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slasherbvnnie · 1 year

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Until We Found You | Part III

Part III is now up and running! P.S. there are two playlists I listen to while writing these, they don’t necessarily go with reading them but you totally could listen to them as you read! Let me know if you would like the playlists. As usual, heed the tags.

Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Eventual Poly!Ghostface x reader,NSFW, All characters 18+, P in V, Fingering, Overall smut

Part I Part II Part IV Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

The next few days were pretty dull, you spent a few days over at Sidney’s, the first night it was just you two but the third day Tatum, Billy, and Stu all spent the night- it was a group decision to leave Randy out because he would just go on and on about who was the killer and why they were targeting the victims. Ghostface was pretty quiet too, with no killings or attempts since you, you were starting to wonder if you were meant to be the last victim, you also wondered if you had pissed them off by not going home. Luckily today you were returning home, back to see your parents and Irena and your brand new door- no shining scene included this time.

“Need a ride? Me and Stu are going to the movie store,” Billy asked, making you turn to him after you and Sidney had pulled away from a hug. “Sure, my parents haven’t left my aunts yet so I would appreciate it,” you said before turning to Sidney again. “Thanks for letting me crash at yours, I’ll call if I have anything weird going on again,” you promised her, waving bye as you left with the boys.

“You should call us if that creep comes back, me and Billy can put him in his place,” Stu said, giving his signature laugh and smile, making you laugh. “That’s a great idea, Billy can scare him away with his crazy eyes and you can bore him to death by telling him all about horror movies,” you joked, earning annoyed glares from both boys, making you laugh again. “I’ll call if I see them again, okay? Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself,” you promised the boys as you climbed into the back seat, throwing your bag in next to you.

The day passed by smoothly, the boys had taken you to the movie rental store and bought you some candy along with a movie, which Stu insisted you watch and even rented for you. Prom Night, another fucking Jamie movie. You had popped it into your laptop that night once you were home. Irena sat on your lap as you caught up on some homework due the next day, occasionally you glanced at your laptop to watch the movie, not noticing when Irena had moved from your lap and moved to your vanity. She sat down, her tail twitching angrily, your attention finally moved to her when you heard a little growl escape her.

When you got up to see what had angered her you saw the window slide open, the same masked killer from the other day climbing in through your window. You paused, looking at them with wide eyes, wondering if the flirting over the phone had all been a plan to get you off guard, to either kill you or kidnap you so they could set you up for the murders of Casey and Steve. Your nerves didn’t calm down when they motioned you closer after closing the window, still, you walked over slowly to them. Their hand reached up to your face, cupping it gently before gripping it more firmly, holding the knife in their other hand up to your cheek. Your breath hitched, feeling the cool touch of the steel against you, but they made no movements to harm you in any way, not really at least.

The knife ghosted over your skin, not enough to cut but enough for you to feel scared and strangely turned on at the same time. Your eyes studied the mask in front of you, you couldn’t make out their eyes behind the mesh, but you could feel their eyes piercing into yours. They removed their hands from you, pushing you towards the bed, you complied but paused when you sat down on it. “My parents are home…can-can you lock the door at least,” you asked, they tilted their head towards the door and you swore you heard them chuckle as they most likely recalled how they broke the last one. They walked over to the door, locking it before making their way to you. Your legs clenched together, your ever-growing nervousness and excitement now showing to them as you wondered what they were going to do.

They looked over you for a moment before holding the knife right up to your sternum, pressing the knife onto your clothes as they began to drag it down, leaving a trail of torn clothes in their wake. “I kinda liked those…” you murmured, if they hadn’t had the mask on you may have seen the shit-eating grin they had on their lips as they pressed the knife harder against your skin. Your cheeks heated up, taking the hint to shut up as you let them continue. You had already changed into pajamas earlier in the night, your Carrie shirt now tattered and torn, exposing your top half to them. Once they reached your groin, they paused and moved the knife away, pocketing it before pushing you back onto the bed so you were laying down.

They hovered over you, tracing your face again, the rough texture of their glove trailing down your body before their fingers hooked under the waistband of your pj pants, tugging them off slowly. Your skin grew goosebumps all over, the cold air in your room felt like mercy against your warm skin, which was only growing hotter by the second. A small whimper left you as you felt them place their hand over your panties, you hadn’t even noticed until that moment but your arousal had shown even through the fabric, feeling a little embarrassed that you were so needy without much effort.

Your hand flung up to your mouth as you felt them reach into your underwear, you could feel how cold their fingers were even through the gloves as they ghosted over your clit. You bit down on your hand as they pressed on your clit, circling around it as you closed your eyes and tilted your head back. The texture of the glove bothered you a little, which they must have noticed as you bucked against their fingers. A whine left your lips as their hand pulled away, opening your eyes to see them reaching into their pocket and pulling out some torn piece of fabric. They spread it out in their hands, showcasing it to you, a blindfold. Another blush rose to your cheeks as you tilted your head up for them to put it on, a silent understanding between you two that they wanted you to stay clueless about who they were. They reached around your head and tied the fabric over your eyes, your heart began to beat faster realizing that you were completely at their mercy now.

They reached back into their pocket, bringing the knife out and making a stabbing motion at you, bringing the knife inches from your forehead. When you didn’t flinch, they felt comfortable knowing you couldn’t see behind the blindfold and began to undress. You heard them shuffling in the outfit, hearing a thud on the floor, wondering if that was the knife or their mask. You received your answer when you felt the knife against your cheek again, you felt yourself grow wetter, partially because of the knife, partially because ghostface was standing right in front of you unmasked and you couldn’t see them. Your hand tried to move to touch them but before you had the chance they pinned you down by your wrist. You whined but they only gripped you tighter, they dropped the knife and instead grabbed your torn t-shirt and tied your wrist together with it.

You didn’t have to wait much longer before their mouth was latched onto your neck and their fingers were tracing over your core. Their fingertips teased you, running over your folds as they carefully placed a hickey on your neck. You could feel a grin on their lips as they bit and licked at your skin, feeling your pulse under their tongue. You did your best to keep your voice down, your heavy breaths bounced off of your bedroom walls as they pushed two fingers into you. A louder whine sounded from you, to which they comforted you by planting a kiss against your lips. You didn’t need to see them to feel the passion in the kiss, they pushed against you with such need, teeth clanking together and making your bones shake as their thumb moved to your clit.

Your thighs opened a little wider to allow them more access, relishing in the pleasure their hands brought you. The familiar tension in your stomach was slowly beginning to build, sweat began to form on your skin from feeling their hot breath against you. You felt their eyes on you, it only made you more turned on knowing they were watching every little reaction you had to their movements. Another finger entered you, hitting a spot inside that made you toss your head back and thank any supernatural being or god there was that they were quick enough to swallow the moan you let out in a kiss. They took the opportunity to snake their tongue into your mouth, making you melt even further as their pace quickened.

Your chest began to rise and fall quickly as that knot in your stomach threatened to break. You moved slightly, your hips bucking and moving against their fingers as you let the pleasure take you over. Before you could tip over the edge they pulled away, which made you whine and squirm in protest. “Not fucking fair,” you breathed out, to which you were met with the cold blade of their knife again pressing against your neck. You pouted, realizing ghostface probably didn’t like your bratty attitude too much but it was all fixed when they kissed you again. Your legs slowly fell open again, allowing them to situate themself in between them. Their hand let go of the knife again and instead took the opportunity to roam over your body, little whines coming from you when they ran over- and teased- all the spots you reacted to.

Finally, they trailed their way back to your core, watching as your face scrunched up with pleasure as they circled your clit again. “Please…” you whined to them, their other hand gripping your thigh as a warning, “I want you in me already, please.” You begged, their grip growing even tighter, likely to leave a bruise before they finally let up. You barely took a breath before you felt them against you, your body tensed slightly but soon calmed down as you felt their lips on yours again. They were more gentle this time, but you could feel the tension they held by holding themselves back. “It’s okay., you can ruin me. Please ruin me,” you begged again, whimpering when their hand gripped your neck, squeezing the sides as they quickly entered you.

Ghostface was smart enough to put their mouth on yours again to cover up your moan, melting in their hold as they began to set up a steady pace. You wondered if they were taking it slow to let you adjust or to tease you, but they quickly had your attention again when their free hand returned to your core. Your stomach tightened once again, your head spinning with all the pleasure they were giving you. When their thrusts began to quicken you couldn’t help but arch your back, your ankles hooking around them and trapping them in between your legs, but with the way they thrusted even harder into you, you don’t think they minded it one bit.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were close to coming undone, both of your hips stuttered and bucked, their hand that played with your clit quickened a little as well, paying attention to the spots that had you shaking. “Fuck, gonna-“ you whined again, your head tilting back as they hit your sweet spot, “gonna cum,” you whimpered out between moans, trying to keep quiet. They continued the torture they were inflicting on you, your black vision turning white as you finally reached your climax. Your thighs shook around them, pulsing around them before they came.

You felt their muscles unclench, glad that you finally came to the realization that they had worn protection, mentally cursing yourself for not even checking before. They pulled out slowly, gently touching your face as you whimpered from the loss. You adjusted yourself on the bed as they finally peeled away from you, hearing the shuffling of clothes again as they got dressed.

After a moment you felt a dip in the bed, feeling them untie you but held down your wrists as they leaned in for one last kiss. You smiled into it, giggling as they pulled away. “Come again tomorrow, with a new Carrie shirt preferably,” you asked playfully, feeling their lips curl up into a smile before they pulled away. You heard the thumps of plastic before your blindfold was taken off, your eyes meeting the masked killer after adjusting to the light.

“Was that smile a yes,” you asked, smiling when they nodded. “You can take the torn one as a momento, and so you know what size to get,” you offered, holding out the piece of clothing to them. They grabbed it, heading back to the window as you stayed on the bed and watched them. They climbed out of your room while you finally stood up and watched them take off. You sighed, running your hands over the little hickeys and bruises they left on you before heading to your bathroom to get cleaned up.

There was the ringing of a phone, only sounding for a few seconds before the other line picked up. “Hey Stu, let's take the girls shopping tomorrow, we owe someone a new shirt. Also need to get you all fancied up too, you have a date tomorrow night,” Billy said, Stu laughing before beginning to question him on the details.

#poly!ghostface #poly!ghostface x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #scream au #poly!ghostface x female reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #scream x reader #scream1996 #scream 1996 #scream #billy x stu x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #obsessed!reader #billy loomis smut #stu macher smut #poly!ghostface smut

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wynnyfryd · 1 month

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Trailer park Steve AU part 58

part 1 | part 57 | ao3

@steddie-island said i wasn't allowed to cut this lol. cw: angst, canon typical horror, mentions of minor character death

“Lucas called me a ghost today.”

Steve almost laughs, bitter and sharp. Sure. Why not? What’s one more ghost in his passenger seat?

He doesn't really want to talk to her right now, if he's honest. It's been fifteen minutes and she still hasn't apologized for trying to rob him, or explained where they're going, or what spooked her, or why this car ride was so urgent that he had to risk his job for it — a job he actually needs, considering his, well, everything. She's hardly said anything beyond the occasional "turn here" or "next left" while sulking with her forehead pressed against the window.

But he can tell she has something she needs to get off her chest, so he swallows his annoyance and offers, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says back. Doesn't elaborate.

He gives her another minute to gather her words, watches her open and close her mouth a few times in his periphery, but nothing comes out. She scoffs at herself and abruptly changes the subject. “Eddie was being extra… well, extra today.”

“Was he?” Steve asks, his bones itching under his skin. He doesn't want to talk about Eddie. Doesn't want to think his name.

“Yeah, he, uh- he was kinda manic? He was, like, running all over the cafeteria and starting shit with Jason Carver...” And he's only half-listening, anger simmering as she goes on and on, because she promised that Dustin didn't put her up to this. Said that this wasn't some bullshit excuse to get him to talk about Eddie or hang out with Eddie or think about Eddie or kiss and make up with fucking Eddie, and now she's just talking about him, and it-

And it hurts; god, it still just hurts—

"....Then he started rambling about how he can’t wait to get the hell out of here when he graduates.”

Searing-stabbing-burning-sharp. Steve clutches at the flare of pain in his chest, the crushed soda-can feeling where his heart's supposed to be. His head pounds. He follows her next direction onto a winding, tree-lined road, the canopy suffocating overhead, and his skin feels too dry — too tight, too small, shrink-wrapping him inside of it, because he knows where they are now. Knows the tilt of the rusted lamp shade, the shape of the weather brick paths. He's tasted the metal tang of this stop sign in his nightmares.

Fuck. Fuck.

"Cool," he grits out as he drives through the cemetery gates. Past stone and wrought iron, past the empty central fountain. He hasn't been here since July. “Good for him.”

“Steve-"

“Why are you telling me this?" he snaps. He throws the car in park under an old oak and turns to glare at her, barking a frustrated, "Huh?"

Immediately, he feels bad for raising his voice. Feels even worse for the way she flinches away. The naked fear on her face, her hand reaching for the door. He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose. “Sorry. Sorry. Just-" There's a leak inside him somewhere; some infected, gaping hole, and his stupid heart keeps pumping all his blood into the wound. "Why are you-?”

“Look,” she says sharply, "I know it sucks. To talk about him." She's staring at the rows of headstones up ahead, her face gone steely with determination, her shoulders squared, her big eyes wide and a little wet when she turns to meet his gaze. “But whatever you were— whatever happened, it just… it really messed him up.”

Good. "You sound like Dustin."

"Maybe Dustin had a point."

"Since when?"

She throws her hands up, nostrils flaring. "I'm trying to tell you that I think he still cares!"

“Yeah? He’s got a seriously fucked up way of showing it if so!”

“Yeah, well some of us don’t know how to show it!”

And oh.

Oh.

Silence blankets them like dust. Eyes locked; harsh breaths. This has nothing to do with him and Eddie, does it?

Lucas called me a ghost.

Steve sighs and slumps forward, his forearms on the wheel, his chin resting on his wrist. The late afternoon sun is warm through the glass, and his head gives another nasty throb as he looks out over the hill, at the polished stones glinting in the golden hour rays.

His dad is buried here.

A lot of people are.

“Hey,” he murmurs, rolling his neck to look at her. The skin under her eyes is red. "Sorry for yelling."

She sniffs quietly. "Me, too."

He reaches over and gives her hand a quick squeeze, keeping his voice low and gentle. "You know you can just talk to me, right? Max, talk to me. Please.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “It’s nothing, okay?” She sinks down in her seat, crossing her arms to shield herself. “Shit’s just been… it’s just been weird all week. Like- like bad weird, and I don't know if I'm just going crazy, or— I mean, maybe Ms. Kelley's right, maybe's it's just— but it feels like…”

"Like what?"

She holds a hand out flat in front of her; flips her wrist over slowly so her palm faces the sky.

Steve's blood runs cold. He thinks of his own nightmares: the weird visions, the headaches, the persistent haunted feeling.

"I don't know anything for sure," she insists, rushing to reassure him before he can fully start to panic. "Seriously, don't freak out; I haven't, like, seen any gates or anything, it's just— bad dreams. Nose bleeds. I don't know." She hoists her backpack onto her shoulder. "I thought coming here might help."

He catches her by the arm, raking his eyes over her face, looking for any signs of danger. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shakes her head no and tugs free of his grip, and then she's slipping out of the car, letting the door fall shut behind her, and Steve watches her crest the hill while sirens wail inside his head.

—

part 59

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #my writing #my fic #i rewrote this 42 goddamn times #also i promise reunion is still coming #max had a lot to say apparently lol

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holylulusworld · 5 months

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Indecent Proposal (4)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, shitty boyfriend, the reader doesn’t take shit from no one, sexy mobsters, slow burn (kinda), implied character's death

A/N: This is a shorter, interlude chapter. I wanted to go straight for the smut but decided against it because…I’m a tease :)

Indecent Proposal (3)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“What’s this?” Steve holds up your scrapbook. “That’s pretty. It looks like you put a lot of effort into this book.”

“It’s a scrapbook,” you sigh, and grab the book. “Forget it. Whatever I dreamed of back then will never come true. Maybe I should burn it.”

“What do you mean, doll?” Bucky worriedly places his hand on your shoulder. “What did you dream of? And why do you think this will never come true?”

You sigh again. “Mr. Barnes, with all due respect, look at the mess my life is right now. My boyfriend sold me to you. And whatever you want from me is far from love. All you want is my womb.”

Steve frowns deeply. They didn’t think so far. All they had in mind was to make you theirs and fill you up. “Doll…we…” Steve shakes his head. “Buck?”

You wave them off. “No biggie. Life fucks you over most of the time. It could be worse, right? Scott could’ve cheated on me with his ex and sold me to his bosses.” You chuckle darkly. “Oh-wait. He just did that.”

“Y/N, we are not so bad,” Bucky grins at you. “We promise to never cheat on you. You are the missing piece Stevie, and I were looking for all our lives.”

You sneer. “Let’s try to be painfully honest. You want to stuff me with dick and knock me up. There is no way out for me. How could I escape you and your husband?”

You walk toward your bedroom, ignoring their boring looks. If they force you to accept your fate, you won’t roll over and just take it.

“You stole her scrapbook?” Bucky grins as his husband thumbs through your scrapbook. “You are a dangerous man, Mr. Rogers.”

“She wanted me to throw it away,” Steve huffs. “I took it with me to find out more about Y/N than her blood type and what she does for a living. If we want this to work out, we should…”

“Buy her flowers,” Bucky suggests. “And invite her to live with us.”

“Slow down, Buck. We should ask her on a date first. But flowers are not the worst gift for a first date.”

“How about we murder her enemies too,” the brunette grins darkly. “I know she doesn’t want us to kill Scottie boy, but I’d love to do more to him than break a few bones.”

“You know…” Steve dips his head and smirks darkly. “We could just let him disappear because he fucked with us. He lied and broke our deal by not telling Y/N about the deal.”

“I love how you think,” Bucky cups Steve’s face, looking him deep in the eyes, “and I love you, baby. You know that, right? Y/N is going to be an addition, but she’ll never take your place.”

“Buck, if I’d believe for one second you want to replace me you would end up bending over the table, your ass spanked raw,” Steve chuckles at his husband’s expression. “Oh, you’d love that, huh?”

“We will see, Stevie…we will see…”

“Far well, Scottie boy.” Bucky locks his gun and tugs it away. “This was much too fast and painless for that bastard. I should’ve broken a few bones or cut him open.”

“A shot straight through the heart. Good job.” Steve leans over Scott’s lifeless body. “Y/N can never know we killed him after she asked us to not do it.”

“We did it for us, not her. Y/N’s hands are clean. She had nothing to do with this, Steve. But I agree. She should never get to know about what happened tonight.”

“She wanted a dress like that for her wedding? Nice. Very nice.” Steve is obsessed with your scrapbook. He read every line and looked at every picture. Steve even ran his fingers over the fabric samples.

“Stevie, what are you doing with the scrapbook? Do you want to find the perfect wedding dress for her or more?”

“I want to get to know her better. Y/N put a lot of effort into creating this book. We should take our time and find out what she wants and likes.”

“Hmm…that’s not the worst idea, Steve. Give me that.” Bucky snatches the book out of Steve’s hands. “Let’s see what we can do for our doll…”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky x reader #mafia stucky #female reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #mafia au #Indecent Proposal (4)

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buckets-and-trees · 7 months

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Devour: ACID

Fandom: MCU Collection: Devour Title: ACID Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!Bucky x f!Chef!Reader Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: A month since SALT and three weeks since FAT, your situation with the mob boss who bought your restaurant is still evolving in unexpected ways - including an unexpected episode after work tonight.

Content Warnings: explicit smut, oral: female receiving, analingus: female receiving, vaginal penetration/fucking, some light drinking, mob boss Bucky is kind of dom

Logistical Notes: I had planned for this to punch the ticket for week 10 of my Hot Bucky Summer 2023 collection for the prompt "Long day at work?" and so this is late for the @buckybarnesevents event itself, but I'm a completionist and am marking it off on my personal list for my own satisfaction. Also ticking off the U3: "Kink: Concubine" square of my Bucky Barnes Bingo, Round Five card for @buckybarnesbingo.

Additional Notes: @mlibbydp and @goldylions were so benevolent in doing some beta work on this so HUGE AMOUNTS OF LOVE TO THEM for what they both contributed to the piece and to me personally. This chapter is much longer than the previous two and just as part two evolved their relationship, part three makes some more significant moves and ... I needed the notes on making sure this still felt like Devour. Also... @biteofcherry you might see something interesting in here that's definitely included because of a throwaway comment you made earlier this summer.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

When you walked out into the garage, there was a black luxury SUV idling near the exit with Sam Wilson leaned up against it. Seeing you, he slipped his phone into his pocket and pushed off the side of the vehicle.

