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apocalypse-shuffle · 10 months

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SAM WILSON | CAPTAIN AMERICA/FALCON (the mcu | tfatws | captain america: the winter soldier)

—

“Arm Day” (Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader)

| You don’t show up for your running “date” with Sam so he shows up at your place to get a different kind of exercise in.

| SFW, exercising, romantic tension(?)

| Jesus, my summary is very nearly an innuendo. (Pic Source — Captain America: Civil War [peachy-ash icon], Captain America: The Winter Soldier [iconpsds icon], The Falcon & The Winter Soldier [marina-na-na icon])

| Inspo: Instagram

| 1k+ words

It’s the sound of your phone buzzing against your nightstand that wakes you up, and with a groan you lift your head to squint at it.

‘Sam Wilson’ flashes across your screen and you in no way can suppress the eye roll that elicits.

He was your gym buddy more often than not, but this was getting ridiculous.

When y’all ran laps together he’d slow down for you so you could keep one another company. When you were on the treadmill he’d be running in the one right beside you and hold out his arm if you stumbled so you wouldn’t go flying, emergency stopping the machine for you. You would spot each other, go out to eat afterwards, even make meal plans together. Sam was your number one.

He was also more of a pain in your ass than your actual personal trainers had ever been in the past.

You grope around for the phone, lifting it up to your ear once your clumsy fingers stumble across it.

“Yeah?”

Your grunt is met with an honest to god laugh. At this early in the morning?

“Oh my god,” you whine. “Sam, please, what do you want?”

A scoff this time.

“Y/N, it’s Saturday. Get your ass up, we got places to be.”

Still laying on your stomach you flip your head over to press the other side of your face into your pillow and switch your phone to the other ear accordingly, eyes slipping back closed.

“We? I told you I’m not leaving my house today.”

A beat of silence and then: “Okay…”

“Awesome. Have fun sweating by-”

“I’ll see you in five.”

You choke on your spit, words coming out in a whoosh and eyes snapping open.

“Fuck no! Sam!”

The sound of the dial tone reaches your ears and you curse, shooting out of bed, sleep no longer an option.

You drop your phone on your sheets and then scramble around for some shorts. If you could get to Sam before he got all the way to your apartment maybe you’d be able to shove his overactive ass back in his car.

In a frenzy you stuff your phone in your pocket and start towards the front door scratching at your head when it hits you. You’re scratching at your bare head.

“Shit- where in the world…?”

You whip around and start back towards your bedroom to look for where your head wrap had hidden itself during the night. You weren’t going all the way downstairs looking a mess.

Anywhere on your bed was a no show. It wasn’t hanging off your lamp like you’d found it once (who knows how it ended up there in the first place), and it wasn’t under your bed.

You're just about to throw caution to the wind and run out as you are regardless when two things happen at once. You find your wrap sunken into your shoes at the end of your bed and someone knocks at your door.

“Oh come the fuck on.” You grit your teeth, snatch up and firmly situate your traitorous wrap, then stomp over to jerk open the door.

“No.”

In front of you, dressed in a gray pair of sweats, Sam frowns lightly, thick brows raising.

“You made a promise,” he hedges.

You flip off said thick - accusatory - eyebrows.

“Screw my promise. I'm going to stay home and you’re going to leave. Goodbye.”

The door closes right in his face. He doesn’t take the chance not to let it, only to step back so he doesn’t break his nose. You appreciate that.

“Now hold on-! Aw come on, Y/n!” There’s muffled shuffling behind the door, him adjusting his gym bag more than likely, before he knocks again.

While you ignore him to start taking stuff out the freezer for a smoothie - you were already up, you might as well make it worth your while - he knocks three more times.

It’s when your phone starts buzzing on the countertop that you cave, stomping back over to the door and cracking it open just enough for him to see the glower on your face.

“What part of ‘Bye’ isn’t clicking? I’m tired, my muscles ache in places I didn’t even know were possible, and if I have to meal prep anymore I’m going to scream.”

He peeks through the sliver.

“Just one little circuit, alright? I brought everything with me so you won’t have to leave… .” His eyes have taken on a particular brightness that makes you just a little weak in the knees. “I’ll even cook for you after.”

Goddamnit. Your face smooths out from the glare you were rocking and Sam’s lights up.

“See? That sounds nice, now, doesn’t it?”

“Fine. A full meal, not no damn sandwich, and you make my smoothie before we start.”

“Deal. Thought you were gonna break my heart for a minute there, I'm really glad we pulled through though.”

“Yeah yeah,” you grumble and drag him and all his crap in.

_ _ _

“If you’re still aching after two days then we probably have to adjust your routine,” he curls upward and the muscles in his arms flex, stretching the sleeve of his maroon shirt to its limit. “I’ll take a pen and paper to it and we’ll figure it out, that fine by you Queen of Sheba?”

You scoff while going down on your push-ups.

“Yeah, it’s fine Sam,” you make sure to catch his eye as you straighten your arms to come up, “thanks.”

He smiles, switching to do curls with his left arm.

You go down, but end up watching unblinking for a few seconds as the muscles on his bicep become well defined peaks.

Hn.

Sam glances up and you rapidly realize that you’ve been laying on the ground and staring creepily at him for the better part of a minute.

Roughly, you clear your throat; Sam smirks and seems to go deliberately slow on his next curl. The way you gulp hurts a little.

“See something you like?”

Scowling, you roll your eyes and pick back up where you left off on your push-ups. You’re focusing intently on the tile underneath your palms when you answer him.

“No,” you snap to the floor.

Everything about Sam’s laugh says he doesn’t believe you worth a damn.

You don’t particularly care what he thinks though; something that you reiterate over and over in your head as you go on to the next workout.

Where the fuck Sam’s forward ass got off hiking a portable pull-up bar up to your apartment you did not know, but here the thing is, sitting nice and pretty like it belonged to be an absolute eyesore in the middle of your living room.

You sigh and decidedly don’t stare at him too hard as he eases down to the floor to take your previous place and start his own round of push-ups, and probably a few floor presses or something considering he brings the dumbbells down with him.

On your end starting your pull-ups starts off relatively easy. They’ve never been your favorite - and you’re certain they never will be - but at least you could do them now since you started training with Sam almost a year ago now.

Sam was neat like that. Uplifting without slipping into condescension, and being one of the few people who could push you so thoroughly out of your comfort zone.

Certainly the only person you allowed to upheave your more flexible boundaries with so little push back.

Breath huffing out of you you force yourself to rest before starting on your next set, eyes running over your workout partner’s back and the way the muscles there are also incredibly defined as he engages them.

It was a little unfair honestly. Who gave Sam Wilson the right to look so perfect? With a grunt you start working out again.

Eventually you begin waning, you can feel it in the way your arms instantly start to shake as you try to pull your body weight up for your next set, and the excess heat building in your fingers. How even as you attempt to swing your legs to get more momentum to do the pull-up you just barely manage to get one in before your arms give out, straightening back, and you’re left just hanging there.

“Goddamn,” you curse. Today really was just not your day.

Distantly you note the soft thud of weights being set down at your left but you're so focused that you don’t notice Sam move until he’s already in front of you.

He jumps up and you make a startled noise as you come face to face before he does a pull-up as easy as can be. Your lips purse.

He grins, “I got you, come on. One more rep.”

You sigh but he’s looking right into your eyes with that soft grin on his face - and you’re a sucker - so you cave in less than five seconds. Also, you don’t want to keep hanging any longer than necessary.

“I might not have one more in me, period, but I’ll try,” you murmur as you look away. You prep your muscles to move, assuming the right position, when Sam shaking his head in your peripheral catches your attention.

“Didn’t I just say I had you?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s swinging just that much closer on one arm - fucking show off - and grabbing enough of your thigh to nudge you forward so he can get his arm around your upper leg and then pull you in.

“You’re such a show off, you know that?”

You still follow his line of reasoning, though; pulling up enough that you can get both of your legs around his waist.

Sam just laughs, teeth glinting.

“I’m just happy to help.”

“Ha,” you mock, but when he pulls up you do so with him. Your arms bend, but not with nearly as much strain as before with him taking the majority of your weight, and the pressure on your core significantly lessens.

You won’t admit to having to bite back a smile at the feel of him tucked against you.

“You okay now?”

“Yeah,” you pant out, legs tightening absentmindedly around his waist. Sam grunts lowly in the back of his throat. “You in the habit of catching people like this?”

The look that briefly flashes across his face is far more severe than you think your question merits, and when Sam answers he makes sure to look you in the eye.

“I try to be.”

Then the moment’s broken, he’s pulling you both back up into your final exercise of the day and you’re left wondering where the hell Sam Wilson got off making you love him like this.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!! If there’s any typos I’ll catch them later.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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laracrofted · 1 year

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baby, i'm high octane (v)

synopsis: on fourth of july, nora and jake dance around each other.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, swearing, alcohol consumption, existential dread, pining and yearning, kissing, no smut here but come back for the next chapter (wc: 7K)

note: i'm sorry for being so slow. i rewrote this chapter like eight times, i'm not even kidding. i also apologize in advance for where i ended this chapter, but the good news is we'll have seven chapters instead of six 😌

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tagging // @theharddeck @frenchyjuju @bioodforbiood @cursedtobe @roosterbruiser @t-nd-rfoot @bethbunnyy @filmflux @djs8891 @mayhemmanaged @sometimesanalice @eli2447 @bradshawsbitch @hangmanbrainrot @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @dempy @mlibbydp @stvrlighttsworld @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35

June slips away over the weekend, a quiet and unassuming end.

As June fades into July, Sunday becomes Monday becomes Tuesday and so on until soon enough, Fourth of July has arrived and more importantly, so has a long weekend.

God bless America.

On the morning of the Fourth, Nora sleeps in for once.

She wakes up a few minutes before 11:00 AM and refreshed – or at the very least, a little less tired than usual – and reaches for her phone, which is once again, buried under her pillows.

A slew of unread notifications are waiting for her when Nora rolls over and looks at the screen.

Two missed calls. Eleven unread messages. One unread email Nora has definitely been meaning to read for a week now. Definitely.

She ignores the email – because really, what's one more day? – and scrolls through the rest of the notifications.

Natasha, 9:40 AM: Are you awake?

Natasha, 9:41 AM: I'm going with no because I knocked and didn't get an answer.

Natasha, 10:00 AM: We're heading out to North Coronado Beach in 10-ish. Payback is bringing his girlfriend. Come join us when you're awake if you'd like!

Bradley, 10:05 AM: Do you have any sunscreen I could borrow?

Bradley, 10:06 AM: Phoenix really wants you to come to the beach btw.

Her smile grows as Nora scrolls down and discovers a message each from the rest of the Naval aviators and even one from an unsaved number with a Louisiana area code that she has to assume is Javy.

"Oh my god," Nora laughs. A loud and delighted sound in the soft quiet of the morning. Natasha’s persistence is both amusing and very touching.

She sends Natasha a quick I'm awake, just need to get dressed as proof of life and stares at Jake's message for a solid 30 seconds, gnawing on the edge of her bottom lip.

She swears under her breath and clicks on the message.

Jake, 10:30 AM: So are you really sleeping or are you just afraid to face me in beach volleyball?

Nora, 10:58 AM: Sorry, who is this?

He responds less than a minute later.

Jake, 10:59 AM: Ha ha

Jake, 10:59 AM: Come to the beach.

Jake, 11:00 AM: Javy and I need another person.

Nora, 11:01 AM: Have you looked on Tinder?

Jake, 11:02 AM: For volleyball, smart ass. We're playing 3 on 3.

Jake, 11:02 AM: Everyone wants you to come.

Jake, 11:02 AM: I want you to come.

She's never been so grateful to be alone than right now. No one else should have to witness the stupidly wide smile pulling at her lips right now, uninvited. She reads the message again, feeling kind of giddy, which is actually kind of ridiculous.

Like objectively ridiculous.

She is kind of ridiculous. This is getting out of hand.

Like on Sunday morning for instance.

She had woken up in the aftermath of Bradley’s party and that damn dream and remembered the night before in such excruciatingly vivid and cinematic detail – high resolution and state-of-the-art surround sound, like the goddamn IMAX of sex dreams – that she had to deep clean the entire apartment as a distraction.

A several hour get up close and personal with the checkered blue in the bathroom, wondering whether it's ever been cleaned, and later, in a sudden panic, open all of the windows in case you've accidentally poisoned yourself with bleach fumes deep clean.

Her one goal? Don't think about Jake.

So Nora wiped down the counters and didn’t think about Jake and vacuumed the living room, between and under the couch cushions included, and didn’t think about Jake and scrubbed the shower and didn’t think about Jake so hard that Nora needed an actual shower afterward. A cold one.

"Get a grip," Nora says out loud now.

She looks out of the window and sees nothing but a clear and cloudless blue. A perfect beach day.

She'll go, of course.

She'll go because Nora loves the beach – and always has – and because Natasha was kind enough to invite her and because Nora wants to meet Reuben's girlfriend and hang out with all of them.

No other reason.

She wonders, not for the first time, not even for the first time this week, when she became so well versed in lying to herself.

She blows out a prolonged breath and responds to Natasha.

Nora, 11:05 AM: I'll be there in 30.

"Not playing, Rogers?"

Noon is bright and beautiful and clear as Nora lowers her sunglasses ever so slightly and glances up from her book at Bradley. Blinding sunlight pierces her blue eyes almost immediately, and she has to hold up a shielding hand to be able to see him.

Hand still raised, Nora shakes her head in answer.

She had definitely overpacked for the beach. She always does, wanting to be prepared.

A well-worn paperback from her nightstand. Sunscreen. A reusable water bottle. An assortment of snacks. A portable phone charger. Chapstick. A claw clip. More snacks. An old film camera, in case Nora feels inspired.

(She loves the way California looks on film. All faded blues and greens.)

After seeing Reuben serve, Nora had never been more grateful for her own overpacking. Natasha and Reuben alternated subbing in for Nora on Jake and Javy's side, and Nora found a good patch of sand on the sidelines where she can watch from a minimum safe distance.

Nora loves a good bit of healthy competition, like all Leos do, but she's nowhere near competitive enough to play with them. She's much happier here.

"I decided I don't need a concussion," Nora says simply.

"We would've gone easy on you," Bradley protests immediately. His grin is just mischievous enough that Nora doesn't believe him.

"Now I'm convinced," Nora drawls dryly.

Bradley laughs, bending over and reaching into the cooler that Reuben's girlfriend, Gracie – a pretty nurse with a deceptively powerful spike – brought. It's filled with lemonade and water and soda and at the very bottom, beer.

His hand sloshes around in the ice until Bradley pulls a couple of beers from the depths. He offers one to Nora wordlessly.

She is still drinking a can of cold brew from La Colombe so Nora waves him off. He drops the second beer back into the cooler with a faint splash and closes the lid.

"Scooch over," Bradley asks and nudges her leg with the side of his sandy foot.

A cool breeze blows in from the ocean as Nora moves over, and Bradley smells like a summery mixture of coconut sunscreen and sweat, dropping down next to her.

He had to dive for a pass in the last game, and his calves are sandy as Bradley kicks out his legs and buries his toes in the sand.

Ice cold condensation rolls down the side of Bradley's fresh can of beer and drips down his arm onto Nora's legs. She sets her book aside with a frown, not wanting him to drip water on the pages, which are already a little wrinkled from her dropping it in a pool once.

She crosses her legs. Wipes the water from her skin.

Her damp palm smears across his bare shoulder as Nora wipes the water on him. Just to be annoying. She's surprised – and kind of alarmed – by how warm Bradley's skin is, scorching.

His shoulders are already a concerning shade of pink, and Nora asks, "Did you even put on the sunscreen I brought you?"

His chin dips in a nod, and Nora can see smudges of sunscreen residue around his reddening ears. "I burn easily."

He cracks open the beer with a crisp pop and fizz sound, like a sound effect from a Bud Light commercial. A wave of foam rapidly rises, and Bradley slurps it down with a muttered curse, only barely avoiding spilling it all over his lap.

"You should put on more," Nora says. She looks at his back and grimaces. "You're like giving off heat right now."

Another sip, and Bradley lets out an exaggerated ah! sound. "Are you offering to put it on for me? If you wanted to rub my shoulders so badly, you could've asked."

"It's a spray," Nora deadpans.

He visibly holds back a grin, mustache twitching, and Nora rolls her eyes.

Bradley pulls his sunglasses down with a crooked pinky and absentmindedly watches the current game over the edges of the golden rims. Drinks his beer. Reuben, Mickey, and Gracie are facing off against Jake, Javy, and Natasha right now while Bob is refereeing.

She pulls her book back into her lap and leans her chin on her open palm, reading, interpreting his silence as the end of the conversation.

