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mercurial-chuckles · 7 months ago

Note

Steve Rogers x reader??

HIS FIORE - PART 4 (Final)

Summary: Steve smexy Rogers moves into the neighborhood, and one evening, he catches you sneaking into the building opposite his through the fire escape. He watches curiously, slightly amused and, quite frankly, amazed by you. Guess what he does next? He writes a note, signs it with his middle name, Grant, and slips it under your door. How will you discover that Grant is none other than Captain America? Series Warnings: Language | Eventual smut | Mature content (minors DNI) | Steve's naughty thoughts | Steve in-love Rogers | Steve possessive jealous Rogers | Drunk Steve (adorable, hot mess) | Neighbors | Secret identity | Steve watching the reader from a distance (slightly stalker-ish…ish) | No Peggy in my canon divergent universe | A smidge of angst | Overloaded fluff | Happy happy ending

A/N: Finally finished writing this! Originally, I wrote two parts as connected prompts for Steve Rogers Bingo Round 3, but I've decided to revamp the entire piece. Also, I'm going to try sticking to a schedule--wish me luck! 😉 Banner credits: Me | Photo credits: The internet | Divider credits: @buck-star (Sydney, thanks a trillion ❤️) This part is also an entry to SMUT-BER FEST! Thank you, Ro, for sending in the ASK. You have no idea how much I appreciate you! Thank you! I'm sorry for the super delay. @ronearoundblindly I hope you enjoy reading it.

Also, Smutty September Fest has transgressed into SMUT-BER FEST! Am I complaining? Not at all. So, all my darling hoes, if your muse is musing and you want to submit your story/stories, please feel free to do so. Late submissions are more than welcome! Be wild; have fun!

Note: Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work! Check out my other works: Masterlist This part is Unedited! I will edit it as soon as I can!

His Fiore Series Masterlist

Indulge Away!

The evening was peaceful until it wasn't.

Jake and Hannah, your friends from college, were in town for a wedding. They surprised you in the afternoon, dropping by your office, and you all but squealed. It had been ages since you saw them. The last time you visited them in Seattle was after they had their second son, Erik, three years ago.

You had taken the afternoon off. The three of you went to grab lunch, and you invited them over to your place, where you talked for hours, reminiscing about the good old days. When you first met Jake and Hannah, it was in sophomore year of Material Science class. You three teamed up for a project. They had been dating each other since the first year of college. You three became quick friends and often kept in touch. They invited you to their wedding, which was right after graduation. They've been happily married for nearly a decade and have two wonderful boys.

As the evening settled in, you asked to cook dinner, but they disagreed, wishing to go out. You had suggested the Italian restaurant down on Benton Ave. You often order takeouts from there, and the food was quite delicious. Hannah asked you to join them, but you politely declined knowing they could spend some alone time in the city without the kids.

Jake called in to reserve a table for them earlier when you said they were usually busy on Fridays, and they were getting ready to leave when you heard the loud, insistent knock at the door.

You frowned, casting a glance at the time. It was too early for Steve to return. He said he had training going on.

The knock came again, more aggressive this time. You rushed over to the door, pulling it open slowly.

Steve stood there in his tight blue undershirt and khakis. His usual immaculate appearance was slightly messy. His short hair was tousled, and his face was flushed like he had just run a marathon. Knowing him, he might have.

You gulped.

Panic sparked in you as you quickly glanced over your shoulder, spotting Jake adjust the small duffel bag while Hannah was in the restroom. Without hesitation, you stepped forward and tried to edge the door shut, shielding Steve from view.

It was just to protect him, his identity. If Jake or Hannah caught even a glimpse of Captain America standing at your door, it would mean a lot of explanation and complications for him.

Steve frowned at you, leaning closer with one hand on the wall beside you; he framed you in the small space. He smelled so good. You instinctively inched back, trying to shield yourself from the overwhelming effect his presence had on your senses.

You looked up at him. "Steve," you started. "Not the right time, I have…"

But he cut you off abruptly, scoffing. "Yeah, I know." His voice was louder than usual, slightly slurred. He jabbed his long, pointed finger behind you. "There was... a guy," he gritted, "On your... your balcony."

That was when you saw the hazy look in his eyes.

"Are you okay? You look…drunk," you subtly sniffed him, he wasn't reeking of alcohol. And you also knew he couldn't get drunk. Confused, you stared at him to say something.

Oh, fuck. Did Captain America do drugs? Were there… super-soldier serum-resistant drugs?

"Everything okay there?" Jake's voice called out, and before you could respond, Steve was pushing the door open to your living room.

You stood motionless, appalled.

What the hell was Steve doing?

"Jake, have you seen this bookshelf? We…" Hannah's voice trailed off as she suddenly stopped in her tracks and took in the scene.

Panic surged in your chest.

Damage control. Damage control.

If Jake and Hannah were as oblivious as Terry, you could tell them Steve was your gym instructor who lived next door. Yeah, that might work. You squared your shoulders, preparing to sell the lie with all the confidence you could muster.

Thud.

"Holy shit!" Hannah low-key squeaked, her phone slipping from her hands and hitting the carpeted floor.

You winced. Well, so much for that beautiful plan. Now you couldn't sell the idea that Steve was your non-existent gym instructor. It seemed not everyone was as oblivious as you or Terry. Good for them. Not so good for you, though.

But again, it was Steve's fault. Who were you kidding? Those muscles and that that face without those glasses, or a hat would be a dead giveaway any day.

You stood by the door, racking your brain to deal with the situation better, more effectively, while Steve stood pressed by your side now, sending heat through your entire body.

"No fucking way. You are…" Jake started, amazed, and you thought of Steve's potential reaction. You expected he would give them a shy, friendly smile, scratching his neck, entirely too modest, and saying, 'Hi, Steven Grant Rogers.' Or something along those lines.

But your mind couldn't comprehend Steve taking two long strides toward Jake, towering over the 5'11" man, pinning him down with a stare, and rasping, "Captain America. I live next door."

You gaped. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Oh, he just kept digging the hole deeper. You slapped a palm over your eyes, and shook your head, confused and shocked.

"Holy shit," Hannah repeated, amazed.

"Umm…right…yeah," you chuckled awkwardly, taking a step closer, leaning onto the small cabinet by the main door for some support.

"Steve," you started, clearing your throat, deciding to introduce your two flabbergasted friends now that he gave a dramatic, albeit arrogant, introduction. "This is Jake and his wife, Hannah, they are my college friends," you managed to say with much more semblance of control than you expected.

"Ah…wow…umm…hey there, Steve…Captain, it's an honor," Jake sputtered. Hannah stood there shell-shocked.

Steve tilted his head and looked at you, the frown transforming into confusion. Then, his eyes widened in slow motion. "Oh." He opened his mouth to say something, one hand on his hip, while he pointed a finger at you and then at Jake and moved to Hannah.

"Right…" he let out a garbled chuckle that sounded more like a snort. Steve cleared his throat, scratching above his eyebrow, and then licked his lips. You could see the pink coating his cheek.

"'S great to meet you," he muttered, nodding at Jake and Hannah.

You looked at Steve, confused. You haven't seen this side of Steve, not in the few months of knowing him as Grant, your note-sharing next-door neighbor, nor after he revealed himself.

What followed was absolute pin-drop silence and a lot of staring.

"I...uh, yeah," you started, breaking the silence, flustered, trying to keep your composure.

Jake, bless him, quickly gathered his composure and Hannah's hand and picked up the duffel bag and the fallen phone, "Yeah, we should get going. We have the…" he frowned, staring outside, most likely racking his brain for a word.

"Yeah, the reservation," you helped, your own stomach flipping uneasily. Jake nodded, grateful for the input.

And when they were at the door, you followed them outside, leaving Steve standing in your living room. When they looked at you, shocked out of wits. "I'll explain later," you pleaded, feeling a headache forming. "Please just keep it confidential," you requested.

After quick hugs, you bid bye and walked back to your living room to deal with the Captain fine-ass America, no, scratch that. It was Captain fine-ass-most-likely-high America alright.

Steve stood, hands both on his hips, rigidly jutting out all the muscles and veins, and your brain tremored in frustration for more than one reason.

You strode towards him, confused.

"Are you drunk? Did you do drugs? I thought you couldn't get high," you blabbered at him.

"I am," he chuckled, solemnly nodding and grinning at you charmingly. "Asgardian Mead, Thor gifted."

Thor? Oh, the burly godman Thor?

"Thor? As in God of Thunder?" you asked, keeping your thirsty description to yourself.

"Yeah, got real high real fast, 's good stuff," Steve shrugged, and you could see him sway on his legs momentarily, "I think I should sit down," he told you, and before you knew it, he was on the floor, his back to the couch.

"Oh, fuck! Are you ok?" you gasped, kneeling before him. He shifted his large form and tried to straighten up, one leg spreading beside you while he folded his other leg, and he leaned forward, grasping your right hand in his large one and caressing the inside of your palm with his thumb. You choked on your breath at the pleasure shooting down your spine.

He nodded thoughtfully. When he looked up at you from under those perfect, down-right criminal, long eyelashes, not breaking his gaze, you felt your insides churn.

No. No. Distance. You need distance.

"I'll get you some water," you told him, breaking the silence. He blinked, letting your hand go reluctantly.

You took a moment to yourself as you scrambled away to fill the empty bottle. You could feel his sharp gaze scorching your form.

The past few days had been great. Spending time with Steve felt wholesome, and you really had come close, and this time, it wasn't merely through notes. You both spent insurmountable time together, cooking, eating and talking, lots and lots of talking.

Though you'd been trying to get a grip on your feelings for him, things were much simpler to handle when your mind was not buffering or your heart racing out of your chest. While your heart did its thing, spending more time with him had your mind in better control. You were finally able to grasp that Captain America, the living legend, was a simple man who was too sassy and stubborn for his own good. And he was willingly spending time with you. And that he was a sinfully gorgeous, walking green flag of a man.

Now that very man was sitting on your living room floor, likely out of his rocker, and high on burly man's mead.

When a few drops of water spilled on you, overflowing from the water, you shut off the valve and walked back to him, handing him the bottle. He eyed the bottle briefly before taking it and gulping down a few sips.

"What's going on?" you asked.

