[lambectomy]

lambectomy 𓄧 jamie ༝ she ༝ mcu ༝ nsfw

minors dni, my content is not suitable for those -18, and could be considered disturbing to some readers

𓆱

navi ! 𐕣 m.list. understanding.

𐕣 reqs: open / closed

𐕣 latest: dog days. sr [august 4, 2026]

𓄋 its happening to everyone.

im also here.

[lambectomy]

guys i’m such a sucker for human torch chris what does this say abt me

[lambectomy]

literally just found ur blog and i think im in love w u and ur writing <3 super excited to read all of ur fics!!! <33

hiii tysm that’s so sweet <333 hope ur doing well :))

[lambectomy]

sorry yall i just had to post that, needed to get it off my chest lol

also, i’m gonna open reqs!! curious to see if you guys have any good ideas

[lambectomy]

dog days. sr

pairing: subby!steve x sleepy!reader

wc: 1.9k

warnings: somno, non con, bruising, crying, slight pup mention (if u squint), discussion of cannibalism (metaphors), oral (f receiving), steve is a MUNCH, p in v, smut smut smut, pwp, guilt???, steve has self control issues poor bb

a/n: first lil oneshot to get yall thru the golden age draught (i’ll give u guys a hint, the smut for that series starts on ch 4)… nyway love yall pls enjoy this i sucked out of my brain at 3am cus imagine desperate stevie waking u up in the middle of the night starving for u (im dead kill me now)

You walk a fine line between god and animal,

You’re just a feral dog I worship in bedroom ceremonials.

⌖

Steve had always thought that you were just the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

He never was one to care about arts, or religion, or the delicate intricacies of the world — until he’d met you. For within the crooks of your body, he’d found his religion.

And his favorite way to pray was late at night when you were fast asleep, body tucked into the confines of your bed, blissfully unaware of his growing desire to eat you down to your core — an animal-driven thirst, the only thing that could cure his insatiable hunger for you.

He felt you rustle beside him, rolling over so your chest was pressed to his, your breathing steady and calm, begging for him, begging for the sweet, sinful relief that only his teeth against your skin could supply.

Steve was a smart boy, a gentleman at his core, and although it was against the very nature of his being to want you this way, it was the only way he knew to love you — in sin-driven drinking from your lips and languid rolling between the sheets.

He could love you violently, if he let himself.

So instead, he waits until you’re asleep, your body warm and vulnerable. A perverted part of him finds you even prettier this way.

And as he felt the soft, steady exhale of your breath against his skin, he also felt his sleep pants tighten, an appetite for you growing deeper in his bones, in his flesh, in his marrow.

He wanted you to wake up to see him between your knees, all mouth and appetite and nothing else until you couldn’t take it anymore.

He wanted you longing for him — his sweet girl, suffering just for him. Just to make him happy.

He bit back a groan, fighting the urge to maim you, take you until you became intimate with death.

He wasn’t a gentleman; he was depraved.

Swallowing back his pride, his body rigid with repulsion, he leaned in close to you, inhaling your scent. His cock was rigid and painful, his hips taking up a languid pace as he rocked into nothing — his growing desire only disgusting himself more, and yet he continued.

His lips found your neck, peppering soft, drunken kisses to your skin.

He made himself sick. He hated how badly he wanted you like this. He hated his lack of self-control. He hated how good it felt. And most of all, he hated how your body reacted to him, even in sleep.

Your eyelashes fluttered softly, a quiet moan slipping from your lips as you stirred to a new position — one that left Steve’s aching cock against your leg.

He bit back a cry at the contact, his mouth diving deeper into the expanse of your beautiful, unmarked skin.

His kisses were pleas at this point — pleas for you to wake up and stop him, trailing down your chest, still rising with the steady beat of your breath.

Once he reached your stomach, he gazed up at you — eyes wired shut, mouth open slightly, brows clipped together.

He felt carnivorous, desperate to taste you, to eat, to ravage you the only way he knew how.

Slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, he carefully slid them down, stopping just below your velvet-covered knees.

I am all mouth. He thought.

I am all mouth, and you are all blood and tissues and sinews laid out for me to devour.

And so he did.

It started gently, of course. His tongue grazing over your clit, a single finger spreading your folds, baring you to him in complete, unconscious vulnerability.

But his appetite for you grew — hips grinding into the mattress, he got messy. His skin heating and face growing hot between your thighs, hands wrapping under either leg to spread you wider for him, to take him deeper.

Drowning in pleasure, drunk on your taste, all teeth and tongue and urgent eating, like he feared you’d go bad before he finished.

And with one hungry, animalistic suck of your clit, you jolted awake.

“Steve?” Your voice was raspy, your head groggy as you felt the blood buzzing between your thighs, a feeling you knew all too well.

Eyes tracking down your covered body, you pulled back the blanket to reveal a very hungry, very desperate Steve — sweat glistening on his forehead as he ate away at your insides, hips rutting desperately against the mattress.

You let out a broken whine, an agonizing, all-consuming thirst clawing at your bones, begging to be set free.

And at the sound alone, Steve finally looked up from between your legs, his chin and nose shining with your juices, even through the pale darkness of your bedroom.

“I’m sorry, baby. It happened again. I couldn’t help it. Please don’t get mad at me. Just had to taste you, had to have you.” He was ready to dive back into your core again before you stopped him.

“God, what’s going on with you, Stevie? You’re a mess, and sweaty, and god you look terrified.”