“Hey, Chef,” he greeted you with a grin.

“Really?” you sighed. “Now?”

He shrugged. “Please?”

“And is that you asking nicely, or him?”

“You know I just do what he says.”

You huffed. “You don’t always do what he says, but he knows you’re the most charming one and I wouldn’t refuse you.”

Sam laughed as he opened the door to the backseat. “Don’t let the charm fool you, honey, if you said no, I’d throw you in the back regardless, it would just be less fun for you.”

You knew that, too, which is why you simply got in without a fuss. Bucky, Sam, the rest of his men? They were all mobsters running mob business, dangerous beneath the surface.

As the door closed behind you, you looked to the front to see who was driving, then clucked your tongue. “He sent both of you?”

Steve smirked. “Buckle up. And of course he sent us. You don’t think he trusts just anyone with his girl, do you?”

Oh. You bit your bottom lip and looked away and out the window, a small warmth stirring in your belly. As inconveniently annoying as this ordeal seemed to you in this moment, there was that piece. Being his. You were starting to feel it.

You had told Bucky that second night in the restaurant that you needed more than gifts and sex.

He had taken your word seriously.

There had been walks in the park, an auction, brunch on his yacht, a gallery opening, a rooftop wine tasting, even a dinner party at Sam’s place where he ended up proposing to his girl. You had enjoyed all of them, but except for the night at Sam’s, the time with Bucky had been last minute – sometimes there was a text, but most times it was him showing up or – like tonight – someone sent to fetch you without notice. He seemed all too aware of your schedule, so none of these instances were logistically inconvenient, but with it happening once more again tonight, you couldn’t help but notice this pattern of behavior was clearly becoming a habit – being summoned. In general, you didn’t mind, you saw that he was demonstrating that he wanted to spend time with you, but if you were his girl, you didn’t want to be treated like one of the droves of people who were at his beck and call and certainly not like a concubine kept solely for his whims.

The SUV slowed and pulled up to the curb of an incredibly unremarkable building that spoke to money for how unremarkable it was – the kind of money that demanded magnificence but privacy. You’d never stepped in a place of residence quite like this before – you hadn’t even stepped out of the car yet, but even in the darkness you already knew.

Both men slipped out of the front seat. Sam opened your door and offered his hand to pull you to the sidewalk. “No frowns needed tonight,” he said.

“Says you.” You didn’t realize you were frowning.

Sam grinned, then headed around to take the driver’s seat just as Steve appeared at your side.

“I’ll walk you up,” Steve gestured for you to enter the building with him.

“This is his place?”

“One of them,” Steve responded.

You took a deep breath and followed him in.

Sharp looking doormen, green marble floors, golden elevators.

Chatting with Steve was always easy, and it was no different on the fifteen-floor ride up to the penthouse at the top of the building. However, you did feel a touch of nerves as this was your first time at Bucky’s place. You weren’t quite sure what to expect but were keen to learn more about this enigma of a man by seeing where he lived.

And there he was, ready to meet you as the doors of the elevator opened, hands in his pockets, tired smile on his face, but his blue eyes dancing with excitement, and that stirred the storm of butterflies immediately in your stomach. He reached out a hand to pull you into him.

“Thanks, Steve,” he said, though he didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Sure thing, Buck.”

Once the elevator closed, Bucky brushed his fingers over your cheek, cradled your head in his hand to tilt your jaw up, and then his lips were on yours, your back pressed up against the wall. Within moments you were breathless.

In the intervening weeks since seeing him at the restaurant he’d also kept his physical contact minimal, only a few light touches, an arm around you when it seemed natural for the occasion, except for two lingering kisses. One of those instances was after a walk in the park when he’d kissed you full on in the afternoon daylight, then deposited you into the car he’d arranged to take you directly to work, where his heated kiss had distracted you throughout your shift. The second was three nights ago, the last time you saw him, and that had been only a ghosting of his lips against your ear, along your jaw, and then a soft kiss pressed to your mouth before withdrawing and leaving you at your door, but it had gotten your whole body humming for him and haunted you as you went to sleep and in your dreams.

This, after so long, so much wanting, was like a wave crashing over you. You moaned softly, you let him pull you in, melting against him, and you nearly let him sweep you away, but then you pressed insistently against his chest.

“James.”

“Yes?” he did move back, but only enough to look into your face fully.

“What is this?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“So, you just summon me?”

You knew he didn’t miss the tenor of agitation in your tone because he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, and you could feel the smirk before he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture at your shoulder. “I was hungry for you,” he said, completely undeterred. And as his lips moved solely along your throat, your core begged you to forget the conversation you were attempting to have.

“Why?” you barely managed to ask.

“You know why.”

“Do I?”

Bucky pulled back again, frowning this time, but you put your hand on his face to soften his reaction. “Steve and Sam said I’m your girl, but…”

“I told you you were mine. Surely over the past few weeks, you can’t doubt that.” His stare into your eyes was steady, straight.

You didn’t doubt him.

You did need to hear those words said just that way though. You didn’t know how much you had needed to hear them.

It gave you the surety to say what you needed to say to him. “I’m not just another girl. No more summoning me, Barnes. I’m not one of your people, I’m not your plaything.” With your hand now resting on his chest, you let your fingers brush soft strokes up and down over his heart. “If you want me, want all of me.”

He hadn’t interrupted your statement. He’d let you finish without argument. You could see the way his face changed, and the shift of the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch. He drew you in closer, encircling his arms around your waist. “Oh, I want everything, don’t doubt that.” He brushed his lips softly on your forehead. “I was only waiting for you to want this.”

Your chest tightened at those words, but the next moment you couldn’t think because then he kissed you again.

And that kiss, though brief, was thick with heat, and when he pulled back he said, “I see your point about the summoning. Just know that I was eager to have you around at any opportunity.”

You smiled because he smiled. “I can forgive you for that – I guess I can be a bit irresistible,” you teased. Somehow his confidence made you feel steady enough with him to be direct, to be flirtatious, to simply be around him.

He brought a hand to your cheek again. “I’ll mend my ways, but let’s be honest… a little bit of you likes it – the spontaneity of it.” His smile turned to a truly wolfish grin.

You sighed but rolled your eyes playfully. “Maybe a little.”

He stepped away, taking your hand. “Come. You can have a tour later.”

Rather than asking where you were going, you simply let him lead you through the grand apartment. You didn’t take in every detail, but it was big without being too big. Rich and luxurious without being cold or opulent. There were sleek lines, but also elements of warm and comfort folded into the power that was also clearly on display. But your focus was on the way he held your hand and led you through his domain. He had no question that you would follow.

Were you so easily his?

No.

Your mind wasn’t made up.

You weren’t all in, but you weren’t reeling to run away.

He stopped in front of a mahogany door and looked over his shoulder at you. You arched your brow.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

“Alright.” And you did.

He opened it, and you let him lead you inside, through a room, clearly walking you past some furniture. You heard the sound of a fire in a fireplace, then you heard another door opening, and he ushered you in front of him and through that door. “Take your time,” he said softly, lips against your ear. “I’ll be waiting.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, and then he was gone, shutting the door behind you.

You opened your eyes to the sight of a large jade green-tiled shower enclosed with glass and four gleaming gold showerheads. Turning around, you couldn’t help a soft giggle falling from your lips. The lavish bathroom was sheer perfection. Showering after your shifts at the restaurant was ritual for you. You toed off your shoes and began peeling off your clothes. Off to the side of the palatial shower, there was a gorgeous clawfoot tub, and next to that a plush navy settee with what looked like some silky things set out for you. After inspecting the knobs and heads of the shower, you got them running, adjusting them to the perfect water temperature easily, and stepped under the streams, a sigh falling immediately from your lips.

One of the shelves was stocked with some of the skin and haircare products you used, some you hadn’t but certainly knew the name and reputation of (but hadn’t indulged in for yourself), and the other shelf was stocked with men’s products. It reminded you of the significance of where you were – in his home – and the element of intimacy it evoked, being naked where he had been and would frequently be again. Where he likely would be naked with you. You bit your lip. You pulled down the bottle of his shower gel, popped the top open, and inhaled. You hated how much you already loved that smell.

No, you didn’t.

You inhaled deeply again, then set it back on the shelf.

After that, you set to reveling in the flow of the water over your body, and got to washing, unsure of the time, only focused on the smooth feel of the soap and textures over your skin, feeling more and more relaxed, and ultimately refreshed and clean.

Once you had shut off all four showerheads, you reached for towels more plush than any you had ever used in your life and dried yourself off before wrapping the large bath sheet around your torso. You padded over to the settee to discover a short black silk robe waiting for you.

And nothing else.

You shook your head but grinned. “Audacious bastard,” you whispered.

But you didn’t bother with anything else.

At the vanity there were more hair, face, and body care products and tools clearly stocked for you – again some familiar and some you’d only dreamed of, none of this really a shock given your experience with this man. You weren’t certain how long you’d taken in the shower, having lost track of time, but here you suddenly did find yourself trying to take more time, a small fluttering of nerves in your stomach, because though he'd had his way with you in the kitchen of the restaurant and discreetly pulled an orgasm from you at the table in the dining room, this would be different.

Tonight, your body would be his, no restrictions. There was no worry for privacy, no limited amount of time.

There were also emotions now.

You had set the terms – that you needed to be more than a body to him – and he’d met them, courting the rest of you these past weeks, and putting the physical on the back burner.

He had made his intentions for tonight expressly clear.

And you wanted him, too.

But you were still nervous.

When you put your hand on the doorknob, you closed your eyes for a moment, taking one deep breath to steady yourself. Then you stepped out and into the next room, which – to no surprise – was a grand and spacious bedroom. Bucky was sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace you’d heard earlier, but immediately set a book aside and stood when he heard you. You were happy – and feeling a little more heat in your core – to see he was out of his earlier clothes and down to only a pair of silk pajama bottoms.

“How was your shower?” he asked, standing up and beckoning you over.

“The shower was glorious. You’re a bit wicked to only leave me a robe, though, aren’t you?”

He placed a kiss to your forehead and motioned to get comfortable on the couch while he moved over to a small bar cart nearby to get you a drink. He shot a smug over his shoulder. “I plan to get lucky.”

You snorted. “You brought me here late at night, kissed me like you did earlier, sent me to shower, left me only a very slinky silk robe to wear, and then greet me again looking like this,” you gesture at him, “fixing me a drink, and you call that ‘planning to get lucky?’”

He shrugged, his smug grin only growing. “Do you think there’s any way in hell I’d be where I am if I hadn’t strategically hedged my bets? Absolutely I plan to get lucky. I make sure I don’t give luck any reason not to go my way.”

You didn’t need alcohol. He was beyond intoxicating. He had been from that first night.

“And I’m assuming I don’t get a choice of drink tonight, either?”

He looked at you again. “I let you choose a lot of things, but I want you to try this. I think you’ll like it.”

You bit your lip and tucked your legs up under you, draping an arm over the back of the couch and facing him as well as where he would return to sit once finished mixing your drinks. His back was to you now, and you were not surprised he seemed to want to keep his preparation a mystery at least for a few more moments.

“Long day at work?”

“Work?” You weren’t expecting such a normal inquiry about it.

“Yes,” he chuckled, “work, my beautiful, talented chef.”

He handed you a wine glass with clear liquids over ice, garnished with fresh mint and slices of lemon, while he had what looked to be a whiskey smash in his other hand. You took an experimental sip as he sat close to you, angling his body to face you, resting his arm over the back of the couch as well. The citrus and mint blended with something floral and…

You swished the contents of your drink in your glass before taking another sip. It was bright and refreshing and not quite the evening night cap you would have expected.

He watched your face, gaging your assessment as he sipped his own drink.

“What is this?” you asked.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you countered, “but what is it, James?”

Your name on his lips ticked the corner up in a half smile. “It’s a Hugo cocktail.”

“It’s not a predictable choice for the middle of the night.”

“It wasn’t my intention to bring you hear and tuck you in straight away.”

You laughed. “There’s no question what your intentions were. We established that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’re not picking up on all my intentions.”

Your brow furrowed. Then you let out a little yip of surprise as he pulled you closer, you clutching your wine glass to keep from spilling the drink.

He had already positioned himself close to you, but this was even more intimate. You were nearly in his lap, and he did pull your legs up to drape across his thighs.

“Now tell me about your day.”

“Oh, you were serious.”

His hand settled on one of your bare thighs, just next to your knee.

“If I didn’t want all of you, I would’ve fucked you in the foyer and let you go home. I want this, too. Now talk.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you smiled. This really was him – demanding but not inflexible, and certainly giving you more than you expected.

So, you did talk, just as you had been really starting to the more he had brought you around to spend the time with him these last weeks. However, there was no getting around that this was more intimate. No others around, no distractions, no functionality of a thing you were doing together, only the two of you.

His line of inquiry was genuine, and he listened intently.

Almost too intently.

You were his singular fixation, and you knew he was thinking of nothing but you as you spoke.

And his fingers brushed idly over your thigh as you conversed.

The soft, repetitive motion wasn’t distracting at first, but it wasn’t long before it was an overwhelming tease of what wasn’t happening.

The physical touch you hadn’t experienced at his hand in weeks.

He was asking questions about how some of the new members of your kitchen staff were integrating, and all you wanted him to do was glide that hand down between your thighs.

You sipped at your drink, and as you continued to talk, you let your other hand drift to rest on his arm still draped over the back of the couch, and your fingers traced along a vein on his forearm. Although it was difficult not to let your eyes drop to his bare chest, you kept his gaze. If he was going to continue talking like this proximity and the lack of clothing between you both wasn’t affecting him, you were determined to match him.

Finally, he moved his hand from your thigh, but it went straight to your waist to curl just above your hip. “Kiss me,” he said.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips hungrily to his without hesitation. He set his drink to the side, then grabbed yours to do the same. With both your hands free, neither of you wasted another moment. Your hands went to his neck while one of his hands traveled slowly up your spine, the other holding your face. As impatient as you were for him, both of you kissed to savor, but there was no rush to it. His lips moved against yours, your tongues explored together, tracing, memorizing, exploring. It wasn’t enough, the tenor moving from savoring to consuming, and you shifted, moving into his lap.

He broke off the kiss briefly, turning his head to the side, but his left hand remained firmly against your back, keeping you close, and you rested your forehead against his temple. His other hand reached to the side table, and he plucked one of the slices of lemon and some mint from your drink. Curious, you lifted your head away. He brought the mint leaf to your mouth first, pressing it along your bottom lip. Then he pinched the fruit against your lip. The mint played with the acid of the citrus deliciously as he kissed you again, this time each of you nipping and licking intermittently through the kisses. Your hands explored the broad planes of his chest now, and his hands raked up and down your sides, thumbs skimming over the side swells of your breasts.

Keen for more, you pressed your body closer to him, pushing your core directly against the hardness of his cock. Rocking your hips, you drew a debauched moan from him that made you swell with pride and made your pussy ache even more for him. You needed him, each moment driving that need exponentially now.

The thick arms and broad chest you were getting to explore freely for the first time held only some of the rippling muscles that made it seemingly easy to push up off the couch while still holding you close with one arm, and it made a broken whine escape the back of your throat. You wrapped your legs around his torso, and his other hand squeezed and held your ass against him as he moved you from the seating area across the room to the bed. He tossed you down on the mattress, then pushed the silky robe – which was naturally already askew – off your body and flung it away. You pushed yourself back a bit more on the bed, and he was only a half second behind crawling up after you.

He pushed your legs wide open, and dove immediately for your dripping cunt. You laughed, a little flushed, but also more than ready for him to bury his face between your thighs. You let your head fall back against the soft bedding, closing your eyes. Then you yelped as there was a sharp slap to your pussy instead of his lips on your folds. You jerked up to look at him, and the devilish grin on his face, the darkening of his eyes made your heart stutter.

“Don’t laugh, Chef, I told you I was hungry for you. Keep your eyes on me,” he said.

You took a deep breath, leaned back on your elbows, and gave him a solemn nod.

He pressed kisses slowly along your inner thigh, his deep blue eyes locked on yours. The fluttering in your stomach rose steadily, your pussy desperate for his attention. When he planted his lips in the crease of your thigh, he left his mouth there. A broken whimper leapt from your throat, and you pushed your hips up.

He pushed your hips back down with one of his large hands and moved his mouth the opposite direction and bit at the tender flesh of your inner thigh, making you yelp.

“Please,” you murmured.

“Eager for me?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation.

“Good.”

And then he worshiped your cunt, kissing it with as much fervor as he had kissed your mouth, and you moaned openly, no worries over anyone but him hearing you here. You didn’t look away, completely captivated because this was also a new level of intimacy that you felt both ready and unprepared for. Receiving oral sex from other partners had never felt so purposeful. This man in this moment was so avid in the way he was pleasing you, making you watch him, you brain was having a hard time recalling if sex with anyone before him had ever been so intense. You didn’t think it had – that first night when he’d demanded it from you in the kitchen, the next time he’d coaxed you into a few moments of pleasure in the dining room, and now inviting you here to have you without restraint – each encounter had been unlike anything before.

The pleasure was overwhelming as his lips and tongue licked, sucked, flicked your clit, delved into your folds, and he kept a keen eye on your every reaction. You began to feel lightheaded with the mounting waves of bliss, your toes curling, breaths coming in short gasps until your head fell back because you simply couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t do anything but feel, ready to fall over the edge because of him again.

But then he pulled his face away, jerking you back from that edge of ecstasy and you would have whined, but he was already manhandling your hips to flip you over. One of his rough palms smoothed slowly and firmly up your spine, applying delicious pressure, but you still felt the lack from the orgasm he’d dangled then withdrawn. “James,” you moaned. “James, please.”

He drew his palm slowly back down your spine. “You’ll have me, Chef, don’t doubt that.”

You whined again, but he pushed your thighs apart and slotted himself again between them, holding you splayed open for him with his broad shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable, stretching your legs, but you settled and breathed through it anticipating what was coming next.

His tongue teased at your clit for a moment, then slowly licked up and between your folds to dive into your cunt, lapping inside, and you shivered. But then one of his hands pushed at your ass cheek and his tongue continued moving up, and you gasped and tried to move away when the tip of his tongue teased your tight, puckered hole.

“Easy,” he said softly but firmly, his other hand moving beneath you and hooking at the juncture of your thigh to pull your hips back flush against him. He pressed a kiss to your round ass cheek.

“I’ve never,” you admitted enough, he knew what you meant. He kissed the same spot on your ass cheek, but then he shifted, and you felt him moving up over your back, his body pressing lightly against you until he was up at your shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, and then looked at you.

“Then I won’t give you more than my tongue tonight, but you know I’ll make you feel good, don’t you?”

You nodded.

He smiled, then left the ghost of a kiss to your temple and slipped back down behind you.

Resuming his exact same positioning, his left hand curling under to anchor at the juncture of your leg, his right pressing you open to expose your ass, you pressed your cheek into the pillow and took a deep breath. You reached your left hand down to meet his, and he twined his fingers reassuringly with yours as they sought him. Then his mouth pressed in, and his tongue darted out, swiping over the tight ring of muscle.

“Just relax and feel,” he instructed.

You concentrated on breathing and then the new sensation. Unexpected. Then a different kind of pressure, then pleasure. It wasn’t awful as had always been insinuated. It was debauched more than anything else, and he soon had you moaning and panting and wriggling back against his tongue which alternated between lapping at the hole and teasing in and out. It was when you pushed hard back against him that he pressed a kiss again there and pulled back.

“I know what you like.”

It wasn’t a brag; it was a statement of possession that sent a shiver through your body. Because he was right, and you couldn’t deny that.

“Now come here,” he said, pulling you by your hips up to kneel, presenting for him. “Such a pretty folds.” His fingers circled your clit, then slipped briefly inside your cunt, drawing a happy gasp from you.

He grabbed his thick member and brushed the tip up and down over your sensitive parts a few times as you pushed up on your elbows, your back arched in a beautiful bow for him. When you looked over your shoulder at him, he finally sunk his cock into you. His hips pushed forward against you slowly until he was completely buried inside you, filling you, pressing so intimately into you. Fully sheathed, he stayed there for a moment, and he ran his hands over your hips and your lower back, caressing, relishing in the fill. He pulled back slowly, but only a couple of inches, then pushed back in, clearly wanting to relish in this for a moment. You had no desire to rush him either.

