°˖➴ Writing primarily for Bucky Barnes & Dean Winchester 🌿
°˖➴ Requests are CLOSED but inbox is always open for any thoughts or headcanons or just to say hi!! ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
°˖➴ Please read all the tags & warnings before reading.
!! Thoroughly against the use of of AI in this space
!! This is an 18+ blog. I frequently post / reblog nsfw content. Minors, kindly do not read or interact.
°𓏲⋆🌿. My masterlist .🌿⋆𓏲° °𓏲⋆🌿. Be added to my taglist! .🌿⋆𓏲°
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Anon requested: Priest!Sam or Priest!Dean eating you out on an alter because he says you(r pussy) deserve(s) worship -🫎
A/N: Anon I'm breaking your message into separate parts so I can do different posts for your ideas 🙈 though the third part of your message does have some similarities to what's coming with the apple pie series
Somewhat part 2 for this
Dean's glad you're not looking at him. He doesn't think he could take that.
Your eyes are shut, your lips parted in a tiny whimper. He's pretty sure this is what angels are supposed to look like, the way the sweat is beading on your skin, your legs spread like you're offering him everything he's been begging for. He's never been one to pray, but he'd plead with the Lord every day if it meant he got to stay in this moment.
He's on his knees, they're raw and bruised, the solid stone floor digging against bone. He can't even feel it, he's too consumed with your taste. He feels pathetic- his only saving grace is that you sound more pathetic than he ever could.
"F-father-" you mewl out. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, it makes his cock twitch in his pants.
He's got you spread out on the alter, candles and crucifix lay scattered across the floor, thrown down in a rush as Dean pushed you against the table, your dress bunched up your hips before he'd even got his mouth on you.
"We can't- we shouldn't-" You keep repeating it, but your grip on his hair tightens, pulling him into you. You won't let him go, you need this too much. You're soaking over him, he's got spit and arousal covering his chin, sweat drenching his hair, already got cum soaking into his underwear, he really is pathetic.
He's so devoted, digs his fingers into the flesh of your thigh, pressing his whole mouth against you. You've got a sinners hands on you, a sinners tongue in you- not that you'd know, you have no idea of the guilt that courses through his blood.
"It's a- oh- it's a place of worship-" your voice cracks, pitchy and desperate. You don't believe your own words, you'll do anything Dean tells you to right now.
He looks up at you, eyes dancing over your body as he smiles small, "Only thing I need to worship is you."
Hi. Is there any writer on here you think deserves way more recognition than they currently get ? Sending this to a whole lot of writers. Let’s spread positivity 🫶🏿
there are so many writers that i think deserve all the praise & recognition in the world but i also don't want to insult anyone by saying i think they have low interaction bc i don't even really take notice of that!!
There are many things Scott has given you in a short period of time: migraines, high blood pressure, and a son you would do anything for. A son he doesn’t know exists. Cutting him off was hard enough — welcoming him home might be worse.
▸ PAIRING: Ex-FWB!Scott Miller x F!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, former situationship to baby daddy to lovers (all at the same time tbh), fingering, slight degradation and dumbification, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns, bickering is their foreplay, breeding kink, mean in bed!scott, grumpy scott in general, hurt/comfort, emotionally avoidant!reader, miscommunication (my favorite, of course)
▸ WORD COUNT: 14.1K
▸ A/N: wowowow this is the second and final part of this story!!!! thank you so much for all the love in the first one <3 i'm glad we're all hyperfixated on this man who has no screen time together. i wrote this over a month ago but i've been rereading it aggressively to make sure it's good to free into the world. one of my fave things i've written and i fucking love scott my angsty husband <33 i hope you enjoy. if you do, please comment and reblog, i'd love to hear your thoughts!!!!
↤ main masterlist | part one
“I extended my trip.”
It’s the first thing you hear when Scott shoulders past you in the evening. You’re still standing, shell-shocked by the door, trying to comprehend how this man is in your apartment hours past his supposed flight time. He comes in bearing paper bags with your local fancy grocery store stamped onto the front.
Scott has never grocery shopped a day in his life.
“Why?” You question slowly. Your eyes briefly fly to Ben who’s scribbling on the coffee table, he looks up curiously when he sees the familiar face.
“Uncle Scott,” he beams in greeting.
Scott matches that expression, the sweetest he’s ever looked, as he comes over and ruffles his hair. “Hey, big man, what’re you working on?”
“Me, mom, and dog.”
“Dog, huh?” he chuckles, “I’m sure we can arrange that.”
Ben brightens, hopeful eyes turning to you. You’re going to strangle this man. “Let’s talk about it after dinner, bud.” Your narrowed eyes switch over to Scott. “A word?”
He confidently strolls back over to you, disregarding your glare as he begins to pull out all sorts of things. Mushrooms, vegetables, packs and packs of meat. USDA Prime. Jesus Christ— “What are you doing?”
“Unpacking groceries.”
You pinch his side. He’s built like a brick wall, he doesn’t even flinch. “Scott.”
He says your name in response. A teasing lilt hanging to each letter.
“Why are you here? What is all this?”
“Groceries.”
“Don’t be an ass. Why did you extend your trip?”
“To spend time with you.” He begins to organize your fridge. Worst part? He knows exactly how you like your fridge arranged so he’s putting all the things in all the right places.
“I’m serious,” you hiss.
“What makes you think I’m not?”
You swallow, gaze flying to Ben again who’s back to drawing out his dream dog. It looks more like a deformed puppy but you get the gist of it. “We can’t—” you take a deep breath, “Listen, Ben is young. He’s going to latch onto you if you keep coming around.”
“Would that be so bad?”
The question infuriates you. You scowl, “Are you fucking kidding me? That would be a nightmare. What happens when you leave? He’s going to be asking around for Uncle Scott who will never come around again. There’s a reason why I don’t bring around just anyone to meet him.”
Scott’s eyes tighten almost imperceptibly, but you know him better than that. “You bring others around to meet him?”
“I— no, that’s not what I meant. Jenna’s really the only person who comes over other than my mom. The staff at the hospital know because he pops by time to time. I don’t— I’m careful about who I expose him to. I don’t want to have to answer questions about where someone went or pick up the pieces of a boy who shouldn’t have his heart broken because people disappear on him.”
He seems to mull over this for a moment. His next question sends a shock through your system.
“Who says I’m leaving again?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. Traitorous little thing is getting excited for nothing. “What’re you talking about?”
“Storm Par is set up and running. We have a good team down in Oklahoma always collecting data. I’ve been managing mostly strategy and investor relations.” He looks a little too pleased when he says, “I need to be closer to potential funders anyway, a lot of them are in the northeast.”
“You’re not—” Your breath hitches in your throat, “you’re not considering moving back, are you?”
A proud look settles on his face. “Just signed for a sublet for the next couple of months while I look for a more permanent apartment. How’s this neighborhood? I don’t remember it being particularly nice, but it seems good. How do you feel about moving?”
“Scott,” you snap. “That’s insane. You can’t just— that’s crazy. You were literally supposed to leave today. Suddenly, you’re deciding to stay here? On a whim? What’s wrong with you?”
“Not a whim, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve… just decided it’s the right move.”
“In one night?”
“I don’t need more time than that.”
You give him a look. “That’s stupid.”
“It’s efficient decision-making.”
“Scott.”
“What’s for dinner? Does he have any allergies?”
“Scott.”
He takes a deep breath, sapphire eyes dulled out as he looks up at the ceiling, praying for some lord almighty to save him. “We can spend all night arguing about this but it’s a done deal. I like Boston, I’ve decided to come back. Is that so hard to believe?” Before you can say yes, absolutely, Scott continues, “I’ve thought about this for a while. Trust me when I say I am not doing this impulsively and I’m not just going to change my mind.”
The two of you are locked in a stare-down, neither budging. Two stupidly stubborn fools.
Scott’s eyes are jagged when they first land on yours, sharp in a way that could cut. But the longer he looks at you, the more they thaw, like ice melting in the changing of seasons. It’s a soft transition that warms your frozen heart.
However, then his gaze trails to your mouth, the way they’re parted, teeth peeking out in aggravation, tongue pressing against your teeth as your jaw is clenched. His eyes go molten, scorching as they sear into your skin, tracing your bare shoulders, the length of your neck, exposed collarbones.
“Should put more on you,” he mutters.
“What?” You jerk back, confused.
“Nothing. Dinner? I don’t know how to cook.”
“Then get your own damn dinner, I’m not cooking for you.”
He challenges you with a raise of his eyebrow. “But I bought groceries.”
“That I didn’t ask for.”
“I fuckin’ forgot how bull-headed you are sometimes. Arguing for the sake of arguing.” He huffs a laugh through his nose, hip leaning against your counter, eyes sparkling. “If you wanted to fuck, just say so.”
His voice is low, low enough that you know Ben doesn’t catch it over the sound of the television, but it still puts you on high alert. “Can you not say insane things when my son is around?”
“Always picked a fight when you wanted a fuck,” he smirks.
Your lips part, ready to tell him off, but he turns to the sink instead, beginning to wash his hands.
“Now, what do you need help with?”
Scott’s reappearance has thrown your life for a loop, adding this new, uncontrolled variable that you’re not sure how to handle. He drops you off and picks you up from work. The moment he heard that you’ve been taking the train an hour each way to work, he made that call with no room for argument. He refuses to even drop you off a block away from the hospital so you end up with your coworkers’ curious eyes on you when you’re pulling up every morning in Scott’s stupidly shiny car.
“Have a good day at work, honey,” he would call out obnoxiously through the open window.
The furious glare you throw his way does nothing to deter this behavior. Now, you’re bombarded with questions about him every time you have a moment to yourself, which means you no longer have a shred of peace at work.
He comes by nearly every evening; you say nearly because you had to cut him off, tell him that he cannot show up every single day.
“Why not?”
“Scott. You can’t just come here everyday, he’s going to get confused. You are not family.”
“Yet.”
“What?”
“Fine. Every other day, but full weekends.”
It’s a compromise that you tried to negotiate down, but he refuses to budge on.
The worst part is that Scott is terrific with Ben.
He’s smart and answers all of Ben’s questions with tact. The moment your son learns that Scott works with tornadoes, chasing after them and being smack dab in the middle of the action, he’s absolutely enthralled. You have to emphasize to Scott that you will murder him if Ben ever tells him that he wants to be a tornado chaser.
“I’ll protect him, don’t worry,” is all he says.
You still worry.
Beyond that, Ben seems to enjoy his company, has started asking when Uncle Scott would be coming around again so he could show him the progress he’s made on the massive Superman LEGO set that Scott had gotten him.
“You can’t spoil him too much,” you frown when he pops by on his assigned day, a gift box in hand. It’s the fourth in two weeks.
“He’s a kid. He likes toys.”
“You can’t spoil him,” you mutter.
Your worry is partially rooted in the fact that you can’t just give Ben whatever he wants, whenever he wants, but it also stems from your guilt for not being able to provide all this. It’s not as if you’re not making money; you save enough from your salary, but Boston is an expensive city.
Scott seems to understand this. He dials it back, but you know that he’s itching every time Ben mentions something new he’s curious about. He just picks and prioritizes what he gets him.
Otherwise, he’s good. Too good even. That seems to be a pattern when it comes to him.
You tell yourself it’s because he doesn’t know he’s the father. It’s less commitment, less pressure. He plays the role of a cool uncle who showers Ben with gifts and attention.
Scott has pressed again, of course — who’s the father, when did this happen, do I need to have a conversation, you could fight for child support — to which you answer no repeatedly. An easy denial to give him none of the answers he’s looking for. It never stops him from asking again; he thinks he’ll wear you down eventually.
Truth be told, you think that Scott will bore himself soon. He can’t possibly be serious about permanently moving back to Boston. You’re convinced that in the next couple of weeks, he’ll realize that this pretend domesticity isn’t the life he wants, and he’ll pack up his bags again and leave. When that day comes, you won’t be disappointed.
As long as he never finds out Ben is his son, you’ll be fine.
(Maybe if you repeat it enough times, you’ll actually believe your own words.)
However, you seem to have a knack for putting your foot in your mouth and speaking too soon, because your worst nightmare comes to fruition one day when you let your guard down. Usually, you do a pretty good job of keeping track of their conversations, making sure they stay on safe territory that gives away nothing. Ben has zero clue about his father anyway, so there’s nothing really to give away.
Or so you think.
You’re caught up trying to balance sending work emails and batting away your mother’s efforts to inquire more about Scott. She’s been badgering you nonstop to learn more about your history, prodding Scott whenever she’s here to share more, even going as far as to drop the most obvious hints.
“You know, she is very single. Incredibly single.”
“Mother!”
“I’m aware,” Scott smirks. “Refuses to let me change that.”
You don’t appreciate the way he’s looking at you now, how your body is tingling all over from the memories. The press of his fingers on your hip, how his mouth feels mapping out the curve of your breasts, the burn between your legs when he pushes himself in with a hungry groan.
Heat unfurls across your face and you’re quick to turn away, missing how your mother and Scott share knowing looks.
But now that she’s not here, she’s still torturing you with incessant, inane questions about him. The only thing you manage to catch in the midst of your stress is Scott saying, “Your birthday’s in Decem—”
You don’t think much of it. Not for a moment. Until it hits you.
By the time you look up, Scott’s already directing his eyes towards you. Your blood runs cold.
It’s not a question. He knows. He’s not a fool.
Born the December in the year that you graduated college, it’s not difficult to do the math on when Ben was conceived. If you retrace your steps, it’s not difficult to know who had done the conceiving.
The two of you don’t address it, not out loud. Not yet. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to configure an excuse or a lie that would work in this instance. You’re running on empty, especially when your heart is beating straight out of your chest. Everything feels hot, your body can’t seem to handle this stress very well.
You have maybe an hour left before Ben’s due for bed and you’re half tempted to keep him awake because that means keeping Scott’s anger at bay. You can feel it roll off him in waves, crackling energy that zaps you even from this distance.
The minutes tick down much too quickly and, before you know it, Ben is yawning on cue and you’re getting him ready for bed. You spend a little longer than necessary tucking him in, reading him his story, all the while Scott is standing in the doorway watching the two of you.
He’s being considerate of Ben, maintaining his distance before he probably rips you a new one. You appreciate it, but you press an extra kiss or two onto your son’s face before you exit the room — for good luck.
When the two of you are back in the living room, Ben completely out cold to the world, Scott doesn’t ask. He simply states the irrefutable truth.
“He’s mine.”
You clear your throat. “Technically, he’s mine.”
“Don’t fucking act cute with me right now,” he snarls, jabbing his finger in the direction of the hallway both of you just left. “That’s my kid in there. Are you fucking kidding me?”
Wincing, you take a step away from him. “Can we not do this?”
“Like hell I’m letting this slide. You’ve got to be shittin’ me. That’s my kid. Ben is mine.”
The pulsing in your head only worsens the harder he glares, the more he seethes. “You’re the father. Doesn’t make him yours.”
You hear the sharp intake of breath. The confirmation landing firm in his chest. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?”
“Why does it matter?” You snap, throwing his irritated look right back at him.
“You’ve got to be on another fucking level of insane to think it doesn’t matter.”
“I was going to,” you begin, “tell you, I mean, but the timing never felt right.”