His whimpers and moans were broken, his eyes flickering back down to your cunt, like he couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t concentrate when he was so close to getting you off.

“M-fine. Please. Just need it.” His words were muffled and mumbled before his mouth was back on your center, his tongue working between your lips and diving into you in a way that brought suffering.

Your body felt heavy in his hands, thighs gripped so tight you felt an ache blossoming, the start of a couple more bruises.

Your core felt raw; even with his tender touches and licks, you were so painfully teased that you thought maybe god bore you this hungry.

Yet even at your desperate whines and begs, he never let you go, hips still drawing in circles against the bed and tongue still working heavily on your cunt, eating so violently you thought he might choke.

Your stomach burned, one single rough and calloused finger of his sliding between your folds and spreading you open onto his tongue. “Please let me taste you.” he used his other hand to push your thigh over his shoulder, your body twitching at the new angle, now a writhing mess below him. “God, I need it so bad it hurts, please. You’ll give it to me, right?”

You let out a sob, fingers clutching his hair, pulling it back till you’re sure he felt it in his dick.

“That feels good? How good, baby? Let me hear, please.” He adds a second finger, exploring the crooks of your body until you’re nothing but a brain-dead pup laid out under him.

Your moans grow louder and louder, his tongue dancing along your clit as his fingers swirl inside you, pulling at your g-spot, tugging at your core. Your body hot and mind hazy, room spinning and breath heaving.

“That’s it, just a little more. Give it to me, baby.” He purred, his rhythm evening out as you feel yourself glide over the edge, your hand gripping at his wrist as he continues to fuck up into you.

Your skin was humming, mind purring with serenity as you feel him bundle the panties at your knees, tugging you down closer to him as you watch him sit up, his pants wet and face red, his cock springing free as he lies over you.

“I’ll be quick, baby. I’m so sorry,” a broken whimper breaks from his throat as he aligns with your entrance, “Just be still.” A hand comes up to your mouth to stifle your scream as he slams into you.

You felt the first tear slide down your cheek and over his palm as he began to settle into a rough pace, his cock breaking you open with every drive.

He was gluttonous for you, completely drunk and dizzy and lost in your soppy cunt, hand still pressed tight against your mouth as he fucked you hard and quick. No room to draw you out or have you finish again, just enough to shoot up inside of you and let you weep in his absence.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Please forgive me.” He muttered against your neck, your throat raw from crying against his palm, his sweat heavy against you like perfume.

And somehow, you felt him begin to pull another orgasm deep out of some depraved and perverted part inside of you, your loins burning as you knew now that there would be no god who could give you your purity back.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as you felt him whimper against your sticky skin, “Fuck, you’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”

He released your mouth, your body sucking in a breath you didn’t quite realize you were holding, your hands gripping his shoulders as you felt him push you both over the edge.

The fall was long and hard and left your body feeling humiliated, stuffed full of his seed as he kissed your cheeks clean of the tears, mumbled apologies leaving you deaf. Your mind only waking up enough to watch him sat between your legs, eyes fixated on your core as his cream seeped out and onto the damp mattress.

“So pretty, so perfect.”

“Let me make it better.”

“I’ll lick you clean, baby.”

He was gentle in his movements now, but you knew deep under the tender kisses and kitten-licks, he was still hungry. An appetite so enormous he could eat and eat and eat himself sick, even if it meant you suffered, even if he knew it would bring you agony.

He’d dip a finger inside, and lick it clean, and repeat until it was like he was never there aside from the tender bruises scattered against your hips and tear stains on your cheeks.

As he crawled back on top of you, pulling you into him, his scent enveloping you and hands finding a soothing pattern on your back — you knew you could never blame him for his hunger.

You think god bore him this way, and you think you might’ve been born the same.

You wonder in the same way what it would be like to take from Steve without him knowing any different — your lips wrapped tight around his cock as you sucked him dry, or rode him until your legs gave out.

Until he cried as you did.

You thought maybe it was unfair, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Because you knew Steve would one day eat you until there was no more left of you to love. It was just a matter of when you’d wake up to see all that was left of you was your ankles, and maybe a little of your blood.

⌖

What is pain, if not desire?

All of my devotion one day will turn violent.

[lambectomy]

*sighs, opens tumblr*

[lambectomy]

umm i just wrote a lil one shot… is it too soon to post

[babyydolllyyy]

[lambectomy]

gibson girl. sr

golden age series. two.

pairing: dadsfriend!steve x collegestudent!reader

wc: 3.5k

warnings: normal steve, insinuating language, lotsss of tension, discussion of cannibalism (metaphors), memory recollection, still lots of story building here

a/n: ik u guys r looking for a lot of the nitty gritty (don’t worry its coming), i might release some smutty drabbles while i keep working on this series so yall can stay fed, thx so much for the love and support <3

And if you hate me,

Please don’t tell me.

⌖

The heat was sweltering in quite a way that made you believe for a moment that Mother Earth was violent.

You’d almost forgotten the intensity of a Burque summer since being in school, and now it was swallowing you whole in the driver’s seat of your car, dragging its teeth against your chest just to taste the way your body weeps for it.

You wiped a hand over your mouth, the residue remaining as you let out a soft sigh, turning the radio up in your Lincoln.

You would’ve thought by now, considering the heat, that your dad would invest in getting your air conditioner fixed, but unfortunately you couldn’t be that lucky.

Not even the gentle hum of Floyd’s ‘Money’ could put you out of your misery, and that was a rare occasion.

