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Pirate & Pin Cushion (3)
Jake Jensen x gn! ops!Reader
Painful...But In A Good Way (see previous or JJ Masterlist)
The last thing you remember is the awkward kiss Jake planted on you during a screaming match. Now, awake and healed, your friend and teammate is acting more awkward than usual around you.
Warnings for foul language, *super skimmed over action,* canon-level betrayal (Roque), completely vague mentions of injuries, suspicions, doubts, misunderstandings,--GO FIGURE--an argument, and I just wanted this done honestly. Not that I don't love them, but I need a win in the COMPLETED department. WC ~1.5k
You’re a Loser through and through now.
Months have gone by since you were stabbed and unceremoniously, sorta-kinda-maybe-not kissed by Jake Jensen. You woke up six days later with Pooch by your side, disappointed it wasn’t your Banter Bro.
The last thing you remember is turning away from Jake to hide your face. After that, nothing. You suppose he feels awkward about it. Maybe he regrets it, even if the ‘kiss’ was just part of a gag to him.
The most frustrating part is everything is exactly the same. Jake keeps you at arm’s length, a holding pattern to get no closer as teammates but no farther as friends.
Is this…are you in the friend zone???
It blows.
You’d still prefer this over being a pariah, so on you quip from interaction to interaction.
For all Jake’s hype about loving Halloween, he shuts down when you ask him what costume you should choose. Then he goes home to his sister and niece for the holiday.
...Okay…
You console yourself knowing this is for the best. You’d promised yourself no attachments, and nature clearly pushes for you to keep that promise.
You’ve almost—almost—resigned yourself to actual pin-cushion-status, jabbed repeatedly by his indifference. You are PC: perpetually crushing on Jake Jensen. It sucks.
You can be professional though. You can keep up with the jokes and take the hits to your heart and body that come with the job.
Until you can’t.
Los Angeles. The port. The shitshow.
While scrambling to get out of the line of fire in a showdown gone wrong, Jake cuts his leg vaulting over a concrete barrier, and you get him to a nook between shipping crates.
You squat down to change the mag on your MP7 and suddenly hear Roque’s voice behind you. He’s not on the comms.
“Should’ve told ‘em, Jensen."
The look on Jake’s face is shocked and bitter.
Roque clicks his tongue. "At least then they’d know…”
Before you can so much as turn to look, Jake’s raised his own weapon, firing right over your shoulder and within inches of your ear.
The pain is sharp and hot, sending you stumbling into the warped metal wall of the nearest container.
Jake wraps a thick arm around your waist and yanks you away.
You catch sight of Roque dead on the asphalt.
It’s complete chaos, pure survival mode for the next twenty minutes, deaf and deftly tying a bandage around Jake’s leg in an open, empty crate while he’s on comms and frantically hand-signaling you the plan.
But you make it. Everyone but Roque makes it.
Eventually, when the ringing subsides in your non-ruptured ear, Clay lays outRoque betrayed the team. Aisha teaches you a way to cup your occipital and tap to reduce the tinnitis. Pooch leaves to see the birth of his first child.
You’re left to ponder if Jake is a traitor, too.
Did he kill Roque to keep his own cover? Was he supposed to recruit you into his and Roque’s plan? Is that what he ‘should have told you’ so Roque wouldn’t need to kill you?
The possibilities haunt you. Is this why he’s kept you distant for months? Was Jake worried you’d catch on?
You blame your stupid crush for stopping you from telling Cougar your concerns. You trust Jake—or you want to trust him, so badly—so you confront him alone.
Dinner. At your place. Away from the team so he can feel safe to admit it. Away from the team so you can pretend your forgiveness isn’t already secured. You’ll deal with the consequences once you know the truth.
Jake seems an odd mix of totally psyched and forcefully reserved when you invite him and a nervous wreck when he arrives at your door.
It’s just pizza. You were too distracted to do more.
He doesn’t pick up his slice because you don’t either, running your hands up and down your thighs compulsively, then quietly asking, “about what Roque said…”
Jake leans back in his chair, leg bouncing frantically, rubbing at his neck. “Yeah,” he replies, eyes on the floor.
“Was he…were you his partner in that? Were you suppose to take me out, too?
Jake’s head snaps up, his mouth askew and brow pinched. “WHAT?”
“Just tell me the truth. I swear, we can work it out with the rest—“
“Is this what—what the fuck—“ he shoves the chair back and steps away “—that’s the reason I’m here right now? I thought you were finally gonna say it!”
Jake rips his glasses off his face and harshly runs his fingers through his frosted tips.
“Say…what? What am I supposed to say? I’m not the one Roque had a damn secret with.”
He’s visibly upset but with bugged-out eyes like he has no idea what to do.
“Well, I’m not a fucking traitor,” he mumbles.
Jake replaces his glasses and takes his phone from the pocket of his low-slung jeans, hitting a few buttons and tossing it onto the table. It slides until it knocks your plate.
His own recorded laugh cuts off quickly. “Okay, PC, what were you saying about Halloween? One more time,” and then comes another slow voice, “I should have told you before I died.
“I love you.”
Your whole body freezes, brain turning the words over and over until it occurs to you…that is your voice.
“I didn’t say that.” Your knee-jerk reaction comes swiftly. “I don’t remember that.”
Jake snorts without humor. “Got that part.”
You’re too stunned to speak. You can’t even imagine when you would have…oh god.
Jake rushes to fill the silence as you die inside, again, maybe more realistically because what.
“Did you at least think I was a badass, like, ya know, a sexy traitor or whatever? Or…were you gonna wrestle me to the ground after I ate a whole pie?”
You keep sitting with your mouth agape.
“You didn’t poison the pizza, did you? Right? Say 'no.' That’s overkill, or just, kill—were gonna kill me?!”
“I’D KNOWN YOU FOR TWO WEEKS,” you explode, bolting out of your own chair.