Silly her, right?

She only manages to get through another paragraph and a half when Nora is interrupted again.

"So..." Bradley cuts in casually. "What's up? I feel like I haven't seen you all week."

Her brow scrunches as Nora frowns slightly. "You've seen me."

A drop of sweat rolls down his neck as Bradley shakes his head. "Barely."

"We had lunch yesterday," Nora reminds him. Did Bradley fall on his knees or on his head during that last dive?

"You're usually around more, like in the Ready Room, but I hung out in there a few times between drills, and you were always gone."

"I was in the hangar," Nora explains, deliberately oblivious. She knows Bradley is asking after the why – not the where.

"Why?" Bradley asks, directly so Nora can't dodge him again. She makes a face.

Why, indeed.

Frankly, because Bradley happened to be paired with Jake on a lot of the same drills and so, happened to be on the ground at the same time as him.

Nora isn't avoiding Jake. Per se.

Avoiding him would be unprofessional and also, kind of impossible and not really fair to him. He hasn't done anything. It's her. She has just been a little more... scarce than usual.

Bradley is more collateral damage than anything else.

He looks over before Nora has a chance to compose her face. "Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." Bradley searches for the right phrase. He seeks wisdom in another sip of beer. "...you're my bunkmate on the carrier about to ask if I can find another place to crash for the night so I can get laid.”

She stares at him blankly. "I'm confused. Are you getting laid? Or am I?"

"Don't change the subject, Rogers."

"Me?" Nora exclaims. "You're the one with the confusing analogy."

"Just..." He waves his beer around. "Tell me."

Sighing, Nora sneaks a subtle – or rather, hopefully subtle – glance at Jake.

Shirtless, Jake is gleaming in the golden glow of the sun, glistening with an attractive sheen of sweat, all muscles and sun-kissed skin, rolling and flexing and all of those delicious words. He is wearing a backwards baseball cap, damp strands of golden hair swept across his forehead and underneath, making him look ruffled and boyish and so goddamn handsome.

And Jake's arms. His massive arms.

One of those arms wipes across his glistening forehead as Jake spikes the ball and sends Reuben and Mickey diving into the sand on the other side of the net. His cocky grin is blinding.

And even from here, Nora feels her pulse quicken. She feels like a dropped can of soda, one hard shake from bursting open.

She needs to get a grip and soon.

"You don't want to know," Nora promises.

"Tell me," Bradley nudges. "How bad can it really be?"

Well. She did warn him.

"I had a sex dream about Jake."

He chokes. A stream of beer dribbles down his chin and splashes across his bare chest, running down his abdomen in rivulets. Nora holds back a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Why would you tell me that?" Bradley looks pained, asking the question like, What did I ever do to you? Like, Why do you hate me so much?

"You asked," Nora replies calmly.

Mopping the beer from his chest with a balled-up shirt, Bradley looks pained. He coughs into his elbow. "I did not ask about – "

"Besides," Nora continues, ignoring him. "I needed to tell someone, and I couldn't scar Natasha like this so early in our friendship. I need advice."

"What... exactly is the problem?" Bradley asks, slow and reluctant, with a comical lack of enthusiasm; like she's forced the question out of him at gunpoint.

"Well, I guess I like him." Nora draws her knees in and brushing sand from her skin, warm from the sun, rests her arms on them. "Which is probably a bad idea, I know."

"Probably," Bradley echoes. He bobs his head from side to side, weighing his words, considering. "But really, what's a good idea?"

Surprise makes Nora look at him, sharp and sudden. "What does that mean?"

His shoulder drops into a shrug. "I guess, I mean Hangman is a good enough guy. You could do worse."

Brows raised, Nora asks, "Really? When exactly did you guys kiss and make up?"

Bradley wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Is that what gets you hot these days?"

He laughs when Nora digs her elbow into his side. She snorts despite herself. "You're such an ass. But really, aren't you going to try to talk me out of it? I expected you to be against the idea."

His laughter cools into something more thoughtful, more contemplative as Bradley asks, "Did you know my mom took six months to agree to go out with my dad?”

She shakes her head.

A kind of sad smile pulls at his mouth. A ghost of a smile. "Yeah. She wanted him to prove himself or something. She wanted someone who'd be serious about her. He obviously did, or I wouldn't be here."

A pause, and Nora patiently waits for him to continue.

"My birthday always brings up a lot of memories. I'm 36 now. Another year older than my dad ever got to be, which never gets any less weird. I never asked, but if she’d known how it would end, I bet she would’ve done some things differently. I know she would’ve done anything for six more months with him.”

Bradley says, "You like him. He likes you. And you've got what? Four more weeks here?"

A cool dread pools in the bottom of her stomach at the reminder, and Nora nods with a wan smile. Her opposite fist clenches and unclenches where Bradley can't see.

"Exactly. You're not gonna be here forever. Why not see what happens?"

Her knees drop open as Nora crosses her legs. She brushes sand from her ankles, runs her thumb over the delicate bone there, a soothing back and forth motion, meditative. Contemplating.

"He'd just be so..."

Ahead, as Javy prepares to serve, abdomen rippling as the Naval aviator raises his arm high, Jake cups his large hands around his mouth and heckles Reuben and Mickey. They give him the bird in unison, and even Gracie narrows her eyes.

Jake grins widely. So damn pleased with himself.

She drops her gaze before Jake can catch her watching him.

"So smug," Nora finishes. "He'd be so goddamn smug."

Bradley laughs. "Can't argue with you there."

He winds an arm around her shoulders, sympathetic and sweaty, and Nora leans her head on his shoulder. Her own shoulders are warm from sunshine. Her cheeks are pink.

She's probably overdue for a dip in the ocean.

"Do you know where you're going after this? At the end of this project, I mean?" Bradley asks quietly, and when Nora doesn't respond right away, looks at her sidelong. His brown eyes are warm in the afternoon sun, honeyed with flecks of amber. "Or should I not ask?"

Her answering sigh is almost lost amongst the sounds of the ocean waves, gently crashing against the shore, almost but not quite. "Please don't ask."

He acknowledges her words with a hum. "Gotcha."

Soon, Bradley finishes his beer and rejoins Natasha and Bob for the next game, huddling up, and Nora can feel Jake's eyes on her like she can feel the sun on her shoulders, like a burst of warmth.

She gives up any hope of reading her book and lays down. Closes her eyes. Basks in the warmth of the afternoon; in the sounds of gulls overhead and shouts of laughter; in the rush of salt air over her skin, on her tongue.

Everything else washes away, caught in the rising tide and carried out to sea. At least, for now.

A few hours later, after Nora has gone home and rinsed the sweat and sand from her skin and dressed again, she catches a ride with Natasha and Bob to the Hard Deck to meet the rest of the Naval aviators.

Penny is hosting something of a private Fourth of July barbecue – but with more alcohol and aside from a party-sized bag of Lay's chips Nora saw on the bar, no barbecue – in the early evening before San Diego's annual firework show, which kicks off around dusk.

The Hard Deck bar is a sea of khaki uniforms and crisp denim and shades of red, white, and blue, and Penny clearly decorated for the occasion.

A paper banner of red, white, and blue stars hangs across the large windows in the back, rustling like autumn leaves in the slight breeze from the side door. And cross-legged on a barstool by the windows, a cute but highly impractical pair of pale blue suede cowboy boots on her dangling legs, Nora leans an elbow on her knee, watching Jake and Natasha's nine ball game.

Dressed in a linen button-down, which pulls deliciously over his back muscles, Jake knocks a hard-to-reach ball into a pocket with a devil-may-care smirk. Natasha visibly winces.

"Think I want a rematch, Bagman," Natasha announces with a resigned swig of beer.

"Oh, Bagman again, is it?" Jake lets out a low and mocking whistle. "Haven't heard that one in a while. You must really be pissed, huh, Phoenix?"

Brows raised, Jake flawlessly executes a series of complicated shots while holding her dark gaze, which grows progressively steelier with every click and clack.

"Nora," Natasha says in a scary calm voice. "You can probably reach him best over there. Would you mind strangling Bagman for me?"

"Happily," Nora quips.

Jake makes a whole show of clutching his chest and pretending to be deeply offended, which lasts for all of 20 seconds. "No one likes a sore loser, Trace."

And Bob – who until now has been quietly observing from a barstool on Natasha's end – carefully sweeps cracked peanut shells and popcorn residue from his lap and chimes in with some much-needed optimism.

"You can still win. You still have..."

He launches a long-winded and strategic breakdown of all the different strategies and angles Natasha has left in her arsenal, counting them off. As if Natasha is competing in some Las Vegas championship, not playing a few amicable – well, maybe semi-amicable – rounds in a dive bar.

And while Nora is a very casual enjoyer of pool and doesn't understand half of what Bob is saying, she does understand that Jake is beating Natasha. Badly. Obnoxiously so.

An argument will definitely break out if Jake wipes the floor with Natasha. Nora can feel it in the air, like a crackle of electricity, an indigo downdraft before a summer storm.

So as Jake grows closer, setting up for the coupe de grâce, Nora catches the crisp sleeve of his linen button-down, fabric pulling tight across his muscular bicep.

He pauses. Turns.

Forehead wrinkling, Jake looks down at Nora, expectant.

He smells... so damn good. Focus.

"Don't be an asshole," Nora says coolly.

"You'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid."

She gives him a withering look, and god, Jake definitely wants to laugh. She can see it in his eyes, bright and gleaming and green and so close.

"About the game," Nora clarifies dryly. "Don't be an asshole about the game."

His gaze drops down to where Nora is still holding his sleeve. She releases it as if burned.

Amusement creases the corners of his eyes, and Jake drawls, "No promises, sweetheart," and pulls away.

Even so, Jake's next move – one that could've easily been a game ender – is a little less precise, a little less powerful than his previous one. It’s not enough to sink the nine ball.

And Natasha lives to see another turn.

A Tears for Fears song comes on as Natasha openly celebrates, drawing her fist down, victorious. Bob and Mickey cheer and clap from the sidelines. Her own personal cheerleaders.

Nora's lips curl upwards.

Three Naval aviators are notably absent from the group at the back of the Hard Deck right now. Reuben is with Gracie, who wanted to get a good spot for the fireworks on Harbor Island, and Bradley had gone straight from the beach to Captain Mitchell's and is now late.

(Bradley sent her a message peppered with various emojis and general incoherence but ending in L8, which was easy enough to understand.)

Javy is around here... somewhere. He vanished into the crowd like 20 minutes ago for a refill and some snacks and never came back. He's probably catching up with some of the Naval officers who had waved at him as Javy came in.

She knows Javy would've clapped for Jake, had Javy been here.

So Nora claps for him, a light clap, catching Jake's attention with the motion, not the sound. She's rewarded with a broad grin as Jake leans on the cue.

He retrieves his half-full glass from the counter underneath the windows and tips the amber liquid in her direction. A gunslinger in an old Western, tipping his cowboy hat at the nearest woman in the saloon.

She raises her own glass in return, and Jake grins, wide and slow and sensual and damn. He looks her up and down, gaze lingering on her cowboy boots, not saying a damn word, not needing to say a damn word.

A warm feeling rises in her chest like Nora's overindulged in champagne. Goddamn.

Jake still wins in the end, but not by as much as he could've.

As Natasha racks the pool balls, resetting the table for the next game, Nora drains the rest of her Old Fashioned, which was mostly ice now anyway, and carries her empty glass over to the bar.

Penny is busy performing her duties as hostess – meeting and greeting and mingling. She'd made her way over and said hello soon after Nora arrived – so a bartender Nora doesn't recognize is behind the bar right now.

She sets her glass down and pulls out her phone for a distraction while Nora is waiting. She opens Instagram and after scrolling, sees Natasha posted a couple of pictures from Moonlight Rollers on Sunday morning.

In one of the photos, Nora is leaning on Natasha's shoulder, lids lowered and sparkly, grin wide and drunken. Another is a group picture where Bradley has a big arm around both Natasha and Nora's shoulders, standing on either side of him, trying not to fall on his ass again.

A smile lights up her face as Nora likes the post and shares it on her Instagram story. Adding a disco ball and some confetti in the corner.

It's been a while since Nora's posted on Instagram. How long has it been? Since France, maybe?

She clicks on her profile and –

"Hi. You're Nora, right?"

He's definitely around her age. Cute enough with sand-colored hair that curls around his ears and dimples. Blue eyes. He looks like a classic California surfer.

He looks vaguely familiar, but Nora can't remember his name.

"Depends," Nora says coyly. She slides her phone into her back pocket and crosses her arms. "Should I be worried?"

He's confident enough to laugh. A slightly apologetic sound.

"Not at all. I probably should've led with..." He sticks out a hand, smiling. "I'm Aidan. I'm an AM on the Naval base – an Aviation Structural Mechanic. I've seen you around."

Ah. She can place him now.

Aidan had supervised one of the camera installations last week. She'd exchanged all of five words with him. He looks different, not dressed in coveralls.

He's not the only one. She probably looks different too.

She's braided her pale hair down her back, and a vintage Born in the USA Word Tour shirt slopes over her shoulders, cropped and loose, barely grazing the denim waistband of her light wash cut-offs – which are a smidge shorter than she remembered.

"Have you?" Nora asks. "I must be pretty memorable."

Aidan flushes, and Nora bites back a smirk.

"You're, uh... We don't have a lot of civilian contractors on the base right now. It'd be kind of hard not to remember you, I think."

Her mouth opens in a smile. "I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

"You should," Aidan promises in a rush of breath. His blue eyes zero in on her empty glass. "What're you drinking? Maybe I could – "

"Making friends, Hollywood?"

Of course. Nora kind of wants to laugh.

She actually does laugh when 'Born to Run' by Bruce Springsteen comes on over the speakers, covering her mouth, and Jake bites back a smile, eyes sparkling, looking so damn pleased with himself.

Nora looks at him over her shoulder from under her dark lashes, blue eyes crinkling. "Wrong album, Texas."

He only grins.

Heart racing, Nora looks away. "You know Jake, right, Aidan?"

Nodding, Aidan grunts, "Hangman" with a neutral expression so practiced Nora knows all of the AMs must hate Jake. How many F-18 repairs have probably needed to be done in the months the Daggers have been stationed here?

"Howdy."

Jesus Christ. Nora rolls her eyes.

Jake regards the AM with a glued-on insufferable asshole smile until Aidan inhales – one of those sharp well, I better go inhales – and sure enough: "Well, I should get going."

"Oh, so soon?"

Nora kicks Jake in the ankle. His grin only widens.

Aidan looks between them with an unreadable expression and says, "Maybe I'll see you around, Nora. Happy Fourth," with a forced smile and leaves.

After, Nora bites down on the inside of her cheek to hold back a laugh.

"You're so irritating," Nora says.

"Am I?" Jake counters. "Why're you smiling then?"

She doesn't answer.

Grinning, Jake spots the bartender and flags him down with a quick and efficient, "I'll get another beer and another Old Fashioned for the lady here. Thanks, man."

"Presumptuous. And what if I wanted something else?"

His brows rise. "Did you?"

No but...

She could have.

“We’ll never know now,” Nora replies, stubborn, chin raised.

Jake reaches over and gives the end of her braid a gentle and light-hearted tug. So playful and casual. She gapes at him, and Jake grins down at her, shaking with suppressed laughter, eyes alight.

Her stomach does a somersault and then some. A full Olympic routine.

"Excuse me? Are you 12?"

But Nora is laughing.

Jake slides into the empty space beside her. Close enough for Nora to feel the warmth of him.

"What were you and AM Aidan chatting about over here? You know Phoenix made him cry once?" Jake asks. He sounds unbearably amused.

"Literally nothing. He was definitely about to ask me out though," Nora replies.

"Poor guy," Jake croons. His smirk is smug as all hell. "You'd eat him alive. Guy like that wouldn't even know what to do with you."

His words are drenched in implication, like Jake would know.

And against her will, Nora flushes.

He notices, of course, because Jake notices everything.

Luckily, the Hard Deck bartender chooses that exact moment to come back with their drinks. He sets them down. A beer for Jake. An Old Fashioned for Nora.

"Tab?"

"Seresin."

Nora opens her mouth, and Jake pulls on her braid again. She smacks his hand away.

"Don't be so stubborn, Hollywood. Let me buy you a drink."

She eyes him. "And what's the catch?"

A dimple carves into his cheek. "Maybe I'm just a nice guy."

"You are not a nice guy," and Nora doesn't mean for it to come out like it does, like it's a good thing, like she likes that about him.

His gaze is burning, and Jake is closer than ever before – shoe nudging between her boots, knee brushing against the inside of her exposed thigh – and Nora feels like a struck match held over a puddle of gasoline, like one wrong move, one right one will set her ablaze.

