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purelyfiction · 6 months

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NFL QB Jake 'Hangman' Seresin AU x Popstar F!Reader

Summary: NFL Quarterback Jacob Seresin is in hot water from a streak of bad decisions, just as you go through the worst public breakup of your life. With people slandering both of your reputations, your publicists hatch a plan to bring both of you back into favor and keep the heat off until spring - that is if you can keep up the facade.

Word Count: 5,334 words

Author Note: I know I have two other outstanding Top Gun fics and I swear I'm trying to get those going but I am writing what sparks joy and well.... this certainly does. || Also!! Reader's stage name is 'Celeste' with 'Este' as the nickname. So no one gets confuseddddd

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You'd never anticipated to start the biggest year of your life absolutely gutted, yet here you are. Your boyfriend – well, ex-boyfriend, severed what you had thought to be a loving, trusting and safe relationship, rather unexpectedly on New Year's Eve. Then he'd gone to the press to relay that you were a horrible person, a terrible girlfriend, too involved in your work to even bother paying attention to anyone else. The timing couldn't be worse, since you were about to start your first ever stadium tour in the spring.

The result had been you hiding away in your little oasis that was your condo in California’s southern escape of San Diego. You’d stayed off the internet, binging TV shows that you’d been too busy to pay attention to and immersing yourself in anything you could, to erase the four year relationship you’d been splintered from. The garbage people probably wondered why there were a near dozen empty quarter pints of ice cream in your recycling bin, but that wasn’t for them to care about. At least you’d recycled them.

Now, three weeks into the new year, with your favorite Chinese on the way, you sit on your couch going over tour visuals. Your lighting engineer is rambling on the line as you hear the gate buzzer go off. You’re quick to collect your dinner as one of the others on the line gasp and quickly mute their mic. “What?” You quip, walking to your expansive kitchen and dropping the large paper bag down. You’re half paying attention when the employee brushes you off, as your hand pulls container after container of food from the magical Mary Poppins-style bag. Getting to the bottom, you grasp for a pair of chopsticks, only to find several sets of them, along with a dozen fortune cookies. You take a moment to look over your four entrees and styrofoam container of sushi. The audacity of them to think you would be sharing any of this.

Finally, you address the matter of your dramatic tech director. “What’s the deal over there Hollywood?” You chide, before your phone is ringing, leaving you to hang up the video call to answer the phone. It’s your publicist and you know better than to let her calls go unanswered.

“Check your inbox.” Her voice is frigid instead of it’s usually cheery demeanor.

“Hello to you too?” Begrudgingly, you do as she commands, finding the email she sent to you.

Jonah Carter agreed to sit down for an interview with UsWeekly, post-breakup to clear the air and to make sure no one else would fall for his ex-girlfriend's (Celeste) playful, girl-next-door-ish facade.

"At first, it felt like a dream come true," Carter, an up-and-coming actor within his own right, said almost sheepishly. "I thought she was talented and kind, but I should've known it was too good to be true."

But there's more to this pop-star than Jonah says meets the eye. In addition to the vanity and self-importance that seems to plague this generation's starlets, Este was a vindictive slob who routinely talked behind the back of even her closest friends. "It makes me wonder what she's saying about me, now, after everything I've heard her say about those who think are closest to her." The concern for others is written very clearly on the actor’s face as he speaks. When I question the songstress’ messages about authenticity, the man adjusts in his seat as he holds back a laugh.

"She'd like you to believe she writes all her own music, but I'm not sure she could write a full sentence without the help of her team," Jonah chuckled nervously into his coffee. "Sorry, that was rude. I don't want to stoop to her level." Cowed brown eyes made me wonder what else he had endured behind closed doors. It struck a chord within me.

“Why did you stay as long as you had if this was what you were facing?” I ask him. The expression of his kind features morphs into despair.

“When we first met, Celeste was someone I admired. Her compassion, her drive and her dedication to the things she valued spoke so deeply to what I did, what I still do-” he fumbles as he attempts to source the proper words, “They just… weren’t her beliefs. They were her team’s.” Jonah lets out a pained sound, “I think when we got toward the end of it, I realized that she has this way of manipulating what she says, how she acts, to make herself look good. She puts on a show, on and off the stage and you pay for it one way or another. So, I knew what she was capable of. I knew she could be that person if she really wanted to and I wanted so badly to help her see that. I eventually learned that people see what they want to see.”

God, what a load of hot garbage this was. It was a particularly rare batch, clearly it had been baking in a dumpster in the scorching sun with the lid closed. All damp, with a horrendous mix of something rotting and old crusty seaweed.

The tour was supposed to be announced on the first of the month and here your ex was selling stories (horribly narrated and mangled stories) to the press. You might as well have been kicking puppies at this point.

“Isn’t he just swell? Nothing but peak wisdom from good ol’ Jonah.” Your eyes could’ve strained themselves with how far back they rolled. Probably the only time he’d ever made them do that too.

“I’ve already called a team together to brainstorm. I don't want you to respond. Stay offline, away from all of it and don't entertain any of the discourse. Not until I have something to work with.”

“None of it is true we both know that-” You begin to laugh but she cuts you off.

“As much as I want to be on your side here, we are working to put out a fire. Your silence the last three weeks has put you at a massive disadvantage and frankly? The public eye doesn’t see you in the greatest space right now.” You know she’s right. She always is, and right now ‘Celeste’ was synonymous with ‘cynical, fake and fraudulent’. You wouldn’t be shocked if the uproar demanded you be canceled based off of this testimony.

It wasn’t all but two days later that you were called in by your PR team. Into the office in New York for the first time since before Thanksgiving. It had been a busy end of the year and now that the new one was coming in so ferociously you weren’t looking toward any of the things you once had been. This was the first time back into the light and so you had made sure that the inevitable cameras had something to look at. You’d dressed yourself in your favorites, in an effort to boost your confidence as best as you could. Putting on a show, just like you had been when things had been on the rocks with Jonah.

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Getting to the office, you’re nearly trampled with the amount of people that swarm you. It’s not normally this bad - hell it’s never this bad. It isn’t until you catch sight of a football jersey and an ESPN logo that your brow furrows. Odd.

Stepping into the building, you’re pushing your sunglasses up onto your head, looking down at your ringing phone and trying to slide your coat off simultaneously. Instead, you crash right into what you think is a wall, but is instead a broad man, looking rather lost.

“Easy there, Twinkle Toes.” You guffaw and look up at the blonde man before returning your eyes toward your feet. Of course, the bedazzled statement boots on your feet call attention to themselves before the rest of the outfit can balance itself out.

“Alright, Prince Charming, you first.” You snicker before stepping out of his way and start to the elevator. Unfortunately for you, he’s apparently heading your way as well, needing access to the lift to the next floor.

“Prince Charming, huh? I mean I’ve been called worse.” His shoulders roll backwards as the elevator dings to one of the other floors. You keep your head trained forward, suddenly remembering the rule you’d been given. Stay quiet, don’t engage. And here you were giving sass to a stranger and showing up in bedazzled booties. You were really digging this grave deeper than necessary. So, instead of giving him another sassy response, you keep your eyes locked to the neon numbers as the elevator passes each floor. “Oh so, now I’m getting a cold shoulder? Darn, I was really ready to ask you all about the boots on your feet, too.” You can’t help but let your eyes move back over to the broad male, just out of the corner of your eye. His face is completely locked on you, shamelessly at that. “They expensive? They got that waxy red paint on the bottoms of ‘em?” Silently, you turn one of your feet up to give him a glimpse at the blue bottom of the shoe. “Huh, blue. That’s fun. That more expensive than the LouButton or whatever they are?” Finally the elevator reaches your floor, hopefully shutting this chatterbox up for the time being. Yet the questions continue like an immature toddler as you rise up the floors - going to the same floor nonetheless. “Hey, you’re that Celeste chick aren’t ya?”

“Yes.” You finally answer one of his questions, his face lighting up.

“Oh look at that, she cracks.” Another eye roll times well with the sound of the elevator reaching the desired floor. Instead of responding, you quickly find your way through the glass hallways and to the desired room. You are so glad to be in the presence of the familiar group, the stranger in the elevator having rattled your composure somewhat. Your manager comes in with a cup of coffee and a smile, which immediately puts one on yours.

“You didn’t have to do that!” You cheer, reaching out for it as she sits beside you.

“When you see what Rachel has come up with, you’re going to need it.” Oh. Reassuring.

You see her point when Prince Charming steps into the board room, followed by a host of men in dress clothes and suits, all matching the blue soles of your boots. Charming sits directly across from you, a hand wiggling his fingers as he waves at you. Oh good.

“Thank you everyone for coming. I know this is a very polarizing group, so before we get ahead of ourselves, I want to introduce Celeste, or Este as we all have come to call her over the years.” Awkwardly, you wave at the foreign men. They grunt and nod. You were already having doubts and not a word had been spoken on their end. “I also want to introduce Beau Simpson, public relations coordinator for the San Diego Sea Lions, Coach Natasha Trace, and Sea Lions owner, Tom Kazansky.”

Sea Lions? As in the NFL team that had been built not even three years ago but had made it to all three playoffs in their short time? The one that Jonah had ridiculed immensely when it joined the league because ‘California doesn’t need another group of inflated egos in the league’?

“I’m really feeling the love here, Rach.” Charming speaks up and the raven haired woman on the other side of the table sighs.

“This is Jacob Seresin, starting quarterback for the Sea Lions.” The coach speaks, the blonde man brushing off her introduction.

“No need for full names, Trace. Clearly we only do the stage name around here.” That was a clear jab to you if you’d ever heard it. “Hangman’s what they call me.” His hand juts across the glass, toward you. Your hands stay tucked under your biceps.

“Pleasure to meet you.” It’s passive, turning to your team leader. “Rachel. I’m not seeing a connection here.”

“Jacob is in the same pot of hot water you’re in.” Your attention moves to the similarly broad man who stands up, towering over Rachel. “We feel as though we can spin this to both of your advantages. Jake needs to stop sleeping around–”

“Easy now, Simpson.” The eldest in the room stands up and he gives you a kind smile. It’s not a farce though. You’re not entirely sure what makes it so genuine, but you smile in return of seeing him stand, despite it taking a slight bit of effort to do so. “What he means is, Jake’s professional status has changed due to the words of someone else and we’re determined to alter that. Rachel identified this and made quite the proposal.” The young woman seems all too cheery to cut off the old man.

“You’re both having relationship woes–” The raven haired woman on Jacob’s team speaks under her breath.

“Wouldn’t call them relationships.”

“And by putting you two together, we feel as though we can put you into a positive light. Let’s face it, putting two very successful, and attractive people who are already in the spotlight allows people to follow the developing love story. Este attends games, plays the WAG card, has an opportunity to be seen in the public eye more frequently and dispels the ill-spoken words that were published about her this week. Jake gets the proof that he isn’t just a love-em-and-leave-em type.” Your eyes spell out the doubt you’re feeling, looking at your team who is just as skeptical. “That’s just the beginning! Celeste is going on tour this year. Stadiums all across the country have her booked and ready for the summer. We have a captive audience already following these games to see Este and Jake together, and we get brand recognition. The conversations that will come as she gets to witness her betrothed play in a stadium she would be performing in that very summer.”

Now you see where the benefit actually is. Clearing your name while simultaneously promoting your tour in the process. Seeing stadiums you’ve booked and would hopefully sell out.

“So how are you proposing this works? We’ll need a start, an end - a story on how we met–”

“Well,” Beau settles in his seat, twisting in the desk chair as he draws in the attention of the group, “we have the major details hypothesized. Rachel and I will work with one another to get the rest of it together. For now, you two met at a New Years Eve party.”

Oh joy. Now you get to remember that bitter break-up that led you here, every time you speak about him.

The man looks like he walked out of a surfing magazine, as it were. Now, the scowl on his features paints him as a devil. Long hair, muscular arms on display as he leans into the table in front of him.

“If we don’t do this?” Jake leans back in his chair, a hand coming to fiddle with the lingering 5 o’clock shadow that he has omitted in his morning routine.

“We don’t do this and there will be a lack of support for the Sea Lions. You’ll have painted the entire team as jackasses who can’t focus to save their life, especially if you continue to party and hook up with whomever your dick has the hots for that night-” Beau has gone off the handle and Tom speaks up again.