“Yeah,” Jake squeaks, “I know.”
“Two weeks, and then you taped me saying ‘I love you?’”
“But, like—“ his usually deep timbre pitches super high “…did you?”
“Why would you just sit on that, Jake?!”
He shrugs. “You weren’t exactly sober.”
Too much, too many feelings, all at once. You try to get away, to make a break for the bathroom, but Jake grabs your wrist and swings your momentum to the wall.
Your back hits with a soft thud, pinned in place by Jake’s chest. He’s not breathing heavily, but you are, pushing you against him repeatedly.
That just makes it harder.
Yes, you said it (you guess), and yes, you meant it. Jake, however, hasn’t said word one about if he feels some sort of way for you. Your brain can’t intuit his romantic inclinations two minutes after accusing him of treachery.
He’s…there, not moving, not speaking, lips slightly parted while he stares at you.
You clear your throat.
“You’re…you’re touching me,” you say softly.
Jake doesn’t skip a beat, gently tightening his hold on your arms. “That’s what I do, PC. Finger keyboards.”
You gag as he quickly shakes his head.
“What the fuck?”
“Sounds sooooo bad," Jake moans. "I’m so sorry.” He let’s go of you, steps back, and slaps his hands in the air frantically. “Wait, okay? That was not the joke. I can do it.”
“You’re sick, man.”
Jake rubs at his temples, muttering something about keys, computers, and Halloween. “Hold on...so dumb. This is why I was trying to record it! It’s your joke. You were laying on the bed and--”
“I would never say you fin—“
“He was standing right there,” Jake bursts, scaring you to silence. “Roque. When you said that into the phone, I mean, he was standing at the door and he heard.”
Jensen sighs. Defeated and deflated, he rests his hands on his hips, inhaling sharply.
“So at the port when… He aimed a gun at you and I just—“ he makes a finger gun to point over your shoulder, adding a soft pow sound-effect “—Roque was saying I should have told you before he tried to kill you.”
“About the recording?”
“No.” Jake rocks on his heels.
“About the joke?” Your voice is so small.
His stupid, beautiful blue eyes lift to meet yours.
“No, pin cushion, not about the joke.”
There's a horridly long pause of nothingness.
"Fuck it."
Jake lunges forward with startling intensity, fingers lace behind your head to draw you to him.
You don’t turn away this time.
His lips are soft yet determined, slowly pulsing to transform one kiss into dozens, and he adjusts everything—his height, his stance, his proximity to get even more of you in a single embrace.
“I love you,” Jake whispers, shifting to tilt you left while he goes right. “I should have told you ‘I love you,’ too.”
You promised yourself no attachments, but who are you kidding? You're such a loser, and you found your match.
[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
😵💫
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This is all of us. We are in too deep lol
"K" for jake jensen pls? 🥺👉👈
- @buckymorelikefuckme ♥️♥️♥️
Awwww, yissssss.
From this dirty ask game which has fully consumed me for two days and I'm not mad about it. Generally not suitable for kids or people with morals or those fond of grammatical standards. MINORS DNI.
K - Kissing
Whoa. Babe. He's into it. He's into it all.
There are a bunch of places that will make Jake giggle when you kiss him there. His love-handles are ticklish, he goes kinda nuts around his neck (in a good way since he blushes every time without fail), and his whole body will start to shake if you show enough attention to his inner thighs. That's the fucking best though because blowjobs are the most exquisite torture for this man. If you so much as mention that you're thinking about going down on him, his leg starts bouncing. Won't stop. He needs it.
On you, particularly? Everywhere. The back of your neck at the hairline is a personal fave. He could either be giving you a lovely hug or giving it to you fast, deep, and dirty from behind. Great options. Why not both?
He also kisses and nips at your hip, right on the juncture of your thigh and mound while he finger-fucks you. It's particularly unbelievable when he's doing it to avoid sucking on your clit so that you'll beg. Gah! What're you supposed to do to train this man?? Tease.
Now: marking.
He plays up how much it hurts when you do give him a hickey, but that's just at the moment it happens. He waited too long as an awkward nerd to not proudly display that he has sex. You hear that world? Jake Jensen has SEX. Lots of it. And his Smee even says HE'S GOOD AT IT!
So there.
Thank you for asking!
A/n: omg did I just make Pirate Jake into Captain Hook and then hc that he names you after his literal FIRST MATE??? Wow. Wow. No more bourbon and lemonade for Ro. Woof.
[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
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Ro lied. She always lies 🤣.
So...
Undercover stripper Jake as 'Davey Bones'
forbidden romance since you've sworn to not date co-workers
lap dances, nudity, and voyeurism (kinda)
so much flirting--SO MUCH FLIRTING
protective!Jake
there's only one bed in the safehouse
fake-married as a witness in hiding
woah y'all i did not know i needed this in my life
fainting--but that's me irl
ffs brain go burrrrrr
that lying bitch Ro strikes again
👜 anon and the curse of her great ideas
🥴🫠😵💫 New earworm, whoops.
Pirate!Jake the undercover male stripper, working at The Thirst Trap where you bartend, needing encouragement to get down with his dirty self on-stage and maybe some extra practice for lap dancing...
ohhhhhhhhhhh boy, gang.
👜Anon has struck again...
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Screenshot and see who is your fictional boyfriend !
Reblog who you got on your first try ! o(^▽^)o NO CHEATING !
| #citronsfanart | Twitter |
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Me: 🫠
Steve: *is bae*
The Letter
Masterlist here, but some Sunday drabble for ya! This bit is mentioned in Part 6 of Do You Two...Fondue?
Summary: Steve writes to you when he struggles to explain his hesitation with modern life/romance. Pure, adorable, awkward fluff.
Page 1:
Natasha, stop reading.
