#looking for super in character michael

[langdonss]

ok but does ANYONE roleplay/write as michael langdon anymore? i only know one person ( shout out to melody <3 )

i will do doubles, and rp michael for you in return, since i have my own michael muse! but ai is getting stale i beg (also pls be ok with nsfw and heavy themes if you reach out bc i am)

[thesmokinpossum]

When I think I found a new cool new account focusing on the Godfather but it turns out that they hate Kay

[bonthecrossiant]

I don’t have anything good to post sorry, maybe tomorrow I’ll actually draw something but I’m starting to dislike my normal style again

The first ones a redraw of when I first redesigned Michael, redrew it to be the detective au since normal Michael won’t wear suits and 80’s Michael doesn’t really either

[laplacesdevil]

trying to test out what style I want chromas 2 be drawn in compared to the other chars in feddyverse, ft spikhael bc . i've never done him fullbody b4

[theresatzu]

Blue Lock characters and the pretty interviewer

Pairings. Blue Lock character x reader

Starring.//Isagi Yoichi//Bachira Meguru //Itoshi Rin//Michael Kaiser//

Tags. fluff//future fic//interview

Isagi Yoichi

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Nervous mess all the way

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Stammers when asked questions

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Keeps stealing glances at you, but it's literally so obvious, it's painful

"So, Isagi-san, what did you think of today's match's outcome?" You asked, turning to him.

Isagi , who had been silently glancing at you, flinched, his eyebrows shooting upwards, cheeks turning an adorable pink.

"Uh... me?" He pointed at himself, looking very much like a dear caught in clear daylight.

"Yes, you." You chuckled.

At your slight laughter, Isagi went even more red.

"Oh... uh, it was great. Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you.

When you inclined your head to continue, Isagi 's mind went blank.

He blurted, "I think you're really pretty."

You shot him a confused look.

"UH, I mean, the match went pretty. Pretty well." He poorly corrected himself.

You eyed him amusedly. "Oh? Care to share some of your insight for your adoring fans?"

"My... insight?" Isagi repeated, a little breathless.

Because it was warm. Because he was warm. From the match.

(The match had already concluded three hours prior).

"Uhm... there were some really good... uh... plays." Isagi answered, stealing a glance at you, only to see that you were already looking at him.

His eyes widened, darting away. "And... uh..." What the hell was he even talking about? "Rin had some nice saves."

"Rin?" You tilted your head, "He wasn't in today's match, was he?"

"Oh! Oh." Isagi's lips parted, his eyes flicking from left to right to come up with an answer.

"Uh... I meant... he would have made a few good saves if he were in the game. You know... with uhm..." He faltered.

You nodded at him, beckoning him to continue, eyes attentively set on him. Isagi swallowed arduously.

His throat ran dry. Isagi coughed.

The silence stretched on.

He had to answer, now.

But with what? Rin with... with what?!

You were still looking at him, eyes expectant and so pretty-

"Pretty eyes." Isagi blurted out.

You frowned, confusion on your face. "Pretty eyes?"

Isagi went bright red. He could hear Bachira next to him shaking, doing a poor job of concealing his gleeful cackles at Isagi's predicament.

"Uh... did I say pretty eyes?" Isagi chuckled. It was strained and awkward.

"What I meant to say was... uh... predator's vision? Like when... when your vision of the field becomes really limited, you know?" He finished rather lamely.

"...Yeah." You slowly nodded your head, eyeing him with a mix of befuddlement and concern.

Then you turned to Bachira next to him, and Isagi could breathe a little bit easier. Though, his heartbeat didn't settle down, his cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Keep it together, Isagi. He said to himself. He was a goddamn world class footballer. He didn't do nervosity.

He had faced off Itoshi Rin and survived.

He had led Japan to the World Cup and carved his name in the football world.

He had become the top striker of his generation.

There was no way he was going to start being nervous now.

But he still felt his heart doing a little jump every time you looked at him.

Bachira Meguru

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Just sits close to you, his eyes barely leaving you

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Thinks every question is directed at him

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Is just one ball of sunshine, especially when your attention is on him

"So... Isagi-san, what is your opinion about how Japan has thus far fared in the World Cup?"

"Oh, well I think--"

"We're doing amazing! Did you see my super special dribble?" Bachira excitedly interjected.

"Dude." Isagi nudged him, an unimpressed expression on his face. "That was my question."

"Oh! Oh." Bachira deflated, sitting back again.

You chuckled. "Don't worry Bachira-san, you'll get the next one."

Bachira's eyes lit up at that, but they dwindled when you directed your attention on Isagi again.

Isagi began talking again. Bachira leaned back in his seat.

He bounced his leg impatiently, Isagi's thorough analysis on Japan's performance fading into the background.

Bachira's eyes flicked to yours, his bottom lip jutting out a little when you actually seemed captivated in Isagi's story.

Bachira eyed the two of you suspiciously, noting that Isagi was also sitting the closest to you.

Pursing his lips, Bachira stood up.

Isagi shot him a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"This seat is uncomfortable. Can I sit there?"

Bachira pointed at Isagi.

You let out a snort. "You want to sit on Isagi's lap?"

Isagi guffawed, going bright red. "PR, PR!" He hissed at Bachira. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Move!" Bachira whispered back.

"Wait, what? Wha--" Isagi yelped as Bachira shoved him aside.

With a straight face, Bachira sat down, not even looking at Isagi, who was on the ground, mouth hanging wide open.

"Dude."

Bachira tactfully ignored Isagi, flashing you a bright grin, as if nothing had occurred in the past few seconds.

"You wanted to ask me a question?"

Itoshi Rin

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ He's really quiet during the interview, like, he'll answer questions, but just the bare minimum.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Avoids eye contact like the plague, but he'll try to steal a look at you the moment your gaze is elsewhere

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ When he's caught looking, he'll freeze up, scowl fixed on his face. But if you look closely, you can see that the tips of his ears have turned a handsome red

"So, Rin-san, how did you think the match went?"

Rin's face was stoic, looking at the cement wall behind you.

"...It went well."

"You've scored a magnificent goal during the game, how did you pull that off?"

"...Just predicting the game and being in the right position."

Rin sighed, glancing to the side. Looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

A tense silence fell.

You coughed, forcing a strained smile on your face.

"Rin." Isagi made a face at him. Rin raised an eyebrow.

You chuckled awkwardly, shuffling your cards. Were there any questions left?

With the way Rin had curtly and concisely answered the questions, you had rushed through the interview, with no more inquiries at hand.

It was clear Rin wasn't in the mood to field any questions: clear avoidance of direct eye contact, standoffish demeanour, and closed-off answers.

They were all tell-tale signs that Rin was itching to just leave.

You sighed, heart sinking in your chest.

You had been hoping to hold this interview with Rin since months now, being an avid admirer of his intricate playstyle and his tactics on the field.

However, it seemed that the sentiment wasn't returned.

"Well, I guess we'll wrap it up for today," You said, hiding the disappointment in your voice.

You looked up from your cards to say goodbye to both Isagi and Rin.

Your eyes met teal, irridescent ones.

Rin's eyes were dazed, a soft edge to them. A stark contrast to the cold look in them during the interview.

You tilted your head curiously.

Noticing you looking, Rin's eyebrows rose. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flustered look flashing in them, lips parting slightly.

He looked away, jaw tensed, and the moment was over.

Your eyebrows went high, intrigue welling up.

...Or maybe the sentiment was returned.

It was in the minute details, you assumed.

When Isagi nudged Rin playfully, shooting a knowing grin his way, which maybe meant Rin tolerated you, that was only an assumption.

When Rin's ears turned a lovely red when he looked at you, that was also only an assumption.

But when you shook Rin's hand, and looked him in the eye, that was only confirmation.

Michael Kaiser

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Flirts. Charms. Is not professional at all. "Accidentally" lets diminutives slip.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Either answers questions about himself in a cocky manner, or is the one asking you the questions.

"So, Kaiser, in the last match, you managed to pull off a move called the "Magnus Impact", how did you do that?"

"Well..." Kaiser said, a confident quirk to his lips, "It's an unparalleled move of mine, and it paid off." He answered simply.

Then, he shifted, leaning his head on his arm, his eyes shooting to yours. "But what about you? How did you pull off that good look of yours?"

You choked.

"Wha--?" Your eyes went wide, spluttering.

Excuse me?"

Kaiser leaned in, his finger brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch leaving goosebumps on your skin.

"I know that my Magnus Impact is based off on my pure talent. I'm guessing your lovely look is natural, too, no?"

"Oh-- uhm..." You didn't know what to say. "I... guess?"

Kaiser hummed, leaning back in his seat again. "Thought so."

When the proximity between you two lessened, you let out a breath, quickly fixing your eyes on your question paper.

However, unbeknownst to you, Kaiser was still looking at you, eyes roaming over your features, a pensive expression on his face.

"Though, why did you choose to pursue this interview career of yours? You could've easily made the highway, Schätzchen."

"Huh?" Your head shot up from your cards.

"Mhm... lovely smile, natural blush, mesmerising eyes. And above all, a charming personality." Kaiser winked at you.

"Oh... uhm, I--" Didn't know what to answer. "Thanks?"

Kaiser let out a handsome chuckle, pushing the bangs out of his face. "Liebe, no need to thank me for your attractiveness, I'm only calling attention to the objective facts."

Your face went red.

"Though, if I might share my subjective opinion," Kaiser said, voice teetering on low.

"I'd say you're the prettiest girl I've ever met." His voice was barely above a whisper, a teasing edge to it.

The air was punched out of your lungs.

What in the Wattpad was happening?

"Uhm..." You cleared your throat. "While I do appreciate your compliments about my... looks, let's keep it professional, shall we?"

Kaiser smiled slightly, before nodding. "Whatever the lady wants. Fire away any questions you want to ask." The corners of his lips quirked upwards.

You inclined your head, shuffling through your cards.

Kaiser tilted his head,chancing a glance at your cards, an amused undertone to his voice. "Though, only professional ones."

A flush overtook your features.

The rest of the interview went swimmingly.

Kaiser expressed in detailed display his opinion and was consistent in his answers, so it came as no surprise that you could wrap up your interview early.

"Well, that went fast." You said in a surprised tone.

You stuck out your hand. "Thank you so much for your time, Kaiser."

A smile played on Kaiser's lips. "The pleasure was all mine."

You turned around to leave, but fingers gently clasped around your wrist, lightly tugging you back.

You came face to face with Kaiser.

"Oh... hi?"

"Hi." He said softly. "You have some time left?"

You checked your watch. You had a break scheduled now, so yeah.

You nodded.

Kaiser sat back down, gesturing for you to do the same.

Obliging, you retook your seat, a confused look in your eyes.

Kaiser leaned back in his chair.

You eyed him, puzzled.

"Well?" Kaiser tilted one eyebrow. "Don't tell me you don't have any questions for me, miss Journalist."

"...questions?" You repeated.

A handsome grin flitted on Kaiser's lips, he raised his eyebrows, his eyes falling on your cards.

"I... alright, but I'll have to go in an hour." You conceded, not wanting to pass up on this opportunity.

Kaiser tilted his head. "Whatever the lady wants. Fire away any question you have."

Your eyes widened, giving him an inquiring look.

"...unproffesional ones are allowed, too." Kaiser drawled.

Your face went up in flames.

© DON'T COPY MY WORK, PUT IT IN AI OR CHATGPT OR USE IT FOR OTHER NEFARIOUS MEANS

Masterlist

[kxsagi]

i have a request (i never know know to begin one) so you know that one tiktok trend where you have two parents and their child. And one if the parents gets one cookie and the child two and the other parent non to see if she child can share imagine that with the blue lock character and their kids (you can write whoever you want) and its always so cute and funny one even started to cry for theirbparent, one took the cookie.of their dad and gave it to the mom and my fav the child straight up gave it to the parent without question

“𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞”

a/n: miss cath pls never stop slaying with your ideas ❤️

alternated between son, daughter, and unnamed kid

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

you and isagi set up the test all excited, hyping up your toddler like, “he’s gonna share, he’s the sweetest!” 

you hand out the cookies – two for baby, one for you, and nothing for isagi. 

your son blinks at the cookies, blinks at isagi, and then immediately places one of his cookies into isagi’s hand without a second thought. like zero hesitation. it’s instinct. 

isagi’s entire soul leaves his body. 

he’s tearing up. you’re tearing up. even the baby is grinning all proud. 

“yoichi, are you crying?” 

“n-no, i mean yes, look at our kid! he’s already a team player!!!” 

he talks about it for weeks. won’t stop showing everyone the video. 

itoshi rin

you had to beg rin to do the trend bc he doesn’t see the point. 