Scott looks at you, completely aghast. “Timing never felt right? You knew. You knew before I left, before we graduated. All those times you didn’t want to drink, didn’t want to eat sushi, this was why. You had all the fucking time in the world to tell me.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
“It would’ve changed everything!”
Your lungs feel devoid of oxygen as you look at Scott, his frustration palpable. Fury is carved into the lines of his face, eyes blazing with the sort of anger you’ve never seen on him. However, in between the twist of his lips and the fire in his gaze, you see a flicker of something warmer. Softer.
Hurt.
The kind of hurt that comes with a betrayal that you cannot take back.
Scott breathes out. “I would’ve been here for you.”
“I never asked you to.”
“You never asked,” he spits out, “you never let me make that decision for myself. Instead, you let me believe that I had fucked up something between us. You cut me off and I didn’t even know why.”
“It would’ve been selfish,” you argue.
“It would’ve been fair,” he insists. “You should’ve trusted me to make my own judgment call.”
Your fingers wring together in front of you. Is this it then? The point of no return. You can’t seem to find the words to say to remedy the situation.
“I didn’t want you to have to choose,” you murmur. “Between me and your dream.” The unsaid words being I didn’t want to watch you choose your dream over me.
Scott has always been larger than life. He is meant for greater things, to innovate and create. He has gone so far since you first met him. He’s become an even bigger person than you could’ve imagined.
What right did you have to hold him back from all that?
“Again, that’s not for you to decide,” he sighs, “Have you ever considered they’re one and the same?” Your gaze flies up to meet his weary one. “You’re an idiot,” Scott mutters. “So fuckin’ stupid.”
You press your lips together into a thin line. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”
“Does he know?”
With a shake of your head, you lean back. “No, he’s been… pretty good at not asking too many questions about who his dad is. It’s only a matter of time before that curiosity grows though, especially once he starts school and the other kids will undoubtedly ask him.”
“I can help you with all that, you know. I am his father after all.”
Wincing, you swallow thickly. “You don’t have to, Scott. It was my decision to go through with the pregnancy. You don’t have to feel like you have to participate.”
“Why do you keep saying it like that?” He lets out an exasperated sound. You frown in question. “Like I don’t want to be here. For him. For you.”
“I— I just don’t want you to feel pressured to—”
“Sweetheart,” he begins and your heart feels like it’s been dipped in syrup, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I’ve been present, haven’t I? And that was before I even knew he was mine. What makes you think I’m going to change my mind?”
“It’s different! Being here to support me as a friend and being here as— as his dad! As a parent.”
Scott looks up to the ceiling again, inhaling deep through his nostrils. “Tell me how it’s different.”
“A fun uncle is not a co-parent.”
“So I want to co-parent.”
“You don’t know what that means.”
“It means being here for you, for him. It means having equal responsibility and stakes in raising him. It means you’re not doing this alone.”
A lump grows in your throat as you look at him. His determination is evident.
“So I’m going to need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to piss you off, you’re going to piss me off, but we’ll make it work.”
You laugh, tears pricking the corner of your eye. “Maybe if we don’t kill each other first.”
His lips curve into a smirk. “You can’t kill me. I’m your baby daddy after all. Fucked you so hard that your birth control didn’t work.”
You almost choke on your own spit. “You’re such a piece of shit.”
He laughs. “Don’t forget the father of your child.”
Your fingers are itching to make contact with his cheek. He really can be such an asshole sometimes. He knows exactly which buttons to push. Repeating the fact that he’s Ben’s father, reminding you again that he knows your big secret now. The worst part is you know that he’s doing it intentionally; the more irritated he gets you, the better the sex. He likes it when you fight back, when you push him.
He likes it when he can put you in your place.
“Some friend you are,” you grunt.
Scott’s rising to his feet, moving towards you. With every step he takes forward, he backs you up until your lower spine lands against the kitchen counter.
“Let’s get one thing clear,” Scott says low, coming up to press you against the solid surface. With both hands planted on either side of you, he leans towards you. Your breath catches. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a while.”
“That’s… mean,” you whimper.
“The things I want to do with you — to you — they’re not things friends do.”
There’s a promise in his gaze that has your heart fluttering, your stomach curling with desire as heat builds between your legs.
It’s hard to breathe when he’s this close. Hard to even think. Your palm flattens against his firm, broad chest, applying pressure in a feeble attempt to put some distance. Except now you can’t help but feel the way his pecs feel underneath your fingers and you can picture yourself on top of him, sinking down on his cock while your hands are planted on his skin.
Heaven have mercy.
“Things are different now,” you gulp.
“You think I still can’t make you cum three times in a night?”
Your lips part. “That’s not—” Heat climbs up your throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Scott chuckles. “I hope you know that this only makes me want you even more. You’re stupid if you think I’m ever letting you out of my sight again.”
“Just because you want to be here and be a father does not mean that it changes anything between us.”
His joy quickly morphs into irritation again. “Why not?”
“Because Ben will always come first and we can’t… just keep fucking.”
“Again, why not?”
Because I’m in love with you. Because I’m going to get my heart broken again.
“I want to maintain some boundaries. It’ll be better for us that way.”
Scott is quiet, thoughtful as he regards you, before he straightens. “Okay then. You do that. You maintain your boundaries.”
“Thank you.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll be helpin’ you do that,” he laughs, bitter as he smiles at you. A threat laced into his expression. “Better prepare yourself, sweetheart. I’m not here to protect your walls. I’m here to break them down.”
“We should go out.”
Your gaze lifts from your laptop, eyes instinctively wandering down the hall to Ben’s room where he’s safe and sound asleep, then back to Scott who’s on his own laptop on the dining table. “Like to get groceries?”
“No, for dinner.”
You look over your shoulder, to the take-out menus stuck to the fridge with a mismatched set of magnets. “There’s a pizza place Ben likes down the street. We could go tomorrow.”
“Finally letting me in two days in a row?” Scott cocks an eyebrow.
A glare is all he gets in return.
“I meant us. Just the two of us.”
Your fingers stop, hovering over the keyboard. “Why?”
“So I can take you out.”
“Why?”
“To spend some time together. You know, outside of parenting.”
Parenting still sounds foreign on his tongue, at least to you. Scott seems to have settled in comfortably with the title, taking on the mantle even without the official acknowledgment. The two of you agreed to ease Ben into it; he seems to have taken a liking towards Scott so at least telling him may be easier than you initially anticipated.
However, considering the situation at hand, you can only ask, “Why?”
“How old are you?” Scott snaps.
“I don’t think we need to do anything together outside of parenting.”
“Why not?”
It’s your turn to give him a look. “We are two people who happen to be raising a child together. Somewhat.”
“But we’re friends first.”
“I think co-parenting supersedes the friend label now, which means I can’t be doing that with you. Not alone.”
He knows you’re being obstinate for the sake of it, pissing him off just because you can. However, he doesn’t take the bait.
“You know what, you’re right, sweetheart. Let me rethink this.”
Scott was never one to give up easily. On the contrary, when presented with a challenge, he rises to the occasion. He goes above and beyond.
It starts off innocuous enough, subtle that you nearly think that all of it is accidental. When he’s trying to help around the kitchen and he reaches across you, arm brushing your breasts. Your nipples perk up on instinct, seeking the familiar warmth of his touch like you’ve been trained. He doesn’t say a thing so you brush it off as inconsequential. His hand on your hip when he’s excusing himself behind you. His eyes on you when he licks his thumb clean off the brownie batter you’re making.
It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. These tiny touches, interactions that shouldn’t mean anything. You shouldn’t be reacting this way. You tell yourself it’s because it’s been a while since you got laid last — unfortunately, by none other than the source of your frustrations.
But then the touches become firmer, intentional in a way that you can’t miss. He’s slipping an arm around your waist when he picks you up at the hospital, head ducking to press a kiss to the side of your head, all the while you’re mid-conversation with a coworker who then scurries away under Scott’s glare. In the car, he’s sliding a possessive hand over your thigh, squeezing when he asks you about your day. He has a hand pressed against your lower back at all times, practically manhandling you when you move around different spaces.
And god do you fucking love it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been deprived of physical touch for so long, you haven’t had anyone in your corner reminding you that they’re there. But you also know yourself better than that and the only reason all of this works is because it’s Scott and you were in love with Scott.
You tell yourself it’s all in the past. This is the remnants of your feelings long forgotten from your more youthful self.
But then it all disappears. The touches. The fleeting glances. The flirty smiles. The difference is jarring and you can’t help but notice the extra space he puts between the two of you when you’re walking with Ben, keeping him in between you two. Or how he moves away from the kitchen when you enter it, and again when you move into the living room. Or how his question actually sounds polite when he asks you how work went.
How he doesn’t even blink twice when you tell him a colleague — that same one that he had scared away — had asked you out to dinner.
The frustration builds inside of you, like he’s crafting a wall with the distance brick by brick. You find yourself leaning towards him only for him to shift in his seat and away from you. The inches between you on the couch feel like they stretch for miles, his arm extended on the other side instead of behind your back.
You feel like an addict seeking a fix, constantly chasing after him — subtly, not enough for it to be obvious, but certainly enough for him to notice.
So, by the time he suggests it again, he’s Pavlov’d you to seek his attention. Fucker.
“Do you want to spend the day together?”
You grit your teeth. Somehow, Scott has conspired with your mother that she whisked Ben away early this morning for a trip to the zoo and you end up with this asshole at your front door with a smirk on his face, shoulders squared, chin tilted up like he’s done something good.
“You did this on purpose.”
“What did I do?”
He knows exactly what he did. “All of it.”
“Come on. Get dressed.”
“You haven’t even told me where we’re going,” you snap.
“Nowhere you need anything fancy,” he says before steering you by the elbow out the door.
You allow yourself to be pushed into the car, he even straps your seatbelt in for you, before he’s driving. Destination still unknown. You try to ask and Scott tells you to just relax, tells you that you’re wrung up too tight.
Then he stops and you look quizzically out the window.
“I got you a massage appointment.”
You nearly break your neck at the speed you whip around to look at him. “What? Why?”
“Thought it would be a nice thing to do. You used to gather knots like you were starting a collection and I had to press all of that out for you. Figured, with all the years of build up and I highly doubt you’ve been smoothing those out, a professional could do a better job.”
At a loss, you find yourself only staring at him. He looks cocky, so damn proud that he’s done something right — that he knew exactly what you needed.
“Now get going, they’re not gonna find another timeslot for you.”
With your mind in a blur, you exit the vehicle. The spa is nice, a mix of lavender and eucalyptus in the air that has you relaxing almost instantly. The experience is… divine to say the least. For once, you have not a single thought in your mind and you find yourself melting into the table during your two-hour long session.
By the time you step back outside, after the people inside tell you that it’s been paid for, Scott is waiting out front. In a daze, you slip back into the car.
“Good?” is all he asks.
You nod slowly.
“Good,” he smiles, “now, let’s get you ready for dinner.”
Scott tells you that he’s taking you somewhere casual, but nice. Nice enough that you end up spending a bit of time washing your hair, doing your makeup, even fixing your hair a little bit. When you spritz on perfume, you tell yourself that it’s for your sake.
But you can’t deny that when you see Scott drink you in — how his blue eyes go ten shades darker, how his lips part when he gets a whiff of the florals clinging onto your skin — that it might’ve been for him too.
You would think a man like Scott would take you somewhere nice, somewhere you’re going to be gawking at the prices all night, wondering if you should even be in a place like that. But when he pulls up to a quiet corner in Cambridge, an Italian restaurant that seems all too familiar, you find yourself caught off guard.
“What? You would’ve preferred steak and fries at Del Frisco’s?” He’s chuckling quietly to himself, knowing full well what your answer would be.
Before you can reach for your door, Scott’s rounding the car and pulling it open, even going as far as to offer a hand.
He’s a perfect gentleman the entire night. When you hesitate on ordering because of the prices, Scott — the condescending prick that he is — orders for you, except he orders right. You’ve been eyeing that dish but you couldn’t do the math fast enough to figure out your budget for the month. He orders a bottle of red, your favorite — it’s nothing fancy, but it had been a step up when you felt like splurging in college. The food is delicious, reminiscent of the old days when he would treat you to a meal to make you feel better, right after he fucked you seven ways to Sunday.
You’re warm, body buzzing with your fill of food and wine. For the first time in a while, you feel a little lighter, like the world isn’t weighing down on your shoulders. Scott drives you back home and he stops right in front of your apartment building.
You know what’s coming. A proposition — as always. You’re going to say yes — as always. He’s always been a snake charmer, saying and doing all the right things to get one into bed with him. It worked on you for months. It used to work on all the ladies before he stopped using it on them.
It still works on you, considering you’re feeling that warmth between your legs. That anticipation humming in your veins. You can practically taste his mouth on you, the tartness from the wine mixed with the gelato you ordered for dessert. You take a breath in eager hopefulness.
However, when he walks you to the apartment entrance, he only kisses the back of your hand. “Have a good night, sweetheart.” Then he’s slowly making his way down the steps, leaving you completely gobsmacked.
You find yourself saying, “Wait,” before you can even think twice.
Scott halts, turns, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.
You should have more self-restraint. But when he’s looking at you with those bright blue eyes and an expression that promises you a good time, you’re only human.
“What is it?”
You fidget with the handle of your purse. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” he drawls, tilting his head like he’s waiting to see your next move.
“You’re not gonna stay?”
Scott’s lips quirk up, shfiting into a look too cocky for your liking. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Doesn’t sound like you do,” he makes a face, raising his shoulders in a shrug as he pretends to slowly turn back around.
You should let him go. You hope he has fucking blue balls tonight. However, that also means you’ll be left alone with your thoughts in an empty apartment and your vibrator on a Saturday night, and that sounds a heck of a lot less fun than getting your brains scrambled by the one man who knows exactly how to do that.
“Do you want to come up?”
It’s comical how quickly he whirls around to say, “Don’t mind if I do.”
The ride up the elevator is weighed down by tense silence. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears in time with the numbers that climb, a beep in rhythm to each floor. Scott stands next to you, hands planted on the railing casually, but you hear the impatient tapping of his shoe. When the elevator finally dings, he lets you leave first and you feel the burn of his gaze on your back, trailing the length of you down to the curve of your ass where the silk of your dress rests.
Your fingers are barely functional as you clumsily dig through your purse to open the door. It’s one thing to have someone watching you, it’s another to have Scott staring at you. The hungry look in his eyes, the way you can practically feel the heat radiate off him.
You don’t even get a chance to properly set aside your bag before Scott is pressing you up against the wall. He drinks in your surprised little gasp, your instinct to move away from him only has him backing you up against your kitchen counter. With you half-seated on it, Scott’s hands slide around your neck, cupping your cheeks so he can lick into your mouth. He takes the chance to slip his tongue in between your little gasps, tasting that sugar on your tongue.
“Fuck, sweetheart, been waiting to do that all night,” he groans as his mouth travels towards your neck instead, sucking on the delicate skin until you feel the sting spark every nerve inside your body. He does it over again, like he’s zapping you with electricity every time he leaves a new mark on your body.
You’re no better, your hands immediately crawling up his chest to find his buttons and fumble with them, slipping them out one at a time until you can shove his shirt off his shoulders. God, how is it possible that he seems even broader than before? Your palms explore his biceps, feeling the way they flex beneath your fingertips, muscles tensing into a firm surface for you to hold onto.