It’s so damn funny because she was reading, right over your shoulder, hoping for a glimpse into the romantic mind of her good friend. Nat’s been right there prodding you and Steve’s relationship along. Well, Steve has needed a little more prodding than you have…
Page 2:
Steve has meticulously hand-written your name. The whole thing looks precise and rehearsed, and you wonder which draft you hold in your hands now. Third? Ninth? Twentieth? He’s kept it relatively simple, straight-forward, much like the man himself, but he’s infused a metric ton of sincerity into those simple prose.
It used to not feel as if I lived a dual life because when I was young, when I was just Steve, I didn’t have a life. All I ever wanted was to help people, to do my part, to be a good countryman. I won’t pretend giving up being Cap is an option. I help people this way, and in so many ways, that fulfills my lifelong dream. It’s been a very long time since I entertained the idea I could be just a man again, and as a man, all I want now is to find a balance.
I stumble over these words even as I write. You’re far better with them than I have ever been, and I guarantee, nothing I put on this page will ever truly encompass how I adore you, Keeps.
I love you. I love your body, but I do not love you because of your body. You are a keeper, but I am not your owner. I do want to be with you, always. I want to wake up with you. I want to hear your voice. Your value is not in what I find valuable about you. You are infinitely more than that, and if being with me, as Steve Rogers or Captain America, in any way ever diminishes how amazing you are, then I have failed you. I can’t bear that my words hurt you, or that my fumbling, nervous actions made you sad. You are beautiful, but you are not beautiful simply because I think so. I always feel like I’m claiming a piece of you whenever I compliment you. You are patently smarter than I am, which I knew long before Tony started reminding me.
My love for you has no expectations. You already give me comfort and joy. I want to give you the world, but I don’t know how to yet.
Steve
Tags: @im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555
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I’M HOWLING!!!!
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okay what did i miss
(yes some of these overlap and some are suppositions. for example if parchment is always used for ephemera, rough drafts, notes, and never re-used or re-purposed, we can also assume that the author is unaware of wax tablets as a concept)
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IG : @emperorofmischief
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I loved Roque as a character and thought he had such a great dynamic with the team that I'm really sad he was a traitor, but even so, I managed to remember that bit of movie canon just in time to incorporate it into this. Originally, I just thought Jake would wait until PC said something without being under the influence, but this made it deliciously more complicated of a misunderstanding!
Pirate & Pin Cushion (3)
Jake Jensen x gn! ops!Reader
Painful...But In A Good Way (see previous or JJ Masterlist)
The last thing you remember in the awkward kiss Jake planted on you during a screaming match. Now, awake and healed, your friend and teammate is acting more awkward than usual around you.
Warnings for foul language, *super skimmed over action,* canon-level betrayal (Roque), completely vague mentions of injuries, suspicions, doubts, misunderstandings,--GO FIGURE--an argument, and I just wanted this done honestly. Not that I don't love them, but I need a win in the COMPLETED department. WC ~1.5k
You’re a Loser through and through now.
Months have gone by since you were stabbed and unceremoniously, sorta-kinda-maybe-not kissed by Jake Jensen. You woke up six days later with Pooch by your side, disappointed it wasn’t your Banter Bro.
The last thing you remember is turning away from Jake to hide your face. After that, nothing. You suppose he feels awkward about it. Maybe he regrets it, even if the ‘kiss’ was just part of a gag to him.
The most frustrating part is everything is exactly the same. Jake keeps you at arm’s length, a holding pattern to get no closer as teammates but no farther as friends.
Is this…are you in the friend zone???
It blows.
You’d still prefer this over being a pariah, so on you quip from interaction to interaction.
For all Jake’s hype about loving Halloween, he shuts down when you ask him what costume you should choose. Then he goes home to his sister and niece for the holiday.
...Okay…
You console yourself knowing this is for the best. You’d promised yourself no attachments, and nature clearly pushes for you to keep that promise.
You’ve almost—almost—resigned yourself to actual pin-cushion-status, jabbed repeatedly by his indifference. You are PC: perpetually crushing on Jake Jensen. It sucks.
You can be professional though. You can keep up with the jokes and take the hits to your heart and body that come with the job.
Until you can’t.
Los Angeles. The port. The shitshow.
While scrambling to get out of the line of fire in a showdown gone wrong, Jake cuts his leg vaulting over a concrete barrier, and you get him to a nook between shipping crates.
You squat down to change the mag on your MP7 and suddenly hear Roque’s voice behind you. He’s not on the comms.
“Should’ve told ‘em, Jensen."
The look on Jake’s face is shocked and bitter.
Roque clicks his tongue. "At least then they’d know…”
Before you can so much as turn to look, Jake’s raised his own weapon, firing right over your shoulder and within inches of your ear.
The pain is sharp and hot, sending you stumbling into the warped metal wall of the nearest container.
Jake wraps a thick arm around your waist and yanks you away.
You catch sight of Roque dead on the asphalt.
It’s complete chaos, pure survival mode for the next twenty minutes, deaf and deftly tying a bandage around Jake’s leg in an open, empty crate while he’s on comms and frantically hand-signaling you the plan.
But you make it. Everyone but Roque makes it.
Eventually, when the ringing subsides in your non-ruptured ear, Clay lays outRoque betrayed the team. Aisha teaches you a way to cup your occipital and tap to reduce the tinnitis. Pooch leaves to see the birth of his first child.
You’re left to ponder if Jake is a traitor, too.
Did he kill Roque to keep his own cover? Was he supposed to recruit you into his and Roque’s plan? Is that what he ‘should have told you’ so Roque wouldn’t need to kill you?
The possibilities haunt you. Is this why he’s kept you distant for months? Was Jake worried you’d catch on?
You blame your stupid crush for stopping you from telling Cougar your concerns. You trust Jake—or you want to trust him, so badly—so you confront him alone.
Dinner. At your place. Away from the team so he can feel safe to admit it. Away from the team so you can pretend your forgiveness isn’t already secured. You’ll deal with the consequences once you know the truth.
