#I love her she's a Great Dame | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anika-ann · 8 months ago

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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 lending 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 as water and snow and icy wind would, regret 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 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 than 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 your 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 invasion 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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thebestofoneshots · 8 months ago

Text

No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin Pt.1 | Remus Lupin x Reader

Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader

Word Count: 8.6 k

Prompt: You did not want to go to church that day, but your spirits are uplifted when you meet Father Remus, and your mind starts creating a mischievous scheme, to both retaliate over those years of being forced to go and take something from them.

Alternatively, R is really mad at the church and decides to steal one of their priests for it (but also kind of falls for him).

Warnings: SMUT, Non-apt for Christians(?). Reader is a little cynical (or maybe cynical Af). Suggestive talks, touching oneself, fingering. Reader seduces a Priest (so whatever you might expect from that), hierophiIia, corruption!kink, praise!kink (if you squint). Consent is sexy!

Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp

Part 2 is out now!

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

ACT I: Remember to keep holy the LORD’s Day

You really didn’t want to go to church. You had one hell of a week and you were incredibly tired so when you got the phone call with your grandma inviting you to go, you were about ready to say no.

But your grandma has always been extremely catholic, and while you weren’t anymore, you hadn’t seen her in a while, and you missed her. Her being in town for your short vacation was a good enough reason to visit her more often (she was staying with your parents) and if you’d have to live through a whole hour of some boring priest talking about all the things that are wrong with society nowadays, then you would. Even if you didn’t want to.

That didn’t stop you from being cranky over the fact that you’d have to wake up extra early to take the 40-minute ride to the church she claimed “was the best one in the city,” according to her priest back at home (of course she couldn’t just ask you to the nearest fucking church).

Breathe, you told yourself. This is for your grandma, you repeated as you sat on the narrow seat of public transport, next to the gym bro that smelled like he could use a shower and whose massive arms would bump into you whenever the bus went through a pothole.

When you finally reached your spot, you had to wake him up so he would move his massive legs to the side and you could fucking pass through, walking down the bus in the sea of people that for some reason had taken the same one. Once outside you took a deep breath and tried to relax again. You didn’t want to look as pissed as you felt when you finally saw your grandma. At least it was a fucking cloudy day and you wouldn’t have to deal with the sun as you walked the 4 blocks left you had until you arrived at the church.

Who the fuck would invent a church so goddamn far from everything important? You wondered as you approached.

Oh, you thought once you saw it. Someone who wanted a lot of space then.

The church was massive. And while you might have been prone to exaggerate when you were pissed, you were far from exaggerating now. It was almost a small castle, maybe the largest church in the city, certainly the largest one you had seen in your life (not that you had seen a great many but certainly a few).

On the outside, there were very many intricate details carved, a few gargoyles at the top in a very Notre Dame-esque sort of way. Except while Notre Dame ended in a very square and neat way, the towers of this one extended far above the roof and ended in a pointy, almost menacing sort of way. You had been so absorbed by the intricate details of the tower, that you didn’t realise you were walking straight into someone.

“Uhh sorry,” you said as you stumbled back, pulling your gaze from the structure and towards the person right in front of you. You were absorbed by him the second your eyes met his: golden brown, almost shining with the way the sun was hitting them. You weren’t sure you had ever seen a more perfect person in your life, they were exactly your–

“I see you’ve met Father Remus!” Your grandma said as she grabbed onto your arm and pulled you back from him a couple more steps.

Father? He’s married? You wondered until you noticed his clothes, all-black suit, white necktie, she meant Father as in Priest?!?

The man –Remus– smiled, gentle, sweet and caring. “Nice to meet you…” there was silence. It took you a second to realise the man was expecting your name, and you gave it to him, fast and still slightly disoriented.

“Come on, angel,” your nan said as she pulled you towards the entrance. “We can talk after the mass.”

“Nice to meet you, Remus,” you said, turning up your most charming smile as you waved goodbye to the man. His eyes seemed to trail on your hand, but your grandma pulled you again, and you were forced to turn around.

“It’s Father Remus,” your grandma corrected.

“Right, sorry,” you said, almost carelessly, not carelessly enough for her to notice, though.

“I’m glad you came, I don’t think any of your cousins made it.”

“Oh, it was nothing, Nan,” you said as you turned around to see if Remus was still around. He was not anymore, you turned back to her. “It’s lovely to be here with you.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie, you liked spending time with her, she was lovely. But you did not like going to the church, you had long parted with the catholic ideals and you weren’t interested in most of the archaic teachings of the church. Especially the homophobic ones, you thought the closed-mindedness of the church was a terrible thing, and that it stopped many people from being who they truly were, not to mention how it affected a lot of people you knew. It was because of that close-mindedness that some of your friends had to hide themselves from their parents. Because god forbid their children were gay.

Now, not everything about the church was bad, some values were good and important, but at this point in the progressive world, perhaps the bad outweighed the good. And in the end, religions were just a way of controlling the masses, no surprise the church service was called “mass”.

You could have made a list of everything that was wrong, in a very Lutheran manner, sent it to your grandma and never attended again, but she was old and you knew there was no way she’d understand, especially when she’d been conditioned to think a certain way for far more years than you’d been alive. So instead, you decided to sit through the service with her, and make her happy, rather than be the rebel you sometimes wanted to be.

Ah the service, it was boring until Remus came out. If you thought he’d look handsome in the cassock, you could have been awestruck when you saw him wearing that white alb. Yes, those Sunday school days had taught you enough. He wore a cincture around the waist that matched the alb, and you’d swear you deserve hell when you pictured yourself pulling the entire thing off him in a secret corner of the massive church. In the middle of mass, while the head priest kept talking about things related to Jesus and how he saved someone or whatever, you were thinking of calm and collected Father Remus, losing control and giving in to the lust of the flesh, and all of it for you.

A small smirk played on your face as you thought of all the things you’d like to do to Remus, of all the sounds you’d have him make. Was it sinful? Perhaps. Did it warrant hell? Most likely. Luckily, you didn’t believe in hell any more than you believed in heaven.

And then it came to you. The idea that would certainly warrant a hell of a lot more than your lewd imaginings. If stealing was a sin, then how sinful would it be to steal something from god? To pilfer one of his men for yourself?

What an ungodly thing to do, so devilish that perhaps you wouldn’t be in hell to be punished but rather to punish. Was it perhaps a revenge for being forced into church for so many years, for having to sit through hours of Sunday School and the indoctrination you had to put up with but somehow managed to see past? Yeah. But at this point, you weren’t sure you cared. Something about Remus had sucked you in like a moth to a flame and you wanted to cling to whatever that was. Otherwise, you might have not be able to go through with your plan.

It wouldn’t happen all in one day, it couldn’t happen all in one day. It had to be slow, steady, and repetitive, like the snake tempting Eve, like Eve tempting Adam. You hadn’t seen yourself as a sexy woman throughout your life, at least not the kind of Sexy Femme Fatale that men seemed to live and diе for in movies. No, you had never been like that, and you wouldn’t start today. But you would perform the most outrageous and strong act of seduction you had ever thought of and it had to be done perfectly, or you wouldn’t get what you wanted.

What was it that you wanted again? Right, you wanted Remus Lupin.

ACT II: Thou shall not steal

“When was the last time you confessed?” Your Nan whispered as she leaned onto you, people were already standing for communion.

You hesitated. “I’m not sure, Nan.”

She hummed in return, clearly disapproving of your distancing from the church. You were sure she would have called you heathen if you said the truth, it had been years.

“I could go up and confess now,” you said as you looked at the confessionary in the back, you had seen Remus enter it, but you suspected it was too soon to start with the plan.

“No darling, repent for your sins and you can confess later. Perhaps after mass.”

“Or during the week,” you said with a knowing smile.

“Isn’t it a long way from your apartment?”

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it anyway.”

She stood up and took the communion, leaving you sitting on the chair and looking at the way people would walk toward the altar. Judging them, if that made sense. There was a woman who accommodated her breasts back in her seat before standing up, she threw a look at one of the other priests as she took the host. You gave her an approving sort of glance before you turned to someone else. Now you didn’t exactly consider her way of seducing appealing, but then again, yours wouldn’t be much better either. So to each their own. The man behind her had been touching himself in the very back of the church and had stared at her ass throughout the entire line, probably for more material.

Sinners, the church claiming to be so saint, and it was full of them.

You weren’t much better than them either, the difference is that you didn’t harbour the same hate towards yourself for it. No, you knew what nature was and you knew that despite how much we humans pretended to be better, we still were all animals. And there are a few things that animals want and need. Love, or the act of love, was one of them. That’s what you’d be using to your favour.

When your Nan came back, you helped her kneel and do her praying; all the while you attentively looked around. Remus had left the concessionary already and he was at the front with the rest of the priests. He spotted you looking at him and you smiled kindly, innocently at him. The kind of smile someone with the thoughts surging in your head wouldn’t be able to give, and yet, you accomplished it seamlessly.

He gave you a courteous nod and you reciprocated it. The rest of the mass was as boring as you’d expect it to be; except for the fact that Remus was looking at you rather often, either he was curious about their new parishioner, or he was interested. Either way, you were sure you’d be able to use that in your favour.

When the mass was over, you had to wait for all of them to exit the church first and then you helped your Nan stand and walked with her towards the entrance. Remus was there, giving short blessings and handing out some pamphlets about donations and other similar stuff. Your grandma was the one to pull you towards him. “What a wonderful mass,” she said. “Father Ernest was onto something when he told me to come here while I was in the city.”

“Thank you,” Remus said bashfully, you could almost see him blush at the praise. What would a real blush look on him? You were dying to know.

“Wonderful indeed, although I would have liked to hear your interpretation of the verses, Remus,” You said.

“Father Remus,” your grandma corrected.

“Oh, it’s fine. If it feels more personal you may call me just Remus, dear one.”

You tried to hold back the snide smile you would have thrown your Nan had it been any other woman. You could call him Remus. You were a dear one.

“Right, perhaps another day,” you added with a smile and pulled your grandma to the side so the next person could take the blessing.

“I preach on Wednesdays,” Remus said, tone borderline desperate, as he raised his head over the people and women piling around him. Clearly, you weren’t the only one to harbour a little crush on Father Remus. It didn’t matter though, because you’d be the one to have him.

Next Wednesday you didn’t make any plans, and you put on something simple but elegant. A squared-neck shirt and a pair of jeans. When you arrived at the church, you didn’t waste as much time admiring it, instead, you decided to walk straight inside. His mass had started already, and you sneaked in through the side until you reached the third row of seats. There weren’t as many people as you’d expect on a Wednesday, but Remus was preaching like there were hundreds. He was wonderful.

He had a way with words that made you want to listen, perhaps if you weren’t so cynical, it would even convert you. But rather than thinking of his prayer, you were thinking of how incredible he would be as a teacher, you imagined the students, squirming for him and his words in their seats. You imagined the older, more daring girls going after him. You were lucky that wasn’t the situation, the kind of woman that could seduce any man had the benefit of practice that you didn’t. You wouldn’t have stood a chance against them.

But the kind of woman that went to the church, the kind that flocked to him at the end of mass, they weren’t a threat. They were too pious to try anything even remotely similar to what you had in mind. In fact, you even dared to think you were lucky that he had been a priest and not a teacher because then he would have perhaps been married, and while you were willing to take a man from god, you would never take one from another woman. You had limits.

After the mass was over, you waited a few minutes before leaving the church “accidentally” bumping into him again. “Remus,” you said with a smile. “We seem to continue bumping into each other,” you added as you leaned closer to him and pressed your cheek to his, making a low smacking sound, and then repeating on the other side. He looked bewildered at the contact. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable? I got this habit while I was in France and I still haven’t shaken it off completely.”

