#roger being his attention deprived self | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Forever

One Shot: Snack

Summary: Katie’s hungry…and there’s only one snack she’s pining for.

Warnings: Language!! Smut (NSFW)

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Rogers (nee Stark)

A/N: If you are currently reading Stark Spangled Banner for the first time as it is being reposted then this contains MAJOR SPOILERS and I recommend you wait until you’ve finished so you don’t spoil anything!

This was more self gratification after seeing the photo below...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Steve grabbed his thermos mug full of coffee before he headed out to the hallway, meeting Katie at the bottom of the stairs with a fully dressed and clean Jamie in front of her, freshly changed Aurora on her hip.

“You ready son?” he looked at Jamie.

“Just need my jacket.” he nodded.

“It’s on the peg by the door.” Katie said, giving Steve a peck on the lips.

“Love you.” he smiled at her, before he kissed Rori’s head and she grinned at him.

“You too, have a good day.” Katie smiled, as she waved them both out of the door.

The Rogers’ household routine in the mornings always seemed to go the same. Family breakfast, change the kids, wave Steve and Jamie off…but no matter what time they got up in the morning it always seemed to be a rush. And she knew it was going to get even worse when she went back to work in a couple of months. But, as she walked into the kitchen and placed Rori in her bouncer seat with a teething ring, she looked around and realised she wouldn’t have it any other way.

As she tidied and set another pot of coffee going she spotted Steve’s wallet on the side she rolled her eyes and fired him a quick message telling him he had forgotten it. His response was almost instantaneous and she smiled, arranging to drop it in to him at lunchtime.

Once she was done she settled at the table and logged into her emails, smiling as she had one from Emmy asking her to read over one of her essays before submission. She had an agreement with the teenager, that she would proof read and highlight areas where there were errors or parts which could be improved but would point blank refuse to provide either corrections or detailed suggestions as she was keen that the work was Emmy’s own. Not that she needed much help, their eldest was a brainbox and currently flying high in her first Semester at Harvard.

And, according to her email, was coming home this weekend for the first time in 4 weeks.

Which in Katie’s opinion called for a family dinner. So she set about organising it, except the group chat kind of went a bit haywire when Emmy flipped out, sending a copy of a photo she’d seen of Steve that had been taken that morning which was trending on twitter.

Katie snorted at Emmy’s disgust but then her attention diverted fully to the photo of Steve. It must have been taken by one of his students earlier that day, and was apparently posted on twitter accompanied with the tag line of “My tutor is a snack”

Katie had to laugh because as much as she wasn’t sure that it was appropriate for students to be taking photos if their tutors on such a way, she couldn’t deny that her husband was a snack. In fact, he was more like a 4 course fucking meal in the photo in question. He was sat in a chair, reading a paper. It was ridiculously innocuous, but there was something about it that set every nerve in Katie’s body on edge. His jaw line, his hands, his wrists…holy hell he was channelling some big Daddy Vibes.

She was squirming all morning after seeing that photo. By the time she met Steve for lunch she was ready to jump his bones but there wasn’t really much opportunity to do that in the public arena of the coffee shop.

“Hey baby doll.” Steve smiled as he spotted Katie pushing Rori’s buggy through the door, standing up to greet her, hand on the glass pane to keep the door open slightly.

“Hi handsome.” she smiled, accepting the kiss he dropped to her cheek before he turned his attention to Rori, picking her up out of the pram. She giggled and waved her arms and legs, grabbing at his beard. He sat back down on the leather sofa, Katie dropping his wallet onto the low table in front of them.

“Thanks.” he said “Luckily I had a twenty in my pocket or I’d have been severely caffeine deprived this morning.”

He looked up as the waiter came over and they placed their orders for a couple of paninis and coffees before Katie sat back, nestling into the space under his arm which was resting across the back of the sofa.

Katie smirked “Had a good morning Daddy?” “Stop it.” he said in a low voice, shooting her a look as he bounced Rori on his knee. She flashed him an innocent one of her own back and he rolled his eyes before she laughed.

“I’m sorry but…it really is a damned good photo…” she fished out her phone “And Emmy was right. Steve Rogers Snack is trending.” Steve groaned. “I know, I’ve been getting screenshots off Sam all morning, well I was until I blocked him as well.”

“As well?” she frowned “You mean you actually did block Bucky?”

“He sent me a clown picture.” Steve shuddered “So yeah. I did. I’ll unblock em later. Maybe” he said, waving his hand.

Katie shook her head, watching him for a moment as he concentrated on Rori who was now chewing at her hand. Reaching into the changing bag, Katie handed over a teething ring which he took and passed over with a smile, Rori making some form of babble back as she shoved it in her mouth eagerly.

“She’s looking more like you each day.” he said, smiling and looking back at Katie.

“You think?” Katie asked, looking at her daughter.

Steve nodded. And he meant it. Whereas Jamie was a carbon copy of him, he felt that Aurora was in turn going to be the double of her mother. Her eyes were almost completely green now, and her hair was dark too. She had her mother’s nose and face shape although Katie insisted the cheekbones were definitely from the Rogers’ side, not that Steve could see it. “She’s beautiful.”

“Charmer.” Katie smiled

“Only for you.” he shot back, winking.

****

Seeing Steve at Lunchtime had done nothing to stop or help with Katie’s spiking libido. It really was ridiculous how much of effect a fucking photograph taken on the sly was having on her, so much so she was ready to jump his bones the moment he walked through the door, but with the two kids being around there wasn’t much chance of that.

“Momma!”

Rori let out a shriek at the sound of her brother’s voice and grinned as he ran into the room.

“Hey baby, did you have a good day?” she asked, looking up from where she was sat on the rug playing with their youngest, and he nodded.

“Yeah but tomorrow is gonna be even better as it’s soccer day!” he grinned. Katie smiled, Jamie hadn’t been at school for very long but he already loved soccer and baseball practice. She ruffled his hair and glanced up at Steve who was leaning in the doorway, still in that fucking jacket…

Steve spotted the look on his wife’s face straight away. He knew it well enough. A thirst, a lust, desire…

“Jamie, why don’t you take your bag upstairs and get changed?” Steve tore his eyes off Katie’s to look at his son.

“Can I play on my computer?” he asked hopefully.

“Just until dinner.” Katie said, looking at him.

He gave a triumphant yell and stood up, bounding out of the room.

“Speaking of dinner I better start it.” Katie said, standing up. “You ok to watch her?”

“Course I am.” Steve chuckled “She’s my daughter.”

“Just checking.” she said, brushing past him in the doorway. She stopped and glanced at him, her hands running up the lapels of his jacket and he gave a smirk.

“You really like this jacket huh?”

“Almost as much as I liked the stealth suit.” she agreed before she looked him up and down, making no attempt to disguise the fact she was as she bit her lip and headed off up the hallway.

Steve waited until she had gone and let out a soft groan. Since her dirty little Daddy comment before he’d had a semi-hard on all fucking day. And now, after that little display he was turned on even more. Taking a deep breath he knelt down on the floor and tickled Rori’s tummy where she was grabbing at the baby gym she was underneath. He could hear Katie gently humming and after another minute or two he picked Rori up and carried her through to the kitchen, placing her down in the playpen in the corner of the room.

Without a word he crossed over to where Katie was stood reaching into the cupboard for something. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back towards him, his lips gently skating up her neck.

“This what you want?” he asked softly and she gave a grin, tilting her head to look at him.

“What gave you that idea?” she asked.

“Just a hunch…” he muttered, his lips meeting hers in a soft kiss, before his mouth moved to her jawline, one hand straying to the button on her jeans. He popped it easily and worked his hand into the front of her underwear and she gave a soft gasp as his fingers began to play with her sensitive flesh.

“You know…” he continued to speak as her sighs slipped from her mouth “I’ve wanted this all day doll, you’ve had me pining for you…”

“Yeah, well, the feeling’s been mutual…” she said softly, arching her back and taking a sudden breath as two of his fingers slipped insider her. She pushed back slightly, the curve of her ass pressing into his groin and he gave a hiss.

“Fuck baby…” he said through gritted teeth, and he gave a disgruntled wimper as his hand stopped what it had been doing.

“Steve…”

“Such an impatient brat…”he chastised, his mouth on her neck and as she closed her eyes she could hear the tell-tale sound of his belt buckle being undone and the zip on his flies being pulled down. His hands retuned to the front of her jeans undoing them the rest of the way and sliding them down wither panties to her ankles. As he stood up, his hands gently traced the curves of her calves to the outside of her thighs and he grabbed her hips pulling her back towards him before he bent her gently forward, nudging her legs as wide apart as the clothing round her ankle would permit.

He didn’t say another word as he pushed into her in one glide, burying himself to the hilt. Katie let out a groan, her hands slipping forward on the kitchen counter slightly as he bottomed out, before he gently pulled back and did the same again and again, hands gripping at her hips as he continued. He leaned over to nip at her neck, causing her to whimper, one hand moving from her hip to clasp her jaw, tipping her head round to meet him. His lips crashed onto hers in a hungry, domineering kiss, swallowing her dirty little moan as he picked up the pace, his hips rutting forward faster.

She gave a loud, low purr of delight as he slid his mouth to the pulse point on her neck, before he let out a growl of his own and glanced down at the point where their bodies were joined, the sight of him slamming into her worked him up even more.

His rhythm became faster, and Katie felt her hips banging against the side of the marble surface tops. She knew there would likely be some bruises there tomorrow but at that point in time she really didn’t care. Her hands tightened around the edge of the kitchen counter, her hips bucking back into his, desperate to feel him as much as she could, the feel of him brushing against her spot was finally scratching that itch, satisfying that hunger she’d been feeling all day.

“Fuck you feel so good doll…” he praised, lips warm on the shell of her ear as she arched her back slightly, letting out another keen of desire and she felt the animal in her belly beginning to stir. Steve could read the signs well enough by now to know she was close, and he moved one hand to stroke between her legs whilst he continued his relentless rhythm.

“Stevie…” she stuttered his name, before her voice became nothing but a strangled, hoarse cry and she tightened around him, her legs buckling slightly. He tightened his arm around her belly as he felt the familiar white hot ribbons surge through his body as he let himself go, his rhythm faltering as he emptied himself inside her with a groan.

Katie laughed softly as he moved back, his hands gently gliding up her arms as he kissed the back of her neck softly before he stepped back to allow herself to pull up her clothes as he tucked himself away and fastened his buckle.

“Now I gotta stand here, in damp panties and cook…” she turned and looked at him, sliding her arms round his neck.

“Well, that serves you right for snacking before dinner.” he grinned, as she let out a bark of a laugh before he dropped his head slightly, running his nose up against hers “Let’s hope you haven’t ruined your appetite completely for desert….”

#stark spangled forever #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #chris evans #chris evans characters

67 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.1

Type: (mini)-series, Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 5600

Summary: Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

You knew for a fact that it was a load of BS. The truth is that words can break your heart. And that realization hits you full force the day you have your last exam to earn your bachelor degree.

If you pass, it will be a cause for great celebration. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the series. Will be in two (or three) parts. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: I did something in here which I’m usually trying to avoid at any cost; in this story, I used Y/N Y/L/N. Does that count as a warning?

Warnings II: name calling, humiliation, panic attack!, bad poetry, mentions of vomiting and alcohol, the briefest mention of self-harm, angst, swearing, threats of violence

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You released the breath you had been holding, all your willpower put into not sinking into the chair in relief as Professor Phillips announced your grade – one that meant that you hadn’t failed.

In fact, you had just passed your last exam of your bachelor program so you were entirely in the right. In your head, an overexcited monkey started playing cymbals and you didn’t mind the noise despite how sleep-deprived you were from the past few days. A barely contained mad smile fought its way to your lips instead.

Mind you, as you thanked Professor Phillips and rose to your feet – your knees almost giving out, because HOLY SHIT YOU JUST GOT YOUR BACHELOR’S – you would swear you saw a brief smile on the professor’s face too as if he was amused at your antics.

But who cared if he was having fun at your expense?! You PASSED! You had been losing sleep, terrified of this exam, because everyone knew Phillips was a hard-ass – a fair one, but still a hard-ass – and you just passed his examination!

Time to pop the fucking champagne! The one Penny had been saving at the dorm from yesterday when she had finished her own degree; she insisted that she would wait for you, because you were in this together.

You couldn’t leave her waiting any longer and you didn’t have any intention to do so.

Leaving the room and walking into the empty hallway – because of course you came the last as if to prolong your torture – you breathed in and out and deliberately let the grin finally spread on your face fully.

You were free, you were ready to take on the world despite not being ready at all and you had Steve, who you suspected would be proud as hell and would celebrate with you tomorrow, graciously letting you and your roomie do it first-- and gosh, life was beautiful.

Making your way down the corridor, with a grin ever-present, a leaflet that hadn’t been there before caught your attention. It appeared a handwritten note, styled in a regular column – a poem perhaps.

Still smiling, the curiosity took the best of you and you walked to it, peripherally noticing that along the walls, there was even more.

You froze in your step when your gaze fell on the first line; your very own name was staring back at you and it confused you at first, a brief surge of excitement lighting up your body, a naïve belief that perhaps Steve somehow decided to surprise you.

But Steve’s last name came next, which you found strange.

And then came the word ‘whore’ and your heart stopped, your gaze automatically flickering all over the page.

Your stomach made a painful somersault, your mind turning blank.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of that nightmare materializing in front of you, reading and re-reading the poem that almost resembled a twisted nursery rhyme over and over.

Y/N Y/L/N Rogers’ whore Bet she’ll get The highest score For sucking dick Having fucked her ass Let’s hope she’ll soon Be eating grass

Darkness battled to cut off your vision, the world swaying off of its place. Involuntarily, your trembling hand reached out and touched the paper, smooth under your fingertips, your frantically beating heart and the vertigo threating to overpower your sense of balance tying you to the reality, screaming at you that this wasn’t just a really fucked-up dream.

You tore the paper down, lump growing in your throat as you looked around for watchful eyes in sudden paranoia of being followed, only to find the hallway deserted aside from you.

Just you and many papers hanging on the walls.

As if you were just a puppet to a spiteful master, your feet carried you to the next leaflet, tears filling your eyes as you found the very same words written on it; a precise copy.

Your breathing picked up a furious pace, your chest crushed under a weight of an invisible elephant stomping on it. The corridor swam in the dampness of your eyes, your mind too quiet and yet screaming with millions of question marks and exclamation points, panic squeezing your lungs, nausea attacking your stomach.

What the hell was happening? Who would do that? Why? What was the goal? Was it just to ruin your triumph?

Because if that was the goal, it was a roaring success; the thousands of questions swirling in your head and the unexpected sting in your heart turned the fact that you had passed an exam into a faint memory.

All you saw was the words.

Rogers’s whore

Was that what you were? Was that how people who knew about the relationship saw you? Was that how Steve saw you?

The highest score for sucking dick

Was that what you were doing? Using Steve’s position to your advantage? Was that how you got through every exam including the one today, even if unwittingly? Was that what Phillips’ little smile had been about?

Hope she’ll soon be eating grass.

Was that a threat? Was someone wishing that happened to you or were they actually about to hurt you? Why?!

Hearing your own wheezing and feeling your fingertips prickling, your foggy mind did the only reasonable thing it could come up with; it led your steps into the nearest bathroom at lightning speed with no regard for how shaky were your feet.

You stumbled into the open stall, smashing the door shut and leaning onto them with your suddenly damp forehead, feeling the cold beads of sweat gather in your hairline, your cheeks drenching in tears.

When did you start crying so hard?

When did the trembling in your limbs begin?

What the fuck was happening?

What-how--why-but-

Your palms rested on the door as you desperately tried and failed to ground yourself and take control of your breathing. Your temples were pounding irritatingly, your gut painfully clenching--- and exactly in that moment that could have lasted a second or an hour, your fingers brushed over a piece of paper stuck on the door.

Darkness curled around your brain like a treacherous friend, another wave of nausea twisting your stomach.

It took you one blurry glance at the paper and you knew precisely what it was, choking on your sob, ripping the offensive poem off and tearing it to pieces which you blindly threw to the toilet, the flushing sound deafening to your ears.

Your shaky legs finally gave out, knees buckling, your body sliding down the stall wall, fingers pulling at your hair as you felt the dizziness engulfing your head, a bitter taste in your mouth.

You gripped tighter, hoping that the pain on the surface would overpower the pain and gaping hole inside, as another violent sob erupted from your throat.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

An eternity later, you felt your whole being float.

Your breathing was still frantic and interrupted with sobs, but a sensation resembling serenity spread in your very core—or perhaps it was just numbness?

You couldn’t seem to be able to tell the difference anymore.

The creak of a door made you cover your mouth to muffle the noises still escaping your lips for the fear of being caught – either being found in this state in general or found as in found by the person who wrote---that – being stronger than the subdued power of your previous breakdown.

It was probably too late for the newcomer to miss your presence, but over the slowly fading ringing in your ears, you could hear a few steps that came to a halt and then they sounded a bit quicker as the woman left.

Thank FUCK. You couldn’t do human interaction of any kind right now.

You removed your hand and breathed out shakily, blinking away the tears.

Shaking your head wildly, you gritted your teeth in a feeble attempt at bolster yourself. You had to get up off your ass and leave before there would be no longer way of avoiding a confrontation – god forbid a confrontation with Steve, who was probably still in a class, testing his own students.

You climbed to your feet, wiping the remains of your tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand and went to fix your ruined make-up, hopefully enough to look little less suspicious when walking through the campus.

It was probably a vain effort, because you were a walking epitome of a mess.

Rogers’s whore, sounded in your ears and you shook your head again, inhaling sharply through your mouth.

It was time to run and then break down again at the dorms. With Penny preferably--or did she think you were a whore too? You were fucking a professor after all-

Stop that!

Penny wasn’t like that. She understood. She’d be willing to listen all about this outrageous act of terror and would sympathize. Right?

Yeah, you’d talk about it with Penny, your amazing friend, who needed a celebration and a very generous amount of alcohol, which happened to be exactly what you needed too.

Yep, that sounded pretty good.

With one last determined glance on your horrible reflection in the mirror, you headed out.

The door nearly hit you in the face on its way back as you threw it open and froze in the doorway.

You did not expect to see someone so soon after leaving your improvised safe space… let alone him.

“Prof-professor Wilson,” you choked out, clearing your scratchy throat as he stood there, unmistakably waiting for you.

Because that was what you needed at the moment. The university counsellor and professor of psychology in one person.

Fuck.

He said you name in a mild tone, almost as if trying to tame a wild animal, but not quite – all his voice made you feel was shame at getting caught. And a bit of anger at the whole fucking world, because why couldn’t you have a tiny piece of peace after seeing that? Just a little shred of luck, huh?!

Oh, right, you were a whore who were only using Professor Rogers, paying for it in sexual favours.

“Mind if we talk in my office for a bit?”

“Not like I really have a choice…” you mumbled automatically, the realization of how rude it sounded dawning to you oh too slowly, your brain too tangled up in a web of self-pity and self-loathing. “Sorry. Of course. Lead the way.”