When his hands gripped your hips, you dropped your forehead to rest your forearm on the mattress, and then he began to fuck you, building a steady rhythm. He built up bit by bit, and you both let words and sounds fall out of your mouths as the physical feelings increased in intensity. Having been so close twice, when he finally moved a hand to rub expert circles into your throbbing clit, your body quickly responded in releasing your orgasm, and your spasming walls pulled him right along with you, and he came with a shout over your moans, a stuttered thrust, and then he continued a few more pushes, his hot spend coating your walls.

He wrapped an arm around your stomach and pressed kisses into your back, and you curled up into him with a hum of contentment.

When he pulled out, he reached over to the bedside table to retrieve a waiting damp hand towel – you shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d prepared to this detail – and then cleaned you up and then him before tossing it away. He stroked your back once more, then scooped you to your side, and pulled your naked and spent body to him so he could spoon up against you. You put your arm over his, and he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Stay?” he murmured simply into your ear.

This you didn’t answer immediately. You let your chest fill and empty with a few breaths, weighing your answer between your head and your heart. But neither of them fought to leave.

“Okay,” you finally breathed.

He settled in even closer, then reached for the sheets to pull up over the both of you. “I told you that first night that you would warm my bed.”

“Don’t be smug,” you protested.

“I’m not,” he insisted, and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, “I’m only pleased I’ve finally got you here.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #mob boss!bucky barnes x reader #mob au #bucky barnes x you #devour au #aspen wrote something #bbb2023 #buckybarnesbingo2023 #female reader

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ebaylee422 · 1 year

Text

I Want Your Video

Steve x Fem!Reader

Author’s Note: Steve won the poll, when I first started really reading fanfiction on tumblr early 2020-2021 there was a fic with mutual masturbation with BestFriend!Steve Harrington and this plays into the very heavy. I’ve been wanting to fuck you forever part for inspo. Also just love Djo’s music so a lot of my WIPs have titles of his music. Requests are open if you want more sexy Steve, thank you for reading!

Summary: Family Video just became a little less family friendly with the new addition of the 18 and older erotic video room. You are more curious than your co-workers about what a dirty movie includes, the sexual tension between you and dreamboat Steve Harrington does nothing for your pent up frustrations.

Characters: Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Family Video Worker!Reader, Dustin, Lucas, Mike, Max, El and Will love to pester Steve at his jobs, and gross mentions of Keith.

Warning/Tags: SMUT (Minors DNI), Steve has a huge cock, dry humping, marking, fingering (f receiving), blow job, overstim, small nubbins of insecurities with reader and Steve, Steve and reader share playful banter, a ruined Armchair, dirty talk, pet names, riding (save a horse ride Steve Harrington), we all love boobies, creampie, cum play? As always lmk if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 6.2k

"Well I knew they called it Family Video for a reason, I just never thought they'd take it so literally." You said as the three of you looked to the closed door with the new 18 plus warning sign, taking away your break room.

"Please stop mentioning it.” Robin pinches at the bridge of her nose

"What? At least people don't like, deal porn or try to find it at a public library." Steve adds setting the return tapes on the counter.

"Why would someone go to the library for PORN?" Robin boasts turning to her best friend,

"I don't know Buckley, people are stupid when horny." Steve admonishes

“Does that mean your always horny?” You tease, Steve opens his mouth to retaliated but Robin stops him.

"No, now we just have Keith, who was already always in the back room. Potentially watching adult films on the clock and putting them back." Robin shakes in disgust.

"Like a trial run, he’ll be able to give great recommendations." You add nose scrunched with laughter bubbling in your chest.

"Ew gross." Robin said nauseated

"Look he's creepy, but Keith is not that brave. Any one of us could walk back there." Steve says pointing to the ever closed office and backroom where Keith either naps or throws together a schedule.

"Maybe he wants to be caught?" you nod, taking new tapes to stock in the romance section.

“Maybe he wants you to catch him?” Steve wiggles his eyebrows following you,

"Maybe you want me to smack you in the face-" You turn to find him closer than you anticipated only a few inches separating your body from his.

"What? Don't be a prude now, you're the one who made the conversation interesting." Steve cut you off, chest puffed in challenge. His woodsy, ash, and vanilla smell intoxicating you as the spearmint on his breath floated you back to reality.

"That's because I'm interesting." You dare with a raised eyebrow, as his eyes flicker to your cherry lips.

"God please stop flirting in front of me or I'll get a cavity." Robin whines behind the counter.

"We're not flirting-" You scold, "Okay-" Steve holds his hands up in defense at the same time. You huff and continue down the aisle to stock, red in the face with embarrassment.

Towards the end of your shift the school rush dying down, you sit on the counter with Robin inventorying returns in the computer. Steve is holding the door open for a blonde girl popping her bubble gum with glossed lips. Giggling as Steve makes a fool of himself her chest rising with the laughter, over a Star Wars joke she didn’t understand. Explaining how she had been looking for the film in Alderaan places, and how he was always happy to help a pretty girl like her.

You understood the joke, just because he didn’t know what Ewoks were didn’t mean he never paid attention when you talked about your favorite sci-fi series.

“Stupid.” You mumbled under your breathe, rewinding tapes.

“Huh?” Robin asked, her doe eyes floating along the computers interface confused her mouth hung open.

"Robs, have you ever watched an adult film?" You asked, aggravated and pent up.

"Yeah but there's not a lot in my area of attraction so I just stick to the magazines." Robin motioned toward herself, still clueless to your annoyance.

"Uh-huh, well I want to watch one." Finally being decisive on the embarrassing topic,

"Are we seriously still talking about this?" Steve chips in

"Did you seriously just strike out? You talked with her for like 30 seconds." You said infuriated, turning around to see him leaning over the counter with his stupid fluffy hair and tight polo. Sans a phone number written on his arms or a torn piece of notebook paper.

"Just remember Y/N that's all a man can give sometimes, porn isn't realistic." Robin added knocking her head into your leg in frustrated groan.

“How would you know that?” Steve scrutinized his best friend,

“Is it true?!” Robins eyes were blown wide in astonishment, they immediately started arguing with you the only barrier between them.

"Okay, I'm just gonna go back there and pick one." You slide from the counter, move Robin out of your way, they paused mid-argument to poke at you.

"Go for it, have fun." Robin called

"But not too much!" Steve yelped when she pinched him,

Opening the cliché room, of neon lights with each film had it’s own space on the shelves you began to read some of the titles. Private Teacher, Taboo, I Like to be Watched, Educating Nina, Talk Dirty to Me 1 and 2, 8 to 4, there's honestly too many. So let's just say that the first one, Private Teacher, sounds like it has some plot. You slip it into your vest, walking out of the room to find Steve surrounded by his children.

“Please Steve what’s back there?”

“We just want to take a quick peak!”

“For the millionth time, no. You’re barely 13!”

“We’re actually 14 and or older Steve.” Max says deadpan standing arms crossed next to a girl you think was named Jane or El you weren’t 100% sure.

“Yeah kids leave the guy alone just because he would sneak you into the movie's at Scoops does not mean you get free rain of the porno’s.”

“Porno’s?!” Dustin yells as the rest of the kids shush him, looking around the other Family Video patrons.

“Yeah that’s enough Steve’s posse, your scaring away paying customers.” You shush them out the door,

"Come on, I bet you have some criticism about at least one of these dirty movies." Robin asks Steve who is using every fiber in his being not to embarrass himself in front of you.

"Actually, I haven't watched any of them yet," Steve says while he re-faces the horror films the kids probably messed with earlier.

“Bullshit-” You butt in, Steve turns to defend himself but is saved by Robin’s blabbermouth.

"I do but mostly for the... well you know, porno's aren't progressive in my territory yet." Robin held up the one, where the woman's boobs were almost completely out of her bra and there was a string of spit from her mouth to them.

"Well we could change this week's movie night at my place? This one seemed well loved. 3 rents already, and it’s only been a few weeks." I grabbed 'Private Teacher' walking over to Steve, the man had the woman bent over the desk, one of his hands pulling her hair so show her face for the camera. Her school girl costume left a tasteful amount of skin on show just for the cover. The tagline read ‘Sometimes A Little Private Instruction Is All You Need To Make The Grade’

He only glanced at the cover, "Yeah I'm good, I get my fill with my right hand and watching sappy some romance movies over and over again."

"Ewwww," Robin drones behind the counter. You laugh at his in response holding onto your sides while walking back over to her.

"Obviously, not in that order!" He follows, you pull out some rental money setting on the counter as Robin rang it up.

"Oh come on now, Stevie don't be the prude of the group. Robin will be there too and I know you don't have anything better to do. Since you're always at my house anyway." He scoffs hiding the tape under his elbow when another customer walks in.

"Yeah to get away from my asshole Dad, not to watch porn with you."

"I think he would enjoy the fact you're actually finding a hobby," Robin says, putting the tape into a plastic bag, brushing some hair out of Steve's face. He sticks out his tongue mocking her.

"Yes Robin, you're a truly hilarious comedian of the century. What do I have to do for you both to drop this? Especially as my best friend and basically my boss." You giggle at the obvious answer.

"Just come by tonight, Steve. I don’t wanna watch this alone. And like always bring your tissues for the movie," Robin almost falls over laughing, when you lean over the counter pressing a kiss to his heated cheek before waving goodbye. You spend the rest of your night picking up the apartment, filling the fridge with your friends favorite snacks, and vacuuming. You thought about lighting a candle, debating if that was too romantic to watch a Porno with your co-workers. Lighting it against those thoughts because it made the place smell nice. A knock at the door took you away from the sink of dishes from your breakfast.

“Come in! It’s open guys!” You yell turning off the faucet,

“What if I was a serial killer, Y/N? You’d let me wander about your living room?” Steve brushed his front past you setting a six-pack in the fridge.

“The only serial thing you are Steve is a serial pain in my butt.” You stick you tongue out, head lurching towards the direction of the living room only to find it empty.

“Ha-ha, ha.” Steve mocked, taking off his grey jacket to lay it across the counter before nose diving into the fridge again.

"How was your day? Where’s Buckley?" You pondered wiping your wet hands, the moving his jacket to a chair at the small four person dining table.

“Hanging out with a girl. And other than this chick at work begging me to watch porn with her, it was actually really busy." He threw a grape at where you were at the table, tossing a handful into his mouth with a crunch.

"I totally forgot about it until I was grabbing my wallet at the store, I was kinda embarrassed when I rediscovered it. The lady probably thought I was high as a kite!"

"Because you are," he drooled a little bit, speaking with a full mouth, raiding the fridge full of groceries.

"There's nothing wrong with blowing off some steam with a bit of erotica. Everyone does it," you turned tossing the soiled grape back at him, joining him in the kitchen again.

"Yeah that's gross, it's unspoken. Even creepy old men who can't get it up do it." He swallowed his mouth full then making an obscene gesture with his hand.

"Ew, gross Steve.” You say hands held up in disgust,

"See-"

"Well I'm not a creepy old man," You argued, taking the tape out of your bag. "Besides, it can't be that good or bad. Almost like a true neutral, just people going at it like animals." Walking into the living room, you closed the blinds and navy curtains before setting the tape into the already plugged in VCR.

"Okay hang on a minute, there's way better ways at blowing off steam." Steve interrupts, the fridge slams as his steps grow louder.

"Name a few for me, Lover Boy." You scoffed still bent at the waist, setting everything up at the entertainment center. Round shape of your ass in those acid wash jeans begging to be released. The sight made Steve’s own tighter around his crotch.

"I don't think you want to know mine," he says breathlessly, voice a bit deeper. You stood up and turned to where he stood, his back up against the archway that separated the two rooms. The tape started playing in the middle of the stars going at each other, extremely loud feminine moans rang from the Television. It broke you from the stare down, rushing to turn it down. He came up behind you on the rug, turning everything off altogether. After a pause of shock, you rolled over laughing against the entertainment center, covering your red face with your hands. Steve huffed sitting back on his calves, laughing at it as well. Eyes drifting to the swell of your chest as the laughing made it rise a fall. Dragging the hands down your face, leaning against the shelves. You clocked his stare immediately, his pupils are blown wide, lips slick as if he just wet them. Polo tight across his shoulders but untucked showing off a flash of his soft tummy. You swallowed hard catching your breath.

“Steve?” You reach out to him, his arms grip back at your elbows pulling you up on your knees towards his knees. “I wanna know, I want to know.” His nose pressed to your cheek, lip grazing over yours as he spoke.

“I can show you.” His voice broke, husky and deep exhale along your skin. Your resolve faltered lips fitting like a puzzle against his. You pulled far enough away to split for air, only Steve followed pressing you closer together. Hand resting along your neck, holding you to him.

"What's wrong?" You looked at him worried a line creasing your forehead he reached out to soothe.

"Nothing, you're just so...beautiful." He let his eyes wander, admiring that you’d even gave him the time of day.

“I want you. I want you to show me.”

“Okay.” Connecting again fireworks exploded behind your eyes. He pulled your top lip between his, you returned by licking the slope of his bottom lip from an open mouth kiss. Steve groaned, allowing you in. He tasted of the grapes from moments ago and spearmint of the gum he chewed to stop smoking, it was sickly sweet. My hand from his thigh came up to brush away the free fallen hair from getting in our way, the strands of hair were so soft, surprising, no matter how many times you’d wished to touch them. Pushing your chest against his, raising up on your knees deepening the kiss. He sunk down to a seated position, crossing his legs and leaning his head back to a lower level. It gave more access, he kept his hands in nice places like; nape of your neck, tangled hair, cheeks, small of the back and waist. You nipped his bottom lip, pulling gently then watched it fall back in place. He gripped one of your thighs, sending shocks of anticipation up your core. He kneaded, silently wanting for sometime. Everything was too good to break away and use words. You just obediently moved one leg at a time to sit on his lap. Using his shoulders to steady, lowering onto his lap. He whimpered in anticipation in you mouth, your heat grazed the zipper of his jeans. At the friction you gasped, lips swollen and lungs out of air, as you pressed foreheads together. Eyes opening to see him staring with hopefulness, eyes wide open. You teased lightly trailing lips over his. Waiting for a reaction, but he stayed firm. Hands on the ground by his sides holding you upright. Breathing as one for a moment before he spoke,

"I've thought about this moment for a very long time," He said only for the two of you, your fingers rubbed the five o’clock shadow of his jaw in your waiting hands "I want to, so terribly. I don't know where to go from here..."

He smiled a dorky smile into your skin, keening at the contact of you against him.

"Then stop talking and kiss me again." He obeyed, trailing his lips down to your jaw, throat and to your collar, moving the fabric slightly he started softly sucking and rolling his tongue over the area. Your hands desperately clung to the back of his head, he moved closer to the pot of your collarbones and throat leaving wet kisses. He stopped his mouth looking up, with those caramel eyes so full of devotion. Mind going fuzzy, seeing the way he not only looked but saw into you. The way he always has. "Don’t stare at me like that,"

"Like what?" He let the collar of the shirt scrunch back in place the movement made you squeeze your thighs around his middle, eyes rolling back in his skull.

"Like you want to kiss me or something." His hands both came up to brush his thumbs along your ribs, fronts pressed against each other.

"I will never stop looking at you like that, no matter what happens.” He smiled, “I gave you my heart long ago." You kissed him more primal this time, needing to taste him and etch the feeling of him into your mind. He was moaning into the embrace, he still barely touched as you tugged at his shirt below, when he broke contact to pull it over his head you stopped the kiss to admire his chest.

"Steve..." You wheezed through bloated lips. "Touch me, it's okay. You can't hurt me" He kissed back hard, slipping his hands underneath your tight work shirt, his hands cold against the hot skin covering your spine. Breaking free from his lips pressing kisses on his face, down his throat cooing into him when he unclasped your bra with one hand in a single fluid motion. Running his hands over your bare back, unknowingly while you rotated your hips in small circles against his wanting more. Craving the contact and friction of him against you. He daintily ran his hands down your body hesitantly gripping the plush of your ass adding more pressure to the growing friction. His zipper felt so good against your own, letting go of your lips on his neck throwing your head back. As the feeling of his hard-on pressed up against your clit. Putting both hands on the floor behind you while he moved your hips against each other in sync, panting and grinding seeking release. Steve's abdomen flexed as he twitched under you, he was cumming loudly moaning your name from his pink lips. It sounded like a song when he said it, his release came fast, his chest heaving heavily as he pulled your body back against him. Hugging each other till lips grazed, as he came down from his high. You tried to suppress the giggle as his hands traced shapes along the small of your back.

"What are you so giddy about? You just made me cream my pants like a middle schooler." You shook your head tracing at the mark I left on his shoulder,

"Well since we're already past the point of no return. I didn't think you would be so loud." you pulled back lip bitten between teeth,

"Maybe if you weren't mauling me like a hungry lion, I could've stayed quiet." He tucks his head under your chin,

"I told you, I’m a lion girl not a ninja.” He laughed across your throat warming you as he kissed the flesh again. “Maybe I should pounce effectively, so I can really hear you scream my name." Steve stopped abruptly to meet your eyes, pupils blown wide, you felt immediately self-conscious blabbering out an apology before he could turn you down. "I’m so sorry, was that too much?"

"No...” He purred, this close you could tell the scent of him was distinctly cedar. “I've actually never been more turned on." He pushed his lips to mine, rolling our tongues against each other, knowing exactly what you liked. He tightened his grip on on the fat of your hips and making you moan into him, pulling away his lips, forehead glistening, his eyes full of lust. He trailed his fingers up to help the offensive fabric of your shirt off, the bra slowly falling the rest of the way off your shoulders. His length twitched against the inside of your thigh again, he was entranced by the image. Still as a statue until guiding his lips down to the spot on you chest that made the world melt. He kissed everywhere, you kept each hand in his hair scratching at his scalp pleasantly. Leaning forward he placed your back against the carpet, hovering on top of but keeping himself slotted between your legs. Involuntarily moaning when he licked at erect nipple, he mirrored the same to the other one. His dick throbbed against the stain of cum, straining against the fabric. Kissing each while he unzipped the high waist of your jeans. You bucked your hips and helped him pull them down, he took them off your trapped ankles, restarting his descent to kiss down the length of your body again. Wet open mouth kisses making shooting sparks through your body at the intimate contact, grabbing his hand on the ground.

“You are even more beautiful than my dreams ever allowed. Everything, you are everything.” His eyes silently asking for permission. As he slid a hand under the fabric of the green panties. You gasped loudly at the unbridled new contact of his palm, lowering to gather the dampness, trailing it up to your clit. He circled twice as his other fingers began to slowly plunge inside. You keened, calves dug into the bare flesh around his waist, “You're so wet for me,” sighing, hands finding purchase on his biceps, he hissed as his face fell into your neck.

“Uhh… Harder.” You held his arms with such intensity, leaving crescent marks into the skin digging hard into his muscle. Turning you chin down to find his lips to kiss, and silencing moans together his thumb began to swirl faster, his middle and ring finger able to go a little deeper with the changing hand position. Not being able to control the heat coursing through, you squeezed his hips harder. He whimpered, pressing himself up against your thigh rutting the fabric against himself for some contact. “Your fingers feel so good…” Moving lower, spreading wider to move your hips against his fingers, they worked expertly to consume all your senses. He pushed in a little further and harder, forcing you to look at what he was doing so wonderfully between your legs. Moaning obscene words, as your back arched further his fingers scissoring to stretch your walls. Clenching around his fingers that disappeared inside. “Holy shit- don’t stop.” Your hands fell to the floor grabbing the shag of the rug underneath, as muscles tensed unlike anything you’ve felt before. You came hard without warning, the orgasm spread through you, completely overwhelming, your legs shook out your high as he kept going, pressure building through your bladder before you felt a light gush.

"Fuck" He whispered in you ear, you could feel the shit eating grin off of his body language.

"I haven’t done that before," you tell him.

"Yeah me either, ya know to a girl… I do that every time," he said into your neck, your cheeks instantly flushed. Laughing at his dorkiness, he moved your panties back in place. His fingers parted his lips, licking them clean of your arousal. You felt him throbbing against your thigh as you lightly pushed off the ground. Taking Steve's hand, you pushing him back to climb on the Lazy Boy you'd recently bought.

“What are you thinking, Sweets?” his voice was dark, he moved up the chair and sat. Spreading his legs for you, like the good boy he’d been.

“I just want to clean up my seat, Lover Boy.” You knelt down unbuckling his jeans, pulling them down and his ruined underwear. Letting him finally be free from the confines of the fabric, his cock flung back up pre leaving a pearlescent trail on the course hair of his happy trail. Steve was massive, how he’d fit into those jeans daily made your head spin. You would make him fit, even if his cock impaled your insides.