Jake seems an odd mix of totally psyched and forcefully reserved when you invite him and a nervous wreck when he arrives at your door.
It’s just pizza. You were too distracted to do more.
He doesn’t pick up his slice because you don’t either, running your hands up and down your thighs compulsively, then quietly asking, “about what Roque said…”
Jake leans back in his chair, leg bouncing frantically, rubbing at his neck. “Yeah,” he replies, eyes on the floor.
“Was he…were you his partner in that? Were you suppose to take me out, too?
Jake’s head snaps up, his mouth askew and brow pinched. “WHAT?”
“Just tell me the truth. I swear, we can work it out with the rest—“
“Is this what—what the fuck—“ he shoves the chair back and steps away “—that’s the reason I’m here right now? I thought you were finally gonna say it!”
Jake rips his glasses off his face and harshly runs his fingers through his frosted tips.
“Say…what? What am I supposed to say? I’m not the one Roque had a damn secret with.”
He’s visibly upset but with bugged-out eyes like he has no idea what to do.
“Well, I’m not a fucking traitor,” he mumbles.
Jake replaces his glasses and takes his phone from the pocket of his low-slung jeans, hitting a few buttons and tossing it onto the table. It slides until it knocks your plate.
His own recorded laugh cuts off quickly. “Okay, PC, what were you saying about Halloween? One more time,” and then comes another slow voice, “I should have told you before I died.
“I love you.”
Your whole body freezes, brain turning the words over and over until it occurs to you…that is your voice.
“I didn’t say that.” Your knee-jerk reaction comes swiftly. “I don’t remember that.”
Jake snorts without humor. “Got that part.”
You’re too stunned to speak. You can’t even imagine when you would have…oh god.
Jake rushes to fill the silence as you die inside, again, maybe more realistically because what.
“Did you at least think I was a badass, like, ya know, a sexy traitor or whatever? Or…were you gonna wrestle me to the ground after I ate a whole pie?”
You keep sitting with your mouth agape.
“You didn’t poison the pizza, did you? Right? Say 'no.' That’s overkill, or just, kill—were gonna kill me?!”
“I’D KNOWN YOU FOR TWO WEEKS,” you explode, bolting out of your own chair.
“Yeah,” Jake squeaks, “I know.”
“Two weeks, and then you taped me saying ‘I love you?’”
“But, like—“ his usually deep timbre pitches super high “…did you?”
“Why would you just sit on that, Jake?!”
He shrugs. “You weren’t exactly sober.”
Too much, too many feelings, all at once. You try to get away, to make a break for the bathroom, but Jake grabs your wrist and swings your momentum to the wall.
Your back hits with a soft thud, pinned in place by Jake’s chest. He’s not breathing heavily, but you are, pushing you against him repeatedly.
That just makes it harder.
Yes, you said it (you guess), and yes, you meant it. Jake, however, hasn’t said word one about if he feels some sort of way for you. Your brain can’t intuit his romantic inclinations two minutes after accusing him of treachery.
He’s…there, not moving, not speaking, lips slightly parted while he stares at you.
You clear your throat.
“You’re…you’re touching me,” you say softly.
Jake doesn’t skip a beat, gently tightening his hold on your arms. “That’s what I do, PC. Finger keyboards.”
You gag as he quickly shakes his head.
“What the fuck?”
“Sounds sooooo bad," Jake moans. "I’m so sorry.” He let’s go of you, steps back, and slaps his hands in the air frantically. “Wait, okay? That was not the joke. I can do it.”
“You’re sick, man.”
Jake rubs at his temples, muttering something about keys, computers, and Halloween. “Hold on...so dumb. This is why I was trying to record it! It’s your joke. You were laying on the bed and--”
“I would never say you fin—“
“He was standing right there,” Jake bursts, scaring you to silence. “Roque. When you said that into the phone, I mean, he was standing at the door and he heard.”
Jensen sighs. Defeated and deflated, he rests his hands on his hips, inhaling sharply.
“So at the port when… He aimed a gun at you and I just—“ he makes a finger gun to point over your shoulder, adding a soft pow sound-effect “—Roque was saying I should have told you before he tried to kill you.”
“About the recording?”
“No.” Jake rocks on his heels.
“About the joke?” Your voice is so small.
His stupid, beautiful blue eyes lift to meet yours.
“No, pin cushion, not about the joke.”
There's a horridly long pause of nothingness.
"Fuck it."
Jake lunges forward with startling intensity, fingers lace behind your head to draw you to him.
You don’t turn away this time.
His lips are soft yet determined, slowly pulsing to transform one kiss into dozens, and he adjusts everything—his height, his stance, his proximity to get even more of you in a single embrace.
“I love you,” Jake whispers, shifting to tilt you left while he goes right. “I should have told you ‘I love you,’ too.”
You promised yourself no attachments, but who are you kidding? You're such a loser, and you found your match.
[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
😵💫
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I love this goofball sooooooooo much, it hurts.
🥹
"K" for jake jensen pls? 🥺👉👈
- @buckymorelikefuckme ♥️♥️♥️
Awwww, yissssss.
From this dirty ask game which has fully consumed me for two days and I'm not mad about it. Generally not suitable for kids or people with morals or those fond of grammatical standards. MINORS DNI.
K - Kissing
Whoa. Babe. He's into it. He's into it all.
There are a bunch of places that will make Jake giggle when you kiss him there. His love-handles are ticklish, he goes kinda nuts around his neck (in a good way since he blushes every time without fail), and his whole body will start to shake if you show enough attention to his inner thighs. That's the fucking best though because blowjobs are the most exquisite torture for this man. If you so much as mention that you're thinking about going down on him, his leg starts bouncing. Won't stop. He needs it.
On you, particularly? Everywhere. The back of your neck at the hairline is a personal fave. He could either be giving you a lovely hug or giving it to you fast, deep, and dirty from behind. Great options. Why not both?