“she’s obviously gonna pick you. you’re her favorite.” (he says it so flatly too.) 

but he finally agrees. 

you hand out the cookies, rin sits there quietly with his empty plate. 

your kid... stares. she stares so hard at rin. 

lips quivering, eyes watering. 

and then she starts sobbing 😭 

full-blown meltdown. 

“no cookie for dada???” she sobs. 

rin freezes. doesn’t know what to do. ends up just picking the kid up and cradling her like, “it’s okay. i don’t need a cookie. don’t cry. please.” 

you’re dying laughing while filming it. 

rin’s just muttering to the baby like, “you’re too sensitive... you get that from your mom.” 

nagi seishiro

honestly, nagi didn’t even realize what was happening. 

you gave him an empty plate and he just sat there like “oh. guess i’m last.” 

meanwhile your kid is eyeing both cookies in front of her like it’s the biggest decision of her life. 

she picks up both cookies. 

and you’re thinking like awww is she gonna share? 

NOPE. 

she gives both cookies to you. 

nagi: 😐 

you: 😭 

baby: 🥰✨ 

nagi just shrugs and lays down with his head in your lap like, “that’s fine. you’re gonna share with me anyway, right?” 

(and you do. bc he looks too cute and pathetic.) 

mikage reo

reo is SO cocky before you even start. 

“our kid loves me too much to leave me with nothing. you’ll see.” 

you’re like okay big shot let’s find out. 

you hand out the cookies and reo instantly starts pouting dramatically. 

your kid is just chilling. happily munching his cookie. not even looking at reo. 

reo fake whines, “what about daddy? daddy’s hungry tooooo~” 

your toddler LAUNCHES a cookie at him like it’s a grenade. 

(he meant to share. he just has zero hand-eye coordination lol.) 

reo catches it mid-air and gasps like he just got proposed to. 

acts like he won an oscar. 

“i’d like to thank my beautiful child for believing in me...” 

you’re laughing so hard you’re snorting. 

chigiri hyoma

chigiri’s super chill about it, just giving you a soft smile when he sees you have a cookie and he doesn’t. 

your kid IMMEDIATELY notices tho. 

like she didn’t even take a bite yet – she sees dad’s empty plate and her little eyebrows furrow all concerned. 

then she hands over a cookie to chigiri with this very solemn, serious face. like it’s a ceremony. 

chigiri plays along, accepts it with both hands like she gave him sacred treasure. 

bows his head a little like he’s receiving a medal. 

you’re sitting there like why are they both so dramatic LMAO. 

cutest thing ever though. you post the video and it goes viral. 

karasu tabito

karasu would try to cheat at first. 

tries to sneak a sad face at the kid to guilt-trip them. 

your kid sees through it IMMEDIATELY. 

literally points at him and goes, “faker.” 😭 

karasu gasps so loud, clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. 

“baby girl, how could you betray me like this?” 

ends up stealing one of the cookies off your plate and running away like a gremlin. 

your toddler thinks it’s hilarious and chases after him. 

the video is just pure chaos. 

bachira meguru

oh this one’s instant. 

bachira pouts exaggeratedly, making big sad eyes. 

your kid just grins all mischievous and feeds him the cookie. 

like literally sticks it into his mouth with his chubby little hands. 

bachira starts laughing mid-bite, which makes your toddler giggle uncontrollably, which makes you laugh too. 

it’s just a big spiral of giggles and crumbs everywhere. 

the purest, happiest family vibes. 

kaiser michael

“what do you mean i don’t get a cookie? i’m the man of the family.” 

very offended before you even start. 

you roll your eyes and hand out the plates. 

your kid, chaotic little gremlin, takes all the cookies. 

and gives both to you. 

kaiser looks so betrayed. 

he’s like “how dare you choose her over me??? i thought we had something special???” 

meanwhile your kid is giggling like “mommy’s the best!” and clinging to your leg. 

kaiser acts all hurt and sulky for five minutes until you shove a cookie in his mouth and give him a kiss. 

then he’s fine again lol. 

shidou ryusei

shidou immediately makes a huge scene when he doesn’t get a cookie. 

“hey! what is this injustice?!” 

your kid’s like 😐 and just stares at him. 

shidou tries to work his charm, all “come on, buddy. daddy’s hungry tooooo~” 

he literally hands over both cookies at the same time and walks off like, “there, done.” 

shidou’s left standing there stunned. 

“wait... what? that’s it? no big speech, no big drama? nothing?” 

you’re dying, while your son just shrugs and starts playing with his toys, clearly satisfied with his cookie diplomacy. 

shidou still insists on making it dramatic though, waving his cookie around like a trophy and making “victory” noises. 

“i may have gotten no cookies, but i’m still the king of this house!” 

your kid rolls his eyes. 

itoshi sae

sae... is too smooth for this. he’s lowkey a little smug about the whole thing. 

“you’re really going to give me nothing? i’m offended, darling.” 

you hand out the cookies, and your kid looks at the cookies... then looks at you, then at sae, and just gives you one of her cookies without question. 

sae’s left there with no cookie. 

he’s watching it all happen, like in slow motion. 

you’re trying so hard not to laugh while sae just... blinks. 

“... i see. so this is how it is.” 

your kid grins proudly, as if she solved some big mystery. 

sae stares at you with a look like, i’m not even mad. i’m just disappointed. 

“well, at least i know who the real favorite is.” 

you’re like, babe, you’re still the most handsome, you know that right? 

he just grumbles, looking away. 

you’re dying and your kid is straight-up chilling in the background. 

ness alexis

ness is not okay with not getting a cookie. 

he pretends to be all chill, but you can see the twitch in his eye as he watches your kid get two cookies and you get one. 

the kid doesn’t even hesitate. 

she just looks at you, then hands both cookies over to you. 

ness looks like he’s been betrayed. 

“this… this is unacceptable.” 

he dramatically holds his hand out like please, just one. 

your kid just shrugs and plops back down to continue playing. 

“you’re not gonna share?” ness asks in the most dramatic voice possible. 

she looks at him, then looks at you, and just turns back to playing with her toys like she's already moved on. 

ness? absolutely dying on the inside. 

he keeps glancing at the cookies like he’s waiting for a miracle. 

finally, he sighs and snatches one of your cookies, slumping dramatically on the couch like, “fine, i’ll settle for this one.” 

your kid gives him the most unimpressed look. 

“that’s not a cookie for you. that’s a cookie for mom.” 

ness: 😭 “you’re not wrong...” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[tiredandoptimistic]

Yeah, as much as I talk about wanting TST, it probably wouldn't have worked (which is most likely why CC scrapped it). More than anything else, I think the issue is that the Circle generation is a tragedy stretched over several decades, rather than an adventure/romance about teenagers.

There's about eight years between the Circle forming at the Academy and their downfall at the Uprising. I doubt that CC would set a series over that long a time period, and if she focused on any 1-2 year period, she would leave out a lot of what people love about the Circle. So many of the things we want to know more about are set years apart from each other, or don't come to fruition until the characters are adults. Luke and Jocelyn couldn't have much of a romance, because that happens in TMI, and we know for sure that Jocelyn was fully unaware of Luke's feelings until then. We've already been shown a lot of their big turning point moments ("The Last Stand of the New York Institute," "The Evil We Love"), so if anything was set during those periods, then the books would have to either repeat stuff we already know, or skip over these big important plot beats.

For example, an Academy era story could be set before The Evil We Love, but that would be before Valentine got particularly extreme, when it was still just a friend group. Plus, characters like Celine and Hodge would be too young to really participate. It could be set after that story, but then Michael and Robert would have graduated, and the story would be weirdly split. And anyways, why would we need full novels set during the Academy era? We already have a short story that gives a perfect snapshot of what things were like.

I definitely want more from the Circle generation. I want to know about Michael, Stephen, Amaris, Celine; all the characters whose stories we haven't really heard yet (also Robert and Maryse are two of my favorites and I need more of them even though they're in plenty of books already). A full book series just wouldn't be the way to do it. Their story isn't structured like that, and I'm worried that it would either feel weird as a single long narrative (so many plot threads unresolved because they don't come to pass until TMI, lots of characters spread across different lives who don't really like each other), or get squished into the more traditional hero's journey -> tragic downfall structure (no longer fits in with the established canon).

Short stories really are the perfect solution, because they can hone in on those turning point moments, while giving a snapshot of an entire era and hints to what came before and after. I'd love to see one about Michael's life with Eliza and how he felt about Robert and the Circle from afar, or about Stephen choosing to leave Amatis on Valentine's orders, or how Hodge came to reconnect with Valentine in the 2000s because he felt abandoned by the Clave. These things probably couldn't fit into a cohesive series of novels, but they could definitely work as brief stand-alones. Each character could get their own mini-arc that shows something important about them, even if it doesn't fit into some kind of smoothly overarching plot. We wouldn't need to worry about every plot threat reaching a climax at around the same time, or every character getting their narratively satisfying resolution. It could just be what it was, scattered and unresolved.

i love the bits of lore we have about the circle and i think it's a really underrated and under-discussed aspect of tsc, but i dont think the secret treasons/any other story which focuses solely on the circle could ever be something that fits into tsc as a whole, and i know that any real version of it would only ever disappoint me. so i while my curiosity for what tst wouldve been like will never go away i unfortunately do ultimately prefer the circle as this background story which only ever leaves you wondering about what truly happened

[neeeooon]

hi!! how would bllk characters react to the reader complimenting them out of the blue and they get all flustered ><

trying a different format with this one. i hope you enjoy!

how they’d react to you complimenting them

bf bllk x gn!reader. fluff, crack, might be ooc (i tried to make them all fit but some just don’t lol)

sakura haruka-level flustered. red cheeks, ears on fire, unable to speak without stammering type flustered. walking down the street, holding hands, his focus on the ahead and your focus on him. “you look really pretty today.” and he’s down for the count

-> isagi yoichi. itoshi rin. niko ikki. nanase nijiro.

lowkey bullies you to distract from the fact that his face is pink and his palms are sweating. “you’ve been working really hard lately,” you blurt over dinner. “i’m proud of you.” he’s internally in distress but clears his throat and tries to play it cool. grinning or not, he’ll go, “whatever you say, y/n.”

-> itoshi sae. mikage reo. karasu tabito.

flips the script. you complimenting him? no, no. “you think i look nice? have you seen yourself, love? show-stopping. ten out of ten. light kisses the ground you walk upon—“ “okay, that’s enough.” and now you’re the flustered one

-> yukimiya kenyu. otoya eita. sendou shuto.

refuses to accept your affection. “oh wow! babe, you smell so g—“ covers your mouth with his hand. “um. thanks. go over there.” and you laugh, completely used to his resistance to take a compliment and finding it adorable

-> michael kaiser. barou shouei. kunigami rensuke. chigiri hyoma.

takes it as an invitation to get down and nasty. “you’ve been doing so well recently. i’m super happy to call you my boyfriend and hope you’re remembering to take care of yourself, babe.” “… so the pants are coming off—“

-> shidou ryusei. oliver aiku. nagi seishiro.

bites you

-> bachira meguru. hiori yo. kurona ranze. charles chevalier.

