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your-iron-lung · 5 years

Text

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 10

aka ‘The House That Dripped Blood’; available to read on AO3 HERE

Story Synopsis: Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 7927

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Next Chapter: 11

Notes: if you follow me you may have noticed i havent posted in a while- this is bc i spend all my time playing ffxiv instead of setting aside determined amounts of time to spend on writing/drawing and i have a bunch of artist alleys coming up that im ill prepared for and im terrible at budgeting UH YEP bad excuse but WHAT CAN YA DO here we are

(ive also set up a ko-fi account if you want to give drop me some tippy tips if u enjoy the word things i do) ((no pressure tho))

"Bigfoot."

Hopper leaned back in his chair; let it creak and groan under his weight until he knew it was at its limit, and then pushed it a little more. He studied the no-nonsense expression on the hunter before him, and intrinsically knew that the man was speaking truth.

"Bigfoot," the old man said again, speaking a little sterner than he had before once he recognized Hopper's amiable expression of disbelief. "I seen't him out in the woods just the other day."

The aging man had lumbered into the police station almost immediately after Hopper came in, bundled in some worn hunting gear that looked almost as old as he was. The deputies had offered to speak with him after hearing his initial claim, but they'd been refused when Callahan couldn't stop smirking. The old hunter had insisted on speaking with Hopper, who leaned forward now, taking the stress off of his chair to take a sip of the coffee Florence had brought in for him. He didn't look at the old man as he drank.

"So let me get this straight," Hopper began, setting his coffee aside to rub at his forehead, "you came in first thing in the morning worried about a missing friend of yours, but now you're telling me you're worried about Bigfoot."

"You know me, Jim," the hunter said, a slight hint of pleading desperation edging out of his voice. "You know I ain't some crazy old coot. I ain't seen Lamm in a long while, and yessir I'm worried 'bout him, but when I went out to his cabin to check on him I seen it: I seen Bigfoot!"

As incredulous as the claim was, Hopper believed him- not about it being Bigfoot, exactly, but he believed that the man had seen something out there in the woods, and it had the possibility of being that something he'd spent the last two weeks fruitlessly searching for.

Regardless, he didn't want to let the old hunter know he was taking him seriously. The last thing he needed was for his community to think he believed in this sort of nonsense, but people in town were going missing, and people he knew were getting hurt: if his only lead should turn up in the form of an old man believing he'd caught sight of an urban legend, then so be it. He'd follow it through, but he'd be subtle about it.

"You sure it wasn't just a trick of the light or something, Wes? You know your eyes aren't what they used to be," Hopper remarked casually, softening his voice to let him down easy. "And this isn't the first time Lamm's gone missing; you know he's one of those types of shut ins. Remember those weeks he was gone hunting 'vampires'? He's the kind of guy who lives in his own head more than he lives out here, he'll turn up again on his own time."

The hunter's lips twitched into a frown. "Alright, maybe Lamm is a little off kilter," he relented, averting his eyes for a second, "and maybe it weren't Bigfoot, but the tracks it left were huge 'n mighty, by God, and I ain't seen nothin' else like it before. If it weren't Bigfoot, then at the very least it had big feet, Jim, and I ain't never seen feet quite like 'em."

Interest piqued, Hopper became more attentive. "How's that?"

"Well, they was stretched out lookin', for one." The hunter paused, tilting his head slightly as he tried to recall the details of what he'd seen out in the woods. He held his hands up, spaced apart in an approximation of how long the prints he'd found had been. "Human lookin', almost, which is what had me thinkin' it coulda been Bigfoot. They weren't the tracks of somethin' native 'round here, and I only caught but the barest glimpse of it, but it was tall, Jim; taller'n you or I."

That sounded right; the prints he'd found and unsuccessfully tracked were, as the hunter said, 'huge 'n mighty' and matched the description of what he'd just been told. It didn't take an expert's opinion (though he had consulted one) to discern that the markings just weren't natural. Hopper set his mug of coffee aside and pulled out a notepad from one of his desk drawers. He uncapped a pen and held it to the page for a moment before writing down a few preliminary notes for himself on the top line.

The hunter cocked his head and leaned forward to look at what he was writing and said, "That don't look official."

"Because it's not; this one's just gonna be between us, alright?" Hopper said, looking up to meet Wesley's blue, watery eyes. He held the stare long enough to get his point across, waiting for a sign of affirmation before looking back to the notepad and pressing the tip of the pen to the paper. "Tell me where and when exactly you saw this 'Bigfoot' of yours."

The day was cold and grey at its start, with harsh, biting winds ushering in thick clouds that blocked out any hope of the sun ever making an appearance. Steve eyed the sky apprehensively as he made his way back to his car, wary of the way the clouds looked as though they might start dropping hail on him at a moment's notice. Billy feigned disinterest as Steve opened the rear passenger door and leaned in to shove the box of things he'd bought at the Hunting & Camping store into the backseat. Even with his vision obscured in part by the sunglasses he'd elected to wear, he didn't miss the strong look of annoyance that graced Steve's features when he came around to the driver's seat and entered the car with a pout.

"That guy give you a hard time or something?" Billy asked as Steve buckled in and put the BMW into reverse, turning in his seat to hastily jerk the car out of the parking lot. "Why do you look like someone shit in your cereal?"

Steve clicked his tongue. "He just kept asking what a 'kid like me' needed with a bunch of chains and rope and shit. My god, he just would not let it go, like he thought I was trying to build my own sex dungeon or something. Fucking annoying."

"You mean that's not what we're doing?" Billy asked, grinning a bit at the way Steve's face pinched up in disgust. "What'd you say?"

"I told him the truth; said it was to tie up a werewolf. 'It's a full moon tonight, y'know? Gotta tie 'em down or they go all crazy on you', I said to him, and you know what he said to me then?" Steve asked, speeding out of the little downtown shopping area Hawkins played host to and sounding every bit as gossipy as Carol did when she caught wind of a scandal.

"How the fuck would I?" Billy drawled, turning away from the conversation to watch the scenery pass by disinterestedly.

"He said, 'Damn fool kids will never learn'," Steve said, ignoring him. "'Damn fool kids will never learn', like, what the hell does that mean?"

Billy shrugged. "Who knows? As long as he accepted daddy's plastic then what does it matter?"

Steve clicked his tongue again in annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Fuck you."

Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, Billy declined to retort. They rode on in silence, the chains in the box Steve had bought clinking together softly in the backseat before the radio was finally turned on to mask the sound.

Regardless of whether or not Steve actually believed something was going to happen to Billy that night, he couldn't deny that the whole day leading up to that evening just felt… off. From meeting up with Billy earlier that afternoon to go by the camping store, to grabbing lunch together before heading over to the Henderson's house, it all felt wrong.