“Oh… No, no,” hesitant, bashful, you loved every bit of it. “Not at all, it’s fine. You can greet me however you like.”

“Is that privilege reserved to me, or does every other parishioner have it?” He seemed taken aback by your words. “I’m joking, Remus,” you added and placed your hand on his arm, before pulling it back tentatively. “Your mass was wonderful.”

“Thank you, I’m lucky to work at Saint Gryffin.”

“The way I see it, Saint Gryffin is lucky to have you. I mean lots of women come here to see the beautiful priest Remus.”

“You think?” he asked. Remus didn’t exactly consider himself handsome, he thought his scars would scare people away rather than attract them. But he sometimes failed to see past them and didn’t pay attention to his beautiful eyes, to his charming smile, to his long lashes, or to his well-toned frame. It was as if he had been carved by Michael Angelo himself, from your perspective.

“For sure,” you replied. “Take a closer look at the way they look at you on Sunday and you’ll see.” He blushed, a deeper shade of red than your Nan had pulled out of him, you resisted the urge to bite your lip and smiled instead. “Today was lovely, I’ll see you around,” you said before waving goodbye and exiting the church.

You went again a week later, Remus would sometimes lose his focus on the bible and look at you instead. That day you had chosen a skirt. Nothing too short or indecent, but certainly short enough to allow your legs to be seen and admired. An older man hadn’t stopped staring at you throughout the mass, and you would have perhaps told him off if it hadn’t been for the fact that Remus had been in a similar position.

Remus’ distraction, his hesitance and his constant turning to you were enough to drive your attention away from the man and onto him. You would smile, and you would nod, and you would pretend to be a supportive little lamb. Innocent, and meek and kind. Just what he expected from you. And it was that Wednesday, the third time that you’d met him, that you realised you had him right where you wanted him to be.

He for sure had a thing for you, be it curiosity, admiration, or a small crush. You had gotten his attention, and you had gotten into his mind. Now all you needed was to have him.

ACT III: Thou shall not Covet someone else’s property

The next Wednesday you had been late, you had allowed your hair to be slightly dishevelled and your cheeks were warm, despite the autumn getting colder. You had bitten your lips and you looked like you had just gotten away from a dire situation. You’d done it on purpose. When his gaze fell on you he almost stopped talking completely. He staggered to complete his words and you nodded for him to go on. When he was done, he rushed out, and you stayed in your seat. Eyes closed and hands clasping each other, pretending to pray.

That’s when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, he whispered your name. “Are you okay, Little Lamb?”

It took a real effort not to laugh at his nickname. Not because you thought it was stupid, but because you were so far from a lamb that you might as well have been the wolf that ate it. You turned to him, fake distress clouding your features, “I’ve done something terrible, Remus.”

He was kind, almost impossibly so, it almost made you want to stop your plan and leave him the pure man he was.

Almost.

“I’m sure there’s nothing you could do, that was as bad as you’ve described.”

“I’d like to confess,” you said. “Would you take my confession?”

Remus seemed hesitant, biting his lip. He knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t hear your confession, not when he wanted to maintain a personal relationship with you, not when he’d develop a crush. But it was in your preoccupied gaze, in the small frown that etched your features, in the way your lips curved down and in the bobbing of your throat as you swallowed. How ever could he deny you?

Oh, those thoughts would be the ones that would drag him into sin, nay, not drag, but rather, waft him into it. If Remus hadn’t been so enamoured by you, perhaps corrupting him would have proved a harder task to accomplish for you.

“Okay,” he said simply. And helped you stand. Guiding you towards the empty confessionary and sitting in his spot as you opened the door to the other one. It was a narrow place, enough for you to sit. There was a screen dividing the two of you, you couldn’t see him, but you suspected he could see you. And there was a small, square hole in between, enough to fit perhaps a hand. You assumed it was there in case you’d like to give something to the priest, as a thank you.

Remus cleared his throat, and in the most professional way he could muster he said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. My child, what brings you to the sacrament of confession today?”

His voice had been different, stronger as if he was trying not to be himself. You loved it. “Father, I come seeking forgiveness for my sins. I have strayed from the path of righteousness and I seek reconciliation,” you let your voice bend and crack near the end.

“I am here to listen, my child. Let us begin with a moment of reflection. Take a moment to examine your conscience and bring to mind the sins you wish to confess.”

You held back the smirk that threatened to appear when he said that, just in case he was actually able to see you. “I have fallen in love with a man I cannot have.”

“Oh, darling,” he said, that was Remus, not Father Remus. You had cracked through his façade and you hadn’t even started. “That is not a sin. It’s happened to the best of us.”

“But it is a sin the way I think of him, Father,” you responded. You heard a sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t speak further. “I have dreamt of him, of his lips, of his eyes with long lashes, the way his hair frames his face, of his beautiful and strong hands–” Remus tried not to be jealous of the man you described, but everything about him seemed perfect, and unlike himself, he probably could have you. Your beautiful lips, and eyes, focused solely on him. He hated the guy already. “–sliding between my legs, and touching me.”

“Do not speak further,” there was an edge of alarm in his voice. A bit of a broken end to it.

“Oh but Father I must,” you said. “If I don’t I’m afraid I’ll act upon my feelings in the same way I did today while thinking of him.”

“You…” he hesitated. “You touched yourself… Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes,” you replied with a frown, almost a wince, all of it an act, of course.

“Pray Our Father 10 times and–”

“No! Allow me to relate my story, Father,” he tried to stop you. “I must, I must, or then I might go to him and offer myself in a terrible, ungodly manner and then I won’t ever be deserving of the church ever again.”

Frankly, you didn’t even know how you’d gotten so inspired, but Remus relented, nodding and when he realised you hadn’t heard, he bit his cheek and said. “Go on then.”

You sighed, that was a real sigh, you weren’t sure you’d get this far. “I had a dream of him, Father. He was handsome as ever, and he looked at me, with such kind eyes, with such loving eyes, that when he leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t stop him.”

Remus was already praying for himself. He did not want to imagine you in your bed, your hair sprawled over the pillow and your mind away in a dream, kissing another man.

“I didn’t stop him when he pinned me against the wall, and I didn’t stop him when his hand dug under my shirt. I said nothing when it travelled to my breast, and I all but moaned when he pinched my nipple.”

“That is enough, I get the idea.”

“But that’s not the whole dream,” you protested, you sounded mortified. How could he stop your repentance for his own misguided thoughts? A man of God wasn’t supposed to harbour this kind of feelings for a fellow human, he was not meant to like you so much, and his pants were not meant to be as uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to go onto the details–”

“But Father, I must repent for all of my sins.”

Remus sighed, “Go on then.”

“And then when he reached down, oh Remus, I spread my legs for him rather than shut them close…” you didn’t say a thing. You could hear his breathing had gotten a lot more ragged. “He slid this hand through my knickers and touched me, that place that should only be touched by your husband. And… it felt good. I moaned his name until my voice went hoarse in the dream. I saw him pump himself and woke up as he rubbed his cock onto my folds.”

There was a sigh of relief when he thought the story was over. “It is good that you repent–”

“The worst part is yet to come.” You said, and you breathed. “When I awoke, I felt a wetness between my legs. My underwear was moist and the stickiness had rubbed onto my legs. I know I shouldn’t have done it, Remus, but I couldn’t resist the temptation. I wanted to know if it would feel as good as in the dream.”

“Child.”

“I reached down and repeated the actions the man had done to me. My fingers weren’t as strong or secure, but I found a spot that felt incredible, and I kept touching it, rubbing it, circling around it.”

Remus’ boner was straining against his pants in an almost painful way. He wanted to let go, he wanted to set him free and chase his own pleasure at your words. At how he pictured you in your bed, sweaty and sighing as you touched yourself. You were so beautiful, he found innocence even in the way you sinned.

“And then there was bliss, I thought I was dеad and had gone to heaven, but I came back, vision cloudy and disoriented. My bedsheets were sticky with my juices and I had to change them. I’ve been in a permanent state of shame ever since then.”

“Let us pray for your forgiveness,” Remus said. And my own, he thought. Now not only your sheets had been stained, but so had his pants, just from hearing you. You would have relished on the knowledge if you’d had it.

“Thank you, Father,” you said as you stood.

“Pray tell me child, whoever is this man that has you in such an altered state of mind?”

Got him! you thought as you turned your gaze to the confessionary. And almost in a whisper, you murmured. “Well, it’s you, Remus.”

ACT IV: Thou shall not commit adultery

Remus couldn’t stop thinking of you since that day. He’d get boners with the mere thought of you, with the idea of you going back to his confessionary and telling him all the lewd things you had done while thinking of him again.

He thought of you in the shower, and he thought of you in bed, and he thought of you while praying to try and take his mind away from you as well. He knew he was in deep trouble and he had no one he could talk to about his problem.

He had avoided touching himself, but it was hard and it was painful to ignore the throbbing sometimes, and he had to give in. Gently brushing his hand on top of his trousers until either it subdued or he came, completely forgetting who he was and thinking only of your hot lips in his and your legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed you in the exact same way he’d had you in your dream. A dream that had now become as much his as it had been yours.

The next Wednesday he was nervous. Bouncing his leg while he had breakfast and playing with his nails while he read the verse he’d have to give that day. His breath was stuck in his throat as he started to preach and he waited. And waited as he spoke and looked at the door and then back at the bible held between his hands and then back at the door.

You didn’t go to church that day.

Naturally, he was mortified. Thinking he had done something wrong, thinking he had scared you and thinking he’d pushed you away somehow. Thinking you were too scared to see him again after those lewd dreams, thinking –God forbid- you had chosen a different church to attend.

So when the next Wednesday you showed up with a small skirt (the smallest you had ever gone to church with) and a simple preppy-looking sweater he couldn’t help but be both relieved and terrified, all at the same time. You had tinted your lips red, not enough for it to be lipstick, but enough for them to look raw and bitten, and while your hair was perfectly put together, and your makeup right in place, there was something about you that screamed danger.

You sat right in the very first row. There were like 5 other people in the massive church that day. Someone sitting in the middle. A couple of old people in the back and a few others scattered around. No one young, and no one near the front either.

Oh, what a terrible thing it was that you were about to do.

Remus was quick to dismiss his deacons, asking them to go fetch something while he preached mass and they gave him a courteous nod while he started talking. As per usual, you listened attentively, paying close attention to the things he said, and despite yourself, often finding the things that you disagreed with. You realized he could barely take his eyes off you, and you slowly, spread your legs. Only a little, only enough to get his attention. You saw the way he licked his lips, and went back to talking. And you smiled. You pulled your ass back and opened yourself a little wider before crossing one leg over the other. You accommodated your skirt with your hand, slow and steady. Pulling your skirt up to show more skin before pulling it down and settling it in place, but only after he’d noticed, and seen as much of skin as possible, all the while, pretending to be doing it all innocently. Like you hadn’t worn that small skirt on purpose and like you hadn’t taken off your knickers and placed them in your bag in that public loo before walking inside the church.

When the mass ended, you saw Remus disappear into the confessionary. Onto the confession side. You saw him look around and then get inside, nervous as if scared to be seen. Probably trying to run away from you. When you made sure that there was no one left, you walked inside the other side. He was hunched, elbows leaning on his knees and head hidden between his hands. You thought you had gone too far since he looked like he had been crying, but you quickly realised he had been praying instead.

Sure, he’d have complicated thoughts, but your plan was meant to be fun for the two of you, and you wanted him to enjoy being corrupted as much as you enjoyed corrupting him.