[kissktten]

crushing on oblivious! bllk guys

part two (๑´ㅂ`๑)

characters: michael kaiser, ness, nanase, kunigami

this contains: reader is lowk like barbie. so many different jobs lmao.. anyways, lot of fluff and gn! reader :P oh, and reader is smoking a cigarette in ness’s one.. sorry it was the best thing i could think of hehe.. and in kunigami’s one you’re a cosplayer! :3

extra: yes, i really like michael kaiser, how could you tell?

kaiser doesn’t care about you. you’re just some random lowlife who sits around near the stadium to eat lunch. who eats in such a grimy place, anyways? and why are you so loyal to that bench? despite these questions, kaiser pays no attention to you. not until he catches sight of you one day. it’s only then, when he realises— you’re a freaking journalist. you’re writing away with one hand, the other clutching onto a fork as you balance your hunger with work. the man approaches, raising an eyebrow as you seem to stiffen. he says nothing, half relishing in the way you suddenly look so.. awkward. he grunts in slight annoyance as you stand back up, quickly walking away from him— leaving your beloved journal behind, only your lunch in hand as you practically speed down the street. he debates following after you, his slim hand reaching to pick up your journal. it’s cute, he notes; not something that he’d use, but he supposes that it suits you. the next time kaiser sees you, you’re at the same bench. looking around for your journal, he figures. he chuckles inwardly as a yelp escapes your lips— took you long enough to realise he was behind you. how can a journalist be so scatterbrained? well, it’s lucky that he was holding onto your little journal. “here,” he says, lips curling into a charming smile. that smile falters when you snatch the journal back from him, making yet another quick retreat. over the next few days, you don’t visit that usual bench. part of him wonders if he scared you off— he laughs at the thought, stepping out of the main building. kaiser feels.. oddly surprised when he sees you back on that bench. your eyes meet, and you give him a strange look. you really are strange, kaiser thinks to himself. the same thought crosses his mind when he sees you at one of his games— oh, right. you’re a journalist. but when you give him that familiar strange look, he finds himself hoping that you came for a different reason. not that he thinks you would, anyways— you’re always running off like a mouse.

ness thinks that you’re really cool. you seem to be a super bit fan of soccer— ‘cause he always sees you at his games! he never gets close enough to even think of saying something to you— but he really wishes he can one day. when that day actually does roll around, though, ness freezes. you’re in the car park of the stadium, leaning against a wall with a cigarette perched between your lips. you exhale slowly, the smoke drifting out through the night air and he swears his cheeks have turned red. you are so cool, he thinks to himself. “you need something?” you ask, your gaze drifting to meet with his— wow, you’re so much prettier up close. ness shakes his head, looking back at you. “..do you want one?” you raise an eyebrow at the man, and for a moment, he stands there in slight confusion. does he want a cigarette? normally, he would deny it as soon as possible. but now, he finds himself nodding hesitantly and stepping closer. his cheeks only flush further as you lean towards him, pushing off of the wall and plucking the cigarette out of your lips. wait, wait— this isn’t what he agreed to! what was he thinking, anyways!? he’s never smoked before! his eyes widen, but when he sees you smile, your expression brightening just a little, he relaxes. “if you wanted to talk you could just say so.” you say, looking back at the man, and he swears you’re dangerous. after that incident, he’d find himself looking out for you after matches— and he wonders if you’re waiting for him, or maybe if you like watching his games. should he say something? he smacks himself mentally for even thinking that, and smiles brightly as he approaches you again. you’re probably just very interested in soccer.

nanase doesn’t know what to feel about you. after training, he likes to visit the cafe down the street. you work there, and he’s discovered that you’re really good at making coffee. you draw cute little flowers and hearts on his cup sometimes, and nanase thinks his heart flutters when he notices it! you look so good, too— and, and— you’re standing in front of him again, holding a notepad in your hand, nodding slightly as he orders. he knows that you know he’s going to get the same as usual. you’re somehow always the one to serve him, but he’s not mad. in fact, he thinks he likes it. he feels weird when you return after a little while, and he feels even weirder after you leave. nanase gets these weird feelings around you, but he’s not sure why. maybe it’s the way you smile at him, or the cute drawings. or maybe he’s just overthinking this and you’re nice to everyone! yeah, that’s what it is. but when he sees your number scribbled onto his receipt with a heart beside it, his knees practically buckle. is it casual? is this casual!?

kunigami saw you for the first time at the gym— well, it was you, but you were cosplaying one of your favourite characters. when he stepped inside, he really didn’t expect to see (character) standing right in front of him getting ready to work out. the next time he saw you was after training one night. he was walking down a street, footsteps heavy against the pavement and his shoulders sagging before he hears.. heavier footsteps? he turns around, and flinches slightly at the sight of you— in full armour with a massive sword in your arms. he blinks back at you for a moment, slightly confused. “are you.. okay?” stupud question, but he’s curious. you nod, giving him a cute little peace sign and he thinks your demeanour is much from the outfit you’re wearing. you seem quite.. shy, almost. which is funny for a person in full armour. he lifts a hand, gesturing to his face for you to pull of the helmet. you comply, feeling your heart race just a little— you really didn’t expect to run into kunigami tonight. you came back from a con, feeling tired and super heavy— definitely not ready to talk to your secret crush. you look back at the man, and the.. strangely shy expression on your face is very out of place. you both stand there awkwardly for a few moments, before you quickly put your helmet back on and walk past him, saying something about “being in a hurry.” after that interaction, kinigami’s scrolling on tiktok; and he nearly drops his phone when he comes across your account. ah, so you’re a cosplayer; he clicks onto your profile, deciding he’d like to see some of your recent posts. what did you mean by saying “just ran into my crush in cosplay nobody talk to me” on your newest video? he wonders how many other people you ran into tonight.

[eclipixels]

hello:)) I have no idea if requests are open, if they aren’t you can just ignore this, but if they are: could I ask for headcanons with Yukimiya, Sae and anyone else of your choosing with a lover who plays soccer and is equal of not better than them. thank you smm:)

Blue Lock x Soccer Player!Reader Headcanons

Character: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Hyoma Chigiri, Rin Itoshi, Seishiro Nagi, Reo Mikage, Rensuke Kunigami, Kenyu Yukimiya, Sae Itoshi, Ryusei Shidou, Michael Kaiser

Yoichi Isagi

Lowkey lives for the rivalry dynamic in the relationship.

Analyzes your gameplay constantly, half out of admiration, half because he wants to beat you.

Sometimes forgets he's flirting and ends up giving tactical critiques mid-date.

Gets a little pouty if you score more goals than him in practice, but is secretly proud.

“We’re the perfect chemical reaction,” he says, probably after a 2v2 win together.

Meguru Bachira

Absolutely thrives having a partner who can match his unpredictable moves.

Makes up silly names for your special moves “That’s the ‘Heart Snatcher 3000,’ right??”

Always tries to draw you into wild, improvised 1v1s for fun. You call him your 'unmedicated ADHD woodland creature' which he, for some reason, loves.

Gets a bit pouty if you’re training with someone else: “Don’t forget who your favorite monster is.”

If you nutmeg him, he’ll smile like you just proposed.

Hyoma Chigiri

Always ties lets you tie his hair up before matches. It's like a ritual.

There's mutual teasing about who's faster or more graceful on the ball.

He loves racing you during sprints and secretly times how far ahead or behind he is.

“Don’t go easy on me just ‘cause I’m your boyfriend,” he says, eyes glinting with fire.

Brags about your skills to teammates without realizing it.

Rin Itoshi

Externally cold, internally obsessed with how talented you are.

Doesn’t say 'I’m proud of you,' but shows it by watching your games over and over.

Training turns into full-on warzones when you spar, neither willing to lose.

Only opens up emotionally when you completely wreck him on the field.

If you praise him, he short-circuits a little.

Seishiro Nagi

Pretends not to care when you beat him in training, but texts Reo immediately: “Bro... I think I’m in love fr.”

Complains about how eccentric you always are but secretly loves how it keeps him on his toes. 

Likes when you ask him to “teach” you new moves because it means getting close physically.

Takes naps with his head in your lap post-match like it’s his reward.

Lets you wear his jersey after games, even though he complains you look better in it than he does.

Reo Mikage

Custom orders matching cleats in your favorite color. Limited edition couple type shit.

Turns your training sessions into tooth rottingly sweet fluffy flirting.

Says things like, “One day, we’ll own a training facility together. Our future kids are gonna be cracked.”

Insanely supportive, always brags to his parents who adore you.

Was super excited when you got into soccer with him when he first wanted to try it out.

Rensuke Kunigami

Big golden retriever energy when you play better than him. Proud, impressed, a little jealous.

Brings protein shakes and wraps up snacks for you like the doting boyfriend he is. 

Makes a point to protect you during rough games, even if you can clearly hold your own.

“You’re incredible,” he says like he’s in awe every single time.

The kind of boyfriend who cheers the loudest at your matches.

Kenyu Yukimiya

Photographs your best moments and keeps them like trophies.

Takes inspiration from your plays for his own aesthetic on the field.

Loves talking tactics and style with you, deep convos over coffee and drills.

Slightly vain when you outperform him, but only because it lights a fire under him.

“We’re the beautiful game,” he probably says unironically. You tease him for being so cheesy.

Sae Itoshi

Finds it thrilling, though he rarely shows it.

Gives you genuine compliments  during intense training, “That was good. Do it again.”

Drawn to the challenge and unpredictability of loving someone as driven as him.

If you beat him, he’s grumpy but secretly enjoys it.

Drops sharp, flirty compliments mid-game “If you score like that again, I’m gonna marry you.”

Ryusei Shidou

Falls harder the worse you beat him. “Ugh... I hate you... wanna make out?”

Turns every training into a screaming, chaotic love-fight.

The type to yell, “MARRY ME!” mid-play if you body him on the field.

Loves being dominated by your skill and calls it hot every time.

Gets possessive if anyone else tries to train with you. “Back off, that beast is mine.”

Michael Kaiser

Initially cocky—“No one’s better than me”—until you outplay him once. And then it’s obsession.

Competitive flirting,“Beat me, and I’ll take you on a date. Beat me again, and I’ll make it a weekend.”

Competitive banter is your love language: “You can’t outshine the king.” / “Watch me.”

Posts couple photos post-match with obnoxious captions like “My rival, my royalty.”

“You're the only one who makes this game feel like war and love at the same time.”

[fckwritersblock]

Run Lines With Me

Michael B Jordan

A/n:… I don’t know what this is for real y’all. I was just typing lmao it’s unedited as fuck per usual until I find somebody to help me out with that part but yeah so… enjoy…. or don’t idk IDK

Micheal B Jordan

Run Lines For Me

“Ouch.”

You rolled your eyes hard at the movie star.

“Well, if you stop movin’, I can get this last bit of hair,” you fussed, firmly holding his chin in your hands. “You’re not meant to be on your phone while getting a shave anyway, foo’.”

Like a child, he stuck his tongue out at you, and you did the same in return.

“Now hold still,” you commanded as you concentrated on your task.

It was one of those surreal moments; you were on the set of *Sinner’s*, in Michael B. Jordan’s trailer, making sure his face was free of all makeup products and that his goatee was perfectly lined for tomorrow.

It was a dream come true, really.

You were Ryan’s cousin. The two of you had always been super close; you were his favorite aunt’s only child, and he looked out for you while you followed him everywhere. As a result, he always hired you to be part of the makeup team for all of his films. You had gone to beauty and barbering school to become a licensed barber, cosmetologist, and aesthetician specializing in FX makeup. You loved enhancing people’s appearances in whatever way they saw fit. Skin care was just as important, so once you got into the film industry and started working on set, you made sure to pair the two; the removal process was just as essential as the application. You always went the extra mile, giving clients facials and whatever serum they needed at the end of the day. Growing up, there was no doubt in your mind that Ryan would become a big-time movie producer, director, and filmmaker. From the moment he showed interest, you supported him. Being a few years younger and looking up to him, you wanted to figure out how to be of service in achieving that. That’s where all those licenses came in. You wanted to be behind the scenes. Though you dabbled in theater a bit in middle and high school, you lived for the feeling of being behind the curtain and camera, putting it all together and seeing the vision come to life.

After five years of your cousin pitching this movie and waiting for it to get picked up, as soon as it was, you were called immediately. Needless to say, this wasn’t your first rodeo with Michael B. Jordan since as you worked on Fruitvale Station , Creed 1 & 2, and Black Panther. While you wouldn’t say you were friends, you’d definitely say it was more than just coworkers. More than associates as well. There had to be more than that, especially with the endless flirting you two had exchanged over the years.

In fact, it was no secret to Ryan that you wanted to jump the actor’s bones. You had a crush on him since you saw Hardball when you were kids. You were obsessed with him on The Wire, crying about it for a week when Wallace died. Being that Ryan was like an older brother to you, what did brothers do? Tease and bully you with love. Fast forward to Ryan shooting Fruitvale Station, and the role of Oscar Grant going to none other than your childhood movie crush, Michael B. Jordan.

Not only was it your first time working on a movie set, but you were actually going to work with Michael B. Jordan. Anyone would be nervous, and you were no exception. Ryan teased you about it endlessly. You had gotten your introduction to the movie star and were assigned as his makeup artist for *Fruitvale*. Given the gravity of the situation and the kind of movie it was, you didn’t talk to him too much, trying not to be a bother. You figured it was hard being a young black man playing a character who was unjustly killed in real life. You wanted to ensure everything remained professional and that he was comfortable.

It wasn’t until *Creed* that you really got to know him better, and good Lord, had the man filled out. That little kid crush on the boy on the screen had transformed into a full-grown woman’s yearning, and every day on set, you were fighting for your life, trying to remain professional. Not stare too long, not make things awkward. You wanted him to feel comfortable with you, a level of normalcy like you wanted all your clients to feel. You didn’t want to make things weird.

Michael noticed your efforts too. He appreciated it. It was why he always made sure to speak to you every day, learn your name, and ask how you were doing. He included you in conversations when you were around, making sure you didn’t feel like just ‘hired help.’ Not to mention, you were fine as hell—thick thighs, soft-looking skin that always seemed to have this glow and warmth to it. He liked the way your clothes hugged your shape in all the right places, how luscious your lips looked covered in a simple gloss, paired with a light beat on your face. Michael was also a sucker for nice lashes, and the way you peered through them to look at him, looking all innocent, did something to him.