He looked up at you with a shy almost guilty-looking grin and pulled you closer, his grip firm on your forearm, and you landed ungracefully half on him and half on the floor, and despite his state, he steadied you.

Dear mother of sweet Duckburg! Those thighs felt rigid.

"Steve," you squealed, pushing yourself off him and moving away hastily, but his grip on you was unwavering. So, you settled for sitting closer and not straddling on his lap.

Even though he was sitting on the floor, slouched against the couch, and you knelt before him, Steve's broad frame still towered over you. The mere size difference was sending your mind unholy signals.

Nope. Don't go there. Don't you fucking go there!

"What the hell's going on?" You asked again, voicing your desperation and frustration.

"I saw him on your balcony. And I didn't... I didn't like it." Steve snickered, throwing a glance towards your balcony.

"Wh…what?"

"I thought you were going on a date with him," he finally said, more like hissed.

"You got drunk on some Thunder god's mead because you thought I was going on a date?" you asked, incredulous.

Steve winced, shutting his eyes and nodded.

Your breath hitched. An overwhelming warmth bloomed in your chest, making you gulp, leaning more of your weight on one arm that was not held in a super soldier grip.

"Steve..." You didn't know what to say, your mind reeling. You pulled your hand free, and thankfully, he let you.

"I heard him talking about dinner reservations. I thought…" He trailed off, staring at the floor. "When I heard... I heard him," he muttered again, "And I thought, 'Why isn't it me?'"

You froze. "What?"

"I wanted it to be me," Steve bit out angrily, his sharp jaw clenching as his gaze turned distant. A hint of sadness lingered in his half-lidded blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat.

Why was your rational brain not working? Oh, for god's sake, this was not Quantum Gravity. Steve was hinting at being jealous. He liked you, right?

You felt butterflies swarming your entire body. Warm, hungry butterflies, heating you up.

You scoffed at the absurdity of the situation. "Why?" You asked though you were grasping the why. "You're not making any sense," you said, trying to dismiss it as drunken rambling, but your heart wasn't listening.

No. Don't say it, Steve. No.

"I like you, like a whole lot," he murmured, pushing himself off the back of the couch and leaning closer to you. The heat of his breath on your cheek, his intoxicating smell captured your senses and pushed them into overdrive.

"No, 'S not true…" he whispered, his lips ghosting your cheek. He shook his head, chuckling, making you shudder at the sensation, and you stared at him in confusion.

What's not true? Was he making fun of you? Was this a prank? Your entire face heated up. Steve leaned even closer, his lips grazing your ear, and you bit your lip, your breaths coming out shallow. He cradled your jaw with his large palm and whispered the words you'd thought you'd never hear in any possible reality. "I love you." And he kissed your cheek, gently. The way he set your heart ablaze with that simple touch of his lips on your skin was unbelievable.

"Steve," you whispered, appalled and slightly worried, but he cut you off with a slight shake of his head.

How can you trust any of what he was saying? He was drunk.

You moved out of his grasp, beyond breathless, searching his eyes, your heart racing as you stared at him in disbelief.

"Your happy place…the one you told me about when I had that really bad nightmare. I want to be there with you, just you and me, I want to hold you close while we watch the rain together in our cozy home," he continued softly. Your insides twisted, and you sat there, wide-eyed, clinging to every word he spoke.

"I'll even learn to make the perfect coffee for you," he added with a small, dreamy smile. The vulnerability in his voice tugged painfully at your heart, and your eyes blurred with unshed tears.

"No, stop," you cried, unable to take any of this. What if tomorrow comes, and it will all shatter?

"But… it's the truth, doll. I love you, and I never felt anything like this in my long, painful existence," he said with conviction, wrapping your heart with more of his words.

You shook your head, unable to control your emotions, your tears flowing furiously.

"I'm sorry…I didn't want to make you cry," he soothed, wiping away your angry, helpless tears. His eyes blurred, sighing heavily, exhausted.

"Give me a chance, sweetheart, and I will prove to you how perfect we are."

You were only human, and when a man you had feelings for confessed to you, you couldn't help but break down before him. He gathered you in his arms, pulling you into his lap effortlessly, securely, and held you as you cried into his shoulder.

You didn't dare hug him back; you couldn't because you were scared to hope. Your arms stayed beside you as he soothed you so gently.

No. NO. Don't you dare believe all this? He was not really in his senses right now. What he drank was not even like human alcohol. Maybe it made you see things you didn't want to or say things you didn't intend to.

"You're sleeping this off." You muttered, clambering out of his hold. You cleared your throat, and composed yourself, "We'll talk about this later."

Steve nodded, a frown marring his perfect face. He managed to stand up and got onto your couch with little guidance. He flopped face-first onto it, legs hanging outside, mumbling incoherent words into the cushion.

You stared at the giant man, reeling from the shock of his confession. You stood there for a long moment, bewildered. Gathering some strength, you went to your bedroom and brought the blanket for him. You flung it over him carefully, tucking the blanket.

Eyes shut, Steve reached for your hand and gently grasped your shivering palm into his fist. You awkwardly crouched over him and tried to pull away, but he stubbornly held on. You saw the faint smile on his smushed face on the pillow. Sighing, you settled on the floor before the couch, letting him hold you and consume your thoughts.

"'S nice." He mumbled, getting comfortable and drifted off to sleep, his breathing slow and steady.

You freed your palm from his grip after almost an hour. You picked up the water bottle on the floor and downed it whole. You could use some mead right about now. Maybe not Asgardian, perhaps the human version.

A wave of shock coursed through you as the whole thing came rushing to you. Emotions still running high, you collapsed onto the chair beside the couch.

You felt happiness bubbling in your chest, thrashing in waves as your mind processed. You thought he was just being a good friend, but could you hope; hope that what he said was all true? If you were being honest, you knew how you felt. He was everything you ever wanted. Could you love him wholly? Captain America…Grant…Steve?

You had been trying so damn hard to make sense of your feelings, hoping, praying, that they would become a simple celebrity crush after he revealed he was Captain America. Denying the feelings was easier to save yourself from heartbreak, but now he throws this whole thing at you.

Maybe it was your fault. When he pushed that note underneath your door the first time, you should have knocked on his door instead of grinning like a fool and weaving into starting the whole note-sharing.

You looked at his sleepy form, his lips slightly parted as he slept peacefully, completely erasing peace from your life. You wanted to smack his stupidly perfect face.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you adjusted the blanket over him, which slipped off when he moved around.

"I'll be here in the morning," you whispered softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

And for the first time that night, when you laid your head on the pillow, as chaotic as it was, you allowed yourself to hope.

Steve woke up with a pounding headache. He hadn't been this drunk in a lifetime. It took him a few minutes to open his eyes, and he groaned in pain, sitting up on the soft couch. Not just soft, it smelled like you, soothing his senses a bit. Why did it smell like you in his apartment? Why did he smell like you? He wondered, dazed, and then he looked at the blanket.

He frantically looked around, confused, and the memories of the previous night came thrashing, jumbled.

Steve winced in disdain as he remembered the guy, the mead. Then…

"Son of a bitch," he paled as things shuffled in his head from last night, he confessed to you, and a small memory vividly stood out in his mind: "We'll talk about this later." You said with a tear-stricken face.

Shit. What had he done? He'd ruined it. Didn't he? Of course, she doesn't feel the same, he thought bitterly. Why can't he seem to understand the definition of patience with you?

His gut twisted with guilt, embarrassment, and anger at himself, at his lack of control. You were asleep in your room. He hastily got up, held the blanket close to him one last time, and left before you could see him.

The frustration of it all formed a storm in his chest.

When you woke up, Steve was long gone, and all you found was a perfectly folded blanket and a note:

Thank you for letting me stay. I'll see you around. – Steve.

And your heart did break reading the note. Of course, he didn't mean what he said. It was just the mead talking. You felt stupid for hoping.

For the first time ever, you despised the weekend. You couldn't simply face him or his presence, even if it was separated by a wall.

So, you did the only thing you could think of, get out and stay out as long as possible. You roamed through the city, weaving in and out of touristy spots, hoping for the noise of the crowd to temporarily drown out the tumultuous thoughts.

You checked your phone now and then, half-expecting it to ping with a message from Steve. Maybe he had an important mission or something that needed his attention, which would delay the inevitable conversation.

But the phone remained silent. No text. No call.

You wandered through the streets, walking aimlessly, letting the hum of the city distract you from the ache inside. But eventually, the noise inside you won, and the crowd wasn't helping you anymore.

When you finally parked your car in front of the building at 12:30 am, to your utter shock, you found Steve trudging up the steps to the apartment entrance. His body was stiff, and you could see the bruises and the blood. Your gaze caught his, and your eyes widened in shock. He seemed to not expect to see you.

And he was hurt badly. Shit. He was really on a mission.

"Steve?" you called, hurrying out of your car, forgetting about the whole ordeal while all you could think about was him being hurt. You briskly crossed the small road, calling out his name, but he didn't stop walking.

"Steve, wait!"

But hurt Steve Rogers was faster than you as you saw the elevator display show 5 by the time you reached the elevator doors.

"Why the hell are these so fast?" You muttered, the irony of your statement not lost on you. Just a few days ago, you cursed the same elevator for being too slow. You pressed the button again and again and again, annoyed at the elevator and him.

Once you reached your floor, you didn't hesitate to march to his apartment, heart pounding. You didn't know if it was frustration, concern, or a mix that fueled your actions.

You were just living your simple life before he decided to wreck it. You were doing just fine, dealing with your affection for him before he confessed.

His face was a blend of exhaustion and irritation when he opened the door after your incessant knocking.

He stood in his white undershirt, bloodied and bruised, and your heart tugged with concern.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice clipped.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. "I…what? You're hurt, for one. Why the hell are you not at the hospital?"

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I'm fine." Then, in a quiet voice, he whispered, "Why do you care, neighbor?" His petulance was gnawing at your nerves, irking you and the question struck you harder than you expected, and your breath hitched.

"Steve," you said, your voice barely audible. "You are hurt." You stared at him, bewildered and angry.

He was hurt. How could he expect you not to?

Something shifted in his expression, exhaustion, maybe. Whatever it was, it broke the dam between you, and the words you'd been waiting to say spilled out.

"What is wrong with you?" you snapped, throwing your hands up.

Fuck him and his attitude.

