#*sighs dreamily* shes so morally grey

[toadsartblog]

did a sketch of Irene<3

[freewithyourtempo]

Could you write a cherik fic where Erik is this really famous/hot actor who keeps his personal life very private and all of his fans speculate who his wife his and want to date him until he shows up to a red carpet with Charles (in a wheelchair) and shocks everyone and reveals they’ve been together since like childhood

I’m really sorry it took me so long to write this.I hope you’ll like it!

 "Are you ever going to tell us who you’re dating?“ 

The room holds his breath.Erik Lehnsherr smiles, slow and dangerous. Not in a pleasant way. 

Well, Emma rectifies, it is still a boiling hot smile - how could it not be, with those cheekbones and that jawline -; but it isn’t meant to be reassuring. She feels her face warming. 

Lehnsherr takes his time answering. 

He fetches the bottle of water hiding the plaque with his name - as if anyone could not know who Erik Lehnsherr is at a press conference for his latest blockbuster-, long fingers leaving prints on the cloudy glass, and refills his cup. 

He tilts the bottle, tendons bulge on his arm. Dozens of eyes follow the spilling water on its way down. 

Emma could bet the journalist is already regretting her question, and hides her smirk behind a clever swipe of her lipstick. 

Someone coughs in the heavily silent room. 

Everyone is staring at Lehnsherr’s working throat, up and down with his Adam’s apple, and Lehnsherr is grinning down at the poor journalist, who, at this point, can only squirm in her pastel tailleur.

Eventually, Lehnsherr puts his glass down and pops his lips. “You’re not my type,” he says.

The journalist looks flabbergasted. “I- What?” 

Emma shifts on her chair and uncrosses her legs. 

Lehnsherr blinks. “The only reasonable excuse for you to ask me anything about the identity of my partner is that you’re interested in what I like. Because, otherwise, your question would be highly inappropriate. So… I’m saving you time. You’re not my type. Next question?”  

The journalist sits back down with no further comment. 

Emma raises her hand to ask a question. 

***

According to the Internet, Erik Lehnsherr is so hot that staring at him without your sunglasses could send you directly to the Emergency Room with burnt corneas.

But boy, wouldn’t it be worth it.

Your internal eyelids would forever preserve the image of those sharp cheekbones, those sin-inducing lips, those bulb-exploding grey eyes.

But it isn’t just his face, it is his whole attitude.

Brooding, mysterious and confident, with a smile that could slice open paparazzi’s cameras and a taste for dark characters with disputable morals and indisputable appeal.   

Every woman wants to do him, and every man wants to–

No, scratch that.

Everyone with a sexual drive has dreamt at least once of his long fingers and rough jaw in the last year, no exception.

Hell, Erik Lehnsherr is so convolutedly sexy that Byron would have had wet dreams about him.

Once Emma saw a video of him smoking and that night she woke up, skin burning hot, with the sheets wrapped around her calves and a tuft of blonde hair stuck to her damp forehead.     

And as any self-respecting tormented artist, he is a recluse.

He doesn’t attend galas or parties if he can help it (he can help it pretty often), he has never been photographed with his hands up someone’s skirt in an alley behind a dark disco or been arrested for skinny-dipping in the Trevi Fountain. The last one is a pity.

He doesn’t even have one chatty, bribable relative in all of New York.

Emma would know, she has gone looking.

It is frustrating.

Fundamental questions about his person are still unanswered, and one of them above all torments Erik Lehnsherr’s fans like a rock in their shoes.

A rock the size of Mount Rushmore.  

Who is the lucky bastard who has chained him with a wedding band?

Emma is torn between her desire to bloodily maul them and to gift them a star on the walk of fame. 

The inscription would be something on the line of: “The unknown sucker that wakes up every morning with Erik Lehnsherr’s ass at arm’s length. Hope you plump him up like a pillow, sugar.” 

But the identity of the unknown spouse will in all likelihood stay a secret a little longer.

It is probably the blonde top model who has co-starred his last movie, anyway. Hollywood’s couples are never a big surprise. 

***

Logan has a work ethic, even if he is a paparazzo. 

Just because he makes money on people’s missteps, heartbreaks and scandals - the snottiest, the better-, it doesn’t mean he can’t be compassionate about it.

That’s why he has come to the conclusion, while squatted behind a smelly trash can in front of Lehnsherr’s trailer, that he will give the actor a heads up. 