The crush was definitely mutual.

Even Zinzi was in on it. You remembered a month before the table read, you were on FaceTime, and she swore she saw something between the two of you.

“You grown grown now; I need you to act like it, baby,” Zinzi stated matter-of-factly.

Sis had been encouraging you to shoot your shot for the third or fourth time in the past month.

“I am grown, bitch! I just don’t wanna embarrass myself and lose my job,” came your lame excuse.

“PUHLEASE. As if your cousin would ever cut you loose. We both know what's up. The man personally asked Ryan if you were gonna be there.”

“Says your plotting ass husband,” you mumbled, knowing setting you up for failure would be a prank he’d pull.

“He didn’t have to tell me, baby; I was there,” she smirked at you, crossing her arms in a ‘now what’ manner.

Another time you and she had a similar conversation was about a month ago before the table reads started.

“Heard you was making googly eyes at ya man yesterday.”

“Who said tha- you’re gonna be widow soon.” You huffed rolling your eyes extra hard. “Yall are hella annoyin’”

“Uh huh whatever.” Zinzi leaned back a little bit rubbing her belly as she spoke. “I’m tryna help you get your shit together before you see that man. Hearin’ a nigga say ‘I wanna taste you’ will have you foldin’ quicker. Speaking from personal experience—”

“Ewwwww! I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about what you and my cousin are doing,” you fake-gagged.

“Whateva.”

“Ay, ay, ay, worry less about what me and my lady are doing and get your man, cousin.” Ryan chimed in appearing in front of the camera.

“HE’S BEEN THERE LISTENING THE WHOLE TIME, ZINZI?!”

Fast forward to now, just a few weeks later. Here you were in Michaels trailer. You had removed his make up and did your own person after care face routine that you did on all your clients and were just about finished lining up his goatees.

“All done. How you feel?” You asked taking a step back handing him a mirror.

“Lighter that’s fasho.” He nodded checking his hair and everything okay.

“I bet. Sucks we’re gonna have to put it back on in like 8 hours.”

“Man don’t remind me.” He sighed handed you the mirror back.

“You getting a treatment and stuff tonight too or?”

“Nah, we can do it tomorrow if you don’t mind. Tryna get in the right frame of mind for these next few days of filming.” He answered do which you nodded.

“I feel you.”

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you as you cleaned up and pack all the make up and others products up for the night, Michael tapping away at his phone screen. There’s a place for everything and everything has its place.

“Aye Run some lines with me real quick.” Michael called out to you.

You turned raising your eyebrow at him. It was a statement not a question.

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.” You groaned throwing your head back a bit.

“C’mon girl, help a brotha out.” He plead going over to a backpack on the table to the side of yall and pulling out a few stacks of paper.

“You just tryna hold me hostage. Keep me to ya self and shit” you said playfully peering at him through the mirror, finding his eyes already on you.

“I might be.” He smirked the gold ones still in his mouth from filming earlier gleaming.

You could fold right then and there.

“You got me for 30 minutes.” You mumbled snatching the script from him.

“My girl!” He claimed victory smiling at you fully now, you playfully rolling your eyes smiling a bit back.

“Ahem, so what scene?” You asked putting some distance between you a bit.

“The one we shooting tomorrow.”

The past 3-4 days had been spent shooting all of the day time scenes with him playing as Stack, Smoke being played by his double. Tomorrow they’d start shooting all the scenes with Michael as Smoke. Specifically the ones with him and Wunmi.

“You nerves bout it or somethin?” Came your simple ask out of genuine curiosity flipping through the scripts pages.

“Nah, I just spent the past few days playing Stack. Smoke vibe a little different. Wanna make sure I’m locked in and shit” he answered honestly.

“I feel you”

“Mmhmm, here.” he flipped to the right page.

Of course he wanted to start right before their sex scene. You took a deep breath reminding yourself that you were doing this just to help him out before you two got started. You were doing fine, too, reading the lines to him.

All was good until you go to to the the line where Annie threatened to cut Smoke with an idle threat.

You laughed a bit and Michael couldn’t help but grin as you did so.

“I’m sorry, I just know I sound stupid.”

“Nah, you good.” He assured you. Laughing or breaking character happened all the time. That’s what takes are for. Besides yall were just practicing.” You gotta stop reading like it’s a book. Get in character and shit. Ryan told me all about them plays and shit you used to be in growing up.”

“You lie.” You were mortified.

“Dorthy in the Wiz ain’t neva looked that good. Just be fine ya whole life huh?” Michael flirted licking his lips at you.

“Nigga!” You you swatted at him with the script in hand before covering your face with it in embarrassment as he laughed at your expense.

You were gonna kill your cousin.

“I’m just sayin,” Michael continued when his laughed died down, amusement in his voice. “might not be yo passion like that no more but you still know wassup.”

You nodded in agreement while he pushed the papers hiding your face out of it so he could see you clearly.

“Sooooooo. You gon be my Annie or what?”

“Ok.” You breathed out.

“That’s what I’m talking bout it.” He clapped loudly 3 times tryna pump you up.

“We picking up where we left off?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed putting the papers down.

“Oh shit you don’t need the script?” His tone was teasing but you could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Nah i think I got it.”

You had read the script a few times, Ryan sending it to you when he had first completed it a while back and again when he tweaked a few things right before production began. Not to mention you had been a round for a few table reads and a run through or two. If you were being completely honest, that was one of your favorite scenes especially once Michael was officially cast. Rereading it over and over again like the rest of the books you had that were full of filth it was all the more fun imagining him as ‘Smoke’. Now here the two of you were, and he was asking you to play with him.

“Aight then bet, count me in.”

Soon as you got to three he took a deep breath and then read the last line out loud.

“I can’t believe you takin this make believe bullshit” Michael spoke, country accent for ‘Smoke’ turned on,

“Smoke you give me my money fo I cut yo black ass.” You held up one of your make up brushes to his neck as a prop.

With a ghost of a smirk on his face he continued “You gon put the blade up woman,” he demanded staying in character, before holding up a 100. “I’ll trade you”

“I don’t want your money.” You sneered.

“Don’t be stupid”

“I ain’t stupid it, Your money come with blood

“All money come with blood.”

“Not like yours.” You snapped.

You were feeling it, he could tell by the look in your eye and that recollection made his heart do things.

This wasn’t the first time he asked you to run lines with. He was having a hard time admitting it but he had been feeling you for a while. He just didn’t wanna step on any toes you being related to the man who hired him for the job. At least in the beginning. After that it was all just bad time you. Either you were taken or he was but it didn’t change the fact that he liked you for a while. You know what they say right person wrong time.

Now though, now was the perfect time though. Especially since you were both single and had a bit more alone time than before.

“Why it ain’t work on our baby then?”

“I don’t know…but they work for you.” You paused. “You still got that mojo bag.”

Funnily enough he did have it on. He had put it on early when him and Percy were foolin’ around joking bout trading places. They traded hats and upon seeing the mojo bag on one of the prop tables near by, he put it on before they posed for some behind the pics before they continued to shoot the shit.

Slowly you reached out to touch it, and his hand shortly followed. Neither of you looked away as you removed it his hand lingering on yours as you pulled away. . Turning around you remained in character and proceeded to ‘pray over it for a few moments out loud while mentally praying for yourself. You didn’t dare make eye contact through the mirror as you placed the necklace on the counter in front of you trying to steady your heart. It increased as you felt Michaels presence heavy behind you, body damn near pressed against your.

Be a big girl bitch, you stated mentally.

“Why you here Smoke?” You breathed out as you turned back around, bracing your hands on the counter behind him. “ what you want from me?”

There were a several ways Michael wanted to answer that question.

He wanted you wrapped around him.

He wanted you bouncing on his dick screaming his name.

He wanted to fuck yo fine ass until you were dumb, numb, and your pussy was dripping with his cum.

Wanted to devour you

Suck ya soul right out ya body

He wanted you for himself

He wanted you to be his.

Michael didn’t bother to hide the lust that flickered in his eyes as he looked at you, unconsciously licking his lips. Your gaze zeroed in on his actions, and you instinctively squeezed your thighs tight together, feeling a rush of heat course through you.

His nostrils flared slightly when he noticed your reaction, but he remained silent, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Grand opening for the juke tonight. Want you to cook for us.”

“Elijah,” you tilted your head, feigning innocence, knowing exactly what he was implying.

“You gonna make me say it?” he challenged, his voice low and teasing.

You stayed quiet, just as you were meant to, as he took a step back and settled into a chair, his eyes never leaving you.

“Still hurts coming back here, but I love ya. And I miss ya,” he confessed, his voice tinged with something deeper, something you wished was meant for you.

You knew he wasn’t speaking directly to you, but the longing in your chest was undeniable. Your body was on fire, and the crazy part was that he hadn’t even touched you yet. But you could feel the tension simmering beneath the surface; he wanted to, and you could sense it.

As the air shifted, you instinctively knew what was supposed to happen next in the script. Taking his face in your hands, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his for just a moment before planting a chaste kiss near his mouth. Another kiss landed softly on his cheek, and you continued to leave a trail of kisses down the side of his neck. With one hand, you pulled his head back for more access, massaging his scalp as you did so. Nipping at a spot on his neck, you swirled your tongue around it, sucking gently, earning an almost inaudible “fuck” from him.

“Your body ain’t forgotten me,” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin as your right hand slid down to palm him through his sweats.

That was the tipping point. Methodically, his hand traced up your body, wrapping around your throat as he stood, bringing your face closer to his. When his lips finally met yours, he groaned like a man starved, savoring the taste he had been yearning for. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, a dance of passion igniting between you.

Standing up he pulled your body flush against his, his hands exploring your curves, leaving an indescribable heat in their wake. With a swift motion, his hands hooked behind your knees, grinding into you as he effortlessly set you on the table you had been working on just an hour ago.

Both of you were tired of pretending that you didn’t want each other. It showed in the way you tore each other’s shirts off, the way he shoved his tongue into your mouth, and the way you pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. You ground into him, desperate to create friction to satisfy the relentless ache in your core, the bulge in his pants straining against the fabric of just jeans, ready to burst through with how hard you had him. Michael wasted no time pulling the chair closer, sliding your pants down and throwing your legs over his shoulder and as you watched pupils blown wide with lust.

The heat between you was palpable, a fire igniting in the space around you. You could feel the urgency in his touch, the way his fingers dug into your thighs, holding you steady as he continued his ministrations. Each flick of his tongue sent shockwaves through your body, and every breath you took was laced with desperation.

“Michael,” you breathed, lost in the moment, “I need you.”

His darkened lust filled eyes found yours as he pulled away for just a moment, letting the anticipation build. “You want me?” he asked, voice low and sultry, making your heart race.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but full of longing. “Please.”

He wasted no time, standing up and positioning himself between your legs once more, the heat of his body radiating against yours. You watched as he dropped his gray sweats to the ground freeing his member that was nice, thick, and hard precum oozing a bit from the tip. You could see the desire etched on his face, a mirror to the yearning that consumed you both. You were done pretending; this was your moment, and you were ready to seize it.

Turning around you bent over slightly, gazing at him through the mirror, your bottom lip caught between your teeth in anticipation. He lined himself up with your entrance, eyes locked onto yours as he slid in, his thick tip greedily welcomed into your core. You pushed your ass out to meet his thrust, eager for him to fill you completely.

“Damn, you’re wet as fuck,” he marveled, pulling out just enough to watch how you coated him, glistening with your desire.

You could only hum in response as he pushed back in, stretching you wider than before. “You good?” he asked, massaging your lower back while thrusting slowly, giving you time to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you.

“Mmhmm,” you managed to reply, lost in the pleasure.

“Good.”

With that, Michael picked up his pace, his relentless hips pounding into you from behind. One of your hands braced against the counter, while the other reached back to grip his wrist for support as he delivered delicious back shots, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Smoke—” The name caught in your throat as he pulled your head back by your hair, a possessive gesture that sent shivers down your spine.

“Uh uh, my name, baby,” he purred against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and filthy as he continued his assault on your pussy.

This was no longer just an act; he wanted you to know this was all him.

“Michael, oh my fuck,” you whimpered, your walls tightening around him as he found that sweet spot deep inside you.

“Right there?!” he grinned through the mirror, and you nodded, panting wordlessly, feeling your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

“Words, mama.”

“Yes, Michael!” Your hands gripped the counter tighter as you began to throw it back, desperate to ensure he felt you just as intensely as you felt him.

