she was a complete stranger to you; someone who you wouldn't even bother sondering over if you passed her by on the street.

How strange.

"Y/N," the soft call of your name caused your ears to perk up, and you turned to your remaining brother, "C'mon, you're due for a change."

"A change?" You tilted your head, eyes still not all there—at least, not until—

"Your bandages."

"Ohhh."

To be honest, you completely forgot about that.

"Bandages?" From the looks of things, though, your mother couldn't pass it off as easily as you. "For what?"

Immediately, Cain's eyes locked with yours—his hues swirling with a query you were able to decipher pretty easily: 'Should we tell her?'

Should you? Well, the fact that he had to ask that question in the first place was concerning, to say the least. Maybe you'd hold off on telling her for now. Just for now. Nothing permanent.

Mind made up and eyes stopping at nothing to avoid her own, you told your mother, "Don't worry about it, it's all good."

Her lips turned down, shoulders sagging and gaze falling to the floor like a glossy river over the edge of a cliff; swift and hopeless to anything wishing to stop it.

She looked so... so...

Defeated.

"Ah, okay."

You wished you could say you forgave her—you desperately prayed to—but how could you when the words refused to come out of your throat?—when they relentlessly fought with your tongue to the point they immobilised it and unfairly rendered you incapable of speech?

You could have stood there hopelessly staring at her for hours if you so wished, but the small tug on your wrist averted your gaze, and you found yourself staring at the loosened expression of your other kin.

"Let's get you wrapped up, Y/N."

You nodded.

He then took to guiding you towards the kitchen, and the whole way there, your gaze didn't leave your mother's form—watching as her figure grew smaller with each step—shorter with each breath—before completely disappearing around the corner.

"Don't feel bad."

Your ears perked up—head turning to face your older brother.

"'Bout mom," he continued, not particularly looking your way, "She hasn't been around for most of our lives, you're allowed to not forgive her."

"What about you?" You asked, "You didn't sound too sure of forgiving her yourself."

He paused.

"I..."—a rough 'ahem'—"I'm trying to."

You tilted your head. "Trying to?"

"It's..." He trailed off and furrowed his brows, as if searching for something in his mind, before continuing, "hard. Really hard. To look after people—I mean. Especially on your own."

It was your turn to furrow your brows, lips tugging down as you took in his words and really—well—thought for a good second.

It was clear that he was trying his best to be empathetic; to sympathise with her situation. And who better than him? You didn't have to be a genius to decipher the fact that he had been the one to take care of both you and Curt for pretty much the majority of your—supposed—'life'. He probably had to grow up a lot faster than 'you' would've. In that case, he could relate to her.

But, on the other hand...

"It's not fair."

"Huh?" He turned your way, blinking twice.

"To compare yourself to her," you continued, lips still curved down, "You're completely different. While she never bothered to be around, you did. You learned how to cook, clean—hell, maybe even change diapers—"

"Maybe even? You were a little shit and you know it—"

Shit, he changed your diapers too? You were just trying to be dramatic but damn.

"Okay—" that came off a little more exasperated than you wanted and clearly he could sense it too, judging by the way he snickered right after, little shit, "—my point is, you were there and she wasn't. And it's not even your responsibility to take care of us. I get that she has her supposed 'five-year-long' business trips, but she could've made time for us. You're her son too, you're allowed to be mad that she wasn't there."

He stayed silent for a few moments, and you found your hands naturally drifting down—fingers digging into your skirt harshly; anxiously. Sweat gathered on your brow and anticipation ate at your insides, chipping away at your organs and clogging your brain with worry; worry for the elongated silence that greeted your words.

Had you said something wrong? Was he going to snap at you?

Goodbye, cruel world, remember—

A chuckle.

Your ears perked up and your eyes widened in disbelief.

"And here I thought I was the one meant to be cheering you up." His shoulders bounced in a pattern you could only describe as uneven, one hand rising up to swipe at his eye.

The sight caused your muscles to loosen up, fingers losing their grip on your skirt and eyes crinkling fondly as you watched him reach up into an open cupboard—arm disappearing within the confines before reappearing not long after with a red, rectangular bag.

The sound of a zip was the next thing you heard—accompanied by his voice as he said, "Alright, let's get you all patched up, worm."

You scrunched up your nose. "Worm?"

"Yeah, annoying little things, aren't they?"

"Rude."

Another snicker had your lips quirking up again, a swirl of warmth gathering in your chest; a hint of fondness and pride. Was this how sibling banter felt?

It's... nice.

Before you could enjoy the moment any longer though, your brain just had to ruin it, giving you a thought that had your ears falling again—stomach dropping into a bottomless pit within the confines of your body.

"Is..." you started, and his ears perked up from behind the arm that slowly tugged at the grey gauze, "Is Curt gonna be okay?"

A scoff. "Yeah. You know him, he'll be super bitchy about it but he'll come running back tomorrow morning so don't worry."