He will still sell the photos of his imminent cheating to the highest bidder, obviously.

That kind of stuff is worth thousands of bucks, and he is not Gandhi. 

But he will magnanimously offer Lehnsherr time to have a heart to heart with his significant other, whoever she may be. Cry a bit, beg for forgiveness, buy diamonds. The usual stuff one does when they are very sorry and not doing that again. 

He could put an anonymous letter in the mailbox, maybe. 

Yes, Logan thinks, chewing on his battered cigar, that will do it. 

He is such a good guy. 

He lifts his camera and zooms on the very pretty girl waiting outside of Lehnsherr’s trailer. 

Logan sees her knocking twice, then tossing her dark hair on one shoulder and putting a hand on her cocked hip. Her tiny, tiny dress rides up her thigh some more and she doesn’t fix it.

It takes a few moments, then Lehnsherr opens the door in his sweatpants, hair ruffled already. 

The girl takes a step forward on her staggering heels, and Logan starts snapping photos of the two like his life depends on it.

He’s grinning like a maniac, the trashcan he’s leaning against squits periodically and his index finger hurts, but there’s no way on Earth he will let this opportunity get away. 

Now Lehnsherr will look around furtively, making sure there’s no one in the vicinity, will grab the girl by the arm and close the door behind their entwined figures.  

Except that he doesn’t. 

Logan can literally feel the bills being taken out of his pockets and he almost wails. 

His camera records the evolution of Lehnsherr’s surprised, frowning, distrusting and openly hostile face.    

He’s not aroused, he’s not intrigued, he’s not even remotely interested in freeing the entrance of his trailer.

He looks almost offended. 

Lehnsherr lifts one eyebrow, syllables something that can’t be anything but a piercing “no” and snaps the door closed. The girl jumps. 

Logan captures the moment with a sigh and looks critically at the result. 

The next morning the most-clicked tabloids display a full-page picture of Lehnsherr’s unforgiving rejection with a dozen variation of the same question. 

“Does he prefer blondes?��

***

Emma wishes fans were fashionable, because Erik Lehnsherr has just stepped onto the red carpet, showered by the frantic flashes of the cameras, and she suddenly feels weak in the knees.  

Somebody next to her whistles under their breath, and she totally shares the sentiment.

He doesn’t look ethereal, he looks very, very solid. Tall and self-possessed, straight shoulders and slim waist in a gorgeous oxford-blue suit that makes his legs go on forever. 

There’s something less than stoic in the line of his mouth, though, Emma notices. 

A nervous flicker of the eye, and then something happens. 

He turns around and smiles.

Emma stares.

It’s not his usual smile, sardonic and knowing, charming but in a honed way.It is a flustered smile, face flushed, bright eyes and everything. And it is directed to one man and one man only, who is approaching him with strong pushes of his wheelchair. 

Cameras go crazy around them, other actors forgotten.

Lensherr waits for his companion to join him, face so open it looks like it has lost its bark.

Emma can’t see the face of the stranger, only the straight lines of an expensive suit and a mop of rich, brown hair, and almost gets on her tiptoes to have a better view. 

The men share a few words under the hungry stares of the journalists, then Lehnsherr rolls his eyes and indulgently bends over to have his bow-tie straightened.

Emma can’t hear anything from where she’s standing, but she is quite sure Lehnsherr has just warringly asked: “Are you happy now?” 

The other man answers, Lehnsherr snorts and kisses him on the forehead. 

Then he freezes, and turns towards the people gathered as if spotting them only then. 

He glares at the journalists, steely eyes back in their place in a clear warning, and straightens back to move forward on the carpet. 

Emma walks as fast as she can without breaking into a run, heels sinking into the moquette and jewels tingling.“Mr. Lehnsherr!”She knows he has heard her, because his back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn. She frowns. He’s not getting away from this. “Mr. Lehnsherr!”The man in the wheelchair stops, turns his head and smiles so charmingly at her she feels instantly flattered. “Erik, dear, that lovely woman is trying to get your attention.”

He has a silver-polishing British accent, voice calm and collected.

“She won’t have it.”

“Dear.”

It is an obvious reprimand, one that sounds smoothed by use, and Emma sees Lehnsherr’s shoulders sag in defeat. She smiles smugly at his disgruntled frown when he turns.