"Oh yeah?" Jake murmurs. “What am I then?”

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth, and Jake follows the movement, gaze darkening. His fingers spasm around the neck of the beer bottle, and Nora remembers another moment, a moment in this very bar when Jake's fingers brushed the side of her neck, warm and calloused and deliberate.

A call vibrates her phone in her back pocket.

Her caught breath escapes in a rush. She doesn't even look at the ID before Nora answers.

"This is Nora Rogers."

Jake eases back, lids low, and Nora swallows against her suddenly dry mouth. Plugs her ear to better hear the person on the other end.

It's so loud in here, but Nora manages to make out a few words.

"Nora, it's Jenna."

A breath punches from her chest, and Nora freezes.

In her peripheral, Jake frowns around his beer.

"I know, I know," Jenna is saying, oblivious, even as Nora feels like a hand has clawed between her ribs and slowly squeezed. "Who calls out of the blue anymore, right? But I saw your Instagram story, and I was like, I should give Nora a call while I have a minute... Are you there? It's kind of loud. Can you hear me? Nora?"

"Oh, um..."

Nora looks up at Jake, eyes wide. He doesn't hesitate, good in a crisis like any good Naval aviator would be. He sets his drink down and pulls the phone from her unresisting fingers.

"Nora's a little busy right now. She'll have to call you back later. You have a good Fourth, ma'am."

And Jake ends the call before Nora can even breathe.

She stares at him, unblinking.

"Nora?"

Not sweetheart, not Hollywood. Nora.

She snaps out of her daze and manages, "I need some air."

And Nora lets Jake pull her though the crowd and out of the side door, into the cooling summer air.

Evening sun cools on the blue horizon of the ocean as Nora is sitting in the bed of Jake's Chevy, legs dangling and swinging restlessly over the edge, hard metal pressing into her skin.

She doesn't mind. It's kind of grounding, actually.

She breathes in the salt air. Breathes deep and out.

"What's going on?"

Ah, damn.

"Ah..." Nora blinks her eyes open and discretely wipes at the moisture under her lids. "I'm fine. Just needed a minute."

She wonders if Jake can hear the strain in her voice, the strange reediness. She can hear it. Can see right through her own words. She wonders if Jake can do the same, can see right through her like Nora is made of the sea glass that dots the shore.

Metal creaks as Jake hoists himself up and squeezes in next to Nora. He is so damn broad, pressed against her entire side. His bare arm is warm against hers.

He gets comfortable, stretching out his legs.

Leans a hand behind her back.

His arm brushes against her side again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jake asks, voice a gentle rumble.

She blows out an uneven breath. "About what?"

"You looked a little upset inside, is all."

"I'm not upset," Nora says. A reflex. A lie.

"Come on..." Jake coaxes with a small smile. "You're a bad liar, sweetheart. What's going on? Tell Uncle Jake."

She's surprised enough to laugh, a choked and breathless sound. "Uncle Jake? What is that, like a sex thing?"

"You're so..." He chuckles, low and warm. "No, Nora. It's not a sex thing. Ma called me earlier. Apparently, my niece caught War of the Worlds on cable the other night, even though I know Sarah would never let her watch a PG-13 movie. She's seven."

"So now," Jake continues. "She's scared of fireworks. She's convinced some Independence Day aliens are gonna burst right out of ‘em.”

Nora cracks a small smile. "And did Uncle Jake talk some sense into her?"

"Damn straight," Jake affirms with an oh-so-serious nod. "Told her I would've seen any aliens from my plane and shot ‘em right out of the sky.”

He kind of rolls his eyes, like Can you believe what I put up with?, but Nora can hear the unbridled affection in his voice. He loves it. He loves being this person who can calm a scared little girl down and make it all better.

And Nora's delicate heart cracks wide open.

His shoulder bumps against hers, gentle. "Got any aliens I can shoot out of the sky for you, sweetheart?”

She sighs. "I'm not upset, exactly. I'm... frustrated with myself."

His brows furrow in question, and rather than explain, Nora offers her phone and lets him read the incoming messages for himself. It’s easier.

Jenna, 6:58 PM: Hi! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to catch you in the middle of something.

Jenna, 7:01 PM: Are you still considering that project I talked to you about in May? Take a beat, I don’t need an answer right this second, but I do need an answer kind of soon.

Jenna, 7:01 PM: I’m resending the pitch now. Check your email!

Jenna, 7:02 PM: (And maybe write me back for once)

Another message comes in as Jake is reading.

Jenna, 7:05 PM: Also, WHO was that guy on the phone? He has a sexy voice.

Nora snatches her phone back and locks the screen, holding her arms close.

A smirk wavers on his face, flickering on and off like an old light bulb, but Jake doesn't make a comment. His mouth settles in a line as he studies Nora.

“What’s wrong with the project? Why don’t you want it?”

She blinks at him, surprised, and Jake shrugs.

“You would’ve given her an answer before now otherwise, right?”

And damn if Jake doesn’t hit the nail right on the head.

“You’re right. I don't want it," Nora says. An admission. "But I know I should. So... I'm aggravated with myself."

"Why?"

She pulls her legs up and crosses them, fiddling with a loose thread in the denim. She explains in a hush, "Because now, I only have a month left here, and I'm in the same place I was before I came here. I don't have another project lined up at the end of this one, and I haven't even been looking, really."

He is looking at her with soft attention. A breath.

Nora continues, "I really used to love what I do, but I don't know, I've been so drained and uninspired and god, just so fucking exhausted for the past year and a half." She smooths her hands over her cheeks, still flushed from the humid bar. "I thought if I had a change of pace, maybe I could recharge and feel creative again so..."

"You came here," Jake finishes, understanding.

"So I came here," Nora repeats in a soft voice.

She came here, and now, Nora is stuck. Again.

"Documentaries have been a part of my whole... identity for so long that I don't know if I could do something else. I feel like I'd lose a part of myself if I ever stopped. And I've been this person for so long that I don't know if I could do something else. I don't know if I'd even know how."

A car pulls into the beachside lot and parks a few rows over and idles there, and over the sound of the engine and the crash of the ocean waves, Nora can make out the chorus of ‘Fade Into You’ by Mazzy Star. Her mom’s favorite song.

It feels like a sign.

And Nora says, “I guess I don’t want to look back a decade from now and be in the same place I am right now.”

“Which is?”

“Wondering if I’ve made the wrong choice.” Nora watches the horizon. A sigh escapes from her lips. “Wondering if I’m too late to make the right one.”

“Look at me,” Jake says, soft and gentle but firm. "Hey."

Nora leans her chin on her shoulder and meets his gaze, and Jake is looking at her with such intense green, open-faced and sincere.

"You could march into Cyclone's office on Monday morning and quit right then and there and – "

"Actually, Admiral Simpson's not my – ”

"You could..." Jake raises his voice to drown out her interruption until Nora presses her lips together. "...quit and never make another documentary ever again and still be an incredible person. I mean, hell, Hollywood, you're beautiful and clever as hell and at times, kind of mean."

A smirk brims on her lips, and Jake grins, a flash of white.

“You could be anything.”

She stares at him. “How could you possibly know that? You’ve only known me for like a month.”

“I know enough.”

He sounds so sure, so certain.

And Nora likes him. She likes him so much her chest aches. She holds a hand over her collarbone, rubbing at the sore spot over her heart, pulse racing underneath her palm.

"Thank you, Jake," Nora says softly.

His eyes are soft. "Of course, anytime."

A beat passes, and Nora could so easily let the moment fade.

She could go back inside and spend the rest of the weekend pushing him from her mind and wanting him.

Jake is so handsome in the golden glow. He's looking at her like...

No one's ever looked at her like Jake is looking at her right now.

She swallows hard and says, "You were right before."

His mouth quirks. "I usually am, but about what?"

A few strands of short hair come loose from her braid and fall in her face as Nora shakes her head.

“I do kind of like you,” Nora admits. “I kind of like you a lot.”

His lips part in a smile. “You like me.”

She bites down on the inside of her cheek. Hard. “Go ahead. Get it over with."

“And what exactly am I getting over with?"

“You really aren't going to be smug about this? You were right. Get it over with."

Nora waits. Drums her fingers on the surface of her thigh while Jake is quiet, suspiciously so.

“What? Nothing?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find a way to be smug later," Jake promises with a slow smirk. Later oozes with suggestion. Sparks dance across her skin where Jake's arm is pressed against hers.

“You like me,” Jake repeats again, voice soft.

Her chin dips in a nod.

“And what are we gonna do about that, sweetheart?”

It’s all Nora can do not to squirm under his gaze.

She replies, “Nothing. Just wanted you to know,” in a voice so paper thin, so breathless that even Nora doesn’t believe herself.

You’re a bad liar, sweetheart, echoes in her head.

And like he knows, a smirk kicks up the edge of Jake's mouth.

In a movie, this would be a moment, the moment.

A director would ask the camera to get in close and closer still, documenting every microcosm of their expressions, every glimpse of emotion in their eyes, and in the background, a delicate instrumental would build and build, a gradual swell, like an ocean wave.

Grow louder and stronger until in a dark theater, surrounded by strangers and popcorn grease, or at home on the couch, whoever is watching catches themselves holding their breath, until the world drops out from under them, until…

He leans in close, locked and loaded with a clever countermove.

“Bull…”

And unable to let him have the last word, even in this, especially in this, Nora closes the distance between them and kisses him.

And kisses him and kisses him, hand dipping in the open space where his linen shirt gapes from his collarbone and running her fingers over the golden skin, warm from the sun, over that damn chain.

Hooking it around her index finger, Nora gives it an experimental pull, the smallest and slightest of tugs, and Jake reacts like Nora has reached inside his chest and pressed an on switch.

A warm palm slides up the slender length of her neck, settling on her nape, and anchors her against him. He breathes her name against her mouth, like a prayer, like a confession.

Nora Nora Nora.

Pulls her in and in and in until Nora is all but on top of him, impossibly close.

She wants nothing more than to crawl over him and –

A car alarm wails from behind them.

She pulls back, breathing hard, and like a magnet, Jake follows.

He rests his forehead against her bare shoulder, catching his breath, pressing a kiss to the new freckles from the afternoon and another.

“Um…” Nora starts.

He kisses the side of her neck once, and Nora cuts herself off with a rush of breath, gripping his biceps for balance.

“We’re…” Nora tries again. “We should…”

He pauses. Pulls back so Nora can see his face.

His pupils are blown wide.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Nora asks, both a question and a plea. Please want to get out of here.

“Yes,” Jake breathes and kisses her again, his answer a groan against her mouth. "God, yes, Nora."

He doesn't even get his credit card from the bartender.

Less than a minute later, Jake is cutting across Coronado in his Chevy like an F-18, cutting across cooling blue skies.

Between stop signs, Jake reaches across the bench seat and laces their fingers together, pressing a firm kiss to her knuckles.

Her other hand drifts out of the open window, and for a brief moment, as the wind catches her fingers just right, Nora closes her eyes and feels like she's flying.

end note: likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are amazing. i'd love to hear from you! and all my love to @sometimesanalice for letting me ramble to you for months about this fic and @roosterbruiser for beta reading!

read the next chapter!

#fic: baby i'm high octane #jake seresin x oc #hangman x oc #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x nora rogers #hangman fic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun fic #laracrofted writes

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fluffystevefest · 3 months

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Fluffy Steve Fest really flew by! Thank you so much to everyone who shared their creations or showed their love and support - the round-up of daily masterlists (with a side of fun statistics) is coming on July 10. In the meantime, be generous with your likes, kudos, reblogs, shares, and comments! 💙

THEME ★ STEVE'S...

Fluffy Steve Fest Day 7 - Steve's...less common friendships by @bulkyphrase ★ Rec list ★ Pairing: Multi ★ It's the final day of @fluffystevefest! Sunday's theme is "Steve's..." and I've decided to focus on Steve's rarer friendships. So please enjoy this list of lighthearted stories featuring some lovely platonic Steve rarepairs.

Fluffy Steve Fest Rec List: July 7: Steve's... by @ephemeralbutterfly ★ Rec list ★ Pairing: Multi ★ Hello everyone! I am doing daily themed rec lists for @fluffystevefest. The fics are related (some more loosely than others) to the daily prompts. The number of fics for any given day and prompt varies, but I have at least one fic for each day. There's also a wide variety of fic types and ratings, so I hope there will be something for everyone. The lists are vertically long, so I've put them behind a cut. The longest list for the last day. Once again a grab bag.

Coming Around Again by @polizwrites ★ Fic: 572, G ★ Pairing: Steve/Bucky ★ When Bucky calls Steve out on an old habit, he remembers the first time they shared an apartment.

Day 7: His Wickedly Wild Menace by @mercurial-chuckles ★ Fic ★ Pairing: Steve/Reader ★ As a Systems Engineer, you were working on a machine in the gym. To your great dislike, a rookie bullies your trainee, and you can't help but show the rookie his place. Unbeknownst to you, the Avengers were vetting out the recruits before physical strength tests, and they see the whole thing. You capture Steve's interest.

yours, steve rogers by @meidui ★ Fic: 1k, G ★ Pairing: Steve & Avengers ★ Life seems to slow down, gentle and forgiving in a way it has never been before, and Steve gets into writing letters.

PROMPT ★ CHILDHOOD

For the First Time by @thebrooklynnway ★ Fic: 3.2k, M ★ Pairing: Steve/Tony ★ Steve is six years old when he meets Tony. He kisses Steve on the cheek, declares that they are best friends for life, then makes his way down the ladder of the treehouse. Steve watches with a blush on his freckled cheeks, a mixture of happiness and something he doesn’t really understand swirling in his heart.

I Drew it for You by @darthbloodorange ★ Fic: 100, G ★ Pairing: Steve & Sarah ★ Steve draws something for his mother.

de-aged steve fic recs <3 by @meidui ★ Rec list ★ Pairing: Steve/Tony ★

PROMPT ★ HABITS

Expensive Habit by @darthbloodorange ★ Fic: 100, G ★ Pairing: Steve & Tony, Steve & Avengers ★ It sort of just happens...

PROMPT ★ FIRST TIMES

Name Change by @ijustreallylikecaptainamericaok ★ Fic: 396, T ★ Pairing: Steve/Scott, Steve & Cassie ★ Scott had seen a similarly shocked pause before, back when Paxton went from Jim to Papa.

Thawed Interest by @darthbloodorange ★ Fic: 300, T ★ Pairing: Steve/Bucky, Steve & Avengers ★ Steve experiences his first crush since coming out of the ice. The Avengers have thoughts...

PROMPT ★ HAPPY ENDING

World's Best Dad-Venger by @darthbloodorange ★ Art ★ Pairing: Steve & Avengers ★ Summery: A retired Steve wakes in the morning to find a gift left by the young heroes he helps train.

Happy Ending by @americas-ass-writing ★ Fic: 1.3k ★ Pairing: Steve/Reader ★ Happy endings were something from fairytales. The real life didn't offer this. Steve would know. Every single piece of happiness was taken from him after way too short. His dad, his mom soon after, Bucky (who luckily returned to him), his own life. After trying to reclaim what he could of his life things looked better. He had friends, a found family, a sense of purpose... only for it to be taken far too soon. After the fight with Thanos everyone went their separate ways. Tony quit to be with his family, Natasha went on a lengthy solo mission. Sam and Bucky went on their own adventures after Steve gave the shield to Sam, too tired to continue being cap. Being someone he just isn't anymore. Thor went back to new Asgard. Bruce went to California. Which leaves Steve alone in New York. Alone to pick up the shambles of his and everyone else's life. Alone.

#steve rogers #steverogersevents #fluffystevefest #trackmarvel #marvel-events-central #mod post #day 7 #daily masterlist

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qrosewinter · 8 months

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Toxic

Prev-Next

Description : Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3... To be continued.

Summery: Where a girl from New Zealand goes to brooklyn to live with her Auntie and Uncle, mets a brooklyn boy with secrets and a voice like honey with pretty hazel green eyes.

Where a brooklyn boy mets a girl from New Zealand with an accent he's never heard before, who he can't seem to forget.

And a Polynesian girl struggling to find who she is in the concrete jungle of NYC so far from home.

The start of the most unlikely relationship between two people starts to bloom, between a brooklyn boy who's just a little misunderstood.

Will this relationship bloom or stay untouched? Maybe we should let fate take the lead for this one.

Fic summary: slow burn, obvious to flirting, a little bit of angst, romance, revenge, anger.

WARNINGS ⚠️: Horrible attempts at slang, Horrible attempts at Spanish, Swearing, Weapons, Gore, Drugs, Alcohol, Mature themes, Spelling mistakes.

