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fangirl-dot-com · 2 days

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😾Really Nice Guy Who Hates Only You

*part of the reverse trope series*

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Celebrity!Reader Genre: Fluff/Miscommunication/Humor/SMAU Summary: Oscar was known to be the epitome of a polite cat. His reputation is that he is genuinely nice to everyone. Well, everyone except for you.

*once again, I have loved writing for this series and it seems like everyone loves these chapters (as they have the highest notes out of all of them). I'm really excited for what is to come! I have loved making all the special tweets and other additions to the posts!*

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Oscar had been in a bad mood. The garage could practically feel the cloud that surrounded the Aussie as he walked through the garage on Saturday morning for the sprint. The scrunch of the nose and the constant side eyes also gave it away.

Normally, Oscar tends to be more on the quiet side. But today, he was even quieter. Gone was the polite cat, and it was replaced by a very grumpy feline.

“Hey Oscar! Come meet our guests!”

Oscar let out a sigh as he turned around and put a very fake smile on his face. This is the moment he had been dreading ever since you stepped into the garage. He did, or couldn’t, understand why you were wearing his number on the back of the jersey you wore.

It disgusted him.

You were very pretty though, he had eyes. Your hair went very well with the papaya orang and your smile could pretty much kill a man in a 10-foot radius. Except that right now, Oscar wanted your perfect hair to catch on fire and he’d avoid the smile.

When he finally got closer, he stopped a few feet in front of you, not wanting to get too close. Two hands clapped him on the shoulders as Lando started to shake him.

“So Os-cah, this is Y/n L/n, 2-time Grammy Award winner and probably the prettiest guest we’ve ever had.”

All right, so Lando was a gonner.

Oscar fought the urge to roll his eyes right into the back of his head so he wouldn’t have to look at you anymore. But your smile was oh-so pretty. You looked at him with wide eyes as you held out your hand for a shake.

However, Oscar just looked at it, then looked at you.

“Welcome.”

Lando reeled back, confused at his younger teammate’s coldness. The two watched as your smile faltered just a bit. (If Oscar had any remorse, he didn’t show it.) You were quick to recover and spread another smile, even if this one wasn’t as real as the first.

You put your hand down as you greeted, “It’s such an honor to finally meet you! I’ve been a fan for what feels like forever.”

Oscar grunted. “Can’t say the same.”

You absolutely wanted to whimper. You had been waiting to be invited to a Formula 1 garage ever since you won your first Grammy. And well, you had other offers from Red Bull or Ferrari, but the McLaren garage is the one you wanted to be your first. So, you had declined and declined until you knew that you could meet the driver that you had been following for so long.

But now that you finally met him, you wondered why he was such an asshole.

You pushed down your feelings and continued. “That’s ok. My music isn’t for everyone. But I wanted to congratulate you on your rookie season last year!”

“Thanks.”

Ok, Lando knew something was up and he couldn’t take the hurt-puppy-eyes coming from you anymore. The Briton was about to say something, but Zak had decided to interrupt with another celebrity guest.

“Guys, this is Sabrina, she’s also joining Miss L/n in the garage today. Ladies, we have two headsets for you in the back when we’ll go over some last minute car things if you’d like to listen in!” Zak explained.

It only hurt when Oscar eyes lit up at your fellow musician, brushing past you to personally introduce himself. Lando was now left with a very sad Grammy winner on his hands. He gently put his arm around your waist to bring you to the side.

When a long sigh escaped your lips, Lando felt awful.

“Y/n, I swear he’s normally the nicest person on the planet. Oscar always seems to love everyone, no matter the guest.”

Your eyes flitted over to where Oscar was now animatedly talking to Sabrina about her new album. You let out a scoff.

“Yeah, everyone but me. Maybe I should have just taken the offer from Red Bull or Ferrari.”

Lando pouted. He knew that you had been a fan of Oscar’s way back to the start of his F2 season. And then you had purposefully put the word McLaren in many different songs. Hell, your newest album titled “Momentum” was basically a love letter to your beloved team. You even had plans to become an investor once you could make the first payment.

The Briton felt lost. “I was going to find Max and Charles if you’d like to join me?”

You took one more look at Oscar, not surprised to see him glare at you from the side. That action made up your mind and you agreed to go with Lando.

Taking with Max and Charles was like a breath of fresh air. The two were great conversationalists and pretty funny. The Monegasque even invited you into one of the media buildings to look at the behind the scenes, which put you in awe.

The two rivals, thought, couldn’t understand why you were attached to Lando when you had a giant 81 on the back of your jersey.

“Have you met Oscar yet?” Charles asked. When you tensed, he knew that he had asked a wrong question. Your expression quickly became sad.

“Yeah. But I don’t think he likes me very much,” you muttered.

Max scoffed. “That’s absurd. He’s quiet, but he’s nice to everyone.”

Lando winced. “But for some reason, he was being really rude and just standoff-ish.”

You looked so dejected. “At first I thought he might not be a fan of my music, but then he was super smiley with Sabrina and we co-wrote most of mine and her songs. So it’s not the genre.”

The Briton wanted to try to bring your spirits back up, but he noticed the time and said that you and him had to be back at the garage. You said your goodbyes to the Dutchman and Monegasque before you followed Lando back to the garage.

On your way in, Oscar sent you yet another glare as he got ready to be in the car.

Although he had been mean, you still said, “Good luck.”

Maybe he heard you or didn’t, but he never responded or acted like he took it to heart.

When Oscar was able to overtake multiple cars and finish the sprint in P2, you were ecstatic. His terrible attitude did not hinder your joy for the Aussie. You didn’t secretly call yourself the #1-Piastri fan for nothing. Sabrina laughed next to you as you hopped up and down, glad that your driver finished well in the points.

It was sad for Lando who didn’t make it past P5, but the Briton explained that qualifying for the actual race is when it truly counted.

You watched with stars in your eyes as Oscar walked up after Charles to be interviewed by Jensen Button.

The former driver asked the first question.

“Oscar, first congrats on the P2, you did a lot of overtaking. Was that in the strategy?”

The Aussie laughed, really showing that he indeed was polite to everyone.

“Well the strategy is always to win, but we were close with all the upgrades. It’s been good and I’m ready for the races to come.”

A few more questions were asked and exchanged before Jensen somehow brought you up.

“So we saw that Y/n L/n and Sabrina Carpenter were both in the McLaren garage. And we all know that Y/n is a massive McLaren fan as well as your fan. Have you listen to any of her songs?”

Many people definitely saw the change in facial expression when your name was brought up. The smiley Oscar was replaced with a bored one.

“Well, I don’t really listen to artists who bash or make fun of my driving.”

Jensen gave me a very curious look. “She actually praises you in most of her songs.”

The Aussie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like the one where she said she crashed her McLaren like Piastri.”

Your eyes widened, along with everyone else in the garage. Those were definitely not the lyrics to one of your songs. Lando also had wide eyes and he was looking right at you, who seemed to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“I would never do that,” you said, looking into Lando’s hazel eyes. The Briton looked puzzled. He had specifically played or sung songs for the Aussie that mentioned McLaren or Oscar.

You kind of just sank into the background, trying to process what could have gone wrong. Lando on the other hand raced to catch Oscar as he was walking into the garage.

“Mate, what are you doing?” Oscar asked as Lando was directing him to one of the driver rooms. Lando slammed the door and turned to Oscar.

“What are the lyrics to Y/n’s song?”

There was another eye roll. “Lando you sung them to me like two weeks ago.”

Land shook his head. “But tell me.”

Oscar huffed, “Small talk, big love. Act like you don’t care but I disagree. When I crashed my McLaren like Piastri.”

“Stop!”

The Aussie cocked his head.

Lando continued, “Those aren’t the lyrics you muppet. It’s ‘When I crashed my McLaren like past me.’ A few years ago, Y/n used to wreck a lot of cars at a teen. She got better and decided to buy a McLaren when your seat was announced for 2023. And then she crashed it on accident after she got broken up with.”

A look of realization washed over Oscar’s face and then a look of dread. A giant sigh left his lips. Lando thought he was going to pass out or something but the second Papaya driver quickly ran out of the room. He stopped short of where you had sat in the back of the garage and quietly started to step closer.

Your head was in your hands but you looked up when you heard footsteps. You were shocked to be looking at Oscar, who had a guilty look on his face. You shot up out of your seat and began to ramble.

“Oscar, I swear, I would never back and diss you in any of my songs. You’re truly my favorite driver and I was so excited to meet you. I have put your name in my songs before, but it’s only been praise. I’m so sorry that you’ve been thinking that I’d make fun of your driving and-“

Oscar held out a hand to stop you.

But now it was his turn to ramble, hands flying everywhere.

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. I’ve been an utter asshole to you all day. That was horrible of me. Lando sung me the song a few weeks ago, but it was pretty mumbled because he couldn’t remember some of the words and I heard Piastri instead of past me and I just thought the worst and…”

Lando was having a field day watching you watch Oscar with stars in your eyes as he apologized over and over again.

The Briton pretended to dust his hands off as he watched Oscar pull out his phone and offer it to you.

“Another day, another matchmaking completed.”

y/n_l/n has posted

y/n_l/n thank you so much McLaren for the amazing day today! It was truly a dream come true to meet my all time favorite driver! little surprise for everyone else - Florida is yours (inspired by a special someone) 🧡

liked by mclaren, its_papaya, oscarpiastri, landoscar, and 3,205,195 others

queeny/n OH MY GOSH NEW SONG AFTER THE MIAMI RACE??

y/n&f1 wouldn't the song be written for Logan then?

y/nxoscar she said inspired - didn't mean that it's actually about him

oscah81 P2 SPRINT RACE AND POSSIBLE NEW WAG

landonorris I too would like a song pls

charles_leclerc we all know she wrote golden about me ♥️

maxverstappen1 I claim midnight rain then

landonorris ☹️

y/n_l/n it's ok lando - working on one now!

y/nsgrammy to think that Oscar thought she dissed him when she's like his biggest fan ever

oscargirlie y/n get's us with the second picture

oscarpiastri was the second picture necessary? and Florida? when did you have time to write that??

y/n_l/n 1. yes, it was very necessary, 2. I wrote it when you ignored me

oscarpiastri and you still wrote me a song?

y/n_l/n of course! most of my songs had you written in mind ☺️

oscarpiastri so. . . dress?

y/n_l/n 😳🤭

loscar-land your honor I love them

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

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chronicowboy · 3 days

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It's late when they get back to Evan's loft, his boyfriend offering him sanctuary in what he's promised to be the most luxurious bed in all of Los Angeles and a strictly innocent no-hands-below-the-waist safe zone—which had been promised after Tommy had yawned for the seventh time (I've been counting, come home with me, let me take care of you). And Tommy's never been a very strong man when it comes to Evan, he'd discovered that pretty quickly, but right then he can't imagine anything better than sinking into his arms for the night, than waking up curled around him the next morning.

Except, as soon as the door closes behind them, Tommy finds himself wanting to make this night last a little longer. The dim lights in the kitchen cast Evan in a beautiful glow, shadows dancing over the angular lines of his face, and Tommy just wants. He watches Evan busy himself at the sink and thinks about the bottled sunshine of him as he'd said that he needed someone to dance with.

Tommy pulls his phone out of his back pocket and opens YouTube, finds some playlist of old love songs by the greats like Fitzgerald and Sinatra that he knows will make Evan get all flustered, turn that delicious shade of pink. He lets the ads play out before he turns the sound up and sets his phone down on the kitchen island.

Evan turns around as the beginning notes of The Way You Look Tonight start to play, a cute little frown twisting his eyebrows. Tommy doesn't say a word, just drifts around the island to Evan's side and holds out a hand. Evan only looks down at it, blinking hard.

"We didn't get our dance," Tommy murmurs. When Evan's eyes find him, they're wide and raw and oh-so-blue. Tommy could drown in them. He thinks he might want to.

"Oh," Evan chokes out, tiniest smile dancing across his lips.

Before Tommy can worry about it, Evan is bypassing his offered hand to wrap his arms around his neck. Tommy's hands settle at his waist like instinct despite the fact they've really only done anything like this a few times. And then they start to sway together, gentle, barely even moving really. Just close. Evan rests his head on Tommy's shoulder, and something dangerous and wonderful happens inside Tommy's chest. A feeling he hasn't felt for a long time. And maybe it should scare him, so soon, but how could he ever be scared with Evan humming along softly in his ear, the rumble of it reverberating through Tommy's ribcage too, waking his heart up completely.

"Yes, you're lovely," Tommy croons along with Sinatra. It's a little cheesy, sure, a lot sappy, but it's worth it for the smile he can feel against the sensitive skin of his neck as it crawls over Evan's face. "With your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft." Here, he's helpless to do anything but drop a chaste peck to the apple of Evan's cheek, watching it bloom pink as a cherry blossom beneath his lips.

"There is nothing for me but to love you." Tommy lets Frank sing that one alone.

They're not there yet, but, God, Tommy really thinks he's heading that way. And when Evan picks his face up to rest their foreheads together instead, Tommy thinks maybe he's feeling it too. They just look at each other for a moment, drinking it all in as the song continues in the background. And then Evan is murmuring,

"And that laugh that wrinkles your nose," as he leans up to kiss the tip of Tommy's nose, and Tommy wrinkles it in answer, smiling wide, "it touches my foolish heart."

And, of course, Evan knows this song. A love song as soft and gentle as he is. Tommy kisses him for it. On the mouth this time.

It's not their first kiss. Not their second. It's their third. Certain, sure, but still chaste. Slow and unhurried. Exploring without intent, just to get to know each other. Gentle pressure and the slightest hint of tongue as they linger in it, loathe to separate.

It's as the final note of the song plays that Tommy has to pull away with a jaw-cracking yawn. Evan only huffs a laugh at him.

"Come on, you big lug," he murmurs, swaying back in for one last brush of lips. "Let's get you to bed."

#sami rambles #had this idea for YONKS #had to write it had to had to had to #911 spoilers #911 show #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #bucktommy #911 abc #911 coda #911 fic #911 ficlet #bucktommy fic #buck x tommy fic #bucktommy ficlet

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steddiecameraroll · 2 days

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Robin is gawking at him and he can’t figure out why.

“What??” Steve shrugs.

“Repeat what you just said.”

“What? That I’d kiss Eddie?”

What’s the big deal?

“Yes, yes that.” She narrows her eyes and leans over the counter. “Since when?”

“Since always?” He doesn’t understand what she’s not grasping. “Why are you so surprised? Don’t his lips look super soft?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never once clocked the smoothness of his lips.”

“Oh come on,” Steve scoffs. “You’re telling me after months of hanging out with him, you’ve not once looked at his mouth?”

“Oh I’m sure I’ve looked at his mouth. The man does not shut up, but I can say I’ve never noticed his lips.”

“Whatever, I don’t believe you, but OK.” He shrugs because there’s no point in arguing.

“Steve, I’ve never noticed any man’s lips. Including yours. And the fact that you have is what I’m trying to explore right now.”

“What do you mean?” He feels a weird twinge deep in his gut.

“What do you mean, what do you mean?” Her voice is oozing with disbelief. “How many other men’s lips have you noticed?”

“I don’t know, I don’t keep track.”

Obviously. That would be really hard to do. He’d have to have a notepad or something in his pocket at all times.

“You don’t keep track?” Her eyes look like they’re going to pop out of her head. “Wait, so you’re telling me there’s too many for you to remember?”

“Yes? I mean, even today there was that one customer with that jean jacket and that guy with the colts hat. And it’s only 11.”

“Oh my god.” Her jaw is on the floor.

“What? I don’t get it. We talk about customers we think are hot all the time?”

“OH MY GOD!” She slaps her hand over her mouth.

“What? I seriously don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“Steve.” She swallows before continuing. “You’re attracted to them?”

“If they’re hot, they’re hot. What’s the big deal?”

“I have NEVER thought a man was hot. I can understand how they’re attractive but me myself and I, doesn’t get it.”

“Never?” That doesn’t make sense.

“Never. I’m a lesbian. That means I’m attracted to women. What you’re telling me, so very nonchalantly, is that you, Steve Harrington, have found men attractive. In fact, you’re telling me you find Eddie Munson attractive. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Not really.” He crosses his arms and cocks his right hip out.

“You’re not as straight as you might think you are, buddy.”

“What?” No.

“You find more than women attractive.”

“But I’d never date a guy?”

“Oh really? Tell me, have you ever thought what Eddie’s like as a boyfriend? Or like maybe how big his dick is?” She sounds frustrated.

“Well…kinda?” He remembers that one weekend he had everyone over to hang out at the pool, and the first time Eddie got out of the water. His swim trunks were wet and clinging to his body, and Steve’s eyes clocked the outline of the man’s dick. He did wonder if the man was a grower as well as a shower. “It was only because it was like right there.”

“You’re a disaster. What about the boyfriend thing?” She tilts her head and shrugs.

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve never thought what it might be like if we dated? Not even at Scoops?”

“Oh my god, no! Les-bee-an,” she waves her hands in front of her body.

“Whatever, it’s not like I’ve thought about marrying him or anything. Just kissing and like how sex would work, y’know between us. If he- or if I wanted him to- which doesn’t sound bad, I’ve just never done that so I don’t know if I’d like it. Would he like it?” Steve leans on his elbows over the counter, and almost gets lost in thought over the idea.

“Now you’re having sex with him?” Robin squeals.

“How do I know if I don’t like it if I don’t try it? Maybe I’d love it. This feels like a way for me to find out.”

“I think I need a break. Don’t follow me.” She points at him. “I’m happy you’re exploring this…thing, but I’m not equipped for this. My best friend likes boys.” She shakes her head and walks away murmuring to herself.

“I don’t know that I…,” he trails off when she disappears into the back room.

Steve’s thumbing through one of the movie release magazines on the counter when the bell over the entrance catches his attention.

“Hey, big boy.” Eddie gives Steve a bright smile as he saunters up to the front counter.

“Hey, man.” Steve closes the magazine and stands up straight. Perfect timing. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Oh yeah? Missed me?” He leans over the countertop and looks up at Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes. This goofball. “Yes, I’ve got a question for you. Rob and I were talking earlier and she said she’s never checked out a guy before. That because she’s a lesbian, she’s not attracted to men, at all. But that makes no sense because I’ve found a ton of guys attractive and I’m straight. Maybe I’m not dating these men, but I’d definitely fool around with them. She’s lying right?”

Eddie’s staring at Steve with his mouth slightly agape. The smile is gone and Steve can see more of the whites in Eddie’s eyes, like he’s surprised or something.

“You get it, right? Am I crazy?” Steve’s heart is starting to pick up.

“F-fool around?” Eddie’s voice cracks a little.

“Yeah, like, hand jobs and making out or whatever. Maybe more? I don’t know, I’ve never done more than a blow job but I’ve thought about it.”

Eddie shoots up with a violent cough, like he swallowed wrong. He starts slamming his fist into his chest trying to catch his breath, and Steve stands there watching the guy have a coughing fit.

“You OK?” Should he get Eddie some water?

Eddie raises his finger asking for a second, and keeps slapping his palm against his chest. Steve stands there getting more and more self conscious as each second passes. After a good 20 more seconds Eddie seems to have caught his breath and gives Steve a small smile.

“Just for, uh clarifications sake, did you give the blow job or get the blow job?”

“Both?”

Who only receives and doesn’t pay back? That’s rude.