"You come to my apartment, drunk on some stupid mead, confess your feelings, leave me with a cryptic note, and then fucking vanish for the whole day! Do you not remember anything, neighbor?"

Steve's brows furrowed his expression hard. "Of course, I remember," he shot back. "I poured my damn heart out, made you cry, and it…it hurts."

The sheer audacity made your jaw drop. Your breath hitched. What? Your frown deepened, and the anger consumed you more.

Pointing a finger at him, "Hurts?” Your voice rose, incredulous. "Captain Rogers, you were drunk off your ass! You scared both my friends half to death, confessed out of nowhere, and then you expect me to what? Tell you how much I love you? I waited, Steve! I waited for you to come to your senses so we could talk like fucking adults!" you gritted the words out, feeling satisfied to throw it all on his face.

He stared at you, his confusion palpable, but his tone stayed defensive. "Wait a second! You were the one who said, 'We'll talk later,' like it didn't mean a damn thing!"

"That's because you were fucking out of it, slurring your words!" you yelled back, your face heating, neck straining to have to look up.

The two of you stood there, breathless, glaring at each other until realization struck Steve like a bolt. His posture stiffened, his blue eyes widening as if seeing the entire situation in a new light.

"Hold on a damn second," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice quieter but no less intense. "You don't hate me?"

"What?" you exclaimed, exasperation lacing your voice. "Where did you even get that from? And, why else would I be here, chasing you down after you practically ghosted me if I hated your dumbass?"

"And... you just said you…" His words faltered as his gaze locked onto yours.

The silence fell between you. You blinked, realization hitting you with equal force.

I poured my heart to you, and you dismissed me! Steve's words came like lightning.

"Oh, God," you murmured, your face flaming. "So, you do umm...whatever you said, you meant it?" You asked.

Steve froze, his eyes wide, but then his face softened into the most breathtaking grin you'd ever seen.

The tension broke like a snapped string, and Steve let out a low, almost disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. "I thought you didn't feel the same," he muttered, his voice thick.

You stared at him, the sheer misunderstanding making you want to scream. "And I thought you regretted it!"

He stepped closer, "The only thing I regret," he murmured, his eyes burning into yours, "Is touching that damn Asgardian mead. I swear I'm never going near that stuff again."

A soft laugh bubbled out of you without volition. He wrapped an arm around your waist, hissing, and your focus shifted to his bruises. "Steve…" you sighed, heart racing while you felt a huge weight lift off of you.

His lips curved into a soft, tender smile as he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours, careful to avoid the gash on the left side of his face. His voice was low, filled with warmth. "For the record, I don't remember everything I said to you last night, but drunk or not... I love you."

Your breath hitched, but your hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt. "Damnit, Steve!" you grumbled softly, affectionately, tears blurring your eyes.

His grin turned boyish as he pulled you into his living room before shutting the door just as the distant sound of Mrs. Reindell's door squeaked open.

Before he could take another step towards you, you pointed to the couch with a stern look. "We'll talk, but first, sit there. You're bleeding."

Steve raised a brow at your tone, his lips twitching in amusement, but he complied, sinking onto the couch. You noticed the tension on his shoulders and how his body sagged as if he was barely holding himself together.

"Where's your first aid kit?" you asked, scanning the room.

"I'll get it," he offered, starting to rise.

"Oh, no, you don't," you interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down. "Sit your ass down and stay. Now tell me where it is."

He chuckled lowly, clearly enjoying your bossiness far too much. "Third shelf, left side, linen closet."

You gave him one more warning look before heading down the hall. His apartment was neat. Too neat. Everything had its place, down to the neatly folded towels in the linen closet. You grabbed the first aid kit and returned, noticing Steve watching you with an amused expression.

"What's so funny?" you asked, settling on the coffee table and setting the kit beside you. "Nothing," he said, leaning back against the couch, that maddening little smile still in place.

You chuckled, pulling out antiseptic wipes and gauze. "Take your shirt off. I need to see the damage." Steve didn't say a word except for the slight tilt of his lips. You froze for half a second before narrowing your eyes.

He grinned but obeyed, pulling his shirt over his head with ease. As much as you'd steeled yourself, the sight of him shirtless hit you like a truck. Muscles corded his chest and arms, marred only by the bruises and scrapes from wherever he got those from. You bit your lip without thinking, but when his gaze flicked to your face, you quickly composed yourself, focusing on the task.

Steve was enjoying this far too much.

"What happened?" You started cleaning the wound on his chest, and then the gash on his face, your touch gentle.

He tilted his head to give you better access, his lips quirking into a soft smile. "Hazard of the job."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't care for yourself. Why are you not at the hospital? Does your insurance not cover tomfoolery?" you muttered, moving to inspect his arms.

"Smartass," Steve chuckled, shaking his head. You giggled.

"You're really not denying the lack of tomfoolery then?" You pointed, your fingers brushed over the bruises as you worked, but just as you went to recheck one of the wounds you'd cleaned, you realized it was already healing.

You blinked, looking up at him in surprise. Steve shrugged, his smile turning a little sheepish. "Serum."

You frowned, "That doesn't discount you for not taking care of yourself, Steve," you retorted, shaking your head.

"Is it hurting anywhere else?" you asked, your eyes scanning him for more injuries. It was both strange and fascinating to watch the cuts and bruises fade before your eyes, his enhanced healing working its magic. Steve shook his head, silently watching with that intense look.

You packed up the first aid kit and stood to return it to its place, and Steve followed close behind you, his presence warm and steady.

You paused, your hand resting on the linen closet door as you put away the kit.

When you turned, he stood so close, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes burned you, waiting. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with tension.

"I do love you if that didn't register in your super soldier brain," you said with a small smile.

Steve looked away, shaking his head. "You drive me crazy," he rasped, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. His bare chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. He shut his eyes, and the way his jaw ticked told you he was restraining.

Your own heart picked up.

When his eyes finally met yours, their heat was enough to steal the air from your lungs. It wasn't just a look; it was seeking permission and a promise, and you realized you'd gladly surrender to him.

He closed the distance in a single stride, crowding you against the wall beside the closet door. The solid surface met your back as his left hand planted firmly above your head.

He leaned in, his movements deliberate and intense, the tip of his nose grazing the side of your cheek. The contact was featherlight, but it sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you trembling beneath him. Your face and ears heated up, and you were sure you were blushing.

His rich and warm scent enveloped you, anchoring you to the moment simultaneously unraveling your composure.

Steve moved his right hand, his thumb traced your chin, and your lips parted, eyes closing shut. His palm cradled your jaw whole with a tenderness that contrasted with the sheer intensity radiating from him.

"You're so gorgeous, doll," he murmured, the words laced with such honesty you could cry.

Your breath hitched as your eyes met his darkened blues, turbulent and reverent. The weight of his gaze held you captive, your heart pounding in your chest.

Instinctively, you reached out, your hand hovering over the expanse of his chest, avoiding the gradually healing bruises. The heat of his skin radiated against your fingertips, the light dusting of chest hair teasing the expanse of your palm.

He caught your wrist in his larger hand, his grip firm yet gentle. The sheer size of his palm dwarfed your entire forearm, his thumb brushing slow circles over the delicate skin of your wrist, drawing a whimper from you. Then, carefully, he guided your hand to rest fully against his chest, pressing it over his heart.

"Feel that?" he whispered, his voice low and rough, placing a butterfly kiss on your forehead, before tilting his head to rest his forehead against yours. Underneath the warmth of his muscular chest, his heartbeat thundered beneath your palm, erratic and unguarded.

"You do that to me." He murmured, his lips hovered so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath, his words stirring the air between you. Your mouth went dry, and you licked your lips, and his gaze moved to them.

His nose flared as he mimicked you, licking his own lips. Before you could lean in, he was moving. His lips touched yours gently first, and he let out a groan, fueling you with such intensity, burning you with a simple touch.

You really did that to him. That thought unraveled you, and you eagerly moved onto your tiptoes, hands finding purchase in his soft blonde locks. His hands moved to the side of your waist, and he pulled you closer and straightened up, lifting you off the ground, holding you by his one arm wrapped around your waist, and he ran the other hand down the back of your thigh, and you wound your legs around him. Your body pressed into his delectably.

He took your mouth into another kiss, a low rumble reverberating from his chest as he pinned you to the wall, one arm carding through your hair as he held you firm.

"You taste so good," he murmured, breaking the kiss momentarily before kissing you again passionately. Steve's tactile pants couldn't hide his arousal as he hardened against your stomach.

Your pussy fluttered, and you moaned into his mouth, breathless and completely needy, addicted to everything that was him.

The way he nipped your lips and pushed his tongue against you felt unreal. You never had a kiss that good. Never.

Steve pulled apart slightly, allowing you both to breathe. His breath came out in spurts, heating up your skin, and you searched his gaze expectantly, the hazy and happy grin on his face etched in your core memory.

"Steve," you whispered, rubbing your thumb against his lower lip, and he shivered.

"Not done with you," he rasped, his hand lifting you up to keep you at the level to his mouth and he kissed you with more vigor and fuck, you were completely drenched.

You both parted from the kiss again, breathless, and he leaned into your neck, nipping the skin at your throat and your head fell back, arching, giving him access while your legs tightened around him. Steve placed a few wet kisses along the expanse of your neck before adjusting you in his arms, his one hand winding around your back and rubbing the side of your boob while his other hand moved to hold your ass as he squeezed it tightly, surprising you, and you felt his hardness against your clothed pussy.

"Holy shit!" Your cry synced with his loud grunt when he rocked against you. His forehead rested against yours, "Eyes on me," he demanded, and you obeyed.

"Will you let me love you? Every inch of you?" He asked softly, reverently, and when you nodded, reciprocating with a roll of your hips, his jaw clenched, teeth gritting as he thrust against you with a bit more force, and you were reaching your high. Oh, god!

"Words, please," it was really funny how he could be sweet and sinful all at once. "Yes…but don't fucking stop, Steve, I'm so close," you confessed unashamed, unbothered, breath hitching as he rocked you onto him. Your pussy clenched around nothing, and the friction felt just perfect.

"That mouth," he chuckled darkly, lowering his head into the crook of your neck as he nipped your skin. You moaned.