“You got… bigger,” you note in a daze. It’s ridiculous how drunk you feel right now and it’s certainly not from the wine. It’s his scent — masculine and clean. Like rain on freshly mowed grass, earthy in a way that grounds you. You can’t help but breathe him in, making a mental note that he still uses the same shampoo.
“A lot of time lugging around equipment out there,” he mutters. As if to prove a point, he lifts you up to the counter and wraps your legs around his waist. “Always getting drenched in the storms.”
Fuck. Terrible visual. You imagine him in a white short-sleeve shirt, the fabric soaking up all that rain and clinging to every inch of his muscles and leaving nothing to the imagination. His dusky nipples poking through the fabric. Curly brunette hair with droplets, that one stray hair on his forehead whenever it gets too humid. You can practically see the light smattering of hair on his chest, a path leading down to his navel.
God forbid that the women in Oklahoma have seen him like that. That’s a visual you’d rather keep to yourself.
Scott distracts you again when he brings his face back to kiss you. He kisses like he’s inhaling you, stealing every hitched breath from your lungs. His mouth is ravenous as it moves against you, teeth grazing your bottom lip lightly in a tantalizing threat. He finally nips and you let out a little whine that he laughs lightly at as he kisses you harder. Firmer. Soft lips, only slightly chapped, as they relearn what it is exactly that makes you moan down his throat.
“Love kissing you,” he mutters, “missed doing this. I want to do this everyday.”
You’re about to tell him why that would be a bad idea but you sigh dreamily instead, tipping your head back when he begins trailing wet kisses along your jawline again.
His hands wander to your back, dragging the zipper down quietly until your dress pools on the floor. His thumb brushes over your nipples peaking through the lace. “Missed these pretty tits too. Couldn’t get enough of them last time.” He ducks his head and tugs one free from your bra, lips closing in around your nipple in a wet heat. His groan reverberates straight through you, tongue laving around your pert nipple like he’s trying to coax it out.
As he does so, his other hand reaches for the clasp of your bra until you hear the little sound before it slides down your shoulders.
“Hands on the counter.”
“Bossy,” you murmur, but do so anyway.
Scott looks mildly surprised at your obedience and you can’t even bring yourself to care. You lean back slightly and spread your legs wider to let him step in between them, his mouth warm and sweet on your tits. He mouths hungrily at your breasts, biting, squeezing, until you’re a moaning mess arching into his touch. One of his hand slides down to your lower spine to yank you closer to him, pressing your core against the thickness in his pants.
“I’ve been hard all night lookin’ at you in that pretty dress,” Scott growls, “knew exactly what you looked like underneath it, couldn’t wait to take it off you.”
You appear to have lost your entire vocabulary when he slips that hand from your back to the space between you, two fingers against the panties that’s quickly gathering moisture. The whine that is pulled from your lips is instinctual. Pure primal need.
“Imagining you stretched out on that massage bed, naked, slicked up in oil. Fuck, I had to drive around and keep myself busy for two hours so I didn’t go back and do the job myself,” he huffs a laugh as he begins rubbing your clit over the material, arousal easing the slick of his fingers even with one layer between the two of you.
A gasp is wrenched from your throat as you stare at him, wide-eyed. “That’s— that’s ridiculous.”
Scott hums, shaking his head, pressing harder, pulling out another needy sound. “Stop bein’ so tense. You’re undoing all of that woman’s hard work.” Your eyes light up briefly. “I wasn’t going to let some other man touch you. I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re such a possessive asshole,” you let out a breathless laugh, “it’s just a massage.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to be the only one that gets to touch these pretty tits. Not to mention, this—” he slides his fingers under your panties, gathering up the arousal from you slick folds on his fingertips and listening to the lewd squelch as he dips his fingers in just a tad. “You’re so goddamn wet.”
Instead of clamping your legs shut, embarrassed like you always have been, you can’t help but let your thighs fall apart further, giving him room to give you the pleasure that you so badly needed.
“You’re so much easier when you’re not stressed.”
That snaps you awake. “Oh, fuck you.”
Scott pushes two fingers in, the slide is swift and wet. “Just like that,” he grins as he slowly drags his fingers out only to shove them back in. He’s rough and he’s messy, you can hear how wet you are as he watches you come undone, thumb against your clit like he has something to prove. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re dripping all over the counter. You’re so messy, pretty girl.”
“S-Scott,” you moan, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I c-can’t, mmm, please.”
“I know, I know, still so tight, aren’t you? I don’t want to hurt you,” he says as he slowly sinks to his knees. You look down to find him with his starry eyes looking right up at you as he sticks his fingers in his mouth. You can see the moment his eyes flutter shut as he tastes you, tongue lecherously poking out to lick his fingers clean. “Better than dessert.”
“You’re so corny—” your words split off into a choked gasp when Scott dives in between your legs. His tongue drags all the way up to your clit until you’re bucking against his mouth. He licks and devours, the roughness of his tongue sliding up your slick folds, lips closing in around your core, your clit, to suck until you’re shuddering against him. “Fuck, Scott, wait, slow down.”
Scott leans away, giving you a brief moment of reprieve — except, when you look down at him, his bottom half is glistening in the moonlight that spills across your floors. His eyes return to your pussy, just beneath your stomach that’s rising and falling with your labored breaths.
His index and middle fingers rest on each of your lips as he slowly pries them apart, your pussy pulses and there’s no doubt that he catches that movement. The slight tensing, squeezing, inside of you. “Look at this pussy spreading so wet and easy for me. She’s droolin’, sweetheart.”
As if he can sense another argument on your lips, Scott leans forward again to press kisses onto your inner thigh, blooming warmth with every spot he touches. He kisses up and up until he’s back with his face between your legs, your thighs closing in around his head until he’s practically suffocating in your cunt.
It’s the way he likes it though. His hands on your ass to drag you forward so he can tongue-fuck you faster, knowing full well you’re enjoying it when you’re grinding against his face with tears leaking from your eyes and his name said in prayer.
That pleasure coils humiliatingly fast in your stomach. You can feel your climax, long abandoned, surfacing quickly. God, it feels so good, his mouth — it’s only gotten better. You hate to think if he fucked anyone else while he was away, because — of course he did, he was a hot young bachelor in bumfuck Oklahoma. He was probably the hottest shit down there.
Scott scowls up at you, “You’re tensing up again, what are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” you blurt out, pressing your lips together.
He rises to his feet, fingers catching your chin. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” you snap irritably. Great, now you’re thinking about some cute girl in a cowboy hat he’s probably fucked the same way he did you.
“You just stiffened up again. Either you tell me, or I won’t fuck you.”
You roll your eyes, “Holding sex hostage? Real mature.” Well, two can play that game. “If you won’t fuck me, I’m sure I’ve got a few people on my dating apps that have been begging to.”
Scott’s eyes flash, your heart palpitates a little too aggressively. “Yeah? You wanna try that again with me?” Your mouth dries. “Sweetheart, you’re cute if you think I’m letting anyone else near this pretty pussy of yours. You think anyone can get you off?”
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.
“You’re mine,” he breathes out, catching your lips again. You can taste yourself on him, his moan vibrating against your mouth.
But you can’t deny his words. Instead, you let him pick you up and carry you all the way to the bedroom. He doesn’t stop kissing you the entire way, stealing your breath every chance he gets. Your back lands on the mattress, Scott climbing over you and pressing your legs into your chest.
“Love fucking you just like this,” he murmurs, applying just a little more pressure. “Maybe I can put another baby in you.”
“Scott!” You gasp.
“Fuck, I wasn’t even around when you were pregnant. I’d do it right this time. Make sure you’re taken care of — however that may be. Heard the first trimester’s roughest, probably needed a cock to fill you up, hm? Fill you up and get you so stupidly cockdrunk you won’t have the mouth to talk back to me.”
Another protest sits on your tongue but then Scott’s unzipping his pants and his cock, thick and throbbing, is in his hands, tip sitting at your entrance. You can feel your pussy dripping onto him, a trail of slick that slides down the length of him.
“I could fuck you, cum in you as much as I want — not like I didn’t already,” he chuckles, “no more risk of getting you pregnant twice. God, I could do that to you, sweetheart. Want another kid with me?”
“You’re— fuck, you’re insane.”
Scott only grunts as he begins pushing into you. “So fuckin’ tight. I need to teach your pussy how to take me again. You were so sweet and loose for me back then, we fucked so much, your cunt was shaped to my cock. Can’t wait to do that again.”
The ache burns between your legs as Scott stretches you out, your pussy opening up painfully slowly for him. You hold your breath, tensing up as he whispers for you to relax, to just keep your legs open and let him take what he needs. Your eyes roll when he finally buries himself all the way, the head kissing the deepest parts of you.
“S-shit, fuck, that feels so good. You feel like heaven.”
“Please, please just move,” you whine.
“I know, baby, but I can’t fuck you too fast, gonna hurt you. My cock barely fits in this tight pussy of yours,” Scott coos, dragging back his hips and slowly coaxing you open with a push of his cock. “I gotta go easy on her. She’s not used to being filled up, is she?”
You call him an asshole in your head, because you don’t trust your voice not to break in the haze of your pleasure.
“Pretty girl hasn’t had anyone taking care of her in a while.”
“I can take care of myself just fine,” you defend with a snap.
“Yeah? What? Those vibrators I see you hiding? Doesn’t feel the same, does it? You needed someone to fuck you properly.” Scott smirks, “Maybe I should’ve given you a dildo shaped to my cock. That way you could fuck yourself on it whenever you missed me. I’d make you call me when you do that, wanna hear you beg for my cock while you push it inside you. Better yet, I want to see you while you ride it and realize it ain’t the same as the real thing.”
“You’re so fucking gross,” you hiss and, sure enough, it melts into a moan when Scott drives into you again, and again, and again.
“What does it say about you when I can feel you chokin’ out my cock at the thought of it?” He laughs, taunting. “You’re as fucked up as I am, sweetheart. How do you think we made a baby in the first place?”
Oh fuck, Scott feels you open up to him, mold around him. That pain dulls into a throb that only serves to weave desire between your legs. You clench around him, pussy pulsing with his every word, as he fucks deep inside of you. He pushes you back into this mating press, groaning when he feels himself reach deeper inside you.
“Shit, baby, this pussy is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I gave this up for years. Missed fucking this gorgeous cunt so bad,” he swallows. That vein on his neck goes taut as he tries to stop himself. “You still on the pill?”
You nod weakly, fingers digging into his biceps as he pounds into you, his hips jerking faster and harder.
Then he laughs and it sounds mean and your stomach twists. “Didn’t do us much good last time though, huh? It’s alright, sweetheart. If you get knocked up again, I’ll be here. I’ll be here to fuck all that stress out of you, give you all the massages that’ll end with my head between your legs. Get you all your cravings so you can show your appreciation with your mouth on my cock.”
It’s disgusting, The thought of returning favors when he’s the one who gets you pregnant, but something about it has you tightening, punched in the stomach with a level of arousal that you can’t seem to contain.
“Don’t need to use this pretty brain of yours, baby. Just gonna have you barefooted waddling around and you can let me take real good care of you,” he pants, sweat beading his forehead as he fucks into you faster, holding himself back harder. “Make sure you and our baby are good. Don’t you worry.”
“F-fuck you,” you stutter as he drives back into you.
The bed creaks under the pressure of his thrusts, you’re getting fucked into the mattress that you can feel your body imprinting onto the bed. “That’s right. Good girl. Gonna make you a mommy again, sweetheart. Gonna put another baby into you. You’re already so cockdrunk, you won’t even know. I’m not letting you out of here until it takes.”
That knocks all the oxygen from your chest. “Shit, Scott— hold on.”
“Can’t do that,” he grunts, “pussy feels too good. Can’t get enough of this hole. I’m going to fill you up, baby. You’re gonna be leakin’ my cum for days. Maybe I’ll send you to get another massage and they’ll see you dripping my cream.”
Scott pounds into you, each word filthier than the next. He’s driving himself and you into a frenzy as his thrusts get sloppier, wetter, squelching bouncing off your four walls.
“I’m gonna print my cock in your pussy so nobody else can touch you.”
“Breed this pussy so good, keep you plugged up with my cum for days.”
“This pussy was meant to be fucked, sweetheart. You don’t need princess treatment, just need to be fucked like you need another baby in you.”
It’s filthy. It’s demeaning. It’s a fucking turn-on.
“Yeah, you wanna cum, pretty girl? You wanna cum around my cock?”
You can only nod in your haze, desperate, eager.
“Cum around me, sweetheart. I wanna feel that cream coating my cock. I wanna feel that stickiness, feel what it’s like to have my girl feel so good because of me.”
Scott pounds into you faster, deeper as he fucks you harder into the mattress. He presses you further in this position, tilting your hips up until you’re climbing and climbing and falling apart around him with a loud whine. Your body trembles with the force of your orgasm, legs quaking around him as he drags out your climax with every thrust until he himself is spilling warmth inside you. You can feel the mess in your insides, feel it slosh around, feel it leak from where you two are joined.
“Fuck,” he groans, “cumming so much, sweetheart. Fillin’ her right up.”
Your heart slams against your chest as you feel exactly that.
Scott’s hips are still jerking with his cum spurting right into you. He refuses to budge, staying there until he’s sure everything’s out. Even then, he nudges his hips a little deeper, like he’s making sure his cum stays in there.
He eases out of you slowly, but he doesn’t let go of the pressure on your legs, keeping your hips up as he watches his cum ooze out of you. His brows pucker in annoyance as he uses two fingers to push it back into you.
You wince, pussy sensitive from the friction earlier. “Gross.”
“You like it.”
You do. It’s stupid but you do. Something about him staking his claim, leaving a part of him inside you, it’s just the kind of thing that has you squeezing around his fingers again.
Scott smirks. “Do you want me to clean you up?”
Your stupid, traitorous, dysfunctional brain says no. For some reason, you really like feeling his cum inside you. But you know that the correct answer is— “Yes.” It’s the only reason Scott asks – because he knows.
His eyes scan you for a moment, as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth. Then he sighs and lets your legs down gently as he disappears, coming back only when he has a damp cloth in hand. It’s so strange for him to be so familiar with your place to know where things are.
At the same time — so right.
He wipes you clean, murmuring to himself about how pretty you look with his cum inside you. You try not to let your lips stretch too wide with the heat rolling across your face.
When he’s done, Scott slides himself in next to you, pulling you close.
That’s when you freeze because — what is this? What are you? The panic sinks in fast and you feel fear claw at your chest. You have a son. You can’t be doing — whatever the fuck this is — with his dad, who he doesn’t even know is his dad.
“Scott—”
“Sleep.”
“Go home.”
“No.”
“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “You can’t be here when Ben comes home tomorrow morning.”
Scott exhales long and hard, like he’s had enough of your shit. “Why not? I get full weekends, don’t I? That includes mornings. Now sleep.”
“Sleep in your own home! You can come back tomorrow.”
Before you know it, you’re back on your back and Scott’s on top of you, pinning you down with a glare. “Sweetheart, it seems like I didn’t fuck you hard enough. If I did, then you wouldn’t be thinkin’ whatever the fuck is going through that big head of yours right now. So, I’m going to fuck you again, and I’m going to keep fucking you until you stop treatin’ me like I’m some shameful one-night stand. I’m the father of your child — our child. So take your pick — do you want me to fuck you again until your head’s too full of cock to argue, or do you want to sleep?”