He also kisses and nips at your hip, right on the juncture of your thigh and mound while he finger-fucks you. It's particularly unbelievable when he's doing it to avoid sucking on your clit so that you'll beg. Gah! What're you supposed to do to train this man?? Tease.
Now: marking.
He plays up how much it hurts when you do give him a hickey, but that's just at the moment it happens. He waited too long as an awkward nerd to not proudly display that he has sex. You hear that world? Jake Jensen has SEX. Lots of it. And his Smee even says HE'S GOOD AT IT!
So there.
Thank you for asking!
A/n: omg did I just make Pirate Jake into Captain Hook and then hc that he names you after his literal FIRST MATE??? Wow. Wow. No more bourbon and lemonade for Ro. Woof.
[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
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Lloyd is always DTF lol
i hate him so much i hate that i don't see the mustache as the most horrendous thing ever anymore i hate his stupid fancy clothes and his ridiculously sexy anger and damn it i'm just so mad that i don't hate him moooooore fuck you lloyd
If its ok what if
Lloyd hansen x reader x steve rogers
🥵 smutt
ya know, it took me a loooong time--this ask is from september--to come up with something, but today's the day apparently! And, AND! The lovely @darsynia made me an awesome graphic whilst I wrote all this filth! Thank you, bestie!!! WC 3.3k
Warnings for oh fuck these two are terrors, smut, goddamn fighting (obviously, bc they can't get along in any universe), possibly the worst fucking puns ever and I no longer care, terrible/inaccurate/but very mild dom/sub vibes, not much but knife play. Please note that this work does not involve the two men together. Alternate title: Ro is 1,000% [nope, better make it 1,000,000%] going to hell. MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you!
You can tell Steve is about to crawl out of his skin as the knife touches yours.
"You buy these pretty things for me?" Lloyd coos, tucking the point of his switchblade beneath a lacy seam. He knows damn well the navy set with bright red hearts is not for his enjoyment at all, so he turns his head to stare at your husband.
"Useless," Lloyd growls, flicking his wrist deftly.
The sliced fabric springs back to reveal your thatch of hair. You have no idea whether Lloyd was talking about your panties or Steve, and frankly, you're too turned on to care. There’s a certain amount of goading you expected aimed at the awkward hunk leaning on the far wall.
Steve clenches his arms tighter across his chest and sucks in a breath, eyes darting to your skin in case Lloyd drew blood, but his gaze lingers at your almost exposed core.
He hates this whole idea, but you have tried talking to him so many times about how to make sex more interesting. Steve can't stand to even listen to the words much less do what you want. This is the compromise.
Lloyd Hansen will do anyone for the right price, and sure, usually, that's killing, but who doesn't love a good fuck? Who wouldn't get half-hard just thinking about taking Captain America's wife to pound town right in front of the guy?
Lloyd simply smirks, returning his eyes to you and nudging the lace a little farther. The flat of the blade on your mound feels cold and so fucking dangerous that you shiver, neck tensing to throw your head back.
"How's that feel, pumpkin?"
"Golden," you whine, mewling when he nicks the other end and pulls your panties off. Lloyd doesn't like safe words and shit, but he agreed to a few check-ins, and you do have a way to stop him because, let's face it, the money is the real goal for him. The rest is gravy.
Lloyd stalks over to Steve's corner of the room, lifting the ruined garment for the other to take. "A souvenir--" he chuckles "--what's that smell like to you, huh, big man?"
Steve grimaces, unmoving, so Lloyd shoves your panties in his face.
"Smells like team spirit to me."
You should laugh. You really should. You should not fucking moan when you see Steve's chest expand and his eyes flutter shut briefly. You should not have such a surge of tingling heat race to your center that your thighs slam together.
But you do. And Lloyd notices.
"This is gonna be fun," he whispers, likely to himself, as he drops the fabric and walks over again.
His fingertips slide from your knee up your thigh, and Lloyd bends to nip at your neck.
"Lie back from me, sweetheart. Go on."
You have to cover a squeak while you flop onto the mattress. This sort of dominance is nothing like Steve Rogers even on his most confident day. Steve is always measured and a little tentative, his force reined in to the point of being boring after so many years. This is all flush and feral with the promise of oblivion, and in the strangest way, you still associate every second as with Steve, not Lloyd Hansen. The exercise in trust--the sheer fact that he was willing to entertain this idea, much less the practice--is a show of devotion from Steve you never thought possible.
And then Lloyd kneels down and pushes your legs apart. "Open up for me. That's it. Good girl."
"Ah fuck," you moan into your hand, and thank god if Steve does hear you, he doesn't say a thing.
Lloyd skips finesse and plunges into the dirty end of the pool by licking all the way up and down your cunt, hands spreading your ass to expose every bit of you to him, and he pauses to speak with his mouth against your clit.
"Do I need to give him a lesson or can I just fucking taste you?"
"I know how to--" but Steve's protest dies behind the noise Lloyd makes sloppily eating you out like a man starved.
Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, and your hips buck into the wild ride. His mustache burns in the best way. You gasp so much that your throat burns dry, too.
He says other things, things that rumble up your spine and settle deep in your brain, but you can't process what those words are until the white-hot lightning finally cracks your body apart.
Lloyd is shockingly soothing as you come back down from your high but unshockingly smug when he sweeps his face clean of your cum.
"You're doing star-spangled spectacularly for me, slut, now why don't--"
There's a thunderclap of noise that wrenches you out of your bliss. You’re knocked onto your side as Lloyd falls to the floor.
Steve raises his arm again but hesitates when you call his name.
"He doesn't...he doesn't do well with language like that," you manage to say, still fuzzy and out of breath.
Lloyd wipes blood from his nose. "Yeah, I picked up on that. Thanks,” he spits sarcastically, followed by a real spit to clear his mouth. “Down, boy. I'll play nice--" he winks at you as he rises "--but not too nice."
