#i always meant to make all the characters as skins but

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: No one is crazy about him atm, me included, so this is strictly for my readers and my readers only. I don’t condone his behavior at all -Just let me finish out this fic please. Don’t come for me. I’m only a girl with a google doc whose spent hours upon hours and days on end on this fic

Chapter 11 - 'She's Something' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

The early morning light filtered through the blinds in soft streaks, casting a warm glow over the room. The house was silent, the kind of stillness that only exists just before the world begins to wake. You stirred awake, blinking against the gentle light, and for a moment, you simply watched Trent sleep. His features were relaxed, his breathing steady, his arm lazily draped across the bed where you had been moments before. The sight made your chest ache, but in the sweetest way. He was perfect. Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you padded to the kitchen, the cool tiles beneath your feet making you shiver slightly. The space was dimly lit, the morning sun not quite reaching it yet. You moved with purpose but also with care, opening drawers and cabinets softly, grabbing what you needed to make breakfast. The sound of eggs cracking broke the silence, followed by the gentle hiss of butter melting in the pan. You whisked the eggs, your movements rhythmic and calming, the act of cooking grounding you in the moment. The scent of fresh coffee brewing mingled with the faint, lingering traces of Trent’s cologne still on your skin, making you smile. You set the table quietly, plates arranged just so, and folded a napkin absentmindedly. As you reached for the coffee pot, pouring it into two mugs, you felt a presence behind you. Before you could turn, warm arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a solid chest.

“Wow,” Trent murmured, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep. “I thought I’d get a cuddle this morning, but this…” He rested his chin lightly on your shoulder. “This might be better.” You tilted your head back to look at him, his eyes still half-lidded but shining with warmth. 

“I was hungry,” you teased, laughing softly as his hands tightened slightly around your waist. “Last night was genuinely a work out.” You giggled. 

“Yeah?” he said, his voice soft but laced with amusement. He leaned in, pressing his lips lightly to your temple, his warmth chasing away the slight chill from the morning air. “You look so good in the morning, you know that?”

“I look the same,” you replied, a small laugh escaping as you turned back to the pan, flipping the eggs.

“Nah,” he countered, his voice dropping lower as his fingers brushed lightly against the curve of your hip. “You don’t. You’re just… soft. Sexy but softer,” he added, his tone earnest and just a little teasing. You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. 

“You’re just saying that because I made breakfast and you’re  trying to make sure some’s for you,” you said, though your voice lacked any real conviction. He hummed in response, his lips brushing against the nape of your neck. 

“No,” he whispered, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “I mean it.” For a moment, you just stood there, wrapped in his arms, the warmth of the stove in front of you blending with the heat radiating from him. “But some is for me though, right?” He asked cheekily and you hummed in response just the same as he did before you both fell into a comfortable silence. The quiet intimacy of the moment felt like a gift, something that needed no words or grand gestures to make it feel special. As you moved to plate the eggs, Trent turned you gently, guiding you to face him. 

“Leave it,” he said softly, taking the spatula from your hand and placing it on the counter. “Breakfast can wait a minute. C’mere, baby.” He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that made the room seem even quieter, the world beyond it fading entirely. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed lightly over your cheek as if he couldn’t help but touch you.

“You really think I look good in the morning?” you asked shyly, your voice barely above a whisper. He smiled, his gaze locked on yours, full of something deeper than just affection. 

“I think you look perfect,” he said simply, his sincerity wrapping around you like a second set of arms. And as the morning light poured in, soft and golden, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was what happiness felt like—quiet, warm, and impossibly sweet. 

The morning sunlight continued to spill softly through the windows as Trent sat at the kitchen table, quietly devouring the breakfast you’d made. You stood nearby, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve of his shirt you had on, feeling a little shy as you tried to muster up the courage to ask him something. It felt strange—awkward, even—to invite him into something so meaningless yet so personal to you. But after the night you’d shared and the ease that had returned between you, it felt like the right thing to do.

“Hey baby…” You paused. “Would you maybe… Like…“ You took another deep breath in an attempt to try to sound more sure of yourself. “Do you want to go for a drive with me?” You finally asked, your voice hesitant. Trent paused mid-bite, looking up at you with a slight tilt of his head, encouraging you to keep going. “You’re off, and I usually like to go to Formby.” You stumbled over the words, feeling ridiculous as they tumbled out of your mouth. Trent set his fork down, his warm gaze settling on you. 

“Yeah? What do you do there?” he asked, curious and gentle, his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. You felt your cheeks warm as you struggled to explain. 

“I don’t know… I just go. It’s grounding. It helps me reset, I guess,” you admitted, unsure if he’d understand. But he didn’t push for more.

“I’ll go regardless, pretty girl,” he said with a playful smirk, “just was curious.” You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, his easy going nature putting you at ease. Slowly, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind, your chin resting on his shoulder. He was warm, solid, and smelled faintly of the cologne he’d sprayed on after his shower. Trent leaned back into your embrace, his hand resting on your arm as he finished chewing. “You’re good,” he murmured reassuring you, his voice soft. “Okay, if I finish breaky first?” You hummed in agreement, the sound of his voice and the comfort of his presence washing over you. Then, to your surprise, Trent turned slightly in his chair, gently tugging at you. Before you knew it, you were perched on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. “Perfect. Now I can eat and hold you,” he teased, grinning as he grabbed his fork again. You laughed, tucking your head into the crook of his neck

 “Multitasking at its finest,” you joked back, though your heart was swelling with how easy and affectionate he was with you. For a moment, you stayed like that—wrapped up in each other, the world outside the house feeling like it didn’t exist. You’d never imagined that someone like Trent, someone so chaotic yet grounding, could fit so seamlessly into your quiet moments like this.

“Alright,” he said after a final bite, placing his fork down with a soft clink. He kissed the side of your head, his lips lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Let’s get to Formby, yeah?” You smiled against his shoulder, nodding. 

As you stood in Trent’s room, rifling through the bits of clothing he’d left scattered on the bed, you came to a realization—you didn’t have anything to put on. A Yves Saint Laurent mini dress was hardly something that you wanted to sit on a cold north western shoreline in. You sighed, holding up one of Trent’s jumpers, oversized and impossibly soft, the faint scent of him clinging to the fabric.you shook your head trying to get away from your nagging thoughts. 

“If I wear this, will I look as cool as you?” you teased, turning to face him with a playful smile. Trent glanced up from his phone, his brow raising as he looked you over. 

“Nah… probably not,” he replied with a sly grin, leaning back against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Feigning a look of hurt, you clutched the jumper to your chest.

“Wow,” you said, your voice dripping with mock offense. He chuckled and pushed off the frame, walking over to you. 

“I’m kidding. You’re much cooler, baby,” he admitted, his grin softening as he watched you pull the jumper over your head. You tugged it into place, the hem hitting your thighs as the sleeves engulfed your hands.

“I like this though,” you murmured, adjusting the neckline and pulling it close to your skin. It was comfortable, yes, but it was more than that. It felt like him, and you didn’t want to take it off. “Can I wear it…just to the beach?” You asked. Trent hummed as his gaze lingered on you for a moment, his expression shifting into something softer. 

“Course. It suits you,” he said quietly. You smiled at his words but couldn’t ignore the thought that gnawed at the back of your mind. You wanted to keep it, to have this piece of him to carry with you. But it wasn’t like with anyone else—this wasn’t some casual boy whose clothes you could wear home without question. If you showed up at your house in Trent’s jumper, Jack would undoubtedly have something to say. Trent must’ve seen the flicker of hesitation in your eyes because he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently tug at the oversized sleeve. “I know, pretty girl. We’ll figure it out,” he offered simply. You wanted to ask ‘how?’ so badly, to use this one small thing to help define and clarify your entire relationship. The weight of reality had settled over you like a shadow, the stark reminder of everything complicated about the two of you neatly tucked between moments when it felt like things might finally be working.

“Okay,” you whispered softly, your fingers curling around the hem. You looked up at him, his dark eyes holding yours in a way that made your chest ache. Slowly, you nodded.  As you smoothed down the fabric, Trent reached out and tilted your chin up gently with his fingers. 

“Okay” he murmured, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “day by day. Yeah?” He knew that this was more than just some silly jumper. He understood how much this hurt but that’s all you could do, go day by day. To rush it wasn’t smart. It didn’t make sense. You rolled your eyes, your heart lighter despite the weight of everything else. 

“Obviously,” you teased, your voice softer than before. And with that, you grabbed your bag, ready to leave pulling the sleeves over your hands feeling like it was something far more significant than just a piece of clothing. Something that tethered you to him, even as the rest of the world threatened to pull you apart.

The beach stretched out in front of you, a vast expanse of cold, pale sand meeting the endless blue-grey of the sea. The wind was brisk but refreshing, carrying the tang of saltwater and the soft cries of distant gulls. You and Trent sat on a low sand dune, the world around you quiet save for the rhythmic crash of waves breaking against the shore. You pulled his jumper over your hands again and dug your barefeet into the sand. Trent shifted beside you, his hands buried in his pockets for warmth. He glanced at you and opened his mouth…

“So, what do—” He began to speak. You stopped him gently. 

“T, it’s okay.” your voice was soft but certain. He furrowed his brow, confused for a moment, and you turned to look at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I know you say I yap during movies,” you teased lightly, “but you yap during moments.” You cooed gently. His mouth curved into a sheepish grin, your voice was quieter now, almost carried away by the wind. “It’s okay to just sit here and breathe.” You gestured to the horizon with a tilt of your head. “Be in the air, take in the sights, really listen to the sounds. Just… reset, you know?” Trent didn’t respond right away. He turned his attention back to the waves, the tension in his shoulders easing as he absorbed your words but you felt like you needed to explain yourself. “I just need to sit sometimes,” you added, pulling your knees to your chest and hugging them close. Your gaze swept over the sea, the endless ebb and flow grounding you in a way nothing else could. You’d come to the seaside once a month at least since your mum passed. Your dad used to bring you. You wouldn’t talk much but it just gave you two the space you so desperately needed. But even after he stopped going, you kept coming. It felt like home, a place you needed when your house at the time felt so empty.  Trent shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours. He didn’t speak, and for once, neither did you. The silence wasn’t empty; it was full—full of the crash of the waves, the rustling of the grass behind you, and the occasional whistle of the wind. You tilted your head to glance at him, and his profile was soft against the muted light of the overcast sky. His lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something, but then he stopped himself. Instead, he leaned back on his hands, letting his eyes drift back to the horizon.

“Reset,” he echoed quietly, almost to himself. You smiled to yourself, turning back to face the waves, letting the cold air bite at your cheeks as the two of you simply sat there. The weight of the world felt lighter, here on the sand dunes, just the two of you, sharing a moment without needing to fill it with anything more than what it already was. The quiet enveloped you again, the wind whistling softly through the dunes, but soon Trent’s question broke the stillness. “Baby… what did your mum want you to tell me?” he asked gently, his voice careful but steady, his eyes fixed on you. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt your heart skip. He felt it last night, you felt it last night, those three words looming. That lingering feeling that stemmed from the book you tried to give him when you attempted to end it all. Of course, he’d ask. It was ominous in a way. Your mum urging you to ‘tell Trent.’ But last night, your first date, you both could feel the words rising in your throats, they were desperate to come out. The love was so obviously there and sleep hadn’t cleared any of those feelings away. Trent had a way of seeing through you, even when you tried to bury things deep. The truth lingered just behind your lips, but now didn’t feel like the moment to release it.

“Erm…” you stalled, looking down at the grains of sand shifting beneath your hands as you thought. “I think she just wanted me to be brave with you,” you finally managed, your voice soft and unsteady. “I don’t think it was anything too specific.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn't the truth, and you both knew it. You loved Trent for years and long before this happened even your mum could see that. Trent just couldn’t be the one to cross that line. He couldn’t do it to Jack, he couldn’t put you in that position, he needed you to do it, needed to hear you say it. The look in his eyes told you he could see right through the veil of your words, but he didn’t press. Instead, he hummed softly, acknowledging the lie but choosing to let it rest for now.

“I remember once,” you began, your voice somehow even quieter now, as if sharing a memory you rarely spoke about, “I told my mum about how nice you were to me one afternoon. We were teenagers, and you bought me a hot chocolate while at a christmas market.” You smiled faintly at the memory, as Trent’s thumb brushed over your arm absently. “She asked me if I told you that. How much it meant.” You cooed.

“Did you?” He turned to look at you, curious. You shook your head with a small, rueful laugh. 

“No. When I said I hadn’t, she told me, ‘Everyone likes to know they’re… appreciated.’ I still think about that now.” You could hear your mum’s voice as you spoke her words. She didn’t say ‘appreciated’ though, she had said ‘loved’ but you couldn’t get that word out. His lips curved into a soft smile as you glanced at him. “I wish I’d taken her advice then,” you admitted, the weight of your words carrying something more. “I wish I told her more. I wish I told you more.” You sighed. You lowered your eyes, the guilt of unsaid things knotting in your chest. 

“Baby…”He exhaled as his arm tightened around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your temple. The warmth of his lips against your skin made your eyes sting with tears. “It’s okay,” he murmured against your hair, his voice barely above a whisper. “I knew… and she definitely knew.” The words settled in your heart, bittersweet but comforting. You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder as the waves crashed in the distance. Neither of you spoke again for a while, but his arm stayed firmly around you, a silent promise that in this moment, you weren’t alone.

The drive away from the beach was quiet, but your mind was anything but. The ache in your chest was sharp and persistent, the kind that comes from confusion and longing tangled together. You loved Trent—you knew you loved him. So why couldn’t you just say it? Unfortunately, you knew why. You were terrified he didn’t feel the same. Terrified that once the words were out, the delicate balance you’d built together would crumble.

As the car came to a stop in his driveway, you peeled off the jumper you’d borrowed, the familiar fabric suddenly feeling too heavy on your skin. It hurt—giving it back hurt—like you were handing over a piece of him that you weren’t sure you’d get to keep. Trent wasn’t sure what to say because there was nothing to say to fix this… there were only things he could do to fix it. Trent turned to you, his eyes soft but filled with unspoken things. He didn’t take the jumper from you immediately, instead reaching out to pull you toward him, his hand firm on your hip. The motion was gentle but insistent, and before you could think, his forehead was pressed to yours.

“I’m gonna make us work, okay?” he said, his voice low and steady, a conviction behind his words that sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded, the lump in your throat making it hard to do anything else. A sniffle escaped, and he caught it, brushing a thumb across your cheek before pulling you into him for a brief, grounding hug. Believing him was all you could do because it was all you wanted. You’d dreamed of this for years, and now it was here, fragile and imperfect, but here. When the car service pulled into the driveway, your heart sank further. This wasn’t how you imagined the evening ending. Trent wanted to bring you home, you could see it in the way his eyes flickered with frustration. But you had told him it was fine, and it was. Jack would be at your place, and it just wasn’t the time—not yet. He didn’t argue, though you could feel the tension radiating off him as he walked you to the car. Before you slid inside, he kissed you in the driveway. It wasn’t a quick, casual goodbye; it was all-consuming. The kind of kiss that stole your breath, that made you feel like the ground beneath you didn’t exist. You clung to him for a moment, wishing the car would disappear, wishing you could just stay wrapped in him and let everything else fade away. But eventually, you pulled back, his hands reluctantly dropping to his sides. As you slid into the back seat of the car, the cool leather of the seats pressed against your bare thighs, a harsh reminder of reality. Through the window, you caught one last look at him—standing there, hands in his pockets, watching as the car pulled away. He looked as reluctant to let you go as you felt. The ache in your chest deepened, but somewhere in the back of your mind, his words echoed. And you had to hold onto that because it was the only thing keeping the ache from completely taking over.

You walked into the kitchen after a shower late in the day, the faint hum of voices reaching your ears as you approached. Jack was just ending a phone call, his tone sounded curt.

“Alright, mate. Talk later,” he said and hung up. Across the room, Noah sat at the island, casually picking at a plate of food, his posture relaxed as though he’d been there for a while. Jack turned to Noah with a furrowed brow, a look of mild irritation shadowing his face. “Have you heard anything from Trentski lately?” he asked, leaning against the counter with crossed arms.

“Not too much. Why?” Noah shrugged, chewing slowly, his mouth full mumbling his words together.

“He’s been off with me,” Jack said, his voice edged with frustration. “Even just now on the phone, he sounded so… standoffish. He’s been like this for a while now. I don’t know what his problem is.” You froze mid-step, pretending to fidget with something on the counter as you silently listened. Your pulse quickened, and you avoided meeting their eyes, praying your face wouldn’t betray you. Noah tilted his head thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, he has been a bit off,” he said, as if just realizing it himself. “But, you know Trent. The only time he ever really retreats like this is when he’s being pissy about something. He’s not an open book.” Noah smirked looking for a joke. But Jack only sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Right? But, bro, it feels targeted at me… like if I’ve done something lad, just say it. But no, he has to act all cryptic and moody. What’s his deal?” Jack asked openly, getting a bit frustrated with Trent’s growing resistance towards him. Where did his best friend go? Noah hesitated, a small smirk pulling at his lips before he continued.

 “Well… I mean, I did hear him talking with someone the other night,” he said casually, leaning back in his chair. Jack perked up. 

“What do you mean? Like on the phone?” He asked earnestly.

“Yeah, mate,” Noah replied, shaking his head in disbelief recalling the scene. “It was when we were all over at my place for that movie night. He stepped into the kitchen and I walked in on him on the phone. He was talking to a girl—but it was clearly more than some link to him.” Your stomach dropped, the knot of anxiety in your chest tightening. You wondered if this was the call with you. You assumed it was unless he had called someone after for reprieve. You’d hoped not, so you listened carefully. You kept your movements deliberate and slow, opening a cupboard and pretending to inspect its contents, though you were barely processing what was in front of you.

“A girl?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. Noah nodded. 

“Bro….” he cautioned him as if to prepare Jack for how Trent was acting on this call. “Yeah, mate. And he sounded different, too—like�� nervous. Almost sweet, if you can believe it. I didn’t think much of it, he was being sus, wouldn’t let me in but now? I dunno, I think Trent’s in deep that’s why he’s not around.” He explained.

“In deep?” Jack repeated, laughing. “Come on, mate. It’s Trent. The guy doesn’t do deep.” Noah laughed along with him.

“That’s what I thought so it didn’t track at first. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it - where did he find a bird he’s like this with. But I’m serious. I think he’s caught feelings. Jack… mate, I mean it, from what I witnessed he might even have proper feelings for this girl. He was a mess.” Noah laughed reminiscing on the sheer joy he felt watching ever composed Trent fumble over his words on the phone. But then the two of them burst out laughing, the idea seemingly too absurd for them to fathom. 

“Nah, not Trenty. Not a chance.” Jack shook his head, still chuckling. “We would've met the girl,” he added. But their laughter barely registered as your heart sank. Their words lingered, each one hitting you like a stone sinking deeper into the pit of your stomach. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the counter. You glanced over your shoulder just enough to catch Jack shaking his head again. “He’d tell me if it was serious,” he said, his voice confident. “Wouldn’t he?” Noah shrugged noncommittally, and Jack turned his attention back to whatever was in front of him. You couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on your chest, the mix of emotions swirling inside you—fear, guilt, and a growing sense of hopelessness. The way they dismissed the idea of Trent being in love felt like a slap to the face, a cruel reminder of how precarious everything had been and yet simultaneously how meaningless. Would this ultimately just end up being a secret you’d have to take to the grave, the few months you got with your brother’s best friend. It all made you so angry. You wanted to scream, to storm out of the kitchen, to do something, anything, but instead, you stayed frozen in place, clinging to the façade that nothing was wrong. You reached up to grab a glass from the cabinet, trying to keep your movements calm and steady despite the weight of their conversation. Jack, leaning against the island, folded his arms as he pressed further. “Was it that girl Jess?” he asked, his tone sharp. “You know, Meg’s friend, the last one he was hooking up with? She was around his for a bit, wasn’t she?” The mention of another name—Jess—had your stomach twisting in knots, the glass slipping from your fingers. It shattered against the tile floor, the loud crash jolting all three of you. “Jesus, Y/N!” Jack whipped around, his eyes wide with alarm. “You good?” He asked with genuine concern looking at the shards scattered around your feet. A visual representation of your life at the minute, he could never understand.

