#now i need a pumpkin spice latte

[222hanna]

hating on basic things doesn't make you more interesting. i love basic things, i love following trends and i love being like other girls.

i've always wanted to be like other girls because i love girls. let us enjoy our basic music taste, our basic clothing style and our basic hobbies.

i love being like other girls.

#me #mine #now i need a pumpkin spice latte #other girls #basic girls #coquette #soft girls #autumn girls #taylor swift #lana del rey #girlblogging #girlblog #this is a girlblog #pink #pinkcore #pink pilates princess #healthy mindset #mental health #clean girl #selfcare #self care #selflove #self love #lovecore #books #book girl #matcha #pumpkin spice #gossip girl #gilmore girls

[draemers]

i got up at 7 despite going to bed tipsy maybe drunk at 2 for SOME BRAIN REASON so decided badly to be productive and do my washing, couldn’t get the washing machine door to close so said fuck it and went back to bed. just now went down there and it closed fine ??? was I still drunk lmao ???

#cat complains #was about to cry when it wouldn’t shut #now I just need food #i waNNA go get a pumpkin spiced latte sorry I’m a basic white girl :((

[blxxditout]

Day 22: Did they ever have a job before all this? Was it anything useful to here?

Yes... and no!

Sid worked a few jobs at a grocery store, and then was a barista for a little bit. There are very few things that he can say he could take with him from his time at either positions, unless a killer asks him to make a mocha cappuccino or some other intricate drink. Drinks and such aside, he's taken the same resilience to deal with people and their bullshit and has applied it to dealing with his other survivors of the Fog. Is someone freaking out about their circumstances? "I hear that, and I'm sorry that there isn't much that can be done about that", that isn't to say that he's apathetic but screaming about how they're all going to die isn't going to help anyone.

#— 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗦𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗔 #SS! 22 #// itd be really funny if he went up to someone like: #// 'shhhh hey dont cry.... pumpkin spice latte 🥺' #// i imagine he could whip something up if he got his hands on whatever's in ormond #// i need to draw him in outfits now.... #𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗨𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗗! > 𝗾 #🫀『 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧 ┊ hcs 』 #🪝『 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗠𝗘𝗔𝗧! ┊ dbd 』

[stephstars08]

I could really use a pumpkin spice latte right now.😞🎃🍂

#I need it #I NEED IT NOW #pumpkin spice #pumpkins #pumpkin spice latte #I have like no energy #I need my coffee

[kaizokuseb]

my dad bought decaf coffee by mistake so now i get to have extra coffee throughout the day. idk what he would have done with it if my mom hadn’t told him i’ll drink it so i’m glad she did lol

#there’s still some caffeine in decaf blahblah #he probably would have thrown it away #i’m the only person i know who drinks decaf #but it’s like! 1-2 cups of regular coffee in the morning and i’m good #i do not need more with my anxiety and sometimes 2 is too many #i want my afternoon latte without a panic attack #i have pumpkin spice creamer so it’s very cozy here right now

[inkskinned]

it just sucks because nothing is ever fucking made for you, and if it is made for you like 75% of the time it gets chopped into little pieces by every person alive because this is the one thing you have, so it has to prove itself to you.

like, a thing can't just be for women. men need to assign it to women. women have to experience "must" or "should" before their hobbies and passions - women are allowed to do silly, passive things like tuck our ankles and titter behind a fan, or something. women are allowed to, they are welcomed to. like the world is a house and we are supposed to be in the kitchen and now we are being given the divine right to enter the living room if we bring chips

because when it becomes for you, or about you, that is when the thing is vile. you should/must wear makeup so you can appear beautiful to men. once you wear makeup for yourself, or because you yourself enjoy putting it on, then you are no longer doing the right thing. there is a reason men hate certain fashion trends. there is a reason men hate things like the pumpkin spice latte - because it's not about them. you are buying it because it is good for you. they degrade your passions and interests. there is a reason women-led fields are largely seen as being "not a real" profession. when you are a good cook, that is because you can provide for him. close your eyes. you're not going to be a chef, be honest. that is a man making food for himself.

bras are made so breasts will be appealing to men. they are rarely about comfort or support. you have given up entirely on the idea of pockets. young girls have to worry about a shorter inseam on their shorts. a girl on instagram gets her septum pierced, and men in the comments are rabid about it - i just want to rip it out of her face. she'd be beautiful without it.