Lloyd climbs back to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand spreading over your throat gently. "Feels good, don't it? Feeling golden?"
You nod vigorously.
He licks more blood from his lip. “Yeah? Can we move on, pumpkin, or is your pussy still needy—“
Lloyd catches Steve's fist this time, jumping up to punch your husband square in the neck.
Steve, to his credit, doesn't even go down, but he drops his arm and steps back, rubbing the point of contact as he wheezes for a minute.
"Can I please continue?" Lloyd screams in annoyance. The man is not in any way used to sharing, or going slow, or giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room for that matter. However, Lloyd is a dedicated professional, so he’ll continue because he knows what’s in it for him. "God damn it,” he barks, spitting at Steve’s feet.
Lloyd takes a beat to compose himself and returns to your side, facing away now, his hand plunging between your legs.
"Time to earn participation points, Golden Boy." Two fingers breach your entrance without warning. "On your knees."
Lloyd snaps his other fingers and points to the ground like he's training a dog to heel.
Slowly, with wide eyes and hesitant steps, Steve places himself exactly as Lloyd did before. He strategically keeps his focus glued to yours until the squelching sound of Lloyd's fingers thrusting in and out of you becomes too loud to ignore.
That look--that fucking moment where your husband sees your core and hunger darkens his whole face--could send you back over the edge right here, but suddenly, Lloyd stops.
"Now we've got his attention," the cruel man laughs.
Like your panties before, there's no ceremony to Lloyd shoving his fingers into Steve's awe-parted lips, but the biggest shock is how your husband doesn't fight the intrusion. No. Steve grabs Lloyd's wrist to keep him there until Steve is done sucking your taste off another man's fingers.
You're pretty sure that's when your soul left your body, but it's a toss-up between that and every other moment tonight.
With more patience than you thought possible, Lloyd waits, comically making an “O” with his mouth and looking at you. “Someone’s eager for the beaver, I see.” He takes the same wet fingers and tucks them between your breasts, snapping the front of your bra sharply against your sternum.
“Finish unwrapping your present. I wanna see what you got—” and when Steve immediately reaches behind your back for the clasp, Lloyd’s eyebrows bob up and down “—and he’s good at following orders, too.”
Your husband plants a gentle kiss on the swell of one breast before Lloyd stops him, tutting while he holds a fucking knife against Captain America’s chest to sit him back on his heels.
He ticks the blade down. “That’s your half now. This is mine.”
You’re practically panting while Steve’s eyes go hard in possessiveness, locked onto Lloyd in a challenge you don’t quite understand until the fancy man flips the blade back into it’s handle.
“Fine,” Lloyd grouches, tossing the knife farther up the bed. He shuffles closer to face you, a warm hand cupping your breast before he tweaks the nipple harshly. “Why don’t you relax for us, huh, good girl?”
Lloyd coaxes you to lean back again, orders Steve to hold your legs open and tease you, buries painful fingers in your hair, and forces you to watch.
“That’s it. Don’t you want to hear her beg? Doesn’t she sound so sweet? Oh, I like her desperate…”
Not in years has Steve Rogers whispered anything so filthy as the shit that falls from Lloyd’s mouth, but goddamn, every word is like kindling stoking the vigor with which Steve consumes you. You lap up the praise while your husband gulps down every ounce created by every word.
Lloyd lowers to suck and bite all over your chest, marks blossoming across the tender skin as he takes a sort of sweet revenge for his bloody nose. A kink for a kink.
“You want to tell him what’s next,” Lloyd rasps, straining your neck back to look at him in the last few moments before you come again, “or should I?” His devilish smile is the last thing you see before he pushes you to meet Steve’s eyes, the perfect, final flick of tongue rolling over your clit.
Dutifully—sweetly almost—Steve lifts away from you as your legs shake, replacing his face with his fingers to gently bring you down, and Lloyd does not like that. He swats Steve’s hand off to slap your raw bundle of nerves and shove his fingers in again, brutally hitting that spongy spot until the dam of orgasm doesn’t just rupture, it explodes inside you.
You cry out and flail. Lloyd pins you down with a knee to your ribcage, and it hurts but not enough to give a shit over the rush of cum soaking his hand and the sheets below. Steve holds your ankles so you don’t kick him in the face while squirming, transfixed on every move Lloyd makes to milk you stupid.
With one last wet slap, Lloyd rests his hand on your belly and tosses a gelled lock of hair out of his face.
“Wifey here wants to suck you dry,” he boasts, and your hands fly to your face in hot embarrassment.
You confessed that after drinking quite a lot during the ‘negotiation’ of terms for this little arrangement, but only when Steve excused himself to the restroom. Lloyd wasn’t supposed to repeat your fantasy.
“That’s right, big guy. She’s gonna blow your—“ his eyes drop and raise “—mind,” he continues, unpinning you and pushing your arms to the side. He leans down to smear your own slick across your mouth messily, quietly adding, “he won’t even notice I’m right behind you.”
The air rushes out of your lungs before you can stop it, making a downright pathetic sound of anticipation.
“Strip,” Lloyd commands, waving a hand casually at Steve and sauntering over to a bottle of water on the dresser. “The…uh…lady should get on her knees.”
Steve turns to the other wall, unable to meet your eye, bright red blotches spotting his neck and cheeks. He’s embarrassed, too, but from the speed at which he unzips his jeans to relieve his still-straining erection and then pulls his shirt over his head, Steve is also painfully aroused. You even catch him rubbing his cock with each conceivable pass while disrobing. It reignites that weak fire between your tired legs.
“Face up, Captain. Give ‘er some room,” Lloyd snorts, capping his water.
Of course, Steve spreads his legs in front of you, and instead of acknowledging how fucking hard he is, he helps you balance into position.