“Sorry!” you stammered, kneeling quickly to pick up the pieces, your hands shaking. “I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry, sorry I’ll clean it up.” You babbled nervously as your hands shook. Jack rolled his eyes, muttering something about you being careless, while Noah leaned over slightly, glancing down at you. He tried to move the conversation forward, his voice lighthearted as if to brush past your blunder. Nothing too deep, people drop things.

“Nah, it wasn’t Jess,” Noah said, laughing a little as he kept picking at his food. “This girl has him fucked up, mate. Like, completely different vibe.” He explained.

“What do you mean?” Jack’s interest was piqued. 

“I mean,” Noah began, leaning back in his chair, “I heard him that night. He wasn’t just trying to get her to come over. He was begging for her to stay. He sounded desperate, almost scared she wouldn’t. I’m telling you mate. He was a mess.” Noah further explained to Jack.  You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the words sank in. The shards of glass in your hand suddenly felt sharper, more dangerous. Noah continued, oblivious to the effect his words were having on you. “Apparently, this is the girl, mate. He told me, like, the one. Dream girl status. He’s in love with her.” Noah emphasized word. The idea of love sent a shockwave through you. 

“Fuck.” You whimpered carelessly as your hand slipped against a jagged edge of glass, and you winced as a sharp sting sliced through your skin.

“Shit, Y/N!” Noah exclaimed, leaning forward. “You alright?” You nodded quickly, shaking your head as if to clear the haze in your mind.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice unsteady. “Just—just a little cut. I’ll clean it up.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere,” Jack said, grabbing a tea towel and tossing it in your direction quickly, nervous you might bleed out by the time he got over to you. “Be careful, for fuck’s sake. You promise you’re okay?” He asked seriously, moving towards you now faster from the other side of the room. Noah still looked concerned, but you waved them both off, standing up and wrapping your finger in the towel. 

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, grabbing the broom with your uninjured hand. “I’ve got it.” You waved Jack off so he gave you the space. But your mind wasn’t on the mess. It was on Noah’s words. Trent was in love? The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you dizzy and disoriented. Could it really be you he was talking about? Noah knew Trent like the back of his hand… he’d know how Trent really felt about someone. Was this the call with you… or maybe worse, was this a call with someone else—someone like Jess, someone who wasn’t tangled up in a web of secrets and guilt? You stole a glance at Jack, who was already back distracted by his phone, completely unaware of the storm raging inside you. Noah, meanwhile, had gone back to his food, the conversation now drifting into casual banter. But you couldn’t focus. All you could think about was Trent. Was this real? Could he really feel that way about you? And if he did… what did it mean for everything else? For Jack? For you? You swallowed hard, the cut on your finger forgotten as the weight of it all settled on your chest.

The boy Devon, the Manchester United player, Josh’s friend, that you spotted at dinner wasted no time, spinning the scene he’d witnessed like a web of intrigue. Seeing you and Trent at dinner together had been unexpected, even puzzling. On its own, it might’ve been easily dismissed—after all, you and Trent had history, you knew each other through Jack and people could convince themselves it was merely friendly. But there was something about the way Trent looked at you that night, a softness, a protectiveness that the boy hadn’t missed. It planted a seed, one that began to grow in the back of his mind and one he was ready to share with your ex. When saw Josh next, he was ready for his opportunity to stir the pot

“You’ll never guess who I saw the other night,” Devon said, leaning against a locker with a smirk. “Mate�� Y/N L/N and Trent Alexander-Arnold. At dinner.” Josh’s head whipped around at the mention of your name. 

“What?” he asked sharply, his voice betraying a flicker of interest despite himself.

“At dinner,” Devon repeated, dragging it out for effect. “Looked cozy too. Candlelit table, just the two of them.” Josh frowned, his jaw tightening. 

“C’mon. Bro, I know I said shit about her before but they’re friends. She’s Jack’s sister. That’s been her thing for years. He’s never gone for it.” Josh explained having a hard time wrapping his head around it. He knew you wanted Trent, he could even see the way Trent wanted you but it actually happening… and not behind closed doors? Out in public? It seemed so farfetched.

“Maybe,” Devon said with a shrug, though his smirk didn’t waver. “But you know, sometimes even the nice ones… snap. He didn’t look like a ‘just friends’ kind of guy to me. Looked like he finally realized what was right in front of him.” He smugly told Josh. Josh tried to laugh it off, but there was an edge to it, sharp and bitter. 

“Whatever, mate. She’s not my problem anymore.” He muttered.

“Sure,” Devon replied smoothly, though he didn’t believe it for a second. He could see the flicker of annoyance in Josh’s eyes, the remnants of a claim Josh still felt over you, no matter how fractured things had been between you. “So you wouldn’t believe a photo of them then?” Devon smirked flashing him the photo he took on his screen. Josh jumped to grab the phone, shocked. He inspected the photo fuming. Devon snatched his phone back out of his hands “Looks pretty fucking friendly to me, mate.” He smugly laughed as he turned to leave the room. But Josh couldn’t leave it there, he had seen it, he needed more information, he needed more… ammunition. As Devon walked away, his words echoed in Josh’s mind. Trent and Y/N? At dinner? It was almost laughable, except it wasn’t. Josh had known you long enough to know how deep your feelings for Trent ran, even when you tried to hide it. And if Trent had finally reciprocated? He hated the thought, he hated the photo, he hated that Trent’s waiting game won out. It made him sick. He pushed you to Trent and then as a lump formed in his throat, his anger towards you shoved it down. He hated you for choosing Trent. Cynicism crept in, laced with exasperation and a thirst for vengeance. He remembered the sting of your split, the way things ended and why, and how easily you seemed to fall into the waiting arms of Trent—at least in his eyes. And now, you two were parading around together? It wasn’t about love or loss anymore. It was about pride, about the idea of someone like Trent waltzing into his old territory without so much as a second thought. Josh began to piece together a plan. If Trent thought he could take you out of Josh’s life and into his unnoticed, he was wrong. And if you thought this could stay secret, you were wrong too. A wicked grin spread across Josh’s face as he envisioned the chaos it might cause when Jack found out. How much it would hurt you, hurt Trent. He didn’t care if he and Devon were wrong, if it was just ‘friendly.’ The perception alone would be enough. Josh grabbed his phone, thumbing through his contacts until he landed on Jack’s name. He didn’t press call—not yet. He needed to get the photo first and timing was everything, and he intended to make sure this landed perfectly.  After all, what better way to even the score than to drop a bombshell like this?

The gossip about Trent seeing someone began to brew more and more each day. Evidently, seeping beyond just Jack and Noah but into other friend groups.  You were out at the shops just stopping to pick up a few things when you spotted Megan and Jess as you rounded the corner of the produce aisle, their voices reaching you before their faces did. Megan was pleasant, flashing you a smile when she saw you, but Jess’s expression was harder to read. Her eyes lingered on you, sharp and curious, as if she was sizing you up.

“Y/N!” Megan greeted, her tone light and cheerful. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Haven’t seen you in a minute, probably since the other week at the birthday.” You offered a polite smile, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“Yeah, course. Hi. I’m just picking up a few things.” You cooed softly. The conversation started innocently enough. Megan talked about Jack, about her plans for the weekend, and you nodded along, trying to keep your responses short. But then, the conversation shifted.

“So,” Megan said casually, “we’ve heard rumblings that Trent’s seeing someone.” Her words hit you like a freight train. A part of you was instinctively annoyed at your brother just imagining him complaining to Megan about Trent and relaying Noah’s information spilled in the kitchen. You didn’t know if that was who told her but you could imagine. Your grip on your bag tightened, but you forced your face to remain neutral. 

“Yeah? I wouldn’t know,” you said quickly, hoping the lie sounded believable.

“Hmm,” Jess hummed, a small smirk tugging at her lips. Her skepticism was evident, and you could feel her eyes burning into you. She didn’t believe you for a second. Megan tilted her head, clearly confused by your answer. 

“I mean, you two are close though, aren’t you? You’re always with the boys! I feel like you’d hear or I’d think he’d tell you even.” She smiled sincerely. If Megan was being honest she knew you had a crush on Trent, it was glaringly obvious but she wasn’t going to hurt you and call you out on it. Besides, her friend Jess liked him, she was just looking for intel. You hesitated, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“I guess… I mean, if he wasn’t, I’m sure he’d reach out or something. I don’t really know what’s going on with him right now.” You babbled awkwardly. You didn’t know what to say really. But what you did say…was a rookie mistake. You realized it the moment the words left your mouth. Jess’s smirk widened, and Megan’s eyebrows shot up.

“So he is seeing someone,” Megan said slowly, her confusion deepening. “Because he definitely hasn’t reached out to Jess.” She glanced at her friend, then back at you, as if trying to piece together a puzzle. Megan knew you liked Trent but from the lens of a little sister liking her older brother’s friend- nothing more. She wasn’t being cynical or mean she was just looking for information. And right now she was with Jess, who hadn’t shut up about Trent falling off the grid for months. Your cheeks burned, and you felt your chest tighten. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, you fumbled with your shopping bags, pretending they were suddenly too heavy to manage.

“Erm, I really don’t know,” you said, your voice shaky. “Sorry, I’ve got to go—running late.” Without waiting for a response, you darted away, your heart pounding as you put as much distance between yourself and them as possible. You could feel their eyes on you as you turned the corner, and you didn’t dare look back. The encounter left you rattled. You gripped your bags tightly, replaying the exchange in your head as you hurried down the street, your heart pounding. Megan’s raised eyebrows, Jess’s sharp, knowing glances—it all felt like a storm you weren’t prepared for. Their words echoed in your mind. ‘So he’s seeing someone.’ They didn’t know it was you, but the realization and possibility that they were piecing it together made your stomach churn. Jess’s skepticism had been palpable, her eyes narrowing like she already suspected the truth but was waiting for you to slip. You sighed as you reached your car, fumbling with the keys. Why had you even tried to lie? It wasn’t like you were good at it, and the awkward babbling only made things worse. But what were you supposed to do? Confirm it? Out yourself? Out Trent? That wasn’t an option either. But why did he want it secret? You guessed it was good Jess hadn’t heard from him. But how long had it been? Was there in overlap? As you sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls were closing in. The more the gossip spread, the harder it would be to keep your relationship under wraps. The thought of Jack finding out this way—through whispers and rumors—made you feel sick.

You thought about texting Trent, maybe to warn him or just to vent, but even that felt risky. Instead, you took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself. This was the price of keeping things a secret, wasn’t it? The constant worry, the careful balancing act, the fear that one slip could send it all crashing down. And yet, despite it all, you knew you couldn’t stay away from him. Trent was worth it. At least, you hoped he was. You hoped he thought the same about you, that he wouldn’t falter under the pressure building around you both. As you pulled out of the parking lot, you tried to shake off the anxiety, telling yourself it would all blow over. But deep down, you knew this was only the beginning. The gossip wasn’t going to stop, and neither, it seemed, was the tension.

It felt surreal, wearing Trent’s jersey to a home game at Anfield. He’d given it to you weeks ago, but when you finally were all going to a match, he officially asked you to wear it tonight, it felt different—more deliberate, more intimate. The weight of it wasn’t just fabric; it was a claim, a silent declaration that you were his. The box was buzzing with energy as you sat with Jack, Noah, Layla, Megan, Trent’s family, and more of their friends, all of them in good spirits after the game started. But the teasing was relentless, especially from Noah.

“Big statement, Y/N,” he quipped, eyeing the bolded double barreled surname and number on your back. Everyone’s eyes flickered towards you as you took off your coat. You rolled your eyes. 

“Wait… When did you get the new kit? What the fuck… I wanted one.” Jack snapped annoyed. But then Megan spoke over him. She leaned over squeezing your leg kindly. 

“Don’t let the cameras catch that. You’ll start rumors.” Megan laughed as Noah chuckled, shaking his head. You forced a laugh, shrugging off their remarks, but your cheeks burned under their scrutiny. You turned to continue your conversation with Layla praying they’d drop the whole thing. They had no idea what the jersey truly meant, and part of you relished that secrecy, even as you squirmed under their playful jabs. 

The game flew by in a blur of cheering, tension, and stolen glances at the man on the pitch. Trent looked up toward the box once or twice, and though his focus remained on the match, you could feel his presence even from afar. It wasn’t just a jersey; it was a tether, a connection that made your chest swell with pride every time his name echoed through the stadium.When the final whistle blew and the crowd erupted but then a bit after that… your phone buzzed quietly in your lap.

'Meet me outside the box. I need to see you properly in that kit, baby.'

Your heart skipped, and you swallowed down a smile. Glancing around, you tried to look nonchalant as you slipped your phone into your pocket and stood.

“I’ll be right back,” you said casually, already heading toward the door. “Bathroom or something.” Jack barely acknowledged you, too wrapped up in conversation with Megan and their friends. Layla smirked as you stepped out of the box and into the quieter halls, your footsteps quickening as you made your way to the exit. The moment you saw him coming down the corridor, your heart skipped. He looked effortlessly striking in his tracksuit, exhaustion etched across his features, but the instant his eyes landed on you, a flash of pure happiness lit up his face. Before you could say a word, he closed the distance, pulling you into his arms in a tight, possessive embrace. His warmth surrounded you, and you buried your face into the curve of his neck, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him. 

"You played so well," you murmured, your words muffled by his skin as you pressed soft kisses to his neck.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice low and filled with something deeper. His hands came up to gently cup your face, tilting it so your eyes met.

"Yeah," you confirmed with a shy smile. "Were you trying to impress someone?" you teased, watching as his lips curved into a smirk.

"Maybe," he said, his thumb brushing along your cheek. "Depends. Did I?" He asked. You giggled, nodding as your arms looped around his waist. His hands slid down your sides, firm and deliberate, until they rested on your hips. He tugged you closer, the heat of his body sending a rush of warmth through you. "You look so good tonight," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. His eyes dropped to the jersey you wore-his jersey—and his fingers toyed with the hem. "Fuck me, I like you in this. But I wish I wasn't absolutely knackered, 'cause all I can think about is taking it off you." A teasing grin tugged at your lips as you slipped your hands around his waist, finding the drawstrings of his joggers. 

"I can take care of you tonight, don’t worry, baby," you whispered, your fingers grazing his skin beneath the fabric. "I could even take this off for you." His breath hitched, and he hummed appreciatively, leaning down to press his lips to your neck. His kisses were lazy, languid, and filled with an unspoken promise. He bit down gently, making you gasp, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

"Keep talking like that, and we’re gonna leave right now," he murmured against your skin, his hands slipping under the hem of the jersey to brush against your bare back. You laughed softly, reluctantly pulling back. 

"We should go back inside before they come looking for us." you smiled sympathetically at him. He groaned, his forehead resting against yours.

"You're lucky I'm too tired otherwise you’d be halfway to my bed right now" he teased, but his hands lingered on your hips as you pulled away. 

“I’ll be in your bed in a bit, okay?” You smirked with a cheeky grin. He hummed in response as you turned, his eyes watching your every move like you were the only thing in the world he needed. As you both made your way back to the suite, you couldn't help but feel the imprint of his touch, every whisper of his affection lingering on your skin.

After the match, the usual buzz of a big win had everyone making loose plans to head out, but Trent’s firm 'nah' shifted the momentum. Slowly, the group began to disband, everyone falling back into their own routines. You lingered in the suite as people trickled out, catching Trent’s eye. When you leaned in to hug him goodbye, you buried your face into his neck, the familiar warmth and scent of him grounding you. 

“Still want me to come over, or are you too tired?” You asked softly, whispering into his ear. He hummed against your hair, his voice low and barely audible. 

“Mmhmm please.” The moment stretched just a little too long, just a little too close, and when you finally pulled back, it was enough for Noah to pipe up.

“Ermmm… that was fucking weird, bro. Let go of her,” he laughed, his voice breaking the intimate bubble you’d created with Trent. You tried to play it cool, smoothing your expression. 

“What? A cuddle?” you said, feigning innocence.

“Yeah,” he laughed with Noah. “Y/N, are you drunk?” Jack asked you jokingly citing the only time you and Trent were that affectionate was at parties after tequila shots and lowered inhibitions. He leaned against Megan with a raised brow. “Why are you throwing yourself at him like that?” He asked a bit more earnestly and the tension sharpened, the air suddenly heavy. You could feel the blood rush to your cheeks, but before you could scramble for a response, Layla swooped in.

“Jesus, just kiss already,” she teased, swatting playfully at Trent with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Her comment hit like a match to dry kindling. The room erupted in laughter, the tension instantly diffused. You shot her a grateful smile as she grinned back knowingly. “Coming to stay with me tonight,” Layla said, still half-laughing but with a subtle edge of sincerity, offering the perfect cover. “We’ll have a girls’ night. Do a face mask or whatever.” Trent smirked but said nothing, letting Layla’s quick wit take the spotlight. The group moved on, their teasing fading as they returned to casual chatter. The room felt lighter again, and you knew you owed Layla for smoothing over what could’ve been a minefield. As everyone packed up and started heading out, Trent caught your eye again, a quiet promise lingering between you both.

The drive home was quiet at first, the soft hum of the radio filling the silence between you and Layla. But you could feel her glances, her curiosity practically brimming over.

“So… what’s going on with you and Trent? Post-date, I mean.” She finally asked. You sighed, resting your head against the window. 

“It was meant to be good,” you began, your voice low, “but it feels just like before, especially tonight. Just hidden. I thought we were ready to move forward, you know?” Layla frowned, her tone gentle but probing. 

“So what’s stopping you?” You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Lay, what if I don’t want it? Not like this. Sometimes… sometimes I feel like I’m the one pulling him into the shadows, like we’re both doing this to each other. Hiding.  Like he’s subtle but I’m… hiding. And now, with Josh’s friend Devon… seeing us at dinner—God, I’m terrified.” Her face softened as she glanced at you, one hand briefly leaving the wheel to give your knee a reassuring squeeze.

 “It’ll be okay,” she said gently. “It’s just going to take time, yeah? You and Trent have always had this… thing. You guys have communicated so long with no words, going off glances but now… things have to change. You’ll figure it out.” You nodded, but her words only soothed the surface. The knots in your stomach refused to untangle. By the time you arrived at Trent’s house, the air between you and him felt thick. Not with anger—no, it wasn’t that—but with emotion. Too much, all at once.

The tension wasn’t hostile, but it was heavy. You both cared so deeply for one another, but the weight of it was beginning to show, even behind closed doors where no one else could see. When you crawled into bed with him that night, there was no talk of passion or promises. No desperate moves to bridge the gap between your feelings and your fears. Instead, you simply held each other. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he tucked his chin over your head. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur. You didn’t respond, but you didn’t need to. You nestled into him, letting his warmth soothe the ache in your chest. Everything about that moment should have been perfect. The way his heartbeat steadied your breathing, the way his hands absentmindedly rubbed circles into your back. And yet, nothing was. You fell asleep tangled together, but the ache of what wasn’t said lingered.

Noah was throwing a party. He had tossed you and Layla the usual invites you’d come to expect to receive. The music pulsed through his house, spilling out onto the lawn as you and Layla stepped inside. The scene was much bigger than you anticipated—people were crammed into every corner, the laughter and chatter nearly deafening. Layla raised a skeptical brow as you glanced at each other. You shrugged. Noah’s usual ‘small gathering’ had clearly spiraled into something else.

“Aye, you alright?” Trent’s voice cut through the crowd. He spotted you almost immediately, a grin spreading across his face. You’d been texting all day, but nothing substantial had changed between you. The limbo of your relationship was still palpable, and yet, seeing him now, your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah, all good,” you replied sweetly with a small smile, though you couldn’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Layla folded her arms, glancing around at the sheer number of people. 

“Didn’t know the whole squad would be here,” she muttered, clearly unimpressed. Trent gave her a cheeky hug, a quick and friendly gesture, before turning his attention fully to you. His arms wrapped around you in a much tighter, longer embrace, swaying slightly with a hum as he leaned into you. His scent—faint cologne mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol—was intoxicating.

“Missed you, baby,” you whispered in his ear, your teeth pulling on his earlobe, your words soft, just for him. Before you could step back, he tightened his grip, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips brushed against your ear, and he murmured something low, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“Look so sexy. Gonna let me fuck you in the toilet again, yeah?” He cheekily whispered. It was more of a tease then an actual ask but then again, maybe it wasn’t. Your eyes widened briefly at his words, but you nodded, the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile. Layla tugged at the back of your top, signaling for you to let go of him, because you had no plans to, but you barely moved. Trent’s arms lingered around you for just a moment longer before he reluctantly pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he met your gaze one last time.