“The point is, public favor will stay low and it will not bode well for the team. With a lack of support, we have empty seats. Empty seats translates to less viewers, then to less money and you know the song and dance. Not to mention morale for the upcoming playoffs. We need to keep the team happy, Hangman. It’s time to do something to benefit everyone.”

Jake’s expression deepens, as though he was a young child just scolded by his father for his poor behavior. Green eyes shift and face you, his hand jutting out toward you.

“I’m in.” His hand hovers. Waiting for you to join him in this grand scheme. Glancing at your own team, they look rather haunted. At this point, it was this or to hope that a long string of possible good stories and fan interactions can redeem you.

You want this to pass. And if this would make it go faster… you grab Jake’s hand firmly.

“What’s there to lose?”

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You went back onto social media. Posted some photos you’d taken with friends back at the beginning of the month, from the worst party of your life. The photos at least were cute and you loved the dress you’d gotten to wear. Luckily these photos were all taken prior to midnight. So there were no red eyes. No ruined mascara and glitter across your cheeks. No freezing car rides home and empty beds.

Mindlessly, you scroll through the comments.

Flameth: can still make the whole place shimmer ✨

RunTao: phony photos

Romanacent: so glad to see you’re not letting him get to you!

H_ngm_n: you’re still gonna let me borrow those boots right

It’s the last one you’d been keeping an eye out for. Boots? Looking back at the photo, you scroll through the carousel until you spot them.

The same shiny sparkly rhinestone boots you’d worn to your meeting.

Celeste: @h_ngm_n I’m a woman of my word, of course 🤗

Not even a week goes by before you’re ‘spontaneously’ at a bar in LA. Jake has been there for the last two hours, as he insisted you both show up alone and then end up leaving together. You eventually found him in the VIP section, drinking with his buddies.

You made sure to keep your distance for a few minutes - after all, his friends had no idea this was going down. The only people who knew about this little arrangement were your respective PR teams. That was it. No one else from your teams, your friends and family, absolutely no one knew what your little plan was. Maybe you should just leave. It was a verbal contract, you didn’t sign anything, you were just trying to make this work for the two of you-

The bartender pulls you from your deliberations. There is now a drink that you certainly didn’t order sitting in front of you. Well there was no going back now. Jake had likely made a show of sending over the drink and now you had to go through with this. Glancing over your shoulder, you see the jock, legs spread, arms resting on the back of the booth chair. Green eyes lock in your direction and send a cocky wink as a garnish to your drink.

You are about to win your first Oscar with this performance. Throwing on a grin, you pick up the drink and easily sashay your way over to him and his football buddies. Some flash titanium wedding bands, some platinum. Some aren’t wearing them at all, like your date, mister 83 who leans forward upon your approach. “Well, well, well, long time no see hot shot.”

“Speak for yourself, pop star.” Jake stands to greet you, his arms coming around you, carefully as to not spill either of your drinks. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he does so. It’s rich, familiar in the way it reminds you of summers camping. Bonfire smoke and smores. Yet clean, like when you came home to a clean house, citrus floor cleaner lingering in the halls. Pulling back, you almost move forward again to sit in it. Easy does it.

“Oh come on, three weeks isn’t that long.” You chide. While most of his body has pulled away from the hug, his free hand still sits on your waist, warm against the AC of the exclusive bar.

“Technically it was a year ago.” Jake smirks before taking a sip of his drink and you want to groan. So you do. But spin it into something more playful.

“Observant, are we?” You nearly snarl as you take a sip of your drink, Jake’s colleagues standing up. The one who’d sat right next to him grins and extends a hand. He’s tall, lean but has a stunning smile as he steps your way.

“Not sure we’ve met. Javy Machado, running back, San Diego Sea Lions-” the blonde looks at his friend with an amused scoff.

“I think she knows who the Sea Lions are, Jav.” The look on the captain’s face is one of skepticism and amusement. You were here to dispel rumors. So, as much as you’d like to smack Jake for being a dick to his friend, you shake his teammate’s hand instead

“In passing. I don’t follow football closely, but I get by. Celeste.” The smile on your face is genuine as the next player stands. Kind eyes, a domestic bar of hair on his upper lip and the build of a pickup truck, he goes for a quick one armed hug. When he lets go, you have to wipe the temptation of any swooning you were compelled to do. Especially since a gold band glistens on his left hand.

You’re here for Jake anyways.

“Name’s Bradley Bradshaw. They call me Rooster.” Your eyebrow furrows as your head twists. Before you can ask, another man on the other side of the room laughs.

“You should hear him on the field when he’s sacking someone.” This one, curls and meticulously groomed facial hair to boot, leans forward and shakes your hand kindly. “I’m Mickey. That back there is Bob.”

True to his word, at the end of the bench is a long haired man, tucked into his phone and fiddling with a ring. He doesn’t seem to match the energy of the rest of the group. Curious. “Bob!” He glances up at the sound of his name, blue eyes flitting from face to face before spotting you. When he does he breaks out into a smile.

“Celeste! Gosh, wow it’s so cool to meet you! My girls adore your music.” This catches Jake’s attention, a brow popping up.

“Aren’t both of ‘em less than five?” He asks and Bob looks between the two of you.

“Yeah? It’s never too early to introduce them to great music and influential women.” There’s no faking the smile on your face as you reach over and shake his hand. When you do, you look at Jake with a ‘would you look at that’ coded grin.

“That’s amazing to hear! I’m glad they have fun with it! That’s why I do it.” You glance back at Jake as he comes behind you, hand shifting to the small of your back.

“Pay’s in the bathroom, I’m sure you’ll meet him sometime later tonight.” The quarterback gives a nod to his group, before guiding the two of you to a high top table not too far from them. When you sit down he looks at you with a laugh. “Flirt much?”

“Excuse me?” Jumping to the defense, you watch Jake roll his eyes and then look back at Bradley, before facing you.

“You were practically eye-fucking him.”

“Was not.”

“He’s happily married, leave him be.” The blonde sips at his drink and you can’t help but laugh when you realize he’s giving you a hard time.

“Right, right, guess I’ll bother you instead.” The tease is off your lips in two seconds. Maybe he was right, you were coming off strong. You huff and sink into yourself briefly. “I don’t know if you realized this, but I haven’t had ‘flirt’,” your fingers mark the quotation marks in the air, “with anyone in a while. Let alone fake it.”

Jake leans back in his chair, downing the rest of his beverage a smirk making way when he sets the glass down.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be faking it for long.”

The two of you sat at that table for probably an hour, bickering over which of the Pirates of The Caribbean movies were the best, and why glitter was a detriment to society. Another round of drinks and the football star return to the table as he laughs when he spills a little of your overflowing drink.

“No, no I assure you. Glitter originated in some high tech nuclear weapons factory to make the enemy go insane upon introducing it to an environment.” He pushes your drink toward you as you pull your hair back. Not only were you not anticipating for him to be this passionate about it, but you weren’t planning on the night going like this.

You were enjoying yourself. Jake had told you about his time at UT, six years spent studying communications no less.

It made sense when you really dissected it. Jake had the ease to hold someone’s attention: he’d held yours this long after all, and he was well spoken. Both were things that were shocking to you. He soon enough revealed the plan had always been football. Communications was for post-retirement, when he got tired out and wanted to be back in the stadiums.

Stories of his dad commentating his high school games came fondly before he asked about your background. You were a bit hesitant to divulge too much, but what you had was pretty bare-bones.

Music had always been a hobby but never a career choice. You’d planned to go into school for a degree in education, a masters in English. Go and teach for a bit before getting your PhD in some niche of the world of writing and then become a professor at your alma mater.

With the rise of social media and the multitudinous connections of the internet, a little original song of yours got popular. Local radio picked it up and then your label signed you.

“It all was pretty spontaneous, really,” you answer. “My career was in no way by design, but… I wouldn’t change it.” The smile on your face is small, but genuine as your hair falls back around your face. Tracing the rim of your glass, you keep your eyes down before a hand pushes your hair out of your face. Coming eye to eye with him, he grins.

“Guess it was written in the stars then.” His response catches you. Jake’s eyes are much softer than when you’d approached him earlier. They were dark, focused and possibly a little mischievous. Now? They were gentle. Every shade reassured you that the boisterous man you’d seen in the office and the press was nothing like the man under the helmet.

It made far more sense to you now. How he’d gotten women hooked on him. The abrasiveness and bold exterior was the casing to the real character.

How many women had actually made it past the outside?

The rustling of a fabric on leather comes from in front of you, watching as the blonde pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket.

“Please tell me this isn’t you trying to buy my affection there, Seresin.” As he stands up, pushing his wallet back, the grin carved on his face doesn’t leave when he shakes his head.

“No, no, princess. This is for the bartender. Turns out you’re not a cheap date.” His knuckles wrap onto the table briefly before he disappears. You blame the blush on your face on the humidity inside the building.

The two of you bid your goodbyes, before starting to the front of the bar to exit. Reaching the street, it’s expectantly empty. He takes the side closest to the street as the two of you head down the way, toward the row of restaurants and shops that were quiet for the night.

“Are you hungry?” Jake’s voice breaks through the cold of late January air, looking at him quizzically.

“If you’re hungry we could go back-” His hand comes to your back again as he shakes his head.

“Oh-ho, no ma’am I promise, I’ve got something way better.”

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Unfortunately, he was right. The two of you stand in the glow of food truck lighting, beyond messy tacos in hand. He’s watching you with a smirk on his face, obnoxiously chewing the fish taco in his hand.

“Is that not the best taco you’ve ever had?” Again, his voice is filled with ardor as he watches you attempt to maneuver the soft corn tortilla that seems to be spilling into your napkin.

“It’s… a taco.” You shrug, looking down at the brown beef meal in your hands. Jake shakes his head, still chewing.

“No, no, I will not have you slander Ganso’s Tacos. Absolutely not.” He sets his red basket down on a table, hand in a vice grip around his taco. “Here, open,” he maneuvers closer and you shake your head, backing up.

“I am not eating your taco!”

“Eat it!!” The two of you laugh. Finally, you concede and take a bite of the hand fed taco. When he finally takes it back to his plate, his expression eagerly waits for your reaction. One hand covers your mouth as you chew, nodding as Jake looks like he just stole the Mona Lisa without getting caught.

“You’re right.” One singular fist to the air and he’s back to scarfing down his tacos.

“I told you. Way better than bar food. This is by far the best taqueria in all of California. And I stand by that.”

With full stomachs and messy hands, the two of you start back toward the bar, where Jake’s parked. When you do, you finally notice a car has been tailing the two of you since you ordered your meal.

The crowd in front of the bar proves that your teams were certainly on to something. Flashes of light start in an onslaught, your hand coming to block your eyes. Still, you keep walking toward them, only for Jake to grab your hand and guide you toward his car.

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Voices shout, questions sail through the air, your name, his name, Jonah’s, more questions about football- it all gets crammed into the cacophony before the passenger door opens under Jake’s hand, guiding you to your escape pod.

The driver side door causes the car to shake with an unceremonious thud. In seconds, the engine to the sports car is ignited and the two of you are underway.

It isn’t until you get about two miles out that one of you finally speaks.

“How long do you think it’s going to take for those to show up online?” White lines on the road disappear as you head further and further from the bars and closer to the hotel you were staying at for the weekend.

“I give it maybe six hours. Four if we’re lucky.” He laughs, but it doesn’t match the hearty ones he shared with you earlier.

A sports broadcast plays lowly on the radio, both of you overwhelmed by the cameras that stimulating conversation was far from what either of you were concerned with. It isn’t long until you spot your hotel. Jake navigates into the lane closest to the front of the building, pressing down on the brakes. You’re just about to unbuckle when he pulls back out into the other lane, lurching forward and away from your accommodation.

“Um. Hello?” You question. The car whips around a turn, green eyes fixated to the rear view. Shifting in your seat, you glance behind you.

“We’re being followed.” Jake just barely makes the light before it turns red, leaving the tailing SUV behind.

“It’s probably just paparazzi, no big deal.” It’s easy to shrug off for you, but Jake huffs.

“Yeah. And I’m not dropping you off at a hotel alone with vultures circling.” Navigating the CarPlay in the vehicle, he quickly moves to messages and asks his phone to send someone to your hotel to gather your things.