You open your mouth. Sleep is on the tip of your tongue, but then you feel him and his gaze warm on you and your legs press together on instinct.
He chuckles, dipping his head to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Good answer.”
Sure enough, he keeps his promise and you only find yourself falling asleep when he gives you your third orgasm of the night.
There is no monumental shift. Scott acts the same way he always has — at least around Ben.
He tries to maintain some level of distance but you can tell that he’s getting a little antsy about his own son not knowing who he is. Every time he asks you, you have to shoot it down, mainly for Ben’s sake.
But you also know that you raised a good, smart kid, which means it’s not surprising when Ben asks, “Who’s Uncle Scott really?”
“He is—” you pause, “—a friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
Fuck.
“No, he’s just a friend — like the kind you’ll meet in school.”
Ben looks at the television where there’s an interview of Scott playing, the one from a local station talking about his startup. “You love him?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. Warmth creeps up on you and Ben must notice it because he’s smiling softly, patting your hand.
“I like him,” Ben gives his nod of approval before turning back to the LEGOs in front of him.
A four-year-old just reassured you that he likes his dad. His dad that he still doesn’t know about. You know it isn’t fair and you will tell him at some point, you’re just not sure how to have that conversation yet — not when Scott’s time here is uncertain, despite what he says.
Still, while Scott keeps things steady with Ben, he switches tactics with you. His hand is always touching you — your hip, your back, your shoulders. Subtle touches like a reminder that he’s here. It’s oddly comforting and you find yourself seeking his touch more than before.
Around your son, he still maintains some distance, even when you can tell he’s itching to get closer. The two of you are at the grocery store, you’re driving the cart while Ben runs ahead, giggling and pointing at everything he wants — which is really anything with at least twenty grams of added sugar.
Scott has an amused smile on his lips as he watches him.
“Think he could be a runner someday. Has the makings of an athlete. Maybe football,” he says, almost proudly with his chest puffed up.
You roll your eyes, “I’d rather avoid my son getting his head knocked around.”
“Or entrepreneur, he has a way with making you do things, you know. Smart. Manipulative.”
“Where do you think he got that from?”
Scott only smirks.
You’re scanning through your list when you realize, “Shit, I forgot to grab butter and it’s up the aisle.”
“I’ll grab it,” he says, squeezing your hip, “just get what you need here.”
Ben insists on getting chocolate milk, mainly because he’s convinced the chocolate cow on the box is real. You tell him that you could get the smaller version and that you’ll take him to a farm one day and realize that there are no cows that produce chocolate milk.
“With Uncle Scott? In Oka— Okla—” He struggles, frowning when he can’t remember.
Oh. “Oklahoma,” you add, “maybe. I’m sure there are closer farms.”
His mouth opens in a bright grin.
When you finally cave and put both the chocolate milk and the regular milk in the cart, you look back down the aisle to see Scott standing there.
Talking to a woman.
A woman who was very much his type before he met you.
Your chest pinches with an unfamiliar feeling. It’s understandable that Scott has seen and is probably still seeing other women. The two of you don’t have a label on things, nothing you can tape to his forehead that says off limits.
She looks young, sweet, dressed like she has a life. She’s smiling up at him, giggling at something he’s saying in a way where you know it’s not because he’s funny. She reaches up to touch his arm and he takes a step back, a polite smile in place, then he’s saying something and looking at you. And then she’s looking at you too, face souring.
Alright then.
You turn away again, continuing to push the cart as Ben sets his mind on cereal next. He’s been on a Lucky Charms kick and you desperately need to move him off it. It’s all sugar and food coloring.
Scott appears next to you, a hand on your lower back as he puts the butter box in the cart. He peeks at your list. “Cereal next?”
“Um, yeah,” you say, eyes going over your shoulder to catch another glimpse of that woman. “She was cute.”
“Yeah, she was.”
Your lips immediately curl and Scott catches it before you can school your expression. “Didn’t get her number?”
“Told her I’m with my wife and kid,” he smirks.
Wife and kid— you’re not even sure how to respond to that, so you resort to clearing your throat with a deadpan look. “Glad to hear we can be used to avoid women you don’t like.”
“Well, I was only half lying, wasn’t I?” He huffs as the two of you turn the corner, finding Ben already with a box of Lucky Charms in hand. You sigh as Scott mutters under his breath, “Not too late to make it all completely true though.”
You try to convince Ben that cornflakes are much more fun, which is the least convincing argument you can make, until Scott steps in and says that cornflakes make him super strong like the rooster on the cover. So Ben swaps out his pick for a box of Froot Loops and declares that he wants to be strong like this bird instead.
It isn’t until the two of you are unloading groceries into his car that it hits you, and the bag nearly slips from his fingers.
Make it all completely true. Wife and kid.
“Took you long enough,” Scott chuckles smugly. “Give it some thought. Maybe we can stop by the jewelers on the way back.”
Scott is relentless to say the least. He has increased the frequency of touching, has made it all the more obvious in front of everyone. Your coworkers all know him by name, chatting with him when you wrap up work late. Sometimes, he’s the one who picks Ben up from your mom’s and brings him to meet you at the hospital.
Your mom, of course, is over the moon. She can’t stop gushing over him, telling you how he helped her fix her leaky faucet, how he’s always on time to pick up Ben even when he’s still in the middle of work, and “Did you know he was featured in Forbes?”
He finally invites you and Ben over for dinner in his new apartment. It’s much more spacious, a two-bedroom that’s twice the size of yours — one of which he has set up for Ben. So Ben is also over the moon when he sees how massive his bedroom is. He asks if the two of you can stay and you only manage a tight-lipped smile before you redirect your glare towards Scott.
“Your place too,” Scott says casually, handing you an extra set of keys. “In case you ever need some more space.”
Later, he also shows you that he’s left most of the closet empty in the master bedroom. “In case you need to stay over.”
It’s sweet. It’s thoughtful.
It’s too much.
You don’t even know where you stand with him. He takes you out again and then another time; you tell yourself that this is just friends hanging out, but you know it’s different when you end up in his bed at the end of the evening. The first time you slept with him at his and tried to leave after, you realize that your shoes are nowhere to be found.
“Where are my shoes?”
“I knew you were going to pull some stupid shit like this. So I hid them.”
“What the fuck? Are you four?”
“No, but our son is. Now get your ass back into bed.” You cross your arms over your chest, planting your foot down in protest. Scott regards you coolly. “You either come here on your own accord or I’m throwing you over my shoulder.”
He doesn’t make threats lightly, so you stomp all the way back to his bedroom where Scott proceeds to fuck you over again and makes sure that you have no energy left to move.
Things are… good.
For the first time in years, you feel almost at peace. Ben’s a good kid, raised right, adored by all around him. He’ll start school next year with a stronger support system, what with Scott vowing to attend every parent-teacher conference and other events that require his presence. The two of you agree to tell Ben in a month — a month to prepare for the conversation.
You can’t even imagine what it’s like — living four years of your life never seeing your father and then suddenly dropping one in his lap. Well, you suppose it isn’t very sudden considering Scott’s been around more often than not. Part of you hopes that Ben is hopeful about Scott, it’ll make the conversation easier.
That being said, your work schedule has been atrocious which means you haven’t had the chance to really sit down with him and have a conversation on how to broach the topic with your son. The one time you finally manage to get off work early, you decide to swing by Scott’s; he works from home and you figured all three of you could do dinner together at that pizza place.
The key rests between your fingers, pinched tight as you stare at it.
You should just ring the doorbell. Right? It isn’t your home. But Scott gave you a key and what if he’s still in the middle of something? What if he has someone else in there? No, you shouldn’t use the key. Then again, he shouldn’t have given you a key if he would be doing anything he wouldn’t want you to see.
The internal debate persists until you decide fuck it and push the key into the lock. You open the door slowly, quietly, nothing like your own creaky one. Scott’s nowhere to be found in his giant living room with his giant television. You look at that giant screen with envy, thinking about how wonderful movie nights would be with that setup. Scott has already insisted on doing movie nights at his instead, stocking up on popcorn and sugar, and you’re tempted to agree.
Muffled voices carry down the hall. He’s probably in the bedroom so you silently make your way over in case he’s on a call.
“Yeah, I’ll be back next week, alright,” Scott says, sounding agitated. You get a peek through the bedroom door and find him pacing.
An open suitcase in front of him.
Your heart drops. The scene is all too familiar. It’s like you’re twenty-two again, left behind in this town while he goes off to chase his dreams — only this time, he had promised you he would stay. Only this time, it won’t only be your heart he’ll break.
“I know it’s takin’ me a while,” he grunts, scrounging his hand through his hair, “no, I still need to pick up my shit.”
You can’t hear the person on the other end of the line but it’s clear that he doesn’t seem very pleased. A sigh heaves from his chest as he looks out the window, a mournful expression painted onto his face.
“I have to tie up some loose ends.”
Loose ends? You swallow thickly. That’s— is he talking about you? About Ben? He’s supposed to be back in Oklahoma next week. No doubt whoever is on the other side is someone at work. But he had promised you he would stay — right? He had said that he would be sticking around. Why else would he get an apartment? Why would he set the bedroom up for Ben otherwise?
But your mind has spiraled beyond the point of reason. Your survival instincts kick in again; you never want to be the person left behind. Not again. Not after that first time. So you should leave first. It’ll make it easier for the both of you.
Scott won’t have to break the news and you — you can let that hope quietly slip away.
All you can do now is… leave.
So you do. You take one step back then another and another until you’re in his kitchen. You open one of the drawers and tuck the extra set of keys he gave you inside; after all, you won’t be needing those anymore. Then you’re out the door.
You’re functioning numb as you get home. Ben greets you with a big smile and so does your mom. You force yourself to smile too and ask if the two of them want pizza for dinner. Your mom looks at you with a silent question asking where Scott is. You only shake your head.
When Scott calls you as you’re getting ready to leave for the restaurant, you don’t pick up.
Not feeling so hot.
His face appears on your screen as your phone vibrates with the incoming call. You curse yourself for texting so quickly.
“Hey,” you try to rasp.
“What is it? A cold? A fever? I can grab medicine and dinner on the way there. Maybe that wonton noodle soup from—”
“No, don’t,” you blurt out, “I, uh, don’t want to get you sick.”
“I don’t give a shit about that.” You can practically imagine his annoyed scowl. He’s probably shrugging on his jacket, you can hear the jingle of his keys as he heads to the door. “What do you want to eat? You like that wonton soup right? It’s on the way to yours.”
“Scott, please.”
“Sweetheart,” he sighs.
“I’ll be fine,” you insist, “just give me a few days to recover and I’ll text you, okay.”
Silence on the other end means that he’s giving it actual thought. Then you hear the long exhale. “Fine. Call or text me if you need anything. Seriously.” He clears his throat, “You know, your mom could also take Ben for a few days. I’ll come take care of you.”
You bite your tongue, blinking away the tears as you stare up at the ceiling. You can’t get used to this, can’t get used to someone checking in on you, putting you first. This isn’t the kind of thing that lasts.
“No, I promise I’ll be okay.”
You call in sick for work, which shocks your entire team because you’re the type to drag yourself out of your deathbed to make sure you don’t miss a day. You’re not sure you like this reputation.
Jenna calls your bullshit out immediately. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” you mutter, picking on the lint on your pajama pants. You’re waiting for Ben to wake up so the two of you can spend the day together. He’s a little confused why you’re at home for a few days, but he certainly isn’t complaining.
“Does it have something to do with hottie Scottie?”
You wince, “That’s a gross nickname. Never say that again.”
“So it does, what did he do?”
It’s not what he did. It’s what he’s about to do. “It’s not a big deal. I just needed a break. Gonna spend some time with Ben.”
“Well, Ben loves her cool Aunt Jenna so I’ll swing by after with fried chicken?”
Your lips twitch. She always knows the right things to say. “Sounds good.”
On the other hand, you spend the rest of the week dodging Scott’s every attempt to come visit. You tell him that your cold has only gotten worse (you’re fresher than a spring chicken), that your mom is taking Ben for a few days (he’s sitting at the dining table), and that you are doing fine otherwise (your heart is splintering in your chest).
He sounds frustrated over the phone and, when he does visit, you pretend that you’re too sick to see him, refusing to let him through the door.
“This is fucking ridiculous. You have a cold. I’ll be fine,” he snaps through the front door. “Will you just let me in?”
Once again, you emphasize that that’s not good practice and colds are highly contagious. You can hear Scott’s feet shuffling outside, his annoyed grunts.
“Can you just let me in?” He breathes out deeply, “Please. I haven’t seen you in days and I really want to. I just want to make sure you’re good.”
Your forehead presses against the cool door. You tell yourself to stay strong. Don’t give in so easily. So again, you deny him entry and he finally leaves.
On Sunday, he calls and you at least pick that up. “I have to fly out to Oklahoma for a few days,” he mutters, “I’ll be back. Call me, text me, fucking email me if you need to — if you need anything at all, alright.”
“I’ll be fine,” you whisper.
You’re tying up those loose ends for him.
Scott goes radio silent for the first half of the week. You think this is finally it. He’s finally cutting you loose and maybe he’s simply going to fade into a distant memory. You’re back at work when he leaves Boston, your coworkers peppering you with questions about your absence. Jenna keeps the wolves at bay, telling all of them to give you some space.
“You need to talk to me at some point,” she gives you a look.
You lick your lips, mouth trembling as you finally say the words you’ve been too afraid to say. Because it’s one thing to think it, it’s another to admit it aloud. “Scott’s gone.”
“What?” She jerks back, “What do you mean he’s gone?”
Pushing around your peas, you sigh. “He’s in Oklahoma.”
“Temporarily right?”
You shrug. “Feel like it might be for good.”
“Did he tell you that?”
No, but you heard his conversation and it’s all about the words that are said behind your back that matter, right?
“Hon, listen to me. I’ve never seen a man more obsessed in my life. That guy’s in love with you.”
To that, you laugh, heart a little lighter for some odd reason. “He’s just being a good friend. He probably felt guilty after — you know — finding out that he knocked me up.”
She gives you a look. “If you seriously believe that, I’m going to have to take you up to neuro to get your head checked.”
On Thursday, you’re finally settling with the possibility that this really is it. You’ll be okay; you survived once without him, you can do it again. Instead, you focus strictly on work, drowning in the mountains of paperwork and unfinished studies. While you’re doing all that, your phone lights up with Scott’s name.
You don’t pick up. The last thing you need while you’re stressed out of your mind is to hear him apologize, hear him tell you that he’s changed in his mind. You can have your heart ripped out of your chest later.
Blissful ignorance is better than blatant rejection, that’s always been your motto.
You’re ready for a night of full decompression, which means you’re going to cuddle up with your baby and maybe fall asleep on the couch after a filling dinner of grease. “I’m home,” you call out.
The sight before you has you freezing. Scott’s on the couch — your couch — with Ben on his lap. They’re reading one of Ben’s favorite books and your son is giggling uncontrollably. Now, he is facing the front which means he can’t see Scott’s expression.
And that is a look that has your entire body stiffening in the doorway. You’re almost tempted to run again, but how could you abandon your son? So you try to ignore your buzzing nerves.
“Mom!”
“Hey, buddy,” you smile weakly, closing the door behind you. “Where’s, uh, my mom?”