It was something Steve had difficulty pinpointing the origins of, but as they began work on clearing out enough space in the cellar for Billy to do whatever it was he thought he was going to do, he soon came to realize that the feeling of wrongness seemed to stem from Billy himself.

Few words could better describe Billy than 'annoying' or 'smart-mouthed', but he'd been uncharacteristically tight-lipped all day. He'd become a remarkably dull version of himself, and Steve wasn't sure quite how to handle that.

Usually one to argue and bite back at everything Steve said, when he'd begun dishing out instructions on how best to clear out some floor space in the cellar, Billy hadn't talked back to him a single time; merely lit a cigarette and blinked at him slowly, silently acknowledging what had been asked of him before getting on with it.

It was unsettling. Steve could almost say that he hated how submissive Billy was because of how used he'd gotten to the back-talk and smart-ass remarks Billy usually had ready for him, and though, yes, there were times he had wished for this kind of attitude from him, the silence and absolute subordination coupled with all of the other behavioral changes Billy was exhibiting were enough to set Steve on edge.

Billy kept tonguing the gaps in his teeth where they'd fallen out over the course of the week, and he never seemed to realize he wasn't alone. Sometimes he'd jump at the sound of Steve's voice, or shake his head and crease his brow in confusion when he turned around to see Steve moving stuff somewhere behind him, but arguably the worst part of it all was that he stank.

He'd tried to mask it with an overabundance of cologne that had nearly suffocated Steve when they began working in closer quarters, but buried beneath that was a hint of something that smelled awfully rotten. If he had to, Steve could liken it to the stench of the monster they'd encountered in the woods, but he chose not to, instead chalking it up to a severe case of nervous b.o. or something. The implications that the scents could be related bothered him too deeply to believe, and even then he wasn't sure he really wanted to know what the source of the smell was.

The stench of decay emanating from Billy's person was worrisome enough on its own, but with so much to do in order to get ready before sunset, Steve had a hard time figuring out where to primarily apply his focus: there were simply too many things going on for him to worry about one thing more than another.

The giant hole in the wall that Dart made to tunnel out of the cellar was his immediate concern, but Dustin had done a good job of hiding it from his mother by placing a tall shelf in front of it, essentially blocking it off. That didn't mean it wasn't entirely inaccessible, but Steve wasn't sure what more he could do about it. In all honesty, he'd forgotten about it until he'd tried to move the shelf aside and then found himself peeking into the eerie tunnel. He'd knocked over several things in his haste to put the shelf back in place, but Billy hadn't seemed to notice it, and if he didn't, maybe he wouldn't think to use it if- or when- he lost himself to whatever supernatural effects he was experiencing.

"Big if, though," Steve muttered aloud to himself. Turning away from the shelf, he looked over to where Billy was inspecting some old power tools, turning a nail gun over in his hands before setting it back in the box he'd pulled it out of. "So, are we good or what? This baby-proofed enough for you?" Steve asked, startling Billy out of whatever ruminations he'd been lost to.

Billy looked at Steve blankly, face impassive and emotionless. He frowned, and then looked around himself as though he'd forgotten where he was. When he spoke, his voice was monotone and devoid of his usual arrogance as he said, "I don't know, Harrington; is it?"

"You tell me, man, this was your idea." Steve watched as Billy returned his focus on the box of tools he'd originally been rummaging through. Picking up a hammer, Billy balanced its weight in his hands before gripping the handle tightly. Steve distrusted the look in Billy's eye as he held it. "What are you, a child? Quit rifling through their shit, put it back," he said.

Billy didn't reply or even acknowledge that he'd heard him. Ignoring Steve's demand, he stepped up to the abandoned work bench to splay his left hand out over the wood and lifted the ballpeen up.

"What the fuck are you doing? Put it down," Steve said again, his voice rising slightly in pitch when he understood what Billy was doing. He started towards him in an effort to stop him, but halted when the hammer was brought crashing down.

It missed his hand, but the force of the impact splintered the wooden table's surface. Steve gaped as Billy turned around, a cocky little smile turning up his lips.

"Someone could get hurt real bad down here if they weren't careful, huh, Harrington?" he said, a fierceness that Steve hated to admit he'd missed charging his voice. "But we've been real careful cleaning this shithole out, haven't we, pally?"

"You sick piece of shit, give me that," Steve snapped, snatching the hammer away from Billy's pliant grip. "Fuck you, Hargrove; you could've just said you wanted to move this shit out of here."

"Had you pegged as being more of a visual learner," Billy sneered as Steve threw the hammer back into the box of tools. "Your concern was touching, though, really."

"You're the one who came asking me for help, fuckface. Begged me, almost, if I'm remembering right. 'Oh, Steve, help me, I'm so scared of fake movie monsters!'"

Steve hadn't meant to rise to the taunt, but Billy's insufferable attitude had him stooping to his level as he hoisted the hefty box of tools in his arms and lugged them over to the stairway. Billy laughed dryly at Steve's mocking tone.

"We both wish that fucking thing had been fake," he said as Steve placed the box on the ground at the foot of the stairs beside the box of supplies he'd bought earlier. They were both quiet for a moment, their attempt at a conversation dying as quickly as it had been brought on.

"Only one thing left to do then," Steve said morosely.

Billy blinked and turned to face the stairway, eyes rising slowly up to where the cellar doors were propped open wide. Steve felt the guilt of having to lock him in prematurely and had to remind himself that he wanted to be locked in.

"Better hop to it then, Harrington," Billy said lowly, lips curling back into a familiar grin, but without all his teeth in place to flesh it out, Steve found the display to be more unsettling than annoying. "Let's get this sex dungeon set up."

Steve grimaced. "Not even in your wildest dreams, Hargrove."

"Nothing's off the table in my dreams, pretty boy." Billy breathed out a small laugh at the disgusted look on Steve's face, but the grin he'd been displaying slowly fell away. "Is it getting dark yet?"

"Uh, kind of, but the sun hasn't set yet," Steve replied, stepping up into the stairwell to check the status of the sky. It was as dull and grey as it had been all day, the overcast weather acting as a harbinger for the snowfall the local meteorologist had foretold was coming. "If you took off those fucking sunglasses you'd be able to tell."

"These are for your benefit as much as mine," Billy snapped, frowning suddenly.

"Yeah, okay, whatever that means," Steve said dismissively as he began to fish out the cords of rope from the box, letting them spool out onto the ground before gathering them into his hands. "How do you uh, how do you want to do this?"

"Aw, is this kitten's first time tying someone up?" Billy purred, not moving from where he stood in the middle of the cellar, directly under the light. "Who knew 'King' Steve's favourite flavor was vanilla."