“Jake, I’m-”

“You’re staying with me.”

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#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #hangman fanfiction #hangman fanfic #hangman x reader #hangman

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midnightmayhem13 · 1 year

Note

headcanon request where reader slowly realizes that their gf is stealing their clothes pls if you haven’t done this already

it's a roller coaster kinda rush

this is so cute omg ❕ thanks babe (also i kinda switch the roles but only realized when i finished writing😩)

enjoyyyyy🩶

carol danvers

carol loves when you wear her clothes. she always lets you borrow her leather jacket, and you love it. she starts noticing it's in the laundry cycle quite often. she doesn't wear it all the time, bcs she either in her suit or pjs. she gets home and realizes it's either laid on your vanity chair, or the laundry bin. i haven't worn it in a while, coulda sworn it was on the hanger. she lets it be, she can be a messy person. but then she sees it out often. she definitely had put it back in the closet yesterday. when she wore it on a date she let you wear it. and said "it smells like you again" with a sweet smile. she's the only one who wears it. why wouldn't it? she brushes it off. then after laundry day she sees it in the bin again. you just washed it. she takes some fun in it. untill one night, after coming back from a week long mission. she sees you curled up her bed, wearing her jacket. you unconsciously wrap it around your body. that's why

sharon carter

ms carter is a distinguished women. she only wears the finest dress shirts. silks, cotton, you name it. she has power so she must dress like it. and since she has such a busy schedule so often, she has to have a fast variety of them. she doesn't have time to wash very often, and she'd hate to ask you such a thing. but as she goes through her weeks she starts noticing her collection starts diminishing quicker then usual. she shrugs it off, it's been a busy week. but when she sees a shirt that she was planning to wear the day before is gone, she starts to question it. no one that works at her main house is allowed to her private rooms. you're not her size, so it's 'definitely not you'. but oh was she wrong. she doesn't want to waste her time thinking of it so she just sits down and has a small glass of whiskey. are you embarrassed to ask to borrow one? she thinks it's cute that you'd wear her clothes but she doesn't want to assume. one day she comes home late to find you in her button up and underwear, cleaning that house. guess she caught the thief. and from them on she cannot stop looking at you when you wear her clothes.

darcy lewis

i feel like darcy is one of the girls that gets cold all the time. but it started out with once in a while, she'd ask for a hoodie, wash it when it lost your cent, and return it. but then you told her you didn't need to ask. she started taking them when she missed you and even swapped it out sometimes. it became that it wasn't even like to wear it to sleep when she missed you she'd wear them with her regular outfits. but you didn't know all that. sometimes she'd wear your socks just to feel giddy. but she's definitely borrow your hoodies and jackets the most. and one day on a chilly day you decided to wear your favorite sweater but came to find it was gone. that's weird. you sent darcy a quick text and she responded with a rather suspicious "uhmm nope sorry honey, maybe you left it at work" you let it slide and wore a different. but this turned into an ongoing thing. no way you left all your jackets and hoodies at work bc they were always "left" at work. untill one day you came home before darcy to find your missing sweaters in the laundry room. and when she walked in she was wear the exact hoodie we were gonna were that day. she smiled and you did too as you shared a sweet kiss.

nebula

now she doesn't have the most human comfortable clothes but she has this one t-shirt she wears often. it's cute and fits her just right to sleep at night. but since she's a giant it fits you long, almost as if it were a dress. so when she's not here or she wants to be alone you wear it. yk she would probably ask you not to wear it but you'd take that chance. one day she walked into your room and saw you covered your body rather quick "are you nude?" she asks with a confused expression. "uhm y-yup!" you say getting up with the blanket around your body and going to change. she stands there as you head into the washroom. while she waits she goes to lay on the bed. when you come out she sees you try to discreetly place her shirt in the laundry bin. she stays silent and hold her arms out to accept you. this happened again. but you were dead asleep. while she went to go join you in the bed. as she pulled the sheets up she saw you in her t-shirt. she didn't know how but she immediately fell more in love. she pulled you in by the waist and kissed your lips sweetly and gently. "i love you" she whispered.

maria hill

now maria usually comes home late so obviously you miss her a lot. and you like to wear her sweat pants. you dont know what it is but wearing the pants that go past you ankles and you have to tie tight around the waist makes you feel at home. and maria honestly doesn't mind. she'd lend you clothes all the time before you lived together. she just didn't know how often you still did it. but she's notice that her pants would go missing for ages. she had a thought that it was you but brushed it off thinking you were that obsessed with her. boy was she wrong. but one time after a long day at work she just wanted to hold her girl and get wine drunk and have a fun night. she walked in to you making her dinner and taking two bottles of wine from the fridge. she noticed you did your make up fancier and you did your hair that was more than a being at home look. then you would away from the counter to greet her with a kiss and hug and she noticed you had her pants and a long sleeve on. you looked so beautiful and she definitely showed you that night

kate bishop

now kate has a lot of fancy clothes but you have your favorite. her suit jacket. you'll always wear it when she's not around. either with just undergarments on or with your pjs but you always wear it. it's warm and cozy to you especially unbuttoned. plus the sleeves fit you long so can keep your hands warm. and kate isn't aware but she knows it's always steamed and hung up when she needs to wear it. and does she wear it often yes but she never really questions why it's always perfect and not slightly wrinkled like the other clothes. but she does love her but jackets so it's probably her unconsciously taking extra care of it. on a chilly saturday afternoon your doing laundry and she's just eating pizza and cuddling with lucky. lucky gets up to got lay somewhere else and she takes the advantage to go give you a kiss attack. she walks into you listening to music with booty shorts and her jacket on. she hugs you from behind the waist and tells you how good you look.

uhm hi loves so i'm back i just vanished for a little but HI SLUTS🩶🩶

#carol danvers x reader #sharon carter x reader #darcy lewis x reader #nebula x reader #maria hill x reader #kate bishop x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #wlw

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captinamericashusband · 28 days

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The Love Letter | Steve Rogers/Captain America x Male!Reader

A/N: Another Steve Rogers fanfic because he is a cutie. This one is way shorter than my first fic and not the best writing I've done admittedly. Anyways, enjoy!

P.S. Stream Short n' Sweet by Sabrina Carpenter 💋

The Love Letter

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Y/N, too afraid to verbally confess his feelings for Steve, gives him a love letter instead

Warnings: Sad

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Natasha stared bewildered at Y/N, aggressively punching the boxing dummy in the team's training room. With each continuous whack, growing strength with each successive hit, the dent in the dummy's torso grew larger. Natasha observed that he only acted this vehemently if something was bothering him. The last time this occurred was after a botched mission that resulted in numerous accidental deaths and tonnes of paperwork. As Y/N began winding down from his strenuous training, Natasha approached him, already having a slight idea for the cause of his trouble.

“It’s Steve isn’t it?” she abruptly asked.

Y/N glanced towards her with a questioning look. “I’m sorry?”

“You like him, but you’re too scared to tell him.”

Y/N stared at her, trying to maintain a look that conveyed he was completely unsure as to what she was on about. However, he soon cracked under the pressure of her intense piercing gaze and gave her a resigned look. Sighing, he said, “Was I that obvious?”

"Y/N, we all see the way you ogle him." Y/N's jaw slightly clenched at his obliviousness to his obvious crushing. "The whole team knows, and I wouldn't be surprised if Steve himself did too."

Y/N let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his hair. He always hated Natasha’s cunning observational skills. But he was aware this time his long-term crush was exposed at his fault. “I just don’t know how to tell him. I mean, what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Natasha lightly placed her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re not going to ruin anything by telling him. There’s nothing wrong with being honest. Plus, there could be the chance he likes you also.”

Y/N’s head shook slightly. “I’m not sure how to tell him without completely embarrassing myself in front of him.”

Natasha’s expression turned deep with thought. Then, the metaphorical light bulb lit up in her head. "Maybe you should write him a letter. That way nothing you’ll say will be misconstrued. It's the most objective way to say your feelings for him, Y/N."

Y/N glanced towards Natasha, unaware if she was serious or saying everything in jest. "Wouldn't it be easier if I sent him a text message?"

Natasha shook her head. "Letters are more romantic. Plus, Steve is old-fashioned. I'm sure he'd appreciate it more than some lacklustre text."

As Natasha left the training grounds, Y/N began thinking deeply about her suggestion. He never imagined telling Steve about his feelings, let alone confessing through a handwritten letter. The worse that could occur, he thought, was that Steve would reject him and the entire trajectory of any friendship they had would completely change beyond recognition. However, the idea of Steve being whisked away by anyone else was enough to fill him with dread. He couldn't have a repeat of his emotions during Steve's brief fling with Sharon Carter. Tear-dampened tissues filled his room the week he heard the news – he reached a new low during that time. After his shower in the gym's adjacent locker room, Y/N began devising what he would say and how exactly he would say it.

Walking back to his room, Y/N made a brief detour to one of Tony's several printers scattered around the compound to grab several sheets of paper. He was already anticipating the inevitable drafts that would end up in his garbage bin. As he sat on his desk, cracking his knuckles before putting pen to paper, he hoped whatever monstrosity he would conjure would convey his feelings in a way that Steve would fully reciprocate them.

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After three hours and several tossed crumpled balls of paper in his garbage, Y/N finally created what he thought was the best thing he had ever written. Skimming through it again, he started thinking otherwise and that it was actually really bad. The letter read:

Steve,

I've been thinking a lot lately, and I finally decided I needed to air it out. Natasha suggested writing you a letter, and honestly, I was hesitant at first. But the more I considered it, I realised it was the only suitable option for this situation. I know you're not the type for overly grand gestures, so I'll keep it simple.

Ever since we met, I've been admiring you. Not just for the reason that you're Captain America, but also for what I've seen in who you are as a person. Your kindness, bravery, strength, and dedication amongst many more of your qualities are things I've come to deeply respect. Over time, these feelings I felt for you have grown from something more than admiration – something I never expected.

I've tried to hide it, but I'm not sure I can anymore. I like you, Steve. I really like you a lot, as more than a friend. I know you've been through a lot, so I don't want any of this to complicate you any further. I just needed to tell you how I feel. I value the friendship we have, and I don't want this to negatively change that.

I understand if you don't feel the same way. If you'd prefer it, we could both pretend I never wrote you this. But if there is a chance you feel the same, maybe we could both see where this goes. No pressure, no expectations – just honesty.

Y/N

After rereading it for the fifth time, Y/N decided this was the best it would get. If Steve hated it, then so be it. Y/N put the letter in a sleek dark brown envelope from a stationary set he bought earlier from a high-end arts and crafts store. Since it was for Steve, he had splurged on whatever he could in hopes it would convey the seriousness of his feelings.

As Y/N walked towards Steve’s room, a feeling of severe anxiety washed over him, causing him to fidget with the letter between his fingers. The outcomes of the letter-sending were so polar that he wasn’t sure if his feelings were worth the chance. On one hand, Steve would feel the same and both would live happily ever after. On the other, Steve would downright reject him, their friendship would be destroyed, and the awkwardness would find a way to infiltrate its way into the team, getting in the way of their world-saving.

Steve’s door came into view, and the urge to turn around and leave became stronger for Y/N. Before Y/N could back down, he heard footsteps descending the hallway’s corner. After quickly slipping the letter under the door frame, Y/N ran in the opposite direction. Whatever was to ensue after was up in the hands of whichever deity was out there.

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The team assembled for dinner shortly after Y/N’s letter made it to Steve’s room. As he sat in his designated spot beside Natasha, his hands started becoming clammy, and his head became nauseous with worrying thoughts. Steve has yet to arrive at the table. Coughing lightly, Y/N turned towards Natasha.

“I did it, Nat.” Y/N quivered softly.

“Did what, Y/N/N?” She said in between her chewing.

“I sent him the letter. Earlier this evening, I sent him the letter. God, I can’t believe I listened to you.”

Natasha turned her head, eyes wide in disbelief. Before she could respond, Steve walked into the dining room. The team greeted him, including Y/N whose voice wavered slightly upon seeing the man he so recently confessed his feelings for. Steve’s eyes wandered around the table until they stopped on Y/N. The two looked at each other, and Y/N’s stomach churned. He tried to read Steve’s expression, but it was indistinguishable. As his heart pounded, his hands trembled under the table.