Eddie huffs and stumbles forward slightly catching his hands on the counter. He nods at Steve, then lets his head dip down, his hair falling down over his face.

“Right, obviously. Did, uh, did you enjoy it?” Eddie’s voice sounds strained.

“Yeah? Who doesn’t like sex? I haven’t done it a lot but yeah. Don’t you like it?” Is he missing something?

“Uh huh,” Eddie flips his head back and looks at Steve. “I like it a lot.”

Steve shrugs, and then watches Eddie drag his eyes slowly up Steve’s body like he’s cataloguing every inch of it. The direct attention catches Steve by surprise, and he can feel a blush spread across his cheeks.

“So, y-you get it, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “I just didn’t know you got it.”

“What? Of course. Doesn’t everybody find all hot people attractive?”

“Some of us,” Eddie’s voice is almost gravelly now, and it’s doing something to Steve’s body.

“Some? What do you mean?”

“Not everyone thinks like we do, Steve. Wow,” he shakes his head. “We. As in, you and I. As in you, Steve Harrington, pretty boy extraordinaire. Ohhh this changes everything.” Eddie murmurs almost to himself. “How did this, uh, topic come up with Robin?”

“We were talking about you, but hold on.” Steve waves his hands around. “Not everyone? You’re telling me that not everyone is attracted to everyone?”

“Me?” Eddie ignores Steve’s question. “What about me? You were talking about me?”

“Yes, I said you had kissable lips but go back. I don’t understand. I can name five guys right now who agree with me. I mean, two of them had girlfriends when we messed around. In fact, Stacy was there one time. She only watched but like, what are you saying?”

“Kissable lips? You think…? Wait, five? You’ve had a threesome?”

“I don’t think it’s a threesome if she didn’t get involved. Right?”

“Riiight, ok wow. So you’re straight, you say?”

“Yes, why is this so hard to explain? I figured if anyone would understand it would be you, because you said you’re bisexual. So you’re actually attracted to men and women as in you’d date them both.”

Eddie blinks at Steve a few times before nodding slowly. “Right, cause that’s what that means. Um, is Robin still here?” Eddie’s looking around the store now trying to find the woman.

“No, she had the early shift.”

“Ok, well, um so I’m gonna go home and blow my brains out, but uh if you want to…,” Eddie taps his fingers on the counter. “If you want to come over later and find out how soft my lips are, let me know.” He slaps his hand in the counter, and turns away heading toward the door without glancing back at Steve.

“Um, OK.”

“See ya, Harrington.” Eddie throws his hand over his head and pushes himself through the exit.

Steve shrugs and scoops the magazine back into his hands. Maybe he’ll get to see how soft Eddie’s lips are around his dick.

#steve harrington is a disaster #steve naked in bed next to Eddie while hes panting and trying to catch his breath: I gotta tell Rob I liked it #Eddie face palm groan #they’re two months deep before steve realizes he’s not straight #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiecameraroll posts #my writing #steddie ficlet

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theghoulshat · 2 days

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domestic pre-war!cooper, pretty please~ 👀

Unchained Melody

Pre-War!Cooper Howard x F!Reader pinned info — send me a request — masterlist MDNI 🔞 established relationship, domestic fluff, mentions of alcohol use, some suggestive themes, cooper is a divorcee, supportive janey, talks of a marriage proposal, teeny tiny bit of angst. word count: 1,744

Lonely rivers flow To the sea, to the sea To the open arms of the sea, yeah

The sun's rays spill through the gap in the curtains, alerting Cooper to the new day. He wakes up groggily, the party from the night before finally hitting him like a truck. Sometimes being a well-known actor meant you had to go out from time to time, to keep up your public image. Cooper was always willing to meet a fan, but that many in one night? He was socially drained by the time he'd come back home, and into your arms. He was fairly drunk too, but that was besides the point.

Lonely rivers sigh "Wait for me, wait for me" I'll be coming home, wait for me

His eyes gaze over at you, and he can't help but smile at how gorgeous you looked. With the way the light covered you, you looked like an actual angel. Cooper couldn't believe he had been so lucky to find you after his divorce from Janey's mother. He appreciated that you loved him for him - and not for the money that came with his kind of fame. He couldn't help but wonder if you were a gift specifically crafted for him, by God, or if he was just in the right place at the right time when the two of you met.

Either way, he was going to make sure to keep you around for the rest of your lives. The ring that was hidden away in his bedside table was ready and waiting for the right time for him to propose to you. You had been together almost nine months, and he felt like you had been together for far longer than that.

He wanted to tie the knot with you, but he had his doubts. Would you even want to marry a divorcee? There was a stigma about it, but you were not the kind of woman to care about something like that. So long as he loved you, and wanted to be with you, why did it matter that he was married once before, and had a kid?

Woah, my love, my darling I've hungered for your touch A long, lonely time

He didn't know that you had seen the box while you'd done a bit of spring cleaning. He was away for a whole month while he filmed on the other side of the country. It was for another Western, called 'The Man from Deadhorse'. He couldn't tell you much about it, for confidentiality reasons, but you had both planned to watch it on its release day in the local movie theatre. With Janey, of course.

You loved that little girl with all your heart. She may not have been yours biologically, but you still considered her your own. You'd recently sat her down, with her father there to listen, as you explained that you were never going to replace her real mother - but you still wanted her to know that you were there for her, if she ever needed you, and that you were perfectly fine with the idea of her calling you 'mom', so long as Cooper's ex-wife was fine with that too.

Janey had been surprisingly supportive of your union with her dad. She just wanted him to be happy, especially after seeing how heartbroken he was after the divorce with her mom. She thought you were an amazing woman, for being able to make her dad smile again after the dark period he had found himself in. It tore her heart apart whenever she'd catch him with the mask off. Especially the way his eyes would lose their light as he stared off into the distance, whiskey in hand, when he thought no one was looking.

His charming smile never felt the same after the divorce, but you brought that light back into his eyes, and the genuineness to his smile, and both Janey and Cooper appreciated you greatly for it. They couldn't really put it into words, but you felt it. You were the not the kind of person to expect anything grandiose from either of them. You loved them, and they loved you - that was all you wanted, and needed, from them.

And time goes by so slowly And time can do so much Are you still mine?

The moment of silent bliss was interrupted by the soft groan that leaves your lips as you slowly awaken, the sun's rays disturbing you from your slumber. Cooper can't help but chuckle a little to himself as he watches you struggle to wake up. His arms wrap around you and pull you into him, his body heat not helping your struggle to wake up properly.

"Good morning, sweetheart." His morning voice was so sexy. If Cooper didn't have somewhere to be, you would have suggested that you two have a quickie while the two of you cuddled in bed. It certainly would have helped wake you up for the day.

"Mornin'..." You drawl out, nuzzling your tired face into his neck. "How can you wake up so easily?" You whined, wrapping your arms around him tightly, not wanting to let him go.

"Waking up and seeing your beautiful face in the morning... that's how, darlin'." He presses his lips against the crown of your head, and you find your cheeks tingling as you blush at his words. He was such a charmer.

You both lay there in silence for a few minutes, listening out for Janey's alarm clock's jarring chime. You two didn't want to part from each other's arms, but your little girl would need some breakfast and her clothes ironed for the day ahead. Cooper opted to cook, while you opted to iron. The way you both worked in harmony was a sight to behold. And Janey watched you both move around her, and each other, with a large grin of admiration on her face.

I need your love I need your love God speed your love to me

The song 'Unchained Melody' plays low in the background as the two of you finish with your tasks. Cooper dishes up the pancakes with butter on top, while you help Janey get her freshly-ironed clothes on. "Breakfast's ready!" He calls out, just as the two of you emerge from Janey's room. "Are my two favourite girls hungry for some pancakes?" He grins wide as Janey cheers, rushing towards the table with your hand in hers.

As the three of you sat at the table, breakfast in your bellies, you checked the clock on the wall and audibly gasped: "Oh no! You two are going to be late! I best get your hats-" You rushed out of your seat to find their respective cowboy and cowgirl hats. You were careful holding them as you returned to them. They were both standing up from their seats, waiting patiently and calmly - a complete contrast to how rushed you felt.

As you passed Cooper his hat, you gave him a soft peck on the lips. "Knock 'em dead, honey." You both smiled lovingly at each other before you turned to place Janey's hat on top of her head, careful as to not squash her bouncy curls too much. You find your hands brushing at the girl's shoulders as you inspect her blue and yellow outfit. It was the spitting image of her father's costume, and you couldn't help but gush at how cute she looked when she first put it on.

"Make sure to listen to your father, alright? And maybe try to make some new friends with the kids at the party?" You playfully pinch at her round cheeks, making the young girl groan in feigned annoyance.

"Okay, mommy, I'll try." She says it so nonchalantly, you almost miss it - but you don't. You straighten up, your wide eyes glancing over at Cooper's own, as you process it together. Janey seems none the wiser about the way you want to grab hold of her and cry from the sheer joy you felt at being called 'mommy'.

Tears form at the corner of your eyes, but you blink them away with a wide smile as you watch Janey skip excitedly towards the door. "I'm going to get Sugarfoot ready!" She calls over her shoulder, leaving through the front door of the house. "Be careful, honey!" You call after her, doubting she even heard you over the door closing.

"Coop... did she really just call me that?" You can't help but feel like you were still dreaming. He looks to you and smiles softly at you in an empathetic manner. He leans towards you, his hand on your elbow, as his lips peck your cheek.

Squeezing your elbow, he gives you his signature smirk and winks at you. "I'll be seeing you later... mommy." You let out a hearty laugh, swatting at him for saying it out loud like that.

"Go on, Coop, you're both going to be late! And Janey's handling Sugarfoot all by her little self - she'll need your help." You chuckle and shake your head as you shoo him through the front door.

He stops and turns one last time, giving you one more peck on the lips. "I'll see you after this Roy kid's birthday party, alright? I have a surprise lined up for tonight." He tips his hat at you as he parts from you, and you can't help but swoon a little at the move.

You watch quietly from the open door as they both clamber on top of Sugarfoot. "You better bring some of that cake back with you!" You jokingly call out to them as you wave them both goodbye. "Look after each other!"

You knew what Cooper's surprise was going to be. You had been waiting for it since you'd accidentally found the box in his bedside drawer.

But what you didn't know, however, was that they wouldn't be coming back. Not because they didn't want to, but because they wouldn't be able to. The image of them sauntering off on top of the white horse would be the very last memory you would have of them.

All because it was October 23rd... the day that the world would change forever. And you would find yourself witnessing that change, without the ones you loved most by your side. Fear in your aching heart, as you knew that you would never get to see them again...

#cooper howard x fem!reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #x reader #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard one shot #cooper howard imagine #fallout fanfiction #fallout fanfic #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout

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anika-ann · 3 days

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The (Un)Expected - S.R.

Type: one-shot, soulmate AU, good ol' meet-cute (soulmates meeting for the first time prompt)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8k

Summary:

A soulmark shows the first words your soulmate will speak to you. A soulmark tells you there is the person for you out there. A soulmark tells you what to expect.

For that, Steve’s is a source of comfort and anxiety to him. You always had a complicated relationship with yours.

But maybe they will teach you a lesson in the end – that the only thing one should really expect, is the unexpected.

Warnings: brief angst, mention of cancer (not reader), canon-typical violence, mention of death (no major character), blood and injuries, language, FLUFF so take it easy on sugar before reading

A/N: written for the Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by the wonderful @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 . Thank you both so much for hosting and stirring life in the fandom! I loved seeing the traffic and positivity on my dash - you're doing god's work 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

He spent too much time to his liking in his bed – and even more time outside of it despite feeling sick for he couldn’t bear resting anymore, craving to explore the world instead – and was sneaked into a doctor’s office by his mother quite often as well. She only got him in as a favour, courtesy of her own good name – a nurse working double shifts and landing a helping hand wherever she could, a single mother working herself to a bone to take care of and set example to her only son.

A single mother, a nurse, a good person – a beautiful soul. She left this world too soon, but she left an imprint on Steve’s heart larger than any other person, perhaps besides Bucky, ever could.

All that told him, even as indirectly, that his soulmate would be one special dame. She would be kind, she would be brilliant and for that alone, he knew she would be beautiful.

Steve knew that as soon as he could read, as soon as he could decipher the words on his skinny forearm.

In a world where first words your soulmate would tell you were laced into your skin for you and your soulmate’s eyes to see only, his words told him his soulmate was a little miracle.

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

Steve had spent a fair amount of time around nurses and doctors to know that all nurses were women and the overwhelming majority of doctors were men – by the time he was ten, barely a few women were allowed to attend medical schools, let alone graduate. But you, you would be on your way to reach that. Brilliant. Driven. Desiring to help people, to heal.

It was only when other children, other guys and girls alike, began laughing at him for being too little, too weak, too bony, when his heart began to ache for a different reason than illness. If you were to be all these amazing things he had dreamed of, what were you to do with a sickly fella like him? With your words to him being these, it was a fair assumption to make that you would meet due to his health issues, perhaps a smart dame taken under a more experienced doctor’s wing during your studies. How disappointed you would be when your soulmate, the one person meant for you and chosen by destiny itself, would be… that?

That upsetting idea haunted him, hurting more than the bruises that had formed under fists of bullies Steve kept trying to save those even weaker than him from, more than stick and stones and words alike.

Then again… there was a little silver of hope in his heart, a little shy voice in his head. If you were to be his true love, then certainly you’d accept him, yes? If he tried, if he tried hard enough to be a good man, the best possible version of himself, if he worked hard to protect and feed his future family, set a good example for your future children as his mother had, worked towards making a better world, you’d accept him? If he could live with not being as great as others but never stopped trying, you would respect him and perhaps even loved him for what he was?

Then, of course, war came and those thoughts were pushed aside.

Then, he grabbed at his chance to fight that war, to do his part, to help – and incidentally, he also earned his chance to literally grow. Healthy. Strong. More worthy; but remaining good, because that was the one part of him he wanted to hold on to no matter what, that one part he would wish his love, wherever she was, would love him for, even if he suddenly shrank back into the back of skin and bones he used to be.

Then, he lost his best friend Turned into a failure.

And then… then he died.

One of his last thoughts were of you, a beautiful woman with vague appearance but strikingly kind heart and sharp mind. He prayed you’d get a new soulmate somehow, even as those cases weren’t heard of. He prayed you’d live a happy healthy life without him, at least as good as he would have tried his best to give you, to build with you, even as his own heart was breaking to pieces, regret veiling his body and the water and snow and icy wind would for missing his chance to meet the most special person in his world.

When he closed his eyes and still saw the white of ice and the blue of the deep sea, he’d swear he saw your face, crystal clear, for the first time – and the last time – in his life.

Seeing you, a stunning mirage, his last thought was that you were an angel gently leading him into afterlife.

When he woke up to a new millennium, one of the first things he did was checking his forearm; he words still sat there, taunting, mocking and heartbreaking, another screaming reminder of him not belonging here.

As years passed by, the sense of alienation subdued. Steve Rogers learned to belong, even as a piece of his heart was missing, longing for the past life – and the life he had never got to have – always humming in his chest quietly.

The mark on his forearm remained, a sad memento to a soulmate he had never met, turning him into a martyr.

But many people had rejected the idea of soulmates in this time, rebelling against their so-called fate, taking off on a path of searching love on their own. Steve learned they did so for various reasons – a sense of adventure before they’d truly find their one true love, a quest to choose the fortune and love on their own terms, a fuck-you to the universe when their soulmate turned out to be less than they imagined and hoped.

His own reasons, as he reluctantly started to look for a person to share his life with, were rather unique, but no one looked at him through their fingers for that. If anything, those who cared about him encouraged him, wishing for his happiness.

It was only when he got Bucky back – one of his greatest regrets not erased, not lessened since Bucky had endured unimaginable pain, but transformed, a piece of Steve’s past brought back to life – that he began to wonder about the almost blasphemous thought he had forbid himself from entertaining when he had been first brought back to life from ice.

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

Is there still a chance for me to find my true soulmate?

And then, the shiest one of them all:

Is there a chance for me to find happiness with you?

When he had thought of that before, he was certain that since you were still alive – he had read reports of people claiming their soulmark changed colours if their loved one died – he had thought of you as an old lady who had hopefully lived her life as he had genuinely wished for her.

But what if fate, that little minx who had taken his best friend for life from him only to give him back, had somehow blessed Steve with a soulmark decades before you were even born? What he hadn’t lost his chance, what if you were still young enough to build a life with him? Was that even possible? There were aliens, flying suits of armour, other realms, downright magical weapons… he had been given a second chance at life. There were things happening Steve would have never thought possible before. So was there a chance…?

The idea of you being a doctor became much more plausible too – in this century, female doctors were a much more common occurrence. That, naturally, did not diminish your brilliance whatsoever, the fundamental idea of who you’d be never changing in Steve’s mind. The image only became less surreal in one way and a whole lot more surreal in another.

For his own sake, he didn’t give in into that hope fully; at least he told himself that despite lying awake at night, a ghost of a woman he had never met lying next to him, radiating non-existent warmth he wished with his whole being he could touch.

He wasn’t chasing after the ghost, didn’t allow himself that – there was no way to do so to his knowledge anyway – for the chances of success were rather slim.

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

And the longing for love, whether it was in the hands of fate or in his own to find it, remained, built into his very body; etched into his bones, flowing through his veins, laced into his skin beyond the words on his forearm, always humming quietly in his heart.

In the age of information and science, the concept of having your ideal partner for life chosen by some mysterious abstract entity called Fate was literally otherworldly. Alien. Absurd even.

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

Which, in all honesty, was almost even more fascinating than the existence of soulmarks itself – the belief people had for them despite being no logic to them at all.

Perhaps it was the little piece of human soul, an inner child people so desperately wanted to cling to for its own beauty and purity, a child who never wanted to stop believing in magic, fate, dragons, mighty knights and kind-hearted ladies, in all things of fairytales and happy-endings the most. Because to a point, that was what soulmarks were – and little fairytale-like book of destiny.

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

And you should know; you were somewhat of a scientist yourself. And despite how unfathomable the nature of soulmates was, you could not say that you rejected the idea of them, of someone who was born to belong with you, someone you could share your life with, the right partner in the crime of life. Basic bodily needs aside, wasn’t that the most fundamental need of all? To love and be loved; to belong?

Who wouldn’t wish for that reassurance that they could have that, that some strange force of universe itself created a person like that for them? They were the god’s strongest soldiers you supposed; because you were certainly not immune to that tempting comfort.

But you weren’t obsessed – and you prided yourself in the fact. Mostly because the sheer fanaticism of the world over soulmarks, the one thing that kept defying science – besides alien portals, magical blue cubes, demigods walking the Earth and things alike – was dialled up ad absurdum.

There could be billions of dollars poured into research of curing cancer. Cure autoimmune diseases. Helping the homeless. Slowing down global warming. Erasing poverty and famine. Protecting nature, endangered species. Discovering new worlds, exploring space.

But no. Governments poured billions of dollars into researching soulmarks. How was it they existed? How was it you could cut through skin, you could cut off skin and the mark would reappear somewhere else? What was the grand scheme of them? Why was it that only two people who belonged together could see them and the person speaking the words could only see it on their soulmate’s skin after they spoke the words, almost like a fail-safe that couldn’t seem to be broken with any tricks?

