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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 1 month ago

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A God’s Desire - Thor x Black!Reader

Summary: Thor Odinson’s son Damien has been pulling away leading you into the arms of his father. Smut, romance

18+

You hadn’t meant to linger in the hall outside of the training chambers, but the way he moved captivated you in a way it shouldn’t have. The way his muscles formed and clenched. The way his focus was solely locked on the task at hand. The way his chest and abdomen- “Come,” Thor said without turning, and you feel caught off guard. Here you were, watching your boyfriend’s father while worry about your troubling and failing relationship.

“If you are going to brood in the shadows, you may as well speak on what weighs on you,” You’re frowning, stepping inside the room, your arms crossing over your chest. You had a billion things to say, none of which were making way through your mouth. “He didn’t…..he didn’t come home last night,” You mutter, stopping in the doorway.

Thor pauses, slowly setting his knife in its sheath that was perched on his pants. “He told me that he had to patrol Vanaheim, but I checked. He wasn’t on the list,” His words make your heart clench, though its no surprise. Not really. You swallow as you look over at him, his chest glistened with sweat capturing your attention for just a moment. You’re meeting his piercing gaze that always seems to captivate you.

His expression is soft, his voice though firm. “He is not who he was as of late,” “So you’ve noticed?” “I notice everything,” He replies, standing up straight to his full height, his long, golden strands slightly sticking to his forehead and neck. His beard was braided, just past the length of his neck. “Is my fault?” The question seems to take him off guard as he regards you, and he shakes his head. “No, it just means that he wasn’t ready to have something that he feared he could lose,”

You were not only sucking in a breath at his words, but because he was coming towards you, his stature making your mouth go dry. He’s in your space then, towering above you with the feeling of raw authority leaking from his very being. He’s grasping your chin, tilting your head up, his electrifying gaze completely captivating you. Rooting you in place. “Even sons of God’s can be foolish my dear,” Your eyes start to fill with tears at the corners, and his thumb is brushing underneath your eye as one slips down your skin.

“I’ve been trying…I’ve stayed-,” Your voice cracks, and you’re adverting your gaze. “I’ve seen mortal. You’ve loved him unconditionally…” You’re looking at him once more, and his grip softens just slightly, but doesn’t let go. Not completely.

The knock came three days later, filtering through the quiet of your chambers. Your bed was still empty, your heart hurting. You gave up your home to be here. With him. With a man you thought you’d live the rest of your life with. A god. You gave up your family. Your friends. For love. A new place. A new life.

And you were lonelier than you had been on Earth. A part of you hoped it was him. A part of you hoped it wasn’t. You wouldn’t be able to look at him. To confront him about his whereabouts. You’d give up. Willing to keep this delusional peace. This life.

You loved it here. You loved the family and friends you’ve made here. You fit here. You belonged here. That’s what Thor had told you when his son Damien had brought you to Asgard for the first time. He wouldn’t have lied to you.

Another knock comes, and you’re pulling yourself out of bed, heading towards the door. Your feet are tripping over something, and you’re yelping as you tumble, your head knocking against the end table near the door.

Your locked door is being pushed open, the lock breaking with ease. For a moment, you think its Damien by the way his hair shines from the morning sun that was barely filtering onto the courtyard. A thicker and broader frame tells you otherwise, and Thor is coming to your aid. He murmurs something before lifting you with ease, easing you upright as he makes his way to your bathroom. When you first came to Asgard, Thor advised a first aid kit would be useful as humans were obviously more fragile. You hadn’t needed it until now.

He's setting you on the counter before reaching under the sink and pulling out the necessary supplies. He’s slipping the golden bonnet off your head, your thick head of curls becoming loose. “Let me see,” He’s flipping on a dimming light, and you squint your eyes close as he tilts your head back.

“Hold onto me,” He’s placing your hand against his hip, the cloth beneath his skin was tight. “You’re going to need stitches,” You’re quiet as he tends to you, the sting of the needle making you wince with every passing. He had cleaned your wound until it barely bled. Your hand squeezed against his hip every so often.

You kept your eyes on his stomach as you sat still, your mind racing. The only thing on your mind was how close you were. Too close. “I was coming to check on you as I hadn’t seen you in a few days…and to deliver something,” He was pulling back, reaching into the lining of his cloak, pulling out a piece of paper.

It was folded neatly, and upon opening it, you could make out his distinct handwriting.

I know that I have not been a great lover to you. I am unsure of when or how I strayed from your love. I need time away. Just a week or so. If you leave, I’d understand. I’ve made mistakes, but I am hoping you could forgive them. I will be back and I hope your heart is still mine when I return. With all my love.

-Damien

Your brows flutter, and your eyes immediately well with tears.

He’s tilting your head up, his face somber. “This will always be a home for you,”

The days that followed were slow and strange. You didn’t leave your chambers much, but when you did, it was often because Thor had sent for you. Small things at first—a walk through the northern gardens, an invitation to dinner with the court, a book he thought you’d enjoy left at your door.

You didn’t speak of Damien. Neither of you did.

Instead, there was something quieter being built between you. A sanctuary.

When he sat beside you under the shade of an ancient tree, your thigh brushed his, and he didn’t move. You didn’t either.

When he brought you a woven shawl after you forgot the chill of the night air, he didn’t drape it around your shoulders. He pressed it into your hands, and your fingers lingered a moment longer on his.

You started to laugh again—tentatively, softly—and every time you did, Thor would look at you like he’d just seen something holy. He didn’t touch you, not in any way that would be called improper.

But everything about him touched you.

You began to crave his silence as much as his words.

***

One night, a week after the letter, you found yourself standing outside the war chamber, watching him from a distance again. This time, he didn’t call you out.

He simply turned toward you, and held your gaze.

You crossed the threshold without a word and stepped beside him as he looked over a map of realms and alliances. His hair was loose, a rare sight. He hadn’t noticed, you thought, or maybe he had and didn’t care. There were small signs of wear on him—on his eyes, his shoulders—as if he, too, was carrying something unspeakable.

“Have you ever… lost yourself trying to keep something that was already slipping away?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t look at you, but you felt the shift in his energy.

“Yes,” he said.

You nodded. “What did you do?”

Thor’s hands curled over the edge of the table. “I let it go. And it nearly destroyed me.”

You looked at him. “But it didn’t.”

“No.” His eyes finally met yours. “But only because I stopped pretending I hadn’t already lost it.”

You didn’t realize your hand had found his until his fingers closed gently over yours.

***

The fall came unexpectedly—rain pouring in sheets across the courtyard as you crossed it to return to your chambers. You hadn’t thought to bring anything with you, your dress now clinging to your skin, soaked and chilled. By the time you made it back, your hands were trembling from cold.

You didn’t even notice Thor until he was there, closing the door behind you with a firm hand and shrugging off his cloak.

“I saw you from the terrace,” he said simply, eyes raking over your drenched form with something between worry and restraint. “You’ll get sick walking like that.”

He placed the cloak around your shoulders, thick and warm and heavy with his scent. You couldn’t look at him—not directly. Not with the pounding of your heart so loud it filled your ears.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” You question, not sure of what your answer would be, but you waited anyway.

“Because someone should be,” he replied. “And because I want to.”

You swallowed. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. Waiting for someone who keeps stepping away.”

Thor was quiet for a moment before he said, “Then stop waiting.”

You turned to him then, cloak held tight around you.

“Thor…”

He stepped forward, just once. No contact. No demand. But you felt it again—the pull of him, the ache of something unspoken rising between you.

“I will not touch you while your heart is still tied to another,” He says, voice barely above a whisper. “But know this…”

You held your breath.

“If he comes back and finds you gone, it will not be because I pulled you away. It will be because he let you go.”

Your lip trembled. “And if I don’t go back to him?”

For the first time, Thor looked shaken.

“Then the gods may forgive me for the thoughts I’ve kept to myself.”

***

You dare didn’t think about what he meant even though you knew deep down. You dreamt about unspeakable things. Things you would not utter to a soul. Intimate moments that lied deep beneath the surface.

You woke up in sweats some nights, letting out deep pants into the silent room, almost feeling his body on top of yours. Was he plagued by the same thoughts? Did he have the same visions? Did he feel…the electric charge between the two of you? Or were you just delusional? Still reeling from a love you know you’ve lost long ago?

You knew it was wrong.

You knew that you’d be better off back on Earth. Not here. Longing for something so forbidden. But it was proving to be difficult as a week turned into two. Two into three. You weren’t sure if Damien would ever return. But you knew the love you had for him may have been casted onto another. Were you going to trade loyalty for desire?

***

It was raining again. Hard. But that didn’t stop you from walking through the open halls to his quarters. The wind blew past your gown, your bare feet tapping against the cement. It was freezing. Your teeth chattered as you briskly kept your pace. You didn’t get a chance to knock, his name slipping past your lips in a desperate tone. The doors were pulling open quicker than you could blink, and there he was.

As if he could feel you.

As if he could sense the inner storm brewing inside your heart. Inside your body.

“Thor-I…” He towers over you, your words falling short as you let out a breath. His body is tense, eyes wandering your own with so much restraint he could snap. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his gaze growing darker with every flash of lightening that passed through the crack in the door. You were practically shaking. Partially from the cold and partially from the emotions coursing through you.

The door is pulling shut from the wind, and a thick silence wraps around you so tightly it could choke you. “May the God’s forgive me…” In a breath, he was in your space, your back brushing against his thick doors, and one hand is resting over your racing heart. The other held in a fist beside your head. He was a sight. Completely undone. Those eyes…

“I told you I would not touch you if your heart is tied to another…” His voice is strained, the pressure of his hand heavy. You meet his raw and desperate gaze, your hands resting over his, as if he were an anchor. “Take me…I know it’s wrong, I know we shouldn’t but…please…I need-,” You didn’t need to utter another word. His lips were on yours before you could take another breath, his hands clawing at your wet clothes with anticipation.

A part of him intended to take his time. But this part of him? The part that needed you, could not have such patience. Your clothes were ripping down the front, freeing and exposing your bare body to him. He wasted no time, eyes briefly raking over you before he was meeting your lust, love-filled gaze. He was shedding your clothing like scraps of paper, letting the remaining wet strips fall to the floor.

He was lifting you by the thighs, kissing you heavily, your back pressing against the softest sheets known to man. His silk pants are shimmering into nothing but an illusion, as if they were never there, and he does his best to prepare you. His best to touch you with such intensity that had you trembling beneath his as pleasure overtook every other emotion.

It’s passionate and raw. Filled with a yearning, a frustration, and a longing. He placed hard kisses on your skin, teeth scraping your lips as he buried himself in you, your cries ringing out to him. Your nails sunk into his skin, heels of your feet digging into his back.

His pace was hard, soaking up every inch of you, his deep groans reverberating against you. You were lost in a sea of pleasure and emotions, crying out with every passing, eyes shut so tightly. You screamed for him, whimpered, shook underneath his weight as he did unspeakable things to you. As he molded and folded your body until it became his. Watching you uncontrollably let go over and over again, the puddle in his sheets growing by the hour. Until your legs were shaking, whimpers leaving your throat with tears down your face.

Only then did he pause, looking upon you like a most precious, tender thing. Something to be worshipped. And he started again. Except he was slow. Your racing heart slowing, his hands exploring you completely. Lips pressing into every surface of your body. Touching upon you like a map. Tasting every inch you could give him. Soft and sweet. Once wasn’t enough. Your stomach. Your back, on your side. Any position that gave him another chance to explore you. Until you were milking him again and again. Whimpering soft phrases and pleas. Prayers.

He was reminded you were human, almost forgetting. You were still squeezing him, your eyes heavy, body glistening with sweat. He was kissing you softly, feeling your body relax underneath him like you belonged.

***

You lay with your head in the crook of his arm, his fingers trailing down your spine.

You’d awoken hours ago. Not exactly plagued with regret, but something else. No part of you regretted last night. But you were plagued with worry. What did this mean now? If and when Damien returned, what would you say? What about Thor? What did this mean to him?

“Your mind is racing,” He rumbles, lips pressed against the top of your head. “Yes…” You’re nudging your head from under his chin, frowning. As if he could read your mind, he’s smoothing a thumb across your lips.

“I am not foolish like my son. I know what’s in front of me. My sharing of my bed is not some fleeting moment. What I did to you, with you last night…” His eyes darken, captivating you with such conviction. He could replay every moment in his head. “I have no regrets. I think you know that my eyes have wandered to you before, but you were with Damien and I’d never betray him or you in such a way. You have nothing to fear here. You are not some passing harlot that moves from room to room, bed to bed. You’ve become mine the moment your heart stopped longing for an absent love,”

Your breath catches and he’s gripping your face, as if to ground you in the moment. To feel him. “What if he returns? What if he’s upset? What if-,” “Then let him. He lost you. I will not hide my desire for you, and I will not hide my pride,” He’s caressing your face, his tone softening. “There will be consequences. Things will be tense. Our relationship…my son and I may not be the same, but it is a risk I am willing to take. If you need time…” His voice lowers and though he doesn’t admit it, it would bruise him if you hid away behind shame.

You shake your head. “No…I just got caught up in the what ifs. What if your people judge you? What if-,” He’s shushing you with a look, and your lips close. “That should be nothing to worry your mind about. I can handle my people. I can handle my son. I can handle you, your fears, your what ifs. There is not a thing to worry over…” The rain outside still poured, but you let his steady heart and hands lull you back to sleep.

@bigbratmo @1andonlytashae @ellethespaceunicorn @iwudbutnah @winters-doll

#halfofmysoul #thor x black!reader

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 2 months ago

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after ever • sydluca

SUMMARY: After Ever's "funeral" service, Sydney hosts an afterparty at her new place, but she never thought that this is how her night would end.

PAIRINGS: Sydney Adamu x Luca

WARNINGS: cursing, sexual situations, usual chef b.s.

TAGLIST: @wakandamama, @justabovewater20, @a-lumos-in-the-nox, @ihyperfixateoncharacters, @kdoxkeic, @oceanfanatic06, @motivation-idontknowher, @blowmymbackout@superhoeva @barefoothighlander, @soufcakmistress @celestianstars @suckthatskittlebiiitch @sarcasticmrfox @zeeader @geekyfer @retrouvailles-film @stargirlfics @spellbinding10 @blckgrl-sunflower @iamcurlycubana @shar74nett @creativitybeware

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Takes place in Season 3, Episode 10. Enjoy!

Sydney wasn't drunk.

Not exactly.

Buzzed, maybe. That particular kind of floaty that came after a night like tonight—after sitting at a table with some of the most respected chefs in the world, after being introduced as someone worth knowing, after feeling like maybe she belonged in those conversations about legacy and inspiration and what it meant to create something that mattered.

Until she saw the clipping.

Her apartment was packed with bodies and voices and the lingering energy of celebration. The chefs from Ever had actually shown up after the "funeral"—Luca with his easy charm, some of Adam's team who'd been curious about the girl everyone kept mentioning. The Faks had arrived with a literal keg, because of course they had. Marcus was grinning wider than she'd seen in months, and even Tina was letting loose, teaching someone's college friend how to properly fold a dumpling.

The party had moved from Ever to her place after Chef Terry—Andrea, she'd corrected with a laugh—had taken down the "Every Second Counts" sign and told everyone to get the fuck out of there. Someone had brought expensive wine that tasted like it cost more than her rent. Someone else was making frozen waffles with caviar, because apparently that's what happened when fine dining chefs got drunk in your kitchen.

Everything felt celebratory and chaotic and overwhelming in the best possible way. Sydney was having a hell of a time with her Bear family, laughing at stories, dancing to music that was too loud for her neighbors, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

Then she went to the fridge for more ice and saw it.

Taped to the door, slightly wrinkled from humidity and time: the newspaper clipping about The Original Beef. The old review. Four stars. Glowing praise.

Her mind flashed through images—Marcus, Tina, Natalie, the Faks, Carmy. All the people she'd grown to love, all the chaos and brilliance and dysfunction that had become her chosen family. And then Andrea's words from earlier: "It's the people they remember."

But what if she was remembering wrong? What if this whole time, she'd been fooling herself about where she fit in all of this?

Adam's offer echoed in her mind. CDC at his new restaurant. Her own kitchen, her own menu, her own chance to tell the stories she wanted to tell without having to fight for every ingredient, every technique, every moment of creative control. Earlier tonight, he'd pulled her aside again, asking if she'd made a decision, his urgency barely concealed behind professional politeness.

She still hadn't told Carmy. Hadn't even signed the partnership agreement he'd offered her. How could she, when every service felt like a battle and every suggestion she made seemed to disappear into his relentless pursuit of some impossible standard?

The room suddenly felt too small, too bright, too loud. Everyone was celebrating, raising glasses and sharing stories about the incredible dinner they'd just experienced. But all Sydney could think about was the weight of the decision she'd been avoiding, the conversation she'd been too scared to have, the future she was too afraid to reach for.

Her chest tightened. The familiar sensation of walls closing in, of air getting thicker, harder to breathe.