With your arm hanging out the car window and the open road ahead of you, you felt your mind wander back to the night before, of Stevie. He’d talked to you, seemed interested, maybe even in a little more than just the conversation.

It made you feel dirty, like he had opened up a filth deep under your pores that you’d forgotten existed, and now might never wash away.

But you supposed it was better to be an open sinner than a false saint.

You remembered the way he treated you as a teenager, childlike in a way that made your chest constrict. He was a good man, and yet he took from you without ever realizing.

You’d worshipped him then, maybe still did now. Bruises on your knees pleading to him like he was God, like he’d save what he made you.

You swallowed back the words threatening to escape your mouth, that perhaps if you’d given him the opportunity, he’d see you in a different light. You were older now, more mature, even he admitted it himself. He must’ve seen something in you that hadn’t been there when you were a girl, something worth mentioning, something worth, something.

Your body lurched as you felt the car begin to rattle, the engine misfiring as you sat up cautiously, turning the wheel so you could pull over.

The smell of smoke was heavy and impossible to ignore, seeping through your open windows as you fought past it to get outside, popping the hood of your car as the smog buried you in a cocoon of filth.

You couldn’t see a thing, but even if you could, you basically only knew how to check your oil and not much else.

You couldn’t help the thought that popped into your mind — Steve was a mechanic.

Shaking the thought away, you reached into the engine bay and pulled out the oil stick, and were met with nothing but dryness. Now, you weren’t a car genius, but you were pretty sure no oil meant the car wouldn't work.

You racked your brain, trying to recall the last time you’d gotten an oil change, or any regular maintenance for that matter.

All that popped into your head were images of you on campus, throwing back beers and walking to classes, completely neglecting your car parked in the senior lot.

You supposed the breakdown was overdue, pulling out your phone as you dialed your dad.

The sun was a blinding white light, pounding down on you in a way that felt scandelously intimate, and without another car driving by, it made the pain of the heat that much more romantic.

You began to pace, the ringing tone a harmony as you lifted the hem of your tank top up to give your body some much-needed air.

“Hello?” Your dad coughed on the other end of the line, and you audibly let out a sigh of relief.

“Dad? I need your help.” You kicked a rock across the road; your yellow Converse looked like two big highlighters next to the asphalt.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but my car isn’t. I’m stranded on 66, can you come get me?” You imagined for a moment what would happen if he said no, your thumb sticking straight up into the road as you begged for a ride home; a godless man might pick you up, or throw you out, or maybe both.

“Sorry, Hon, I’m stuck at work, something about a blown radiator, no way I’m getting out for another couple hours.”

Hitchhiking it is.

Hopefully whoever picks you up isn’t a carnivore.

“Why don’t you call Steve? I don’t think he’s working today.”

You’d rather take the carnivore.

“I don’t wanna bother him.” You mumbled in between a bitten tongue.

“You love to bother him.”

Your dad had a point. But that was before last night. Before he’d looked at you like he was choking on a longing he couldn’t spit out.

You held the weight of the words in your mouth, testing their outcome, how they felt. The sun’s heat burning hotter, prodding you to make a decision.

“Fine, call him. But if he’s in the middle of something, tell him it’s fine.” Your heart thumped a little faster, your feet kicking the rocks a little quicker.

“He’s never in the middle of something for you.” The line went dead.

⌖

Your mind churned with your dad’s words for 17 minutes.

17 minutes that you sat with your dirty yellow Converse on the dash and a cigarette in your mouth, only the radio and the sun to keep you company.

That was until minute 18 when you heard the familiar screech of Steve’s pickup behind you and the slam of its door.

The sight of him was almost that of an assault, invading your senses in a way that left you feeling nauseous and willing.

His hair was slicked back, white t-shirt hugging his frame, blue jeans cut at the ankles and slender fingers wrapped tightly around his toolbox.

He was an agonizingly beautiful man, the kind that made you ask god for forgiveness, that erupted such an enormity of desire within your chest that it disgusted you.

His eyes traced over your face as he approached the car, leaning against its frame as he shot you a lopsided grin, “Someone call a mechanic?”

If he could see the blush on your cheeks, the violent desire written on your very skin, he never made it known, and you silently thanked him graciously for saving you from that utter humiliation.

“Yes, please,” You said with a pout, opening the door and leading him to the still open hood, although most of the smoke had cleared out, “Thanks for coming.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He rested an arm on the lifted hood, his body bent into the casket of your car as he examined the damage. It was at this point that you wondered if you looked like a ‘stupid girl’, one who didn’t know anything about cars or how to take care of your belongings.

“I just know you’re busy. Didn’t want to bother you.” You took another drag of your cigarette, watching his hands begin to work, reaching deep into the crevices of your car like it was a chest cavity, like it was your insides he was playing with, and the grease staining his fingernails as he brought them back out was your blood.

“You could never bother me.” His voice was soft, like the sound you make when you’re muttering useless prayers. It was sweet and tender enough to make your knees weak.

“My dad thinks differently. He claims I love to bother you.” You leaned against the car, eyes fixed on his every motion.

“Is that right?”

You nodded.

“Well, do you?”

“Do I what?” You laughed.

“Love to bother me?” His eyes met yours, and for a moment you swore you felt your blood begin to dance.

And yet you weren’t sure what to say. Whether it was from the look in his eyes or the yearning growing too loud in your ears, or the simple violence of your emotions, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of a response.

His tongue passed over his lips before his gaze returned to the car. “It’s okay if you do.”