Chapter 2: Am I seeing shit again.

Are you hearing voices again? -Unknown

It's been about 3-4 days since I went to Visions and walked right into someone making a damn fool out of myself, but then again, what's new?

Not gonna lie it wasn't one of my best moments how awkward I felt I mean like, why in hells name did I say 'Have a good day' so god dammed awkwardly, why the fuck did I even say it at all!?

Could have said something like, "Well, sorry about that, but I gotta go, see ya. But not you had to go and say".

'Have a good day?', if I could punch myself so hard right now to make myself forget I ever said that I would, in a heartbeat.

But too bad you can't now can you :/

I'll be starting at Visions next week though, so I guess I have more chances to male myself out to be a fool, they did tell me during my little interview thing or whatever you wanna call it.

They didn't have any dormrooms ready for me at the moment.

so I won't be moving to the dorms anytime soon, which is fair.

I did so happen to start up at that school. What? A little past first term or semester, I think they call it here in America?

I don't know. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the education system here, and I still don't understand a damn thing.

But anyway, I won't be put in a dorm room yet until they find an either an empty one or someone without a roommate, which I don't think will happen anytime soon.

But the good news is I don't live very far from school. The bad news is I'd have to wake up earlier to get ready and be out the door before school starts, which sucks ass.

But beggers can't be choosers, so I'll take it, means I won't have to share a room with someone I don't know that's a plus, I guess.

Still don't know how I'll handle seeing that guy. It'll be awkward. That's for

《 ○ 》

"Y/N!" My Auntie lily yelled from the kitchen, and I snapped out of my thoughts and looked away from the little notebook I was writing in seated at my desk.

"Yeah?" I called back out to her as I leaned back in my desk chair, tilting my head towards the door and waiting for a response.

But when I didn't get one, I groaned, frustrated, and rolled my eyes.

I hated when people did that. Even when parents did that, call out your name to get your attention, but don't say a damn thing, so you gotta get up to see what they want.

Only to be asked to do the most simplistic things ever, like pass them the TV remote.

But it's right in front of them on the coffee table, or they don't even remember anymore and tell you never mind.

I got up grumbling to myself under my breath as I walked out of my bedroom.

in the simplest outfit of an oversized black hoodie with a small red and white mushroom on the front over my left breast and two bigger ones on the back, with the words 'Let's take a trip' and just some simple army green shorts that used to be pants before I cut them up into shorts.

My hair was pulled back messily into an attempt at a bun before I gave up and left it as is.

I walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, my bare feet barely making any sound on the carpet until I got to the kitchen.

And I leaned against the doorframe. "Yeah?" I said to my auntie, lazily raising an eyebrow at her with my hands stuffed into my hoodie pocket.

"Ah there you are, Me haere koe ki te toa maku ki te tiki i etahi mea maku, he rarangi takuKa taea e koe te haere ki te toa maku, ki te tiki etahi mea, he rarangi taku me etahi moni hei tiki." my Auntie said to me as she said to me as she picked up a list she had written out for me and held it out for me to take, along with a few bills to pay for everything on the list.

I groaned tipping my head back "ko te iwa i te po ka hiahia koe kia haere ahau ki te toa ko ahau anake" I said back to her as I dropped my head forward and took the list and money reluctantly.

"Yes, you'll be fine. Just take a knife and put it in your pocket." My Auntie huffed at me, waving my words off as she turned around to finish putting the dishes away.

I grumbled but didn't complain openly at least as I plucked a semi-sharp knife from the knife block and shoved it into my pocket as I turned and walked back to my room to get my jandels (Flip flops for the Americans :) )

I slipped them on, pulled my hood up over my messy hair shoved the list and money into my pocket along with putting my phone in my back pocket and taking just one earbud out of my JBL case and putting it in my ear.

Before I left the apartment, after going down some stairs out of the apartment building.

I tapped the side of my earbud about two times to skip through the songs I didn't want to listen too until I settled on 'Never enough by Six60' a classic song from a band back home.

"Still can't shake the feelin' in my bones, it won't leave me, it won't let me go," I sung under my breath to myself as I kept walking down the dark empty streets to the store about three blocks away.

It was dark besides a few lightposts lining the streets, some flickering others doing just fine. Brooklyn in the daytime was so different compared to the nighttime.

At night, it was dangerous. You had to keep your guard up, and I wasn't stupid. I knew crime ran wild at night in brooklyn.

I'd seen enough of it on TV, hearing people tall about it, and so on. It's the reason this city had a curfew, and why it kept getting early depending on just how bad it kept getting, and so far, it was getting worse before it's ever going to get better.

The once lively streets looked so much darker, like something out of a horror movie, not a sound besides the faint buzzing of streetlights.

feral cats digging through trash, the odd whisper of something in the alleyways and the sound of TV's playing from inside buildings.

But I wasn't completely dumb, I knew as quiet as it was, as empty as everything seemed around me.

I wasn't actually alone out here tonight, there was others out here, none with good intentions and anyone who did.

well, let's just say they wouldn't be there for long.

which is the reason my aunt made me take a knife with me for self-defense.

And what I knew I had to do was keep an eye out so I was, I kept an eye on my surroundings.

but made sure to make myself look relaxed and not all tense knowing that I'll just draw attention to myself if I did.

I glanced up and around me, though the streets were dangerous at night. I couldn't help but find them strangely beautiful too.

The way the stars just barely, peeked through the clouds in the sky under the pollution in the air, the way the street lights cast light on curtain parts of the streets and slowly left the others bathed in darkness.

The way the colours played off of everything around me was just in a strangely weird and beautiful. It's in its own dark twisted kinda way, of course, but still had a certain charm to it.

"There was a time when you would've given me everything that you own, The only thing you left me was alone.." I sung to myself under my breath as I kept my hands in my pocket.

my right hand gripping the handle of the knife loosely judt in case.

I sighed softly, sqinting my eyes as i looked in front of me.

I was tired from not sleeping properly the past few nights.

for some reason staying up until five in the morning then going to sleep, which yes I know is fucking stupid.

But I just couldn't get to sleep, for some stupid reason or another.

But still, I kept walking. I had just 2 more blocks to go before I hit the store to grab a few things, and then I could go home, collapse in bed, and die until tomorrow afternoon hopefully.

~I guess our time is up, I've given you too much, I just need to keep on movin', cause I still crave your touch, why won't you fade to dust?~

~so I can line you up, enough is never enough (ooh-ooh), enough is never enough(ooh-ooh), with every single does (oh-oh-oh), losin' all control (oh-oh-oh), never is never enough(ooh-ooh)~

( Miles's POV)

Meanwhile, with Miles....

~as I walk though the valley of the shadow of death, I take a look at myself and realize there's nothin' left, 'cause I've been blastin' and laughin' so long that, even my mama thinks that my mind is gone~

Miles hummed along to the music playing in his ears from his earbuds plugged into his phone shoved I his front pocket, as he he slipped on his jacket, a a dark purple nearing black in the low light of his Uncle's apartment.

Just another night as the prowler, and another night of getting his Mami the supplies she needed for the hospital she worked at.

so underfunded sometimes patients who needed their medicine who didn't get it in time, didn't make it.

~but I ain't never crossed a man who didn't deserve it, me be treated like a punk, you know that's unheard of, you better watch how ya talkin' and where ya walkin'~

Music was one of the ways Miles pumped himself up as he got ready to go out there with hi mask on, on the streets that he remembered used to be so beautiful before the corruption sunk its claws into his city and with it his Dad.

~or you and your homies might be lined in chalk, I really hate to trip but I gotta loc, as they croak, I see myself in pistol smoke, fool, I'm the kind of G that little homies wanna be like, on my knees in the night, sayin' prayers in the steertlights~

Miles clenched his jaw and shook his head, rolling his shoulders.

'Naw ain't got time to think like that, get your in the game Miles' he thought to himself as he finished suiting up, he took one look at himself in the reflection of the windows in his Uncle's living room and stood a little straighter.

~we've been spendin' most their lives livin' in a gangsta's paradise, we've been spendin' most their lives livin' in a gangsta's paradise, we've keep spendin' most our lives livin' in a gangsta's paradise, we've been spendin' most our lives livin' in a gangsta's paradise~

'I'm gonna make you proud Dad, swear it' Miles thought as he took his earbuds out and unplugged them from his phone the music of 'Gangsta's paradise by Coolio, L.V' spilling from his phone as his mask smoothly slid over his face.Lookingng back at Miles was the prowler in his reflection.

"Ay Neph time to ,go," Uncle Aaron called out from the door, and Miles nodded.

"On my way, Unc," Miles said to Aaron, his voice distorted by the voice changer in his mask as he made his way to the door.

Long since having paused his music as he put his gloves on with a Sharp click.

~look at the situation they got me facin', I can't live a normal life, i was raised by the stripes, so I gotta be down with the hood team, too much television watchin' got me chasin' dreams, I'm an educated fool with money on my mind, got a ten in my hand and a gleam in my eye~

Miles followed Aaron to the rooftop of the apartment, building his clawed hands clenching and unclenching as he walked.

"You remember the plan?" Aaron said, walking in front of miles looking through his phone at the time, before he tucked his phone back in his pocket

"Mm, I remember get the shit be in be out," Miles muttered to his uncle as they made it to the rooftop, and he looked over the buildings around them.

Some had fires going on top of them, others didn't, but you could see the gleam of neon lights of tall skyscraper buildings in the distance and people moving around under the glow of lights shining though there apartment windows.

~I'm a loc'd out gangsta, set trippin' banger, and my homies is down, so don't arouse my anger, fool, death ain't nothin' but a heartbeat away~

"Got yo earpiece?" Aaron asked Miles before he got ready to leave, handing Miles a black backpack.

"Yeah, it's in," Miles replied as he shrugged on the bag, Aaron handed him.

"Eyes sharp," Aaron said to Miles, nodding at him, standing back and tapping his earpiece in his own ear to turn it on.

"Mind steady," Miles said back with a nod before he was off using his grappling hook in hand to swing odd through the city under cover of the night towards the docs where a new shipment of medical supplies were waiting.

~I'm livin' my life do-or-die, uh, what can I say, I'm 23 now, but will I live to see 24?, with way things is goin', I don't know, tell me why are we so blind to see, the ones we hurt are you and me~

Miles weaved in and out of alleyways High above on the air, flipping through the air and rolling along the side of buildings to build momentum as he headed for the docs using his titanium claws to grip onto the ledges of buildings to throw himself forward.

~we've been spendin' most their lives livin' in a gangsta's paradise~

//////////

(Y/N's POV)

Seeing the store up ahead, I signed in relief.

"Thank fuck man" I grumbled under my breath as I pushed the door open and walked inside taking the list out of my pocket pocket I picked up a basket nearby from the door.

And started on my walk around the store for the items on the list my Auntie gave me.

"Dried chilli's, tortilla's, milk, bread and a juice" I mumbled under my breath reading over the list with a nod to myself as I repeated over and over in my head what was needed as I shoved the list in my pocket.

I walked around the store, throwing what was needed into the basket, and then, lastly, the juice.

I grunted softly, feeling how heavy the basket was now. The juice was in it.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath, gripping the handles of the basket just a little tighter as I walked towards checkout.

I paused, looking down at a shelf with some lollies on it- sorry, correction candies, my bad, I forgot I was in America.

I snorted softly to myself, amused as I picked up an interesting looking candies I'd never seen before or tired.

"Milk duds? Looks interesting, " I muttered to myself, and with a shurg, I dropped the box in the basket, a little treat for myself when I was walking home.

Making it to checkout, I set my basket on the counter.

"Hi, just these, please," I said politely to the casher, who looked like she'd rather be anywhere but here right now.

I shoved my hands in my hoodie pocket, standing there a little awkwardly as she checked them out for me.

'Mood, I feel you, my G', I thought to myself, glancing up at the girl at the counter, checking out my items for me.

She was actually really pretty, dark skinned with cornrows, and really pretty blue eyes that contrasted beautifully with her skin.

"That'll be $36.50, cash or card?" The girl spoke up a little drly, sounding tired, which is fair, so I didn't hold it against her.

"Cash, thank you," I said to her with a small smile as I counted out two $20's from the cash my Auntie gave to me and handed it to her.

"You wanna a bag?" She asked me as she counted out my change, which came to $3.50 as she handed it to me, and I took it, putting the change in my pocket.

"Yes, please," I said to her as she bagged up my items and handed me the bag.

"Thank you, have a good night," I said to her before I left, more in habit really from growing up in New Zealand, anytime.

"Mm," the girl muttered as she went back to playing on her phone, what she had been doing before I got to check out.

And I once more started on my walk home, glancing up at the sky every once in awhile hoping to see stars but only really managing to see planes or helicopters flying around

I frowned in disappointment before shrugging it off with a sigh.

With the bag of stuff in my left hand, I reached into my pocket with my right hand for my phone and used my fingerprint ID to open it.

I scrolled through my playlists, looking for a song to listen to as I walked, something I was in the mood for.

I scrolled for a bit as I walked every once in awhile looking up to make sure I didn't walk into anything, as I kept scrolling not finding a song I was interested in as I switched between another playlist had.

And when I thought I found a song, I heard the rustling of clothes, pained grunts, and low voices speaking coming up ahead from an alleyway.

I kept walking curiosity peeked, even in my tired state. i couldn't help but be nosey.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket, coming to a stop next to the alleyway, and I turned my head to look down it.

And there was a man being pinned to a wall, an arm against his throat making it hard to breathe for the overweight white man, a hand pinned to the wall by metal claws gleaming in the faint moonlight.

And the one holding the overweight man, he was interesting, to say the least.

Purple and black dominating his outfit, from the shoes to the accessories on his clothes, a mask over his face, like pixels on an old ass box TV, the kind before flat screen TVs, but not really as pixilated as yours think.

And two braids running down the back of his head that looked familiar stopping just past his shoulders.

They both seemed to pause after hearing my foot steps and turned to look at me.

But me being tired, overly exhausted, blinked at them lazily and confused, my brows frowned.

"Fuck I need to sleep more I'm starting to hallucinate again" I grumbled to myself my voice echoing a little down the alleyway as I started walking away rubbing at my eyes unimpressed at myself.

Just chalking what I saw up to my imagination fucking with me for not sleeping properly, honestly wouldn't be the first time, always had a shitty sleeping schedule.

Very few times I'd get the maximum eight hours of sleep, I'd either go to bed between 11pm to about 5am, cause I'm that stupid to stay up that late, only to be pissed off and tired the next day.

I shrugged and let my hand drop from my eyes.

I walked slightly hunched and legs feeling heavy, it felt like my legs were gonna give out on me, but well mama didn't raise no bitch, so we keep on going.

I didn't realise when I started daydreaming, or maybe i was dissociating again?, who knows.

But by the time I snapped out of it, I was home, standing in front of my apartment door, before I ever realized where I was.

"Mm," I mumbled to myself, paying it no mind as I opened the door and stepped inside, kicking off my jandels by the side of the door.

"I'm back," I called out as I walked into the kitchen and dropped the bag on the kitchen counter, digging through it for my milk duds I got.

Once I had the box in hand, I shoved it into my pocket and wondered off to my room.

"Any trouble well you were out, bub!" Lily called out from the living room.

"Nah, it was algoods, Auntie!" I called back out to her as I crawled into bed, flinching just a little when I felt something sharp poke my stomach.

Reaching into my hoodie pocket, I dumped out everything that was in it, from my phone, the change and extra cash I was given, my milk duds, and finally, the knife I forgot I had.

"Forgot about that," I mused to myself as I dumped the change and knife on my bedside table, picked up the box of chocolate covered lollies, and opened the box.I dumpedng a few in my hand before popping them on my mouth and chewing.

I scrunched my nose up at the taste. It wasn't the best candy I'd ever had or lollie for that matter, tasted too well fake to me, far too artificial then anything I'd ever tasted before.

So I dropped the box of sweets on my nightstand and picked up my water bottle. I always left on my bedside table and took a swing to wash out my mouth with a small grimace.

"Well that was disappointing" I muttered to myself setting my water bottle back down, as I picked up my phone and slid down more in my bed to get comfortable as I pulled the blankets up to my neck.

Turning it on, I went onto Tiktok and used the automatic scrolling feature, as well as plugged my phone in as I propped my phone up against the wall.

Watching the random videos that played as my eyes grew heavy.

Before sleep finally claimed me, and I was out like a light.

(MILES POV)

Miles had just gotten home after taking a bit of a detour after dropping off the supplies at his Mami's hospital.

He grunted as he kicked off his shoes, and dropped his jacket on the floor, taking off the black collar around his neck that held his mask and dropped it into a box he kept all his dad's all accessories and his own.