“Fuck.” He growled, keeping up the pace, your pussy feeling warmer and wetter with each thrust. He loved the way you felt wrapped around him, watched the way your breasts bounced, your mouth slightly ajar, eyebrows furrowed, eyes fluttering as you tried to keep them from rolling back.

He was utterly captivated, relishing the faces you made while he pleased you, as if you were made for this very moment.

“Michael,” you moaned, the sound music to his ears. “I’m about to cum, baby.” Your abs began to clench, your body preparing to release.

With a swift motion, he pulled out, turning you around and placing you on the counter, your ass hanging off slightly. You were furious, to say the least. So close to climaxing, only for him to cut you off just before your peak. You huffed, frustrated, as you tried to catch your breath.

“Michael, what the—” you gasped, throwing your head back as you felt his tongue delve between your folds. “FUCK!”

He did it again, groaning as he did so, taking your throbbing bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting the two of you, both looking like he was starved for your sweetness.

With a sudden slap to your pussy, he pulled another moan from you that satisfied his sadistic desires.

“You can cum on my dick later,” he mumbled, giving your dripping cunt a teasing peck as you whimpered, legs shaking slightly. He looked up at you, a grin on his face, his mouth glistening with your slick, hands rubbing and gripping your inner thigh.

“First time I make you cum, I want it to be in my mouth”

[rafeplay]

NYMPHETAMINE !

ft. trevor philips x fem!reader

tags. established relationship, minor drug use, like one reference to violence, mostly fluff actually wow, super short..

note. this title was actually meant to go to a soldier boy fic that I had on my wip list last year and I’m still mad I can’t bag this username on tumblr HOWEVER it makes more sense for trevor bc um he does meth.. so now I have an excuse to use it.. this is sooo clunky… have not written in a hot minute and have been directing my attention mainly 2 lovey dovey so yah… honestly don’t have a clue on how to write trevor’s character so this was mostly just practice but yah.. it gets disjointed like halfway thru howeverrrr umm .. hopefully… hopefully it makes sense!! please ignore typos! and as always feedback/rbs are appreciated :3

“C’mon, baby, don’t you want to get out of here for a little bit?” You unzip a compartment in your suitcase to find a safe place for your bargain bin flip-flops.

“No,” Trevor says with a childish shake of his head, “you’ve got sun, sand, and sea right here.”

“It's not sand, baby, it’s dirt and dust, we’re in the middle of the fucking desert.” You look over to where he’s draped over the patchwork couch like an oversized house cat, one of his hands is gripping a pipe and the other is tucked away in his boxers.

“Sandy Shores,” he tells you matter of factly, “you hear that, sugar? We’re in Sandy Shores, it is literally fucking sand.”

“Yeah, but I can’t get away with wearing this—“ You wave around a high-cut bikini thong, “—In Sandy shores because it’s full of freaks.”

“Hey, watch your mouth, those freaks are my—“ A flash of red peaks his interest. “I can fly us,” Trevor says, leaving no room for argument, he’s sitting up straighter and his wide eyes are trained on that stupidly skimpy thong, “right now, let’s go, get up, let’s go!”

“Trevor…” You warn in a voice a school teacher would use - it's the only way he listens, “I’m not letting you take us that far.”

“You don’t trust me?” He scowls at you, looking more bulldog than human. “You think I can’t do it?”

“No, baby, I just have a lot of luggage.” It’s a convincing lie, but he’s still pouting at you—Well, it’s more of the thing upset dogs do, baring his teeth like he’s about to snap his jaws and bite your head clean off.

“You’ve got no clothes in there!” He points at your suitcase, and he’s not wrong, you can’t really call barely-there string bikinis and short shorts clothing, but come on, you’re not getting in that rickety little plane to fly all the way to Cancun. “Michael’s heavier than that and he—“

“Trevor.” You level him with your gaze, shaking your head in disapproval like he is nothing more than a petulant toddler.

He makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine.

“Trevor.”

He storms out and comes back an hour later with another questionable stain on his dirtied white shirt, this stain differs a little from the other ones because it is bright fucking red and his knuckles are bruised, but he looks infinitely calmer.

Temper tantrums are good for him, gets everything out of his system.

You don’t say much, watching him quietly from your perch as Trevor packs a duffel bag, rifling through his wardrobe as if there’s enough clothes to rifle through.

“I packed,” Trevor says, holding up the bag for you to inspect.

“Is that… Is that enough for you, baby?” You ask, using two long nails to grasp the dirty pair of boxers he’s balled up and tossed inside.

“How long are we going?”

“A week.”

Trevor scoffs. “Don’t need that then,” he mumbles, taking the underwear from your hand and throwing them on the ground where they land beside a sticky-paged Hustler magazine.

“But there’s no other—“

“I’ve got some on.”

“Trevor.” You sigh, and for some reason it doesn’t even disgust you at this point. “No, baby, just move out of the way—Oh, and you owe me an apology for walking out like that!”

He moves aside, backing himself into the wall of the tiny bedroom like a good boy. “I’m sorry, okay?” Trevor grumbles, watching as you dig out a polo shirt, sniffing it and recoiling immediately.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing, baby.” You click your tongue, methodically folding the small amount of clean clothes you do find and creating a small pile.

Trevor suddenly smacks his knees with the palms of his hand, letting out an exaggerated moan of pain. “Ohhh, fuck! You’re so mean to me, babe!” He tips his head back, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in complete and utter anguish, clutching at his chest like you’ve put a bullet through his heart. “I said sorry, baby! What do you want from me?” He sinks to his knees, positioning himself at your feet like a kicked puppy.

You blink at him once, twice, and thrice, startled for maybe a second before you giggle and sit down on the edge of the bed. “T—“

“No! Don’t ‘T’ me!” Trevor takes your foot in his hand, still kneeling before you while he kisses just below where your ankle juts out. “I know what you’re trying to do to me! You wanna get out, and you’re gonna find some rich fuck when we step foot on that fat cat resort and leave me—“

“Trevor!” You try to hold back the laughter as he peppers kisses on the sole of your foot. “I would never, you know that!”

“You don’t have to lie…” Trevor whines, pressing his face into your foot, you wiggle your painted toes as his breath tickles your skin. “I can feel it! I can see it in your eyes—You’re pullin’ away from me, you’re gonna find some dick in a suit, and, and I’m the one that cares—“

“Oh my god, T!” You’re laughing at his absurd display of love, affection and pure stupidity, he simply won’t let you get a word in.

“You don’t need a private jet, I can fly ‘em, sugar, I can do it better—“ Trevor wails as you try to shake him off your leg. “—No! Don’t push me away, baby, I love you! Let me make it up to you, sugartits, my baby, my angel, my cute, perfect little pocket pussy—“

“Trevor, that’s not even—“

He gets up to launch himself on top of you, you squeal and hold your arms out, bracing for impact, but it never comes. You smell the alcohol on his breath as he hovers over you, and you stroke the little hair he has left as he nestles between your breasts. “Go on, sugar, punish me—Do it, hurt me, smack me, punch me, kick me, chain me up! Make me bark like a fuckin’ dog, I can do that for you—I can bark real good.”

“Trevor, baby, I really don’t want that!” You giggle, pulling down the front of your tank so he can feel your plush tits, smush his face into them.

Skin to skin contact is good for babies.

“You could take me outside, baby, make me crawl around, make me shit in a diaper—“

“Ew! Oh my god! Are you done?” You smack him lightly, and then find yourself giggling again. He’s fucking ridiculous, utterly insane, and he’s all yours because nobody else in the entire world would be willing to put up with this.

(It’s all worth it in the end, he loves like no other.)

Trevor’s voice is muffled into your chest. “No…”

“You’re insane, Trevor,” you mumble, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head

“Are you still mad at me?” He peeks up at you hesitantly, you feel his pout against your nipple.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“…Will you fuck me now?”

“Only if you pack first.”

(When you make it to the airport a few days later, Trevor has to be told four times by four separate security guards to remove his boots. He gets into an argument over the bottle of tequila he snuck into your hand luggage, calls it a medical necessity, lets them toss it out only after you remind him that Cancun is in Mexico and tequila isn't exactly a rarity there—Then he calls a TSA agent a fascist and claims that getting patted down after the metal detector beeps not once, but twice, is a violation of human rights, he announces to the entire security line that you’re smuggling goods while looking right down your shirt.

He grumbles the entire time, and when you ask him, smiling fondly and leaning over to place a kiss on his scruffy cheek, “Then why'd you even come, T?”

Trevor blinks like an idiot because he hasn’t shut his mouth long enough to even consider that.

“Huh.” He rubs the spot where you kissed him. “I guess it’s ’cause I’d follow you anywhere, sugar.”)

[rabbitblackx]

May I have a head canon where an S/O accidentally walked in and saw their Slasher lovers topless/naked? The S/O would feel shame yet hot, since they find them attractive, but didn't want their Slasher boyfriend to be offended. I would love to know what their reaction would be.

Include: Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Bubba Sawyer and Freddy Krueger if you please, and if you feel like it, you can add the other characters you liked ;)

Reader walks in on slashers naked

Includes: Bubba Sawyer, Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger

Bubba Sawyer💖

Bubba was super embarrassed. As soon as you entered his bedroom, he was squealing like a girl and trying to cover up. Your cheeks darkened in a blush, unaware that his face too was rosy under his mask

“Whoops! Sorry, Bubba. Didn’t mean to barge in like that.” You chuckled bashfully

Bubba stammered out some gibberish in response, hiding himself behind the clothes he was just about to put on. You smiled at him sweetly, regaining your composure

“I like what I see anyway.” You purred

You gave him a wink before strutting out the door and shutting it behind you. You left Bubba a flustered mess, head in his hands as he tried to pull himself together. You drove him wild!

Michael Myers💖

You swung your bedroom door open, calling out to Michael to ask him something when you saw it. He was just about to put his black shirt on, his coveralls tied at his waist. His toned, perfectly scarred chest was on full display

You didn’t even try to hide that you were staring. You hand remained on the doorknob as you practically drooled over an unamused Michael

“Wow,” you finally blurted, eyes still glued to his chest. “You. Are. Hawt.”

Michael was so done with you. Instead of putting the shirt on he was still holding, he threw it at your face. It clung to your head momentarily, before you yanked it off

“Joke’s on you. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

You checked Michael out one more time, before waltzing out of your room with his shirt. You sure hoped he had fun being shirtless for the rest of the day!

Jason Voorhees💖

You hummed a tune as you walked into your room with a basket of Jason’s laundry. Your eyes immediately grew wide at the sight of said man standing naked by your bed

Jason was secretly mortified. In one inhumanly fast motion, he snatched the blanket off your bed and covered his junk with it. The pillows flung off along with it and hit the wall

“That’s not fair. I was enjoying that.” You grinned, choking down laughter. You set the laundry basket down on your now bare bed, turning to him with a playful glint in your eye. “Now, you can put these clothes on if you’d like.” You began

Jason stared at you from behind his mask, flustered yet keen to know what you were getting at

“But I’d much prefer if we had a little fun first.” You purred with a giggle

Freddy Krueger💖

After falling asleep one night, you found yourself in an old boiler room like usual. Though it never looked as intimidating for you as it did for others. You wandered for a bit, calling out to your boyfriend Freddy. As you turned a corner, you found him fully naked… waiting for you on a bed

“Oh, my days!” You threw your hands up in surprise and used them to shield your red face

Freddy purred your name, patting the sheets next to him. “I’ve been expecting you. Why don’t you come lay down next to me?” He offered with a smirk

You kept your face covered, too shy to show Freddy how flustered he got you. But as you slowly crept over to join him, something told you he already knew

[kxsagi]

Hi,

Hopefully I'm doing this right I haven't requested actually used my tumblr in a hot sec but I really love your Blue Lock headcanons whenever they popup. So I was wondering if you could do:

Blue Lock characters x Reader who somehow actually convinced their s/o to get matching tattoos with them.

(if this hasn't been asked yet)

“𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐤”

a/n: this is so cute!

ft. isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, bachira meguru, kaiser michael

isagi yoichi

you jokingly said, "bet you wouldn’t get a matching tattoo with me," and his dumb competitive ass went, "bet. say less." 

30 minutes later you were in a parlor. 

you both got tiny numbers (11 for him, your lucky number for you) on your ribs. 

he tries to act chill about it but secretly looks at it in the mirror like "we're soulmates now huh?" 

"so like… we're permanent now, right? right??" 

nagi seishiro

you tricked him. straight up. you were like, "if you get this tattoo, i’ll buy you that limited gacha drop + snacks for a month." 

he blinked twice and was like, "deal." 

ended up with matching sleepy clouds on your wrists. 

he stares at it when he’s bored. he lowkey loves it. 