Natasha slightly nudged Y/N with her elbow. “Relax, Y/NN. Just see how he acts.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. As Steve approached the table, he pulled the chair directly in front of Y/N, sitting down with a small smile. “Hey, everyone,” Steve greeted, his voice soft and supple, smiling brightly at the team.

Y/N managed to contort a crooked smile in return. “Hi, Steve.” His voice wavered once again and his cheeks blushed. He looked down towards his plate in hopes no one noticed.

As the team continued with their conversation – Bruce and Tony bantering about lab tech, Thor sharing a story about Asgard, and Clint making sarcastic remarks near the table’s end – Y/N kept glancing towards. Steve looked relaxed, but every so often, his eyes would also meet Y/N’s, and Y/N’s stomach would be sent into a spiral of front flips.

At one point, Steve met Y/N’s gaze and held it for longer than usual. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. He knew at that point that Steve must have read the letter. There was no other reason for the glances they shared with each other, and the slight glint of something in Steve’s eyes. He could already sense the inevitable conversation Steve was about to confront him with in the not-so-distant future.

Dinner continued, and eventually, the team started to disperse. As for Y/N, his heart sank as he remembered it was his turn to wash the dishes today. Today of all days. Even more troubling, Steve had volunteered behind to help with cleaning. Y/N already knew where this was going to lead. With one last glance at Natasha who offered him a reassuring smile, it was just Y/N and Steve left together.

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The kitchen was dead silent as the two men cleared the table, the clinking of dishes and the sound of running water from the sink being the only interruption. Y/N could feel Steve’s presence beside him – comforting and warm, but tonight it felt different. Heavy. He couldn’t conjure the courage to look at him, instead focusing on aggressively rubbing a stubborn stain on one of the plates.

Finally, after what like an eternity, Steve finally broke the silence. “Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a certain softness that made Y/N’s heart beat faster. “About the letter…”

Y/N froze, squeezing the sponge in his hand hard. He knew this was bound to happen, but hearing Steve’s voice mention his letter still made him incredibly nervous. Slowly, he turned towards Steve, ready for whatever he was about to be hit with. “Yeah?” he managed to whisper, his voice barely managing to make it above a whisper.

Steve fully turned towards Y/N, setting down the dish he was currently drying and meeting his eyes. His expression was serious, and his blue eyes were holding a feeling Y/N couldn’t decipher – nervousness, maybe, or regret. “I read it,” he said quietly. “And I want you to know that I’m honoured that you trust me enough to share your feelings with me. I really am.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. He felt the impending doom through Steve’s tone. Y/N nodded slowly, attempting to keep his emotions in check. “But…?”

Steve took a deep breath, he turned away briefly before meeting Y/N’s eyes again. “But I don’t feel the same way,” he said, voice firm but soft. “I care about you a lot, Y/N, as a friend. I value our friendship and I don’t want to hurt you. But I don’t see you the same way as you see me.”

Y/N’s felt his heart shatter, the pieces were spiralling into a million jagged edges. The pain was worse than anything he experienced. It felt worse than any gunshot or stab wound he ever endured. “I understand,” he said. It was evident he was trying to hold back tears. “I just thought… maybe…”

Steve’s hand hovered above Y/N’s. He hesitated before retracting it, unsure if Y/N wanted to be touched or not. “I really am sorry, Y/N. I don’t want to make this awkward between us. I value our friendship too much for that.”

Y/N could only nod again. His chest swelled with a numbing feeling. He then realised what the glint was in Steve’s eyes. It was pity. “Yeah, no I totally understand,” he muttered. He stared at the soapy water. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid – I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Steve said gently. “It was not stupid at all. You have every right to express your feelings. I’m just sorry I couldn’t give you the answer you were looking for, Y/N.”

Y/N could feel the tears pooling near the ducts of his eyes. The weight of the rejection fully settled on his shoulders. “Yeah well…thank you for being honest. I appreciate it, I guess,” he whispered, turning back to the dishes to hide the tears now streaming down his cheeks. He scrubbed at the plates more force than necessary, trying to channel to pain he was feeling towards his hands.

Steve hesitated. It was clear he wanted to say more, but he could tell Y/N wanted him to leave. “I really am sorry, Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t trust himself to speak again, afraid his voice would hint at the tears leaving his eyes. After a brief moment of silence, he could hear Steve’s footsteps retracting from the kitchen.

When he was sure Steve was gone, Y/N let out a shaky breath before letting his tears fall freely. He gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white in an attempt to hold himself together. But it was to no avail. He slid down to the floor, back against the kitchen sink. The pain was too raw to hold in. As he buried his head in his hands, he sobbed and prayed that no one would walk in and see his miserable self.

He was fully prepared for the possibility of rejection. But everything in him was hoping Steve would feel the same. That the future he envisioned for both of them together would become real somehow. The heartache he felt was unbearable, and each breath he took was a struggle as he attempted to calm himself down. Was he not good enough for Steve? Was he not attractive enough? Y/N started internally beating himself, trying to find the reason he wasn’t desirable for the only person he could ever want.

Minutes passed, maybe hours; Y/N wasn’t sure. Eventually, the tears started slowing down and his breathing became more shallow. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, taking a few shaky breaths before standing up. He knew he had to pick himself up and move on. But for now, Y/N could let himself wallow in his grief.

As he walked back to his room, he couldn’t help but think if he could ever face Steve without breaking all over again.

FIN

A/N: Sorry! Hope you enjoyed! Next one will be cute as fuck I didn't enjoy writing this one that much actually it didn't fill me with happy giddy feelings.

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toasttt11 · 6 months

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move in

March 8, 2025

Carter walked out of bed bathroom drying her wet hair with the towel throwing it into the laundry bin, she saw Connor was still sitting on her bed with Cooper laying next to him.

Carter smiled and walked over to her boys laying down next to Connor, putting her head on his lap.

Connor looked down at his girlfriend and smiled pressing a kiss on her forehead before leaning over and opening the nightstand drawer, that Carter gave him and he grabbed an envelope and set it onto Carter’s stomach.

“What is this?” Carter questioned picking up the giant envelope.

“Open it.” Connor encouraged nervous and exicted for her reaction.

Carte slowly nodded and opened the envelope pulling out what looked like to he documents she started reading the first few lines on the paper and she felt her heart stop and her body freeze, Carter could feel the tears fillings her eyes, she looked up at Connor, who was already looking at her with a watery smile and gave her a nod.

“Oh my god.” Carter mumbled she set the papers on the bed leaning forward pressing her lips to Connor’s desperately, Connor cupped the back of her head pulling her as close as possible as she straddle him.

“You’re coming here.” Carter tearfully questioned looking so hopeful and happy that Connor had no doubt that it was the right choice.

“I am.” Connor let out a watery laugh.

Connor had been working with his manger and the Canucks to come play for the Vancouver Canucks and lucky they finally made it happen, he’s coming to play with the Canucks and Carter for the 2025-2026 season and for a very long time.

“Quinn’s been helping out.” Connor explained to his girlfriend, Quinn had helped him with alot of the meetings and deals as he couldn’t ask Carter for help wanting to suprise her.

“Of course he did.” Carter let out a fond laugh.

Carter giggled happily realizing next season she wouldn’t have to be away from Connor anymore and they would be able to play on the same team again.

“Means you get to move in with me?” Carter softly questioned her best friend as she fiddled nervously with the bottom of his hair.

“I would love to.” Connor honestly answered nudging his nose softly against hers and he was being truthful, he couldn’t think of a better way to wake up everyday than by waking up next to Carter and living with her.

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facelessfinest · 9 months

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Never before have I unironically used the phrase Mary Sue, but what they did with Carter in this final episode was just fucking nuts man. Kohhori was cool, I like her, but giving Carter every fucking major weapon in the canon? And then having the fucking WATCHER?? Jump in with that “it couldn’t have been me, it had to be you” fucking bullshit? She is not all that, marvel.

But you wanna know who is???

FUCKING STRANGE SUPREME.

I cannot FUCKING believe they made the most profoundly powerful iteration of a character, just to fucking throw him in the waste bin when it turned out people were way more interested in what he had going on than what Carter was doing.

There was no reason they couldn’t have made her interesting without nerfing everyone else, except that they don’t fucking know how apparently because marvel is fucking trash these days…

Seriously, there are two big ways to ruin any interest people have for a character you plan to make the face of a show/arc/phase. One, shove them in every episode and keep forcing them into plots where people don’t want them. Two, fucking killing off better characters for taking up the limelight! Look, I like the idea of Strange fighting the amalgamation of his grief, but there’s no reason he should have died over it, especially when Carter is in the same boat. This episode would have been way better if we got rid of the forced high stakes, and just had two characters suffering the same kind of grief talk it out with each other, find a way to heal, maybe by leaning on each other a little bit. They are unique in the sense that they are always lost in time, struggling to find their place.

Marvel used to capitalize on character moments like these, use them to build up their characters and give them some sense of home to keep them moving forward as heroes. Now they just kill off characters around their current Big Cheese to keep the focus on them. When did this become storytelling? When did this become cinema?

I’m fucking tired of marvel’s shit man, and I want Strange Supreme back…

#strange supreme #doctor strange #stephen strange #captain carter #peggy carter #what if spoilers #what if episode 9 #what if season 2 #what if #marvel #mcu #meta analysis #adhdfinest

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jahayla-parker · 10 months

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New Chapter : Freddy Carter x Reader

Description: 4.2k wc, Freddy and his wife welcome their newborn into their lives. Can be read as a stand-alone or as a part two to Pregnant Pause. Fluff, family.

Warnings: pregnancy and newborns and related topics including by not limited to: pregnancy, labor, blood, discharge, accidents, changing diapers, breastfeeding, hospitals, etc.

This is a Ko-Fi request from @missdreamofendless 💜 thank you so much darling for your support! 🤗

“How are ya feeling, love?” Freddy asked as he checked in with his wife for the millionth time. He hadn’t left y/n’s side since they arrived at the hospital, but he was still worried he would miss a sign that she needed him to do something for her. She’d just given birth to their newborn baby and Freddy wanted to make sure she was okay. “You did so great, my darling,” Freddy praised when y/n gave him a tired smile and a weak thumbs up in response to his question. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her still clammy forehead.

“Aren’t they just the cutest?” Y/n mused tiredly as she gazed at the clear roller bin coated with a fuzzy blanket the hospital had their newborn resting in. Her mind and body were exhausted beyond belief. But she hadn’t ever been happier than this moment, here with her husband and their newborn.

“Just like their mum,” Freddy agreed, squeezing y/n’s hand as he admired their baby. “You’re seriously so amazing,” he whispered lovingly as he turned back to his wife. He caught sight of the bashful expression she had after his earlier compliment, grinning as he watched it increase with his latest one. He was so amazed by her, especially after today. “You can sleep darling, I’ll watch over you two,” he promised as y/n tried to stay awake.

Y/n hummed softly and shook her head. “You need to rest too,” she whispered. She sat up, despite Freddy’s protests, and leaned forward until she could gently roll the baby bin towards them. Once she stationed it between them, up by her head, she smiled down at their newborn. “There,” she said, looking up at her husband. “Now, you can sleep too,” she offered.

Freddy grinned and kissed the back of y/n’s hand.

“Oh, let me slide over so you can use the bed too,” y/n suggested. But before she could move, Freddy’s hands clamped carefully over her forearms as he restricted her movements.

Freddy shook his head. “I’m fine where I am,” he promised. “You need to let your body heal, darling, you’ve been through a lot,” he reminded her softly.

Y/n gave him a tired smile, clearly not in a state to argue. “If you’re sure,” she mumbled as her eyes became heavier. Once she saw Freddy was seated back on the cushioned window bench beside her, she fully let herself rest against the pillow behind her head. “But, when we get home, I intend to sleep beside my husband,” she said lovingly.

Freddy smiled and squeezed y/n’s hand. “Of course. Anything you want, darling,” he promised. He watched y/n closely until he was sure she’d fallen asleep. He kissed the back of her hand as he checked on their newborn. When he knew his family was safe and resting, he curled up on the bench and laid down beside them to rest.

Y/N’s eyes flew up upon hearing her newborn’s cry. She groggily leaned up, blinking rapidly to get her vision to clear.