Steve moved up, looking at you for a beat long when he thrusted with a bit more force and saw your lips part, letting out a breathless cry. He groaned, taking your lower lip between his lips and sucking on it gently, and his grip around your ass tightened as he rolled his hips. You felt the heat of his touch, and the pleasure consumed you all at once. You cried out loudly, body arching as you gripped his shoulders.

Steve didn't slow down, though, "God, your smell…" He grunted and sped up, thrusting incessantly. His hands grazed your hardened nipples over your bra and squeezed. Your pussy clenched at the new sensation he was evoking while still dry-humping against you. Not so dry because you were sure you were soaking through your leggings.

His hand moved to cup your ass again, squeezing tightly, and you shivered, succumbing to another orgasm, falling into his arms, whispering, crying his name.

"Fucking perfect…" he cursed, breath hitched as he nipped your jaw and moved to ear. "I love you," he whispered, placing a kiss on your earlobe, his sharp nose caressing down your neck, his mouth placing kisses down the path, and you trembled in his arms.

His hand moved to your tit, and he squeezed gently at first, and when you moaned lewdly, he palmed it with a bit more pressure, repeating the same on the other one.

You had no idea when he carried you to the bedroom and placed you gently on the neatly made bed, and you leaned on your elbows, moving back to make space for him on the Queen bed. He switched on the table lamp by the bed, and that was when you saw the dark blue mark on the lower part of his back that you had missed earlier.

"Steve," you called out in concern. Shit! What were you doing? He was hurt and still healing.

"Wait…" you started, unable to formulate a bloody sentence because you were fucking buzzed from the orgasmic high, and Steve stiffened, his muscles clenched visibly as he turned to you, looking worried.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked you in a soft, concerned voice.

"No…" you smacked yourself. "No…no…no…that was absolutely best," you chuckled. Steve relaxed his stance, moving closer.

Your gaze dropped to his body. "You're hurt, we should…maybe stop… some medicine…" you were cut off. Steve quickly climbed onto the bed, straddling your thighs and taking your lips into another deep, languid kiss, consuming your doubts and thoughts. You let yourself fall back on the mattress, letting your weight settle completely.

Steve broke the kiss to murmur against your lips, "Right now, I need you more than anything else. My bruises will heal soon, I promise," he whispered, leaning down to kiss you again tenderly, and your idea to wait it out evaporated from your brain when his heated kisses sizzled your skin.

"Can I remove these?" he asked, nuzzling your throat, his fingers dipped on the side of your pants just at your hip bone. Steve's touch felt hot on your skin, and not enough; they were so close to your pussy.

"Please," you begged, and you helped him remove your pants along with your panties. And when he dragged them down, you removed your shirt.

When you moved to remove your bra, his hands stopped you, and he turned you onto your stomach before pressing his palm on your back, "So soft," he whispered, moving forward to place a tiny kiss on your shoulder and trying to undo the clasp, but he wasn't able to get it out.

When you looked over your shoulder, watching him struggle, you giggled. The dexterous Captain America was struggling with a bra strap. He rolled his eyes and plucked it again. It tore away to your utter shock, "Sorry," he said, removing the bra and simultaneously turning you onto your back.

"Are you, though?" you asked shyly as he pulled your bra completely,

leaving you completely naked for him. The coolness of the room suddenly hits you, sending goosebumps all over your body. Your nipples hardened even more.

Steve sat back on his knees, straddling your thighs, and he let out a groan lazily, watching every inch of your skin.

"No, I'm not, far from it," he winked, dazed in lustful haze.

Steve splayed his large palm on your upper left thigh and squeezed it, making you clench in need.

"So pretty, like a painting," he whispered, taking your hand and kissing the inside of your palm, and you whimpered as his fingers caressed your wet folds. His thumb circled the nub. "Steve," you cried.

"Yes?" He asked, looking up at you, so fucking innocently, searching.

"Stop teasing," you moaned, earning a whimper from him when your own hand reached down to caress him over his pants. Steve let out a growl, moaning loudly, his head thrown back as he cupped your pussy firmly, and your grip on him tightened involuntarily, and you moaned in delight, your legs wiggling. You moved to sit, effectively pushing him slightly.

"You're overdressed," you said urgently, needy hands moving to his pants.

"Am I?" he chuckled, voice raspy, he moved to hold your tit, squeezing your waist and you moaned.

Steve moved to take your lips in a searing kiss. Quickly moving into a plank position, he efficiently removed his pants without breaking the kiss, discarding his pants with a single hand.

That was pussy flutteringly impressive.

You pulled apart from the kiss and dragged down his boxers, and Steve kicked them away and the sight of him completely naked made you moan, and you trembled beneath him; his sheer strength made you gasp.

Fucking Adonis!

Steve looked at you, expectant and unsure.

"You're so beautiful," you told him in awe, eyes trailing the length of him. He grinned at you happily.

You wanted to touch him, taste him, take him in your mouth, feel him fall apart.

He was girthy, long and beautiful. "Can I?" you asked, and he nodded, slightly shy at the first touch, "Son of a bitch," he cursed falling over you. He quickly steadied himself. Your small hand wrapped near the tip as you pumped, smearing his precum and rubbing it along, and he groaned into your shoulder, sinking his teeth into your skin, not too hard but enough to leave your mind screaming in pleasure.

When you gestured your intentions of getting on your knees, Steve understood, but he shook his head and whispered against your mouth, "Later. I need to feel you, please," he gritted out, and you nodded but didn't stop rubbing him. Steve, however, moved your hand, bringing it back, still holding himself in that plank position.

Fuck, he was so strong. He moved around lithely.

You simply were incapable of saying a word when he rubbed his fingers so delightfully over your folds, evoking pleasure. He pulled your other hand, clutching at the sheet desperately entwined his large fingers with yours, and held it beside your head. He pushed a finger gently, and you cried, voice hitching as he slowly pushed it to his second knuckle. He pumped it inside you, and when you begged him to fill you up, Steve growled.

"So beautiful," he groaned, placing a kiss on your cleavage before kissing the swell of your left boob before he sucked on it.

You waited impatiently as he lined up at your entrance. Steve stilled, though, looking at you with concern. "What's wrong?" you asked. Steve leaned against your forehead, sighing heavily, jaw slightly clenching. "I do not have any protection," he said. It took you a hot moment. Right! Condom.

"Steve…umm… I'm clean, on birth control…if that…I haven't been with anyone in a while if that's…" you felt absolutely stupid blabbering. Quickly composing, you took a deep breath, not focusing on his bare cock against your pussy. You looked up at him, "We don't need to do this now…" but Steve frowned, cutting you off and claiming your lips in a quick kiss.

"No, that's not what I want. If you are okay, I don't mind. I'll pull it out, I promise. I…I haven't been with anyone. My medical is all clear, too," Steve added, his cheeks flushed a little more.

You smiled, nodding, looking up at him.

"Stop me if it's too much," his soft command registered through the haze of desire when he slotted himself at the entrance, pushing the tip inside. Your body went rigid at the feel.

"FUCKING HELL," he yelled, clutching the pillow in a death grip. "You okay?" he managed to say, breathless, the unruly lock of hair falling onto his forehead, making him even more perfect. You nodded, trying to breathe.

"Move…" you mouthed inaudibly, and he pushed a little more. You moved your hands to his pert ass, encouraging him to push in more because, dear god, you were incapable of getting a word out of your mouth.

Thankfully, he was reading every tiny expression on your face, and he rocked a couple of times before fully thrusting inside. He stilled, mouth parted, head thrown back, his eyes shut tightly for a second before he let out a loud groan. Your own eyes pinched close. The sudden intrusion and his mere size felt slightly uncomfortable and overwhelming.

"Too much?" he managed to ask you despite looking like he could rail you onto the mattress. He stilled, waiting.

You took a few steady breaths. "Move," you whispered, and he rocked experimentally a couple of times. And the unease of being so full faded as you clenched around him needily. The pleasant ache in your belly burgeoned, spiraling, building to thrash you into an all-consuming orgasm.

Your head thrashed onto the pillow as you arched, hands moving carefully to clutch his shoulders, avoiding the bruises.

"Sweetheart, can you look at me," he rasped, and your heart tugged at his plea. You mustered your courage and opened your eyes, which were ready to roll into the back of your head. His face contorted in pleasure as his thrusts turned languid, and he leaned down, moving close to your lips.

"Such a good girl," he said, making your breath hitch and your pussy clenched around him tightly. "Nngh fuck," he chuckled.

"Steve," you moaned, winding your hands around him as you pulled him closer. When he searched your eyes with concern, you bit your lip when he stilled.

"I can take it, Captain. You don't have to worry. I'll stop if it's too much. Okay?" you managed to say between heavy breaths. His jaw clenched, his hands moved to the back of your right thigh, tapping, and you wound your legs around him, the angle making you both moan loudly. You tried to twist your foot away from the bruise you remembered on his lower back.

Steve seemed to realize your plight. "Shit, doll, don't worry, just…hold on tight," he grunted, and you did. He moved your wrists above onto the pillow and held them there with his right hand while his left hand moved to fondle your tits.

You moaned when he rolled his hips into you, and he didn't hold back, rutting into you with such force that if he wasn't holding you down, you would have moved up and off the bed.

"Steve…fuck…fuck…," his every thrust hit the spot that had you seeing stars. When he moved his hand away from the tit to your lips, you captured his thumb in your mouth, rolling your tongue and sucking on it, moaning. Steve's breath hitched; his hand tightened on your wrists while he fucked you into the mattress.

The pleasure built inside your tummy, and your lips parted. He moved his finger out of your mouth, and you cried at the sensation.

"Yes, fuck, you're squeezing me so good," he gasped, and your orgasm overtook every fucking sense in your body. Steve's hips stuttered against your hips, and when you looked at him and smiled giddily, he grinned, sitting up on the bed straight and carrying you up with him. You sat in his lap with him still nestled inside you so delectably. The new angle had you clenching on him tightly.

His hands moved to clutch your neck, and he pivoted you closer as he claimed your mouth for another kiss. It was sloppy, rough, and you fucking loved it. You tried to move on his dick, and he moaned into your mouth.

"Perfect for me," he sighed greedily, pulling you in for another kiss and thrusting up into you, and you squealed as he hit your cervix deeper. He stilled, checking on you. "All good," you managed to squeak, and he nodded, thrusting up.