His British companion swiftly approaches her, and Lehnsherr follows him a few steps behind like a recalcitrant body-guard. 

“What do you want, Frost?”

“Erik!” the man exclaims, scandalized, and glares at him. “Don’t be such a yahoo.”

He delicately lifts Emma’s hand and draws it close to his lips. 

He blinks on his blue, blue eyes and looks at her from below, and Emma feels her face redden. “Miss, I apologize for his behavior. He’s usually well-mannered.”

“Charles, you are making me sound like your corgi.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Charles answers, and winks at Emma. “You would at least be a Doberman.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Emma feels scrambled.

Lehnsherr doesn’t smile dreamily, doesn’t get teased and laughs it off. He glares and scoffs and frowns and scares people away. Who is this Charles, and what power does he have? 

“You’re gaping, Frost,” Lehnsherr says icily. “Is something the matter?”   

He moves closer to Charles and puts his left hand on his shoulder to squeeze it lightly, in an obviously protective stance. His wedding ring shines proudly against the dark fabric.

Charles tilts his head and briefly strokes his cheeks against Lehnsherr’s fingers, equally obviously calming. 

“You can’t blame me for being surprised,” Emma shoots back. “He’s too nice for you.” 

Lehnsherr sharpens his eyes and assays her, then nods once, imperceptibly.

“Now, now,” Charles intervenes, tone pacifying. “Erik is the best man I’ve ever met, and the best boyfriend I have ever had!”

Lehnsherr looks down at him. “I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had, Charles.”

“Well, I’m sure you would have been the best, anyway.”

Something inside of Emma is melting, but she finally remembers that she has a job to do. “High-school sweethearts?”

“No,” Lehnsherr answers, and tightens his lips to show how unwilling he’s to share more on the subject. 

“More like childhood sweethearts,” Charles adds. Then smirks. “Erik proposed when he was ten. We had met the previous week.”

Lehnsherr blushes, actually blushes. “You accepted,” he grumbles. 

“How could I not? The first time we met, you saved Cerebro. You were my knight in shining armor.”

“Cerebro?” Emma asks.

“His cat. That dunce was stuck in a tree.”

“How can you call him that, you were inseparable!”

 “He was silly!”

“He was curious!”

Lehnsherr huffs “A ridiculous cat for a ridiculous man, Xavier.”

Emma chokes on her breath. “Xavier? Xavier of the Xavier Corporations?”Charles Xavier smiles bashfully, and Emma considers it a confirmation. “I’m just a professor, really…”“A university professor,” Lehnsherr corrects. “Yes, but…”“You have been called ‘a prodigy’, If I recall correctly.”“Erik,” Charles mutters, reprimanding. He straightens his tie and clears his throat.  Emma looks from one man to the other, blinking. “You’ve just become the hottest couple in the whole city, I hope you know that.” She considers for a moment, then adds. “In every sense.” 

[bisexualskeletonsinmycloset]

Chewtoy

Chapter 2- Going Home

The Enchantress glanced at the scrap of paper X had left in her haste. Her address. Should she go? It would hands down be the stupidest thing she’d done. One little hook-up didn’t make her trustworthy. X’s beeping phone had burst their bubble of ecstasy and X had reluctantly extricated herself from between The Enchantress’s thighs. After one last passionate kiss, X left promising not to give her away. Not that The Enchantress was going to stick around to find out. She had a multitude of lairs scattered all over the place with her own house cozily tucked away up in the mountains.

“Drop by whenever you like,” she had said. “See, I didn’t ask for your number. You can trust me. I really do want to see you again.” “Chewtoy will love you,” she’d added sounding unsure of herself.

This wasn’t how she’d planned it, The Enchantress frowned. X was to be held captive after their romp. And she’d planned that too. She knew she wanted to get into X’s pants when she first caught a whiff of the town’s latest celebrated hero. The people would see how foolish their conceited hero really was. A shiny new toy, to be used and discarded. But that wasn’t what had happened.

The Enchantress turned over the events of the past few hours and mused. X was too naïve. Too full of herself in a way only young people are when they think they have everything figured out. Good and bad. Black and white. All neat and tidy. That self-assuredness maddened her. The Enchantress furiously crumpled up the paper and let it fall from her hand. She gathered up her discarded clothing and made her way down a narrow passage.