“You don’t have to, no one’s been able to take all of me before.” He took your wanderlust as fear, and shit now you had to prove him wrong too. Your nails ran up his thighs as you collected some spit in the front of your mouth. Letting it drip onto the head, nails gripping his thigh to hold him in place you took the other hand and ran it across his length. Hitting the large vein along his shaft with your thumb, he pushed his head back against the plush chair. Fighting to buck up into you with everything in his body and mind not to blow his load again or buck up into you. He was breathing extremely heavily now, you gently kissed his red tip and watched as his fingers dug into the armrests. He held his breath a bit before you squeezed his thigh, then he exhaled. You then licked a long stripe down his shaft, you came back up to the tip flicking it with your tongue.

“Jesus, stop with the teasing Sweets,” You smiled like a siren, before holding him with a hand stroking up and down with your lips wrapped around the tip. He accidently to bucked his hips, you pressed his pelvis down taking in his full length.

“Holy shit!” Steve gasped. Hollowing your cheeks, you worked him to a pulp as your jaw went slack. His hands reached out to grab the hair that fell covering how you looked sucking him. Pulling it all to one hand, he didn’t need to guide your head, you were able to bob your head down him with a fair amount of ease with how wet you’d gotten his shaft. Tearing up and gaging if you went too slow, but it was well worth the noises coming from his beautiful lips. He watched in awe as you swallowed around him, eyes watery and spit slick chin, moving your second hand under his heavy sack you massaged them with each upstroke. HIs eye closed tightly as he twitched inside your mouth throwing his head back warning you. You took it all with a delightful swallow, helping him ride out the rest of his high with a hand. The only time he pulled his makeshift ponytail was when he could’ve cried from the stimulation. You relented with a pornographic pop, wiping your chin with the back of your hand and slowly stood going to straddle him, he playfully grabbed your body and pulled you to him on the lounge chair.

“That was way better than any other girl or me just watching porn.” you looked at him mouth agape, he was eye level with your bare chest.

“See, I knew you watched porn. A shit ton of it.” you slapped his chest.

“Yeah, but nothing compares to the real thing,” he began to kiss the marks he already started on your chest, in places only he’d only been allowed too. Your hands cupped his face for him to look at you. He smiled his beautiful heartfelt smile,

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“I don’t know but Robin is the best wing women ever. She told me if I didn’t kiss you tonight I shouldn’t even bother showing my face at work tomorrow.”

“Wait, what is Robin doing?”

“She cancelled so we could in her words ‘either fuck away the tension out or kill each other’ .”

“Well she is definitely my favorite lesbian. That multi-lingual B is a genius. I would’ve let you do this even if you’d just. I don’t know asked me on a date.”

“Bullshit-, really?”

“Are you kidding?! You are so out of my league Steve, I’ve never been in your ballpark ever in my life.” He grimaces, thumb tracing idling along your hip bone.

“I’ve always thought you were the most beautiful, smart and caring girl. I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, and I selfishly want you all to myself.” he whispers with affection you’d never heard from him before. Adam’s apple bobbing with his thick swallow of emotion.

“Then you have me.” he bit back a smile as his lip clashed with yours passionately kissing you, he faintly pulled your hair. You moaned at the action, spine tingling as you roamed your hands around his frame. Mapping out ever mole and divot along his heated skin. Trailing them back and forth on his chest like a sensual massage. He moved his hands to get a better angle on your hips, and began rowing them against himself. You both groaned at the friction, “Look who’s the tease now,” you pouted at him as a finger inched it way to your clit tracing tight consistent circles. Your nails tear at his shoulders with pleasure, making him shudder under you. ‘God how many rounds could you go with him’ “Please… uh. Tell me you're ready.” you push your head into his neck, his fingers had already fine-tuned your pleasure. He stopped, fingers yanking your scalp to crash your lips to his. He still rowing you against his length, until his lungs screamed for air.

“I’m always ready, how do you feel about this?” he stops his motions, you felt unfulfilled when the movement ceased. You brain finally grasping some clarity, Steve would stop everything here if you wanted him too. Helping you re-dress and seeing himself out. Never telling a soul if you’d asked, he’d be celibate if you’d ask. Buying you the finest ring until your wedding night then ravishing you in your honeymoon bed.

“This doesn’t change the way I feel about you. You’re perfect to me Steve.” he gave you a sinful smile, reaching his hand under your adjoined hips pushing you up onto your knees. While he finished working himself up, you waited as patiently as you could by marking his neck.

“God you're so wet for me, these panties are drenched after sucking me. We should’ve gotten rid of them, already.” His eyes were playful, and needy for more and all of you. He helped you stand, putting your hands on his shoulder to balance you as you took them off. Just the sight of you fully naked made his heart ache, he kissed your arm lips too far for his liking. Wanting even more contact, he grabbed your waist again leaning back into the chair. You kissed him lazy, you both were fucked out of your minds already. Now it was just comforting, you had all the time in the world. It was slow, sweet, his lips were so soft you still felt them all over your body. His hands roamed but craved to rest on your chest above your heart. You pressed your forehead against his, catching your breath. His hands on your hips, guided you gently down as you felt him at your entrance.

“Take your time, Sweets. I want us to enjoy this,” nipping at your forearm while sitting himself farther up the chair, feet still planted on the ground.

“You want me to top, you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I haven’t done that… Before.” You told him shyly,

“Well, well. Looks like we're about to enter a new realm of pleasure for you…” Licking his lips, “just take me in your hand and guide yourself down at your own speed, Sweetheart.” His comforting words sent a tingle down your spine, you put your hands on the soft skin where his pelvis lies. He just observes your movements gripping your hips like a steering wheel, mouth awestruck as you lower yourself down onto him. His hands dig into you, as you let him fill your insides. Immediately he’s touching things you’ve never felt, it’s painful in the most remarkable way.

“Shit, babe. Oh my god. Didn’t-Didn’t think you’d take all of me on the first go.” he shifts pulling your chest so he can latch on to his dark purple mark there. It causes a rush inside you even just the slight motion making you want to explode.

“Feels so full, god your fucking humongous Steve.” You whined, high pitched and needy. The ach of his cock started to morph from a burn to a stretch faster than you thought as your arousal dripped down your thighs. In brief circles you moved your hips against him, keeping him completely sheathed inside. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, he moves his hands to your thighs squeezing hard making you grind faster. He comes up for air from you chest and lets out a gracious moan,

“Stevie, pull the handle.” you whimper at him,

“What?” he mutters breathlessly.

“Holy shit, just…” you're on the brink of another powerful orgasm, pussy gripping him like a vice ”pull the handle back, trust me.” he lets go of one of your thighs frantically looking for the handle on the side of the recliner. He finally finds it and pulls hard, sending his lower body up into yours and your upper body over his. You both moan in ecstasy, his hand going back to your thigh. Sitting back up, you place one hand on his lower abdomen and the other on his hairy thigh behind you. He continues to groan affirmations and your name at the changed position, sending you over a small cliff. Only adding to the larger knot in your stomach, running up your body.

“Keep going I want you to cum, cum around my fat cock.”

“Don’t stop, stay right there. I want it all.” You pant feeling him twitch inside you, moving your hips with his.

“God you're so wet, and you ride me so good Sweetheart.” he playfully smacks your ass, you change your position again to bring your lips to his. He moves your body up and down while kissing you, letting you dominate his mouth while he starts to push harder into you. Propelling himself up, while his hands push you down into him in an erratic give and take. This is what you’ve needed, this was perfect but not even the start for both of you. He continues to praise you through breaths of pleasure “I got you” , “I can make you feel so good, Sweetheart.”, he gets filthier and louder and you keep moving, riding each other to passionate oblivion. Your mind ventures to his lips all over you, yours on him, the coil in between you wraps him tightly inside you. Your body starts to shake from the high, you press your upper body against his chest the hair rubbing against your hardened nipples.

"Good girl, milk my cock. Feels so good, gunna cum. You gotta move Sweets."

“Want to feel you, feel you dripping out of me Steve.” He mewls, clinging to you.

“Shit. Beg me for it, tell me how bad you want me to cum inside you.”

“Oh Steve,” you open your eyes, pressing your forehead down to meet him, his open too. You clutch your walls around him harder as he tries to finish riding your orgasm, “Please.” You whimper. That’s all it takes he gasps and finally bursts in you. Lips soothing against yours for that other contact. You feel the hot liquid inside you, wringing him dry of everything that he could possibly have left.

Separating for air out of the kiss, feeling his hot breaths against your cheeks, he groans, swallowing hard at the sensitivity. You brush your hair off of your sweaty face, holding onto the back of his neck to see him better. His eyes gleamed with passion, you smiled back.

“My legs are jelly,” you laugh in his face,

“I’ll take that as an answer to my question then,” he smiles, lifting your hips up. He easily slips out of you, you groan in frustration at the emptiness between your legs. Hissing at the loss as well, his abs quiver against the softness of your soft tummy. He pushes the foot rest back, so he can sit upright in the chair. Capturing his lips in yours, leaning you back as he holds you manhandling your hips, rotating you forward to help you stand.

“I could kiss you forever.” He admits kissing your shoulders as you put your feet on the cold floor, pushing off of his knees. You wobble slightly,

“See,” you turned to face him again, pulling him up to stand together face to face. He stumbled a bit too, “completely fucked out of my mind.” He wraps his arms around your waist swaying you slightly in an embrace.

“You did so good, Sweetheart. We should get cleaned up.”

“I did good, how did you not run out of cum? Three rounds your insatiable.”

"Told you, I don't joke about my porn." He winks, kissing the corner of your mouth as he picks up your discarded clothes on the floor of the living room.

"No wonder you're idolized by 14 year old boys." You roll your eyes, picking up your panties. This time when you bend own he can see his spend dripping down your slit. He chuckles from behind you a free hand, coasting down your stomach to your heat. You gasp as his fingers collect his cum from your thighs, you spin in his hold to meet his eyes.

"Open." Steve commands, eyes clouding with lust as he watches you stick your tongue out for him. His fingers slide along your tongue covered in each other's spend. It's comforting, salty, and heady against your tongue. You moan around him, sucking the taste clean from his fingers. He fingers slip out tongue replacing them, as he tips your chin up to meet his lips deeper, tongue kneading yours as he memorizes you. Inside and out.

“You know,” You murmur into his mouth as his mouth strays from yours coasting to mouth down your jaw. “I have a camcorder somewhere in my closet.” He freezes lips parted and eyes wide.

“Yeah? You don’t want to finish the movie? I was just starting to enjoy it.” You pout your lips, while he picks up all of the clothes from various places you threw them.

“Yeah... We could or..?”

“Or?”

“If you wanted we could make are own video?” Steve doesn’t even dictate your question with a response only hoisting you over his shoulder and burying you in the mattress for the rest of the night.

Masterlist

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #family video #lesbians are the best wing women #robin buckley matchmaker #stranger things smut #stranger things season 4 #no minors allowed #reader insert #oneshot #stranger things

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angstflayer-council · 9 months

Text

July Drabble #11- You and Me and Mars

It’s been 325 days since the first time Eddie wanted to kiss Steve.

There was nothing special about the day; it was just an ordinary Sunday. They had been lounging on Eddie’s bed to give Wayne some privacy. Steve had been laying on his back while tossing a ball and catching it before it smacked him in the face, and Eddie had been drawing a character for the next campaign.

He can’t even really remember what started it, but he remembers exactly when the thought of kissing Steve came to mind.

“If you could live anywhere, where would it be?” Steve had asked.

Eddie responded immediately, “Mars.”

“Mars?!” Steve shot up, catching the ball without having to look. It was impressive, but Eddie obviously didn’t stroke his ego about it.

“Yeah.” Eddie shrugged.

“Why would you wanna live on Mars?”

“I think it’d be cool. I’d be the first person to live on Mars.”

Steve’s eyebrows pinched in thought. “But there’s no air, and where would you get groceries and shit?”

“You said, and I quote,” Eddie starts, “where would I want to live. That implies the necessary things to live would be there.”

Without missing a beat, Steve says, “You’d get so bored, dude.”

“It’d be nice to have some quiet.”

Steve leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, and he looked exactly how Eddie always remembered him at basketball games when strategizing with his team. “But, there’s no electricity. You don’t need it to live. So, no guitar.”

Eddie shrugged again, unwilling to give in now that Steve was adamant. “I’ll bring my acoustic.”

“You haven’t thought this through.”

“I definitely haven’t.”

Steve groaned and rolled his eyes before leaning back on the bed and continuing to throw his ball in the air. “Fine.”

In an effort to bring them back to the ease from before, Eddie asked, “Where would you live?”

“Mars.”

Steve said it so matter-of-fact; like it was obvious. He didn’t even take a moment to think about his answer.

“What?”

Steve caught the ball again and turned his face to look at Eddie. “I’m not going to let you live there alone. I’d go with you.”

Eddie’s heart immediately felt like it would burst out of his chest.

Still, he had to be sure he heard him right. “You’d go to Mars with me?”

Without missing another beat, eyes locked on Eddie’s, Steve replied simply, “I’d go anywhere with you.”

It’s been 325 days since the first time Eddie wanted to kiss Steve.

Thinking back to that day, Eddie can't help but smile as their first date ends on a perfect note.

“What?” Steve laughs, brushing a strand of hair away from Eddie’s face.

“Nothing,” Eddie says. “Just kiss me.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #july drabble game #st drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble

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oonajaeadira · 1 year

Text

Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Reader: Sassy, confident, American ex-pat female who finds her parents a little tedious and enjoys both her independence and her job as a high-level admin at the DEA. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: era-”appropriate” behavior of men towards women in the workplace (but a lot better than it was, Steve and Javi are actually pretty respectful). Overbearing and slightly infantilizing parents. Author doesn’t know anything about politics or law enforcement.

Summary: When your parents come to visit you at your job in Bogotá, you figure it’s just easier to paint a picture that will put them at ease. The idea is simple. The plan is flawed. The execution is just fluff.

A/N: Written for my Year of Tropes (part of @yearofcreation2023) Fake dating seemed like an easy trope for a busy month, which is why I chose it for February. (Whoops. Happy April!) With all of these tropes I like to challenge myself a little and I feel like the character choice alone for this one was challenge enough for me. Not only do I not know anything about politics and law enforcement, I haven’t written Javier much. And, of all the boys I do write, I feel like he’d be the least likely candidate to participate in and fall for fake dating, so I had to figure out how to make it believable for myself. Which is why there’s more plot than I intended and reader ended up with some backstory. This is season 2 Javi, obviously not canon, and maybe a bit too soft, so sue me for yearning. Yes, reader’s parents are cartoon versions of my own parents, why do you ask?

“Well hey there, sunshine,” a wisp of smoke accompanies Steve’s greeting as he leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle to the side of his desk, leaning over momentarily to stub the cigarette out into a shared ashtray. “We don’t often get the pleasure of a visit–looks like you remember we exist.”

“Ha ha. I could say the same about you. Did you boys finally get your morals whipped into shape, or are you just over the thrill of making me break the law for you every other week?”

There’s a halt in the clack clack clack of Javier’s typewriter as he turns at the sound of your voice. Standing to reach across the desk, he scrubs out his own cigarette, makes a futile attempt to wave away the smoke, and watches you descend the stairs into their working arena. “Hey, Sully,” he smiles like a man not accustomed to it and rests his hands on the waistband of his ridiculously out-of-fashion jeans. “That’s a new dress.”

You flash him a grin and shake your head. “Stop. Don’t waste your flirting on me, Peña. You know I don’t need greasing.”

He only shifts his weight to one hip. There’s no response but a compliant tick of his jaw.

It’s second nature with Javier. He knows he’s good looking. Knows all he has to do is flash those puppy dogs and throw some attention, and ladies will give him anything he wants. You love it and hate it. Hate it because it’s insulting to be targeted for manipulation just because you’re a woman. But you love it because the man is Javier Peña and you’d be lying if you said those big brown eyes weren’t beautiful and you’re happy to have an excuse to have them pointed your way with warmth rather than the chill he reserves for the more bureaucratic workers. It’s a safe kind of crush, the kind you can play with as long as you never expect too much.

Javier’s been stopping by your office since before there was a Steve Murphy, buttering you up and asking for favors–access to a file here, a release stamp there–hell. You’ve expedited more requests on his behalf than all of the upper cabinet combined. And how many times have you distracted the clerk in tapes archives just so Javi could walk by and flash a request form without having it scrutinized for certification?

Every request starts the same, with his awkward little smile and an actual compliment. And every mission accomplished gains you a “Thanks, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Like Anne Sullivan?” you’d asked after the tenth or twentieth time.

“Huh?”

“Anne Sullivan. Hellen Keller’s teacher. The Miracle Worker.”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. Anne–?”

“Sullivan.”

“Right. I guess you’re an Anne Sullivan. I’d be lost in the dark without you.”

You’d allowed yourself to be charmed. “Careful there, Agent Peña, or you’re gonna make me rather fond of you.”

Nothing makes a grown man blush faster than to out-flirt the flirter. Not that it was hard with Javier. He was adorably miserable at it.

But it was always fun to watch him try…and to periodically beat him at his own game.

Once Steve landed in Colombia, you got two for the price of one. But Murphy knew you could see through his games and didn’t even try. It endeared you to him that he approached you sincerely. And you knew you could always do the same with him.

“As a matter of fact, it IS a new dress,” you chirp, twisting your shoulders one way and then the other, fluttering your lashes and fanning yourself with a hand in a mock display of coy preening. “My parents are flying in tonight and I’m taking them out to dinner.”

“I thought the trade conferences weren’t for a few days,” Steve frowns and shoots a concerned glance at his desk calendar.

“They’re not. But they’re coming through to spend some time with me and tour the city. Mixing business with pleasure. That’s…um…actually why I’m here. I need to cash in a favor.”

Javi chuckles as he settles back into his chair, throwing one heel and then the other onto the desktop. “Time to pay the piper. Name it.”

“Actually,” you cringe, turning to Steve, “I thought I’d ask Murphy here.”

Throwing a surprised but self-satisfied grin over at his partner, Steve puffs out his chest. “Well I guess I can be the hero for the day. Anything you need, sunshine.”

Thankfully Javi seems to feel the need to show he’s not offended and returns to his typewriter to peck out his report. Good. This is an embarrassing enough ask. You don’t really need witnesses to this.

“So, this is going to sound like a big deal but it’s really not. My relationship with my folks is just…complicated,” you assure him, priming the agent for the stupidest thing you’re ever going to ask for in your life. “It would make my and everyone’s life easier if I was seeing someone? Because then my mother wouldn’t bring it up and pressure me and irritate my father, and he wouldn’t worry about me here so much thinking I’m a woman all alone…it’s just…it’s…,” you sigh, irritated. “This is so dumb.”

Clackety clack clack ding whirr. You look up to see Steve gaping at you.

“Are you asking me to pose as your boyfriend?”

Silence. You’re sure if you turned to look over your shoulder, you’d see a frozen Javier, two fingers of each hand hanging above his typewriter like a little T-Rex.

Oh for a trapdoor or hand of god…. Suck it up. They owe you.

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

You expected this. “I’m not asking you to make a show or….they’re coming in tomorrow and I thought if you were here you could just meet them for a second. And if you’re not, I could just point to your desk–”

“Doll,” Steve releases a confused laugh, “I’m married, you know.”

“Yeah, but Connie’s not here. Like I said, they won’t delve. If I just point at a man, they’ll accept it and leave it alone.”

“So you’re going to lie to your parents.”

A confident nod is your first response. “Absolutely. And if you’d met them–when you meet them–you’ll understand why that’s best. Or you won’t. You really won’t get to talk to them long enough to find out. Just give a couple of handshakes, be nice and I’ll move them along. It’s that easy.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve gives a disbelieving shake of the head. “I dunno. I mean, the ruse won’t stand if they mention my name to anyone. Why me? Why not that new guy in the mail room who’s been watching you walk away?”

“Jimmy?” you scoff. “Yeah, no, not my type.”

“Really. Dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a six-pack he doesn’t mind showing off isn’t your type?”

“Wellllll, when you put it that way…sure he’s not your type?” Now it’s Javi’s turn to huff a silent laugh and you give him a conspiratorial smile before rounding back on Steve. “He’s dull, Murphy. My parents know me well enough that I’m not going to go for dull. So take that as a compliment. And he’s a bedpost-notcher. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. I may be lacking in male companionship but I’m not that lonely. Yet.”

Your no-nonsense, shut-em-down tone quiets both of them and for a moment you think you’ve won. But his response makes it obvious you’re going to have to cash in all your chips.

“Still. There are enough single guys around here–”

“Because,” with one hand on the corner of his desk you lean in to conspire even though his partner is three feet away and can obviously hear you, “most of them are a bunch of lazy sit-abouts and you’re always out and busy. It not only paints a good picture, it’s the perfect excuse not to join us for dinner because my mother will do her best to insist. And,” you wheedle, lowering your voice further, “because you owe me.”