It wasn’t a question of physics as far as people knew; they had tried to build sets-up of various optics, thermovision cameras and complex sets of lenses and mirrors, and none of the reports you had ever heard of claimed success. It wasn’t genetic markers either; no one had discovered a sequence of DNA responsible for soulmarks, let alone turned whatever discovery they would have made into a tool of reading anyone’s but their own and their soulmate’s mark. It didn’t seem to be chemistry either; no one had made a groundbreaking discovery or at least they hadn’t informed the scientific or any other community so far.

But by gods, forget the space race. Attempting to be the first one to somehow read everyone’s soulmark and then create an algorithm to monetize it as the one and only soulmate dating app, now that was a competition overflowing with cutthroat madmen. Not to mention the crowds looking to temper with soulmarks, to make another one appear on someone’s body; or worse, to erase the original soulmark and instead design one capable of manipulating the outcome of a soulmate match.

You found the force of that obsession insane – and frankly, all the attempts morally wrong. While dedicated to science and loyal to discovery, you found soulmarks to be something sacred, one of the things that should not be touched by filthy human hands; god knew humanity, while doing a lot of good, had mucked up about just as much.

You were not alone in that belief. There were, in fact, numerous demonstrations against scientists experimenting with soulmarks, people protesting against anyone creating such tool and using it to temper with natural course of things no one fully understood, not for the lack of trying. However – as expected everywhere where politics and money were involved – these protests were in vain.

They were as vain and futile as the research of the marks itself.

As for your own soulmark, you had a rather complicated relationship with it.

On one hand, it gave you a sense of peace – there was someone for you, even as sometimes it did not feel plausible at all. You had time too – because based on those words, you would not meet your soulmate until in your twenties at least. You had plenty of time to become who you were meant to be before a man could turn your life upside down, even as that was not supposed to be what soulmates did, at least not in a bad sense of the word.

On the other hand, it was a ball and chain. You would not find you soulmate sooner than in your twenties and sometimes, you missed them despite not having met yet. When imagining what your meeting could be like based on their first words etched into your skin, you feared they might be a little disappointed – even as you did not let that stop you from pursuing the life you wanted. And despite you wanting to choose the career either way, it felt like someone – be it god, fate or another cosmic entity humanity was yet to discover – had chosen the path for you the moment you had been born if not before.

'Doctor, are you alright?'

Four simple words that couldn’t be more ordinary and yet extraordinary for they represented one of the most meaningful encounters of your life. The source of as much comfort as anxiety.

You couldn’t stand hospitals ever since you were a child. The cold environment reminded you of the strange icy feeling that had settled in your chest over the months you had been visiting your dying father, your naïve eyes watching cancer bite off his energy and smiles first, before it swallowed his whole body and soul. He had been a ghost long before he passed; and in your mind, despite all rationality even years after, that ghost haunted any hospital you visited.

Learning what your soulmark was as a child, you had spent countless nights crying, soul torn into pieces, pushed and pulled between the visceral desire to live up to your soulmark and the crippling nausea at the mere thought of dealing with people drowned in misery caused by any illness in the cold institution they called a hospital.

However, the curious kid you had been, you had fallen in love with science itself.

And that one day at school, when a classmate of yours had brought their father to the class to talk about his job as a doctor, you had burst into tears. You began to sob in the middle of him explaining to third-graders that he was not a medical doctor, but a physicist with a doctorate earning him the degree of a doctor as well. You remembered your teacher leading you outside of class, concerned and absolutely baffled, trying to sooth you helplessly even as you were completely inconsolable – because you did not need consolation.

You were crying the happiest, most relieved tears of your life.

You could still be a ‘doctor’. And you genuinely wanted to be one, not just because of what your soulmark read. You had always wished to help people indirectly, even as you looked back at your life now. Sure, your soulmark could have been adding fuel to your drive when your motivation had been running low, but this was who you desired and was meant to become.

A molecular biologist. A doctor in making. Researching the effects of medicinal drugs with hopes to improve them.

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

And yes, there was the lingering feeling of missing a person you hadn’t even met yet – especially when Doctor Simmons’ face lit up like fluorodeoxyglucose in PET scans whenever she saw Doctor Fitz – but you had other things to focus on. And you had time. There was no pressure.

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

Naturally, just because you dodged the joys and sorrows of being a medical student and later on, a medical doctor, it did not mean that you had it easy. No one working on their doctorate did. But when you decided to pursue your degree and work in research, you signed up for that.

You signed up for a lot of things.

It was a little peculiar for you to be on the SHIELD campus in the science division without a doctorate. It was a known fact that SHIELD only recruited best of the best, this Science ad Technology in particular: you needed at least one doctorate to even walk through the door, which was something you were reminded a lot because you did not meet that requirement and here you were.

But SHELD owned the best equipment and you were fortunate enough to get in by the lovely game of fate, being good and driven enough and having met the right people at the right time. SHIELD Academy’s Science & Tech division had the unique equipment you often needed for your research. Your research was interesting enough for people who had perhaps more power over your little life than fate itself. Stars aligned.

It was no walk in a parc, but you were no fool; jumping after that opportunity after having one too many doors shut into your face was a no-brainer. Even though it meant signing up for a whole extra load of shit.

You signed up to be the weird girl. The privileged girl. Hell, even the stupider than local average girl, because you were only an engineer at this point.

You signed up for being the young girl, even as you had met a few people there who had started younger, having actually earned their first PhD at age 17 or less.

You signed up for mockery and misogyny, for as you were aware the level was blissfully low here compared to other workplaces, especially where science was concerned; in exact science, you observed, more than anywhere you ever heard of, it was customary to keep that one insufferable employee, because they were simply that good at their job, no matter that they had cost the department a few other employees.

You signed up for living on campus with other SHIELD recruits, which meant living in close quarters with other divisions; as a result, some days the whole area seemed to swim in testosterone emitted by the hulking special agents in making from Operations.

But that was okay. You could do it.

There were bright sides too, many of them. Like pursuing your dream career. Being among like-minded people whose brain, to a large point, ran on the same wavelength. Hooking up with a handsome but notbrainless recruit from Operations or Communication here and there, some flings, some relationships, because if you were to wait for the love of your life, you might as well not wither completely. You were only human and you had needs along with your lifegoals.

You more than willingly signed up for working with Agent slash Doctor Jemma Simmons. With her two PhDs and rich experience from the field, she had left the action behind in order to work on her third PhD and help humanity without having her life on the line every day. She was hard-working, with no-nonsense approach and lovely sense of humour with plenty of stories to back it up; she was overall pleasant person to work and be friends with and despite having been through amazing and terrifying experiences other people couldn’t even imagine, she remained surprisingly down-to-Earth.

Sure, she had her quirks like insisting on having a gun at hand at all times and stashing a few small vials of altered Molotov cocktail, a mixture of chemicals which would ignite upon the vial breaking, in one of the nearby cabinets – but you supposed there were worst things to get used to than that in a coworker or a friend. She used to be an active agent after all; in fact, unofficially, she remained one. Much like anyone, you knew that certain habits died hard and being through what she had been – she confessed to you that she once spent months on a nearly deserted ancient planet, among other things – left a mark. If this made her feel safer, you’d take it.

Another great thing about Jemma, Doctor Simmons, was that she was adorably English and was in dedicated relationship with Doctor Fitz who was a Scotsman, so that was the spice of long workdays at times; especially if you agreed to play Scrabble with them and a few friends in the evening.

But there were things you had not signed up for when following the alluring promise of a prestigious spot and unique equipment.

And one of them was a damn Nazi revival group in the form of fucking HYDRA attacking the lab while you were in the peaceful process of waiting for your PCR to finally be finished.

Influx of men in full tactical gear interrupting Jemma updating you the vacation plans, Fiji and all the rare species of fishes that could be observed there when scuba diving.

When you heard the first shouts, breaking of glass and dull echoes of gunshots from afar, your immediate thought was that you had been having a good day and that the experiment had been coming along nicely – and that whatever mess was happening was for sure about to ruin all your progress.

By the time panic settled in, Jemma was practically tackling you down, hand over your mouth to muffle your startled squeak at the sudden movement, her eyes alert and serious, screaming at you to keep quiet.

The sickening shouts of HAIL HYDRA, COOPERATE AND YOU’LL GET HURT LESS was what sent your brain crashing into reality; that and the distant agonized cries of people, coworkers and recruits you knew and met in the hallways every day, following the sounds of gunshots growing in volume and frequency.

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

You yourself were unable to move beyond stifling a cry behind your suddenly sweaty palm as another female voice wailed in pain.

Blood seemed to freeze in your veins despite your heart thundering in your ribcage and your temples and it helped you shit at all that you were aware that was such thing was literally impossible. By the time Jemma’s hand grabbed yours again and squeezed hard, you realized you were shaking – half in anger, half in paralyzing fear, half in utter shock. It didn’t matter it didn’t add up.

What mattered was the gun in Jemma’s hand. She was holding a gun, ready to shoot, because there were enemy agents, fucking HYDRA burst through the door, guns blazing. And killing people.

You were whispering with exasperation worth of a shout before you knew what you were doing.

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

“Probably the samples they brought in today, precious cargo,” Jemma whispered back frantically, loading the gun and reaching into another cabinet behind her. You only stared at her in utter confusion and mute horror, rapid heavy footsteps approaching and sending your already racing heart into a madness. “Gun or cocktails?”

“I can’t shoot a-!”

Before you could finish, the familiar sound of the sliding door opening and a horrifying echo of tactical boots reached your ears, a set of vials pressed into your palm.

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

Those goddamn Simmons’ cocktails as you named them since she had insisted on keeping around.

You couldn’t believe the moment was here that you were actually grateful for them, even as they seemed to burn in your hand even with the vials themselves intact.

Your eyes snapped to Jemma’s face to question it wordlessly at least, but she wasn’t looking at you; she was listening intently, lying in wake as if she was the predator and not the prey you felt like.

Your own breathing seemed too loud as you allowed yourself to squeeze your eyes shut for but a moment, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare; but the morning didn’t come.

Instead, a gunshot rang in the room, glass shattering somewhere above your head to your right, sending a waterfall of shards flying next to you.

And causing you to cry out in fright.

Which revealed your position to the agents flowing into the lab.

Without a thought you snapped your eyes opened, jumped to your feet and threw two vials in the direction of a black blur with a shockingly clear red patch of the mythical Hydra monster in the middle; peripherally, you saw Jemma attacking as well, deafening noise of gunshot nearly blowing your eardrum.

You crouched back behind the counter so fast you felt vertigo swing you to the left, sharp pain erupting from your palm. It was pure miracle your right hand didn’t clench in instinct and shatter the two remaining vials, setting yourself on fire as well.

As well.

Someone was screaming – a man, you realized – the acid smell of burned flesh and plastic and various chemicals punching your nose and your stomach hard. You had hit someone with the vial. They screamed because of what you had done. You had-

You had no time to feel sorry. You had no time to properly think fucking serves them right.

More steps, more gunshots, movements you weren’t sure how happened or came to you in the first place, flashes of light and crimson and noise and godawful smell--- and pain erupting in the back of your head and suddenly you were barely catching yourself on the counter with your slippery palm--- your fingers brushed metal, knees weak but hands grabbing with all your might, lifting and swinging, a sickening crack on your right before you were falling, landing on your wrist, back hitting the cabinet door and making even more noise as you sent equipment clattering around.

However, the loudest sound was another gunshot; but the strangest sound was unfamiliar whizzing and metal hitting metal and someone most definitely shouting “clear!” that sounded as distant as a whisper over the ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your head snapped to the voice as you tried to prop up on your hands to see; the world swam in front of your eyes, dizziness forcing you to fall back on your ass and squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to stop the world from spinning, a sting in your palm drawing a hiss from your lips.

You could hear Jemma’s talking to someone, her words blurred into a mumble despite her voice sounding firm and methodical; footsteps, quick and heavy but somewhat soft, accompanied by a brush of air against your skin, making you open your eyes again just as navy blue with speckles of silvery grey glinting in a flickering light filled your vision.

Then, a face; an extremely handsome face even as a helmet made of blue similar to the rest of his suit covered the upper half of it, framing a pair of the dreamiest pair of blue eyes you had ever seen, as beautiful as blurry as a dream indeed.

Somewhere in the back of your brain it started clicking into place – that the man in front of you looked a whole lot like Captain America and he was there to kick HYDRA’s ass; he was hunk and looked righteous and unfairly pretty, the cut of his jaw sharp enough to appear as if sculpted by ancient masters of art and it might be softened by the leather strap holding his helmet in place but that only brought out the sheer beauty of his lips even with a small bloody split on them.

And he was talking to you, his leather-clad hand gently grasping your arm as you involuntarily swayed to side when moving your head to take in the entirety of his large figure.

“Doctor, are you alright?” he asked slowly, velvety voice sweet and heavy with concern at once, the gentle but firm hold on your arm growing stronger when you blinked owlishly, the connection between the meaning of his words and his apparent intention to talk to you slow and fragile.

Your tongue felt as if made of lead even as it tasted of bitterness of adrenalin, but you willed yourself to answer, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

As you responded, you brain began to clear; and it occurred to you that it was a fair assumption for him to make.

You had grown used to clarifying, but hadn’t done so in months, because everyone already knew. However, he was an outsider to this lab and he couldn’t know you were the exception to the local rule. And you were wearing a lab coat, one that now had to be covered in mixture of chemicals you did not wish to identify, but perhaps you should try, because your forearm was beginning to burn.

The beautiful man kneeling in front of you silently observed you for what seemed like an eternity and half, surprise written all over his face. You couldn’t blame him; you were the weirdo of the lab. The fact the person who had purposely stacked explosives at hand was less of an anomaly than that was a thing to consider, but your head hurt too much to think about that and your heart was still beating unhealthily fast and his error seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things of HYDRA having attacked your lab and Captain America being right in front of you, holding onto your arm.

His soft baffled smile as he hung his head and shook it a bit with a breathless chuckle, and then lifted his downright shining gaze back to you, well that certainly made for a spectacular distraction from such unimportant thoughts.

Did his thumb just brush your arm as he still held you up a bit?

And had anyone ever told him he had a stunning smile that could melt hearts even if it was barely there and it was certainly melting yours?

“Apologies, miss. I’m going to help you get to medical, alright?” he suggested, those damn gorgeous eyes roaming your face with what almost seemed like wonder, even as his voice sounded all kinds of reassuring. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safe. You were safe. Because there had been HYDRA agents, but Captain America and actual SHIELD operatives had come to the rescue. And because Jemma was-

Jemma. Your straightened, dull ache pounding in your back as you did so, vision clearing a fraction with the sudden realization that you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. Your friend whom you owed your life very likely, but even if you didn’t, you would have-

You craned your neck over Captain America’s impressive frame, head snapping from left to right, nausea rising with the movement, but that didn’t matter, you had to-

You turned your alarmed gaze back to the man who was still holding you, an urgent question on your lips.

“Jemma? Is she--- Doctor Simmons, brunet, lab coat-“ you paused, realizing bitterly that you had just described half of the Science and Technology. “Female. She’s a doctor and an agent too, she was with me had a gu-“

A warm squeeze on your arm, the concern which had grown even more evident on Captain’s face melting away and giving way to a soothing smile.

“She’s alright. She’s already left to be checked up and to give her statement.”

Your shoulders sagged, your head dropping a bit; the violent vertigo that seized your body at that was not pleasant and you tried to blink it away, gaze catching the reflection of the still-blinking fluorescent lamp on the Captain’s shield.

Oh. That was probably what had made the whizzing sound before. As your brain conjured an image of that, a spinning shield flying through the air, you cursed yourself mentally for letting your mind even go there since you had already felt like you were the flying piece of metal and the thing you’d hit eventually would be the floor.

“My head is spinning,” you muttered absently as you attempted to refocus your gaze, praying to gods of religion and science alike you wouldn’t throw up on the poor caring man.

Why was he still sitting here with you? Surely there were much more important things to tend to then one little post-grad? How was he so kind and gentle? Wasn’t he known for inspiring speeches in a deep serious voice and for beating up villains with both his physical strength and brains?

So many questions and no answer in those pretty blue eyes.

In fact, the number of your questions grew exponentially when the hand on your arm released the pressure and gently rubbed your elbow instead; his free hand carefully cradled the back of your other hand, the contrast of leather and his warm skin surprisingly sensual, suddenly making you understand why so many regency era literature spoke of hand-holding as indecent even as it was barely Fifty Shades of Grey level of filth.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Rogers said, snapping you from your thoughts. “Let me help you up and they’ll check you up too, including this nasty cut, okay?”

Huh?

Purposely slowly as not to make the vertigo worse, you glanced at your hand in his, feeling a fresh sting just by looking at your palm, your gaze instantly snapping away.

And falling straight onto two intact vials full of liquid of a distinct colour, lying carelessly about two feet away from Steve Rogers’ tactical boots. Your heart jumped in your chest, your hazy mind finally growing aware of your surroundings.

“Shoot! Careful around those, they’re highly flammable!” you warned him swiftly, his gaze snapping to the vials in question, while ours slowly trailed over the utter, utter messthe lab had become.

The sheer amount of broken glass, spilled chemicals, broken pipettes, torn papers and unidentifiable piles of junk was staggering and it was actually a miracle nothing had exploded yet – and as a cherry on top, a few feet away, a relatively small portable PCR machine, the very equipment you had been using, downright murdered along with your experiment and a smudge of blood around it. Jesus.

“Okay, that’s good to know. More the reason to get out,” Captain Rogers remarked, slight amusement lacing his voice, only growing stronger as he continued. “Keep a lot of these around?”

You could have scoffed, but you didn’t. You have no idea, pal.

“My friend is paranoid…” you explained, still staring at them, even as you mentally added ‘or not’, since those little things might have very well saved your life. As your gaze returned to Captain Rogers, your eyes caught on something else, having you sit up straighter in sheer horror. “Is that a stab wound?!”

You gulped at the sight, even as uninjured hand instinctively reached out towards it – as if you could fix it. The already dark suit, a lovely navy blue, appeared downright black at left his side, right where it seemed to be singed by a flame.

Had that injury been there the whole damn time he had been sitting here with you, eternally patient with your slowed brain, Simmons’ cocktails lying around in one huge chemical dump in risk of exploding any damn minute?

You logically knew the answer had to be yes, but it made zero sense – and his answer made even less sense.

“Bullet, actually. Some sort of chemical damaged the Kevlar lining and they got a lucky hit. It’s just a graze.”

“A gra-“ you choked on the word, spit stuck in your throat causing you to cough and a groan escape past your lips as the sudden rapid movement sent your head pounding again.

“Hey, you-“

“You’ve been shot and you called my cut nasty?” you questioned through the tears, earning a smile worth giving up a career for – painfully warm, kind and… almost fond.

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

“I heal fast. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright, doc.”

A knee-jerk reaction – again. What was it with him? Had he hit his head, forgetting you had already explained – you had, you hadn’t imagined that, right? – and now he called you a doctor again, turned into a familiar nickname, no less.

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

It slammed into you like a train, struck you like a lightning, even as neither of those things had ever happened to you – yet, you imagined it had to feel like this.

A massive force, a force of nature, realization as bright and as unexpected as a lightning from a clear sky.

Doctor, are you alright?

He had asked that. He had asked that. He had said your words. He had said your goddamn soulmate’s first words to you, what must have been minutes ago, and only now it hit you.