“Remus,” you said tentatively. “Are you okay?”

He gasped and turned to the small division, he couldn’t see you, but you could see him perfectly. “It’s you.”

Rather than replying you cocked your head to the side. “Take a moment to examine your conscience and bring to mind the sins you wish to confess,” you joked. He gave you a stern look from the other side, a reproaching sort of look as if he wanted to tell you how terrible it was for you to impersonate a Priest, but he didn’t speak. “Or should I speak of mine first?”

“Please don’t.”

“Then sing, little bird.”

Remus huffed. “I’ve been thinking about a woman, non-stop.”

“A church woman?”

“I’m not sure if she really is a church woman anymore.”

“A devil?”

“No.”

You smiled, “Then, what’s so wrong about thinking of her?”

“I’m no ordinary man. It’s against my beliefs.”

“To think of a woman is against your beliefs?”

“To think of her in the way I’ve been thinking of her.”

“Which is?”

“As terrible as your dream, my darling.”

You smirked at that, biting your lip so hard you might have drawn bIood if you hadn’t stopped to say something else. “So you’ve been thinking of kissing me?”

“Yes.”

“Of touching me?”

“Yes,” he said, strained.

“Of fucking me?”

Silence.

“Have you thought of the sounds I would make, of the sighs and moans and groans?”

He closed his eyes, a deep frown etched on his features. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I used your confession to fuel my imaginations, to satisfy my carnal desires to–”

“That’s okay.”

“It is not!” he responded, distressed.

“Remus,” you said simply. “I wanted you to think of me,” you admitted. “I wanted you to think of me while you touched yourself the same way I thought of you while I did it. The same way I’ve been thinking of you while doing it, in fact.”

His head snapped your way, he seemed mortified, but you could also see one of his hands being brought down, adjusting his pants.

“Do you want me to tell you how I do it?”

“No,” he lied.

“Are you sure? I won’t ask again.”

He looked to the side, red from shame. He bit his lip. “Tell me.”

You smiled, “I lay in bed, and then these images come to my mind, I think of you, of your hands. They’re touching me, they’re everywhere. I don’t know where you ended and I start and I love every bit of it. It’s my hands that travel down my thighs but I think of them as yours. It is my fingers that slide in between my folds but I believe they’re yours.”

“Fucking hell,” he said, his grip on the wooden latch, grip tightening until his knuckles turned white. You peered through the blinds and realised the tent in his pants.

“Remus,” you said quietly. He turned to the wooden division, gaze strained, eyes filled with guilt, he was looking for you, but he couldn’t see past the squares and the small, shadow of you that got through. “Touch yourself.”

It was soft, the way you said it. Soft like a suggestion more than a command, but neither of you doubted it was the latter. And as if it had been a command from God himself, he listened and did what told. He patted himself over his black pants and hissed at the strain he’d been on. It was almost painful, how constricted and trapped his cock had been.

“Soft,” you said then, watching, resisting your own temptation to dig your hand under your skirt. “Be kind to yourself, Remus, you deserve it.”

He listened, and continued to rub himself, passing his hand back and forth and allowing it to help with the strain. “Te” –he stuttered– “tell me how you feel.”

“The inner side of my legs is soft, incredibly so,” you said. “I get chills when I run my hands close to my core.”

“It’s wet,” you said then. You had dug your hand under your skirt now. “Really wet.”

He could hear your breaths getting sharper, he assumed you were also touching yourself on the other side and he could barely think properly, barely command his hand to do what it needed to do to help himself.

“That looks painful,” you said as you saw him continue to rub himself over his trousers. “Take yourself out.”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Touch yourself with your bare hand, Remus.”

He seemed like he would protest, so you decided to give him some encouragement. You placed your finger between your folds and brushed over your clit, emitting a soft moan, “Please.”

Just like before, Remus followed your command, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his boxers down enough so he could pull himself out. You smiled. “So beautiful, aren’t you?” you praised from the other side. He was long, thick and standing proud. He was hesitant at first, but he eventually placed his hand around himself. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten how good it feels.”

Of course, he had been a teenager once, of course, he had touched himself while feeling terrible for doing so and having grown up in a Christian household.

“Remus?”

“Yeah?” he asked, as he pumped. Slow and steady, as if he didn’t want to go too fast and show you how easy it was for him to cum at the thought of you.

“You’re making me insanely wet, I might have ruined your comfy little chair here.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“No, I’m being a good little lamb that tells no lies,” you said in response. “Ah… fuck.”

“What was that?”

“Just thinking of how incredible your hand would feel if it were doing what mine is?”

“Which is?”

“Shhh…” you said. He stopped moving. “You hear that?” you asked. It was a lewd wet sound. “It’s my finger, coming in and out of myself.”

Remus moaned your name and bit his lips. He came in his hand before he had time to really visualize you. “Ugh,” he said as he looked at the mess he’d made all over his hands, some of it also on his pants.

You took a handkerchief from your bag and passed it over your legs, collecting some of the sticky stuff between your folds and then you passed it through the small, opened section. Crossing your hand, the one with still glistening fingers over.

You knew he’d noticed the second his eyes opened wide. “So you clean yourself, I used it for myself too.” He bit his lip and carefully took it from your hands, and cleaned your fingers with it as if he tried to wash his sin by cleaning your equally sinful fingers. But he didn’t bring his cum covered hand even close to it. Let alone his cock. “What? You think it’s gross?”

“I don’t want to ruin it,” he said as he brought it close to his nose and sniffed, stifling a moan with the fabric. Now you were the speechless one. “Do you have a napkin?”

You somehow managed to pull a napkin from your bag and handed it over to him through the same place. He used that to clean himself and placed it neatly folded in one of his pockets.

“Can I keep this?” he asked as he held the handkerchief between two fingers.

“Yes,” you almost stuttered. You had never seen a man do something as ridiculous –and hot– as what he’d done.

“Will you disappear again, angel?”

“Angel?” you asked with a smirk, “I would think you’d see me as something else, a devil, perhaps.”

“Impossible, a devil wouldn’t be able to show me heaven like you did today.”

Speecheless, again. This man really could bring you to your knees. “Do you even want to see me again?”

“More than anything on this earth.”

“Fine then, I’ll come to confess tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

ACT V: Thou shall honour your Mother and Father

After the heat of the moment, Remus felt the sudden urge to repent, to throw away the handkerchief and to pray in bed until his knees were raw from how much he’d been kneeling. And he tried, but even as he prayed he knew how pointless it was. The act of repenting, of praying and being forgiven for your sins, only worked if you actually felt regret over what you’d done.

But Remus was far from feeling remorseful. He had repented a great many things throughout his life. Not trusting his innocent best friend and blaming him for things that had happened, not doing more for the world when he had the chance and smaller, pesky things that most people wouldn’t bat an eyelash about but that he constantly put himself down for.

But having done what he did on the confessionary, hearing your small moans and the lewd sounds that you’d made for him, telling him what to do and how to do it, that he didn’t regret. On the other hand, he wanted to do it again. You had taken him to heaven and he was eager to see it again. And he did it, repeated the same actions, it was cold and dark and there was no one even close to his room when he pulled that handkerchief out and placed it on his face. Smelling the scent of you while he pulled himself out of his pants and jerked himself for the second time that day. He came with the thought of you at the confessionary and your name muffled by the handkerchief that he refused to move from his mouth. By the end, he was sore and delicate and he felt like he had pushed himself too hard, but he found the most peaceful sleep afterwards.

When he woke up again, he was still covered in his own cum and he had to wash the sheets of his bed in his sink before anyone noticed what he had done. The shame he felt diluting as the sun rose, and he imagined you coming back to the church. He pictured you in that small skirt you’d worn yesterday, or in the simple dress you’d taken the first time that you went to hear his mass. But he was not expecting to see you walk in the clothes you’d worn.

A white dress, long enough to reach mid-thigh, and made of soft sheer fabric layered one on top of another. He might have been imagining things but he would have sworn he could see your nipples perk through the thin fabric when you turned to him, a small, innocent smile on your face as you threw him a look and walked inside the confessionary. An angel, you really were an angel.

“Pretty thing, you’ve come back,” he said as he too walked in, this time taking the side that belonged to him, he loved that he could see you.

“I promised, Remus.”

“I know, angel. But I’m always scared I’ve dreamed you up, that you’re not real and that I was just imagining you all along.”

You smirked and pushed your hand through the small hole connecting the two of you, “I’m very real, Remus, you can touch me.”

He did, he placed his hand on top of yours and you heard a sigh of relief when his thumbs pressed onto your hand. He was careful and kind, passing his fingers over your knuckles and under your palm in a soft, gentle manner that was sending shivers down your spine. This poor man was breaking down for you, and yet he was the gentlest of them all.

“You really are,” he breathed. He didn’t know if he should be happy that you were real, or horrified by the things he’d done for you, of the things he’d do. His faith? He might have been willing to throw it all away for another chance to see you, for another chance to feel your hands, for your lips, your kisses. How could he believe in a God that had given him nothing, when you were here, willing to give him everything?

“Yesterday I saw it all and you barely got to hear me, I thought of showing you my sins rather than describing them to you today, is that okay, Father?” That last bit was a taunt, in the same way you’d been taunting him since the very beginning.

“Yes,” there was no hesitance, if anything, you would have only described the waver in his voice as excitement.

You couldn’t hold back the smirk that pulled from your lips, Remus’ breath hitched as you accommodated yourself in the chair. Leaning back and spreading your legs for him, letting the soft fabric of your dress fall in between your tights and slowly show the outline of your legs.

“When was the last time you saw a woman naked?”

“In real life? Never.”

Your head snapped to him, although all you could see was the outline of a shadow through the dark-edged wood, “Never?!? Pictures?”

“When I was around 15.” He admitted. “My best friend Peter once took a few magazines to school after the break. He said his father had gotten them for him on his 14th birthday and that he told them to take them back before his mother noticed. I barely remember them.”

“Did you jack off to them?”

“I stole a page,” he admitted with a bitter laugh. “It was this girl with a forest-green, transparent robe. I took her home with me, my father found it and he was enraged. He called me a monster and drove me straight into church.”

“The priest there took a look at the image, and made me kneel down on the rocky floor and pray for forgiveness. I don’t know if he forgot, or if he did it on purpose, but he said not to stand until he came back and he didn’t come back until 7 hours later.”

“My god,” you said. Remus didn’t even think of reprimanding you for taking his name in vain. “That must have been awful. Your parents were terrible.”

Remus shrugged, “It’s what I was used to,” he added when he remembered you couldn’t actually see him, although you could feel his hands tense at the thought.

“That means, since then… you’ve never even–?”

“No,” he admitted softly. “I guess it’s easier not to do something when you don’t know how it feels. Although my best friend was always eager to tell me how good it was.”

“Worry not, you won’t have to use your imagination anymore,” you said as you pulled your hand back into your area and moved it to the thin strap of the dress, slowly sliding it down, he could barely see the valley of your breast, and yet he felt himself start to tense, his cheeks heat and bIood rushing south.

“You don’t have to–”

“But I want to,” you said, turning your gaze from your bare shoulder and towards him, he could see the mirth shining in your eyes, he could see the mischievousness and the licentiousness reflected on your pupils. You pulled the other strap down and then moved both of your hands to the fabric at the top of your breasts, pulling it down and letting them in full view.

Remus breathed sharply when he finally saw them. Of course, he knew what they looked like, the girls in Peter’s magazine had shown him. James had described them, but that was nothing compared to seeing them in real life, it was nothing compared to seeing yours in real life.