“Good. Thank you,” he replied, appearing unoffended. “And for the record, you do have a choice.”

Hadn’t you been a wreck with burning tear-stained cheeks, your face might have felt hotter at the kind remark.

At the slowest pace possible, you followed Professor Wilson to his office, dread and exhaustion filling every fibre of your being.

You noticed however that the walls that had been lined with odes about you, put up for everyone to see, had disappeared; possibly Wilson’s own work.

Somehow, it didn’t make you feel much better, the image of the previous addition to the corridors’ decor stuck in your brain. But hey, it was supposed to be the thought that counted, right?

And Professor Wilson was a nice guy. He offered you a drink – sadly a non-alcoholic one – attempted a joke saying that no, it was no trouble getting you one, which was the reason he offered.

Generally, he treated you as if he wanted to provide you with a safe space.

And then he kindly told you that he knew about the poem, because his cousin who’s in her first year here at the uni, texted him what the heck was the e-mail she received on her uni account about.

In other word, he gently broke to you that whoever had done this possibly sent it to every student in the database too.

You nearly threw up hearing that; the pit you had climbed up from and of which edge you were balancing, deepened. But you didn’t fall back there.

Yet.

It was probably because you were still too shocked at the information.

“I hate asking that question, but do you have any idea who did this?” Wilson asked quietly and you had nothing but a helpless shake of a head for a reply. You felt your vision blurring, dizziness fogging your brain again. “Can you think of anyone who holds a grudge against you for some reason?”

A scoff escaped your lips, cynical as you found the answer obvious from the verses.

“Besides dating Steve, you mean?” you noted sarcastically. Wilson waited for more, his eyebrows twitching in surprise and expectation before he got it under control. “Sorry, I meant Professor Rog-“

“Hey, you can call him Steve,” he assured you, so damn sweet and diligent. “I met him, you know, I’d go as far as calling him a friend. And right here, right now, he is not your professor, but your boyfriend. I’m talking to you as a counsellor so feel free to call me Sam if you’re comfortable. And to answer your question, I assume that it is as good motive as any, but the fact that the two of you are dating is practically a public knowledge at this point, so it doesn’t really narrow our field of suspects.”

Despite his openness and kind approach, you once again could only shrug, growing desperate by the minute. The urge to leave – because suddenly it made even more sense, him taking you here, he was friends with Steve, he was stalling – became unbearable.

You didn’t have the strength to see Steve now. You couldn’t. You would question every gesture, analyse everything and perhaps came to the conclusion that he agreed with the author of the poem and you desperately didn’t want that. You needed to forget about this, preferably with an unhealthy amount of alcohol, you needed to cry some more, you needed ice-cream and a hug and to bitch about everything and you needed a fucking nap that would last at least a week.

“I don’t know who hates me that much, I swear. Can I please go now?”

Sam cocked his head to side, a minute frown creasing his brows. “Is that what you want?”

Do you really want to leave before Steve gets a chance to get here?

You should probably feel guilty. You wanted to feel guilty, because that was you being a coward and it was downright mean to Steve, who would no doubt learn about this very soon and from someone else, but you didn’t have the capacity to think about anything at all besides feeling like you were going to explode any second.

“Yes. Thanks for being nice and all, but I—I’d rather go.”

“You have a roommate? A friend you live with and who’s in?” he fussed, voice gravely, amiable chocolate eyes observing you with worry. Did he think you were about to hurt yourself? Did you look like the type? Were you? You mentally shook your head. Jesus.

“Yeah,” you creaked, already rising to your feet, endlessly grateful that he was letting you go. “Penny. We— uhm, we were supposed to go celebrating.”

You nearly choked on the last word, feeling like everything but going out tonight. The idea of going out and facing all the stares cause by the widely-spread e-mail made your stomach clench.

You kinda lost the appetite to celebrate anything to begin with; all the relief and joy, which had filled every last bit of your being post-learning your grade, vanished and was replaced by a dark sticky substance filling your lungs, your gut, your veins, muffling the outside world.

Perhaps Penny would agree to a loud night in?

“You can still do that, that’s up to you. But please, get some sleep and don’t be alone. Here,” he stood up as well, handing you a card. “My number, even if you just need to talk to a sort-of outsider and word-vomit all over someone, okay?”

You couldn’t argue with his offer – you had a feeling you’d vomit soon, either verbally or literally. Still, you charmed a shaky smile that probably turned out a grimace.

“K. Thanks… Sam.”

“Any time.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Of course, Wilson’s unspoken question about moving quick to avoid an encounter with certain professor was painfully on point.

You bailed on Steve whom you were supposed to wait for even if just for a hug and congratulations, practically running to the dorm, your unsteady feet and tears still clouding your vision be damned.

You ignored the ringing of your phone, assuming it was Steve himself; bile rose to your throat at the idea of hearing his voice at that moment. He tried twice before you smashed the power button and threw the phone back to your purse, breathing out in relief and wanting to puke at the same time.

You truly couldn’t find the capacity to deal with him momentarily – you needed to be alone and safe from any prying eyes, preferably in the comfort of your shared dorm with Penny. You cried harder when you finally reached it, your feet hurting from attempting to run in heels.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that Penny somehow already knew, probably from the e-mail – it was written all over her face. And hadn’t her expression been enough, instead of a celebratory champagne she handed you a shot of a transparent liquid the moment you opened the door.

You turned it bottoms up without questioning it and asked for another. Penny grabbed the bottle of vodka waiting on the shoe rack and poured one for you and one for herself. You didn’t bother clinking the glasses.

Though the burn in your throat felt pleasant, it did nothing to sooth the burn in your eyes and heart. Penny’s embrace made it a bit better.

So did the third shot of vodka.

You didn’t switch on your phone that day again – and when it was nearing midnight, after a four-hour nap, you convinced Penny to go celebrate to the Freddy’s as you had originally planned to do. You pretended that no one stared at you and instead you danced and drank until your mind was swimming enough for the sorrow and anger to drown.

You were one lucky bitch to have Penny walk you home.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve was sitting at his desk at the faculty office he shared with Bucky and was working hard at what he excelled at for these past days despite his genuine efforts at not doing so; getting absolutely nothing done at all.

His hands had grown somewhat unsteady, a reflection of how he was feeling, how torn and absurdly broken he had become. He was spilling drinks on a regular basis, items kept falling from his flimsy hold. His brain felt foggy these days as well, most likely a consequence of the shitty sleep he was getting.

His bed felt too big despite his rather large frame and too cold despite his body temperature usually running almost too high; the sheets smelled strange and foreign despite being his own and the bed screamed with emptiness on a volume that kept interrupting his already deficient sleep.

Four days.

Four days since one stupid poem knocked his world out of its orbit and everything that mattered crashed down. Well, perhaps not everything, Steve happened to like his job too and he still had it, but such detail seemed insignificant; it certainly did in comparison to the fact that he had been attempting and had failed to reach you.

Calls.

Texts.

Few e-mails when he felt particularly helpless and frustrated.

His messed up sleeping and eating schedule and the irregularity that came with the exam period would make a perfect case of him losing any notion of time – yet Steve knew about every second without you, practically counting them.

He could still see Sam Wilson standing outside the classroom he had been testing students’ knowledge in as if it happened yesterday. He could recall with painfully stark clarity the unreadable expression on his face and the ominous “Steve, man… we need to talk.”

Steve still remembered Tony Stark waltzing in the next day with a baby in some sort of a front backpack, agitated that someone had gotten into the database, let alone to send all the hate-emails, and how he announced he found the culprit and their accomplices in an hour, which apparently happened to be too long to his liking.

Steve would smile at the memory of the technical genius’ antics, but the gaping hole in his chest caused by the deafening silence from you prevented it. Hell, not even the vivid picture of Carol Danvers from the faculty of law, moonlighting like a member of the legal department of the university, made the corners of his lips rise.

And hadn’t it been quite a show, a downright uplifting experience.

Steve was watching the screen with a frown, a stone-solid clench to his jaw and a firm clench to his fists.

It was almost amusing really; Bucky kept going about Fury being a creep and not a spy, but despite the lack of a one-way glass, the space Carol and the girl was in – just like two other rooms, each with one man – resembled an interrogation room. Steve never had been more grateful for audio and video feed in his life, but he sure as hell wasn’t laughing in delight at being proved right.

In fact, it had been taking all of his willpower not to burst into those rooms and give a piece of his mind to every single person guilty of being involved in hurting you. In causing his life to collapse on itself.

Steve couldn’t quite recall the brunet Carol was roasting, but he suspected he had seen her in one of the classes he was teaching. She didn’t stand out from the crowd of students and he didn’t see anything special about her worth remembering; then again, he tended to forget to take notice of other pretty faces ever since he had laid his eyes on yours.

And right now, all he saw was a face of a vicious bitch who forced you into pushing him away and a single look at her had his blood boiling.

Steve truly wanted to punch the living daylights of her and that said something, because he prided himself in having moral objection to hitting women, especially from sheer anger.

However, the desire was growing with each piece of information he learned. Because Yvonne Whatever-Is-Her-Name was a piece of work for fucking certain.

She talked a guy number one, whom she was attending Introduction to Social Studies 101 and who had a very apparent teenage-like crush on her, into reaching out to his friend, guy number two, whom he often played some online video game with, into hacking the database, sending the e-mails and finding out when and where exactly your exam was, just so Yvonne herself could redecorate the corridors and bathroom and make sure you wouldn’t miss her work of art.

Carol was alternating between visiting each of the ‘suspects’ and man, did they sing like birds.

Steve wanted to strangle them all, but fuck, the hatred for Yvonne Burton specifically was already consuming him and gnawing at his very soul; yes, he found out her last name just so he knew his mortal enemy. He was going to burn her to the ground, one way or the other… not that Carol hadn’t been doing a fine job so far.

That damn brunet had tears running down her face, sobbing occasionally, but still rarely sassing back. Somehow, seeing her like that wasn’t half as satisfying as Steve hoped, because his mind kept wandering to you and wondering if you looked about the same and every time such picture formed in his head, he hated Ms.Burton a fraction more.

She had used a guy who liked her, which Carol blatantly pointed out. The lawyer didn’t seem to hold back her own snark if the question about how the culprits met – via some forum for bruised ego, was it? – was anything to go by.

“I might be a lawyer, but I’m begging for every art professor and author I know – stay away from poetry. What you wrote is a child’s rhyme really, but like every writing, it says a lot about who you are. And it gives me a plenty of ammunition. We have two names, one full, one last name pointing out a specific person from the context. If I play my cards right, we have defamation on our hands, libel to be precise. Congratulation,” Carol remarked in a surprisingly calm voice. The other woman visibly paled. Good. “And what about the last line? Is that… is that a threat of violence? I can make it harassment, but if I try hard enough, perhaps we can consider it something more serious…?”

“You don’t get to threaten me! You’re lying! I’ve done nothing wrong and so serious!” the girl – and really, in Steve’s eyes, she was nothing but a stupid girl who somehow managed to kick his life in its balls – exploded, jumping to her feet.

Carol levelled her with a glare and an irritated hiss. “Sit down.” Burton did, clammy hands curled up in trembling fists. “And you’ve done more than enough.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Oh don’t I? Be my guest then. Explain it. Your motivation, the legal side, anything. I’m all ears.”

“I love him!” the girl exclaimed and Steve grinded his teeth as a surge of rage shooting through his veins.

Like fucking hell she did. He didn’t remember even talking to her if he ever had to start with and she loved him?!

Was that really what this was about? This girl somewhat liked him and got obsessed? Decided to wreck his girlfriend? To what end? To drive the two of you apart? To make you hate him so he would run to her? To simply ruin your future? What the fuck was wrong with her?! She was a damn kid with hurt pride and zero efforts put in so far, because he couldn’t even remember her-

“Oh you really don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have done this,” Carol responded with a cold edge to her voice, apparently agreeing with Steve’s thoughts and being equally unimpressed with Ms.Burton dramatic confession.

“I’m fighting for him! Ain’t nothing wrong-”

Oh Steve would argue with that so hard. He could feel Sam watching him from the corner of his eye, but neither of them said anything as Steve gripped the edge of the table the monitors were on.

He was sure he was going to be sick, the edge of his vision doing something he only read about; as if truly turning red, crimson with hunger for blood. He never ever craved tearing someone in half, not a single one of the guys who bullied him in school, not the girls that laughed at him when he said he liked them; and make no mistake, he had always felt mad enough.

But right now, he tasted undiluted rage and it tasted like acid with a bitter aftertaste of iron and copper, searing hot on his tongue and spreading through his body, turning it heavy and nauseatingly light at the same time.

“No, you’re ruining his life,” Carol emphasized, leaning onto the table and glaring murder at the girl. “If this is your idea of fighting for someone, it’s pretty twisted. You could have done literally anything to make him notice you, hell, pick you, but leave if he still said no, because that’s a sensible thing to do. But instead, you hurt someone he cared about. And that means you hurt him too – not to mention that his name is in there, possibly putting a scrap on his reputation. If you did love him, you’d want him to be happy.”

Steve gulped and looked away, unable to bear the weight of Carol’s words, feeling the jab on his own person. Because he was familiar with being accused of ruining someone’s life and future despite seemingly loving them. God knew that on a rainy day, he wondered about his own ‘love’ and its purity too – and now, it was fucking pouring and Steve had been forced to question everything he knew.

Was this little brunet Satan a godsend in fact? Was she supposed to tell him to stop lying to himself about not being your doom? Just what kind of a mess this stunt would have made had you been working a steady job and this got to your employer?

A gentle hand reached for his shoulder, a silent support, and Steve found himself torn between irritated, grateful and deeply ashamed.

No matter how much he hated it, he should be on the list to get punched for hurting you too.

“So, sorry to break it to you, but you don’t love him,” Carol continued and with Sam’s palm on his shoulder, Steve forced himself to watch the scene, the grand finale. “You’re just a little girl with attitude issues, a crush that got out of hand, and a ton of luck for knowing a guy willing to help you. Guess what – you just ran out of that luck.”

Heavy silence fell on the interrogation room and Steve’s eyes slid shut, hearing Carol and Yvonne’s parting words.

“And just so you know, she didn’t get the highest score. She got a B.”

Steve didn’t even know that and despite all the shit they were in, he felt a surge of pride for his g- hopefully still his girl.

At the same time, the fact that he learned it from Carol and not from you as he still couldn’t reach you, felt like a punch to his solar plexus.

Carol entered the monitoring room with a discontent expression on her face, wordlessly telling Steve and Sam that the conversation, no matter how harsh, wasn’t satisfying enough.

Still, Steve glanced at her and nodded with severity.

“Thank you, Carol,” he rasped, surprised by how hoarse his own voice sounded; for the burn of rage in his stomach and the tension in his muscles, he almost forgot about the lump gradually growing in his throat with each hour of silence from you.

“My damn pleasure,” Carol huffed with slight irritation, one clearly not aimed at Steve. She subtly raised her eyebrows. “I kinda want to punch her, but I guess I’m not the only one, huh?”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, his hands almost shaking with the said need. Still, it was surprisingly relieving to be called out on that and to learn that he wasn’t the only one. And when he opened his eyes again, the look on Carol’s face told him that she wasn’t blaming him one bit.

“You have no fucking idea, I- Jesus, I never wanted to—to-- so much in my life.“

The rise of one corner of her lips was sympathetic. “We’ll handle this, Steve. I know it’s hard to hear, but you can’t really help us here. Go home. Rest.”

The lump in Steve’s throat grew nearly suffocating at the idea of going to the empty apartment, where his uselessness became even more evident. Steve eyed Sam, searching with hope for any sign of a better advice, but the counsellor only nodded to second Carol’s thought.

“Go home and try to call your girl. She’ll pick up eventually.”

At that time Steve had done exactly that – however, the result had remained identical to those with his previous attempts. You hadn’t picked up and he had left a voicemail and a pathetic text that somehow seemed to be reflecting all of his insecurities and doubts about your relationship and it hadn’t turned out at all as he had planned – and then it had been too late to take it back.

He had sent another and another, almost hour after hour and he was gradually realizing that he was forgoing all hope and his faith in what you two had and what it could become in the future; and god, did he want the future so badly.

But he couldn’t always get what he wanted, could he? He thought that a miracle had happened when he had first met you and later heard your yes to the date. But here you were.

Four days from that terrible incident.

Did Steve even believe that you two were supposed to be together? He didn’t even know anymore. Perhaps it was an intervention from some higher power and you two breaking apart was meant to be, saving you a heartbreak and disillusions which were about to come later.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought and the sensation that felt like a punch to his gut, his insides cramping.

That was not true. You two loved each other. You had found something truly amazing in each other and you were about to reach out to him any minute so you could continue to your brighter future together.

…right?

Except a minute passed by and nothing happened, the phone Steve was toying with remaining silent.

No received text or e-mail.

No incoming call.

Another minute and then another ten, the phone still spinning in his hand in almost a reflex at that point and still not lighting up.

The knot in Steve’s gut turned tighter and tighter, the tension in his shoulders and jaw growing, his mantra of you surely contacting him gradually falling silent.

Finally, he came to the decision that only fools kept doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.

He was supposed to do that a long long time ago, the moment he had convinced himself that coming knocking on your dorm could be considered harassment… and would break his heart in case you’d shut the door to his face telling him you were done with him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve swept through his contacts and dialled your best friend and roommate in one person.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Part 2

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading!

Let me know what you thought! I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ doing something with randomly timed shots to a series, so… you know. I’m a bit nervous. And I guess that this is very different from what this series was so far too, so I hope it’s okay. Thank you :-*

237 notes · View notes

patchoulimademoiselle · 4 years

Text

Guilty. (Part 2.)

Part Two.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: Natasha Romanoff gives off crazy sex appeal, smoking, self destructive habits, laguange, masturbation, SMUT, fingering, choking.

Masterlist.

Part two:

The next time you see Steve, he's freshly showered with wet hair, clad in a navy suit that brings out the blue of his eyes. He looks tired, even despite all he's done to clean himself up. His eyes are red, his face expressionless, and if it weren't for the coffee in his hand you would be concerned he won't make it through the day.

He grabs you when he gets close enough, hand on your elbow to pull you in close, "I need you on the next one." Is all he says, voice a whisper.

"What is it?" You ask, hand on his chest to stop him from walking inside your office. Wanda is here, and you have something you need to tell him as well. "We need to talk. Privately."

He nods, glancing down at his wrist watch. "Your place in an hour, I need to pack up here. Send Wanda home, don't let her do anything else."

That gets your head spinning, gears turning, the strange way she was acting this morning and the urgency in his demeanor, something is wrong. Very wrong.

You nod, patting twice where your hand rests. You turn on your heel, leaving him to watch after you. You place your hand on Wanda's shoulder, "You've done great today, hun. But I'm going to pack up and head out, you need to do the same. Can you take the metro?"

She nods. "Yeah, sure. Found something worth chasing?" She asks, pencil dropping in her hand.

"Something like that." You sigh. "I'll call you when I need you again. Be safe, and let me know when you're home."

"Sure thing." She looks happy to be sent home early, but annoyed. You woke her up early only to send her home after a few hours. Hopefully you would be able to explain yourself, but for now, she's a liability, and she needs to be gone.