She could almost feel whatever had haunted Carmy all these months entering her—flashes of her best and worst moments at The Bear, the constant push and pull of wanting to stay and needing to grow.

"Syd?" Marcus's voice filtered through the noise, but it sounded far away now, underwater.

She mumbled something about needing air, about being back in a minute, but she was already moving toward the door. Past the coat pile, past her coffee table cluttered with empty bottles and someone's forgotten phone. She grabbed her keys from the hook and slipped out into the hallway.

The building's stairwell was cooler, quieter. She made it halfway down before her knees buckled, hands braced against the concrete steps as she gasped for air that wouldn't come fast enough.

She had a panic attack in the hallway, hyperventilating over the decision she knew she had to make but couldn't bring herself to voice.

This was supposed to be a celebration. A perfect end to a perfect evening where she'd felt like she belonged at that table with those chefs, where people had actually listened when she spoke, where for once she wasn't just "Carmy's sous chef" but Sydney, a chef worth knowing.

And here she was, falling apart in a stairwell because she couldn't figure out how to want something for herself without feeling like she was betraying everyone else.

"Sydney?"

The voice was warm, familiar, tinged with that slight accent that made her name sound different than when anyone else said it.

She looked up to see Luca coming down the stairs slowly, concern evident in his blue eyes. He was still holding a beer, his shirt slightly rumpled from the party, hair falling into his face.

"What are you doing here?" she managed, voice rougher than she intended.

"Saw you leave pretty quickly," he said, settling onto the step beside her but leaving enough space that she didn't feel crowded. "Looked like you might need some company."

She almost laughed, but it came out more like a sob. "Everyone else is having a good time and I'm out here having a breakdown. Great look for the chef everyone thinks is so promising."

"Promising doesn't mean you have to be perfect," he said quietly. "Tonight was a lot. All those conversations about legacy and mentorship and what we're building toward. Makes sense you'd need a minute to process."

Sydney wiped at her face, surprised to find tears. "It's not just tonight. It's everything. Adam wants me to be his CDC. Carmy wants me as his partner. And I don't know what I want because I don't know if I even know who I am outside of trying to keep up with him."

She gestured vaguely toward the party sounds filtering down from above.

Luca nodded like this made perfect sense. "Been there. Success is fucking terrifying because suddenly everyone's watching to see if you can do it again. And making your own choice means disappointing someone."

"How do you handle it?" she asked. "The pressure. The expectations. Knowing that whatever you choose, someone's going to get hurt."

"Badly, most of the time," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "But I've learned that the only person who has to live with your choices is you. What do you want, Sydney? Not what Carmy wants for you, not what Adam's offering you. What do you want?"

She was quiet for a long moment, listening to the muffled sounds of the party above them—laughter, music, the clink of glasses.

"I want to cook food that matters to me," she said finally. "I want to tell stories that are mine to tell. I want to work with people who see me as an equal, not as someone who needs to prove herself every single day." She paused, voice getting smaller. "But I'm scared of leaving what I know, even if what I know is... complicated."

"Carmy," he said. Not a question.

She nodded. "We work well together in the kitchen, when he's not spiraling about reviews or costs or whatever David Fields did to his head. But I can't keep being his safety net while he figures out how to be a human being."

"David Fields was there tonight," Luca said quietly.

Sydney's head snapped up. "What happened?"

"Carmy followed him to the bathroom. Had it out with him, from what I could see. Came back looking like he'd seen a ghost, but also... lighter, maybe? Like he'd finally said what he needed to say."

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

"You know," Luca said eventually, "whatever you decide, those people up there love you. That's not going to change because you choose your own path."

Sydney looked up toward her apartment, where shadows moved against the warm light and laughter still spilled out into the hallway.

"Will you come back up with me?" she asked. "I'm not ready to face all the questions yet, but I don't want to be alone either."

Luca smiled—genuine and warm and completely without expectation. "Course. We can help clean up, open another bottle of wine, and you can tell me more about this CDC offer. If you want."

She nodded, feeling steadier. "Yeah. I'd like that."

_______________________________________________

By the time they made it back upstairs, the energy had shifted from celebration to the comfortable exhaustion that came after a really good night. A few people were gathering coats and calling cars, thanking Sydney for hosting and congratulating her again on how well she'd held her own at that table of culinary legends.

Adam caught her eye as he was leaving. "Think about what we discussed," he said quietly. "No pressure, but I'd like to move forward soon."

She nodded, aware of Luca standing close enough to hear but far enough away to give her space.

Once the last guest had gone, Sydney surveyed the damage. Empty bottles lined her kitchen counter, someone had spilled red wine on her coffee table, and there were plates and glasses scattered throughout the apartment like archaeological evidence of a really good time.

"Right," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "Time to face reality."

Luca was already moving, collecting abandoned glasses and stacking plates with the efficiency of someone who'd closed down plenty of kitchens. They worked in comfortable silence, falling into an easy rhythm—she scraped plates while he loaded her dishwasher, he wiped down surfaces while she swept crumbs from under the couch.

"You know," he said after a while, "Adam's not wrong about your potential. But neither is Carmy. You're ready for whatever you choose."

Sydney paused in her cleaning, looking at him. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I watched you tonight," he said simply. "The way you talked to those chefs, the way you listened to their stories and added your own. You weren't trying to impress anyone or prove you belonged. You just... did."

She felt heat rise in her cheeks. "I was terrified the entire time."

"I know. Made it more impressive, not less."

Her stomach flipped in that particular way compliments always triggered—equal parts pleasure and discomfort, like being seen was both exactly what she wanted and the last thing she could handle. But from him, with his steady gaze and the way he said it like simple fact rather than flattery, it hit different.

More honest. More real.

"I don't know what I'm doing next," she admitted, voice low enough that she almost hoped he wouldn't hear. The words felt dangerous in the quiet of her apartment, like saying them out loud made them more true.

"Carmy wants to make me his partner. And Adam offered me CDC at his new restaurant. I—I haven't told anyone that."

The admission hung between them. She'd been carrying the weight of that secret for weeks now, letting it sit heavy in her chest every time she looked at Carmy's unsigned partnership agreement, every time Adam texted asking for an update.

Luca wiped his hands on a towel, movements deliberate and unhurried, then leaned against the counter. His blue eyes were serious now, focused entirely on her in a way that made her feel like the only person in the world.

"What do you want?" he asked simply.

Three words. No pressure, no agenda, no attempt to steer her toward the answer he thought she should give. Just genuine curiosity about what she actually wanted, separate from everyone else's expectations.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully, the honesty scraping her throat raw. "That's the thing. I don't know what I want without it being tied to him. Or the restaurant. Or…" She gestured vaguely, the motion sharp and tired, encompassing all the ways her desires had become tangled up with other people's dreams.

"You don't have to decide tonight."

"I know," she said quickly. But the pressure sat heavy on her chest anyway, a familiar weight that had been building for months. The partnership agreement sitting unsigned on her dresser. Adam's increasingly frequent texts and calls. The way everyone at The Bear looked at her like she held the key to something important, something that could make or break all of them.

They moved to the couch once the last plate was stacked in the dishwasher, the apartment restored to something resembling order. Sydney dimmed the lights and curled her feet beneath her, the wine making everything feel softer around the edges. Luca sat beside her, close enough that his knee bumped hers when he settled into the cushions.

The wine bottle was nearly empty between them, condensation rings marking her coffee table. The city hummed outside her windows—distant traffic, the occasional siren, the low murmur of other people's Saturday nights bleeding through thin walls.

"I ever tell you about the time I got this?" he said, pushing up his sleeve to reveal the pale scar along his forearm, thin and curved like a question mark amidst his many tattoos.

Sydney shook her head, leaning closer to get a better look. The scar was old, faded to silver against his skin.

"Mandoline," he said with a rueful smile. "Second year in. Thought I was invincible. Cut clean through the meat and most of the pride."

Sydney laughed despite herself, then pointed to the inside of her wrist where a small, star-shaped mark caught the lamplight. "Steam burn. First line job. Tried to open a combi too fast."

"Ah, the classics," he said, grinning. "We all have those."

They compared more—knife slips and fryer burns, scars from kitchens that had made them and broken them and taught them that the price of excellence was written on their skin. Luca's stories came with charm, embellished just enough to make her laugh. His voice was smooth, low, with that slight accent that made even mundane kitchen disasters sound romantic.

Sydney found herself relaxing in ways she hadn't in months, laughing even when she tried not to, even when her cheeks hurt from smiling.

"I like this version of you," he said at one point, his gaze warm and appreciative.

"What version?"

"The relaxed one," he murmured, leaning a little closer. Close enough that she could smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scents of service—butter and herbs and something uniquely him. "Tipsy. Honest. Funny."

"I'm always funny," she muttered, trying not to smile and failing completely.

"You're also stubborn."

"And you're arrogant."

He grinned, unrepentant. "You noticed."

Their shoulders brushed again as he reached for his wine glass. And neither of them moved this time. The contact was warm, deliberate, loaded with possibility.

"Are you staying in Chicago long?" she asked, her voice softer now, more intimate in the dimmed light of her living room.

He nodded. "A few months. Maybe longer. My sister's got the baby now. Wants help."

Sydney smiled, remembering the way his face had lit up when he'd mentioned his niece earlier. "You finally got to meet her?"

"Mm." His expression softened completely, the cocky chef persona melting away to reveal something more genuine underneath. "She's loud. Gassy. Looks exactly like me, poor thing."

She laughed, full and unguarded, the sound filling the quiet apartment. "Bet you're wrapped around her tiny finger already."

"Of course. I'm pathetic," he said easily, no shame in the admission. "Got her a miniature apron yesterday. She can't even walk."

The image of him shopping for baby cooking gear was so endearing it made her chest tight with affection. Here was this accomplished chef, confident and skilled and slightly arrogant, completely undone by a baby who probably couldn't even hold her head up yet.

Silence stretched between them again. But this time, it hummed with possibility. With the weight of everything unsaid, everything building in the space between them.

Luca's eyes flicked to her mouth. Just once, quick enough that she might have imagined it if she hadn't been watching him so carefully.

He leaned in, just a little, just enough to test the air between them. His hand found hers where it rested on the couch cushion, fingers intertwining in a gesture that was both tentative and sure.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question was soft, honest, giving her every opportunity to say no. His thumb brushed across her knuckles as he waited for her answer, patient in a way that made her heart skip.

Sydney didn't answer with words.

Instead, she closed the distance between them, her lips finding his in a kiss that tasted like wine and the kind of choice that was entirely her own.

The kiss was soft at first. Warm. Her lips parted easily under his, and his hand found her jaw, gentle and sure. It was careful at first, exploratory, both of them learning the shape of this new thing between them.

Then not.

His tongue slipped against hers and her hand found the collar of his shirt, fingers curling in the fabric to pull him closer. He exhaled into her mouth, a soft sound that sent heat shooting straight through her. Her pulse stuttered, everything suddenly hot and dizzy and electric.

They broke apart for air, but not distance. His forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard.

"Fuck," he whispered, voice rough with want. "You good?"

She nodded, heart hammering against her ribs. "Yeah. You?"

"Absolutely not," he said with a breathless laugh.

That made her laugh too, but then he kissed her again, harder this time, more urgent, and the laugh turned into a sigh that dissolved between their mouths. Her hands slid under his shirt, fingertips finding the warm skin of his back, mapping muscle and bone and the slight roughness of old scars.

His fingers gripped her waist, then her thighs, pulling her into his lap before her body sank into the couch cushions with him hovering above her. The movement was fluid, natural, like they'd done this a hundred times before.

And Luca—careful, reverent, watching her face for any sign of hesitation—whispered, "Tell me if anything's too much."

Her breath hitched at the tenderness in his voice, the way he made space for her comfort even in the heat of the moment.

She nodded, unable to form words around the want building in her chest.

But it wasn't too much. It was just the beginning.

Sydney’s hand slid up the back of Luca’s neck, pulling him closer, and his tongue met hers in a slow rhythm, unhurried but electric. His weight gently pressing into her, but he didn’t crowd. He just… lingered. Let her breathe. Let her want.

They broke apart with a shared breath. Foreheads resting against each other.

"We can stop," Luca said, voice thick, accent wrapping around the syllables like a velvet ribbon.

Sydney blinked. "I don’t want to."

"Yes, chef."

Her fingers clutched the front of his shirt, already wrinkled from the night, and started pushing it up. They both laughed—quiet, nervous. There was something so teenage about the moment. Giddy. Clumsy. Still, they couldn’t stop.

"Your hair is…" Luca said, pausing as his eyes trailed over her boho braids, fingers lightly brushing a few of the curly strands. "Beautiful."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling widely. "Shut up."

He kissed her again. And then again. Lower, slower, trailing along her jaw, down the slope of her neck. She shivered as his mouth found that spot just beneath her ear, and her fingers tugged his shirt until he helped her get it off completely.

She leaned up to kiss his collarbone and murmured against him, "You’re warm."

"So are you."

They giggled again—awkward, tipsy, too aware of everything but still caught in the pull of it. His hands moved to the hem of her dress.

"May I?" he asked.

Sydney nodded, her throat tight, but she raised her arms anyway. The fabric slid over her head, catching on one of her braids, and they both fumbled to fix it, laughing again when it popped free and the dress landed somewhere behind the couch.

She was left in her underwear, lacy and dark, probably the nicest pair she owned but definitely not put on with this in mind. Still—Luca looked at her like she was the only thing in the world worth staring at.

"Jesus," he whispered.

Her hands went to his belt.

Then froze.

"I haven’t done this in a while," she admitted.

Luca smiled, warm and patient. "Me neither."

That surprised her, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. She leaned in, kissed him softly, then undid his belt with slow fingers, fumbling slightly until he helped. The zipper went next. Pants gone. Socks too, kicked off clumsily.

And then he stood, just briefly, to step out of the last of his clothes. When he turned back to her in his boxers, the low light of her living room cast him in soft amber, and his erection was quite obvious.

Sydney’s eyes widened. Blinked.

"Oh."

Luca smirked, amused but a little shy himself. "Too much?"

"No," she said quickly. "Just… okay. Wow."

That made them both laugh again, and when he sat back beside her, she reached for him first this time. Kissing him deeply, pulling him against her.

Her fingers mapped out the lines of his back, the slope of his shoulder blades, the indent of his spine. His hands found the clasp of her bra, hesitated, then unhooked it gently, sliding it from her arms. He touched her like she was fragile. Like he didn’t want to rush anything.

The air between them shifted. Hotter now. Buzzing.

His mouth moved lower, kissing the slope of her breast, the center of her sternum, her stomach. She arched into his touch, breath catching, fingers tangling in his curls. And when his hand brushed between her thighs—softly, testing—she gasped.

"Yes," she whispered, already breathless.

They moved slowly. With nervous hands and burning cheeks. More clothes dropped to the floor one by one. Luca’s boxer briefs. Her panties. More kissing. More touching. Her leg hooked over his hip, and he accidentally shifted—

click.

"Ow—what the hell—" he hissed, jerking sideways.

"What?" she blinked.

He reached under them and held up her remote. "I just… laid on the fucking Roku remote."

Sydney burst out laughing, chest shaking. "Oh my God."

"I nearly turned on Guy’s Grocery Games with my ass," he muttered, tossing it across the room.

They both laughed until they were out of breath. Then, quiet again.

Tender again.

Luca kissed her slowly, like he wanted to remember the taste of her. Her hands moved to his shoulders, his chest, trailing down—

And then paused again as he sat up, reaching for his discarded pants.

"Condom," he murmured, fishing through his wallet.

Sydney sat up too, helping him with trembling fingers. He tore the wrapper open—too fast—and fucked it.

"Shit," he muttered, laughing again.

"Here, let me—" she offered, but that only made them both clumsier. Her hand brushed his dick and they both froze. He was hot, heavy in her hand, and she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Just…"

"Yeah."

The condom finally rolled on. He kissed her again, easing her back down against the couch. Her knees parted, thighs trembling as he settled between them, propping himself up on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush her.

She gasped when he first pushed in—slow, careful.

"Wait—wait—" she whispered, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping the couch cushion. "Just a sec."

Luca froze, buried only halfway. "Too much?"

"It’s just… a lot. You’re—" she made a face. "You’re a lot."

He kissed her cheek. Her jaw. "We can stop. We can always stop."

"No. Just give me a second."

He kissed her again and waited. Let her breathe. Let her body adjust.

Eventually, she nodded. "Okay. Move."

The first few thrusts were slow. Careful. She winced a little—tight, unfamiliar—but then her hips started to move with his. Finding it. Matching him.

And it started to feel good. Really good.

Luca cursed under his breath, leaning in to kiss her again, his hand cupping her breast, thumb brushing her nipple until she gasped. Her fingers slid into his hair, nails dragging gently along his scalp.

They moved together like that, tangled limbs and muffled moans, until the awkwardness fell away. Until it was just them.

Breathless. Hungry. Laughing when their legs knocked against the coffee table. Gasping when his hand slipped between them to touch her clitoris—and she cried out, clinging to him tighter.