You smiled at the little to no sound he was making from the other side. You leaned your back on the stunningly carved wooden wall of the confessionary and squared your shoulders for him. “They look like this for you,” you said as you slid your hand over one of your nipples. “They turned hard the minute I spotted you at the door.”

Silence, nothing more than a ragged breath.

“Cat got your tongue?” You teased.

“I had never seen a prettier thing in my life,” he said. “Except for your angelic face, that is.”

You laughed in return, a sweet and soft laugh that he would have done anything to hear again. “You’re good at this for someone who’s never done it.”

“Good at what?”

“At making a woman blush.” You said. “But I’m just as good,” you added as you pulled one of your legs up on the small seat, your dress fell over and bunched up covering your core, but Remus barely even cared, he was immersed in the plushness of your thigh, imagining how it would feel wrapped around his waist.

You heard him swallow thickly.

“In my dream,” you started, “In my dream, we weren’t here, we were hiding somewhere in the church.” Your breath had slowed down, one of your hands was playing with your thigh, the other one on your breast. You didn’t usually pay much attention to them, but it was that you knew his eyes were on you, that touching them, knowing how it must have made him feel, was turning you on even more than before. “You were kissing me –ah– you were touching me.”

Remus was, by now, having to adjust his extremely uncomfortable pants.

“How?” he asked, almost in a whisper. “Show me how I was touching you.”

You couldn’t even hold back the smile from your face. “You traced your fingers over my thigh,” you placed your hand on your bare knee, and then started to move it downwards, towards yourself. “You were kissing me here,” you added as you leaned your neck to the side for him to see better. And then… you touched me here.” Your hand was already in your core. You moved the ruffles of the dress to the side, allowing him to see, to see all of you. You heard a small gasp, when he noticed you had worn no knickers.

“You slid your hands on my slit,” you said and followed your own instructions, “Soft and gentle, like you are when you’re preaching. In the same way that you moved your delicate slender fingers over the bible,” you breathed, a little more ragged now. “You slid one of your fingers in between my folds, and looked for my clit. You found it almost instantly, and you rolled your finger over it gently, you loved my whimpers.”

“I do,” he agreed. “I imagined them while touching myself last night. Those wet little sounds you make when you–”

“Ah,” you breathed as you dug your fingers inside yourself, your walls tightening around it involuntarily. “Like this?” you asked and smiled, biting your lip before you did it again. You brought the hand on your breast downwards and leaned back a little so you could spread your legs even further. Remus’ mouth watered, he wondered how wrong would it be to taste you?

To bury his head in your legs and lick all of the wetness that coated your fingers, to be so close that the smell of you got everywhere, that he wouldn’t need the handkerchief to feel you close. You continued to touch yourself. Breathing heavily, sighting and moaning softly, he wondered what that would feel if it were directly whispered into his ear.

You were so lost in yourself for those first few minutes, so wrapped in the feeling that you hadn’t realized the lack of beautiful moans from his side.

“Remus–” you said breathily, “Why aren’t you touching yourself?”

“Yesterday at night I– I did it again… a couple of times. I’m, it’s a little painful,” he admitted shamefully, but your eyes shone with lust so intense at his words that he continued talking. “It was your little handkerchief’s fault. I was going to wash it, but I got its scent and it made me feral.”

“Aha?” you asked, as you continued to touch yourself.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Shut my door and laid on my bed with it over my nose.”

You hummed contentedly, half a moan, half a hum.

“I was so hard it was ridiculous. I had barely even smelled you. I hadn’t even gone through the images of that wonderful dream of yours.”

You sighted in bliss, breath ragged as you slid your finger out of yourself and turned to him with a smile.

“I have an idea,” you said and then let out a breathy laugh.

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jyoongim · 10 months ago

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You have so graciously written multiple of my asks 🫶🏻🫶🏻 thank you for doing them justice!!! 👁️👅👁️

I’m living for the alastor with cannibal reader!

What about the gang at the hotel sees alastor with a pretty new thing around his arm and she is just !!!!stunning!!! Like dark elegant (yet terrifying) grace. And everyone is like ????how did this old ass radio demon pull someone like you???

But they realize exactly why they fit so perfect when she kills someone (maybe defending the hotel) and just munches down on their corpse crazy style. Turning around, blood on their face, in their teeth with a wide smile like “I helped!!!” And then it clicks that she’s also a cannibal like him.

Everyone is all grossed out by it but Al thinks she has never looked prettier all covered in blood from her kill and meal. He even Wipes her face for her 😗😗😗

IM HAPPY THAT I HAVE DONE SO MANY OF YOUR REQUESTS AND YOU ENJOYED THEM!!!! I hope that i did this one justice.

Truly there was no way.

Their eyes HAD to be deceiving them.

Alastor had left the hotel to go on one of his outings but the gang was just too curious as to where the Overlord was going.

So like the mischievous nosy bunch they were; they followed him.

They followed him to a lovely restaurant and watched in shock as the waiter seated Alastor and the most beautiful demon they had ever seen.

Truly there was no way.

There was no way that ALASTOR was chatting up such a beautiful dame and NOT being creepy.

They watched from afar as Alastor pulled out a small box, presumingly a gift, and give you a genuine smile as you gawked and playfully glared at him before accepting it with a soft smile.

You were stunning!

You must have died from an earlier time period as you were dressed in very modest attire.

A puffy white blouse tucked into a long black skirt, waist tapered by a corset to show off your curves.

Your neck and ears wore pearls and your hair was curled and pinned up.

The epitome of grace and elegance.

How the hell did that old fossil bag you???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

”Oh Alastor! You didn’t have to!” You gasped as he presented a small gift box to you.

The red charmer demon smiled as you opened the box to see he had got you some customized jewelry.

The Radio Demon had been courting you for a while.

Sending you flowers and taking you out on several outings throughout the Pride Ring.

It took you a while to warm up to him, but he did have a way with persuasion Rosie told you he was a great guy and your bestie would never lie. Plus Alastor had been asking her about you

“Oh it was nothing my dear! A beautiful lady should have beautiful things. I thought it would compliment that new dress you got” Ah what a charmer.

As the two of you chatted and enjoyed each other's company, you had an eerie feeling you were being watched.

You shook off the feeling, it wasn’t too off putting as many people often staring as you accompanied the demon.

Besides, no one dared to approach the two of you anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor had asked you to come to the hotel so he could show you around.

He really only wanted you to meet the Princess, but the whole hotel was in attendance when Alastor opened the door to reveal you.

“No way Freaky Face bagged a broad like this?” Angel commented, causing Nifty giggled while the rest of the gang watched as Alastor showed you around.

All was going well…until there was a loud banging at the door.

rude much?

“Angel we know you’re here!” A voice shouted as the banging got louder.

You turned to see the tall spider start to shake a bit.

You patted his arm and motioned him to take a seat and reassured him that all will be well.

Vaggie hissed as a window was knocked out.

”Oi come on out! Valentino wants to see you! We don’t mind using force whorebug!”

You felt your eye twitch.

the gang was trying to think of a way to get rid of them.

They were going to tear the hotel apart at this rate.

Charlie protested as you made your way to the lobby double doors and swung them open.

”Why hello gentlemen, is there a reason for such distasteful actions?” You smiled, but it was anything but friendly.

You took a step forward, a dark aura manifested around you as your eyes glows and teeth sharpened.

”Take her out boys! I’m sure the boss man would like a new toy!”

oh poor things.

You launched at the unexpected demon, sharp teeth at his neck and with a quick yank, his head was gone.

You heard horrified gasps as you moved to dispatch each disgusting creature.

”Ooh my dear you shouldn’t have” you heard Alastor say.

The gang had poked their heads out the front door and was shocked. There were dead bodies everywhere on the front lawn, bodies parts littering the ground.

Angel and Vaggie gagged as they saw you, teeth deep,in a poor demon. You were shaking it like a dog would with a toy, until it flung out of your mouth, leaving your mouth bloody.

”OOH that’s sick so fucking sick!”

You grinned at Alastor, sharp teeth white a pale contrast to the bright blood smeared on your face .

You shyly tucked a strand of loose hair, standing to dust yourself off. “Ooh i do apologize Alastor. They were just being rude and ruining the exterior! Such disgusting things! They didn’t even deserve the grace to be eaten! How dare they try to-”

You were pulled from your murderous ramble by a soft cloth on your face. You blinked, eyes focusing on Alastor’s smiling face.

”Knew you would look good in red”

You blushed as he wiped the blood from your chin.

”Oh stop it. You know red doesn’t suit me” you playfully hit his chest. He hummed, ignoring your comment as he cleaned your face.

”I think you look ravishing’ he purred as he licked your blood-stained cheek.

You giggled and held up a liver for him to bite.

In the background the gang was flabbergasted.

so that was HOW Alastor bagged a bad bitch?

shes a fucking cannibal…huh who would have knew?

Well you had to be some sort of freaky to be entertaining the Radio Demon.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #hazbin hotel fluff #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagines

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steddieas-shegoes · 9 months ago

Text

Eddie loved flying. When the sun was out and he could watch the cars and houses get smaller while they reached altitude. When everything felt a bit lighter and his stress was under the clouds.

He did not love flying when the weather was bad.

In fact, he’d joked with the flight attendant that maybe they should delay the flight until the wind and dark clouds passed, but she just laughed and said the pilots were used to it.

Good for them. Eddie wasn’t.

He always sat in the window seat in first class, usually had some old businessman on his way to close a very important deal next to him. That wasn’t an option for this last minute flight though, so he was in the last row of the plane, leg bouncing nervously as people continued to board.

“As a courtesy to those around you, please stow your personal items under the seat in front of you as soon as you are in your seat. This allows a faster boarding process for all of us. Thank you!”

The announcement was a reminder that Eddie was flying without his usual carry-on items. His tour manager had packed him a checked bag and sent him on his way.

So he had his phone and his wallet, and eyes looking out the window next to him watching rain start to hit the tarmac below.

“Excuse me, I think that’s my seat,” a man’s voice said from the aisle.

Eddie looked over and saw a long line of men roughly his age in matching track suits, backpacks over their shoulders, and the Notre Dame logo on their jackets.

They were all tall. Well, all except the guy talking to him now. He was pretty average size.

“Uh. I don’t think so man. I’m 36F,” Eddie answered as kindly as his nerves would allow.

The guy checked his phone, brows creasing together.

“I’m 36F.”

No fucking way was Eddie giving up his window seat.

“Is there a problem?” A flight attendant asked from behind them.

“We’re both supposed to be in 36F?” The guy held his phone towards the attendant.

“May I see your boarding pass, sir?” The attendant asked Eddie.

Eddie pulled his own phone out, holding out the mobile boarding pass for her to see it.

“Sorry sir, it looks like you should be in 36E.”

Oh no.

Oh god no.

A middle seat?

There was no fucking way.

“I’m sorry, would it be at all possible for me to be in a window seat?” Eddie didn’t want to cause problems, but his chest was starting to clench and his breaths were coming in short pants.

“Unfortunately, this is a sold out flight. We wouldn’t have any available for you.”

He could feel eyes on him, quite a few of them, but none as obvious as the guy who actually belonged in 36F.

“We can just switch, man. No big deal.”

Eddie sighed with relief.

“Thank you, yeah. That’d be great.”

The attendant nodded and gestured for the guy to sit down.

Someone behind him sat on his other side and they immediately started talking as if nothing had happened.

See? Eddie had actually done them a favor! Now he could talk to his teammate for whatever sport he played and Eddie could watch their impending demise through the window.

The plane was rocking back and forth from the force of the wind blowing outside and the sky continued to grow darker despite the early afternoon hour. Eddie was considering sending a goodbye text to his band when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Hey, you okay?”

Eddie’s eyes widened as he turned to look at the guy next to him.