You lock the door behind her, turning to Steve who stands with his arms crossed, deep in thought even though his eyes are already on you.

"Wanda said something to me today-"

"Her brother is involved."

"What?" He cuts you off before you could even finish.

"Her brother is a lawyer on the case. He's her twin, young and inexperienced just like her. But he's licensed, and he's working the case."

You're shocked, sinking back against the door for support. "Do you think she's been leaking information?"

He shakes his head. "No, she doesn't know anything, because we don't know anything."

It's an exaggeration, but it's true, you've hardly covered anything at all for her to start leaking information to her brother. She may not even know he's on the case yet, let alone been able to agree to spy for him.

"So what do we do?" You ask.

"Keep her here, see if she talks." He says, hand on his chin. "Filter her tasks, minor enough to not be important, but important enough to not make her think we're on to her."

"That or miss-feed her." You suggest. "She won't be present in court, she isn't permitted to be without my permission. Whatever she feeds them should be off stray enough to give us an advantage."

"That's good." He nods, eyes flicking to you for a moment. "That's real good."

You have the nerve to smile, letting out a puff of air. You won't tell him about the car ride this morning, at least not yet. Not until he's settled. He's still stressed, you can see it on the wrinkles on his forehead, in the way his fingers twitch against his chin. You know what he's going to ask before he asks it, eyes floating up to your face. "Cigarette?"

You nod to your purse, and he's quick to get it for himself, not even caring to step out on the balcony before lighting one to smoke it. You eye the smoke detector warily. "I need you to come with me for the next one. It's a woman, Natasha Romanoff, and she's going to eat me alive the moment she sets eyes on me."

You aren't sure what that means, but you know it can't be good. You've never heard of her, lawyer or not, and that's never a good sign.

"What do you need me for?" You ask.

"You're a woman, you can read other women. It's up to you to decide if she's full of shit or not."

He speaks so bluntly, as if you two are nothing more than colleagues after all, and a part of you feels uneasy about it. It feels like you're walking into a trap, it feels like all the odds have been stacked against you, and rather than reassure you, his anxiety is making you feel even worse.

"Steve, stop talking like this." You groan, slamming your head back against the door. You still haven't walked away from it. "You're making it sound like we're apart of the mafia and not the public justice system."

He smiles, eyes a little lighter. "We might as well be." Is all he says, walking towards the balcony, letting himself outside.

If you weren't tired before you definitely are now, the lack of sleep the night before on top of all this excitement was proving to be too much for you. You sit back at your desk and take a sip of water, closing your eyes for a moment. You reflect on everything you've just learned, the risk you're taking by keeping Wanda on your team.

She's a good girl, hard working, and it hurts to think that she may betray you down the road. It would be easier to let her go now, gently and easily, tell her that the firm doesn't have enough funding to pay her, tell her that you're unfit to have an assistant. Anything is better than letting the poor girl walk into a trap. You can hear Steve scolding you before you even suggest it. Letting her go would not only be a sign of weakness, exposing a soft spot to women on your team, but also alerting Stark's lawyers that you know what their next move will be. The small advantage you have will be gone in an instant.

The life of a lawyer is a hard one.

"Falling asleep on me?" Steve knocks against your desk top, your eyes snap open to glare at him.

"I wish." You groan, sitting up in your chair. "What do we need to go to my place for?"

"In an hour," He reminds you. "We have something else to talk about, something entirely unrelated to this case."

That has your attention, sleep deprivation leaving you. "About?"

There's a smile on his face that you can't place, a ghost of a smirk curling his lips in a way that makes your stomach flip and flushes your cheeks. "You'll see." He doesn't give you time to dwell on it, nodding towards the door, telling you it's time to go.

You grab your purse and take one last sip of water, pushing your hair back off your face before you stand. Your heels echo as you follow after him, making sure to lock the door to your office behind you.

Natasha Romanoff is a character, that's all you can say while being respectful of her practice as a former lawyer. She's witty, giving off a sex appeal that leaves even you flustered a few times, not to mention Steve. He's a speechless fool every time she locks eyes with him, and a part of you is jealous by that, the other part knowing you have no choice but to speak up and save him from the torture she's putting him through. It's all a test, and now you understood your purpose in going along. He needed saving, a solid reminder to remain professional no matter what. If you weren't there, she probably would have tried to seduce him.

But you don't fall under her spell so easily, remaining stone faced as she throws her best wit at you, and her most obscene pick up lines. She's good. She knows how good she looks, and she uses it to her full advantage. It's a dirty trick to use in a court room, but it's gained her a successful career that you can only dream off, so you try to show her nothing but respect as you drill her with your questions.

"We're here about Stark." You cut the formalities, Steve shifts and readjusts his suit jacket. "We can't walk into this blind, we need to know his strategies."

She's smiling at you over a cup of tea, she offered you one and of course you both declined, not classy enough to drink something like tea. "Stark is unpredictable." She says, lipstick leaving a bright red print behind on her cup. "Let's start there."

Notepad and pen at the ready, Steve pulls out his phone to record, setting it out on the table for all to see. Natasha takes note of it and rolls her eyes. "You can quote me on anything you want, but don't think I'm going to testify." She says. "Stark will ruin all of us, don't be stupid."

It was stupid, the way Steve laid all of your cards out on the table. It shows how desperate you really are, you have no tricks up your sleeve and no back up plan. But the again, it could be a front. Natasha doesn't know that you have a potential spy on your team, she also doesn't know that you're fully aware of just how desperate Stark must be as well. Either way, you trust her enough to be truthful, but calling her to the stand would be a suicide mission. She's obviously afraid of Stark, and you aren't blind to the fact that she would turn on you if it were in her favor.

"We don't want you on the stand." Steve says what you were thinking, and you try to hide a smile. "We just want to know what he'll try to throw at us."

You're in sync, two of the same mind, and my god, if there was ever a time you wanted to kiss him, it would be right now. He looks so serious, determination spread across his features, yet there's a tint to his cheeks that gives away his exhaustion, the lack of sleep you had the night before would soon catch up with you both, coffee or not, and you have a feeling that somehow it's going to inconvenience you.

"Everything he can." Natasha sets down her tea cup, shifting in her seat. "Especially whatever this is." She waves a finger between you both, "This protectiveness you have of each other will be the end of you. They'll dig into it and exploit it."

You know that, Steve knows that, and it's the very reason that there is nothing going on between you to begin with. But the chemistry is there, there is no hiding that. A stranger could tell, a woman who has laid eyes on you for just a few minutes. It's obvious that there is something, even if it's not official, and even if it hasn't been explored.

If her observation phases him, he doesn't let it show, eyebrows furrowed. "He plays dirty, sure. We know that. Tell me something I can't hear anywhere else," Steve says. "What has he asked from you personally as a lawyer."

Her eyes slit down into a glare, one that stops your heart beat even though it isn't directed at you. "I'm not going to testify."

"Yes, we know." You sigh, tapping a single fingernail on the table. "Off the record, the recording is just for our notes. Just tell us exactly how dirty he can get. What are some things that he's asked of you in the past?" What laws has he broken?

She hesitates, pondering her options and their consequences, then lets out a heavy sigh, settling back into her seat with her fingers pressed to her temples. "This is going to ruin my credibility." She says. "I can't give you specifics, but he does like to bend the rules a bit. He looks for loopholes, breaking one law in favor of another to cover his ass."

She stands, walking back to her desk and pulling open a drawer, you and Steve exchange a look, his hand clamps down on your thigh as he offers you a tired smile, forced, but the gesture shines through nonetheless. "I do have something I can give you though. It's a case I worked on, it was kept out of the media, but there may be some details here that can help you." She digs around, fingers skimming alphabetically arranged folders, plucking one up and bringing it back over to you. "It's a lawsuit over workers comp'," She says, eyes on you. "It's not much, but it's all I can offer."

It's good enough, she's smart, and she knows exactly what's being put on the line by helping you. So you take what you can get, nodding, you take the file from her hand. "Thank you." You say, standing, and Steve follows suit. You shake her hand. "You know how the reach us, let me know if we can ever return the favor in the future."

You've made an ally, you realize now that Natasha wasn't a dirty lawyer, she was just smart enough to know better than risk her career and reputation. She's got a bit of red in her ledger, but by helping you she's wiping it out, doing what she can where she can, and you respect it wholeheartedly.

You both leave, Steve's hand on your back to push you forward as you leave Natasha's office. In his car, you open the file she gave you, looking over the case she was assigned. It's a couple years old, but fairly similar to what you're dealing with. Stark Industries refusing to pay a worker, the lawsuit was buried under false claims of fraud, the employee was fired and had to pay a settlement fine. "Steve," You reach over and pat his arm, his eyes floating over to you for a moment, his hand flexing on the steering wheel. "This is golden."

The small handout Natasha gave you is huge, a gold mine, all you had to do was find this former employee and convince them to go on the stand along with James Barnes. "What is it?" Steve asks.

"You need to meet with, Brock Rumlow." Your eyes scan the file. "Former employee who sued for workers comp, Stark buried him under false fraud charges."

Steve hums, thumb tapping against the steering wheel, "I'll go by tomorrow after I look over his file. Offer him immunity, and a chance to reopen his case. He'll be fully compensated, there's no reason he'll say no if he's looking for a chance to get his justice."

You sound like vigilantes, smiling to yourself as you shut the file and tuck it into your purse for safe keeping. You don't go back to the office, Steve turns down your street and you remember suddenly that he wanted to meet at your place. The nerves set in immediately, a silence falling between you as he pulls into your driveway, cutting the engine of his car.

He takes off his seat belt, shifts a bit to look at you, and for the first time, you're nervous to be alone with him.

"Of all the years I've known you, I've never known you to be shy, Y/n." He says, tone deep and voice mocking your demeanor.

You glare over at him, "I've never known you to be so reserved with me."

Both are lies. You were shy at first, eager to please and never wanting to disappoint, his every criticism molding you into the lawyer you are today. He was never open with you at first, his trust was something you had to earn, but now that your dynamic was established, the silence between you feels like something from a past life. You, a shiny new assistant, and he your mentor. A flash back into the past, you feel so small sitting next to him.

You expect him to say something coy, but his eyes are tired as he looks at you. "Are you going to invite me in or not?"

With a roll of your eyes, and him hot on your trail, you get out of the car and unlock the front door, letting him inside. You step out of your heels, dropping in height, and move quickly to get away from him before he can comment on it. You head into the kitchen, putting on a fresh pot of coffee, turning to find him standing at the island, eyes locked on you.

"What did you want to talk about?" You lean back against the sink, arms crossed, a safe distance between you. Yet you still feel a bit flustered under his gaze.

"Us," He says it simply, as if that should answer your question. "This case is going to be dangerous for us."

The way he says the word sends a chill up your spine, and you can't stop yourself from shivering. The word weighs heavily in your mind and on his tongue, the hint of something more, the same something everyone sees but you're too afraid to acknowledge.

"There is no us."

The words sound flat to your own ears, unconvinced, and the pointed look he gives you from across the island says the same. "There is an us." He says, palms flat on the marble table top. "It's forbidden, and unspoken, but it's there." He pauses, sighs to himself, "And it's driving me crazy."

Driving him crazy, your memories take you back to your fresh days at the firm, those days where you didn't have to pretend not to like each other, where you could bask in his appreciative gaze and not have to think twice about the consequences. You wish it could feel that way now, pinned under his stare, you wish you could enjoy it, but all you feel is the risk you're taking by even been here right now, completely alone in your house where anyone could assume anything.

He licks his lips, makes a move to step around the counter, and you stop him before he can get any closer, finger pointed at him in warning, "Don't you dare."

Don't you dare come any closer because I won't be able to stop myself.

You busy yourself with pouring two mugs of coffee, adding cream and sugar for him, just sugar for you, glaring at the man as you slide his mug across the island to him. He matches your stare, forever challenging you, not stopping even as he takes a sip.

"We can't." Is all you say. "We can't, and you know we can't. So don't."

The air falls silent between you, and for a moment you think he's going to listen to you. You think he's going to stay away and stick to the rules he set long ago when you first met. But then he sets his mug down, rounding the island to takes yours from you as well, setting it aside.

He's on you quick, fingers on your jaw to hold you in place as he captures your lips in a warm kiss. Your eyes flutter closed, the feeling you've longed for washing over you, leaning into his touch. His other hand is on your hip, grip digging in, and it's enough to snap you out of it.

You pull back, leaning over the sink behind you. He tries to follow. "Steve-" Your voice comes out as a strangled wine, and it doesn't help your case, his lips peppering against your jaw instead.

"Everything you do is such a tease." He says, fingers sliding down your throat. "Even when you try to resist me, you were designed to tempt me."

You don't know where this is coming from, he always seems so collected around you. But here, now, he's losing it, your very existence eating away at his resolve.

"Your little skirts and high heels, you have no idea-" He cuts himself off, shoulders rising with each breath he takes, grinding his hips against you, and oh, you feel it.

You aren't a lawyer right now, all your training and years of experience out of the window. Right now you were completely at his mercy, held under his grip, right where he wants you. You gasp as you feel his grip tighten around your neck, pulling you to meet his lips once again.

You don't resist the second time, eyes closing as you wrap your arms around his neck. He hums against your lips, approval, hands dropping to hoist you up on the edge of your sink, prying your legs apart to wrap around his torso.

You can feel his bare hands on your thighs, inching their way up under your skirt, it makes you flinch, touch starved, not expecting the intimacy of him holding you here like this. Your thoughts betray you, your body betrays you, your back arching into his touch, pressing you against his chest. You've had a little taste, his hands warm as they explore, and now you've decided you want more.

His lips are warm with coffee, lips sweet with sugar, and when he grinds into you this time, you feel it right between your legs, the material of his pants brushing against your panties. You don't hold back this time, moaning into his mouth. He swallows it eagerly, tugging you even closer if possible.

"Do you remember?" He whispers against your lips, letting you catch your breath. "Do you remember how I used to spread you out on my desk just like this?"

He doesn't let you answer though, eyes falling from yours to examine you fully, and you can feel when his gaze reaches your sex, "Cute panties."

You want him to ruin them, push them to the side and stretch them out as he fucks you. Right here, bent over the sink like you're the house keeper, his dirty little secret.

A whine slips past your lips at the thought, your legs squeezing his hips in an attempt to grant yourself some kind of friction, and he had the nerve to coo at you, kissing your lips. "You little succubus." He says, "I've dreamed about this."

Something about Steve Rogers naked in bed and dreaming of you sounds dirty, and you decide you like it, suddenly his kisses aren't enough for you.

"Steve-" Again, you call his name, not sure what else to say. But the urgency is there, the strain in your voice and the desperation in your eyes is all clear to him as you muster up enough courage to touch him, fingers cupping him through his pants, your knuckles brushing against your own sex at the same time.

He inhales sharply, closing his eyes, and you enjoy the brief power you have over him, massaging his erection. It doesn't last long, fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you away.

He draws back as far as your legs let him, eyes locking with yours. "This will never happen, I meant that." He says, "But I can't stop wanting you."

It's like he's trying to torture you, and you've had enough. "Please just touch me." You're not one to beg. But for this, you would drop to your knees if he asked you to. "If you can't do anything else, just touch me."

He hesitates, finger pushing your panties to the side, the pad of his thumb gliding through your slick. It pulls a groan form him that you've never heard before, realizing that you're this wet for him. "Fuck, Y/n." He pants against your mouth, kissing long forgotten as he steals a glance down at the scene in front of him. "You're so good."

You don't know what he means by that, you don't know if he's talking about how you look, or how you feel, but either way you relish in his praise, nudging his face with yours to kiss him again.

He's greedy, slipping his tongue into your mouth, drawing slow circles with the pad of his thumb as you grind into his hand. It becomes too much, the pressure directly where you need it, and you try to back away for some air.

"No, don't run." His grip on your thigh is tight as he holds you in place. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? My hand up your skirt?" He kisses your cheek, pressing his thumb hard against your clit. You whine, body twitching at the intensity of his touch. "This is what you've been after all those late nights you pranced around teasing me?"

Teasing him how? You can't think, his words too much when they're accompanied with touch.

"Hair a mess, shirt undone, you don't realize what you look like?" He's slow in slipping his fingers inside of you, "You look good enough to fuck."

All the times he's reminded you why this can't happen fly right out of the window at the thought of him fucking you, at the thought of what his cock might look like, tip swollen red and leaking precum, stretching you out slowly.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

You've never moved so quick, head nodding at a pace that rattles your brain a little. And he has the nerve to smirk, shaking his head at you. "I can't, baby." It makes you whine, and he's quick to shush you with a kiss. "There will be no stopping if I do, you know what's at stake."

But his actions contrast his words, cock growing in his pants right before your very eyes. His fingers pick up speed, his other hand at the small of your back to balance you, "Don't move." Is all he says, fingers moving at a rapid pace, the palm of his hand brushing your clit.

You clench around his fingers, feeling your pleasure start to build up, and it makes him shudder at the feeling. He can see it, your pussy throbbing in anticipation as he fucks you with his fingers, and he wants nothing more than to replace them with his cock. He groans, closing his eyes, not able to stand the sight of it.

But then you do something unexpected, eyes snapping open when you reach to undo his pants, freeing his erection. It springs up at attention, red and swollen, the sight of it alone makes you jolt, fingers eager to touch him.

He gasps at your touch, because you do something he's never felt before, your palm cupping his tip and smearing his precum as you slowly jerk him off, his hips matching your every movement.

When he cums, it's warm against the tops of your thighs, glistening as he continues to fuck his fingers into you. Your toes curl, and he realizes that you're struggling to orgasm. He decides to take mercy on you, pulling you against his chest, voice in your ear, "Is this what you need?" He asks, kissing your neck. "Can't come without my voice in your head?"

He's teasing you, throwing it right in your face that you can't get off without a little affection, but you don't care, panting and desperate, teetering on the edge of what you want.

"It's okay, I got you." He nudges his nose along your jaw, pulling back to steak a kiss from you. You hate the fact that it's helping. And then, "Cum."

And you do, hard, twitching under his hold. He kisses you through it, fingers slowing ever so slightly, until finally you're left slumped against him. He reaches for a dish towel, wiping you clean before helping you back down onto your feet. You feel exhausted, panting for breath, sweat coating your face, too tired to register the way he slips his fingers into his mouth.

"You did good work today," He says, leaning in to kiss you one last time, and you taste yourself on his lips. "Get some sleep."

He lets you go then, smile tired and lazy as he walks around the island. "Steve, my car."

He doesn't say anything in response to that, he only shrugs his shoulders, the atmosphere shifting once again. "We need to stay on our toes." He says. "And you need to meet with James at least once before the trial. He requested it. I'll take you."

It amazes you how quickly he recovered, just seconds ago he was cumming across your thighs and now he's stone faced as if he didn't just lick your cum off of his fingers.

"Okay. I'll meet with James tomorrow, you can meet with Brock." You nod at your own suggestion. "It will give me an excuse to keep Wanda away tomorrow."