“She left earlier, said I should spend some time with Ben and you,” he smiles. It’s sweet. It’s a sickeningly sweet smile, which means you know better than to trust it. “Ben here was just telling me about all the fun you had last week. All week in fact. Said you weren’t going to work so you two could spend all day together. Outside.”
Well.
“We watched a baseball game and then got ice cream!” Ben announces cheerily. Then he begins to list down everything you did last week — everything — and he is completely unaware that he’s digging a deeper grave for his own mother.
“That so?” Scott chuckles, patting his head. “Your mom’s a real miracle worker, isn’t she? Real healthy and spry to be doing all those things.”
The evening is tense, mostly for you. Your back is ramrod straight as Scott insists on cooking dinner and you have to keep a close eye to make sure he doesn’t add anything to your food. There are smarter ways to take you out, none of them ideal for you. Ben seems to sense the thickness of the air, eyes darting between the two of you.
Of course, neither of you show a thing but the anger that rolls off Scott is nothing short of obvious. So Ben then proceeds to declare that he wants to sleep early.
He never sleeps early. He’s just hit you with a second strike.
You busy yourself with getting him ready for bed, staying for as long as you can. You’re glued at the hip while he brushes his teeth, while he picks out his pajamas at an alarmingly fast speed. He doesn’t even want a bedtime story, telling you that he’s knackered from the long day.
And he goes straight to sleep. Traitor.
You were hoping Ben could buy you more time to come up with some sort of explanation for your behavior, or at least figure out a way to turn the conversation back to him because — what’s he doing back here? Isn’t he supposed to be in Oklahoma?
When you finally step out of Ben’s room, Scott looks noticeably ticked off.
His jaw is squared tight, dimples that are usually so endearing appearing more menacing in this light. “You wanna tell me why you lied about bein’ sick?”
You shift back on the heels of your feet. “I just needed some me time.”
“Bullshit,” he spits out, “you know I would’ve given you that if that’s what you wanted. Try again.”
While you’re usually better at thinking on your feet, the glare he’s pinned you with has your brain completely scrambled. You’re coming up with nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing even remotely close to being sufficient for your lie.
“Can’t think of anything, can you? Now that I’ve caught you.”
“Scott…”
“What was it?” He grunts, “What fucking spooked you?”
You press your lips together. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve never been good at commitment, sweetheart. Been runnin’ since the day I met you. So tell me, what fucking scared you?”
A protest sits on the tip of your tongue, ready to fall from your lips. Defensive. But Scott’s looking at you wearily, a five o’clock shadow that’s rarely ever there dusted across his face.
“You were going to leave,” you murmur.
He frowns at that. “When the hell did I say I was gonna do that?”
“You didn’t have to tell me,” you sigh, “I heard you on the phone.”
His eyebrows jump, surprise coloring his expression. If that isn’t confirmation, you don’t know what is. “What’re you talking about?”
It’s your turn to look irritated. How is he going to play dumb when he’s been caught red-handed?
“I heard you — you were going to head back Oklahoma, that you needed to pack your stuff and—” the last part has your throat constricting, you’re blinking back tears as you look at him. “—that you needed to tie up loose ends.”
Scott looks far from appeased from your explanation. “Yeah, and?”
“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “If you were going to leave again, were you ever going to tell me? Were you just going to disappear? Leave me here alone again.”
“That’s not fucking fair,” he snaps right back, “I reached out to you. Multiple times. I called and texted and you disappeared. So don’t turn this shit around on me like I intentionally left you.”
“How was I ever supposed to tell you, Scott? I’m pregnant, can you stay here with me instead?”
“Yes! Exactly like that,” he snarls, “it’s as simple as that. But instead, you stopped responding to me. You left me.” That shuts you up, your breath catching in your throat. “So don’t be a hypocrite.”
“It would’ve been selfish of me — to tell you,” you gulp, chest tight, “you would’ve stayed because that’s who you are. That stupid sense of responsibility despite you being irresponsible enough to go out there and chase goddamn tornadoes. I couldn’t do that to you.”
“I know, because that’s who you are,” he mutters, “you think you gotta do everything on your own. You think I don’t hear things? Your mom and Jenna told me plenty about how tough things were for you. How do you think that makes me feel? I’m the asshole that left you.”
“You didn’t know,” you breathe in shakily.
“Doesn’t change the circumstances, does it?” He snips. His face softens then, melting slightly as he sees you curling into yourself. “But I really need you to get your head checked. Something ain’t right up there if you think for a second I could really ever leave you again.”
You look up at him and he’s already taken a step towards you. His hand slides up your neck to cup your cheek, his warm blue eyes on you.
“I was wrapping things up in Oklahoma so I can move here for good. I needed to deal with some paperwork and all the transition for the fieldwork. We’re not short-handed but, you know how it is with leadership.” He pauses, searching your face for any reaction. “I couldn’t just leave my team hanging out to dry so I had to finalize everything before I officially moved here.”
Well. Your voice is quiet when you ask, “So you weren’t going back to Oklahoma for good?”
The aggravation returns to his face. “You’re shittin’ me right? Have I not been telling you for weeks that I’m here to stay?”
“I just thought you meant temporarily,” you sputter, “who picks up their entire life on a fucking whim?”
“It’s not a whim! I was planning to move back here, focus more on raising funds with investors. That was, if I managed to find you!” That has you jolting back in surprise. “I came here to look for you. Properly this time. Fuck, and I told myself that, if I found you, I wasn’t gonna get you walk away from me again.”
“You— really?”
He rolls his eyes, lips tugging up. “Yeah, really. Let go the love of my life once, ain’t doin’ that again.”
“Love of your life?” You squeak.
Scott looks up at the ceiling, praying to some almighty up there to lend him some patience. “Thought that was fuckin’ obvious,” he mutters, “for someone so fuckin’ smart, you can be real stupid.”
“That’s so rude,” you frown.
“Apparently, I have to be if I need you to get your head out of your ass.”
You lick your lips, face flushing with heat. “So, uh, love of your life? Can I get some clarity on that?”
“How can I be any clearer?” He snaps, “If you’re gonna ask me since when, you really think I’d keep fucking you back then if I wasn’t in love with you?” Your jaw practically drops. “You’re the idiot that didn’t want anything real.”
“You were fucking everything that moved!”
“Until I met you!” He shakes his head. “Jesus, you really— I don’t know how you got me wrapped around your finger all this time.”
You huff, “Are you gonna keep insulting me all night?”
“Are you not gonna tell me you love me?”
A laugh bubbles up your throat. “What makes you think I love you?”
“I don’t think, I know, sweetheart,” Scott grins, arm stretching to pull you towards him. He tucks you in close, your breasts against his chest as your palms land on his shoulders, fingers scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. He lets out a quiet little moan. “Come on, say it. I know you’ve been dyin’ to for years now.”
With a roll of your eyes, you puff out, “I love you.”
He grunts, leaning down to tease you. “Don’t think I heard you.”
“I love you, Scott Miller. Now will you shut up and kiss me?”
“Never could say no to you, sweetheart.”
+ sam: thank you so much if you've made it this far!!! you've finally seen the inner workings of my mind when i'm truly hyperfixating. please know that i appreciate every single piece of engagement but i especially love to hear what you think of the story, your fave parts, etc.!!! <3
just binged both parts of this. good lord i hate him sm (/pos). you have his characterisation dowwnnn like i've always seen him as the commitment-phobe in any relationship but you've shown me the light bc like no you're right. he's so cocky and sure of himself so when he knows what he wants he WOULD be this persistent about it.
you did it again, truly holding the scott miller tag on your shoulders.
hey girl i’ve read all ur dean fics and they’re genuinely so good and i literally check ur page everyday to see if u posted anything new😭😭i hope ur doing good , but are u releasing any new dean fics soon? i understand if ur busy and u can take ur time but im just genuinely curious bc i love ur fics sm<3
thank you so much, this is super sweet!! i will 100% be coming back to dean but i unfortunately have had 0 motivation to write recently. i'm working on a steve fic atm and i have a really good soldier boy idea that i want to bring to life but literally nobody is asking for that so i might work on something for dean instead if the inspiration hits!! but don't worry, either way i will be writing for him again soon-ish!!!
hi! this is a really dumb pet peeve but I was reading hard knocks (really good btw!!) and when Dean goes to the church and he's annoyed the priest only gave them 1 bottle of holy water, he shouldn't have bc you can multiply holy water by mixing it with normal water as long as there is more than 50% of holy water!! The fic is wonderful anyways but I thought you might like to know it for future reference or as a fun fact. Sorry if my English is wrong lol
welp, learn something new every day! although i guess he technically could have mixed it with normal water but still needed more 🙂↕️
lights, camera, action .ᐟ
── .✦ consider this your ticket stub to the captain americana film festival! this july, we’re rolling out the red carpet for one very beloved birthday boy with a collection of fics that ask one simple question: what if steve rogers got to star in some of hollywood's greatest films?
twenty-seven days, eight feature fics, and one leading man.... (oh! and you, of course). so grab your popcorn; the show's about to start!
the captain americana film festival runs july fourth through july thirty-first, and is strictly 18+, adults only entry! each fic will have it's own individual content warnings. full programme below!
⤷ starring spy!steve rogers x spy!f!reader⌇action romance
❝ You and Steve are voluntold you’re married for an undercover mission. Should be easy, except you hate each other. ❞
directed by @blowingbarnes ⧽ showing july 6th .ᐟ
⤷ starring outlaws!stucky x f!reader⌇western romance
❝ As an outlaw, Steve Rogers has exactly two rules: keep moving, and don't go back. But for you he's broken the second one more times than he can count. He comes when he can, leaves before dawn, and you don't ask what he gets up to in between. Until one night it's not just Steve at your door, but his partner, Bucky Barnes, with your outlaw bleeding through his shirt and bounty hunters four days behind them. ❞
directed by @epiphanyrogers ⧽ showing july 11th .ᐟ
⤷ starring 40s!steve rogers x f!reader⌇romantic drama
❝ It's the summer before college and the uncertainty of war looms over your future. Yet Steve Rogers always remains certain about one thing: you. He’s stubborn and sweet and so sure he can love you hard enough to make the rest of the world wait. But time is cruel, and it pulls you away from him over and over until the only thing left is a notebook that tells the story of a love too stubborn to be forgotten. ❞
directed by @buckybsdoll ⧽ showing july 13th .ᐟ
⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romcom
❝ When Steve is roped into talking about his love for an old flame on a late night radio talk show, among the many women who hear his story and fall in love with him is… you. ❞
directed by @singulartoast ⧽ showing july 16th .ᐟ
⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romantic drama
❝ The rules are simple: stay on your side of the street. Until one night you meet a boy. As tensions rise between rival gangs, two lovers dare to ask a simple question. Can happy endings exist in a warzone? ❞
directed by @pinksplace ⧽ showing july 20th .ᐟ
⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romcom
❝ You’re determined to help Wanda find the perfect boyfriend - but Steve? He is totally wrong for her and it’s not just because you want him for yourself. You, having feelings for Steve? Ugh, as if! ❞
directed by @lunexiax ⧽ showing july 24th .ᐟ
⤷ starring ceo!steve rogers x sex worker!f!reader⌇romcom
❝ Years after paying for your company on one of the loneliest nights of his life, Steve Rogers comes back with a very different request. Tired of endless questions about his love life, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend. It should be an easy arrangement. After all, neither of you is looking for anything real. ❞
directed by @love-stucky ⧽ showing july 27th .ᐟ
⤷ starring bodyguard!steve rogers x popstar!f!reader⌇ romantic thriller
❝ The first time Steve Rogers saves your life, you hate him for it. The second time, you kiss him. As a relentless stalker closes in and your world becomes smaller and smaller, the one person you can rely on is the bodyguard who’s sworn to keep his distance. But the closer the danger gets, the harder it becomes to ignore the growing attraction between protector and protected. ❞
directed by @pinksplace ⧽ showing july 31st .ᐟ
HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVE ROGERS!
producer notes: what started as a half baked idea with @/love-stucky to do something to celebrate steve's birthday, somehow turned into an entire collab and the best excuse to read steve content all july! i have been so so so excited for this - selfishly perhaps, because i cannot wait to read all these fics, but mostly because of the wonderful writers who said yes and helped make this collab real. a huge thank you to every single one of you, ily guys. steve's best girls, assemble! <33
the stunning marquee sign and VHS spines for the notebook, mr and mrs rogers, west side story and the bodyguard were made by the insanely talented @/pinksplace, birthday steve edit by @/love-stucky, all other graphics by me. we do not give out permission for these to be used elsewhere!
Just wanted to pop in to say that as a silent reader/follower, you are my fav Bucky writer on here <3 I especially love the angsty fics and you write them so perfectly. Thank you for all the fics you've given us <33
thank you so much, that is so sweet! i hope i'll be able to get something out for bucky again soon!! <3
THE CAPTAIN AMERICANA FILM FESTIVAL - american classic films reimagined with america's finest, featuring fics from: @love-stucky @blowingbarnes @pinksplace @lunexiax @singulartoast @buckybsdoll and me!
full programme to be revealed july 4th. stay tuned, and bring popcorn!
im not a writer so idk the struggle. just here to tell you you’re such a brilliant writer ❤️
thank you so much!!! i am working on some things for soldier boy and steve which will hopefully help me find my motivation to keep reading / writing on here 🤍
no matter how bad it gets it cannot possibly be as bad as it was this time last year when i was using all my free time to replace the music in captain america the winter soldier with 2000s pop hits
✦summary: everyone loves golden boy Steve Rogers. Everyone but you. It's alright, though, because he hates you back. But love and hate are closer than you both think.✦
✦warnings/tags: steve rogers x female!reader, avengers era, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, pining but they don't know they're pining, idiots in love, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, some plot to get to feral porn, super soldier level smut, (kind of office sex, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, super soldier stamina, dry orgasms but he's a trooper he keeps going, begging, rough sex, praise and degradation kink, mean!steve, nipple play, manhandling, hyperspermia, big dick steve, squriting, p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, dacryphilia, dumbification, soft!dom steve), soft!steveoutside of smut✦
✦wc: 9.6k✦
✦Author's Note: i love enemies to lovers with sweet men it's so important to me. thank you!✦
There aren’t a lot of rules to being on the Avengers, and the ones that exist are easy to follow. Don’t feed Tony after midnight, he’s like a gremlin. Don’t laugh at Sam’s jokes when they’re not funny, it encourages him. Always listen to Fury, unless you like being stranded in Utah. Don’t touch Natasha’s food. Don’t piss off Banner.
Easy. You’re not a fool, and if you were, you wouldn’t deserve to be here.
A lot of people still don’t think you deserve to be here, but Nat always reminds you that they just don’t know what kind of enemy you’d make. She’d rather have you on their side. Everyone warmed up to Wanda eventually, too. The team already likes you, and none of you have a clean letter.
Almost none of you.
Steve’s is cleaner than a freshly waxed and plucked floor. Steve’s letter is perfect. He’s perfect. He’s the Golden Boy, designed in a bottle to be likable and confident and collected. Camera’s flash and his smile is whiter than the moon, and more blinding than the sun. He claps Tony on the back after a slightly mocking joke, clearly unfazed. He places his hand on Nat’s lower back in the most gentlemanly way possible, and everyone swoons like he’s some movie star.
He sits next to you on one of these panels you’re not allowed to skip—you tried to, and Clint dragged you to the helicopter like some misbehaving child—and ignores you all together. A tiny nod and smile for the cameras. Stiff shoulders that square away from you, like if he blocks you out, you’ll just vanish in the hazy lights.