“What did he say?” Layla asked under her breath, watching you carefully. You shook your head with a small laugh, brushing it off. 

“Nothing,” you lied, though your cheeks betrayed you with a warm flush. Layla gave you a knowing look but didn’t press further, letting the moment settle as the party surged on around you. 

Trent stood slightly off to the side of his friends, arms crossed and his focus split. Noah was with him, cracking jokes as always, but the boy beside them—Bailey—was an unfamiliar face, part of a wider circle of acquaintances that Trent didn’t know well. What started as idle conversation quickly shifted the moment Bailey’s attention landed on you across the room.Bailey’s jaw slackened, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made Trent’s stomach churn. His discomfort was immediate, though he kept his face neutral, following Bailey’s gaze. You were talking to Layla, smiling brightly, your hand gesturing animatedly as you spoke.

“She’s certainly not ugly,” Noah noticing, quipped with a laugh, slapping Bailey on the back.

“She’s so fit, mate,” Bailey added, his voice dripping with awe. “Fucks sake, mate. Any of you get with her?” Trent’s jaw tightened at the audacity of the question, but Noah—always quick to stir the pot—grinned and threw in a jab.

“Trenty wishes,” Noah smirked, throwing a few playful punches at Trent’s arm. “But he’s got a new bird now apparently. So what’s going on there with Y/N then? I thought you'd take her up on the offer eventually.”

“Nah, don’t say that. Jack would kill me, you know that,” Trent shot back quickly, his voice steady despite the unease settling in his chest. He knew bringing up Jack was the easiest way to shut the conversation down, but it wasn’t the full truth. Bailey frowned, looking between them in confusion. 

“You lot don’t think about her that way?” he asked, incredulous.

“I mean, course,” Trent admitted instinctively fast and drunkenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He immediately wanted to hit himself. Noah, catching the crack in Trent’s usual composure, smirked smugly. 

“Jack’s not here tonight, lad. It’s your limited window. You’re telling me you don’t notice the way she acts around you? Notice the way she looks?” Noah’s cheek was growing and Tren’t resolve was dwindling. He let out a long sigh, his gaze drifting back to you as you tilted your head back with a laugh at something Layla said. The warm overhead lights danced over your skin, making you look radiant. His chest ached with longing, the lie he lived burning in his throat.

“I mean, yeah. She’s beautiful,” Trent said softly, almost to himself.

“Beautiful?” Bailey barked out a laugh. “She’s fucking fit. Got a body on her.” Trent’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt as he scanned your body over the same way Bailey was, from the tip of your boots to the top of your head, desire on both of their minds.

“Erm, yeah, mate.” Trent’s eyes narrowed. “She’s something,” he said quietly, shaking his head in frustration. Noah, sensing the tension, pressed further, his voice full of teasing delight.

“Trent knows her well,” he told Bailey, grinning. Trent scoffed, trying to brush it off. “You do!” Noah yelped. “Bro, you’re the only one she sits with. The only one she lets touch her. And no one says anything. C’mon, Trenty, stop playing nice. Tell the lad about her.” Noah prodded pushing Trent to tell Bailey how great you were knowing it’d be hard for him. 

“Nah, mate. I guess, I don’t know,” Trent muttered, forcing the words out in a desperate attempt to end the conversation. But his chest tightened, the weight of his feelings—so much more than Noah or Bailey could understand—bearing down on him. Just then, their other friend, Aidan, walked over, draping an arm around Trent. The distraction was welcome, but it didn’t erase the pit of frustration and yearning brewing inside him. He couldn’t stand this conversation, couldn’t stand Bailey’s gawking, couldn’t stand the charade. Trent’s eyes flicked back to you, his heart thudding as he watched you smile. You were oblivious to the storm swirling in him, but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling like tonight was another reminder of just how much he hated hiding.

“We talking Jack’s sister? Yeah, I won’t lie boys, she’s leng. Come on, you know she’s good in bed as well,” Aidan added casually, his voice slurring slightly with the weight of too many drinks. Trent winced, the comment hitting him like a sharp jab.

“What? Have you?” he asked, his tone panicked and defensive, betraying the calm facade he’d been trying to maintain.

“No, I wish,” Aidan laughed, oblivious to Trent’s reaction. “I mean, you can just tell though.”

“Yeah, you can tell,” Bailey chimed in with a smirk, his eyes lingering on you from across the room. “But mate, it seems like she’s into you. I saw you hug her when she came in.”  Trent’s heart rate picked up, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral.

 “Probably the only one she’d let have a cuddle in that fit,” Noah laughed, throwing fuel on the fire watching you adjust the hem of your mini skirt knowing you’d wouldn't let just any boy put their hands on you when you were out.

“I don’t know how you practice this much restraint if you're already in,” Bailey said, shaking his head in disbelief. Trent swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as Aidan cut back in, leaning slightly closer to Trent as if to confide some secret.

“Seriously, I don’t know how you do it, bro. She always struts around us in nothing." He then looked at Noah and Bailey. "I think she likes the attention, but we all know she likes Trenty’s attention the most.” The words twisted in Trent’s gut like a knife. He hated the way they spoke about you, the casual objectification of someone they knew so well yet also barely knew beyond the surface, the way he did.

“Eh, don’t know lads. She’s just chill. I don’t think she thinks about it,” Trent said, forcing his voice to stay steady.

“Come on,” Noah rolled his eyes, annoyed that even in his drunk state, Trent wouldn’t falter. But Trent couldn’t falter, not here, not now. He knew the boys had always talked shit like this at parties, tossing your name into the mix like you were some topic for debate. Normally, he brushed it off, participating but choosing to stay silent when it came to you rather than feed into it. But tonight, it felt different. The way they lingered, the way they openly dissected the dynamics between you and him—it was too real, too close to everything he was trying so hard to protect. The bitterness welled up in his chest, the laughter around him grating on his nerves. He wanted to say something, to shut it down, but any slip of the truth would only add more fuel to their relentless teasing. So instead, he stood there, silent, his fists clenching at his sides, wishing he could pull you out of this party and into a space where none of these people and their drunken commentary could touch you.

You caught Trent’s gaze across the room, and the intensity of his stare made your cheeks flush. His lips quirked into a soft smile, but the cool, effortless demeanor he carried around everyone else seemed to dissolve under your gaze. Layla caught the exchange instantly, smirking as she raised her hand in an exaggerated wave at him. Trent waved back with a charm that felt deliberate, but even Layla could tell he was unraveling.

“God, you’ve got him absolutely gone,” she teased, nudging you with her shoulder. “Whatever you do in bed with him has him a mess. He can’t even pretend anymore, before at least he had a poker face.” She laughed. You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest was undeniable.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing Layla’s hand and weaving through the crowded room toward the boys.

“Hiyaaa!” Layla purred as you reached the group, giving Noah and Aidan hugs and introducing herself to Bailey with her usual flair. But before you could even exchange pleasantries, Trent was there, sliding his arm around your waist in a way that was both subtle and unmistakably possessive, keeping you from getting even in touching distance of the other boys. His fingers dipped into the back of your skirt refusing to let you even try to create space between you. The contact sent a shiver through you, grounding you in his presence. You leaned into him not wanting any space, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whispered something cheeky, just for him. Whatever you said made his grin spread wider, his confidence returning as he pulled you closer.

“Gonna drive you home, hmm?” he murmured aloud, his voice low but loud enough for the others to hear. It was casual, a simple blanket statement, that he’d said a million times to you, but the promise hidden in his tone made your heart race. You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

 “Maybe,” you teased back, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. Layla smirked at the exchange, watching Trent’s usual composure crack further.

“Nah.” He pulled on your skirt’s waist again bringing you tighter into him. “I said… I’m gonna drive you home. Alright?” Trent commandingly told you. The boys watched on in disbelief but you and Trent remained in your bubble, his hand never leaving your waist as the rest of the world faded into background noise. Bailey's jaw dropped as he took in the moment.

"Bro, they have to bang, no?" he blurted out, completely bewildered by the quiet intimacy playing out before him. Layla shrugged nonchalantly but bit her tongue to keep from saying anything.

"If l even put my hand near her, she'd call me bro and swat me away," Noah laughed, gesturing toward you. "But Trent? Nah, he gets to do whatever he wants. Got that pretty boy privilege. We've got a different thing happening here."

"Yeah, mate, he's got the green light. I don't know what he's waiting for," Aiden chimed in, his tone teetering between disbelief and amusement. Bailey blinked, staring intently as Trent's hand casually disappeared under your top, his fingers gliding softly over your stomach. It wasn't showy or bold, but the gesture was undeniably intimate.

"Wait, did he just—" Bailey started, his eyes wide as he turned to the group. "His hand is under her clothes right now. Is this happening? Lads… is this a thing? Have I just been talking about his girl the whole time?" He looked to Aiden and Noah for answers, as if they were the only ones who might hold the key to what was clearly more than just a casual friendship. Layla sighed, debating whether to tell the boys to mind their own business, but before she could speak, Noah interjected, smirking.

"Not his girl officially haha. I think he just likes the game." He smugly said. Layla snapped her head toward Noah, her eyes narrowing in irritation. The comment, whether a joke or not, grated on her. The idea that you could ever be seen as a game to Trent made her blood boil.

"That's not funny, Noah," she said firmly, her tone sharp enough to make him pause. "They’re friends. That’s how T’s always been with her.” She snapped. Noah took a deep breath of understanding. It wasn’t a joke. Even as much stick as everyone gave you and Trent, no one ever meant any mal intent by it. He knew you had a crush on Trent. He would never want Trent to mess with you like that.

“I know, Lay… sorry. It’s only jokes. They’re mates.” Noah responded awkwardly. Not because of Layla but because he would never want to offend you. The group fell into quiet hums of spectators for a moment but none of them could tear their eyes away from the two of you. Trent's attention remained solely on you, his hand moving in a way that felt both protective and adoring, and it was clear to anyone watching-this wasn't a game for him.

“Aye, lads… I’m gonna drive Y/N home,” Trent announced casually, though the way his arm tightened around your waist betrayed his eagerness. You, tipsy and giggling, clung to his side, completely oblivious to the knowing looks bouncing around the group.

“Yeah, sure,” Bailey laughed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Driving her home. Right.” Trent ignored his comment but it wasn't so easy.

“Tonight’s it, lad,” Aiden whispered, gripping Trent’s shoulder with a cheeky grin. His voice was low, but the teasing intent was unmistakable. Trent shook his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was impossible to hide. To redirect the attention and save face, Trent turned to Layla.

“Lays you want a ride too?” He offered, His voice was kind, but the question was almost rhetorical. Layla waved him off immediately.

 “Nah, I’m good. Noah’s got me,” she replied with a knowing smirk, her eyes darting between the two of you. Noah raised a brow, caught off guard.

 “I do?” he asked, but when Layla shot him a pointed look, he shrugged and leaned into the moment. “Yeah, shit, sorry, sure. Yeah, I do. Always happy to help.” His smug grin only grew as he watched you and Trent prepare to leave together. The group watched as Trent guided you toward the door, his hand never leaving the small of your back. As you stepped out into the cool night air and out from prying eyes, Trent leaned down.

 “You alright, baby?” He whispered. You nodded, smiling up at him. “You wanted me to drive you home?” He looked at you smugly. 

“Mhhmm. To your house please. Just want to be with you,” you murmured, your words laced with affection. And with that, the rest of the party faded into the background, leaving just the two of you, ready to retreat to your own little world.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 12 - Monaco xx

[fratttymatty]

Remade

(All characters are 18+)

Zach Turner had always been the type of guy who found comfort in books, video games, and the occasional comic book convention. At 18, he was a senior in high school, a quiet, nerdy, and undeniably gay young man. He lived in the small world of his thoughts and interests, often accompanied by his best friend, Cassie.

Cassie was everything Zach wasn’t: confident, popular, and unashamedly ambitious. They’d known each other since middle school, and she had always been the type of person to look out for Zach, even if her attentions were often a little too intense. Their friendship had always been platonic—or so Zach had thought.

One evening, when Zach was deep into his latest role-playing game, he got a text from Cassie.

Cassie: “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight. It’s important. Be at my house at 8:00 sharp. Don’t be late.”

Zach, curious but not thinking much of it, agreed. After all, Cassie had a flair for the dramatic, and he was used to her pulling pranks or making grandiose plans that never quite panned out.

But that night was different.

When Zach arrived at Cassie’s house, he found the lights dimmed and a strange, almost eerie atmosphere. Cassie, dressed in a sleek black outfit, was waiting for him in the living room, a small, mysterious device in her hands.

“Cassie?” Zach said, looking around nervously. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” she replied, her voice unnervingly calm.

Without any warning, Cassie pulled out the device and pointed it at him. Zach barely had time to react before the world around him seemed to blur, and everything turned dark.

When Zach woke up, he felt strange. His body was heavy, as though he had been asleep for hours, but there was an unnatural weight to it. His chest felt tight, and he groggily blinked his eyes open.

Cassie stood in front of him, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Well, well. You’re awake,” she said, her voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and triumph. “Let’s begin.”

Zach tried to sit up, but found himself restrained. He looked down at his body—his limbs, his torso. Something was wrong. He felt... different. His fingers, once delicate and pale, were now broad, tanned, and muscular. His whole body had an unfamiliar strength to it.

“Cassie,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “What did you do to me?”

“I’m making you perfect,” Cassie replied simply. “The boyfriend I’ve always wanted. You’ve always been my best friend, Zach, but I’ve realized something: you’re not quite what I need. You’re too... soft.”

Zach’s heart pounded in his chest. “What do you mean? This isn’t me, Cassie! I don’t want this!”

“You don’t have a choice,” she said coldly, before flicking a switch on the device.

A surge of energy washed over Zach, and before he could protest, his body began to change in ways he couldn’t comprehend. His limbs elongated and thickened with muscle. His once pale skin darkened to a rich bronze, and his face began to reshape—his jawline sharpening, his cheekbones rising, his eyes shifting to a deeper brown.

Zach cried out, but the sound that escaped his lips wasn’t his own. It was a deeper, more masculine tone.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he gasped, trying to tug at the restraints, but he was too weak. His entire body felt alien to him, as though it belonged to someone else.

“Just relax,” Cassie said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “It’s all part of the process. You’ll get used to it. This is who you’re meant to be.”

Zach couldn’t understand what was happening. It wasn’t just his body that was changing. His mind seemed to be slipping as well—like his thoughts were becoming clouded with confusion, slowly overtaken by the growing sense of strength, dominance, and something else—something he hadn’t felt before.

“Cassie, please,” he begged. “You can’t do this!”

“I can, and I will,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “You’re the perfect foundation. I’m just making you the perfect guy for me. You’re going to be everything I want in a boyfriend.”

Zach’s panic grew as she activated the device again. His body buckled, and with each passing second, it morphed more into something he didn’t recognize. His muscles swelled, his shoulders broadening, his chest growing more defined.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that changed. He could feel it—the shift in his mind. His thoughts, once filled with video games, books, and a quiet, nerdy existence, were starting to fade. In their place were thoughts of power, sports, and girls—Cassie, in particular. He was becoming someone else entirely.

And then, a strange sensation began at the top of his head. His hair. He could feel it shifting, like something pulling at it from the roots. His thick curls—once unruly and wild—began to flatten, the familiar texture becoming straighter and sleeker by the second.

It was as if his hair itself was being reshaped, straightened, darkened. The soft curls he had always worn with pride now transformed into a neat, short, dark brown mane that laid perfectly against his scalp. The thickness remained, but now the texture was different—smooth, sleek, and controlled. His hair fell just above his forehead in a stylish, masculine cut that complemented the broadness of his face.

He reached up, instinctively running his fingers through his hair. It was... perfect. His new hair felt like it was made for him, as if it had always been this way.

When the transformation finally ceased, Zach—no, not Zach anymore—looked at himself in the mirror Cassie had placed in front of him.

Gone was the skinny, pale, awkward white boy he had been. In his place stood a tall, athletic Latino young man, with broad shoulders, defined muscles, and a confident, cocky grin on his face. His eyes, once soft and nerdy, now gleamed with a sense of self-assurance, and his name... it wasn’t Zach anymore.

Cassie’s grin widened. “Meet your new self. This is Alejandro. Your perfect self.”

Zach—Alejandro—barely registered his former name as it left her lips. He looked at himself in the mirror, and for the first time, he didn’t feel out of place. He felt right. His old self, the timid, shy boy, seemed like a distant memory—one that he no longer cared about. The nerdy, insecure parts of him were gone, replaced by someone confident, strong, and desirable.

Cassie stepped forward, her fingers brushing over his now chiseled chest. “You’re perfect,” she said. “Now, we can finally be together. The way it was always meant to be.”

Alejandro didn’t object. He didn’t feel the need to. Everything that once mattered—the books, the games, the quiet life—was far behind him. His mind was entirely focused on Cassie, on the life they could have, the adventures they could share. His identity was new, but it felt like it had always been him.

And as he looked down at Cassie, he smiled, his heart pounding with excitement.

Yes. This was who he was meant to be.

[creaturefeaster]

Samantha Minecraft skin :3

AWW that's so cute!!!

[king-magppi]

🪅Viva Piñata stuff I promised! Some new, some old that I still really liked! I hold this franchise very dear to my heart.♡🍬

Even the neglected and forgotten need someone to mourn them... So The Reaper does it personally.

[sh1-n0bu]

dark/grey skinned capitano save me,,,,, dark/grey skinned capitano,,,,,, if you hear us please save us dark/grey skinned capitano

[solar-nightengale]

@lizardthelizard You wanted my thoughts, you're getting them 😏 Three and a half weeks later but you're still getting them ehehehe 😌😌😌 (Idk what to make of them so have fun with that word wall of mayhem)

August 2.18 | Zelena 3.16

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic

[ID: A screenshot from the movie Nimona, showing Nimona, a small white girl with red hair, grabbing the right prosthetic arm of Ballister, a knight in black armour with black hair and light brown skin. He is holding a broken bottle in his prosthetic hand while Nimona admires his arm. Overlaid on the screenshot is white text that reads "Disability Tropes: The Perfect Prosthetic" /End ID]

In a lot of media, prosthetic limbs are portrayed as these devices that act as a near-perfect replacement for a character who has lost, or was born without a limb. So much so that in a lot of cases, the use of a prosthetic has basically no impact on the character beyond a superficial level or their appearance, or it's portrayed as something that's even better than the old meat-limb it's replacing. This trope shows up most often in Sci-fi, but it shows up in all kinds of stories outside of that, even otherwise very grounded ones!

If a story isn't depicting the loss of a limb as the be-all-end-all worst thing that can happen to a person, they almost always default to a perfect prosthetic, functionally curing the amputation with it. But the reality is that prosthetics are FAR from perfect, and as someone who has used them for their entire life I don't think they ever will be. Limb difference is still and always will be a disability, regardless of the prosthetics available, and this really isn't a bad thing.

Why is this trope so common?

I meant it when I said this is a really, really a common trope, so much so that the majority of the media I've seen with amputees and characters with limb differences that released in the last decade or end up using it. Even stories where becoming an amputee is treated like a fate worse than death, ironically, aren't excluded from this. I have a few theories as to why this has happened: The pessimistic answer is that it's easy. You get to have a disabled character and claim you have disability representation, without really having to do much extra work or research because most of your audience won't notice if you aren't accurate - in fact they kind of expect it. You also, for the most part, dodge the backlash other kinds of disability representation (or really any minority representation) usually get. The more optimistic reason is that, for a long time, amputees and people with limb differences (as well as a lot of other disabled people) were predominantly shown in media as sad, depressed and unable to do anything, very much falling into the "sad disabled person" trope. As a kid, this was really the only way I saw people like me on screen or in books. And so, the limb difference community pushed back against that portrayal and were pretty successful in changing the narrative in the public's eye. A little too successful. A lot of creatives were genuinely trying to do right by our community, listen and do better, but many simply overcorrected and instead ended up creating stories where prosthetics were essentially cures instead of the mobility aids they are. I also think the public's general lack of understanding about disability plays a roll in all this. There are a lot of people who, in my experience, believe that the more visible a disability is, the worse it is. Limb differences and amputations are very visible, but prosthetics, even those that aren't trying to be discreet, make them less so. While using a prosthetic is very, very different to a biological limb, you won't necessarily see how in a casual interaction with, say a co-worker or neighbor, especially because there is a very real stigma applied to people with limb differences to keep those things hidden from the public. There are other reasons too, such as the fact that a lot of creatives don't even consider the connection to real amputees when creating characters with robotic limbs in genres like sci-fi and some fantasy, so they never stop to consider that these tropes could be impacting real people. Amputees are also very frequently used in "inspiration porn" content that uses the angle that disabilities can be "overcome" with a good attitude, downplaying the way those disabilities actually impact us. The prosthetics industry - specifically the component manufacturers, often also push the idea of prosthetics being the only way to return to a "normal" life, both to the wider public and to people with limb differences and amputations (which can add to that sense of shame I mentioned when it doesn't play out that way for them). On top of that, I also think the recent increase in popularity of concepts like trans-humanism contributes to it as well. these movements often talk about robotic or bionic body parts being enhancements and "the way of the future", and I think people get a bit too caught up on what may be potentially possible in the future with the real, current experiences of people with "robotic limbs" aka prosthetics, now. There are also inherently disabling things that come with removing and replacing parts of your body, things that will not just go away with some fancier tech.