You capture a quick kiss and smile as your husband blushes even more.
“Jesus, I’m gonna vomit,” Lloyd mutters behind you.
He’s just so, so fucking evil, but you admit the contrast has you drooling to get your mouth on Steve. You’re already planning on adding orders to your regular routine. You buzz with excitement at all this play implies, now and in the future.
Steve isn’t just letting this happen; he likes what’s happening.
Lloyd’s warm hand pets down your spine until it rests heavily on your lower back, the heel of it pressed against your spread ass, an encouragement and a threat.
“Take him how you want. Just like you told me.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to Steve’s ragged breaths amidst Lloyd's criticism.
“You don’t just lick him, do you, kitten? You can do better than that. I thought you wanted to swallow him whole. Don’t disappoint me now. More. You can take it. More.”
Your nose nuzzles into Steve’s pelvis as you feel his cock jump in your throat. You swallow around him but force yourself up for air after.
“Is that the best you got?” Lloyd teases, his hand sliding tauntingly down your crack and through your folds before he’s gone.
You open your eyes when he grabs your wrist and presses the closed switchblade into your palm.
“Go on. Hold it, pumpkin. Right there.” Lloyd makes your hand rest on Steve’s thigh. For balance, you have to open your fist and press the metal to your husband’s skin as you take him back into your mouth.
Steve fucking groans, pinching his eyes shut and grabbing the sheets beneath him.
“Oh yeah,” Lloyd chirps, “he likes a bit of danger, huh?” A flat hand cracks against your ass, making you whine with your lips around Steve’s dick.
The sound of Steve whimpering is coupled with the snap of Lloyd's belt. His fingers return, and you just know he’s unabashedly staring at your pussy.
“Whoo-ee, if you weren’t already gaping for me, I’d think you weren’t into this. Put your back into it.” You hear the rip of a zipper only moments before the thick tip of him lines up.
You can’t help but moan low and long over Steve’s length.
“Baby?” Steve breathes above you.
“She’s fine,” Lloyd answers instead, pushing in. The head of him pops past the first ridge of your walls, and his hand clamps down on your hip, the other flat over the small of your back, guiding, controlling.
The spit of both men coats your core and inner thighs, you remember, and the slow swirl of ambient air proves it. That thought makes your eyes roll back as much as the glorious pressure of Lloyd’s cock filling you.
But Steve’s fingers find your chin and raise you to look at him, repeating his question until you let him fall heavy from your mouth and lick your swollen lips.
“Golden,” you say just as Lloyd bottoms out. “Fff-ahh.” You barely stop yourself from cursing when he thrusts forward and another SMACK hits your ass. “Golden,” you promise, because you know Steve is watching with extremely mixed feelings.
You return what attention you can to stuffing your mouth full. A rhythm progresses while you rock between them, but it’s too gentle for—of all people—Steve.
His hand knots through your hair to guide you faster. You have to plant yourself steady on the mattress, the knife digging into both your flesh, and hold your hips still.
Lloyd isn’t even fazed as he takes over his own selfish pace, his balls slapping so hard they sting your thighs. He keeps talking, too.
“See how much she likes that, buddy?”
Oh, that is not going to go over well with Steve.
“Bet she’d drop to her knees for you daily.”
He’s not wrong there…
“Damn, babygirl—“ Oh shit “—sometimes a bitch just needs fucked doggy-style.”
You can feel Steve’s chest fill to correct him, the deep v-line of his Adonis’ belt pressing against your nose to cut off your air, but Lloyd purposefully slams into you. You lurch forward to deep-throat Steve with a scream of alarm, and the constriction nearly topples Steve over the edge.
Just for a moment, his hand holds you down, choking you. It’s Steve choking you on his dick, and your nails happily dig into his meaty thighs. You’ve dreamed of this day.
With a strangled sound, Steve pulls you off him, strings of spit drip from your abused mouth. You’re gasping for air but also not done enjoying yourself, so you lick and kiss up Steve’s length until ready to take him again.
All the while, Lloyd darkly chuckles and kneads at your ass.
When one spanking lands so hard that you cry out, Steve bucks down your throat and punches the bed, clearly torn between sensation and situation.
“Such an asshole,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“Oh,” Lloyd tuts, “she wants it in the ass? Well, when in Rome…” He swipes his thumb over the cream pooling at the base of his cock and shoves his thumb hard against your puckered hole.
Honestly, you have no idea if it even breached because you scream and fall forward on Steve's dick. This time, Steve comes with a roar, a raging, animalistic thing you have never heard before, but you’re pulled away just as fast.
Lloyd hauls you up to his chest, telling you to look at what a fucking mess your husband is for you. Steve desperately grips himself until it’s over, half his spend glistening on his abs, half rolling down your chin while Lloyd continues to thrust into your sweet spot.
He’s given up controlling his language entirely.
“Fuck, she’s close. Come on, big guy—“ he pinches your nipple and bites at your neck “—finish her off.”
Lloyd drops you like a stone into Steve’s waiting arms, and Steve wastes no time slamming his mouth to yours and furiously rubbing your clit. You’re so stretched out that three of his thick fingers feel like nothing until they curl.
This time you can’t help but shout your own curse. Steve just keeps kissing you, holding you two together as you writhe. You hardly notice Lloyd painting his cum across your back and ass but neither does Steve, it seems, because the next thing you know you’re laying beside your husband in bed while your guest grins in triumph.
“I’ll just take this,” Lloyd drawls, reaching beneath Steve’s bare leg to retrieve his knife. He slaps Steve’s ass, too. It’s as if Lloyd knows Steve will let him get away with just about anything in the post-coital fog. “Don’t want you to feel left out, buddy.”
Your husband makes no move at all except to kiss your forehead.
“How are you?” He smooths your wrecked hair out of your face.
“Oh wow,” you say with a rough voice and runaway breaths, “I’m golden, just golden.”