You smiled. "So long as he's—ow! Watch it!"

"My bad."

"You did that on purpose."

"I did that on purpose."

"Asshole."

"D'aww, is wittle sissy's feewings hurt?"

"Shut up, you dick!"

You took it back, sibling banter was so not nice.

But, at least it was somewhat fun—unlike what happened next.

"Sweeties?" You tensed, head turning as Cain backed away—the warmth of his hand leaving you with new, pure white gauze around your arm—and turned with you. "I'm gonna head out for the night and go meet up with some old friends. Are you two going to be okay?"

Maybe if you were actually part of this world, you would've said something petty like 'nothing new there' or 'you've already not been around for most of my life, what's one more night?'—but, you weren't, and so settled with a good old fashioned—"We'll be fine,"—instead.

She was out the door in no less than two seconds.

It quickly grew dark following that—night approaching faster than you could register—and there had yet to be any sign of Curt. Guess Cain was right when he said the younger of the two would be back in the morning.

Speaking of Cain, he had some last minute call from a client regarding car troubles. Apparently, they were stranded and in dire need of assistance, so Cain was required to go to them in order to help—though, he was quite reluctant as he, no doubt, voiced to you.

"Oh my god, Cain, I'll be fine." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you sure? This street isn't exactly known for safety," he responded, expression scrunched up with what you recognised as pure worry.

"God, you're just like Steve. Nothing will happen, don't worry."

When the corner of his lips quirked up in response to your words, you felt something akin to dread claw at your innards. "Oh, I'm just like Steve, am I?"

"Shut up, he has a girlfriend," you were saying that more to yourself than him, to be honest.

"Yeah, that he drops anytime you're within two feet of him."

"I swear to god, Cain."

He snickered.

"Just go! I know you're doing this just to stall, go find that poor person stranded by the phone booth!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going."

And as his shoulders kept jerking up and down, your hand found purchase against the bumpy texture of your wooden door before pushing at full force; a 'slam!' echoing not long after.

"Stupid piece of shit," you grumbled, though, not genuinely.

...okay, maybe just a little genuinely actually, 'cause now he put the stupid thought in your head; the stupid thought of Steve Harrington actually liking you.

Preposterous.

He probably just thought of you as a really close friend—he supposedly knew you since childhood, after all, of course he would value you over Nancy sometimes.

But... theoretically, say he felt more, what would it be like?

Would he hold your hand and pull you in close? Whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you lay against him in the dead of night?—sinking into his warmth and stuffing your face in his sturdy chest. Would his lips feel soft against the bare skin of your neck?—passionate and sublime as he marked you up as his own, going lower and lower and—

Three knocks against your door.

Ugh.

"Oh my god, Cain, how many times—? Nancy?"

Lo and behold, there stood the very girlfriend of the guy you were just fantasising about.

Honestly, you would've thought it awkward had you not caught a glimpse of her expression; just a glance long enough to bleed you dry of all your previous thoughts and scrunch your face up as a whole new set rushed in—worrisome ones.

Her eyes were bloodshot, red veins visible and bringing out the puffiness to a degree that had your heart clenching and your lips subconsciously parting open to ask, "Are you alright?"

She gulped, voice shaky as she responded with, "Can I come in?"

Slowly, you nodded—palm pushing against the door just enough to allow it to fall slightly more ajar.

"Here, come sit." You gestured to the couch, hands hesitantly ghosting over her shoulders as you guided her there—watching as she gently sat down, the cotton shifting under her weight. "Can I get you anything?"

She didn't respond: head tilted down, shoulders drooped, and overall demeanour looking to be completely put-off. The poor thing.

You figured a cup of water would be fine, she looked like she needed it.

What was she doing here, anyway? From what you gathered based on the very few interactions you'd had with her, the two of you weren't very close. Why, then, would she suddenly show up at your door so late at night?

Those thoughts plagued your mind as you made your way over to the kitchen—bare feet numb to the cool of the floor. They haunted you as you reached for a cup with one hand and twisted the tap with the other—fingers unfeeling of the pressure that rained upon them. They consumed your entire being until you were left with nothing but the husk of a person on autopilot—quietly making your way back to the living room.

It was only when your eyes landed on her form again, that you snapped out of it in a small burst of surprise.

Gone was the once sat-down figure with an air of dismay clouding her form—replaced, instead, by one that stood up straight, brows furrowed and shoulders tensed as she paced back and forth vigorously. Keyword: paced—she stopped as soon as you arrived, much to your own confusion.

"Nancy, what are you—?"

"You're thinking about Barb too, right?"

She looked you dead in the eyes, and you almost found yourself growing fidgety under her intense gaze.

"What?"

"It's just that..." she trailed off, faltering for a moment, "well, Steve mentioned you've been acting off lately—"

Shit. Steve was catching on.

"—and I was wondering if... it was bothering you too."