“I think part of me might,” You started, pausing to take another drag, your eyes lingering on the veins growing more prominent under the heat of his skin, “But not all of me.”

“And what does the other part want?”

You — my hunger, my ruin.

“I guess it depends on the day.”

He chuckles, his voice like a hand between your legs, “You’ve changed so much and yet so little at the same time.”

“Isn’t that what happens when you grow up anyway?” You leaned a little closer, “Part of you stays a kid while the other doesn’t, and somehow the two of you learn to coexist.”

He looked up at you, grease on his cheek and a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “How did you get to be so smart? I was never this smart when I was your age.”

“Maybe cause you stayed in Burque and I left to experience the world.” You playfully pushed his shoulder, watching carefully as he began to funnel some oil inside the engine, only getting a couple drops on his hands that he promptly wiped on his shirt.

“Now who told you I stayed in Burque?”

“Well, didn’t you?” You took one last puff of your cigarette before flicking it off onto the simmering asphalt.

He laughed softly, “No, sweetheart. I didn’t. Start her up.”

You shuffled to the other side of the car, your feet dragging against the sand as you hopped in, fighting to turn the engine over, only to be unsuccessful.

“Where’d you go?” You leaned your head out of the window, staring up at the sky as you watched one single cloud pass over.

“Who’s asking?”

“Me, stupid.”

The sound of his light laughter was like a caress, even when you couldn’t see him, his body hidden behind the hood of your car. You could practically hear the dimple poking out of his beard, the languid momentum of his body that always made something stir deep inside of you.

“Such a bratty little thing, even when I’m over here fixing her car.” You heard him mutter, head still deep inside the confines of your engine bay.

“You know me.”

“Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?’” The car rattled as he shut the hood, his boots scraping against the ground as he suddenly appeared above you, arms resting on the hood as a dirty rag dangled from his shoulder over your head.

“Yes, and I’m not sure it applies here.”

“Try it again.” He demanded, voice a little deeper than before, hair a little messier too.

You let out a huff as you slid back inside the car, turning the key in the ignition one more time as you felt the rotten floor beneath you begin to wobble and the engine begin to purr.

“Nebraska. That’s where I went.” He murmured, arms now resting on the car window as he leaned in close to you.

“What’s in Nebraska?”

He shrugged, looking around at the vacant road, stifling heat and simmering asphalt surrounding you. “Not much we’re not already used to, maybe a little bit cooler there, more fields, shit like that.”

“But why did you go?”

“Military, I was stationed there out of high school.”

Your heart stuttered as you watched a flicker of grief pass over his beautiful features, but it was gone before even he noticed it.

“What was it like?”

“Just about what everyone expects it to be.”

You nodded, the tension slowly rising.

“I thought you said you and my dad had been best friends since high school?”

He ran a hand through his hair, the spot of grease still on his cheek. “We have been.”

“But he didn’t go into the military with you. How come?”

He shrugged, “Didn’t feel like leaving, wasn’t interested, who knows. He was as much my friend by the time I came back as he was when I left.”

Your felt your heart warm at this, memories stirring of the first time you’d met Stevie. He had just gotten back, and that whole time you’d thought he and your old man had just had a falling out.

“Except I was here when you came back.” You nudged him, a smile playing on his lips that you hadn’t seen in a while.

He nodded, “You can only believe how shocked I was.”

You licked your finger, bringing it up to his cheek as you wiped some of the grease off. “Not too shocked, I hope.”

“Not in a bad way, of course,” he laughed, pushing your hand away as you watched his features start to melt, melt into something different. “I just felt like I wasted so much time there. Your old man already had you and a house and so much to show for the life he made, and all I had was Nebraska.”

“You have more than that now.” Your voice was soft, a small smile on your face as you watched him carefully.

His gaze was strong and intense, almost like a demand.

It was enthralling — you were so easily caught up in the way his gaze roamed over your features, studying them like a lover.

He really did look like a wolf — soft and tender, but ready to bruise. Your body starved for the feel of his grease-stained fingers running through your hair or wrapped tightly around your neck.

Your faces were suddenly close, shoulders breathing on each other and lips caught under teeth as you watched him force himself to look away as he cleared his throat.

“You should be all set; you were definitely overdue on some oil. You’ll have to have your old man empty it and refill it later, but it’s enough to get you home.” His words brought you back to reality, his skin shining like a glass of sweet tea.

You readjusted yourself in your seat, hands smoothing down the wrinkles in your tank top. “Thanks, Steve. I owe you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, just make it home safe.”

He turned on his heels, your arm instinctively reaching out to catch his wrist, stopping him before he could make it too far. “Steve?”

His eyebrows raised, signaling for you to speak, but your mind went blank.

You had nothing to say, nothing that was worth anything anyway.

You could tell him now, tell him everything, watch his world collapse as you admitted that you’d destroy yourself for him. Suffer in a way that felt righteous, just because he asked you to. Because whether or not he was coming to you as a lover, or a friend, or a cannibal, you’d be ready to receive him.

The killer in you is the killer in him.

You swallowed back the dryness in your throat. “Do you ever want something so bad that it feels almost… impure?”

For a moment all he did was look at you, his eyebrows creased together in a way you couldn’t decipher, but eventually, he nodded, “Yes. I do.”

“How do I… make it stop?” Your voice was raw, the words a silent confession that felt heavy in the air between you two, your fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist, the gentle patter of his pulse against your fingertip. You were hungry for it, longed for his blood in a way that drew you to madness.