Steve rolled his eyes as he brought the ropes over, wrinkling his nose at the mixed smell of rot and cologne that got stronger with proximity. "I've dated girls kinkier than you'd know what to do with," he retorted as he gestured for Billy to hold out his hands.

"Oh please," Billy said with a snort, "there are no kinky girls in Hawkins or I would've found them by now."

"You're obviously not looking hard enough," Steve muttered in response, gesturing again for Billy to hold out his hands.

Shrugging out of his leather jacket and tossing it over the work table he'd splintered, Billy held his hands up obediently and watched stoically as Steve wound the rope around his wrists, binding his hands together roughly.

"What's should our safe word be?" Billy teased, smirking as Steve wound another, longer length of rope over the original knot.

"There is no safe word because this isn't a sex thing!" Steve insisted angrily.

Flustered, he sighed irritably as he wound the long part of the rope around Billy's waist, hating how close he had to get in order to make sure the rope was tight enough, though Billy seemed to be enjoying how close he'd gotten. He kept shifting his weight around, trying, it seemed, to get Steve into a more compromising position. Annoyed, but determined to finish, Steve did his best to ignore Billy's constant movement and the disgusting, rotten musk that was wafting off of his person to finish tying him up.

"Why do you fucking stink so goddamn badly?" Steve finally asked with a scowl, repressing the urge to gag as he tied the ropes off into a clumsy knot. He stumbled away from Billy, reaching up to pinch his nostrils shut so he wouldn't have to smell the rot anymore, but the rancid scent seemed to have lodged itself deep into his nose. "You smell like a dead Calvin Klein model or something, holy shit, did you use a whole fucking bottle?"

The amusement Billy had held while taunting Steve left his face. His smirk shrunk into an awkward grimace as he looked away in embarrassment.

"I don't know, alright?" he admitted bitterly. "It doesn't matter how much I bathe, and between that and my eyes I have no idea what the fuck's going on with me."

"What about your eyes?" Steve asked hesitantly, unsure if he really wanted to know the reasoning behind why Billy had insisted on wearing sunglasses all day.

Billy faltered for a moment, hesitating briefly before reaching up and plucking the sunglasses off his face. With both hands bound together, he awkwardly folded the legs against the lenses and tucked them into the collar of his button up. He turned his gaze to Steve, who couldn't help but suck in a slight breath of surprise.

His eyes were so bloodshot they looked ready to start bleeding straight out of the sockets. There were hardly any whites left in the sclera to be seen as Billy winked at him, looking immensely uncomfortable at the way Steve was gaping openly at him.

"Do they- hurt? Or whatever?" Steve asked, unconsciously taking a few steps forward to get a better look. In the dim lighting of the basement, even the blues of Billy's eyes looked reddish.

"What's it to you if they do?" Billy snapped, suddenly irritable. He squared his jaw and looked away, unable to face the amount of concern Steve was showing him.

The worry Steve felt for the both of them in that moment grew stronger as he backed off, letting the matter of the changes in Billy's physicality drop, despite how alarming they were. "If I don't hear anything an hour after the sun goes down, I'll let you out," Steve said abruptly as he walked backwards towards the stairwell, grasping for the hand rail behind him blindly, unsure why he was so reluctant now to let Billy out of his sight. It was what they'd agreed upon earlier, and he said it meaning for it to sound reassuring, but the way Billy's lips twitched made it apparent he didn't interpret it that way.

Billy didn't respond.

"Well, uh, I guess that's it then," Steve said as he bent down, placing his box of chains atop the box of tools Billy had been messing around with before lifting them up together to carry them up and out of their man-made dungeon.

The cellar doors shrieked loudly as they were closed, a high pitched agony that erupted when the metal grinded against itself uncooperatively. Steve didn't mind that so much as he hated the sound the chains made as he wove them through the door handles, reminding him of what he was doing and who he was imprisoning as the steel rattled sharply against the doors. He winced at the commotion, but continued to loop them through the small door handles until no more could be fit between them. He tested their sturdiness by attempting to pull them open, and to his pleasure, they remained shut. The doors were secured; the cellar, as far as he was concerned, was now a suitable prison. All that was left of him now was to play the role of the jailor appropriately.

He stared down at his handiwork for a moment before the cold, blowing winds prompted him to seek shelter. Already a few snowflakes were fluttering out of the sky, flying into his cheeks as he turned away, re-gathering the box of tools in his arms and headed for the door Dustin promised he'd leave a key for.

Searching under the backdoor mat, Steve found the promised key, and true to the rest of Dustin's word, the entire home was empty, save for the cat that chirped a greeting for him from atop the kitchen counter. With a deep intake of breath Steve glanced at his watch, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him, wondering if he really was prepared for the worst. In the trunk of his car his bat waited for him, ready to be put to use just in case shit really did hit the fan, but he found himself questioning if he'd really be able to use it; bludgeoning monsters to death was one thing, but turning it on a boy he knew was only a monster figuratively was something else entirely.

For both his and Billy's sakes, he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Shrugging out of his thick coat, Steve set it down beside him as he took a seat on the Henderson's couch. He glanced at his watch again, dismayed by the fact that time wasn't progressing as fast as he wished it was and sat in anxious worry about what the rest of the night might have in store.

But at least he was comfortable and warm.

The cellar was not.

It wasn't the cold that Billy minded, so much as it was the anticipation: when would the transformation start? Exactly at sundown? A little before? A little after? Would he actually end up transforming? And why the fuck did the word 'transform' make him so damn uncomfortable? The unknown factors surrounding his circumstances were almost worse than any of the physical symptoms he'd been experiencing as of late, and he'd been experiencing a lot.

Anxiety wasn't something Billy had a lot of experience with, but it was the only thing he could think of that explained why his heart had been beating oddly all day. It was running at a notably higher rate, as though he'd been playing basketball or working out extraneously, and brought on palpitations he wasn't used to dealing with at the elevated speed.

In short he felt terrible. His whole body ached like it was going through puberty again. Both his arms and legs were sore in ways that mimicked the aches that came with growing pains when he'd had them, but he couldn't understand why he would begin to hurt in that way again. He hadn't had the energy to work out in two days despite eating practically anything he could get his hands on, so the soreness in his limbs was unwarranted. Either his body was preparing itself for the coming night, or he was having an incredibly drawn-out heart attack.

Standing at the foot of the stairwell, Billy felt the cold permeating in through the closed opening and moved away to find a better spot to wait. He wanted rub his arms to bring some warmth into them, but couldn't with the way they were bound. Already the ropes were beginning to dig into his wrists, rubbing uncomfortably against his skin as he realized he wasn't actually that cold anyway, despite the frigid weather; his body temperature had been on a steady incline leading up to now, leaving him with a rosy complexion and a near constant fever, the long-term effects of which left him feeling severely disoriented.