Lloyd grabs his water bottle, joking. “My work here is done, and you two—“ he swigs and swallows dramatically “—I don't mind repeat business from. Anytime. Fuck.”
He struts to the bathroom, pants still undone and hanging open, uncaring. With a shout, he slaps the top of the door frame.
“That’s America’s Cunt!”
Steve’s whole body tenses. “I hate that guy,” he grumbles into your sweaty skin.
You snuggle closer, surrounded by familiar body heat and musk. “I know. Isn't it great?”
Because it’s so, so true. There is nothing about Lloyd Hansen you actually want for one second longer than necessary. That's the beauty of teamwork: everyone serves their purpose.
Honorable mention to the line I promised but ultimately couldn't fit in (that's what she said):
@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp
[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
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#this was tough#but if it's between knowing a thing has a shelf life vs planning forever to have it end with a painfully slow fizzle???#pop open that can of summer peaches bitch i'm ready for beard burn so bad i'm off bikinis and underwear for the season#ope that got descriptive#is horny#boo
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ok, it has been ::checks nonexistent watch:: seven hours, and I have this basically plotted out (open-ended one-shot), plus this:
...and yeah, I'm dying a little inside because ope, Ro's got another WIP...
☠️
🥴🫠😵💫 New earworm, whoops.
Pirate!Jake the undercover male stripper, working at The Thirst Trap where you bartend, needing encouragement to get down with his dirty self on-stage and maybe some extra practice for lap dancing...
ohhhhhhhhhhh boy, gang.
👜Anon has struck again...
#::loud noises::#son of a b**ch#and another one#jake jensen in a leather thong with a little 'coin' purse#jake jensen putting the pirate hat on *you* during a lap dance#f*ck me ::LOUDER NOISES::#boo damnit now y'all got me on the ring kink thing#i swear to god#ahhhhhhhhh
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🥴🫠😵💫 New earworm, whoops.
Pirate!Jake the undercover male stripper, working at The Thirst Trap where you bartend, needing encouragement to get down with his dirty self on-stage and maybe some extra practice for lap dancing...
ohhhhhhhhhhh boy, gang.
👜Anon has struck again...
#KILL ME WITH THAT LONG TRENCH COAT#::loud noises::#jake jensen fanfiction#jake jensen x reader#oh bless the mass amounts of voyeurism encased in this...#why are there so many good ideas????#and so little time!!!
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sending this w love but it's really hard to read ur comments if they're purple *and* tiny
First and foremost, thank you. That is good to know, that is a great example of constructive criticism, and I appreciate you helping me make what I write more user-friendly for readers.
Second, this has stirred something in me that I cannot tamp down, and so here goes a well-meaning rant. Sorry in advance (especially if this is one of my moots on anon).
There are several reasons I do the tiny, purple text; among them are personal esthetics, good conditioning, and bad conditioning.
I don't know why I've sorta chosen purple/lavender/etc as a theme for a while, but meh, I like it, and to have purple text show up works with the theme. Speaking of themes, Tumblr has various ways you can see your dash, called 'palettes' I think, and mine is set to idk 'goth rave' or something which has purple text on black as the default. It's easier on my eyes and makes the tiny, purple text stand out nicely in my draft posts. Because that's how I see them when formatting, I didn't notice it might be much harder on a white background or any of the other palettes. Thank you for pointing it out! I hadn't thought of that.
This might also be me as a distracted person, but the visual of a divider such as this:
...doesn't seem like enough of an end-cap to the actual story portion of the post, so I change the way the A/N looks afterward to really separate the two. (Special shoutout to the fact that the divider's message seems utterly useless in encouraging/reminding readers to leave comments or reblog. You've all heard that tirade. Let's just say I know the reminder is ignored, so I gotta try something else as a transition.)
Writing/posting on this platform, as you may have heard, is a bit of a crapshoot mixed bag. Readers feel limited both in number and in time, so we creators tend to try various things to make our posts stand out, to make them appealing. Color or text variation is one of those ways. Now, I have no flippin' idea how to get rainbow or gradient text; I barely figured out how to put hyperlinks into my bio, bless my heart, so there's little chance of my blog looking super unique or fancy. Instead I vary the look between actual prose and my notes/warnings/summaries, which leads me to the sad bit.
I am conditioned by this site and others to understand that you are here to consume content. That content is the writing that I have curated and edited into a story which doesn't involve me, just the character of 'you' and other OCs or canon IP, so my thoughts and opinions are not and never have been the reason anyone follows me. Those are quite literally small compared to the actual work I generate.
I still think of comment reblogs as flooding your dash with stuff most of you have already seen. I think I'm being annoying--even though I know it's the only way to have my writing go farther on this site--and because I will do so very, very much IRL to *not* annoy anyone, I put opinion and random side comments and little thoughts in small text that is color-coded so you can ignore it as "not-story bits."
It is taking everything in me to NOT make this small text or purple. Honestly, my palms are sweating so badly, I've wiped my computer keyboard four times.
No, I don't want anything to be hard for you to see or read. Yes, I am really grateful you pointed this out. *Do* please remember that we are all doing the best we can to get the experience we want from Tumblr by customizing what we can.
*
The comment I posted in tiny, purple text immediately before this was sent to me has been changed to regular, default color. Hopefully that helps, and I will try to keep in mind how things will look in the future.
**
I did purposefully choose to not put a readmore in this post fwiw.
#ro answers#ro rants#thank you for reading but remember to share#not this post#like this is not the post you need to share#it's just fyi stuff
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Steve's love language is... words of affirmation roasting.
CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER (2011)
CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)
[id in alt]
#steve rogers#he's so sassy#gotta remember to sass 'em into submission#that's the Rogers' way#can we call it a “Capback?”#as in a Thanksgiving Capback??#i would be eternally grateful for ALL those memes please and thanks#queue me and a bottle o' water
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