“I would counter that I owe you a lot more than he does.” Javi keeps his voice at a stage whisper in mockery of your own and shrugs as you and Steve swivel your gaze to him. “What.”

“Lying to the Assistant Trade Rep of the Western Hemisphere about intimate relations with his daughter sounds like a good time to you? You can have it.” Steve taps your shoulder before pointing at his partner. “He’s not hitched. Why not Javi?”

Rolling your eyes, you stall for time as you try to find a better answer than the truth, but when one doesn’t come, a sigh paves the way. “Because you dress more respectable than he does–”

“Hey.”

“--and my mother is judgy!,” your heartfelt insisting pushes through, doing your best to placate Javi–handsome Javi–who really does know how to keep the last decade’s fashion in fashion. “Javi, you’re lovely and you look good and I don’t want you to change. But my mother is going to take you for a ladies man, which you are, you know you are, and she’s going to pick apart your choices with wanton disapproval which is almost more unbearable for me than not being attached to anyone at all because then I’ll spend hours defending you for nothing–”

Steve and Javi finally break and their sudden laughter shuts you down. It’s all you can do not to give both of them the finger and a good ol’ fuck off.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says through his trailing amusement, taking his turn now to placate. “Fine. We’ll make ourselves scarce and you can use the imprint of my ass in this chair as proof of warm-blooded human male. But maybe a false name, yeah? Like…Peter or…Harvey or something.”

“Harvey?” Javi scoffs. “How about Dick. Dick Bob Jones.”

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

According to your mother, your apartment is “charming,” the streets of Bogotá are “interesting,” and the department headquarters are “surprisingly up to date.” In the car on the way to the office, you managed to dodge most of her questions about your personal life, dropping one-word answers before pointing out the window and explaining certain buildings or neighborhoods.

As promised, Agents Murphy and Peña are out in the field when you walk your parents past their desks on your way through to your own department. “Well,” you wave with half commitment at it and move on, “looks like he’s out doing his job and catching those bad guys. Too bad. Maybe next time.”

The crisis is momentarily averted, but while your father ducks into a nearby restroom, your mother can’t seem to let the matter pass.

“So what does he do then? He’s a cop?”

“I told you. He’s a DEA agent. He’s on the team trying to stop the drug trade from reaching the States. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?”

She scoffs and looks past you. “Everybody has heard of Pablo Escobar, dear. That naughty man. Oh. Oh! Is that him?”

“Hmm? Escobar?” Following her gaze and turning to look back into the atrium, you’re gifted the sight of tight jeans stretching over a familiar backside and tanned arms yanking open drawers on Steve’s desk, obviously looking for something. “No, Mom, that’s just–”

But before you can correct her, she’s striding over in her Prada heels, ruffled blouse bouncing and pearls clicking, reaching forward into an eager handshake as she interrupts the very visibly hurried agent. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she chirps. “You must be Harvey!”

“Mother–!”

Javi stops digging, having found the warrant he was looking for, looking up in surprise at this forward, fussy, American woman, his lower lip hanging in a soft V, before taking her hand courteously and introducing himself, “Javi.”

“Oh, I knew I was right! The minute I saw you I knew you had to be her Harvey, you’re certainly her type.” Her hospitable countenance flickers only for a second as she takes in his tight shirt. “She says you’re quite the cop.”

“Mom, Javi’s a government agent and–” As you catch up to her, the momentary confusion on Javi’s face melts into understanding spiced with just a hint of amusement. “--and, as you can see, he’s in a hurry so–”

“It’s okay,” he beams, continuing to shake your mother’s hand. “I can take a minute to meet the woman who raised mi milagra.”

What.

Something in your brain hits the panic button and your mother chatters on to him as your backup generators whir into gear. He gives her his full attention, smiling as she babbles about how proud she and your father are of you and how nice it is that you’ve found someone to spend time with and…did he just say–

“We’ve got a lead on a collaborator and I was just ducking in to grab some paperwork,” he explains, waving the warrant in one hand. But his other hand– “What a lucky coincidence” –dips behind you– “that you happened to stop by,” –slides across your back– “because my girl here has told me so much about you,” –settles on your hip– “ma’am,” –and pulls you flush to his side.

It’s a smirk. A smirk that he has the brazen balls to grace you with then, and it’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with you or if he’s just really enjoying being your hero and sharing a joke that only the two of you know about.

And it’s equally hard to tell if you’re about to laugh or swear or….melt… he’s holding you so tightly and he smells like cigarettes and his surprisingly light cologne… his shirt is damp, your blouse is damp, it’s a humid day and you’re sticking together a bit and he wears such fitted clothes and one of his few buttons is strained enough to give you a peek at his smooth chest beneath…

“Well, if you have to go, Harvey, I don’t want to distract you from your work, but my husband is using the facilities and he’ll be sorry to have missed you. Will you be working all evening? Why don’t you come join us for dinner! You know how well my daughter cooks and she’s making her carbonara for us–”

“Mom–”

“Your carbonara?” Javi questions you before turning back to your mother and squeezing you tighter against himself, causing you to stumble closer. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

“If you’ll excuse me though, my partner’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight, honeybunny.”

The world tingles a moment as a mustache and warm lips bush your temple and then you’re watching broad shoulders and slim hips swagger away from you and up the stairs.

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

“Javi! Wait!” You hold up a hand as you pass your mother. “Stay here for a second, I have to…I forgot to tell him… uh…”

He stops at the top of the stairs, leaning in, anticipating your quiet brand of ire. “Your mom’s sweet.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What. Seems to be going well, I mean, apparently, I am your type, so it all works out. I think that performance down there earned me a dinner. I fucking love a good carbonarra.” The glare you serve him loses its bite under his soft smile lacking in any sarcasm or hazing. This is the Javi you know, the conspirator that finds you working late at night and is grateful for your help in the file room or in the microfiche lab, the one that noticed yesterday that your dress was new. Doing you a favor. What else would you expect? “If you want, I’ll wear baggier pants.”

“No, just…” you sigh. “I should give you my address–”

There’s a thing he does with his smile, something that gets you every time, a little jaw tick that comes with a quick downward bounce of the eyes and a single shake of the head. “Don’t need it. I know.”

“Okay, but…. Wait. What?” You call after him as he trots toward the door.

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

“Sir,” Javi bobs his head in reverence as he meets your father’s handshake. It’s above and beyond your requests, as is the cleanup of the five-o-clock shadow, the change to his black button up shirt, and his showing up on time. And in true commitment to the bit, he didn’t even knock, just came in and found his way to the dining area like he spends most of his time in your apartment.

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

“Dear,” your mother chirps from her watchful eye at your shoulder by the stove, “it’s Harvey.” She doubts herself. “It is Harvey, isn’t it?”

Completely disregarding your mother’s interjection, your dad gestures to a spot across from him at your modest dining table set for four and offers him a packet. “Sit down, sit down, agent. Smoke?”

“Ah,” Javi falters, and when you turn your head to your shoulder, you catch him checking in with you out of the corner of your eye. “She…doesn’t let me light up in here.”

“No? Heh. Well. I don’t know how she does it but it’s always been her way or no way. I see she’s worked her magic on you.”

“That’s for sure.”

You can’t help but smile as you give the noodles another good swirl in the pot and set the spoon on the counter. That little display just earned him a treat. Pulling out two glasses from the cabinet, you give a generous pour of the whiskey you picked up on the way home especially for him and bring them over to the table without a word for the two men.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

Javi glances at the glass, then up at you and your cocked eyebrow that queries him don’t I get a ‘thank you sweetheart’ from you too?

But oh, he came to play.

Ignoring the glass and taking your hand, his thumb skips across your knuckles. “You need any help, hon?”

There’s a microsecond between you where laughter is very very possible. The game is on. So you up the stakes by pushing a little curl of black hair behind his ear before trailing your fingers down to pinch his chin. “No, baby. You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

The smallest flush of pink and flash of panic that you catch on him as you turn away (only because you’re looking for it) tells you that you’ve won this round.

Back at the stove, your mother’s taken over, having drained the noodles and now attempting to pour the sauce into the noodle pot rather than your tried-and-true method of bringing the pasta to the sauce pan.

“Mom! Could you not–”

You see it coming a second too late, the sauce hasn’t thickened properly and a good portion of it misses the pot and splashes onto her blouse.

There’s commotion, a shriek and an overreaction, and you reach for a towel to catch the sauce before it stains, but the towel is dirty with spills and bacon grease and you’re both trying to keep the sauce pot from toppling off the stove. “Just…hold still, Mom, here…let me get a clean towel–”

“I’m on it,” Javi jumps up, heading down the hallway.

Great. Here’s another thing splitting your attention from timing the sauce. “Javi??” you call, “The towels are–”

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

How did he….doesn’t matter. The woman who raised you is in need of someone to mother her at the moment and you’re doing your best to calm her down before she causes even more of a mess. In a matter of moments, your stand-in man is back with a hand towel and you join her at the sink to help her dab it off.

“Oh, well this is just dandy,” she whines. “Now I have to sit here in a wet blouse in nice company…”

“It’s fine, Mom. You can wear one of mine.”

“The pink one or the blue? She can change in the bedroom,” Javi gestures, offering to show the way. “Ma’am?”

“Uh…the…blue….” This time you don’t have time to veil your shocked and confused expression. If Javi truly notices it as your mom swans by him, he doesn’t let on.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and pleasant, your father and Javi carrying most of the conversation as the older man drills the agent on the particulars of the cartels and Escobar’s influence with his communities, how it’s affecting customs and trade, and what that means for the conference your father is here to attend in his duty to the Trade Rep.

After a couple of hours, he makes it known that it’s time to get back to the hotel, that he has an early morning as his boss is flying in.

“Already? Dear! You boys spent all this time talking shop and I have all kinds of questions for Haaavi.”

“Well, my bride, you’re just going to have to wait to satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure it will keep.”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Javi asks just as you take a sip of water and try your best not to choke on it. “If you’d like to try some of the local specialties, I know a place not far from here. Sancocho to die for, made fresh every day.”

The fire in your eyes is shielded, soft, but directed straight at the side of his face, hot enough that he can surely see it from his periphery if not feel the flames. The corner of his mustache rises the smallest fraction of an inch.

“That sounds a real treat, son,” your father says, rising and crushing Javi’s shoulder in a squeeze. “Tomorrow night then.”

Javi joins you at the front window when they leave so you can wave them off, having the balls to wrap his arm around your shoulder as you do. Once their car pulls away into the night though, he retracts it and ambles back to the table, gathering up a few stray plates and taking them to the sink. “Well, that went well.”

When you don’t answer, he turns to find you with a level expression and your arms folded across your chest. “What was that?”

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“We are going to address tomorrow night in a minute, but I’d love for you to explain to me why you know the location and the layout of my apartment, Agent Peña.”

Now he catches up, nodding slowly and returning to you at the window. With one hand on a hip and the other pointing to the nearest streetcorner, he explains, “Did you see that car that pulled out of there after your parents? Security. I sat in a car in that exact spot for three weeks after you were appointed to the agency. Couple days while you were at work,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the apartment as a whole, “I spent quite a few hours in here on a deep scan for taps.”

Now it’s your turn to carry the surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Standard procedure for government employees to be shadowed for a probationary period, eliminates the suspicion of inside involvement. You got a deluxe security detail treatment on top of it because…well. Your…family’s connection to Washington.”

He’s kind enough to wait for you to process this. “Wait. You mean,” peering outside at the location he indicated, noting the straight-line view into your living room, “you watched me? For three weeks???”

He turns back in search of his glass. “You dance when you’re happy. You could stand to be happy more often.” Giving you the time it takes for him to pour another finger of whiskey to stew over this, to grind through the gears of your mind and work out if you might have done anything embarrassing under the gaze of the DEA, he finally assures you, “Don’t sweat it. You’re usually a stickler for keeping your curtains closed. It was about as uneventful as a watch is possible to be.”

“So this is what they pay their agents to do? Babysit a government employee’s daughter? That seems below your pay grade.”

He downs the drink and shrugs. “I was lower on the pole back then.”

“Not that low.” But then…. The jaw tick presents itself again. His lack of eye contact confirms a sudden suspicion. “My…father paid for it.”

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

Independence. That’s why you took this job. Something you thought you could do on your own without your father’s help, run away from America, go live abroad and work somewhere new, somewhere exotic. How naive to think–for three years now–that you’ve done all this on your own.

The embarrassment burns.

Javi slowly runs a finger over a plate, raising a dollop of sauce to his tongue. “This is good. You’re a hell of a cook, Sully.”

It’s meant to lift your spirits, make you feel accomplished at something in your life. It’s appreciated.

“Thanks. It’s not that complicated.” Moving past him into the kitchen, you pick up your tongs from the counter and quietly start heaping half of the leftover meal into a bowl. “What’s this place you’re taking us to tomorrow? You’ve seen what a holy terror my mom is about food.”

He comes to lean against the refrigerator. “Dos Rosas Cocina.”

“I know it. Good choice. Atmosphere’s… rustic, but the food’s amazing.” Tying the bowl up in a clean towel and placing it in his hands, you sigh, all the stupid, terrible tension you didn’t know you were holding this evening seeping its way out. “I can’t believe you’re electing to spend more time on this little act.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember thanking you, but thank you.”

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

Later, after the dishes are done and the leftovers stowed, you curl up on the couch with the novel you’re battling your way through. But not a single page is turned. An hour goes by as you think through the interviews and steps you took to get this job, to land your working visa, to find this apartment in a nice part of town, how easy it had all seemed at the time, how accomplished you’d felt. And then there was that little look of realization and regret in Javi’s eye. That he knew. That he was the one that slipped and let you figure it out, that he never told you before. That nobody told you before. Had you come off as stupid in that moment? Innocent? Naive?

You need to confront your father about it. Probably not tomorrow, not in front of Javi. But soon.

Dammit.

You’re not getting any reading done so you turn off the light and head to bed.

Your pajamas are folded and the bed’s been meticulously remade.

Of course.

No wonder it took longer than it should have for your mother to change her blouse.

How is it you get to be a grown ass adult and your parents will never see you as anything but their little girl, even at this age?

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

Having arrived early at Dos Rosas Cocina, Javi already has a drink in him, so your mother’s question earns a contented smile. “Well–”

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

It’s not a lie. It was at your desk. He needed something notarized and your new stamp hadn’t arrived yet so he wrote his direct extension on your desk pad, asked you to ring him when it did. You remember thinking that his eyes wandered too much but couldn’t be mad when you realized yours must have too if your first impression was that his pants were a good fit.

Later that night you’d come here, to the Cocina, charmed by its walls lined with picture frames full of the owner’s ancestors and descendants, how it seemed to be the center of time itself reaching backward in it’s colorful mountain-style decor and forward in its state of the art cashier’s computer and cd jukebox.

The owner had served your meal himself and sat down to chat with you, to practice his English, he said. It was a slow night and you had nowhere to be and he put you at ease right away.

“Dos Rosas,” he explained, “it means two roses. You see the sign? One red, one white. You know what it means?”

You shook your head and smiled, mouth full of some heavenly empanada.

“The red rose is for love. The white rose for friendship. Dos Rosas is a place my father made where he wanted guests to come with love and friendship.” And then he produced a single white rose, slipping it into the vase on the table. “For your luck. You are welcome here, friend. Someday you will bring someone who will share a red one with you, si?”

It had been a favorite place ever since.

Javier had been there that night too, now that you remember it. Sitting in the dim corner away from the basket lamps, nursing a beer and a plate of arepas, the curtain of his cigarette smoke nearly hiding him from view. Back then he was just the agent who needed some papers stamped and who just happened to be at the same restaurant that night.

Hindsight and new information reframes the nearly-forgotten memory now. Of course. He must have been tailing you then.

“I think,” Javi says as he drapes an arm across the back of your cane chair and leans in, “she understands where, milagra. But what she wants to know is that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Your response comes with a sweet smile that hides a challenge. “I know. You watched me for three weeks straight.”

“And then some.” He doesn’t let your jab throw him off the act. “And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her.” On the contrary, he hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and yanks it closer to his own, effectively throwing you against his chest. “She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

The clench of your stomach, the cold wave of your blood pressure dropping, every method your body has to signal and react to danger begins to take over as Javi keeps you locked from pulling away with one arm, hazy smile inches from your face, his heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth.

A warm hand folds gently over one of your own, floating it upward, his fingertips guiding your palm until he ducks his head half an inch to meet your knuckles to his lips. Big brown eyes beg at you and that cold wave rebounds now as a hot tsunami.

And all you can do is stare, stare at this display of tenderness that seems so very unlike the Javier Peña you know. Gone is the indifferent agent, the shielded ego, the preference for solitary. As his kiss lingers on your hand just a second longer than necessary, you get a glimpse behind the curtain to the man beyond. For one moment you witness a vulnerability and care, a fleeting tease of what it must be like to have his perfect attention, his devotion. It’s literally breathtaking.

And then something in him stalls, shifts, as if he notices the same in you.

Is he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him? Right here in front of your mother? Why is he so warm? What is that amazing cologne? Is his shirt unbuttoned further than usual? Is that a cymbal roll in the music coming from the jukebox or is that your blood rushing in your ears? Does he always breathe this forcibly? How have you never noticed that little crease in his bottom lip or realized just how dark his eyes were?

Just as his tongue flicks forth to wet his lips, your father returns from the phone booth in the back.

“Well, false alarm. Seems the ambassador just had some bad fish, but it’s passing. Conference is still on.”

Oblivious to your predicament and drawing your mother’s attention, he’s happy to answer her questions regarding the type of fish and how long it was prepared, and she offers her wisdom to nobody in particular as to preventing such a thing as food poisoning. Neither of them notice as you slowly twist yourself out of Javi’s loosening clutches and both of them obviously assume your hasty retreat has more to do with wanting to powder your nose than calm your racing heart.

The restroom is one small room, looking like a much older sibling to the restaurant itself as if it had been built first and the rest of the building added later. You count fifteen cracks in the wall over the solitary, rust-stained toilet before a knock falls on the door, momentarily spiking your softening anxiety. It’s an old man’s voice enquiring in Spanish if you’d fallen in.

You’re far from convinced that you’re ready to face or deny whatever’s going on in your heart. But you wash your hands–one of them still stubbornly holding the tingle of Javi’s lips and mustache against it–surrender the room, and find your way back to the table where the man who is not your boyfriend leans forward on his elbows, spinning stories for your parents.

“But we’re zeroing in on him now. He’s made more than a few mistakes and we’ve just barely caught them by turning around at the right second. It’s only a matter of time.”

A smile pulls wide over your father’s face as he leans back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. Damn, son. I admire your tenacity. We’re lucky we have talented young men like you down here catching the bad guys.”

“And we’re also lucky to have you here looking after our daughter,” your mother helps.

“Thanks, Mom, I can take care of myself. I mean, that is,” To one side, you feel Javi’s focus tilt your way, “as long as Dad’s willing to pay for it, I guess.”

Silence blankets the table as the waiter sets down four bowls of sancocho, a plate of flatbread, a candle, and a red rose in a vase in front of you all before hastily retreating.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Staring at the rose and trying to sort out your thoughts, you’re not sure why you chose this moment to bring up the subject. Maybe your body is just in fight or flight mode and perhaps you’re diverting your fluster to this deep-seated frustration. Something is shaking the cage of your heart and wants out, wants to cause some damage–

–but Javi’s hand comes to a gentle rest on your knee, soothing whatever savage beast had awakened, somehow turning frustration and fear into calm strength instead.

“I know about the money, Dad. I appreciate the help, I really do. But it’s okay. You don’t have to pay anyone to babysit me and pull strings just to make my life easier here. I came to Colombia to challenge myself. I can’t do that if you’re sneaking in and slapping training wheels on me all the time.”

For a split second it looks as if he’s going to deny it, play dumb. Instead, he softens.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ll have to forgive me. Your mother and I can’t help but look out for you. It’s what we’ve done all your life. It’s a hard habit to break.”

The confirmation stings, but you can’t deny that you set yourself up for it. “Did you do the same for Kennie?”

“Your sister has a husband and a family. She doesn’t need us to look after her anymore.”

A frustration wells up inside, burning, humiliating, full of futility. It doesn’t matter what you accomplish, how many times you have to prove yourself, they’re just not going to change. They’re never going to overcome what their generation has held as truth all their lives, even past the recent wave of feminism and push for equality. They’ll never ever see you as complete unless there’s a man involved. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

And perhaps that’s the conclusion that makes Javi’s actions feel like the only heroic course as he rubs a side hand over your back and explains, “Sir, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s capable. Thriving. She’s in no danger here. If there were any threat at all, she could hold her own. And even so, I’d do my best to make sure trouble never came near her.”