She was seething. That upstart hero didn’t have any business getting her like this, she fumed. She stomped down the corridor. I need to go home, she thought as her black helicopter came into view.

An hour later, a toddler was animatedly pointing out a gleaming black dot in the sky to his sister, who remained sullenly glued to her phone. “Bother someone else Aaron!” she grumbled as his face crumpled.

The Enchantress expertly maneuvered her helicopter down to another one of her lairs. A car drive later, she would be home. She never went straight from one of her lairs to her house. “Home at last,” she sighed as she turned the last of the hair pin bends leading to her house. Her quaint cottage set up in the mountains never failed to sooth her frayed nerves.

She strode up her driveway and crouched down in front of her door. Her iris scanning lock was disguised as a regular lock to blend in. She beamed as her door swung open. She let out a little girl squeal of delight as she cavorted her way in. She pranced about from room to room, drawing curtains and letting the sunlight embrace her. “I spend too much time in those musty caves, pretty as they may be.”

“Smells like old socks,” she recollected as her anger flared up again. “Why that… impertinent little upstart!”

***

X sighed and stroked her pet capuchin under his chin, “Chewtoy, I can’t get her out of my head!” Chewtoy curled his dainty little fingers around her pinky and chipped sympathetically. “What was that? Yeah I know I was supposed to bring her in. I failed that bit when I fell in her trap…”

“Wait a minute! She let me go! She just let me leave,” her eyes widened as a it dawned on her. “Do you think she likes me?!”

“ooo,” Chewtoy said disapprovingly.

“I know, I know. She’s a little older than me.”

“ooo ooo,” Chewtoy reached up for X. X snuggled Chewtoy. “Okay, not a little older. She’s in her thirties I think. I’m almost twenty five. What do you think, Chewtoy? What’s that? She’s a villain?”

X smiled as she reminisced, “Not a villain, Chewtoy. The word’s too disdainful.”  

***

The Enchantress closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. “She was a nice lay, she served her purpose. Now get her out of you head,” she ordered herself. That didn’t quell the niggling thought at the back of her mind. She let her get away. And it wasn’t just the fact that one of her lairs wasn’t safe anymore. She was scared it was something more. “No,” she told herself firmly. “You absolutely do not have feelings for that arrogant hero.” “Hero,” she spat out in disgust and finally rid herself of those uncomfortable feelings.

She bustled about getting her house in order. For the life she chose for herself, she surprisingly liked domestic chores. Scrubbing obstinate stains out of bathroom floors soothed her like a lullaby. She sashayed into her kitchen. “I’ll make myself some pasta,” she decided, already recovering her spirits. “Pasta and a movie sounds like a splendid way to spend an afternoon!”

She reflected on the life she’d made for herself as the pasta boiled. Returning home always put her in a contemplative mood. She had started out with all of the run of the mill dreams all the young things had. She was to be an engineer, invent things for the betterment of humanity. She laughed bitterly at how that turned out. She thought of herself at sixteen, all bright-eyed, naively believing like the rest that the world was her playground. Everyone wanted the best for her and college was a stepping stone she would ricochet off to success. She furiously stirred the pasta as she realized X reminded her of herself.

And here she was, a villain as those pompous heroes liked to call her. But she wasn’t, not really. At least that’s what she tried to convince herself every time those nagging doubts about morality crept in. She preferred the term freelancer. Her work existed in the murky grey area of morality. Put simply, rich corrupt people paid her to steal from other rich corrupt people. And not material things, she stole blueprints and ideas. All of the things she’d wanted to do herself, she thought resentfully.

***

X reached for her phone to order take-out. She’d never learnt to cook much to the chagrin of her Michelin star chef father. She knew she had to eat healthier but she was still young and she couldn’t care less. Even Chewtoy looked disapproving as she ordered a pizza with extra cheese. “Oh shut up Chewtoy, I’ll let you have a slice.”

She ignored the growing pile of laundry in the corner of her room and curled up on the couch with her pizza. Once it grew too large to be ignored, she would dump the whole lot in the washer, never mind sorting out the colours. That never failed to horrify her previous girlfriends who would take to doing her laundry. That was until they had enough of her incompetence and left. Thinking of girlfriends, X let her mind wander. “The Enchantress,” she thought dreamily. She had enchanted her alright, cast a spell only she could break with those luscious lips of her.  