"Fuck fuck fuck… don't stop," you chanted as you felt yourself careen and your orgasm consumed you. His veiny cock dipped into you just right as he moaned lewdly into your ear, not stopping his movement. Steve waited till he saw you blink at him, and just as you came down from your high, he pushed you onto your back, folding your legs at the knees, and pushed them close to your chest and rocked into you. You watched in awe as he flushed red, a sheen of sweat covering his brow, and his beautiful gaze held yours.

"I'm…"

"Let go," you nodded, and his biceps flexed, and he growled your name loudly before he came.

Fuck, that's a lot of cum. Probably a super soldier thing, you thought, moaning in delight as you felt the delicious friction of his cock splaying his cum on your pussy.

He huffed, breathing heavily, his eyes closed, a small smile playing on his lips as he leaned down and placed an open-mouthed kiss, his breath heavy on your mouth. When he came down from his high, he rested his forehead against yours.

"Are you okay?" he asked, blue eyes searching yours, his voice softer, raspier.

You chuckled, the sound light and full of warmth. "Okay is an understatement," you said, grinning.

His lips curved into a smug smile as he kissed your forehead softly.

"And you?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

"I feel like…" He sighed happily, placing a lingering kiss on your neck. "I've died and gone to heaven," he murmured, then laughed softly, falling onto his back, and pulled you onto him, not bothered by the mess you were both making.

"I love you," he said against your lips, his voice low and reverent.

"I love you," you whispered, the words carrying all the affection you felt for him. He chuckled, his chest vibrating against yours, before capturing your lips in another kiss.

Much later, you both lay cuddled after he helped you clean up. Steve put you in his t-shirt while he was in his boxers. He was still hard as a rock, and you had tried to help him out, but he shook his head, saying he needed to hold you close first, and you needed some rest. As the room grew quieter, he spoke softly. "You know, I was so worried I would mess it up."

"Mess it up?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

"With you… um, sex…" he said, his voice uncertain.

"Sex?" you repeated, resting your chin upon his bare chest. The lights were off, casting the room into a beautiful cozy ambience.

He looked at you, his arms instinctively pulling you closer. "I… I've never done that before…" he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

"Sex?" you repeated, sitting up slightly and propping yourself on his chest to look at him. Your brows shot up in surprise, the faint glow of the streetlights illuminating your wide-eyed expression. "Wait, that was your first time?"

He gave you a sheepish shrug. "Uh… yeah," he said, avoiding your gaze.

"As in, after thawing?" you asked curiously. He snorted, clearing his throat and throwing you a deadpan look.

"Oh, god, like ever?" Your stunned squeak came out garbled. "Doll," he groaned, smushing his face in the crook of your neck.

You blinked, processing his words before a smile tugged at your lips.

"Hold on." You gestured dramatically but were not able to say anything.

You couldn't hold back the giggle bubbling up in your chest.

"Oh my God, it's an honor to serve under you, Captain!" you teased, your grin downright wicked now.

"Hey!" he cut you off, his hands flying to your waist as he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. The sudden movement made you squeal, laughter spilling out of you.

"Keep laughing, and I'll show you just how much of a quick learner I am and am bloody efficient," he said, his voice low and playful, the heat in his eyes making your laughter catch in your throat.

Your giggles subsided into breathless chuckles as you reached up to trace his jawline. "I'm not laughing at you," you said softly, though the smile on your lips remained. "I'm just… shocked. I mean, that was incredible. You were incredible."

He relaxed at your words, leaning down to nuzzle your neck. "I was worried…"

"Oh, I noticed," you teased lightly, earning a groan from him. "But honestly? That just makes it even sweeter. And kind of… hot," you admitted, your voice dropping to a whisper.

"Yeah?" he asked, his lips brushing your collarbone now.

"Yeah," you replied, threading your fingers through his hair. "But, uh, just to clarify…" You smirked. "You're not planning on being a one-hit wonder, are you?"

The laughter that rumbled out of him was low and infectious as he leaned back to look at you, his blue eyes sparkling warmly. "My darling Fiore," he murmured, his voice dripping with mischief. "I can do this all day."

There there...HIS FIORE IS DONE! YAYYY!

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fear-is-truth · 7 months ago

Text

𝜗ϱ fiancé! + husband! 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 hc

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw headcanons﹒violent fantasies﹒infidelity

a/n: i would like to thank anon for requesting this and credit to dear bow anon for helping out !!

one night, as you both rode in a cab on the way to dinner, patrick takes off his walkman and suddenly asked, “have you ever thought about getting married?” his tone was casual, but his body language betrayed his tension—the tightening of his grip on his leather gloves, the unnecessary way he adjusted his tie. when you turned to him, surprised, he waved it off almost immediately. for the rest of the ride, he ignored you, listening to his walkman.

full fic : the perfect girl

weeks later, the topic re-emerged. it was a quiet morning after sex—patrick lay beside you in his perfectly starched egyptian sheets, sunlight streaming in through the windows. “would you ever consider marrying me?” he asked abruptly. the question startled you—again. you blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard correctly. “marry you?” patrick shifted slightly, propping himself up on an elbow. his face was unreadable, though his jaw tightened slightly. “yes. i’d assume it’s a reasonable consideration,” he said, as though the idea had been entirely logical. your heart fluttered despite the lack of romance in his delivery. “yes, patrick,” you said after a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i would.”

full fic : patrick’s proposal

patrick wasted no time. the next day, he presented you with a ring: an 18k rose gold cartier panthère ring, encrusted with diamond accents.

smutty drabble: jerking him off

pre-nuptial agreements (obviously)

meticulously plans every detail of your engagement and future wedding. the venue must be the right blend of modern elegance and exclusivity, the guest list is capped at “only the most important people,” and the floral arrangements must feature imported orchids flown in from singapore. no compromises.

scrutinized every decision down to the smallest detail: the font on the invitations (garamond, elegant but understated), the centerpiece arrangements (white roses only, no filler flowers), and champagne (dom pérignon, chilled to exactly 45 degrees).

patrick donned a pair of ray-ban wayfarers as the two of you arrived at the reception venue (the pierre hotel), stepping out of the rolls-royce.

your wedding dress was custom-designed at dior’s paris atelier. it was a minimalist masterpiece: a structured bodice with a square neckline, flowing into a clean, floor-length skirt with a cathedral-length train. the fabric was italian silk-mikado with a soft sheen, the epitome of elegance. no lace, no unnecessary frills—patrick deemed them “garish.” the veil was long and simple, edged with the thinnest line of swarovski crystals for just a hint of sparkle.

patrick wore a bespoke zegna tuxedo, black with peak lapels, tailored to absolute perfection. the cuffs of his shirt bore subtle platinum cufflinks engraved with your initials and the wedding date. he spent an obscene amount of time choosing the exact shade of black for the tie.

patrick stole quick glances at you, a flicker of irritation shadowing his eyes at the slight asymmetry of your smile. he stewed in his own perfectionist hell, a seething internal monologue growing increasingly deranged.

the bridal portraits was complete nightmare. after making the photographer redo them six damn times—he still found fault. he had scrutinised the angle of your neck, the curve of your jaw, the flicker of light in your eyes. in his eyes, the photos should’ve been magazine-perfect. anything less was sacrilege!

his vows were an unsettling, almost surreal monologue. a strange, disjointed stream of poetic nihilism, peppered with bizarrely intellectual references. sprinkled in lines from fromm’s the art of loving, twisting them into cryptic confessions that left everyone unsure whether he was being sincere or just… pretentious patrick.

the reception unfolded in an impossibly sleek manhattan venue. a cavernous, glass-walled space filled with patrick’s circle of high-powered cronies, along with stick-thin models who seemed more at ease snorting cocaine in dark corners than nibbling on the overpriced amuse-bouches.

the waitstaff darted around the room, terrified to stumble into discussions about stock portfolios, yacht repairs, or debates over which luxury rehab center had the best cold-press juice cleanse. conversations were a mix of shallow ambition and transactional networking.

the dining experience was an exercise in culinary pretension. dry-aged wagyu steaks with precise marbling, delicate beluga caviar that was more a statement of wealth than taste, and desserts that were too decadent (and high in calories) to exist. everything was paired with wine that cost more than most people’s annual mortgage.

the cake was a towering six-tier masterpiece from sylvia weinstock, adorned with sugar flowers so intricate they looked real. each layer featured a different flavour, from vanilla-bean sponge to passionfruit mousse.

only dom pérignon vintage 1985 was served—patrick had insisted on it. the bottles were presented on silver trays by impeccably dressed waitstaff, with glasses refilled before guests could even think about asking. patrick spent weeks debating between this and krug clos du mesnil but ultimately decided the former “sent the right message.”

during the ceremony, patrick’s bored mind slipped into violent fantasies. he imagined choking out the priest with his necktie and chopping up his groomsmen like sashimi.

despite being invited out of obligation, evelyn didn’t show. patrick hadn’t mentioned her absence until much later, casually remarking, “it was better this way.” he didn’t dwell on her, but jane—his secretary and a guest at the wedding—looked quietly heartbroken for some reason.

dancing was beneath patrick. instead, he lingered by the bar, a martini glass filled with a pristine, artful concoction he hadn’t ordered but took anyway because it fit perfectly in his hand. he’d observed the guests, mentally doing fit checks.

after the night wound down, patrick would lie naked in your hotel suite, staring at the ceiling with an unsettling stillness. his jaw clenched as his thoughts spiraled. not about the wedding itself—that was a calculated performance he’d mastered. no, he was questioning the tie. the damn zegna tie. why hadn’t he gone with the brioni?

insists you accompany him to every social gathering, but not because he wants your company. you’re his accessory, his proof of a successful relationship. he spends the evening flaunting you on his arm, introducing you to people who matter to him (read: people whose opinions validate him), and correcting your behavior if he deems it less than perfect.

his morning routine is sacred, and by extension, you’re expected to have one too. patrick buys you a shelf’s worth of high-end skincare products and insists you use them exactly as prescribed.

takes immense interest in your wardrobe. if something looks even remotely outdated or “cheap,” he’ll whisk you through fifth avenue, steering you toward hermès or dior

has a habit of buying you extravagant gifts after every argument—designer bags, clothes and jewelry. “i thought this might cheer you up,” he says, like he didn’t just shatter your nerves an hour earlier.