He stripped off the layers of his Prowler suit and replaced it with his own tank top and some sweats before putting on his purple durag that had little gold crowns on it over his braids.

He then picked up the pieces of his suit and dropped them into a box he took aw, y hidden in his closet.

He then dropped onto his bed with a si. Onene had taken behind his head as he picked up his phone to check for any messages from his mami.

He tapped on his Mami's contact after seeing an unread message from her.

'Gonna be working late again tonight, leftovers are in the microwave, Te amo duerme dormido ❤️'

Miles signed softly, another night shift. Made him glad he cleaned the house before heading over to his uncle's.

He pulled his hand out from behind his hand and started to type a message.

'Te amo Mami, no trabajes tan duro ❤️'

He hit send, plugged his phone in, and shifted to pull his blankets over himself as he rolled over to go to sleep.

'That girl again, huh shame I still ain't know her name,' Miles thought to himself amused.

Remembering how those sleepy tired eyes had looked at him tonight, or should he say the prowler.

How she had looked at the prowler had convinced herself what she'd seen was nothing but hallucinations cause she was so tired.

He was sure he'd see her again, and he knew just like the first time, and the second it'll just be as interesting as the first.

Then maybe, just maybe next time he'd know where she was from, know what that accent she had was.

Until then, he'd sleep. He had school tomorrow after all.

So he shut his eyes, got comfortable, and let himself relax enough to maybe, this time, sleep a full night.

And if not, well, he'd deal with it in the morning.

Hi! Sorry for the delay in this chapter, I'm gonna try and write at least two before I post another and work on a schedule to be able to post them.

I try and work on them when I'm not busy at home, and when I'm not busy at work, I'll let you guys know now. Until then, happy reading.

Translation:

Ka taea e koe te haere ki te toa maku, ki te tiki etahi mea, he rarangi taku me etahi moni hei tiki. = can you go to the shop for me, and get a few things, i have a list and some money to get them.

ko te iwa i te po ka hiahia koe kia haere ahau ki te toa ko ahau anake = it's nine at night and you want me to go to the store by myself

Te amo duerme dormido = I love you, sleep tight.

Te amo Mami, no trabajes tan duro = I love you Mommy, don't work too hard.

#Spotify #42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x you #miles g morales x reader #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x female reader #prowler miles #42 miles morales x reader #miles g x reader #miles x y/n

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alfredosauce50 · 1 year

Text

Passengers

[America x reader] 02

Wordcount: 4, 278

Rating: M for mature themes

Disclaimer: This is a crossover with the film Passengers (2016). I do not own the plot.

The reader is referred to as she/her.

Alfred ambled through the grand concourse with his head hanging like a scolded dog. And his lips, pursed in a deep frown. With all his focus on his feet, he managed to walk right past the ship’s bar, which was miraculously open in his time of need. And he would’ve kept walking if it weren’t for the human figure in the corner of his vision--wait a second.

He stopped abruptly, feet skidding against the floor, then paced back a few steps. His eyes went wide to take in what he saw, or what he thought he saw, and sure enough, there was a bartender polishing a glass!

“Oh, man!” Alfred gasped, running to him with glee. The other smiled curtly, welcoming their guest into their kingdom. A classy jazz bar. “It’s so good to see another face! I thought I was the only one awake.”

“Who wants to sleep on a beautiful day like this?”

He had short, choppy blonde hair, a roundish face, and bright green eyes. If his accent didn’t give it away, those features certainly did. There was always something about the British he could pinpoint off the bat. Either way, he felt strangely at ease, taken by the charm of the staff and the establishment alike.

Bottles of all the liquor you could possibly want were stacked neatly on shelves, and behind them was a glowing panel of white marble. The rest of the interior was space gray with gold accents, and one wall was dedicated entirely to a mural of a spaceship.

“No, I mean we’re in trouble,” He slowed down as he got to the counter. “We’re not supposed to be here.”

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Huh?”

“Our little secret.” The bartender put down the glass he’d been polishing ceaselessly for the past minute. Then, he placed both hands on the counter invitingly, beaming at the man. “What can I get for you?”

“What?”

“You look like a whiskey man.”

“Uh, okay?” He finally gave in to their relentless hospitality, but the decision never had him backtracking so fast. His only other companion, a stranger, moved to another side of the bar without taking a single step, or more accurately put, whirred, almost like he was attached to the ground. Alfred ran forward and slammed his hands on the counter with next to no grace, then peered over it. Just as he suspected, a metal rod was going up the guy’s ass. And so, he slid onto one of the barstools with the most disappointed glower. “Oh. You’re a robot.”

“Android, technically.” They corrected, filling a glass with brownish-orange liquid. “Arthur’s the name.”

“Alfred,” He took the cup, raising it briefly as a gesture of thanks. Giving that a longer sip than he would have, he leaned back and thought for a bit. The spaced-out look in his eyes never left as he popped the question, which captured the bane of his existence. “How much do you know about this ship?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur blinked inquisitively, glancing up, then down at him again. “I know some things.”

“What do I do if my hibernation pod malfunctions?”

“Oh, hibernation pods are fail-safe,” The man smiled assuringly. “They never malfunction.”

“Well, I woke up early.” Alfred countered.

“Can’t happen,” He picked up another glass and polished it, just as he did the second he got here.

“How long until we get to Homestead II?”

“About 90 years or so.”

“And when are all the passengers supposed to wake up?” Alfred smiled tightly, feigning curiosity.

“Not till the last four months.”

“How is it that I’m sitting here with you, with ninety years to go?” He spoke slowly like he would with a child. There, he watched the other’s reality, lines and lines of delicate code, shatter like glass. Arthur stared at him blankly, expression frozen with perpetual friendliness. Then, he glitched once, his face jolting a fraction of an inch before carrying on like normal.

“Ah. It’s not possible for you to be here.”

“Well, I am.” He grumbled, slamming his cup down.

The next morning, Alfred awoke to the Homestead radio. As he lay in a fetal position, that perky Atlantic accent filled his ear. Was it going to be like this every day from now on? He threw his pillow over his head and held it there, groaning as--“it’s a beautiful day here on the Avalon. So wake up, sunshine!”

He hit the cafeteria, watching the ceiling light up at his arrival, panel by panel. A white room stretched on ceaselessly before him, and it looked more sterile than a hospital. Not exactly the homey vibe he was going after, but food was food. He approached one of the unmanned vendors, hexagonal dispensers designed to serve six at a time, and scanned his ID.

“Please make a selection.”

He pressed the first widget, an icon with a mug.

“Sorry. The Mocha Cappuccino Extreme is reserved for gold-class passengers.” It spoke, prompting him to press it again. “Sorry. The Mocha Cappuccino Extreme is reserved for gold-class passengers.”

“I want the Mocha Cappuccino Extreme. Bill my room please,” Alfred spoke firmly.

“Food can be purchased in the ship’s…”

He pressed another widget.

“Sorry. The French Roast…”

Then another.

“Sorry. The Pumpkin Spice…”

And another and another until he went down the list.

“Sorry. The Vanilla Chai… Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” His face scrunched up in irritation as he began punching each widget, all giving the same response until he got to the very last option. “Large Coffee.”

“Cream, sugar—” He said loudly.

“Please enjoy your coffee.”

A cup of black coffee was dispensed before him.

“Oh, really?” Alfred scoffed.

He sorted through a shelf of manuals, and sure enough, he came across one for hibernation pods. Taking that with him, he made a quick journey to the storage facility to retrieve some tools. Now, all he had to do was fix his sleeper and be well on his way ninety years in the future like he was supposed to.

Dropping his heavy duffel of knick-knacks in front of his pod, he got on his knees to open up the disk slot. He connected the wiring for a quick spark and fizz, causing the machine to power up again. The screen lit up, showing his diagnostics, and so did the inside of the pod. A huge smile broke out across his face as he rose to his feet, hopped inside, and lay down.

The glass hatch closed around him.

He closed his eyes and shifted to get comfortable, happy as a lark. Only he didn’t fall asleep, let alone get close to cryosleep. Alfred opened his eyes, stone-faced. This wasn’t going to work, was it?

Now, to get out of this thing.

He pushed the hatch in different places, but it didn’t budge in any of them. Panic shot through him as he came to the realization he had trapped himself in what was slowly turning into a hotbox. He didn’t hesitate to start banging frantically on the glass with his fist, even kneeing it in multiple places to set himself free.

Once the hatch opened, he shot up, hyperventilating.

Alfred tried the command ring, next. Dropping his bag of tools in front of the heavy, metal door, he began his work. He’d hack at it with a sledgehammer, and when that didn’t work, he’d try cutting through it. Holding a welding mask over his face, he turned on an industrial laser cutter and let it do its thing.

Sparks flew, but he barely made a scratch.

He lowered his mask, revealing his sunken eyes and unshaven face. After weeks of unleashing hell on the door, it stood firm, a badge of his failures and reminder that he was never getting off this ship alive. Only that begged the question, what would he do if he did manage to break through this tonne of steel?

Wake up someone else to help him?

He would be a fish out of water, having jumped so desperately to get out of a pond with no thought of what to do once he got to land. Yet, he persisted, fearing the worse if he ever decided to give up.

More errors popped up on the ship’s diagnostics.

Just after he left the elevator to the grand concourse, the whole thing went haywire. The doors slammed together, opening, closing, opening, and closing. Even the lights started to flash on and off. He stared back at it, gravely unsettled, watching it spazz out.

“G-Ground concourse. Going down. P-Please make.”

Looks like he wasn’t the only thing breaking down.

“I’m screwed, Arthur,” Alfred uttered hoarsely at the man, eyes red and irritated. With nowhere to be and nothing to do, he found himself in the bar again, as did all. “Completely and ridiculously screwed.”

“Come on, now.” Arthur chided, polishing the inside of a glass. “Every cloud has its silver lining.”

Alfred tilted his head as if to go, fair enough.

“Guess I am gonna die of old age on this ship.”

“Oh, we all die,” The other said as-a-matter-of-factly. “Even androids end up on the scrap heap.”

He scoffed through his nose, swallowing another gulp of his whiskey. Like he’d understand how that felt. A few moments of comfortable silence droned on between the bartender and their patron, one of which, kept scrubbing around the outside of a cup.

“I’m your only customer. Why are you always polishing a glass?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“Trick of the trade. Makes people nervous when the bartender just stands there.” Arthur explained.

“So lay some bartender wisdom on me,” He placed his drink on the counter. “I’m lost in space, here.”

The android came over in an instant, his movement letting out a soft mechanical whir. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, piecing together his next few sentences as carefully as he could for the troubled man. And this was the best he could come up with.

“You’re not where you want to be. You feel like you’re supposed to be… Somewhere else,” He spoke.

Alfred raised his brows and snorted--yeah, no shit. But his amused expression quickly fell away for a serious one. He had to humor the guy, at least.

“You said it.” He nodded with a squint.

“Say you could snap your fingers and be wherever you wanted to be. I bet you’d still feel this way,” Arthur continued, getting him to lower his gaze in thought. “Not in the right place. Point is, you can’t get so hung up on where you’d rather be, that you forget how to make the most of where you are!”

“What are you telling me?”

“Take a break from worrying about what you can’t control,” The other glanced up from the things in his hands. Then, with the most subtle, yet, suggestive smile, he added this in a whisper. “Live a little.”

“Live a little,” Alfred whispered, spacing out as the words repeated in his head like a tape. The next thing he knew, he was breaking into the most luxurious accommodation the ship had to offer. He wedged a crowbar between a double door and pried it open.

He gritted his teeth and strained for a good few seconds before it slid apart. What was inside didn’t impress him at first, a room shrouded in darkness, but he was blown away when he stepped inside. What slowly lit up before him was a palatial suite fully furnished with modern homeware and decor.

“Welcome to the Vienna Suite.”

“Oh, yeah!” He laughed breathily. Alfred walked in with his head tilted back to take it all in--the highest ceilings he’d ever seen, and white stairs that folded one after the other like a fan. It led to a mezzanine, the designated sleeping space with a double bed. Adjacent to that was a panoramic screen displaying an image of an American forest, shrouded in a mist.

He ran upstairs to check it out, going past these golden, hexagonal honeycomb lights on the wall.

“What?” He exclaimed in amazement.

Flopping onto the mattress, he rolled onto his back with the biggest grin. This ship had been holding out on him, a lowly second-class passenger, but he was about to enjoy every spoil until he got sick of them.

He just never imagined how sick.

He dribbled a basketball across the floor, jumped up, and tossed it into the hoop. A horn sounded, and an electric blue wave of pixels went around the walls. While he celebrated his point with a fist pump, neon pink silhouettes of cheerleaders danced around him, throwing up their pom poms and chanting his name.

Alfred stopped by the restaurants next.

“Make that double jumbo shrimp--triple.”

“あいがとうございます,” The robot waiter took the menu and left to the kitchen, leaving him to his own devices. He picked up a pair of chopsticks and nicked at the holographic koi fish that swam above his table. He watched them scatter, much to his amusement.

“Dance off,” He grimaced, folding his arms at the 3D game character across him.

They busted a move, and Alfred copied them with the most concentrated look, lips puckered in an ‘O’. He swung his arms and spun on the spot, only for him to lose all his points. The character made a face and shook their head, giving him a thumbs-down.

“I did exactly what you just did!” He exasperated.

His short stubble turned into an unkempt beard.

“Uno más margerita, por favor.” Alfred requested in a funny voice, finger up. How he was still conscious after that many drinks was beyond him, but it had to be the huge enchilada that buffered the alcohol.

“You have had many, señor.” The robot waiter said.

“Oh, Hector, por favor, otra vez!”

“Sí, señor.”

He leaned over and followed it with his gaze.

“Gracias,” He called in his normal voice.

Alfred was back on the basketball court. His hair had grown around his ears, the dry, sandy blonde frizz making him look nothing short of homeless. After he managed to toss the ball into the hoop one more time, he didn’t react to the avid cheers around him. He kept a poker face, exhausted by the repetitive lifestyle of indulgence he’d been cycling through.

When the ball rolled back, he picked it up, turned around, then dropkicked it into the distance.

In the end, there was still a finite number of things to do even on the Avalon, and nowhere near enough to burn a lifetime here. Alfred was losing his mind to boredom, and, eventually, despair. He’d feed the ship’s vacuum bots breakfast, tossing them soggy cereal bits. He’d order ridiculous amounts of takeout, then sleep in a nest of takeaway boxes. He’d walk the hallways buck naked with his crumpled shirt in hand.

With nothing to do, and nobody to talk to, he was trapped forever in a state of limbo. His existence was all but internalized. The only reality he’d ever know was his mind, and this steel ship, a thousand meters long--the former of which, had finally come apart. Because no matter how hard he tried to stray from his fate, he always found himself in the pod room.

As he wandered down the aisles, watching each and every passenger sleep with a peace he’d never know, his heart festered with sadness, envy, and, eventually, poisonous anger for what his life had become, or failed to. He tossed an empty vodka bottle as far as he could, letting out a guttural yell. And to think he came here with more excitement than anybody had for the Avalon. A ship of dreams, now all but dead.

He opened a door attached to the pod room.

“Welcome, Alfred.”

He arrived in another room with metal flooring and walls. There were these clunky, navy space suits standing in the center, for what he assumed to be the spacewalking attraction he heard about. But that wasn’t what piqued his interest. He approached one of the suits and pressed his head to the chest, and for just a few seconds, he’d pretend it was a person.

“Please turn your attention to the screens displaying safety tips. These spacesuits are designed to withstand the harsh environment of space. The carbon fiber and polyamide construction means your suit is both flexible and durable. The suit will…”

He even held onto the gloves, the closest he’d get to holding someone else’s hands again.

“Remember, your space suit is your lifeline.”

He clicked a big green button on the control panel, getting one of the suits to spin to him. Giving that a thoughtful gaze, he walked over and took it off the mannequin. After putting on the suit, he entered the airlock, a silvery chute that led to the great outdoors.

“Slide the handle on the right to release the air pressure,” The voice spoke, turning his head to said handle. He slid the protective casing down, feeling a sucking on his feet. “your magnetic boots are now engaged. Press the red button to open the airlock door.” And press it he did, watching the chute open.

The air around him got sucked out as he stood firm. Out there was the vast sea of space. A pool of stars, cosmic dust, and distant planets he’d never know. Interstellar travel had been common for decades now, the universe outside the solar system made accessible to the human race, but he still gazed up at the stars with the same wonder as people did back in sixty-nine. When they first put man on the moon, one tiny step for man, one giant leap for mankind. Fuck. He’d never get tired of repeating that quote, accent and all--just like he’d never let himself get indifferent to space. The endless beauty and horror of it, the trifling insignificance he posed to the universe.