She snapped herself out of it and ponderously nibbled on her now cold pizza. Fresh out of law school, she had chosen to become a self-proclaimed hero. She had been successful so far, reigning in a few small-time criminals. Young and charming, the people lapped her right up. Her dazzling good looks and chiselled physique ensured a steady stream of girlfriends. The Enchantress was the first big fry she had attempted to bring to justice. She’d failed miserably at that, she thought.

***

The Enchantress diligently stacked up her dishwasher. Her mind wandered to the events of the previous night. This time she gave in and resolved to think it though. No, she didn’t like her, she decided, but she wouldn’t be opposed to hooking up with her again.

Wanting to wash off all the grime from the travel, she stepped into her bathroom. Choosing to pamper herself, she got the water going in her jacuzzi. She slipped out of her clothes in front of the mirror. She prided herself on keeping herself fit. She knew she was a stunner and worked to keep it that way.

***

X tossed her empty pizza box at her overflowing trash. “I’ll take the trash out later,” she muttered to Chewtoy. She sighed, “It’s no use, Chewtoy. I’ve never wanted someone so bad. I’m used to girls clamouring for my attention. This is new.”

***

The Enchantress stared at her reflection in the mirror. She drew in her breath when she saw the marks X had left. Hickeys trailed down her neck from her ear. She flushed as it all came flooding back to her. Her nipples. X had sucked on them like they were her life source. The look of absolute devotion in X’s eyes got her feeling drunk. She loved feeling wanted.

***

X threw herself onto her bed. Her lips. How her lips had trailed down X’s body, pausing to let her teeth take over every now and then. She traced the scratches The Enchantress had left on her abdomen when her nails dug in. That mischievous sparkle in her eyes, daring her to do her worst. Her moans of pleasure as X’s tongue worked its magic.

***

The Enchantress settled into her bubbling jacuzzi, the hot perfumed water enveloping her. She sighed in pleasure as the hot jets of water relieved her aching muscles. An image of X’s toned arms massaging out her knots came to her uninvited. She groaned and let her hand wander south, trying to recreate what X did with her mouth.

***

X pictured The Enchantress as she stepped out of her catsuit. With nothing on underneath. Her hard nipples showing her arousal so X had to taste them. Her fingers clutching X’s hair, pulling her closer as X brought her to orgasm. X desperately reached into her bedside drawer for her vibrator.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp? Part 8. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you

A/N:  @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory thank you for reblogging! I notice every note and reblog you left me, babez! But I have a seriously hard time responding even to my own gf at the time, bcs I'm in the more depressed mood. Sorry.

Word count: 2 K 

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95

Read the rest here: Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part Six  Part seven

If you like to have your readings in order :):  H E R E  

The big evening finally came. Every one of you was in the backstage, listening to some stand-up comedian. He truly was hilarious.

It was simple - there was a hall full of people who had bought the tickets in pre-order. All of that money went to a charity. Then they could give more money if they wanted to the lady by the ticket station. After every show, the hall cleared out and people with tickets on the next show sat at the tables, ordered some drinks and waited for it to start. Some shows had twenty minutes, but there were other people, who had five minutes lasting shows as you were.

There were even people from the Marina present, those who were voted to take the check from Tony Stark himself as well. And they looked like they had a hella good time.

"I will sit next to you, would you mind?" - Deena said, already sitting down. You scooped a bit further to make some place for her ass. Then the both of you turned your heads to look at the guy performing. You both laughed. There was some singers, some bands, some other Charity workers - there was basically everyone. You even got a bit too excited when you saw Pepper freaking Potts sitting at the table in the back of the hall next to Happy Hogan.

Through the whole evening, you texted with Steve. You told him every of your itsy bitsy feelings and he was so kind that he has listened to you all the time. Meanwhile, girls have done your make-up and your hair, so you looked like a real lady coming straight from the forties.

May's hair was the hardest do make - she had a long, strong hair and she has a hell lot of them, which made it almost impossible to do. Yet she was now standing behind you on her high heels, looking definitely breathtaking.

Y/N: Never realizes that there will be so many people out here! I'm getting pretty nervous, handsome.

Steve: Do not freak out. It is going to be completely fine. We are here out with Bucky and Sam, pouring down some drinks. We are looking forward to your performance, girls. We truly do.

Y/N: Yeah, looking forward to seeing me killing somebody else?