“kinda cute. it’s like… you’re always there. lazy but romantic.” 

mikage reo

you brought it up during pillow talk and made it sound super intimate and emotional. 

“isn’t it kind of beautiful to have something just us two carry forever?” 

now he has your initials and a crown inked on his inner arm like a simp. 

“OURS not MINE,” he clarifies. 

he buys you skincare for tattoo aftercare and makes you lotion his arm while he stares lovingly at you. ugh. 

chigiri hyoma

tbh he said no at first but you started designing one that matched his aesthetic: sakura petal + your birth flower intertwined. 

then showed up with temporary tattoos to visualize it and got him attached. 

“… fine. but only if it’s discreet.” 

it’s on your ankles. when he runs, it feels like he’s carrying you with him. 

protective over it like a hawk. will not let dirt near it. ever. 

itoshi rin

it was war. you teased him relentlessly, made fun of his “scared of commitment” aura. 

then told him you’d only drop it if he beat you in a shootout. 

you purposely won. twice. 

he silently booked the appointment. didn’t even tell you until you were both in the chair. 

got simple black ink waves, symbolizing calm and chaos. 

“… whatever. you’re stuck with me anyway.” 

he touches it when he misses you. 

itoshi sae

you brought it up at 3 AM in madrid while half-asleep and cuddling. 

he chuckled, said "sure," and you thought he was joking. 

next morning? he had a calendar reminder and a parlor booked. 

"if you're serious about something, don't joke about it. now pick a design." 

matching fine-line stars behind your ears. no one sees them but you two. 

when you kiss his ear, he smirks and mutters "twin stars." 

bachira meguru

you literally didn’t have to convince him. he was like "oooh ink? matching?? FUN." 

drew your tattoos himself. they’re little chaotic faces, yours is sticking its tongue out, his is grinning with fangs. 

inner biceps. 

proudly shows it off and says “we’re soul siblings now!! forever!!!” 

you laugh every time you see it. he kisses his and goes "mwah, for my other half." 

kaiser michael

he tried to act like it was your idea but he 100% suggested it first. 

"if you’re gonna belong to someone, might as well make it permanent, right?" 

had an entire portfolio prepared. 

matching gold crowns with roses underneath on your spines. dramatic af. 

flirts with you every time you wear a backless outfit. "show them who owns you." 

but jokes aside, it’s the first thing he’s ever wanted to keep forever. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Election Day in New York, Pt. 1 [15/17]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 7.2k Summary: Election Day is finally here, but the campaign certainly isn't over yet. The people need to get out and vote, and you and Steve put in more hard work to get them to the polls. But you can't ignore the new level you and Steve have stepped into for your relationship...

Content/Warnings: political/campaign discussions, marriage of political convenience, slow burn, really the slowest burn, strangers to lovers, EXPLICIT SMUT (oral - male and female receiving, vaginal intercourse, implied hand jobs, referenced shower sex)

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series

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

[NOVEMBER 3 - 8:32AM - TIMES SQUARE - MIDTOWN MANHATTAN]

“We all know it’s Election Day. Our team here at Good Morning America has been covering the developments you dedicated coverage for months, following the candidates, the debates, and the rogue run for the presidency by independent candidate and former Captain America Steven Grant Rogers, and in an unprecedented surprise development, we have the New York City native joining us here in studio right now,” Michael Strahan says, standing tall beside the news desk as the camera pans to reveal Steve sitting comfortably in one of the Good Morning America conversation chairs next to Robin Roberts and George Stephanopoulos.

"Good morning, America," Steve says with a small wave, his voice calm and steady despite the monumental day ahead. He looks impeccable in his navy suit, his signature red and blue campaign tie knotted perfectly at his throat. Your heart is racing and chest slightly heaving from the adrenaline of rushing across town and sprinting through the building to get Steve to the ABC studio in time for this last minute chance appearance, but Steve didn’t even break a sweat and looks cool as a cucumber on set. 

He is a super soldier, but he also didn’t have to do any of it in heels. 

"Captain Rogers, thank you both for being here on what must be an incredibly busy morning for you," George says, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

"I wouldn't miss it," you reply with a warm smile. "And please, call me Steve. New York is home, and I wanted to start this historic day right here."

“But we’re not your first stop, are we?” Robin jumps in. On the monitor next to you and Pepper, you can see them cutting to footage of you and Steve at your polling station to cast your ballots - which happened only just under an hour ago. “You’ve already been to Brooklyn to vote!”

Steve laughs, “Yes, we have! Voting is the most important thing every American can do today, so my wife and I made sure to take care of that the first chance we got!”

This stop hadn’t been on the itinerary, but your campaign press secretary had worked some sort of miracle and pulled many strings and announced as you got in a car to drive from The Plaza to your Brooklyn polling station that she’d managed to get Steve a five minute segment on the country’s most-watched morning show as long as you could make it into the studio by 8:30am. 

"Now, Steve, the polls are showing an incredibly tight race. Some are calling it the most unpredictable race in our nation’s history,” George says. “The most successful run a third party candidate made was Theodore Roosevelt in 1912. After serving two terms from 1901-1909, he said he was not interested in running for a third term, and the Republican nomination went to his Vice President William Howard Taft who went on to win and succeed Teddy Roosevelt as President, but he was unhappy with the direction Taft went, and sought the nomination again four years later. He didn’t get it, and so he ran as the candidate for the Progressive Party, and he actually earned 88 electoral votes.”

“That’s true, and I’m old, but this actually was still just before my time,” Steve confirms with a wink and a grin, effusing charm. “He won 27% of the popular vote, but Woodrow Wilson ended up taking in 435 votes in the electoral college.”

“Now there are two possibilities at the end of this election,” Robin takes the reins from her cohost for the next leg of the conversation. “The first and most straightforward is that one of the three candidates wins a simple majority, just 270 of the 538 electoral votes. But what happens if none of you reach that crucial 270 threshold?”

"If no candidate secures a majority,” Steve explains, “the House of Representatives holds a contingent election to choose the president, while the Senate does the same for the vice president. In the House, every state delegation has one vote, whereas in the Senate, each Senator votes individually." 

“That’s fascinating,” Robin replies.

"The Constitution's framers designed this process for exactly this kind of situation," Steve continues, his voice steady and clear. "It's happened before in our nation's history, though not since 1824." 

"And polls show this is a real possibility tonight," George adds, glancing at his notes. "How does that affect your strategy today?"

Steve leans forward slightly, his expression earnest. "Our strategy remains unchanged—connecting with voters until the last poll closes. Every state is a battleground state for us, not just the quote ‘traditional swing states.’ I think that’s one of the most dynamic parts of this election. But we would prefer if we could take a true 270-victory to keep it in the hands of every American voter. The people deserve to have their voices heard. That's what democracy is all about."

"Speaking of connecting with voters," Robin transitions smoothly, "your campaign has defied conventional wisdom at every turn. No party infrastructure, no traditional fundraising apparatus, yet here you are, competitive in nearly every battleground state. What do you attribute that success to?" 

You watch from just off-camera as Steve considers the question, his thoughtful pause not a hesitation but a careful, deliberate moment to find the words that matter.

"The American people are ready for something different," Steve says with quiet conviction. "They're tired of the political theater, the partisan gridlock. I was tired of it, too - that’s why I decided to do this, and what Charlie Young and I offer is simple: straight talk, clear vision, and a commitment to putting country above party." He smiles, that smile that has won over millions. "And I've been blessed not only with extraordinary supporters but a team of dedicated Americans who believed in this vision enough to work around the clock to make it possible."

George jumps in again and asks. "What's your message to voters who might still be undecided as they head to the polls today?"

Steve's expression grows more serious. "Vote your conscience. Not your fear, not your party loyalty, but your genuine belief in what America can and should be. This country has faced greater challenges than the ones before us now, and we've always emerged stronger when we've put our differences aside and focused on what unites us rather than what divides us. That's the America I believe in, and that's the America I hope to serve."

"And what about today's schedule?" Robin asks. "Where can voters expect to see you?"

"We'll be making stops in all five boroughs today," Steve replies. "We want to talk to as many people and thank as many people as we can. And then we'll be hosting a gathering in Central Park this evening as the results start coming in."

"And for those who haven't had a chance to meet you in person during the campaign," George says, "what would you like them to know about you as they head to the polls today?" 

Steve takes another brief moment, his expression thoughtful. "I'd want them to know that I've never stopped believing in what America can be. When I woke up in this century after being frozen for decades, I had to learn about a world that had changed dramatically. But the core of what makes this country special hasn't changed—it's still about people coming together, looking out for each other, and believing that tomorrow can be better than today if we're willing to work for it."

"And time for one last question," Robin says, glancing at the producer who's signaling from off-camera. "Win or lose, what happens tomorrow?" 

Steve smiles, a genuine warmth spreading across his features. "Tomorrow, the sun rises on America as it always has. And regardless of the outcome, I'll continue to serve this country in whatever capacity I can. That's been what I’ve done since 1943, and it hasn’t changed." 

"Captain Rogers—Steve—thank you for joining us this morning," George concludes, extending his hand. 

"Thank you for having me," Steve replies, shaking hands firmly with both hosts as the segment wraps. 

"And we're clear!" calls the floor director. The red lights dim, and the studio immediately buzzes with movement as crew members shift equipment for the next segment.

"That was great," Robin says warmly. "Good luck today, Steve."

"Thank you," he replies, his smile genuine but a touch weary around the edges in a way only you can detect.

"That was fantastic," Jake says, appearing at your side as Steve steps off the set. "You hit every key message point we wanted."

Steve's public face softens slightly as he turns to the two of you and Pepper, the practiced polish giving way to something more genuine. "Did it sound natural? That last answer felt a little rehearsed." 

"It was perfect," you assure him, straightening his already-perfect tie in a gesture that's become second nature. "Authentic but presidential." 

Lisa hurries over with a tablet displaying the updated schedule.

"That went incredibly well," Lisa says, swiping through her notes. "Social media engagement is already spiking. The clips will be running all morning."

"The quinjet is waiting," Pepper notes, checking her watch. "We need to be in Queens by nine-thirty."

Steve frowns. “The quinjet? Is that really necessary?”

Pepper smiles serenely. “We’re going to use all the resources at our disposal to get you where you need to be today. Quinjets are immune to traffic.”

[2:27PM - BROOKLYN]

Your body is humming with the adrenaline of five back-to-back events across New York City's five boroughs. After heading to Queens from the Good Morning America appearance, you’d then gone to the Bronx, back into Manhattan, ridden the Ferry to Staten Island to mingle with the crowd there before the actual Staten Island stop, and made the last stop in Brooklyn. 

You’re in a black SUV again now, and the motorcade weaves through the afternoon traffic, but instead of taking you back to Manhattan, every turn takes you deeper into Brooklyn. You exchange a puzzled glance with Steve as the familiar streets of your neighborhood come into view.

"Are we going where I think we're going?" you ask, leaning forward to catch Jake's eye in the front seat.

Jake turns, his expression a mixture of conspiracy and satisfaction. "Change of plans. We're taking you home."

"Home?" Steve repeats, his brow furrowing. "But the schedule had us back at the Plaza until the Central Park event."

"We only led you to believe that," Jake says, not quite meeting Steve's eyes. "Team decision. 

We don't trust either of you to actually rest if we take you back to campaign headquarters. You'll both be hovering over polling data and making calls until it's time for evening appearances."

"What?" you and Steve say in near unison, both of you immediately sitting up straighter. 

Jake's expression doesn't waver. "You heard me. You're going home to your actual home, and you're going to take a real break before tonight. The both of you are running on fumes." 

"Jake," Steve begins, his tone carrying that Captain America authority that usually brooks no argument.

"With all due respect," Jake interrupts, remarkably unfazed, "this isn't negotiable. You two need actual downtime before tonight. Sophia, Sam, Bucky, and I conferred with Pepper. It was unanimous, and Pepper pays my salary, not you."

Steve glances at you, a silent conversation passing between you. You can see the initial resistance in his eyes.

“We're confiscating your phones as well," Jake adds, putting his hand out expectantly. "If we need you, we'll communicate through the Secret Service agents."

You stare at Jake, mouth slightly agape, but realize you shouldn't be that surprised. The team has been protecting you both from burnout for months, orchestrating moments of respite amid the chaos whenever possible. Still, the boldness of this particular intervention catches you off guard, but you know he’s right. 

With a sigh of surrender, you hand over your phone. Steve hesitates a moment longer before reluctantly following suit. 

"Three hours," Jake says, pocketing both devices. "That's all we're asking. Eat something that isn't campaign trail food. Take a nap in your own bed. Change into fresh clothes. Just be normal people for a little while." 