He could barely remember meeting up at Steve's house only a few hours ago to carpool to his kid friend's house, riding with the windows down in spite of the severe wind-chill as they went into town to get lunch and buy rope. Even though they'd ridden together, he couldn't remember now if they'd actually talked about anything or not. All he could remember were the low tones of the radio and the resonating throbs of the wind as it swooped in through the open windows, rushing to fill the audial space between them. It was as though his mind had been steeped in a fog, and he couldn't accurately think through it: everything was clouded over, incomprehensible, like waking up the morning after a bender and being unable to remember everything he'd done the night before, but knowing all the same that he'd taken part in some memorable shit.

Would there be pain, he wondered, and would it come on as suddenly as it had to the character in the movie he'd made Steve watch? Even though 'American Werewolf' was just a movie, stories like that had to spawn from some sort of truth, didn't they?

The dim little lightbulb that hung overhead flickered briefly, drawing Billy's attention to it as he took a seat at the work table's bench, wishing his eyes weren't a dry and sore as they were.

Coming from above, he could hear the muffled sounds of a TV show permeating through the cellar's ceiling. He couldn't help but think ill of Steve in that moment, but if their situations had been reversed, he probably would have been doing the same thing; he couldn't fault Harrington for finding a way to pass the time, though he wished he had something similar to do for himself. There was nothing interesting to hold his attention, and time passed at a dreadfully slow rate.

Stretching out on the bench, he laid himself down slowly, mindful of which parts of his back hurt the most, and gazed up at the cement overhead disinterestedly. He listened to the muffled sounds of the distant television, trying to conjure an image in his mind that corresponded with what little dialogue he could hear, but the rapid beating of his heart overpowered the noises coming from the TV. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing in an attempt to lower his heart rate, but it just kept going, pounding in a determined rhythm that seemed to be quickening with each passing minute. A bead of sweat trickled down from his scalp and over his ear as he wondered if the tingling he felt in the tips of his fingers was because of the cold or from the ropes being tied too tight.

He flexed his fingers, opening and closing his hands into a fist to try and bring sensation back into his fingertips, but to no avail. They remained numb, and the cause of which eluded him.

Frowning, Billy stiffly sat up and began to pinch at his skin, belatedly realizing that the numbness was spreading slowly down the lengths of his fingers, a sensation that sent a chill running down the length of his spine.

"Oh," he said. "Oh shit."

The pain, when he finally did begin to feel it, started in his feet. There were still thirty minutes before the sun went down.

Billy licked his lips nervously as he tried to get his boots off, his numb fingers and bound hands fumbling uselessly with the laces as the pain centralized in his toes and grew in sudden intensity. He was no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything he'd ever felt before: it was sharp and stabbing, with each throb of pain stemming from the bones in his toes, as though they were growing more pointed in an attempt to pierce their way through his skin as they elongated. He could feel them cracking; each joint slowly popping free of itself as the bones began to push themselves forward.

"Oh, shit," he repeated, and could hear the muffled sounds of a laugh track from whatever sitcom Steve had turned on upstairs roaring in delight as he struggled to finally pull his boots off.

The stabbing sensation didn't relent, even once his shoes lay discarded by his feet. He peeled away his socks with shaking hands and stared down at his toes.

They'd turned a bright, beet red and were bulging like they might burst apart, his skin bubbling up around toenails that were already starting to peel off. He couldn't help the whimper as he tentatively felt them, a pain like touching a freshly popped, skinless blister causing him to draw his fingers back.

It was real. It was happening.

Sweating freely now, he reached away from his feet to brush his dampened hair away from his forehead as sweat rolled down the sides of his face. He paused when he felt his hair pull free from his scalp, clinging to the back of his hand stubbornly. Billy stared at the loose, curly strands with a horrified expression and reached up with a shaking hand to grab more. When he pulled, a handful of his hair came away easily, eliciting another whimper from deep within his throat. Disgusted and frightened, he threw his hair away to the floor.

Breathing quickly, he hastily rubbed his hands free of the loose strands in a panic and tried to calm himself. His whole body trembled as he breathed in deeply through his nose, wondering if he should try to call out to Steve to alert him that the worst case scenario was indeed unfolding. Another laugh track from upstairs came through the ceiling as he felt a sharp, sudden stab of pain in his ribs, prompting him to gasp loudly and curl forward over himself. He could actually feel some part of his ribcage shifting inside his torso as he tucked his arms in to his sides. Any lingering thoughts of trying to remain calm left him as he transitioned from panic to full on fear.

He stood up not knowing what he was going to do, but regretted it instantly: as soon as he put weight on his foot, his ankle collapsed in on itself and brought him to the floor. A shout almost came out with his fall, but he managed to internalize the pain as he was used to doing and grit his teeth as his foot essentially broke itself in half.

The central part of his foot that arched snapped without warning. Billy swore loudly and reached for his foot instinctively, wanting to hold the break in place, but he couldn't bear the agony that came with the contact. Warm tears leaked from his eyes, and when his other lateral arch also split in half, he couldn't help but cry out.

From up above, the noises coming from the television ceased. Steve must have heard him and was listening for him now, trying to gauge whether or not he should intervene. Billy clenched his jaw tighter, determined to keep quiet, but gasped loudly when two of his molars gave out under the pressure, snapping to the side and coming loose of his gumline. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth as he spat the teeth out, shuddering uncontrollably when he felt the vertebrae in his spine begin to pop, one by one, pushing up against his skin that was quickly beginning to feel too tight.

Huffing in great breaths of air, he panted heavily as the bones of his tones finally pierced through his skin, causing most of the flesh surrounding them to burst open like little balloons. Blood splattered across the floor in gruesome, miniature arcs and Billy finally, finally became undone. He shrieked, unable to keep silent any longer as new appendages could be seen inside the flayed bits of bloody skin, slowly growing outward, already a part of him.

Warm tears of pain streaked down his face in thick lines as the skin of his feet continued to be ripped apart, making way for more muscle, new flesh. He wiped at his eyes helplessly and thought he could hear Steve's voice distantly calling out his name, asking if everything was alright.

He blinked, his vision blurred by the tears that would not clear away as he pulled himself over to the stairway.

Shaking wildly all over, Billy stretched out on the floor, realizing belatedly that the waistband of his jeans was growing tighter and tighter. Hissing sharply, he cursed himself for not having the foresight to undress himself as he hastily tried to undo his belt. A pain similar to the initial agony he'd felt in his toes was beginning to manifest itself in his fingers as both of his hands slowly began to turn red, swelling up under the bonds of the rope as he fumbled with the buckle, desperately trying to get it to come free.