Steve: Stop it. You will be great. And you will not convince me otherwise. And I will be there to see all of it.

That made you smile. Steve was the mental and emotional support to you every step you made and every breath you took, just like in that The Police song. When you felt insecure about you looking fat, Steve reminded you of how blown away he was just with the way you looked in that costume. When you thought that your make-up and your hair is too much, Steve texted back that you'll be beautiful to him no matter how much you'll put on.

He truly was trying to make every one of your little insecurities go away and he was doing a great job.

"He's somewhere out here tonight?" - Deena asked all of a sudden. She and Val took some really sultry sapphic photos before that and you were sure that they'll be used when you'll recap your whole year on the office Christmas party. They both looked sexy as hell, Deena even went so far she had shortened her skirt and wear her super push-up bra to make her cleavage more visible.

"Not at the moment, but he'll be. Yeah." - You nodded with a shy smile of a nervous girl. It was so strange, knowing that Steve will be there, checking out each of your moves with his bros.

You never showed him your face, but daily life pics became a next step between for the two of you. When you were at work, you took a simple headless selfie in the bathroom mirror, at lunch you photographed your food and you also sent him a photo of you in your PJ, doing a routine movie watching with some popcorn and Coke.

Steve, on the other hand, was a serious piece of cake. You drooled and you didn't even realize that your mouth was wet all over from your own saliva.

To say that Steve was buffed as fuck was a serious understatement. He was ripped like a Greek god. Maybe even they were nothing on his body. His usual daily selfie was a mirror one with him having a white, usually sweaty t-shirt and grey work out sweats. There was usually a bottle of water included. Sometimes he snapped a quick picture of him getting ready. Once you even felt your heart-stopping because of the sight of his collar bones and shoulders in a work out tank top.

At that moment, you were ready to call yourself some good ol' ambulance, because your eyes were drowning at that sight. He was a guy with a naturally sweet nature, so huge and ripped and yet somehow he hadn't found a girlfriend to be with. You couldn't comprehend.

Before meeting him on WhatsApp, you didn't believe in fucking miracles - but here he was and he seemed to be into you. You were hella out of your mind.

Yep. You had gotten off because of those pictures. Once or twice. But that was not your fault at all. You were a woman, someone who had their specific needs. That's just how it was. And Steve seriously was someone who even Val found seriously attractive.

Girls from the office were obsessed all over you two - sometimes, Deena and Suzie sang that you're in love and you answered that you're not. Which obviously became a really dramatic I won't say I'm in love from Hercules. But yeah. Just to be honest, you were all over the fucking place bevause of him. Which happened never ever before. And you haven't even met that man at the time. It was really fucking weird. It felt like his face isn't important to you - you knew him. That's what mattered.

"Do you think you'll be able to see him? Like a sixth sense? It would be as exciting as the end of the Titanic." - Deena sighed dreamily. You frowned at that.

"If you think that the death of basically 60% of the passengers was exciting... You do you I guess." - You answered with a strange expression on your face. 

“Hey. You have that sexy hunk just waiting for every word you want to write to him and not each of us has the opportunity to have that. Some of us just develop a simple crush on Leo DiCaprio. Did you even see that little angelic baby in that movie? Jeez.” - Deena giggled. When she started, she was deadly serious, but in the end, she was laughing. 

But she was totally clear about her crush on Leo. She even had a collection of t-shirts with Leos face on it. But she was all truthful - not everyone finds someone like you found Steve. All it took was a couple of coincidences and there you were.

“But it's nice. Men like that remind you that gentlemen are not a dead thing yet, even now.” - She leaned her shoulder into yours, smiling all happily. - “But I am a bit jealous about all of that, not gonna lie.” 

Your head slowly bobbed and you leaned your forehead into khaki green cap masterly pinned into her hair with some pinnets. She was looking all good. 

And she was right per se. Steve was truly something the others could be only possibly jealous of. And you should be really, really glad for him

And your gratefulness was the thing that made you all nervous about him being present while you do a total asshat in front of anybody else. 

The time flew past you without you barely noticing. There were two other performers in the line in front of your office, and at the next moment, May was gripping your elbow and lead you to the moral hooray before you actually went to the stage. She was probably the best motivational speaker you ever heard, those men and women with courses were nothing on May Parker.