He’d like it, if that happened. He’d probably throw a fucking party.
Because you don’t know why. You don’t know what you did. But Steve Rogers hates you, and no one even thought he was capable of that emotion.
It started the first time Nat dragged you in, spitting and weary like a feral cat. She’d given Steve and Tony the brief on your powers. Said that you had a good heart—although she hadn’t done an x-ray, so you have no idea how she was so sure—and asked to keep you.
Asked.
Natasha didn’t ask for anything. She said it like a question, and fixed Steve and Tony with the most terrifying glare in the world. Tony had shrugged, and Steve had tried to protest. Nat had crossed her arms and flicked her brows up in a silent challenge. Steve had swallowed, looked at you with a strange gleam in his eyes, and given up. He’d left the room with a grumble, not sparing you another glance. Tony would tell you later—after you annoyed it out of him—that he’d spent a month trying to talk Nat out of you. Like a toy he didn’t want her to be playing with.
You hadn’t said a single word. Natasha hadn’t told him anything about your past. And he still hadn’t wanted you there.
“Rogers,” you murmur, smiling at the flashing lights that—supposedly—have people behind them.
You’ve come to think of them more as vultures. They’d like to pick you apart and eat out whatever kind of black, charred thing you’re made of. You never give them the satisfaction.
Steve says your name, low and flat. His attention flits over, scanning you from the corner of his eye. You catch his gaze, and he looks away just as fast.
You roll your eyes and huff, slumping back in your seat. You drum your fingers on the smooth, deep blue cloth of the table. They gave you a water bottle. Maybe if you drink it fast enough, you can just go pee and skip this whole thing-
“Sit up.”
Steve speaks so low you almost don’t hear him. You frown at his profile—stupid clean jawline and strong features—and slump further in your seat. Just to test him. Just to make him twitch.
There aren’t a lot of things you find pride in. Being able to get under Steve’s skin is one of them.
He notices immediately, and shoots you a glare. You snort, and his eyes narrow.
“I told you to sit up-“
“I heard you.”
“And you didn’t listen?” Someone shouts his name. He turns to flash them that look at me, aren’t I perfect? Smile, and you try not to gag.
“You’re not my boss.” You hiss through your teeth, smiling at the people shouting your name.
Steve makes a low, rough sound in his throat. “I am your boss.”
“No. I work under Nat.”
“Who works for me-“
“Does she?”
Steve shoots you another look, and this time you giggle. He’s still smiling, through every single glare. It looks psychotic.
He doesn’t even try to reprimand you this time. He just sighs dramatically and looks back to the crowd. You sit up, but not because he told you to. You’re not another one of his dogs.
Because there’s one more rule about being an Avenger. About being an American.
No one hates Steve Rogers.
He’s an angel. A blessing. His pretty boy face and classy words and pure heart. He never falters, never gives up, never does anything selfish, never gets off his fucking high horse. He’s so handsome it hurts to look at, and he’s so innocent about it, like blushing virgin schoolgirl who can’t stand seeing a fucking ankle without getting red faced and sputtering. He’s all kind words to everyone, he carries twenties on him to give to homeless people, he donates most of his Avengers salary to charities, he handles every press question with tact and charm, and he looks at you like you’re sulfur coated gum, stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
No one tells you what to do when Steve Rogers hates you. He’s not supposed to hate anyone.
So you must be the fucking problem.
You try not to look at him, for most of the panel. It’s easy when he gets seated on the other end of the table, but whatever fucker was in charge of seating today must hate you. You can’t turn your head without seeing his lazy, kind smile, and you can’t turn out his deep laugh, and god, what if you just punched him in the face on live TV-
Someone says your name, and your head snaps over.
“Yeah?”
Steve tenses. You’re supposed to just nod, or say yes, not yeah. That’s not professional. Shame for him the media trainers gave up on you years ago. You don’t know why Steve still bothers. Everyone still loves you anyway.
And the person who said your name doesn’t deserve professionalism anyway. It’s a slimy man at the front of the question line, with slicked back hair and an expensive watch and teeth that look too big for his mouth. You know what kind of question this is going to be, before he even opens his mouth.
“Hi,” the man smirks at you, and you smile back. It’s the cold, bored smile that you wear like a shield. If the man feels the chill from it, he doesn’t even flinch.
“Hey.”
Steve’s jaw ticks. If he breaks a tooth, maybe you won’t have to deal with this question.
“Hey.” The man echoes back, his gaze dropping back to your tits. “I have to ask, what does it take to get you out of the Avengers compound and out on a date?”
You laugh, spinning your mic and leaning back in your chair. The audience laughs with you. They always do.
Steve doesn’t, and it stabs near your ribs for some useless reason. Sometimes you wonder if your powers just don’t work on him, which would make him even more annoying than he already is.
“More than that,” you say, and the man stands a little taller.
“You wanna give me a step-by-step?” He winks. “I’m a good rule follower.”
“Hm.” You smirk. “I’m sure you are.”
A chorus of teasing jeers comes from the back of the crowd, where all the men always get shoved. They’re less insistent than the fangirls who want to see Steve and Thor’s muscles. The man at the front of the line looks back with a proud grin—he got you to talk, what a miracle—then returns his gaze to you.
“What about if I promise to be a gentleman?”
“Then I’d ask you to cross your fingers,” you say, smiling with so much honey you’re worried your face is going to get glued like this.
The oooooos are louder this time, and you laugh. The man at the front looks like he’s about to fall to his knees. He grabs at the mic stand like a lifeline, staring at you with wide, devout eyes, and you don’t even flinch when Steve rips your mic from your hands.
“She’ll be backstage after, buddy.” His tone is light, but firm. The man blinks at him, like he forgot he was there. “Remember, she’s got a whole panel to get through. Don’t want to distract her too early.”
He laughs. Everyone laughs with him, except for you.
You smile at him with enough venom to burn the super solider serum right out of his big, muscled body. Steve smiles back, with that strange gleam back in his eyes.
It’s only there for you. It’s been two years, and you never learned to read it. The questions move on, and your mic gets turned of while Bruce talks about his favorite kinds of tea. You lean to the side, hissing from the corner of your mouth.
“What the fuck is your problem.”
Steve doesn’t blink. He keeps his winning smile on his face, and you’re sure that to anyone looking on from the crowd, it seems like you’re exchanging friendly jokes.
“This isn’t a dating app.”
“I know that-“
“Didn’t seem like it.”
You scoff. Your smile is starting to hurt your face. “What was I supposed to do, tell him to piss off?”
Steve’s lips twitch down, ever so slightly. “You flirted back.”
“So? I was never going to go out with him, he looked like a fucking sewer rat.”
“That’s rude-“
“Oh, suck my dick.”
You look back to the crowd. Steve mutters your name, and you ignore him. He says it again, firmer this time, and you shoot him a shut the fuck up look.
His nostrils flare. His eyes are so blue, you think you could get lost in them if he wasn’t always trying to forcefully burn you out.
“You-“ He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, shakes his head, and look back out to the crowd. “You’re going to find yourself with a stalker one day. It happened to Nat.”
You almost snort. You’ve heard that story. Nat curb stomped him. “I’m sure I’d handle it.”
Steve’s lip curls. “You have no combat training,” he grunts, and you huff.
Not this again.
“If someone got the jump on you-“
“No one gets the jump on me.”
“Yet,” he gives you a pointed look, and you hold it, unimpressed and bored. “But one day-“
“One day what? I’m just going to lose all my powers? And need Captain America to protect me?” You laugh crudely, and Steve scowls.
“I didn’t say that-“
“Then what were you going to say-“’
“That you need to be careful-“
“And why do you care-“
“I don’t-“
“Really?” You roll your eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“You- You fucking-“
“Steve.” Sam leans over Steve’s shoulder, glaring between you. “People. Watching. Calm down.”
You and Steve both freeze, and glance out to the crowd. Sure enough, almost all the eyes are on you. Shining vultures. For one, at least, picking Steve apart with you.
You smile and wave. Steve sits so tall you think he might be trying to fly away.
“What were you talking about?” The next person asks, and Steve laughs.
Controlled. Always so fucking controlled.
“Nothing important-“
“It looked important.”
Steve shrugs. “We take everything we do here seriously. A conversation about dinner can look like a war meeting sometimes, with how much passion we have for- Everything.”
He waves at the air, and the crowd murmurs. You smirk, because Steve sees the light in that ripple. Only the rising relief. Not the dents it’s leaving in the water.
But you see them. You see them better than anyone. And you know why the people drop it. Tony’s glaring down the table, and Nat is rubbing her face, and you know they heard it too.
You love it when he fucks up. You’re beaming for the rest of the panel, because you know what the headline is going to be in the morning.
Passion, he said.
Idiot.
It happens so fast, and Steve’s the only one surprised by it.
“You two.” Tony points between you in the morning. “My office. Now.”
You smile, shoving your bagel in your mouth and following after him. Steve looks confused. You’re sure he’s never been called to an office before. You’re thrilled to have that first experience with him.
“Tony, what’s going on-“
“No.” Tony points at him with a scowl, and the door locks behind you. “Not a word from you, Cap. This is your fault.”
“My fault?” Steve almost recoils. “How is it my fault, I haven’t even done anything. It’s probably her fault-“
You snort, taking the bagel out of your mouth. “My fault? You don’t even know what we did yet!”
“Well, I know it’s your fault-“
“Because everything is my fault-“
“For stuff like this, yeah. It is.”
“Stuff like this- Like what, you getting in trouble-“
“I’m not in trouble-“
“Oh, you just got called to Daddy’s office because of your good behavior-“
“Can you both shut up?” Tony raises his voice, glaring between you with his nose pinched. “I swear, you’re going to give me a migraine that kills me. And you,” he shoots you a glower. “Never call me Daddy again.”
You smirk. “Why, does it turn you on too much?”
Steve looks at you like he wants to kill you. Tony just looks bored.
“Yeah, it does. Which is annoying.”
“Aw,” you beam at Steve. “He thinks I’m annoying.”
A vein is pushing out of Steve’s brow. If anyone is going to die right now, it’s going to be him, from bursting a vessel. You giggle, dropping in the seat in front of Tony’s desk. Steve just stands behind you, a soldier at attention against his greatest enemy. You tip your head backwards, looking at him under fluttering lashes.
“You should sit down, buddy.”
Something flickers over Steve’s face. “Don’t call me buddy.”
“Don’t stand there like a creep.”
His lip curls. You give him a challenging smile, and he lets out one of those heavy sighs that’s only reserved for you. He stomps over to the chair next to it, and drops down with a scowl at Tony.
“You want to tell us why we’re here, Tony?”
Tony frowns, and glances at you. “Does he not know?”
You shrug. “He’s a little stupid. You know that.”
Tony’s lips twitch despite himself. Steve scowls.
“I don’t know what you two are talking about, or- Planning-“
He cuts himself off, as Tony tosses the printed out article down on the desk. You hadn’t actually seen it yet, but you knew it was coming.
From the look on Steve’s face, though, he really hadn’t realized at all.
“What.” It’s all he says. One clipped, dumbfounded word as he stares at the paper. You sort of want to laugh, but you bite it down. Tony’s looking at you like this is serious. Like he can’t make it go away with a wave of his hand.
Stever grabs the article. You lean over his shoulder, just to piss him off a little more. He doesn’t even bother to glare at you, his fingers digging so deep into the paper it tears. The headline gets crumpled, like he’s crushing it with just his gaze.
Secret Love In the Avengers.
It’s not very snappy. You think they could’ve tried harder, but at least the picture is good. You and Steve both look nice, and you’re staring at each other so intently you can’t even blame them for the minimum effort. With Sam looking bored on Steve’s other side, and you and Steve leaning so close together, there’s no mistaking in that photo who might be seconds from making out.
“Tony,” Steve mutters. “What’s this.”
Tony snorts. “What do you think this is, Cap? A news article about trades with China? No, because less people would be reading that than they’re reading this.”
“We’re hotter than trades with China,” you offer, and you think Tony would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed.
“Why is there a picture of us.” Steve mutters, and Tony rolls his eyes.
“Well, when two people look at each other like they want to fuck, everyone tends to notice.”
Steve’s jaw locks. You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.
“So what, do you need us to do another release-“
“No.” Tony glares at you. “This is the third time something like this has happened with you two-“
“What?” You snort. “No, it isn’t-“
“Ah.” Tony raises a hand. “Don’t play stupid with me. I’m trying to be generous with third, and I’m not in the mood to hold your hands through feelings right now.”
“Feelings?” Steve spits, fumbling with the paper. “There are no- I don’t know what you think you’re talking about, Stark-“
“Steven.” Tony says flatly. “You. Shut up.”
Steve shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about-“
“Yes. I do. And you do too.”
You raise your hand, frowning between them. “Can I ask what the first and second time were, because I’d remember if this happened before-“
“No, you wouldn’t,” Tony snaps. “Because I have spent millions bribing people out of running these stories, and you never look online to see what people are saying.”
“What people are saying?” You look at Steve. “What are people saying?”
Steve coughs, ears turning red. “Nothing-“
“They think you’re fucking.” Tony says flatly, and your mouth falls open.
“They- What?!”
“You have chemistry, kid.” Tony shrugs. “Every second you’re next to each other, you’re eye fucking so much we all feel like we’re supposed to leave the room.”
You sputter, shaking your head. You can feel you flush, burning up your face. When you look at Steve, he won’t meet your eyes.
He never does.
“Did you know about this?” You hiss.
He sighs, running a hand over his face with a half-shrug. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?! What the fuck does that mean-“
“Means he knew.” Tony says flatly. “Everyone knew.”
“Everyone knew what?! That the whole country thinks I want to fuck Steve?!”
Tony snorts. “You do want to fuck Steve.”
Your face burns. Steve looks up with warning pinch in his brow. “Tony.”
“Don’t Tony me, pretty boy-“
“Just- Not now-“
“Yes, now.” Tony glares between you. “This has gotten out of hand. We get it. You’re both hot. You’d have hot sex. But if you don’t either fuck or cut bait and start acting like adults, you’re grounded.”
Steve scowls. “You can’t ground me, Stark, I’m your boss-“
“Well, I cut the checks.” Tony crosses his arms. “So I think I can do whatever I want.”
Steve and Tony keep glaring at each other. You stare off in the middle distance between them. Your hands don’t feel like they’re your hands. Your feet are planted on the carpet, but not on solid ground. Your head feels like it’s pressing into itself, yet also expanding to something bigger than you can hold onto.
You don’t want to fuck Steve. Sure, he’s all muscles and rugged yet soft features, but there are countless men like that.
There are very few men like that. Well, you could find one. You have one in front of you. But you don’t want to fuck him. He’s annoying. Impossibly annoying and bossy and always up your ass about something, and not in the fun way like you’d prefer-
No. You wouldn’t prefer. You don’t want to fuck Steve. You can have anyone else, you’d rather have anyone else. Steve’s just always there and always making you embarrassed and angry, and maybe you’re into that but it’s none of his business. It’s not like he’d be like that in bed, either way.
You think. Not that you’ve thought about it. He’s too perfect. Too boring. He’s not boring when he’s arguing with you. He just hates you that much. That you make him break. Or you let him show that side of himself. You don’t poke and prod at anyone like you poke and prod at Steve. He’s just fun to get a rise out of. He gets cute when he’s pissy. He sneers your name and it goes right between your legs, but that doesn’t mean you want to fuck him.