You were left staring at him with wide eyes, myriad of emotions written all over his face, including slight amusement and what you had earlier inexplicably identified as fondness, because the reason why he was still sitting here with you – though perhaps that was what he always did when rescuing, what did you know, you didn’t, this was your first meeting, that was why he had said the words – was that unlike you, he had realized you were his soulmate right away.

He kept watching you, silently letting you process the crucial revelation, a tight but no less kind smile on his lips.

“You said my words,” you said oh so intelligently. “You--- what… what did I—say?”

It was perhaps the stupidest question of all you could have come up on the spot, but you genuinely couldn’t remember – and wanted to know what words he had been looking at his whole life.

…this part of life? Or before the ice too? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about you? Was he disappointed? He didn’t look like he was, but didn’t even know what you had said—

What you did know and remember was that you were supposed to be smart and yet it had taken you an eternity to even notice you were facing your soulmate you had been probably spewing complete nonsense, you were now stammering like an idiot and for someone who had been worried, always, even if in the back of their mind, if their soulmate would find them good enough, you were generally making a bloody awful first impression.

But seriously, what had been your first words-

“You said you weren’t a doctor yet,” Captain Rogers reminded you, voice soft with affection of someone who had imagined hearing those words at least as many times as you had wondered about yours, hoping they would be pronounced by someone who’d respect you and cared about what kind of person you were, and would hopefully, eventually care for you. Loved you even. The tender way the syllables rolled of his tongue, spoken as if they tasted of honey, nearly chased fresh tears to your eyes. Alright, perhaps your first impression hadn’t been as bad as it appeared in your – albeit injured – head. “But if you really don’t remember saying that, that’s not a good sign. We need to get you medical attention. Come on. Hold on.”

Blinking slowly, still processing the light and yet suffocating feeling that found residence in your chest as it was starting to truly settle that this man, this painfully beautiful and criminally gentle man, was your soulmate, he was leaning closer to you, his hands guiding yours to wrap around his neck, a wordless order you had obediently followed, and then one of his arms was sliding under your knees and his other wrapping around the middle of your back.

And then your vertigo hit you anew because you were suddenly up in the air, hands gripping hard at anything you could reach – conveniently, the only thing was him, because he had lifted you upin his arms, some of your weight resting against his chest – despite the pain that shot up your left hand.

“Whoa-“ And then, because your memory did serve you at least a little: “You--- have been stabbed.”

“Shot,” he repeated patiently, fondly almost, and you did recall he had said that.

You recalled despite the scent of pleasant aftershave and peak man suddenly enveloping you as much as his arms and the firm armour – or perhaps that was the muscles underneath? And those pretty blue eyes were watching you with a glint of amusement and a surprising amount of affection for a guy saying he had been hit by a bullet, while effortlessly carrying the girl he had just met in his-- very, very strong, muscly arms and perhaps your head was not only spinning because of the sudden height you found yourself at.

…amusement? How was he amused? Was that-- was that a joke? Was he making fun of his bullet wound, playing it down?

“That’s… really not better.”

He grinned down at you as he made his way to the exit.

Walking. Watching you. Grinning and not even really looking where he was stepping.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was one of those people. You had met men like him at Operations, except for some reason – perhaps some sort of a soulmate telepathy – you had a feeling in him, that the peculiar recklessness many people from suffered, the disregard for their safety, because they could handle it, was dialled up to eleven in him. On a one to five scale. Because scaling mattered; you were a scientist. You’d know.

However, he did make it out of the laboratory without blowing anything up – perhaps at least that recklessness was balanced up by enhanced senses of a supersoldier and indeed, healing fast. And you hoped with your whole heart that walking out unscathed was a conscious effort, be it for him (somehow you doubted that) or for the cargo he was carrying (you had no doubt about that, not when he was looking at you like that). At least he had kept the helmet on; you were thankful for that, even as you’d love to see him without it.

See your soulmate.

You knew what he looked like everyone knew what he looked like. If they had missed the WW II. ed, they could barely miss the news about an alien he had had a hand in stopping, the fall of majority of SHIELD, and other exciting horrifying news.

“I’ll be fine, doc. Now let’s get you away from exploding vials and lab equipment you could knock me out with. I’d rather be safe when I ask you out for dinner.”

You gulped, gripping him a bit tighter as a memory hit you – literally.

The PCR machine. You had done that. You had grabbed it and used it to smash into a HYDRA agent’s face, using the nearest improvised tool of defence. Jesus.

I really did that?

“You… saw that?” was what you asked instead, a few second ticking by as the rest of his words registered in your brain – and god, you really hoped your cognitive abilities would restore soon and the head injury had not caused permanent damage. “Oh.”

As much as your heart started pounding at that, a pleasant somersault in your stomach for a change, it was a little unfair to sort-of ask you when you were in your current predicament. Being carried like that, so close to him, so gentlemanly and tenderly handled despite your weight no doubt straining him, especially since he had been shot – grazed –, yoursenses wrapped in everything that was him and pulling you in, you were fairly certain you might say yes to just about anything he’d ask.

And not just because he was your soulmate.

Your soulmate carrying you in his arms, while wearing a very flattering suit of armour.

“If you’d like, of course,” he added with slight hesitance that only made your heart race further, because he was laying out his own heart for you already, expressive, genuine, and maybe sweetly handsy but not pushy despite his title and rank technically giving him every right to do whatever the hell he wanted. “But either way, I’ll save the real question for when I know you’re not suffering from a concussion. That sounds good?”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. It did sound good, his consideration warming you from inside out. His voice sounded good too. “Sounds good to me.”

His smile was bright as the sun itself and basking in its light and warmth felt just as precious. Except he was to be your private sun forever shared with other to a point, but yours. Chosen by fate itself, defying all you had ever believed, beating time by decades, only so you could find each other.

“Looking forward to it, doc. Maybe I’ll get to know your name too while we’ll be at it,” he teased lightly, but without malice. “My name is Steve.”

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

Hand trembling a little, but not because you worried he’d drop you as you partly let go of his shoulders, you reached for the clasp on his helmet, a fluttery feeling in your chest eager to indeed see Steve rather than the Captain.

You felt your lips curl up and mirror his when he gave a tiny nod at your brief hesitation, your fingers finally undoing the strap and revealing his face with his help.

His hair was adorably ruffled, a slight shade of dust on his cheeks whispering of where the protective gear had been; but scientifically speaking, as well as speaking directly from heart, he was absolutely beautiful, his tender smile telling you he thought the very same about you.

He was meant to be yours; as you were meant to be his.

And you couldn’t wait to get to know him.

You could tell there were people around you and they were probably staring; but for the moment, you didn’t care at all. You had just met your soulmate.

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Steve. But I have to admit…” you said, teasing him with a pause, rewarded by his eyes earning a curious glint, “that the Doc nickname is kinda growing on me.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Oh this feels like coming back to my roots 🤭 but hey, this challenge is a revival of all thigs good of the past, so why not go with the good old-fashioned soulmate meet-cute with a little angst beforehand, right?

AND BEHOLD I WROTE SOMETHING SHORTER THAN 10K. SHORTER THAN 8K ACTUALLY! It’s an extravaganza miracle 😂

Also. There might be some unrelated smut in the works, but I will not finish that today so... won't be part of the cum together extravaganza... ah well 🤭

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

May the Fourth be with you and the rest of May be kind ✨

#CT 2024 raffle entry #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #soulmate au #soulmate steve rogers #the unexpected #anika ann

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theitgirlnetwork · 3 days

Text

Earn It

Ch. 2 : Esmerelda Variation

Heaven's outfit at the match:

Note: Thank you for the insane amount of love you guys are showing this. This is still a ground work laying chapter so still a little short but with a bit of drama. I should warn that just like the characters from the movie, Heaven is going to be ambiguous. Sometimes she'll be great, sometimes she'll be toxic (you have to remember she's best friends with Tashi for a reason). Anyways, you will get to know her as the story goes on. Thank you for all of the likes, follows, reblogs and notes, I really love hearing from you all and will be responding to them today. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I wrote it in the middle of the night lol. (P.s. I have a bad track record with tag lists but I'm going to try, let me know if it works.)

Taglist: @spookystitchery @anehkael @fkaams

“You remember when you said you’d let me win this one?”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

Art whips his head to look at Patrick who’s staring out onto the currently empty court, leaning back on the bench with his elbows. “But what about my grandmother?”

“You better hope she has a stroke.” the brown haired man shrugs, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I mean Tashi Duncan is gonna be watching. Tennis princess. And her hot friend. Can’t fuck up, sorry man.”

Art just shakes his head and takes a swig of water. Two hours had passed since this morning’s run-in and he still hadn’t been able to force himself to tell Patrick about the fact that Heaven’s number was on the line too. It’d only be fair, he knows that. But…Art really didn’t want Patrick to have it.

He should’ve just asked her for it directly instead of hiding behind this performance in interest in getting it from her. But he’d been thrown off. He’d truthfully thought he wouldn’t be able to see her again after she announced she had a boyfriend to the group. When he saw her on the beach that morning he found himself jogging down to catch her, and struggling to keep pure thoughts as she talked to him in her skimpy workout gear, telling him she’s single now.

She was just so pretty. The sweat and the morning sun made her skin glisten. Her smile on her face made her cheeks dimple cutely and drew his attention to her soft lips. And she had this look in her eye. She and Tashi are so different yet so alike. She was asking him if competing was how he wanted to get her number. He was asked to make the choice. But it was the challenge he found swimming in her gaze. Like, there was only one right answer, that she expected him to be able to make the decision himself. Like if he shied away now, the little fire he saw in her eyes would die.

Heaven was just as into this as Tashi was.

The thought of her giving that look to Patrick too, it was something he couldn’t handle.

“Shame about that boyfriend though…wonder if it’s serious…Art. Art?”

Art jolts out of his inner thoughts and focuses on his friend opening his breakfast sandwich next to him. “D’you think Heaven’s relationship is serious? I feel like she was flirting a little. Poor bastard. Sending his girl on the road without him when she looks like that? Fuckin’ idiot. And she’s a dancer, do you know what that means?” Patrick asks, holding the sandwich out for Art to take a bite, smiling when he does and swiping his thumb across his mouth to rid him of some crumbs.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“She’s fuckin’ flexible, Arthur.” He growls, a smirk on his face. “She’s bendy and shit.”

Art’s lip curls in disgust as he shoves his friend, huffing out an irritated laugh when he’s shoved back. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that. Either of them, they’re people, jesus, Patrick.”

“Yes, exactly. Beautiful people. That I would like to fuck.”

“You’re a great guy, man, really.” he sighs sarcastically, tossing his arm around Patrick’s shoulder.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Heaven is quiet as she lets Tashi guide her to their seats in the center for the Donaldson v. Zweig match. Her friend had been excited all morning, ready to finally see some “real fuckin’ tennis’. Heaven was excited too. She’s always enjoyed watching people she knows do what they’re passionate about.

That’s why she’s always loved watching Tashi play tennis. Tashi plays tennis like she’s making love and going to war all at the same time. She leaves everything on the court, like each match is the last thing she’ll ever do. She goes somewhere, and Heaven likes going with her. Passion is what moves her. She’s passionate about dance. A life without it is meaningless.

“You good?” Tashi asks, nudging her knee with her own, grabbing Heaven’s attention.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

The taller girl shrugs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder with pursed lips. “Just making sure you’re not letting that dickhead Trevor get to you. He’s a waste of time and space in your brain. Can’t play basketball for shit and doesn’t know when to stop.” Tashi nudges Heaven again when she rolls her eyes, facing the court. “I mean, you obviously don’t have to listen to me, babe, I just know you’re too good for that shit. Don’t want you to waste your energy.”

That shit. That’s the shit she doesn’t like about Tashi. When she can’t tell if she genuinely is being her best friend, or is jealous that she’s been sharing Heaven’s attention. The condescending demand that Heaven show no weakness regarding someone other than her. Heaven knows Tashi wants what’s best for her. But she doesn’t own her emotions.

“Said I’m fine, T.” Heaven huffs, ignoring Tashi’s stare out of the corner of her eye and opting to watch the announcer climb the ladder and take position. “By the way, I saw Art this morning. I told him that we could double the stakes. Winner gets your number and mine.” When Tashi’s reaction doesn’t come, Heaven looks at her to see that she’s now facing forward, smiling almost evilly at the court.

“God, this is gonna be so good. Do you know how horny those guys are? They think the winner is gonna end up fucking us together, this is gonna be a real match.”

Heaven goes to respond but pauses as the men begin making their way onto the court, their names echoing in the microphone as they begin placing their bags down. Tashi finishes signing an autograph for a fan sitting behind them and settles back into her seat.

Both men immediately seek them out in the crowd, two sets of eyes finding the girls sitting in the center. Patrick points his racket in their direction with a cocky smile before turning to take to the court. Art gages their reactions to his friend, watching both women offer smiles to him and offering them his own wave. A bright grin lights his face when they return it.

“Boys are so easy.” Tashi laughs through her teeth.

“Very.” Heaven agrees, crossing her legs as she watches the match begin. Both men are working their asses off out of the gate. The ball sails back and forth across the net. Their grunts ring out into the air. Their eyes tense, sweat dripping, breathing heavy. At first, they were being showmen. Both of them stopping, looking to the stands for the girls' approval only working harder when the most they are offered back is a small nod.

But they got focused. They moved faster. Worked harder. They forgot them and just played some fucking tennis. And it was sexy as hell. For the first time ever, Heaven was experiencing the feeling she gets watching Tashi play. And she was experiencing it watching someone else.

Tashi was enjoying the game immensely. She loves this shit. This is the game she lives for, and she and her best friend had made it more interesting. She grins as she watches the ball go to Patrick, then Art, then back again. Her head swiveled with everyone else’s and she felt happy. Impressed.

Until she saw Heaven out of the corner of her eye.

Heaven sitting on the edge of her seat, looking at Patrick then Art then Patrick then Art. She hadn’t looked at Tashi since they started. It’s normal. They’ve watched matches together before, but this look on her face. That was supposed to be Tashi’s look.

Biting her lip in focus, breathing slightly elevated in the excitement, one hand toying with her name chain on her otherwise bare collar bone as the other clutched the arm of the chair, arched forward, leaning towards them.

Tashi shakes her head briefly and focuses back on the match, placing one hand on Heaven’s knee.

Just in case she slipped from her seat.

When Patrick took his bow, looking through his dark lashes to see Heaven and Tashi’s reactions. Both of them look pleased. Offering him applause as he stands before going to grab his things.

Art watches in defeat. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches it in irritation. He walks off his adrenaline, pacing between clearing his things from the bench. He feels a heavy hand clap on his back. “Good game, man. I’ll meet you out front, yeah? I’ve got a number to collect.”

“Yeah. Good game.” he says quietly.

Two. Two numbers. Both. He’s getting both. He deserves neither, and he’s getting Tashi Duncan and Heaven Whitlock.

Art sits on the competitor’s chair, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over his head to shield himself from the sun as he puts his head back. He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there. But he can’t bring himself to get up. To meet Patrick. To watch Tashi know he’s better than him as she gives him her number. To watch Heaven decide that he hadn’t earned the right to want her.

He doesn’t remove the shirt until he hears shoes clacking on the court. He’s expecting to see an employee of the tournament but is shocked to see Heaven standing in front of him with an unenthused look.

“Oh, good, I thought you were crying.”

“Um, nope.” Art huffs, a wry smile on his face. “That would be a little pathetic, even for me.”

Heaven’s head tilts, her dark, silky hair falling to the side as she does. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and Art hops out of the chair, offering it to her. “How is almost winning pathetic?”

“I didn’t almost win-”

“He didn’t sweep you. You could’ve won. He’s just better today. When Tashi wins, the other person usually doesn’t even get more than one point.” Heaven pushes up into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. Art can’t help but reminisce. Her legs are now covered by her light washed jeans, but her bare shoulders remind him of the expanse of glowing skin he’d seen earlier this morning. “The score was close.”

Art smiles slightly at that. He’s still annoyed he was unable to beat his friend, but her words, while based solely in logic, still managed to be comforting. “So, uh, I bet Patrick was pretty fuckin’ happy to get you and Tashi’s numbers.”

“Oh, he was pretty damn excited.” Heaven laughs. “It was cute.”

Ouch. “Yeah, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it.”

Heaven nods, lips rolling inward as she uses her arms to push herself forward, kicking him lightly with her leg, smiling flirtily when he catches her foot, his large hand encasing her ankle. He rights her gold anklet, turning it so that the cross on it is facing upward before bringing her foot back to the ground. “What about you?”

“What about me? I lost. Fair and square.”

“You did.” she grins, resting her chin in her hand. “But the wager changed this morning didn’t it? I agreed that the winner would get my and Tashi’s numbers, but you had an added requirement, right?”

Art’s brows furrowed in confusion briefly before the realization hits him. “I had to earn it.”

“If you’d won, but didn’t earn the win, I wouldn’t give it to you. I have my opinion. What’s yours? Do you feel like you earned my number today?”

“You want to give it to me anyway?”

Heaven shakes her head and hops down from the seat, moving closer to Art and fully expecting him to back up, pleasantly surprised when he just tilts his head down to accommodate her height. “I want you to tell me if today was your best.”

Art breathes out heavily. There’s a part of him that wants to just say ‘fuck it, yes’. He wants to say that's the best he can do, and he did earn her number already. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look her in the face and say he couldn’t do better. He couldn’t have her look at him like he didn’t have potential. “No.”

That’s apparently the right answer, because Heaven offers him a quiet, “Good.” before brushing past him, her arm narrowly missing his, causing the hairs on his skin to stand.

As he watches the girl prance away from him gracefully, Art bites back his own smirk, looking to the ground and nodding to himself.

He has some work to do.

“Just tell me. I just wanna know.” Art chews his gum, trying to look nonchalant as possible as he and Patrick make their way onto the courts.

He’d been haunted by the way his friend is seemingly getting joy from being very secretive about what he’s been doing with Tashi and Heaven. He knows he’s been talking to them. He can tell. It’s in the smug looks. The fucking half stories without names. He’s fucking keeping them to himself. Won’t even share their names with him. And in response to Art’s irritation, Patrick smirks. The same stupid fucking crooked smirk that always hides his snide remarks and secrets. Usually, Art has a twin one to match, now, the joke is on him.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me to kiss and tell. You used to be a gentleman, Art.” Patrick chuckles, grabbing a ball and preparing to serve.

“Just tell me if you slept with either of them.” Art pushes, moving to the opposite side of the net and getting into position. “C’mon, it doesn’t matter. If you’ve slept with Tashi, do a normal serve. Serve like me.”

Patrick hesitates a bit, shaking his head as he looks at his friend’s determined face. He knows Art is not gonna stop asking. But he’s gonna be so butthurt about the answer. He rolls his choices around in his head, briefly considering if it would piss off the girls for him to talk about it and deciding they wouldn’t care about Art knowing. And, he couldn’t help himself from bragging.

Setting up the serve and sending the ball sailing over the net, Patrick gives Art the confirmation he was seeking. Art offers him a smile in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and goes to hit the ball, only to see a second one flying past him on his other side.

“Wh-”

Patrick grins again, watching the two balls bounce and roll on the opposite sides of Art. He shrugs, strolling over to the net. “I figured you’d ask about Heaven too.” Holding his hand out in front of Art’s mouth he catches the gum he spits into it. “They…uh fancy themselves a package deal.”

“Really?” Art breathes through the smile he has painted on his face.