Freddy snapped awake upon hearing y/c/n crying. He jumped up from the bench and reached into the rolling bin crib that was beside him. He carefully lifted the baby up into his arms and rocked them slowly as he shushed them. He gave his wife a loving smile briefly upon feeling her eyes on him.

Y/n watched patiently for a few minutes as Freddy desperately tried to get y/c/n to settle down. He was doing everything right, but their newborn hadn’t stopped crying. “Honey,” y/n whispered, setting her hand on Freddy’s forearm. “I think (s)he needs me,” she explained cautiously. She could tell Freddy was a bit upset that he hadn’t succeeded in calming down their little one. Y/n could also tell he was feeling bad that he couldn’t take care of this for her.

Freddy nodded sadly and passed their baby to y/n.

Once y/c/n latched onto her, y/n laid her head back and looked up at her husband. She smiled upon seeing Freddy beaming down at her and their newborn proudly.

Freddy leaned down and pressed a long lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead, his hand resting on the outside of her far shoulder lovingly. As his lips left her head he leaned back to take it all in, a blissful look in his eyes. “May I?” Freddy asked, grabbing his camera, “just for us”.

Y/n giggled lightly and nodded. She gazed down at their newborn as Freddy snapped some photos.

“Okay, one with you looking up, please, love,” Freddy requested. He smiled as y/n quickly complied with his request. Once he’d taken the photo of his incredible wife and precious newborn, he set the camer aside and rushed back to y/n. “Okay, sorry,” he gushed as he rubbed her shoulder as their baby continued to nurse, “I’m done”.

“You don’t have to apologize, Freddy,” y/n said with a smile as she turned her head his way.

Freddy gave her an appreciative half-smile. “You’re over here feeding our baby,” he pointed out, “after just having gone through labor for thirteen hours”. He shook his head. “Meanwhile, I’m just taking pictures,” he sighed.

“Freddy,” y/n said. She frowned upon seeing the tears in her husband’s eyes. “Stop,” she ordered, wanting to squeeze his hand but having to settle for a reassuring expression since she was cradling y/c/n as they nursed. “You were by my side the whole time, getting me everything I needed and helping me through as much as you could,” she pointed out with a smile. “You’re an amazing husband and already a wonderful father, please don’t let your tired brain make you believe otherwise.”

Freddy smiled lightly as he tried to blink away the tears in his eyes. He bent his head and kissed y/n’s chapped lips gently as he whispered a thank you. His smile grew when their baby stopped nursing and he was able see their face again. Freddy applied the hand sanitizer beside him and let it dry before putting his left pointer finger against their baby’s tiny soft hand. Y/c/n’s little fist clung onto Freddy’s finger, making both parents smile at them and then each other. Freddy used his right hand to brush some loose hair away from Y/n’s face and gave her another loving kiss. “I’d do anything for our family,” he whispered.

Y/n gazed lovingly at y/c/n as (s)he lay in their crib, sleeping peacefully. She felt Freddy wrap his arms around her carefully, being extremely gentle with her as he knew she was sore. She practically melted back into his embrace as her eyes stayed on their newborn.

They stayed like that for several minutes, just silently admiring their baby and each other.

Freddy was the one to step away first. He placed a tender kiss to y/n’s cheek before unwrapping his arms from her waist. He moved in front of her and took hold of her hands. Freddy slowly and silently guided her towards the rocking chair in the nursery, neither one wanting to wake the baby.

Y/n watched from the padded chair as Freddy quickly made his way out of the room and back. When he returned, he had a y/f/c gift bag in his hand and a smile on his face. Y/n shook her head in disbelief. He’d already gotten so much for her and the baby since finding out she was pregnant.

“Before you say something about how I didn’t need to get you anything,” Freddy whispered teasingly. “First, don’t, because you’ll wake the baby,” he joked with a smirk. “But also, it’s your push gift,” he explained as he passed her the bag.

“Freddy,” y/n whispered, also keeping her voice low as to not wake y/c/n. “You’ve already gotten me, and us, so many gifts that could be considered push gifts, you really-“ she mumbled.

Freddy just shook his head and nodded towards the gift bag he’d set on y/n’s lap.

With a light chuckle, y/n smiled appreciatively at her husband before she opened the gift. Her smile grew ten times as her heart soared upon pulling out the first item. It was a framed heartbeat sound wave of y/c/n from the first time they had heard their baby’s heartbeat. Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered a shaky thank you. She bit her lip as she also pulled out a beautiful photo album. Inside it were photos Freddy had taken throughout her pregnancy and from earlier earlier today in the hospital. “Sweetheart, this is beautiful,” she cooed.

“I can’t have you forgetting just how incredible you are,” Freddy said as he moved to stand beside her. “You were unbelievable today, my darling,” he said as y/n flipped through the photos from the last 24 hours. When she stared up at him with teary eyes and a prideful smile, he knew he’d chosen the right gift. “Thank you,” Freddy said, echoing his appreciation for y/n giving life to their little bundle of joy.

“Freddy, do you know where the diaper bag went when we got home?” Y/n called out from the nursery.

Freddy rushed in with the diaper bag in hand. As he caught his breath, he placed a hand on y/N’s back. “I’ve got this, love,” he offered.

“Oh,“ y/n smiled, “you don’t have-“.

“I know,” Freddy promised as he kissed y/n’s cheek. “But you’ve done more than enough,” he stated. “Now, please, go rest,” he pleaded, “I’ve got this little one”.

Y/n smiled gratefully at her husband. She pressed her lips against his stubbly cheek for a quick kiss. “Alright snuggle bug,” she whispered to their baby. “Daddy is gonna take care of you, okay?” She cooed, making Freddy grin. She gave Freddy another appreciative kiss before heading out of the room.

“Did you change your shirt?” Y/n asked as Freddy entered the living room. She knew she was exhausted, but she could’ve sworn he was in a blue shirt when they left the hospital earlier.

Freddy blushed and nodded bashfully as he walked over towards where y/n was seated.

“Why-“ y/n began but cut herself off and laughed. “Oh,” she giggled realizing what must’ve happened when Freddy was changing y/c/n.

“I’ll get better,” Freddy promised as he sat beside y/n and took her hand in his.

Y/n calmly shook her head. “Sweetheart, I’m not worried,” she assured her husband. She quickly rested her head on his shoulder as he held her to him. “Is (s)he asleep?” She asked tiredly.

Freddy hummed a soft ‘yes’ as he pulled y/n closer. “We should get you to bed too,” he commented. When Y/n gazed up and over at him, he smiled at her. “The book says you should be sleeping when the baby is sleeping,” he explained.

Y/n grinned and pecked Freddy’s nose. “I love you so much,” she remarked.

Freddy beamed. “I love you too, my amazing superwoman,” he replied sweetly.

“Love, it’s alright,” Freddy said trying to stop y/n from crying more. “It’s just bedding, alright?” As he removed the dirty sheets from their mattress he gazed over at his exhausted wife. “Let me go get the laundry started, and then I’ll come help you in the shower, okay?” He offered.

Freddy’s heart broke as y/n simply cried harder. He knew part of it was surely her hormones and exhaustion after everything she had gone through in the last few days. But he was still worried about her nonetheless. “Love, ‘ey, what’s wrong?” Freddy questioned, sensing there was more at play than what he was noticing so far.

“I made a mess, and we’re both tired, but now I kept us from sleeping, and it’s gross, I’m gross, and-,” y/n rambled as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Woah, woah, woah, no,” Freddy argued gently. “Love, you are not gross.” “This is extremely natural. The doctor said this could happen, it’s part of the process,” he reminded y/n. He set the bedding aside for the moment and cupped her face in his palms. “I’m terribly sorry you have to deal with this, but you’re not alone. I’ll be here with you through this as much as I can, love,” Freddy promised. “There is nothing gross about this. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, you can make as much of a mess as you want or need, you just gave birth to our child, do you realize how incredible that is? How much with your body just went through?” He gushed in admiration. “You’re not gross, and don’t worry about my sleep, darling, I promise that’s not a problem in the slightest.” “Come on,” he whispered as he helped y/n stand and lead her to their bathroom. “Can you strip out of these clothes for me while I start the wash?” He asked.

When y/n nodded slowly, Freddy smiled warmly and kissed her forehead. He rushed out of the room to start the laundry. On his way back, he peaked in the nursery to check on y/c/n before quickly making his way back to his wife.

Upon entering their bathroom, Freddy noticed the way y/n was staring at herself in the mirror. She had taken her clothes off and was now just looking at her reflection with a deep frown on her face. Freddy shook his head to himself in disbelief before he walked over to her. “You look beautiful,” he commented casually.

Y/n shook her head. “Freddy-,” she began to argue.

“Yes, you do,” Freddy defended. “I’m still so amazed and appreciative of what you just went through,” he admitted. “And yet, you still look radiant after all of that. I’ll never understand how you do that.”

“Love,” Freddy sighed upon seeing y/N’s tears. He cautiously held her to him, rubbing her back slowly as she tried to calm down. When y/n stopped crying he could see her eyes were once again soft, he smiled down at her. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and back to bed.”

Freddy helped comb through the knots in y/n’s hair that had likely formed during her lengthy labor. He lovingly massaged her shoulders and muscles as he went about cleaning her up after the bleeding incident she’d had in their bed. He had always been careful with her; as if she were glass. But tonight he was extremely cautious around her hips/pelvis, only faintly even touching her just enough to get any blood off. Once y/n was cleaned up, Freddy helped her out of the shower and dried them both off. He led her over to the toilet for her to sit on while he dried her hair. But when y/n winced as she sat, Freddy quickly realized the hard surface was a bad choice. “Shit, one moment, love,” he said as he helped her back up. He rushed out of the room, only returning once he had her hospital bag. He helped y/n step into her postpartum underwear. He then set the folded up blanket on top of the toilet seat lid for a better cushioned seat. Freddy was pleased when y/n sat back down without as much pain showing in her eyes. He quickly blow dried her hair before putting it up for her. Freddy helped her off the toilet seat and back to their bedroom. He guided her as she slowly get into bed, each movement clearly hurting her. “I’m going to get your meds,” he said; hating setting her in such pain.

Just as Freddy had reached the doorway to their bedroom, the baby monitor went off with the sound of y/c/N’s crying. Freddy knowingly whipped his head around to look at his wife. “No,” he said, stopping her as she tried to sit back up in order to get out of bed. “I’ve got it!” He rushed out, slightly panicking. “Just rest, please,” he begged as he darted out of the door.

Freddy sprinted into the nursery and scooped their newborn baby up into his arms. He rocked the baby as he walked to the kitchen to grab y/n’s meds. He knew the prescription was not super strong, as the doctor said there was only so much y/n could take while breastfeeding. But, Freddy still hoped it would take the edge off and help her sleep. He very carefully held the baby to him with one arm as he picked up the pills and put them in his pocket before cradling the newborn in both of his arms again. The baby finally stopped its crying as Freddy whispered lovingly to it as he walked back to the main bedroom.

Freddy smiled at his wife as she watched him enter with their child. “Figured you might want to say goodnight,” he smiled, kneeling down beside y/n with their baby in his arms.

Y/n grinned and reached out to take the newborn. She held them to her chest as she sleepily gazed down at them. “Goodnight my little angel,” she cooed. As her eyes began to get heavier, she looked over at Freddy who seemed to have already noticed.

Freddy smiled and kissed y/n’s forehead as he took their baby back into his arms. “Pills are in here,” he informed Y/n as he turned his hip to her; the bottle of medication visible in his pocket.

Y/n smiled appreciatively and pulled the bottle out of Freddy’s pocket.

“I’ll be back with some water, don’t move,” Freddy said as he walked to their door.

After placing the baby back in the crib, Freddy hurried to the kitchen again to grab a water bottle. He filled it and made his way back to the bedroom. Upon entering, he quickly passed it to Y/n to have her take the pain medicine. He bent down and kissed her forehead before he went to his side to get into the freshly made bed. He scooted over and snuggled up to her, carefully holding her.

When y/n noticed Freddy’s resistant and worried touch, she leaned into him. “Thank you,” she whispered. Sensing his confusion, she continued. “You were absolutely incredible today, I’m really glad I had you,” y/n told him.