You don’t. You don’t. You don’t?
He has big hands, but you don’t want them groping and squeezing all over your body. He’s got a strong nose, but you’ve never thought about it pushing against your clit, just like you’ve never thought about his huge biceps wrapping around your neck while he fingers you stupid. And you’d smile at him, dazed and long fucked out of protesting. And he’d feed those fingers to you while sitting you on his cock, and all that perfection would melt away into something raw. Something real, that’s open and refuses to be stitched close. Something that both of you want to drown in.
Something’s that’s just for you, and Steve, and no one else.
Oh, no.
You want to fuck him.
Tony says your name, and your gaze snaps back over. Your palms are sweating, your face burning, your skin suddenly itchy and your feet restless. You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck Steve.
He looks at you weird, and you shift in your seat. He can’t know. Ever. This is going to get cleaned up, and Steve will never know that you might, kind of, really want him to just toss you over his shoulder and fuck you stupid. You glance at him from the corner of you eye, and his gaze sears into you. You have to look away.
There’s no way he can know. You’ve barely even known for a minute. Tony only says he knows because he’s an ass. This will pass. It has to pass.
“Figure it out.” Tony tells you, before walking out of the office.
And you will. By never being in the same room as Steve again.
You shoot to your feet, and almost sprint out of the room. Steve calls your name, but you don’t look back. He’s faster, but he’s also respectful. He won’t manhandle you and force you to listen, like you want him to.
God, you really want him to. You’re going to kill Tony for making you realize that, then kill yourself, and no one will ever have to know that—for all your cool, bored smiles and teasing and flirting, for all your powers and siren-like smile—you just want to be fucked stupid by the most righteous, innocent sex-symbol in America.
But then Steve shouts your name again. He’s following you. Why is he following you.
“Fuck off, Steve!” You shout over your shoulder, and he scoffs.
“No, you heard Tony, we need to talk-“
“We really don’t-“
“Yes, we do- Will you slow down-“
You pick up the pace, just to piss him off. Steve groans, and you hear boots hitting the ground behind you. He’s giving chase, and you can barely outwalk him.
Steve grabs your arm before you can even break into a sprint. You thrash, but it’s useless. He’s too strong, and that’s so hot, and you’re going to throw yourself off a bridge about this.
“Let go-“
“No.” Steve drags you down the hall, into an empty conference room. “Not until we talk.”
“There’s nothing for us to talk about-“
“Will you just stop being such a fucking brat and listen?”
Steve raises his voice, stern and commanding. It’s deep, so deep it echoes through you, and your knees wobble. He sees it. His jaw ticks, his grip slackens, and you rip your hand away.
“Brat.” You mock. “What would America think, if they saw their Golden sun talking to a girl like that?”
Steve’s lips twitch. “You are not a girl.”
“Aw. I’m a woman-“
“You’re a problem.” He leans over you, voice dropping to a hiss.
And this is how he always looks at you, but magnified. With a sharper gleam in his eyes, his lips thin and white, like he’s trying to swallow every word. A vein in his brow ticks, and you smile.
“I’m a problem?”
Steve’s throat bobs. “Yes.”
“Hurtful,” you whisper, and he rolls his eyes.
“You’ll live.”
For a long moment, you just stare at each other. He wants to talk, he can talk. You’re not entertaining this. Not just for him to unravel you then keep being a fucking dick.
“You…” He shakes his head, a tiny motion as his tongue flicks over his lips. “You are impossible.”
“You’re impossible-“
“Because you make me impossible,” he sneers, and you lean back slightly.
“I- You-“ You try to scoff. It’s a weak sound. He’s too close, and he smells like pine trees and something spicy, and it’s not fair. “I don’t even do anything-“
“Yes. You do.”
“What, is my skirt too short? Are my shoulders distracting you-“
“You’re distracting me.” Steve presses forward, until your faces are only inches apart. “You always distract me, you fuckin’-“ He closes his eyes, shoulders heaving.
“Steve…” You breathe, and he chuckles.
“Don’t say my name like that,” he rasps. “You don’t fuckin’ mean it.”
You blink, trying to think over the desire, burning in your body. Of course you meant it. You didn’t even want to say it, but he’s so close. It’s intoxicating. You’d think he was drugging you, if that was possible.
Steve’s pressed you against the conference table. His arms are caging you in, giving you no escape from the electricity, almost crackling in the air. You open your mouth, then close it, lost for what to say. You’re worried you’ll just whisper his name again. He drags his eyes open after what feels like a million years, his voice dropping down to something hot and dangerous.
“You never push anyone,” he says. “Like you push me, doll. It’s not… It drives me crazy.”
You swallow, your voice smaller than you want. “You- You push me-“
“Because I can’t help it.” He presses closer. Your noses are almost bumping. “You are beautiful, and insolent, and infuriating-“
“Steve-“
“And you’re so sweet to everyone.” He grabs your jaw, and your hand flies to his wrist. “Everyone loves you, so they think I’m crazy when I say you’re tryin’ to kill me.”
“Everyone loves me because of my powers.” You try to remind him, because if he does this, you won’t be able to stop him. “You- You know that-“
“I do. Trust me,” he murmurs your name, gaze flicking to your lips. “I know. Spent so long blaming them too. All those daydreams had to be because you’re Nat’s honeypot. Thought it was the wrong thing to do, that I was some kind of monster to thinking about you like that, when everyone else already does. But no,” he looks back to you. “It’s just you, doll. I plugged my nose, avoided your pheromones, let Bruce experiment on me to make me immune, did fuckin’ everything, and I still wanted you.”
You take a deep, ragged breath. You have to lick your lips, to stop the spit, and Steve tracks the motion like a predator.
No one wants you. Everyone loves you, but no one wants you. You’re pretty but untouchable. No one can hurt you. If you ask someone for something, they’ll always do it, whether they really want to or not.
But Steve…
He says he wants you. And you really want to believe him.
“How long.” You breathe, and he sighs, bowing his head.
“Since the second I saw you.”
“You…” You scan over his face, looking for any hint that it’s not really him. That he doesn’t really, fully mean it. “You want to fuck me?”
His ears turn red. “I mean- Not just that-“
“But you do,” you breathe, and he sighs.
Stares for a second longer, then nods.
“Okay.” You whisper. Steve looks to your lips, then back to you again.
“Okay?”
You nod. Steve’s grip on your jaw tightens, and your breath hitches. He leans down slowly. So torturously slowly.
Your lips meet, soft and chapped and nervous. You lean up, and he presses down. Your noses bump, and his tongue flicks over your lower lip. Your nails dig into his bicep, and he grunts, and-
Steve snaps.
His other hand flies to your face, and he presses over you, hot and demanding. Your breath hitches, you mouth falls open, and he shoves his tongue down your throat with a groan. You grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him so hard you both stumble back. Your knees hit the back of the table, but Steve’s fast. He ducks down without breaking the kiss, and scoops you up into his arms.
You squeal, but the sound is quickly muffled by Steve’s tongue down your throat. Your laugh is breathless and giddy. He chuckles, pushing further forward, and you pull at the collar of his shirt. He jerks forward, angling his head to deepen the kiss.
“Needy.” He mutters against your lips, and you shove his shoulder with weak hands.
“Shut up, I could still stop this-“
“But you won’t.” He taunts. “You like it, don’t you. Like gettin’ on my nerves, making me lose control.”
Steve pulls away, grabs your knees, shoving them apart with rough, firm hands. You gasp, grabbing at his neck. “Steve-“
“You’re wet under there.” He growls, running a big hand up your inner thigh. “I can smell it. Smell how much you want me, every damn time you’d mouth off.”
Your swallow, pressing your brows tight together. You watch him rub your legs, breathing through your nose like some wanton whore. Steve’s thumb grazes the place where you’re leg meets your core, and your whole body shivers.
He smirks, looking at you under pretty lashes. You try to glare, but you’re panting. His gaze just makes the fire in your core burn brighter, and your tongue flicks over your lips.
“You never said anything,” you whisper, and Steve gives you an amused look.
“You would’ve killed me.”
And you can laugh breathlessly. Ten minutes ago, you would’ve. But now he’s all over you, and you can’t even bring yourself to mock him.
“No,” you brush your lips over his. “I wouldn’t have.”
Steve works his jaw, that raw, strange look flashing over his face. The look that’s yours. That’s only ever been for you.
He leans in, and this kiss is softer than before. Steve massages your hips, settling himself between your legs. You spread them wide to accommodate him, and feel it poking against your thigh. His cock, thick and hard, somehow bigger than you imagined, and you hadn’t been thinking small.
“You feel that.” He pulls your upper lip between his teeth, smiling slightly. “’S what you always do to me. Every day, I’d be walkin’ around so hard I was worried you’d see it. But no.” His kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other. “You’re oblivious, aren’t you honey.”
You hum, tipping your head back. Steve groans, dragging his lips over a pulse point, letting his tongue flick against sensitive skin. One hand slips under your shirt, careful fingers tracing up the line of your spine.
“Steve…” You whisper. “Don’t tease.”
“Oh, but you like it too much when I do.” He rasps. “You love it, love being a sweet little toy for me.”
You whimper, and he reaches around, grabbing a handful of your ass.
“So bossy ‘till I’m touchin’ you,” he sucks on your neck, grinding his bugle into your core. You gasp as the rough friction, and Steve chuckles.
“You- You’re such an ass-“
“You like that too.” He grunts, breath hot in your ear. “You like bein’ the one person that gets me going, that makes me lose it. No one else, doll.” He pushes your ass forward, so your clit is pushed against the thick hardness of him.
A long moan escapes your lips, and you drop your face into his shoulder. Steve grunts, rutting forward, and it’s so fucking hot you can’t think past it. The drawl of his voice in your ear, the strength of him around you, it’s intoxicating. The clothing adding extra friction, his fingers digging into your skin. His hand slips into your pants, deft fingers dragging down your ass to tease right against the drip of your pussy.
“Just you,” he thrusts forward, squeezing your ass. “Only you. So fuckin’ pretty and sassy, drivin’ me insane-“
You whimper, and Steve makes a low sound, taking a deep breath against your hair. The table creaks, with the force of his every thrust.
“So rude of you, sweetheart, to make me try and keep it together when you’re running around, beggin’ to be fucked- God-“
Steve moans, jerking his hips back suddenly. You stare at each other, panting and flushed. He swallows, and there’s a stain blooming on his pants. Your mouth falls open, and normally you’d make fun of him, but fuck. There’s so much of it. You can see white, leaking out of the cuffs of his pants and onto the floor. He came just from that. Just from holding and kissing you.
And he’s still so hard.
You lick your lips, and look back up. Steve’s throat bobs. You smile, fumbling with your pants, and he blinks.
“You’re- Uh-“
“In me.” You point at his dick, about to burst the seam of his slacks, then your core. “You- Do that in me.”
Steve’s hands curl into fists. You’ve never seen his face so red. It’s almost adorable. “Uh- Are you sure-“
“Do you want to fuck me stupid or not?”
He leans back, startled. You hold his gaze, pull down your pants, hike your legs up on the table, and spread them wide.
You could swear you see it twitch, as he takes you in. Head thrown back, your fingers rubbing between the swollen, dripping lips of your cunt. You breathe out his name, dipping one finger into your heat and pumping slowly. Steve takes a rough step forward, grabbing your knees like handles.
“Stop,” he grunts, and you obey.
Steve runs his fingers down your bare thigh, slowly guiding your hand away from your pussy. You grab his shoulder, holding his gaze as he rubs his thumb around your clit. You let out a slow, relaxed breath, and Steve smirks.
“You like that, doll?”
“As much as you did,” you breathe out, and Steve chuckles.
“Ah. Too late for that.” He presses a mocking kiss to your open lips. “You showed me what you want. How bad you want it.”
Steve flicks your clit, and your back arches. He presses back down on the little button, and a long moan rips from your lips.
“I came in my fuckin’ pants,” he whispers in your ear. “And you’re still beggin’ me to fuck you.”
“Wasn’t- Wasn’t begging-“
“But you would,” he coos. “If I asked you to. You’d say please, Stevie and cry for me to stuff this pretty little pussy.” He pushes down on your clit, and you whimper. “Like the good little slut you are.”
God, the hold he has on you should be crime. You choke out his name pathetically, and Steve starts to rub you in thick, unrelenting circles. His free arm wraps around your lower back, holding you in place when his fingers dip down, and start to explore the folds of you pussy.
“So wet,” he mutters, pushing one finger deep into your cunt. You clench around him, and a squelching sound fills the room as he pumps slowly. “Wet and tight.” Steve looks up at you with a smirk. “You think you’re gonna be able to take my cock, doll? Christ, you’re barely taking my finger.”
He pushes in a second one, just to prove his point, and your mouth falls open. He’s right. The burn of his two fingers, it feels like he’s stretching you open with a fist. He slides them in deeper and deeper, his thumb working your clit, and your nails sink into his neck.
“St- Steve,” you gape between your bodies, watching him disappear inside of you. “Steve-“
“Hm?” He gets up to the knuckle, and looks up at you with a smirk.
You try to take a second to catch your breath, and he scissors his fingers, twisting his wrist so it hits a gummy spot inside of you. You cry out, and he silences you with a deep, messy kiss.
“Feel it,” he mutters against your lips, pulling his fingers almost all the way out. “No talkin’ for once, doll. All you gotta do is feel it.”
He slams his fingers back in. You whimper, but nod. Steve hums in approval, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You squeeze and gush around him, and he groans. You barely get a second to compose yourself before he starts to thrust his fingers, deep and hard, and you start to unravel.
Steve’s strong. This is him holding back, and he’s still so strong. You scramble to get a real, firm hold on something, because he’s pummeling your pussy into a drenched, slack oblivion. The pace is brutal, knuckles dragging right over your g-spot over and over, splitting you open in a way that makes you drool.
He makes his mouth busy, trailing kisses back down your throat, then over your shoulders. You moan, leaning your head against his, and he smiles against your skin. Steve draws back to meet your gaze, and through the daze of the pleasure he’s dragging out of you, you smile back.
Your body is rocking, from the brutality of how he’s touching you. Steve’s eyes flick down, but not to where his fingers are being swallowed by your pussy.
He’s looking at your tits.
He licks his lips, watching them bounce under his force. You think he might be hypnotized. Before you can say anything, he reaches up and rips your shirt clean off.
“Steve- Ooh-“
“Shhh.” He gives you a stern look, twisting his fingers in your cunt. “I’ve got you, doll. Just- Lemme-“
Steve looks back to your tits, and his eyes are almost black with desire. You’ve never seen anything hotter, than how he looks at you as he lowers himself down.
He mouths at the curve of your tits, sucking a tiny, dark bruise. You moan, starching at his bicep, but he just drags you closer. Forcing your back to arch, your tits to push into his face.
“Look at you,” he mutters, voice dripping with something close to reverence. “My girl.”
And you blink. Because that wasn’t discussed, but your pussy clenches all the same. His girl.
You don’t get more time to think about it before Steve’s lips wrap around your nipple, and you lose control.
He mouths at you like a starved man. Kissing and licking and sucking, sending tingling, electric sensations straight from your tits to your pussy. He moans every time you squeeze down on his fingers, which just feels like a vibrator right against your sensitive nipples, and makes you lose it all the more.