"Fuck!" he shouted in frustration, his clothing growing ever tighter as his body continued to bloat. He felt like he was being pinched in half with his belt acting as an unneeded tourniquet. "Fuck! Fuck!"

"Hey! Talk to me Hargrove, what's going on?"

Steve's worried voice trilled down through the cellar doors as he continued vocalizing his frustrations. Billy felt an organ in his abdomen shift out of place before popping, prompting him to groan and curl in on himself before he threw up. His couldn't undo his belt as his vision began to darken.

"Hargrove!" Steve shouted, banging a fist against the steel door. "What the hell's going on? Talk to me!"

"Fuck you!" Billy screamed, unable to articulate anything else as he tried to rub the blackness out of his eyes, but the more he pressed his fingers to them, they more they began to hurt.

A pressure was building up behind them the more he rubbed, and as it increased, his vision grew ever darker. He kept blinking, over and over, feeling his eyes bulge out of their sockets and against his eyelids, trying now to keep his eyeballs in place. He was hyperventilating when he finally went blind, the pressure behind his eyes becoming intolerable eyes before it finally came too much, and his eyes popped free.

He felt them slide out onto over his checks and onto the floor, the slimy, blood-slick nerves leaving tracks of blood on his face as he became totally and completely blind.

"No," he whispered to himself, retching again on the floor as he scrambled across the cement, trying to find the stairs, unable to see. "No, no! This isn't real!"

Beyond the cellar doors, Steve had his ear pressed against the slight crack between the panels, desperately trying to understand what was going on. He wasn't sure what to make of the noises he was hearing, unable to determine if Billy was just trying to mess with him or if he was in actual distress.

"Hargrove," he said impatiently, turning his head to try and peak in through the crack to get a glimpse of what was going on, "you gotta start talking to me, man; what the hell's going on down there?"

"I'm fucking blind," he heard Billy shout, his voice rife with fear. "I can't see anything!"

His voice was shaking as he spoke, and Steve knew then that whatever was happening was legitimate; Billy wasn't one to openly show weakness.

"Okay, stay calm," Steve stammered, but he wasn't sure if that was actually sound advice or not. "It's- it's going to be okay, okay?"

Billy howled, and Steve understood that the pain that carried with his voice must have been terrible to get him to shriek like that. He licked his lips anxiously, not knowing what support he could possibly offer him. He continuously opened and shut his mouth, words of encouragement dying on his tongue before he could manage to speak them.

And then, all at once, the cacophony of agony ceased.

Steve couldn't hear anything over the rapid sound of his breathing for a moment before he finally spoke: "Hargrove? Is… are you okay?"

"Hurts." Billy's voice, quiet, strained, and barely audible over the sounds of things (flesh, fabric) slowly tearing, sounded disconcertingly like he was speaking with a throat full of water. It was gargling and grotesque; completely unlike the smooth, honeyed voice he'd become known for.

"Okay, what, uh, what… what hurts?" Steve whispered in response, fear quieting his previously urgent tone.

"Everything."

"Shit," Steve said to himself, backing away from the cellar door panels as the sounds of something large and heavy being knocked over made him jump. "Just, uh, stay calm," he said, though he wasn't sure if he was saying it to himself or Billy. From down below, he heard Billy groan loudly before going silent again.

Steve's heart was pounding as he hesitated, unsure of what to do. All the details of Billy's haphazardly concocted plan fled his mind as he tried to think back on what they'd agreed to do if something ended up happening, and his first instinct was to open the doors to go down and check on him. He looked at the chains wrapped tightly around the door handles and bit his lip before crouching down and pressing his eye to the crack.

The overhead light wasn't bright enough to reveal much, but at the base of the stairwell there was a small circle of illumination. Steve squinted, ignoring the cold of the steel as he pressed his face against the door, trying to see all that he could.

Blood stains. Torn bits of… something he couldn't quite make out. Dark masses on the stairwell; lots of evidence that pointed towards Billy transforming, but no trace of Billy himself.

"Hargrove," Steve whispered, and then shook his head to clear himself of his cowardice. "Hargrove," he said again, louder and with more emphasis, "dude, you have to talk me through what's happening down there."

He waited, unconsciously holding his breath as he waited for a reply. It was steadily growing darker as the sun slowly sank, making it all the harder to see into the cellar from the tiny slit. Frowning and unable to see anything, Steve turned his head and pressed his ear against the door. From somewhere in the depths of the cellar he could hear something breathing heavily. It was moving, too; he could hear something shuffling, moving around the floor space cautiously.

When he turned his head again to see through the crack, he caught a glimpse of... something large and hulking cross under the light, tall enough to set the lightbulb swinging. He couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath of air, his lungs and throat burning with the sting of the cold weather. The thing- whatever Billy had become- halted just outside the rim of light. Entranced, Steve found he couldn't move as it emitted a low, threatening growl that sounded more like a man impersonating a dog than an actual beast.

From his limited viewpoint, he couldn't see the way the muscles in its legs were tightening, or how it had begun to crouch; he didn't have time to react as it sprang forward, jumping up the stairs in a single leap to ram itself against the doors.

The chains held the doors shut, but the sudden impact smashed the metal against Steve's nose and soon all he could smell was blood as it drained out of his nostrils. He fell backwards, holding his nose as the Billy-creature growled again. Horrified, Steve could only sit in the snow and watch as the doors lurched forward when Billy rammed against them again, trying to escape. The second impact loosened the restraints, and all Steve could do in that moment was watch as they rattled uselessly in place, beginning to slip through the handles as they hadn't been properly locked into place.

Cursing to himself, staggered to his feet and rushed to grab the chains, but as Billy threw his body against the doors again it soon became obvious that even if the doors stayed shut, they were about to pop free of their hinges entirely. Blood dripped down over his lips and onto the metal panels as he tried to think of what he could possibly do to counteract the damage Billy had done. In an act of desperation, he threw himself against the steel and hoped that his added bodyweight would be enough to keep them in place.

If it managed to do anything, he couldn't tell. Almost immediately Billy was throwing himself against the doors again, nearly bucking Steve off.

"Stop!" Steve cried out, grasping for the chains to hold them in place. His fingers scrabbled against the cold steel links even as Billy let out another deep, throaty growl. With the doors as loose as they were, Steve was almost certain the doors wouldn't survive another body-slam. "Give it up, Hargrove!" Steve said again, desperately. "Just- fuck, Billy, stop!"