So How do you actually avoid the trope?

So, we have some ideas about why it happens, but how do you actually avoid the "perfect prosthetic" trope from appearing in your work? The most important thing is to remember that this is still a disability. The loss of a limb, even with the best prosthetic technology or magical item in the world, will always have some inherently disabling aspects to it - and this is not a bad thing. The key is to not over-do it, lest you risk falling into the old "sad disabled person" trope. So let's go over some of the ways you can show how your character's disability impacts them. You don't have to use all of these recommendations, just choose the ones that would best fit your character, their circumstances and your setting.

The prosthetic itself is just different

Probably the most important thing to address and acknowledge for prosthetic-using characters, is the actual ways in which the prosthetic itself is different from a biological limb, and the drawbacks and changes that come with that. For the sake of simplicity, I'm mainly going to focus on modern prosthetics here, but it's worth considering how to apply this your own, more advanced/fantastical prosthetics too. One major thing that most people writing amputees fail to acknowledge is that prosthetic limbs are not fleshy-limbs with a different coat of paint. They do the same basic thing their meat-counterparts do, but how they do it is often drastically different, which changes how they are used. A really good example of this is in prosthetic feet. There are dozens of joints in a biological foot, but most prosthetic feet have no joints or moving parts at all. Instead of having dozens of artificial joints to mimic the real bone structure of a foot, which are more prone to failure, require power and make the prosthetic much, much heavier for very little gain, prosthetic feet are often constructed from flexible carbon fiber sheets inside a flexible rubber foot-shaped shell. This allows the bend and flex those bones provide, without all the drawbacks that come from trying to directly mimic it. Making the sheets into different shapes makes them more ideal for different activities. E.g. feet made for general use, like walking around the city, are simple and light, shaped to encourage the most energy-efficient steps, while still allowing their users to do things like wear normal shoes. Feet made for rough terrain often have a split down the middle of the foot to allow the carbon fiber sheets to bend better over rocks when there is no ankle, and some newer designs also include a kind of suspension using pressurized air pulled from the prosthetic socket to allow some additional padding. Running feet have large "blades" made of these carbon fiber sheets to absorb more pressure when the foot hits the ground, and redirect the force that creates to propel their user forward as quickly as possible.

[ID: A photo of 4 prosthetic feet. On the left, the foot is covered with a black shoe, the one to it's right consists of a small, carbon fiber blade, split down the middle, in roughly the same shape and size as the previous foot. Next to the right is an even simpler and smaller carbon fiber foot with no split, and finally is a very short foot that is vaguely rectangular in shape. /End ID]

These are some of my own prosthetic feet I've had over the years. The two on the right are designed to be used by someone who is less mobile, and the ones on the left are made for someone who is more active. As my needs changed over the years, I've used different designs and styles, and keep the old ones since my needs do tend to fluctuate.

There are also robotic feet available that are designed as a kind of "all-purpose" foot that use an electronic ankle which more closely mimics a biological foot, but they are not very popular as the mechanism adds a lot of extra weight and it requires a battery and power to work, with many amputees feeling the jointless carbon fiber feet do a better job at meeting their needs. The same goes for arms and hands. "Robotic" hands that mimic a meat hand exist, but they aren't really that popular, even in places like Australia where the prohibitively expensive price tag isn't as much of an issue due to government programs that pay for the device for you. Instead, most arm amputees who use prosthetics that I know prefer simpler devices that do specific tasks, and just swap between them as needed, rather than something that tries to do it all. A big part of this is because the all-purpose hands can be clunky. they often require manual adjustment using the other hand to do simple things like going from holding a deck of cards to putting them down and picking up a glass of water, for example. The few that don't require that, I've been told, are often temperamental and don't actually work for every person with a limb difference.

Altered Proprioception

Loosing a limb is a big deal and this is always going to have an impact on the body in some way that won't be solved with a fancy piece of tech. One such example is how limb loss effects your sense of proprioception. This is your sense of where your body parts are in space. It's how you (mostly) know where your foot is going to land when you're walking, or how you're able to do things like lift up a glass of water without needing to actually watch your hand do it. Your brain does this by creating a mental map of your body, but this map doesn't get adjusted if you loose a limb. If that map doesn't accurately reflect your real body, you're not going to have an accurate sense of proprioception. This might look like a leg amputee being a bit less stable on their feet, or like an arm amputee needing to look at their arm or hand to be able to grab something with it. Those born without their limbs who take to using prosthetics often have a lot of trouble adapting, as their brains aren't used to having that limb in the first place, whereas an amputee's brain can sometimes be tricked into using their outdated body map to help them adjust to the prosthetic (though its impossible to line it up perfectly). Prosthetics that directly integrate with the nervous system, while rare, do exist, and even this direct connection doesn't completely erase this issue for reasons doctors aren't quite sure about. This is something that does become less of a problem with time. Eventually, someone proficient with their prosthetic will learn to compensate, but their sense of proprioception will never be 100% perfect. At the end of the day, no matter how it attaches, a prosthetic is still not a natural part of the body, and that will always cause some issues. It also means if they aren't practicing it all the time, they may have to relearn how to compensate for it.

Extra weight

You also have to remember that a prosthetic is not a natural part of the body, like we already talked about, and so no matter how good it is, your brain will most likely always interpret the weight of the prosthetic as something attached to you, not part of you. This means that, even though prosthetics are actually a lot lighter than biological limbs, they feel so much heavier. This is because, while a meat limb is heavier, a lot of that weight is from muscles which are actively contributing to the limb working, so it doesn't really feel like its that heavy. When you have less of your meat-limb though, you have even less muscle to work with to move this big thing strapped to it, so it feels heavier. The more of the limb you've lost, or just didn't have, the heavier the prosthetic has to be, and the less muscle you have left to move it. It's for this reason that a lot of amputees and people with limb differences get tired faster when using prosthetics. Some of us are fit enough where you almost wouldn't notice the extra effort they need to put in, but once again, just because you can't see it from the outside, doesn't mean it's not an issue.

Avoiding Water

Most prosthetics also aren't waterproof, and so prosthetic users have to be very careful about when and how they come into contact with it. For amputees with electric components, contact with water at all will likely damage the device. This can even include especially heavy rain, something I was told to avoid when I got my electronic knee prosthetic and something I assume would also apply to arm amputees with complex, electronic hands. For those with non-electronic prosthetics, water can be hazardous for different reasons. If the prosthetic has metal components, water may cause them to rust, especially if it's salty water. Other prosthetics have foam covers to give the illusion of a limb with the general shape of muscles and fat, but these covers do not come off, and if they get wet enough that water seeps all the way through, it is very hard to dry it and they may become moldy. Finally, cheaper modern prosthetics may also float. Many are made of very light-weight materials and some have pockets of air trapped inside them. For leg prosthetics in particular, this means a user might, at best, struggle to swim with them on, but at worst, may get flipped upside down and become trapped underwater - something that happened to me as a very young child. On the flip-side, older prosthetics were usually made of heavy materials like wood or steel, and so had the opposite problem, acting like a weight and pulling a person down if they were to wear them in the water. Water-safe prosthetics do exist, I had a pair of prosthetic legs as a teenager that were hollow, and designed especially for me to swim with fins on when swimming in the ocean, and Nadya Vessey, a double leg amputee in New Zealand even got a mermaid-tail prosthetic made especially for use in the water. Most amputees though just swim without any prosthetics at all, and in 99% of cases, this is the easiest and safest way to go.

Prosthetic-Related Pressure Sores and Pain

Many people with limb differences also experience pressure sores from their prosthetics. Modern prosthetics typically attach to the body using a socket made of carbon fiber or fiberglass, held on either by pressure, using a vacuum seal or through a mechanical locking system built into the socket. No matter the specifics though, the socket has to be very tight in order to stay on, and this means that extended periods of use can lead to rub-spots, blisters and pressure sores. Many socket prosthetics also use silicone liners to add extra padding, but this means wounds caused by the pressure can't breathe, and bacteria in sweat has nowhere to go, meaning if the person doesn't rest when one of these wounds occur, it can very easily and quickly turn into a serious infection. In a properly fitting prosthetic, used by someone who has fully adjusted to them, this doesn't happen often, but it is something most amputees and people with limb differences have to at least be mindful of. Some new prosthetics use a different method of attachment, called Osteointegration - where the prosthetic attaches to a clip, surgically implanted into the person's bones. While Osteointegration avoids many of the issues like pressure sores that come from a socket, they have their own issues: mainly that they are incredibly expensive, and as of right now, have a pretty high failure rate due to the implant getting infected. Because the implants are directly connected to the bone, these infections become very serious very quickly. Many people with Osteointegration limbs have to be on very strong medication to keep these infections at bay, and they are generally considered unsuitable for anyone who is going to regularly come into contact with "unclean" environments.

Maintenance

[ID: A screenshot of Winrey, from Full Metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white woman with blond hair handing out the sides of a green hat. She is measuring a piece of metal from a prosthetic she is making while Ed, the prosthetic's owner, gives her a thumbs up in the background. /End ID]

Finally, prosthetics also require maintenance from a specialist called a prosthetist, and they don't last forever. Some parts, like a foot or hand, can be reused over an over, but the sockets of a prosthetic need to be completely remade any time your body changes shape, including if you gain/loose weight, you start experiencing swelling, or you're just a child who is growing. Children in particular need new prosthetics every few months because they grow so fast, and as such, their prosthetics have to be made with this growth in mind. If they go too long without adjustment or an entirely new prosthetic, it can seriously impact the child and their growth but even small adjustments can be costly, depending on where you live. While prosthetics are built to be sturdy and reliable, they need a lot of work to stay that way. The more complex the prosthetic, the more work is needed. Complicated electronic components may need to have regular maintenance done by your prosthetist or even the specific component's manufacturer, and depending on where you live, this might mean having to send your prosthetic limb away for this to be done. While my prosthetist technically has the skills and knowledge to do the maintenance on my electronic knee, for example, the manufacturer forbids anyone not from their company to provide this service, meaning my leg needs to be shipped off to Germany once every few years if I want to keep the warranty. This has the unfortunate side effect of sometimes your limbs getting lost in postage (shout-out to Australia Post, who lost mine twice), meaning it can be months before you get it back or get a replacement. Usually, you'll be given a replacement in the meantime if you need it, but walking on a leg that isn't yours, even when its correctly fitted, always feels a bit weird (maybe that's just me though).

Not every difference is Inherently Negative

We've talked about some of the negatives that come from having a prosthetic, but not every difference is negative or even really that big of a deal. In fact, often times, it's these little moments in the depiction of a disability that go the furthest and make it feel the most genuine. My amputations effect me from the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to bed, but that doesn't mean every single way it impacts me is always inherently bad or negative. For example, back when I was working a normal job and going to university, I would often come home, throw my legs off at the door with the shoes still attached and get into my wheelchair, the same way you might throw your shoes off after work and replace them with comfy socks and other comfy clothing. This is something I've only ever seen on screen once, with Eda from the Owl House (and she wasn't even an amputee yet, her limbs were just detachable)

[ID: an screenshot of Eda from the owl house, a very pale woman, laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her actual legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

After that, my day mostly looked the same as most other people working a 9 to 5, I'd make myself dinner, watch some TV or play some games, maybe do some extra work at my desk or chat with friends. The only difference is that it would all be from a wheelchair, mainly because my prosthetics were heavy and it was just easier to use the chair around the house. The fact my afternoon and evening routine was done from a wheelchair wasn't a bad thing, it was just different. Likewise, I also don't sleep or shower with my prosthetics on, for the same reasons most other people wouldn't take a shower or sleep in thigh-high, steel-capped boots. In your own stories, this might look like giving your characters similar alterations to how they go about their day. Let them take their arm or leg off when they're resting or relaxing, show them taking a few minutes longer to get ready because they have to put it back on, show them doing some things without it. Arm amputees in particular tend to get very good at going about their days without their arm prosthetics, and leg amputees often either learn to get around more relaxed spaces like their homes using a different mobility aids like wheelchairs or crutches, or just through hopping if that's something they're physically able to do. Even when everything is going well and working as intended, your limb-different character won't wear their prosthetic 24/7, no matter how much they love it. There doesn't have to be something wrong with it or painful about it to not want it glued to them at all times, just like you can love a pair of big heavy boots but not want them on when you're trying to sleep. For more action-focused stories, being an amputee, also changes things like how you fight. The specifics will vary from person to person, but for example, when I did Hap Ki Do, a Korean Martial art, my instructor heavily modified when I learned what techniques. Beginner-level kicks and most leg attacks were impractical for me, as the force from the kicking motion would usually cause one of my legs to fly off. I also couldn't jump very well, due to some complications with my original amputation that made my stumps too sensitive to withstand the force of landing again. So I ended up learning a lot more upper-body attacks much earlier than it is typically taught. By the time I got my green belt, I was practicing upper-body techniques usually saved for black belts - including weapons training that I could use my secondary mobility aids for, like crutches and my cane in a bad situation. Many holds that rely on creating tension in your target are also less effective on amputees, because either the anatomy that causes those holds to be painful just simply isn't there, or the body part in question can just be removed to escape. Whether we're talking about the negative things, or just neutral differences that come with using prosthetics, you don't want to go too far with any one example. The key is to strike a balance. Of course, the old writing advice of "show don't tell" also applies here. It's one thing to tell us all of this stuff, but unless we actually see it play out, it won't mean much.

How NOT to avoid the trope

Before we move on, let's focus for a moment on some common things I've seen that you SHOULDN'T do as a way to get away from the trope.

The Enhanced Prosthetic

A lot of sci-fi in particular will take prosthetic limbs, make them function exactly the same as a biological limb, but add something extra to it. This does change the way the prosthetic functions and is used, but it usually still ignores the actual disabling parts of having a prosthetic. A really good example of this can be seen in pretty much any futuristic setting, but personally, I think Fizzeroli, from Helluva Boss is the best one to demonstrate what I mean. Fizz is a quadrilateral, above knee/above elbow amputee with highly advanced prosthetics that function, more or less exactly like the limbs he lost, but with the added benefit of being super-stretchy. Fizz is an acrobat and a clown in service, at least initially, to Mammon, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. These prosthetics help him perform and we even do see how they change little things like how he walks and just goes about his day, but the show still treats them like natural arms and legs, but better. 

[ID: A screenshot of Fizzeroli from Helluva Boss, a white-skinned imp with 4 black, prosthetic limbs, dressed in teal a nightgown as he lays in bed, reading from a list /End ID]

We see that he never takes them off, even when sleeping, and when he needs to use them as regular arms and legs, they do everything he needs, perfectly fine - at least when they're working correctly. The only time he ever even takes them off or has any issues with them, is when they break in season 2. The word amputee is never used to describe him, as far as I remember, and the fact he is one never really comes up at all, except for when they break or when the story focuses on how he lost them. Which brings me to my next point.

The Glitchy/Broken Prosthetic

One way I see people try to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to take the prosthetic and break it or otherwise make it unreliable by having it malfunction, but not really changing anything else. This approach is heading in the right direction but still kind of misses the point of the criticism a lot of limb different folks have with the depictions of prosthetics in the media. Yeah, prosthetics do break down and some do require extra maintenance, but if your character's prosthetic is still exactly the same as a biological limb (or even better, in the case of the "enhanced prosthetic") when it's not broken, and the only time their disability is treated like a disability, is when it breaks, you're not really addressing the issue. Real prosthetics, like we discussed, even when functioning at 100%, exactly as the manufacturer intended, don't function the same as a meat-limb. They are fundamentally different, and the glitchy/unreliable prosthetic completely ignores all of that. Once again, Fizz is a really good example of this - the only time his prosthetics are not perfect, is when they break or are malfunctioning (despite the criticism, I do genuinely love Fizz as a character, but he unfortunately does fall into a lot of disability tropes).

[ID: Another screenshot of Fizzeroli, this time in a torn up jester outfit, looking down, panicked, at his prosthetic arms which are fully extended and laying motionless on the ground, with his left arm visibly short-circuiting with electricity around it. /End ID]

Now this isn't to say you can't have your character's prosthetics break down or malfunction at all. just that this shouldn't be the only way you differentiate the prosthetic from a biological limb. You should also be mindful of how or why they're breaking. A typical prosthetic isn't going to break down randomly from normal use unless something is very, very wrong or your character just has a terrible prosthetist (which unfortunately, does happen). You might experience issues if you try to make the prosthetic do something it just wasn't designed to do, or expose it to something it wasn't designed to deal with though (e.g. submerging an electronic prosthetic in water and trying to use it to swim).

Just add Phantom Pain

Another common pitfall I see when people are trying to avoid the perfect prosthetic trope, is to just give the character in question phantom pain - which is a side-effect of amputation where your brain's mental map of the body doesn't acknowledged you lost a limb. Your brain tries to fill in the gaps, since there is no signals coming from that part of the body anymore, and assumes either something must be wrong and so you should be in pain, even when you actually aren't. Alternatively, it can also happen when your brain was so used to feeling pain from that area before, in the case of people who had chronic conditions before they lost their limb, that it just keeps remaking those old signals itself. Like the broken/glitchy prosthetic approach, this also doesn't really address the issue with the perfect prosthetic trope, because it has nothing to do with the prosthetic itself. Phantom pain doesn't come from the prosthetic, nor does it effect how they're used, and so including it doesn't really address the issue of the prosthetic being functionally the same as the original, biological limb. This isn't to say that you shouldn't include phantom limb sensation or pain as something your character experiences, but just keep in mind that, when used on it's own, it doesn't counter the trope. Also, just be sure to do your research, everyone's experience with phantom pain is different and it's not something everyone with a limb difference even experiences.

Why is this trope even a problem?

Alright, so we know what the trope is, we know why it became so prevalent, ways to avoid it and also how not to avoid it. All good information, but why is this trope even bad? Why should you try to avoid it? Outside of just wanting to portray a real disability that effects real people more accurately in your creations, the prevalence of this trope actually contributes to a lot of real-world issues, especially when it's as overused as it currently is. I've talked before about "the jaws effect" - where the depiction of something in the media, especially something that the public is widely uneducated on, influences how people see it in real life. The Jaws effect specifically referred to how the popularity of creature-feature movies featuring sharks, like Jaws, caused the belief that sharks were monstrous killing machines to become much more wide-spread, even going so far as to influence decisions about laws and policy surrounding real-life shark preservation and culling in some parts of the world. But sharks aren't the only thing this has happened to.

Disabled people are so thoroughly misunderstood by wider society, that when tropes like this one become popular, people can and often do start to believe the misinformation they spread - in this case, believing that our prosthetics are a perfect replacement for a biological limb, and that getting a prosthetic means you're not disabled any more. While this can be annoying and cause small scale issues for some of us, like people giving us a hard time for using disability accommodations we very much need, it can also impact us in systemic ways too. If the wrong people believe these tropes, it can and does have a very real impact on the lives of disabled people through things like changes to policies to make it harder for amputees and people with limb differences to access financial assistance for other things outside of our prosthetics we may need assistance with.

Conclusion

Despite the very real harm tropes like this can do when it's overused, I don't think it should go away entirely. Some of my favourite pieces of media even use the perfect prosthetic trope and there are even some kinds of media where I even think it's somewhat unavoidable. Characters with perfect prosthetics in kids media in particular, especially when talking about side characters, can help to correct some of the other stereotypes kids may have seen elsewhere - such as prosthetics being "creepy" or "scary" - in a way that is casual and easy for them to understand. The problem with the trope, in my eyes, is it's excessive overuse. It's the fact that it seems to be the only representation amputees and people with limb differences are getting now. Not every story with a limb-different character can or even should delve into the reality of what using prosthetics is actually like, but we need at least some stories that do, without it being this majorly depressing thing.