You’re grinding up into him, thrashing a little like an animal and whimpering in his ear. Steve bites down softly, his thumb staring to make quick, relentless swipes at your clit.
“Oh- Oh fuck-“ You moan, tugging at his short, soft hair. “St- Steve- Too much- I’m gonna- Fuuuck-“
You don’t know why you thought he was going to slow down. Steve switches nipples, biting down before sucking hard, right as his blunt fingertips hit that spot inside of you. You cry out as you cum, your body writhing against his stronger one. He keeps you in place, his hand working you through the orgasm. Pulling every last spasm of your cunt, and a few more after. He kisses your nipples and over your breasts before he draws up.
When it’s done, your eyes are lidded. Steve stares at you, slowly pulling his hand out. He smears your juices over your pussy, thumbing at your clit for a few more, light seconds. You squeak, and he smiles.
“You look pretty when you cum,” he mutters, and you flush.
You’ve been told that before, but this feels different.
This feels real.
You can’t think of anything to say. Steve doesn’t push you to try. He leans forward, cupping your cheek and giving you a smaller, softer look before he kisses you. You melt into him, too dazed from what might be strongest orgasm of your life to protest.
“’m gonna fuck you ‘till you can’t walk.” Steve mutters. “But- Not here.”
You hum in agreement. “Clean up later?”
“Later.” Steve grunts in agreement. “If I don’t get inside of you, think I’m gonna die.”
You giggle. It’s so stupid, but you giggle. Steve huffs out a low laugh, and drags your forward. You’re being carried like a koala in his arms. He kisses your cheek before drawing up to his whole height, and glancing at the door.
“I, uh-“ He gives you a sheepish expression. “I’m gonna have to run.”
You nod—you’re naked, you expected as much—and he clears his throat.
“You gotta hold on.”
“I am holding on.” You pat his neck, and he sighs.
“Doll, I’m gonna be running really fast-“
“I’m holding on tight.”
“Hold on tighter.”
You roll your eyes, and wrap him in the best chokehold you can manage. The asshole doesn’t even pretend to grunt.
“Your boobs are in my face.” He mumbles, and you snort.
“You were eating them like, five seconds ago-“
“Yeah, but- That was just us. What if someone sees-“
“That you’re carrying me naked? Probably that we’re fucking.”
He twists his neck to glare up at you. You smile innocently back, and he sighs.
His breath is warm, over your breasts. It makes you squirm a little, and Steve’s grip on your body tightens.
“You are such a brat,” he mutters, almost in awe. “I stop fucking you for ten seconds, and you’re already talking back again.”
“Oops.” You beam. “You should fix that.”
Steve chuckles. His tongue flicks over his lips. “Yeah,” his voice is dark. A promise. “Trust me. I’m gonna.”
And he runs. He runs so fast you squeal, because you forgot how fast he can be when he’s really trying. You press your face back into his neck to block the wind, and when he stops, you still don’t look up.
The smell hits you first. It’s deep and rich and-
Steve.
You poke your head up, and you’re in Steve’s room.
It’s not what you expected, a military cell where he sleeps and plans way to torture you. It’s… Cozy. There are books on a shelf that slightly poorly put together, and the bed is made but the sheets look thick and soft. There’s a mirror on the dresser, facing the bed, and so much paper you almost don’t know where to look. Drawings of flowers, and rivers, and sunsets. One of a bird, and a few of the landscape of the compound, and so, so many of-
“Is that me?”
Steve grunts, tossing you down onto his bed and starting to strip. You move to your knees, ready to scramble off the bed and get a better look at the drawings, but he gives you a stern look.
“Stay.”
You roll your eyes. “Shut up, I wanna see- Steve-“
He grabs you like you weigh nothing, and throws you right back onto the bed before you’re even on two feet. Your thighs press together, thrilled with the blatant manhandling. Steve notices it, and laughs.
“You like that, huh?”
“Shut up-“
“No, you liked that-“
“Maybe I did.” You stick your tongue out, and he smirks.
“You love bein’ a ragdoll, don’t you. Needy girl, you’re gonna let me do whatever I want to you-“
“You have drawings of me!” You blurt, because you really don’t need him to make you more horny.
Steve shrugs. “I do. So?”
“So?” You fumble, pulling at the sheets. “You- You like me-“
“That’s a shock to you?” Steve gives you an amused look. “I just fingered you in borderline public.”
“Well- You- You-“ You’re sputtering again. Only Steve does this to you. It drives you fucking insane. “You could’ve just wanted to fuck me-“
“Nope.” He shrugs. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. You just get on my last line sometimes, doll.”
And all your protests slip out of your head.
I love you.
He- He said-
“What?” You squeak, and Steve sighs.
“I love you.”
He said it again. “Wh- Why?”
“Why?” He gives you a tired, almost annoyed look. “Why wouldn’t I love you?”
“Because I’m annoying.” You answer immediately. “And mean, and bossy, and- I’m annoying-“
“You said that one already.” Steve starts to walk towards you, and you lean into his gravity, even as your heart beats in your ears.
“How do you know you love me.” You whisper. “It- It could just be my powers-“
“It’s not.”
“But-“
Steve takes your face between his hands, his thumb dragging over your lower lip. You fall silent, and you know you’re staring up at him like he’s the sun, but you’ve never been so warm. You’re afraid to move. To lose it.
“Steve…” You breathe, and he hums. “You- You can’t mean that-“
“I do.” He presses his thumb forward, and your lips wrap around it on instinct. You suck, and his eyes flash with more approval.
It’s embarrassing, how pliable that makes you. How he’d just need to give you one bit of praise after so much mocking, and you might just cum right here. Sucking on Steve’s thumb, naked on his bed, sheets bunched between your thighs.
“I love you because you’re smart,” he says, and useless, embarrassing tears prick at your eyes. “And funny, and kind. You never abuse what you can do to people. You work hard, you drive me crazy, you’re always ready to do anything for anyone else.”
You try to shy away. You’d been wrong. You’re not cumming, you’re getting so hot it feels like a fever, because having him degrade you is less embarrassing than this. Steve’s grip on you face tightens. He’s not letting you get away that easy.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs. “And it’s got nothin’ to do with any powers. So I love you, doll. And you’re gonna feel it.”
There’s nothing you can say to that. Tears are pricking at your eyes, hopeless and confused and desperate. You need to see what that feels like. Steve’s love, painted all over you.
“You want that?” He mutters, and you nod. “Words-“
“Please,” you breathe out, the words muffled around his thumb. “Show me.”
Steve smiles. He pulls his thumb away with a pop, and taps your check gently.
“See?” He smirks. “Begging.”
Your eyes narrow, but Steve doesn’t let you spit out a response. He crashes down into a harsh, long kiss that makes your toes curl and thighs rub together. Steve gropes all over your body, pushing you down into the mattress before rolling over and forcing you to straddle his chest.
He’s naked. You don’t know how you missed it—probably the love confession—but the thick, hard curve of his cock slaps against your ass, and his bare chest flexes when you drag your nails over his pecs.
“You’re gonna ride my cock, doll,” he rubs your ass, smiling up at you. “Don’t need you to say anything back. Just show me,” he squeezes your ass. “How fuckin’ bad you need it.”
You look back at it, and your breath hitches. It’s huge. Bigger than any you’ve ever taken, bigger than any you’ve ever seen, even in porn.
“Did you take fucking drugs for that thing?” You breathe, and Steve snorts.
“Yes?”
You glare at him, and he raises his brows.
“You getting on, or not?”
For a second, you think about being petulant. You cross your arms and pout, trying to test how far you can push him. But Steve just snorts, rolls his eyes, and picks you up. You don’t even get to wiggle before he’s forcing you down on his dick, and the air is knocked from your lungs.
Steve sits so deep in your, it might be pushing all the thoughts out of your brain. You gape down at him, making weak noises as your pussy pulses and stretches around him. His fingers dig into your hips, but it’s the only sign that he’s struggling to hold himself back.
“Much as I love you bein’ a brat,” he mutters, massaging your ass. “I’d rather see this.”
He reaches up slowly, tucking air behind your ear. You smile weakly, and he chuckles, settling fully into the pillows.
“Ride it, doll,” he orders, and god help you, you try.
You catch your breath after a long moment that feels like eternity, and start to roll your hips. Steve groans, eyelids fluttering, but doesn’t help you. His hands stay firm on your body, forcing you to use everything you have to grind down onto his dick.
He pushes against that gooey spot inside of you, and you falter with a long moan. You shift, forcing him right against it, and he lets out a sharp breath, but still doesn’t move.
“Feels good, doesn’t it,” he coos, cock throbbing inside of it. “Nice and big, fillin’ up your pussy so good.”
You moan, hips bucking. Steve grunts, thrusting up slightly, and you tip your head back. The friction is good. So good. For a second, back arched and thighs aching, you find a rhythm. It starts slow, rolling and pushing Steve’s cock right where you want it. You look down at him, sweaty and adoring beneath you. His hands wander, his breathing ragged and lips parted.
“That’s a good girl,” he mutters. “C’mon, baby, there you go.”
You keen, and move faster. Your knees are weak, but the need is stronger. You bounce on Steve dick, grabbing at his chest and gasping for air as he splits you open over and over again.
But it’s not enough. You don’t have extra stamina or strength, and he’s so big, and you’re so turned on your body is starting to forget how to move. Every wet, obscene sound makes you glance at where he’s disappearing inside of you, the way your slick is coating his cock when you pull up and his balls are heavy, pushed against your ass when you drop back down. You get hornier, and you want to just let go and allow your eyes to cross and toes to curl, but you can’t. You can’t find the pace.
You can’t cum. You can’t, and pathetic, fat tears stream down your cheeks because of it.
Steve reaches up, brushing them away with a tiny smirk. “Aw, babydoll. Don’t cry.”
You sob, shaking above him as your legs finally get to weak. You’re just squirming above him now, blinking under wet lashes at his teasing, lazy smile.
“Can’t get there all alone, can you,” he pushes you down, slamming his hips up, and you make a choked sound like his name. “Yeah, that’s right. Sweet girl, just a fuckin’ mess on my cock.”
“Ple- Please-“ You blubber, collapsing over Steve’s chest. “God, Steve- Please-“
“Aw. Begging so pretty.” He kisses your brow. “How could I ever tell you no?”
Steve grabs you off his cock, twisting you onto your stomach as he sits up. You’re shoved down into the mattress, your cheek pressed into the cushions by one of Steve’s hands on the back of your neck. The other stays on your hips, dragging your ass high up in the air to present to him.
“Such a mess.” Steve runs the head of his cock between the lips of you pussy, letting it press against your clit before he lines it up at your entrance. “You really needed this, didn’t you?”
He slides in slowly, and your eyes rolls back in your head. He’s impossibly deeper at this angle. You try to press your face into the mattress, to muffle your pathetic sounds, but Steve folds his body over yours, fisting a hand in your hair and yanking it back as he bottoms out.
“Look.” He bites your ear, dragging back before slamming forward, drilling his cock back into your abused, over sensitive pussy. “Look at us, babydoll. Fit so fuckin’ perfect.”
Your eyes dart up, and oh. Oh god.
It’s the most pornographic thing you’ve ever seen. Steve wrapped around you, his jaw tight and one hand resting on your hip. You can’t see where he’s fucking you, but you can see how his muscles flex with each thrust. You’re trapped under him, your gaze locked onto his black, fervorish one. There’s no blue left in his eyes, as he hits a pace like an animal. Only hunger and adoration.
“St- Steve-“
“That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s right, say my fuckin’ name- Scream it-“
“Steve!” You cry out, the tears streaming down your face as it becomes far too much. “Oh- Ooooh-“
Steve lets go of your hair, wrapping his massive bicep around your neck. It keeps your head up, keeps your eyes on his. He kisses the side of your head, and you can feel arousal sliding down your thighs as he rolls his hips.
“So pretty,” he whispers. “Look at yourself. Look how fuckin’ perfect you are.”
Your eyes dart over, and an unbearable warmth prickles over your skin. You look more beautiful than you’ve ever felt in your life. Thoroughly wrecked, worshipped, fucked into a drooling mess with swollen lips and glazed eyes. Steve noses at you, smirking against your skin.
“Good, good girl.” His words are thick, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”
You whimper an agreement, and Steve chuckles.
“You gonna cum for me? C’mon, show me how nice it feels, cum on my fucking cock-“
It’s like he has more control over your body than you do. The orgasm rips through you at his command, and you sob out his name as you fall apart in his arms. Steve grunts, pulling fully out for half a second to roll you on your back. You barely even feel the loss before he’s burying himself right to the hilt, and you can’t remember what being empty feels like.
There’s more than there looked to be. Steve pulls almost all the way out, to try and make more space, but it does next to nothing. Thick ropes of cum fill you up until you can almost taste it. There are wet, messy sounds as it starts to leak out, over your ass and thighs. You can see it in the mirror, dripping down onto the mattress. You’re stuffed up so well, you try to say Steve’s name, but it just comes out a pathetic moan.
He collapses over you with a grunt, and all the edge vanishes. He pulls fully out, cradling you in his arms and kissing over your neck.
“I made a mess.” He mutters, running light fingers over your inner thigh.
You giggle, kicking him away, and he smiles against your skin.
“You gonna talk to me?”
You shake your head, licking your lips. Your voice is gone, from screaming, and you can see him wince when he realizes it.
“I didn’t hurt you-“
You shake your head quickly, and his shoulders relax.
“Okay. Good. I- I’m gonna-“
He tries to get up. You grab him, and yank him back down. He grunts, giving you an incredulous look.
“Honey, it’s everywhere.”
You glare at him. He’s warm. He’s not getting away from you that easy. And you expect him to argue, like he always had before, but he just… gives in.
“Okay. Five minutes.”
He leans back over you, and you lay there. Cuddling.
Like a real couple.
You could be. Steve said he loves you, and he meant it, and that opens a door you’ve never thought about before. A door you never even let yourself think about.
A door you might want to see the other side of, more than you’ve ever let yourself admit.
But now-
You want it. You wanted this, and you want that, and you’re not going to spend another second pretending you don’t.
“About what I said,” Steve mutters, like he’s reading your mind. “Before we- Or- I guess during-“
You roll over and grab his face. He blinks adorably, and you smile.
Steve murmurs your name, and you smile.
“I love you,” you croak out.
His jaw goes slack, and your smile widens. It’s the only thing you can think to say. The only thing you want to say.
And when Steve kisses you, it’s slow. Romantic and loving and deep. He really loves you. Everyone in the world, and the perfect man loves you. He holds you like you’re the only thing in his world. You feel like you’re the only thing in his world.
And he might really be the only thing in yours.
✦End note: i will never back off my "he's mean during sex" agenda✦
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Hii girly I am sorry if this sounds dumb but any idea how to make friends in this Fandom alot of people seem nice but I feel too shy to reach out to them but I still wanna make some new friends on here so any tips for me please
not dumb at all! i'm not sure which fandom this is referring to as i write for multiple and i won't lie i think i'm probably not the best person to answer this question as i talk to like 4 people from this site on the reg. but every friend i've made here has been from someone engaging with my work in a meaningful way or vice versa. whether you're a writer or a reader i would probably start with just making the effort to leave thoughtful feedback on the work of your favourite writers!