You blinked, parting your lips to ask for a little more—for some sort of elaboration—but her voice continued before you even had a chance.

"I mean, it's dumb that we have to keep this whole thing a secret!" She exclaimed, hands making wild gestures now. "Her family deserves to know."

You stood there, blinking in a daze that hadn't quite passed since the moment she arrived. It felt like you had just wandered into a confusing maze, with twists and turns spanning as far as the eye could see; each one riddled with its own set of confusing obstacles you couldn't quite wrap your head around.

On one hand, Nancy's words made sense, you saw why she felt that way—you heard her—and it was so much more prominent in person than over a screen.

On the other hand, as a viewer of the show and a victim of unfortunate circumstance, you hadn't a clue where she was going with this. You knew why she was telling you all of this (you were acting strange and she was feeling off so duh she would try and see if you related) but, where was she going with it? What did she want with you? Surely it wasn't just comfort.

"Do you... want to come with me to tell her parents?"

Ah. There it was.

She wanted you to join her. This was certainly quite the twist. Everything that had happened up until now had alluded to the fact that you were going to join Steve for this season—and to be honest, you preferred that over this.

Besides, she was meant to do all of this with Jonathan—if you said yes, you'd just be getting in the way of their romance and, ergo, the plot itself.

"I don't know..." you started, mind already made up but heart trying its best to ease her into it, "the government wouldn't really like that and we could get in a ton of trouble."

She scoffed. "Who gives a fuck what they think?"

You deadpanned. "Well, Nance, they are kinda the government so..."

"There's this guy," she started, cutting you off and handing you a card, "Barb's parents told me about him—if things don't work out, we can go to him."

Sure enough, you recognised the character as soon as she mentioned him—another prominent adult within the series, quite the funny one too. But, not funny enough for you to pass up spending this season helping out Steve instead.

"Look, Nancy, I—"

You were cut off when her gaze hardened, fists clenching and head shaking from side-to-side—almost seeming disappointed.

"God, you're just like him." And when she spoke, it was bitter—plagued with an icky green—"You two are perfect for each other."

The following events happened too quickly for you to register; one second, she was standing before you with desperation clear on her visage—the next?—she had snatched the card right out from your hands and stormed over to your front door, steps heavy and quaking and loud.

"Nance, wait! Nancy!"

A slam.

Well shit.

You bit your lip, brain replaying the events that had just occurred in too rapid of a succession for you to be able to even respond to them.

A small voice prodded at the back of your mind, lulling you into following after her and clearing up... whatever the hell that was.

However, a much larger, more prominent voice said, fuck it. Because—well, you were in Stranger Things for god's sake! Who the hell cared about some teen drama when there were fucking monsters to worry about?—monsters that you sure as hell weren't about to face weaponless.

Nancy could get over whatever was bothering her so much on her own, you had bigger issues to worry about.

Come on, Y/N, get your head out of the clouds and into the game.

Resolve strengthened and distractions now temporarily at the back of your mind, your feet bounded towards a familiar box mounted onto the wall, fingers wrapping around the cool metal before you punched in a number you had long since memorised over your time in this world.

Turned out, this drama was just the push you needed.

"Harrington residence."

"Steve."

It was silent for a few seconds before you were graced with a response. "Y/N? If you're calling about the dinner at Barb's, I swear—"

"No, no. It's not that, don't worry."

Another pause.

"Are you... okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"You sure? You sound a little... tense."

Your lips quirked up. "You can tell?"

"Well, yeah. I've known you since like, birth."

Leave it to Steve Harrington to put a smile on your face where there wasn't one before.

Seriously though, you might not have actually known him since birth but... something about him noticing how you felt from just the sound of your voice made you feel all... tingly inside—like a warm cloud of pure pink coated you within its comfy confines.

"Y/N? You there?"

"Oh." You jolted, fingers halting in their ministrations with the phone wire, since when did you start twirling it around? "Uh, yeah. I just called to let you know I'm skipping tomorrow so don't bother picking me up, okay?"

"You're skipping? What? Why?"

"Just—uh, don't feel like it."

"You know you've already missed seven days, right?"

"Yeah—" you shrugged as though he could see you, "—what's a couple more?"

"...alright, if that's what you want."

"Thanks Stevie, you're the best, love you!"

You slammed the phone back into the wall before he could respond, but you imagined he released quite the long sigh after your words.

Nevermind that though, you should probably head to bed—you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow; one consisting of many preparations for the challenges that lay ahead.

First things first, you needed yourself a weapon—and no, a wrench was not ideal. You got lucky the first time, you'd rather not risk it the second.

A gun; long reach, high chances of actually killing, probably easy to use—it sounded perfect. Just the thing you'd need. The only problem you could possibly see was...

...how would you get one?

You weren't terribly familiar with gun laws—never had the need to look into them—but even if you were, they definitely changed since the 80s so you were pretty much clueless in that regard.