“You don’t. You simply endure.”

“Too bad, sweetheart. You’ll just have to endure.”

“That’s not fair, Steve!” You shouted, your arm stretched into the air as you jumped, reaching up his frame as he held your phone towards the ceiling.

“Well, if he was a nice boy as you’d said he was, then I wouldn’t have to intervene.”

He found this humorous; he genuinely found your disdain for him in this moment humorous.

One of your friends had let it slip that your new boyfriend had been to juvie after Steve had already grilled you about whether or not he was a good kid. It was bad enough that he was a couple years older than you, but juvie too? He’d never let you live it down, and never give your phone back either.

“He is a nice boy; the juvie thing wasn’t even that big of a deal.”

“Oh yeah?” He placed a hand on your chest, pushing you backwards so you couldn’t jump on him anymore, his arm sturdy as he held you in place. “What did he do then?”

“Why does it matter? Just give me my phone.”

“Because I want to know whether or not I need to kill him or just kick his ass. Now tell me what he did.”

You let out a huff of frustration, your body growing limp and tired as you relaxed against his arm, your chest crashing against his as you accepted your defeat. “Please don’t tell my dad.”

“Y/N.” His voice was a warning.

You took a step back, his eyes meeting yours as you began to twiddle your thumbs nervously. “Remember that house that got broken into by the creek?”

Steve sighed, and the sound alone was enough to scare you onto your knees, your hands clasped together in a plea, “It was only one time and he did it with his friends and really he was only the getaway driver like it wasn’t his fault please Steve don’t tell my dad just give me my phone back I won’t ever talk to him again I swear please.”

He let out a chuckle at your rambled prayer, his hand coming down to your arm to tug you back up in one swift motion, his callouses rough against your skin, “I won’t tell your dad.”

“Thank you, Stevie, thank—“

“But you are not to see him again. Do you understand me? If I see him around here I’ll kick his ass, and I mean that. It’s bad enough I have to watch you date these kids in the first place, at least pick some that are halfway decent.”

You wrapped your arms around him tight, squeezing him until your little muscles got weak and sore. “Yes, Stevie. Thank you, thank you so much. I’m sorry I should’ve told you.”

He stroked a hand over your hair, his fingers slipping your phone back into the front pocket of your bell-bottoms.

You pulled your hand away from his, a grotesque feeling of vulnerability washing over you as you felt that same sense of hunger you felt under your skin then rise into you again now.

Even then you desired him. You’d never made it known, of course, but with every teasing touch and silly argument, your perverse insides craved for him to eat you, or slap you, or be gentle with you, or have you in any way that he pleased.

Then you were oblivious to the implications — the obvious age gap, his relationship with your father.

But being with him now, you know those things matter less and less every day.

“I don’t want to endure anymore. It’s all I do. All I am is appetite.” Your voice was barely a whisper, and yet he still responded.

“Then I pray you eat.”

His eyes fell to your lips, quiet and longing, an expression like yours, like you were gazing into a mirror waiting for it to lean forward and press its lips to yours.

He stood there for what felt like a century before taking one last look at you, hungry and broken, and turning back to his car.

You watched him in the rearview mirror, his boots kicking up sand as he walked, your body trembling at the thought of getting out and yelling at him, throwing yourself at him, anything you could do to make him see what he’s made of you.

He had no idea last night you dreamt of his teeth on your skin, a lamb ready to be carved open by the hungry wolf.

When you’d woken up, you’d been cold; you were sure your bones were blue, but now you knew they were velvet — red and achy and desperate for him to consume you, to leave bite marks on every part of you he loves.

Even after he drove off, you sat there, thinking about the delusion of your own pleasure and how it only bleeds for him.

‘Then I pray you eat.’

But he doesn’t. Because if he did, he’d be the victim. The victim of your mouth, your tongue, the tenderness of your teeth.

You sat there in your old Lincoln that he’d fixed, cigarette between your lips, choking on such longing you couldn’t spit out.

And deep down somewhere inside all the depraved parts of you — you knew he longed too.

⌖

I am carnivorous about love,

I would devour you,

If only I’d let myself.

[lambectomy]

dbf, steve, ethel… i am in a dream world!! i love your writing, no joke i was just planning a fanfic based off of crush and i just saw yours, it’s SO good! I can’t wait to read more, you’re so talented 🤍

omg hiii thank u so much that’s so sweet <333 more to come soon!!

[unearthlydust]

"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

Captain America: The Winter Soldier Captain America: Civil War

[lambectomy]

chris evans is my fancast willoughby tucker

[lambectomy]

he is SO ethel cain coded

[lacelockets]

ᨳଓ steve dreams about cumming in you, filling you up and watching it drip out. so when you finally say “please, i want it”, he doesn’t need anymore asking. he suddenly holds more energy than he had at first, thrusting into you harder and deeper. reaching every spot only he’s helped you discover. he kisses your leg that sits on his shoulder, sucking at the skin as he pulls you even closer. he snaps his hips and groans as he releases in you. slowing his thrusts and making them shorter so not a single drop gets wasted. and then finally he pulls out, rubbing his tip between your folds and painting you with his cum. he grabs your body and slides it down the bed so your legs hang off and steve kneels between them. he lifts his fingers up to your core. dragging the tips of his pointer and middle along you. “fuck sweetheart” he grunts out, watching his cum slowly drip out of you until he sticks his finger back in and stuffs it back in. “oh please doll can i take a photo” you almost laugh at his request, “sure baby” and then watch as he stands up and grabs his polaroid. noticing some hesitance on your face “‘s just for me. i wanna look at the way i stuff you when i’m not here” you spread your legs wider at his words, smiling down at the man so intensely consumed by you. already hard again as he looks at you through the camera, taking the photo and staring back at you. “do you think you can handle more?”