He finishes his coffee and leaves, not saying another word, and a part of you feels oddly rejected by it. He comes here, gets you all worked up, chases a nut and then leaves. The worst part is that you can't deny how much you enjoyed it. The feeling of his lips against yours, the dirty words he whispered in your ear, his cock hard in your hand. It has you horny all over again, the shower head pressed to your sex as you shower, eyes closed tight as you imagine it being something else entirely.

You sleep well that night, the ghost feeling of his hands on your body, and it's the best sleep you've had in a while.

---------------------------

Steve is a piece of shit, and I love it.

Guilty masterlist.

Ways you can support my work:

Like, repost, share with a friend.

Buy me a coffee? Thanks for reading.

#steve rogers series #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #lawyer steve rogers #lawyer au #lawyer series #natasha romanoff #steve rogers imagine #avengers smut #avengers fanfic

97 notes · View notes

atsixesandcevans · 4 years

Text

in love just a little - part 2

Summary: In a battle between head and heart, which will win out? Will you and Steve let down your walls enough to admit to yourselves - and each other - that there might be something between you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: angst, self-depreciation, language

A/N: aaand here it is! this is the last part of the fire it ignites, and i just want to thank each and every person who has read, liked and commented on this story. i see and appreciate every one of you!

if the inspiration strikes, i may revisit this story with a bonus chapter or two, but for now there are a few other projects i’d like to work on.

i really hope this was worth the wait, enjoy! :)

Read on AO3 || Masterlist || Series Masterlist

As promised, you met Steve in the gym just before 10am the next day, after - finally - a few hours of sleep. Steve was already in there when you arrived, throwing punches at a punching bag. It was one of the extra-strong ones that Tony had designed for Steve after one too many messes when he had hit them with just a little too much force.

His back was to the door and, as you entered, you took a moment to enjoy the sight before you; the light sheen of sweat that had formed across his skin, the way his muscles shifted beneath the too-tight t-shirt as he moved.

The sound of the door closing behind you brought you out of your thoughts, as well as alerting Steve to your presence. You greeted each other with "good morning"s and tight-lipped smiles, Steve unwrapping his hands while you set your bag at the side of the room, reaching to tie your hair back.

Steve couldn't help but get lost in your movements a little. His gaze trailed down from your neck to your back, following the smooth curve of your hips and strong legs. He knew well enough that, despite the softness to your form, you had the strength and stamina to do some damage to any enemies that came your way. He wondered what it would be like to feel that strength for himself, the movement of your muscles under his palms…

He quickly averted his gaze back to his hands when you lowered your arms, already feeling the blush creeping up his neck at even the thought of being caught staring at you.

You began with some stretches, then completed several rounds of cardio and strength exercises. By the time you were both warming down, the atmosphere around you was much more comfortable, and you even began to joke with each other as you left. The surge of relief you both felt when you parted ways with warm smiles and "see you later"s was almost palpable. Perhaps things would actually be okay between you.

---

You and Steve soon fell into another easy routine. Almost every day - barring those days where Steve was called away on a mission, or either you or Steve insisted you needed a rest day - you would get up way earlier than you had once deemed acceptable and made your way to the gym. Sometimes, Steve would already be there, either going for a few rounds on a punching bag or doing some cardio - depending on the weather and whether he had managed to go for his morning run. Other times, you got there first and did some warm-up exercises until Steve showed up.

You'd get in a decent mix of cardio (to rebuild your stamina), weights (to restore your strength), and hand-to-hand combat techniques, with Steve overseeing every aspect. As much as you would grumble about the early starts and the fact that Steve never failed to put you through your paces, you soon started to see some visible improvement. You could run faster and for longer, and you were able to hold your own against Steve a hell of a lot more effectively than when you restarted training. You could feel that you were more fluid and nimble with your movements, and Steve wasn't shy about expressing how impressed he was with your progress. You couldn't help but wonder if he was somehow trying to make up for his past animosity towards you. The idea was nice and sent a fresh wave of butterflies through your stomach every time it crossed your mind, but you really wished he wasn't so hard on himself. You had forgiven him for his past misgivings and had no ill-feeling towards him at all.

Except, right now as he insists the move he's trying to re-teach you "really isn't that hard, Y/N." You knew he was trying to be patient with you, but it was starting to frustrate him a little, too. The two of you had been working on this combat move for a few hours now, and you just couldn't get the hang of it, no matter how hard you tried.

Steve took a moment to calm you both down and walked through the move one more time. You paid close attention, desperately trying to ignore the way his biceps flexed when he moved and allowed the steely determination to wash over you as you started towards him.

You ran through each part of the process in your mind as you did so, replaying Steve's gentle but commanding voice in your head. It started out great, just as you had wanted, and allowed a tiny sliver of victory to worm its way into your mind. But, as you went into the last manoeuvre, you lost your balance and fell, landing on you back on the mat with a grunt of an exhale.

Your hands quickly came up to rest against your face, hiding the frustrated tears that were threatening to fall.

Steve's concerned voice only made it worse, really. "Hey. You okay?" He came to crouch next to you, and you hated how patient he was being. He brushed his fingertips against the back of one of your hands, and you moved them from your face, allowing them to drop limply at your sides as you let out a breath.

You sat up quickly with a huff, angry tears dangerously close to falling, and swiftly made your way to one of the benches against the wall of the training room. Sitting heavily down, you muttered a curse and leaned forwards to rest your elbows on your knees, trying to calm yourself down.

Sensing your distress, Steve approached you and squatted in front of your knees so that he was level with your face.

"I know it's hard right now, but I promise it will be easier. You've already made so much progr-"

"When, Steve?" You sat up quickly, hair mussed from running your hands through it and met his eyes, frustration seeping out of your every pore. "I can't get this move right, you said yourself that it's not that hard, but I just can't get it!" You had taken to gesticulating widely with your hands, the volume of your voice rising with every word. You sighed and slouched back down again, eyes, trained on the ground between your feet. "I'll never get back to where I was before."

Steve shook his head and shifted closer to you, one hand resting on your knee, the weight of it there a surprisingly great comfort in itself. "You will. I promise, you will." His voice was firm but gentle, and your tied brain had no choice but to believe him and hang onto his every word. Especially when you saw the conviction in his eyes. "Most people might not, but you're not most people. You're so strong, Y/N, and so unbelievably stubborn that I have no doubt you won't stop working until you're even better than before." It felt as if he was staring directly into your soul, his words and tone so sincere that they touched something deep within you, and you felt your frustration being replaced with a surge of a different emotion. Softer, but no less all-consuming. "The team believes in you. I believe in you. All there's left to do is for you to believe in yourself."

Neither of you had noticed that Steve had been gradually moving closer to you, your faces now just inches apart, both of his hands resting on the sides of your knees. He seemed to notice your closeness at the same time you did, and his eyes darted across your face, focusing on your lips for just a second before trailing back up to your eyes. Being this close again, you could see the hints of green in his irises; the almost imperceptible smattering of freckles across his cheekbones, brought out somewhat inexplicably by the recent summer sun; the frankly unfair length of his eyelashes.

Your lips parted in a barely audible gasp, and you searched his face for any doubt, any sign that this wasn't something he wanted, that you had misread the signs. That he didn't want what you wanted, what you had imagined for countless days.

Slowly, almost painfully so, your faces drew closer, breath mingling, though neither wanting to be the one to take the first step. Maybe it was fear holding the both of you back, and maybe it was stubbornness.

But all of that faded away when your lips finally met, soft and gentle, and the only thing that you cared about was him. This.

It was like you were breathing for the first time, like you had been deprived for so many years and had just now gotten your first taste of life.

Yours and Steve's lips slowly parted, only for the two of you to dive right back in, with a renewed confidence and intensity.

You allowed yourself to get lost in him, your hands sliding up his chest, one resting at the back of his neck, the other laying flush against his chest, Steve's hammering heartbeat pulsating through your fingers. The idea that you could have this kind of effect on him only made you want to be closer to him, to feel him pressed against you.

It seemed that Steve wanted the same thing, because he slid his hands along the outside of your thighs and across your hips until they reached your waist, pulling you closer together and allowing you to become even more consumed by the other.

When you finally broke away, breathless, your faces stayed close, foreheads resting against each other, eyes closed, lips almost touching. Neither of you made any motion to move away, perfectly content to stay in your perfect little bubble as long as possible.

The two of you stayed like that - for minutes, maybe only seconds, you couldn't be sure - just breathing each other in, until the sound of laughter outside the gym caused you to jump apart. You felt that familiar shame wash over you, having allowed yourself to get caught up in the moment, again, and screw up your relationship with Steve, again, just as things were going well.

You tried to swallow around the lump in your throat as you stood quickly and rushed to pack up your things, strategically avoiding eye contact with Steve.

He tried to get your attention, calling your name softly, even trying to reach out for you as you passed him on your way to the door. You thought you could slip past him but, of course, he managed to grab hold of your wrist firmly, but not enough to hurt. You still refused to meet his eyes. You weren't sure you could handle the rejection you were bound to see in them. You tried to tug your wrist from his grasp, but he wouldn't relent.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

Nothing. Everything.

You just shook your head, gaze trained on the floor. "I'm sorry, Steve." Your voice was quiet, tense, and Steve was taken aback by it - so much so that, when you pulled your arm again, he let you go, frozen in place as he watched your retreating form slip through the door.

Seconds later, a group of agents entered the gym, their lively chatter cutting through the tenseness of the room. Several nodded across the room with a "hey, cap" before returning to their conversations, and Steve couldn't find it in him to offer more than a forced greeting in return before he collected his things and dejectedly made his way back to his room.

---

Not even an hour later, Steve found himself in the empty kitchen, silently moving around to make some lunch. His mind kept replaying what had happened between you in the gym - the softness of your lips, the feel of your fingertips pushing through his hair - and he tried desperately to work out what went wrong.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't hear Natasha entering the room, only becoming aware of her presence when she gripped his forearm and shoved him against the wall closest to him. The movement startled him, to say the least, and part of his brain wondered how the hell she had managed to do that so easily. But a more significant part of his mind was focused on the anger on Natasha's face. It caused a particular brand of fear - the fear that only comes about when at the mercy of an angry woman - to spread through him, and he felt his eyes widening and his body stiffening.

"You want to tell me what the hell is going on, Rogers?" She spoke quietly, voice oozing with barely-restrained fury, and Steve no longer felt like he had the body of a supersoldier. Under her gaze, he felt like a scrawny kid all over again, mere seconds away from getting his ass beat.

She didn't even give him a chance to formulate a response before she continued, "something’s made Y/N upset. She won't tell me what happened, but I know the two of you trained this morning, and she was fine before then, so tell me, what happened?"

Steve knew that he wouldn't get out of there until he gave Natasha what she wanted, so after a cursory glance around the room to make sure they were still alone, he sighed and said softly, "we kissed."

Natasha, for all her stoicism and intimidation, actually looked taken aback for a second. Her face softened, and she took a step back, releasing Steve from her hold. "You kissed?"

Steve relaxed a little at her now softened voice and nodded. He could see the question forming in her eyes. "I don't know what happened, Nat. We kissed, and I thought it was great, but then some agents came in and she bolted."

She nodded once and turned her head to the side in thought. "You need to talk to her. She's obviously confused, you both need to talk and get everything straight. Neither of you will get any rest until you do. You gotta fix it, Steve."

With that, she turned on her heel and was gone as quickly as she had arrived.

---

Steve's first text came a little over an hour after your training session. You refused to look at it, at first, unable to bring yourself to extract yourself from your duvet cocoon. But, when a second chime sounded a few minutes later, curiosity got the better of you and you unlocked your phone with a huff.

Steve: Are you okay?

Steve: Please, Y/N, talk to me

You stared at the screen for several minutes, your mind warring with itself over what to do. When tears started welling in your eyes again, you locked your phone and set it back on the bedside table, before rolling over and burying your head back into your pillows.

You really wished you knew what to do about all this. It had become glaringly obvious that you had feelings for Steve, but there was no way you would ever admit that to him. After everything that had happened between you, the chances of him reciprocating those feelings were depressingly slim, even if he didn't hate you any more.

Then again... he had kissed you... or had you kissed him? Surely if he didn't want it to happen, he would have stopped you. Although he could have just gone along with it to spare your feelings - Steve's sweet like that, always thinking of others before him.

But, if he only kissed you back to placate you, then why had he seemed so into it? Unless you had imagined the subtle drag of his tongue against your lips and the way he had pulled you against his solid body...

Dammit, now's not the time.

Regardless of his feelings towards you, though, what were you supposed to do now? You weren't sure you would be able to face him now without breaking down. Not after having a taste of what could be, if only...

But, somehow, the thought of avoiding him again was even more heart-breaking. It was funny how quickly and efficiently someone could find their way into your heart without you even knowing, turning themselves into an integral part of your life. The idea of that had always scared you, and now you were realising just how much.

You spent another hour inside your head, going round and round the same arguments. Though somehow, you always found your way back to the cold hard truth that Steve would never have feelings for someone like you.

Your phone chimed again just as you were about to restart your argument with yourself.

Steve: What happened, Y/N? Please, help me understand

Your stomach twisted with guilt. Steve didn't deserve to be kept in the dark like this. At the very least, you owed him an explanation.

You: Not like this. Not over text.

His reply was almost instant, and your guilt grew at the idea that he had been waiting for your reply.

Steve: I understand.

Steve: Will you meet me by the lake at 4 this afternoon? There's a deck on the far side of the water. It's quiet there. We can talk

You debated asking to stay at the compound but quickly realised that everyone there seemed to enjoy walking in on you and Steve's moments together. Perhaps it would be best to go somewhere else.

You: Okay. I'll be there.

Now all that was left to do was to prepare yourself for the emotional upheaval that was bound to be right around the corner.

---

The low evening sun streaming through the trees made for a pretty scene as you made your way through the woods that surrounded the lake. You took a moment to appreciate it, knowing full well that the coming conversation would be anything but calm.

The winding path you took eventually opened out into a small clearing next to the lake. On the opposite side of the clearing, there was a small dock, and you could see Steve already sat on the edge of it, looking pensively across the water.

He didn’t react when you sat next to him and, if it weren’t for his advanced hearing, you might have thought that he didn’t hear your approach. You sat in silence for a few minutes, both just enjoying the peace of the still water and the slowly setting sun.

“I’m sorry.” You hadn’t planned on being the one to break the silence, to take the leap into conversation. But there it was. Apparently, Steve hadn’t planned on it either, if the way he suddenly turned to look at you was any indication. You kept your eyes trained on your hands that had settled into your lap, but could feel the weight of his gaze on your face.

“What are you sorry for?” The confusion in his voice was evident, the gentle softness of it causing emotion to swell in your chest and throat.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat and screwed your eyes shut, heaving a sigh. “For putting you in this position. I know we were becoming friends - or I think that we were, anyway… and I’ve let my feelings get the better of me and screwed all that up.” Steve called your name softly, and you felt the faintest brush of his fingertips against your hand, but you just shook your head, refusing to even look in his direction. “Please, Steve, don’t make this harder.” He moved his hand back reluctantly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and nestle your fingers between his.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your gaze across the lake and continued, “You were too nice to turn me down earlier, and that night in the common room… But I need you to know that you don’t have to. It’s okay, I...” You chance the briefest of looks in Steve’s direction, and the deep frown lines on his forehead spur you on. “It’s okay that you don’t want me like that. Besides, we’re from different worlds. You deserve to be with someone like you; selfless, brave. Someone without a chequered past.”

Several minutes passed in silence between you, and you could almost hear Steve thinking next to you. Just as you were about to leave, Steve finally broke the silence.

“What makes you think that I don’t want you like that?” His expression was almost pained when you looked at him, his voice sounding strangely dejected.

You huffed an incredulous chuckle, shooting him a disbelieving look. Quashing the speck of hope that threatened to break through, you replied, “isn’t it obvious?” Steve stared at you blankly, and you shook your head gently, turning back to look over the lake. “Besides the fact that you hated me for a good few months after we met? You could never be with someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

“A criminal. And an impulsive one at that. You belong with someone like you… someone unselfish and warm; a hero. I can never be that, for you or anyone.”

Steve bristled a little at that, and his movement caught your eye and pulled your gaze towards him. “But you are a hero.” You scoffed derisively and barely managed to suppress your eye roll. “I’m serious. You put yourself in front of a bullet to save my life. Admittedly, it probably did more damage to you than it would have to me, but you didn’t even think twice about putting your life on the line to save mine, even though I wasn’t completely deserving. There is nothing more heroic than that.”

The sincerity in his eyes was almost overwhelming, and you found yourself - not for the first time - being completely drawn in by the pools of liquid blue that had no trouble captivating you.

Neither of you had noticed that, during Steve’s little speech, you had once again migrated towards each other, finding yourselves in a position similar to the one you were in that morning. But, this time, you were both determined not to let it end the same way.

“But I was impulsive. I just confirmed that you were right about me.”

Steve shuffled closer to you on the dock, taking your hand firmly in his. “No. You showed me, then, just how wrong I was. Only someone truly selfless would step in like that, especially to save someone who had been so awful to them.”

“You were worth it.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, your voice barely a whisper, but the slight hitch in Steve’s throat told you he had heard you just fine.

Glancing down at his hand still holding yours, you bit your lip a little, a shy, sad smile forming on your face. “I never meant to appear arrogant, you know?” The smile he gave you was soft, though his eyebrows were bunched in their tell-tale look of concern. “All my life, I’ve had to put on this mask, this facade, of a confident and blase woman, just so I’d be taken seriously. Not many people would have faith in my abilities if I let them see me as soft.” You both chuckled softly, and you squeezed Steve’s hand gently as you spoke, “I guess I was just waiting for someone to look past the act and see… me.”

The world seemed to slow as Steve lifted his free hand to move a stray piece of hair away from your face. “I see you, Y/N,” he whispered, before threading his fingers through your hair and bringing your face to his, your lips meeting in a slow, lingering kiss that ignited a fire in your heart.

When you separated, you stayed close, foreheads pressed together. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, Steve pulled back just enough to look at your face. “Would you go on a date with me?”

You wouldn’t be able to keep the smile off of your face if you tried. Nodding, you pulled Steve in for another kiss, but your twin grins meant that it ended up being a mess of teeth that made you both burst into giggles.

Neither of you knew for sure how much time you spent together out by the lake, talking and kissing and laughing, but when you stood to leave, hand-in-hand, the sky was a deep blue, and the moon shone brightly in the cloudless expanse.

As you made your way back to the compound together, fingers interlaced, Steve listened to you talk animatedly about something and, watching the way your face lit up like a thousand suns, he realised: perhaps he didn’t hate you so much, after all.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers/you #in love just a little #the fire it ignites #beth writes

70 notes · View notes

elcorhamletlive · 5 years

Link

I can finally post this!

fandom: MCU (Post- Avengers 2012) tags: Fluff and Humour, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Idiots in Love, POV Tony Stark, Stony Loves Steve 2019

summary: Tony is thrilled about his new relationship with Steve. He's on cloud nine, in fact. It's so amazing he can believe it's real.

He just wishes they could... Uh. Touch a little. Just a little.