You could ask one of your brothers if they had one, they certainly seemed like the type—at least, Curt definitely did.

Or maybe he's the type to only fight with his fists?

Tricky—that's what this all was. So tricky, in fact, that the rest of the night was spent contemplating how you would go about obtaining the lethal weapon—

—actually, that wasn't entirely true; you sure wished it was though. Unfortunately for you however, your brain rather stupidly refused to focus on the task at hand, randomly flushing you with thoughts of both your... mother and Nancy whenever you least expected it, two huge pieces of drama that you—quite frankly—didn't feel like dealing with.

But apparently, pushing them to the back of your mind was easier said than done.

Come next morning, you figured indulging in those thoughts wouldn't be too big of a headache after being well-rested with a nice cup of coffee to aid you through your day.

Okay, so, Nancy's behaviour last night wasn't too strange; she had that dinner at Barb's—one you knew she cried at since they dedicated a whole scene to her sobbing in the bathroom. That explained why she was quick to jump to aggression you guessed.

Still, it was strange how she snapped at you (basically her acquaintance) like how she had done Steve (her literal boyfriend) in the show. Did you get something wrong? Were you two closer than you thought you were? Perhaps you had some history with her you weren't aware of.

Unfortunately, until you had more information, you were gonna have to leave that trail of thought.

Now, about your mother...

"Morning, sis."

You nodded—eyes clouded—before responding with, "Morning Cain," and then, as if just registering who you were talking to after their name spilled from your lips, your eyes cleared up and you turned to continue with a much more firm voice, "Hey, do you know if we have any guns at home?"

He paused, one hand rested against the handle of the fridge, one floating mid-air. "Guns?"

"Yeah, guns."

He turned to you fully now, eyes narrowing and sturdy arms folding over his chest as the door shut behind him. "Why would you need to know where the guns are?"

The lie was quick to form on your tongue. "For self-defence, duh."

"Uh-huh."

"Please Cain—" you clasped both hands over each other, "—I promise I won't hurt anyone with them."

Not anyone human, at least.

"You do realise they're made for hurting people, right?"

"Yeah, but I won't use them that way."

He deadpanned. "You're not getting a gun."

"Dammit."

Okay, this was fine. You could work with this. He just confirmed to you that you did, in fact, have guns in this house. All you had to do was look for them. And you knew just where to start.

"Uh, where the hell are you going?"

You paused, hand grazing the bumpy, wooden rail as you tilted your head just enough to peek into the kitchen again. "To my room, where else?"

"Don't you have school?"

"Don't you have a job?"

He crossed his arms again. "You're not skipping, shitbird."

"What?"

"I said: you aren't skipping."

Your eyes widened, jaw dropping open and stomach falling with the spoilt remains of your plan—the ashes and dust piling up enough to cause you to splutter and ask, "You serious?"

His gaze was stern, holding no hint of that playful demeanour you acquainted yourself with last night, "Completely. No playing hooky. You've already got enough absents from that injury of yours."

As if suddenly reminded of its own existence, said wound sent a shock down your arm—trailing through your veins to usher a visible wince on your face.

Before you could say anything else though—plead your case and hope to god he'd let you off—his eyes widened a little, mouth forming a circle before he spoke again, saying, "That's why Harrington ain't here, right? You told him you were skipping?"

You said nothing.

A long, highly exasperated sigh. "Just go get ready, I'll drop you off."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

You rushed up the stairs, wasting no time to burst into a room flooded with posters—all holding different expressions with one, huge thing in common; a pair of bright red gloves.

If anyone had a gun, it was definitely Curt.

Tick. Tock. You were on a time constraint so you had to be quick with this. Anything that even remotely seemed to have enough space to hold a gun inside was instantly ripped open—hinges jingling and wood slamming against wood as your hands scurried the area—rummaged through the masses—desperately seeking what they had yet to find.

That was—until, now.

In the midst of multiple hung up pieces of soft materials shrouded in darkness, your fingers grazed something cold and solid; rough and bumpy. Slowly they wound around the thing, noting its shape, before exerting a force—a tug.

Nothing. It didn't budge.

You tried again, pushing this time.

Again. Nothing.

Third time's the charm.

This time, you pushed upwards.

Bingo.

As if by magic, it fell straight into your hands, and you wasted no time to pull it into the light.

Dark, L-shaped, and a lever poking out from one side—yup, there was no doubt about it. Though, it was one of the weaker variants of the lethal weapon—it would have to do.

Now you could—

"What are you doing in my room?"

Curt. Shit.

"Scratch that—what are you doing with a gun?!"

Your wrist was seized at the entrance before you could even attempt to sneak past—his E/C eyes trained on the object in your hand, not at all paying attention to the way your expression shifted into one of unease, smile twitching a little.

"Curt, hey! When did you come in..?"

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed, "Why do you have a gun? Is someone bothering you at school? You know you can say the word and I'll take care of it, right? Like in Freshman year?"