[lambectomy]

a lot of movement going on with this page tonight, hopefully you guys accept this little piece of me

crush is a little shorter, we’re just starting to learn abt the relationship between steve and the reader, be patient while i get the other parts out soon!

[lambectomy]

golden age

series masterlist

pairing: dadsfriend!steve x collegestudent!reader

warnings: age gap, some fluff + angst, smut eventually, lil slow burn, more specific tags on each chapter

word count: tbd

summary: you come home from college only to realize you never quite got over that crush on your dad’s best friend

𓆱

one. ༝ two. ༝ three. ༝ four. ༝ five. ༝ six

[lambectomy]

crush. sr

golden age series. one.

pairing: dadsfriend!steve x collegestudent!reader

wc: 3.3k

warnings: normal steve, insinuating language, discussion of cannibalism (metaphors), fluff, memory recollection, story building, lots of tension

a/n: hi everyone! this is my first post on this account, if u want to learn more abt it and me check the understanding link on my navi. super excited for u guys to meet this steve!! my reqs aren’t open but for now i’d love to hear ur feedback, if u have anything you’d like to tell me personally or anonymously pls comment there! <3

Can you read my mind?

I’ve been watching you.

⌖

Everything felt the same in Albuquerque. The asphalt that vibrated outside your windshield, the beaten-down motels on 66 that somehow never had rooms available. It was home, whether you liked it or not.

You didn’t expect to enjoy going to school in Nevada as much as you did, and yet somehow you still ended up back in the same lifeless town that you’d called yours for your entire life. But it was back to reality, back to Burque. Back to flickering vacancy signs and sweating glasses of sweet tea, maybe Diet Coke.

You were shocked your old Lincoln even took you this far, half-expecting it to break down during your pass through Arizona. It was your father’s car before you, and he had gifted it to you on your sixteenth birthday. It was a 20-year-old beater with a stick shift, a broken air conditioner, and partially rotted floors, but somehow it always got you from point A to point B. Just another way your old man had looked out for you over the years.

You remembered how he had begged you to consider community college, staying home and working through school just like he had, but with a scholarship, you had no other choice.

Even back then you had felt a little bird inside of you, like a feral animal seething and clawing at your insides to go somewhere bigger than this cage, this barren landscape.

You heard your phone ring over the soft hum of your cassette radio, drowning out Zeppelin, which should technically be a crime in all 50 states.

“Hello,” you huffed, cranking your window up an inch as you put the phone on speaker.

“Hey, hon. Just checking in. You almost here?” You smiled at the sound of your dad’s voice over the phone. Sometimes you thought the inside of your car still smelt a little like him. Something woodsy mixed with… menthol?

“I’m about an hour out. Absolutely starving, are you making anything good?” You hit a bump, the rotten floors creaking as you grabbed your phone to keep it from sliding off your bare legs. You didn’t wear dresses often, but you figured ‘finally graduating college’ was a good enough reason.

“I figured I’d whip something up on the grill. Steve’s gonna join us tonight.” Your heart stuttered at the sound of his name, the reminder of his existence. You hadn’t seen Steve since your seventeenth birthday party.

Your boyfriend wrapped an arm around your waist, his fingers pulling you taught as you threw back another slug of Budweiser. It was getting late, your eyes starting to fade a little as most of your friends had already taken off, and all but one adult still lingering.

Fucking Steve.

For some reason completely unbeknownst to you, he wanted to stay for your entire party and stare at you from a distance as he sipped his whiskey and chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes like a psycho. If he wasn’t such a good friend of your dad’s, and so unbelievably hot, you would’ve kicked him out a long time ago. But some strange part of you wanted him to stay, liked the way he stared at you from across the grassy lawn, his fingers wound tight around his glass and his eyes hazy.

It was a sort of excitement you felt brew in your stomach every time your eyes met from across the expanse of your yard. Like every time he looked at you, you knew in some deep, depraved part of your soul that he wasn’t thinking about anyone or anything else.

Just you.

You would never tell anyone, but every time you got a little drunk, you thought about Steve, and only Steve.

You wondered about the texture of his mouth, and his insides, and all the rotten pieces of him that he never showed to anyone else. You wanted him to prove it to you. You wanted him to want you too, in all the ways that lack tenderness, that lack purity.

He hadn’t left that spot the whole night. Just sitting, and watching. Maybe he wanted to make sure no one roofied you, or that your boyfriend didn’t get too handsy. Both of which would probably happen before the end of the night.

Neither of those things had happened, and he did leave eventually, but just imagining the way he’d stared at you for hours made your skin crawl. You wondered if he looked the same, if he still liked his whiskey neat, still wore the same grease-stained flannels, still smelt like honey-dipped tobacco in every season of the year.

“You still there?” You blinked once, remembering your dad was still on the phone as you cleared your throat.

“Sorry, bad reception. Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll see you in a little bit, Dad.” You swallowed back a dry patch in your mouth as you hung up and threw your phone into the backseat of your car. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it had fallen off and gone straight through the floor at this point. You also wouldn’t have been surprised if you turned your ass back around and went straight back to Nevada at the thought of seeing Steve.

You took a deep breath, attempting to calm the wave of nausea that rolled in over your stomach.