morning sex is first thing when you both wake up, right before his meticulously scheduled workout—his body at its peak energy. once finished, he’d kiss your forehead and disappear into the bathroom for his grooming routine.

insists on watching the patty winters show and sit you both in front of the television. you often have no choice but to endure his running commentary.

patrick has a love-hate relationship with grocery shopping. he claims it’s beneath him, but when he goes, he micromanages the process to an extreme degree—reading labels, debating brands, and spending 20 minutes in the imported cheese aisle.

your wedding photos are framed in the living room, carefully arranged in a symmetrical layout. patrick often stares at them as he works out.

his idea of romance sometimes verged on the grotesque. one evening, he decided the two of you should watch the texas chainsaw massacre together. he ends up fucking you into the couch as he enjoys the music.

not the type to be overly vulnerable, but in the privacy of your bedroom, he’d occasionally let down his guard. pillow talk with patrick is a mix of unnervingly sharp observations and random musings. he’ll ramble about the fisher account, dissect music lyrics in great detail, or comment on global events with an eerie detachment.

occasionally, he’d break the stream of words with a sudden, “you’re listening, aren’t you?”

patrick hates surprises—unless they’re from him. when your coworkers once threw you a small birthday party, he was visibly irritated the entire evening. “it was tacky,” he said flatly on the drive home. “you deserve better.”

he got you reservations at dorsia, a perfectly chosen gift (think chanel jewelry or a bvlgari clutch), and a bouquet of flowers with handwritten note that’s short, formal, and oddly impersonal: “to another year of excellence—patrick.”

patrick rarely laughs, but when he does, it’s usually at something dark or absurd. once, you tripped over a stack of magazines he left by the couch and groaned in pain. his response? a sharp, startled laugh, followed by an unconvincing, “…are you okay?”

he adores the opera—not so much for the art but for the prestige it carries. he’ll plan elaborate evenings at the metropolitan opera house, ensuring both of you were impeccably dressed. he wore a brioni tuxedo, while he’d insist on you wearing a custom-made gown from carolina herrera or oscar de la renta.

despite his outward sophistication, his attention drifted from the stage to you. hand resting lightly on your thigh, fingers tracing small circles through the fabric of your dress.

he’s absolutely neurotic about cleanliness. he’ll never leave a glass on the counter without a coaster and can’t stand an unmade bed.

hates clutter and will occasionally “edit” your belongings—quietly throwing out things he deems unnecessary, like old magazines or sentimental knickknacks, without consulting you.

micromanages household tasks. he critiques the way you load the dishwasher, fold laundry, or even stack the fridge. “this is inefficient,” he’ll say, rearranging items while you stand there, biting your tongue.

patrick has an affinity for the ritual of lighting cigars. he’ll let you hold the match for him occasionally, but only if you did it exactly right.

would only agree to a pet under duress, and even then, it would have to be something sleek and purebred. when you suggest something more practical, like a rescue, he’s visibly horrified.

when you finally get the pet, patrick is immediately jealous of the attention you give it. if the cat / dog sits on your lap during movie night, he’ll stare at it with naked dislike. “i don’t understand why you let it do that,”

patrick has an odd relationship with your pet. he’ll complain about it incessantly—“it sheds everywhere,” “it’s always underfoot”—but despite his constant bitching, you’ve caught him talking to the pet on more than one occasion. “she likes you more than me,” he mumbles bitterly. the pet tilts its head, oblivious, which irritates him further. after taking another sip of scotch, he nudges it away with his foot—not enough to hurt it in your presence.

but the true ugliness of patrick’s jealousy comes out when you’re not looking. he’ll straight up kick the poor thing or lock it out from your bedroom.

doesn’t officially cheat, but he indulges in frequent encounters with sex workers—usually in secluded, high-end hotels. these encounters, hidden from you, are his way of dealing with his violent fantasies.

afterwards, he comes back to you, his demeanor completely unaffected. he doesn’t apologize, doesn’t act like anything has changed—because, in his mind, it hasn’t. you’re still his. you always will be.

when he’s bored, he’ll ask you to try on outfits—sometimes just a simple dress, but mostly it’s something risqué. he watches you from the other side of the room with that detached gaze, silently critiquing your appearance. “it’s not quite right,” he’ll say, before giving you another outfit to try on like you’re his personal doll.

full fic : leather & lace

while patrick doesn’t outright admit his dependence on you, it’s clear in the small moments. if you’re gone for too long, he’ll call, his tone petulant as he demands your whereabouts, as though your absence disrupts his routine.

at age 27, patrick doesn’t yet feel the need to rush into parenthood, but there are times, especially while having sex, that he considers the possibility. it’s an idea that briefly excites him, but he quickly dismisses it with a wry smile, preferring the idea of you and him maintaining an image of “perfection” without the messiness of raising a child.

though you’ve never spoken about the future in concrete terms, patrick assumes you’ll always be by his side, forever wrapped in his controlling, perfectionist bubble. he doesn’t see any reason why you’d want to leave; after all, why would you when you have everything?

#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman fanfic #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x y/n #patrick bateman x you #american psycho #slasher smut #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher fanfic #christian bale #christian bale x reader #slasher fic #slasher fanfiction

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laclasseworld-blog · 2 days ago

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What is an apostille, and why is it required?

An apostille is a certificate that authenticates the origin of a public document. It is required for use in countries that are members of the Hague Convention. https://www.apostilleinindia.com/

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kelaeri · 9 months ago

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The Many Languages of Dick Grayson

Apparently, according to Nightwing #54, he can speak 12, so I went on a little quest to see just how many I could identify.

Starting off with The Essential Batman Encyclopedia, the entry for Dick Grayson lists him as being trained in French, Spanish, Russian, Japanese, Mandarin, and Cantonese with having some proficiency in an unknown Romani dialect. Given there are multiple examples of him speaking these languages throughout the comics, I am inclined to trust this claim. To start, we've got several examples of French (Gotham Knights #14, Detective Comics Annual #12, Nightwing #73, Grayson #10-- also featuring Spanish)

In Grayson #1 he speaks Russian only briefly, but in Detective Comics #36 he speaks it throughout.

As far as the Chinese languages go, while I believe Dick can speak Mandarin and/or Cantonese fairly well (Batman/Superman World's Finest #3), his Hanzi recognition and literacy could use some work.

Similarly, when the Titans head off to Japan in Titans Annual #1, we have Nightwing speaking Japanese in battle; however, when it comes to the prospective job of being a manga translator in Nightwing #125, he claims he doesn't know Japanese, which leads me to believe he is only proficient in speaking Japanese/Chinese and struggles with the writing systems.

So what about the languages not covered in the encyclopedia? To start, we have another romance language: Italian (Nightwing #72).

Followed by some alleged German (Nightwing #51, JLA #44)

And conversations in Farsi (Robin #175)

While I've seen some Tumblr and Reddit posts claim he knows Kikuyu, The Power Company: Manhunter #1 only says he "brushed up" on his Kikuyu before going to Kenya, so it is unknown how much of the language he actually speaks, but to me it doesn't seem likely to be a lot.

He also, to some unknown degree, speaks Tamaranean-- at least enough to hack into an alien computer (Action Comics #842).

As far as unspoken languages go, Dick is fluent in ASL, which is proven numerous times when he communicates with Jericho (New Teen Titans 1984).

And lastly, the two languages that remain rather uncertain are Romani and Cant-- largely due to the nature of the languages themselves and their representation in comics. "Romani," for instance, has several different dialects, and when Devin Grayson introduced it for Dick (Gotham Knights #20-21, Nightwing #91), she never specified which, and based on the lines she wrote, her research into the language was questionable at best. Writers since have recognized Dick's Romani heritage, but have not otherwise suggested he retained much of the language to be considered fluent.

Cant is an even wider term than Romani and can be seen as more of jargon for a particular language than a language itself, sometimes even being called a "pseudo-language." The colloquial term for American circus cant is Carny, or "Carny speak" as Boston Brand puts it in Batman: The Brave and the Bold #14 when he and Nightwing encounter a kid who speaks it.

So... this leaves us with 11 languages Dick has notable proficiency in: English, French, Spanish, Italian, Russian, German, Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Farsi, and ASL. And ~3 languages he has unknown proficiency in: Tamaranean, Kikuyu, Romani, and Carny/Cant (if you want to count it).

Maybe memory-loss Dick was including either Tamaranean or Kikuyu in that count from Nightwing #54, or maybe he knows some other language we haven't seen yet. Given how close the family is to the Al Ghuls, I personally think it would be cool if one of them was Arabic.

But anyway, hope you enjoyed this post! A lot I've seen covering this topic are very surface-level and label some of his more iffy languages as "fluent," so I hope this cleared things up. I've read tons of Nightwing, and I swear there are more examples, but sifting through the 1,000+ comics I've read of him is a lot haha. If y'all know of some others, let me know!

#nightwing #dick grayson #romani dick grayson #boy wonder #first robin #language #polyglot character #multilingual character #dc comics #i tried to keep the romani and carny part brief #you could write a whole essay on the languages #i could also write a whole essay on devin grayson's romani rep #or lack thereof #and its problematic nature #but that's a post for another day

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igotatasteforoldermendelrey · 1 month ago

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Notice you.

Picture from ILoveBTRandHD on Pinterest

A/N : hi guys! I’ve been writing that today. This one shot is roughly inspired by The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas (if you like ennemies to lovers, forced proximity it’s your clue to read it). Enjoy !

English is not my first language, you might (really) find some mistakes in this, don’t hesitate to warn me !

Ship : Joaquin Torres x reader

Summary : Joaquin had asked you to accompany him as his girlfriend to his sister’s wedding because of a lie he told to his mother. Now here you were, on the west coast with him, acting like you were madly in love. Follows an incident leading to a confession.

Warnings : lies, angst, mean ex girlfriend (she tries to hit reader), swearing, denial (Joaquin’s), aerophobia (reader’s), reader can tan, Afab, feelings, mention of John Walker (yes he deserves a warning even if he isn’t here).

Let me know if I forgot something !

I do not consent to any of my work to be translated or posted anywhere else without my permission.

Banners made from Pinterest.

Come on y/n please… Joaquin begged, following you out of the common room.