“Oh, Haaavi. You’re so good to her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

With a defensive flick of a hand, he continues. “It’s not luck, ma’am. And it’s not goodness. It’s simply part of my job. Even if she was nothing to me but another clerk that’s too smart and too bold for her position, I’m an agent first. As a U.S. citizen and employee of the DEA, I’m going to put her life before my own. With all due respect–and I’m sorry to be so blunt–but to doubt that she or any American isn’t safe here is an insult to Colombia, to me, and all government agents on a professional level.”

The hard drag of conviction in his tone. The realization on your parents’ faces. The understanding sinking in. The steadying warmth of his arm around you.

“But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone. Most self-sufficient and confident woman I’ve ever known. I’m the lucky one; lucky she’s bored enough to keep me around. Must be for entertainment.”

Wow.

And all at once, you regret that you hadn’t taken the chance to kiss Agent Javier Peña. ________

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride back to her apartment, son? It’ll be faster.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d like to walk her home.”

Javi takes your hand in his, waving at your parents with the other, and quietly pulls you away from the car window down the dark street toward your place.

Half a minute later he’s still silent. And still holding your hand.

It feels awkward not to let go. And yet rude to do so. So you find a middle ground and squeeze instead, “Thank you. For that. Back there. I hate that I have no power to convince them of my autonomy on my own, but I think they just needed to hear it from…”

Who? A man? A government employee? A “cop”? A workaholic who is cranky most of the time because he disregards his own health and safety and refuses to sleep in his never-ending quest to quash every last cokeslinger within a thousand-mile area?

His nod and squeeze in return says he knows. “You know it’s love, right?”

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

“Your parents love you. Doesn’t matter how old you get. Doesn’t matter how far you run. Doesn’t matter how long the flight is and how repulsive they find the local guaro, they’re gonna love you.”

In the shared laughter that follows, your hands naturally part and you double over, remembering the look on your mother’s face after tasting the aniseed liquor Javi ordered for her.

“It was so beautiful!” you crow. “She tried so hard to smile and be polite…and the tears! You could almost see the fumes pushing out of her tear ducts!!!”

“It broke my heart to do it to her, but she insisted I order for her–!”

It’s not often you see Javi laugh and smile–really smile–with unrestrained joy. Playful smirks, weary grins, the occasional shy blush perhaps, yes. But it’s not until this moment that you see him genuinely happy. It takes years off him, as if he’s shed responsibility like a coat and gone skinny-dipping into life for a minute. His eyes crinkle deeply when he truly smiles, they shine and sparkle. Like stars on this dim street.

The giggles and chuckles continue as you near your block and it’s in a resurgence of his that he casually just reaches out and takes your hand again, as if dropping it had been a little mistake that needed correcting.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so awkward. It should be, but it’s not. It’s like you both decided it doesn’t have to be and yet, it doesn’t have to mean anything either. If anything, a shared happiness. A familiarity.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?” His attention is slowly returning to the street, constantly scanning, every second a chance to gather information, find the next piece of the druglord puzzle.

“This. Being the perfect boyfriend. Having someone’s parents just think the god’s ass of you for once. Playacting chivalry.”

That last bit sobers him. “Yeah, well, at least I can put on a good show.”

There’s something in the response that rings…tired. You’ve hit on some old hurt, some buried regret. Knowing Javi, addressing it would only cause him to close off and dig it in deeper.

“Well, I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m getting good value for all of the favors I’ve done for you and prettyboy Murphy. You’re good at this. A girl could get used to it. That story you told my mother about how we met? Let nobody tell you that you don’t go above and beyond in every way, Agent Peña.”

You can’t see the little grin that pulls at the far corner of his mouth, but you know it’s there. An eyebrow cocks. “So you’re saying my tab’s clear? I can put in a new order to the miracle worker?”

“Order up,” you laugh. “After all, now that I know Dad’s pulling strings, who’s gonna fire me? Bring your worst shenanigans!”

It doesn’t have quite the reaction you expect from him and he stops just short of the steps to your apartment building, deep grooves forming between his brows. “You know, it’s not unusual; landing any job has a lot to do with who you know. Keeping it is the part that’s all you. Even if you didn’t get it on your own, you still made it your own.” When you can’t seem to meet his eyes, his tone softens. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of here. Why did you feel like you had to perfect some image of your life by toting me around?”

Flustered, you scoff and jump at the chance to dodge the question. “I’ll have you remember that I asked Steve, not you. You’re the one that jumped at a free meal.” It doesn’t work. His stance demands an honest answer, his face says it’s required more for your sake than his. “It’s… a long story. There are checkboxes in my family… my sister got married and had kids and I never did. I never really felt it was important… or that anyone would put up with my attitude. i’m not exactly the picture of perfect wife material. I mean, of course I’d like to find someone someday, but it’s never been the main goal… but my parents–”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says. Not an agreement; an admission. Simple. “I walked away from the altar. Left her standing. It just felt like there was a responsibility there to be ‘the husband’, and–like you said, same thing–check off the boxes. I didn’t know if I could check off the same ones everyone else thought were necessary.”

It takes a moment to say anything. To move past the fact that he’s just confided a piece of his past and his personal life to you. That he’s let you in. It explains a little about why he doesn’t get close to anyone, why he prefers feminine relations without hangups. Which makes this admission very weighted and precious. You see that he trusts you not to judge. And perhaps it’s his way of letting you know that you’re not alone in dodging the tried-and-true life path.

“Everyone had expectations. You thought you couldn’t be a good husband. So you ran away to join the DEA because you knew you could do that spectacularly.”

Now it’s him that can’t look at you. “I wouldn’t say that I’m doing that well–”

“Javi.” That catches his eye. “You’re a damn good agent. I know you’re going to get the job done. Why the hell do you think I’ll jump at the chance to break every rule in the goddamn department to help you do it? Like I said. Who’s gonna fire me now if I do?” Something shifts in him, like he’s been slapped or sharply woken. As if it’s something he’s been needing to hear and didn’t have the right person to tell him. You’re suddenly honored to be that for him. He needs it. And so you gift him a little more. “Obviously you don’t have to do everything by the book to be good at something. Look at the past couple of days. Thank you for being nice to my folks. And for the encouragement. That’s all it takes sometimes, you know? You’ve been a damn good stand-in boyfriend. Your little stunts included, you asshole. That’s what made it fun. I’m sure you would have been a great husband.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it with a tick of his jaw. Regrouping, he gives you a pained look to say, “I’m sorry that you feel you were lied to…with the surveillance and all. And that’s how you found out. I meant what I said back there, Sully.” He swallows. “All of it.”

It’s so serious and vulnerable, an obvious effort for him to say. He’s a good man, Javi. You’ve read the reports. You’ve heard the rumors. He may keep others from getting too close, may come off as flippant and impatient or pour his focus into his work. But his moral center is pointed in the right direction and he’s the first person to discard his own needs in favor of someone else.

It’s probably what overwhelms him–caring about others but not allowing anyone to care for him–bubbles up so far that he has to visit his girls to vent it. He says they’re his informants, everyone’s heard that, but nobody buys that’s all it is. He needs to be cared for, but the money keeps him safe, keeps the lines drawn. It’s an exchange he can allow himself to make.

Something about that suddenly twists your heart. You could ask him in. You could take care of him. It’s tempting. It’s what he needs.

But you’re not sure if the inevitable fallout and distancing is what you need right now. It would be too easy to want him to stay.

It’s fine to fall in love just a little with Javier Peña, as long as you don’t expect too much.

Instead, you squeeze his hand. Big and warm and gun-callused. “I know you did. Good night, hero. Thank you.”

He lets you go, this transaction settled. Doesn’t ask anything more. As you expected. The perfect gentleman. When he puts his mind to it.

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

Even though you brought leftover carbonara for lunch the following day, you need to escape. There’s twice as much work with the ambassador’s conferences, more calls coming through and the agents and policia all have their regular requests. And you didn’t sleep soundly the night before; something whining at the back of your mind, like something forgotten or missed… Every form and file feels like an effort and you’re just so out of it. If your mother were to stop by and take you out to lunch–a real possibility–that would just be too much.

Half an hour in the outdoor cafeteria should help, even if it’s another hot day. Air and sunshine are usually good revitalizers. And you can hide in the crowd.

Or so you thought. Just as you’re settling in with a bowl of rice and veggies, a long shadow falls across your bench and you look up to see broad shoulders and dark hair.

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer he perches on the bench next to you with his sandwich and starts talking. About nothing. About the heat. How it’s hot here, how it was hot back home in Arizona but nothing like the hot here. Humidity. Dry heat. Sweat. How he once baked a cookie on the dash of a car parked in the sun. How he never understood the calculations between fahrenheit and celsius, just that one is higher and one lower. Something about mercury in thermometers.

You stop listening after a minute and just chew and smile and nod. You’re not that lonely. Yet.

There’s a little old man who sells flowers from a bucket, sets up a little stall on the sidewalk across the other end of the courtyard. He’s out here most days. He’s out here today. Carnations, chrysanthemums, birds of paradise, roses…

You should get some flowers for your desk. Something nice. Might wake you up a little. You watch absently as the flower man speaks to someone in a tan shirt. A man with dark hair like so many others here. He looks like Javi from the back.

You’d rather not think about Javi’s back. Or front. Or deep brown eyes.

So you listen to Jimmy ramble for a while before he finally asks you a question.

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

“I’ll take one red and one white, por favor.”

The little old flower man’s smile is even warmer up close.

On your way back into the office you muse that you’ll put the roses in a vase and let them decide for you, depending on which one lasts longer. Do you really feel the need to entertain the possibility of infatuation? Or can you be content with the easy friendship you have?

But upon arriving at your desk, you find that your little bouquet will be unbalanced and one of the two choices will have twice the advantage.

There’s already a red rose laying on the credenza.

Next to a bowl that held carbonara leftovers when last you saw it.

And a note. Fast scratches on a torn piece of yellow steno paper. Probably from the ripped piece on your desk. Next to your pen.

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

Suddenly the clack of keyboards and whine of printers and ring of phones fades away. You lift the little note to read it again. “All of it.” As if the words aren’t enough, as if you need more empirical evidence–or maybe because it was with the flower–for some odd reason you bring it close to your nose only to confirm what you knew you’d smell there.

Rose. And cigarettes.

All of it? That’s the last thing he said last night. I meant what I said back there, Sully. All of it.

It had been a heartening thing to hear, reinforcing how he would protect and serve, how he thought you were competent and confident, but why remind you now–

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her. She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

The look on his face as he stood by your steps. The way he rethought the words before he spoke. It wasn’t easy for him. He tried to tell you and you just…

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

Yanked from one confusion to another, you turn to find your mother rounding your desk–even though you told her not to, that only government officials are supposed to be around your files–coming to take your hand.

“Your father and I are going on a tour of the city with the Representative. I dropped by to see if you’d like to join us.”

“Hi Mom. No… no, thanks. I’m…swamped today. I’m sorry.”

She coos, worriedly. “Are you alright? You seem tired. Those are pretty…”

Blinking down at the roses in your hand and stepping slightly to the side to shield her view of the third on your credenza, you agree, “Yeah, just tired today. It’s the heat. Here,” handing her the flowers, you smile. “The red one is for you. Please give the white one to the Representative’s wife. I hope you have a nice tour.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear…but…how did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t. There’s a nice old man who sells them. Sometimes I buy some to cheer up my desk.”

“You’re buying your own flowers? We should stop by Haavi’s desk and tell him he needs to do that for you.”

“Oh. No need. He does.”

Once she’s on her way, you swing out to the atrium, but find Steve and Javi’s desks unoccupied. There was talk of a situation on the east side of the old town, no doubt the whole department will be out most of the afternoon.

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

Still carrying the note, you flip it over on Javi’s desk and scribble five words with the same pen–

You know where I live.

–tuck it under his typewriter with just the tiniest corner sticking out, and head for the coffee room. One cup and three more work hours should shrink that stack of paperwork on your desk.

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

The door to your apartment is unlocked when you get home. Well, he certainly jumped at your note.

It shouldn’t surprise you. There’s got to be department keys in some file somewhere. After all, how could he have done all that snooping around when you first got the job?

Dropping your bag and keys on the table in the hall, you head for the main room. “Javi? You here?”

Heart ramming against your ribcage, you emerge into the apartment…

…and find your parents seated at your dining table. Waiting.

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

“Your father talked to the landlord. It wasn’t difficult, dear. We wanted a word.” Even though there’s an endearment, your mother’s tone is anything but.

“Okay. That’s kind of excessive. You could have just swung by my desk, you know where I–”

“This is a more delicate matter and we thought you might appreciate the privacy,” your father grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

There are two things on the table. Your mother’s purse, and a box of tissues. Not the brand you own. Provided for.

“I don’t think I will. What’s going on?”

They share a glance, a starting gesture as if to choose who will begin, even though it was always going to be your mom.

“We had a very nice tour of the city today. We saw the opera house and the capital. It’s a beautiful city. You must really like it here–”

“Representative wanted to go into some of the deeper parts of the city,” your father interrupts, already going off book it seems, “to see the neighborhoods that really reflect the majority economy, get a feel for the true people of Colombia.”

What’s this all about. There’s a silence. Of course there is. They’re waiting for you to prod them. “The old town. I know it. It can get rough, but mainly only if you’re already involved in something shady.”

“Well, there’s plenty that’s shady there, I’ll tell you.” Your mother’s nose lifts more than slightly. “Did you know that it’s crawling with brothels?”

“I do, actually. There are a lot of women who don’t have any other way–”

“Well, Haavi certainly knows about those brothels. We saw him coming out of one today.”

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

Your mother continues, something about being sorry to be the one to tell you, something about your heart and how it must be breaking, how it’s hard to be lied to….

The tissues sit on the table, a pretty pink box with daisies on it. They expect you to break down. Cry. How good of an actor are you?

“...and if you want to come home for a while, you know you are always welcome–”

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

The silence that follows is thick, it mingles with the humidity, curdles it like cream in the air. You let it sit until it sours.

“He posed for me so you wouldn’t worry about me here. Like you always do. As if I could never make it on my own without someone.” Their shock sustains. The quieter they become, the easier it gets. “And Javi went along with it because he works with me. Day in and day out. If anyone ever thought I was in danger here, or couldn’t hack the agency, he’d be the first to say so. And I trust him.” Your mother opens her mouth to run her tongue, but you cut her off at the pass. “I trust that man. Yes, you saw him coming out of a brothel, but I’m not his girlfriend and he’s there for his job. Those women sleep with the people Javi’s trying to catch. It’s a brilliant tactic, actually. And they trust him too. Because he is good to them. He’s a good man; one of the best I know and deserves respect. He takes care of them and protects them as much as he would anyone else. You should have seen what he did for this girl Helena–”

It’s here that you notice something out of the corner of your eye and turn to find Javi standing silent in the hallway, still close enough to the door that your parents can’t see him around the corner into the room. But you can. Wide eyes. That tight fitting tan shirt. Slightly off balance as if he came to a stop immediately at the knowledge of walking in on something.

Why do you feel….caught?

“Anyway,” turning back to your parents with a sigh, “I appreciate your concern. But you don’t have to be. Not about him, not about me, not about anything. I’m sorry I lied. It just seemed…easier. Because you have never just believed I was fine. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Like Javi said the other night, I’m thriving here. Even if he was posing, everything he said was true…”

But if everything he said was true…

A glance to the hallway finds it empty again. Even if the door is slightly ajar.

“Well. You can’t blame us for wanting the best for you, sweetheart. You’re never going to stop being our daughter.”

“I know, Dad. You keep saying that. It’s right there on my birth certificate.”

“There’s no shame in accepting help if it’s given freely and if it helps you achieve a goal.”

“I understand that, but I really wish you’d told me about it rather than let me think I did it all on my own. Do you understand how that feels? To be lied to?”

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

Thank god for office coffee. Without the edge taken off of your exhaustion, you might have had more bite. But for now, you’ve said what was necessary and you’re not up for a fight or managing their feelings; you have enough of your own to sort out. If they care about you as much as they say they do, they’ll let what you’ve said sink in and not push the matter.

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

You nod and move into the kitchen. Seems they do care. You have to give them credit. “Okay. Do you want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers.”

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

“Well good. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. I probably wouldn’t be good company anyway. You’re coming back in for the trade agreements in January?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. I’ll get to see you for a whole week then.” The sad smiles you exchange with them signal that everything’s going to be okay. For now.

There are hugs and kisses, a wish for safe travels and a promise to call in the coming days. Your mother apologizes loudly for cleaning your bathroom mirror. Your father apologizes softly for your mother’s volume. This time, you walk them all the way out to the street.

Your mother’s halfway to the car when your father doubles back, digging in his pocket, just barely remembering to give you the key he got from the landlord.

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

“Your mother and I are proud of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if we gave the impression that we weren’t.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

“I should have said it sooner.” He hovers as your mother gets into the car. “You tell Javi that it was nice to meet him. And that we’re proud of the work he’s doing here too.”

There’s something in the way he tells you this. Another apology. Or a knowing. You’ve never been sure with Dad.

“I will.”

As they pull away, waving, your plan is to go collapse on your couch and just be alone for a minute.

As you come back into your apartment, you have to amend that plan to collapsing on your couch next to Javier Peña.

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

He doesn’t answer the question. You sink in, lean back, let your eyes close. He sighs.

“You mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. You know I do. And I don’t have an ashtray. There’s still some whiskey if you want though. Knock yourself out.”

The couch shifts a bit as he gets up. The pop of cabinet doors. The clink of ice against glass. After a few seconds, the couch shifts again and a cool tumbler slides gently against your hand.

You open your eyes to ice water.

“Thanks.” You take a long drink, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I never do. Bed’s too big. Sleep better when I’m not alone.” When you look him in the eye, he knows enough not to turn away. “One of the girls was called into one of Escobar’s regular haunts. Didn’t see him, but got a good look at some clients he’s courting. It was info worth delivering a retainer. And a final thanks.”

You do your best to keep your hope from shining through your cracks. “Final thanks?”

“Yeah. For all the…help in the past couple of years. Told them there’s a woman I’d like to spend some time with. Get to know better.”

The sly smile spreading across your face will not be contained. “Really. You told your informants that you were shoving off to the boring world of dating.”

“No. But I did let them know that if there’s a next time I darken their door, I won’t be in a very good mood. I don’t have a Jimmy to turn to if this doesn’t work.”

“Oh. So that was you today in the courtyard. That’s what inspired this? You jealous of Jimmy?”

“Nothing to be jealous of. He’s not your type. But. It might have sped up the process.” When you don’t laugh at that, he sighs. “Listen. I’m not good at this.”

“Yes, you are, I told you that you arrrre,” you yawn and go after another sip. “But I’m the one who’s going to be cranky and crap at it unless I take a nap. I’m sorry. It’s been a day.”

“Can I join you?” His dark eyes search yours as you empty the tumbler.

There’s something like a hope there. And something else, not quite an apology, not quite yearning, a worry that he’s going to do this right or die trying and he waited far too long to start.

Like he’s fighting the urge to expect too much.

“I said a nap, Peña.”

“Good. We were called in early. I could use it.”

It comes naturally. A smile. A matching smile. A whispered okay. He leans forward and slowly, softly, presses his lips to yours. Lingers a moment. Traces your nose–one side then the other–with his own.

“And what happens when we wake up?” you ask quietly in the space between you, in the space before the next slow, lingering kiss.

Javi stands, wraps three fingers around your glass and lifts it gracefully out of your grasp. Setting it on the end table, he reaches for your hand to help you up. “This is technically the third date, isn’t it? We could just…check off the usual boxes.”

“I think we established that I don’t especially love to do everything by somebody else’s rulebook.” Using the inertia of you coming off the couch to pull you straight into his arms and into a deeper kiss--one full of holding breath and clutching fingers--he chases it with a nip to your lip, which coaxes a chuckle. “But I’m open to actually following some rules for once. Especially the good ones.”

“Good. I think it’s time I worked you a miracle or two.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you. Well, lead the way. You obviously know where the bedroom is…”

He smirks, guiding you by the hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #year of tropes #javier peña x fake dating

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sidekick-hero · 4 months

Text

steddie | rating: t | wc: 2.345 | tags: au, rockstar!eddie, drummer!steve, onesided enemies to lovers, part of our upcoming fic Pickup Note | art credit: @firefly-party

Eddie's living his dream, literally. Ever since his mom danced him around the living room to the sounds of Muddy Waters and Jimmy Hendrix, he has wanted to be a rock star. 20 years later, he made it.