“Do you normally get nervous when you fly? Or is this your first time?” He continued. “Sometimes it helps to just close your eyes during takeoff.”

It was kind of him to try this, truly, but Eddie knew kindness wouldn’t save them if lightning hit them.

“I’m just not a fan of storms.”

The guy was watching him while his teammate on the other side of him talked to the guys across the aisle. Eddie was surrounded by this entire team. The irony was not lost on him that he spent so much of his youth expressing disdain for sports ball and might die among a group of sports ball players.

“Steve.” The guy nudged his shoulder against Eddie’s instead of offering his hand, an odd thing to do but the contact was grounding.

“Eddie.”

“You wanna hold my hand?”

Did they already die during takeoff? Did Eddie somehow end up in heaven?

This very attractive man, who definitely didn’t even know who Eddie was, was offering comfort in these trying times. Offering to hold his hand!

“Uh.”

Steve smiled. “It’s okay if not, but I figured it might help you focus on something else.”

“Sure.”

Steve held his hand out, palm up, and Eddie laced their fingers together.

“So, Eddie. Tell me where you’re off to.”

Eddie breathed in, breathed out. “My Uncle. He’s getting his appendix out so I’m trying to get there before he wakes up.”

“Oh. I had mine out when I was 10! Is he okay?” Steve seemed genuinely concerned and Eddie felt his stomach swoop.

“Yeah! Yeah, they caught it before it ruptured. But because of his age, they said his recovery might be a little rough so I’m gonna stay with him for a week to make sure he doesn’t overdo it. He’s a stubborn old man who’d probably be pulling weeds from his garden within hours if I wasn’t going so.” Eddie looked back out the window. Fingers reached under his chin, turning him away from the window.

“Eyes on me.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Eddie nodded and squeezed Steve’s hand.

“Good.”

Fuck.

“So, you’re close with your uncle?” Steve asked, as if he hadn’t just turned Eddie’s entire world upside down.

“Mhm. He basically raised me. More like a dad,” Eddie whispered out.

The pilot was making an announcement, but you couldn’t pay Eddie to tell you what it was for. He barely even noticed that they were backing away from the boarding zone.

“Do you visit him often?”

“As often as I can. My job keeps me busy,” Eddie shrugged, not really wanting to give it away, didn’t wanna give Steve a reason to look at him differently.

Eddie was gonna soak up this attention as long as he could.

It was actually helping distract him.

“I get that. I mean, I play basketball for Notre Dame and it basically is a full time job. We travel so much, most of my classes are online. I hardly ever get back home to visit my family,” Steve admitted with a sad smile. “Luckily, they come see me at my home games when they can. Does your uncle get to visit you sometimes?”

Just as Eddie went to answer, he caught lightning out of the corner of his eye and his entire body tensed.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice was firm, drawing his attention away from the window quickly. “Keep your eyes on me. We’re fine. Just you and me talking right now.”

They were nearly at the runway for takeoff and it was getting harder to focus on Steve’s words, the warmth of his hand in his, the fact that if it were truly dangerous, they wouldn’t even be cleared for takeoff.

As the plane sped up, Eddie whimpered.

He’d be embarrassed later if he survived.

Steve’s hand pulled from his and wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him against his side while his other hand cupped the back of his head and kept his face against his chest.

“Just breathe. I’ve got ya.”

And really, if the plane went down in flames, no one could save them. But hearing it did help, especially with arms holding him so tightly, he almost didn’t even remember he was on a plane.

But not quite.

The wind was strong enough to make the takeoff rough, shaking the plane more than usual as it left the ground.

Eddie’s hand gripped Steve’s shirt so tight, he would probably cause a tear if his nails weren’t so dull.

He stayed like that while they continued to climb above the clouds, the air pockets making the flight a bit more turbulent than Eddie was okay with.

He felt the vibrations of Steve talking, but didn’t hear him, didn’t even know if he was talking to him or the guy next to him who probably thought Eddie was an idiot.

The pilot made an announcement he didn’t hear, but he figured if he was gonna die, he could die against the chest of a nice, hot guy.

“Worst of it’s almost done, babe,” Steve said, lips against the top of Eddie’s head.

Gareth would never stop teasing him about this if he ever found out.

Being consoled by a sports ball guy during a flight he’s taken at least 30 times in the last two years.

New low? Maybe new high if he managed to get his number.

Steve’s fingers played with his hair, and he slowly felt his body relax.

His last thought before drifting asleep was how nice it was to be held like this.

***

“I think he’s probably a cookie guy.”

Eddie’s eyes blinked open to Steve’s voice quietly rumbling in his ear.

He’d been adjusted at some point so his head rested on Steve’s shoulder, one hand against his chest.

He couldn’t remember the last time he fell asleep on a flight. Maybe the last time they flew to London from LA right after a show?

And those had been perfect flying conditions.

He lifted his head as he rubbed at his eyes and tried not to let the butterflies take over when Steve’s hand squeezed his hip.

“Hey sleepyhead. You want cookies or pretzels?”

“Cookies always. Please.” Eddie yawned.

As he took the package of Biscoff cookies, he noticed how smooth the flight was and the sun shining through the window.

Steve’s arm stayed around him.

The entire flight.

Even after he’d gotten up to use the restroom.

Even when there was no real reason to offer him comfort anymore.

Even when they landed on the runway in Indianapolis and the seatbelt light turned off.

Even while they talked to each other the entire flight, sharing the smallest details about themselves as if it was a first date.

“Would it be okay if I get your number? I’d like to check on your uncle later if that’s okay,” Steve asked, suddenly seeming more nervous than he had the entire flight.

I’m “Yes! Yeah, please,” he quickly typed it into Steve’s phone, putting his name as Eddie M 🛫. “Uh, thanks for, ya know, helping. Kind of embarrassing.”

“No reason to be embarrassed. It was scary.”

“Yeah. I just figured I fly so much, I should be used to it.”

“You never told me what your job was,” Steve nudged him as he pocketed his phone.

“I didn’t.” Eddie almost didn’t wanna ruin this. But he’d figure it out or find out and then it’d be worse. “I’m the lead singer for Corroded Coffin.”

“Is that…a famous band?”

The guy on the other side of Steve smacked his shoulder. “Dude, one of their songs is on our locker room hype playlist. Dustin’s obsessed.”

“Shut up, Lucas. You know I have my own playlist!” Steve turned back to Eddie and rolled his eyes. “Sorry. So you’re like famous.”

“You could say that,” Eddie hated saying it though, at least in these situations. “You really didn’t know?”

“Nah. I’m more of a pop and 80s kinda guy.”

“Maybe you could send me a playlist? Ya know, when you check on my uncle later,” Eddie suggested.

“Sure. I’ve got a two and a half hour bus ride back to campus to work on one.” Steve smirked. “You gonna be alright now?”

“Yeah. Thanks again. For taking care of me.”

“Anytime. Anything you need.”

And Eddie was pretty sure he meant it.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #drabble #headcanon #somewhat based on real events #university of Utah lacrosse team I hope you won whatever games you flew here to play on Easter weekend

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pha55ed · 4 months ago

Text

I'll Only Make You Cry || F1

type :: hurt no comfort tw/cw :: cheating, panic attacks, contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, summary :: you catch the drivers cheating on you, crushing everything you've ever known about him - "my heart just can't be faithful for long, i swear i'll only make you cry" - cry by cas

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

Carlos Sainz | 55

There's no way he could ever recover from this. You could tell that his PR team was working overtime in order to sweep this all under the rug. They came up with the lie that you and Carlos broke up a while ago, but you knew the truth all too well.

You never broke up with Carlos, God you even thought you guys were going perfect! Everything seemed to be great until all of those photos got leaked online of Carlos with a random model. She was beautiful, everything that you were insecure about, she lacked. Not a single pimple, spot of cellulite, smidge of fat, nothing. She was like a doll, it only made you more upset.

Did Carlos ever actually feel attracted to you? When you vented to him about your fears of not being enough for him and he comforted you so gently, saying you were a Goddess that could make Aphrodite jealous. And yet, as you kept scrolling through the photos of Carlos and the model, you felt as if you were the Hunchback of Notre dame.

Did Carlos ever actually love you? He was taking this model out to trip in Paris, Spain, and Japan and yet the biggest trip you've done with Carlos is visit your home town. He took her out to fancy dinners, on cruises, and private jet rides and yet you were never even aware he had his own private jet.

He's been spamming you with calls and texts, but you didn't reply to a single one. You were too busy packing up all of your stuff as you got ready to leave your shared apartment. Taking everything with you would be too big of task for now, since you owned most of the kitchen appliances, bedding, hell you even owned the couch. So you focussed on just the basics that you needed to live, shoving them into as many bags as you could. Your best friend said she'd come over and help you pack once she was done with work. She should be with you in about an hour or so, but you have the worst luck ever.

Because instead of Carlos coming home at around midnight, like usual, he came home earlier. It only made you wonder if he only stayed out till midnight to see his other lover, making you feel even sicker to your stomach. You didn't bother to look up at him as he entered the room.

"Cariño, please, no no no, stop" He said as he rushed up to you, trying to stop you from packing but you shoved his hands away. You gave him a disgusted look, as if you no longer knew him. Which was true, you didn't even recognize Carlos anymore.

"(Y/N), please it's just lies. The media is lying!" He tries desperately to convince you but his excuse sounded so stupid, beyond stupid. There's photographic evidence, everywhere that you looked online it was shoved into your face. Not a chance of editing or AI, it was just the raw photo.

"No," you said, trying to sound strict but your voice was still weak despite the loud volume of it, "We're done."

"No no no no, please, please no." He looked so weak, pathetic. You could see the tears form in his eyes. Although you felt hurt to watch him cry, you couldn't bring yourself to feel any empathy since you've been crying for hours on end.

With perfect timing, your best friend knocked on the door. You hastily shoved the final pieces of clothing that you needed as you slammed your suitcase shut. Your best friend ran in and quickly helped grab anything else you could need, like toiletries and electronics. Carlos knew he couldn't do anything, so he stood awkwardly to the side as he watched you leave his life instantly.

Charles Leclerc | 16

Your breathing became shaky as you read the lengthy text message your friend sent you. It was filled to the brim with apologies for what they were saying, but you couldn't even process most of what they wrote since you were so busy staring at the photos of Charles kissing his ex girlfriend.

It was if everything around you just shattered in front of you, that the past year you spent with him was for nothing. All of those dates, kisses, meeting his family, introducing him to your grandma, all for nothing. What hurt even more was the fact that Charles was your first boyfriend after about 2 years since your last ex did the same exact thing.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't even hear the door click as Charles entered your shared hotel room. He just finished having dinner with his team, enjoying a great night out, something he didn't deserve.

As he called your name in such a gentle and loving tone, it made you resent him. How could he possibly act so innocent when you have a literal stack of evidence of him cheating right in your hands. How could he keep acting as if everything was fine?

You turned, tears falling out of your eyes rapidly as your lips shivered, unable to stop yourself from showing how you truly felt. Instantly, he ran to you and held your hand, so gentle and soft, yet those hands were all over his ex last week. You shoved his hand away, simply tossing your phone at him. His eyes scanned the screen, his look of concern being replaced with a face that was mortified.

"Amor," He says gently, once again his hand reaches out to grab your face but you refuse to let him near you. "(Y/N), please, I... I know... I'm so sorry."

His lack of a defense made you even sicker, how could he not even explain himself??? Not even an excuse of being drunk, being stupid, of the photos being old. Not a single excuse, meaning he knew how wrong he was and yet he still did it to please himself, completely forgetting about you.