[selfcarecap]

Sharing is caring

✧ Logan Howlett x reader x Peter Parker

✧ summary: Your new teammate Peter Parker has a huge crush on you, and your boyfriend Logan has always wanted to watch someone else fuck you. It’s Peter’s birthday and Logan decides to share.

✧ warnings: smut 18+, mmf threesome, oral, unprotected piv, so much cum lol, Peter is very pathetic lmao (and not very experienced) and more of a sub, Logan is dominant and reader is dom-ish for Peter but sub-ish for Logan, little bit of say gex 😋 (oral, Logan receiving), pet names (my girl, good girl/boy, baby, bub), implied age gap (Peter is the youngest – didn’t mention a specific age but early 20s-ish, reader is a few years older, Logan is obv the oldest), Peter being a nerd, lots of teaching Peter (mostly how to go down on each other), also the fic starts with smut right away lol

✧ note: idek if anyone else is interested in this character constellation and needs it as much as i do but they’re my two biggest marvel crushes (in completely different ways) so i had to!!!!! like hellooo😵‍💫 and i really love this omg

✧ word count: 7.5k oops

-

You’re on top of Logan, riding him like your life depends on it. 

Logan’s so good in bed that you usually just let him pamper you; you both like it that way. It’s also what makes the times when you’re on top even more special. Your boyfriend is struggling not to cum in you yet, fingers indenting your hips where he’s grabbing you hard. 

“You feel so fucking good, baby, such a good girl,” he groans underneath you. 

You grin as you lean down to give him a sloppy kiss, pulling away before he’s done with you so you can resume bouncing up and down in his lap.

Logan slides his hand between your legs, beginning to rub your clit as he feels you clenching around him tighter. 

You’re so close.

You’re so fucked out that you barely register the door to your bedroom opening. 

“Hey, do you know if– oh god, sorry!” you hear Peter’s voice, and before you can catch a glimpse of him the door shuts with a bang.

It takes a few moments for your heartbeat to calm down and for you to realise what just happened. Peter walked in on you fucking your boyfriend. Innocent, nervous, adorable Peter Parker – new recruit at the mansion. You’ve only just barely befriended your new teammate and you’re not sure your friendship can handle him catching you like this.

You look down at Logan for the first time, only to see him smiling. 

“He did that on purpose,” he chuckles, hands still resting on your hips as if he’s ready for you to start right back up. You stay on top of him with his cock nestled deep inside you, pulsing, but you can’t get yourself to focus on the pleasure of it.

“He’d never do something like that on purpose. He’s way too innocent for that. He wasn’t meant to see us like that – I bet he’s traumatised!”

Logan laughs again, “Traumatised because he’s not the one fucking you maybe, sure.”

Your mouth hangs open at Logan’s accusation – Peter sees you as a friend, nothing more! You doubt he even thinks about sex, let alone about having sex with you. 

Rising to your knees, you let Logan slip out of you, his cock slapping against his abs with a dull, wet smack, a mix of his precum and your wetness smearing over his skin.

“What? We’re stopping cause of him?” Logan grabs your hand, “He’d get what he wants.”

“Logan,” you warn, somewhat seriously. He’s making Peter out to be someone he really isn’t.

He smiles, adjusting your hips so you’re hovering over him again, jerking his cock and positioning the tip at your entrance. You smile down at him – it’s hard to resist when he looks so good and your pussy is still wet and not yet satisfied.

“Peter did that on purpose, bub,” he repeats, breath becoming laboured as you sink down on him, “You’re not telling me you’ve been oblivious to his crush on you all this time, right?” 

You involuntarily clench your pussy around him, closing your eyes so you don’t have to face looking at him after that. But Logan’s smirking – you don’t have to open your eyes to know that; you can practically hear it. He jerks his hips under you, starting to fuck into you from below.

“Y’like that, baby? Spider-Man’s got a crush on my girl. You don’t know that?”

It almost feels like you’re cumming with how much wetter you get at his words, and you manage to open your eyes to climb off him properly this time, lying down next to him, burying your face into the pillow to hide.

“Noo,” you squeal, though it comes out muffled.

Logan slaps your ass, keeping his hand there to grab your flesh, “Uh-uh, baby. You can’t squeeze around my cock like that and then run away.”

You giggle, leaning up to look at him, “That was just because I was sitting on your big dick. It had nothing to do with Peter.”

“Suure, bub, sure. Can I keep fucking you then?”

You nod, scooting closer to him, both of you on your side. Logan hikes your leg over his hip and slowly thrusts into you as your limbs tangle together. He spits on his hand to rub your clit messily, the way he knows is enough when you were already this close to an orgasm just moments earlier.

“You’re the only one I want, Logan,” you tell him in a quiet voice, distracted by how good he feels inside you as he fucks you, playing with your puffy clit.

“I know that, baby, I know that. I know you’re my girl. My perfect, pretty girl. Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy that someone else has a crush on you. Can’t expect Peter to be blind.”

You cum around his cock then, moaning into his skin as he fucks you through your orgasm, filling you with his own load seconds later.

Logan drops the topic of Peter while you cuddle afterwards, and it’s hard to keep thinking about it when you’ve got your gorgeous, beefy boyfriend next to you, your hand buried in his hair as you massage his scalp the way you know he likes.

It’s when Logan says he’s going downstairs to get you some water that you remember Peter.

“Tell him I’m sorry if you see him.”

“Sure, bub,” Logan says dismissively, kissing your knee with a teasing grin as he gets off the bed. You suppose he’s right – you have nothing to be sorry for. It’s Peter’s fault for walking in without knocking.

But you can’t help but feel bad. He’s an adult, only a few years your minor, but he seems so innocent. He likes you – you can agree with that. He admires you; that much is obvious too, but you don’t know if calling it a crush is an exaggeration. If Logan is right and Peter has a crush on you, you’re sure it’s nothing sexual.

-

Logan can sense Peter from a mile away. Peter is pacing up and down in the kitchen. Logan smiles at the floor as he enters the room.

Spider-Man’s face is flushed – whether it’s from embarrassment or arousal, Logan can’t tell. But the bulge in Peter’s sweatpants assures Logan that he was right in his assumption in the first place. He turns to the sink to pour a glass of water to take upstairs, giving Peter the time to adjust himself.

“My girl says she’s sorry,” Logan says in amusement, turning around, “Didn’t mean for you to see us like that.”

“What? I– no, I’m sorry. I should have knocked,” Peter stammers.

“That’s what I told her.”

Peter doesn’t reply, having a stare contest with the floor so that he doesn’t have to meet Logan’s eyes.

Logan chuckles, “So why’re you in the kitchen and not in your bedroom?”

Peter doesn’t miss the sexual implication. “I feel bad.”

“What, you think people don’t jerk off thinking about their crush just because that person is in a relationship? It’s just in your head, bub, you can do what you want.”

Peter looks up. It’s not that he feels bad towards Logan; he feels bad towards you. But if Logan thinks that way and you’re his girlfriend, maybe that means you share his opinion. Peter is too lost in thought to reply to Logan.

“Suit yourself,” Logan says as he leaves the kitchen. 

-

“Did you see him?” you ask Logan when he comes back.

“Yeah, said he’s sorry, he should have knocked.”

“And he didn’t seem disturbed?”

Logan laughs out loud at your question, “No, baby, don’t worry. He’s not disturbed. His only problem seemed to be how hard he was.”

Your mouth falls open, “Really?”

“Maybe he’s not as innocent as you thought after all, bub,” Logan smirks, pulling you closer.

That revelation turns you on more than you care to admit, to yourself or to Logan.

-

It’s Peter’s birthday a few weeks later and he’s happy as long as he gets to spend it with you. 

He’s not expecting you to get him anything, but you get him a Lego set that he’s been wanting for months. It’s something he’s mentioned to you only in passing and he can’t believe that you remembered.

You make it so hard for him to see you only as a friend when you’re this attentive. To be fair, he’d probably fall in love with anyone who gives him Lego, but he already liked you before. If only your boyfriend wasn’t the most attractive, masculine man in the entire world who, even though Peter’s confident in his skills, could probably maim Peter without any effort at all.

He’s not sure if it’s true, but you’ve told Peter that Logan is busy today, so he can’t join you for Peter’s birthday lunch. He introduces you to his friends and his aunt that have come to his small celebration, and he fantasises that surely some of them must think you and him have a thing going on. May definitely gives him a look when she sees how gorgeous you are, but she already knows all about Peter’s hopeless crush on you.

You kiss Peter’s cheek when everyone leaves, letting him blush in peace as you go up to your bedroom. 

You told him you’d watch a film with him tonight but you seem to have forgot. It’s evening already and he wouldn’t want you to stay up too long for him if you watched the film later. Even if you did forget, he’s grateful he got to spend the day with you.

He’s about to bring his best gift – the one you gave him – upstairs and to his room.

“You like it?” Logan’s voice sounds behind Peter.

“I love it. I’ve wanted this for ages,” he grins.

“I’m glad you appreciate it. She made me threaten a twelve-year-old over it. It was the last set they had at the store.”

Peter grows even fonder of you. He knows he must be blushing, but he also knows there’s no point in hiding it – not since the night he walked in on you and Logan having sex. He’s been hoping Logan didn’t tell you about their run-in afterwards, although he knows he can be a little obvious regardless. It’s hard to hide a crush as big as the one he has on you.

Logan clears his throat, folding his arms, all those muscles bulging, “I’m not the best with material gifts but I’ve got something else for you.”

“Yeah?” Peter’s wary. Logan and him aren’t exactly friends. He wasn’t even expecting you to give him a gift.

“I know you wanna fuck my girl.”

Peter gulps at Logan’s directness, starting to stammer out a few words that make no sense.

“Y’don’t have to deny it. Can’t blame you, can I? You wanna live out your fantasy?”

Peter finds it hard to imagine that this isn’t a trap or some sick joke. “No–no, of course not. She’s your girlfriend and I’d never, I mean, she’d never cheat on you and I’d never try anything. I respect you so much–”.

Logan cuts him off, “Calm down, bub. This isn’t a trick. I’m asking if you wanna fuck my girl for your birthday. We both had the idea,” Logan smiles, and he doesn’t have to wait for a verbal answer to know that Peter wants it – the gleam in his eyes tells him enough, “C’mon. She’s waiting in your room.”

Peter abandons the Lego box on the floor. He couldn’t care less if some student found it and took it for themself. Peter’s on his way to better things.

-

Peter doesn’t let himself believe it until Logan opens the door to his bedroom, and there you are. You’re sitting on his bed – something Peter has imagined many times but never even dreamt of seeing in reality – in the most gorgeous set of lingerie he’s ever seen (not that he’s seen many in real life… or any).

“Hi,” he waves awkwardly, unsure whether to try and hide his growing erection. You’re half-naked only a few feet away from him, and this is better than all of his wet dreams about you combined.

You’re grinning, first at Peter and then at Logan, who closes the door behind Peter.

Logan takes a step forward to bend down and kiss you. It’s a short but sloppy kiss, Logan’s hand resting on your cheek. He looks back, chuckling at how desperate Peter must already look, and sits down in the chair near the bed.

“Hope you don’t mind, I’ve made myself comfortable,” you bite your lip. Even your voice alone could make Peter cum.

“No no no, not at all. You look so gorgeous. I never thought I’d get to see someone look so sexy in real life.”

You giggle and it feels heavenly to be making you laugh like that. You lift your hand for him to take. He gasps when his hand touches yours, and you pull him to the bed with you. He feels like hyperventilating just from being so close to you in nothing but underwear. Peter wills himself to be strong; he can’t embarrass himself and cum right away.

“You know, Logan’s been trying to tell me for a while that you might have a tiny crush on me, and I didn’t believe it at first but…”

Peter laughs nervously before you can finish your sentence, but you don’t have to. Everyone in this room knows how much Peter likes you. All of Xavier’s school probably knows – teachers and students.

“Yeah,” Peter says weakly, cheeks hot.

 “Logan and I thought this could be a nice present for your birthday, if you want. Cause I think you’re cute too, and Logan doesn’t mind sharing me for one night.”

It hurts a little that you only find Peter cute, but he’ll take whatever he can get. Clearly he’s cute enough to fuck, and that’s all that really matters right now.

“Of course I want to, so what are we doing?” Peter doesn’t mean for it to come out so stupidly. He knows you’re going to have sex, he just doesn’t know the details.

“I’m gonna get you nice and hard first,” you say it with a smile, looking down at his lap, knowing exactly that he’s more than hard enough already, “and then Logan’s gonna join us and you can both fuck me at the same time. Does that sound alright?”

Peter grins. “More than alright. I don’t know if I’m gonna last long but I only need a few seconds before I can get hard again,” he tells you proudly, before he remembers that your boyfriend has healing abilities too, far more complex than Peter’s. You’re probably used to going endless rounds. Now he just feels a bit silly for admitting that he can’t last long. 

Peter turns to the side to face Logan. He’s manspreading, arms folded cockily in front of his chest, and it’s unnerving how a single person can ooze that much confidence. Although, if he looked like Logan and had a girlfriend like you, Peter’s sure he would be less insecure too.

“Have you had sex before?” you ask Peter all kindly, and he blushes thinking about the image of him you apparently have in your head. He’s not that experienced, but he’s not that innocent either.

“Yeah,” is all he manages to say at first.

“What have you done?” you ask him, gently resting your hand on his jaw, thumb trailing over Peter’s bottom lip. He stops himself from licking it.

“I’ve, uh, been inside of a woman before and I’ve, like, fingered her. My ex-girlfriend.”

You smile at the unnecessary piece of information, “That’s it? You’ve never had your dick sucked?”

Peter shakes his head, feeling like he’ll cum just from your words, “No, and I’ve never gone down on a woman.”

“You wanna?”

He nods his head so eagerly that it makes you giggle again.

“Maybe later,” you tell Peter, your hand dropping back to your lap.

“You can eat her pussy after I’ve cum in it,” Logan says with a smirk. You give him a look, turning to assure Peter.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do that.”

Peter looks between you two, “I don’t mind! I’m up for anything.”

You smile, moving to straddle him as you hum, “Good boy.”

He tenses underneath you, eyes screwed shut, and he can’t even enjoy the way he cums as soon as you settle on top of him, your hands on his shoulders. Hot embarrassment floods Peter’s body, and he feels like he might cry.

“Aw, it’s okay,” your voice is nothing but sweet with not even a hint of amusement, and Peter dares to open his eyes. Your face is inches away from his, and your closeness makes him feel less embarrassed.

“You like me that much, hm?” you continue, and Peter hears a quiet laugh from Logan, but he doesn’t care about his opinion, only yours, “I’m flattered you do. Glad you like your gift.”

“I really thought the lego set was my favourite present,” he says. This time he cracks a smile too as Logan and you giggle at his words.

“Let’s get you out of your clothes, okay?”

You get off Peter after he nods, pulling off his shirt. Peter stands up as you kneel in front of the bed to pull off his jeans, biting your lip when you feel how sticky his cum-stained boxers are.

“Look at what a mess you’ve made, baby. So cute.”

Peter swears you’ll stop associating that word with him by the end of the night, although he’s starting to like you calling him that. He takes one glance at you on your knees for him, and he has to look away in fear of cumming again immediately. 

“I know,” Logan tells him, and Peter sees then how hard he already is too. Peter can’t believe Logan gets you like this every night, but for now he smiles at him as they silently bond over how attracted to you they both are. It’s impossible not to be.

Logan’s eyes drift down to Peter’s hard cock, and you’re grinning back up at your boyfriend, “Look how big he is, baby. Almost the same size as you.” The joy in your voice makes Peter stand a little bit taller. He’s proud that you like his dick. It’s probably the proudest moment of his life thus far.

You pull Peter back on the bed, sitting down as you lean back against your hands, “You wanna unwrap your present?”

Peter nods, smiling at the goosebumps that erupt on your flesh as he pulls at the ribbon that you’ve wrapped around your waist. He leans over to place it on his nightstand – he’s keeping that forever.

When he sits down in front of you, the sweet smell of you hits him. He looks between your legs, and there’s a wet spot on your panties. All because of him? He keeps feeling prouder and prouder.

“Thought about this so many times. Jerked off at least three times every single day since I walked in on you two.”

You and Logan smile at each other. He asks Peter, “You did that on purpose?”

Peter doesn’t turn to face Logan, the blush that has only just subsided flaring back up. “N-no. Of course not.” He knows neither of you believe his lie. He couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t worry. She liked it too,” Logan informs him, and Peter’s eyes go wide.

“You’re a handsome boy, Pete,” you shrug, brushing your hand through his hair and he hums at the nickname.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks finally, cock already so hard he can barely think, and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“Go ahead,” Logan says, but Peter pays him no mind.

“I wasn’t asking you,” he says bravely, and your eyes go to those of your boyfriend as you raise your eyebrows.

“Told you he’s got it in him,” you say, pulling Peter close to press your plush lips to his. It’s like an explosion of endorphins, and Peter knows that from this moment on he can die happy. You pull him closer, kisses getting wetter as the sound of them takes over the room, and it’s the hottest thing Peter has ever experienced.

“Here,” you briefly pause, taking his hand and guiding it to the clasp of your bra at your back. He fiddles with it for a few seconds, and you want to give him a chance, but then the bed dips with the weight of Logan, and he opens your bra with ease.

Peter doesn’t know when he took his clothes off, but Logan is naked except for his boxers. He looks nowhere nearly as good as you, of course, but his muscles aren’t exactly an unwelcome sight.

“Isn’t my girl so pretty, Pete?” Logan asks, pulling the straps of your bra down your arms, taking off your bra.

“She’s gorgeous,” Peter rasps, “She’s perfect.” Logan hums in agreement.

Peter has imagined your tits too many times to count, and yet they’re even better than anything he’s fantasised about. He’s too nervous to touch you, but you take his shaky hands, putting them on your breasts.

“Oh my god,” Peter whispers, breathlessly cupping and squeezing at your tits as his cock leaks with precum. He sees you biting your lip as you look at his lap, and Logan takes Peter’s hands off your tits.

“Take off her underwear,” Logan commands as you smile at his words. You lift your hips, upper body leaning against Logan, and Peter pulls your panties down your legs. He throws them off the bed somewhere, hoping you won’t be able to find them again so that Peter can keep them forever.

He moans loudly when you spread your legs, and it’s a wonder that Peter doesn’t cum again just at the sight of your pussy. You’re perfect, and so wet, and he falls to his hands, in front of you on all fours.

“You want her mouth or her pussy first?” Logan asks, although you and him already know the answer.

“Wanna go down on you,” Peter says, unable to tear his eyes away from your pussy. You spread your legs further for him, and he looks up at you with the most adorable puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

“You can,” you smile.

Peter inhales deeply when he squashes his face between your thighs, trying to burn the memory of how good you smell into his brain forever. 

He doesn’t have a technique, he just starts. You let out a soft moan when Peter licks up your entire pussy once; he moans too as he tastes you. He grabs your soft thighs, putting them over his shoulders as he lies down.

You give him a reassuring smile as he begins to eat you out, experimenting with different licks and kisses. You turn to your side to start kissing Logan, your hand holding his wrist as his arm drapes over your chest.

Peter licks greedily at your pussy, and you reach into Logan’s boxers to start stroking the hard length of him. Your hand is coated in his precum quickly, and he smiles into the kiss before he gently nips at your lip.

“You okay there, bub?” Logan pulls away to smirk at Peter. If you can still kiss Logan that well, then Peter isn’t doing a good job. You both look down to find Peter more focussed on grinding his cock against the bed rather than on eating you out. He blushes.

You reach out to touch his cheek, some of Logan’s precum from your hand wiping against Peter’s face, “you’re so cute.”

He doesn’t even register the word anymore.

“You want Logan to teach you?”

Peter nods, moving only minimally to make space for Logan next to him, both their wide shoulders knocking against each other’s (okay, Logan’s are slightly bigger). Logan huffs but doesn’t say anything, placing one of your legs over his shoulder and pressing your other knee up against your chest.

“Here’s how you do it,” Logan looks at Peter, bending down to press a sloppy kiss right against your clit, coating you in his spit before he begins to gently suck. You squirm immediately, and Peter can’t wait to try it out on you.

Logan pushes two fingers into your wet pussy, moving them in a way that you evidently like. Peter doesn’t know what to look at – your pretty face or your pretty pussy. Logan huffs next to him, “I know she looks good, kid, but you gotta focus if you wanna make her cum.”