These truths lay bare in front of him as he floated in his suit, surrounded by a star-speckled abyss in all directions. He was overwhelmed by the power of it, so much so that he started crying. He always had been, he just never imagined it would be like this.

Terrifying, lonely, and at the mercy of Mother Nature.

He returned to the ship, looking like Hell.

What he experienced gave him a lot to think about. The bigger picture, the ultimatum. He really was going to spend the rest of his life here, or whatever was left of it. He froze, having a thought occur to him he never would’ve entertained outside of these circumstances. He didn’t have to suffer for another twenty, thirty years. He could end it all, right here.

In the airlock, where he could get sucked out into space. The vacuum would hurl him out so far out, he’d never dream of returning. But that wasn’t as fast as he wanted it to be. Without his space suit, it would be instant. His lungs would collapse, he would swell up, then freeze to death--whichever came first.

And he was about to find out.

He stood in the airlock in nothing but his shirt and boxers. Then, he slid the safety handle, exposing the red button. As he reached for it, his eyes went as wide as he could get them. And his heart, racing out of his chest. His fingers barely grazed the top before he pulled away, having returned to his senses.

Then, he made a run for it, horrified by what he was about to do himself. And he kept running even in the pod room, desperate to get as far away from that thought as possible. In his delirium, he missed the vodka bottle rolling on the ground and slid on it.

Alfred fell on his back with a heavy thump.

He didn’t get up right away, but lay there, groaning from the pain. Once it subsided, he was met with another kind of pain, one that would last forever. After a year of being alone, he nearly took his life.

But the next second saw an upheaval to that.

When he got up, he saw a woman sleeping in her pod just across from him. He never would’ve given her the light of day a year ago, or at least, not in the right context. Like at a bar, two drinks in. Any man in their sound mind would’ve approached her then. She was young and attractive, just like a lot of the passengers here. One could only imagine what a man in their unsound mind would do, lost and alone for the rest of his days.

“(F/N),” He muttered, reading the name tag.

“Searching passenger profiles,” The computer said. Alfred leaned forward in his chair to scan the list for your name. Sure enough, there was only one of you. The lesser-known daughter of a Pulitzer-prize winning author, but eager to take on their mantle.

You appeared on the screen, awake and perky.

“My dad used to say, if you live an ordinary life, all you’ll have are ordinary stories. So, here I am.”

Alfred brought his cereal from the cafeteria.

“Good morning.” He pulled a chair next to you. Taking a seat beside your head, he turned on his tablet to watch your interview. He was finally having a meal with someone, even if that someone didn’t know that. And it was nicer than he remembered.

“We’re starting over in every way,” You shook your head at the weight of that statement. “I’ll have to figure out where to live, how to live, who my friends will be--it’s like the first day of school, if the school bus took a hundred and twenty years to get there.”

He laughed some, his throat hoarse from his daily rendezvous with his robot bartender. Regardless of where you were headed, you were still down to Earth, and your excitement for the unknown was refreshing.

It reminded him of how he used to be.

“Everything’s gonna be different to how we do things on Earth. But we’re still the same.”

Alfred purchased your book.

“We’d want to make something for ourselves, only we actually get to do it under blue skies.”

He opened the first page and started reading.

“This should be interesting,” He murmured, popping a grape in his mouth. Thus begun his little flirtation, his connection to another human being without ever having to talk to them. If only this could remain as such, a flirtation, but the deeper he plunged, the harder it would be to swim to the surface.

“Do you ever read something and feel like it’s written just for you?” Alfred asked, never tearing his gaze away from his tablet. This was the second book of yours he’d powered through, and the last.

You were new to the game but immensely talented, just the kind of customer the Homestead company wanted. But as a person? He could imagine himself being close to you. Whether that was a delusion fabricated out of loneliness, or a genuine feeling, that distinction didn’t matter anymore.

“I don’t do a lot of reading,” Arthur pondered.

“She’s good.”

“Who’s that?”

“(F/N).” He hummed.

“Ah. The sleeping girl.”

Alfred slid off his stool to pace around a bit. He blew his cheeks out as he came to this conclusion, as hard as it was for him to accept. And he relayed that well without saying a word, glowering at his friend.

“You know, I’m not saying the universe is evil, but it sure has a nasty sense of humor.” He muttered.

“How is that?” Arthur asked.

“You get to fly to another planet, but you’ll die along the way,” His eyes burned as he verbalized his sobering realities, his second one, even more so. “And you find this amazing girl right in front of you, but she’s completely out of reach.”

Even at nighttime, he found himself watching you. He liked the idea of having a conversation with you, just as he’d been pretending to these past several weeks. He liked the idea of you. Fantasizing was the closest he’d ever get to those desires, so he may as well knock himself out doing it--or was it?

When he put his cup down, his gaze went to the hibernation manual beside. And God forbid what ideas it gave him. His smile faded into an unsettled look, disturbed by the contents of his own mind.

He slammed the manual on the bar counter.

“Say you were trapped on a desert island, and you had the power to wish somebody there with you,” Alfred spoke restlessly like he’d lose his nerve the second he hesitated. “Then you wouldn’t be alone anymore. But you’d be stranding the person on the island. How do you… Would you make that wish?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been on an island.”

“Okay, yeah, well, er, forget the island,” He relented.

“Ah.” The android nodded.

“Let’s say you… Figured out how to do something…” He began cautiously one second, only to lose his composure in the next. “That would make your life a million times better, but you knew it was wrong, and there’s no taking it back. How do you do the math?”

“Alfred, these are not robot questions,” The other warned, getting the man to exhale deeply.

He’d been reasoning with himself the whole time, trying to find some sort of justification for what couldn’t be justified. That became all the apparent when his stare grew haunted as he admitted what had been on his mind since it first occurred to him.

“I know how to wake (F/N) up.”

Next chapter: The sleeping girl

Tag list: @twilightlover2007, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @chickenpecks, @sunnysssol

#never astounds me how fast Alfred turns from victim to perpetrator #update #passengers #passengers movie #alfredosauce50 #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia #hetalia x reader #hetalia fanfic #axis powers hetalia #axis powers ヘタリア #aph america x reader #aph america #America x reader #hws america #Alfred f Jones #hws england #aph england #movie crossover

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tieronecrush · 1 year

Note

🛍️ Frankie Morales & "This is new." (Bonus points if you wanna throw in a 🍭 song that reminds you of him/them!) Congratulations, sweetheart!! 💜💜💜

AHH thank you so much lucy!!!

the lil lollipop bonus for you: the most recent song that has given me frankie vibes is dogtooth by tyler the creator but rap (& tyler) are not everyone’s fave, so another one that has been reminding me of frankie is one of these nights by the eagles!

frankie morales x f!reader

18+ ONLY, MDNI - no other warnings on my drabbles

The view outside your hotel windows is a bright, cerulean sky with fluffy white clouds interspersed in its expanse. The sunlight skips across the waves of the Caribbean Sea that crash turquoise water trimmed with seafoam against bleached sand. It’s your first full day on vacation with Frankie, and you’ve been waiting for this blissful seaside break with your boyfriend for months. It’d taken a bit of convincing to get him even close to the entire continent of South America, the events from whatever happened there two years prior still not fully revealed to you, if they ever will be. But eventually, the two of you found somewhere that was warm, sunny, and by the sea (your requests) and was somewhere that he was going to be comfortable and be able to relax (also your request). Frankie kept saying how he didn’t care, but you saw him tense up at nearly every other destination you’d suggested besides Puerto Rico.

The morning was spent in a slow rise until Frankie needed you naked and under him, the shock of bliss waking up your entire nervous system and making it an easier transition from bed to shower to rinse off, and now to your suitcase spread out. Frankie is taking a quick shower before you two head down to the beach for the afternoon; you’re rummaging through your packing cubes to find the new suit you’d bought specifically for the trip weeks ago.

After slipping the suit on, securing the top in a bow at the nape of your neck, you found your sunscreen in your toiletries and started applying it all over in front of the vanity dresser. The shower shuts off on the other side of the bathroom door, and a minute later, Frankie emerges with a plush white hotel towel slung across his waist and held up by one of his hands at his side. His curls spring up as water drips off each spiral, shaking his head like a dog when he gets close to you and smirking at your grumbles of annoyance as his free hand slicks his hair back out of his face.

His stare burns into your skin, nearly as much as the sun is going to outside, and you watch him through the reflection as he changes into his swim trunks, eyes never leaving your figure. His bare feet pad on the floor as he closes the small space between you both, solid torso pressing up against your back. One of his hands slips his thick fingers into the waistband of your bottoms, the other hand slips under your arm to toy at the cups covering your chest.

“This is new…” you hum in acknowledgment as you continue to apply your sunscreen, buffing the lotion in, “Te ves tan deliciosa. Podría darte un mordisco, mi bombón. (You look so delicious. I could take a bite of you, my beauty).”

The sound of his gruff voice vibrates as his lips brush against the shell of your ear, teething tugging on your lobe before releasing it to press a kiss on your neck. His hands paw at you for a second longer before one leaves a chill prickling at your skin, pulling back and dropping down to smack your ass playfully.

You gasp surprised, actions pausing and eyes meeting Frankie’s face in the mirror. He winks with a smug smirk before he’s right back at you, this time his fingers hook into the material of your swimsuit and stretch the fabric away from your body.

“You can take a bite if you wanna, gordito,” you smirk back at him, biting back a laugh as his eyebrows raise at the nickname.

“Gordito? Oh, eres un bromista, pequeña descarada (Oh, you are a tease, little minx).” Frankie shakes his head and tsks behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you flush against him. He turns you both around, walking you to the edge of the bed.

His lips are at your ear again, deep timbre whispering, “Te voy a devorar (I’m going to devour you).”

A shaky breath squeezes itself from your lungs as Frankie makes quick work to strip you of your swimsuit bottoms, bending you forward to lay your torso on the mattress while he sank to his knees behind you.

Sharp pain needles at the swell of your ass, his teeth sinking in to leave a faint mark before he soothes it with a kiss. A whimper leaves your lips, muffled into the comforter, and your hips jerk back toward his face. A satisfactory chuckle sounds from behind you, your mouth opening to make a quick wit at him but the words are blown from your mind when his tongue swipes up your folds, his saliva supplementing your arousal. The strong muscle flexes against your entrance before dropping to your clit, the tip of his nose nestling in its place.

His mouth expertly works you up, whines and moans slipping constantly and only growing louder when he fills you with two of his thick fingers, petting at the spot on your walls that he’s memorized. Your noises are backed by the sloppy sounds of his lips sucking and fingers prodding in your wetness, the lewd combination of those melodies with his whispered dirty talk, Spanish rolling off his tongue that your brain can’t bother to translate properly, bring you over the edge and smooth pleasure across your whole body.

You relax your weight fully onto the bed, Frankie kisses your clit once more before he stands and dresses you again. Another handful of ass is grabbed at, your boyfriend leaning over you to press a tender pressure to your lips, the taste of you all over his mouth.

“Definitivamente vas a ser lo mejor que como en toda la semana, mi dulzura. (You are definitely going to be the best thing that I eat all week, my sweetness).”

#tieronecrushcandy #frankie #writing #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut

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all-hallows-street · 24 days

Note

I am so, so sorry if this ask seems weird. but I read all saints street yesterday (or, at least what was on mangadex; also watched the animated series) and I woke up at 5am and had random thoughts about it before going back to sleep. unfortunately, I had a realistic dream about sending you an ask, and I've been questioning my sanity all morning if I actually sent anything or not because it would've likely been really incomprehensible. (I also got stuck in china in my dream. thought that was funny.)

Sorry for the late response anon! To alleviate your worries: this is the only message on my inbox right now, so you didn't send anything else! I have also had dreams where I am browsing/using social media so when I wake up, I assume I responded to someone when I haven't.... The only difference is that I quickly forget about my dreams, so I stop worrying later lol.

Sorry for the slow updates guys! I promise to have something by the end of the week! Work on the Notion page is also going steady. Aaaaand I should promote this here too: I am selling ASS folders from the fall/cherry blossom series! I only have 14, with 7 already being reserved.

If you live in the US or Mexico and want to own this official ASS folder you should send me a DM here or on twitter! (Diable (ディアブル) Leu Garou (@leu_garou) / X) I am more likely to respond on twitter, but I will be checking tumblr too. If you want to buy in the US, you gotta be fast because I will only be able to send them by the last week of September (or you could wait until January too~). Can send them anytime in Mexico. The price will depend on the shipping (~2 USD for America and I think it would be ~150 MXN for Mexico), + 2.65 USD for the folder (19 yuan is the original cost). I am more than willing to send overseas if you are willing to pay the price. (As someone that imports merch... it's not pretty). Right now, I can only take paypal, please understand.

#asks

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cadybear420 · 11 months

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My Proper Tierlist Ranking of Choices Books (as of late November 2023).

I'm kinda tired of using the tiermaker templates because they're not always up to date lol. So instead I'm just doing it as a basic ass text post. Keep in mind that all of these placements are subject to change.

Feel free to ask me about any of my placements because I love to talk about my Choices opinions!

Diamond Tier: Choices’ Bests. 10 stars. YAAAAASSSS!

The books and series that clearly had the most effort and heart put into them. They’re not all perfect obviously, but they do feel like actual interactive stories, and they’re easily the most enjoyable of the bunch.

OG High School Story

Endless Summer

It Lives Series

A Courtesan of Rome

The Heist: Monaco

Blades of Light and Shadow

Platinum Tier: Exceptional Quality. 9 stars. YES!

They probably didn’t have quite as much meaningful player interaction put into them and/or weren’t quite as enjoyable as any of the Diamond Tier books. But they’re still really high quality and very respectable, and even possible contenders for being moved up to Diamond Tier after I give them a replay.

The Crown and the Flame

The Royal Romance- Book 1 (have yet to play the rest)

Perfect Match

BloodBound

Mother of the Year

Murder at Homecoming

Gold Tier: Memorably Fun. 8 stars. WOOO!

They’re maybe not really the best quality stories, but they were fun to play and had elements that stood out to me. Maybe it was just an absolute wild ride of a story, or maybe it’s a guilty pleasure story. They’re memorable and certainly worth replaying.

LoveHacks

The Haunting of Braidwood Manor

Hero

America’s Most Eligible

Across the Void

Bachelorette Party

The Phantom Agent

Silver Tier: Enjoyable. 7 stars. Yay!

The “vanilla is still a flavor” of the app. The stories that were mostly simple and straight-forward and didn’t greatly wow me, but were still at least fun to play and could be worth a replay. Pretty good as “cozy” stories.

The Freshman Series- Special Date Side Stories (have yet to play the actual main series and the holiday side stories)

Home for the Holidays

High School Story: Class Act (if you pretend it’s not a HSS spinoff)

Open Heart- Book 1 (have yet to play the rest)

Baby Bump- Book 1 (have yet to play the rest)

With Every Heartbeat

Shipwrecked

Crimes of Passion- Book 1 (have yet to play Book 2, and Book 3 is on its way)

The Princess Swap

The Cursed Heart

Immortal Desires

Copper Tier: Decent, Average. 6 stars. Eh.

The “just okay” stories. Far from terrible, but not much about them that really stood out to me. Not much interest in replaying them, unless maybe I need something completely mindless to play.

Nightbound

Distant Shores

Bronze Tier: Unsure, Mixed Feelings, It’s Complicated. 5 stars. Ehhhhh.

I’m mixed on these stories. They aren’t really terrible as there are some things they did right, but there’s also so much that they did wrong. A lot of these could also use a replay for the sake of giving it a second chance.

Rules of Engagement

High School Story: Class Act

The Nanny Affair- Book 1

Laws of Attraction

Wolf Bride

Wake the Dead

Stone Tier: Truly Mid, Lacking in Substance. 4 stars, Meh.

I don’t quite dislike them, but there’s nothing they give to us. They’re just so empty. There’s “vanilla is still a flavor” and then there’s having no flavor at all, and these books just have little to no flavor.

Ms. Match

Slow Burn

The Nanny Affair- Book 2 (and the sum whole of the trilogy tbh)

Roommates With Benefits

Wood Tier: Boring. 3 stars. Bleh.

The absolute snorefests of the app. Not only did they give nothing, but they were terrible at holding my interest and attention. They’re so poorly paced that even if they did have something of value, I completely missed it because I was either completely zoning out and/or I felt actual mental distress trying to follow the story.

Ride or Die

A Very Scandalous Proposal

Rotting Flesh Tier: Annoying. 2 stars. Uuuuggghhhh.