So why is there such a sour taste in his mouth when they stand in front of their cheering audience, bowing and clapping with them? Why does the sight of Harrington throwing his drumsticks into the crowd turn his smile into a frown before he can stop himself?

He knows he's being childish. But knowing something has never helped him much in suppressing those irrational feelings that bubble up inside of him until they spill over and make a mess. Eddie's alignment has always been chaotic, so at least he's trying to make it a chaotic good one.

Lately, though, it feels like he's failed at that, and it's all Harrington's fault.

The guy just had to waltz in and take Gareth's place, with the other guys falling all over themselves with praise and gratitude when Harrington should be grateful. After all, he gets to go on a world tour with the most talked about newcomer metal band right now, when the biggest venues he played before were the local bars and sports halls.

But no, Steve Harrington didn't even have to audition, not really. Not when Gareth's boyfriend had vouched for him being a great drummer and an even greater guy, and Gareth, being the love-struck idiot that he was, had just said "Yes, my love, of course, anything you say" or some equally lovey-dovey shit like that. And now Eddie had to endure the guy's company for three whole months.

"Are you alright, man?" Jeff's hand on his shoulder is grounding and his deep voice pulls Eddie back from his gloomy spiral. He gives his oldest friend a smile that lacks the usual Munson charm, but is still genuine enough for Jeff to return it with one of his own.

"Yeah, 'm fine, just tired," he only half-lies. It's been a long day, hell, a long week. Add to that giving his all on stage, jumping up and down and singing his heart out while letting his sweetheart sing for him and thousands of fans, and he's bound to be exhausted as soon as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

Jeff and Grant don't seem to fare any better, coming down from the post-concert high almost as fast as Eddie and crashing as soon as they get to their tour bus. The only one who seems to be full of restless energy is Steve, who can't seem to stop moving, arms and hands and fingers acting like there's still a drum kit to be played. Eddie swears he can feel him vibrating with it and it sets his teeth on edge.

He's a hypocrite, and he knows it. Hell, the Eddie of a year ago would be out partying right now, dancing and drinking and fucking the night away, high on adrenaline and endorphins and maybe something else if the mood struck. But he left that Eddie at the Crossroads, along with his addiction and most of his anxiety disorder.

While Grant just grunts his good night before falling face first into his bunk bed, Jeff goes over to Harrington to check in on him as well. Eddie remembers the one time Jeff tried to play a DnD character that was anything but good. It was painful to watch and Eddie was almost glad when his Demogorgon killed Jeff's character and the rest of the party and they were able to start a new campaign.

If there's anyone on earth who's intrinsically good, it's Jeff Robinson.

Jeff walks over to Steve and pats him on the back. "Great job, man. You were on fire up there. Can't believe you learned that whole setlist in two weeks."

Steve glows from the praise, a bright smile lighting up his whole face before he ducks his head in what looks like genuine bashfulness. Eddie snorts at the thought and Steve's eyes flick over to him, his smile fading.

Harrington looks hurt and Eddie really wonders why. Why should he care what Eddie thinks of him? It's not like they're friends or anything. The way Jeff is glaring at him, Eddie guesses he still needs to apologize to the guy, but just as he opens his mouth to formulate some half-hearted apology at best, Steve turns away from him and squeezes Jeff's arm.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I think I'll head to bed, if you don't mind. Get some sleep."

"Yeah, of course. It's been a long day, get some shut-eye. But you really did a great job, man. I'm glad we found such a kickass stand-in for Gareth on such short notice. You saved our asses."

Eddie bites his tongue so hard he thinks he tastes blood.

It's actually Steve who says what Eddie is thinking. "Are you kidding me, man? I'm the one who's glad you let me come and play with you. I mean, today? Being in front of thousands of people, doing what I love? I've never felt so... fuck, I don't even know. Myself? Happy? Alive?" He laughs, but it sounds tentative, and Eddie can see his cheeks glowing red even in the dim night light of their bus. Steve rubs a hand across his neck in obvious embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

Jeff laughs, amused. "Don't worry, it's the concert jitters. Eddie wouldn't stop talking for hours the first time we played in front of more than maybe five drunks back home."

"Har-har," Eddie laughs sarcastically, but there's still a smile on his face that takes the sting out of it. Those were good times, before things got complicated. Before fame and money and being on the road all the time had made them complicated. "I'm gonna hit the hay. Night, Jeff. Harrington."

They return his goodnight wishes with one of their own and Eddie is glad that he already changed into his sweatpants and hoodie backstage. He slips under the covers and turns on his side, facing the wall, listening to Grant's snoring and the sounds of Steve and Jeff getting ready. Eddie knows that sleep won't come anytime soon. He's been an insomniac for as long as he can remember, sleep as absent from most of his life as his father. He has learned to make do with the bare minimum, catching a few hours here and there whenever he can.

Tonight it's Steve Harrington that keeps him awake. Or rather, it is his thoughts and feelings about the man. It's not the first night this happens, but it's the first time he really wonders if maybe he is the asshole after all. Steve's words run through his mind on a loop and every time he closes his eyes he sees the way his smile died on his face, replaced by that kicked puppy dog look that tugs at Eddie's heart no matter how hard he fights it.

Maybe he should at least try to be nicer to the guy.

Sure, he is everything Eddie hated in school: a preppy ex-jock who got everything he ever wanted with his pretty face and his daddy's money. No one ever called him a fuck-up, Eddie is sure of that. While Eddie had to fight for every single thing, even his life, Steve Harrington just got a place in the band and the hearts of their fans and the respect of his bandmates with a few flutters of his long eyelashes. It's true, he's good, Eddie begrudgingly admits. He has found himself staring at Harrington more than once tonight while the man has been playing, mesmerized by the passionate yet easy way he has mastered every single song on their setlist.

Eddie's so lost in his own thoughts that he misses the bus pulling up, only jolted out of his reverie when he hears someone get out of his bed and walk to the front door of the bus.

It's Harrington, talking to the driver. Eddie checks the clock on his phone and is surprised to see that it's already four in the morning. When did that happen? Maybe he fell asleep without realizing it.

Up front, the driver explains that they're stopping here for a few hours. There was an accident further up the highway and the traffic jam is so bad that the driver decided to take his break here. Steve asks if it's okay if he goes outside for a while and Eddie catches himself smiling at the question.

He wonders if Harrington can't sleep, just like he can't. Maybe he's still thinking about Eddie's reaction earlier...no, that would be ridiculous, right? Still, the thought sits heavy in his stomach and after another five minutes he gives up and rolls out of bed to follow Harrington outside. On the way he grabs two hoodies and pulls one over himself.

The cold night air hits him hard as he stumbles down the stairs, but it feels good after a second or two of adjustment.

"Can't sleep?" A voice to his right asks, and sure enough, it's Harrington, leaning against the side of the bus, his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"I was going to ask you the same question." Eddie replies, walking over to Steve. "Here." Steve stares wordlessly at the offered hoodie, making no move to take it. "It won't bite, I promise. I doubt you can play with your hands frozen."

That does the trick and he finally reaches out to take the black garment from Eddie and pulls it over his head. It's a little long on the arms, but otherwise it fits well, maybe a little tight around the shoulders. Of course, the guy has broader shoulders than he does, Eddie thinks, not really able to muster much annoyance.

"Thanks," Steve says in a quiet voice, giving him a strange look. And then, as quickly as if he were ripping off a bandage, "I just can't get to sleep. I tried everything, counted backwards from one hundred, counted sheep, did that weird breathing thing Robin showed me, tried reading... nothing. I'm so fucking exhausted, but I just can't sleep."

Eddie hums, knowing the feeling only too well. Harrington sounds on the verge of tears and maybe it's the lingering guilt, the memory of his own racing thoughts, all circling around the man in front of him. Whatever it is, something compels Eddie to say, "I don't have a solution for you. I don't sleep more than three, maybe four hours a night. But I can show you something that might make it more bearable, if you'd like."

Steve looks at him and for the first time Eddie allows himself to look back. To let their eyes meet and lock.

"I'd like that."

Clapping his hands, Eddie abruptly turns and stalks to the back of the bus. When he doesn't hear footsteps following him, he turns and calls out, "You comin' or what?" and grins as Steve almost trips in his haste to catch up.

When they reach the back of the bus, Eddie pushes on a panel that is somehow hidden under the license plate. A small metal shape protrudes from where he just pushed, and when he pulls on it, it turns out to be a metal ladder.

"What are you -"

"Patience, young Padawan," Eddie admonishes with a grin, secretly pleased with Steve's reaction. He's kind of proud of his little secret hideout.

Placing the ladder against the back of the bus, Eddie begins to climb up the stairs to the deck, and when he's at the top, he turns and reaches down for Steve to follow. "Do you trust me?"

Steve looks up at him, his eyes bright in the light of the stars and the moon shining down on them. "Yes."

"I can show you the world," Eddie begins to sing, once again letting his impulsive thoughts dictate his actions. The song came to him the second he looked down at Steve.

Steve comes up the stairs and grabs Eddie's hand, laughing. "Oh my God, are you singing a Disney song?"

"You're the one who recognizes it. I bet you even know what movie it's from, don't you, big boy?"

Steve rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway, as if he's secretly charmed by Eddie's antics. "Does that make me the princess?"

"And me the ruggedly handsome thief with a heart of gold," Eddie agrees, pleased that Steve got his reference.

Steve snorts, and it shouldn't sound cute, but oh, does it, his nose crinkling adorably. "Yeah, whatever. As long as this isn’t your flying carpet. I don't trust the structural integrity of this thing to actually fly."

"Big, big words. You sound like Henderson."

"Oh God, don't tell him, I'll never hear the end of it."

Eddie taps his chin thoughtfully. "I'll...think about it," he finally settles on, grinning playfully at Harrington. Silence falls over them, and for the first time since Steve walked into their rehearsal studio, it doesn't feel awkward or hostile. In fact, it's nice to share this space up here with someone.

Eddie sits down at the edge of the bus and Steve joins him, sitting maybe a foot away from him in a slight sprawl, his head tilted back and his mouth slightly open as his eyes take in the clear night sky above them. They're far enough out of town to actually see the harmonious arrangement and movement of the stars in the cosmos, forming a celestial symphony that Eddie has often tried and failed to capture in his songs.

Tonight, however, his eyes are caught by another ethereal sight.

"It's so beautiful," Steve whispers, as if sharing a secret with Eddie. "It's so vast and so beautiful, it’s almost frightening, don’t you think?"

"It is," Eddie agrees, never taking his eyes off Steve. So frightening.

They sit there until the sun slowly rises in the east, Steve's eyes on the sky and Eddie's on his own enigma.

This is a sneak peek from @firefly-party and me for our upcoming project Pickup Note to celebrate our dearest friend and collaborator's @thefreakandthehair birthday. Lex, you are our MVP and we are so happy to call you our friend! We love you and we hope you have the best day, week, month and year, because you deserve it 💜💜

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanart #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #my writing #steddie fic #rockstar eddie munson #drummer steve harrington #pickup note

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booksandabeer · 4 months

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Ramblings on Fandom: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, Delusional Shippers, and Alleged Misogyny

So with the release of Season 2 of What If…? emotions are once again running high, the outrage is outraging, and people are up in arms about the whole Captain Carter situation. While I do think that some reactions are a little overblown, even needlessly aggressive in tone to the unfortunate detriment of their otherwise convincing arguments, I share the confusion and frustration about the sudden centering of a long-dead & never excessively popular character, the sidelining of the Steve-Bucky friendship, and the as-inexplicable-as-it-is-total exclusion of Sam Wilson as Captain America. However, I’m not here to talk about the show because (1) I haven’t watched this season and have no plans to (why waste time torturing myself with something I know I’ll hate?) and (2) other people have already written dozens of metas about it, so what could I possibly add at this point.

What I do want need to talk about (lest I explode) is something that has irritated me for a long time and that is now happening again: Every time someone even mildly criticizes Peggy Carter, expresses doubts about her suitability as a heroine, or even just questions her disproportionate importance to the franchise post-EG, inevitably a certain section of fans will come out of the woodwork to immediately throw around accusations of misogyny and yell about how we’re all just a bunch of delusional Stuckies who are mad that she got "in the way" of our ship. Sigh.

This is gonna be a long one, so I’ll put it under a cut. Rant incoming. You've been warned. If you don't want to read, simply scroll on by.

First of all, let me state very clearly that I’m not debating the existence of misogyny and sexism in fandom spaces—or in the media from which these fandoms originate. At all. It exists, it’s a thing, I’m not denying that. Which is exactly why it frustrates me endlessly to see these accusations thrown around as a gotcha! argument to shut down any and all critical debate around a female character. All it does in the end is escalate rhetoric and radicalize attitudes.

In the case of Peggy Carter, specifically her treatment by Stucky shippers, I’ve always found 'misogyny as a motive' to be a largely unsubstantiated accusation.¹ Now, I neither presume nor do I want to speak for the entirety of Stuckynation, so I will not claim that there aren't corners of the fandom where people discuss her in ways that I find off-putting and deeply unserious, but I will say this: If you genuinely believe that disliking one (1) fictional female character equals “hating all women” and wanting to suppress and marginalize their presence in fiction and real life alike—then I think we need to take that word away from you until you’ve learned its true meaning.

You might also want to ask yourself how exactly reducing a female character to a mute trophy wife or a heroine who has to act out her love interest’s recycled storylines helps your feminist fight.

As to the “standing in the way of your ship” part of the argument. Very simply put: No character can stand in the way of something if there never ever was “a way” to that something to begin with. “Being mad” implies that there was a reasonable expectation that wasn’t met, a substantive hope that was crushed. Now, I’ve said this before and I’ll gladly say it again a million more times: No Stucky shipper in their right mind ever truly thought that there was even the slightest chance that Marvel Studios owned by the Walt Disney Company would allow Steve “Captain America” Rogers and Bucky “Winter Soldier” Barnes to be canonized as an explicitly romantic pairing in their billion dollar franchise. Be serious. That was never in the cards. I wish we all lived in a world where it was, but we don’t, and it wasn’t. The best we could ever hope for was for Steve and Bucky to get a good, satisfying, in-character ending. And if, in Steve’s case, that would’ve included hints (or more) about a possible rekindling of his, uh, aborted romance with Sharon—then so be it. But we never got any of that. The characters never got any of that. Instead they sent Steve into 1950s suburban hell, literally trapped him behind a white picket fence, and condemned him to a life of passivity and lies, all so he could be married to a woman he barely knew a long time ago in a completely different world; who built and ran a top-to-bottom Hydra-infested organization, but apparently never noticed that there was anything wrong with her life's work. For decades. Great. As for Bucky—well, we’ve all seen the devastatingly grim-faced, utterly lonely, and deeply sad version of him that was presented to us in TFATWS. Happy endings all around, I guess.

So. Am I mad that Steve didn’t get to ride into the rainbow-colored sunset with Bucky at the end of EG? No. Because that was never going to happen anyway. Would I have been mad had he ended up with Sharon or another female character in the 21st century? Also no. Granted, I wouldn’t have been ecstatic about it, but mad? No. But am I mad that Steve ended up with this specific female character under these specific circumstances as presented in canon? Fuck yeah, I am.

The thing is: I personally believe Steve and Peggy to be fundamentally incompatible when it comes to the way they view the world and their respective places in it; their morals and values; their capacity for compassion and empathy; their ability and willingness to compartmentalize, compromise, and collaborate with people and institutions whose ethics and/or politics do not align with their own. I have a real hard time believing that a relationship between these two (or worse, a hasty marriage) could be either happy or long-lasting.

I don’t believe Peggy to be inherently evil, I don’t hate her, I simply think she operates within a different moral framework than Steve (and even genuinely believes it to be a righteous one).² Your mileage may vary, but I personally happen to find that framework reprehensible, even indecent, and ultimately dangerous. After all, over the course of the 20th century, we have seen exactly where that kind of “the ends justify the means” brand of pragmatism leads—over and over again. Not to mention that the people who use this line of argument to defend characters like Peggy (or real-life politicians for that matter) never seem to want to look too closely at who gets to define what "the ends" are in the first place and who decides when they've finally been met.

(Never. The answer is never.)

And to be clear, there is absolutely nothing wrong with depicting, and even centering a narrative around a morally (dark)gray character—oftentimes it’s actually the more interesting option—but you cannot at the same time claim that they are purely good and should be only admired as such when their actions literally tell an entirely different story.

So, no. I will not accept Peggy Carter as the shining aspirational heroine that the MCU so badly wants to sell her to me as—while simultaneously continuing to reveal things that paint an increasingly darker picture of her character. And I will certainly not celebrate seeing one of my favorite characters of all time—whose defining trait was that he couldn't ignore "a situation pointed south"; who used to fight for the little guy and against the establishment; who once said about the very organization that Peggy Carter helped build that it was so corrupt, it all needed to go—rendered morally inert for some hollow happy ending that may as well be a conservative’s wet dream full of false nostalgia for an America that never really existed. I cannot find it in me to be anything less but mad about that.

But that does not make me a misogynist. It does not make me a delusional shipper. It makes me someone who looks at what the MCU has been telling me about Peggy Carter for years now—over and over again—and takes it at its own word.

--------

¹ If you’ve actually read a a fair number of Stucky(!) fanfics you will have noticed that the reverence afforded to and "page time" devoted to her character and her relationship with Steve is somewhat disproportionate to anything that's backed up by canon—well, up until EG, where she was suddenly reanimated as The Great Love of Steve’s Life—and in my experience, it's highly unusual for any fandom to put so much (mostly) positive attention on another character, let alone a potential love interest that is not part of the endgame ship.

² I also want to emphasize that if you love Peggy and she's your fave: good for you! I genuinely have no beef with you. People can agree to disagree. All I ask for is that we maybe stop willfully ignoring the less savory aspects of her character. You don't need to pretend she's perfect to justify your affection for her. I LOVE Steve, and yet I have no problem conceding that he is FAR from perfect.

#*drops post & runs away* i may regret this but it's my blog and i rant if i want to #i know some people will roll their eyes & i debated posting this at all but i simply had to get it off my chest once and for all.#so there. now i can be free. or something.#also i have no idea what to tag this & i personally find 'anti' tags silly bc why is critical discussion automatically labeled as 'anti'?#but whatever i'll play nice. so i guess:#anti peggy carter #anti steggy #anti endgame #hope that covers it #wading into the dIsCoUrsE

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

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Outside the Lines 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsessive compulsive behaviour, kidnapping, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has her routine and her fellow patient gets in the way of those.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, (lumberjack AU)

Note: I'm feeling it so why not.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Steve takes you downstairs. You marvel at the large kitchen, finished with dark walnut and brass. Bucky sits, dragging his fingertips over the island, leaning as he stares grimly at the wall. His eyes drift to you slowly and you flinch, cowering and shifting to hide partly behind Steve.

“She calm down?” He asks brusquely as he taps his metal fingers on the wood.

“Buck, she just needed to settle in, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Steve reaches back blindly and grabs your arm, drawing you forward, “she’s going to apologise.”

You look at him. You can’t hide your surprise at his declaration. Apologise. For what? They lied to you. How could you know any better? But you suppose you should’ve listened. You nod and Steve lets you go.

You face Bucky and step closer, folding one hand over the other.

“Bucky,” you begin.

“Sweetheart,” Steve hovers behind you, “you call him sergeant.”

Your lips part and you look down at your feet. You place them within the lines of the hardwood and count to three. You’d been standing right on the lines. That's bad luck!

You look up again and bring your hands over your chest.

“Sergeant,” you voice quavers and you swallow to steady it, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But I know now and I’ll be good because I know you’re just trying to help me.” Your eyes well as you remember his angry voice, “I’m real sorry about throwing the tea at you. I was only afraid.” You touch your cheeks and sway back and forth, “I’m not a mean person.”

His blue eyes are icy and his jaw set. He arches a brow and peeks at Steve. He raises his chin and lets his expression soften as he turns to you fully. He tilts his head as he grips his hip.

“Doll,” he says softly, “I forgive you. But I won’t a second time. Got it?”

“Yes,” you pout.

“We talked,” Steve says, “she understands now.”

“Ah,” Bucky hums, “good.”

You nod and look from one to the other. Steve touches the small of your back as he steps up beside you. You slouch and shy away from him.

“Why don’t you show the sergeant how sorry you are and make him a nice breakfast?” Steve suggests, “you know what they say about men.”

You shake your head. Who is they and what do they say?

“The way to his heart is through his stomach,” Steve chuckles.

“Oh,” you bat your lashes, “so… um, what should I make?”