"Freshman year?" What happened in Freshman year?

"That dickhead Senior who kept picking on you? How did you forget that already?"

You parted your lips, an excuse practically begging to be released from your tongue, but he beat you to it.

"Nevermind, just tell me who it is and I'll take care of it. There's no need to bring a gun into it."

There's no need to bring a gun but it's totally okay beating them up? Some scuffed logic there.

"No one's bothering me, Curt. I uh, I just need it to kill the wolf that attacked me the other day."

He rose a brow. "Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day?"

"Uh... yup."

God, this was so stupid. What kind of excuse was that? 'Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day'? Yeah right.

"Atta girl. That's my sister."

A good excuse apparently—it was a good excuse.

You almost couldn't believe it—the way he pulled you in, wrapping his arm around your neck in a half-hug that almost made it seem as though he was proud of you.

Surely he had taken way too many hits to the head in his profession because you had no clue how he bought that.

But, you weren't complaining.

"Hey, uh, do me a favour?"

He rose a brow. "What?"

"Don't tell Cain, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not, he'd have my head in a heartbeat if he knew I was condoning this."

You grinned, just about ready to give him two thumbs up leaking gratitude and appreciation—when a voice called from downstairs.

"Y/N! Hurry up!"

"A few more minutes!"

That was your cue to go to your room.

Cool air hit your skin as soon as the cotton of your sleepwear was removed—the slight buzz of pain on your arm making itself known once more with another prick, annoying but not unbearable; not like before.

The new bandages looked better than the previous ones; cleaner. Some spots seemed to have given in—allowing red to seep through their snow-white sheets; stain their pure surface. Those parts were stickier than the others, but also, few and far between.

Damn, kinda looks badass.

"I'm not getting any younger here, Y/N!"

"I'm coming! Gheez."

What was that? His catchphrase or something?

With a roll of your eyes, you threw on a top, slipped into a skirt, very quickly touched up on your make-up, and ran down the steps. Nothing too elaborate—you didn't plan on actually going into school anyway.

What? You said you'd skip, so you were gonna skip. You'd just wait 'till he drove off or something.

Actually... this could work out better than you thought.

He was bringing you to school; where one Steve Harrington currently was. And you know what else was at school? Steve's BMW—AKA, the perfect place to store your gun until it was needed.

Yeah, this could work out perfectly.

"Get in, shitbird."

You said nothing, seizing the frigid handle like you had done many a time before, and climbing straight in.

The sky was bleak—the sun invisible; covered by the vast curtain of grey clouds that seemed uninteresting but, for some reason, you couldn't stop looking at.

The pistol you held was tucked under you—out of sight; though not of mind. It felt cool against your skin, sent a shudder through you, up your spine and through your nerves. It kept you rigid.

"I would've let you skip."

You turned, observing the way Cain's gaze stayed trained onto the road ahead, one hand on the wheel, one resting on his lap.

"On any normal circumstance," he continued, shrugging, "but y'know, mom's home and—I don't know if you wanna stick around for that."

"Okay."

"You good?" Now he gave you a bit of a side-eye, one brow raised.

"Yeah, just... thinking about what I'm gonna wear for the Halloween bash at Tina's."

That was a lie, you honestly couldn't care less.

"Party, huh?" He turned his gaze back ahead. "I remember the ragers I used to go to way back when."

"Must've been fun, huh fossil?"

"Watch it, worm."

You snickered.

"Alright, we're here. Get out before I make you."

Older brothers are a piece of work.

You shimmied in your seat, swinging both legs over to the open door, hand firmly around the handle of the weapon beneath your thighs, when—

"What are you doing?"

You froze. "Uh, I don't... I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're getting out of the car weirdly." His tone was pointed—suspicious—and even without having to turn around, you could tell his brow was raised in question.

"No I'm not."

"Uh, yeah you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Slowly, you found yourself able to move your limbs again—annoyance bringing both them and your own brow to life, filtering out any previous fear within an instant. "Don't you have work or something?"

You heard nothing for a few tense moments—though soon, a curt—"Just go,"—made its way to your ears, and the weight on your shoulders was relieved of you.

Once again, you found yourself thinking, he didn't have to tell you twice.

The cool air almost felt relieving against your skin when you finally jumped out—the 'crunch!' of pebbles echoing beneath you—but nothing could compare to the pure amount of genuine solace you were graced with when the sound of the engine starting up again behind you danced into your ears; the sound of wheels skidding across the ground slowly growing farther.

That was a little too close for your liking.

No matter, it was time to find Steve's BMW. While looking for it, though, you might as well review your thoughts.

The events of Season 2 had already kicked off the moment you saw Billy, which meant that while you waited for the next canonical event to occur with the teens, the main group of kids were having their own scenes play out. You were sure by now they were off trying to befriend Billy's stepsister. But, quite frankly, that was irrelevant information to you.