No, Joaquin. I am not going to go with you to your sister’s wedding. Even less because you want to impress a girl.

It’s not to impress someone! I swear! He explained, still following. I told my sister that I was bringing someone.

And why did you lie in the first place? You pondered.

Be-because she might have mentioned that Sarah, my first girlfriend, was coming.

And?

With someone. You sighed turning around and continuing walking. W-Wait! I panicked that’s all! Please. I really need your help. I will do anything!

Anything? You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Yes! Anything!

Then I will do it.

Thank you! He exclaimed with relief.

At one condition. You’re training with John. Forever.

I- forever? Seriously?

Dude I swear if I need to hold his punching bag ever again I’m going to jump out the window. It’s non negotiable.

Fine. You’re coming with me to the wedding, I’m training with Walker. Deal?

Deal.

——-

You shouldn’t have said yes. You really shouldn’t have. But you had three days off, no one at the compound and definitely needed some change of scenario. So here you were sat in plane besides Joaquin, your legs jumping against the ground.

Are you ok?

I don’t like plane.

What? That’s not true you never had any problems in the Quinjet.

It’s completely different. In the Quinjet I’m the one piloting and if anything is going wrong then I can jump out. Not here.

It’s going to be alright. It’s a five hours flight to Los Angeles.

You’re really not reassuring me right now. You sighed putting your head in your hands. Oh and I don’t speak Spanish. Like at all. I learned Italian in high school.

It’s no big deal. My sister is marrying a dude from Austin. Believe me my family won’t be shocked by the fact you do not speak Spanish.

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, not convinced.

No really! They’re going to love you. I’m serious. He said, bumping his shoulder against yours. And we’re in this together.

Why did I let you bring me into that.

Because you dumped training with Walker?

Yeah, that’s true.

—————

You landed on time, getting your luggage and walking towards the exit where Joaquin’s family was supposed to be waiting for you. Right before crossing the doors, Joaquin looked at you before extending his hand for you to take. You take it and exhale before continuing walking.

When the doors opened, someone was already calling Joaquin’s name. It was a small old woman, wearing glasses and jumping up and down waving at you both. Joaquin’s face lighted up immediately, you could see the excitement in his eyes and yet he didn’t let go of your hand, if not clutching it tighter.

Mi hijo! You’re finally here! Oh it’s been so long. The older woman said, taking him in her arms, hugging him tightly.

Yes, Joaquin. Your grand mother has been waiting really long to see you again. Another woman speak out behind the older woman. Welcome back, I missed you.

Mom, dad. Joaquin said, taking them both in his arms. After parting way, he took back your hand in his, without even needing to look. And this is Y/n, my girlfriend.

Hi. You said with a smile. It’s nice to finally meet you.

Oh hi! You’re so pretty! Look at that girl Monica! The older woman said with a strong Spanish accent. She took your hands in hers hand pulled you in a hug.

Thank you so much.

It’s nice to meet you my love! Monica exclaimed with a big smile. Let’s get you both home now, you must be really tired.

—————

You and Joaquin entered the bedroom you were going to occupy for the two next nights. Of course there is only one bed, you knew that already so it wasn’t really a surprise. You sighed, tired from your travel and just let yourself fall on the bed, face down in the sheets.

No no no! Airport germs! You’re getting them everywhere on the bed!

The what? You asked, not even raising your head.

Come on, you’ll feel better after a shower. He hold his hand for you and showed you were the bathroom was.

————

You exited the bathroom, wet hair on your back and a towel in your hands. You see Joaquin, sat in the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, swiping on his phone.

Bathroom’s free. You announced before realising he changed his clothes. Did you already take a shower?

Yeah, I used the bathroom downstairs. Ready to go?

To go where?

Oh yeah we have a family dinner at the restaurant tonight. Both my family and my soon to be brother in law’s will be there.

And you’re just warning me now?

No, I told you in the plane.

You mean after I took the medication my doctor prescribed me? You asked him, raising your brow.

Yeah…?

For fuck’s sake. When do we have to leave?

In like twenty minutes.

I hate you. You replied, searching in your bag for a decent outfit.

No you don’t.

————

The night was calm, waves crashing on the shores not so far away from where you were all seated. Joaquin’s sister, Olivia, was everything you would have expected. A really kind, tall and friendly woman that took you immediately in her arms when her brother presented you, telling you how strong you were to pull with her brother’s shit. She insisted for you to be seated next to her, telling her bridesmaid she was already going to be next to her the whole weekend.

Joaquin watched you the whole evening, how you tried to talk with every single member of his family, laughing and telling stories about your job. When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, all the people around the table went silent, turning to him with smiles of their faces.

What?

Oh Joaquin, she’s amazing! An aunt told him.

Yes, I think it’s the best you can do. Olivia added with a smirk. How did you manage to get her to date you?

I fought really hard to even get her to look at me. I’m not even telling you what I needed to do to get her to come on a date with me. Yeah, she is… perfect. Truly I’ve never met someone so kind yet ready to fight any asshole. She’s truly a hero. He laughed with his family.

You came back to the table, noticing a few stares in your direction. You brushed it off, thinking it was because you were the newbie in the family. You sat back between Olivia and Joaquin, who grabbed your hand in his and linked your fingers. Just for the show, of course.

————

You came home, a little bit tipsy from all the wine you drank, needing to hold onto Joaquin’s arm to walk approximately straight. He brought you to your bedroom, helped you sit on the bed before getting everything you might need to remove your make up.

I will leave you get ready, just call me when you’re done, ok?

You nodded with a smile, feeling your heart warm up.

After changing and calling Joaquin, you both faced the only bed in the room. It wasn’t really the first time you had to share a bed, except that last time you were both on a mission and hadn’t the choice.

Do you want me to sleep on the floor? It’s my fault we’re both in this situation so it’s the less I can do.

What? No! The wedding is tomorrow, you’re the first man you cannot look like shit. We will share, it’s not like it’s the first time. You replied, sitting on the right sight of the bed.

Yeah you’re right. He added and and join you in the bed. Good night, babe. He added with a smirk and that made you laugh.

————-

The next morning.

You felt something hard wrapped around you, enveloping you in warmth. It took you a few minutes to realise that the weight on you was actually Joaquin’s arm draped on your waist. You tried to escape his embrace to not make things weird when he will wake up but the first move you made led to him hugging you tighter.

You sighed, trying to think of a way to get you out of his arms. Joaquin? Wake up… you said softly, lightly shaking his arm. Joaquin?

He groaned before opening his eyes, realising you were in his arms. He simply took his arms off and smiled at you. Good morning.

Hi. You replied, sitting up in the bed.

Did you sleep well?

Yes, the bed was really comfortable. I’m gonna go get dressed while you fully wake up. You said getting up and walking to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, leaving Joaquin laying on his back on the bed, a weird feeling in the chest.

———

The day went smoothly, talking with Joaquin’s family, helping his grand mother to choose her outfit for the wedding, her insisting that what Olivia chose was making her look sick. You truly loved his family, they were always laughing and sharing stories making you feel welcomed.

The time of the wedding was approaching meaning you had to start to get ready. Joaquin was doing his first man duty and will be meeting you directly at the church.

After putting on your outfit and doing your make up, you met Monica in the living room to leave for church. When you arrived, you were surprised to see at least a hundred of people gathered in front of the doors of the church, all of them wearing beautiful outfits.

You entered the church, sat on a bench in the third row before Monica stop in front of you staring at you with amusement.

Honey what are you doing? Come sit with us, you’re with Joaquin, you’re practically like family now! She exclaimed, taking your hand and entraining to the first row.

You had a direct view on the priest, Bill, Olivia’s fiancé, and Joaquin who was standing proudly, looking at the entrance for his sister. He haven’t notice you yet and you profited of this moment to get a good look at him. He was wearing a dark green suit, with a lavender branch in the pocket on his chest. You could see how exited he was just by the smile he was giving to the assembly. Someone sat behind you knocked over a relative’s walking stick bringing his attention to your side. That’s when he saw you.

Joaquin was not someone who lingered too long on someone’s look. However, when he saw you there, sat with his family and staring at him with something in your eyes he didn’t recognised, he almost choked on his saliva. You were truly mesmerising. The colour you chose to wear was perfect for you, complementing your skin and light tan. He didn’t have the time to approach you because the music started.

Olivia walked down the aisle, accompanied by her father, clutching his arm. She was beautiful, wearing a long siren dress with a veil hiding her face. Monica grabbed your hand at the sight, tears running down her face. You took a time to stare at Joaquin and the expression on his face couldn’t be described. You realised Olivia, being the big sister, was his role model and seeing her get married might have broken a little part of his heart knowing she wasn’t going to share the same last name anymore.

The ceremony was beautiful and the newly wed left to get to the other location where the banquet was held. Joaquin met you on the porch of the church, a smile on his lips.

Hi.

Hi. It was beautiful and Olivia was absolutely perfect. You said to him with a smile.

Yes she was. I’m glad she is finally happy. He replied looking around to his family that was gathering in the cars. You have a ride? He asked.

I think your mother told me earlier she will keep me a seat in the car. I mean that was before she met a woman named Carmen who needed someone to bring her to the reception. You answered with a small laugh.

Perfect then. I will be your driver. He said, grabbing your hand and bringing you to his car.

The ride was short and quiet, you both still thinking about the ceremony. When you arrived on the parking lot of the hotel where the reception was held, so many cars were already parked and music was coming from the garden.

You climbed out of the car, grabbing Joaquin’s arm to walk on the gravel with your heels. You walked to the garden where tables were organised all over the grass, fairy lights illuminating the park.

I think your mother is waving at you, you should go see her. I will go get us drinks. You said pointing with your head in Monica’s way.

Ok, I will find you after.

And if you don’t just whistle and I will come find you. You joked thinking back at one of your first missions together.

I always find you, honey. He answered with a smirk before leaving to see his mother.

You walked up to the bar, asking the bartender for a beer and a glass of champagne.

So it’s you. Said a feminine voice behind you.

You turned around, not knowing if the person was talking to you or to someone else. The woman you saw was a tall blonde, with a pink sequin dress and a smirk.

Excuse me?

You’re Joaquin’s new arm candy, right?

If by arm candy you mean girlfriend then yes.

Nah I meant arm candy, you won’t last long enough to earn the title of his girlfriend.