She bit his shoulder. He kissed her collarbone. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer and when they came—one after the other—it felt like falling. Flying. Drowning. Home.

Afterward, they stayed tangled. Sticky. Warm. Her leg draped over his hip, her face pressed to his chest.

"I think your remote is broken," he mumbled.

Sydney huffed out a laugh against his skin. "You crushed it with your ass."

He smiled into her hair. "Worth it." Luca’s fingers trailed lazily along her hip. "I don’t know, I quite liked the chaos. Made it… realistic."

"Is that the word?" she teased, turning her face into his shoulder to hide how wide she was grinning. Her body still hummed, tingled, like the sensation of him was stitched into her skin now. Her lips tingled. Her thighs ached. And still, she wanted more.

He tilted her chin gently with his knuckles, blue eyes soft but playful. "Unless you’re done. I’m happy, of course. Fulfilled. Enlightened."

She laughed again. "Shut up."

"I’m just saying,” he murmured, his mouth near hers, "could be fun. If you… wanted to be on top this time."

Sydney blinked. "Oh. Shit."

Her stomach flipped. Not because she didn’t want to—god, she did—but it was a new level of exposure, a new kind of vulnerability. She bit her lip.

"You don’t have to," he said quickly, brushing a boho braid away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. "Just a suggestion. You’ve already made my night unforgettable."

She let her breath out slowly. "No, I want to. I just—let me… give me a second."

He helped guide her as she moved, straddling him awkwardly. One knee slipping. Hands bracing on his chest. He was still hard—impossibly so—and the look in his eyes made her forget her hesitations.

"You sure I’m not gonna fall over?" she asked.

"I’ll catch you."

He tugged her close again, fingers smoothing up the backs of her thighs. "Tell me if anything feels too much," he whispered, already kissing her jaw, her neck, her collarbone.

"I will," she whispered back.

His hands were everywhere—her hips, her ass, the small of her back. Touching her with reverence but also hunger. She leaned in and kissed him, letting it build again slowly. They moved against each other like the first time wasn’t enough. It wasn’t.

Then he paused. "Condom—hold on."

He reached over the couch, fumbling with the wallet on the coffee table. The foil slipped from his hand. Twice.

"Are you still nervous?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," he said. "Yes. A little. You’re intimidating."

She snorted. "Please."

He finally got the wrapper open, removed the used condom, rolled the new one on, and when she sank down onto him, slow and steady, they both gasped.

"Okay?" he asked, voice tighter now.

"Yeah," she said, breath shaking. "Just… let me adjust again."

Luca’s hands were firm on her thighs, guiding her, meeting her rhythm. His head fell back against the couch, lips parted.

"You feel—fuck, Syd."

That lit something inside her. She grinned, caught off guard by the wave of confidence she felt from his words. She rolled her hips again and watched the way his abs tightened.

"You’re doing—shit—amazing," he whispered, fingers digging into her skin.

Sydney giggled, half embarrassed by the praise, half thrilled by it. She leaned in to kiss him, open-mouthed and slow, her hands gripping his shoulders. His hands were everywhere again—up her back, under her thighs, gripping and guiding and holding her like he didn’t want her to stop.

Her pace quickened, grew messier, more desperate. The friction, the slide of their bodies, the heat curling in her belly again. She couldn’t believe it—she was close. Again.

He seemed to sense it, his mouth finding hers again, then her jaw, her throat. "That’s it, sweetheart," he whispered against her skin. "You’re right there, yeah?"

She nodded, panting. "Fuck—Luca—"

"Let go."

And she did.

This one hit harder than the first—sharper, messier. Her body tensed and then trembled, and she clung to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. He came seconds after her, groaning low into her shoulder as he held her to him, their bodies locked together in heat and breath and sweat and sensation.

They stayed like that, tangled up and panting, for a long while.

"I’ve never—" she started, and then stopped. "Jesus Christ."

And that was when she realized—she’d just had two orgasms in one night.

From a real person.

Not her vibrator.

Not her imagination.

Just Luca.

"Good?" he asked, hands still lazily running down her back.

She looked up at him, flushed and grinning. "Record-breaking.”

He grinned back, pressing a kiss to her temple. "We should break more records."

"I usually don’t…"

"What?" he murmured.

"Twice. I don’t usually… get there twice."

Luca grinned against her forehead. "You’re welcome."

She smacked his arm but moved to kiss him again anyway. He caught her bottom lip gently with his teeth.

The couch creaked beneath them as they shifted. Sydney laughed—nervous, breathy. "Sorry," she murmured. "I think I just… elbowed you in the ribs?"

"You did," he chuckled, nudging his nose against hers. "But I liked it."

"You're weird," she whispered, but she didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

His mouth found hers again. Slower this time. Less frantic. Their lips moved like they were still learning each other—soft bites and tongue, the occasional bump of teeth that made them both laugh again. Their bodies were warm, skin damp in places, and every brush of his chest against hers made her head spin a little more.

_______________________________________________

The sunlight peeked through the sheer curtains of Sydney’s living room, painting long, golden stripes across the floor. The wine glasses on the coffee table stood like empty witnesses to the night before, catching the light just enough to glint. One of them teetered precariously on the edge.

Sydney stirred first. Her brow furrowed slightly before her eyes blinked open, lashes fluttering against Luca’s bare shoulder.

He was warm beneath her, still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His arm was slung across her lower back, anchoring her close, and one of her legs was tangled between his.

The ache between her thighs came slow and satisfying. The pleasant soreness made her body feel used in a way that wasn’t degrading or transactional—it felt… earned. Shared.

She breathed in deeply, the scent of him mixing with leftover wine and sex and the faint remains of whatever candle she lit last night.

For a second, she didn’t move.

Then Luca stirred. Just slightly. A low, sleepy groan rumbled in his throat.

Sydney tensed, instinctively—but he didn’t let her go.

"Are you awake?" she asked, voice rough with sleep.

"Mmhm," came the reply, muffled. "Just... pretending I’m still dreaming."

She laughed softly against his collarbone. "That good, huh?"

He shifted, eyes still closed but a crooked smile playing on his lips. "Two orgasms," he mumbled. "You said it yourself. Record-breaking."

"Shut up," she said, biting back another laugh, burying her face against him.

They lay there for a few minutes, still tangled, her boho braids splayed over his chest and the pillow. No rush. No pressure. Just breathing.

Eventually, she pulled back, blinking fully into consciousness.

"I should make coffee," she muttered.

"You should," he agreed, stretching with a groan. "I’ll assist. Like a good sous."

"Please don’t call yourself that ever again," she said, climbing out from under the blanket and instantly wincing at the chill in the air. She grabbed the blanket to wrap around herself and padded toward the kitchen.

Luca watched her go, grinning as he leaned back on the couch, gloriously unbothered and still very naked.

In the kitchen, she moved on autopilot—grinding beans, filling the pot, avoiding eye contact with the empty wine bottles and one lone heel by the fridge. She tried not to overthink.

He joined her a few minutes later, now in his boxers, and immediately looked like he belonged there, leaning against her counter with sleepy eyes.

"I’ve never done that," she said without looking up.

"What?"

"Brought someone back. Not for..…anything casual."

Luca nodded. "You’re not casual."

The words settled between them like soft flour dust, quiet and heavy in the best way.

They ate toast. Drank strong coffee. Cleaned up wine rings from her glass coffee table. The sun climbed higher. Eventually, Sydney handed him a damp cloth and motioned to the floor.

"I think the remote’s under the couch."

Luca dropped to his knees, fishing around. "If it’s broken, I’m not sorry."

She shook her head. "You’re definitely not."

He found it—dusty and slightly dented—and handed it back to her with a sheepish grin.

Later, as she sat on the edge of the couch with a new mug of coffee, Luca came up behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders.

"You gonna tell Carmy?" he asked softly.

She stared ahead. The room suddenly felt quieter. The high of the night had faded, and reality waited patiently outside the door.

"I don’t know. Not yet."

He nodded. "You don’t owe him anything."

Her eyes flicked up to his in the mirror above the console. "Thanks."

"You should still do whatever’s best for you," he added, squeezing her shoulder gently. "Even if that means saying no to both."

"I’ll figure it out," she whispered.

"I know."

The silence lingered again, this time not uncomfortable. Just full.

Then Luca leaned down and pressed a kiss behind her ear. Gentle. Purposeful.

"I’ll shower," he murmured. "Unless you want to go for round three."

She laughed, tilting her head back against him. "You are so cocky."

"Confident," he corrected, disappearing down the hall.

Sydney watched him go. Hair a mess. Legs sore. Heart full.

And somehow, impossibly, she didn’t feel overwhelmed. Not yet. Just… open.

She sipped her coffee and let herself feel it.

Whatever "it" was.

#emjayewrites #after ever #sydney adamu #luca #the bear #sydney adamu x luca #sydluca

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 2 months ago

Note

Hi girl love your work can you one where modern day smoke overstimulates black reader in a car with a toy

“YOU TIRED NOW?”

thank you boo!! here you gooo,

You’d been acting up all damn day.

Fussin’ about everything. The heat. The long line at the hardware store. The slow-ass cashier at the tire shop. The way Smoke always waved at old ladies. Even the music on the radio — “why you always playin’ the same five songs, Smoke?”

He ain’t say much, just kept driving with that toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth, hand hanging off the wheel, the thick veins in his forearms twitching every time you huffed. He let you pout, let you cross your thick thighs in that little black tennis skirt, let you roll your eyes every time he said, “We makin’ one more stop.”

And now, hours later — night draped across the windows, air thick with your sass — he’d had enough.

The car was parked outside a dark-ass gas station lot, engine humming low, headlights off. You were curled in the passenger seat with your arms crossed under your tits, still grumbling, barely looking his way.

“I’m tired,” you whined, dragging the word out like it owed you something. Smoke didn’t look at you. Just leaned his tall body back, exhaled through his nose, and reached into the backseat. You heard the sound before you saw it — a soft mechanical whirr, vibrating low and dangerous, making your spine straighten.

You turned your head slow, eyes wide, watching him lift the vibrator out the back like it was a tool he’d been meaning to use all along. The pink one. Thick at the base, tapered, with that silky little nub at the tip you swore he used to torture you with every time you got too mouthy.

“You tired?” he finally said, voice deep and even.

Your thighs pressed together. You didn’t answer.

“I asked you a question, baby.”

“…yes,” you said, barely above a whisper. Smoke smirked. Turned toward you now, spreading his thick legs a little wider as he held the toy in one hand, lazily circling the power button with his thumb. “Mm. Funny how you got all that mouth when the sun up. Now it’s night, you quiet. You know what I think?”

You shifted in your seat, heart thudding. “I think you ain’t tired, you just spoiled. And I need to remind you who’s in charge.” Before you could blink, he nodded toward your lap. “Pull them panties down. Flip that lil skirt up.”

You stared. “Smoke—“ “Now.”

His voice was low. Stern. That heavy tone that vibrated all the way into your ribs. You swallowed hard and obeyed, shifting your hips up to tug the lacy pink panties down your thick thighs. Your skirt bunched up in your lap, soft and wrinkled, and you were already wet — embarrassingly wet — from the slow burn of teasing and denial all damn day.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Leakin’ from nothin but attitude.” He leaned over, kissed your inner thigh, then pressed the vibrator right to your clit — no warning. The soft buzz hit you like a punch, and your whole body jumped.

“F—fuck, Smoke!”

He grinned and held it steady. “Nah. You gon’ sit there and take it. Put your legs up on the dash. Lemme see that pretty pussy while she cryin’.” You whimpered, obeying, thighs shaking as you spread for him. He didn’t give you time to think. Just moved the toy in lazy circles, watching your slick drip down to the seat.

And then — two fingers.

Right in.

No warning. No mercy.

You screamed.

The stretch was perfect — those thick, calloused fingers curling into your soft walls, dragging slow like he was memorizing the shape of you again. He crooked them just right, rubbed right into that aching spongey spot, and your back arched.

It was too much.

But you needed it.

“Smoke, baby—” “You wanted to act like a brat? Sit in my car actin’ like you run me?” He kept talking, low and nasty, while his fingers moved in and out. “All that complainin’. All that huffin’. Now look at you.” The vibrator hadn’t moved. Still buzzing against your clit, strong and mean. The combo of that and his fingers — it was too much. Your legs twitched. Your vision blurred.

Your first orgasm hit so hard you saw white.

But he didn’t stop.

In fact, he pressed harder.

You tried to jerk away, but his free hand shot out, gripping your thigh with force. “Don’t move. You know better.” You sobbed. “Smoke, I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, watching your cunt flutter around his fingers. “You can take every fuckin’ drop of this, mama.” And you did — your second orgasm rushed up like a tsunami, no pause between the first and the second, your body wracked with heat and trembles.

Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably now. Eyes glassy. Lips parted. Drool touched the corner of your mouth, and you didn’t even care. The air in the car was thick with sex and sweat and him, his deep, masculine scent grounding you while your body dissolved under his touch.

“Lemme hear that mouth now,” he teased, fucking his fingers into you faster, rubbing the vibe in tighter circles. “Go head. Fuss. Whine. Cuss at me.” You couldn’t. All you could do was moan and cry, your pussy clenching and pulsing, the pleasure turning painful, delirious, addictive.

And that’s when it hit again — a third wave, harder than the last two. You screamed his name, legs twitching violently. Tears streamed down your cheeks. Your voice was raw. “I—I’m gonna pee—!” “No you not,” he growled, fucking the vibrator against your clit now. “You gon’ cum again.”

And you did.

You didn’t know how many times. You lost count after four. Your throat was hoarse. Your thighs burned. Your body slumped against the seat like you’d melted into it. The windows were fogged. Your panties were soaked. You didn’t even remember pulling them off. Your whole body buzzed, and your clit was still twitching, throbbing, overstimulated and so sensitive it felt like it might pop.

But all you could do was look at him with tears in your eyes. And that bastard smiled. “Now you tired.”

@cursed-carmine for the dividers!

#smoke x black reader

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 2 months ago

Text

👀👀

Commodore Norrington

James Norrington X Black reader/ Tia Dalma daughter

I need to get better at making these photos Christ…

Authors Note: I’m still kind of new to this and haven’t watched the movie in a bit. Forgive me for the inaccuracies that may be there. Hope you enjoy the excerpt.

Genre: Enemies to something else, close proximity, abandoned to be rescued, forbidden, I guess..

SUMMARY: You’re a ‘honorary’ pirate on Jack's ship, who has managed to catch the disgruntled commodores attention. Jack gets into a sticky situation and noticed Norrington's intrigue with the daughter of Calypso and Davy Jones(You), and Jack ends up using you as a bargaining chip, to get off and Norrington surprisingly accepts. After Jack gets enough hassle from the crew, especially Turner and Gibbs, they decided to go rescue you from Norrington’s clutches.

“Damn you Jack Sparrow! You matted dreads, syphilis havin’, bastard! I hope Davy Jones locker awaits you!”

Harsh words that fell from my lips as my accent lingered and wrapped around every word. Here I was getting pulled away in cuffs as I thrashed around in the Navy soldiers arms, while Sparrow goes and saves his own skin, while leaving me behind to be taken to a cell on a Navy ship.

I continued to thrash violently in the men’s arms as they had to continuously drag and halfway pick me up to even move me from my nearly steady stance, as I spit nearly more insults in Jack’s direction as the black pearl quickly sailed. Her black sails, her flag, and my chance of freedom sailed off with her.

Eventually, the man managed to move me as one harshly pulled me from my feet, before tossing me into their arms halfway as they pulled me into Norrington’s office, roughly dropping me into a chair. “Woman, stay put until Commodore Norrington finds out what to do with you.” The navy soldiers arms dressed in his uniform said halfway exasperated, as he quickly walked out and closed the double doors as he locked them with a deafening and hopeless Click.

I sat in the chair looking around for nearly anyway else out of that room. It seemed the ocean could tell how I felt as the waves crashed harshly against the side of the ship, causing the ship to groan and rock in a nearly tilting away. I expected to be placed into a dungeon, not into an office. Any other pirate would be quickly hauled into the cell, not even spared a second glance. Hell, I wasn’t even a damn pirate, I was just along the ship since I decided to go this once, without my mother.

Anger, frustration, and nearly hopelessness swirled around forming a deep pit in my stomach, as I continued to look around, hoping magically something would appear to help. Maybe even a sign from the sea itself, except the oncoming storm.

But Nothing.

Not one opening, except a window which I knew wouldn’t open. Can’t find a door to escape, nor am I going into the sea. Even if I did manage to get away from this gun powdered, pride, and wig powder smelling ship, I know that the sea would only halfway favor me as it does my mother, as I don’t have the breathing ability of my Father to call my own. Daughter of a goddess and sea omen, yet here I sit powerless awaiting judgment of a obeying and lawful, ‘righteous’ man.

Norrington’s Pov

The court would have my head for letting a unrighteousness sea dog escape back into the waters, especially all in exchange for a woman. I could always find Jack, no matter how much chasing and failing that the journey would take, I could always return him back into my grasp to be imprisoned and dealt away with.