“Yeah.” Patrick squirts water into his mouth. “S’fuckin’ awesome.”

Art just chuckles politely until Patrick turns around to get another ball, using his friend’s distraction to let his smile drop into an aggravated frown.

The next time the whole group is all together is move in week. Heaven and Tashi had somehow convinced the men that even though Patrick was packing up for his tour and Art was also moving in, they needed to help them move into their dorms. They were starting with Stanford today and planned to make their way to UCLA tomorrow to get Heaven’s stuff together. While Art now naturally had Tashi's number because they were going to school together, he and Heaven had stuck to their deal. He hadn't decided what he was going to do to get it. Maybe win a match while she was here visiting in a couple weeks. Or maybe he had to beat Patrick specifically. He didn't know, but he as much as he wants her respect, he was getting sick of waiting.

Both men had removed their shirts in the California heat, carrying Tashi’s tennis equipment, replacement mattress, mini fridge and all ten tons of luggage she brought.

The women were being helpful too. Heaven was apparently resting her legs in anticipation of her audition tomorrow, and rode comfortably on Patrick’s back up the steps during the first trip from the van. After that the girls had made Tashi’s bed before both climbing onto it and sharing a lollipop as they watched the boys work.

“No, I want my printer over there.” Tashi calls, popping the candy out her mouth and passing it to Heaven, who is absently scrolling on her phone when she drags it into hers.

“Next time, I want green apple.”

Patrick drops the printer on the desk and turns to them. “You know, people hire movers for stuff like this. Where’s your dad?”

Tashi just ignores him, leaning her head over to look at whatever Heaven is staring at on her phone.

“Men used to build houses, you know.” Heaven says, tilting the device so Tashi can see better. The latter nodding at whatever she’s being shown.

“Mm, and go to war.” Tashi sighs boredly, “You guys can’t carry mini furniture?”

Patrick huffs irritably and looks to Art to back him up. “We’re almost done.” The blond shrugs, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You just like kissing their asses.”

“And you don’t?” Tashi calls from the bed.

Patrick huffs and lifts the printer again, moving it to where Tashi indicated it should go. Meanwhile, Art moves over to the bed finally done emptying the trolley they borrowed from the university. “What’re you two looking at?”

“I’m helping Heaven decide what piece she should do for her audition in a couple days.” Tashi rolls off of the bed and stretches her muscles, “she’s being stubborn.”

Art’s brows furrow as he looks down at Heaven, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, not reacting to Tashi’s criticism at all. She’d known about that audition since before they met them. He’s shocked to hear she still hasn’t decided on a piece.

“It’s not being stubborn, Tashi-” the girl pauses her movements at the use of her real name, brow raising. “It’s my audition.”

“Okay. Yeah, I just don’t wanna hear you whine for the next two weeks about how you should’ve done Odile from Swan Lake but pussied out because it’s hard and you know you’d complain.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Exactly, babe, exactly. That’s why I don’t get why you don’t just go set the tone.” Tashi chirps. Her voice does that thing. That thing she does when she's pretending she's being casual about something. Going up an octave to show just how much she doesn't care.

Heaven sits up then, a stern look on her face that can rival the one Tashi gives, both hands planted in the bed as she stares the other girl down. “You don’t think I’ll get the lead with whatever I pick.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A dare. The look she gives dares Tashi to say the wrong thing.

Patrick and Art don’t know what to do. They’d never seen the girls disagree before. They’re always tag-teaming everyone. Tagging in and out of conversations, finishing each other’s quick remarks, cutting people down with sharp looks together. They’d never seen them face off before.

“I know you’d better get the lead.” Tashi shrugs, flipping her hair over and tying it up with a hair tie.

“I’m gonna. Have I ever not?” Heaven sends back.

Tashi gives her a noncommittal look before snatching up Patrick’s shirt, tossing it into his hands. “Come hit the ball with me.”

She offers Art one glance. It’s an invitation, very clearly for everyone except Heaven, who was already turned away on the bed, scrolling on her phone again.

Patrick and Art have their own wide-eyed, silent conversation, finally settling through gestures. ‘You go with that one, I’ll stay with this one, hopefully no one pitches a fit.’

The dorm room door slips shut and the room is quiet aside from the clock ticking on Tashi’s dresser. A few moments pass before Heaven lets out a loud sigh and rolls over, gasping when she sees Art sitting at the desk on his own phone. “What the fuck?”

His eyes widen as he looks at her. “What?”

“I thought you left with Tashi and Patrick.”

He softens as that, offering her a smile. “And leave you by yourself? Nah. Anyway, we’re gonna be playing tennis everyday for the rest of this semester. Let’s go tour my college campus.”

Heaven looks up at the blond man outstretching his hand to her. Part of it is because she’s pissed at Tashi and didn’t wanna be laying here when she got back, but another part of her thought it might be fun to use this as an opportunity to get to know Art more.

Since she, Patrick and Tashi started hooking up, she’d decided she was satisfied with keeping the set up she had. She had some fun, they dated, and ultimately, there weren’t many requirements. Her focus was just dance now, she wasn’t looking to waste her time on another boyfriend who wouldn’t work out, and going down the exclusive route with Tashi would get…complicated.

But sometimes she thought about Art. She thought about his cute smile and blond hair. She thought about his voice and muscles. And since the match, she thinks about how he played tennis. She could’ve came from watching him play tennis.

A secret she’ll take to the grave, mind you.

But one that led her to walking around campus with him, despite the fact that she and Tashi had agreed she needed to rest her legs before her audition.

Art told her all about the stuff the guide book talked about, showing her the historic buildings, the dorm he now calls home and the dining hall. And somehow, they ended up in the small theater that’s located on the campus.

He smiles, glancing at her, rocking on his feet as they stand outside the building.

Heaven rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. “Huh. I wonder how we ended up here.

“Couldn’t tell you. Definitely didn’t walk you to this…very small theater on purpose.” Art shrugs. “Probably should go in though.” He says breezily, pushing the door open for Heaven to walk through.

As she steps over the threshold, Heaven’s bad mood nearly dissolves. Her tense shoulders relax and her eyes slip closed. Art watches her all but melt into the environment, her pretty features smooth out as she breathes in deeply. “A theater is a theater. I missed this, traveling with Tashi.”

“I’d bet. I’m sure you don’t get much time to dance when you do that.” He says softly, watching her run her hands along the stage.

“Just drills so I don’t get rusty.” She hums. “I’m gonna end up doing Odile. She’s right, it’s a show stopper, guaranteed lead.”

Art sits in the front, center seat, watching as Heaven pushes her way up onto the stage, sitting on the edge. “I’m sure you’d get it no matter what you did. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Heaven sweeps her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve never seen me dance, Arthur.”

He looks at her with an earnest, almost pleading expression that makes her stomach flip. “Could I? Please?”

“Okay.”

Art hasn’t experienced that much of life yet. He’s young, he’s had the same best friend forever. He went to a boarding school for tennis. He hasn’t traveled the world yet or anything.

But he’s pretty sure he would like to watch Heaven Whitlock dance.

She was in sweats. Unprepared, with no shoes. Though she denied it, she was clearly nervous that her friend would bust in, see her, and it would start round two of their squabble. But she stretches for a moment before crouching to set up her phone. “Do you know what you wanna see or…”

Art blushes at that, he doesn’t exactly know any ballets. He just wanted to see Heaven in her element. “How about you show me the dance you wanna do.”

There it is. The truth. They both know she’s gonna do the dance Tashi is recommending. But right now she’s not here. And Art wants to see what Heaven would enjoy doing.

“It’s the Esmeralda Variation.” She says, untying her shoelaces before pulling her shoes off altogether. “I need something to kick.”

Art immediately pulls his hat off, tossing it up to her and chuckling as she giggles catching it. One tap on her phone and the muffled music is echoing in the empty theater.

And she’s moving.

And Art can’t breathe.

He’s never seen anything like it, like her. The grace. The control she has over her body. He didn’t know people could look like that. He didn’t know balance could be so beautiful. It was like, he didn’t even want to blink. He didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

His eyes tracked her body’s movements with precision, but what they really focused on was her face. He’d never seen perfection like that. Peace like that. This was what Tashi was talking about. This is what she feels with tennis, Heaven has dance. She was in a relationship. With the song. With her body. The floor. The audience. Him.

Watching Heaven dance felt like witnessing love.

She’s amazing.

The dance was fun, playful, and looked difficult as hell. And she did it with ease.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she stopped, sliding down into a final split with a bright smile on her face. “That’s…you’re beautiful. That’s amazing, what you just did.”

Heaven gives him a pleased look that has him feeling warm. She moves to sit on the edge of the stage, letting her legs dangle as she looks at him. Her hands rest on her knees. “Thanks, Art, that means a lot.”

He shifts in his own seat, leaning forward. He pushes up out of the red theater chair and makes his way over to stand in front of her. “I mean it. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You’re really good at that, you know.” Heaven says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looks at him. This is the first time they’ve been face to face before. He’s tall, and imposing despite his accommodating demeanor. She bites her lip and watches his eyes immediately drop before he forces them back to her eyes. “Making people feel good about themselves.”

Art’s startled by the compliment, and immediately starts to laugh it off. Betrayed by the redness of his ears. “You have a gift.” He shrugs. “You should be told you have a gift, all the time.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. The wave of boldness. It might’ve been that they were alone. Or he was still worked up from what he just witnessed. Or the way Heaven was looking at him, with intensity. Like she saw something. He rests one hand on her leg, feeling smooth skin. And pushes into her space, bringing their faces impossibly closer. Heaven’s big eyes flutter shut as he gets closer, and he smiles.

She wants him to kiss her.

Grabbing his hat from behind her and placing it on his head.

Her eyes open after a beat and she gasps out a laugh, their faces still just a breath apart. “Ha. You’re funny-”

He presses his lips to hers in a brief but deep kiss, pulling away just as she pressed her lips back. “I’m sorry.”

Heaven balls her fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him back to her and making their lips meet again. Their mouths move together in a new dance. Suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and hums of contentment. Heaven’s hands find their way into Art’s hair as he anchors her waist, pulling her to the very edge of the stage so he can stand between her thighs.

When they pull away their lips cause a loud smack in the dimly lit room. Art’s thumb sweeps over the soft skin of Heaven’s cheek as they both desperately try to catch their breath. Her own hand moves about his curls, smoothing them before sliding to his jaw. Art turns his head to press a kiss to her palm before he speaks.

“Heaven-”

His eyes widen as he sees the girl’s eyes watering, her rose petal lips trembling as she looks at him. Chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. She runs her hands through her hair with a stressed look that Art thinks he would do anything to remove.

“Please don’t tell Tashi.”

#oc #art donaldson x tashi duncan #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x tashi duncan #art donaldson x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #love #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #challengers spoilers #heaven whitlock #earn it

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nu-suave · 12 hours

Text

OH, MY HUSBAND! feat. fushiguro toji

word count: 502

summary: toji overhears you calling him your husband to your friend. a/n: shorter post today, sorry! send ask, mayhaps?

You’re on a video call with a friend when Toji arrives home from a job, curled up on the sofa as you scroll on your phone with your laptop set up on the coffee table. From the tiny window of the screen, your friend offers him a wave. Following their gaze, you send him a smile and gesture him over.

“Come here,” you murmur fondly, hand wrapping loosely around his arm to pull him closer and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lips hovering just over his scar. He lets you move him; it always feels so domestic in a way he still struggles to fathom. “How was work?”

“It's always an easy job.” He replies, leaning ever so slightly into your touch before he pulls away. “I’m gonna shower. Do you want me to pick Megumi up from school?”

“Yes, please,” you sigh. Your head jerks towards your laptop, brow furrowing. “What? No, he can’t hear you.”

Toji heads towards the bathroom, keeping an ear out for you as he opens the door. Your laughter follows him. “That’s my husband you’re talking about,” you scold playfully. “Are you really trying to prey on a married man? I’m right here.”

Your husband? Huh.

He brings it up later that night. Megumi’s tucked into bed, you’ve both been fed, and you’re lying together in bed. He keeps you cradled against his side, one arm wrapped around your waist as you lean your head on his shoulder. “So, I’m your husband now?”

“What?” You squint up at him. “Oh. Does it bother you?”

He thinks about it for a second, leaning his head back against the pillow. “No. I’m just wondering where it came from.”

“They’ve been calling you my deadbeat husband for months now,” you explain, “ is it really that surprising I picked up the habit?”

“Deadbeat, huh?” His lips stretch into a wry grin. “So they don’t know how much your deadbeat husband’s earning?”

You snort. “No, because I don’t brag to my friends about the fact you’re the famed sorcerer killer that killed people for money, belongs to a society they have no idea about, and, oh, now works a job within that society for exorbitant amounts of money.” You flick his shoulder. “And until you’re cooking meals just as often as I am, you’re a deadbeat.”

He groans. “Fuckin’ hate cooking.”

“That’s my condition,” you say sweetly. “Think about it - wouldn’t Megumi love some food his dad made, special for him?”

“That kid would accuse me of poisoning him. Did you see his face the one time I made him lunch?”

“He was flattered!”

“He was not.”

“It’s not his fault he got your personality,” you reply. “Isn’t it cute, that brutish attitude on a six-year-old boy?”

“Shouldn’t my wife be nicer to me?” He complains.

“It’s my unique job to keep that ego of yours in check,” you say, the edge of your smile soft against his skin. “Unlike someone here, I don’t shirk my responsibilities.”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader

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dduane · 16 hours

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I've been reading and greatly enjoying the Middle Kingdoms books, but I was wondering... how does being asexual work in that universe? Does the Goddess come to you to have a really excellent conversation about woodworking/cooking/writing/other passions?

That's absolutely how it can go. Sex is completely optional if not desired. (The usual phrasing when people are discussing this kind of meeting says that the one being met is "offered Her love"... and love can look a lot of different ways, depending on what the human being in question needs or wants.)

The subject of this kind of meeting does come up briefly in the novelette Overdue (which is part of the LGBTQ Pride package in the Ebooks Direct store). Mevraen stai-Charesti, who holds the civil service position of "Queen's Sorcerer", says to an employee in his office, regarding his somewhat belated realization that he was ace:

“…Right, I know!” Mev said, his mouth twisting into a rueful smile at the irony. “Took marriage and three kids for me to find out. There’s a joke for sure! But eventually I understood it—so my wife and I undid our marriage and found a better way. One without other people’s expectations festooned all over it! And when the Goddess comes along in Her good time and offers me Her love, as they say She does for every man and woman born, I’ll shake Her by the hand and thank Her, and tell Her She can leave my body out of it. Seems the heart’s more than enough.”

And as for discussions on other subjects: in the forthcoming Tales of the Five: The Librarian, Freelorn does remark in passing, "I've eaten Her cooking. If nothing else, She's a really good cook." So it's not beyond belief that an exchange of recipes might ensue.* It says here somewhere, doesn't it, "Food is love"? :)

HTH!

*Not that this isn't itself a trope. Cf. the story about the Blessed Virgin appearing in a dream to the stressed-out nun supervising the kitchen at the convent of Santa Rosa in Puebla (then nervously preparing for a visit by the local bishop), and giving her the recipe for mole poblano.

#Middle Kingdoms meta #asexuality #Middle Kingdoms #ace characters

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sanguineterrain · 1 day

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Sanne can we get a part 2 for reporter!reader?? Picking up where it first left off their first night in the same home - and there's only 1 bed! - and reader shares the bed with him with the promise of not looking at his unmasked face in the middle of the night? And like them realizing over the next few days that they have very similar habits like tendencies to work throughout the night once they've got a lead and not having a set sleep schedule/unconventional sleeping hours.

OKAY HERE WE GO! be fed my lovelies <3 didn't exactly do one bed but hopefully you like it anyway ;) pt 2 of this

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. nightmares, hurt/comfort, jason sexy mf todd being a domestic dreamboat. 2.4k. pls enjoy

****

The Red Hood's apartment is... not at all what you expected.

It looks lived in. It, as awful a thought as it is, looks like an actual person lives here.

And it's not that you didn't know that Hood has a life outside of shooting and scaring, but the giant ficus and the overstuffed bookshelf seem paradoxical to everything you know about Hood.

You're realizing that you don't know him at all.

"So, uh." Hood awkwardly gestures to the apartment. "This is it. Welcome."

"It's nice," you say, stepping over the threshold. "Really nice. I'm a little jealous, Red."

"What can I say? Being public enemy number one is surprisingly lucrative."

You wander to the kitchen. There's a picture of him and a red-headed masked man who looks vaguely familiar. The man is smiling, his arm around Hood. There's a city skyline behind them you don't recognize.

"Where's that?" you ask. You don't expect him to answer.

"Morocco."

"I didn't know you had friends," you say, studying the Welcome to Vegas! magnet that's holding up the picture.

"Ouch."

"No, I—" You turn, shaking your head. "Sorry, no. I meant, like, people you do fun things with."

"Mm, yeah, I know what a friend is."

"Red, you know what I mean. I didn't know you took selfies and kept plants and read."

"Thought I was friendless and illiterate, huh?" He leans against the kitchen table, fist tucked under his helmet. "Y'wouldn't be the first."

"Hood—"

He snorts, shoulders shaking. You stop.

"That's not funny," you say, rolling your eyes. "Jerk."

"It's a little funny. You're always so sharp with your words, smartypants. No, while I'm very literate, friends are admittedly far and few. Arsenal's my closest friend."

"Is he also a crime lord?"

"Nah. Way better guy than me."

You look back at the picture and wonder how often Hood gets to experience joy. And when was the last time he had a vacation?

You feel a gentle tug at the back of your jacket.

"C'mon. You can snoop more later, promise. Lemme show you your room."

Hood takes your suitcase before you can protest. You follow him down the hall. There's one door to the bathroom—the other is to a single bedroom.

The bedroom is nice, bigger than yours at home. It's sort of what you expected (i.e., the mounted katanas on the wall) but also not (a giant framed poster of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice film).

Holy hell. You're in the Red Hood's bedroom.

"Hood, I can't sleep here," you say, watching as he puts your suitcase in the corner.

The bed has been made, sheets tucked in without a single wrinkle. They're in various shades of red. You're sure Hood thinks he's hilarious.

"Why? If the swords are putting you off, I can move 'em."

"No, it's—I can't take your room, Hood. There's no way I'm doing that."

He shakes his head. "No, trust me, it's for the best. That couch is only comfortable to sleep on after a dose of painkillers."

"Dude, I am not making you sleep on the couch in your own house."

"Well, dude, I'm the host, and I'm the big and scary Red Hood, so what I say goes."

"Like either one of us actually believes that," you say, brushing past him to grab your suitcase. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed. It's–it's very sweet of you to offer. But you physically exert yourself every day. You need a comfortable bed more than I do. Besides, it's not like I'll be here for long."

Hood steps in front of you, casually blocking your exit.

"Well, try this on for size: my room is more secure than my living room," he says. "If someone were to break in, they'd have to get through me out there first."

That... is, unfortunately, a good point. You're still extremely paranoid after the assassination attempt two nights ago.

"You're so manipulative, y'know that?" you grumble, leaving your suitcase where it is.

"I know. I come from a real fucked up family." He doesn't sound too put out by it.

"But if you get injured on patrol, I'm sleeping on the couch."

He pats your shoulder. "'S cute you think you can bargain in my house, smarty."