Ok, so, here’s the thing: Tony never, in a million years, thought Steve would say “yes”.

Not because of some exacerbated insecurity or anything. As anyone who knows him can attest, Tony is far from oblivious to his appeal. He knows he’s an attractive man, and that he could charm his way out of nearly anything, if he wanted to.

He also knows he’s good at flirting. He knows how to be seductive without being inconvenient, how to be flattering without exaggerating, how to be suggestive without pushing any boundaries. He has mastered his technique over years, practicing with many different people. He never had any trouble getting a date, and, to be completely honest, he doesn’t think he ever will.

But.

There is a huge difference between dating, in its usual simple, casual meaning, and the utterly other-worldly, mind blowing, frankly almost terrifying concept of dating Steve Rogers. Dating is easy, but dating Steve – going out for a movie with Steve, holding his hand, kissing him after the night is over, asking if he wants to come up to the penthouse… If you ask Tony, there’s an entire universe of distance between these two ideas. They’re barely in the same astral plane.

And Tony—Tony doesn’t even know what possessed him to ask. It had been an insane impulse to rival every single one of his most self-destructive habits. There he was, in the kitchen, filling himself with coffee, when Steve walked in with a book in his hand, sitting on a stool. He was wearing his grandpa clothes, his brow was furrowed and his blond bangs were falling a little on his forehead.

Tony watched him, and at one point he closed his book and fished out the tiniest notepad from his pocket. He wrote something down, tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth, deep concentration as his fingers brushed his bangs to the side, and Tony had thought: Oh. Oh, I wish I could have him.

That hadn’t been a new thought – actually, it bordered on repetitive at that point, echoing in his head anytime he watched Steve do basically anything - but it apparently resonated with something in Tony’s sleep-deprived brain, because the next thing he knew, he was rambling about reservations that he had made for him and Pepper, and how Pepper had cancelled, and how he missed eating steak, and if Steve wanted to have dinner with him.

And Steve said yes.

And that—well, to say it caught Tony off guard would be an understatement. He had just stared at Steve for a moment in silence when FRIDAY helpfully jumped in to inform him of the reservation's time. Steve had smiled, and Tony had gaped at him like a fish, and, just like that, he had a date with Steve Rogers.

The hours that followed were some of the slowest of Tony’s life. He had been a pile of nerves in a way he didn’t remember ever being before a date. He found himself trying on the suit he used to meet the president and finding it incredibly ill-fitting.

Then, at 6:38, he was ready, exactly twenty-two minutes too early. Fortunately, Steve, being who he was, had also shown up to meet him in the living room early, so Tony didn’t have to wait for long.

Dinner was… surprisingly great. Granted, Tony was almost vibrating off his chair, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. He had been outraged by the prices, which Tony found both exasperating and adorable, and after a moment of initial awkwardness, they fell into an easy, natural banter. Steve was a great listener, Tony found. He heard everything Tony said with the utmost attention, but he wasn’t always quiet either – he’d interject with a blunt wit that made Tony grin a little ridiculously at times, and he’d nod at Tony’s rambling as if it were worth listening to.

The restaurant worked, too. It was a discreet bistro not too far away from the Tower. The food tasted delicious, and Steve cleaned up his plate with such voracity that Tony simply had to convince him to order dessert. Steve complained a little, saying it wasn’t fair to let Tony pay for everything, but Tony won the argument, promising he’d let Steve pay next time (Steve didn’t even blink at the suggestion that there would be a next time, which, really, made Tony feel like floating off his seat).

All in all, it was a great choice, even though it was far from the place Tony would have picked to take Steve on a first date – though, to be fair, Tony wouldn’t have been able to rent out the Louvre on such little notice anyway.

By the time they got home, though, Tony’s anxiety had resurfaced again. Even as he grinned at Steve and continued to talk normally, his hands twitched hopelessly in the pockets of his jacket. He wondered if Steve’s occasional lingering gaze was enough of a hint of what his reaction would be if Tony tried to close the evening with a goodnight kiss.

When they got to Steve’s floor, Steve turned towards him and smiled – a large, sincere smile that knocked Tony’s breath right out of his lungs.

“Thank you, Tony. I… To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I had that much fun, in this time.” And he looked a little embarrassed, a little awkward, but still… almost giddy with happiness, as if he had truly forgotten how it felt to be this way. “Thank you.”

And then the elevator doors opened, and Steve got out, and there was no kiss but really, that had been even better. The doors closed, and Tony rested his head on the wall and smiled like an idiot at the ceiling.

That had been date number one. Date number two happened almost a week later, after Rhodey managed to convince Tony Steve wouldn’t want to drop everything and go to Paris with him just because Tony thought anything New York had to offer simply wasn’t good enough. Tony then finally caved and, rambling about how Pepper had talked up the MET’s latest exhibit at the office, asked if Steve would like to go see it on Friday. The way Steve’s face lit up at the suggestion made Tony mentally promise Rhodey a dozen new upgrades for his suit.

“Dude,” Rhodey had laughed when Tony informed him of it that night, “You are so screwed.”

Tony had rolled his eyes and ignored him.

By the time Friday arrived, he was already regretting following Rhodey’s suggestion – what was so great about the MET, anyway? And even if Steve liked it, Tony couldn’t stand art museums, not even the Louvre, so wasn’t this proof of the unavoidable truth that they were ultimately incompatible? It had to be, right? Really, he should just cancel the whole thing and spare them the inevitable misery.

Except then Steve showed up, with a button up shirt and a leather jacket and a bright smile, and Tony’s brain promptly melted and leaked right out of his ears, so. They ended up going.

As the hours went by, walking with Steve through the MET’s hallways, watching the way he frowned thoughtfully at a few pieces and stopped to analyze every detail, Tony’s thoughts changed. Museums could be fun, he realized. Museums could be… witty, and smart, and sweet. Really, museums were so, so…

Rhodey is right, Tony thought, watching Steve struggle with his phone settings to attempt to take a selfie with a painting and having to fight back an honest to god sigh. I’m completely screwed.

The following dates only consolidated that reality. He and Steve went to the Natural History Museum, to Coney Island, to the Brooklyn Bridge. The city Tony knew since his childhood seemed to gain new life when he was exploring it through Steve’s eyes. Steve had so many stories, and so many interesting insights about how things had or hadn’t changed, that it made Tony feel that New York was, suddenly, the most interesting place in the world. He started to spend most of his time at the Tower, only going to Malibu when Pepper really, really demanded his presence.

And Steve. Through these adventures, Tony found out so much about him – little things like his favorite ice cream flavor (rocky road), the kind of movies he liked (mostly sci-fi and fantasy, but he was also fond of animations), the fact that he liked buying the newspaper to do the crosswords. He learned things about Steve that Steve himself couldn’t tell, like the way he walked, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he brushed his bangs off his forehead when he was nervous or embarrassed. Things a person could only learn by spending time with him, which Tony was doing in ever-growing levels – and yet, worryingly, it never seemed to be enough.

And, yeah, it was a little… weird, at times. Tony had never dated – or hell, even been attracted to someone for so long without moving things to the physical side of the equation. With Steve, though, that side didn’t seem to exist at all. Two months after their first date, they were going out at least once a week, and they still hadn’t kissed, or, shit, even held hands.

Tony had thought about it (by God, had he thought about it) but anytime he thought he could take the initiative, something on Steve’s demeanor would seem to stiff, too skittish, and then it wouldn’t seem like a very good idea.

read the rest on ao3!

#stony #stevetony #steve rogers #superhusbands #tony stark #my fics #reblogs are love

235 notes · View notes

rogerina-deacon · 5 years

Text

Masterlist

KEY: Smut - ☾ Fluff - ❣ Angst - 🌧 Platonic - ☼

SERIES

Brian May x Reader

- “Looking Through the Eyes of Love” (American!Fem!Reader) ON HOLD

Part 1 ❣

Part 2 ❣

Part 3 ❣

John Deacon x Reader

- “Point Me In The Direction of Albuquerque” (American!Fem!Reader) ON HOLD

Part 1 ❣

Part 2 ❣

ONESHOTS

Brian May x Reader x Roger Taylor

- Finally ❣☾

Brian May x Reader

- “Teenage Fantasy” (High School Senior!Brian May X Fem!Reader) ☾ - “Please” (Sub!Brian) ☾ - “Magical” (Sub!Brian) ☾

John Deacon x Reader

-”More Than You Know” ☾

Gwilym Lee x Reader

- “Hungry For More” ☾ ❣ - “Sir” (Dom!Gwil) ☾

Joe Mazzello x Reader

- “Secrets Are Hard To Keep For Long” ☾ - “That Damned Shirt” ❣ - “Candle In The Wind” 🌧 ❣ - “Tonight’s For You” ❣ ☾

Pat Murray x Reader

- “AAAAAAHHHH” ❣ - “Secret Weapon” ❣

HEADCANONS

Grouped

- Going To A Womens March (Queen and BoRhap Boys) ❣ - What they do when you get your period on the first date (BoRhap Boys) ❣ - How they react to your scars ❣ 🌧 - Sugar Daddies (BoRhap Boys excluding Rami) ❣ ☾

Roger Taylor x Reader

- Giving Roger a blowjob when he’s supposed to be on stage ☾

Brian May x Reader

- Giving Brian his first blowjob ☾ - Brian taking care of you after a day of you teasing him ☾ - Brian manhandling and degrading you as a kink of yours ☾ - Being with Brian but you can’t fit in his hoodies (plus size reader) ❣ - Plus size reader riding Brian’s face for the first time ☾ - Making you squirt for the first time ☾ - Morning sex ☾ - Fucking the shit out of you then cuddling ☾ ❣ - You have a fixation with his hands ☾ - He gives you your first orgasm ☾ ❣

John Deacon x Reader

- Riding John after a long day at the studio ☾ - Plus size reader has dance moves like him but is insecure ❣ - Being married ❣ - Kinky sex ☾

Ben Hardy x Reader

- Being in a Relationship With Ben Hardy ❣ - Riding Ben’s thigh when he won’t pay attention to you ☾ - Going to a concert with Ben (plus size reader) ❣ - Being on the red carpet with Ben (plus size reader) ❣ - Giving you backrubs when your boobs make your back hurt (plus size reader) ❣ - Going to the beach (plus size reader) ❣

Gwilym Lee x Reader

- Gwil comforting plus size reader with scars from bariatric surgery ❣ - Eating you out with his beard for the first time ☾ - He’s your sugar daddy but you feel you don’t deserve his gifts ❣ 🌧

Joe Mazzello x Reader

- Being from Massachusetts and a Red Sox Fan but Dating Joe ❣ 🌧 - Joe helping insecure plus size reader with anxiety ❣ - Meeting him/Lucy plays matchmaker ❣ - Riding his face ☾ - Slipping Polaroids into his pocket ☾ - He runs out to get you period supplies when you’re stuck in the bathroom with cramps ❣ - He does the “Foxy Lady” dance from “Wayne’s World” for you ❣

Pat Murray x Reader

- Slow Riding ☾

Gardner Langway x Reader

- Prepping a baby room in the boat ❣

Taron Egerton x Reader

- Getting High ❣ ☾

BLURBS

Queen x Reader - Hyping up plus size reader ☼

Brian May x Reader

- Brian fucking you into the mattress after you embarrass him ☾ - Waiting for Brian backstage but you get insecure (plus size reader) 🌧 ❣ - He’s dared to make you cum (prompt: being dared to have sex by someone else + slow/patient foreplay/sex) ☾ - Present day Brian is insecure about his looks and you help you 🌧 ❣

John Deacon x Reader

- John making you squirt and squirm ☾

Roger Taylor x Reader - Roger comforting plus size reader who self-harms 🌧 ❣ - Attempting to go down on him under the kitchen table ❣ ☾

Joe Mazzello x Reader

- Joe catches you fingering yourself in the bathroom at a party ☾ - Joe punishing you for teasing you during dinner and making you squirt ☾ - Joe choking you while you ride him ☾ - Joe comforting you after you cry from pleasure ☾ ❣ - Joe making you squirt, and you cry from pleasure so he cuddles you ☾❣ - Pegging Joe ☾ ❣ - Joe walks in on you getting off ☾ - Plus size reader looking so good it ruins his life ❣

Gwilym Lee x Reader

- Trying to be quiet when visiting your parents ☾ - Orgasm denial that leads to rough sex ☾ - Rough, angry, dominant sex after the guys flirt with you, who is his best friend ❣ ☾ - Painplay, sensory deprivation, and extreme bondage ☾ - Trying a new position outdoors ❣☾

Pat Murray x Reader

- Pat comforting plus size reader when he finds her crying 🌧 ❣

Gardner Langway x Reader

- Gardner telling plus size reader she doesn’t need to lose weight ❣ - Mutual masturbation and oral sex ☾

If you want to be tagged in anything, let me know!!! Even if you just wanna be tagged for certain people/content!

Updated September 22nd, 2019

581 notes · View notes

lbibliophile-mcu · 4 years

Text

Tony Stark Bingo 2020 Masterpost - 3096

The @tonystarkbingo is complete! Thank you to the mods and other participants for making it so much fun.

With the new system of adopting less popular prompts, I have a blackout!

This round saw a lot more art fills than previously:

10 moodboard/gifset/graphic

6 fanfic (325-1200 words)

5 fanart (4 DUM-E’s Drawings and one actual sketch-set)

5 drabble/ficlet (3 with moodboard)

2 poem

1 craft

Fill links and details under the cut

Duckling Therapy II

S1 – stay still Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: drabble (100 words) Characters: Tony Stark & Bucky Barnes Tags: ducklings! Summary: This was not how Tony expected to finally catch up to Barnes.

Conduction

T1 – fireplace Link/s: AO3 Fill type: fanfic (970 words) Characters: Tony Stark & Bucky Barnes Tags: Touch-starved, Bucky Barnes needs a hug Summary: Conduction n, the transfer of heat energy via contact. It is a small thing that makes him notice. A simple clap on the shoulder, emphasis for whatever point he is making. But when he moves to take his hand away, Bucky follows, just for a moment, prolonging the contact.

Situational Analysis

A1 – kidnapped Link/s: AO3 Fill type: fanfic (1200 words) Characters: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Tags: Tony Stark has terrible coping mechanisms, sleep deprivation, headaches, kidnapping? Summary: As awareness gradually seeps back in, the first thing Tony notices is the headache. Not that this is exactly an uncommon state of affairs; but depending on the reason for the headache, his day will have drastically different outcomes. Aka, is he waking up to a mild annoyance, or a rather unpleasant morning, or an increasingly miserable however long until he manages to get himself back home?

Employee of the Year

K1 – Obadiah Stane/Iron Monger Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: gifset Characters: Pepper Potts Tags: Pepper Potts appreciation, down to murder for her boss Summary: “I do anything and everything Mr Stark requires. Including, occasionally, taking out the trash.” She was expecting the scheduling, and the fetching and carrying, and even escorting out his overnight ‘guests’. She was not prepared for literally replacing her boss’ heart, hacking into their own company, or killing the CEO gone rouge. But she is Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts; whatever Tony Stark needs, she will make it happen.

Moodboard for Status Report

S2 – major injuries Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: moodboard Characters: Tony Stark, JARVIS Tags: Heavy angst, Major character death, AVALON protocol, self-sacrifice Summary: Iron Man is a superhero, but Tony Stark is only human. And sometimes, what is asked of a superhero is more than a human can give. So Tony makes contingency plans. He makes the AVALON protocol. He makes sure that Iron Man is able to help the Avengers even when human Tony Stark… can’t.

One

T2 – time travel (to the future) Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard and ficlet (170 words) Characters: Tony Stark & Morgan Stark Tags: Major character death, angst, time travel Summary: Time travel is real, and Tony has to make a choice: to ignore this chance to restore the Dusted, or to risk all he has gained since. Strange had told him that there is only one future in which they succeed; he needs to know if this is that one. But… he has a time machine.

Iron Man is Red

A2 – cliche Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanart [DUM-E’s Drawings] Characters: Tony Stark, DUM-E, U Tags: DUM-E’s Drawings, Valentines day, Roses are red Summary: Valentine’s Day again, and DUM-E talks U into helping with TON-E’s card.

Go the Fuck to Medical

R2 – day-in-the-life Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: poem (200 words) Characters: Phil Coulson & Avengers Team Tags: Hiding medical issues, Language (as per title), Avengers family, Phil Coulson has the patience of a saint - and this is his breaking point Summary: Phil Coulson likes the Avengers, likes working with them. But when it comes to convincing them to seek necessary medical attention... the next person to complain is getting dragged there by their ear!

What Matters

K2 – image [comics old!Tony] Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard/graphic Characters: Tony Stark & Morgan Stark Tags: Tony’s masks Summary: Tony has played many roles in his life, each famous in their way. But he is never more proud of a title he’s earned than when Morgan calls him “Daddy”.

Love is Comfortable

S3 – limping Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard Characters: Pepper Potts / Natasha Romanoff Tags: Fluffy socks Summary: As a woman, being beautiful is painful. So when they're together, they prefer to be comfortable.

Just Apply STE-V

T3 – matchmaker Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanfic (425 words) Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, DUM-E Tags: Mutual pining, developing relationship, DUM-E ships it Summary: When TON-E is sad, DUM-E finds ways to cheer him up. When TON-E is pining, DUM-E finds him STE-V. (Steve would rather prefer to have been consulted on this before being ‘delivered’.)

On Being Tony Stark’s Friend

A3 – free Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: drabble (100 words) Characters: Tony Stark & James Rhodes Tags: non-codependent friendship Summary: To be Tony’s friend, Rhodey had to learn to step back. They must complement each other, not complete.

Trauma Bingo (the Avengers need ALL the therapy)

R3 – shared trauma Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanfic (1180 words) Characters: Bucky Barnes & Avengers Team Tags: Angst and humour, PTSD (many traumatic topics mentioned briefly - see fic tags) Summary: SHIELD remembers that trauma therapy exists, and their sights are set on the Avengers. Aka. How many issues can you fit in one team, and can you also get them all in the same person. Succeeding at trauma bingo is not actually winning…

DUM-E Draws a Bath

K3 – miscommunication Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanart [DUM-E’s Drawings] Characters: Tony Stark & DUM-E Tags: DUM-E’s Drawings, literal interpretation, DUM-E is a disaster bot Summary: DUM-E tries to be helpful, but interpreting English is hard.

Gift of the Universe

S4 – resurrection Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard and ficlet (150 words) Characters: Tony Stark & infinity stones Tags: Sentient infinity stones, resurrection Summary: Tony Stark. We see you, we know you. Everything comes with a price, but you – our champion – have paid enough. Accept our gift, and wake!

Brooklyn Boy

T4 – Writing format: non-prose Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: poem (350 words) Characters: Tony Stark / Steve Rogers Tags: Filk, Pining, Happy ending Summary: It’s just not fair that Steve is so perfect... How could Tony not love him?