The SUV pulls up to your brownstone, the one Steve purchased and that you haven’t spent more than a handful of days in since becoming his wife. It looks exactly as you remember—the freshly painted door, the window boxes that the property manager has maintained in your absence, the worn stone steps leading up to the entrance.

"We'll have agents downstairs," Jake continues as the Secret Service team conducts their standard perimeter check. "But inside, it's just the two of you."

"What about the press pool?" Steve asks, his sense of duty clearly warring with the temptation of a few hours of true privacy.

"Handled," Jake says firmly. "Why do you think we packed the news cycle for the first seven hours of your day?"

"And social media?" you ask, already anticipating that’s been covered, too.

“You surely noticed Peter Parker was your shadow across the five boroughs - he was gathering more than enough footage and photos to fuel the campaign until tonight.”

"You thought of everything," Steve observes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"That's my job," Jake responds with a smirk. "Now go. Rest. That's an order."

"Three hours," Steve agrees.

"Thank you," you add.

Jake smiles, genuine warmth replacing his earlier firmness. "See you at five-thirty. The car will be waiting."

As you step out of the SUV, the November air feels crisp against your skin. You and Steve walk briskly up to the front door, hand in hand, and a Secret Service agent opens it to let you inside. The brownstone welcomes you with familiar silence as the front door closes behind you. For a moment, you both stand in the foyer, as if reacquainting yourselves with the space that's meant to be yours but has seen so little of you.

"That was well-played by them," Steve finally says, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

"Very," you agree, taking off your coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. "But they're not wrong."

Steve follows suit, his jacket joining yours. "No, they're not," he admits, running a hand through his hair—a rare gesture of fatigue he allows himself only in private. "I haven't stopped moving since 5 AM."

You step closer to him, reaching up to loosen his tie. "And you were up at 4:30 checking polling data."

His hands settle on your waist, warm and steady. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Of course I did," you say softly, working the knot of his tie free and setting it on a small table near the front door. Then you tip your head up and kiss your husband. It’s sweet, soft, taking advantage of a moment you get to simply be together. He returns it in kind, and you feel the contentment bleeding from him into you. 

When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his chest and let out a contented sigh. "I'm starving," you admit, realizing you've barely eaten anything since the campaign breakfast at 6 AM. 

"Me too," Steve says, his stomach punctuating the statement with a rumble that makes you both laugh. "Let's see what we've got." 

You take his hand and lead him through the brownstone toward the kitchen. The house feels both familiar and strange—this space you've shared but never truly lived in together. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air and casting warm patterns across the hardwood floors. Your heels click against the wood, and you pause to slip them off, leaving them beside a decorative bench in the hallway.

"Much better," you sigh, wiggling your toes in relief. 

The kitchen is spotless and eerily untouched, yet somehow welcoming. Steve opens the refrigerator, his expression turning to surprise.

"It's fully stocked," he says, glancing back at you. "Someone thought of everything." 

You peek around his shoulder to see fresh produce, eggs, cheese, and various containers neatly arranged on the shelves. "Sophia," you guess. "She would remember we haven't actually lived here."

Steve pulls out ingredients—bread, cheese, deli meats, tomatoes, and lettuce. "Sandwiches?" he suggests, already moving with purpose around the kitchen. 

"Perfect," you agree, hoisting yourself onto one of the counter stools to watch him work. There's something mesmerizing about seeing Steve in such a domestic setting, his movements efficient yet relaxed as he assembles lunch. Your mind wanders back to the last time you were in this kitchen together, making chocolate chip cookies, and though things had been developing between the two of you, it was at that point when you started to feel the reality of your relationship and the roots of it being permanent, of going beyond a political arrangement, of genuine love and affection.

Steve must have been thinking along similar lines, because as he assembles sandwiches for you both, he says, “I never told you how nervous I was for you to come here for the Oprah interview.” 

"Nervous?" you ask, surprised. "Why? Because Oprah was coming?"

"No," he says with a small laugh, carefully slicing a tomato into perfect, even rounds. "Because you were. This was the first place that was really mine in this century. I'd had apartments, quarters at the Avengers compound, but this..." His knife pauses as he gestures around the kitchen. "I chose every detail. And I knew you’d been here before - for the nights around the wedding, but there weren’t emotional stakes back in June, and then suddenly I was seeing it all through your eyes."

You slide off the stool and move to stand beside him, picking up a knife to help with the sandwich preparations. 

"There was this moment after dinner," Steve says, glancing up with warmth in his eyes, "we had a few minutes before the team was going to prep for camera angles with us in the living room, and you ran your fingers slowly along the banister while we talked, then walked over and lingered by the windows. It was the first time I saw you truly relax around me."

"I didn't realize I was so transparent," you admit, watching as he layers turkey and cheese onto whole grain bread.

"Not transparent. Just... seen." He slides a completed sandwich toward you on a plate so you can cut it in half. "By me, anyway."

The simple statement carries weight that settles comfortably in your chest. 

You take a bite of your sandwich, the fresh ingredients a welcome change from campaign trail food. "You really see me, don't you?" you say after swallowing. "Even back then, when we barely knew each other." 

"I think I've always seen you," Steve replies, his voice soft as he leans against the counter opposite you. "Even when I was trying not to." 

You both eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the simple pleasure of a homemade meal in your own kitchen feeling like an extraordinary luxury after months of catering and takeout in hotel dining rooms, busses, planes, and at campaign events. 

Steve finishes his sandwich in record time and makes himself another while you're still working on your first.

"Super soldier metabolism," you tease, watching him assemble a second sandwich with practiced efficiency.

"I've been running on fumes, remember?" he says in a pained voice. "Haven't had a real meal in years."

You study him as he eats, noticing the slight tension around his eyes, the way he occasionally rolls his shoulders to release stiffness. Steve Rogers, ever the soldier, pushing through every bit of fatigue he’s determined to ignore, and all without complaint.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, catching your contemplative gaze.

"Us," you answer honestly. "How strange it is that we've been married for months but this is the first time we’re getting to do this, be this.”

"Normal life," Steve says, nodding. "Just being together without a schedule, without cameras." His eyes hold yours, warm and thoughtful. "I want more of this. After today, regardless of the outcome." 

You set your sandwich down, suddenly emotional at the simple truth of his words. "Me too." 

Steve reaches across the counter, taking your hand in his. His thumb traces gentle circles on your skin, the gesture so familiar now it feels like a language all its own. 

"I keep thinking about what happens after," you admit. "If you win, if you don't, everything changes again."

"Some things change," Steve agrees, his voice steady. "But not us. Not this." He squeezes your hand gently. "I meant what I said last night." 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory of tangled sheets and whispered confessions. "I know you did. I did too.”

Steve finishes his second sandwich, takes a long drink of water, then wipes his mouth on his napkin and turns to face you. You look up at him and lick your lips, his eyes darting down to catch the movement.

"Come upstairs with me," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low register that sends warmth spreading through your limbs. "We have two and a half hours left before we have to face the world again."

You step closer, your body fitting against his as naturally as breathing. "What did you have in mind, Captain Rogers?" you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice despite the way your heart quickens.

His eyes darken slightly as he looks down at you, his hand coming to rest on your waist. "A nap," he says with mock seriousness. "Jake's orders, remember?"

"Just a nap?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow. 

Steve's mouth curves into that half-smile that makes your stomach flip as his hand squeezes at your waist. "Just a nap," he confirms. "But I can't be held responsible for what happens before or after said nap."

You laugh softly, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. "Then by all means, how can I refuse?"

Steve scoops you up in one fluid motion, drawing a surprised gasp from you as he carries you toward the stairs. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape.

"Show-off," you murmur against his ear.

"Efficient," he corrects, navigating the stairs with ease despite your added weight. "We're on a schedule, remember?"

You’re up two flights of stairs in next to no time. 

The master bedroom is bathed in afternoon light, the cream curtains softening the November sun into a gentle glow. The bed is made with fresh linens—another thoughtful touch from whoever prepared the house for your brief visit. Steve closes the door behind you, though there's no one else in the house to hear or see.

Steve sets you down gently at the foot of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as yours slide up his chest.

For a moment, you simply breathe together, the campaign, the election, the world outside all fading away until there's just this—you and Steve, husband and wife, in a quiet room on an extraordinary day.

His lips find yours with gentle precision, the kiss unhurried despite the ticking clock. Steve's fingers work at the buttons of your blouse while you loosen his belt, both of you unhurried yet deliberate. There's no need to rush—this stolen time is yours alone.

"I keep thinking about how surreal this is," you murmur as he trails kisses down your neck, your blouse now hanging open. "In a few hours, you could be the President-elect."

His hands pause their exploration, and he pulls back slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes serious despite the flush on his cheeks. "Or not," he says. “It’s always been a long shot.”

“But not an impossible shot,” you counter. 

He smiles, cupping your face in his hands. "No. Not impossible." The fire you see in Steve’s eyes is there - you know he’s not feeling defeated, just tempering expectations, optimistic but realistic. 

Your fingers trace the contours of his face, memorizing every line, every plane. The enormity of it all washes over you—not just the election, but this journey you've taken together, the unexpected path that led you here.

"Whatever happens tonight," you whisper, "this is what matters. Us."

Steve's hands thread through your hair, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The intensity there makes your heart stutter. "Always," he agrees, voice low and certain.

You slide your hands down his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. A surge overtakes you—the need to show him with actions what words can't fully express. With deliberate slowness, you sink to your knees before him, maintaining eye contact as you undo his belt completely and lower his zipper with careful precision. His breath catches audibly, his hands moving to your shoulders as if to steady himself. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he holds himself with perfect control.

"You don't have to," he murmurs, though his dilated pupils tell a different story. 

"I want to," you reply, your voice soft but certain. 

His eyes darken further at your words, and he gives a small nod, surrendering to your touch. You ease his trousers down his hips, followed by his boxer briefs, revealing his already hard length. The afternoon light plays across his skin, highlighting the perfect planes of his muscled abdomen, the definition of his thighs. 

Your fingers trace up the inside of his leg, feeling the slight tremor that runs through him at your touch. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his hip bone, feeling him inhale sharply at the contact. When you finally take him into your mouth, his strong but gentle hands come to cradle your head in his hands, not guiding, just connecting.

"God," he breathes, the single word heavy with desire. 

You take your time, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the taste of his skin, the sound of his breath catching and releasing above you. The afternoon light streams through the curtains, casting a golden glow across his taut abdomen, highlighting the perfect definition of muscle beneath smooth skin. You watch his face as you move, captivated by the way his eyes darken and his lips part slightly with each slow stroke. 

Your hands slide up his thighs, feeling the powerful muscles flex beneath your touch. His fingers remain gentle in your hair, neither pushing nor pulling, just maintaining that intimate connection between you. You hollow your cheeks and take him deeper, drawing a low, rumbling groan from deep in his chest that sends a shiver of satisfaction through you. 

"You're incredible," he murmurs, his voice strained and husky.

You lose yourself in the rhythm, in his reactions, in the way his breathing grows more ragged with each passing moment. His thighs tense beneath your hands, and you glance up to see his head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted. The sight of him—powerful, vulnerable, yours—sends heat pooling low in your abdomen. 

When his control finally breaks, it's with your name on his lips, his hands still cradling your face with impossible firmness that’s still gentle even as pleasure overtakes him and you eagerly swallow him down. 

After, he helps you to your feet, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and determination that makes your pulse quicken. His hands never seem to leave your body as he carefully removes each article of your clothing, scorching your skin, spiking the desire with each touch. He turns you both and presses your back up against the bedroom door. 

"My turn," he whispers against your mouth, the words a promise that sends even more anticipation coursing through you.

Steve is not slow in kneeling before you and hitching one of your legs up over his shoulder, burying his head into your wet cunt. His breath is hot against your most sensitive flesh, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips as his tongue makes first contact. 

Your back presses harder against the door as Steve's large hands grip your hips firmly, anchoring you in place. The contrast of the cool wood against your heated skin makes you shiver—or perhaps it's the intense way he's looking up at you, his blue eyes darkened with desire.

"Hold onto me," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that you feel more than hear.

You thread your fingers through his hair, the soft strands tickling your palms as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh. Each touch of his lips is deliberate as he works his way back to your core with agonizing slowness. His stubble creates a salacious friction against your sensitive skin, the slight sting only heightening your anticipation.

When he finally returns his attention to your center, you grip his hair tighter, your head falling back against the door with a soft thud. His tongue moves with purposeful precision, circling your clit before flattening against it, sending sparks of pleasure radiating outward. Your breathing grows ragged as he establishes a rhythm that has your knees weakening, grateful for his strong hands keeping you upright.