“Okay ladies, I am sincerely proud of you for not being afraid and actually doing all of this. I can't even express how happy I am that I found so many amazing women to do something like that with me. You're all looking flawless, pretty and lovely and I know we will nail the choreography because we worked hard almost every evening for the past few months, we will nail it. And now stand up and let's kick the others their asses!” - May yelled cheerfully. Every one of you clapped, those who had the need to express themselves louder, those cheerfully blew a whistle for May. 

You feel a little confident - nothing too much harsh, nothing too big, but at least you felt positive about yourself when you took your chair and walked onto the stage.

---

“Can you feel the tension in the air? Something's coming.” - Sam nudged Bucky's side with his elbow. Bucky just gave him an ice-cold look and took his another beer from Sam's palm. 

Steve made Sam take the tickets from the lady sitting behind the counter with all highschool girl nervousness - he was able to almost kill Sam when he joked about leaving the tickets on the counter. He was super nervous, super curious, almost not able to keep the feelings contained inside. 

Their small group walked into one of the back tables with a clear view - you tried to take the best places which will be basically on the distance of a stretched arm. It was also close to the bar, which was some great news for Sam. 

“Just jokin', Mr. Grumpy. I'm kinda curious about that girl. You plan on showing us or you will keep a secret?” - Sam sat on the other side of Bucky, taking a strong swing of his beer. 

“Probably a secret. It would not be fair for you to know her face before she knows mine.” - Steve giggled and crawled deeper into his hood. He was worse than Natasha when she was on her missions, just tried to keep his identity in secret, but that was extremely hard because of how enormous he was. 

“Like if birdbrain knew what intimacy or privacy is.” - Bucky said with an ironic tone of voice which made Sam frown as hell again. 

“Well excuse me, but I know today's world more than you two will ever have the chance to. Don't try to make me angry, 'cause you can lose your biggest guide just like dat.” - Sam said with all serious face, but every one of them knew that he's shitting them. 

Y/N: Okay, it's here. Wish me luck, cross your fingers, do whatever the hell you want, but enjoy it.

A text came just short second before all the lights turned down and Steve curiously wiggled on his chair with an expression of a small child. And at that moment, a serious load of ladies in forties female formal clothes came out of the curtains with chairs in their hands. And even tho he couldn't see the shirt you had under your uniform, at that moment, he exactly knew which one of them is you.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Give No Quarter XX

*tags: @nelswp @inkededucatednnerdy @fandomgalcentral @crowleysprincess159 @maniczebra83 @everyjourneylove @imaneternalflamebb @booknerdinator3000 @ealasaid @nuvoleincielo @somewhereinimagination @thebakerstboyskeeper @lamberts-bitch @thorins-magnificent-ass @memory-of-a-goldfish @ara-toa-min (if i missed you please let me know)

You stared at Thorin as the world seemed to fall out from under you. Your legs went weak, the last of your strength draining from you, and he caught you just before you could crumple to the ground. With one hand still on your shoulder and his other arm around you, he held onto you as you began to convulse in a fit of hacking.

Your breath had ceased at his confession, his words making your head spin with the delirium you had only just escaped. You held onto Thorin to keep yourself upright, trying to process what you had just heard. You had only ever expected passive acceptance from the captain, yet he had just proclaimed his love to you.

Love? Could he truly feel so deeply for you? He had risked his livelihood for you, even his life, but it still seemed farfetched. You thought him bound to you through his dwindling sense of morality, that sliver left after years of privateering. What could you have done to make him think he could ever love you?

“Thorin,” You spluttered as he guided you back to the crate, helping you sit down carefully as he pushed the hair away from your sweaty forehead, “I-I—”

“Y/N, you’ve got a fever still,” He cupped your cheek in his hand, “You shouldn’t be out here.”

He pulled the blanket around your shoulders and tucked it snugly under your chin. If it were not for him you would have already slumped over onto the floor. You shakily clutched at the blanket, your head spinning. Had he truly said it or were you so ill that you had conjured the words yourself?

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” Thorin lifted you easily. As you leaned against his chest, cradled in his arms, you couldn’t but notice how much warmer he felt than his first mate. Perhaps it was that the air had turned icy, chilling you to the bones as you shivered uncontrollably. “Balin will have my head…”

The captain walked swiftly, passing Dwalin as he waited near the steps which led above board. The two exchanged a look, within it an unsaid conversation, nods traded between the similarly closemouthed men. You had not realised you were clinging to Thorin, grasping at him for the warmth which had seeped from you in the damp air.