And then you laughed, talking to yourself as you cranked the window back down, “Come on, it’s been 4 years. What’s the worst that could happen?”

⌖

Your brakes squeaked as you pulled in front of your house, the driveway already packed with Steve’s pickup and your dad’s newer (15-year-old) Lincoln, which you’d probably inherit in another 5 years when he decides to upgrade to a 10-year-old Lincoln instead.

It was even hotter on this side of town, the very edges of Burque where the asphalt burned the skin off your heels, and your seatbelt stayed hot to the touch all day long. You tried to remind yourself why you came back in the first place, hopping out of your car and reaching through the back window to grab one of your bags.

Sure, Nevada was hot too, but at least your dorm had air conditioning. You made a mental note to drive to the store tomorrow to pick up an air conditioner, or this move would’ve truly been for nothing.

Your yellow Converse scraped the ground as you stalked to your door. Small things had changed, like the doorhandle, which was now new and shiny after the other one rusted off a couple years ago, and it even looked like your old man had finally painted the porch like you’d been hounding him to do since last summer.

You smiled to yourself, taking a step inside. Everything else looked the same.

His dirty jacket still on the first hook of the coatrack as you walked in, his boots still thrown aimlessly across the kitchen floor, the table still cluttered with yesterday’s news, and the back porch slider still wide open, no matter what time of day it was.

You took a deep breath. Home. It smelt like home.

And cigarettes and burgers, but that’s what home smells like anyway.

You tossed your bag on the floor, a little skip in your step as you made it to the yard, leaning against the frame as you watched the two men argue about whether ketchup or mustard was better on a hot dog.

“Steve, sometimes I wonder whether or not you’ve got rocks in your brain.”

“What kind of psycho likes yellow mustard in the first place?” He let out a huff of air before his eyes fell on you, his mouth dropping slightly as he raked over your figure, and suddenly you were less worried about the New Mexico heat and more worried about the heat under your skin.

His gaze was like a demand, entirely too familiar, and all the while unsettling. You imagined that underneath all his skin, and bones, and tissues and sinews, that he might be a wolf. A wolf staring into the eyes of a lamb, wondering what she tasted like. Wondering whether or not he could eat her whole.

“Hi.” You smiled softly, your dad pulling you into a hug before you had the time to process the sight before you.

“I didn’t hear the door; did you just get in?”

You nodded against his shoulder as you felt your feet return to earth, “Just now.”

“God, it’s so great to see you, hon. I whipped you up a burger; I hope that’s alright.” You loved your dad. He didn’t have a lot of money, or time, or normal friends, or a lot of other redeeming qualities, but he took care of you, and he was kind in a way that was hard to find, a type of kindness that sits deep into your diaphragm and breathes life into the people around you.

“Burger sounds great.” You hopped down the steps, reaching into a cooler to pull out a Budweiser, your body consciously fighting the urge not to glance up at the other man sitting in front of you.

“Good to see you, kid.” The familiar rasp of his voice rushed over you like an infectious disease, his legs spread out over the chair, jeans tight, white t-shirt clinging to his chest as he brought his own beer bottle up to his lips. You felt the world begin to close in around you.

He didn’t look like he had aged at all since you had seen him last. If anything, he looked better than he did when you were seventeen.

Your eyes darted down to the callouses on his hands, rough and harsh like a sinner’s paradise.

If you closed your eyes hard enough, you thought you could feel them around your throat, an ugly metaphor for desire only born to feed your incessant appetite.

You smiled at him, forcing your thoughts into submission as you smoothed your dress over, finding your spot in the empty seat beside him. The air around you suddenly felt thicker, and smelled a little bit more like tobacco than it had only a minute earlier.

“Good to see you too.” You mumbled, opening your beer and taking a small sip.

“How was the ride over? Everything go okay?” Your dad chirped as he began putting together the burgers, tucking them into their respective buns.

You nodded, “Ride was great.”

“How’s the car working out for you?” You tried not to roll your eyes, the look on your old man’s face just too innocent and warm-hearted to make fun of.

“She did fine.” You accepted the burger from his outstretched hand, watching as Steve waved him off.

“Beer ain’t a dinner, Stevie.”

You heard him chuckle softly as you took a bite. His voice was dark and deep and something you weren’t sure you had ever heard come from his mouth. “It’s good enough for me.”

All the little details about him were still so familiar — his scent, the beer he drinks, the obnoxious way he spreads his legs when he sits down. But at the same time, something about him felt so different. More mature? Maybe that was just you. It had you questioning the expanse of your memory, wondering if you’d ever really known him at all if you’d so easily misplaced whatever about him that was different.

You had thought about Stevie practically every day since you’d left. So much so, that you’d believed at this point that the only thing that could save you from eternal damnation in hell was the sound of your name being held between his teeth.

You’d have to repent. Beg for forgiveness. Apologize for the hunger you feel in your marrow, this terrible hunger to be his lamb.

You fought to keep your breath steady as you ate, the heat from his skin close enough to yours that you thought you might not sleep a wink at all tonight. His every word felt like a caress between your legs.

Dinner came and went, the night buzzing with stories about college, things you’d missed, everything that you needed to know about the typical small-town gossip. You’d even shared a couple laughs with Stevie, a tenderness returning to your relationship with him that you hadn’t thought about since you were fifteen.

The house was quiet today, aside from a soft stir in the living room. The afternoon sun blaring through the tapered windows, bouncing off his skin as he laid sprawled across the couch.