He braced himself for another impact, but it never came. Eyes closed in anticipation, Steve blinked them open and exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling as he let the chains go. Crystalized air puffed out in front of his face over and over as he rolled off the doors and stood up unsteadily, trying to wipe away the blood that had already frozen over and turned to crust on his upper lip. Somehow, miraculously, his pleading had worked, but before he could take comfort in that fact, other disturbing sounds began to creep back up to him from down below.

Things were being tossed around; the metallic clang of old paint cans being bounced off the floors and walls mixed with the hoarse, angry vocalizations of the creature Billy had become made his blood run colder than the air currently was. The noises Billy was making were at once both animalistic and human, deep and throaty and more akin to the bellows of a moose than a man or wolf.

Steve stood in front of the cellar doors not knowing what to do. Already their plan was falling apart, and he was quickly becoming aware of how vastly unprepared he was to handle the situation. He wanted the security of the bat in his trunk, but didn't trust himself to leave the doors unattended for the length of time it would take him to run back inside and grab his keys to get it, but he felt so weak without it.

Another loud, crashing noise came from within and Steve stilled, listening intently. Faintly, he could hear Billy snuffling about, and after the sun finally completely descended, all was quiet. His nose was throbbing as he stood attentively, but when nothing more could be heard, his stomach sank.

With trembling hands and his mind screaming at him to stop, he knelt by the doors and slowly unwound the chains from the handles. The fact that he couldn't hear anything coming from within didn't sit well with him; he had to make sure Billy was still down there.

He tried to shift the chains as quietly as possible, but with how nervous he was, he had a hard time keeping his hands steady. They rattled noisily against the door, grating on his already frazzled nerves as they slid free. Heart pounding madly, Steve carefully pulled the doors open and took the first step down into the cellar.

It was silent. He couldn't hear anything as he hesitantly took a second step, mentally berating himself over and over for being stupid enough to walk defenseless into the lion's mouth. He had no idea what Billy was capable of now, or if he'd even recognize him enough to (hopefully) have enough sense to not harm him. The lightbulb that dangled freely from the ceiling was swaying, throwing its light around erratically, showing him glimpses of the gore that lined the steps.

Eyes wide, Steve gagged at the sight of the flayed strips of bloodied skin that were splattered near everywhere. He had to avert his eyes as he took another step, making slow progress as he was careful not to step in any of the mess. At the bottom of the stairs he warily peered around the walls, hoping he'd only stuck his head into the lion's mouth figuratively. To his immediate relief, but long-term dismay, there was no trace of Billy to be seen in the space of the cellar.

Exhaling deeply, Steve tried to even out his breathing as he came to stand in the middle of the room, looking around to assess the damage. As the swinging lightbulb steadied, he turned towards where the shelf that was hiding the tunnel had been and found it on the ground, knocked to its side and several feet away from where it had originally been positioned. His shoulders drooped at the realization of Billy's escape.

He went and stood before the opening of the tunnel and felt all hope of remedying the situation vanish. A numbness overtook him as he recognized his responsibilities of keeping Billy captive had changed; he was the only one who knew about Billy's circumstances, and he was the only one who could do anything about it now. Distantly, and much further away then he would've liked, he could hear the muted, labored sounds of Billy's breathing as he escaped confinement through the underground system.

The burden of his responsibilities threatened to overwhelm him in that instant, but instead of letting himself be overtaken by despair, Steve took a deep, steadying breath and rolled his shoulders back. He hesitated for only a minute before he took charge and ran in after him, disregarding his urgent need to turn back and get his bat out of the car. There was no time, he thought; no time to get a weapon, no time to get a flashlight. If Billy was now as the werewolf in the woods was, then he was capable of speeds greater than Steve could muster, and every second mattered. If he lost his trail now, then it would be lost to him entirely. There was no time; he had to go now or he wouldn't go at all.

Alone and unarmed Steve ran, chasing after Billy into the dark, cold tunnel, hoping he would be able to catch him in time, and dreading the repercussions that would come if he couldn't.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove/steve harrington #billy/steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #werewolf!billy #slow burn #long fic #stranger things #stranger things fic

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steven-grandpa-rogers · 6 years

Text

More Than Anything

summary:

while on a mission, you need steve to help you come back down to earth; confessions are made along the way

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 3.5k

request: here

warnings: marvel-typical violence, smut, rough sex, mentions of anxiety, unprotected sex bc i can’t write anything else, choking if you squint

The tension mounted over the course of weeks, months, even years. It was obvious to anyone who bothered to look; the lingering glances, the small smiles, the too-long touches. But when you were asked, of course, you would vehemently reject any assumptions.

You and Steve Rogers were just friends. Friends who routinely slept in the same bed, who chose each other over anyone else, who would follow the other to the ends of the earth and beyond. Neither of you ever really bothered to question that.

This mission was changing things. You weren’t sure what it was; with anyone else, you might have chalked it up to the close quarters. Sharing a room - sharing a bed, no less - was something that may trigger some awkwardness. But sharing a bed was something you and Steve did often, so it couldn’t have been that.

You wondered if his job was simply starting to take a toll on him. Maybe it was time for him to get out of the field. Of course, you would never suggest this, but it was possible.

This was your train of thought as you sat on the balcony of your hotel room, feet propped up on the railing and your drink of choice held in your hand. It had been a productive day, if not particularly interesting; you were undercover in a corporation that was suspected of working with HYDRA, among other things. While the intel was fantastic, it was, at its core, a desk job. Really, this entire mission was training for Steve; he was a great soldier, a master tactician, but not so much of a spy. You, meanwhile, were as good as spies got.

At least when Natasha was busy.

You were drawn from your musings when the sliding door opened to reveal a very shirtless Steve looking down at you with exhausted eyes. “Are you coming to bed?” He asked, and you were struck by how profoundly domestic the question was.

“Soon,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink. “I’m just thinking.”

He leaned against the doorframe. He looked tired, he looked worn down. You wanted to go to him, hold him, give him some of his energy back. You wanted to make him feel new again. Your heart hurt to look at the man so exhausted. “What are you thinkin’ about?”

You shrugged. “Nothing in particular.”

You didn’t normally lie to Steve, and the feeling of it was… not fantastic. The words felt heavy on your tongue. You recoiled at the sound of them. Funny, you thought; you lied - easily, even enjoyably - for a living, but you couldn’t lie to Steve.

If he saw through your words (and you suspected he did, if the way he pursed his lips and raised his brows was any evidence) he didn’t choose to comment. Instead, he nodded, mumbled a goodnight, and shut the door behind him.

You finished off your drink and stared at the city skyline, contemplating until you fell asleep in the only-somewhat-comfortable deck chair. Steve found you early the next morning and carried you inside. You stirred just enough as he laid you out in the bed to feel him press a kiss to your temple before he left for his morning jog.