"We're done." You try to say in a firm tone, but your throat was so tight that it became a whisper. You stood up from the bed, as you hastily began to pack your bags as Charles paced the room with his hands hiding his face.

"Amor, please stop." He says as he tries to stop you. "I-I'll break it off with her."

But you could tell, from the slight stutter and the way his eyes were darting across your face to read you: he was lying yet again. So you shook your head, wiping your tears with your hands as you ran out of the room to order an Uber to somewhere else, anywhere else.

And he didn't stop you. He knew he fucked up, and he knew he didn't deserve you.

Lando Norris | 04

Doing Lando's laundry was boring, but you knew it needed to be done. It was one of the many tasks you did for him to help make his life just a bit easier, especially since he has little to no clue how to even use a washing machine. The last time he did his own laundry, the entire apartment was filled with soap suds because he overloaded it with detergent.

As you made sure to tie his hoodie strings together and empty his pockets, you grabbed something odd out of his trousers. A hotel key card. This wouldn't have been super odd, he's forced to sleep in hotels 24/7 due to his job except the fact that it wasn't a fancy hotel like usual. You knew McLaren would only put Lando in the best hotels possible, so it was suspicious to see a random hotel brand that's known for being cheap and easy to buy.

You could feel something wrong in your guts, something telling you that this wasn't just some random bad booking from McLaren but instead something deeper. It felt extremely stalker-ish but you needed to satisfy the voice in your head: so you looked through Lando's bank statements.

And that's when you saw that he booked this room three nights ago, when he told you he was staying at Oscar's place after a huge party. You could feel your heart sink, assuming the worse possible scenario. But you tried to push those thoughts aside and see the best in him.

But that attempt was cut short, as you scrolled up and saw multiple bookings at random hotels. So many random hotels that you eventually lost track. The only things that was also being charged on his card were drinks, which were always bought in extreme amounts before booking a room.

You weren't dumb, your brain connected the dots easily: he was cheating on you. But you still didn't have solid evidence beside bank statements. Besides, maybe he wasn't cheating on you? Maybe he just gets super wasted and then crashes at a hotel instead of his fancy one to sleep? Sounds stupid, but then again Lando is pretty stupid.

So you decided to dig deeper, going through his bank history to see if he has any other odd statements. That's when you saw money constantly being sent to random Zelles, Paypals, and Venmos. You thought it would just be him paying his friends back or giving them some money - but all of the names were female. Tiffany, Rebecca, Malibu, and many more. Oddly enough it was always on the nights he got a hotel. Almost as if he was paying a girl for a service. But there's no way he could be cheating? He's just your plain old stupid Lando, right?

Continuing your stalker behavior, you searched the girls names online. And you were right - all your worst fears coming true. They were all models, drop dead gorgeous models. Skinny, tall, blonde, and rich, his exact type. And as if couldn't get worse, all of those models followed him and he followed them back. And even more worse, the more you scrolled through the girls feed: you could connect the entire story. You knew you needed to leave.

As you cried whilst packing your bags, you heard the door click. He came home, much earlier than you expected him to. Normally you'd run to him, greeting him with kisses and hugs. He went searching for you, finding you on the floor as you folded your clothes into your second large suitcase.

"Love? What's going on???" He says, panicking and trying to keep his cool. He knew that you knew, there's no other reason for you to pack besides that. Instantly, he got onto his knees, being at your eye-level as his hand went on top of yours, trying to stop you from packing.

But you flinch your hand away, giving him a nasty glare as you stared at him coldly. You wanted to speak to him, curse him out, shove all of your evidence into his face, but you couldn't. Your throat was shut tight and your lungs were barely able to give you enough oxygen to breathe whilst crying.

"Just tell me, please, please just tell me what I did." He said, as he started unpacking your bag. He took out your folded clothes, unravelling them, ruining your hard work to pack neatly. "You don't need to leave, we can fix this!"

His words made it clear that he knew, he knew that he's ben caught. And he knew that there was no way to defend his actions. Sure he was drunk, but making that "mistake" 40 times is a habit. As if to make you even mad, you saw Lando begin to cry.

As if his tears switched a gear in you, you smacked his hand away from your luggage as you hastily shoved all the now-unfolded clothes into your suitcase. "I'll never forgive you." You said with venom in your words despite your grief.

Oscar Piastri | 81

You couldn't find your favorite lip liner, it always went missing for some reason. Although you had other lip liners, you NEEDED this one, you were loyal to it. It was the best shade and buttery smooth, you wanted to use only the best products for this award show you were attending with Oscar.

But as you continued to search helplessly, you started to search Oscar's desk. Sometimes you would place stuff on his desk on accident. As you searched through his desk, you found a small little velvet box. Your heart instantly dropped, was that a ring? Possibly for you?! You have been dating for almost 2 years now, about to reach 3 years within a month. A smile crept onto your face, unable to hide the joy of possibly being Oscar's forever.

You sneakily opened the box, only to be met with a beautiful rose-gold necklace... Odd, you're not a rose-gold girl. You've always been a silver person since you were born. But the material didn't even matter, as you looked at the rose-gold plated name, "Lily", his ex's name...

Oh haha,,, you awkwardly close the box. Must have been an old gift he was supposed to give her? Except, as you examined the box, there wasn't an ounce of dust on it. And even worse, you checked the bottom of the velvet box, with a message saying, "Happy 6 Years, my Lily." The exact amount of time they would have been dating, if you never came in the picture...

"(Y/N)! We have to go now! We're about to be late-" Oscar came into the room, looking at your holding onto the small box. Instantly, his eyes widened as he quickly grabbed the box out of your hands. "Why are you snooping around my desk??"

As if you snooping was the biggest issue, and not the fact the he has a gift for his ex - or actually, not his ex, but his other girlfriend. His defensiveness and blame was shocking to you, he's never been like this before. Usually he's calm and collected, able to talk any issue out, but now it's as if he's defending his life.

"Why do you have that...?" You question him, voice weak from worry that your reassurances to yourself were all false. "Why does it say Lily?"

"It's nothing, we need to go now." He says, dismissing you completely as he shoved the necklace into his pocket. His back turned as he walked out of his office, his shoulders were tense, hands pushing his hair back as he chewed the inside of his mouth - high from nerves.

But you couldn't care less for this stupid award show, you chased him and asked again as his hand was on the door knob. "Oscar, what's the necklace for? Why does it say Happy 6 years?" You voice shivered slightly.

He was unable to answer, not sure how to get out of this. Although he's been hiding Lily for ages, now it seemed as if he was unable to do it for any longer. "We'll talk about it when we get back home." He says, trying to stall for more time to come up with an excuse and plan.

But you stood your ground, standing in the house still while he was waiting outside of the door. As you both looked in each others eyes, your eyes welling up with tears while Oscar's were colder than usual: it was as if you could both tell it was the end.

"Can you at least act fine for 3 more hours." He says apathetically, making the tears finally fall from your eyes which answer his question. No, you could not act fine for 3 hours, how would that even be possible. You guess it is possible since Oscar has been acting "fine" for 3 fucking years with you.

Your tears didn't even make him flinch, instead it made him sigh. His hand pushed on the knob as he left you in the room, alone. You understood what his silence meant: it was over. You began to pack the essential before calling your best friend to get you. Within a span of 10 minutes, the man that you saw being your future husband was gone.

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

#f1 #formula 1 #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #lando norris #oscar piastri

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hotvintagepoll · 9 months ago

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Propaganda

Irene Papas (Tribute to a Bad Man, Electra, Zorba the Greek)—"From the opening shot of Michael Cacoyannis's Electra, as the proud, implacable face emerges from encroaching shadows, it becomes impossible to imagine anyone else as Euripides's heroine. Erect, immutably dignified, dark eyes burning fiercely beneath heavy black brows, Irene Papas visibly embodies the sublimity of classical Greece, tragic yet serene." -Philip Kemp (film critic) Also she's a a badass.

Vivien Leigh (Gone with the Wind, A Streetcar Named Desire)—Leigh is exceptionally beautiful. To quote Garson Kanin, Leigh was "a stunner whose ravishing beauty often tended to obscure her staggering achievements as an actress. Great beauties are infrequently great actresses—simply because they don't need to be. Vivien was different; ambitious, persevering, serious, often inspired." She was an actor's actor, one of those big old-school theatre dames, full of drama and temper.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Irene Papas:

An amazing actress and singer, some may say a literal Greek goddess. Fought against military dictatorship in her home country and had an affair with Marlon Brando.

She literally played Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world in Greek mythology, what more could you want

Vivien Leigh propaganda:

"I submit this gifset--help she is so beautiful and tragic"

"Extremely versatile, absolutely beautiful features and a wonderful resting bitch face if needed."

"She has such a range of character types that she could fit any favorite type of woman. And have you seen her in the Red Dress? with her cocked eyebrow???"

[Linked GwtW gifset]

"She played one of the most famously unlikable characters in cinema history and knocked it out of the park."

"Vivien Leigh vs every established and wannabe actress on Earth- grand slam winner for Scarlett O'Hara and won the oscar. Ultimate power couple with hottie finalist Laurence Olivier. I am just on my knees for that arched eyebrow and smouldering look."

"She’s just mmm the PASSION behind her performances is palpable, she’s so beautiful and elegant and amazing and yeah"

"look at her. im a gay man and im in love with her"

#vivien leigh #irene papas #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 3

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loojii · 24 days ago

Note

I love your designs so much! They are so cute!

Can we know more about the other girlies you posted a while ago? I just can't get enough of them! We didn't get to know who is the one with the wheelchair and the others.

But you don't have to draw anything I'm just curious about all of them and who are they supposed to be with as couples because they are so beautiful and cute!!

All of these were sketches I made very quick, none of the designs are "final" (as far as random fan ocs can be final). Other things can change too and most of these come from me and my friend talking way too much about twst lol. From left to right >>

Elisa Trey's high school sweetheart (everything about that man says he has a long distant girlfriend and their relationship is super healthy). Their parents are great friends blablabla. Not that exciting Gwendolynn friend for Jack who has a huge crush on him because she falls for any guy thats nice to her. Super cliché that a girl who's really into cute stuff likes the big bad boy (on first glance). I'm super original. Talking about original; I originally named her Sally but later on realized that Jack Skeletons girls is also named Sally. So maybe change her name later on again idk. Nailah Came from the joke that the only girl that could handle Sebek is a deaf one and then me and my friend thought about it more and it's very adorable come on. Sebek being very intrigued and learning sign language. And she just thinks he's a very handsome normal man who totaly does not shout. His lips are very read-able.

Anna In the game Ace mentions he had a girlfriend he ghosted after like dating for two weeks. I just made a design for that girl. Like to think she's still bitter that her first boyfriend ghosted her like that and made up a rumor he likes feet so no girl in their high school wanted to talk to him. Tomboy tsundere type who tries her best at school and get's angry easily. Jean-Marie named after one of the bells of Notre Dame (eyy). She is pretty weird and developed an obsession with the chapel from the Nobel Bell College and that evolved into an obsession with Rollo. She likes to photograph Rollo the chapel.

Most of these are just fun ideas, don't take them too serious :)

#ask #twst oc

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months ago

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Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

#könig x reader #könig x you #mythology au #arthurian au #historical au

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scoonsalicious · 8 months ago

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2.1 Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntire, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, pick-mes, internalized misogyny.

Word Count: 2.7k

Previously On...: You asked Bucky to dance.

A/N: Guys, I know it's moving fast, but next part is smut <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

As soon as the opening bars of the saxophone began, Bucky found himself feeling at ease. It wasn’t exactly like the big band tunes he used to cut it up to back in the day, but the beat was similar, and the horns were familiar. He was delighted to find the rhythm of the song was perfect for the Lindy Hop, and in no time, he was moving Major along the floor like he would have if he’d met her in 1943.