Peter nods, watching Logan sucking on your clit and moving his fingers inside you.

“You can use your fingers to fuck her,” he explains.

“I know,” Peter says, his tone perhaps a little more petulant than what he was aiming for, “I just hadn’t gotten her consent to do that yet, so I didn’t.”

You smile at him, “you can do whatever you want to me, Pete.”  

And that’s all he’s ever wanted to hear in his life.

Logan nods at him, sitting back up, and Peter gets between your legs. He knows he’s got it easier now because Logan had his mouth on you for a bit, but it wouldn’t be fair otherwise. Logan is like an old man with loads of experience, and he probably gets to fuck you every night, so he has an unfair advantage.

Your boyfriend gets next to you, kissing you – and it’s all sensual and passionate and wet and Peter can’t help but stare for a few moments. Logan starts touching your tits, groping you and moving to gently play with your nipples.

You pull away from the kiss, a string of spit hanging between your and Logan’s mouth, “Pete?” you ask softly, but Peter can hear some desperation in your voice. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

First, he quickly licks your pussy just to get that heavenly taste in his mouth again, then settles on a more precise movement of his tongue. He circles your clit, hearing you sigh against Logan’s mouth, but Peter isn’t sure if he’s the one who evoked that sound.

He slides two fingers into your pussy, curling them how Logan showed him to. He’s stopped moving his mouth, too concentrated on looking at your face to see a reaction.

“That’s it, Peter, don’t stop,” you moan, pushing his head back down and he happily wraps his lips around your clit, fucking you gently with his fingers.

“Yeah, baby, he’s got you,” Logan says into your neck, “You’ve got her, right, Peter?” he asks all smugly.

“Mhhmmm,” Peter squeaks without taking his mouth off you, and the vibration of his voice seems to make you squirm a bit more. He decides to let himself moan the way he’s been wanting to the entire time, subtly grinding his hips into the bed beneath him as he eats you out and fucks you with his fingers.

You cum with a cry that makes Peter even prouder than he’s been all night, and he thinks he’ll savour the feeling of your thighs squeezing around his head for the rest of his life. He pushes his tongue into your pussy to taste as much of your arousal as he can, stopping when he feels your and Logan’s eyes on him.

“Did such a good job,” you tell him, and he grins proudly. He gets on his knees to lean up and kiss you. Your tongue slides into his mouth, and his heart skips a beat at the way you smile into the kiss. He’s in heaven.

“You wanna fuck me now?” you ask, and Peter’s eyes go wide as he sits up and gets back between your thighs.

“And I want you too,” you smile up at your boyfriend, pulling at the waistband of his boxers. Peter has no idea how Logan has this much self-restraint, watching as he gets off the bed and takes off his boxers with a grin. Peter sees how you drool at the sight of Logan’s big dick, and Peter feels his own mouth watering. 

“Here you go, baby. Gonna be a good girl for me, right? Gonna take my cock? You been waiting for this, hm?” Logan kneels next to you. He holds his cock over your face, lightly slapping the tip against your lips. Peter’s cock pulses against his abs. 

You nod wordlessly, wrapping your lips around your boyfriend’s huge cock. You pull off him only to spit on it, jerking off the lower half of him that’s harder to fit in your mouth. 

The wet sounds coming from you sucking Logan’s cock make Peter’s dick twitch as he spills a new load of precum. It lands on your thigh, getting your attention. 

Peter doesn’t know how you can spare a single moment away from Logan’s cock, but you pull your mouth off him, “You can start if you’re ready,” you smile at Peter. Both of you watch him as he pushes his cock inside you. 

Your warm, velvety walls suck his cock in unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Peter’s eyes flutter shut and he just stays like that for a few moments, the sound your mouth makes around Logan’s cock doesn’t make it easier for Peter. Even if you don’t seem to mind him cumming fast, he’s trying to prevent it, feeling so close again already.

He hears Logan huff out a laugh, and Peter opens his eyes. You’ve stopped going down on your boyfriend, looking at Peter all sweetly.

“It’s okay if you cum quickly, I did too at the start,” Logan confesses. It’s hard to imagine him – the epitome of virility – not being able to last long, even with someone as perfect as you, but it makes Peter feel better about himself, by a lot.

“I really don’t mind it, Pete,” you smile, and Peter nods. He looks down towards where you’re joined, your pussy stuffed with his cock. Even though you’re used to something even bigger, there’s an obvious strain, and you’re squeezing around him hard even when he’s not moving.

You and Logan watch as Peter starts to fuck you, your hand on your boyfriend’s cock, lazily jerking him off. Logan doesn’t seem to mind watching Peter pushing into you slowly. The two pairs of eyes make him feel more self-conscious, yet it’s also invigorating.

Peter clumsily rubs at your clit, at least attempting to focus on something other than how good he feels.

“You’re so tight, feel so good,” he mumbles, and you seem like you’re enjoying it too, back arched and hand faltering around Logan’s cock. You’re too distracted by Peter.

“Don’t stop,” you say quietly, evidently not there yet but Peter’s sure you feel good.

You share an intimate smile with Logan, and he tells Peter, “Doin’ a really good job with my girl. This is the only thing, bub..”

Logan tries to hide his smile as he grabs Peter’s hand to guide his fingers back to your clit from where they’d drifted off to your thigh, where he’d just been holding you. Peter’s cheeks turn red – or maybe they’ve been red the entire time – as he goes back to playing with your clit.

He doesn’t notice it, but a few seconds later he stops touching your clit again, too distracted by how good your pussy feels. Logan shoves his hand between your legs instead, making you moan as soon as he starts rubbing your clit in circles.

Your pussy spasms around Peter’s cock as you orgasm, and he can practically feel the pleasure flowing through you.

“Can I cum inside you?” The question comes too late to wait for an answer so Peter pulls out, cumming all over your belly in sticky ribbons as he jerks off desperately.

You bite your lip when he’s done, humming as you take some of Peter’s cum off your belly, pushing your finger between your lips. “Tastes so good,” you tell Peter, “Taste it.” 

You swipe some more on your finger, bringing your hand up to Peter’s face as you put your finger in his mouth. He wraps his lips around it hesitantly, smiling shyly when he tastes his own saltiness. Logan’s watching him too, cock still hard.

You gently nudge Peter’s head down towards your belly, and he smiles at you sweetly as his lips glide over your skin and he begins to lick up his own cum.

“Don’t swallow it all,” you say, your hand in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. He nods obediently, keeping his mouth closed when he’s licked your skin clean.

“Here,” you open your mouth for him, pulling him up to your face. His eyes go wide when he realises what you want him to do, and he holds your chin as he spits his cum into your mouth. 

He was starting to worry a little because, even though he knows he has no problem getting hard after a first orgasm, it’s been a while since he’s gone three times in a row. But now his dick is so hard again that it almost hurts.

You stick out your tongue, showing Peter and Logan the cum mixed with your spit in your mouth. “Come taste him,” you look up at Logan with the sexiest smile anyone has ever smiled, and Peter feels his cock flex as he somehow gets even harder.

Logan rolls his eyes playfully, bending down to kiss you nevertheless. Some of Peter’s cum runs down your chin, and Logan pulls away from the kiss to lick it up. Peter thinks he really should start training his stamina with how close he is again just from this.

You still don’t swallow when Logan stops kissing you. “Come here,” you tell Peter, and he kneels next to you so you have him and Logan at either side, their dicks hard. You sit up a little, spitting the rest of Peter’s cum into your hand as you reach for Logan’s cock, starting to jerk him off. 

He gives you a fake annoyed look at you using Peter’s cum as lube, but it’s obvious he likes it, and it makes Peter reach out to his own cock to give it a few strokes – he can’t help himself.

“Haven’t made you cum yet,” you peer up at Logan, who puts a reassuring hand on your cheek.

“You know I don’t mind watching you two, bub,” he says, and your wide smile hints that Logan has told you something slightly different in private. He doesn’t just mind it, he loves it. Peter gets why Logan might find that hard to admit in front of someone else, something about conventions and possessiveness, but he’s glad that Logan decided to share. He’s glad that you want him.

You wrap your lips around Logan’s cock again. While you suck his cock, you stop Peter’s hand on his cock, jerking him off instead. You pull your lips off Logan, turning to suck Peter’s dick.

You switch between them a few times, the taste of their precum mixing in your mouth and dripping down to their balls when you suck their dicks. Peter particularly enjoys this, awaiting his turn eagerly every time. The head of his cock is swollen with lust against the inside of your cheek, and you turn to him to focus on him fully, letting him get lost in the feeling of fucking your warm, wet mouth.

You put your hand on Logan’s hip, guiding him down the bed. He smirks as he gets between your thighs, watching you suck another man’s cock as he starts to fuck you. He goes slowly first, letting you adjust to his size as you moan around Peter’s dick.

Logan watches Peter’s eyes flutter shut at the vibration of your voice. Logan knows you’re not just moaning because of him inside you though.

“You like that, baby, hm? Like sucking Peter’s cock?” you don’t take your mouth off him, but your sparkling eyes meet Logan’s. It’s a look of understanding. 

Logan is ready to cum, but he tries to draw it out. He can go endless rounds but the first orgasm is always the best. He wants to savour it, save it for a bit longer. He focusses instead on making you cum, fucking against your g-spot, almost making you see stars.

You moan around Peter’s cock when you cum again, and Logan almost submits, but he’s able to fuck you through your orgasm without cumming. Peter spills into your mouth as your cheeks hollow around him, sucking him deeper down your throat.

“Such a good girl,” Logan praises you until your pussy stops pulsing with an orgasm, and you give him a fucked out smile as Peter pulls his cock out of your mouth.

“My girl,” Logan adds, kissing you, and you sigh against his lips in pleasure.

You sit up to grab the water bottle from the side of Peter’s bed and take a sip. You pass it to Peter and Logan afterwards, and you don’t move back between them once you’ve put the bottle away, so they’re facing each other.

You sit on your knees, looking between them as they’re impatiently waiting for you to come back, both their cocks standing hard and proud against their abs.

You bite your lip, “Are you into men, Pete?”

Peter’s heart misses a beat and then happily continues drumming against his chest as he nods eagerly, although he’s not sure why it matters right now.

You share a brief silent exchange with Logan before your next words. “So is Logan,” you nod towards your boyfriend. You wait for them to catch on to what you’re saying, but Peter is too shy to and Logan is still contemplating. This wasn’t a part of the plan, but he can’t say he’s against it. He just didn’t know you wanted to see him with another man the way he wants to see you with one.

“Um, what now?” Peter asks with a nervous smile, ready to please.

You fight the urge to simply answer now you kiss, “You think you two are the only ones that get a show?”

Peter’s eyes widen slightly at your suggestion before they brighten. A shy yet excited smile takes over his features.

“You sure, baby?” Logan asks you. You bite your lip, nodding slowly. Logan smirks, because he knows that exact look and you haven’t been quite this horny all night yet.

“Only if you want to as well,” you tell him, and he doesn’t need to answer.

“This okay for you, bub?” Logan lowers his voice as he speaks to Peter. 

He replies through an eager nod, “yeah.” The word comes out as a whisper.

Logan smirks as he leans in, gently placing his big hand around Peter’s throat. He’s not squeezing, just holding him in place. You didn’t mind Peter being all squirmy when you kissed him, but Logan wants to keep him still.

You watch their cocks rub against each other’s abs as they get closer, strings of spit connecting their lips as they make out, tongues tangling in desperation.

It’s sloppy, the way they kiss, and you could watch them forever.

Logan pulls his lips from Peter’s with a wet sound, firmly patting his cheek, “Now get on your knees, bub.”

The command makes even your knees buckle, and you watch Peter happily drop to the carpet, kneeling between Logan’s spread legs as he moves to the edge of the bed. He beckons you over to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a messy kiss to your mouth.

You know he’s close now, having denied himself an orgasm this long.

Peter wraps a greedy hand around the base of Logan’s cock, leaning in to press a few kisses to his dick. You and Logan watch him, you pulled closely against his side.

“You want me to show you what to do?” you ask Peter after a while of him not doing anything but kissing and licking. Peter nods quickly, “yes please,” and you kiss him after you sit down next to him, tasting your boyfriend’s precum and some of your own arousal on him.

“Think he’s almost there,” you tell Peter as you look up at Logan through your lashes, and he smirks.

“That’s not a problem,” Peter says quickly.

“Here, you can use your tongue,” you tell him, wrapping your hand around Logan’s cock as you take him into your mouth, tongue wet against the underside of him, “try it.”

You keep holding Logan’s cock as you pull off him, angling it towards Peter’s face. His face is flushed as he takes Logan’s dick in his mouth for the first time, sucking on the tip.

“That’s it, doing so good,” you brush your thumb over Peter’s cheek where it bulges when he takes Logan deeper. Your and Logan’s eyes on him make him nervous, and he pulls off to kiss you instead.

You make out with him for a few moments, letting him kiss you greedily and wetly, before you guide your mouths back to Logan’s cock. You and Peter part only minimally as you kiss either side of Logan’s dick, spit running down from your mouths to his balls as you share him.

“Feels so good,” Logan mumbles, all blissed out, watching his perfect, pretty girlfriend share his cock with another guy.

You see how close he is, slowly pulling your mouth off him and leaning your cheek against his knee as you watch Peter take your boyfriend’s cock into his mouth all by himself.

“Attaboy,” Logan says, placing a hand on the back of Peter’s head when he goes deeper, spit falling from his lips.

“Juuust like that,” you add, your praise spurring Peter on. Logan’s other hand goes to your cheek, absent-mindedly brushing over it with his finger as he holds your face.

Peter gets more confident when Logan’s breath stutters. He moans on Logan’s cock as he takes him as deep as he can, the wet sound from his mouth obscene. 

Logan’s hips jerk as his cock twitches in Peter’s mouth, and he cums down his throat in warm, sticky ropes of his load.

“Good boy,” Logan softly ruffles Peter’s hair when he’s done, and you lean in to kiss Peter, some of your boyfriend’s cum still fresh on his lip.

“Doesn’t my boyfriend taste good?” you ask against his lips, hardly breaking the kiss. You can hear the slick of spit and cum on Logan’s cock already as he jerks off again, to the sight of you two making out with his cum between you.

“He does,” Peter mumbles against the skin of your jaw, kissing down your neck.

“He tastes better than me?” you tease.

“No– no, you taste better than anything in the world.” And Peter means it.

-

You’re not done until hours later; you fuck until it’s the middle of the night. Earlier, Peter was ready to forgo his birthday movie night just so you can go to sleep on time, but he got something much better, even if it means you stayed up late for him. He can’t say he feels too bad.

Peter is tucked in, you and Logan at either side as you send each other loving glances over Peter’s head. You’re stroking Peter’s hair, basically cuddling him with how close you are.

“Hope you liked your present,” you tell him, pressing one last kiss against his lips as you smile at his sleepy expression.

“Best birthday ever,” Peter mumbles, before he drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

-

P.S. reblog + let me know your thoughts and Logan and Peter will appear in your bed tonight 🩷🫣

[the-faceless-bride]

More Ideas for KNY (demon slayer) different characters ♡ (SOME NSFW CONTENT FOR SANEMI AND MUZAN AND MENTIONS OF GORE IN SANEMI AND LIGHT NSFW IN GYOMEI)

<- Part 1

Imagine being dangerously in love.

Imagine being a demon, obsessed with the brash, and blood thirst Wind Hashira. the first time ever being in battle with him is what leads you down a path of want and lust for the cruel hashira.

Imagine going out of your way to always be where he is, always catching his attention and being attacked by him. He believes you're mocking him, following him just to show off that he hasn't been able to kill you. But that isn't true at all. When you fight, you never actively try and gut him, only blocking your neck and leaving the rest of your limbs exposed to be lashed in this masochism tango.

Imagine struggling to hide your enjoyment and ecstacy each time his sword ripped, teard, and scar your body. He had to have known how me made you feel. He must. The darkness of your cheeks must've been a giveaway. Right? His eyes bewitching you in how intense he glares into your soul. It sets a fire under your cold skin, a burning desire.

Imagine one time when you and Sanemi are fighting. Other slayers show up. But they don't instantly jump into the fight. 1. from looking at the fight, you hadn't landed a single strike and seemed to be a greater deal slower than the hashira, and 2. Tanjiro made an odd comment. "Huh, it's like she's avoiding striking him on purpose."

Imagine how Shinobu decided the fight was long enough and tried to sneak in and end the fight. Only for a switch to set off and catch her off guard and spin at the speed of light, leaving a large gash across her body from her left founder to her hip. And Sanemi instantly tried to help her. Only to be stopped by your own weapon pressed so close to his neck that even swallowing made his Adamsapple scrape against a sharp blade. "Don't you dare. Your attention is meant for me. Are you seriously letting her attempt to get between us work?" And that made Sanemi pause... "us? Wha-" -- "don't play dumb darling. We're soulmates, Sanemi~" you whisper to him. "What the fuck."

Imagine how now you make him feel so conflicted, how he hates you for what you are but loves you for how you make him feel... in his home in his spare time as the sun rises, his windows covered and locked tight as he has you on your knees, leaning forward and his chest pressed to your back. Your head locked between his bicep as his other hand held his sword under you. It nicks you each time he thrusts. If he pushed you forward anymore, his blade would surely cut your chest and stomach open. "I HATE YOU, YOU FILTHY DEMON. I DONT WANT YOU. CURSE YOU FOR DEMONIC TEMPTATION." You softy cry at the harsh words from your love, "I don't care if you don't want me... I'm yours right now..."

Sanemi Shinazugawa × Demon reader Trope: Yandere Lovesick/I hate you so much I love you.

Imagine being with Muzan his entire life... your family were servants to his family. And from a young age, you were assigned to be Muzans personal maid or companion as you were too young to really do any work than cleaning up his room. But since you can remember, you've always been with Muzan.

Imagine being the one he confides with most. His fears, his wishes, and despite his coldness. His shouldering eyes seemed to be less scorching when it came to you. His one and only friend. Even if you didn't have much of a choice in the companionship. It was you who sat in on his doctor's visits about his deteriorating health. When he got the news of how it would be a miracle for him to even make it to his mid 20s...

Imagine how one night after a particularly scary coughing fit, he simply places his head to your mid section as you blush his hair and pull it back into a braid. He softy thanks you as he tilts his head to look up at you, "Of course, I'm always happy to take care of you." But that isn't want he wants. He wanted to take care of you. Not you to him. And without thinking, he pulls you down to him.

Imagine His heat is pounding in his chest. You lay across him as his long and slim fingers tease you between your legs. You try and stay quiet, your face twisted with pleasure and guilt. You felt like you were taking advantage of the sick man who would never find love or feel the love of another in such a romantic and intimate way. You thought maybe that this was him just grasping for a moment where he didn't feel so useless being bedridden. But it was so much more. If this was the last thing he did, pleasing the only one who he cared for most. The one he wished he could've married... he would be happy to die. This surely isn't good for his heart, but he couldn't care less. You hovering yourself above him. As he tried weakly to pull you in to rest your whole weight. This was how he wanted to spend his last days, weeks, and months. However long he had left. He wanted it to be with you.

Imagine as days go by, and he feels more and more guilty. He starts to feel as though you let him do these things because you feel obligated as his personal maid to do so. Nights in the dark ask he fingers you, giving and receiving oral pleasure. But you still won't give him everything. You refuse to fully lay with him. Sometimes, he feels like it's because you don't really love him. Not like he does you. Or maybe you find him... pathetic... he can't actually make love to you. You'd be doing all the work. He doesn't want that, and it seems you don't either... eventually, his thoughts become too much, and he decides to let you go...

Imagine you were relieved of all your maid duties, not just to Muzan but to the family as a whole. You were heartbroken. And the heartbreak only worsened at the news of Muzan and his families and your families deaths. You'd cried more times than you'd ever had before in your life. And you were so very confused when you'd found a Man who looked exactly like Muzan sitting in your bed a few nights later. "Hello dear. I'm home." He invented to truly give you what you wanted, and he was eager to give it too you.

Muzan Kibutsuji × reader Trope: Unrequited/reunited love/soulmates

Imagine being Master Kagaya's faithful slayer, you'd always admired him. You and your Master had created a strong bond. Stronger than others. Moments like this reminded you that you were special. You sat on your knees as you just like you had the first time. Your head pressed to his chest and he dragged his fingers over your head.