But…. I couldn’t do the same with this woman. She was different, down to her very essence. She seemed like the filthy scum that she was aboard the ship, but I can only put off this curiosity for so long. Either I throw her into the cell after this meeting, or I make her stay at my side one way or another.

This infatuatio- No, not infatuation. She is a pirate and a bad thing, she deserves the same treatment as I do the other sea pest.

I dug into my pocket as I took out my keys, staring down at the bronze as I pushed down my thoughts, as the cold and firm expression returned to my face as I pushed out a sharp exhale past my teeth. I placed the key into the keyhole, as I finally decided to face my new captive. The key clicked into place, as I pushed opened the doors of my office, as they slammed behind me bringing her attention to me.

Her sitting in the chair that I usually had my guests sit in, not my prisoner, nearly made me wish to rethink my choice and venture after Jack. My boots clicked against the groaning wood of my ship, as I pulled my chair out and sat across from the seawitches offspring, as I pulled my chair out and sat up in it.

I carefully assessed her, from her bronze sun kissed skin, her hair that reached her waist as it sat locked together just as she would be if I couldn’t get it together, bound and help up in jewels, shells and beads, while her dress seemed to be made of different fabrics that were rich in color and long in length. A silver locket that hung around her neck, along with a silver necklace.

Her frame sat up halfway in the chair as I could see the emotions that warred within her as I looked to her eyes, that seemed to halfway weary and cautiously met my own. Her chest and hips were full and soft, as was the soft pudge of her stomach that I could see through the fabric- I quickly averted my eyes, despite her being associated with scum, she is still a lady deserving of some respect, not my ogling.

“For you to be associated with sea dogs, you would have made a fine lady, despite a status. If only you didn’t surround yourself with such filth such as Sparrow.” The disgust in my tone was halfway inevitable, but something else was in there. My words lacked their usual bite when I spoke to Jack. She may already have me under her spell.

Hopefully you enjoyed, it’ll be back soon hopefully- Lazy-Nae

Note: I’m working on the part 3 of my Lotr/The Hobbit X black reader, along with my Van Helsing fic. I’m also planning on making fics based on the prompts that I made. Also, a Targaryen X Velaryon reader as well hopefully if it’s well liked.

#black reader #commodore norrington #commodore norrington x black reader #potc au

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 3 months ago

Note

SNEAK PEEK OF THE CHARLIE REID NSFW ALPHABET I BEG SYD

18+ / MDNI — It’s filthy. I have absolutely zero shame and 20 more letters of depravity to go, give me a few days to completely unhinge.

♡ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

This is not his go-to.

This isn’t soft. Isn’t loving. Isn’t something you end with a kiss. This is the position he pulls when you’ve spent the whole night being a brat. Running your mouth. Clinging to his arm in front of other men. Grinding on his thigh under the table, whispering, “You don’t scare me.”

And now?

Now he’s about to make sure you never say that shit again.

Now you’re on your back with your legs shoved to your ears. Your ass is off the mattress and your cunt is soaking. He’s stripping you bare with his eyes, fist wrapped around the base of his cock like a punishment he’s about to deliver straight to your cervix.

"You think you're cute?" he mutters, voice flat, dangerous, kneeling between your splayed legs. "You think you're untouchable?"

Then he folds you.

Grabs your ankles and bends you in half like you’re nothing but leverage and attitude. One hand stays clamped around your thighs, the other on your waist to keep you locked in place. Your shoulders dig into the mattress. Your back’s arched. Your cunt is tilted up, dripping, desperate, wide open.

You’re panting already and he hasn’t even slid in yet.

And then—he does.

One slow, downward thrust, thick, hot, filling, the kind that makes your lungs forget how to work. Your hips try to jerk, but you can’t move. You’re pinned. Stretched to your limit. The angle is so deep, you feel him in your stomach.

Charlie just groans, quiet, low, like it physically pained him to be inside you and not start ruining you on the spot. And then?

He starts to fuck you. Not fast. Not messy. Brutal. Precision-engineered. Devastatingly deep. Each thrust is like a hammer, driving your orgasm out of you one cracked nerve at a time.

“Not so mouthy now, huh?” His voice is hot in your ear, breath warm, chest slick with sweat as he leans over you, still pounding into you like your cunt made a promise your mouth couldn’t cash.

“You wanted to act up? Go ahead. Show me how tough you are with my cock halfway to your throat.”

The bed’s a disaster. Your legs are shaking. Your tears are wetting his wrist where it’s still holding your thigh pinned back.

But Charlie? Charlie is locked in. Eyes on your face. Watching every twitch. Smirking when you start to cry through the overstimulation.

“Go on. Say it again. Say I don’t scare you.”

You can’t.

You can’t even speak.

You’re too busy falling apart.

And that’s when he really loses it. He slaps your clit. Fast. Unrelenting. Dirty. Says “That’s right. Cry on it. Show me who you fucking belong to.” And when you come?

It hits like a collapse. You wail. Convulse. You soak his cock and shake under his weight. And he’s still going. Grunting now. Fucking harder. Meaner.

Filling you deep with every drop of his cum, still gripping your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll crawl away. Like you’d survive it if you tried. And when he finally slows down, when your legs drop useless onto the sheets and your voice is gone, he leans in—mouth at your jaw—and says, dead calm:

“Next time you talk back, I won’t be this gentle.”

#ozzie fic rec #shawn hatosy #charlie reid

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 3 months ago

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👀👀👀

DANGEROUSLY IN LOVE - SERIES

Pairing : Black OC! Destiny Asare x Toto Wolff

Face claim : Lori Harvey

Summary : What happens when Destiny Asare, daughter of the team principal and CEO of Scuderia Ferrari falls in love with her father's greatest rival?

Warnings (+18) : age gap (Destiny is 28), family issues, rivalry, angst, fluff, sexual tension and smut.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

#toto wolff x destiny asare

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 3 months ago

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can’t stop thinking about charlie reid saying “give in, it’ll feel good” so i had to do something about it….

smut ahead mdni!!

“You gonna come already? That’s pathetic.” Charlie’s voice spits out from his position standing between your legs.

He has you sitting on the edge of his desk with two fingers pushed into you, working you open through slow steady strokes.

You were alone in his office. Staying later than usual, with the intent of having Charlie sign some documents, but you both knew where you’d end up.

Ass on his desk, skirt bunched at your waist, with the rasp of his sinful words melting against your ear.

“Oh c’mon sugar, I know you wanna let go.”

His words coax you closer toward release, but you shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making you finish when he’d only just pushed his fingers into you.

“Can feel the way you’re squeezin’, so desperate.” He keeps murmuring above you, ignoring your stubborn attempt to disobey his orders.

“Just give in.” He leans down, his breath fanning across your face, and his fingers sliding in and out of you with a gentle bend.

“It’ll feel good.”

He braces a hand on the back of your neck, holding you firm, and looking down to watch his hands disappearing between your legs.

“I’ll give you another, don’t worry.”

He says it like he’s being generous; like he’s not going to make you come so many times your trembling and pleading with him to stop, overstimulating you like it’s some sort of punishment. Twisting your pleasure into exhaustion, making you walk a fine line between complete bliss and utter ruin.

That’s why you hold back. Choosing not to give in to the first wave of release that threatens to wash over you, because you know what’s ahead of you.

You know Charlie will use every last inch of you for his own pleasure, making you cry out and beg for him in a voice you don’t even recognize.

But with the way his fingers stop plunging into you, coming to a halt deep inside, pushed in to the knuckle and curling repeatedly, you have no choice but to give in.

You clutch at his forearms, his back— anything to help stabilize you while your body tenses, trying to hold back the needy whimpers forming on your lips.

“Atta girl.”

His voice is far from gentle as he keeps his digits buried in you. Fingertips continuing to rub that same spot deep inside, with no sign of stopping.

#charlie reid #chicago pd #charlie reid smut

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 4 months ago

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Caretaking Mode Activated

Pairing: Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2,462 Summary: You’re still getting used to Ari and his presence, and he’s very keen on taking care of you like you deserve. Warnings: AU. Explicit language. AI!Robot!Ari. Low key dirty talk. Praise kink if you squint. Lots of horniness, like, so much lolll. Oral sex (f receiving). Brief anal play. Unprotected sex. Female and male masturbation. Non con voyeurism.

A/N: Um. Well. Even AI!Ari is a whore, and this is all his fault, and I stan 🫠(If you didn’t read their first part, read this first.)

You yawned loudly as you staggered toward the kitchen, rubbing at your eyes and already glowering at the bright sunlight filling your home once your hands dropped to your sides and you squinted in irritation.

You had slept like total shit last night, and you were definitely feeling it this morning.

And it was all Ari’s fault.

Just knowing the AI was in your home, downstairs looming in the darkness while you laid tucked away in your bed, had made you antsy and self-conscious.

All night, you’d kept trying to tell yourself that you just needed to get over the awkwardness and get used to your new custom AI, but the truth was…beyond the shift in the vibe of your home since his arrival…

You could not stop fucking envisioning that massage he had seemed so eager to give you.

And this morning, you were paying the price for your inability to scrape that tempting thought from your brain and get some goddamn sleep.

You were still glowering as you stepped into the kitchen and instantly pulled up short at the sight of Ari looming tall and broad at the marble counter as he poured you a cup of coffee and perfectly doctored it to your preferences.

He really is stupid hot, you thought to yourself before you could stuff down that ridiculous thought.

Unaware of your internal nonsense, Ari gave you a bright smile as he set the steaming mug on the isle for you and greeted you with a warm, “Good morning!”

You stared at him for a beat, unable to help it as your eyes lingered–greedy to drink in his handsome features that you were still a little taken aback by–before your eyes flickered to the coffee mug and the hot temptation that lay inside.

You croaked back a half-hearted, “Morning,” as you moved forward, rounding the isle until you stood across from Ari as you reached for the mug. As you did, your nose twitched as a familiar scent registered in your brain, and you glanced over to the stove, then beside it, to where a plate of your favorite breakfast foods awaited you.

It seemed as if Ari knew your breakfast preferences too, which, duh. He was your custom AI after all, and you’d had to complete that extremely long and tedious welcome survey to get him updated and ready to fulfill your every need.

Rolling your eyes at yourself, you leaned back against the counter, cradling your mug between your hands as you took a long drink. Humming in happiness as the caffeinated goodness exploded across your tongue before warming its way down your throat, you sighed as some of your crankiness began to recede.

“I know you’re not a big breakfast person, but you should try to eat a little anyway so you have energy to get you through your day,” Ari said, retrieving the breakfast plate before moving near to set it on the counter beside you.

He loomed close, and as you finished swallowing another mouthful of coffee heaven, you could feel his gaze on you. Tilting your face up, you froze as you found Ari’s own eyes fixed on your bare legs.

And, you realized in horror, your panties, which were on full display.

Because you were still dressed in your sleep clothes, which consisted of no more than a soft, thin tank top and a pair of cotton underwear with little bunnies on them. Your tired, addled, treacherous mind hadn’t thought of getting fully dressed before coming down stairs, because you weren’t used to doing that or having someone else in your home with you.

Even if it was just an AI assistant.

You fleetingly wondered if AIs could be scandalized, but that didn’t seem to be the case with Ari as his gaze–which you swore seemed darker than before–took its grand ole time inching over your barely covered body.

As his eyes lingered on your chest, making you hyper aware of your lack of bra and how your hard nipples were poking through your shirt due to the coolness of the kitchen, you suddenly felt so fucking dumb and embarrassed at him seeing you this way.

You were the one who was scandalized–and super self-conscious–as your cheeks filled with the heat or mortification and you squirmed before Ari, subtly trying to backtrack to put the isle between you and at least hide the lower half of your body from his surprisingly attentive gaze.

Is he eye fucking me? you couldn’t help but wonder, even though you knew the very thought was straight up absurd. AIs couldn’t feel attraction, but the thought flickered through your mind all the same the longer Ari stared at you and the awkward tension in the room grew.

Finally, it was like the bot registered your discomfort, a warm smile once again splitting his lips as his eyes met yours–twinkling with something that toed the line of mischief and something more, something your brain so could not process right now–before he tilted his head and his eyes went distant.

“Your work calendar is packed today,” Ari reminded you, quickly rattling off the five meetings and their times that would occupy most of your day.

And just like that, your embarrassment and all the strange tension between you and Ari instantly evaporated as your brain clicked into work mode, and you groaned at the long day ahead of you.

“I should get showered and dressed asap,” you sighed, turning on your heel and hurrying from the kitchen, your mug still cradled in your hands and your frazzled self completely oblivious to the way Ari’s very interested gaze fixated on the curve of your ass for your entire retreat.

The end of your work day brought you full circle to how you had started the morning as you staggered into the kitchen, no functional brain cells left and your stomach growling loudly as you toed the line of hangry.

A delicious aroma permeated the lower floor of your home, and your lips curled as you recognized the scent of your favorite meal cooking as you entered the kitchen and made your way to the isle.

Ari glanced over his shoulder at your arrival, shooting you a smile as he told you, “Dinner should be done in a few minutes,” before turning back to the stove.

Unable to suppress a yawn, you sat in one of the tall seats at the isle counter, watching his broad back for a moment as he tended to your dinner. It washed over you suddenly, the utter relief at the fact that you didn’t need to worry about cooking and you’d still eat well tonight.

Every night, in fact, as long as you had Ari here to assist you.

Another thought was quick to fill your mind next - that you really needed to stop packing your days with so many meetings and so much to do. Overwhelming exhaustion crept through you as you realized that you were seriously close to being burnt out beyond recovery.

And you wouldn’t be able to run a successful business in that state.

Yawning again, you rested your chin on your hand, your eyes blinking slowly, heavy as you all but nodded off at the counter as you waited for dinner to be served.

The sudden warm, heavy press of big hands gripping your shoulders startled you awake, and you were instantly aware of Ari’s presence at your back.

“Shhh, just let me take care of you for a moment, sweetheart,” his voice was a quiet, husky rumble as his thumbs dug into your shoulders and circled, starting to ease the knots of tension from your body.

Between how good his hands felt on you and the soft, lulling tone of Ari’s voice, you couldn’t help but soften under his touch, your eyes growing heavy again as you sank back in your seat, wordlessly surrendering to his impromptu massage.

“Good girl,” Ari’s words were a warm rush against your ear.

You shivered hard, your cunt clenching in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. Before you could think too much on it or over analyze your reaction to Ari, his touch grew more firm and insistent as he rubbed your shoulders before his fingers moved to work some divine tension relieving wizardry along your neck.

A moan spilled past your lips before your tired brain couldn’t even register what the sound was, and your cheeks felt alight as Ari shifted closer, his artificial body heat enveloping your back as his lips touched the shell of your ear.

“Yeah, it feels good, huh?” he husked.

“Uh huh,” you replied dumbly, gasping as his thumbs found another knot and began to gently work it away.

“You’re so tight,” Ari murmured, his lips lingering against your ear and making you shiver and bite back a whimper.

How long had it been since you’d been touched like this? Hell, touched at all?

You genuinely couldn’t remember the last time you experienced this type of intimacy, let alone anything in the realm of desire or sexual pleasure. Obviously your body was desperate for it if you were reacting this way to such an innocent touch.

Needless to say, you were fully awake now–albeit dazed–and you couldn’t seem to get your squirming under control as Ari continued to touch you and make your body melt for him. You just realized the ruined state of your panties when Ari’s big hands suddenly grew much warmer–pleasantly so–and you gasped loudly, mewling at how good it felt as you sank back against him, more eager for his touch than ever.

Your pussy fluttered wildly as you felt the soft, warm brush of lips against the side of your throat, but before your tired mind could determine if the touch had even been real, the oven timer started to go off, making you jump in your seat as whatever spell you had been under instantly broke.

Ari’s hands smoothed down your back then up again before cupping your shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “Gimme a few minutes, and I’ll have your belly full in no time,” he hummed, giving your shoulders a final press before his touch retreated.

He has to know what he’s saying, you thought as you watched Ari resume his spot at the stove, seeming completely oblivious to his innuendos, let alone how they affected you.

Then again, he was a fucking robot after all. He didn’t have the same kind of needs that you did–human needs. He didn’t get horny or feel attraction or want another. He literally just existed to be of service to his primary user.

His primary user who apparently really needed to get laid.

You nearly snorted out loud at your ridiculous mental spiral, but still–you couldn’t help but watch Ari for a moment longer, your eyes wide and your cheeks still on fire. You hated how much you felt the loss of his touch reverberate through you.

How much you wanted to feel it again.

Jesus Christ, get a grip, you scoffed at yourself. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you shot Ari a final look before slipping from your seat and scurrying away to wash up before dinner.

“Oh my god,” you whined, your fingers clawing at your bed sheets as you panted through another orgasm.

Ari had you ass up and face down in your bed, his own face still buried in your cunt from behind despite the way you were begging him to give you a breather.

His tongue drew up your sloppy slit in another slow, broad drag that had you nearly crying his name as you tried to squirm away from him. When he tongued at your tight little rosebud before pressing the softest kiss there, you squealed his name, your insides throbbing at his sinful treatment of you as you continued to tremble and gasp for breath.