Freddy kissed y/n’s head. “Ditto, my love,” he whispered. He turned and ensured that the baby monitor was on before facing his wife again. “Rest my dear,” he advised, smiling as she willingly closed her eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” Freddy scolded as he walked into the living room and noticed Y/n was about to vacuum.

“It has to be done, we have people coming over in-“ y/n argued.

“I know,” Freddy nodded, walking over to y/n. “But, I’m doing it, you’re resting,” he said as he took the handle of the vacuum from her.

“Freddy!” Y/n exclaimed with a sigh.

Freddy simply shook his head. “No”. He leaned forward and kissed y/n’s nose. “You should know by now, I’m not going to lose these arguments,” he grinned.

Y/n shook her head back at her stubborn and protective husband. “That was when I was pregnant,” she reminded Freddy. “The baby is fine, me doing chores isn’t going to risk hurt them,” she promised warmly.

“No,” Freddy agreed as he plugged in the vacuum cleaner. “But, it will risk hurting you,” he argued, glancing up at his wife. When y/n sighed, Freddy moved closer to her. “You didn’t truly think my worry when you were pregnant was only about y/c/n’s well-being, did you?” Freddy shook his head in response to his rhetorical question. “I was always worried about you too, my love.”

Y/n closed the space between her and her husband. She quickly wrapped her arms around him and snuggled into his embrace as he held her. “I love you, Freddy,” she whispered against his chest.

“I love you, darling,” Freddy replied tenderly. “Now please, go sit your sweet little arse on the couch, before I have to carry you,” he scolded playfully.

Y/n giggled loudly and shook her head. “I’ll secede to not vacuuming, but I’m going to go check on y/c/n since the sound will likely wake them up,” she argued. “Plus, I want to change them into that insanely cute bear onesie you bought!”

Freddy chuckled happily as he smiled at the excited state of his wife. He nodded in acceptance, “deal”.

“Freddy!” Y/n squealed, coming out of the nursery, holding y/c/n in her arms. The hood on the bear onesie was resting just about their baby’s eyes. Y/n was smiling widely as she showed her husband how cute their child was.

Freddy smiled back and quickly took his phone out to snap a photo before asking y/n to wait so he could get his good camera. With his camera in hand, he ushed back and snapped a ton of photos; some of y/n and y/c/n, some of him and y/c/n, and then some of both of them and y/c/n.

Presently, the new parents had settled y/c/n on one of their blankets on the couch in order to get some photos of just y/c/n. Y/n was gently playing with y/c/n the whole time as Freddy took the photos of their newborn. As such, they did not hear nor see Freddy’s family enter until they were done with the impromptu newborn photoshoot.

Y/n softly rubbed y/c/n’s tiny little nose as Freddy put his camera’s lens cap back on. She smiled to herself as she looked up to see her husband. Only, she caught sight of a group of people behind him. Before she could even process the fact that she knew these people, she had leapt you from the floor and had y/c/n securely in her arms.

Freddy noticed his wife’s fear and instinctually threw himself in front of his wife and their baby. Once he realized that it was their family, he settled and slowly moved to the side. “Did you forget how to knock?” He teased; slightly.

“We did, honey,” Freddy’s mother teased. She slowly made her way over to the couple and gave her son a hug.

“We worried something happened to you lot when no one answered,” Freddy’s oldest brother, Tom, laughed.

Y/n smiled as she watched Freddy’s side of the family embrace and congratulate him. As they turned to her, so too did her husband.

“Not until you use some hand sanitizer,” Freddy ordered his family as he lifted up a new bottle from the table.

Freddy’s family smiled at his protectiveness and complied with his orders before they made their way to y/n and the baby. They all took turns holding the baby, the others talking to y/n and/or Freddy as they waited for their turn to greet the newborn.

Freddy had been watching his wife closely the whole time and realized she was feeling a bit emotional still and overwhelmed. So, he lead her to the couch, making the others follow. “Your mum should be over any minute,” he explained, having been the one to arrange the timing for everyone’s schedules.

Y/n nodded and leaned against her husband as she kept an eye on their newborn.

Freddy noticed y/N’s behavior and kissed the side of her head before resuming doing the same thing himself.

Both sides of the newborn’s family had hung around for quite awhile, even throughout the countless breastfeedings and diaper changes. It wasn’t too late in the traditional sense, barely having hit 5pm, but Freddy was exhausted and he knew his wife was too. So, he kindly asked everyone to leave so the couple could have some alone time with their little one before bed.

“There are just so many cute onesies!” Y/n gushed as she flipped through the collection of baby clothes in y/c/n’s nursery. “Not that (s)he’s not cute enough on their own!” Y/n added quickly.

Freddy chuckled and wrapped his arms around y/N’s waist, placing his head on her shoulder. “I think (s)he should wear the frog one today,” he suggested, eyeing the fuzzy green outfit.

Y/n hummed and picked up the onesie Freddy had requested, setting it to the side. “Frogs it is!” She grinned. She spun around and smiled as she moved in to kiss her husband. “Time to get this little one dressed!” She said walking to the crib.

“Can I?” Freddy asked quietly as he watched his wife approach y/c/n’s crib with the onesie in hand.

Y/n turned to Freddy, her confusion evident on her face. “What?”

“Can I dress them?” Freddy asked with a bite of his bottom lip.

“Of course, handsome!” Y/n reassured. She walked over and cupped Freddy’s cheeks. “Why do you feel you had to ask?” She wondered.

Freddy shrugged with a light laugh. “Sorry, it’s just all so new,” he explained.

Y/n smiled widely and nodded. “In a good way though, right?” She checked.

Freddy vigorously nodded. “Yes,” he promised quickly. “I love this new chapter of our lives,” He grinned.

Y/n hummed in agreement and passed Freddy the frog onesie. “So do I,” she agreed. She watched from the side in bliss as her husband gleefully and cautiously dressed y/c/n inside the crib. “They’re going to adore the frog onesie,” y/n complimented, “great choice, love”. She smiled to herself as she thought about how their friends would react when they came over in an hour to meet y/c/n and were greeted by an adorable little 3 week old baby in a green frog onesie.

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a-last-lullaby · 8 months

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Zoya Manouk. A witch of some sort.

Nachts ist es immer das Holz, das mich wachhält. Es ächzt und ist ruhelos, weil es lebt. Ich kann es ihm nicht verübeln, schließlich ist es alt. Könnte es in den Schlaf finden, würde es das sicher tun. Das Haus und ich, wir haben schon viel gemeinsam erlebt. Und bevor ich da war, hat es andere Abenteuer bestritten. Mit meiner Großmutter, und davor mit der Mutter meiner Baba. Viele Frauen haben schon in diesem Bett gelegen und die Muster in der Decke betrachtet, die von der Geschichte dieses Hauses erzählen. Es ihr beruhigend, sich vorzustellen, dass dieses Holz auch dann noch da sein wird, wenn ich es längst nicht mehr bin.

Das Haus behütet mich, das hat es immer schon getan. In Nächten, die zu früh enden und in denen ich mich nicht einfach wieder in den Schlaf drehen kann, stehe ich auf und koche mir einen Tee. Ich mag es, wenn der Teekessel ächzt und schließlich pfeift, um mir zu erlauben, meine Kräuter aufzugießen. Es riecht dann im ganzen Haus nach Hagebutte, was mich immer lächeln lässt. Meine Baba mochte diesen Tee am liebsten. Ich verliere mich in solchen Momenten oft in Erinnerungen, eingehüllt in eine bunte, weiche Decke sitze ich dann am Fenster und betrachte die Nacht. Manchmal ist sie trüb und sternenlos, manchmal ist der Himmel glattpoliert und glänzt wie ein Onyx, gesprenkelt mit Sternen, deren Vielzahl mich immer wieder staunen lässt.

Wenn das Haus merkt, dass es mich wachhält, bekommt es ein schlechtes Gewissen. Zumindest glaube ich das, weil es sich dann ganz langsam und vorsichtig erhebt, um mich nicht noch weiter zu stören. Es weiß, dass es mir gefällt, nachts zu reisen, weil es sich dann beinahe wie ein Traum anfühlt. Die knorrigen, dünnen Beine tragen die Holzhütte gewohnt sicher über das Land, geschützt vor den neugierigen Blicken der Menschen. Die haben selten einen Blick übrig für Wunder.

“She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself; her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of her eyes and that is very frightening. She has the mysterious solitude of ambiguous states; she hovers in a no-man’s land between life and death, sleeping and waking.” — Angela Carter, “The Lady of the House of Love”

Dieser Account ist eine Hommage an den Herbst, eine heiße Tasse Tee, Raureif am Morgen, den Geruch selbstgebackener Kekse, dem Schnurren einer Katze und dem Knistern einer Buchseite, die man kaum schnell genug umblättern kann, weil man sich so sehr in der Geschichte verliert.

21+, mdni, low activity, selective

#userfakevz #profile #übernatürlich #eigenkreation #she-her #rpg

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sarahowritesostucky · 8 months

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📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt5

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, predatory behavior, teacher/student, bathroom use control

Summary: Bucky's parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Part 5 - In Science-Based Practice, cont'd

(Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter! Masterlist)

Handing the Barnes kid off to Sharon is … more difficult than it should be. And it bothers Steve once he’s alone in his office again and can really think about it. How easily he’s crossed the line with this boy already.

It’s not the touching or the dominating. That alone is nothing out of the ordinary, practically par for the course when dealing with a troubled new student. But as soon as Bucky’s gone, his scent still lingering in the room, Steve is feeling guilty for how personal he’d made it. It’s not even his behavior so much as it is his thoughts. Steve is affectionate with many of his omega charges, especially the more high needs boys, but it’s what was going on in his head that was so inappropriate.

He’d been picturing Bucky in situations—namely situations with him. He can’t lie to himself that he hadn’t been imagining the heated aftermath of a well-deserved spanking: Bucky bare-assed and red faced, crying, crawling, mewling for permission to warm Steve’s cock. Or the boy in his bed: in the morning after a long night spent breeding him up, that sweet, soft body underneath Steve, sleepy and pliant, getting fucked lazily into the sheets …

He spends a moment at the door after he’s closed it behind Sharon and Bucky. That entire wall is dark woodwork, bookcases surrounding the elaborately carved doorway. He leans his weight through his arms and stares at the floor, taking in a few deep breaths and trying to convince himself that all of this has just been a reaction of circumstance. Surely, he thinks, it must have more to do with the divorce, with his heavy workload and his dealings with Peggy and the lawyers. It must have to do with all the stress; brought on by the restructuring of Carter Academy, by nights spent sleeping on his office couch, and by the uncertain future of a house that he’s currently persona non grata in. It’s all of that, plus his ever growing need to get laid that’s made him so sensitive to being around an omega, not anything particularly special about Bucky.

Steve pushes away from the door and turns around. His eyes fall on the discarded set of underwear on the floor in front of his desk. He tenses, belly swirling hard at the memory of that sweet little whimper Bucky had made when he’d lost control and wet himself. Fuck, it’d been amazing. Steve had almost popped a knot right then and there, watching the way the boy’s eyes had gotten all big and watery and confused, his cheeks pinked up so nicely, not fully understanding what his body had just done …

Nostrils flaring, Steve stalks over to where the underwear lie on the carpet and snatches them up, intending to chuck them straight into the bin. But … something stays his hand. He winds up walking around the desk with them, sitting down in his chair and holding them in his lap, staring at the tiny wet patch of release that Bucky left behind in the cup of the jock. It’s wet like urine but clear and sweet-smelling like slick, and Steve is struck by the urge to bury his face in it.

Even from this distance, the scent is noticeable; pungent and rich, an obscene perfume that Steve instinctively wants to rub on himself. It calls to all of his baser urges, making his skin feel hot and his dick feel heavy. Hesitatingly, because he knows that he shouldn’t, Steve lifts the underwear closer to his face. Halfway there and already the scent is enough to make his mouth water, his throat aching from a repressed growl. There’s something buried in that scent that Steve wants to tease out, something earthy and floral that’s uniquely Bucky, that promises so much more of what the omega has to offer. Steve groans quietly at the thought of tasting it. When was the last time a student released for him so easily? Bucky had responded to him so naturally …

He growls and shoves the soiled underwear away, pushing them halfway across the desk. It’s nothing, he thinks. He’s just pent up, stressed. He just needs to get laid. Maybe he’ll go into the city next weekend, rent a room and find some company. He’s never had much trouble chatting up the nearest person at a hotel bar, or attracting a willing partner to his bed. Omegas flock to him and have ever since he took control of his dominance in his late twenties.