Imagine trying not to tear up as you remember the first time you'd kneeled for him. You'd been reckless and impatient leading to a fellow slayer getting extremely hurt. You kneeled before him as you sat in the room alone waiting for him to speak. Doing your best to not make any noise as you silently cry. You'd failed him. Your beloved Master. But he didn't yell. He didn't make you feel like you were a problem. He merely hummed before knealing with you, one hand on atop your head and the other cupping your cheek feeling the wet stream of tears and wiped it away. "It's alright. You didn't mean for this to happen. I know you didn't. I know you're a good girl." And your breath hitched. He noticed. And from then on he gave you positive affrimations which encouraged you to do better. For him.

Imagine how as you sat there listening to his words letting yourself flow away and melt into your master. He thought it was innocent. He was simply your master helping you, if it wasn't him maybe you'd find these soft words from Gyomei or maybe even Kyojuro... but he was wrong. So wrong. It was him. Only him. You'd put yourself on the line so much more than you should've. All to hear those soft praises. His wife must not like you... you do take up more and more of his time as days go on...

Imagine how he softly calls to you. Late that night, he'd heard your footsteps. He sat with you talking. About anything that day. Soft and short conversations. Quiet but not uncomfortable. "You're my favorite you know." He sighed, before he let out a small chuckle "don't tell the others." You know he was teasing. But your heart told you other wise.

Imagine being hurt. In battle you were hurt. But even in your pain you still made your way to your master... your beautiful Kagaya... the married man, the family man, that you had fallen in love with. "My dear, you still come and see me while you're in such pain?" He seemed shocked. But you aren't sure why, you'd walk on hot coles and crawled on your hands and belly to kneel for him. You'd do anything for your master. And you could only hope as his favorite... you wouldn't let him down. Finally you lifted your head from his chest, pulling his hands from your hands, leaving a kiss to his knuckles. One day. One day you'll have him.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki × Slayer reader Trope: unrequited love/lovesick/slow burn

Special Part two of Forbidden love with Gyomei × demon

Imagine how the rest of the slayers flock around Gyomei, asking him so many questions. And he couldn't even answer them all. Too consumed by his disbelief that the person he'd fallen in love with so deeply, had turned out to be a demon.

Imagine how he layed in bed lonely and... missing you. He began to long of your cold touch, your voice, your laugh that was so contagious to him. He missed you. He'd fallen for you. Demon or not. He laid in his bed trying and failing to get even a wink of sleep. But just as he had almost fallen asleep he was awoken by a sound. 'Tap tap' was the sound, 'tap tap' on his window. "Gyomei... my love..."

Imagine how he practically leaped from his bed. Demon or not you had carved yourself a spot in his heart. Slamming open the window and pulling you inside, his hands instantly feeling over your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Kissing the knuckles of your cold hands.

Imagine being the one that made Gyomei for a moment stay from his faiths. Gyomei devoted his life to his beliefs, that includes waiting. Waited all his life for the one. Saving himself and waiting. But you both were in a unique circumstances... so from that point on Gyomei promised himself to you. You would stay with him in his home and he would always come back to you. That night he would kiss you, love you, lay you under him while he whispered for you to be his.

[navybrat817]

Sweet as a Berry

Pairing: Farmer!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: You go to the local market to buy berries and meet the man of your dreams.

Word Count: Over 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, meet-cute, flirting, tension, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Welcome to my Bountiful Harvest AU ( or Farmer Fall as discussed with @thezombieprostitute and @witchywithwhiskey ) and our intro to farmer!Bucky. Thanks to @yenzys-lucky-charm and @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me babble about this man. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Your weekly trip to the farmers market was one you looked forward to. A place for merchants to come together to offer an abundance of products, there was always something to browse or discover. Today you only had one thing on your list: berries for your pies. Frozen fruit did the job, but you preferred to bake your pies with fresh fruit. Buying from the market was also a way to support local farmers. Maybe one day you'd even bag a handsome farmer for yourself. It was a silly fantasy, of course, but your mind liked to wander some days.

Not that there was anything wrong with city men, but they couldn't compare to a man working on a farm. There was just something about a guy who knew how to work with nature and provide, wasn't intimidated by hard work or afraid to get his hands dirty, and had a strong body and character due to his work ethic. You liked to think you’d make a good wife and take care of him the way he’d take care of you. You also liked to imagine a handsome man walking inside after a long day and stripping down and wanting dessert before a hearty meal. And by dessert, you meant you.

For now, you were only a farmer’s wife in your dreams and journal.

The gravel crunched under your tires as you turned down the road, the market coming into focus. You made good time and managed to snag a decent parking space. A little bit of walking wouldn’t hurt. Plus the day was nice enough that you wore one of your sundresses, the soft breeze pleasant against your skin once you got out of your car.

Lively chatter greeted you as you got closer to the stalls and booths and expertly weaved your way through the bustling crowd. The various produce and flowers created a kaleidoscope of colors, brightened more by the brilliant rays coming from the sun. The earthy fragrance that blended with the sweet and ripe aromas was one you only encountered here. There was nothing else quite like it.

Quick movement in front of you made you come to a stop, your heart jumping. Had you not been paying attention you would've collided with a little boy. “Mama, there's Dada! He’s getting honey!” He shouted as he ran past and threw his arms around a man’s legs.

“Walk, please, and watch where you're going!” His mother said after him, a both fond and exasperated look on her face as she gave you a tired smile. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“No apologies,” you smiled. He hadn't done anything wrong. “I wish I had that energy.”

“Same. I’d bottle and sell it,” she said over her shoulder.

Watching as the woman went to her son and husband, both of them looking at her like the sun rose today because of her, you felt a twinge of sadness. Your trips to the market were solo, always had been. You longed to have a partner to go with, someone to put his arm around you or hold your hand as you picked out items together. Even better if the two of you could make a family down the line.

With a wistful smile, you shook yourself from those thoughts. There was no reason to feel sorry for yourself. Just because you didn't have that in the present didn't mean it wouldn't happen in the future. You had to have faith that the right one would come along at the right time.

For now, you would find some berries and be on your way.

Walking a bit further, you spotted a booth you hadn't seen in your previous visits. The sign that read “Barnes’s Berries” complete with hand painted fruit pieces piqued your curiosity as you stopped in front of it. As the customers in front of you paid for their bundles and blocked the view of the person assisting them, you took a minute to admire the range of berries reflecting a spectrum from blues to reds. Your mouth watered from the sight. There were so many things you could do with these. Pies, jams, cakes-

A deep, husky voice asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You made some sort of sound as you turned around, your heart pounding in your chest. The man in front of you was tall with thick thighs that deliciously filled out his jeans. The rolled up plaid shirt exposed part of his arms. The left was covered in tattoos and the ink couldn't hide the muscles or veins. If anything, it accentuated his strength. His chest and shoulders seemed to go on for miles, too. The chestnut hair that fell below his chin and stubble on his face gave the already handsome man a rugged look.

Sapphire eyes crinkled when you made eye contact and he smiled so softly that you couldn't help but smile in return. A man of his size and stature working a berry stand when he looked like he could easily chop wood or build his own home was otherworldly. He didn't just step out of your fantasy. He took your thoughts and made them better than you could've imagined.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” He asked again a bit hesitantly when you didn’t answer his question. “If you're still looking, please, take your time.”

“You’re real, right?” You asked, your face heating up as the words left your mouth. A giggle followed because you couldn’t believe you just said that. “What I meant to say is, yeah. Just looking for now,” you added to save face, smoothing out your dress for no reason.

Amusement filled his eyes, the soft smile still tugging at his lips. “I sure hope I’m real and not just a figment of your imagination.”

You wished you could reach out and touch him to “prove” he was real, but didn’t want to weird him out. “Not a figment of my imagination,” you said, but that wasn’t totally true. You very much imagined a man like him when you were alone at night. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” It wasn't like you knew every single vendor, but you would've remembered him.

He sure as hell had a face worth remembering.

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced, offering you his hand. His grip was gentler than you expected, but there was no mistaking the roughness in his touch. The man worked with his hands and it showed. “This is actually my first week here.”

You said your name, proud that you remembered it with the way he was staring so intently at you. He stood a bit close, too. Close enough that you could smell his woodsy cologne. Subtle, yet enticing. “I hope everyone has been welcoming.”

“Most have been very friendly, which has made my job easy,” he said. You could imagine with his looks and friendly demeanor despite his size that he’d have a lot of repeat customers. “A couple of my friends recently started selling here, too, so it’s good to have some familiar faces close by.”

“That’s really nice. I’m sure they're glad you're close by, too,” you smiled. You wondered who his friends were. “Did you have to travel far to get here?”

“Yeah, they’re good guys,” he smiled back, your heart racing when he ran a hand through his hair. “Not too far since my farm is only a few miles away, which also makes things easier. Makes me wonder why I didn't do this sooner.”

You nearly swooned. Your dream man was becoming dreamier by the second. “You have a farm not too far from here?”

It would’ve been easy to assume he did since he had a stand here, but not everyone who worked the market had their own land. It was also easy to assume he wasn't married since you didn't see a ring on his left hand or any sort of tan line or indentation to indicate that he removed a ring. A man like that though probably had a partner. It wasn't worth getting your hopes up.

“Yeah. I have a few acres. Beautiful place. but if I’m being honest it gets a bit lonely since it’s just me out there with no one to share it with.” He scratched the back of his neck with a small chuckle and avoided your gaze. “I don't know why I said that. That’s kind of embarrassing.”

Your stomach did a funny flip. Not just because he pretty much let it slip that he wasn't with anyone when you assumed moments ago that he was, but from the urge to comfort him taking over. You wished you could wrap him in a hug.

“Well, I don't have a farm, but I understand feeling lonely some days,” you admitted. Being vulnerable with a complete stranger wasn't how you expected your day to go, but you wanted him to know he wasn't alone in that feeling. “And it’s not embarrassing,” you assured him. If anything, it was endearing.

He slowly met your gaze. “I appreciate that.” He rubbed the back of his neck again as your heart began to race. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I find it hard to believe that someone as sweet and beautiful as you gets lonely.”

The compliment left you momentarily dazed before a shy smile graced your face. You could've said the same thing about him. Maybe the instant connection you felt wasn’t so one-sided. “Well, I do. Even coming here, I’m usually by my lonesome” you said, the words not at all bitter. Just honest. “And do you call all potential customers sweet and beautiful?”

“No, I don’t.” He continued to gaze at you before he cleared his throat. “But you said potential customer. If I made you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t.” It was gentlemanly that he wanted to make sure that his comment didn’t put you off. “There’s a stand a little further down that I sometimes stop at, though your berries are extremely tempting.”

Bucky’s brows pinched before he snapped his fingers. “Jed, right? He’s actually not here this week. Had an accident recently. Broke his leg.”

You gasped. “Oh, my god. That’s awful.” Jed was a kind, older farmer who had been there for as long as you could remember. A hard worker who didn’t deserve any kind of pain. “I hope he heals quickly.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “So, do I,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m no Jed, but is there anything I can do to get your business today?”

The hopeful look in his blue eyes had you smiling slightly. “Well, I-”

“Wait. Let me try to guess what you’re specifically looking for before you tell me.” He waited until you nodded. “Clearly berries, but not for anything like a fruit salad or an everyday snack,” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and you tried not to giggle when he grinned triumphantly. “Pies. You want berries to make pies. Blueberries, right? Maybe blackberries, too. And if I had to pick a third, raspberries.”

Your mouth fell open. Was he a mind reader? “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries. I have this triple berry pie recipe that I love and I make the crust from scratch and…” You bit your lip to keep from rambling. He didn’t need to hear all that. “Sorry. I just like to bake.”

“No apologies.” His light touch to your arm surprised you as he met your gaze. “You sound very passionate about it and I like that.”

You found yourself nodding, unable to tear your gaze away. It took everything within you to not blurt out how gorgeous he was. And on top of that, he was kind? Maybe he wasn’t real. “I am passionate about it. And not just pies. Other treats, too,” you said, nodding to the strawberries. “Those would be perfect for mini shortcakes or scones.���

He studied you with an appreciative smirk. The sundress was a good choice. “I have no doubt your treats are delicious and you are making me very hungry,” he said, your heart thudding. The smirk disappeared as quickly as it appeared when he gestured to his stand. “And I think they’ll be tastier with my berries.”

You blinked, stuck on the fact that he called your treats delicious. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like he called you delicious and he hadn’t tasted anything of yours, though you’d find a way to bake something and deliver it to him personally if he asked. “You sound very confident, Bucky.”

He puffed his chest out. “I take a lot of pride in all my crops. Tell you what,” he said, stepping away from you to grab a sample cup. “Why don’t you try some and see how you like them? If they aren't the best berries you’ve ever tasted, I’ll shut my stand down and let you on your way.”

“You’ll really shut your stand down? That’s a big wager,” you smiled, his fingers touching yours as he handed the cup over. It heated you up all over again. “The look of them alone is amazing,” you said, the vibrant berries beckoning for you to have a bite.

“Taste amazing, too, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Bucky shot you a dazzling smile as you tried the blueberry first since that was the berry you were most interested in purchasing today. You didn’t care if it was mortifying, you outright moaned at the flavor when you bit down on the small and plump piece of fruit. Not overly sweet or acidic as the juice coated your tongue. It was the perfect balance. So much that you licked your lips and craved another.

Your eyes honed in on the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest before your gaze flickered to his face. His eyes were darker and you realized after a moment that he was staring at your mouth. A look like that could’ve made you choke on your breath, but it somehow gave you a burst of confidence. Testing the waters, you tried the blackberry next and made a show of licking your lips again at the sweet and succulent taste. The groan he let out shot a burst of heat between your legs.

God, he looked like he was ready to eat you whole.

“Delicious,” you said in a sultry voice you didn't recognize.

“You, um…” He brought a hand up and brushed his thumb along the corner of your mouth. You quivered when he showed you the drop of juice that you missed. Without breaking eye contact, he licked the drop away. It was a look that melted your insides when he said in a gruff tone, “You're right. Delicious.”

“Excuse me?” A woman spoke, making you jump back a bit from Bucky and pulling you both out of the moment. She might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over your head. “I’d like to buy these.”

Your heart continued to race when you saw disappointment flash in his eyes. “Go ahead,” you smiled. He was there to do a job after all, not chat and flirt with you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky turned his head toward the customer. “Of course, ma’am,” he smiled, still glancing back at you momentarily as if was afraid you’d walk away if he didn’t keep an eye on you.

Biting your lip, you held in a giggle as you tossed the sample cup into the small wastebasket. You swore you felt him gazing at you as you gathered up the bundles. Maybe you didn’t need to bend so far over to get the last bundle, but was it wrong that you wanted him to look? It wasn’t every day that you had a kind, handsome farmer flirting with you. It would have you walking on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

Turning toward the table to pay, you gasped when you nearly collided with Bucky. He managed to grab your arms to keep you from falling and you somehow didn’t drop a single bundle as he stared into your eyes. “You know, I think you’re even sweeter than my berries,” he spoke in a low voice, swiftly taking everything from your hands and lining them in a box before your brain could process what he said. “This everything then?”

“Yeah.” You blinked and got your money out to pay. “Thanks. And keep the change.”

He shook his head when he saw the amount you gave him. “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Please. I insist,” you smiled. He took a lot of pride in his work and any extra change could go toward that.

“I’ll keep it on two conditions,” he said, nodding to the box. “One, you let me be a gentleman and help you carry that to your car, that way you’re not stuck carrying it around.”

You nodded, butterflies in your stomach. “Okay, if you insist on being a gentleman.” He was nice enough that he wanted to step away from his stand and carry something for you. He really kept getting better and better. “And the second condition?” You asked with a coy smile. Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d ask for your number.

He reached behind him and presented you with another sample cup. “One more for the road? Please?”

You stamped down your disappointment that he didn’t ask for your number, which was more than okay. “How can I say no to that?” You popped the berries into your mouth without hesitation. They tasted ever sweeter than the first sample you had and you watched his eyes go to your neck as you swallowed. “Thanks. You really do have a gift,” you added to distract you from his heated gaze.

He looked humbled by the compliment. “I really do appreciate that,” he said, glancing over your shoulder to nod at someone. “Steve! You mind watching the stand until I get back? I’m gonna help her carry these to her car.”

You turned just in time to see a gorgeous blonde just as large as Bucky jog over from the stand across the way. “That’s nice of you, jerk. Real gentlemanly,” he smiled, giving you a small nod. “Ma’am.”

“Punk,” Bucky mumbled, but the affection was evident.

Another giggle worked its way out. Where did these men suddenly come from? Was there something in the water you didn’t know about? “You don’t need to call me ma’am, but thank you. And you’re right.” Your eyes went back to Bucky. “He is a gentleman.”

“And this is my cue to get you away from my friend before he says otherwise,” Bucky teased, steering you away with one hand while he balanced your fruit in the other.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him here either.”

“That was one of the friends I was talking about earlier. Has a farm, too, but his real passion is art,” he explained, his arm brushing against yours as he walked close. “He actually helped make my sign since I’m hopeless with that stuff.”

“That’s really nice,” you said, falling into a comfortable silence with him as you both maneuvered your way through the crowd. Once you got to the parking area, you pointed out your vehicle. “I’m just over there.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered over to you as you got your keys out. “I’m really glad you stopped at my stand today.”

Your heart fluttered when you caught the sun shining along his hair. “I’m glad I did, too,” you said softly, unlocking the car so he could set everything inside. Thank God it was clean. That would’ve been embarrassing. “But I should let you get back to work.”

He shifted on his feet, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. “Yeah, I should go.” He stepped forward and took a breath. “But I don’t think I can go back before I ask you to go on a date with me.”

You blinked. This wasn’t a drill. Bucky was asking you out. His tone was so gentle, his gaze so compelling. He was mesmerizing. He could’ve asked you to do anything and you likely would’ve done so without question.

“You want to take me out on a date?” You questioned, your mind screaming that your response was the wrong answer. This wasn’t a fantasy. It was really happening.

With an unsure chuckle, Bucky brushed a hand through his hair. “Too forward?” He smiled a little. “I’m sorry. I just thought that we…”

Your heart reacted to his uncertainty. It took a lot for anyone to put themselves out there and you wanted him to know it was worth the risk. “Not too forward at all, Bucky,” you smiled and placed your hand on his left arm, happy when he smiled back. “I'd love to go out with you.”

He took your hand in his when you went to pull your hand back. “I’m really glad you said yes,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” you sighed at his warm touch. It was the beginning of something special. You could tell. “So, when would you like to go on that date?”

And that is our intro! Now here is where it gets interesting: This story will go down two paths, one light and one dark. Be on the lookout for the continuation and choose your path (or choose both 😏). Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[revasserium]

love bites

kenma, tsukki, kageyama, hinata; 2,025 words; fluff, slightly suggestive, mentions of hickies, no "y/n", fem!reader, whiney!kageyama, dom!hinata, tsukki being... tsukki, post timeskip!characters

summary: these hickeys like the remnants of our love, footsteps on the sea-soaked sand, a line of demarcation -- here is where our story begins.

a/n: i just rly wanted to write about hq! babes and hickies...

kenma.

the first time it happens, it’s a mistake — a brief moment of vindictiveness manifest in the way he whines and nuzzles into your neck before opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into your skin. when you gasp, your head tipping back, kenma pauses, pulling back, his mind already cataloging this very interesting new piece of information for later use, but his eyes have yet to catch up — his body has yet to catch up with the sight of you, cheeks pink, lips parted, eyes slightly glazed over as you stare ruefully up at him, a hand coming up to press over your mouth as you frown.

“w-what was that for?”

kenma hums, sitting back with a pout, “you were the one being unfair.”

you scowl, “how was i being unfair? you lost the game fair and square — the stakes were loser does the dishes.”

kenma sniffs, his nose crinkling at the thought, “but we have a dishwasher — it’s literally in the name —”

“but the nice wine glasses can’t be put through the dishwasher!”

you push yourself up onto your elbows even as kenma slumps back on the sofa, groaning loudly. still, he lets his head slump to one side to stare at the rapidly darkening patch of skin at the junction of your neck and shoulders. there’s something that feels dangerously like desire calcifying in the pit of his stomach and he weighs the pros and cons of leaning forward to give you another good bite.

really, dinner was great, dessert was better but — this.

suddenly, he understands what his teammates had always meant when they’d said they could keep on eating forever, even when their stomachs were full to bursting, even when they thought they’d be ill.

“stupid wine glasses…” he murmurs, leaning forward to prop his chin on your shoulder. you laugh, a soft, breathy thing as you reach out to tug a strand of hair from his low, messy bun.