What was relevant, however, was the fact that one of the kids—Dustin Henderson—would end up dragging Steve into quite the predicament. That predicament being one wherein he would end up being surrounded by a bunch of grotesque, man-eating monsters with nothing but a bat to defend himself with—granted, it had nails on the end but it was still not a weapon you'd use.

Now, more likely than not, you would be by his side while it all went down—and you already established that you weren't about to die in this world, so, really, your only option was getting that gun to use in case those demon dogs changed their minds and decided they wanted a taste of fresh, alternative dimension meat.

You had seen first-hand what they were like—held scars they forced onto you on your first day. You felt that chilling fear grip you at the sight of them—chain your limbs up and strangle you enough to almost render you immovable; immobile. Their boney structure, their razor-sharp teeth, their—

"N/N? What are you doing here?"

You jumped, startled out of your thoughts to meet with two pools of brown—familiar in their warmth and softened edges.

"I thought you were playing hooky today."

"Oh, uh—" you cleared your throat, patting down the ruffles of your skirt and avoiding any eye-contact, "—I still am but, Cain caught me and drove me to school so."

He didn't say anything after that, so you took to peering up again. This time, however, you were met with a different set of eyes, ones looking a little bloodshot and inflamed—barely noticeable if you hadn't already seen it the previous night.

They were looking at you through narrowed lenses, pupils shrunk in and gaze heavy with the events of the other night—the distaste of that fateful encounter.

You looked away.

"Oh, uh, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I uh, left some of my lipstick in your car, do you mind if I go grab it?"

You returned your gaze to him just in time to catch the pointed look on his face, hands on his hips in that 'mom' way that just screamed Steve Harrington.

"Really, N/N? This is—what?—like the tenth time already?"

You forced a sheepish look, turning your lips up with nerves that weren't triggered by the sentence you'd just heard, per se—but rather, the pair of eyes still burning a hole through your head.

You ignored them when Steve tossed you the keys with a playful roll of his eyes; when you half-entered the car, stuffing the gun into a compartment you knew he wouldn't open anytime soon; you even ignored them as you made your way back to the duo, handing Steve his keys back and quickly denying his offer to cut class with you.

"You sure?" He pushed, brows scrunched up and lips tugged down.

"Yup!" You rose both thumbs. "Hundred percent!"

He parted his mouth open but you didn't wait for a response, turning around quickly to scurry off with those eyes still refusing to leave your backside.

Why the hell did she have to be there?

You couldn't even enjoy your successful little quest, too tense from Nancy's heavy gaze to do anything. It was as though the moment you saw her, your brain instantly replayed the events of last night—the disdain in her voice—and from the looks of her glare, she had the same problem.

Man, this sucked.

You just wanted to experience the world of Stranger Things as safely and non-dramatically as possible but noooo, you had to deal with freaking monsters and teenage girls who—

"Woah, we have got to stop bumping into each other like this."

Your lashes fluttered, eyes training onto a familiar battle jacket littered with logos a plenty—all of which belonged to heavy metal bands.

"Eddie."

"Hey, sweetheart." His lips quirked up—smile reaching his eyes so much so that they crinkled. "What are you doing here? I thought you were playing hooky?"

You deadpanned. "Does everyone know I'm skipping?"

"Well, you are kinda the Queen Bee, sweetheart." His hair bounced as he shrugged.

A thought occurred to you just then, and you found your eyes widening slightly in alarm. "Even the teachers?!"

"Well, no wastoid is exactly going to tell any teachers that the Queen of Hawkins High is skipping."

Wastoid? Wha—?

"Hey, uh—" you blinked, watching as Eddie took to throwing a hand behind his neck, rubbing against the skin as he continued, tone feigning confidence, "—I was actually planning on skipping too so, if you want, we could hotbox in my car?"

Tempting. With all this stress from Nancy, your mom, and the demodogs—weed seemed like the perfect thing to kick back to.

You deserved some time to relax, no?

"Yeah, sure, let's do it."

He perked up, excitement seeping through the grin on his lips as he dramatically bowed with one hand stretched out. "Right this way, milady."

You giggled, your own hand rising up to rest gently against his as you tried your damndest to keep from squealing because—holy shit, you were holding Eddie Munson's hand. You knew girls who would fucking kill to be in your position right now.

His skin was hot against your own; or maybe that was just your whole body heating up in general. You couldn't deny your attraction to the man—hell, you got literal heart eyes whenever you watched him on TV.

Eddie Munson—the guy who got held back in high-school for two years (well—one year as of right now). Eddie Munson—the guy who held the personality of a fun, playful ray of sunshine despite the way he dressed. Eddie Munson—the guy who sacrificed himself to save a whole town of people who abhorred him.

Yeah, you had a big, fat crush on the man.

He could literally be leading you to your death right now and you'd thank him.