The stories that are legitimately painful to play through. Just downright frustrating and groan-worthy. They aren’t quite the worst, but they only do very little right. And it’s even more tragic because these premises could have been done right. There are ideas for decent stories here, but they’re completely neglected.

Witness

My Two First Loves

The Nanny Affair- Book 3

PooPoo Tier: Literally the Worst. 1 star. AAAARRRRRGGGHHH.

The absolute dogshit stories. The biggest doodoofarts of the entire app. The complete bottom of the barrel. The stories that had me actually verbally raging and close to throwing my phone into the nearest wall. Everything about each of these is doomed from the beginning. Anything that could have been done right or even decently is done terribly.

Surrender

Untameable

First Comes Love

Air Tier: Opinions and Rankings Pending.

Quite simply, the ones I can’t properly judge yet due to not having completed or played

Haven’t even started playing yet: MW, TFS, RCD, VOS, D&D, BSC, TE, PTR, WT, PT, STD, TRM, HC, RT, FA, GNV, TDA, KND

Currently Playing that I haven’t yet completed: GG, KOD, OH trilogy, BaBu series

Currently Playing that’s still releasing to all: TBB, DLS

Currently Replaying: OH 1, AME 1, TH:M

Stories I started playing but then dropped mid-book prior to getting my new phone and have yet to pick up again: SK, QB 1, WT, TUH

Still VIP Only: Alpha, SOD, TCH 2

Coming Soon: Unbridled (UT 2), Guarded, Hot Shot, ID 2, A Taste of Royalty, Unnamed GOC Firefighter Book, The Most Dangerous Game, RWB 2, COP 3

#i'm not tagging all of these books #choices stories you play #choices #choices game #choices stories we play #choices stories we play fandom #cadybear's rankings #cadybear's choices books rankings

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beescxpe88 · 2 years

Text

i wonder how i ever lived without knowing kazuha existed ☹️ every day i used to wake up not even knowing what i wanted, and life was so meaningless. i had the most crippling, life changing, heartbreaking, ass-twitching, nail-clipping case of depression. i felt so empty knowing that i had nobody to call my little bloody tampon💔 but then i met kazuha. he became the light in my sad moldy crusty dusty vile disgusting world (read bedroom) and when i woke up the next morning, my dad was cured of his cancer, the world started reducing reusing and recycling, global warming ended, america disappeared off the face of the earth, my grandma rose from the grave, and most importantly i didnt have depression anymore. he has shown me a new world ever since i laid eyes on his face (and god damn that cake) and now every day i wake up as a kazuha haver 😍 life without him is meaningless and i refuse to take no for an answer, dont argue with me because i will find you hunt you down stalk you until you notice me and then find a slow painful way to end you until you say you’re sorry. but dont apologize to me, apologize to kazuha. anyways let me talk about how emo i once was 🖤 i used to feel so empty and my loving supportive family didnt do shit for me. it was kazuha who finally solved every problem ive ever had. whenever im feeling down, i know i can just look at my gorgeous, jaw dropping, mouth watering internal combustion engine. everything about him is so perfect. i stare at his face and i feel so refreshed like i just drank a bottle of maple syrup. kazuha, please marry me 💍 if you were real i would get a massive tattoo across my ass with your name in cursive and then i would do it on my chest and then my thigh and then across my forehead. i never feel alive unless i am looking at kazuha, my moldy avocado, the pickaxe to my diamond. i wonder today how i ever functioned about my kazu wazu

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artcallednaturalviews · 4 months

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You need You need that fan drilled drizzle across your face loving up those catastrophe’s The tornado not racist swirling all Any bodies thrills & chills Across with facial spray aerials The wild fires hold up to climate change Small animals burning up ohh sum of predators & herbivores all gathered giving a finger to humans Fire smoke adds to climatical changes Each year I’m an animal I work from instinctual circumstances around a sphere globe I have no personality As If Domesticated Just Don’t Accept a cognitive test your worst nightmare in my body rump t Don’t it for better happy birthday boy I know when cards are due Don’t forget who the fuck is talking I’m that veteran standing against you Your brain proclaims Narcissistic Nancy you ready and fancy Dear Karen I’m screaming out loud Stuck in middle I am Estimated East and West coasts Floods & Tornadic activities so so siege infernal on globe external the bodies within the heat Stretch from both my hands Who?’s? Playing You need some kind of pick up Don’t tell me tha fellows who rolled on W D C On January 6, I wasn’t voted in, let me point with my left from acrylic shields pointing my surroundings I have these dumb ass followers let’s all let it ride hanging in trees leaving trash on grounds don’t forget about the signs in written English, you paid a brown black yellow white to stand around thee abundantly rump t Wish washing Dishes of Columbus Wilt wishing District of Columbia ohh Washington Wish washing Dishes of Columbus Wilt wishing District of Columbia ohh Rump T Dumpty rumpty balancing act Putin and Netanyahu In and out Of No Tans NATO & BRIC All concreted around this damn globe Set in feeling their feelers in our feelings We all up in present on our phones Set in feeling their feelers in our feelings You need help Of understanding All lives abruptly coerce All lives abruptly coerce All lives abruptly coerce All lives abruptly coerce All lives abruptly coerce Borderlands = Last train to (fromKLF) video Can’t say you can’t see Can’t say you can’t You can’t see the map And the Train B 1 B2 Prequel on the moon Was it an Easter Egg Did I win something for correlations Clap traps so I hands across America We all paid in taxes We sow paid All taxes Dinero pleases money dollars As in everyone everywhere everything else Smack my head to crazy are you holding After my trip on foot I want drugs And vote for rump t I tracked traveled to be a criminal hear I don’t forward West Don’t glacé toward East I seek down the middle mud of capsulated The in between from side to side No Hurricanes No Tornadoes No Wild Fires No Floods You need (Wordsbymm||mmybsdrow) And so on, read further, gain more! When you were President! You made changes to OSHA Some riot small Americans need a bumpy stock never there for mass shooter a r necessary (each episode dead or medic lined) friends of Trump like Putin Ohh married into It’s like snot, not brought up Ohh like never ever It’s not allowed But I do And after some many I’m still here! I’m able from sleeping waking up life in lime light sour speaking’s still trying to make end meets for the sake of my universe I know learn are multiple enlightened for my Who subscribed Scrolls written down from way down past back in the day you wouldn’t remember and here we sit still a ah haha needed focus for me to play along will the tempo be slowed or sped up faster my mind will work in all capacities for the ones in charge or to play along with those below forsake and beyond I could be like a need wanted for a better picture and let’s add Earth now done from Last 100 years Not to hard to see Smell hearing declines with age Touch & feeling {[(never studied)]} That’s condoning feelings As in, you need

#you need #something new #wordsbymm #natural view #natural views #photobymm #pay attention #mmybsdrow #early morning #or brunch #clouds #I’m sure in the sky #you need ! or ?#reassurance #or rebels #no photo #FDDHUP

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falsebooles123 · 9 months

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Confessions of a Recovering Genre-Phobic 1/20/24

Hey Whores, I had to take my computer into the shop this week. (In turns out that it was the drivers after all), so my week has been a bit down and odd. Theres other reasons but I'm still sorting out my feels. Late January is being kidna a sad boy hour for me but it is what it is. So without further ado the music.

(How it felt to be without my compooter for a day)

Ramones (1976) - The Ramones

Genre: Punk Rock Length: 29:04 (14 Tracks)

Ima just quote wikipedia

"Ramones is considered an influential punk album in the United States and United Kingdom, and had a significant impact on other genres of rock music, such as grunge and heavy metal. The album was ranked at number 33 in Rolling Stone's 2003 list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, maintaining the ranking in a 2012 revision and dropping to number 47 in the 2020 reboot of the list. It was placed first in the Rolling Stone 100 Best Debut Albums of All Time list in 2022. It was certified gold by the Recording Industry Association of America in 2014."

- 'Ramones (album) | Wikipedia'

and yeah I can here the influence they remind me of the Buzzcocks and The moldy Peaches and punk music in general and that ultimately becomes a bad thing for me.

Its a lot like my feelings towards the original blair witch that what I can only imagine was innovative sound in the mid-70s has now become genrelized. Statis quo for the further generations of punk musicians.

Ramones features a lot of minimilist lyrics and repatition and gritty mixing and sound and it doesn't really work for me. Perhaps, (and feel free to say so), it is just my tin ears unable to distinguish the nuance but I had a hard time distinguishing songs, and the lack of clarity in both the vocals and instrumentals while absolutly giving a punk sound didn't do much to distinguish themselves from my foggy recolations of other 70s punk acts. Hopefully I can come back to this album in a copy years and fall in love but for now It left me feeling wanting.

2/5

The Stage Names (2007) - Okkervil River

Genre: Indie Rock Length: 41:46 (10 Tracks)

My Internent went out last night, and by mine I do mean the vast majority of my state. Thanks Winter!

I'm tired so let me just say that this album is fantastic. The opening song is a straight banger that has been on my playlists for years and the rest of the songs continue the energy with a slightly more slow-down indie rock marathon. The lyrics are involved and meloncholic and overall this just speaks to me.

5/5

Blanket (2023) - Kevin Abstact

Genre: Rap Length: 37:37 (13 Tracks)

Recommending to me by a friend.

Kevin Abstract is a queer rapper from texas who used to be part of the Boy Band Bronkhampton.

As I am shit at describing music I'm just steal this description from an interview. "According to Kevin, he wanted “to make, like, a Sunny Day Real Estate, Nirvana, Modest Mouse type of record. But I wanted it to hit like a rap album.”

and yeah thats a really good way of describing it. The music has that kind of shoegaze etherial sound as Abstract raps about childhood trauma, queerness, and other such pleasantrys.

I'll be honest I didn't get a lot out of this album but I'll have to give it another listen one of these days.

3/5

My God (2023) - Tessa Violet

Genre: Pop

Length:

I'm sorry I wasn't expecting the girl-next door to wake up and decide to serve CUNT. Hunny. Diva, Icon, Slay.

Somewhat conceptionlized, (I'm talking out of my ass), as a rise from the ashes of more moody indie styling My God takes on a more diva styling with her Bad Bitch, My God, YES MOM, and BREAKDOWN. Which features a more Allie X style pop production and empowered lyrics. The faggot in me has no choice but to stan and the Straggot in me wants her to step on me so goddamn bad.

The rest of the songs on the album take on a more softer indie styling. 'Kitchen Song' is a standout as a near sappy romance song whilst other tracks deal with her more famalier themes of heartbreak.

I really liked this new direction and while the overall album didn't hit as hard for me as her earlier albums.

3.5/5

You Light Up My Life: Inspirational Songs (1997) - Leann Rimes

Genre: Country Length: 43:33 (12 Songs)

YLUML:IS is the second studio album by Leann Rimes and features you guessed the titular song which is the only thing I know by her.

I can say after listening to this album that I still don't know any other songs by this women.

Rimes has a beautiful voice and likes to focus on these kind of sentimental torch songs. The type of pastoral vaguly religious fair that would be big with like our mom or something.

It's nice enough but I think I agree with the original critics when they say that this doesn't seem like a strong second album. Hell this literally ends with her singing both Amazing Grace and the National Anthem. This is a album you would release at the end of your career. A bunch of classics as a way of polishing off your ourve. Not your second album which in my mind is where you really sink in and elevate your style. Odd choices. I'm noticing that I'm not a big fan of the classic albums that I've added to the list and thats dissapointed.

2.5/5

Well Whores. Thats all for this week. Hope your well.

#diary #music #ramones #Okkervil River #Blanket #My God

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harrelltut · 5 years

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years

Text

This All Day

Steve Rogers x lab tech!Reader (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve is excellent at love-making, but he needs encouragement to branch out.

Warnings for pure smut (slightly more than vanilla bc Steve is learning lol, oral f-receiving, protected sex, established relationship, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting/overstimulation). Minors DNI. WC ~5k

Slow and steady wins the race, but sometimes you just want to fucking lose. Like, you don’t know, pinned-down-on-the-battlefield-by-enemy-forces lose. Like conquer-your-body lose. Like he-actually-screamed-‘fuck’ lose.

You can’t tell him that, though, because he’s so sweet, so tender, so attentive that it’s just rude, right? Don’t fix what ain’t broke, ya know? He’s super! Cool. But super conservative and controlled in the sack…is just not cutting it for you tonight.

He’s spooning you after glorious, sensual love-making as happens pretty much every night you get to sleep together, but you’re wide awake and about to crawl out of your skin attack that guy every time his hot breath hits the back of your neck. You can’t wake him up, right? And even if you did, it’d be the same thing that got you so riled up in the first place. He’s a smart man. Variation keeps people on their toes, and it would keep curling your toes a lot more if he’d—

“I can hear your heart racing,” Steve mutters behind you. “What’s wrong?”

Another wave of heat hits you in just the wrong place. You’re starting to sweat, and it feels overly-stifling to be pressed so close to him. You wiggle beneath his lax arm over your waist.

He’s not hard, and he doesn’t move or acknowledge your ass rubbing against him because he’s so pristinely controlled that he won’t. He won’t get hard until you’re warmed up with his fingers—not your fingers, mind you, because he got very defensive that one time, so just his fingers—which is, again, so sweet because he is fairly large and that would absolutely hurt to not be prepared.

Still.

Let a lady know you are excited, damn it. Insert a little passion and abandon into the bedroom every now-and-then, okay. His palm moves from your stomach to your forehead.

“Do you feel sick? Fever?”

That’s so nice.

You kinda hate it. You’re sick of something, but you feel like an asshole for even thinking this way. Your fantasies of Steve branching out into various explorations got you this far, surely you can just…continue to ramp yourself up at the thought while he politely sits there and calls an ambulance, thinking you’re having a heart attack.

But you can’t say it. You can’t just turn around and say “fuck me.” He’ll get upset, not just at the language, but he’ll think you’re unhappy or unsatisfied. That’s not true, you’re just not…fully satisfied.

Steve’s breathing is pushing his gloriously broad chest against your back, and it’s part of one particular position you’ve been imagining, so of course, you whine involuntarily. That doesn’t help.

“Honey, are you in pain?”

Yeah, you’ve really done it now. He won’t go back to sleep until he gets a solid answer and it’s an explanation he believes, so you are fucked but not in the way you wanted.

“No,” you croak slightly because you’ve been salivating thinking of things for the past hour and didn’t intend to use your mouth to speak, “fine.” You can hear his perfect, concerned frown from all the way at the back of your head. What’s the worst that could happen? You sexually attack Captain America and he fights back? Great, you’re gonna die of embarrassment anyway. Crack that can of whoop-ass open and hope it lands on your left ass-cheek because—

Oh boy, you really do need to calm down.

He props himself up on an elbow.

You can do this. You’re a strong, modern woman, and you’re just asking for what you want. He’s a grown man. He can handle it. He can man-handle yo—Focus. Come on now—REALLY? That’s worse.

Every single thought you have is directing you back to that almost sore ache in your stomach. The few times you’ve tried to make light of sexual innuendo, Steve’s said you sound like Tony. Maybe you should get Tony to have this talk with him? No. Steve would never, ever speak to you again because Tony would never, ever stop talking about it.

You have no way out of this. It’s happening. He could do this all day. You wouldn’t starve; he’d bring you food and water. He’d probably even do all the physical therapy to keep your muscles from atrophying while he waits for the whole truth, but you’d still be disappointed because…he wouldn’t even tie you down.

You clear your throat and roll over. It’s dark, but you’ve both been sitting in the dark so long you can kinda see. You can see enough to be hyper-aware that you’re both naked still, which should help but does not help at all.

It’s go time, or as Tony said that once—as awful then as it is now—“clench them thighs and ride that bull, sweetie.” Oh man, you hate Tony, but you love Tony to death. What a fucking lunatic…

Steve lays down again so you are eye to eye. You can’t even see the blue of his eyes, and they’re still piercing you.

“So,” you start because maybe it’ll all fall out perfectly if you just say shit, “you’re great but—“

Steve immediately tenses all over. Great start, great plan, and you should keep your day job. Therapist isn’t for you.

“No, no, that didn’t—it’s not bad—I just can’t—“ Even though you don’t have super senses, you can tell Steve has stopped breathing. You need to fix it, and fix it fast. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so your hand goes straight to his dick, shifting you close enough to feel Steve inhale sharply. That’s enough to keep you going. “I…would like more…” You got this. You can do it. “…passion, or like, a show of passion, if you feel that way…”

Steve’s hand cups your face. “Honey, do you think I don’t love you? That’s ridiculous.”

“No, I just mean that—“ retracting your hand “—if you feel intensely…into me—“ you start talking with your hands because it fills the small space between you “—then I’d be very interested in that…sort of thing.” Awesome. You explained nothing.