“Coffee,” Bucky grumbles as he rubs his eyes.

“There’s bacon and eggs in the fridge, can you cook that?”

“Yes! Yes, I can cook,” you proclaim, “I know how.”

“Of course, honey,” Steve drags his fingertips up your arm, “you can do so much. I know you can. A lot more than you think. And we just want to help you learn how to do more.”

You don’t want to seem ungrateful. It’s only confusing. You did overreact. You didn’t even let them explain. It’s no wonder they got a bit pushy.

“Thank you,” you chirp, “you’re so nice.” You look at his hand as he caresses above your elbow, “and this is a very nice house. I’ve never been to a cabin before. It’s so nice you would bring me here.”

“Ha, yeah, you know, me and Bucky built it,” Steve explains.

“You did?” You round your eyes and take another look around. You can’t imagine all that work. “Wow!”

"Coffee," Bucky grits as he leans his chin in his hand.

"Oh, yes," you twiddle your fingers and flutter around, watching your feet as you step between the trim of the hardwood slats of the floor, "I can make... coffee. I don't drink it you know, just tea. Coffee makes me... hyper!"

You spin cluelessly. Not knowing where to begin. You have no idea where everything is. There are no labels like your apartment. Every shelf, every cupboard has the precise contents listed on the outside, just like you like. So everything is in order. You hate chaos.

Bucky grumbles and Steve lets out a soft breath, "sweetheart, one step at a time," he girds.

Steve comes forward as you step back to watch him open a cupboard. He pulls down a bag of coffee, burlap with print stamped across it. The smell of its contents seep into your nose. Comforting even if its too bitter for your taste.

"Oh, thanks," you step forward carefully and hug the bag with your hands.

"Grinder is here," he points, "and the press."

You look between both and try to hide your confusion. Oh. You don't know how to do all that. You chew your lip and loosen the drawstring at the top of the bag. You stare inside tenuously.

He opens a drawer and takes out a metal measuring cup. He offers it to you.

"One scoop."

You take it and scoop out the beans. Then you just stand there with it. You look at him and cringe.

"In the grinder," he directs gently as he pulls forward the little square machine and pops the top.

You pour the beans inside, the rattle of them making a small rhythm that carries in your head. You bop your head, trying to follow it as your nerves get the better of you. You can't help but make up little nonsensical songs in your head when you feel so lost.

He shuts the lid and steps back.

"Press the button."

You obey and press the button. There's a short whir then the machine quiets again.

He stifles a laugh, "hold it down."

You push and keep your finger jammed. You watch the blade turn the beans to powder and he gestures for you to stop. He slides over the press and pulls a spoon out of the open drawer. You reach over to shut it without thinking. He hesitates but says nothing about it.

"So, six table spoons. Open it up."

You try to flip the top of the machine open like he did but it won't budge. You grab it firmly and try to force it open. He moves forward.

"You gotta hit the switch--"

Suddenly the compartment detaches from the rest of the machine and the lid opens, dusting you and the floor with coffee grinds. You stand in stunned silence as a growl rolls up Bucky's throat.

"Steve, just make the coffee, I'm dying here."

"I'm sorry," you push your lip out, "I made a mess."

You look around at the smatter of grinds all around you and littered across your dress. You shake it off and shiver. You glance between the men.

"I'm very sorry," you apologise again, "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. Don't be mad."

"It's fine, sweetheart," Steve reaches to touch your shoulder and you flinch, "get the broom out of the closet. Clean it up."

"Uh, uh, alright," you shake off the front of your dress before turning on your heel.

You go to the closet, the weight of Bucky's gaze following you. You open the door and find a broom, taking it out with the dustpan. You shut it and look past it to the doorway that gives a peak of another; a door with windows that look out on a leafy yard.

"Doll," Bucky warns from behind you.

"Sorry, was just looking," you spin and nearly trip over the bristles.

"Can't go outside until we can trust you," he adds.

"You don't trust me," you stand dumbly with the broom and pan. "Why not?"

He gives you a look. Your lips form an O. Yeah, the tea. Fair.

"Sorry," you repeat.

You set to sweeping up the grinds and Steve shows you where the bin is. Then he goes about making the coffee himself as you watch. He peeks over and smiles.

"Bacon and eggs are in the fridge."

You nod and go to the large fridge, a wooden front that makes it blend in with the rest of the decor. You open it and find the eggs easily but can't figure which paper packet is bacon. Not until you see the scribble sharpy scrawled on the other side.

You go back to the counter and peer around. Just as clueless as ever. Steve directs you to the pots and pans and you take out what you need. He tells you to put the kettle on and you stop to do that as he stands back and watches you. It suddenly feels like a test.

You struggle to catch the gas burner, making yourself dizzy as the flame doesn't light.

"She's gonna burn this place down," Bucky snarls.

"Relax," Steve steps forward and gets the burner going for you. "There."

"She can't do anything on her own."

Steve retreats and points at Bucky. You don't look back as he approaches the other man and you hear the scratch of a whisper between them. You put the kettle on the lit burner, then lay the skillet on another. You focus and repeat what Steve did, managing to light the second.

"I did it!"

Bucky sighs as Steve praises you, "good girl."

You could smile. You're good. You can do things.

You turn on the oven, that's easier. You lay out bacon on a sheet and wait for it to preheat as you add oil to the pan. You search the cupboard and find a bowl to mix the eggs. You examine the spice rack, taking your pick of the many containers.

You shake your head and seal your lips as you have to smell them to see which is which. Steve hums before he speaks.

"What's wrong?"

You shrug, "nothing..."

He arches his brow and lifts his chin slightly. You clutch the oregano and gulp.

"Captain," you clear your throat, "in my apartment, I label stuff so I know. I can't find anything without the labels."

"Labels?" He repeats thoughtfully.

"Use your head. Remember," Bucky scoffs and receives a nudge from Steve.

"Labels, how about we make that your first project. Bucky can go in to town and get you a nice label maker of your own," Steve looks at his companion, "won't you?"

Bucky scowls, "if I don't get coffee soon, I'm not doing shit."

You widen your eyes and cover your mouth. Steve tuts, "Buck, watch your mouth."

"She's an adult, she can handle it."

"You're an adult too so stop being a brat," Steve warns, "sweetheart, keep going. I'll get his coffee."

He nears and pulls down a mug from yet another cupboard. He fills it and holds it up, "the sergeant takes his black, I don't mind a bit of cream. Okay?"

"Black," you nod at Bucky, "cream," you look back at Steve, "I'll try to remember."

"I know," he winks before he walks away.

He hands over the mug to Bucky and comes back to pour his own but you're there first. You put down the oregano and reach up to grab a red mug. You shut the cupboard and fill it, scurrying around Steve to grab the cream from the fridge. You add a little and offer him the cup. A grin slowly spread across his face.

"You're so sweet, thank you," he takes it, "you're a good learner, you know that?"

"I am?" You smile.

"Very smart girl," he raises the cup, blowing across it before taking a sip, "perfect. You got it just right."

You clap your hands together proudly, "see," you face Bucky, "I can do it, sergeant."

He squints at you over his own steaming mug and says nothing as he drinks. His blue eyes pierce you coldly. Your face falls and you tuck your chin down, turning back to take the oregano and you go back to the bowl of eggs.

You can do this. You're not going to burn the eggs. Or the bacon.

"Do you have a timer?" You ask. That's the only way you ever get anything done but you don't have your phone anymore, which means all your alarms are useless.

"Yep," Steve grabs a small apple shaped timer from the corner of the counter and places it by the stove, "just twist."

"Thank you, Captain," you take it and look at the numbers.

He leans in and lowers his voice, "he'll come around. You'll show him, I know you will, sweetheart."

You bite down your lip and look at him. His eyes fall to your mouth as it curves, just a little, your cheeks burning.

"I'm trying," you eke out.

"I know," he reaches to rub your arm, dragging his hand up around your shoulder and playing with the sleeve of your dress, "did I tell you how nice you look?"

"Thank you," you preen.

"Doesn't she look nice, Bucky?" He steps back and crosses to the island where Bucky nurses his cup.

"Not bad," Bucky says, not quite a compliment but not as bad as you expect.

You'll just have to do better. Put all those tools that Dr. Makira gave you to work.

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judeswhore · 2 years

Text

somebody else; steve harrington

summary: steve isn’t happy that you’ve started seeing someone else but it takes a little bit of liquid courage before he’s falling through your bedroom window with a barrage of confessions

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

requested: yes

warnings: jealous steve! drunk steve!! this isn’t angsty enough i don’t think but idk how to write angst smh

notes: feedback is appreciated! you can find my masterlist here.

"i'll pick you up at seven then?" andrew raised his eyebrows at you, expression hopeful as he leant against the front counter at family video, toying with the wire of the phone. without thinking, steve reached out and tugged it free, his stare blank and completely unamused. andrew shifted under his attention, trying his hardest to keep his eyes on you rather than the somewhat broody boy beside you, or the girl grinning like an idiot from the action isle.

"seven's good. you have my address right?"

"yeah, i got it off that sinclair kid."

"his name is lucas." steve grumbled, his words drawing a frown from you and a giggle from robin, poor andrew just looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. for the entire fifteen minutes that andrew had been in the store steve had been weird, rushing him when he was trying to find a movie, mumbling under his breath about how ridiculous his new haircut was, telling him that he couldn't just stand and flirt with you because he was holding up customers. customers that didn't exist because the store was empty. you knew he didn't like andrew, he'd told you repeatedly since the first time you'd told him you were going on your first date, but his behaviour tonight had been weird and somewhat completely out of character for him.

"steve, don't you have tapes to rewind?" you sent him a warning look, one that he completely ignored as he pretended to type away on the computer, his finger repeatedly hitting the backspace key. "or maybe you could help robin put the returns back?"

"i'm logging the returns, she doesn't need me." you glared at the side of his head, annoyed that he couldn't give you just a moment alone with andrew. you had to spend countless hours watching and listening to a number of girls flirt with steve but you were never rude to them, not even the ones who glared daggers at you because of the way steve brushed his hand along your back to get passed.

your friendship with steve was complicated. it was more than just friends but you'd never reached a point where you could actually put a label on it, it was just occasional dates and secret kisses when robin wasn't looking. other things had happened, when you'd snuck him into your room after an extra long shift but you'd somehow never gotten out of that blurred space and you hated it. you wanted all or nothing and steve didn't seem interested in giving you all which is exactly why you'd out with andrew. he wanted to give you all.

with a sigh you made your way around the counter, settling your hand on andrew's arm to steer him towards the door, not at all wanting to say your goodbyes with steve throwing around his well practiced death looks. his skin was warm beneath your fingers and he smelt good and you told yourself that you didn't need steve harrington to be happy, andrew was nice and fun and he made his intentions clear from the very start.

"you've got food in your teeth by the way, johnson." steve called out, still aggressively jabbing his finger against the keyboard, his eyes settled on your hand curled lightly around the other boys bicep. you glared at him over your shoulder but once again he was oblivious.

"ignore him," you mumbled, pulling open the door, the jingle ringing through the store. "he's got a stick up his ass." steve watched you slam the door shut behind you and follow andrew to his car, the image of your hand on his arm burned behind his eyelids. he hated andrew johnson and he momentarily hated you for choosing him.

steve knew he wasn't the best at showing how he felt but he thought after how much time you'd spent together and how many hints he'd dropped that you understood. he thought all the dates and kisses and nights you’d spent together meant something but the way you’d so quickly fell into andrew’s arms had him second guessing everything and he hated it. he wanted to go back to when you would come to him every morning, press a kiss against his cheek before wrapping your arms around him, the two of you swaying slightly, still sleepy but needing that contact. he wanted to go back and not be an idiot, to tell you that he wanted you to be his. properly. not just in halves, he wanted you wholly and completely.

“did he have food in his teeth?” robin slid up beside steve, her gaze following his to watch you lean against andrew’s car, your head tilted back to grin at him. steve’s heart felt funny and he was sure he was going to be sick, nausea rolling over him in waves because you should be looking at him like that.

“he might have.”

“if you keep glaring at him like that you’re gonna pop a blood vessel, dingus.” robin gave a loud sigh and tugged the keyboard away from steve’s hands, concerned he’d already deleted today’s logs. “why didn’t you just tell her you were in love with her and then she wouldn’t be giving googly eyes to tom cruise wannabe.”

“i thought she knew.”

“you thought she knew? dude, seriously?”

“what?”

“you really are an idiot.” steve reached over to flick the centre of her forehead, not the least bit happy or in the mood for robin’s teasing. he was annoyed and upset and more jealous than he’d ever really felt and for one second he wished he was back in high school so he could go to a party and drink until he forgot what it was like to have you look at him the way you were looking at andrew. he finally tore his gaze from the window, blinking rapidly as he met robin’s sympathetic eyes.

“you wanna get drunk tonight?”

you were back home and in bed by 10pm that night, your date with andrew not exactly going as well as you would have liked. he'd spent the entire time you were supposed to be watching the movie talking about basketball and about how he wished you'd spend more time with him and his friends at school rather than with robin. that comment alone ruined your entire evening and the remainder of the movie and the drive home was spent in silence, you having to strategically dodge the kiss he tried to give you by pretending to sneeze.

you were half asleep when the first knock sounded against your window, the book you'd been reading balanced against your chest, head lolled to one side. mind still a little fogged from sleep, you ignored it, assuming you were either hearing things or the wind and rain were the cause behind it but then the window rattled and your heart plummeted. the lock was more than a little flimsy and one push would have it swinging open, your bedroom suddenly a free for all for whoever was on the other side. your parents were away, the house empty besides you and your room had nothing you could use to protect yourself with against an intruder.

scrambling from your bed you could make out the silhouette of a man on your tiny balcony, rain pouring in sheets around him as he repeatedly fumbled with the lock. you were still clutching your book, as if that could harm him, but it fell to the floor when your eyes adjusted to the light again and you realised the figure on your balcony was actually steve harrington. a startled "jesus christ" fell from your lips just as you reached the window and went to tug it open because steve had finally mastered the latch and with a light push came tumbling into your room, the sounds of his breathless giggles filling the previous silence.

"whoops, missed a step." he was completely soaked head to toe from the rain, hair matted to his forehead and neck and your mouth went slightly dry at the sight of his chest in the now see through white top he was wearing. your hand shot out to steady him, fingers slipping over his bare skin and it wasn't until he lifted his head and you finally got to see his face that you realised something was wrong.

his cheeks were splotchy and red, eyes too bright and glassy, gaze just a little unfocused when he looked at you. despite his previous giggles and the merry tone of his voice he looked sad, a strange look in his eyes that made your tummy flip. he'd never looked at you like that before, like you'd done something to hurt him, like you were the reason his usual charming smile was lost tonight.

"are you drunk, harrington?"

"i walked here." he muttered as if this was any sort of appropriate answer. his unsteady gaze wandered along your body, clad in only a pair of shorts and an over sized t-shirt which you were certain belonged to steve at one point, leaving you hot and bothered. goosebumps rose along your arms and legs under his stare and you felt the need to wrap a blanket around you, unsure why he was making your head swim so much.

"why? it's raining and you're soaked, you're gonna get sick, you idiot." your fingers slid down his arm so you could link them with his, his palm wet and cold against your own as you tugged lightly. "think i've got something you can change into." you tried to pull him towards your bathroom but he was rooted to the spot, head shaking when he untangled his fingers from yours. "steve-"

"i lost you, didn't i?"

"lost me? have you been smoking too? seriously, man, you're dripping all over my carpet, take your shoes off." but steve wasn't listening, he was still shaking his head, brows scrunched together, lips almost pouted. he rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand, his chest heaving on a shaky breath.

"god, y/n, i don't think i can watch you be in love with somebody else." the words seemed to tear from his chest, ragged and harsh around the edges as if he'd been holding them in and he'd said them without meaning to. your hand dropped from his arm again, your own eyebrows drawing in to match his frown because you weren't quite sure what he was talking about. you weren't aware you were in love with someone and you also had no idea why steve would be so bothered even if you were. he was the one who'd pushed away any sort of relationship with you.

"what are you talking about?” you wrapped your arms around yourself, watching as steve dragged a hand through his hair. he blew a breath from his lips and slumped against your desk.

“i was an idiot, such a fucking idiot. i thought you knew how i felt so i never said it out loud but i should have, i should’ve told you months ago because now you’re in love with andrew and i’m still in love with you but i’ve messed up and i’ve lost you and fuck i don’t know what to do, y/n, i don’t-” he drew in another sharp breath, lips pressing together as yours fell open, surprise washing over you at the abrupt confession.

you were momentarily shocked and at a loss for words, unsure of what to say as you stared at the boy across from you. the boy you’d been sleeping with for weeks, who you thought only thought of you for sex but who apparently felt exactly the same way you did. steve had never made it clear that his feelings for you went beyond friendship, you’d practically tiptoed around the topic but here he was telling you he was still in love with you. you took a step towards him, unsure what to say but wanting, needing, to touch him but he started shaking his head again.

“god what am i doing?” he gave a humourless laugh, one that made your stomach sink and he looked so lost your heart ached for him. “you just came back from a fucking date and i’m climbing through your window like a tool and giving you some stupid sob story. i’m sorry, i just- i kept thinking about you and him and how i want that to be me but he probably already got you with his stupid hair and stupid car and that stupid fucking accent.”

“steve-" he was starting to ramble and you needed him to be quiet. you needed to tell him that what you felt for andrew was far from love, that your date had been awful because it wasn’t him, that he didn’t need to worry about you loving somebody else because no one would ever compare to steve harrington.

“i know you probably don’t want to hear it, i missed my shot and it was the stupidest thing i’ve ever done but i love you. i love you so much that sometimes i can’t breathe when you’re around, you make me forget my own name sometimes and i hate andrew for doing what i should have done but i hate myself more. because you’re a once in a lifetime kind of girl y/n, and i’m so fucking in love with you but i can’t watch you-”

steve’s words were cut off abruptly when your lips found his, his surprised gasp getting lost in your mouth. your fingers settled on either side of his face, gently cupping his jaw as you tilted his head further towards you. it had been weeks since you’d last kissed him but somehow it felt like your first kiss all over again, your tummy fluttering at the the familiar taste of him. it took him a few disoriented seconds before he realised what was happening and then his hands were on your waist and he was kissing you like he’d never get the chance again.

steve tugged you against him, his shirt sticking to yours and soaking it through but that didn’t matter when he was kissing you the way he was. it seemed as though ever unspoken word went into it, every “i love you” neither of you got to say. his fingers were slightly cold when they snuck beneath your shirt but you only pressed closer to him, sliding one hand around the back of his neck to tangle your fingers in the hair at the very bottom. he made a low noise in the back of his throat, one that vibrated against your lips and for a second made you remember his previous confession.

“steve,” you breathed the words against his lips like a prayer and he swore he wanted to play the sound on a loop forever. you stroked your fingers along the base of his neck, pulling your lips away from him, fighting back a grin when he tried to chase your mouth with another kiss. “wait, just, wait.” he let you pull back enough to meet his gaze, eyes still glassy but a lot more focused. you surprised a shiver that tingled up your spine when he ran his hands along your back.

“i love you, too. i’m in love with you. like butterflies in my tummy, forgetting what day it is when you smile at me in love with you.” you ran your thumb over his cheek, catching a drop of rain that had dripped from his hair. he turned into your hand, lashes falling closed for a second as he took in a deep breath of air. “i know you said you should have told me how you felt but i should have told you too. i should have told you that i only agreed to go out with andrew because you didn’t seem like an option. i didn’t think you wanted me the way i wanted you and it hurt and the only way i could stop it from hurting was to fill your place. but it never worked because no one can ever fill your place, steve. no one is ever gonna make me feel like you do. andrew didn’t win me over, didn’t even come close and the date was awful because everything he did reminded me that he wasn’t you and that i wouldn’t truly be happy unless it was you asking me dumb questions every five seconds of the movie.”

steve was silent for a few seconds, eyes searching your face and then his lips tilted into that crooked grin that could make you do whatever he asked. despite the confident smile, his voice was soft and just a little bit shy when he spoke.

“you love me?”

“completely.”

“completely?” his smile grew when you nodded and he bumped his nose into yours, his lips pressing a messy kiss over your mouth that spread tingles all the way to your toes. he gave a little breathless laugh and then brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, an array of wet kisses falling on every inch of your face, from your nose to your forehead to your cheek and back again. “i’m sorry i took so long.”

“it’s okay, you have a lifetime to make up for it, harrington.” with that you lifted your mouth back to his and in the dark of your room, with the rain still pouring against the windows, you kissed him until your lips were bruised and his name was the only thought on your mind.

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