“but the wine was good, no?”

kenma hums, letting his head loll back and forth, his eyes flickering down once more to the round ring of red now rising against your skin. he allows himself a tiny grin, leaning forward to press a kiss over the tender flesh. he makes note of the way you gasp, soft and expectant, the way your body seems to tense and then go laxed beneath his hands.

“yeah…” he whispers, smirking as he sinks delicate fingers into your hair, gently shifting your head to one side to allow him more access, “guess it was good…”

he presses another kiss to your neck, just slightly below the reddening hickey.

“g-guess? that was — a-an expensive bottle…”

“hmmm…” kenma trails his lips down over your shoulder, tugging lightly at your shirt, the wide collar falling away easily. when he finds yet another patch of unmarred skin, grazing his teeth over it, he feels the way you reach up to fist your fingers in his hair.

“’zume… don’t think you can get out of doing the dishes like this…”

kenma laughs, letting his breath puff out against your skin seconds before he opens his mouth and takes another soft bite. he doesn’t miss the way you whimper this time, doesn’t mistake the hitch in your breath for something like surprise when he knows better — and he knows you best of all.

“not trying to get out of doing it… just… we never specified when the loser has to do the dishes so…” he licks his lips, glancing up at you with a bright, devilish flicker behind his eyes, “i’m just taking my time with the meal. nothing wrong with that, right?”

tsukki.

it is a normal thing, for you to wake up in the morning and find remnants of the night before scattered across your skin like sand dollars littered upon a stretch of beloved beach. and tsukishima is never apologetic — ever.

if anything, he looks upon his work with pride, smirking as you tug at the collar of your shirt, tutting.

“tsukki… i told you not to bite so hard…”

“hmm… sorry, i must’ve forgotten,” he props a cheek on his hand, peering at you over his glasses, his tone the farthest thing from apologetic, “heat of the moment and all.”

you shoot him a reproachful look in the mirror and watch as his grin widens ever so slightly.

“the girls are the museum are gonna have a field day with this.”

tsukishima shrugs, slumping back into the bed with a loud, long sigh.

“dunno why girls have such a weird fixation on other people’s boyfriends. ‘s not like it’s any of their business.”

you tug listlessly at the collar of your button up shirt, resigned to the fact that you’ll never be able to hide the marks properly as you heave another sigh.

“it’s just how we communicate — it’s like… how guys sometimes just need to like… punch it out — or whatever.”

“or whatever?” tsukishima almost chortles, rolling over onto his stomach again. your schedules at the museum only overlap 2 days a week, and the rest of the days, either he’s off or you are. it’s a miracle the pair of you were able to meet in the first place, let alone hit it off like you did.

“yeah. i don’t know how guys communicate,” you say, even as tsukishima swings out of bed to come up behind you, looping his arms around your middle.

“we… don’t, really,” he admits, in a customary deadpan, propping his chin on the top of your head with obscene ease. you frown up at him, tilting your head back till it hits the middle of his chest.

“you’re gonna make me late again.”

“so?”

“so — unless you want me to get fired —”

“they’re not gonna fire you. you’re too good at… cataloging maps, or whatever it is you guys do in the cartography department.”

tsukishima spins you around his arms, pressing you lightly back against the mirror. he considers you for a moment, with eyes just sharp enough to pass for academic interest, but you see the darkness misting its depths, the pressure in his fingertips as he leans in to seal his lips over yours in a kiss that could only be called searing.

you break away gasping, only to feel his lips trail fire down your neck seconds before —

“t-tsukki — !”

he pulls back with a satisfied smirk; you can feel yet another bruise blooming along your skin.

“there. one more thing for you and your girlfriends to bond over, hm?”

kageyama.

it is a deliberate thing, the first time. but kageyama remembers the strange gravity, the tug just behind his navel, the persistent itch of curiosity as he leans forward to sink his teeth into your skin.

he likes the way you hiss, the way you go soft in his arms, the pair of you already a pile of tangled limbs on the massive sectional in the living room, the lights dimmed, half a bottle of red wine yet un-drunk on the coffee table.

“tobio… what —”

he hums, burying his face in your shoulder, fingers digging into your sides.

“… something i wanted to try…”

“hm?” you gently card your fingers through his hair, quirking your head to one side.

“it’s just —” he pulls back, a deep blush prickling his cheeks as he looks anywhere but at you, “something… i’ve wanted to try. for — a while,” he admits, looking shockingly small for a internationally renowned volleyball player, hunched over on the couch like this, his lips stained dark with wine.

you giggle, leaning up to tilt his chin back towards yours.

“sure. you can try whatever you want.”

you lay back, stretching out beneath him, pliant and willing, and kageyama goes still for a solid four seconds before he narrows his eyes, an un-namable hunger clawing at his insides as he pulls you beneath him and groans into your skin.

he likes the way the colors seep the surface of your skin, likes the way it’s so obvious against the bright of your collarbones. he spends all of the following day in an intoxicatingly good mood, to the point where his teammates are understandable suspicious. but he just tells them he slept well, that he had a good dinner last night, that wine was really, really delicious.

and that thanks for the recommendation.

hinata.

brazil has changed him, in more ways than you can count, but at the same time, in some ways, he is just, just the same.

“s-shou-you!”

“mmm —” he whines sucking a deep hickey into the junction of your neck, his pupils blown wide as he pulls back, lips split into a too-pleased grin, “what is it? did i hurt you?”

there’s the barest hint of a tease in his voice, and anyone else might’ve thought he’s completely serious, that he’s actually worried. and in a sense, he is — he’d never want to actually hurt you. but he also knows that — to a certain degree, you revel in this kind of pain.

you chew on your bottom lip, shaking your head.

“no… it’s — it’s okay.”

“yeah?” he sounds entirely too happy with himself as he reaches forward to thumb at the damp spot on your skin, “ah… that one’ll be pretty. just like you!”

he laughs, his joy so pure and infectious that it makes you blush. you look away.

“shou…?”

“hm? what is it, pretty girl?”

he bends back down to press a light kiss to your collarbone, peaking up at you with those would-be innocent eyes.

“don’t… don’t tease me.”

hinata laughs, that self-same, joyous sound.

“but i like teasing you!” he says, with no hint of malice, not a single sliver of shame.

you can only cover your eyes with your arm, turning your head away.

“aww, don’t do that —” he says, coaxing your hand away before pinning both of them above your head with a single, fluid move. your breath hitches.

“don’t hide from me…”

it’s too much to hope for that someone with eyes like his would miss such a thing. you watch as the dark, lightless centers of his eyes grow ever so slightly larger, threatening to overtake the honeyed ring of his actual iris.

“can’t… can’t help it…” you look away, feeling the waves of indomitable heat, wave after wave, washing through you, collecting at the base of your stomach to twist into something deeper, something harder.

“can’t help what, hm?” hinata laces your fingers with his; distinctly, you can feel his thighs flex on either side of your legs, locking you in place. the summers are hot in rio, but you can’t help but wonder if more than half the heat in the room might be coming from the pair of you alone.

all around him, the air wavers like a reflection in pond-water —

“shou… just —” you lick your lips.

“ah…” there’s a soft whine curling at the edge of his voice as he leans down, “you’re not playing fair at all…”

desire pulses like a heartbeat inside you.

“shouyou, please,” you beg, trying to wrest some semblance of control back from him but he’s having none of it. he pins your hands to either side of your head, his bed more than wide enough for the pair of you, with room to spare.

“mah… you gotta be a bit more specific than that,” he says, his voice almost casual as he noses into your pulse point right beneath your jaw. you hold your breath and a second later, the harsh sting of his teeth rakes through you, chasing pleasure down your spine.

“m-more —” you choke out the word against the heat of his lips and you feel rather than see him grin above you.

“yeah? i think i can do that for you.”

[katsukikitten]

Actress reader and Actor Bakugou have to enact a sex scene. Of course they've got one of those little modesty covers for his dick and for you but you'll still look naked in the shot.

But there is just something about the way that he's grinding into you, his cock hard from the action of course and since your characters hate each other (just like in real life) it's supposed to be a rough passionate scene, it's hate fucking after all! Your moaning only gets louder the more he "fucks" into you echoing around the studio with tons of people looking over the two of you but his eyes are trained on you and when he thinks he hears something a little more than the over the top obvious fake sounds your character is meant to give, when it ebbs into something real (fake to real sounds per the script) he gets a little too into his character.

"That's right, take it, take this cock. Mould to me so that every other man knows that you're mine and mine alone, princess."

"You'll have to fuck me harder than that to make me cum, prince." Spitting back the title his character so hates and the nickname you've come to call him off set and in interviews if only to burrow under his skin. His eyes flash with anger and for a moment you think you've regained control.

But his thrusts come harder after that and suddenly you're trying to cover your face with your arms but he moves to pin them to the plush pillow over head. His voice rough, deep, panting out in such a mind numbing growl.

"No, I want to see the exact moment I ruin you."

Covered cock somehow grinding against your clothed slit just right, your clit throbs from the repeated action, making you lock your ankles around his waist.

Head thrown back to expose your throat that he comes down to bite as he "cums" just as he's supposed to although the lines were wholly improvised. Shuddering over top of you with his tongue lapping up the rough teeth marks he's left on your pretty skin. Pulling away to grab your jaw roughly, rutting into you with pained groans as his tongue slips into your mouth "prolonging" your release and his.

"CUT!" Comes the doctor's voice, slicing through the tension reminding you both exactly where you are. Bakugou pulls away but not too quickly, grabbing at the blankets to cover you even if the whole world was going to see your tits bouncing from his rough thrusts thanks to the network allowing borderline soft core porn on air.

"Let's take fifteen to review and recenter!" Comes the directors sharp voice and so Bakugou helps you up on shaking legs, pressing you into his side as he walks around in nothing but that "modesty" covering.

"Wow! That seemed so real you did the fake to real moaning so well!" People linger to pass you compliments until they see Bakugou snarling down at them, rushing away from the always grumpy actor. He makes sure you're sat on the couch in your dressing room, both of you lock eyes for a moment and it's obvious by his smirk that this jackass can't help but stroke his own ego.

"Ya that sure was a performance from you, ya know I almost would have thought it was real, princess." He mocks you, giving you some knowing look as your cheeks still burn from how good he was from grinding alone.

"In your fuckin dreams Prince." He can only suck his teeth and chuckle darkly at your retort. Going to cup his fat length and sac, a squishing sound can be heard and it makes you hyper aware of the wetness between your thighs. He pulls away his hand slowly, silvery strings connect to the thin fabric and his fingers before they snap and he looks up at you. Smiling devilishly, palming his damp cock sticky from more than just you but you don't have to know that.

"Then I must be dreaming huh?"

[seoulmatez]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒲𝒜𝒩𝒟𝐸𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝐸𝒴𝐸𝒮 — attractive things they do

info ⭑  includes: itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, oliver aiku, mikage reo, michael kaiser, yukimiya kenyu ﾉ suggestive bordering nsfw (minors do not interact) ﾉ all character written 19+  

₊˚ପ⊹ RIN guides you by your waist. when you’re playing around and purposely blocking his path, his arms stretch out to take a hold of you before effortlessly reversing your positions with the click of his tongue and an easy, lazy smirk. it’s also one of the few physical actions he’ll display in public, preferring it over holding hands or slinging an arm around your shoulders. he can see you this way, keep you in his sights. when you’re not paying any mind to your surroundings and nearly walk into traffic, he pulls you into him and gives you a squeeze, leaning down to whisper “be careful” against your skin. you jump at his touch and the feel of his breath tickling your ear, cheeks burning with the reminder of where his hands were roaming and exploring the night before.

₊˚ପ⊹ SHIDOU walks around the apartment in sweatpants that hang incredibly low on his hips. your focus shifts from the pot of water you’re waiting to boil to ryusei as he pads into the kitchen after finishing his shower. beads of water drip from his hair onto his bare chest and roll down his tanned skin until they reach his v-line. you don’t realize the water on the stove has come to a boil until shidou clears his throat, jerking his head at the stove. “you’re staring real hard, pretty,” he drawls with a lazy grin. it only takes a few strides for him to close the gap between the two of you. his hands grip the counter on either side of you, trapping you in place as fuchsia eyes filled with mischief stare down at your figure. “something more you wanna see?”

₊˚ପ⊹ OLIVER intently stares at your lips whenever you’re talking. to be fair, each conversation starts with his eyes on yours but they always happen to drift down to your mouth. he takes in their natural pout and the subtle shine that your chapstick leaves behind on them. eventually, his mind begins to wander. he thinks about how soft they would feel sucking hickeys onto the pulse of his neck and across his collarbone or wrapped around the head of his—"are you even listening?“ you ask with crossed arms, the corners of your lips turnings down in a frown. "of course i am,” he tells you, finally dragging his gaze up to your eyes. “i just hear you better this way, that’s all.”

₊˚ପ⊹ REO puts his hands over yours every time you reach for your wallet to pay. he can feel the way your fingers wriggle beneath his palm, but he ignores the movement, intertwining his fingers with yours while he pulls out his card and hands it to the cashier. he’s got more money to his name than he knows what to do with, so it only makes sense for him to spoil you. he might smile and breathe out a laugh when you slap his shoulder and frown, sulking about how you feel bad for spending all his money, but he hears you. if you really feel like paying him back, he can think of a couple of ways you could do so—some that are better suited taking place in the bedroom.

₊˚ପ⊹ KAISER tilts your chin up with his finger whenever you refuse to look at him. it shouldn’t surprise you, seeing him offer fans smiles and hugs, but you can’t help but think about it when the two of you are taking your leave. “are you seriously mad?” he asks from beside you, and it wouldn’t have upset you if he didn’t laugh like it was unreasonable. you scoff and roll your eyes but before you’re able to make it any closer to the door, you’re being tugged back. all too suddenly, kaiser is in front of you, his hooked finger angling your head up and forcing you to meet his azure gaze. “you know i only have eyes for you, right?” he murmurs, like his words are meant for you and you alone. he’ll show you that his statement holds true when you get home.

₊˚ପ⊹ YUKIMIYA uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe away his sweat. on the occasion that you accompany him to a weekend practice or individual workout, you tend to look out for it. after the intense training when he’s cooling down, you watch attentively as he drags the hem of his shirt across his upper lip to collect the beads of perspiration. the motion leaves his abdomen exposed, putting the defined lines of his abs and the trail of dark hair peeking out from his shorts on display. your staring isn’t as discreet as you think it is but yukimiya doesn’t mind it. even after he catches you gawking, he keeps his shirt pulled up so as to not interrupt your view. when finally do look up at him, he’s peering at you over his glasses, tongue running along his lower lip.

hey! it's manon :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

[lcvemiyuki]

“couple tiktok trends” | hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: haikyuu boys x reader doing tiktok trends

warnings: disgustingly cute

characters: iwaizumi, kuroo, bokuto

a/n: had this idea for a while and these were the first three i just wanted to write <3 (uppercase intended…revising other works soon)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Iwaizumi + leaving lipstick all over his face

(reference video link)

He could never say no to you. That’s why when you sent him a video of a trend going around social media, all he could do was sigh and ask, “Could I at least pick the color?”

He chose a deep wine shade, his favorite lipstick that he loved to see on you. The rich hue always brought out the warmth in your complexion, making you look even more alluring.

It took you only one take as you applied the lipstick meticulously, your eyes meeting his in the mirror. He watched, entranced, as you carefully painted your lips, the smooth motions captivating him. Then, with deliberate intent, you smeared it slightly onto your chin.

Without a word, he moved closer, the roughness of his hand a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. His fingers wrapped firmly around your chin, thumb sweeping across the smeared lipstick to erase the mistake. The touch was gentle but assertive, his eyes never leaving yours. The intimacy of the moment caused your lips to part slightly, a slight smile tugging up, as his thumb lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

Right after, the camera panned to the seemingly nonchalant Iwaizumi, but the glint in his eyes betrayed him. His focus was entirely on you. The lipstick marks scattered across his face and neck were evidence of your small pecks. He looked ridiculous, but he didn't care. He had only agreed to this because it meant he got to feel your lips on him repeatedly.

He wouldn’t hear the end of it from Oikawa once it was posted.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Kuroo + ribbon on bicep

(reference video link)

Kuroo saw it on TikTok and wanted to recreate the video. You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Let's do it," you agreed, deciding to be the one recording.

You both went to the store to buy baby pink ribbon specifically for this. To be honest, you knew he only wanted to show off how much his muscles had grown, but you found his excitement endearing.

Now, in the comfort of the bathroom, you carefully tied a pretty bow on each side of his chiseled arms. The contrast between the delicate ribbon and his defined muscles made the sight even more striking.

“You’re so cute with that look on your face,” he smirked, tilting his head to the side. He was enjoying this a little too much.

“Shut up,” you retorted playfully, your finger lightly nudging his forehead.

Standing in front of your black-haired boyfriend, you held your phone in one hand. The bathroom mirror reflected the two of you, capturing the intimate moment. As Lana Del Rey's dreamy voice filled the room, the video started recording.

Kuroo chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in the small space. With a playful glint in his eyes, he raised both arms and flexed. The ribbons snapped off easily, falling to the floor as his muscles bulged.

“Wow, you’re so strong, Kuroo,” you teased, emphasizing the word "strong" with a sarcastic tone.

“Shut up,” he shot back, mirroring your earlier words with a grin.

Before you could react, his arms reached out, gently but firmly lowering your phone. The camera caught a glimpse of his lips pressing a tender kiss to yours just before the video cut out.

In that fleeting moment, the warmth of his kiss lingered on your skin, the sweetness of his gesture making your heart flutter.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Bokuto + ‘alphabet kiss count’ prank

(reference video link)

You loved to prank your boyfriend here and there because his reactions were so cute.

One day, you decided to ask him if he wanted to film a video with you; the idea was to step out of frame if you hadn't kissed someone whose name started with the letter being called out.

“I’m literally gonna be out of frame 'til your initial pops up, babe,” he laughed, eyes crinkling with amusement.

He agreed anyway, and the two of you stood in the kitchen with your phone propped up on your paper towel roll holder. You started the timer on your phone, and Bokuto immediately leaped out of frame, his frosted tips barely peeking in view, ready to pop back in when your letter was called.

You, however, stayed in the frame with no intention of leaving. As the letters were called, Bokuto side-eyed you, suspicion brewing in his mind.

‘Bokuto starts with a B, and my last name doesn’t start with an A,’ he squinted at you harder, the gears turning in his head.

“A, B, C, D, E—”

“Y/N!” Bokuto jumped back into the frame, his face flabbergasted, eyes wide with disbelief.

“There’s an A, C, D, E, that I don’t know about?!” he interrupted, not even letting you finish the sequence. You burst out laughing at his incredulous expression.

He always got so pouty and whiny whenever you pranked him.

“Baby, I’m just kidding! Baby? Bokuto!” you called out as he walked away with his arms crossed, feigning offense.

The video was long forgotten as you chased after him, showering him with kisses and back hugs, trying to win back his affection. He pretended to be dramatically upset, but you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing soft kisses to his neck and whispering sweet apologies. "I'm sorry, love. You know I can't resist teasing you."

He turned around, unable to keep up the act any longer, and pulled you into a tight hug. “You’re lucky you’re so—” he suddenly grabbed your arms and laid you on the bed before tickling you, “cute!”

You squealed with laughter, trying to squirm away from his relentless tickling. “Stop, stop!” you gasped between giggles, tears forming in your eyes from laughing so hard.

“Not until you admit you love pranking me because you love my reactions,” he teased, his fingers dancing along your sides.

“Okay, okay! I love your reactions!” you confessed, breathless and laughing.

And in the end, he always won, leaving you both wrapped in laughter and love.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[anika-ann]

The (Un)Expected - S.R.

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

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 8k

Summary: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

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

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

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

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

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

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then… then he died.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

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

And then, the shiest one of them all:

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

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

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

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

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

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

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Doctor, are you alright?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

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

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

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

You signed up for a lot of things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that was okay. You could do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

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

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

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

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

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

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

“I can’t shoot a-!”

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

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

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

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

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

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

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

And causing you to cry out in fright.

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

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

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

As well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you-“

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

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

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

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

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

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

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

Doctor, are you alright?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But seriously, what had been your first words-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s… really not better.”

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

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

Oh no.

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

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

See your soulmate.

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

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

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

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

I really did that?

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

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

And not just because he was your soulmate.

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

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

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

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

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

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

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

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

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

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

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

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

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