Cleaning up the Evidence

R4 – writing format: dialogue only Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: moodboard and drabble (100 words) Characters: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Tags: De-aging, Parent Tony Stark, Bubble-bath Summary: Tony discovers the unexpected pitfalls of an artistic toddler

TON-E and PET-R; or I-N Man and SPID-R Man

S5 – Peter Parker / Spiderman Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanart [DUM-E’s Drawings] Characters: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, DUM-E Tags: DUM-E’s Drawings, puns Summary: DUM-E meets PET-R, TON-E’s new young friend, and has fun with their superhero names. He also discovers how to improvise a ruler.

With me or Against me

T5 – angst Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: moodboard Characters: Tony Stark &Steve Rogers Tags: Betrayal, Sokovia Accords Summary: He and Steve have always had their disagreements, but he’d thought that being Avengers together meant something. Apparently not.

Storyboard for Define Winning

A5 – Writing format: missing scene/epilogue/coda Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: graphic/storyboard Characters: Stephen Strange Tags: Time stone / Eye of Agamotto, Mapping the future, Infinity War Summary: When fighting against impossible odds, you need to know exactly what you are trying to achieve; what is the one battle you cannot lose. Sometimes, success all comes down to asking the right question.

Surprise Superpowers: the Good, the Bad and the Awkward

R5 – supersoldier serum Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanfic (1020 words) Characters: Tony Stark Tags: Extremis!Tony Stark Summary: When Tony injected himself with a modified Extremis, it was supposed to keep him alive long enough for the arc reactor to be removed, then quietly fade away. It was not supposed to be this strong. It was not supposed to stick around. And it was not supposed to combine with Dr Cho's Cradle and the suit implants to create some really weird side-effects. Tony's not sure what to think about these new superpowers, so he decides to write it all out.

Learning Curve

K5 – image [DUM-E] Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanfic (325 words) Characters: Tony Stark & DUM-E Tags: MIT era, DUM-E is born, DUM-E is a disaster bot Summary: Tony never intended to create an AI as uniquely special as DUM-E, but he recognises it instantly when he does.

DUM-E’s Revenge

Adopted (January) – Sunset Bain Link/s: AO3 Tumblr Fill type: fanart [DUM-E’s Drawings] Characters: DUM-E, Sunset Bain (past Tony Stark/Sunset Bain) Tags: DUM-E’s Drawings, Vicarious revenge Summary: DUM-E really doesn’t like people who hurt his TON-E.

Copybot

Adopted (March) – facial-hair bros Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: craft Characters: DUM-E Tags: Dum-e is a disaster bot, Tony’s goatee Summary: DUM-E likes TON-E’s goatee, and U is an enabler.

DUM-E plays dress-ups

Adopted (June) – KINK: role-playing Link/s: Tumblr Fill type: fanart Characters: DUM-E Tags: Dum-e is a disaster bot, dress-ups Summary: The Avengers are some of DUM-E’s favourite people, so he tries to copy them. With varying degrees of success.

#tsb2020 #masterpost

1 note · View note

stony-ao3-feed · 5 years

Text

Here Comes The Sun

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Nfzstf

by De_Marvel_Bunny

Being a genius seemed to have endless perks. Never having trouble with homework, always at the center of attention, and endless praise.

Tony Stark was a genius, and he was well aware of those perks. However, perks don't always outweigh the liabilities.

OR, Tony can't sleep because his mind won't stop racing. Luckily, Steve is there to help him out. (AKA cuddles)

Words: 1153, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 26 of Whumptober 2019

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, or not - Relationship, you can choose

Additional Tags: Hurt Tony Stark, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Self-Destructive Tony Stark, I really want this as a tag, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Sleepy Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Pre-Slash, Sleepy Cuddles, Couch Cuddles, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Or relationship if that's what u want, Concerned Steve Rogers, seriously why aren't there accurate tags, Mother Hen Steve Rogers, aha that's a tag that's great, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Nfzstf

#stony #fanfiction #ao3feed #superhusbands #stevetony

7 notes · View notes

roman-deserves-love · 5 years

Text

Go To Sleep Goddammit

Hey so @officialwaterfairy I'm your secrets santa for @marsupials-of-mars' SS. The cuddles aren't until like 2/3 of the way through I'm sorry.

~1.6k words

Pairings- Prinxiety(could be platonic? I guess?)

Triggers- none of the top of my head, food mention, lack of sleep I guess?

-----------------------------------------

There were two (2) things about himself that Virgil Calavera would go to any length to prevent his roommates from knowing.

1. His middle name. Keeping that a secret was easy enough, as driving made him too anxious to even consider doing something that would require him to show his driver’s license. He suspected Logan knew, mainly because what didn’t Logan know, and he was the one who talked to the landlord and filled out paperwork on the behalf of all four of them, and thereby most likely had seen a fair amount of Virgil’s records.

2. The dread fact that, when Virgil was extremely tired, he got, as loathe as he was to say it, affectionate. Capital ‘a’, capital ‘ffectionate’. Not in the verbally affectionate way, oh no, that would be too easy. Rather, when he was sleep-deprived, Virgil was like a cat. An alarmingly cuddly cat. That was more difficult to hide, as Virgil had an oh-so slight (though Patton would certainly contest that) tendency to not sleep.

Now, usually Virgil was aware of his tired self’s antics, and kept to his room when he hadn’t slept, though that may have also been because if he left he knew that Patton would find him, lecture him, and convince him to sleep with one of his Patton-tented (heh) Dad Looks™, and Virgil didn’t want the father figure to have to waste time parenting him.

Fortunately, on this particular night, Patton was out at work, as well as, to his knowledge, Logan and Roman. Knowing this, Virgil felt comfortable hauling himself away from where he had been editing his third draft for the last ten consecutive hours to stuff some sustenance in his food hole so his hunger pangs, which had been distracting him, to go away so he could retreat back to his room and keep revising. Of course, before he’d been editing his draft, he’d been writing it, which meant that over the last two and a half days, he’d gotten one, count it up, one, uno, one singular hour of sleep, so, as one could expect, he was really fucking tired.

Virgil slogged into the kitchen and opened the pantry, peering at the meager offerings it had to provide. A sandwich would require a measure of effort Virgil was unwilling to expend in his current state of exhaustion, so that was out. Was that a Pringles can? Yes, but it was tragically empty. Damn it, Remy. It’s not even your apartment. He glanced at the rest of the kitchen. The bowl full of fruit that Patton insisted on buying was empty, and from where he was standing, he could see a cereal box stuffed haphazardly into the trashcan, ruling out that as an option. For a kitchen stocked by two different parental figures and the most high maintenance person this side of the century, there was shockingly little. Whatever, coffee’ll stave off the hunger. Damn necessary bodily functions. Alas, they were also out of instant, and as stated, Virgil was not in the mood to put time into his food. He wanted something quick and lazy, like the damn millennial he was. A random-ass tumblr post popped into his head, something about water tricking the stomach into feeling full. Virgil privately thanked god for the internet, helping sleep-deprived writers work since whenever the hell the internet was created. Virgil didn’t give a shit, he just wanted to retreat back to his room, so he could work, and his editor would get off his ass about deadlines.

As he stepped away from the pantry, tearing his eyes away from the spot above the dust-gathering oven that he just now realized he’d been staring blankly at for the last minute, a decidedly unexpected voice sound came from the doorway between the living room and kitchen. “Fancy seeing you here, Johnny Depp-ressing. You’ve been in your lair for the last four days.”

Virgil grunted at the figure before him, before responding in a voice gravelly from disuse and lack of sleep. “First of all, Princey, don’t compare me to that asshole. Second of all, it’s been maybe three days since I came out. Maybe.”

The prince arched an eyebrow, his face displaying a look of… was that concern? Virgil had always assumed that Roman hated him, since all he ever did was give him insulting nicknames and mock his admittedly cliché style. Whatever, Virgil was too tired, and his deadlines were too close to bother with reflecting on the actions of the regal man still standing in the doorway. As he considered this, he didn’t notice Roman opening his mouth to speak again, snapping his fingers in the emo’s face “Virgil? You there? You’re staring at me.”

Virgil snapped back out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m good. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work,” He attempted to push past Princey back towards his room, ready to call this excursion a failure and get back to work. Instead, he bumped directly into Roman, who was now blocking Virgil from getting to the stairs, and thereby his room and his laptop. So, ignoring his tired lizard brain telling him how warm Roman was, he squinted up at the taller man and tried (operative word being ‘tried’) to push him out of the way. “Dude, let me through. I have shit to do, my revised draft is due in a week and I’m only through chapter five.”

Roman pushed him back gently, placing a hand on each shoulder and taking a good, long look at Virgil’s present state of dishevel. Virgil would never admit it, but his Lizard Brain™ pouted at being taken away from the heat. “You, you self-destructive storm cloud, are going nowhere except to bed. God, when was the last time you slept? You look dead, Virgil,” Virgil opened his mouth to protest that he was fine, that he had shit to do, but Roman beat him to it. “I am perfectly aware that you have work to do, J. K. Scowling, but if you push yourself you will burn out, I can promise you. If you won’t sleep, then at least do something besides write. I know I’m hardly one to talk about creating too much, but this isn’t healthy, Virgil.”

God, Roman clearly didn’t get how editing worked, but whatever. “Fine, but I’m going to my room. I’ll just scroll through Tumblr for a while or something,” Virgil fibbed, ducking out of Roman’s arms, and walking to the staircase. “Happy?”

Unfortunately, before he could get to the stairs, Roman grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Oh no you don’t, Goth Dun. If you go up to your room, you’ll just go back to work. You need a break, Virgil. I’m not making this up to annoy you, I’m trying to help, so just let me Goddammit!”

Virgil wrenched his arm out of Roman’s grasp and stalked over to the couch, crossing his arms like a petulant child as he sat. “Fine, Princey. I’ll take a break. If I can’t go to my room, what should I do? Twiddle my thumbs? Hunt for food that doesn’t exist?”

Roman displayed a grin that made Virgil wish he hadn’t said anything. “Why, Angstella McCartney, I thought you’d never ask!” Roman quickly walked over to the DVD case, humming to himself as he did so. After a minute of rummaging and awkward silence, Roman finally brandished a DVD in the air triumphantly. “Ah-ha! I knew the devil couldn’t hide from me!” He stood up and pivoted towards Virgil, still waving the disk. “Since you asked so nicely what you could do, I would propose that we watch a movie, so that I can ensure that Dad-vid Beckham doesn’t find you keeled over on your laptop because you, Sunshine, worked yourself to death. And for our viewing entertainment,” he turned and slid the disk into the video player, “A true classic- The Little Mermaid.”

Virgil groaned. He liked one (1) animated movie musical, and it was decidedly not the tale that Roman had decided was to keep him from ‘overworking himself’ and ‘keeling over’. Whatever. An hour or two couldn’t hurt too much, could it? And Roman was being far nicer than usual, and Virgil would hate to waste this window of kindness. “Fine, but I’m warning you, Brenin, if you start singing, I will yeet myself out the goddamn window.”

“Roger that, Calavera,” Roman plopped onto the couch besides Virgil and winked at him. (Winked? What the sweet Mary mother of fuck?) “I suppose not singing is a fair price to pay for keeping you out of the hospital.” And with that, he clicked on the movie and the pair spoke no more.

However, as Virgil sat, only half paying attention, his Lizard Brain slowly took over, and he no longer had the wherewithal to fight it. Slowly, slowly, he gradually shifted closer to Roman, who was totally absorbed in the movie, moving so subtly that he himself didn’t even notice until halfway through the movie, when he found himself close enough to hear his roommate’s breathing. Virgil found himself wondering what the worst thing that could happen would be if he were to scoot just a tad bit closer.

He was torn from his thoughts by a pressure around his shoulder. Roman had put an arm around him and was currently tugging Virgil into his side. At this point, Virgil made the wise, well-educated, well-thought-out decision to say, ‘Fuck it’ and leaned in, curling himself into Roman’s side and relaxing, and oh God Roman was so fucking warm, it was like sitting next to a heater, but who gave a fuck? Not him. He was warm, and his Tired Lizard Brain was happy, and Roman was carding his fingers through his hair, and Virgil was so fucking exhausted and so comfortable that when his eyes drifted shut, he didn’t bother stopping them.

-------------

That's all, sorry if it's a little short

329 notes · View notes

monisse · 5 years

Text

These Raging Minds (II)

Pairing: Brianna / Roger Spoilers: Missing scene from The Fiery Cross, sometime after Alamance Summary: As she absently stroked the healing flesh of his scarred throat, Brianna wondered if the songs still came to him as effortlessly as they did before, with an overwhelming urge to sing, or if he now made a conscious effort to suffocate them before he was even tempted to form the notes.

There was an itch at the very tip of her fingers from an innate desire to capture the view before her into a canvas, even though she knew the natural powders that inhabited the strokes of her paintbrush would pale in comparison to the intensity of the surrounding colors. Brianna felt that the scenery was vaguely familiar, but she was unable to attach it to a specific memory, perhaps a consequence of being displaced in time herself, as if she had already been there, or is yet to be.

The grass in which she sat extended towards a lake adorned with purple flowers near the shore. She placed a hand in front of her eyes, always mindful of her fair skin, and even though the sun was bright above in the sky it neither burn, nor was it warm. That peculiar sensation, or lack thereof, demanded a rational explanation, but before Brianna could analyze it, something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. There was a group of trees a short distance away, inconsequential in their rooted stillness, were it not for the large white oak that stood taller than all others, at the center. She observed then, overcome with horror, that a looped noose was suspended from one of its branches, balancing in the wind. A chill ran down her spine as she opened her mouth to a soundless scream.

Then, without warning, the world she inhabited was suddenly on the move with its watercolors blending together, and when she placed one hand above the grass that was rapidly disappearing below, she felt the earth trembling underneath.

With a sense of urgency and blood pounding in her ears, Brianna opened her eyes to a darker world than the one she had left. Yet, the motion persisted. She blinked once, twice, allowing her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. For a brief moment Brianna though she was still inside her head, trapped in some sort of awful twist of the previous dream but the sight of Roger beside her, fighting angrily against himself, felt real enough to push her into action. In one swift move, only slowed by a short struggle against the tangled sheet, she rose and leaned over him.

"Roger!" She called out, voice cracking with the remnants of a restless sleep.

By now she was already familiar, as much as one could ever be, with the incoherent nightmares that drove him awake in the middle of the night, often startling her in the process. However, this was something else entirely, for it had taken over his body in the most horrific fashion.

His eyes were closed, looking inward at a sight only visible to him, while his hands scratched desperately at his damaged throat as though pulling at an invisible rope that dug its rough fibers against the skin there. Strangled grunts came out of his contorted mouth with each attempt to draw air into lungs, and with the effort to breathe Roger was on the verge of choking himself.

Both her hands trembled while roaming just above his body, not fully knowing where to touch. But in spite of the hesitation, her mind was fully alert. Brianna knew exactly where he had wandered off, his mind had plunged into his own demise without conscious consent. She had not seen Roger as he hanged not so long ago, although she had raced against time itself to find him. Nevertheless, the image before her now would be engraved in her head as a close resemblance. When Brianna arrived by the large white oak, she had thought him dead, although the finality of it had not completely register right away. And the sight had been so horrifying that even after all this time, she still remembered the dreadful sensation of all blood being drained at once and replaced by an icy fluid that stopped her heart momentarily. It had only started again prompted by a moan from the seemingly lifeless form of Roger which swung from the branch between life and death.

In the bed right before her eyes, his whole body tensed at once and she instinctively took hold of his hands, trying to pry them away from his neck. Despite her firm grip, Roger resisted with the strength implied by his sturdy frame, but seldom fully unleashed. In that moment a far recess of her brain, the sardonic side of her, noticed that she was locked in a physical representation of the mind struggle they had been living in the past months, pushing and pulling without one fully yielding to the other.

Roger had tried to speak at length ever since they had returned to the Ridge, albeit remaining conscious of the oddness of his damaged voice. But as time went by, along with increasing frustration, the words became few and far between. Eventually he became silent again. In the void left by his words Brianna had learned to read the subtle changes in his stance, the ever-changing expressions in his face, and all of which he did not speak aloud. All of it was nearly deafening, and the deeper the silence grew between them, the louder her mind became.

He had always been a man of eloquent word and amusing wit, traits always expressed freely. Only now he could not, or would not unleash his thoughts, not even to her. Brianna was convinced that in spite of his early efforts, Roger must have grown tired of the ever-present judgment, unspoken as it was, and the looks of pity surely had made him progressively withdraw into miserable thoughts, mentally out of reach from her. Then, in the absence of sound, Roger often disappeared into the woods for hours on end, and when he finally came back, as silent as he had left, Brianna had to bite down the bitter remarks at the tip of her tongue. Often enough, she fancied surrendering to a selfish spree that would fill the void with screams, loud and enraged, and throw the loneliness she felt mercilessly back at him. However, a quick look into the desolation etched across his face ceased all thoughts of that kind.

She called for him, desperately now, but he remained completely oblivious, lost in a creation rooted in the reality where death was an imminent conclusion. Amidst the struggle to breathe his face became an angry shade of red against the faded amber light from the hearth. The muscles in his arms were strained beyond capacity, resisting her every move. Yet, she refused to surrender Roger, unconscious or not, to the darkest corners of his mind. They had lived through far more than it was rationally conceivable, and this was yet another test to their combined resilience.

With renewed determination she slipped her fingers between his, entwining their hands firmly, and pulled at them once more. Without as much resistance as before, his hands held unconsciously onto hers and slowly departed from his neck.

With both his hands safely between hers, she leaned further down and placed her lips above his, barely touching.

“Breathe, Roger. Breathe!” She murmured continuously like a mantra to bring him back safely.

As if triggered awake by her calling, he rose from the bed with a loud gasp, voraciously consuming the air he had been deprived of. Brianna caught the abrupt motion of his body with her hands and felt his heart beat fast underneath. Long dark lashes moved rapidly, trying to make sense of the surroundings. The air passed through his damaged throat with some effort, that much she could tell, and from the way he panted it must be exceedingly painful as well.

The relief she immediately felt when he woke up was short lived once his eyes found hers. Their shade of moss, usually intense and lively, was clouded with a hint of tears, and behind them lay a vast field of regret, fear and anger, all combining into the overwhelming loss of oneself.

Brianna saw a changed Roger in those eyes, one that was still somewhat foreign to her. And among the flood of emotions, she saw in them a question, as plainly as if he had voiced it.

He parted his lips to speak though only a strangled sound came out, which made him visibly self-conscious. Being the only one privy to that level of vulnerability made her own throat constrict, while her eyes burned at the edges, threatening tears as well.

Carefully, she moved around the bed and sat against the headboard, resting her back on the pillows there.

"Come here." Brianna said while lifting her arms in invitation.

And he went willingly, too tired and greatly in need to do otherwise. Brianna welcomed the full weight of his body, the warmth of his skin on her cooler one, and even the fast beating if his heart against hers. Roger molded his body to hers, as his son often did, with his head on her chest and arms surrounding her, seeking the sort of comfort only she could provide.

Cradling Roger against her, she brushed the dark waves of his hair, with fingers traveling down towards the large expanse of his back, feeling the bumps of fading scars underneath their tips. His skin was clammy to the touch after fighting against himself, but she was not willing to let him go.