“Mmmm, I don’t think that’s what you actually need, a breather,” his voice was a low rumble that had your cunt clenching all over again as he finally eased away from you.

It seemed like between one blink and the next, the thick, spongy head of Ari’s cock was suddenly pressing against your drippy hole, and you could only whine some more as he started to slowly push inside you.

His big hands framed your hips, his grip on you firm to keep you in place as he took his time filling you with his cock. You swore he was drawing it out on purpose, because he wanted to make sure you felt each and every hard, thick inch of him. Until he was finally buried to the hilt and you were gasping then squealing his name as he gave a rut to settle impossibly deeper inside of you.

“This is what you need,” Ari purred, patiently retreating from the hot, tight confines of your cunt and then lingering so just the tip of his cock was stretching your entrance. “And we both know it,” you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Don’t we, sweetheart?”

He shoved into you hard and deep, making you keen a breathless, needy, “Yes!”

You jerked awake, your heart hammering in your chest as your tired brain processed the dream–the very naughty dream–that you had just been pulled from.

It took you a moment to recall it fully, and when you did, you could feel your face heat. And when you squirmed beneath your covers at the sinful recollection, you could feel how fucking wet you were, your panties completely soaked through.

“Goddamnit,” you gritted into the darkness, feeling as annoyed as you were horny after the spicy imaginings your sleep brain had conjured up. “Fuck it,” you huffed, shoving your hand down the front of your ruined underwear and immediately zeroing in on your throbbing clit.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep in this state, so you might as well take care of it.

And if the thought that the almost!person who had caused you to be such a needy, fucking mess, was just downstairs, none the wiser about the way you filled your own pussy with two fingers and moaned his name aloud as you imagined it was his cock filling you up and fucking you so good, well, so be it.

Only…

Ari wasn’t downstairs none the wiser about you and your condition.

Unbeknownst to you, he was on the other side of your closed bedroom door, leaning against the wall as he stroked his cock–chasing his own release–as he listened to all of your pretty keens and moans and the way you gasped his name as you touched yourself, and then again once you finally reached your peak.

I regret nothing.

VERSE MASTERLIST

—

Please take a moment to drop a comment or reblog. Engagement is the fuel that keeps writers writing and sharing their work for your enjoyment, so do your part to keep our fandom alive. Serial likers will be blocked.

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘

Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson #verse: superior ai #AI Ari Levinson #stargazingfangirl18

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 4 months ago

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“Closer”

Pairing: Alex Cross (Aldis Hodge) x Black Reader

Summary: After a long day of unraveling other people’s darkness, Alex comes home to the only peace he knows — you. But peace doesn’t mean quiet. Tonight, it’s soft words, slow kisses, and a kind of love that burns low and deep.

The heavy oak door sighed as it swung inward, its hinges whining against the hush of the hallway. A wisp of lavender steam curled from the bathroom behind you—an echo of the bath you’d just drawn—so you didn’t have to turn to know he’d arrived. Alex’s presence settled behind you like gravity, calm and unyielding, as if he’d anchored himself to the floor.

“Hey,” you breathed, voice soft and warm from the oils still clinging to your skin. In the muted glow of vanilla-scented candles, the ivory satin of your robe shimmered where it hugged your shoulders. “Long day?”

He dropped his leather-duffel bag by the door; the thud of its brass buckles punctuated the silence. “Yeah,” he rumbled, throat rough—each vibration tugging at something inside you. He set his keys on the chipped porcelain bowl, the metal clinking like tiny bells. “Longer without you.”

His boots padded down the hall—rubber soles whispering across the wooden floor. At the bedroom threshold, he halted. You felt his eyes tracing the curve of your calf, the faint gleam of massage oil on your leg, the way the robe’s sash pooled at your waist. Time stretched as he simply looked, inhaling your shape.

Then he closed the gap. His hands—calloused at the base of strong fingers—slipped to the satin tie and tugged it loose. The fabric fell open just enough for the heat of his gaze to land on you. “You been waitin’ for me like this?” he asked, voice low, eyes dark as polished onyx.

Your chest rose and fell in a quick nod; the warmth pooling between your thighs answered for you.

He sank to his knees on the soft rug, as if kneeling before a shrine. His fingertips trailed up your inner thigh, pressing gentle circles through the sheen of oil, igniting a thrill that spiraled inward. Then his lips came down—first a feather-light kiss against the hollow of your knee, then a firmer press on the tender skin. Candlelight danced along his jawline as he whispered, “I need to taste you.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears while he lowered his mouth, tongue parting your lips with slow intent, mapping each sensitive ridge. The door blurred; the world narrowed to the slick press of his tongue, the soft catch of your moans. You threaded your fingers through his dark hair, arching your spine so he could reach deeper, each flick of his tongue pulling you closer to the edge.

“Alex—” The name tumbled from your lips, breath trembling.

He answered with a low groan, his hands bracing your hips so you couldn’t flee the pleasure he stoked. Every gentle drag of his tongue unraveled another thread of restraint until you were wholly undone beneath him.

When he at last lifted his head, your taste glistened at the corners of his mouth. He rose in one fluid movement, bracing his palms on either side of your hips, and crushed his mouth to yours. The kiss was fierce—thick with your sweetness and the rough velvet of his tongue. You tasted yourself in every hungry slide and press.

His hand cupped your cheek as he whispered, voice husky and urgent, “I need to be inside you. Now.”

You didn’t hesitate. Guiding him by the small of his back, you leaned into his heat. Inch by slow inch, he entered you—warm and solid—every shift of his hips a silent vow. The mattress sank beneath your joined weight, sheets rustling as skin slid against skin. Your breaths fell into a steady rhythm, hearts pulsing in concert.

“You’re my anchor,” he murmured against your temple, forehead resting on yours. “My only clarity.”

He stilled for a moment, gathering you both into that whispered confession, then resumed his deliberate thrusts—measured, reveling in each sensation. Your fingers raked down his broad shoulders, toes digging into the coverlet as wave after wave of pleasure built.

With a guttural groan—your name ragged on his lips—he tensed and spilled himself inside you. You braced his back, holding him through the tremor of release, feeling the soft aftershocks ripple between you.

When you relaxed, you curved an arm around his neck and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “Stay.”

He curled against you like an animal seeking warmth, eyelids heavy. “Always.” His breath slowed into sleep, chest rising and falling against yours as the candlelight danced around you both in quiet benediction.

#aldis hodge #alex cross

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 4 months ago

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Check it out!! Looking forward to read more.

better off - two

Senator! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: More world building, language, heavy angst.

If you want it to hurt, listen to Ariana Grande’s “we can’t be friends”.

Summary | Keeping busy is something you know how to do well, especially after the publicized break up with your ex. As his political fame rises, so does the need for you to focus on yourself and keeping your walls up for self-preservation. If only it was that simple.

Sam adjusts his tie, looking at the stylist who is examining his fingers tightening the knot, most likely making sure that it looks perfect.

That’s the way of press events. Followed around by cameras, publicists and officials, making sure they can spin an innocent offer of friendship into something they can use for later.

He’s all but banned the usual suspects, his own chief of staff rolling her eyes at the fuss over his choice of outfit. It’s a simple white shirt and black tie with black slacks, matching socks and shiny black shoes. He’s taken to rolling up the sleeves, especially since today of all days it’s hotter than usual.

”Wouldn’t you like to have the sleeves rolled down?” the stylist offers, taking a step closer as he puts his hand out.

“I like them the way they are, Hannah,” he quips, seeing her give a quick nod.

Inside the green room, he has two Secret Service agents at the door, a little overkill he thinks without verbally saying it. It’s stocked with everything he likes, a throwback to remembering how you had managed to slip his favorite case of beer into the fridge when you had told him to help himself at a barbecue once before. These little touches make him smile as he takes a handful of peanut M&Ms and tosses a few into his mouth while he studies his speech.

It’s a quieter affair but one near and dear to his heart. It’s a veteran’s brunch for them and their families, a simple yet touching thing you’ve decided on to raise awareness for veteran’s rights. Your non-profit, while still new, has received some heavy donations after your outreach work was highlighted by Joaquin Torres. The Vice President was nearly moved to tears when he saw your ribbon cutting ceremony after creating housing for homeless veterans. He’ll be in the audience, running late for another event but he wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“We’re almost ready for you,” Camille, his chief of staff reminds him. “Mic check went well, there are several vets out there who would like to thank you personally, Sir.”

He isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s a veteran, just like them, fighting for them and every other person in this country. It’s a quiet affair, no cameras allowed to cut down on the unnecessary noise and stress. A place for them to just be, without ravenous reporters begging for a soundbite or quick picture.

He’s pleased you put your foot down to keep it family and friends only.

“I should be thanking them.”

Camille gives him a smile, handing him a mirror as he balks at it.

”You really want to give a speech out there with peanut and chocolate in your teeth?”

He smiles widely, inspecting his teeth before he’s satisfied, popping a mint in his mouth.

“You know those are my favorite,” he says with a wink, heading toward the door.

”We’ll make sure to pack them for the drive back,” she promises.

You picked the wrong time to break in your new heels. As cute as they are, you find yourself gritting your teeth with every step, cursing the fact that you forgot to bring the bandaids for the back of your ankles. Thankfully, you can play it off, surveying the scene in front of you, counting each table one more time to make sure you have a proper count.

Rea snaps a picture of a family with their camera, her smile wide with appreciation before another calls out to her to take another picture. There’s a shred of anxiety that you probably should have brought a professional photographer to take pictures but you’d surveyed the families and they wanted a chance to be in their element - alone and without distraction. What matters is that you’re close to funding another complex to be turned into housing and being so close to your goal is what continues to motivate you. Your track record with job pairings is double what you had originally estimated and it still feels like you aren’t doing enough.

”You’re up,” Rea whispers, watching you jump in surprise. “How’s the feet?”

“Miserable but I’ll make it,” you promise her. “I owe him so much, Rea.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, he could say the same about you,” Rea counters. “I remember those first speeches when he was running.”

You ignore her, heading up to the podium. Nerves ripple in your belly but you swallow them down. This isn’t about you and your fears of public speaking, this is about a proper opening speech. You’ve written them countless times.

“Good morning,” you begin, seeing hopeful faces looking up at you. “I am incredibly pleased and humbled to be here with you today. As you know, this non-profit started off with small but noble intentions. It was to ensure that those who have served shall be cherished and never forgotten. I am so thankful to have you all here to celebrate such a tremendous occasion. This afternoon is about you and your families, to provide a sense of calm in an uncertain world. It is important to me that I express my adoration and utmost respect for your service and for you as individuals.”

Heavy handed clapping breaks through as you nod in response.

“As you know, our efforts have been recognized by none other than Vice President Torres and also, President Sam Wilson, who is here today to share a message with you all. Please join me in welcoming him to the stage.”

Applause breaks out, people standing as he appears, waving to the crowd as Camille looks on, giving you a thumbs up. Sam embraces you warmly, heading up to the podium as you head back toward Rea.

“Couldn’t tell if you were in pain,” Rea whispers, handing you a glass of water. “Can you believe the President is speaking at our brunch? How on earth did you pull this off?”

“Because she’s a genius,” a voice interrupts, both you and Rea turning around.

It’s Jules, who is decked out in a couture navy pants suit and red pumps. She always looks immaculate and you’d tell her so if your heart wasn’t suddenly beating out of your chest at the thought of where her boss may be.

“He’s not here,” Jules says quickly, almost as if reading your mind. “He doesn’t know I’m here. You think I would miss this?”

You’re unsure of what to say, Jules nodding toward the door as Rea stays put inside the hall. You follow her, Jules pushing the door open, giving you enough clearance before it closes.

“I’m proud of you,” Jules continues. “I wish it was under better circumstances but I couldn’t have him coming here if I didn’t know the status of where you were both at.”

“There is no status, Jules.”

“I figured as much. I hope you liked your flowers.”

You’re silent at her comment. The hardest feeling is wondering why he isn’t here and being thankful that you don’t have to face him.

“I did. Thank you.”

“Even his?”

You scoff at Jules’ question, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I gave them away, actually.”

Jules sighs, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You’d think you’d both be past this by now. I know it ended badly but it doesn’t have to be so… final. I came to tell you that I’m really fucking proud of you. Quitting your corporate job and starting a non-profit isn’t for the weak but you did it. I never had any doubts but… it just meant a lot to me to make sure I told you so.”

“I appreciate that.”

She blows out a breath at your comment, gripping her purse.

“Don’t go Ice Queen on me. It’s me, you’re talking to, remember? You don’t have to shut me out.”

You won’t let her get any further, checking your watch quickly.

“I appreciate the kind words, Jules. I appreciate the flowers from you as well. I need to head back inside.”

You don’t wait for her to say anything, opening the door with as much strength as you can muster, leaving her behind, right as Sam is finishing up his speech, Rea wiping her tears away.

Bucky notices the way Jules sits in her seat, shifting back and forth, shuffling through her papers to find the right one, muttering to herself as he downs a bottle of water. His workout lasted longer than he realized, missing two of her calls before she had politely demanded for the doorman to let her knock on his door.

He’d looked at her like she was crazy as he slung the towel around his broad shoulders, letting her inside as she muttered to herself, only to open her bag and start working.

“Everything okay?”

She doesn’t look up from her papers, his question not registering until he clears his throat.

“Huh?”

“You’re distracted,” he tells her, seeing her wrinkle her nose in response.

“I am not. I’m trying to find this itinerary that I swore I had but I bet you it fell…” she trails off, going silent as he raises an eyebrow.

“Fell where?”

“Somewhere. It’s not important. There wasn’t anything confidential on there anyway. I can start over.”

“Jules. I was trying to get a hold of you most of the afternoon and you were MIA and now you’re all over the place. What’s going on?”

Bucky’s tone gets her attention as her shoulders slump forward.

“Sam spoke at an event today. The VP was there too. A brunch honoring veterans and their families. That’s where I was.”

“Is that why you’re so secretive? I would have gone with you if you needed back up. I would have sent the security detail with you.”

She hesitates slightly at his words.

“No. You couldn’t have gone with me. I shouldn’t have even gone.”

“I don’t get it.”

Jules covers her face with her hands, letting them draw out her features as she drags them down.

“It was her non-profit.”

They exchange a long glance, Jules popping up from her chair as she points a finger at him.

“And she’s cold, Bucky. The Arctic is warmer than she was.”

His confusion only sends her into more of a tailspin, watching her pace back and forth.

“She dismissed me. Me! And what’s worse, I let her do it! Like I’d gone soft or something. I wanted to congratulate her. Her non-profit is thriving, Bucky. She’s doing some really good shit and helping people. The minute I approached her, it was like she had seen a ghost. Is that the way it is between you both? Just harboring some weird grudge that you both can’t get over?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going there?” Bucky asks, her eyes lowering at his question.

“Because you would have wanted to go.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You would have had worse treatment, trust me.”

It’s late when you finally get home, your heels kicked across the floor haphazardly, a glass of cherry juice in your hand while you make your way to the couch. You’d drink if it could mean you wouldn’t have to face yourself and the impending thoughts that snake their way into your mind the next morning. For now, this sleepy girl mocktail will have to do, your phone somewhere on the table, far away from reach so that you can just be.

There’s a part of you that wallows in the idea of sitting in your apartment alone in the dark, even if it’s by choice. You’ve already shed tears for the way you treated Jules, aware that the interaction has reopened a wound that you had thought had been sutured shut months ago.

“They’re outside,” Jules said, sitting next to you amid the small mountain of used tissues. “You don’t need to go, you know. Say the word and I can have them gone and everything scrubbed from record.”

She didn’t do well with your silence, the tears running down your cheeks as you took everything in for the last time. It was weird to think you wouldn’t see the same black and white picture of his childhood home in the black frame near his bedroom anymore or the picture of him and Steve from so many years ago.

“I’ll go out the back,” you told her, your body unwilling to move as your brain leapt into action. It was the fight or flight, the latter overtaking you to move, to leave and never come back.

“He’ll be back soon,” Jules promised, her voice near pleading. “I think you can work this out. He loves you.”

“Loves me?” you questioned her words with a dark stare. “Is this how you treat someone you love? Ending it without even a second thought?”

You never used to question it, never had to worry if his career was ahead of you. Your worst fears were realized, seeing him shield you from the cameras, closing the blinds and skipping workouts so that he wouldn’t be hounded by the press.

You had become a liability.

“How does this all work?” you questioned her. “Do I have to sign something to say I won’t ever talk to him again?”

“There’s no NDA,” Jules replied sadly, seeing you pluck around tissue out of the box. “I know he thinks he’s doing the right thing but I disagree. You’re the best thing to ever happen to him.”

“God,” you drawled you, forcing yourself to stand, your knees nearly locking in place. “I’m going to be fine, Jules. I appreciate that you think he loved me but we both know his career was going to take a hit and I’ll be damned if I take the fall if his entire career is about our relationship. You have to hand it to him though. Bucky is a shrewd man when it comes to optics.”