"Alright," the sound of a car door sliding open perked your ears up, "I just got a new batch rolling in from Cali so—"

He cut himself off when he turned back around, jaw falling slack as a streak of red slowly crawled across his face, tinging the tips of his ears and ushering a cough straight out of his mouth.

Now, you would normally wonder why he'd reacted that way but you were too distracted by the ache of your own cheeks to—

Ohhh. The ache of your own cheeks.

You quickly cleared your throat, steeling your expression and cursing yourself for being so obvious. Gushing so blatantly in front of characters was going to get you killed in this world, you really had to get rid of that habit.

Lord knew what type of ridiculous expression you had on your face just then.

"Right, uh, you were saying?" You asked as you climbed in, willing yourself to ignore what had just happened.

"Oh, uh, I just had a new batch come in from Cali."

You perked up, interest piqued. "From Cali?! They have the best stuff."

He grinned with you, blush calming down as he rummaged around, hands digging through the many different boxes that scattered the floor.

Meanwhile, you took to shutting the door of the vehicle. Come to think of it, this van kinda looked a bit like the mystery van from scooby doo, except, without the colour.

It was a mess on the inside; if there weren't boxes of who-knows-what substances lying around, then there were various different instruments instead, nothing differing from the norm associated with a band; and yet, just the fact that Eddie was here—that all of this belonged to him—was enough to make it feel special.

You should really ask Eddie if you could sit in on one of his practices one day.

Speaking of the drug dealer, he finally emerged from the pile of boxes hidden in the corner—a plastic zip bag containing a crushed substance within one of his ring-clad hands.

He flicked it with a grin on his face, head turning up as a pair of excited pools met with your own. "Bag of peaceful bliss right here."

You watched with intrigue as his fingers got to work, rolling up the substance effortlessly, as if he'd done it a million times before—which, granted, he probably had.

"Ladies first."

Your lips quirked up, fingers winding around the roll and, in turn, brushing against his own. It was a light touch—a feathery brush—still, it was enough to run tingles down your arm.

The stick was placed to your mouth with one hand, the other curling in on itself in a gesture that asked Eddie to pass over the lighter.

His large hand slowly came to cup your own, fingers engulfing yours—sending warmth to circulate in your blood; to flood your vision in pink—before lightly moving it away. "Allow me, sweetheart."

You didn't move, staying still as he pulled the metallic box up to your face, thumb flicking against the open lid a few times before the flame jumped to life.

It was hot; unbearably so—his breath across your face. The flame was practically nothing compared to him and his proximity. And it only got hotter as you continued staring at him.

It was because you were staring at him so intensely, in fact, that you caught the way his eyes briefly flickered. It was quick, barely noticeable—but you had noticed, and you had seen where they looked.

Your lips quirked up and you took the roll out of your mouth, puffing smoke straight into his face. "Staring at my lips, huh, pretty boy?"

Your grin only grew when he spluttered.

Before he could respond, though, you had lightly shoved the roll into his mouth—lips still quirked up.

You only withdrew when he rose two fingers to rest the cigar against.

"Hey, Eddie?"

He blinked.

"You're not gonna make me pay for this, are you?"

The roll left his mouth with a puff. "Depends."

As he placed it back inside, you rose a brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh."

"Well..." you trailed off, slowly shifting your hips up before plopping them back down—

—straight. onto. his. lap.

His breath audibly hitched; a series of coughs following not long after.

"Careful," you hissed out, plucking the roll from his lips and shifting in your seat—about to climb off—when a warmth snaked its way around your waist, rendering you motionless.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Heat crawled up your spine, invading your senses and hyperfixating your attention on Eddie and the way his lips grazed the lobe of your ear. Any and all previous thoughts were washed away; taking with them your breath.

His hand fell over your own again, ushering the substance back into your mouth and your eyes grew heavy as you took another puff, melting into putty in the arms of the school freak.

The car was quickly fogging up—everywhere you breathed was starting to have that strong, earthy taste to it.

Trippy.

You pulled away, mind hazy and barely able to register the way his lips tugged down.

With just a little wiggle of your hips, his arms fell and his brows scrunched up with worry. You didn't let him voice it though, quickly turning around to lay down and prop your elbows up on his thighs—arms almost immediately going lax once you got comfortable.

Your head now rested on his lap, and you peered up at him through hooded eyes. "Much better."

He smiled down at you again, finger moving to trace your cheek with that same feathery touch from before—the one that elicited a flurry of tingles through your skin.

"Tell me about yourself, Eds."

"Hm?"

"I wanna know you better."

Better than you already did, that was.

"What d'you wanna know?" He asked.

"Anything." You threw your hands up, puffing once more. "I wanna know more 'bout Super Senior Eddie Munson."

He hummed. "I plan to make it big one day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Groupies 'n everything."

You reached up, placing the blunt against his lips as you proclaimed loudly, "I bet they would trip over 'emselves to get a taste of you."