“I Iove you, no matter what.” She said firmly just so the words cut through the silence of the room to answer his unspoken question. He did not reply, only let out a long-held sigh of relief and with it his body relaxed, fully melting into hers.

She realized he had been alone with his thoughts for far too long, mourning the memory of singing, and that sort of pain, with the doubts that accompanied it, were a heavy burden to carry by himself.

As she absently stroked the healing flesh of his scarred throat, Brianna wondered if the songs still came to him as effortlessly as they did before, with an overwhelming urge to sing, or if he now made a conscious effort to suffocate them before he was even tempted to form the notes.

It took a while and a few sleepless nights, but she had finally relinquished to the notion that her memories of Roger singing, which played in her mind frequently, would have to be enough from then on. However, Roger was yet to surrender to the inevitable conclusion that that piece of him was lost, perhaps forever. A piece that was so intrinsically his, natural and all-encompassing of his sense of self, that he felt like his own identity had been compromised. What he had yet to understand, was that he was far more than just that piece. Brianna saw him as an assortment of the fierce loyalty, integrity, compassion and courage that made him a worthy man. But he was also determined and stubborn in equal measure, and that lesson was not one he would easily learn from her. He had to do it alone, or not at all.

His very soul was as bruised as his throat, but she would wait patiently until he found himself again.

#brianna mackenzie #roger mackenzie #roger x brianna #brianna x roger #themackenziesarehere #outlander #outlander fanfiction #bree x roger #brianna fraser #thefierycross

47 notes · View notes

stedes-black-bonnet · 5 years

Text

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 28

POV: John Deacon x Reader

Notes: We have three things: masterlist, tag list, and fun. We also take requests.

Warnings: Angst, argumentation, grave mistakes, tears, swearing?

Abstract: Synchronize your minds and see the beast within him rise…

-------------------------------------------

Roger dashed from the restaurant, shockingly embarrassed, desperately self-loathing, and tremendously regretful. What have I done? What the fuck have I done? He kept thinking this one thought over and over, on repeat, a skipping record: What have I done? His cheek was pulsing red and burning hot, but the stinging jabs in his mangled and muddled heart were far worse than the cold, well-deserved slap he had received. Or had it been a punch? He couldn’t remember. Roger knew he had finally gone too far. He had done it now. Gone all the way. It wasn't the “what in bloody hell is she doing here” opening line that had sealed his fate; rather, it was what he had said directly after that had fucked him over and fucked everything right to hell. He knew those next and final four words had changed everything. Maybe forever. At the time, he had wanted to say them, at the time, he had wanted to hurt someone. Now, though...well, now: What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

Everything was blacks, whites, and greys in the bustling streets, and he wanted to vomit again because of it. He couldn’t tell if it was night or day; he felt sensory-deprived and excruciatingly confused because nothing was as it should be, and it was all his fault. He heard rushing footsteps pursuing him at a run; he was afraid who it would be, frightened about which one of them would come after him. Roger turned, panting, and saw Jim Hutton behind him. Overwhelmed emotionally and distraught in his mind, Roger stopped running, waiting for Jim to catch up to him. He had given up. He had given up on everything. What have I done? Better to just give in, he thought.

“Roger!” Jim shouted at him; it was a tired yelp, equal parts galled and resentful.

“I can’t Jim.” Roger responded, exasperatedly. “Everything is falling apart. Nothing makes sense. Just leave me alone. All of you just leave me alone.”

“You villain!” Jim yelled, angry tears in his eyes. “You villain. I’ve always wanted to deck you Roger Taylor, and now you’ve given me all the reason I need to fulfill that particular dream.”

“Just get it over with.” Roger pleaded, throwing his hands up in the air. “I won’t fight you.” He wanted to be beaten up; and it had nothing to do with his sexual proclivities. It was atonement for which he was looking. Maybe it would bring her back? Maybe it would bring the colors back? What have I done?

Jim wasn’t listening to him, maybe he wasn’t really seeing him either; all Jim could see was his loyalty to Johnny, and what needed to be done; if he had been really looking, however, he would have seen the considerable torment Roger was experiencing; self-caused though it may be, Jim wouldn’t have been heartless to anyone’s suffering--even Roger Taylor’s. “You should be ashamed of what you said to that poor man.”

“I am.”

“How could you? After everything you did for him?”

“I know.”

“When you stepped up after she died, when you gave everything to him, I saw you, Roger.” Jim said, fighting back tears from old wounds and ancient grudges. “I saw you for the first time, and I knew you had a heart buried inside you somewhere. I saw you, Roger. I knew you were a good man. A man I wanted to know. A man I was proud to know.”

“I’m nothing, Jim; you put your faith in the wrong person.”

“I didn’t; you loved him.”

“I do love him.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” Jim spat at him. “What you did in there. What you said--!”

“What have I done?”

“You should hate yourself.” Jim was quiet, now.

“I do.” Roger had started crying. Publicly. In the streets. He didn’t care anymore. Colors didn’t exist. What have I done? He’d never deserve Lydia; she was too good for him. What have I done? And to top it all off, now he had ruined the most important friendship of his entire life. Full stop. No qualifications. He had ruined his chances with Lydia deliberately, and he had ruined John with intent. Then, as if by magic, he saw something that made him wish he was dead.

He saw a car.

He saw her car.

Veronica’s car.

“You do?” Jim questioned; though Roger was no longer paying attention to him, which annoyed him. He finally and carefully took in the pathetic sight before him.

Roger was leaning on a lamppost, barely able to stand. He wasn’t staring at Jim, though. He had seen the car, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He was staring at Deacy’s blue Mercedes-Benz. And he couldn’t take his eyes off it; it was blue. What have I done? Actually blue. Nothing else had color. But Veronica’s car was light blue, like it always had been. He could see it. He could see it. And all he could think about because of it, the only image that flashed through his whirling mind was her body under the white sheet. Perhaps that had been his ultimate sacrifice; perhaps that had been love. And he saw Lydia, then, too. Perfect Lydia. His Goddess in Red.

“He’s driving her car?” Roger whispered, finally tearing his eyes away from the blue car. He was trying to confirm the answer to his question in the lines of Jim’s pale, worried face. Jim nodded in response, and that was when Roger’s tears turned into violent, rocking sobs.

“He’s driving her car.” He repeated, sliding down the lamppost to sit in the street. He bawled, head in his hands. What have I done?

Jim Hutton wasn’t a man who was surprised by much; he had seen a lot of things that had broken a lot of people. Seeing Roger Meddows Taylor sobbing over a car in the heart of London, sitting in the dirty streets, however, had rendered him speechless. Something was very wrong here, and it had nothing to do with the assembled company inside the restaurant.

You were standing, shaking, staring at Roger’s retreating back, waiting for someone to say something. No one was breathing, everything was loudly quiet. Abrasively silent. Someone needed to say something, but no one was. You were too afraid to turn around and look at everyone. Your brave outburst had been the biggest spectacle you had ever caused. You knew you needed to apologize, but you couldn’t find the words. You needed to apologize to Deacy. But, before you could organize your thoughts, Jim Hutton had stood back up, shaking off Freddie’s arm from his; he had stood up so fast his chair had fallen over; he commenced to sprint out of the restaurant after Roger. He didn’t explain what he was doing or why; he had just left, like Roger before him.

Behind you, you heard Miami Beach speaking with brisk authority and unexpected humorous charm. Something about rock-stars being so temperamental. You turned and saw Miami had placed a kind hand on the waiter’s shoulder. The waiter was covered in some red sauce and several glasses of wine. Miami was apologizing to him about his tray toppling over during the fight; he wanted to personally pay for the meal, whoever’s it had been, and plead forgiveness from the chefs for them having to remake it. That was when a very frazzled man came over; he was the restaurant's manager; Jim asked if there if was somewhere they could talk privately. Miami retreated further back into the restaurant with the manager, already pulling a money clip from his designer blazer.

You risked looking at the rest of the table, then. Brian May was still sitting, though he looked stuck; as if he wasn’t sure where he wanted to be: chasing after Roger, or here with everyone else.

Freddie Mercury finished standing up, finally being the next one of you to move. He carefully walked over to you, and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, are you alright?” He asked, lightly and as non-threateningly as he could.

But you had eyes only for Deacy. You had finally forced yourself to look at the man you were falling in love with, and this was an entirely new side of him you had never before witnessed.

John Deacon was still breathing heavily; each breath crashed into him like a wave too strong for his body to withstand; it was taking all his self-control to stay on his feet. His fists were bright pink and balled tightly at his side, so tightly, you were sure, his fingernails were digging into his skin, maybe even drawing blood. What was most alarming, however, was that he couldn’t or wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You couldn’t decide which was worse: What you had said and done, or that John couldn’t look at you.

“How did you know?” He asked, too quietly, but you heard every word; it was terrifying he could hold so much power and speak so softly. You had never heard his voice sound like this before; it was the hidden caves of a marsh, it was the sound of a sandstorm raging to change the landscape, it was the sound of cancer.

“How did you know?” He repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, “Deacy,” you started.

“Who told you?” He said, not looking at you, not looking at any of them.

No one responded.

John banged a fist on the table suddenly and with great force. “Which one of you told her about Veronica?”

Freddie’s hand slipped down from your shoulder to take your hand. He squeezed it, and it was his way of saying let me handle this.

“John,” Freddie said softly, “look where we are. We don’t need to do this here, love.” Their table had been somewhat secluded, near the back, but it hadn’t shielded them from prying eyes, and concerned looks after the ordeal that had transpired.

“We are doing this now, Fred.” John said. It was said with so much command and surety, Freddie wasn’t sure they’d be able to convince him otherwise; it didn’t help the two people who were best at reasoning with Deacy were currently running down the streets of London, doing who knows what.

“Can we all please sit down?” Brain asked, politely yet sternly. “Deacy, we can talk here, but please--sit. Y/N, would you please sit too, down here, with us?”

Freddie held his other hand out to you, and led you Roger’s seat. You sat next to Brain, who was a great calming presence. Deacy reluctantly sat next to Freddie. Across from you, Deacy’s eyes were the color of storm clouds, the color of death.

His eyes still would not meet yours.

“John?” Freddie said, trying to get his attention. “Jimmy told her.”

Deacy looked at Freddie, and shock was splashed across his dark eyes.

“Roger?” Jim Hutton asked the Blond God.

“Jim, leave me alone.” Roger tried, and failed, to crawl away from Jim towards the blue car. Jim was standing on the hem of Roger’s blazer.

“Roger, you’re not getting away from me. I won’t leave you here. I won’t leave you alone.”

“You should. I’m worthless.”

“Maybe,” Jim agreed, sitting down next to Roger. “But I still care about you; you’re making it really hard to, though, almost like you’re doing it on purpose.”

“You shouldn’t care about me.”

“I’d care about even my worst enemy, Roger; don’t tell me who I can care about.”

“What I said back there...”

“Oh, I think we all know what you said back there; I don’t need to hear it again. Don’t you dare repeat it. Not to me. Not ever.”

“I feel sick.”

“You should.”

“No, not because of that--not just because of that. Something’s wrong, Jim.”

Jim sighed loudly, moving closer to Roger, lighting a cigarette, “I’m listening.”

“If I tell you, you’ll think I’m mad.”

“I do already, Rog.” Jim said, passing him the cigarette. “So no love lost there.”

“I fell in love.” Roger said, simply.

Jim turned to look at Roger like he had just confessed to being Jack the Ripper; it was impossible because Rog could never kill anyone, and, well, because Brian hadn’t yet figured out time travel. This was a statement he hadn’t expected to ever hear from the man sitting next to him.

“You fell in love?”

“Yes, and now my entire world is fucked. Right fucking fucked.”

“What do you mean? You’re not making sense.”

“Yeah, and I haven’t even gotten to the half of it yet.” Wiping tears from his face, he continued, “The only reason I can tell this car from any other Mercedes is because I can see it’s blue.”

“Okay…” Jim said, waiting for more.

“And if I didn’t know your eyes were brown, I wouldn’t know it now just from looking at you. And the only reason I know my shoes are purple is because they’re sentimental meaning has made them distinguishable in my mind above all others; they’re my favorite pair, and I’d know them anywhere. But I can’t tell you what color those flowers are, or the color of your shirt, or anything else. It’s all gone.”

“Wait--slow down. What’s gone?”

“The colors. Everything is gone. I fell in love, and now I can’t see them.”

“You fell in love, and now you can’t see colors?”

“Yes.”

Jim didn’t say anything, he just stared at Roger trying to tell if he was pulling his leg. He lit another cigarette.

“I told you, if I told you, I would sound crazy.”

“You did warn me, yes.” Jim said, slowly.

“I’m not crazy, Jim.”

“I know you’re not, Roger.” Jim was trying to believe him. He did for the most part; he wasn’t a medical professional, but he didn’t think Roger was insane; maybe he had experienced some kind of a mental break, but that didn’t mean he was certifiable. “Okay, Roger; I believe you, but you’re going to need to tell me everything that happened, and everything about this color business. Okay?”

Roger nodded, afraid, and still sobbing. “Please, just get me away from her car.”

“Jim told her. Jim told you?” Deacy’s eyes finally met yours, and it caused you a brief sense of sharp relief.

“Yes, he did.” You said quite quickly.

John took a breath to steady his nerves. It wasn’t the kind of breath to calm good nerves, not the kind of gentle inhale before a first kiss, or walking out on stage; no, it was a very different kind of breath. John took a breath again. John didn’t want to do one thing, and he was afraid he was doing just that; he didn’t want to scare you. He didn’t want to make you feel unsafe, he didn’t want to scare you away. So, he kept taking breaths, trying to center himself. Trying to sieve off some of his vastly expanding rage, shame, and that dark, dark sorrow that had so governed him these past three years.

You could tell he was worried about whatever it was you were feeling; which was oddly sweet, but not necessary; you had done what you did because of his feelings. Somehow, for some reason, you had wanted to protect him, and you had. You could tell he cared very much about you, and despite how traumatic this night had been for him, he didn’t want you to be afraid of him and the feelings he was currently experiencing. You could hardly blame him, though, for feeling how he did; you all had heard what Roger had said.

“Why did he tell you about her?” Deacy asked, as lightly as he could manage; it wasn’t very light, it wasn’t very steady, but he was trying his best. His fists were still tight; you wished he’d unfurl them, but you had the distinct feeling he did not want to be touched right now.

“He said he was protecting you.”

Deacy nodded once. It was a cold nod, a detached nod. “That sounds like him, yes.” He said, more to himself than to anyone else at the table.

He sat in silence, closing his eyes, and breathing slowly--or trying to. You could tell he was dangerously, incandescently wrathful, and that he was, maybe more than anything else, lost. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He couldn’t find the words.

Very slowly, he said, “I wanted to tell you myself. Eventually.” His grey eyes met yours, and you knew he was trying to not cry. A screw turned in your heart. God, you had felt pain before, at least you had thought you had; looking at Deacy now, however, you knew he had known real suffering beyond anything anyone should be able to endure. And yet, here he was, alive despite that pain. Maybe in spite of it, even; you admired that about him.

“I believe you.” You said. You decided to risk it; you took his hand.

You were two hands holding.

He looked at your hands, taking a deep, shuddering breath. And he began to cry.

“I have believed everything you’ve told me since we met. I wish I had someone looking out for me the way Jim does for you. Don’t blame him for telling me.”

“For you, I won’t.” Deacy said, holding your hand back, squeezing it a little too tightly. “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why Roger…” he couldn’t get the words out; you realized that was what was hurting him most. It wasn’t what you had said or done, but what Roger had.

“Did you drive here?” Jim Hutton asked Roger.

“Yes,” Roger said, fishing for his keys in his pocket; he scooted Jim off his blazer to wrangle them out. He tossed them to Jim.

“Good catch,” Roger smirked.

“The gays can catch things, you know.” Jim said, standing and helping Roger to his feet. “Where did you park?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Jim looked at Roger incredulously.

“No, Jim. I can’t see her anymore.” He shouted dramatically, arms wide, throwing his glasses to the ground and stomping on them. “I can’t see my Goddess, I can’t see the color Red. I can’t see any of them.”

Humoring Roger, Jim nodded at him, smiling. He needed to get him out of here and back to Garden Lodge. Freddie would be able to find them there, at least. It is the first place his husband would check. Jim scanned the area growing more and more concerned with each passing second. It took him a few moments, but he spotted Roger’s Alfa Romeo one block down. “She’s on this next street.”

“Lydia?”

“What?” Jim said, voice high, taken aback. “No--your car.”

Roger looked up and down the block. Once. Twice. Again. What have I done?

And as he kept looking past his own car, the more times he did it, the more Jim felt himself believing Roger; he wasn’t making it up; he wasn’t trying to get out of what he had said. Of what he had done.

“Here,” Jim said, taking Roger’s hand. “I’ll lead the way.”

Deacy couldn’t understand why Roger had lashed out, none of them could. It had happened mere moments ago, but you kept playing it over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of what he had said and why.

“What in bloody hell is she doing here?” Roger had yelled, staring daggers at you..

“She’s here with me.” Deacy said, taking your hand proudly and protectively. He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at his best friend. Deacy could tell he hadn’t dressed himself; and Roger could tell Deacy had dressed to attack.

“Well, well, well,” Roger said slowly, savoring each word. “My, my, my, you move faster than even I do.”

“Come off it, Rog.” Deacy said, laughing. He wasn’t in on the joke.

Roger stood, smiling sweetly, and said, voice dripping with venom, “Replacing Veronica already, mate?”

--------------------------------

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love @partydulce@richiethotzierz@sophierobisonartfoundationblr@psychostarkid@teathymewithben@smittyjaws@just-ladyme@botinstqueen @mydogisthebest@little-welsh-wonder@maxjesty@deakysdiscos@yourealegendroger@marvellouspengwing@molethemollie@deakysgirl@arrowswithwifi@tardisgrump

#john deacon x reader #john deacon #joe mazzello #roger taylor #ben hardy #jim hutton #aaron mccusker #freddie mercury #rami malek #brian may #gwilym lee #bohemian rhapsody #queen x reader

45 notes · View notes

sanjuno · 5 years

Note

Ummmm howabout a one piece time travel fic of your choice?

(1/32 SI Promptfest)

The sea is a treacherous bitch, and I have never hated being proved right more than the moment I realized that the undertow that drowned mereally did come out of nowhere just to drag my ass away from shore. How, you ask me at this point, did I know my bitter sarcasm was more than simple railing against my unfortunate circumstances?

The giant glowing sea goddess clad in sea foam and coral tipped me off. A smidge. Just a wee little bit of a hint there.

Terrible and majestic, the Ocean spoke in a voice like the waves crashing against stone. ‘My son will appreciate the help you canprovide, Occhio D Vittoria.’

“… eh?” I was understandably suffering a bit of a BSOD inthe brain, between the worldview shift required when a technical atheist meets withthe divine face to face and the oxygen deprivation. The Ocean then proceeded to slam me head-first down a whirlpool before I could even get a complete word out, and then pain from the bends set my blood on fire.

Needless to say, I was not in the best frame of mind when Iwoke up still under the water. “That’s not my fucking name, you salt-soaked whore!”