"Steve," you gasp, the single syllable carrying everything you can't articulate—need, love, desperation. 

He responds by doubling his efforts, sliding one hand from your hip to slip two fingers inside you. The dual sensation of his mouth and fingers working in tandem has you climbing rapidly toward release, your body tensing with each stroke. 

"That's it," he encourages against your flesh, the vibration of his voice adding another layer to the building pleasure. "Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The leg draped over his shoulder trembles as tension builds within you, coiling tighter with each expert movement of his mouth. Your fingers tighten in his hair, earning a low groan from him that vibrates against your sensitive flesh, the sensation pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your body arching against the door as Steve works you through it, his movements slowing but not stopping until you're gasping, oversensitive, and tugging gently at his hair to signal you need a reprieve.

He rises to his feet in one fluid motion, his hands steadying you as your knees threaten to buckle. His mouth finds yours in a deep, claiming kiss that has you tasting yourself on his lips. Despite having just found release, desire flares anew at the intimate gesture. 

"Bed," you manage between kisses, tugging him toward the mattress. "Now."

Steve follows willingly, his renewed arousal evident against your hip as you both stumble onto the freshly made bed. The sheets are cool beneath your hands and knees as you crawl up the mattress, Steve right behind you. He positions himself over you, his chest against your back, hips rutting against yours. 

His lips find the sensitive spot at the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as his hardness presses insistently against you. You arch your back, pressing your hips back against him in silent invitation. His hand slides around to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple as his other hand guides himself to your entrance. 

"Yes," you breathe, the word half-plea, half-permission. 

Steve enters you with one slow, deliberate thrust that has both of you gasping. He stills for a moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. The fullness, the connection—it's overwhelming in the best possible way. 

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, the words reverent and raw. 

"I love you too," you reply, reaching back to touch his face, needing that additional point of contact. 

He begins to move, slow and measured at first, letting you both savor each sensation. His rhythm builds steadily, each thrust slightly deeper, slightly harder than the last. Your other hand clutches at the sheets, anchoring yourself as pleasure builds once more. The only sounds in the room are your mingled breaths, occasional whispered endearments, and the soft rustle of sheets beneath you.

"Faster," you plead, pushing back against him to emphasize your need.

Steve's restraint breaks at your words. His pace increases, each thrust more powerful than the last, the new angle hitting the intimate spot along your front wall that sends you to another level, and you moan. 

His hand slides from your breast down to where your bodies join, his fingers finding your sensitive bundle of nerves with unerring precision. The stimulation has you climbing rapidly toward another peak, your inner walls clenching around him as tension builds.

"Steve," you gasp, the word both warning and plea. 

"I've got you," he promises, his voice strained with his own building release. "Always." 

Your second orgasm crashes through you with surprising intensity, your body shuddering beneath his as waves of pleasure wash over you in relentless succession. Steve follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he spills inside you with a deep groan that reverberates through your connected bodies.

For several heartbeats, you remain locked together, both catching your breath as the aftershocks of pleasure gradually subside. Steve presses tender kisses along your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace that makes you feel cherished beyond words. 

When he finally eases out of you, you both collapse onto the mattress, limbs entangled, skin cooling in the quiet afternoon air. Steve gathers you into his chest, his arm draped protectively over your waist.

"That certainly not a nap," you murmur against his jaw, your voice languid with satisfaction, lips brushing against his beard.

Steve's chest rumbles with quiet laughter. "We still have time," he points out, but the way his hand roams your back and the push of his thigh between your legs suggests he’s not considering sleep just yet.

And you don’t sleep. 

You kiss, you grind and grope and pleasure each other some more. After what seems like far too soon but is an hour later, Steve coaxes you out of the bed, but into the shower where he fucks you again against the cool tiled wall. 

"It feels strange," you admit, wrapping a towel around your torso. "Being here when there's so much happening."

Steve nods. "Strange but good," he says, his shoulders squared but relaxed for the first time in weeks. "Jake was right."

"Don't tell him that," you say with a small laugh. 

Steve laughs, securing his own towel around his waist before stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your middle, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Our secret, then." 

You lean back against him, savoring the solid warmth of his chest against your back, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, you both stand there, reflected in the slightly fogged bathroom mirror—your skin flushed, hair damp, eyes bright. You look happy. Both of you. Despite the weight of expectation hanging over this day, despite the exhaustion of the campaign trail, despite the uncertainty that awaits.

You check the clock on the wall—nearly five o'clock. The bubble you've been living in for the last few hours is about to pop.

"We should get ready," you say reluctantly, running your fingers through your damp hair. "Car will be here in thirty minutes."

Steve nods, but instead of moving toward his clothes, he stays exactly where he is, arms around you, lips pressing warm kisses along your shoulder. "Five more minutes," he whispers against your skin, and you're tempted—so tempted—to give in, to stay locked in this private world where it's just the two of you, no campaign, no country watching, no history being made.

But duty calls, as it always does. 

"Five minutes," you agree, turning in his arms to face him. "But actual getting ready has to happen." 

Steve's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles down at you. "Deal." His hands come up to frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones with such tenderness it makes your chest ache. "Whatever happens tonight," he says, his voice low and serious, "this has been the greatest adventure of my life." 

"Better than fighting aliens?" you tease, but your voice catches on the words. 

"Much better," he confirms without hesitation. "Fighting alongside the Avengers was about saving the world. This—" his hand gestures between you, encompassing everything unspoken, "—this has been about making it better."

The weight of his words settles over you, and you rise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his in a kiss that carries everything you can't articulate—gratitude, love, partnership, hope. 

When you pull away, Steve's eyes remain closed for a beat, as if he's committing the moment to memory. Then he inhales deeply, his shoulders squaring with familiar determination. 

"Time to get dressed," he says, dropping one final kiss to your forehead before stepping away. 

You both move with practiced efficiency, the routine of preparing for public appearances so ingrained now it requires little thought. Steve selects a fresh navy suit—the same color as this morning but a different cut. After taking care of your hair and makeup, you stand much longer flipping through the options in your closet, considering the wardrobe that has been expertly curated and tailored for you but that you’re largely unfamiliar with since these clothes have been here, not on the road with you. 

As you rifle through options, it doesn't help that your eyes keep being drawn to a very conspicuous piece at the very end. 

The conspicuous garment bag with your wedding dress. 

Your fingers brush against the protective plastic, memories of that day flooding back with unexpected intensity. The intricate lace, the delicate beading that caught the light as you walked down the aisle in that small Brooklyn church. It had been a practical choice at the time—a wedding arranged for political strategy, not romance.

"You were so beautiful that day," Steve's voice comes from behind you, startling you slightly as you hadn't heard him approach. His reflection appears in the mirror beside yours, his eyes soft with remembrance. "I could see that, and I knew you had to be great—Pepper had promised me she'd pick the partner I needed, but I never imagined I was meeting the love of my life." 

You chuckle, though your eyes glisten slightly with tears—partly because Steve's words move you, and partly because, in hindsight, you recognize that day was tougher than you ever initially allowed yourself to admit. 

"I didn't expect this, either," you admit, turning to face him properly. "Any of it. I thought I was making a political arrangement with a good man. I never imagined..." You gesture between you, at the intimacy that has grown between you, unexpected and profound. 

“You were beautiful that day, but you also looked so determined, so fearless, I was thrown for a loop.”

You laugh again. “Are you serious? I was walking down the aisle to marry Captain America, who was still technically a stranger to me since he’d ditched our first date to meet a former president instead, and I’d also had a rather tense conversation where I’d just revealed to my parents why I was really rushing in to a marriage that hadn’t been on their radar at all. I was all game face and determination because I was barely holding it together.”

Steve's expression softens, and he reaches out to cup your cheek. "I had no idea. Like I said, you seemed so composed."

"That's what you saw," you say, leaning into his touch. "Years of practice hiding nerves. But inside, I was a mess. There was no turning back. And I didn't want to, even though I knew it wouldn’t be easy. And then you took my hand and it felt..."

"Steadying," he finishes for you.

"Yes," you admit. 

"Even then, something about us just worked." His thumb traces your cheekbone. He sighs. “I wish we could do it all over again, do it right.”

You shake your head, responding immediately, “I don’t! There’s no way we’re here, like this, exactly this kind of in love if we’d done it any other way.” You take his other hand in both of yours as you continue, “This version of us is what I want for the rest of our lives.”

Steve kisses you fiercely, and when you break apart, he says, "You're right, I know you're right, but I didn't even propose to you."

You blink, surprised by the sudden intensity in his voice. "What?" 

"I never proposed," he repeats, taking both your hands in his. His eyes are bright with emotion. "You deserved that moment, at least. A real proposal, not a political arrangement hammered out over pitches and contracts."

A smile tugs at your lips. "Steve, we're married, that’s the important thing." 

"I know." His thumbs trace circles on your palms, a gesture so familiar now it feels like a language all your own. Then he reaches out to touch the garment bag, his fingers tracing the outline of the dress within. "We should renew our vows," he says. "After all this. A real ceremony, for us this time."

The suggestion catches you off guard, but warmth spreads through your chest at the thought. "I'd like that," you say softly.

A knock at the bedroom door - muffled as it’s filtered from the bedroom to the en suite bathroom - interrupts the moment. "Five minutes, sir, ma'am," comes the voice of one of the Secret Service agents.

"Thank you," Steve calls back, his eyes never leaving yours.

You turn back to your wardrobe. “You go, you’re distracting! I’ll be down in just a few minutes.”

“Alright,” he laughs. "I'll see you downstairs," he says, pressing one more quick kiss to your temple before moving to the door. He pauses with his hand on the knob, looking back at you with an expression that makes your heart skip. "Thank you. For everything."

Before you can respond, he's gone, leaving you with your thoughts and a closet full of clothes. You run your fingers over the options, finally selecting a dark green dress that complements Steve's navy suit. 

As you slip into the dress, your mind races with possibilities for the night ahead. The polls have been unpredictable, the race unlike any in modern history. By morning, your life could look dramatically different—or perhaps not. Either way, something fundamental has shifted during these months of the campaign, and there's no going back to who you were before. The woman who walked down the aisle in that wedding dress feels like a stranger now—someone who couldn't possibly have imagined where this path would lead.

You give yourself one final check in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the tailored dress that was built to fit your body like a glove, giving you confidence in your curves, and adjusting your hair. The face that looks back at you is tired but luminous, eyes bright with purpose and something else—a quiet confidence that wasn't there before. Whatever happens tonight, you're ready. 

next part: Election Day, part 2

Coming toward the end of the series, I'm back with a regular Friday update! Ta da! Are you proud of me? 🥹

Somehow I thought Election Day would be one chapter, but since it's such a big day, it was inevitable that it would need to be split in two - I just didn't know that until we got here hahaha! When I got to this point in the chapter, we should just be glad it leant itself to a natural enough breaking point. Story-wise there are just about as many scenes left for them for the second half of this very long and essential day.

But I'm also happy that we'll get to have one more chapter (and probably an epilogue...tbd on the election results).

(and tbh, I'm only 90% locked in on my decision for the election results...)

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

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[neeeooon]

Hiii this is my first time requesting. Can you do bllk boys reacting to SO falling and hurting her knee while walking with them?

Any characters is fine but can you include Chigiri and Sae?

cute :( on it, thank you!

when you fall and hurt your knee

bf bllk x gn!reader. cussing, some might be ooc

immediately plucks you up off the ground and kneels down to brush the dirt from your outfit as your eyes fill with tears. looked up at you so softly and asks with a voice full of concern, “are you okay?”

-> yukimiya kenyu. isagi yoichi. alexis ness.

doesn’t let you hit the ground. he’s able to catch you in time and clutch you to his side, inspecting you with brows tight in concern. “you okay?” ohhhh you’re a blushing mess, but you’re definitely more than okay

-> barou shoei. itoshi sae. nagi seishiro.

sighs heavily as he picks you up and looks you over for any damage. he’s used to this by now and is glad that you aren’t hurt (this time). “that was so embarrassing,” you whine and he scoops your hand up in his. “agreed. would ice cream make things better?” “yes!”

-> itoshi rin. michael kaiser. kunigami rensuke.

super dramatic about it. hauls you off the ground and gently shakes your shoulders. “do we need to cut it off?” or some stupid shit like that to make you giggle and distract you from the sting

-> bachira meguru. mikage reo. otoya eita.

laughs at you. like, full body chortles as he doubles over and wheezes for breath, crying. helps you up, still giggling, and makes sure you’re not hurt before kissing your head or cheek. “i’m sorry, are you okay?” and when he trips over the exact same bump, you’re the one to laugh as he sits there and thinks about his actions

-> chigiri hyoma. sendou shuto. shidou ryusei.