Your vision blurred as the grey light of the outside touched you, the ship’s cabin a smear of dark wood. The foggy streets appeared in a haze and you closed your eyes to cull the storm of your mind. You listened to Thorin’s footsteps, counting his breaths as he carried you swiftly, jostling you slightly as he climbed a set of steep stairs and kicked a door harshly.

You opened your eyes to see a young girl that resembled the one who had been cleaning the fireplace open the door. She stepped back with a wondrous smile at the dark giant before her and stepped back for him to enter, turning sideways to angle you inside. She followed behind him in a skip and he shook his head subtly.

“Mister Captain, sir,” She sang dreamily, “I thought you were never coming back.”

“Hmm,” It almost seemed a laugh, “Tilda, you go on. You shouldn’t be hanging around us pirates.”

“That’s what Da says,” She preened, “But Bofur made me a hat and Bifur’s making me a new doll. I’d say pirates aren’t so bad.”

“Tilda,” Thorin said in a gentle but chiding voice, “Go find your sister. Ask her to brew some hot tea.”

“Yes, Captain,” The girl, Tilda, gave a flouncy curtsy and raced off.

“She sure likes y-you,” You chattered amused before a hoarse cough ripped through your throat.

“She’s too young to know what’s best for her,” He pushed into the room you had been languishing in, Balin snoring in the chair by the bed, “Balin,” The captain called to him, startling him awake, “Help me.”

Balin jumped to his feet, sprightly for an older man, and approached Thorin with urgency. He felt your forehead and bent to listen to your chest. “Get her in bed, I’ll fetch Oin.”

Thorin obeyed without a word as Balin left hastily. He dropped the blanket from around you and propped you against the pillows, pulling the covers over you so that they were to your chin. His eyes searched you frantically as your head lolled and he turned away quickly. He stomped over to the hearth, feeding it so that it roared.

The door, left ajar by the racing second mate, was opened wider as Balin re-entered followed by the grey medic who fumbled with a leather case. Oin took the chair beside you and set the case aside, looking you over dully. He stood momentarily to bend over and listen to your chest and shook his head as he sat back down. He touched your cheek and recoiled his hand with a tisk.

“She’s not going to die,” He declared with little confidence, “It’s just the illness taking its course. As I said before, she’s through the worst of it. Though I wouldn’t recommend another sojourn into the damp.”

The medic stood, his knees creaking as he groaned, and crossed to his captain. “Nice to see you back though,” He looked at him boldly, examining him as closely as he had done you, “I’d suggest the same for her as I would to you; sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Thorin grumbled, his face pallid as his fatigue returned to him.

“You’re not,” The medic clapped his shoulder, “Find a cot and lay down, man. You need it.”

With his final diagnosis, the medic trudged out of the room and another entered as he left. Sigrid balanced a tray with a steaming carafe and several cups upon it. Tilda followed at her heels and marveled from across the room at the captain as he sat heavily in the chair beside your bed. Balin mussed her hair as he smiled at her and Thorin tried to ignore her childish curiosity.

“Balin,” She sighed as he crossed his arms, “Could you have a cot brought up as well?”

“Aye, Captain,” He squared his shoulders, “As soon as I can.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Thorin finally turned to you, “I’d be remiss if I didn’t keep a close eye on you…I can’t have you chasing me down in the cold.” He looked back to the girls, watching him closely, “Thank you, Lady Sigrid, and you, Tilda for your help.”

“I’m not a lady,” Sigrid blushed despite her wariness, “Come on, Til, we’ve got work to do.”

She ushered the small girl out against her whispered protests and you watched with interest. Having been unconscious for so long, you were enraptured by all around you which drew you from the tedium of your sick bed. The door shut and you suddenly felt a warmth wash over you through the frigidity of your illness.

“Thorin,” You reached out to touch his arm and he flinched at your touch, “We should…talk.”

“Not now,” He took your hand, his flesh hot against yours, “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He set your hand on the bed and stood, “Let me get you some tea.”

You watched Thorin as he stood and crossed to the tray, busying himself with the pouring of the tea. You shook your head at his back though you had not the energy to argue with him. You had finally broken through but it seemed he was once more raising his shields. Perhaps it was better that way. You had much to think on.