A rather scandalized clownfish burbled at me in shock, retreating into its anemone. It took me longer than I care to admit to realizethat I was actually breathing water rather than using a self-taught diving trick to recycle old air. Hard on the heels of that revelation was the notice that my legs had been replaced with a fishtail. Specifically, I was sporting the iconic ray-finned crimson-and-neon barbsof a clearfin lionfish.

“…” I stared for a good long while, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on. This was a situation that called for a witty one-liner. “… Well if I have to be a male-gaze fantasy trope at least I get to be a venomous one.”

… Eh, good enough. I always did have a habit of identifying the benefits of any given situation, and being neurotoxic was a fairly decent defense mechanism when all is said and done. Next step was movement, fairly easy to adapt to given that despite the surface characteristics my tail was still jointed like an aquatic mammalian.This meant I propelled myself with the vertical kick I was familiar with from when I still had legs rather than having to learn how to steer using the lateral movements of an actual fish.

Bonk!

“Mother of fuck!” One hand pressed to my brand new brain injury, I slapped the other one forward to press against the glass wall. Now that I was paying attention to something other than my new meatsuit, I recognized the not-quite-mirror quality of aquarium glass. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me.”

I was in a honest-to-goodness fishbowl. What in the name of all that was held sacred did the Ocean think she was doing sticking me in a fucking aquarium? Was this vengeance for the time I let my mother help me clean my fish tank and she accidentally boiled my placo?

Holy shit I hopenot.

Pressing my face up against the glass I could see… wanted posters. In a… more-than-slightly-familiar printing style. Hm.

My fins flared out in shock as I stared at a wanted poster for Portgas D Rouge. There were other posters, all of them bounties for female pirates. Those, combined with the questionable taste of the statuary bolted to the floor, told me exactly what kind of situation I had ended up in.

I was in One Piece, I was a captive mermaid, and my ‘owner’had a fetish typical of the series’ stock of minor villains. A perversion that was played up for comedy during the build-up and action events while actually being beyond horrifying when realistically considered. I was trapped inside the glass, and swallowing back the surge of fear made me acutely aware of the pressure of what I presumed was a bomb collar around my neck. I had no resources, no allies, no clue what I was even doing in this world, and no realistic hope of rescue.

I was, in short, completely doomed unless the Ocean decided to take pity and toss a miracle or two my way.

BOOM!

Well, ask and ye shall receive… at least so long as the Ocean Goddess still has a use for me, I suppose. The water in my tank vibrated, the walls of the room outside of it shaking madly as what I assumed was a Grand Line style brawl grew closer. An ugly man, made recognizable to me by his inbred ugliness as a World Noble, flew through the far wall to crash into the memorabilia shrine. The posters and broken pieces of plaster flew up into the air.

I am Canadian to my core, and also a mouthy shit with no shame, so I threw my arms in the air and made like a bullhorn. “GOOOOAAAAALLLL!”

The man dramatically emerging from the smoke in a predatory stalk promptly stumbled as he sputtered. Two smaller bodies shoved around his knees to stare at me curiously. The view was a bit distorted, but it was hard to mistake those two particular children for anyone else.

Blinking, I took in the sight of Portgas D Ace and Monkey D Luffy in all their tiny, childhood glory. For some reason they were dressed in the tattered remains of tropical print sundresses. Which really did not make me feel any better about how they had managed to end up in the same room as my cage. Then I lifted my gaze to the adult accompanying them and felt my eye twitch.

It was an adult version of Ace, tattooed front and back with an elaborate phoenix-and-wave design that I had never managed to draw out quite to my satisfaction. Well, at least if I had to be a victimized minority in One Piece I was in a fix-it AU and now I knew how to create a situation where I could make the most of it.

“Hi, Riot!” I waved cheerfully, hoping against hope that anime physics would come into play and let my voice carry through the glass. “Could you be a dear and get the key to this bomb collar before you completely destroy that asshole’s everything?”

“Hi, Pretty Fish Lady!” Luffy waved back, and oh, look at that. There were den-den mushi installed on either side of the glass for easy communication. That made better sense. “Do you know my big brother?”

“I saw him be born! A real firecracker, your big brother.” Technically I am actually telling thetruth, which is great because Luffy is oddly perceptive about things like that. Riot gave me a sharp look, and I winked at him trying to mime holding a crystal ball, hoping he would pick up on the wording and… yeah, there it was. Thank you for your reputation, Madame Sharkey, and let us all hope I never get called out on borrowing it.

“Stop right there, pirate scum!” The man who rushed at Riot was dressed in white, and… yep. There was that sand-blasted awful coat with the hideous epaulettes.

Carnage ensued. The glass of my tank got broken as Riot’s fight with the Noble’s Marine bodyguard ramped up, and I had a terrifying flashback to the time my five gallon tank got shoved off the table and broken glass sliced my betta in half. Luck and possible divine intervention allowed everyone involved in the confusion to avoid gaining a serious injury from the glass shards. Ace proved that his pick pocketing skills were still sharp when he rushed over to me with a stupidly elaborate key ring in hand.

Key in lock and turn and yes! Free!

I ripped the collar away from my neck as soon as the clasp popped loose, glaring at the Noble only just managing to pull himself free of the pile of debris Riot had buried him in. He needed to be buried deeper and I needed my fucking legs back!

A lurch, like when your gut drops out from under you on a roller coaster.

“HA! Feet! Score one for maturity!” I am a very mature and poised individual indeed. Ask anyone. I am also really glad for the worldbuilding that means despite being a mermaid, as an adult I can have feet whenever I need them. Certain people just really need a good curb-stomping, and it is hard to deliver such without heels to slam down into tender places.

I might also have fed the Noble the bomb collar. After arming it. In retrospect, I have no idea how I managed to avoid making a horrid mess of myself.

… Honestly I think I just got caught up in the moment. Also I have a very low empathy score and a duty to future generations to remove certain bad influences from the gene pool. Especially when said bad influences make creepy comments about small children and their ‘uses’.

Noting that Riot seemed to be finishing up his fight, I grabbed one of the wrap dresses from the wreckage of the armoire and cinched it tight, vowing to change into something with a less tainted providence at the first available opportunity. Then I slung the children over my shoulders like particularly vocal grain sacks and headed for the stairs. Predictably, things started to explode as Riot put the Marine down for good. I was already up on the deck with my wiggling burdens by the time a massive fireball chewed through most of the Noble’s ostentatiously gaudy ship.

Riot emerged from the flames, predictably unscathed, and the Marine was nowhere to be seen. He stared at me, I stared back at him, and Luffy whined into my shoulder-blade about me not letting him watch the end of the fight. “You’re a mean Fish Lady.”

“Little fry should not be fighting sharks.” I told the youngest boy even as I tossed Ace at his older counterpart and re-secured Luffy before he could slip free. “Salut, cousin. I appreciate the assist and the chance to get my own back. Although I do hope you have an escape route in mind.”

“My ship is right there.” Riot caught Ace without pausing stride and motioned to where a galleon flying a jolly roger was pulling up broadside to the rapidly burning vessel. The light from the flames made it easy to see Riot frown, his entirely understandable distrust of strangers warring with the reality of the situation I was in when he found me. “… Are you comingalong?”

“If you don’t mind the company.” I smiled at him as we began to move towards the pirate ship and pulled the one bounty poster I had made a point of picking up out of my pocket. “It’d be nice to get to know Miss Rouge’s sons.”

Riot flicked another searching look at me while Ace gaped at the picture of his mother. It was probably the first time the kid had seen her face. Hells bells, they were young. I still had a decade on Riot at this point in his life, more than twice that on Ace and Luffy. Still, time to make the most of being the eldest.

“The name’s Occhio D Vittoria, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” … Aw fuck no. That was not my name. The Ocean was still playing silly buggers and I did not appreciate the sudden re-branding at all.

… Oh shit, maybe the D stood for Drowned.

#sanjuno's ficwork #one piece fanfic #wildfire riot #wildfire hearts #portgas d ace #portgas d riot #monkey d luffy #occhio d vittoria #si promptfest #heave a sigh and a wish for me #si oc #violent mermaids are the best mermaids

164 notes · View notes

ao3feed-stony · 5 years

Text

Here Comes The Sun

by De_Marvel_Bunny

Being a genius seemed to have endless perks. Never having trouble with homework, always at the center of attention, and endless praise.

Tony Stark was a genius, and he was well aware of those perks. However, perks don't always outweigh the liabilities.

OR, Tony can't sleep because his mind won't stop racing. Luckily, Steve is there to help him out. (AKA cuddles)

Words: 1153, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 26 of Whumptober 2019

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, or not - Relationship, you can choose

source http://archiveofourown.org/works/21188045

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #fan fiction #ao3 stony feed #stony fan

1 note · View note

drowsyroger · 5 years

Text

Against All Odds

Pairing: Roger Taylor x OC Word Count: 2.2k words Author’s notes: This started as a short fic (600+ words) while listening to Phil Collin’s “Against All Odds” then this happened last night... me sleep deprived trying to re-write it. Thank you so much for bearing with my ass, @secretsweetscollectionblog, @ironqueen98 and @duvetsandpillows and thank you for all those who’s gonna read this mess of a fic. @wsllaw, hun, this one’s also for you. Hope you enjoy it! (And English is not my first language... please bear with me)

It was the first time that the couple spent their Christmas away from each other due to Vivienne’s extended stay in Italy and Queen’s release of ‘A Day at The Races’, but fortunately, they had time after the 25th to spend time with everyone and celebrate a post-Christmas dinner party. Of course, Freddie being a party-lover himself, decided to host the celebration in the flat he shared with Mary. Everyone agreed on attending with their wives while Roger was thinking about spending the Christmas alone with Vivienne.

Of course, Roger was excited about what he had in his sleeves. He was so decided to pop the question to Vivienne, but his plan was put into a halt when she told Freddie that she would want to spend the post-Christmas celebration with them since she haven’t seen them in months. He reluctantly agreed about the idea, but it seems like she really wanted to spend it with them and devised another plan. He’s going to propose to her after the dinner party in front of everyone.

Instead of surprising her, it was Vivienne that surprised him that night.

It was the night she dreaded, the one that Vivienne thought it was a mistake of letting him into her life. On the way to Freddie’s place, Roger started to worry about her behaviour. It was evident that her mood contrasted his as he talked about his new Ferrari and that he would like to cruise to France with her after their upcoming tour for ‘A Day at The Races’ for the next year. “Don’t worry love, it’s only you and I when the tour finishes,” he reassured as he assumed that it was the reason why she is in a bad mood. She just stayed silent, looking outside the window, he shrugged it off thinking that it might be her time of the year.

Vivienne knew she was acting strange, it was about Freddie’s call three months ago. It started with little hello’s but with Freddie’s excitement, he continued talking about what’s happening with the boys and how stressful it is to be handling kids. She chuckled at the comment because she knew how much of a kid Roger was alone but then it all stopped when Freddie said, ‘I’m glad that you’re finally visiting Rog. Why don’t you drop by and say hello to us? Rog has been a naughty man, escaping from our after-parties just to see you—Oh, I’ve got to go, darling! Talk to you some time!’ she felt her insides sank as she knew she wasn’t the one Roger was meeting up with. She cannot blame Freddie, he didn’t know that she was about to leave for Italy that time but Roger telling him that she visited him? She knew something was wrong. When they arrived, Freddie welcomed them both with a warm hug as he chirped about how he missed seeing them both together once again. Brian hid a little scoff and fortunately no one noticed except for Chrissie who was beside him, she nudged him and gave him a little glare on the side of her eyes. “I hope we didn’t make everyone wait for that long” Vivienne said as she gave everyone hugs while Roger got them both wines, handing it to her after. She was acting as if she didn’t ignore Roger on the drive to Freddie’s, she was back to her normal self, she communicated as if she had no problem.

It was odd.

After dinner, everyone got their own things to do. Chrissie and Brian chatting up with Freddie about their future plans for a family while Mary and Veronica talking about how adorable it would be to have a vacation in Hawaii. Roger and John were casually talking about their fair share of cars while puffing on cigarettes. She excused herself from the two and sat in front of the fireplace, helping herself with the heat it emitted.

Looking at John and Brian, Vivienne couldn’t help but wonder how they got their lives right. Freddie was the same, but he was still finding himself, he was still exploring. Then she diverted her attention to Roger who was still talking to John and felt a pang in her heart, she was thinking if it would still be right if she’ll give him another chance or if she’s ready to let him go. It would probably the best if they should talk about it, but she’ll have to wait for more and it’s killing her slowly. She was cut in her senses when Brian approached her and asked her if it’s okay to talk to her about something, Vivienne agreed that what she was feeling was heavy and maybe talking to someone about it would be great.

They ended up in the bathroom with Vivienne sitting on the covered toilet seat and Brian on the edge of the bath tub. At first, she asked if Chrissie knew about this and Brian reassured that it’s fine and that it was actually Chrissie who told him to talk to her. Vivienne sighed and started, “I don’t know anymore, Bri” she shook her head a little as she looked at him “There’s definitely something wrong” Brian just nodded at her, still hesitating if he should tell her or not. Vivienne held his hand, her eyes begging him to tell her what he knows about what’s happening to Roger, he sighed and looked back at her.

“I’m so sorry Viv, I don’t think I can do this—” “You do know something, don’t you? Please Bri? Please? Enlighten me… please tell me that what I’m thinking is wrong”

She was desperate to know for she felt that Brian knew something. His eyes warily looked at hers, sighing once more as her grip tightened on his hand. “It all started when we were recording for the new album, he started leaving earlier than usual telling us that he had to do something until he ran out of excuses. I was the first one to notice but I decided to confront him about it” hearing this, Vivienne’s tears welled up on her eyes as they threatened to fall down “It was a woman named Dominique, they met in Hyde Park when we were planning about the free concert. It all made sense when I remembered Roger trying to flirt with her… I’m so sorry Viv, I tried to convince him but—” “I... It’s okay Bri, you’ve already done your job as a good friend” she let go of his hand and ran her hands through her hair in frustration, Brian only watched her and patted her back in comfort.

Roger was waiting for Vivienne to go out of the bathroom when Brian was the first one to flee the room, he quickly hid the box inside his pocket as soon as Brian landed eyes on it. Roger’s brows furrowed at the sight of the tall man and then went to open the door showing Vivienne wash her face on the sink. “Are you alright, love?” he asked her, leaning to check on her. Vivienne wiped her face gently with the face towel available and nodded her head in reply to Roger, looking at him back. “Is there something that you want to share to me—” “If you two love birds want to shag, we have a bedroom! Mary and I don’t mind sharing the couch!” Freddie chirped outside. Vivienne groaned and went out of the bathroom leaving Roger inside.

As soon as the party was done, Vivienne was the first one to get out, telling everyone that she was not feeling well and that she has to go home. She started walking as Roger ran after her. “Viv? Can we talk?” he grabbed her arm but she pulled her arm away from him. “Al’s going to pick me up,” she said “If you want to talk we have the whole day tomorrow” Roger shook his head and sighed, “Let’s talk now Viv, I can feel that something is wrong ever since you were acting cold on the way here” he said.

“What’s with Brian?” Roger opened up the conversation as he drove back to Vivienne’s place. She was trying to hold back but she couldn’t, “So why don’t you introduce me to your little friend?” she blurted out. Roger gave her a confused look then back at the road. Vivienne scoffed at his reaction “Don’t act like you don’t know who i’m referring to, Roger” anger was slowly creeping out of her. Roger stopped the car to the side to take a good look at her, “I-I don’t know who you’re talking about, Viv!” he replied, his voice slightly raising in a defensive tone.

She gave him silence as she hugged herself, leaning on the window. “I can’t believe you Rog...” she sighed “Is that how you think of me? Do I look that stupid?” she asked him, her tears threatening to fall. “Freddie called me, he told me that he was glad I started visiting you and that you escaped because you were going to meet me— Brian confirmed all of my hunches back at Fred’s” guilt was all over his face as he heard pain from her voice. “You don’t know how crushed I was when I heard it all from Bri” her tears now fell down and her heart was hurting more.

It was Roger’s turn to remain silent as Vivienne poured everything what she’s been hiding the whole time, “Whenever I call, you were out doing something, you’ll tell me that you’re gonna call me after but sometimes I would wait for days and you won’t still call, only the rest of the boys would bother to call me back” she heavily sighed “You’ll tell sorry for not calling then I’ll just forgive you because I was too excited to tell you about what happened to my day... You don’t know how much I wanted to spend time with you in Italy” Roger could only look at her as she cry. “I’m so tired, Rog…” she shook her head, looking away “I’m so tired of always forgiving you for everything” she wiped her tears.

Roger couldn’t say a thing, “It took me a long time because this is what I was afraid of” she sighed and looked outside the window. Her voice broken, “It turns out what I’ve been avoiding the whole time was really unavoidable”.

“I love you Viv, I really do” he whispered, she shook her head upon hearing that. “Now you’re saying that you love me” she mocked as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

Roger decided to try to explain, “You were always away Viv, with all that art stuff you’ve got for you. I am really happy for you but…” he trailed off as he unconsciously taps on the steering wheel, “But I think you were forgetting me whenever you’re in your little bubble” he continued. “I met Dominique when I needed you. She was just like you, She didn’t like me at the beginning but eventually she got my back whenever I needed someone” Vivienne couldn’t figure out what to feel after she heard what he said. “Rog, I guess that there won’t be any problem if we’re not together anymore” it felt heavy when she said that, and it was supposed to lift the feeling off of her chest, but it did the opposite.

Sighing, “I hate myself for letting you do this to me” she leaned her head against the headrest of her seat, “I shouldn’t have listened to Al, to give you a chance, to let you destroy the wall I’ve built for years” Roger slowly grabbed her hand, putting the back of her hand on his lips. Vivienne’s body ached for his kisses and the contact of his lips didn’t help at all. “It was very stupid of me for letting you in and destroy me…” defeatedly sighing once more.

The next thing she knew, they were both on his bed without clothes on. Roger was still hers that night, his skin against hers gave her warmth, his lips trailing on her softest spots was a bliss, and him whispering things on her ear was sweet. Everything felt so wrong yet so right. It felt home on his sheets, his scent lingered in them and she never had a problem with it.

“Are you still mine, Rog?” she whispered on his ear, he pulled back and smiled at her “Of course Viv, I’ll always be yours” he replied. Vivienne ran her hand through his hair “I love you” Roger said as he kissed her forehead and she just nodded her head, looking back at his eyes. Her fingertip trailed from his forehead down to his lips in which he kissed lightly as soon as it made contact with his lips.

When morning came, Roger woke up. His heart fell when he felt the space beside him. He swiftly put his pants on and desperately looked for her around his flat. “Viv?” he called her out, but no one replied. That’s when he knew he lost her. He sat on his couch defeated with a sigh escaping his mouth as he looked at the ceiling. It’s done and there’s no one to come back home to.

#drowsy writes #queen #queenband #roger taylor #roger taylor imagines #roger taylor one shots #roger taylor short stories #queen imagines #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor one shot #queen x oc #queen fic #roger fic

51 notes · View notes