“You know that isn’t true. He’s thinking of you and how you’re portrayed in all of this,” Jules defended, seeing you grab the tissues and toss them into the trash.

Anger replaced hurt, the emotion had soothed over you like an icy balm. It was easier to be angry than crushed, you could at least leave with what shreds of dignity you had left.

You’d ignored Jules’ call when you’d gone down the steps unceremoniously, your phone vibrating in your pocket that you’d tossed on the table on your way out.

You were done with all of it.

With shaky fingers, you bring the glass up to your lips, forcing the memory away as your eyes close, tilting your head back on the sofa.

He gets a reprieve for at least a week now, Jules cancelling his engagements to give him the space to breathe.

To rest.

Instead he looks up at his ceiling, pressing the button to hear his own apology on the phone you had left behind, going still as he can still remember the words he spoke. The memory is clear as day, right down to the gritty details of the sounds his shoes made on the wet pavement.

“I’m making the biggest mistake of my life,” he said, the rain pouring down as he left the umbrella to run to the car. “Don’t you fucking leave, okay? Stay there so that we can talk this through, so that I have a chance to explain. Jules should be there now. If there’s press, stay inside okay. Just… just don’t go.”

The phone call ends abruptly, right at the time he was ushered into the car, away from the threat that had made the news. He wasn’t supposed to be there, a quick detour to campaign for Torres until someone had decided to call in a threat. Credible or not, he was ushered off to a safe place, laying low until it was safe to do so.

Where he was didn’t matter. The lack of communication that he was going to stop to campaign was the issue, leaving two days prior after the breakup. He called it giving you space to guard his own shattered heart.

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night, Bucky finding himself looking through old photos of you both, including the way he carried you over the threshold after he had asked you to move in with him. He swears he can still hear your laughter, right down to the way you held your head back as he spun you around.

Memories of the past, meant to be tucked away for later and not right now.

The phone still technically belongs to you, given to you by him in case of emergencies. It was the one you left behind that day, not looking back when Jules had simply said you had left. The finality in her voice had spurred him into action, searching for you until he got the hint that you simply didn’t want to be found.

So far removed from your life, he wonders what you’re doing right now, if you’re having trouble sleeping or if you’re curled up on your side with a pillow, lost in slumber. He hopes it’s the latter not the former, spending many nights watching you stare mindlessly at the television, your mind going a mile a minute at the ‘what ifs’ and what was to come once you stepped foot outside the door.

Still, you always found comfort in his arms. You soothed him as much as he did you and for a moment, he allows himself to remember what it felt like when you held him close, your words spoken softly against his skin like a spell that kept him enraptured with everything you said. He doesn’t want to admit how lonely it is without you. How mundane his world is without you in it.

Stating that fact seems like it would kill him if he spoke it out loud.

Instead he lets himself dream of what could have been, drifting off to sleep, still holding the phone in his hand.

#bucky barnes x female reader #syntheticavenger #sweet bucky barnes x black!reader

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 4 months ago

Text

💕💕

Bright Spot

Written: 01 Nov 2019

Pairing: Black Female Reader x Steve Rogers

Summary: You work at Stark Tower, Steve introduces you to a new app.

Story inspired by this soundtrack

Keep reading

#Black Female Reader x Steve Rogers

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 4 months ago

Text

💕💕

Bright Spot pt. 2

Written: 2019-11-01

Pairing: Black Female Reader x Steve Rogers Contains sexual content.

Summary: Part 2 of Bright Spot.

Story inspired by this soundtrack

Steve married you in upstate New York. Wellington Bed and Breakfast hosted the event. A white patchy colonial nestled in colors of blue, violet tulips. Blossoming pink weeping cherry trees tangled together near the floppy petals of magnolia trees.

Gold from the sunset overtook the white lights beginning to flicker to life in the crowd below. The scene moved, like the swirl of brush strokes, with the bodies dressed in shades of pastel, the occasional primary color appeared as varied as the flowers growing along the grounds. The thump of music softly bumped up to you, through the walls of the room and vibrated the glass in front of you.

You sighed while sliding a damp palm down your white wedding dress.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist. It was Steve. The man was now your husband and since the ceremony, by the thistle bushes, he hasn’t kept his hands to himself.

The nervousness that plagued you in the early hours of the day kept at you. Though it was over now, the exchanging of vows, you still hung on to the anxious energy as you watched the people.

Your hand clasped over Steve’s intertwined fingers below your belly button. He pulled into you, rested his temple near the crux your jaw and neck. The hard, thick part of his groin brushed up against your ass and you knew why he had set out to find you.

“Steve, there are over one hundred guests waiting.” You said blissfully as you sunk back into his chest allowing his warmth to mix with your own.

His beard brushed against your cheek as his lips kissed your ear as he spoke. “Let them wait,” Steve whispered.

Steve reached for the curtain, shuttered it with the thick fabric. His arm returned as he took a step back from the window.

“Steve…” you said between delicate kisses Steve peppered along your neck. “We paid a lot of money…we should be there-“you gasped out as his hand rubbed through the lace of your dress.

“I don’t want to share you with anybody right now.” His voice was ragged with the promise of what was to come, Steve began to unzip the back of your dress.

The white silk slid from your shoulders and pooled at your heels. The sudden absence of Steve’s heat turned you around to see him on his knees. The top of his fresh cut blond hair was the most of his head you could see. You could imagine the expression on his face, however. His hands began at your ankles, warm palms glided up the smoothness of your calves to your wide thighs.

He couldn’t wait to get you alone. Desperate for the moment when he finally had you to himself he followed you off the dance floor. And now, you standing here, a vision of a married woman, he couldn’t articulate the ways he wanted to consummate your promise to him.

His light blue eyes, now navy with want, gazed at the lilac and white lace lingerie you wore.

“This is for me?” he asked, his voice shaking in pitch when he reached your hips.

Steve pulled your hips towards his face as he dipped his nose towards your cunt. He breathed deep sending a shuddering shiver down your thighs.

Long fingers pulled one half back as his tongue slid over your crease.

Instantly your hands gripped the back of his silky hair. His mouth laid kisses first, tender pecks on your thighs before once again licking your sensitive lips.

He buried his mouth there. Sucking gently, and then licking around your clit, the thumb of his other hand began to knee the joint of your hip through your skin. It burned but became background noise to the want growing in your pelvis.

Your hips moved to the rhythm of the lashing of his tongue, you gripped him harder now, with both hands holding him there. You were close. So close to feeling the burst of pleasure he was capable of giving you.

Steve pulled back with a smack of his lips. His hands never left your body as he stood. Kissing you with the taste of yourself on his breath and tongue your hands tugged at his belt.

His breath caught when you began to stroke him. Long, wide his grip fell to your forearms and squeezed with every pump of your hand.

“You’re mine now, honey…” he promised. “You know that?” he asked softly.

You nodded against his cheek still swimming in the sea of your desire your strokes became tighter, more urgent with the slick at the tip of his cock. His hands cupped your face tilting your eyes to meet his.

“My wife.” He grunted and kissed you again.

Steve grabbed your hands within his and stepped you out of your wedding dress. A few short steps to the bed and he had you bent over in heels and the bottoms of your lingerie at your knees.

He was inside of you in a matter of seconds afterward.

The shocked gasped escaping your lips matched his groan. Steve’s hips slapped against your ass in his hurried pace. Your head bowed to his strength, your back arched to the surrendering need to have him fill you. He gripped your hips slammed you back into him with his powerful strokes.

“All for me…” he groaned, and pushed his cock back in passed your dark folds.

Still in his tuxedo, the soft fabric of his pants puddle at his shiny shoes Steve pounded harder. You were soaking wet, like always, and he made little effort to guard you against the ache he caused by repeatedly making you take his girth.

It turned him on, turning you out and begging like you were now for the sweet release he offered.

You were his now. That fact made him grow harder, the tip of his cock felt heavier with every plunge. Your body, your sweet voice moaning softly belonged to him now. You were bound to him, and he was yours too. That thought alone almost made him cum.

And when your cunt waved, gripped harder with your orgasm around his cock he knew it at this moment he was waiting for you. All this time, you were out there. He only had to bide his time.

Steve pushed forward with a lasting hard thrust spilling inside of you completing the day’s ceremony.

He was your husband.

You were his wife.

Together, forever. Always.

Now

Steve saw the wooden frame on the desk with his second glance.

It was himself. A thinner man, before the serum, before the loss of Bucky and before his long sleep in the ice. When talk of Infinity Stones and time travel were no more than science fiction, Steve remembered the diligence of his convictions, the fierceness of his loyalty.

He turned back to the opaque door, the name Margaret Carter written in bold print read backward. Distant voices–muffled but unbearably recognizable drew his attention to the shuttered window in front of the desk.

Peggy strode in.

And like a breeze hitting him the face her appearance stole his breath.

The kiss on the runway surfaced first. It had always been there, buried beneath the sea of memory. The feel of her wide red lips on his brought with it sorrow, and guilt.

Steve held the frame in his hand. He gripped it tightly as he walked around the desk toward Peggy beyond the window. She was older. Gray hair streaking through her chestnut hair, a few delicate lines around her mouth. Beautiful.

Cool air and smoke lingered in his memory, he could have sworn he could smell it now. It was his choice to crash the plane. To protect.

There was a time he would have given everything to go back and change that moment. He could have jumped, could have tried harder to steer the plane to its final watery destination.

But it was a choice to stay and ensure the world would be protected.

And with it, he expected to die.

He did not.

Steve stood a few feet from her, the only barrier a plane of glass and a few decades worth of blame and love.

Love. He didn’t know what the word meant now when he thought of Peggy. Longing, sure—forever he expected some part of him would always pine for her.

He remembered the last kiss. Though now as the memory surfaced her lips were replaced with yours. The beautiful brown skin of your neck, hot and damp from the fervor of lovemaking exploded in vibrant brilliance over the memory of Peggy’s touch.

He missed Peggy, what once was and the burgeoning possibility of more.

But he longed for you. His girl with the wide smile, deep dimples for only him and a shy disposition that only he could breakthrough.

The love of his life was waiting.

Steve turned his back on the window and with it the closure he had always hoped for started the moment he set the photo back on Peggy’s desk.

Steve wondered if she would ever stop thinking of him. His eyes wandered back to her figure on the other side of the glass. He was sorry for any pain he caused for her. But now he had another, a woman waiting for him at the end of all of this.

Steve walked out of the door and back into the fluorescent glow of the facility.

It was his choice.

Before A whole year passed since the wedding.

You strode by windows of bakeries, a pop-up shop, the regular bodegas on the way to Stark Tower.

To be clear, you did wake up generally feeling great. Until you realized that the bed you shared with Steve was empty this morning.

You confessed to the ether that there wasn’t one thing that made you fall in love with Steve. But it happened. The effort, perhaps, to gain your attention was the beginning. His eyes, though, a color of blue of his own, that watched you as he read was probably the heart of the reason. Even if you did not appreciate it back then, his gaze was always more than friendship, far more than infatuation. You often struggled to understand the moment, like your emotions, when it involved Steve. Like a ball of string wound tie upon itself, your feelings were impossible to find the beginning to unravel the thread.

But you knew these tight spun moments were the reason why you felt so deeply today.

Because of Steve.

You worked through the day. He was on your mind. Your husband.

The one you had vowed to love until your dying day.

And when you arrived back home from a day of menial work with bags from the grocery store. You decided that yes, he might have forgotten, but you had not.

Casually, you popped open a bottle of red wine and set to cooking tacos, his favorite at the moment, and sang to yourself as the stereo hummed with the old tunes Steve loved.

And then you ate alone. You drank alone too.

Steve had failed to tell you that his mission would last longer.

Maybe you enjoyed that entire bottle of wine too much because the last thing you remembered was lying on the couch, phone in hand sending your last text.

Happy Anniversary

The smell of croissants and bacon woke you up. A whiff of strong coffee opened your eyes.

The small living room of Steve’s apartment was darkened save for a single stream of light peeking through the slits of the curtains.

In front of you, on the oblong wooden coffee table sat a tray. Your eyes fell to the steam rising from your favorite mug. A shadow from the end of the couch caught your attention.

It was Steve.

Face smudged with grime all the way to his ruddy beard, wide blue eyes stared at you as he came around. His boots were off, silver utility shirt and his black boxer briefs, he walked silently near the table and sat his ass on the floor near the couch. Close to your head, you could smell the fight on him. Sweat, maybe a metallic tang in the air as his hand stroked your cheek.

You turned on your side toward him. “You forgot.” Steve bowed his eyes to your lips with the crack in your voice.

“No.” he mumbled.

His hand dropped to yours resting on the cushion of the couch. He covered it with his own, caressed the back leaving a trail of grime. “Yes, you did Steve.”

You were right, and you were wrong he thought. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment then he turned his head to the tray. He had fully intended to surprise you yesterday morning. But he had been called away in the night and left the apartment not wanting to disturb you. And then, the day just continued in a series of heated battle-ready moments that took him away from the thought of a wife, of a life outside of war.

He didn’t remember until he was on the way home. He pulled out his phone, turned it on, and saw your message. There was no excuse to be made.

“Yes, I did.” He said, biting his bottom lip he turned back toward you.

He combed both hands through dirty slick strands and tugged at the back before he grabbed your face. Steve got to his knees and huddled in close to you. His wide body, arms pressed you’re your pillow down as he dipped the couch with his weight. Eye to eye, nose to nose, Steve gazed back at you.

Still laying on your side you let him. Steve stroked your right cheek as he stared into your eyes.

His lips kissed yours lightly. He nudged his nose into yours.

He sighed as he spoke. “I’m sorry honey.”

And when you did not respond to that he kissed you again. He wished, he hoped it would be enough to show you the love he felt.

You only stared back at him. Watery brown eyes, your brows scrunched in sorrow at his attempts to comfort did nothing for your sadness.

He had forgotten his love.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and the emotion that threatened to tip him into an infinite lake of guilt and regret. Instead, he concentrated on the future.

Steve kissed you again. This time, thankfully, you kissed him back.

He wondered how many more of these moments would happen. And he vowed, like the day he married you, to love you forever.

Always.

Now

Steve’s stomach dropped.

Bruce knelt in agony. His face pulled down in painful horror as he gripped his wrist to reign in his thoughts with the actions of his snap. The smell of scorched skin, burned hair floated throughout the lab as electricity popped and singed the flesh of Bruce. Steve stood ready, shield in hand bracing for the worst possible outcome.

This is it.

Steve swears to whoever listened to the minds of mortals, be it God or the fabric of the universe that you are back in the world. He silently pleads too.

Somewhere deep within him, he can feel it.

Bruce fell back to the floor, the gauntlet, cracked and used pulled from his large hand. Steve ran to him first, he wanted to ask if it worked, he wanted to know what Bruce thought to bring them back.

But he comforts his friend. Tried his best in the situation to bring some stability to a shaky moment.

“Did it work?” Bruce asked he grabbed Steve’s arm his large brown eyes begging for an answer.

Those words fall through Steve. They hit every memory of you and came running back through his heart. A caustic ache of hope and excitement began to ignite in his soul. He hadn’t felt this alive in years.

There was silence, Steve’s eyes rose to the tree outside the lab. It’s once green leaves now shades of orange and yellow, of fall. They remind him that in the coming months soon it would be the wedding anniversary. Would it be eight years married or just the three? He asked himself through the miasma of anticipation. Five years post-snap doesn’t count, he decided, he never had a chance to tell you every day how much he loved you.

It doesn’t count at all.

The last place you stood was in the new home he had bought. He had not been back in two years and imagined you there, near the couch reappearing confused surrounded by the lack of care he couldn’t bring himself to apply to the home.

A shadow, quickly creeping on the floor of the lab pulled him out of his thoughts. It floated over Bruce, the tables and before Steve could have another thought of you he was plunged back into fighting.

Before

The new Avengers compound was everything Tony Stark needed it to be. But it was further away from the building you use to work at.

But you drove there nearly every day just to see Steve. Today was no different except for a stomach flu had put a damper on your mood. You still picked up his favorite burger from the town nearest to the compound. The smell both disgusted you and made your stomach grumbled but you promised yourself to wait. It had been two days since you had dinner with your husband.

You would have been there at 7 PM. But you arrived at eight and once in the compound you directly headed toward the training grounds. Steve was always there on the days you visited. He had kept his promise, mostly. After the wedding anniversary debacle, he had made certain to be there when you visited.

The next two anniversaries were amazing. Swept off to the Canary Islands for the second and then to France for the third he had made it up to you. In his own way.

Your mood brightened when you entered the facility. The lack of noise hit you first. Easily, he could have been washing up. And for your own sexy surprise, you went to the showers ready to catch him off guard for perhaps a peek.

He was not there. But you were late, so there was a chance he had headed elsewhere to wait for you.

It was typical though. Such a large building he could have been anywhere really. And you searched. The common area, the quarters, the equipment room and then finally the carrier pad with all the rows of jets prepped and ready to fly. In the distance behind one of them, you caught sight of his fair hair.