****

Dinner goes well. Hood makes beef bolognese and it's delicious. You take an extra long time in the bathroom before bed so Hood has enough time to eat, considering his refusal to remove his helmet. You'd offered to blindfold yourself—he'd just laughed.

"Sure you don't want your room? It is, after all, yours," you say when you come out, fresh from your shower.

Hood glances at you briefly from where he's washing dishes. He's out of his jacket and suit, now only in jeans and a white t-shirt. Your face feels hot for some reason.

"I'm sure. Cute robe."

"Oh." You look down at the Wonder Woman robe your friend gave you. "Thanks. Got it for my birthday."

"I'll have to get myself one too," Hood says, drying a glass with a polka dot tea towel. "Big Wonder Woman fan."

"Yeah? We solve this case, and I'll get you all the robes you want, Red."

"Tempting."

You chew your lip as you watch him clean up. "Want any help?"

"Go to sleep, star reporter." He sounds amused.

"You try to be a polite guest only to get shot down..." you mumble, heading to your room.

On your way there, you get distracted by a pile of documents on the coffee table. You stop, picking up the corner to read one. They're about the case, about all the labs that might be involved in the experiments.

Well... you can read just one. It seems like Hood's compiled a lot of information on his own.

You stand for a bit until your legs grow tired. Then you sit on the couch, making notes of what you do and don't know on a nearby writing pad.

"Did you get lost on your way to the bedroom?"

Hood's watching you, leaning against the wall. It's weird to see his bare arms. His very sculpted, muscled arms. You think you peek a tattoo on his bicep.

"My attention was caught," you say, unrepentant. "Anyway, there's a lot of stuff I haven't seen. You've been holding out on me, Red."

"'S just theories, mostly. Didn't feel it was relevant to mention without hard proof."

"Ever hear of a work-life balance?" you ask.

Hood walks over and joins you on the couch, making the cushion dip. You bump shoulders briefly, before you move.

"Look who's talking, Pulitzer prize," he says.

"That's a very reasonable goal, and I'm not obsessed with it. You're just a workaholic. I have activities outside of wo—oh my God, work!"

You shoot up from the couch, panicked. "Fuck. Fuck! I haven't shown up in two days! I'm—"

"Hey, easy," Hood says, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. "I called you out. Said you had the flu. No biggie."

"How did you call me out?"

He shrugs. "Pretended to be your boyfriend. Girl on the line was kinda rude about it. Didn't believe me at first."

"Red, I believe we've talked about these invasions of privacy."

"I'm just fulfilling my host duties. Is it true you haven't taken a day off in two years?"

You sigh. "Yes, okay? Fine. I'm a workaholic, too. That's why Jane, the secretary you spoke to, was so sassy about my having a boyfriend. It's pretty unbelievable."

"That's ridiculous. You could totally get a boyfriend. Some guys don't mind that."

"Like you?"

Hood tilts his head in acknowledgment. "Sure. Like me."

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly most men."

"And thank God for that."

You look at each other for another moment. Hood's tattoo is in clear view now: it's a bird surrounded by flowers. You can't tell the species of either one.

"Cool tattoo," you say, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth.

Hood turns his arm so the ink is hidden. "Thanks."

"Right." You start to walk backwards. "I think... I'm gonna go to bed."

"Sure," he says. "If y'need anything, holler."

"'Kay. Thank you for dinner. You're a great cook."

"You flatterer."

You smile. "Gotta stay in the Red Hood's good graces."

You start to walk away.

"Do you—waffles?"

You stop and turn. "Sorry?"

"I, uh... do you like waffles? For breakfast," he says. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together. Nervous habit.

"I love waffles for breakfast."

Hood nods. "Great. Good. Then I'll... we'll have those."

"Please don't wake up early just to make breakfast, Red."

"You're my guest. I'll do whatever I want."

You don't recall the prospect of waffles ever making your heart hammer in your chest. Weird.

"Well, goodnight," you say.

"G'night, smarty."

****

You turn the case details in your mind over and over. It's better than thinking about beef bolognese and peeks of skin you shouldn't see and how Hood's sheets smell like lavender.

But you fall asleep thinking about robins. You don't know why. You can't recall ever seeing a robin in Gotham.

You're on a rooftop. It's the roof you met Hood on, all those months ago. There's a robin nesting with its babies on the crumbling bricks.

The sky is a sick shade of green. You see horrible faces in the shadows on the roof.

That face from the night of the attack returns. He's hideous. You remember the stench of his breath, the way his eyes bulged. He grins at you across the roof.

"He should've killed me when he had the chance," he says, voice distorted.

You look around. The robin is gone. Blood drips from your stomach.

You turn and your attacker is there, inches away. He plunges the knife into you again and again. You can't move. This is it. You will die.

You wake up to wet cheeks. You're hot, and you're screaming. You've died.

A cool, rough hand grabs your arm and you fight because you can't die, you won't die. Not today.

"Hey. Hey, hey! It's me, 's J—Hood. It's Hood."

The room is almost entirely dark, save for a sliver of light from the cracked curtains. You can't make out his face. His voice is different. Clearer. He's without his helmet.

You reach out and feel soft hair. The curve of a neck. A bicep. A warm, bare chest.

"Sure, honey. Cop a feel if that makes you feel better," he murmurs.

Your face screws up and you start to cry.

"Shit," Hood whispers. "Shit, shit. Can't get the comforting thing right, can I?"

The bed dips with his weight. Arms wrap around you. You launch yourself into those arms, that solid chest.

"He g-got me in the dream," you choke out. "He killed us, Red. I'm so scared."

"Nobody's getting me or you. I promise."

Hood's jaw is smooth. His hands are big on your back, rubbing circles. His bare knee bumps yours.

You clutch him tighter. He hums.

"'S okay," he says. "It's alright. I got ya. He can't hurt you. I'd tear apart anyone who tries."

He lets you cry for several minutes, petting you all the while. Hood's body is warm, almost unnaturally so, but his hands are cool. He engulfs you completely.

You wonder what color his hair is. His eyes. What shape his nose is. His... lips.

"God, I'm a terrible guest," you mumble after you've caught your breath. "Fuck. I'm so sorry to wake you."

He hums, the sound going through your chest. "Don't worry. I don't sleep much. And you're not the worst guest I've had. My brother stayed with me for a few days last month. That was hell."

"You have a brother?"

"Four, actually. And a sister."

"Wow. Do they know you're...?"

"Yeah. It was a whole thing. They're over it now."

"Cool family."

Hood grunts. "They're... something."

You smile and close your eyes. "You're not who I thought you were, Red."

"Yes, I know. Friendless and illiterate."

You pinch his side. He clucks his tongue in response.

"Cheeky," he says, the gravel in his voice shooting down your spine like lightning.

You pull back, suddenly aware of how long you've been touching him. Hood lets you have your space, scooting to the edge of the bed.

"You know what I mean," you say, glad it's dark and Hood can't see your wide eyes. "Not like that."

"I know. You thought I was a monster, ugly and alone, sleeping in a cave."

Blindly, you reach for his face, feel the shape of his jaw, his chin.

"Doesn't feel like an ugly face to me," you say quietly.

He exhales like you punched the air out of him.

"Trust me," he says. "The dark hides a lot."

You frown and pull away. "I didn't think any of those things, Red. I thought... I thought you were one-track minded. Now I realize that you're probably better adjusted than I am."

"Oh no, I got issues. Believe me. Definitely more than you. Not that it's a competition. 'Cept if it was, I'd win."

You smile. "Title is all yours, big guy. Gotta be a little crazy to do what we do."

"Sure. But you're the bravest soul I know. 'Cause you weren't forced into this. You hunted down the story yourself."

"Brave or stupid?" you ask.

"Brave. But it's a fine line."

Nope. It's definitely more stupid than not, clinging to the Red Hood in his own bed in the name of a case.

What are you doing?

"Ah, anyway." The bed shifts as Hood stands. You can just barely make out the shape of him. "You probably won't be going back to sleep any time soon, huh?"

You sigh. "No, probably not. Please feel free to take back your bed."

"Nice try. You, uh... like hot chocolate?"

"Oh. Yes, I do. But you don't have to do that."

"I've been awake," he says. "No trouble. C'mon."

Hood walks to the door and opens it. Light spills out and for a moment, you have a clear view of his back.

His hair is dark and wavy. His back is covered in silver scars and fresh bruises, broad and muscled. You can see the tendons shift as he walks out.

The Red Hood is a man. Made of flesh and blood. Carved, more like.

Your belly flutters. Fuck.

This is no longer just you working a case. And you're about as far from an informant as anyone can be.

#Jason todd x reader #Jason todd x you #Red Hood x reader #Red Hood fanfiction #red Hood x you #Jason todd fanfiction #Jason todd imagine #red Hood imagine #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #jason todd x yn #red Hood x yn #gender neutral reader #inbox #blurb

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lolyfortherisk · 2 days

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Until i found you

Royal au

King!Charles Leclerc x Lady!reader

From the moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew he was done for. Safe to say he never saw a woman like you before. You were confident, sweet, kind, caring and most of all breathtakingly beautiful.

He tried his best to stay away, but with eyes like yours he could never. One look at you and he already feels himself drowning.

Seeing you doing the basic things makes him rock hard. He lost count on how many times he had to walk in the hallways or sit in the throne room with a hard on. Resulting in him fisting his cock imagining that it was your hand, lips, pussy on him.

When he finally made peace that he can't get you out of his head, he decided that he will try to catch your eye. Look at what he was thinking, for god's sake he was the king. He could have any woman he desires, yet it seems that he can't have you.

He laid in bed wide awake deciding that no matter what he will do or what he will try, he will have you.

No matter what.

👑

You tossed and turned in bed for hours. You're frustrated to the point that you can't close your eyes for more than five minutes.

You sighed in annoyance. What would it take to get him out of your head you don't know. For the love of god he was your king. How could you have such dirty thoughts about him?

He didn't help though. He was the most handsome king that ever ruled. You have to give him that.

He wasn't even meant to be the king, but when the late king Jules gave up his throne to him before his death things have taken a turn of course.

Back to your frustration. There's only one way that would sedate you. Yes, you're ashamed of it but it's the only way you could sleep in nights like these.

So you trailed your hand under your night dress touching yourself imagining it was king Charles who is licking, kissing and touching you.

After you came with a loud scream of his name (that you hope that no one heard or your reputation would be ruined) you finally slept through your haze.

👑

Charles was walking like a mad man through the hallways searching for you, but you were nowhere to be found.

He checked all the places that he knew you like to spend your time at. The lake, the gardens, the hidden spot that only he knew you like to spend hours there. He even checked where the court ladies sit in the afternoon, which resulted in them cornering him with their questions and flirtations.

There was only one place left. The library .He knew you like to spend hours there reading, so when he stepped inside and found you seated by the fireplace your legs dangling from the armrest he smiled and came closer.

You looked up upon seeing a shadow of a man from the corner of your eyes and was startled seeing the king. You jumped to your feet fixing your skirts curtsying while you lowered your head "your grace" you greeted gulping.

"I hope i am not disturbing you lady Y/n " he said. He hated that you lowered your head he can't see your beautiful face and those breathtaking eyes.

You looked up smiling "not at all my king, If you want you can join me for a bit?" He smiled in response. Thinking how would it feel hearing you calling him my king while he...

It's not the time for his imagination to wonder. He needs to focus on you right now. so he sat on the armchair opposite to you motioning for you to sit.

You sat with the book you were previously reading before he interrupted you in your lab.

"if i may ask what are you reading?" He asked curious about the book in your hand

"i read whatever i feel like reading. I read about history, herbs, politics, poems. Anything really" you stopped your rambling. And tried to calm your racing heart that he was so close AND actually talking to you. So you smiled then said dreamily "but right now i am reading a passionate love story. It's really interesting"

He looked deeply into your eyes that seem to draw him in more and more "oh really? Tell me about it" he said

You started talking about the book, then you talked about yourself and Charles did the same then you talked about everything that could possibly be talked about. For the first time you felt this close to someone.

Charles felt the same. He found that you're not just kind and confident. You're also funny, clever, well educated, and a good listener. You're basically everything he was dreaming of.

Time has gone quickly and when you looked out the window you found the sun is going down "oh forgive me my king. I kept you from your duties all this time" you said panicked that you talked a lot and he didn't want to embarrass you so he listened.

He sensed your worries so he assured you "trust me i didn't have much to do. And if i have , talking to you is far more interesting to me" he looked away from your eyes so he can gather his thoughts then said "i hope we get the chance to do this more" he said waiting for your reaction.

Have you gone mad to the point that you started imagining things? No he is actually asking to spend more time with you. of course you can. it's all you have ever wanted.

You tried to contain your excitement but in vain. You smiled widely saying "of course your grace. it would be my honor!"

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding then smiled and offered to walk you to your chamber. You walked side by side through the hallways.

After you bid him goodnight. You closed the door after you. Standing against it smiling like an idiot.

Tonight you won't be able to sleep but for a whole other reason than the previous night.

You two laid wide awake counting the time till you see each other again.

👑

The next day he took you for a walk in the gardens (which became a regular thing since then), he also took you to the lake every other week so you can have sometime alone. Some days you would have tea together.

Your feelings for each other grew stronger every time you spend time together, or simply looked eyes at court, or walked by each other in the hallways.

Till one day Charles got summoned by his mother. Months back he would dread this. Cause she would bring up the talk of marriage every single time and he would refuse saying he didn't meet 'the one' yet.

But now he can tell her he has. And that is exactly what he is going to tell her.

The guards at the queen mother's door greeted him with "your grace" and a courtesy and he dismissed them. Knocked at his mother's door. Her maid opened the door and greeted him.

"mother." He greeted his mother kissing her cheeks "hello my darling" she said back smiling.

"you summoned me. I hope everything is okay" he said acting clueless but his mother saw through him so she smiled wider

"yes my love i need to discuss some urgent matter with you" she said giving him a cup of tea. And took her own and sat opposite to him.

She took a sip of her tea "i won't give you the 'you're young, strong and handsome king' talk cause you know you're and also I won't say 'every king needs a queen' cause you also know this so" she said rolling her eyes playfully.

He laughed at his mother's way of opening the marriage topic so he played along "and what do you want mother?" He asked.

"well house sine is offering their daughter lady Charlotte to be your queen. So what do you think" she said eyeing his reaction.

He rolled his eyes throwing his head back "well mother sorry to disappoint but i don't see her as my wife." he said

His mother tried to contain her smile but failed "so the rumors are true?" She said looking at him with excitement.

"what rumors exactly?" He asked smiling knowing full well what rumors.

His mother rolled her eyes "that you have fallen for lady Y/n of house martell" she said

"yes mother it's true" he said smiling sheepishly "and i intend to make her my queen" he looked away remembering the time he spent with you, every kiss, every touch, every look made his heart race.

He sighed "i said i would never fall in love. But then i saw her and forgot everything i've ever said. She's everything i have been dreaming of and more. When she is near i feel calm and at peace, I feel alive. I need her so i can live." he said honestly.

His mother smiled. she never thought that her son would love someone that much other than his family yet here he is declaring his love for you like it's the best thing that ever happened to him.

"so the Martells are taking two of my children. I should feel threatened by this" she said jokingly having his older brother marrying a Martell as well.

"i guess i have to send them a letter telling them that we would like to court another daughter of theirs as well" she said then held Charles's face in her hand smiling.

"i am happy for you my boy. I really am. You deserve happiness and love and i am sure that Y/n would give you everything you need" she said then wiped her tears "come on go tell her that she is to be your queen"

He kissed her cheeks and her hands then ran out of her chamber to find you. Everyone was giving him odd looks wondering why the king would run around the hallways with a smile from ear to ear.

He didn't care. All he cares about right now is telling you the good news.

He found you in your hidden spot in the garden stargazing, so he lied down next to you and held your hand. You stayed like this in a comfortable silence till you broke the silence.

"do you think we could be forever this close. Like these stars" you asked softly curious.

He hummed softly "with you I won't settle for anything less than forever."

You came closer resting your head on his chest "but what if you got bored of me" you said your voice breaking "kings always lead on a lot of women and eventually they will wed who offers more, I won't offer you a lot Charles. I am not heir to anything I won't give you gold or land. It's just me."

He kissed your head and spoke softly assuring you "i don't need anything other than you. You're more than enough to me."

He decided that it's time to tell you what he actually came to say "also i think you're late for this talk but whatever" he said playfully.

You frowned turning to face him "what do you mean?" You asked confused.

He turned to you as well smiling "what i mean is that my mother is probably writing a letter to your father right now telling him that i will be marrying you." He said waiting to see your reaction.

You blinked a few times shocked then smiled widely throwing yourself at him. He hugged you with all his strength burying his face in your neck. "I can't believe you actually did it!" You said happily

"i told you that you would be mine no matter what lady Martell" he said kissing your neck softly.

You pushed him away panicked " but what if my father rejected the marriage offer." you said then the question sounded dumb even to your own ears. Why would he reject the king for god's sake?

He rolled his eyes "do you actually believe what you're saying darling?" He said smiling.

"not really no" you said laughing

He pulled you closer so you're straddling him now and looked into your eyes "and even if he rejected i will make you my wife anyway. We will rule side by side forever. And i will fill you with my heirs so everyone in this kingdom knows who you belong to." he said kissing you passionately.

After you broke the kiss he caressed your body resting his forehead against yours.

"Can't wait to call you mine" you said kissing him softly.

"i am yours darling. From now till forever." He said kissing you deeply.

👑

First full length fiction done✔️

Please tell me what do you think😫

Also likes and reblogs would be appreciated ❤️

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #fanfic #lord perceval #until i found you #lolyfortherisk #royal au

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jocelynscrazyideas · 1 day

Note

I want some Quinn smut/fluff maybe he’s stressed and he asks to c0ckwarm? I’m sorry I’m H WORD

April | Quinn Hughes x Reader

Warnings: p in v (unprotected), language, dirty talk, and I think that it?!

Summary: Quinn and Y/N have some fun after being stuck at home, the terrible rain storms caused the caunucks team practice to be canceled, and they end up getting active at the end of the day.

A:N- as usual not proof read, and I’m glad you enjoy the Quinn content!! Sorry I couldn’t add much but I did write a bit🫶

━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━

It’s the first week if spring. April 7th. It’s so relaxing being in Vancouver, we have an off day, we play the Vegas Golden Knights tomorrow.

“Baby?” Quinn says as he knocks on our bedroom door. “Do we have more brown sugar?” I’m guessing Quinn is trying to bake.

“No. You’re not baking. Not again, you almost burnt our house down last time.” I say as I get up, I’m dressed in black leggings and a red sports bra, on top I have a white shirt that belongs to Quinn.

How sweet. He knows I’ve been craving for ye taste of homemade baked goods. He’s such a man.

“I can see your undergarments.” Quinn motions to my red bra, I know he’s really horny, but it’s a tuff time, regular season is ending, and everyone is fighting for their playoff games. So I promise him that I won’t distract him by having ex with him.

I pull at his chain and I step on my tiptoes. “Yes, yes you can. And don’t call it that, just be grown and call it a bra.” I say as I stare into his blue eyes. His nose touches mine. Quinn pushed his forehead on mine, I feel him getting closer. I pull away and pull his shirt with me.

“Stop walking me. I’m not a dog.” Quinn starts to whine. He sure seems like one.

I take him to our kitchen downstairs. Quinn is wearing blavk shorts and has his blue support boxers on, he’s also really shirtless. He turbs me on everytime I see him.