He’s quiet, thinking. Then he’s thinking for too long, and that is not a good indicator. You still can’t think of any better words because he’ll take offense to “aggressive” or “rough.” In Steve’s mind, those things cannot equal love; they are demeaning and would trivialize what he values about you and what your value is as a woman and human being.

That is…so fucking nice, but would it kill him to pull your hair just a little? Hold you down just to keep an angle for—

Poor Steve’s wheels are still turning. At this rate, it’ll be morning before you ease him into your point, so you just have to do it.

“I want you to fuck me.” The whites of his eyes are definitely visible in the dark. How could they not be? There’s so much of them showing. “I understand—I know you love me, but I feel safe enough with you, and I know you won’t hurt me, so yeah…”

Oscar-worthy. Clearly. You can’t imagine why you stalled so long.

Steve says nothing, and all of the fight but none of the frustration drains from your body. Words are a minefield. You can’t say you’d like to experiment with him because duh. You can’t tell him to be more manly because also duh, and nothing is getting to the crux of what and how you want to feel except…

“I’d like us to explore,” you intone very slowly, “options…of pleasure.” The hesitation in your own voice is less than convincing, but at least none of the words should trigger an outright ‘no.’

“I’m…” Steve’s voice is extremely quiet, making it deeper and more sexual than he probably intends, so you press one knee over the other and brace for anything. “I’m not sharing you.”

You snort. Ok, so you’re not quite there, and in typical Cap-fashion, he’s hurtled right over the point and run off.

“Uh, no, babe,” you use his cheeky nickname because it’s cute that he’s so thick sometimes. “Wow, no. Okay, so—“ the hands are back flailing to help “—I was thinking more about how when I’m really excited to be with you that I feel like a powerful urgency—“

He places one broad hand against your naked hip with just a hint of grip and pressure.

You forget where the thought was going. You just had the words, or a least some words, but they’re gone now because his hand is very warm and you’re sweating again.

“Have you ever heard of the phrase—“ Het up? No, you can’t say that. He’ll be even more confused. “—wild abandon?”

There’s a rumble of recognition in Steve’s throat. You’re getting somewhere, you think. Maybe.

“And I’m not…wild enough?”

Nope. There’s clearly no way to not bruise his ego and get your point across. “Well,” your voice cracks an octave too high, “I’m tired, so this is done.” You start to roll back over, but his hand gets a lot heavier, a now distinctly firm grip anchoring your bones to the bed.

“No, this is important.” Steve almost never seems mad, but he seems…something. He shifts up again to hold his head close and over yours. “Show me.”

That’s not a request. He isn’t being polite or curious. Steve Rogers gave you an order, and damn, now you’re getting somewhere.

You’ve had the fantasies for long enough that it’s all basically muscle memory, even though you’ve never pulled Steve to you so fast, and you’ve never shoved your tongue in his mouth so quickly, and you’ve never bit his bottom lip so hard. You toss your leg up and over his and fling yourself on top of him (which basically he had to let you do because he is 100% strong and heavy enough to not have moved an inch). It almost makes you laugh when you grasp his wrists in both your hands; this wouldn’t hold him for a second, but you’re under orders now. Commit to the cause.

Show don’t tell, right? So you straddle his hips and center yourself over him before rocking back and forth in long strokes. After only a few, you can feel your wetness start to smooth over his skin, and as Steve hardens, his cock presses into your lips. You let your breath come out in hot gasps, mainly because you didn’t think to control that before the head of him is right there about to breach—

“Honey, we need a condom.”

You stop. Whatever little spell of confidence you’d been under breaks, and you release his hands before climbing off him and the side of the bed. It’s thoughtful. He’s totally right. You’re absolutely gonna hide in a corner and die of embarrassment because it’s out there now—your horny inner self has been seen. No amount of darkness can cover it back up.

You face the wall, psyching yourself up for getting back into bed, arms wrapped around your bare middle like the blanket you’re missing. Eyes shut, you try to hold your breathing steady while rustling continues behind you. It’s probably Steve just getting the blanket to cover you with. He probably doesn’t care about whether he’s turned on at all. He just wants your comfort. That’s all great, but it would also have been great to just fuck yourself on him.

And there he is, hand at the small of your back, gentle as always, cautious as ever—oh my. His hand slides down, pinky finger actually tucking into your crack before he palms the swell of your ass. That’s…that’s certainly a firmer grip than usual, and the dig of his fingers to spread you is magic. Very promising.

He leans into your ear, whole glorious body flush beside you, condom on and all, and he whispers, “anything at all you don’t like, you stop me.”

Yes, sir. “Uh huh,” you huff out instead of any coherent words. You relish the warmth on one side of you, skin chilled by the open air on the other, before Steve starts to slide down to his knees, pushing at your ass and hip till you face him.

You’re struggling to balance even until he’s holding you still, plunging his face into the nest of hair at your center, tasting the hints of slick you rubbed against him before—did he just moan?! The sound crumples your resolve to stay upright while these luxurious bursts of arousal shiver up your spine, but he’s there, super-strength and super-control coordinating to lift your legs over his shoulders and angle your descent onto the bed. It’s not a fall or a flop onto the mattress; you are flowing down to it like water, and the way Steve’s lapping at you now certainly gives the impression he’s thirsty.

Little convulsions force your hand up to your chest, useless while he’s pushing your legs apart, nuzzling to get just the angle he wants, and—oh, that moan was you that time.

Steve’s encouraged, and ‘enthusiastic’ might be too light a descriptor for the type of intent he has on your pleasure at the moment. He’s consuming every buck of your hips and shake of your muscles. He’s echoing every lost syllable from your drying mouth which pants cold air as jolts of electricity ricochet all over you, all returning to be sucked out by his ravaging attention.

This is where the trick comes: when Steve makes love to you, he wants to see you, to be face to face and ready to cradle you through your orgasm. Now you’re used to that. Now you want that closeness, but you can’t discourage this, right? This is great progress.

Doesn’t matter. You want what you want. Your hand latches onto the top of his head, fingers brutally pulling at his hair to get him up to your mouth in time. Steve stretches over you easily, curling down to meet you, and while his lips are attached to your neck for the briefest moment, your other hand grasps to line him up so he can fill you. As large as he is, you’re so aroused he practically falls in, and the all-at-once sensation has him open-mouth gasping against you before finishing his kiss. Rocking your hips drags your clit across him just enough to tip you over the edge, and you grip at his sides with weak arms.

Normally sweet and soothing with a soft touch and careful movements when you come, Steve hoists your ass up, keeping himself deep inside your fluttering walls, and bends to latch his mouth onto your nipple.

He starts thrusting again. Ragged, choked screams escape your unguarded lips. He reaches for your ankle behind his back and stretches it out, each new exposure of flesh to fresh air a rush and shiver, until his palm lies flat, pushing just above the back of your knee. He repeats this for the other side, pinning you at the edge of the bed. It’s a lot, but it’s not too much when every few thrusts, Steve moves his mouth to a new spot. He’s grounding you in this very real fantasy of yours; he’s exquisitely amateur.

Because you know Steve and Steve knows you, the excitement of him exploring this with you is magnificent. The minor hesitations in each new position for him melt away when he feels your excitement and pleasure. His mouth lands on your throat, and your fingers find his hair again. He slows and stops, arms releasing your legs.

He whispers into the skin below your ear, “do you…want to be on top again?”

It’s Steve; he can’t do dirty talk. He’ll say you’re beautiful and you feel good and parts of your body are beautiful and feel good, but he might actually burst into flames if he ever uttered the words “ride me” or “fuck me.” Oh man, is it still exciting to hear him ask though…

You nod, realizing by the stiffness of your muscles that this exploration has gone on much longer than you thought, and it thrills you. Time still gets lost and you still feel connected even when Steve isn’t embracing you the whole time. You hope he feels that too.

Steve climbs onto the bed beside you, ignoring where the pillows are and how you’d normally sleep, a testament to how invested he is in this time and possibly his own pleasure. He lays there, heavy breaths lifting his broad chest, dick hard and strained in a slick condom, looking possibly the sexiest you’ve ever seen him.

Normally, Steve likes you to come together, and that’s it. The one-for-one ratio has been broken now, making you invested in keeping this worthwhile for you both. He’s just so fucking gorgeous, and you know from months of experience that he has no fucking idea how gorgeous. You get to savor him. He’s going to let you savor his body.

You straddle him again, confidence returning as your fingers graze over his barely sweating skin, pale and faint in the dark. Steve keeps his hands up, unsure whether to return them to their previous position without your instruction. Honestly, you don’t care, too enchanted by the possibilities, your hands tucking around the hard muscles encasing his waist, leaning to kiss his sternum. All the salty skin you cover up to his throat has you in a heady focus on his every move, and you slowly lower yourself back to feeling his taut erection against your expectant cunt. Using the word, even just in your head, sets off the automated reaction of ‘things-Steve-won’t-like,’ but that fuels your urge to try anything you want tonight. You have permission. Goodness knows, Steve isn’t going to magically talk dirty.

You stretch across him to reclaim that soft spot on his neck, noticing a rumble start in his throat and that his dick pulses up just the slightest bit. Now you’re curious, beginning a tentative sweep of your hips to then tuck lower when you feel his tip pass your apex. It takes a few strokes, but then you two are aligned just right, and you can sink down his length without having used your hands at all.

The rumble becomes a groan. Steve’s arms fall, tips of his fingers brushing your knees. You untuck your hands and crawl them up to perch on his chest. Steve is staring into your eyes when you finally meet his, but in the dark, it’s not immediately obvious to you how engrossed he is. Not until you start riding him in earnest, rolling your hips and letting your hands wander more. His broad palms slide up to either side of your ass, following, not leading, planted without pressure.

Well, by all means, if he’s staring, you may as well give him a show. You begin to shift back, slowly and steadily lifting up and sliding down him, moving your hands from his chest to guide his up to your breasts. That’s a tough sell; Steve abhors any type of objectification, but by your lead, he allows it, very softly rubbing his thumbs across your nipples. He’s rewarded with more moans. He’s a quick study once you tell him a subject exists to learn.

He takes the initiative to pinch at one nipple, and you’re downright proud of him and the sound you make to encourage him, falling backwards to prop yourself up against his thigh. You watch carefully as Steve’s eyes fall from your chest to where his cock disappears inside you. His hands stall, he’s so mesmerized. Your hands stroke at his thighs in time with your up and down movements, and that confidence combined with this growing lust for the man you already have inside you pushes you to take in every inch of him you can, reaching back beneath your own ass to massage his balls.

Steve makes a strangled noise, and his hands fall to your hips again. You release him immediately about to dismount in concern that you’ve gone too far until he wraps his arms around your waist. You fall to his chest, his length still buried inside you when his hips thrust up. Steve pants into your hair before plunging his fingers through the strands and wrenching you up to face him. His hips keep thrusting. From his expression, this is barely Steve. Steve is lost in you right now, and the man who can run a marathon without breaking a sweat is exhausting the air in the room to fuck into you. Somehow the hard hold in your hair is one of the most loving things he’s ever done to you because Steve is uncontrollably feeling you, letting himself feel you, enjoying himself feeling you.

His pumping becomes erratic and suddenly he’s sitting you both up while he firmly grinds your whole body down onto him, foreheads together, mouths open and desperate just inches apart. In all the times you’ve had sex, Steve has never kept his eyes closed when he comes. It’s a night of firsts all around.

“I’m sorry, love, I…” He slowly unknots his fist from your hair and slides his hand down your damp skin to your ass, lifting the weighty cheek so you can adjust in his lap. Your shifting makes him gasp in overstimulation. You wish you could see every micro expression cascading across his features, but it’s too dark. You just have to imagine his shock, awe, and satisfaction because Steve does not like to be dirty or stuck in a spent condom. You should let him clean up.

The start of your movement is cut short by the grip at your waist. Steve nuzzles at your cheek. “You’re still—“ he brings the other hand around from your ass to flatten it low across your belly “—wet.”

You’re too taken aback to laugh but a huff and smile will suffice, leaning against his forehead. “It’s fine.”

Steve shakes his head ‘no’ a few dragging times then kisses you, deep and serious, his ‘I love you’ kiss that lasts far longer than the words would if dropped from his lips into the air. His grip relaxes as he pulls away, making you keen forward for more.

“Touch yourself,” he says into your lips just before the distance is closed. Your thoughts muddle; you’re not sure you even heard right. He gives you a quick but tender kiss. “Touch yourself for me.” There’s a twinge of excitement in that order, a bit of a dare mixed with softening lust. You activate weak thighs to prop up, but Steve has to help lift you to crawl off and towards your pillow.

You lay out, cold without him near you, as he uses the baby wipes by the bed to clean himself off. You have to close your eyes for a bit of courage. The last time you tried this in front of Steve, he openly argued that he thought it meant he wasn’t enough for you. You won’t even mention that you masturbate, even if you’re always thinking about him, even if it’s when he’s on a mission and simply can’t be there to please you. Now you’ll have even more to miss when he’s away…

He wasn’t wrong; you are still wet, and the sensitivity you feel even grazing a finger across yourself is a testament to how fucking hot the whole encounter has been. You’ve barely inserted a finger when you feel the mattress dip beneath one bent knee. You think he’s coming to take over, that he simply meant to give him a moment until he returned, but Steve crawls towards your foot instead and rests a hand on your ankle. He makes no move to interfere.

As you add another finger and curl them up inside you, you open the heavy lids of your eyes to see him settling at your feet, head lowering to kiss your inner thigh just above your knee. He’s giving you space. He might even be taking notes, but who the fuck cares when you can still see him coming apart beneath you. When you first roll your slick fingers over your clit, it feels just like his tongue did, and you’re positive you will never not think about that from now on. You’ve got so many beautiful, desperately sexy mental images of him, and they’re all cramming together to build that wildly scorching pressure that Steve Rogers has ordered you to chase. It’s distracting how many different ways you can picture taking him now that the doors are wide open and you know he can enjoy it. It’s so distracting you can’t keep any semblance of rhythm.

Steve kisses a little higher on your thigh, and you feel his hand caressing lower and lower. He’s still just watching with a hungry fascination you never would have imagined. You feel like the first moving picture he’s ever seen, something incomprehensible and distinctly desirable with this intimately exhibitionist behavior. You can’t keep up for much longer. The fantasies are breeding with reality and spawning more things you can picture and things you want to do, but Steve is there to help.

He’s ready, painting some of the slick on your inner thigh onto his middle and ring fingers, gliding them past your own as you desperately rub at your clit again. He crooks them at just the perfect angle and matches little pulses with the circles you make above until that prickling strain inside you starts to implode moments before the dam of ecstasy breaks. Steve’s mouth pushes away your hand as he sucks your nerves gloriously raw, the tip of his tongue circling just as your muscles contract, and he follows your body as it shrinks away. You half-scream encouragement while Steve doesn’t relent, replacing his mouth with his thumb as he watches your cum squirt all over his hand. Two more waves of release roll through you before it’s over.

Once he withdraws his fingers, Steve rests his palm across your drenched sex, soothing and steady, while he shifts his body around so his other hand can cup the back of your neck. He’s gentle but you’re still muttering nonsense until Steve kisses your brow.

“I’ve got you. I’m with you, love.”

You blindly tilt and stretch searching for his mouth because the edges of your numb bliss are starting to singe in the remaining embers of desire. First, your lips connect to his sharp jaw but suction there anyway, latching hard enough to leave a mark even on the enhanced man above you. Then he finds you proper, smoothing his hand from your core to the small of your back to lift you close to him, chest to chest, fingers sliding into your hair. You’re sloppy, groping and grabbing at his sweaty back, intoxicated by the intensity of his attention. He’s doing it again, grounding you via deep, solid kisses. The smoldering edges calm, still melting against the heat of him in your arms.

Eventually, Steve breaks away, settling his forehead to yours before flipping you to the other side of the mattress and covering your limp form in the blanket. It’s only when he leaves the bed and returns with towels that you realize he gave you his spot to keep you dry. He asks before delicately moving the covers to wipe your body clean, whispering little praises and sweet nothings, until tucking himself under the blanket with you, wedged together on two-thirds of your whole mattress.

Steve nuzzles into your hair to kiss the crown of your head, behind your ear, and your temple, sliding his arm to replace the pillow at your neck. He snakes an arm around your waist and down your arm until he laces his fingers into yours. He settles, saying nothing for a whole minute while you both simply enjoy the comfort of being close.

Suddenly, you hear him let out a little laugh.

“There’s my best girl’s happy heartbeat,” he sighs, kissing your bare shoulder.

Now we are getting somewhere, you think. The rest of the night is the best sleep you think you’ve ever had.

(More on Steve's *thing* for stockings)

[Main Masterlist; Fools Rush In Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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