And the look on her face as he spun her, twisted her in his arms? It was fucking priceless. Major’s smile was huge, her laugh infectious, and in no time at all, Bucky found himself laughing, too. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun with a dame.

He was surprised to find himself thinking of Major in those terms, as a dame. Yeah, he’d dated since he’d woken up from cryo for the last time, even had a couple of relationships that never seemed to go anywhere, but those had all been with girls, occasionally women. Not a single one of them had made him feel the same electric rush he’d felt in his youth; not the way he’d felt dancing with Major tonight, and that made her a dame. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

The song was over far too soon for Bucky’s liking, and even though the next one was one he didn’t know how to move to, he found he didn’t want to let go of her, didn’t want to move off the floor.

“That was great,” he said, slightly panting from the dancing and laughing. “What was that?”

“Bleachers,” Major said. “Modern Girl. They’re one of my favorite bands. I’m so glad you liked it.”

“I loved it,” Bucky smiled. “I haven’t danced like that in nearly a century. It felt fucking amazing; thank you.”

Major ducked her face behind her hair, bashful at his thanks, and Bucky thought it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “Are all their songs like that?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted, “but they’re still fantastic.”

“I’ll give them a listen, then,” he said, “if you like them so much.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, blushing. God. How Bucky wanted to bite the apples of her cheeks!

“I want to,” he said, earnestly. Without a thought, he found himself reaching up to tuck a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. She was so beautiful; he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to even be talking to her, let alone having gotten to share a dance.

“What?” Major asked, sounding self conscious, and Bucky realized he’d been staring at her for a little longer than was probably considered politely normal.

“I was just thinking about how beautiful you are,” he told her honestly, and was rewarded when she ducked her face down again. He tucked his hand under her chin and tilted her head back up so she was looking at him. “What?” he asked with a soft smile. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Major chuckled softly. “No,” she said. “I guess… I’m just not used to getting compliments.”

“Well, that’s a damned shame,” Bucky tsked. “You should be getting them multiple times a day.”

She licked her lips. She looked so fucking kissable, he thought. “I was in a relationship for a long time,” Major told him. “Got a lot more insults than compliments, unfortunately, toward the end. Guess I just got accustomed to them.”

Bucky frowned, having a hard time believing any straight man with eyes and blood in his cock would ever consider insulting her. “Your ex-boyfriend sounds like a dumbass piece of shit,” he offered.

Major shrugged. “Ex-husband, actually.”

That took Bucky aback. “Oh,” he said. “Shit. I’m sorry–”

“No, it’s okay,” she rushed to reassure him. “I married young and dumb. Military housing is a big perk, you know.” Bucky nodded. “It was… nice for a few years, but between the stress of deployments, and the fact I was getting promoted more often than he was… we weren’t happy for a while.”

“How long since you split?” he asked. He was nervous– based on what he’d experienced of Major so far, he saw her as someone he could really end up liking, and he didn’t want to come trampling in if she wasn’t emotionally ready. The idea of just being a rebound to her didn’t sit well with him. At all.

“Oh, like, five years ago,” Major said, waving her hand as if dismissing her entire marriage. “He cheated on me during his last deployment. Cliche, I know, but I ended up being grateful for it. It was the kick in the ass I needed to finally get out of a dead relationship. In fact, I fueled all the anger I felt at him into building the first WarZone. So, in a weird, roundabout way, I have him to thank for where I am today. Just think; if he had been able to keep his dick in his pants, we might not be standing here right now.”

Bucky laughed at that, and he suddenly found himself wanting to send her ex a thank you card. “Do you still see him?” he asked.

“Not if I can help it,” Major told him, an upward tic to her lips. “We still have some mutual friends, and I’m fond of his mother, so we run into each other socially, here and there, a couple of times a year. I don’t look forward to seeing him or anything like that, but I stopped caring enough to let it really bother me a long time ago.”

“That seems like a pretty healthy outlook to have,” Bucky offered.

“It took a lot of work to get to this point,” she laughed. “I mean, why’d you think I had to start a rage room, of all things, to help me deal?”

Bucky laughed, and as he did so, he realized he was still holding both of her hands in his; neither of them had made a move to pull away from one another since the dance ended. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, looking up from where the two of them were joined.

“Yeah,” she said, offering him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. “I’d like that.”

They both returned to the booth a few minutes later, Bucky with a beer and Major with another frozen margarita. In their absence, Peter, Thor, and Wanda had left, leaving just Bucky and Major, Nat, Steve, Sam, and Lily.

“They wanted me to tell you goodbye, and that they loved meeting you,” Nat told Major as she and Bucky both sat back down. “They wish they could have stayed, but Thor and Wanda have an early mission tomorrow, and Peter’s got a school project. You and Barnes seemed to be having a deep discussion, so they didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m sorry to have missed them,” Major said, “but hopefully I’ll see them again?” She looked to Nat with a question on her face.

“Of course you will,” Bucky said before Nat could reply. “You think I’m– er, we’re gonna let you get away from us that easily?”

“Oh, Bucky,” Lily said, reaching for his arm. “Did you get me a drink from the bar, love?”

Bucky frowned. It was their usual routine to get the other a refill each time one of them went to the bar, but he’d been so smitten by Major’s presence, he’d entirely forgotten. “No, Lil, I’m sorry,” he said, knowing she’d rightfully start pouting.

“You can share mine with me, if you’d like,” Major offered, holding out her margarita. “I’ve probably already had enough alcohol for one night.”

“Ew, gross,” Lily said, sneering at the proffered drink. “I don’t touch that fruity shit. They’re just so… girly.” She spat out the word like it was an insult. “I mean, if you can’t take beer or straight up liquor, what’s the point of even drinking?” She leaned over and picked up Bucky’s beer. “I’ll just share with Jamie. You don’t mind, right, love?” Smiling, she took a long swig before placing the bottle down in front of him.

“Well, since my drink’s been commandeered,” Bucky said, looking to Major with big, soulful puppy dog eyes, “will you share yours with me?”

“Of course,” she said, handing him her glass. Bucky took a sip.

“Oh, shit,” he moaned, then leaned down to take a larger swig; it was tastier than he’d ever imagined, not to mention her lips had been on the glass, just where his were now. “Lil, you’re missing out! This fruity shit is delicious! Thanks, doll!”

“I’m just curious,” Major started, seemingly apprehensive, as though she were wondering if she should say what she was actually thinking, “why you say ‘girly’ like it’s a bad thing. What’s wrong with being a girl?”

Nat raised an eyebrow in surprise, and Bucky was sure he heard Sam cough “oh shit” into his fist.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong with being a girl, obviously,” she said. “But, like, you have to admit, all the stuff that’s catered to women is just so… stupid, childish. No self-respecting, serious person is into all that kind of stuff. It’s weak.” She shook her head. “No, if it comes down between being a girl and being a badass, I’m going to choose badass every day of the week.”

“Uh oh,” Major said, leaning back and giving Lily a scrutinizing look. “Sounds to me like the misogyny is coming from inside the house.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Lily asked, planting both hands on the table. “Lil, calm down,” Bucky said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure Major didn’t mean anything insulting by it.”

“I said,” Major reiterated slowly, “that the misogyny is coming from inside the house. You’re acting as though anything that’s considered inherently feminine is less than anything masculine. And when you look to build yourself up by bringing other women down by rejecting femininity, that’s internalized misogyny.”

“How dare you?” Lily seethed. “You don’t fucking know a thing about me! Bucky, tell her I’m not like that!”

“If I made an error in judgment, I apologize,” Major said, before Bucky could come to Lily’s defense. Though, if he really thought about it, Major had a point– Lily always did seem to irrationally hate anything she deemed girly. “I’m simply responding to the implications of your own words.” Major took a sip of her margarita and smacked her lips. “I mean, I like girly things. I like makeup and dressing up and fruity drinks, but I’ve also been in combat. I’ve fought in a war. I’m both girly and a badass. So is Nat. The two can co-exist, and neither one has to be better than the other.”

“You are now officially my best friend,” Natasha said, looking at Major with wonderment and a newfound respect. “Finally, someone else who actually gets it!”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Lily said, standing up and walking off without waiting for a response from anyone.

“I like you, New Girl,” Sam said, holding out his fist for Major to bump, which she did with an embarrassed smile. “I want you around all the damn time.”

She turned to Bucky. “I’m sorry if I made your friend upset,” she said, “but after all those years of dealing with the shit that comes from being a woman with authority in the military, misogyny of any kind is a giant no go for me; particularly when it’s from another woman. We should all be propping each other up, not trying to tear one another down.”

“No, I completely understand. She was out of line,” Bucky said. She had been. There was no excuse for that kind of behavior, and if an old fogey from the ‘40s like him could realize that, she should have, too. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

Major smiled at him, seemingly pleased with the way he responded, and Bucky felt his heart swell. He was overcome with the idea that he wanted to make her happy all the time. Slow down! He told himself. You’ve only just met her!

Major glanced down at her watch, her expression falling. “Shit,” she said, picking up her leather jacket. “It’s getting late. I should probably head back if I’m going to catch the last train back into the city tonight.” She slid out of the booth and put her jacket on. “It was so great meeting you guys,” she said. “Please tell Lily again that I apologize if what I said offended her. Nat, thanks so much for the invite; I had a great time.” She leaned in to hug the redhead. “I’ll see you on Tuesday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Nat said, smiling. “I’m so glad you made it out; get home safe, yeah?”

Major nodded. “Will do. Goodnight” She looked back as she started to walk away, catching Bucky’s eye one last time, and his heart dropped in his chest; he didn’t want to– couldn’t– let her walk out of his life just yet.

“Major,” he said, standing up and sliding out of the booth to join her. “Why don’t you let me give you a ride back to your place? It’s late, and the train’s not the safest this time of night.”

He heard Nat, Sam, and Steve all cough-laugh into their hands in the booth behind them, but didn’t pay them any mind. “That’s so sweet of you,” Major said, “but I would feel awful for inconveniencing you like that.”

Bucky shook his head. “No inconvenience at all, I swear,” he told her. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t genuinely want to.”

Major chewed on her lip for a moment, considering his offer. “Okay,” she said eventually. “Yeah, you can give me a ride home.” Bucky thought his heart was going to soar out of his chest.

“While that’s real chivalrous of you and all, Bucket,” Sam said, “what are you gonna do about Lily? You drove her here. How you expect her to get home if you’re taking New Girl?”

Bucky turned and flashed Sam a Look. “Since you’re all going back to the Compound,” he said, “it shouldn’t be a problem for the three of you to drop her off at home on the way, right?” he asked pointedly. Come on, Sam, he thought, trying to silently communicate to his friend with his eyes. You said you’d be my wingman here!

Sam and Nat exchanged an annoyed look while Steve just looked resigned. “Yeah, alright,” Sam said after a minute. “We’ll make sure McIntyre gets home safe and sound. But you owe me one for this.”

Bucky put his hand to the small of Major’s back and led her out of the bar, waving to Steve, Nat and Sam as they went. His fingers brushed gently against hers as he led her to where he parked his motorcycle.

“Oh,” Major said. “I didn’t realize we’d be taking a bike.”

Bucky frowned. “Is that a problem? I can drive up to the Compound and get a car if–”

“No,” she smiled at him. “This is great. I haven’t been on a motorcycle in ages.”

Bucky unlocked the helmets and took his extra one, gently placing it on Major’s head and adjusting the straps so it was nice and snug. “There you go,” he said with a grin. He hopped onto the bike and waited for her to get on behind him. “Where’re we headed, doll?” he asked, typing the address of her SoHo condo into his GPS once she’d given it to him.