In your early morning drowsiness, all you could think was oh. shit. before sleep overtook you once more.

***

The mission took a turn for the worst pretty fast, if you said so yourself. One minute, you and Steve were gathering information at your desks; the next, you were being called into your boss’ office for a meeting.

The alarm in your head started going off when he locked the door behind you both. When you raised an eyebrow at the sound of it, your boss shrugged. “Just so that we won’t be disturbed. You understand. Please, take a seat.”

Steve moved first, lowering himself cautiously into one of the seats opposite your boss. You followed, hesitantly, hand itching to pull the gun on the inside of your blazer. Though you expressed complete nonchalance outwardly, you were currently going over every microinteraction you’d had at the company. Had something you’d said raised a red flag? Something you’d done?

“I wanted to speak to you both about your real intentions here,” your boss said. You swallowed hard. Shit.

Steve shifted beside you and you could practically smell the panic on him. You wanted to tell him to relax; visibly freaking out wasn’t helping either of your cases. Instead, you looked straight ahead and offered your boss and easy-going smile. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me.”

You felt your heart rate accelerate, but you put on a mask of shock and disappointment. “Sir, I’m not lying. I made my intentions at this company clear to you during my interview; I wanted experience in my chosen field, and I -”

“Cut the shit, Y/L/N!” His voice dropped an octave and he rose from his seat, staring down at you with something cruel in his eyes.

Your face morphed into fear and you worked on summoning tears; if you could just act your way out of this, you’d be fine. “Sir, please sit down. You’re scaring me.”

“C’mon, man,” Steve’s voice surprised you. “We just -”

“Please, Captain,” your boss switched his attention to Steve and you knew you were fucked. It was all over. “Spare me.”

You made an executive decision and stood quickly from your seat. Before your mark could react, your gun was pointed directly at his face. “Okay, new plan,” you said. The fake fear was gone, replaced with confidence and power. “You’re gonna sit down and chill the fuck out. We’re gonna take the intel we need and take this company down. Then we’re gonna slap some handcuffs on you and you’re gonna get what you deserve. Or I can pull the trigger, get the intel we need, take this company down, and leave you to bleed out. It’s your choice.”

In a flash, he was reaching out and pressing a button under his desk. You weren’t sure what it would do, but you knew it couldn’t have been good. As he pressed the button, you squeezed the trigger and watched him crumple to the floor.

By this point, Steve was standing as well. You looked at him and nodded to the door before moving to grab your boss’ key card from his jacket. This would give you access to the information you needed. “I don’t know what he did, but we need to get those files and get the fuck out.”

He nodded and followed you. This wasn’t ideal; you were wearing a blouse and dress pants, neither of which would offer much protection against weaponry, especially bullets, and Steve was most certainly without his shield. Hopefully whatever that button meant would take a while. You hid your gun under your blazer as you made your way through the office. If anyone had heard the gunshot, they certainly didn’t give any indication of it. “His office must have been soundproofed,” you observed, making sure only Steve could hear you. “That’s good.”

You reached the elevator and boarded, happy to see that no one else was present. In an instant, you had swiped your boss’ key card and entered the password that you’d been working on stealing for days. As a new set of buttons appeared, you found yourself profoundly grateful that you’d worked out the password on time.

“They keep all their information on a set of sublevels,” you said, scanning the new buttons and finally selecting one. “If our intel is correct, it should be here.”

You shot down to the correct level and unboarded the elevator. It felt like you had entered a high tech parking garage; the walls of the room that you entered were made of concrete, but the wall opposite the elevator was layered with all manner of security measures. Praying to God you were right about what you were about to do, you marched over and shot out the handprint scanner. The doors slid open.

“How did you know to do that?” Steve asked as he followed you into the maze of files.

You shrugged, drawing your gun once more just in case you encountered someone. “It worked in Star Wars.”

In a few minutes, you managed to track down the right filing cabinet. Thank God for organization systems. You browsed through the files inside and handed the ones you would need off to Steve. “Alright, let’s get the hell out of here.”

It seemed like you were in the clear, until you made your way back to the room with the elevator. As you re-entered the room, the doors opened to reveal a group of men that were definitely not your friends. You shot at one without thinking, only to discover he was definitely wearing bulletproof armor. “Okay, I guess we do this the old fashioned way.”

Steve kicked the files behind the two of you, to be retrieved after you’d finished kicking these guys’ asses.

The enemies converged in a swarm; you hit the first in the face with the butt of your gun, sending him sprawling to the ground. The second came at you faster than you were expecting and managed to grab your gun hand. Without really thinking, you pivoted and shoved your knee right into his balls. He sunk to his knees in front of you, so you ripped his helmet off and sent a bullet right through his skull. This may have been a bit excessive, but you hadn’t been trained for subtlety or grace. You just needed to get the job done.

You worked your way through the crowd until it was just you, Steve, and the last few enemies.

The last one that you faced was a doozy; he went for your legs and you landed hard on your back. As you grimaced and breathed hard, he took the opportunity to step over you and aim his gun right at your head. Letting out a savage growl, you reached up, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him down to the ground with you. It was risky, considering a bullet through your forehead wasn’t great for your health, but you didn’t have many options.

With him sprawled out next to you, you climbed on top of him and pinned his wrists with your knees. You shot him quick and dirty and rose to your feet, surveying the incapacitated men around you. “That was annoying,” you said, and Steve laughed as he retrieved the files.

Aside from the fact that you were covered in blood and panting, you managed to get yourselves together enough to walk out of the building without rousing too much suspicion. If anyone noticed the dishevelment, at least, they didn’t make any comments.

***

By the time you and Steve made it back to the hotel, your adrenaline had only diminished somewhat. The fact that you had made it back without anymore trouble did nothing to ease your nerves; if anything, it only put you on even higher alert. That was too easy, you kept thinking; this couldn’t have been over.

You put the files in your bag and sat out on the balcony, not bothering to remove any of your bloodied clothes or fix your appearance. You were too on edge. You fully expected more HYDRA agents to come through the door at any second.

As minutes ticked by, you prayed that maybe it was over. Maybe you could call it and go home. But still, the anxiety in your chest wasn’t easing up; the more it seemed that you were truly safe, the more your skin buzzed with nerves.

Finally, you decided enough was enough. Rationally, it was clear that you were no longer in danger; but your fight or flight instinct was still strong. You headed inside before you could change your mind. Your plan for easing some of this anxiety was something you were unsure about, something that could be easily rejected, but you needed a tether to reality.

You could only hope that Steve would be willing to provide that.