“Are you on your period?” Quinn asks me.

Weird.

“No, why?” I respond, I’m thinking he’s just really gross and has a kink for blood.

“Just wondering.” Quinn states as he turns in his heels and pulls at the fridge door to grab some milk. He’s baking brownies. I think he’s making the chewy brownies that I love. “I’ll just make the regular brownies then. Since we don’t have brown sugar.” Quinn looks at me and he pulls my neck into his chest as he walks me to our couch.

“This is our only day together until I have to train next week.” Quinn mentions as he sits on top of me. I feel his hard cock on my pelvis. I look down and he’s rocking his hips onto me. His hair is dangling down, so as his chain. I pull him down onto me as he kisses my neck all the way down to my knees. I feel him breathing in my pussy.

I hear hard rain hitting the roof of our home. Lighting crashes, thunder hits. A storm rolls in, spring it is.

“Baby, not now.” I say pulling him up. He grunts as he forcefully picks me up and he takes my leggings off.

He breathed heavy once again, noticing I’m not wearing panties underneath my clothes.

“Hm…” Quinn trails off looking at my see through shirt and looks at my red bralette.

“Lovely.” He says as he locks onto my hands. I’m holding on to this arms as he cradles me as if I’m a baby. He rushes up to our bedroom and he pins me up against our slightly open closet door. I see my lingerie hanging in our closet as my back shuts the door closed. I can sense he wants more than just kisses.

He pulls off my shirt as he swoops his shorts and boxers iff. He looks me up and down. He starts with my boob. He licks my right nipple, and he starts to massage my left breast. He slips my bra off and I’m bare. Nothing on my skin. His dick slaps agisnt his lower abdomen. He licks his hand as he jerks himself. He starts to groan. He’s cock is growing on his hand as I start to get horny as well.

“You’re not in your period, so I can fuck you as hard as I please.” Quinn stares as he strokes my cunt. He pleads that I don’t move.

“No, because I promised-“ I mentions the promise of no distractions.

“You’re helping me get rid of distractions, you’ll never be a problem in my life.” Quinn respond eagerly, he goes down my hips. He licks my bud. He starts to get me at the verge of cumming. He pulls away soon as I squirt. Lights go out. I hear all the power turn off. The fan, the music that was playing downstairs, the oven preheating, and the electric lock that held our home closed off to the public had all been turned off.

Quinn didn’t care, he stuffed three fingers into my opening, and he stared to caress my pussy. He pumped and pumped, he got up and used my precum on his hands to get himself wet.

He pushed me onto our bed, and he stuffed his cum-covered fingers into his cock. He sits me all the way down and he hold my hair into his hands. He stuffs his penis into my mouth. I feel his tip dripping of cum. He drills into my mouth, almost thrusting into the back of my throat. I start to suck, he starts to grip harder on my hair. I feel that he’s on the verge of cumming, so I start to play with his balls. I massage the sack that protects our future kids. He starts to groan and he’s moaning into the night.

Thunder whips into replacement of his cries. “Keep going mamas. I need to feel it.”

Quinn keeps chirping at me.

“You can take it. Just a little more.” He said and he shoved himself all the way into the back of my throat I start gagging, and he leaks out streams of warm strings of cum. He disposed everything and I lick it all up. I swalllo part of it. I get up as if I’m in control. He open his mouth kissing me back and I stuff his cum back into his mouth. I feel him suck on my tounge. He pulls into me, pushing my hips forward into his shaft. I feel him hard against his body and it’s now pushing on me. We stand together, I’m in my knees on top of our bed, and Quinn is standing, clinging into bed with me. He lays down, as I climb on top of him.

“I need you right now.” I say and I push his head back all the way. He expects me to take him inside of me, but I felt a little dry.

“Open.” I commanded.

Quinn opens his mouth stuck his tounge out and let me sit on his face. He sucked me dr until I couldn’t take it anymore. I started to rock my hips onto his face, his nose perfectly hitting my clit, and he around eating my insides. His hands held my ass as I stared to squirm.

I hope off once’s I cummed, and I was ready to take him on. I backed off and pushed his large cock into my cunt. Quinn is to big, I wait a few seconds before I get used to him to breathe.

“Cmon baby girl, you’ve taken ig before you can do it again. This time it’s not just for me, you can please yourself on top as well.” Quinn squeaks as he starts to jerk up. His hips are up and I slide around. I push him back downs as I hop up and down. I moan as I can feel his boner inside me. It’s as if he’s hitting my lungs.

He cummed once again, matching with the storm. I loook at the indie bside our bed. Rain starts to trickled down again.

“Quinn I need you on top I can’t.”

He didn’t listen. He buckles me on top when he ties his hands onto my pelvis. I start to roll onto my stomach as I match our bodies together. Now we fit, just like a puzzle piece. I kiss him, but I am moving so much that our lips aren’t connecting. I feel just cummed flavor tounge massaging my lips.

It’s April. I can feel the allergies kick in once I start to cum on top of him. I sneeze and he licks my mouth clean from any kind of dust. I taste my salty liquid still on top of his tounge.

“Baby, I’m so stressed just let me go on top okay?” Quinn says as he pulls away from out kiss.

He gets on top of me as we switch positions. He starts to thrust into me. He humps like he’s riding a horse. He gets cold after we both cummed. He cleabs me up with a tissue from our nightstand, and he sits inside of me.

“Can I just stay here?” Quinn says as he is warm out. “I’m tired, and I’m freezing.”

after a while he got soft and he needed to pull out.

But we ended up holding eachother for minutes and he felt that he almost fell asleep. He got stuck in side of me.

I wish it was that easy to un tangle outselves. He had to thrust indies of me to get hard again, which hurt a ton. We went for a round 4 and he pulled out.

He held me in his arms for hours until the rain stopped and April was just April.

Allergies were just allergies.

And playoffs were just playoffs.

#jocelynscrazyideas #hockey #umich hockey #quinn hughes #nhl #quinn hughes x reader #🍇🍇🍇#smut #nhl fic #hockey fics

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bimoonphases · 2 days

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@wolfstarmicrofic May 4 - prompt 4: Marriage of Convenience [word count 759]

“Mais merde à la fin!” Sirius cursed, failing for the third time to properly knot his tie.

“Here, let me help you.”

James got up from the bed and reached for Sirius, his fingers deftly working on the tie, his own already perfect and a white rose in his lapel.

“There you go,” James forced a smile before he sighed. “I really hate this. I’m supposed to help you fix your tie the day of your wedding to the love of your life, not as you get ready to marry a complete stranger.”

“Yeah, well, blame your fellow countrymen for taking this place out of the EU,” Sirius grumbled. “It’s either this or me having to move back to France and I haven’t lived there since I was three.”

Sirius gritted his teeth. After the exit polls things had gone barreling towards the worst for him quite quickly, ending him up in the position he was in that very day, with only those two options, the second of which he refused to consider. His whole life was in London, he wasn’t about to move. So he had to marry someone with a citizenship as soon as possible before the new laws ended up with him being deported. Thankfully, he hadn’t been alone in that. The London queer community had so many people in his same situation that Lily and her girlfriend Pandora had immediately sprung into action, changing the goal of their charity into something that these days resembled a matchmaking scheme. At first they had had the time to set up meetings between people, but as time ran out and laws were made and protests ignored it had all turned into a text with a picture, a name and date, time and location of the wedding. Since he knew her well, Sirius had been privileged enough to get a call from Lily after she had sent him a picture of a guy in a brown velvet jacket, a book in his hands.

“He’s a good friend of mine, Sirius, and he’s truly a wonderful person. He’s very active in the community and teaches at UCL, I’m sure you two will get along.”

He had thanked her but shrugged it all off. It wasn’t as if they needed to like each other to sign a piece of paper. This Remus Lupin had volunteered to help out, they would both walk into the marriage office knowing it was just for convenience.

“It should’ve been me,” James sighed as he slipped another white rose in Sirius’s lapel. “If you have to marry someone to stay in the country it’d be better if it was your best friend.”

“You’re already doing that for Regulus, James.”

“That’s different, Regulus is my boyfriend.”

“Exactly, and he would murder me if I tried to marry you before he could,” Sirius laughed, then he patted James’s arm. “Let’s go, it would be rude to keep my future husband waiting.”

The ride to the registry office was silent, and when they emerged on the steps of the building Sirius immediately scanned the crowd, looking for the man in the picture.

“That must be him,” James said behind him. “By the main door, talking with Lily.”

Sirius looked up and blinked a couple of times. Remus Lupin was very tall, dressed in a navy blue suit, a white rose in his lapel too and a cigarette in hand.

“God Prongs, he’s hot,” he whispered.

“He really is,” James chuckled. “Come on, let’s go to them.”

They walked up the steps and Sirius had the time to detail Remus’s soft-looking hair, his long fingers and the way his white shirt hugged his torso. He almost didn’t greet Lily when they stopped in front of them.

“Your picture really didn’t do you justice,” Remus smiled at him. “And it was one of the hottest pictures I’ve ever seen all the same.”

Sirius felt himself blush as he shook his hand.

“So you’re doing this only because you find me handsome?” he chose to say.

“Anything to send a big fuck you to this government,” Remus shrugged.

“A real Englishman in shining armour then.”

“Fuck that, I’m Welsh.”

Remus put his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and extended his hand.

“Shall we go pledge our love until death do us part then?”

As Sirius walked into the registry, his fingers intertwined with a stranger’s and his heart pounding he decided he would wait until they had both said yes and then he would ask his husband out on a first date.

#of course Sirius swears in French #also no I never got over the 2016 referendum #so this is my way to say fuck you #also Lily and Pandora matchmaking #I might need to write more about that #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #sirius bl #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #james potter #lily evans #marauders #marauders era #modern marauders #the marauders #the marauders era #just writing (like i'm supposed to live)

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coffeeghoulie · 3 days

Text

Mushy May Day 4: Wound Tending/First Aid

After Dew cuts his finger on stage, Aether takes care of him.

Content warnings for blood and mentions of injuries

Mushy May put together by the wonderful @forlorn-crows <3

Divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

Aether smells it before he sees it. He's unmuzzled, unlike some of his pack, so despite his human glamour dulling his ghoulish senses, he can almost taste the thick, cloying scent of blood. He keeps playing, just barely stumbling over a chord, his eyes darting across the stage at his Papa, scanning, searching.

Papa's fine. Still singing, commanding the attention of the screaming crowd with out a hitch. Aether redirects his gaze, looking for the source of the blood.

His eyes lock on it, smears of color against an otherwise pristine white Stratocaster, and his heart drops into his gut. His mate is bleeding. It takes everything Aether's got to keep his cool and not storm across the stage to the fire ghoul.

Dew, in his defense, has not faltered; his scent hasn't changed, still riding on the excitement and adrenaline of performance. Still, Aether keeps an eye on him, watches as that guitar gets redder and redder, dripping from the fingers of his picking hand.

He'd be more worried about the bleeding not stopping if Dew were human, but they're ghouls. If anything, the bleeding has only riled him up.

The rest of the show, thankfully, goes off without a hitch. After bows, Dew steps off to stage left as Aether goes right, watching out of the corner of his eye as Dew hands his bloody guitar to his human tech, the man wide eyed at the state of his hand and the guitar. But Dew brushes right past him, and Aether quickly goes through the motions with his own tech, chasing after his mate backstage.

Dew's halfway to the dressing room when he intercepts him. "Darling," Aether says, his hand wrapping around his skinny wrist. The sleeve of his compression shirt is soaked through, with blood or sweat Aether can't quite tell.

"'M fine, Aether," Dew snaps, voice exhausted and tinging on a growl.

Aether doesn't flinch. "Listen to me, Dew," he says, not unkindly, straightening to his full height. Dew tenses, eyes locked onto Aether's. "You really think it's a good idea to walk right into a room with Rain and Sunshine while you're still bleeding?"

They're both still masked, but Aether knows Dew's rolling his eyes. His wrist is still locked in the circle of his grip. "I can deal with Rain and Sunny, Aeth. I'm fine, lemme go. I wanna get changed and get on the bus."

Aether's fingers twitch around Dew's wrist. The air, now that Dew's no less than a foot and a half away, the smell of blood is overpowering. "Dewdrop. I have been watching you bleed all night, unable to do anything about it. Ask for it and I will help you, love, but I don't want you to go in there without stopping the bleeding. I love Rain, and I love Sunny, but I love you."

Dew lets out a huff of breath from his nostrils, the steam catching in the low light. "I'm a grown ghoul, Aether," he snarls, but it's weak, and Aether knows him well enough to practically see the way he's clinging to that persona, the stoic shell that gets pulled up over his soft spots. Aether reaches up with his free hand and brushes his fingers over the side of Dew's helmet, as if tucking a long strand of hair behind a pointed ear.

"I know, darling," he hums, eyes tender. "I know. I just don't like seeing you hurt. Let me help you?"

Through the lenses of his own mask, Aether can see the way Dew's unglamoured, copper eyes soften, the fire ghoul leaning ever so slightly into his touch as he nods slowly, almost imperceptibly. Aether can feel the adrenaline starting to falter, even through the hard plastic of the mask. The crash is barreling towards Dew like a train, and Aether pulls them into one of the venue's unused dressing rooms, locking the door behind them.

Aether takes his mask off, and Dew follows suit, collapsing down onto an old threadbare couch as he pulls his balaclava down. Aether finds paper towel in the bathroom, and a first aid kit under the sink. He sits down next to Dew.

The fire ghoul's examining the cut on his finger, still bleeding, but sluggishly. He glances up as Aether sits down. "You gonna patch me up, Doctor Aether?" He asks, but the snark is fading, revealing sheer sincerity.

Aether's lip crooks up in a smile. "I am, darling. Gimme your hand?"

He does so without hesitation, trusting completely, and Aether meets his eye, kissing his knuckles before examining the cut himself. A string sliced into his pinkie on stage, and Aether hisses in sympathy.

"I barely felt it," Dew says, exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Think I got sweat in it. Fuckin' stings now."

"I bet," Aether says. He cleans the blood from his mate's hand with damp paper towel. "It looks nasty."

"Kept playing though," Dew shrugs with his other arm. Aether glances up at him, amethyst to copper. "The fans ate it up."

"If I couldn't smell it, I think I would have known when I heard it," Aether says as he reaches into the first aid kit for gauze and medical tape "Proud of you for sticking it through."

Dew makes a noise between a laugh and a scoff as Aether presses a wad of gauze to the cut. "What else was I supposed to do? Up and leave?"

"You've got me there," he hums. They're so close that Aether can feel the familiar, comforting heat radiating from Dew's body, the fire that burns at the very core of him. Dew shifts his weight, the springs of the couch squeaking in protest.

They fall into a comfortable silence as Aether works, ripping a strip of medical tape to secure the gauze to his finger. Dew watches, narrow chest rising and falling as Aether shuts the first aid kit, examining his work.

"There we go," Aether hums, tipping his head back and taking a deep breath, all of the worry hitting him as his own adrenaline starts to crash. "Should be good to meet up with the pack, 'm sure Swiss is wo-"

He cuts himself off as spindly fingers wrap around his wrist, grip tight. "Think you're missing something, starshine."

Aether cocks his head, brows furrowing tight as he does another once over on his mate. His hands come up to cup his face, thumbing over sharp cheekbones. "Are you hurt somewhere else? What am I missing, darling?"

Dew sighs, but he's smiling, relaxing into Aether's touch. "Starshine, I'm okay." He raises his hand, waggling his fingers in front of Aether's nose. "Come on, gimme a little somethin' somethin'."

"Oh," Aether laughs, taking Dew's hand in his and kissing the back of it. A little spark of quintessence jumps between them, just enough to kickstart the healing process. "Let me kiss it better, darling."

Dew laughs, smiling fondly at his quintessence ghoul. "Alright, Doctor Aether, can we go change, or do you think Rain and Sunny will still jump me?"

Aether stands, taking Dew's hands to help him up. "Let's go get changed. I'm sure the others are worried about where we ran off to."

Dew snorts, tucking himself against Aether's side. "I think they think we found a dark closet and sucked face for half an hour."

Aether cackles as he puts his mask back on.

"Aether?" Dew asks as he does the same.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you, for taking care of me." The fire ghoul's eyes are soft and earnest, shining through the lenses.

"Any time."

#the bloody guitar is still ping-ponging around my brain fyi lmao #i wrote most of this one by hand and my pen broke and i got ink absolutely everywhere #it was bad lol #dot's writing #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #dewther #aether/dewdrop #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #mushy may 2024 #cw blood

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ninzied · 1 day

Text

took your time to make you mine

henry takes alex as his plus-one to a wedding. only one of them seems to know it's a date. 3.1k.

Henry hadn’t thought twice about asking Alex to come with him.

Pez, of course, has had quite a few thoughts about it indeed. But it just makes good sense to Henry; he’s not dating anyone at the moment, and Alex is his best friend. And if Henry’s not dating anyone because he’s secretly in love with said best friend, well, that is neither here nor there, as far as Henry is concerned.

“It’s a wedding, Hazza,” Pez exclaims, as if Henry's the one who needs clarification. “You don’t bring a man on a date to a wedding and expect it not to mean something. That man in particular.”

“It’s not a date,” Henry says firmly. “It’s a plus-one. Besides,” and he goes on to explain yet again that the wedding itself is a total non-issue. The ceremony is for close relatives only, and Henry is more of a family friend of the bride’s important uncle or some such like that.

The reception, which is to be held at the very top of the Rockefeller Plaza, is what they’ve been invited to, and at that point it’s more like any other party, which, Alex has dragged Henry to plenty of those, so what’s the big deal, really?

“I’m certainly under no illusions as to what this night is or is not. Besides, Alex is totally oblivious anyway.” Henry says this with a mixture of both relief and despair. Sometimes he wishes Alex would get wise to the fact if only to put Henry out of his misery.

He seriously doubts today will be that day.

Pez looks thoughtful. And then he smiles and says, “You know what, I think it’s a brilliant idea. Carry on,” and that’s when Henry starts to wonder if he shouldn’t rethink the whole thing after all.

ao3.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrbedit #rwrbsource #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #usernuria #iuserzoe #chrissiewatts #userveronika #usersteen #carrythesky

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ramp-it-up · 2 days

Text

II Most Wanted Part 5: Wherever You Take Me

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"

Summary: The cookout gets hot and dinner with Sy is a revelation. Plus, you get to see his place. 😏

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Fluff, Angst, Reader has PCOS, talk of infertility, talk of war, daydreaming about shower sex, anal play, natural hairstyles, clothes kink if you squint, voice/dirty talk kink, Graphic depiciton of sex. Woman on top, size kink, slight choking, squirting, nipple play, begging, raw p in v, copious amounts of cum. I did not mean to disparage yoga in any way.

Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the fifth installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

———-

To say Sy had you shook was an understatement. You woke up expecting to find him there, but then you remembered saying a groggy ‘goodbye’ to him almost as soon as you hit the bed after the workout he gave you in the shower.

You lay in bed as your anxiety spiked and wondered if he took that as a dismissal. You hoped that he didn't think that you didn’t want him around. But you didn’t want him to think that you were going to just fall into his arms.

You just didn’t know what to do with these old/new crazy feelings for Sy. How well did you really know him? You knew the kid from 20 years ago, but he broke your heart. How careful would grown ass man Sy be with your love? And would he still want you if he knew the entire truth?