Once she’d gotten situated on the back of the bike, Major wrapped her arms around Bucky’s middle, and he immediately felt all his blood drain to his cock at her touch. “Uh, make sure you hold on tight,” he said, barely managing to choke out the words over the effect she was having on him. She squeezed him a little bit harder in acknowledgement, and Bucky knew that he was in for it.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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xxgothchatonxx · 3 months ago

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Dame Maggie Smith played so many great roles but one that I feel is very underrated is her portrayal of Wendy Darling in Hook (1991).

Don't get me wrong, people do know about this performance and they love it. But I think it's a very underrated portrayal of J.M. Barrie's iconic heroine.

In this film, Wendy grew up to become a mother, like in the book, but she also helped hundreds of orphans find families. And as a side-note, I love that she's being honoured by the Great Ormond Street Hospital, which in-real-life holds the copyright to Peter Pan and benefits from royalties of all licensed productions of Peter Pan.

I think Maggie Smith gave a wonderful performance as Wendy. Very kind-hearted and soft-spoken, but with the same maternal strength that Wendy had in the book. Getting to see Wendy not only all grown-up but old was really touching to see.

Also that makeup was incredible.

So, rest in peace, Dame Maggie Smith. Thank you for all of your amazing work, and thank you for being our Granny Wendy.

#dame maggie smith #maggie smith #wendy darling #hook 1991

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viridescentelf · 1 month ago

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Notre Dame

Stardew Valley Elliott x Female Farmer

Art belongs to @eindersein, please give them some love for this beautiful piece!

Hi! I wrote this, inspired by Paris' song, thinking Elliott and the farmer would definitely bond by exchanging ideas and reminiscing about their time in the city. I didn't really proof-read this all too well, I just really wanted a cute fluffy fic. I hope you enjoy!

Please also give the song a listen, it's beautiful!

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Elliott woke up from the sunlight warming his eyes. He had managed to make it into bed this time, an irregular occurrence as his constant back and neck pain proved. His desk usually served as his resting spot.

His long red hair tug under his arm, while he lifted his head, making him shift to free his tresses. Peering out into the beautiful afternoon light from outside, an immediate need to walk out and explore the sleepy town came over him.

Nowadays, there was a little more commotion than usual: the arrival of the mysterious farmer caused the villagers to stir, gossip and diverge from their routines just for a chance to meet her. Leah had already encountered the newcomer and expressed, a bit obviously, that Elliott would be very fond of her. He didn’t take his friend’s word for it, as she also assumed he would get along swimmingly with Shane. Despite having tried to greet him kindly many times, the downtrodden Joja Worker barely acknowledged him.

He would never admit it to Leah, but the writer was indeed curious. Mostly, because a new addition to an established town was the first time something interesting had happened here! It could be great inspiration for his novel. Maybe he’d write about a mysterious, retired detective, moving to a small town and causing the same ruckus as the farmer had in Stardew Valley.

Elliott brushed his mane, put on the clothes he wore every day and checked his reflection. Pocketing his trusty notebook, in case inspiration hit on the go, he stepped out on to the sunny beach and breathed in the crisp, November air.

The beach was mostly quiet, as it usually was in Fall. He saw Willy fishing absentmindedly on the deck, too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice Elliott had emerged from his shack. The writer saw him every day, it wouldn’t hurt to not speak for one of them. He wanted to enjoy the inspiring weather and take a trip into the forest a few miles away.

The redhaired writer crossed the stone bridge, waving at Lewis while he raked the fallen leaves in front of his house. He saw the grumbling Shane return to his aunt’s house after an early Joja Mart shift, but decided to leave him alone, walking a few measured steps behind him to avoid upsetting him further.

He passed Leah’s home, thinking briefly if he should stop by to say hello. Deciding he could do so on the way back, Elliott continued his stride into the beckoning woods. The number of leaves on the earth amplified the closer he got, the soft crunching under his brogues made him smile. He loved Fall. Not only due to it being his birthday season, but also because it provided a picture-esque setting for a romantic writer like himself.

The trees started to clump closer together as he crossed the threshold into the forest. They swayed slightly in the cold breeze.

Elliott found a spot near a small babbling brooke, situated himself comfortably against a large tree and pulled out his notebook. He gazed up into the tree tops, watching the colorful leaves abandon their homes to fall down towards him. What a sight. He picked up a large, red maple leaf that drifted to his side, eyeing the vivacious color with adoration. Placing the pretty thing on his knee, the writer pulled out his trusty pen and started writing a few sentences.

The wind sang in his ear, as the hours passed. He collected interesting leaves that fell close to him, while he tapped the back of his pen onto the page. The words he was writing were alright, but not fascinating enough. There had to be something else here that would spark his roaring imaginatio-

“Oh- hey there!”

A soft voice pulled Elliott out of his writing trance. Looking up from his page, he met the eyes of a stranger. She wore a pair of hunter green dungarees, with a thick, white sweater underneath. Her sleeves were pulled up to her elbows, displaying strong forearms littered with fascinating tattoos. On top of her head rested a wide sun hat, that cast a long shadow down her front.

Elliott couldn’t help but blush at her shaded visage. It was the eyes that pulled him in, like mountain vistas painted by genius minds. She blinked.

“H-Hello!” he spat out hastily, as the pause between her kind greeting and him noticing her grew a bit too long. “You must be the farmer!”

She smiled and the writer’s inner voice squeaked at the sight of it. “Yup, that’s me! I’m YN.” She held out her hand.

Their palms met and he felt her callouses: “Elliott.” He realized he hadn’t returned her gentle smile and quickly remedied that by flashing his teeth. “I didn’t think anyone really came here. Apologies for my demeanor. I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone.”

“Oh no worries, I just discovered this place a few days ago. I wanted to take a break from work. Do you mind?” the farmer indicated that she wanted to join him, but stayed standing up.

“Yes!” the writer exclaimed excitedly. The excited answer obviously confused YN and he watched an eyebrow raise in response. Elliott noticed his mistake: “I mean- no I do not mind. Please.” He patted the spot next to him, clearing his throat in embarrassment. She smiled again, making his heart skip a few beats, and she joined him, placing a large guitar down into the grass. Elliott was surprised to see it appear out of nowhere, but he had to confess to himself that he hadn’t noticed anything other than her face and clothes when she arrived. She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring up into the dancing branches.

“So, Elliott…”, she began, “what’s your story?”

They sat for a while, exchanging their virgin journey to Stardew Valley. Elliott grew transfixed when he noticed she really listened to what he said. Did she... actually find what he said interesting?

She shared her decision to leave ZuZu city. “I hated my job. I felt like I was trapped and stowed away in that building. Like Quasimodo, haha!”

“That’s funny. That’s sort of how I felt back there. I couldn’t … let my head explore. It was so loud and disorienting being there. My mind seemed to emulate the chaos around me.”

“That’s such a poetic way of putting it.” She started plucking at the guitar strings while she stared up into the yellow crowns. Elliott didn’t answer. He saw little hearts float behind her head.

“I’m so curious what you’re writing! If you ever want someone to read over it, feel free to ask. I love stuff like that.”

Elliott nodded frantically; his heart felt a surge at the thought of her reading his drafts.

They sat beside each other in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. He felt extremely at ease near her, which ironically made him a bit uneasy. What was this sensation?

The longer they sat beside each other, the more consistent the melody became that she was plucking.

“How long have you been practicing music? I play the piano!” He wanted to learn as much as he could about her.

“Cool! I’ve been doing it since I can remember. But this guitar is new. I bought it right before Grandpa passed away. I love it, it’s so much easier to tune.” As she said that, she turned one of the dials to fix a string. “Maybe we can play together. Do you sing?”

Elliott giggled at the thought of him singing anything. He wasn’t awful, but you couldn't pay anyone to listen to him. He repeated the sentiment, feeling his face prickle when she chuckled.

“You're funny." His breath seized for a brief moment. "Well, then. I’ll sing and you can play? How does that sound?”

He couldn’t help but let the words tumble out: “We could write songs together.”

Her eyes started to glow. He felt a lump in his throat at the sight of her. He could’ve cried. He had a great relationship with Leah, the only other fellow artist in the village. She had a completely different artistic expression from him, though. It was fulfilling to know that more people would appreciate his way of thinking.

Elliott romanticized her already. He barely knew her, but felt sure they would grow closer, based on this exhilarating conversation.

She continued working out a melody, as Elliott eased into the tree trunk behind him again, listening intently as he jotted down a couple words her music inspired. She caught a glimpse of a few lines and giggled again:

“Did Quasimodo inspire you?”

“Haha, yes. You mentioning him made me think of being trapped up there. In the beautiful cathedral. Like you said you were at Joja. I'm a bit stuck though, don’t really know how to continue after tower.”

“Can I play around with what you wrote?” she asked with the cutest smile on her face.

Elliott felt his face blow up, he could tell he was a deep shade of red. “O-of course!!”

She nodded once, keeping the smile on her lips. She swayed, as she repeated the lines in a whispery tone while simultaneously strumming along. A few moments passed and Elliott couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. She closed her own, as she sang:

I'm in the rafters looking down

It's cold up here

Between walls of stone

I made my home

And the air hangs

Heavy with the incense

Feathers fall from pigeons

Cooing in the tower

I rarely go down there, the view's just so beautiful from here

And I can see everybody

At their worst points

I'm not a sadist, I enjoy just being able to be witness of the loneliness and be a higher power

In case there isn't one

I'm not a higher power, I just live in the ceiling 'cause I'm lonely on the fringes, and it gives my life some meaning

In the exile

In my exile

The grey light filters through roof slabs

And the flagstones glow

Bright from the stained glass

A hundred feet below

As I tiptoe

Creaking over prayers

Pleading with their maker

Crying with the choir

See upcoming pop shows

Get tickets for your favorite artists

I'm not immune to the sincerity below me

Makes me feel, it makes me holy, but through tears I understand

That I do not belong

No, I do not belong

Watching the figures, all the saints, but mostly sinners

Come and go and some are desperate, but the others have the sense that they do belong

And I do not belong

Some only turn towards the heavens when the end is feeling desperate,

have the overwhelming feeling

That there's nobody who's looking down

At least I'm looking down

Was this… what Shakespeare spoke about? The moment you meet your muse? The one?

Elliott had stars in his eyes as she finished her beautiful aria. When she looked at him, Elliott hurriedly clapped while she bashfully grinned.

“That was fun. You really inspired me,” she said sweetly. The writer could’ve wept at those words. Where had she been all his life?

She pushed herself up off of the ground and brushed the grass off of her legs. Had she noticed how transfixed he was? Was he making her nervous?

He tried to make his face look less in love. It wasn’t easy.

She turned to him and gazed down gently.

“I have to get back to my farm. The chickens need some love. But we should definitely play together. You down?”

Relief washed over his body. “Absolutely! I’d be honored!” Elliott felt some spit leave his mouth. He wanted to sink into the forest floor in embarrassment. She didn’t seem to notice, luckily, or perhaps she was just very polite.

“Cool! Where can I find you?”

“At the beach. The shack near the trees.”

“Awesome. I’ll stop by when I can! It was nice to meet you Elliott!”

The words left his lips in a sigh: "It was lovely meeting you, YN..."

YN winked, while she turned and walked back towards the forest entrance. Before she left through the branches, she raised her arm and waved at him.

He quickly waved back.

She disappeared behind the brush.

He felt like he had met God. Elliott fell back against the tree and started kicking his feet.

Finally, finally, finally.

Leah was right. He liked her.

A lot.

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