He winked. "That's what 'm planning." Then, he paused for a minute, expression softening before another inquiry left his mouth. "What about you?"

"Me?"

What were you planning? Survival, really. But, to be honest—and this wasn't just the weed speaking (or was it? You couldn't really tell)—you just wanted to experience the show; meet the characters and bond over little things. Kinda like what you were doing right now.

"I plan on..."

The characters from this show were precious, and you loved them all to bits. They didn't deserve any of what happened to them, that was why you planned on...

"...protecting those I love."

Yeah, perfect.

His eyes widened a little—startled, no doubt, and not expecting that kind of response from you. The perfect opportunity to trip him up more.

"Wanna be one of them?"

He already was one but—he didn't know that.

You assumed he must've been too flustered to talk, because he didn't respond to that—only choosing to continuously blink at you.

This weed was sure making your confidence sky rocket.

Speaking of things the weed was doing for you—your vision was tripping majorly.

The ceiling seemed to zoom in, but also zoom out at the same time, and sometimes you swore you could see the detailed wisps of the smoke that flooded the car's inside; the very atoms that made them up.

Colours were hard to register in your mind; their names even harder—but, with how relaxed the fumes were making you and your tensed muscles, you couldn't really bring yourself to care.

And Eddie—oh Eddie—he just looked so pretty to you right now; so jaw-dropping and mesmerising. Even with how red his eyes were and the extent at which his pupils dilated, they still looked tremendously pretty. His lips were so cute, pink and begging for attention.

You couldn't help it; the way your hand reached out to cup his cheek and guide his head down. Luckily, though, you still had enough sense to tilt his head enough so that instead of your lips touching, your noses did.

If you were going to kiss Eddie, it sure as hell wasn't happening while you were high.

"Y'know," Eddie breathed into your eyes, causing them to flutter shut as you hummed, "I used to think you were a huge bitch."

That shot your eyes open.

"I mean, when you stuck around with people like Tommy H and Carol, it was kinda hard not to."

Ah. Steve's former friends.

"Not to mention King Steve. Though, I don't know if I should call him that anymore."

"'Cause of Billy?"

"Yeah." He chuckled. "Have you seen him? It's only, like, his second day and he's got girls wrapped around his finger like it's nothing."

"I'm sure it'll stay that way permanently too."

"Yeah, he seems like the type to like it."

"Hm?"

"The attention."

Your lips tugged down. "Are you implying something, Eddie?"

"...maybe a little."

Your frown grew deeper. "Y'know, Eds, you shouldn't judge people without getting to know them first."

"Oh? And I suppose you know a ton about Hargrove, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes before you spoke again—tone laced in warning—"Eddie."

He rose both hands, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

"My bad."

"It's okay, let's just forget about it," you said, "I came here to relax and enjoy some time away from stress."

"Stress?"

Well, you supposed it wouldn't be the end of the world if you shared a little with the class.

"Nancy said something... weird to me the other night."

"Harrington's girl?"

"Yeah... she sounded bitter."

"Maybe she was jealous."

You moved to sit up but Eddie was quick to push you back down, both hands placed firmly—yet gently—on your shoulders. "Jealous?"

"Yeah."

"Why would she be jealous for?"

He scoffed. "Oh please, you and Harrington are attached at the hip—if I were your boyfriend, I would be jealous."

For a moment, you allowed yourself to ignore the hypothetical scenario of Eddie being your boyfriend, if only to pay more attention to the apparent green creature that held Nancy by the neck.

Could it be? Was she jealous? Was that why she reacted as strongly as she did when you tried to let her down slowly?

"Hey now, whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it." Eddie's finger tapped against your cheek, sending tiny ripples through your skin. "You said it yourself, you're here to relax, not to stress."

He couldn't be more right.

And with that thought in mind, you sank deeper into the warmth of Eddie's lap, pure safety and comfort shrouding your form—blanketing you so nicely in the soothing presence that was Eddie Munson.

And as your eyes fluttered shut, you whispered one last thing with a warm smile, "This was nice. Thank you, Eddie."

@bdudette, @tanyaherondale, @killerqueenfan, @l3xiluve, @thedoubleexposurephotography, @xxqueenofdemonsxx, @briarsheart, @nickey-diano, @uselessbutinteresting, @steeldaisies, @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom, @patheticreative, @majestichugs, @eddiesbitch83, @secretdryrose, @bloodywickedvamp, @charlizekkelly, @sophiaj650, @mfnqueen1, @axionn, @harrysgoldenwatermelon, @simpfo, @adrienette715, @tippyeddy

I've been watching a lot of zombie stuff recently so I was wondering how Steve, Eddie, and Billy would react to a zombie apocalypse. I'm tempted to write an au but I need to focus on the next part 😭

Tell you what, if the masterlist to this series ever reaches 500 notes, I'll write a zombie apocalypse AU (Edit: Holy shit, it's at 400, wtf?)

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