Steve’s never been unfaithful to Peggy, and even now with the divorce, he’s been waiting until everything is finalized, not wanting to tarnish the vows that he’d meant so earnestly when he’d said them fourteen years ago. But an alpha his age has needs, and he’s been suppressing them for years. Maybe it’s time to cut himself some slack, call up a pairing agency and buy a companion for an hour or two. Get his mind off of this kid.

He’s dealt with thousands of students over the years, seen plenty of fresh-faced omegas pass through the school’s halls. And sure, sometimes there’ll be one or two that stick out in a given year; an especially defiant boy or a sweetly virginal girl, with beautiful faces, ripe young bodies, and a soul-deep yearning to be handled, but there’s never been one that especially stood out to him like this. Not like this.

Steve groans and cards his hands through his hair in frustration. He’d felt more in-tune with himself as an alpha during that short time with Bucky in his office than he has in a long time. He’d enjoyed himself with Bucky, had indulged himself in provoking the boy’s reactions, and even crossed a few lines of propriety if he was being honest with himself. It plagues his mind for a while, as he leans back in the desk chair and frowns, remembering all of the various ways he’d let himself be a little too intimate with the boy.

Bucky’s such a pretty young omega, and he’d smelled so good. Watching his defiance warring with his natural submissive urges had been delightful, every little twitch of insolence and natural, mewling submission going straight to Steve’s cock. There’s just something about him. He’s uncommonly beautiful, with his dark hair and soft chin and stormy blue eyes, but it’s his behavior that has Steve enthralled.

All that hurt and neediness he’s trying so hard to hide, not only from others but from himself as well. A hastily cobbled-together shield of promiscuity and callousness. It’s pathetically see-through, terribly desperate, and it gets Steve’s cock harder than anything he’s dealt with recently. Right from the very first, bratty word that emanated from Bucky’s mouth, up until that last, puny whimper. Steve hasn’t been completely flaccid since the boy started mulishly snarfing scones off the tea tray in front of his parents.

“Christ.” He pushes out from the desk when he feels his pants growing uncomfortably tight again. His office has a private bathroom, and he abruptly decides to make use of it. He won’t get any work done if he just stays sitting here, stewing in his own pheromones.

He stomps over there and shuts himself into the tiny water closet, leans against the door and jerks himself off ruthlessly, efficiently, coming into the toilet bowl with gritted teeth and a laboured grunt, his hand gripped viciously over the base of his shaft to prevent an inconvenient knotting. It’s unsatisfactory because he’s still denying his body what it really wants, but it’s enough to release most if not all of the tension for the moment.

Not having been given their fair due, his balls still do kind of throb and ache in complaint as he tucks himself back into his slacks. But on the positive side, he was already so worked up when he started jerking it that he’s able to honestly say that he didn’t really think of Bucky while he was at it. He didn’t really think of anything besides the feeling of his own hand on his dick.

Sighing, he washes his hands and goes back out, settling in at his desk to submit the form he’s filled out on Bucky’s heats and to compose a preliminary assessment. Already, he thinks he’s got a good handle on where a lot of the boy’s issues stem from. He opens a new file for student assessment and types in a few points that he’ll return to elaborate on later, once he’s had more interaction with the boy:

“Boyfriend” + brief, insufficient pairing aged 14 — unfulfilled?: Abandonment complex, betrayal complex, trust issues.

Parental situation: lacking authoritative father figure, preoccupied beta mother, dominant unrelated male beta in the household. No healthy A-o relationship modeling.

Values: liberal school system, beta peers, common social expectations (not being a burden, not displaying strong needs, etc.) Emotional repression, mock-dominant behavior, cutting.

Review: history of suppressant use, medical exam

It’s a shorthand that he’s typed out for many other students, reflecting a devolving behavioral pattern that Steve could recognize in his sleep at this point. Just another classic example of what you get when you try to ideologize a pubertal omega out of their biological needs, urges and instincts: catastrophe.

He hopes that Sharon will be a good fit for the boy. She’s one of the more laid back Handlers, and Steve is hoping she’ll be able to ease Bucky into his new lifestyle here at the school. If not, then more severe dominance will be needed, and Steve might have to take a more hands-on approach.

He closes out the documentation on Bucky and navigates to his email, shooting off a message to the school nurse informing her that he needs an exam scheduled for a new student. Bucky being on suppressants for two years shouldn’t make Steve as uncomfortable as it does. There are omegas out there who take that poison for decades or more, after all. As long as Bucky stays off it from here on out, there should be minimal chance of long-term harm. Irrational as it is, Steve still knows he’ll feel better once he’s seen the results of a full medical workup on the boy. He marks the appointment request as 📨*Stat: urgent priority.

There’s a message from Schuyler & Banks—Peggy’s divorce lawyers—and rather than ignoring it like he wants to, Steve forces himself to open it and deal with whatever drama they’re lobbing his way now. The email informs him that his soon-to-be ex-wife is requesting his signature to agree to listing the house. Steve growls at the screen and immediately starts typing out a response that uses a lot of big words and essentially amounts to another adamant No.

This may be the biggest thing he and Peggy have fought over since the separation started. They bought the Pendergast Street house nearly ten years ago, with full intentions of growing old and grey there together. It’s a two hundred year old cottage, practically picturesque with its wattle and stone exterior, thatched straw roof, and one of the village’s canals running directly behind the back garden. It’s small and cramped and thoroughly lived-in, and it’s the place where Steve thought he’d spend the rest of his life with the person he loved. It kills him that Peggy wants to sell it.

She doesn’t need the money, Steve thinks angrily. And he’s already offered her fair market value for it. Pegs is just being vindictive and trying to deny him the ability to keep the place and the memories it holds, bitter about Steve wanting to one day maybe have a family there with someone else. He emails his refusal on the matter and cc’s his own attourney, pissed off at Peggy all over again, and moves on to dealing with his actual work-related matters.

There’s an email from P. Potts, informing him that Stark will be flying in for the upcoming parents’ weekend, and requesting coordination on a suitable landing site for the man’s personal helicopter. Steve rolls his eyes and forwards the email to his secretary to sort out. If the Stark foundation didn’t give a hefty endowment to the academy each year, Steve wouldn’t put up with the man’s antics. But it does, so he does.

Peter Parker is an intelligent and precocious student who attends Carter Academy at Tony’s behest. The two are of no relation, as Steve had initially assumed. Rather, Parker is Stark’s ward and attends through a STEM scholarship program. The Stark foundation sponsors several such scholarship slots each year, of course; but Tony has maintained a keen eye on the boy’s education since he started there, and Steve has gradually become aware that the billionaire’s interest is … more than strictly philanthropic.

It’s not unheard of for an older alpha to care for an omega that way, even in this day and age. Steve himself has considered the prospect before. Taking on an omega youth as a dependent partner wouldn’t be frowned upon, and especially not in the circles he himself travels in. It’s more his role as headmaster that might act as an impediment to propriety, and Steve has always been careful to avoid worrying the parents, alumni, and other various benefactors of the school that he may have any conflicts of interest with respect to their sons.

Some of the most posh and exclusive families in Britain and Continental Europe send their children to Carter Academy, and they certainly aren’t dropping sixty grand a semester so that their children can be matched up with some stodgy academic. Steve may be educated and financially stable, but he still isn’t the sort of match that most of Carter Academy’s parents are looking to fix their sons up with. He has no vast fortune, no estate, no title, and—perhaps the biggest offense of all—he’s American.

With a student body made up of nothing but omegas in their prime breeding years, it’s fair to say that Steve is—and always has been—surrounded by prospects for temptation each and every day. He’d honestly thought himself rather numb to it at this point, able to separate work from pleasure, students from everyone else. All those years married to Peggy and he simply had to be that way, if he wanted his marriage to work.

But now he’s getting divorced. That changes things. With the Barnes boy, he’s finding the temptation to take on an omega mate newly rekindled. And Bucky would be so easy to mold and shape the way he wants. Steve could help him, he could care for him. Bucky’s young and healthy, he could give Steve pups, and his fiery temperament would only make the act of subduing him that much sweeter.

Steve’s eyes slide back over to the underwear on his desk, to the wet patch of release that Bucky’s body had given up so readily for him. Steve’s not sure when the last time was he came across an omega to whom he felt so naturally inclined. The draw of the boy’s scent alone is … considerable.

Unable to get it out of his mind, he opens a new email and begins to compose a short letter to Tony. Maybe it’s time the two of them have a bit of a sit down chat. They can have drinks, catch up, review next year's endowments from the Stark Foundation, and perhaps even veer into discussing more personal topics … such as the intricacies of responsibly grooming impressionable young omegas.

Bucky doesn’t see Steve again for the rest of that day, and he’s both relieved and disappointed.

Relieved, because he definitely needed a break from that high pressure situation. Naked or no, he certainly couldn’t have sustained much more interaction at that level of intensity. He’s not sure if he would’ve gone to his knees and face planted in Steve’s crotch first, or thrown a tantrum and tried to punch the guy square in the nuts, but he’s smart enough to know that either choice would’ve been a disaster.

Disappointed, because he’s left feeling utterly bereft once all of that rich, heady stimulation is removed.

It’s one of those times where he doesn’t realize that he likes something until he’s had it taken away. Instantly, he misses being in Steve’s presence, the realization peeling back as he’s led about by Sharon in a sort of informal orientation session. He wonders why Steve chose her to be his handler, because she’s not at all similar to the overbearing Headmaster.

Sharon seems really laid back and chill. Bucky doesn’t feel on edge or self-conscious around her, and she doesn’t seem to be overly concerned with his behavior in any outward way, either. Sure, she keeps her eye on him, she explains the rules, but the vibe Bucky gets from her is more like a slightly disinterested older sister who’s showing him the ropes, rather than someone who’s going to be exercising any kind of severe authority over him. It’s not that bad, or at least not like what Bucky was picturing it would be like. Sharon’s okay, he decides. Sharon he can live with.

But, if Steve truly thinks that Bucky needs so much structure and discipline or whatever, then Bucky can’t fathom why he’s been paired with Sharon. She’s certainly a poor substitute for the utterly dominating, older alpha male that Bucky encountered earlier, and he winds up distracted and reimagining the things Steve had said and done to him in the office, daydreaming about it while Sharon shows him the library, explains school rules, tells him she’s a low-protocol Handler, etc., etc.

Even the things that’d made him so mad and humiliated at the time; now they elicit different feelings. Bucky’s body thrums hot and sensitive when he remembers the low rumble of Steve’s Voice, the woodsy smell of his cologne over top of his natural scent, the firmness of his thigh muscle against Bucky’s face, how big and rough his hand had looked when he’d cupped Bucky in between his legs and purred threats at him like another kind of oral sex … how he’d called him things, called him a “good girl” …

… Ohh, he thinks, as he’s walking along with Sharon. Maybe padded underwear and loose dresses aren’t the worst thing he could be wearing. They definitely do a lot to hide … reactions that would otherwise be quite noticeable in slacks. People joke about alpha teenagers getting unfortunate stiffies, but the thing about having an omega-sized prick is that there’s really no pushing it down or tucking it this way or that. Nothing between Bucky’s legs is ever gonna make it up to the helpful elastic of a waistband when he’s inconveniently aroused. Nope, he just gets a stiff length that pokes straight out from his body and can’t be concealed with anything short of a book in his lap.

So the uniform winds up having a bit of a silver lining. And Bucky does start to feel less ridiculous the longer he goes around in the outfit. It’s not as though the thing is all frilly and girly or anything like that. In fact if it’s guilty of anything, it's the cardinal sin of frumpiness committed by all private school uniforms. Nobody bats an eye at him as he goes about the campus with Sharon, which helps.

And of course Bucky’s aware that omegas dressed like this in the past, he’s just not used to it. The only other place he’s ever seen omega boys in skirts is in history textbooks or period dramas. It does help to see all the other first year students going about wearing the same thing as him and acting like it’s no big deal, and with the school being such an old, castley-type setting, it almost seems appropriate.