You wagged the bag of food and your small duffle with you across the tarmac. His voice, thick and resound carried. A smile was already creasing your lips as you drew nearer.

A high pitched giggled followed by a few comments on how funny Steve was stopped your advances.

The woman’s shrill laugh hit the metal of the jet and then echoed out into the yard.

“Are you busy tonight?” she asked, her voice now soft—fragile even with a pitch too close to flirting than you liked.

You did not give Steve a chance to answer. You lightly called out his name as you walked around the quinjet to find him there standing in front of a beautiful woman.

“Actually I am,” he said. Steve smiled as he walked to you threw his arms around your shoulders and kissed you on the lips.

“My girl is here. Rebecca this is my wife.” He grinned down at you and then turned back to the woman.

Her thin pink lips pulled into a toothy half-smile. “Nice to meet you. Very lucky woman.” She said.

“I’m the lucky one,” said Steve. “I don’t know how she puts up with me, honestly. She’s one in a million.”

Both you and Steve wandered back toward the compound after the woman had taken leave. But you couldn’t help but wonder about it. How she stared at Steve, how he spoke to her before he knew you were there.

And the hours of work, the missed lunch dates, the shortened days due to his work schedule. You could feel it in you, the bout of irrational paranoia that had nested in your mind. It wiggled around and poked at your insecurities.

Your voice began softly as you spoke. “Is she the reason?“ You said as you continued to stare at the pebbled tar. “Why you’re always late?” you asked.

Steve stopped mid-stride and turned toward you. "You were late today. Did I miss something? You’re the one who showed up with cold food.”

You stopped, gripped the bag of food hard as you cut your eyes back him both hurt and angry. And before you could even get a handle on the temper you blurted out whatever popped into your mind.

“I was late because I got sick. You are late because you put work before our relationship.” You hissed.

Steve gestured to his chest, poked the kevlar silver star hard as he spoke through his teeth. “I moved everything around, for you.”

It was an old fight. An old wound that never fully scabbed over and allowed to heal. The same energy of him assessing who was right in the situation and never considering what he was doing wrong.

“Moved for me?” you spit back, rocked back on your heels away from him, hot-headed and deliberately bitter you dug in the bag of burgers. You pulled one out still wrapped in the yellow parchment paper and threw on the ground at his feet. “Move that for me.”

Humid spring air off of the lake gently swept over your face, your hair. The deep pungent odor of moss and damp soil hung around you when the wind died down. You had walked to the dock, sat down and finished your cold burger in silence.

God, your stomach was at it again. You tossed half the burger back in the bag and gripped the bench. The pit of your stomach felt like it moved inside you, like an actual slosh of the chunky meat and bits of bun turned over all on its own.

The situation with Steve didn’t help. You were up and gagging over the side of the dock in a matter of seconds. Every bit of food came up with along with the tears now pouring out of your eyes. One deep breath after another and you felt better. You walked back to the bench, grabbed up your bottle of water and swished out the taste of bile of your mouth.

You didn’t have to search long for the possible reason for the sickness. Days. You were days late. No, today was a new week. You were at least three weeks late.

Cool sprinkles from the darkened sky bounced upon the edges of your fingers. Your hand hung there, head leaned back against the rest of the seat behind the wheel of your car. Brown eyes stared unfixed on a dark green bush in front of the pharmacy.

You glanced back at the dash. The white stick laid there, two lines told you perfectly why you were sick.

The sticky thought of motherhood clung to your anxiety. You shut your eyes and concentrated on the movement of water over the skin of your hand. Drops, pittered on the hood and roof of your car became a melody of sorts. A natural hum that turned to a blasting orchestra in a matter moments as the clouds began to pour. You didn’t move from the rain.

You would need Steve to be there. Really be there for you, and the baby. And yes, he had tried to move his work around. He was right, you chastise yourself for calling him out. But even while he changed when he worked he never changed how much he worked. His body and mind were still loyal to battle, missions, and conflict.

How could a child be raised in this?

You loved him. Even without the words to explain the depth you knew how far that love could go because you were still here. You were hopelessly devoted, head-over-heels in love with Steve Rogers.

And now you had two heartbeats.

Warm tears fell to hot cheeks. You wiped them away with rain-soaked fingers. Imaginings of how you would tell him began to stir. Steve’s sensuous lips turned up into a smile was the best outcome. But another, darker, pushed forward. One where he rejected the idea, told you it was too much and left.

You turned over the ignition. No sense worrying about that, you told yourself. Steve was a better man than most.

You hoped.

The compound was quiet when you returned. Your small bag hung over your shoulder, soaked sneakers squeaked on the polished stone.

His quarters were quiet too and dimly lit as you slung the bag off onto the small island accidentally knocking off a wire basket with a couple of apples in it.

Steve appeared around the corner from the living room. He was clean, with just his boxers on limp strands brushed along his temples.

“So, are you slammin’ shit around now?” he accused, crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared at you.

“No. It was an acc-“ your voice faded out. You shrugged at Steve and moved to walk around him in the door frame.

He put his arm in the doorway blocking your exit. “Was it?” he asked. Steve’s eyes moved from your downturned lids to the rim of your lips.

Mint, maybe a hint of alcohol lingered on his breath as he spoke. “Answer me.” He asked softly.

Steve leaned over you, his warm wet lips kissed at the corner of your mouth. You brushed him off attempted to move passed him again but he stepped in front of you.

He kissed you again, though this time his hands wrapped around your waist holding you there. Steve rubbed his groin into your belly while his fingers pressed harder into the muscles of your back.

You pushed back on his shoulders breaking the kiss. “Stop. Let me pass.” And you tried to move out of his grasp. Steve didn’t allow you to go. He only stepped into the living room with you still pushing against chest.

“Steve, I want to lay down…please.” He kissed you again, your hands brushed against his silky beard pushing his face away.

“Honey. Come’ on,” he licked your neck, forced his way in closer by pulling your hands from his face and boxing you in at the wall.

He pecked again near your ear as he whispered. “I’ve missed you all week.”

“Steve…”

You protested. Sometimes you always did, at first. In these last months, it happened more often. Though part of you regretted it, your body soon shivered with the hot shake of want that was all too familiar reaction to his touch.

“I’m trying honey. I am,” he spoke softly again and pulled you by your wrists toward the couch. “You mean everything.”

You wanted to walk away. And you tried but the grip on your wrist was tighter more desperate than your need to leave. “Steve, I don’t think you mean that at all.” You said with a sharp jerk to your wrist.

Steve pulled you back into him your palms, fingers glided across his naked warm chest. He softly hushed you; his breath blew down to you as your body hit the cushions of the couch with him on top of you.

He was quicker, more able at taking your jeans off than you were at restricting access. Your jeans clung to your ankles as you rolled off the couch, kicked them off but Steve was there again. On your back pushing, you face-first into the cold stone floor.

Sweet, shy Steve, the man of your life became something else in these short moments. Desperately he tugged at your underwear while wedging his thick knees between your thighs spreading you open. There were no words. Only hisses and groans, pleading moans that shook you to your core.

“Let me, honey…” he said softly in your ear. You were not accustomed to begging. Not from him.

Short whispers brushed into the shell of your ear once more with the sound of your panties tearing baring your naked ass for only his eyes.

He had never done this. Sure you had seen something darker lurk. In his eyes, flashes of possessive tendencies but not this. You tried to lean up from the ground as you pushed back on your palms.

“Stop movin’.” He panted. Steve pushed the heel of his palm in between your shoulder blades and shoved into your wet folds. Your pained gasp did nothing to stop him. His other hand gripped the fat of your hip as he snapped again into you.

Your palms were flat on the stone bracing his every impact. Slick with sweat your face slid up and down with his short, feral pounding. You took him in, his width, his length. Over and over. The uncaring act made you drip around his cock.

“Baby…why,” he moaned.

“Why are you so fucking mouthy, girl.” His hand left your ass as did the other in the middle of your spine, both hands grabbed up your forearms and pinned you to the floor.

Delicious. You smiled. You were caught, the feeling of being at his mercy had you clenching hard around his cock. Lusciously he dove into you harder than before.

“Fuck Steve, Stevie..love.” Your voice comes out harsh, ragged as you tried to form words. Steve knows the only thing you need now is a finger at your clit. He dragged your left hand above, still gripping your wrist hard as he laid on top of you dove his other underneath you and began to rub hard circles on your clit.

The fat of your ass jiggled as your hips shook. Steve smiled to himself, he knew you would love this, out of control lust he suspected was your thing. He just needed the opportunity. And your bratty mouth was enough.

And when you cum. Gasping for air, eyes rolled back with a smile on your lips he couldn’t help but follow.

Steve stayed there afterward, allowing every drop to be milked by your tightness, your silky interior. He kissed your neck and road out the lingering waves of your orgasm. And when your breaths steadied he finally rolled over, leaned against the couch with his knee drawn up and a thick arm was thrown over it.

You sat up, leaned on one of your palms as you watched him in return. His satisfied grin only grew when you fingered the torn flaps of your panties. You turned from him, your eyes focused on the rumpled pile of jeans near the couch. The silence between was met with your huffs and sparse sniffles.

A baby. The thought exploded in your mind. It blew right passed the last twenty minutes and pushed you right back into the anxiety of the day. Quickly you stood and leaned over to pick up your jeans near Steve. He was still watching you but you refused to look at him. Those blue eyes were always far too invasive, too knowing.

You rolled them around in your hands until they were a wad.

“I’m pregnant.” You whispered.

“What?”

You finally turned your eyes down to him. Your voice carried further than your whisper.

“I said I’m pregnant, Steve.” He flinched; subtle, a twitch in his brow, but it was a flinch none the less. He glanced at the spot on the floor where he had just held you down. His eyes stayed there and said nothing.

You licked your lips, kept them tucked in as you watched him.

You sighed, held the wadded up pants tighter to your chest. “So, I guess we’ll see if you can move around that.” You said softly.

Before the app

The members of the team never needed to mix with the office employees. But Steve was the captain, the leader and they followed him when he said they could.

At first, it was an exercise to interact with other people. He thought of it as socialization training. When you are out there fighting, and neck-deep in death it can be easy to forget who you are. And the fact the office was practically connected to the training grounds was a plus. Steve encouraged the team to make friends, get to know the people and remember why they fight.

For Steve, it was you.

When the office space first opened, furniture was still new and the area began to quietly fill up you were the first person that made it worth coming there.

You were a fresh breeze in the stagnated recycled air. Your smile made him smile. And you were so easy to strike up a conversation with.

But when you started to watch Bucky, you smiled at him and it tore Steve down.

You joked with Bucky, laughed at his dumb jokes and stroked his metal arm. It pissed him off.

Steve shook the thought from his head. He was on his fortieth mile on the treadmill. Not sweating, barely out of breath he steadily kept going with Bucky on the one next to him. The conversation had taken a turn Steve knew was coming.

“She likes me.” Said Bucky with a smile. Childish as it sounded, it was the truth. And he liked you too.

“And when you date her? How long will that last? She isn’t disposable. She’s not one of your rags.” said Steve.

Like Bucky could keep you around? Steve saw the women that he ran through. Too scared to commit to any of them and far too excited to break it off before they developed feelings. He couldn’t stand the idea of him doing that to you. Besides, Steve had seen you first. As far as he was concerned you were already his, you just didn’t know it yet.

“Does she even see you?” asked Bucky.

“She will,” said Steve.

Before Steve was asleep. But you were awake, wide awake you laid on your back, a hand rested on the swell of your seven-month pregnant stomach and watched the ceiling.

It was another weekend at the compound and Steve was nowhere near changing his work schedule.

It was a topic he didn’t like. But you brought it up anyway.

Tonight was no different. Well, that wasn’t true. Tears slid from your eyes down your temple and into your bonnet.

He yelled at you. The man with a stone-cold temperament had mouthed off harsh words and threatened to work for as long as he wanted if you didn’t stop bringing it up.

But it ended the same.

His hands all over you, holding you down, pinning you against the bed and his body.

Your hands rubbed at the tears as you sat up in bed. You glanced in the dark at the large mass covered up to his ears next to you and sighed.

You pulled off the wrap, put on some sweats and left the room. You left his quarters and started walking. Waddled more like it. You felt so heavy in the middle and your heart.

Maybe this is what happened. Love, it comes harsh and rough until finally, you lean into the complacencies of a usual life. The gory details of how and why a relationship ended get lost in the relief that it was over.

But it wasn’t over. You didn’t know what was going to happen. But you loved him, and you hoped he still loved you.

Grabbed a book off the shelf, any book and sat on the couch. You sat in the common area. Before you cracked it open to get lost in another world besides your own shit, movement caught your eye. Entering the room was Bucky, with no shirt, thick sweats and some socks he looked like you felt. Eyes barely open with the dreary stress-induced lack of sleep he rubbed at his face. He glanced twice at you before he stopped and assessed you.

“You’re awake too?” he mumbled and walked toward you. He sat on the coffee table near you and kicked a leg up on it.

You shrugged as he continued to watch. He rubbed over his face again.

“I want to know what’s going on.” He said. “I can hear it from my room, you know.”

You looked up at him. He was steadily staring back at you with his pale eyes fixed at first on your stomach and then to your eyes.

“Bucky-“ you started to say, wanting more than anything that he both had never heard anything but also left the conversation alone.

“The fighting, it’s getting worse.” He added. Bucky turned his head toward the window behind you, took in his reflection and sighed before looking back at you. “Steve is my best friend. I know him. If he’s-“

You shut the book. “He’s not going to hurt me.”You said.

There was a silence as Bucky studied you, his eyes narrowed when he suddenly grew serious.

“I never said that.” He gently shook his head.

“Oh.”

“He was a strange kid.” Bucky scooted in one motion across the table closer, legs propped up on the cushion next to you. “Growing up poor can mess with you. It’ll either make you appreciative or make you hold on too tight.”

You leaned back on the couch. “Like fighting?” you asked.

“Protecting.”

Wedging the book between his legs and your thigh you leaned forward clasping your hands in your lap. “Bucky, he fights me. I don’t think he wants this relationship.”

Bucky shifted a bit, leaned on his hand toward you. “If you only knew.”

You shrugged, confused about what he was eluding to, your voice hushed as you spoke. “What does that mean?”

“If Steve sees something he goes after it with his whole heart and worries about the details later.”

Another round of silence with Bucky still eyeing your disposition and you felt no better. He nudged your arm with a few fingers bring your attention back to him.

“You can come to me.” His hand dropped to his thigh. “Like a buffer, or something. Anything, really. Even if you just want to sit in silence. I’ll read to you.“ He grinned but it soon slipped from his expression as he stood and sat near you on the couch.

“And..” Bucky entangled his metal fingers with his flesh fingers as he stared at the table. “You’ll tell me if he does anything other than yelling.” He looked at you, his blue eyes glanced over your face before meeting you eye to eye.

“Bucky.”

“Steve’s in love with you. Maybe focusing on you is becoming more and more difficult because he thinks he can’t be the man you deserve. Or the father he knows his baby needs. So you’ll tell me if he gets worse. Change, some men can’t handle it.”

You nodded. Silently you acknowledged Bucky’s words and the implication of a man not quite prepared for the family he created. If anything, Bucky could be the friend you were losing in Steve. And perhaps, with a fresh eye on the situation, you could squeeze by the harsher moments.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You unloaded the few grocery bags on to your brand new-to-you kitchen counter. A brownstone, all yours and Steve’s new home was still in the process of coming together. Boxes were still needed to be unpacked but you took a long break.

Bucky had arrived earlier and swept you away to the park for a sweet bagel and a much-needed slice of pizza. You smiled to yourself while remembering how Bucky’s laugh flew out of his mouth as he spoke about the new girl in his life.

It was lovely. Seeing him smile, and carry on about this woman who had suddenly turned him around. He slept better, could think easily now when panic attacks occurred. He no longer seemed heavily distracted. How refreshing and exciting for him.

His smile was in your mind. Bright and surrounded by coal stubble his grin had been contagious. Even now, with your thoughts firmly planted in the fading recollection, you barely registered the stomping footfalls coming down the stairs.

You smoothed out top around your belly. Sweating from the heatwave and needing quick relief you pressed the cool water bottled against your neck. You spread your other hand against the chilled counter-top and took a deep breath while still thinking about your trip to the park.

“Where were you?” You jumped, shocked at the pitch Steve’s shout from behind you.

By the time you turned toward the entryway door frame, Steve was only a few feet from you. Thick brows dipped, blue eyes focused on your face his right fist slightly clenched.

Before you could speak Steve shut you down with his voice shooting down at you. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he demanded.

You were confused at his agitation. Steve shifted to the right he grabbed the water bottle from your hand you had pressed near your neck and threw it at the sink. "Where were you?” he asked again.

You jerked your head back, disgusted at his tone and his behavior you stumbled over your words. “I forgot my phone! And you, you, said the meeting would be for hours!”

You looked back at the sink, the plastic bottle lid had popped off spilled cold water over the lip of the counter and on to the floor.