You must be Sarah, right? Isn’t your boyfriend looking for you?

She scoffed before coming closer to you, stepping in your personal space. Believe me you better stay away from him if you don’t want troubles. You don’t want to mess with me. She warned.

Am I supposed to be scared or something?

You-

Here you are, honey! Joaquin exclaimed besides you. Oh hi Sarah, I see you two have already met.

Yes, I was telling her how much I loved her dress. She said, with a faux smile. It’s been a while, let’s catch up, my table is over there. She added, grabbing his arm and leading a confused Joaquin to her table.

You sighed, not knowing if you should intervene or let them be. You chose the last option, returning to your sit with a beer and a glass in each hands. When Monica saw you sitting alone at one side of the garden and her son with Sarah on the other, she scoffed and made her way to you.

I never liked that girl. She had a bad influence on my Joaquin. A true viper. Rolling her eyes, she pulled the chair besides you and sat down. She has the bad habit to threaten every single of his girlfriends he ever brought back home. Like he is her property or something. I’m telling you, I’m this close, she approached two of her fingers together, to go interrupt their conversation. Leaving you alone to talk with her, I swear it’s not how I raised him.

You laughed a little. It’s not big deal. It’s been a long time since they saw each other, they must have a lot to catch up.

I knew I shouldn’t have invited her. Olivia said, standing behind her mother and you with a frown on her face. Bill said I should because she’s close to the family. But I swear if she tries something with him I’m going to tear out her fake hair.

You laughed again, impressed by her vivacity.

I think you will have to queue for that, y/n here is the first in line. Her mom replied, passing a hand on your back.

Yeah you’re right. Don’t hesitate to go get your man, Y/n. I can tolerate arguments if it implies she’s put back at her place. The bride added with a wink before returning to her husband.

You decided to give them ten minutes, after what you will go join them in their conversion, not wanting to be seen as the poor girl her boyfriend is cheating on in front of everyone. You stand up after two when you saw her grab his arm while laughing out loud.

You crossed the garden, coming to stand beside Joaquin, passing your hand in his hair which made him follow your hand afterwards.

Is everything alright? He asked with seriousness to which you nodded. Let’s get something to eat. He told you, before smiling apologetically at Sarah and grabbed your hand.

Well that was something. You started, looking at him with a smirk.

What do you mean?

Well she intimidated me then stayed glued to you since she got here, and I’m not even talking about the fact she quite literally stole you from me as soon as you joined us at the bar.

Intimidating you? No she couldn’t do that. He laughed like it was the nicest joke you ever said. She must have been joking.

No Joaquin. She wasn’t.

Come on, you don’t need to play the jealous girlfriend, they already all believe we’re together.

You don’t believe me. Oh my- You still like her!

Shhh. What?

Either way you would have believed me. Right now it’s like you think she is perfect.

That really not it. It’s just that, I mean she’s not like that. I know her since a long time.

Not even defending your fake girlfriend. You said with a roll of your eyes. Stay in your denial if you want to, but she is not a good person. You told him, before going back to sit at your table.

The evening went without any other incidents except Sarah staring at you with dagger the whole night. When the time of the toast came, Joaquin stand up to make his speech.

Olivia, Bill, I cannot tell you how happy I am for the two of you. Oli, to finally see you happy with someone, someone who can make you laugh even in the worst moments. Bill, when she told me about you, a guys from Texas, I’m not going to lie I thought you were going to be an asshole. And after all, you’re not. You’re one of the funniest man I ever met, and the luckiest bastard too to marry my sister. Just so you know, I’m friend with Captain America so you really don’t want to mess with her. The whole assembly laughed. Anyway, I hope me and my beautiful Y/n, he raised his glass to you, will become like the two of you. To the newly weds ! He exclaimed raising his glass high before kissing his sister who was trying to hide her tears.

He came back to sit besides you, looking at you and smiling when he saw the look he gave you. You wiped away a tears that escaped your eye.

Are you ok? He asked, putting his hand on top of yours.

Yes, I just didn’t expect your speech to be this emotional.

I did my best.

The evening continued, the dinner was excellent and everyone was enjoying the party, dancing and singing along the songs played by the Dj.

Wanna dance? Joaquin asked, holding out his hand to you.

I’m really bad at it.

So am I. So don’t worry they will be laughing at me.

You stand up with him and went together on the dance floor. He grabbed softly your waist, letting you the time to stop him if you wanted to. Instead, you put your arms around his neck, smiling up at him.

You danced the evening away, parting way to get some refreshments. You didn’t understand why your heart wouldn’t stop pounding that quickly in your chest. You both couldn’t take your eyes off one another, something in yours eyes you couldn’t really name.

At the end of the night, half of the guest already left, too tired to continue dancing and already thinking about next morning’s brunch. Only the close friends and family stayed, still laughing with Olivia and Bill.

You were standing against a wall where wallflowers grew, fresh air caressing your face. Your were watching Joaquin talking with his family, the way he was standing tall and happy. It warmed your heart to see him like that. Yes he was the golden retriever of the team, always trying to get everyone to smile. But there, in this environnement it was at another level.

You still didn’t understand it right? Sarah said besides you.

Can’t you leave me alone?

Leave you alone? No. Not as long you’re not gone from his life. I know people and I’m not scared to go dirty.

I’m kinda impressed by how sure of yourself you are. But I am not scared. And by the look on your face you’re the one scared of me. Now please, let us be. You added before looking behind her and realising Joaquin and Monica were both watching you.

You left her behind, going to join them both.

————

You were speaking with Silvia, Joaquin’s grand mother, and Monica when you felt warmth behind you. Joaquin was standing behind you, a light blush on his cheeks from the alcohol and the dancing. He wrapped his arms around your waist and you let him, not feeling the need to get out of it.

You wanna leave? He whispered in your ear.

You sure you don’t want to stay longer?

Nah. And I will see them tomorrow. Come on. Let’s go. He took your hand, lighting pulling you towards him. Ma, abuela, we will see you both tomorrow.

You walked towards the entrance of the hotel to get the car when you heard someone calling you behind. You both turned around and realised Sarah was running behind you, a death stare directed at you. When she arrived at your level, you saw her right hand twitch and before you knew it she was launching at you. You grabbed her arms in the middle of the way, avoiding the impact.

The fuck you think you’re doing?! You exclaimed.

I told you I wasn’t scared to go dirty. She replied, ready to try to hit you again.

Joaquin didn’t react, not knowing what to do or say, too shocked by the gesture.

You’re fucking crazy. Where did you see it was alright to try to hit someone like that? She was still fuming. Joaquin. You called out his name, trying to get a reaction out of him.

What the fuck, Sarah? He finally reacted. Why would you do that?!

Because I love you! I’m better than her!

You scoffed, too tired for this shit. I will leave you deal with that, call me when you’re done. You said, walking towards where the car was parked.

You hear them argue, not stopping until you find the car. You realised the beach wasn’t that far from where you were standing and decided to go take a walk while Joaquin was taking care of Sarah.

—————

There you are. Joaquin said, standing beside you, his hands in your pockets.

Did you take care of her? You asked not even looking at him, staring at the ocean.

Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I should have.

You were in denial. It happens to the best of us. You replied, feeling the sand move beside you as the young man sit.

I think I didn’t thank you enough for what you did this weekend.

I gain something from it. I mean not training with Walker is a fucking grace.

You both laughed at that. After a while you put your head on his shoulder, feeling his own head on yours.

Can I ask you a question?

Yes.

Why did you ask me? I mean it’s not like I’m the only one in the building. And it’s not like no one had eyes for you.

You noticed girls interested in me?

Dude even Sam did. You don’t want to know how many people asked me about your romantic life.

I don’t notice them. He simply replied, his words full of another meaning.

You raised your head to look at him, noticing how close you two were.

Let’s get you home, yeah?

You nodded, still staring at him. He helped you get on your feet and escorted you to the car.

When you arrived in front of the building, he ran to get on your side and open your door, helping you get out of the car. He held your hand, even when he opened the front door or the door of the apartment. He didn’t let go until you were in the bedroom. His parents and grand mother were not home yet, and you didn’t know if they were going to come home or stay at the hotel to avoid getting on the road.

You haven’t talked since you left the beach, too conscient of the fragility of the moment. His thumb was caressing the top of your hand, you looked up at him, smiling softly at him.

You asked me why I asked you. He started, looking at your hands. I don’t know why, but when I started to think about it, you were the only person it could work with. It made sense. And I lie to you… when I told you I hadn’t noticed the others looking at me. But I don’t care about them… not in that way. I only notice you.

You couldn’t speak or move.

I notice how in the morning you make sure there is enough coffee in the pot for everyone. I notice how you’re always hyper vigilant about everything around, that’s how you knew Sarah was going to hit you. I notice how you always make sure that the shoelace on your right foot is tightly tied because that’s how you broke your leg before during training. I notice how you blush when you like something even though you’re trying to hide it. I notice everything about you.

Silence.

And earlier, when you told me about Sarah… I didn’t want to believe you because it would’ve meant you actually care much more than I thought you did. And she was the safe option… I mean when she doesn’t take herself for a fucking mobster.

You laughed at that. Joaquin then put his hands on your cheeks, making you look up to him before crossing the line between friends and lovers.

That night, you slept better than you ever did in the past years.

———————

The next morning.

You both arrived late to the brunch, holding hands and running toward the table. Everyone was already seated and eating when you both arrived at the end of the table. Monica, Olivia and Silvia all smiled widely at the sight.

When Olivia realised you were anxiously looking around the table, she got up and came closer to you. Don’t worry, I made sure she couldn’t come here. We don’t raise hands on family. She said, a hand on your right shoulder. Now come on, go sit down before they eat everything.

—————

Wait wait wait. That’s how you guys started dating?! Sam exclaimed. Because you, he pointed to Joaquin, asked you, he pointed to you, to accompany him to a wedding?

Yes?

And your ex tried to hit her?!

Yeah.

I don’t know if I should be impressed or scared.

Just be happy? You said, grabbing Joaquin’s hand in yours.

And that how you crossed the line, losing a friend to find a lover. Someone that noticed you.

#joaquin x you #joaquin x reader #joaquin torres #captain america #sam wilson #mcu #marvel #friends #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending #marvel mcu #oneshot #falcon #danny ramirez

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