You decided to relax and stretch and clear your mind of all the clutter. Yes, yoga was the perfect antidote to Jacob Syverson.

—---

Yoga failed you miserably.

You found yourself checking for Sy as soon as you arrived at the cookout. You socialized as you lowkey searched for him at the function, and when you realized he wasn’t there yet, you inhaled a whiff of the shirt you were wearing for the dopamine hits. It was his dress shirt from the night before that you tore off of him and that you were wearing over your tube top and jean shorts. You couldn’t help it if he left it there and it was the perfect complement for your outfit.

It was well past noon and he hadn’t arrived. You chewed your lip and let anxiety in again. You avoided questions from Carla and Tiffani about what happened, and your mind drifted to how he’d handled you last night.

Sy’s soapy hands were all over you, pulling on your wet nipples, grabbing your wet hair as his mouth attacked your neck, and sliding over your body under the hot stream of water. He was a quick study, and at the point of your fifth orgasm, it felt as if he knew your body better than you.

And you let him take possession.

His slippery fingers toyed with and penetrated your ass as he fucked you senseless against the wet tile, ramming his thick cock inside you again and again as you begged for more. You came again, harder than you ever had, and afterward your energy drained out of you just like his cum streaming down your legs. He had to dry you off and carry you to bed, all the while leaving sweet kisses all over you.

You’d never felt so…loved...and in trouble.

As soon as your towel covered head hit the pillow, you were out like a light. You didn’t see Sy’s look of adoration, didn’t feel the kiss on the forehead that he gave you as he whispered “Sweet dreams,” and his chest puffed out with pride at having put you to sleep, a cocky smirk on his face as he let himself out and strode toward the Bronco. You were snoring softly.

You were busy reliving the experience of the night before, relishing the slight soreness of your body as Carla and Tiffani chattered around you. You weren’t really present until fingers started snapping in front of your face.

“Come back to earth…”

“Oh shit,” you giggled, “sorry, Carla. What were you saying?”

Both of your besties laughed at you.

“Umm hmm. Yeah. Well you answered the question without answering it. That dreamy look on your face says it all.”

You just smiled, rolled your eyes and sipped your cider.

“I’m just chilling. Sy and I had a good talk, and a good time last night. We buried the hatchet.”

Carla and Tiffani exchanged looks.

“I bet you did. I bet you buried it hard. And deep.”

You scoffed at them both, but Carla was unswayed.

“Tell us, Buttercup. Exactly what size hatchet does Jacob Syverson carry?”

You shook your head and took another drink, rolling at your friends’ ridiculousness.

”Well, if you don’t want to give the details about Sy’s dick, you’ve got to tell us the story of that hair.”

Carla nodded toward your thick cornrows.

“Did Sy mess it up so badly that you had to detangle in the shower, or did you get tangled up with Sy in the shower?”

Your cheeks heated as you took another swig and scanned the park to avoid answering your intuitive friends. And when you saw the Bronco, you almost choked.

You put your beverage down and straightened up, patting your head. Sy had arrived.

“Does it look alright?”

“It looks dope,” Tiffani looked around to see Betty Bronco pulling into a parking spot.

“Oh shit, she is sprung. This is gonna be good.”

Their teasing faded into the background as you watched Sy unfold out of Betty Bronco and were reminded of the night before as he ran his hand over his beard. That beard. How wet that beard got last night. Both in and out of the shower…

You took in the vision of this man who indeed had you sprung after one night. You sighed when you saw him come toward you. Although he was dressed simply, a dark grey t-shirt and jeans, he looked like the best thing you’d seen in ages.

Damn, he was hot. Or was it that you’d just spent too much time in the sun? He strode toward you and the way his body moved was dangerous. You felt that you would hit your knees with the slighted signal from him.

Sy was indeed hot. And you may have also had sunstroke. Both things could be true. What else would explain the way your heart was beating and the weird feeling in your stomach?

Yes. Sunstroke it was. And lust. And nothing else.

Your friends’ laughter pierced your reverie and you got up to meet him before he reached the group.

—------

Sy got home that morning and fell into his bed, daydreaming of having you in it. It was 4 am, and he fully intended on sleeping just a few hours, then waking up and sending you a good morning text.

Soon he was dead to the world.

The next thing he knew, it was 11:30, too late for a morning text. He would just have to greet you in person at the cookout. He got out of bed to get ready, taking extra time with his hair and beard. He hadn’t cared this much about how he looked since high school. He hadn’t cared this much about anything since you. He wanted to be the one that you wanted. If it was a quarter of the way he wanted you, he’d be a lucky man.

Plans rolled around in his head as he rolled toward you in Betty Bronco, but also uncertainty. Was this just a trip down memory lane for you? Just a whim of a weekend, a chance to experience everything you didn’t 20 years ago?

Whatever this was, he wasn’t going to waste any time.

When Sy pulled up at the event almost an hour late, lo and behold, there you were. His eyes fell on you, a vision in his white shirt, your lips wrapped around what looked like a beer bottle. Your hair was different. Sexy. But then again, every look was sexy on you it seemed.

“Well, ain’t that a daisy.”

His heart did a thing and he took a beat, trying to be cool. Sy thanked his lucky stars before he got out of the Bronco, his destination not even a question.

—--

You met him under a live oak tree, a few feet from the picnic tables. Carla and Tiffany and a couple of other people called hello to him, but he just nodded and waved at them as he focused on you.

You in his shirt was one thing, but the tube top and shorts you were wearing, he felt as if he hit the jackpot as his eyes feasted on your curves. He licked his lips as if to recall the taste of some of them.

You stood there as Sy’s eyes roamed your body possessively, and although it was 82 degrees, you shivered. Maybe you were getting the flu.

“Hullo there, Buttercup.”

Sy beamed down at you and you screamed at him in your mind as you flushed hot again. ‘Where have you been!? Why did you leave!?’

But instead you just said, “Hello, Sy.”

You grinned back up at him, suddenly okay. More than okay. Sy’s attention was a powerful drug and you’d forgotten that you were an addict. You wanted it all the time.

“‘D’you sleep well?”

You bit your lip and grinned again as you played with the collar of the shirt you were wearing. Sy could glimpse a hickey that he’d put on your collarbone and he felt the urge to take you behind the tree and give you more. You had some powerful magic.

“Yes. Very.”

He took off his sunglasses then and stepped closer to you. His smile was contagious.

“I’m glad. You were knocked out when I left. Seemed tired.”

Your smile dropped as you chewed your lip.

“Yeah, about that. I didn’t mean to kick you out.”

Sy shifted his stance closer to you.

“You didn’t kick me out, Buttercup. You were exhausted. I said I was going to give you space.”

“You did?”

You stared at him, wide eyed. He chuckled.

“You don’t remember that, do you?”

You sighed in relief and looked at the ground, cheeks heated.

“No.”

Your voice was small and Sy’s heart lurched, He had hope. Maybe you did have feelings for him other than lust if you thought you’d hurt his. He reached for your hand, just your fingers really, and caressed them softly. He smiled at you when you looked up at him again.

“It’s okay, Buttercup. Really. I got some rest. And If I’d stayed, I have a feeling that we would still be in bed right now.”

The deep timbre of his voice and the affirmation of what you already knew had you shook, imagining a morning in bed with Sy. You went silent, staring up at him with those eyes. His cock stirred. Shit, you were so hot when you went lust-mute. He cleared his throat.

“I like your hair.”

Sy nodded at you.

“Thanks. Got a little wet last night, had to do something…”

Sy smiled at the shower memories.

“Looks great. Like your outfit, too.”

He adjusted the collar of the shirt you were weating, eyes sweeping down your form to get a look at you underneath it. He knew that all he had to do was hook his finger in your tube top and your breasts would spill out. He licked his lips as he regarded you, eyes shining with need when he looked back up into your eyes.

Your mouth opened as if for air as you stood stock still, like a deer caught in headlights. You wanted the same things he did. Damn. You were dickmatized.

“I can see what you’re thinking, Buttercup. But everyone is watching us.”

You huffed out a breath, moved closer, grabbing his t-shirt to bring him down for a kiss. You heard some people murmur and your friends high five and laugh behind you.

Sy felt triumphant. He grabbed your waist and kissed you back. Thoroughly. Then you pulled back, out of breath.

“You’re right. Everyone is watching.”

Sy brought his hand up to the back of your head and looked into your eyes.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

The gruff whisper went straight to your cunt as he pulled you back in for another kiss.

He finally pulled away and you were still holding on to the stainless steel chain of his dog tags. You looked up at him, ready to ditch the cookout on a word from him.

“Didn’t you get enough last night?”

You were posing the question to yourself, as well as Sy.

Sy inhaled oxygen, because he was drowning in your vibe right now. He grunted.

“Hm. I thought you understood, Buttercup. I will never get enough.”

Another kiss. You whimpered and he just knew that you were wet for him.

“I just want to haul you in the back of Betty right now, but we’re gonna do this thing today. Tonight we’ll go out for dinner, right?”

You nodded, licking your lips as he released your waist and took your hand, leading you back to the table.

—---

You all were sitting around the table playing cards a couple of hours later with your old friend group when someone pointed at Sy’s arms.

“What happened to you, Sy? Did you get attacked by a wild animal?”

Sy looked down at the scratches you left on him with pride, smirked and started to answer, ignoring the look from you.

“Well… Sorta. Kinda. You know I like to live dangerously.”

The wink he threw the questioner was for you, however, and you knew it.

“Sy, you’re too much!”

“Funny thing. Someone said that to me recently.”

You tugged on Sy’s hand.

“Excuse us for a minute, please.”

You gave them your best dignified smile, even though you hot. Sy was chuckling as he followed you back to the live oak tree out of earshot of the group. All they could see was that he was laughing now and everyone could tell that you were giving him the business.

Your friends watched you two and smiled.

Sy put his hands up and nodded, still laughing. You turned away from him, but he grabbed your hand as you tried to walk away. You turned around, annoyed, but then he pointed to his lips, suddenly serious. You gazed at them, smiled and then reached up to kiss him, then pulled away and flipped him off. He laughed again.

"Promise?" Sy called after you.

You flipped him off again but grinned as you rejoined the table and Sy went to get more beer.

“So, when’s the wedding?”

“Shut the fuck up, Carla!”

—---

You let Sy pick you up that evening, and the mood was subdued. He complimented your dress and kissed you on the cheek, careful of your makeup, which you’d carefully applied. Your hair was curly again, the braid-out giving you the look that you wanted. You were quiet as you looked out of the window.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Buttercup.”

You looked at him, anxiety written all over your face.

“Today was a lot.”

Sy looked back at you.

“Today was fun.”

You sighed.

“It was. A lot of fun hanging with our friends. It was like we were a couple. Carla asked… Well, I think people think we’re a thing. They expect us to…”

Sy understood. You were spooked.

“I see. Well, if you want to know, Buttercup, in my head we are a thing, but I know you aren’t there yet. I know you’re scared.”

“I’m not…!”

“It’s okay to be scared. We’ve been through a lot. Name it for what it is. I am not into bullshitting. Especially with someone I love.”

That sentence shut your mouth.

“And I don’t give a fuck what people expect us to do. I want to enjoy any time you grace me with. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Sy picked up your hand from the leather seat and brought the back of it to his mouth. The tender kiss went straight to your soul.

“Just be here now. I mean, we can talk about the past, or the future if you want. But let’s take it one step at a time.”

You smiled at him as he pulled you closer to him and as he kissed up your arm.

“Okay.”

Somehow, you wound up with your head on his shoulder as you drove to the restaurant.

—--

The restaurant was nice, Meyers on the River, and it was a great atmosphere as you and Sy ate on the deck overlooking the lake. You chatted, filling in some of the blank spaces of your lives.

You asked a question that had been nagging you as you ate your salmon.

“Did you- did you go all in during the war? Did you agree with all of that? I mean, almost 20 years Sy. I feel like you had to have a certain kind of mindset to do that.”

Sy shook his head, leaned back, and sighed.

“It was a job. With good benefits. And my family had been enlisted, my uncle Mike. I went and after I found out about Jeremiah, I just dedicated myself to my job over there. I channeled the feelings that I had in order to prepare myself to be a father to being a leader. My men were under my care. It was hell. Hot, sweaty, full of hate. So I became Syverson, the asshole Captain who got the job done. I survived.”

Sy shrugged and toyed with his napkin.

“There were problems to be solved. And most of the time we solved them.”

You took in what he said and saw there was something deeper there.

“I’m glad that you are back home now.”

He smiled at you.

“Me too. Everything happens for a reason, Buttercup.”

You smiled back and thought about what he said. He was right.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

You sat back in your chair, trying to prepare yourself.

“How do you feel about never having kids? I know about your losses, and you don’t have to talk about it….”

This was part of the reason why you were so hesitant with this relationship. You took a deep breath and decided to name it.

“No. We need to talk about it. It might change your mind about me… us…

You fiddled with your fingers in your lap.

“Doubt that.”

“Just wait until I’m done, Sy.”

“Okay.”

“I have PCOS, Sy. It’s a condition that makes it very hard to get or stay pregnant. I’ve been through surgeries and meds, natural methods. The stress of my relationship also didn't help me to have healthy pregnancies. We were going to do in-vitro, but when I found out about the second mistress, I was done. Scott and I divorced and I was content to be by myself. The condition can be progressive. It’s why I take the pill everyday.”

You looked into Sy’s eyes.

“I don’t know if I will ever be able to have a baby. And I’m certainly not getting any younger.”

“I’m sorry, all that has happened to you Buttercup. But none of this changes a thing about how I feel about you or us. I still want you. I still kinda feel like forever with you.”

Sy had your hand across the table now and watched as the smile spread across your face. Something shifted inside you. Sy knew everything and he still wanted you. Maybe this could be a thing. You wanted to say so much, but instead, you just nodded at his plate.

“Finish your steak.”

Sy grinned at you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The conversation different, lighter after that. The chef came out and you spoke, then he comped your meal.

“I will never thank you enough for helping this place to happen Mr. Syverson.”

You looked at Sy quizzically.

“We solved that problem, didn’t we Ben?”

“Yes! Come back and bring your beautiful lady any time!”

“Will do, Ben. Will do.”

Sy stood up and shook his hand, then left what he would have spent on dinner as a tip. You walked out hand in hand as you looked at his profile.

“I haven’t told you about my business. I used my payout from retirement and my injury to start a construction company. Captain Construction. We make a pretty good living. And we help folks out when we can.”

You scooted closer to him on the seat.

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“I don’t know. I feel like you are in my soul though, so…”

You gave Sy a peck on the lips, and he chased you for more.

“Want me to take you back to your place? Or would you like to see my house? Built it myself.”

You looked up in the air, as if it were even a choice.

“I want to see your house. You’ve got me curious.”

Sy grinned and started the truck. Then he shook his head and turned it off again.

“Ok, no bullshitting. If I take you to my place, I’m not gonna wanna take you back until daylight tomorrow. And maybe not even then.”

“I’ll go wherever you take me, Sy.”

—-

“Please Buttercup. I’m just a mere mortal. I can’t take this.”

You loved the way his voice broke and how Sy’s eyes were glued to your body, your glowing skin, your breasts swaying with each movement, your hand which was clutching him between your luscious thighs, which were on either side of his pelvis. You were pumping his engorged and weeping cock, teasing him, and yourself, by bouncing on just the tip, your small fist preventing full penetration.

Sy’s hands were grasping the steel bars of his headboard, stuck there by the promise he made you when you began the end of his house tour. It was a beautiful home, and now you were about to fuck his beautiful cock.

But you were testing his patience. His knuckles were white, and his biceps and pecs were flexed, forearms straining to hold back. His abs were tensed and he was gritting his teeth as he tried to respect your request, but he didn’t know that his struggle was the sexiest part.

“Hmmmm. I think this feels as good to you as it does to me, Sy.”

Sy looked to where you were connected, silently willing you to let him enter you fully. He growled.

“Please, it can feel so much better. Fuck me, Buttecup. I’m yours.”

You keened as you worked yourself open on him.

“Loot at me baby. Please. Need to see your pretty little fucked out face.”

You moaned and did as he asked. You spoke with him, halfway incoherent with pleasure as you slid down his cock.

“So, fucking hugeee. I love this big dick, Sy.”

Sy groaned as you clenched around him.

“It’s yours.”

He licked his lips as he gazed at you opening up for him. Your slick cunt clenching his cock was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I love that tight little pussy. Is it mine?”

You reached up and grabbed his shoulders as you adjusted to his size again. You looked into his dilated eyes and gave him a kiss in response.

“Shit is so fucking big. Ah.”

Sy was quivering beneath you, still holding back from going crazy on you. While he wanted to fuck you silly, he also wanted to savor this slow sensuality with you.

“Feels amazing,” you stared down into his blazing blue eyes as you slowly circled your hips.

“Yes, it does. Holy shit it does..”

You leaned down, kissed him and started moving. Sy watched your breasts as you arched backwards and he planted his feet to fuck up into you better.

“Oh! Sy! Feel so full. So good.”

Sy growled and let the bed go, causing a grin at his loss of control. He wrapped his arms around you and held you in place as his hips moved at the devil's pace. The sound of his dick breaching your wet pussy was everything. Skin slapping on skin was the music of your heartbeats at the moment. Sy’s hand found your clit and traced wicked circles there as he pounded you out, making your eyes spark as if with stars.

“F-f-f- u-u-u-ck! I’m- I’m coming!”

It was embarrassing how quickly he had you there.

“Give me that shit, Buttercup.”

He stroked you through your peak as you gushed around him.

“Fuck. Got my balls dripping with you. This is my dream come true baby. Gimme more.”

He sat up, grabbing your ribcage and moving you up and down his now even slicker, impossibly bigger, cock.

“Shhitttt you feel so good!”

Sy looked down and then up at the ceiling, eyes rolling at the sight. He was about to cum. He manhandled you like a rag doll so that he could kiss you. Hard.

“You are hotter than the desert, Buttercup.”

Your hands moved up his abs to his pecs, rubbing your palms on his nipples as he growled and reached for you. He pulled on your sweaty breasts until your nipples remained pinched between his fingers.

“Ahhhhhh, Sy!”

You moaned and rolled your hips as he pulled on your sensitive nubs.

“Love your fucking sounds, Buttercup.”

His hand was sliding up the column of your throat now, manhandling you in the way you’d come to love in such a short time. You moaned and Sy felt the vibrations of your voice box on his palm.

“You are so goddamn pretty when you are impaled on my cock. Can’t get enough of you.”

Sy leaned back on one arm so that he could pound you the way he wanted.

“Fuck, want my cum, Buttercup?”

You were circling your own clit and squeezing your breasts at the same time.

“God, yes, Sy. Give it to me!”

“Here it comes, godamn….!”

You felt his ropes of cum spurt against your cervix as he came forcefully inside you. Sy looked down to see it and your own juices eek out of you as he kept pulsling inside you.

“It’s like it’s never gonna end, fuck! Got so much for you Buttercup.”

You reached down and played in your combined slick as he pulsed again, bringing your fingers up to taste as Sy finally finished coming.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that right?”

You grinned and kissed him, as you collapsed on the bed reveling in your wet, sweaty bodies as he held you close. You wriggled out of his grip.

“Time for a shower, Sy.”

You smiled as you walked into his en suite, seeing him hot on your heels.

“Damn if I don’t die a happy man.”

You laughed at Sy as he got your hair wet again.

------

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