“Whatcha doin’?” You cooed, coming around the corner as you found your way to the only empty spot available to you, your legs falling over his lap as you tried to memorize the way he concentrated on the tv.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

You stifled a laugh, rubbing your dirty socks against his knees. Not enough to hurt, just enough for him to look in your direction.

He let out a huff of air, turning to face you. “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

You shook your head, “Not really.”

“Great.”

The only thing harder than getting Stevie to give you attention was to get him to be happy while he did so.

You rubbed your feet against him a little harder, a smirk plastered across your face as you waited for a reaction. But all he did was glare at you with a look so depraved you thought you’d have nightmares.

“You know, if you want something from me, you can just ask.”

You thought for a moment. There were a lot of things you wanted, especially at fifteen. You were a demanding creature since birth, after all. But the only thing that came to mind was him. Him looking at you, thinking about you, any sort of attention that he could offer up would’ve been enough to satiate the cravings your body demanded.

“Let’s go for a walk or something. I just want you to stop being lazy and get off the couch.”

You watched his face break into a smile, his hands gripping your feet to keep them from kicking against him anymore, “Me lazy? Says the one who just woke up at 2 p.m.”

“It’s summer break; I can wake up whenever I want.”

His smile remained, his eyes darting between yours for a moment before he reached under your knees and pulled you up, dangling you off the ground. And you wanted to hang there forever.

Burque was just like you’d remembered. Burque was good for the soul.

Every doubt you may have had about whether or not to come home or stay in Nevada slipped out of your mind the second you’d taken the first bite of that burger, all the memories of your childhood and teenage years hitting you like a truck, reminding you that home, for some people, is about a little bit more than where you came from.

Your dad quickly rejected your offer to help clean up the dishes, the smoldering heat outside from earlier dulling to a warm breeze as you and Steve sat next to each other in comfortable silence. Your anxieties had melted away somewhere between the smell of tobacco on his shirt and the graze of his hand when he passed you the ketchup.

“You’re all grown up.” He muttered softly from beside you, the gentle hum of crickets filling in between the spaces you had yet to speak.

“College does that to you.”

He nodded, a dimple peeking out from under his beard as he brought the glass up to his lips, releasing it with a muffled pop. “Not like this though.”

You turned your body to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your tone laced with a sense of satire, a hidden language you’d hoped he’d remember about the two of you. A desire to be understood that you hoped you wouldn’t have to explain.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, taking another sip of his beer, “Most kids your age go to college and get older, but they don’t really act it. I was still acting 17 when I graduated.”

“That’s because you have 17-year-old boy humor.” You nudged his shoulder, his teeth peeking out into a smile as he laughed softly. The dim chatter of the crickets somehow disappeared entirely. As far as you were concerned, it was just you and Steve, and no one else on the planet right now.

Your eyes met, your body language matching each other in a way that felt intimate to a fault. As he stared into you, you wondered if he could hear your thoughts, smell the rottenness of your insides, the debilitating hatred of being vulnerable.

His eyes were blue. So blue they made you seasick.

You watched the smile slowly fade off his face, his expression softening as his gaze fell to your lips.

At the sigh alone, you felt a subtle warmth climb up your neck and land on your cheeks, your brain scrambling to think of anything to break the silent stare between the two of you.

“You look good.” The words slipped out before you had time to stop them, your cheeks getting hotter as you cleared your throat, your gaze faltering away from his. “I mean, not that you looked bad before or anything—“

“Thank you,” he smiled, cocking a brow in your direction as his eyes scaled over your body. “You do too.”

And all at once it felt like the world was crushing down on you, a tension in your shoulders that you think would only be relieved by the callouses on Steve’s fingers, and the lingering taste of Diet Coke on his lips that you imagined was permanently engraved there.

You felt your body move a little closer to his instinctively, a pull in your flesh and bones that couldn’t be stopped by willpower alone. And for some reason, he matched it. His body inching a little closer too. Not like two mouths coming together, or two sets of lips being anxious for the other, but rather his body hungry for my warmth, and mine for his.

“You’re gonna get torn apart by the mosquitoes if you two stay out there any longer.” Your dad’s voice cut through the air like a knife, and you watched as Steve stood up quicker than looked natural, guzzling the rest of his beer as he tossed it into a box on the lawn, his feet dragging as he walked to the door.

“I’m gonna head home anyway. I’ll see you later.” He patted your dad on the back, tossing a simple glance over his shoulder in your direction before disappearing into the house. Your body, now rigid and tense, sat dumbfounded in your lawn chair like a little girl who had been promised a new shiny toy and never quite got to wrap her fingers around it.

“You coming?” You glanced down at the rest of your beer, your mind already fuzzy enough as it is if you thought your little crush on Stevie would ever be anything more than that.

It was as it had been when you were seventeen and fifteen, and it only ever stayed the same

The lamb who wants to get eaten never quite catches up to the wolf. And the wolf never quite realizes he’s being chased.

You tipped the bottle upside down, dumping the remaining liquid onto the grass before tossing it in the same box, leaning into your dad as you walked past. “Thanks for tonight.”

The look on his face told you that he somehow knew something was wrong. Like he had seen the tension between the two of you before he had spoken. Like a wire to walk on, and the first to fall ends up splattered across the pavement.

Burque would always be your home, but as you heard Stevie’s pickup turn over in the driveway, you wished you hadn’t come at all.

⌖

Does my flesh deceive you, my dear?

My tenderness has teeth now,

and even this worm will turn.