He was reclined on the bed, nose in a book. His hair was somewhat damp and he was no longer bloody. He looked up as you entered and, seeing the look on your face, immediately put the book to the side. But he didn’t speak. He’d let you do that on your own time.

“Steve…” you didn’t know where to begin. This was ridiculous. You took a deep breath. “I can’t wind down. Fighting is your thing, I’m… I’m more suited for the spy work. You know that. Whenever we fight, you know I get anxious. But it’s not going away this time.”

“Okay,” he replied, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. “What do you need, doll?”

“I need…” your words died in your throat and you bit your lip. And then, in an instant, a levy broke. Fuck it. “Steve, I need you.”

His brow furrowed, and then he smiled. He thought you wanted to be held, to be comforted. He clearly didn’t realize that that was the farthest thing from your mind. “You know you don’t have to ask about that. C’mere, we can -”

“No.” You drew his attention with just one word. His eyes widened as your blazer hit the ground, and then your pants, leaving you in just a blouse and underwear. “Steve, I need you to fuck me.”

“Y/N…” you could see the conflict in his eyes; the professional in him wanted to say no, but the part of him that wanted you - that loved you - was dying to say yes. You watched him mull it over, watched as he nodded and said, “okay, if you’re sure.”

You felt relief rush through your system. Before you could think about what to do next, you went to the bed and climbed onto it. You moved so you were straddling him and brought him into a deep kiss. His hands found your hips, lips moving against yours.

Yeah, you definitely should have done this sooner.

“Stevie, please,” your voice bordered on a whine as you pulled back just slightly from the kiss. Your hands were cupping his face, fingers digging into his temples. “Ruin me.”

These words stirred something deep within Steve. He let out a growl and you found yourself on your back with him hovering over you. His lips found their way to your neck and he sucked hickies around your jaw and collarbone, clearly marking you no matter what clothes you might wear to attempt to cover them. The thought of it drew a long moan from you, and you felt his hips stutter forward at the sound.

“I love you,” you heard him say, “I’ve loved you for so long.”

You carded your hands through his hair and drew him back up to your lips, reveling in the feeling of your tongues meeting, exploring. The kiss was charged with passion and one monumental realization:

You and Steve Rogers were most certainly not just friends.

His touch was working wonders to calm your nerves. The adrenaline and paranoia was melting away beneath him, but you needed more. You needed to be grounded, tethered to reality; to Steve.

You wrapped your legs around him and rolled your hips up into his, hoping he’d get the message. He rose up on his knees to, quite literally, rip your blouse off; buttons flew everywhere before he threw the fabric over his shoulder. Your eyes widened at his actions. That was, without a doubt, the single hottest thing you’d ever seen.

The next to go were your panties and bra, which shared a similar fate. You pawed at Steve’s shirt until he got the message and threw it off, along with the boxers that you assumed he’d been planning to wear to bed. As his lips returned to your neck and trailed down to your breast, you toyed with the thoughts in your head about how exactly you wanted this to go.

His lips curled perfectly around one of your nipples and you decided to make your request. If his needy actions and quick pace were any indication, you figured he’d be alright with what you needed.

“Steve,” you said, though it came out as more of a moan as he chose that moment to roll your other nipple between his fingers. He hummed in reply, obviously sensing you had something to say. Your words came out as a desperate gasp: “don’t be gentle.”

You felt Steve smirk against you and then he was tugging your nipple between his teeth. Instantly, your back arched and your hands flew to his head, fingers curling in his hair and pulling.

“My girl likes it rough,” he mused, and then he began kissing down your stomach. On occasion, he’d nip at your skin, sending shockwaves down your back and goosebumps down your arm. “I can work with that.”

Before you could really process, his hands found your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. You felt his hands trail down your back, path punctuated by a slap to your ass once he had reached it. You cried out and prayed to God the hotel had thick walls; this was going to be a loud night.

Steve’s fingers trailed over your slit, exploring you leisurely, keeping a close eye on your reactions. He watched the way you moaned when he flicked the pad of his thumb over your clit; the way you pushed back against him when just the tip of his finger pressed into your opening. He slapped your ass again and you made a sound that was somewhere between pleasure and frustration.

“Steve, please,” you said, rocking your hips back against him. The noise he made was something feral and deep; you looked over your shoulder to see his eyes absolutely burning with lust. His hand found his cock, hard against his stomach, and gave it a few pumps, obviously seeking to alleviate some tension. Channeling your best porn star moan, you met his eyes and said, “please, fuck me.”

He ran the tip of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your juices. You clenched around nothing, throbbing with even the idea of having him inside of you. As his dick slid inside of you, you let out a harsh moan and focused on relaxing for him. He was big, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

It only took a few seconds after he bottomed out for you to start begging him to move. With that go ahead, Steve set a punishing pace; his hips hit yours so hard and fast that, within minutes, the only sounds in the room were skin on skin and various moans, grunts, and growls.

Steve’s hand found your throat and pulled you flush against his chest. The new angle gave him access to even deeper parts of you and you squeezed your eyes shut, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. This was better than you’d ever thought it would be.

Your release approached quickly. You were chanting his name like a prayer, eyes still shut tight. One of your hands found his, the one that wasn’t holding you up, and this moment of tenderness in an otherwise feral fucking communicated things that you didn’t think words ever could. Steve buried his head in your neck just as you came, the pulsing of your cunt sending him over the edge.

You stayed like that for a minute, one of his hands in yours and the other curled around your neck, moving through the aftershocks together. As you came down from your highs, Steve gently pulled out and turned you so that you laid on your back. He then fell onto his side next to you and pulled you into his arms. You felt far more contented than you had before, your adrenaline rush finally dying down. You felt at peace.

“Thank you,” you murmured, head buried in his chest. When he chuckled, you felt the vibration of it pass through him.

“For what?”

“For calming me down. Sometimes you’re the only one who knows how.” This got no response, though you knew he was smiling that soft, dopey grin. You felt his fingers in your hair after a minute or so, felt him begin humming a soft, unfamiliar tune. And then something he had said in the heat of the moment struck you. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

His fingers stilled and you felt him tense. “I…” you couldn’t tell what he was struggling with, but you knew in your soul that the answer was yes. Maybe it was the work boundary, or your individual traumas, or some other unseen conflict. Still, you knew the answer was yes. It had to be yes.

“Because I love you,” you pulled back so you could look at him, flashing him a small smile. “I think I always have.”

The relief in his face shattered your heart a bit; had he been worried that you wouldn’t feel the same? His next words, however, put your heart back together and then some.

“Yeah, doll. I love you. More than anything.”

#marvel #marvel one shot #marvel imagine #marvel smut #steve rogers #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #i had a really good time writing this ngl #i love my Son so #and missions/spy shit are always fun to write

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