Plus, the boner-concealment thing. That’s good.

When Sharon asks him how he liked meeting “Headmaster Rogers,” Bucky’s left to bumble out a flustered reply that mostly consists of ‘ums’, and ‘erms’, and ‘fines’. Sharon shoots him a smirk like she knows what the problem is, and when Bucky promptly points to something random to change the subject, she indulges him.

It’s a good thing he got out of Steve’s office when he did, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t think he could’ve taken much more of the alpha’s domineering presence without doing something he’d come to regret. And as much as he’d maybesortakinda liked the things that Steve made him feel, he still feels like he’s run an emotional half-marathon in the span of little more than the hour he actually spent with the man. It’s good to have breathing room, time to think, to process … whatever the hell that’d been.

He’s never felt like how he felt in Steve’s office, and it’s embarrassing because he’s pretty sure that Steve: A) knows this, and B) wasn’t nearly so affected himself. Steve had kept his cool perfectly, had seemed more amused by Bucky’s reactions than anything else. He probably knows exactly how muzzy-headed Bucky was feeling by the end of it all, how hot and tight his belly was, how much his hole was pulsing and leaking into his underwear. Hell, Steve had as good as told him that he could tell, just by sight and smell alone.

‘You don’t have to deny it, honey. I already know.’

Ugh. God. It’s so cringeworthy. Bucky’s body had betrayed him in about a half dozen ways, back in Steve’s office, and he feels frustrated that he didn’t act with more composure. He wants a redo of the whole, horrible encounter. One where he doesn’t act just like the desperate, mewling loser that Steve already thinks he is.

Sharon takes him to settle into his bedroom that evening, and it’s a typical dorm room setup: bed, bedside table, dresser, desk, chair. There’s a small wardrobe that’s stuffed to the brim with all sorts of extra blankets and pillows—for nesting, Sharon informs him. Bucky’s never been one to indulge in the habit, but maybe it could be nice to try it here. Maybe it might feel cozy. There are a lot of really nice things inside the wardrobe, to which he feels instinctively drawn when he drags his fingers over their soft and poofy textures. He actually starts to get mildly enthused: about the idea of nesting, and about the fact that he’s getting his own private room rather than having to share a communal dorm room with a dozen other boys like he’d been imagining …

Until he spots the cameras that are up high in two of the bedroom’s corners, their little red lights blinking ominously down at him. Bucky stares up at them, calculating. The way they’re positioned …

Shit.

They cover every square inch of the room. Bucky’s heart sinks with dismay as he realizes what this means.

“Oh, yeah,” Sharon says when she sees him looking. “We call those the nanny cams.”

Bucky fights back a cringe. He hears Steve’s “no masturbation allowed” speech playing on a horrible loop in his mind as Sharon delivers a practiced spiel about how “privacy is not something students are entitled to” at Carter Academy, and that he’ll be monitored “pretty much everywhere” he goes.

Shit-fuck-shit and goddammit.

If Sharon notices his internal freak out, she doesn’t say anything. She just supervises from the doorway while Bucky changes for bed, ensuring that he puts on a fresh pair of the ridiculous double-underwear and reminding him of the no masturbation rule. It’s humiliating, and Bucky almost snaps something nasty at her, but by that point he’s so fucking tired from the overwhelming day he’s had that he merely grunts out an unhappy, “Got it.”

He briefly considers asking her if she’ll “milk” him like Steve said he could, but his embarrassment gets the better of him and he just turns to lie facing the wall instead, pulling the blankets up to his chin and ignoring Sharon as she turns the lights off and bids him goodnight from the doorway. There is no door for her to close.

Bucky sleeps surprisingly well, though his dreams are intense and filled with a certain Alpha Headmaster. He wakes the next day to the unpleasant combination of a morning erection, and Sharon rapping her knuckles on his bedside table.

“Morning! Time to get up, get dressed. Breakfast in ten minutes!”

She escorts him around campus like the world’s most overpaid babysitter, first to the dining hall for breakfast and then to class after that. She seems to understand that Bucky isn’t at all happy to be there, so she doesn’t get overly bossy with him or try to force much conversation. Bucky begrudgingly appreciates her for it, and he starts to think that maybe it won’t be so bad here with her as his Handler. Maybe Steve knew what he was doing, assigning them together.

Sharon’s like having an older sister—one who feels free to nag you and boss you around. Bucky thinks he can deal with that. She’s kinda hot at least, and Bucky doesn’t think he’d mind being bent over and milked by her if push came to shove, so he tries to get along to go along, so to speak, doing his best to follow the rules she points out and to not piss her off too early in the game.

The Handlers are all grad students, it turns out. People in their twenties who are studying to become educators or therapists themselves. Some are women, some are men, but all of them are alpha. They go around in stuffy tweed suits that are almost as dorky as the outfit Bucky’s being forced to wear. Overall the look is pretty unremarkable … except for the leashes that they keep on hand. Those are worn at the hip, rolled up and attached to their belts as a constant threat to keep their charges in line.

Or at least that’s how Bucky reads it, because all of the students wear collars. First years like him wear the orangish-brown, with the gradient of the leather turning a shade lighter for every year up the wearer is. There are other first years who seem to be his age, but there are also some who seem younger and some who are obviously older. Bucky’s confused about it until Sharon explains to him that, as a reform school, Carter Academy sorts its students by years of attendance, not by age.

She points out the coloring system with the collars as they pass different students, and explains the symbolism. Turns out, the little metal placards aren’t engraved with their own names, but rather with the initials “S.G.R.”—Steve’s initials—to remind the students that while they’re under the custody of Carter Academy, Steve is their acting Alpha. Mortifyingly, Bucky pops a boner the first time he hears that, and the only verbal thing he’s able to squeak out at Sharon afterwards is a strangled little, “W-what does the ‘G’ stand for?”

Bucky knows super conservative people sometimes wear collars as a sort of political statement, but it’s rare to see in the area where he’s from. At first it doesn’t seem like the collars serve much purpose other than such a statement, but it isn’t long until Bucky starts noticing the way his shoulders untense and his insides relax, even within the first ten minutes or so of wearing it. Every time he swallows, he’s reminded of the band around his throat, and he instantly relaxes all over again in a sort of weird little feedback loop. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s the way the leather mimics the sensation of a Hold. Bucky can still remember how his legs had all but gone to jelly when Steve Held him in his office. The collar only provides a fraction of a fraction of that feeling, but it’s still nice.

Nice for now, anyways. He sees some of the other students being led around from place to place with their Handlers’ leashes clipped to their collars. Most of them act like it’s no big deal and walk around calmly like nothing’s amiss. When Bucky asks if they’re being punished for something, Sharon says no, blithely remarking that while it can be used as a ‘consequence’, it’s more often just a part of some students’ regular wellness regimens.

It’s pretty darn easy to spot the few students who are being led around on leashes for punishment purposes, though. Those boys get dragged around a little more sternly by their Handlers, all sullen expressions and watery eyes. Sometimes they’ve also been made to go around in just their underwear and sweaters, or even naked, their backsides visibly pinked or even bruised from recent spankings. Bucky is horrified by the realization that Steve wasn’t lying when he warned of clothing privileges being taken away. He wants to ask what on earth might warrant a punishment like that, just so that he knows precisely what not to do, but he’s too embarassed to ask.

Instead he trails after Sharon to breakfast in the dining hall, and then off to his morning classes. Given that his entire schedule has apparently been made without an iota of his own opinion or input, he’s surprised, bordering-on-startled, when his first subject of the day turns out to be English Lit. And he’s been put in an advanced placement class so that the material is sufficiently challenging.

This must be what his old Principal was making him take all that testing for, he thinks.

The classrooms all have wooden desks—the old fashioned, two seater types where the student’s seat faces the worktop and the tutor’s seat faces the opposite direction on the side. The Handlers sit in the tutor’s seats, their backs to the teacher at the front of the classroom and all of their attention on their assigned students. It’s a very intense experience, Bucky’s coming to realize, to always feel like he’s being watched so closely. He won’t be able to get away with much under these conditions, that’s for sure.

His mood isn’t too bad, however, as he makes it through that first class and realizes that he’s actually going to be receiving a real education at this place. Ever since he found out yesterday that Carter Academy was an omegas-only reform school, he hasn’t held high hopes that he’d be taught many real academic subjects, only silly homemaking lessons and child rearing classes and maybe, like, ballroom dancing or something.

So he’s quite happy to pay attention in English Lit, and then in his second period class of French 2, his spirits slowly and cautiously lifting because the teachers don’t seem to be dumbing down the material at all. Bucky may be someone who’s easily distracted, occasionally with alternative priorities, but he’s always been an A-B student. He starts to believe that he might actually receive a decent education at this place. It helps lift his mood from sullen and sour, to cautiously optimistic.

He goes about the morning in a suspended state of “maybe this won’t be so bad,” only for it to come crashing down in a series of brutal reality checks. And all before lunchtime, too.

First, he witnesses something that turns his face red and his cock rigid. It happens when he and Sharon are walking down the hallway towards his next class. There’s a boy bent over with his hands on a bench, and his Handler is right behind: spanking him. The boy’s a first year, with an orange-brown collar and skirted uniform like Bucky’s, the hemline of which is flipped up over his back and his briefs are pulled down under the curve of his bare ass.

Bucky realizes that the jockstraps can and do remain on for spanking activities, but he doesn’t stop walking to look. If anything, he walks even faster to get away from it. He’s suddenly very glad that he’s got his own padded jock on to hide his body’s reaction to the scene. “What the hell?” he mutters to Sharon once they’ve passed. Sharon just smirks and pats him on the shoulder, telling him not to worry: they’ve been having great luck with his behavior so far and he’s far off from earning anything like a spanking.

Well. That luck runs out when, halfway through the lesson of his next class, Bucky realizes he has to go to the bathroom. He glances over at Sharon and whispers, “Hey. I ah, I have to go to the bathroom.”

Sharon raises her eyebrow, which by now Bucky knows means: Ask me the right way.

He blushes and mumbles even more quietly, “Please, may I go use the restroom?”

Sharon nods and signals to the teacher that they’re leaving, then she guides Bucky out into the hallway and down to the bathrooms. Nothing goes awry until they get down there and Bucky discovers that: 1) there are no urinals, 2) there are no stall doors, 3) he’s expected to sit to pee, and 4) that Sharon is fully planning to watch him do it. Like, not even avert-her-eyes type watching like they do for drug tests. She plans to stand there and attentively watch him take a piss.

“You’re kidding,” Bucky says, looking back and forth between the toilet and Sharon, as if she’ll suddenly declare it a joke and move away to give him privacy. When she does no such thing and merely stands there with her arms crossed, Bucky scoffs and turns away from the toilet in refusal. “No way. I’m not just gonna go in front of you.” Sharon’s eyebrow rises, and Bucky’s eyes narrow into slits. “And I don’t sit to pee.”

“You do now,” she tells him plainly, looking very unimpressed. When Bucky moves to step out of the stall, she widens her stance and steps in closer, blocking his way out. “Are we going to have a problem here, James?”

Bucky glowers at her. “What possible reason could there be for you to stand there and watch me take a piss?!” he demands—quite loudly, too. He’s expecting Sharon to react by scolding him or grabbing him or something. What he doesn’t expect is for her to shrug as if she couldn’t give a crap, and pull out her cellphone. She taps the screen and then puts it to her ear, her eyes fixed smugly on Bucky as she calls someone.

Bucky scowls, but that expression slides right off his face when the call is answered and Sharon says, “Hello Headmaster,” into the phone. “You said to call if we ran into any misbehavior?”

Bucky blanches. “Seriously?” he hisses, and when Sharon simpers like a grade-A snot at him, he realizes that this is actually probably still what having an older sister is really like; he was just romanticizing the fuck out of it, earlier. Bucky’s always liked being an only child.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve got James Barnes refusing bathroom protocol up at the west second floor loo. Should I handle it, or are you able to swing by?” Bucky’s eyes widen and his stomach sinks even further as Sharon responds to something Steve has said over the line and says, “Okay, sure. See you soon.” She ends the call and puts her phone back in her pocket, giving Bucky a patronizing smile once she meets his—no doubt horrified—expression. “Just hang tight,” she says. “Headmaster Rogers will be here in a sec.”

Fuck.

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