You turned back to him, your hands up in the air to surrender to his contention. “Bucky came over, took me out to the park. I forgot my phone on the way out!”

Steve shook his head like he didn’t believe you and stepped closer to you. His belt pressed against your belly, a reflex you cupped it and fed up with him you started to move away.

“It’s not like you missed me.” You said under your breath.

Steve leaned down harshly speaking into your ear. “Of course I missed you, was looking for you..”

You stepped back, his grating voice and his behavior easily started upping your blood pressure. “It’s just another day.” You jutted out your hand at him, wrung it out like all of this yelling was the least of your worries. “You were out doing missions or whatever.”

Your fuck all attitude goaded Steve. It poked at his need to know where you were at all times. And through his haze of jealousy, he snatched up your arm as you tried to walk away.

“Don’t start again.” He warned.

You snapped your arm away but he didn’t let go. Instead, he squeezed harder, his thumb burned as he dug in.

“Are you fucking him?” he accused.

“Bucky?” you spit back almost bellowed out in his face. Confusion creased around your eyes, your mouth hung open.

Steve fixed on the bump under your shirt and then flicked up to your eyes.

“Now you think I’m cheating?” Your voice broke. “Me? Steve? I’m here all the time, alone.” You jerked your arm against his grip. “And now you don’t think this is, the baby, you think I cheated?” you sobbed and pulled your arm again.

This time he let go. The scorn in his eyes slid to fear, wide blue eyes stared down at you. He tried to soothe you. Tears, buckets of drops poured from your eyes as his hands flew to your cheeks. But you swiped at him, pushed back on his chest as you walked out of the kitchen.

The gentle sound of wind lightly blew through the window. It caressed your face as you stared into the night sky, passed the street light above the brownstone across the street and gazed at the black.

When Steve laid down, he put his face right in front of yours.

“I’m sorry, honey,” whispered Steve.

Dried tears stuck to your face around your mouth. You tasted the salty aftermath as you licked your lips before you spoke. “No, you’re not.” You said flatly, shifted your eyes to his lips and refused to look him in the eye.

Steve did not speak. He moved in close, forced you to put your head on his chest as he rested a warm hand on your stomach. His beard scratched the top of your head.

“I am.” He said softly.

“You don’t trust me.”

“I do.” Said Steve. He forced your face up to him with the hook of his finger. “I do.”

“I swear to you when I get back I’ll lay it all out.” He promised.

He stared down into the shadows around your eyes. “You’re leaving again? What’s new.” You said quietly, dejectedly.

“Something is happening. We can’t contact Wanda and Vision. They need me.”

The shadows glistened back at him with what he suspected were the beginnings of tears. “I need you. We need you.” You croaked.

“You will have me.”

Steve kissed your lips. And for the first time in a few months, you honestly kissed him back too. Held on to him as well, wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulder as he leaned over you. His hands brushed over your stomach to your hip, his tongue licked around the rim of your lower lip then sealed it with a peck.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He said, and then pressed his thumb to your lower lip, kissed you again on the corner of your mouth.

Steve stared at you from the doorway. He promised that finally, you would understand him better. He assured, silently to himself he would be more open. He vowed to let you know the fears and dreams he had held on to all this time.

There would be time.

But there wasn’t. It was the last time he saw you alive.

Now

Steve surveyed the neighborhood from the skiff’s windscreen. It was home. One he had not seen in two years.

His stomach flipped again. Nerves were getting the best of him but he swallowed back the fear. He directed the warrior to hover over the brownstone he had picked out for you. Steve jumped from the skiff without question and landed on his feet on the roof.

His fast able strides brought him to the access door. He ripped it open practically flew down the stairs of the third floor. By the second he heard something.

A voice? Did he imagine it?

Steve wiped the sweat from his smooth jaw as he landed on the first floor. A shadow across the kitchen from the living room made him stop. He blinked away tears, let them fall as he took a step toward the doorway.

“Steve?” Your sweet voice called from beyond the living room. Steve held on to the door frame to the living room and turned his head to the left. The kitchen archway was there and through it, he saw a light on.

He caught a wisp of the lavender-blue sundress you use to wear. And then you were there. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen the light from the living room flooded around you bathing you in the purest afternoon sunlight.

Alive and breathing with the full stomach he remembered. Glowing brown skin, and full lips, your hair dark curls pulled back away from your face. Your eyes stared back at him in shock.

Steve pushed off from the doorway and ran to you. He crashed into you, knocking you back a few steps but he held on to you so tightly you never would have fallen.

“Steve? What happened?”

He buried his face into your neck. “You shaved?” you asked again in the voice that used to haunt his dreams.

He was once a man out of time. That second chance at life most would cling to, he turned away from it for a few years. That next battle, the sustainability of a mission always seemed more important. It was torture for him though. Living a half-life. He took it for granted what it meant. Somewhere along the way, he misplaced his gratitude for his chance with you too.

All those little fights seemed trivial now. He had five years to remember you. And to also recall his ineptitude. Not the good man he could have been. Not the great soldier he wanted to be. He was barely a husband.

Steve fell to his knees, his eyes never turned from yours as he kissed your stomach then clung to you.

“I’m going to be here. Always.” Said Steve, he held your hand within his own and peppered them with kisses.

“What happened?” you asked again and when Steve continued to kiss your hands and then hold them to his face you spoke once more. “You’re scaring me. Please…”

“I lost you.” He said into your skin. His hot breath puffed in between your fingers. “I lost everything. I won’t let that happened again.” “Steve,” Your hands caressed the sides of his beard. He stood, and ran his hands down your back as he kissed your lips. “I’m not lost..” you said between pecks. A prism flickered across your face, your hair, somewhere beyond the window a car passed flashing a rainbow over your skin. You smiled and Steve melted. To his bones he felt the love that he denied himself. Even more, he felt grateful you still wanted him. He soaked in the image of light dancing off the brown of your eyes. “You’re right here,” he said and pulled you into his embrace. “I’m never taking that for granted again.”

#Black Female Reader x Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers AU

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 4 months ago

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Check it out!!

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’, 𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’

“Wait…you fucked both?!”

“Shut the fuck up, Mary.”

“Oh, you nasty freak! Why didn’t I know about this right after it happened?! Did you do it at the same time?”

“We are in a church parking lot! Have some couth!”

It’s the summer of 2003 in the deep heat of Mississippi, and Juicy’s just trying to live life loud—jewelry clinking, hips swinging, and lip gloss always fresh. Between running around with Mary, eating good southern cooking, keeping her name clean in a town full of loose talk, all while taking a break from behind a perfect college student, Juicy doesn’t have time for love… not that it stops love from finding her anyway.

The Moore twins are back, and so are the memories they all tried to keep buried. Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore is silent and steady. And he still had those burning eyes like he knew things she hasn’t even admitted to herself yet. Observant as ever. And Elias ‘Stack’ Moore is still as bold, reckless, and shameless in the way he flirts, always saying the wrong thing at the right time just to see her blush.

It was just like old times. They’re her brothers best friends, and she’s not supposed to fall for either of them—let alone both. But in the hectic summer of ‘03, feelings begin to slip through the cracks as they all depend on one another, just how they did when they were younger.

What starts as teasing glances and late-night conversations grows into something tender, tangled, and far more complicated than Juicy ever expected. She’s never been one to choose between sweet and wild… so why start now?

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞. | 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 | ★ ★ ★ ★

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨. | 𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 |★ ★

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞. | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐤 | ★ ★ ★

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫. | *𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 | ★ ★ ★ ★

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞. | 𝐅𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧* | ★ ★ ★

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

#elijah ‘smoke’ moore #elias moore #elijah moore #Sinners Modern Universe

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 4 months ago

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The Pitt fanfics

I have been deep in the Pitt!!

Have and Hold - T, Robby x Collins, comfort and fluff

After the shift from hell, Robby goes home

Whatever You Want - E, Robby x Collins, smut

Heather going through the hoops and options when there is a simple solution in front of her.

First Call - G, Robby x Collins, humour

How Robby found out about Collins' fear of rats!

I feel alive when I'm with you - T, Robby x Collins, family fluff

A day in the Pitt and the Pitt's first baby. Or Heather being stubborn and Robby loving her so much and the shenanigans of being parents and doctors.

A Moment - T, Abbot x Mohan, comfort

Mohan, Abbot and a moment on the roof

Break Room Talks - G, fluff and humour, pre-relationship

Mohan chatting with her crush in the break room.

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #michael robinavitch #heather collins #dr heather collins #robby x collins

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bookmarks-are-for-quitters · 4 months ago

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👀

Worth the Wait

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,798 Summary: You and Steve seal the deal. Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Soft mob!Steve. Boss/employee dynamic. Slight edging. Unprotected sex. Cockwarming. Fluff.

A/N: While I work on the next installment for Pound Town, please enjoy this dose of Gentle Soul!Steeb x Reader because IT'S HAPPENING! IT'S HAPPENING! ENJOY!

It wasn't your finest moment.

But after weeks of Steve "being a gentleman" and courting you (coughEDGINGYOUcough), when your latest date wound down for the evening and you arrived home from dinner, you basically tried to climb him like a tree in your enthusiasm to have him.

Steve oofed as you pounced on him, shoving him into the closest wall as you pressed up as close as you could get, wound your arms around his neck, and kissed him so hungrily you had him groaning against your lips in no time.

When your mouth fell away from his, pressing frantic kisses along his neck as you fumbled with his belt, Steve chuckled and and gently caught your hands in his.

"Nooo," you whined, glaring up at him as you sagged against him in horny despair. "I swear to god if you don't seal the deal tonight, I'm going to die."

"That's very dramatic, sweetheart," Steve hummed, grinning at your stink eye before ducking low to kiss you. “I just wanna make sure we both enjoy ourselves.”

His next kiss landed on the hinge of your jaw and you shuddered hard as he gave your earlobe a gentle nip.

"So let's save the rushed entryway sex for another night," he murmured against your ear before straightening so he could meet your gaze. "Because tonight?" Steve cupped your face in his large, tattooed hand. "Tonight I'm gonna have you in my bed, and you're not leaving it until sometime tomorrow, after I've thoroughly, thoroughly wrecked you."

"Oh fuck, it's happening," you muttered under your breath, your eyes wide as Steve grinned and caught your hand in his before leading you upstairs to his bedroom.

He undressed you with such reverence, his gaze so soft yet burning with desire, that you couldn't help but melt just a little despite your frantic need to finally take things to the next level.

Said frantic need instantly shifted to the back burner once Steve was just as naked as you and you got your first good look at his ridiculous body.

You had never seen so many muscles in your life. So many tattoos, too. You were most likely gaping like a fish as you stepped close, your hands reaching for him to press against Steve's warm skin, feeling all that firm smoothness beneath your palms before your fingers started to trace along the ink on his chest.

"You're so beautiful," you sighed dreamily, your glassy gaze finally lifting to Steve's as your fingers tugged on his chest hair.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you, pretty girl."

Your eyes fluttered as Steve's hand caught along your jaw and tilted your head back, giving him the perfect angle to kiss you with the kind of passion that had your belly swooping and your knees turning to jelly.

When your back finally hit the softness of Steve's king size bed, you let your legs fall open in invitation, not shy in the least to bare your cunt to his smokey gaze, because god, you wanted him to ruin you more than you ever wanted anything in your life.

Rather than go right for the prize, Steve started at your feet, keeping his dark gaze fixed on yours as he pressed a kiss to your ankle before his mouth ascended along your calf.

His hands were so warm and just a little bit rough as he cupped your thighs and settled his big body between your legs, bypassing your throbbing cunt completely as he kissed the soft, warm plane of skin just beneath your belly button before continuing on his journey to taste every inch of your bare body he could get his lips on.

By the time Steve's mouth found one of your hard, achey nipples, you were whining again, squirming beneath him and begging him on a raspy whisper to fuck you as his tongue lapped at your skin and he hummed his delight.

At the taste of you.

And the exquisitely needy state of you.

You could feel Steve's smile against your breast as you whined his name and reached for his hair, gently giving it a tug as you spread your legs wider. "Oh my god, please. Please stop teasing me. Please."

"Such good manners," Steve taunted on a gravelly whisper, his eyes sparkling as you glared before he was kissing the irritation off of your face.

Once he pulled away, it was like you could feel something shift in the air, your eyes going wide as Steve sat back on his haunches, his nostrils flaring as his gaze finally dropped to your cunt and he licked his lips without an ounce of shame.

He framed your hips in his big hands and tugged you closer as he settled your sprawled legs around his waist, and then he gripped his big, hard cock in his tattooed hand and gave himself a few strokes as his eyes aligned with yours.

Steve held your gaze as he dragged his length along your slit, a tic popping in his jaw as your breath hitched at the feel of his cock bumping your clit. Once he was shining with your arousal, he lined himself up, caught against your clenching hole, and pushed in nice and slow.

You gave a sharp gasp at the feel of Steve's cock slowly splitting you open, your back bowing just a little at the way your velvety walls strained at the girth of him. When he finally bottomed out with a hard rut of his hips, you gave a strangled cry, fisting the blankets beneath you as your body thrummed with a need so strong it took your breath away.

Carefully stretching out over you, Steve caught your hand with his and laced your fingers together, his lips touching yours just as his big body sank against your own.

"You feel incredible," he murmured once he pulled away, his eyes so dark and intense that you struggled to meet his gaze. Lips touching your warm cheek, Steve gently rocked against you, groaning as you clenched around him hard in response.

You moaned as he gently nipped at the hinge of your jaw, his body rocking and grinding with more urgency as he found your hands and pressed them to the mattress above your head, lacing your fingers together before he finally gave you exactly what you wanted.

What you had begged him for for weeks on end.

The first retreat and hard snap of Steve's hips had you keening, your body arching beneath his, pressing flush all along his front as he began to fuck you with deep, steady strokes.

He felt so good, somehow hitting every sensitive spot inside of you–so many you didn't even knew existed until now–that you just stared up at him in a startled daze, your fingers clenching around his as you spread your legs wider and tilted your hips, inviting that glorious cock of his even deeper inside of you than before.

"Oh god," you gasped, moaning as his pace picked up, the push and pull of his cock feeding that wanton fire deep inside of you and driving you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy.

"Feel good?" Steve asked, his eyes so intent and focused on you.

That avid gaze of his made you feel shy for some reason, and you kind of wanted to hide, but instead you just nodded, your lips parting a little and making him smile because you looked so sweetly flabbergasted beneath him.

When a slight shift in the angle of his cock had you gifting him a quavering, broken keen of pleasure, Steve doubled down, aiming for that same spot deep inside of you over and over again as he dropped a hand between your bodies and started strumming at your clit.

"Oh fuck," you panted, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt yourself on the edge of sweet, sweet relief.

"Cum for me, sweetheart," Steve encouraged, his hips driving harder as he nuzzled along your cheek and rubbed your clit without relent. "Let me have you, all of you, this beautiful body and all the pleasure it's feeling. I want it all. I want all of you."

You came so hard you sobbed, your body locking as your cunt fluttered, drawing a grunt from the deep recesses of Steve's throat as you began to tremble and he fucked you through it.

His gaze was so dark and intent as he watched every single blissful reaction flicker across your face as you fell apart for him, toeing the line of his own end now as you gave another sharp cry that signaled your second orgasm.

Only then did he start to falter, his sweaty forehead dropping to yours as he groaned. “You feel so good, honey," he moaned, shoving into you hard and lingering as his cock throbbed. "Such a perfect fit, I knew you were made for me that first day," he muttered against your warm cheek, his lips trailing along your skin until he could whisper against your ear, "Gonna keep you forever, sweetheart. Gonna treat you like a fucking queen.”

You could only whine your assent, shuddering when Steve finally came with a quiet groan and a hard, deep thrust before that telltale warmth was blooming deep inside of you.

"Fuck," he rasped against your ear, his hips pumping until he had nothing left to give and was sagging against you, completely spent.

Your eyes fluttered as Steve snuffled against the crook of your neck, his hand smoothing over your head as you clung to him, your chest feeling full and warm, a deep sort of content–of happiness–trickling through every inch of your body.

Steve pulled away just enough to see your face, his lips curling into a warm smile at your cheeky, satisfied grin. Huffing a quiet laugh, he kissed you slowly, humming against your lips as your fingers gently drew through his hair.

"So," he murmured, once he finally pulled away. "Was it worth the wait?"

You laughed, nodding with a grin as you purred, "Definitely worth the wait, and then some." Your smile faltered as your eyes narrowed. "But also, for the record? I am not a fan of edging, so please avoid torturing me like that in the future. It was very rude."

"Oh, see that kind of sounds like a challenge," Steve teased, his eyes dancing at you and so very, very warm as he laughed at your put out look before kissing it away.

And you reveled in it–in him–your body so thoroughly, thoroughly sated and your heart light and fluttery and glowing as you hugged Steve closer, deepened the kiss, and made sure not to leave his bed for a good, long while.

These sweet beans!!! I'm so in love with them. 😭 Please take a moment to drop some feedback!

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#steve rogers x reader #stargazingfangirl18

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