and fucking everything is for them. even the media that is "for you" is for them, eventually. remember "my little pony"? remember how hard it is to convince any executive to believe that little girls are worth selling to? in the media that is for you, you see little ways that you still need to make it accessible for them - the man is always powerful, smart, masculine. he is a man's man. the media usually forgives him. it usually says okay, some men are awful, but hey! gotta love 'em. because if you don't hold their hands and say "this is literally just a story about my lived reality", they shit their pants about it. they demand you put them into the media that's for you.

these are people who are so used to glutting themselves on the world. they are used to having every corner and every dollar and every place of leadership. so you say can i please have one slice of cake, just for myself, please, holy shit. and they fucking weep about it. they say you're being unfair, because some of their one-thousand-slices aren't beautiful, and your singular cake slice doesn't have their name on it. and aren't you being rude by not offering to share?

and honestly. fucking - yeah, man. you were kind of surprised, because the cake is a little basic (you bake at home, you're way past this stuff). but holy shit, it was nice just to be offered cake in the first place. you're used to having to starve. you're used to getting nothing, but going to the party anyway, because you're expected (professionally) to show up. you liked that it is a simple cake, and that it is warm, and mostly: you like that there is, for once, a cake-for-you.

in the real world, outside of metaphor, it feels like fucking being slapped. barbie didn't even say anything particularly unusual; it literally just made factually evident points. there are less women in leadership than men. we can look at that fact objectively. that is a real thing that is happening. and the movie is aware that it has to defend itself! that it has to spend like half an hour just turning to the camera and saying: i know this is hard for you to understand, but this is a real thing that women experience.

it's just - this is that one kid on the playground who thinks its allowed to hog all the toys. he builds this hoard that nobody else is allowed to even look at, or he'll get aggressive. everyone's a little scared of him, so they let it slide, because his daddy gave him the golden touch. he hates when people cry and thinks bullying is cool. he writes boys only! on a big sign and makes all his friends take "alpha male" classes.

and then girls pick up barbies, because there was nothing left for them. and in the void they've been given, with their scraps: they make long, spiraling narratives about how barbie is actually descended from snakes and has given her righteous followers magical (if concerning) powers and can speak 32 languages (2 of which are animal related) and has big plans for infrastructure (beginning with the local interstate). and the boy comes over, and he has a huge fit about how the girls aren't "including" him. he wants to know why the girls aren't making the story about ken.

"we didn't like your story." the girls blink at him. they point to his war stories and the gi joes and the millions of male-led narratives and how still in the modern day men get two-thirds of the speaking roles in movies and they point to men making mediocre shows that don't get lambasted and they point to men encouraging toxic masculinity and they point to men everywhere, men and men and men. and they say: "how is this our fault? you had ken."

"no!" he is already back to screaming and stomping his feet and tearing at his hair and intentionally reminding them that men are holding back thinly concealed violence and he says: "if it's not for me, it's actually sexism."

#it's almost as if you spent your entire life fucking denying us things and then get mad when god forbid #we point out that you've been denying us something #writeblr #almost as if . u ACTUALLY think women dream of being in a male-run society #like dude mostly i dream about not having a tummy ache #love when ppl tell me that men have to deal with more rejection than women do #im like. just say u have never had a hard day in ur fucking life. if u think the most difficult experience is getting turned down at a bar #men: this one movie doesn't suck my entire - #women: yeah so i went to the doctor and was bleeding out of my eyeballs but like the doctor said #it was probably just my time of the month i guess? #anyway so i died there and had to be revived but they think i faked dying bc it was hysterics #so i took 3 advil and now im back at work i guess

[raven-moon-ink]

Yan! Artist x Darling Muse

Yan! Artist might be a little obsessed with you, huh?

t/w: stalking, obsession, reader is kinda obsessed too, mentions of killing, yandere (:

You pretty darling just happened to be there at the gala that was displaying his collection. You were dragged there by your friend who was an artist who idolised Reaghan. Everyone there seemed obsessed with him. People milled around the dizzying black and grey canvases. Distorted lines and edges that seemed right out of some otherworldly hallucination. Honestly, it was a little too overwhelming for you, and you floated over to the corner where a lone canvas hung.

You stared raptured at it for a long time. The stark black canvas slit with illusions of faint, distant motion. It tickled something in the back of your mind, soft and strangely eerie, and you stared at it—mesmerised.

“51 is rather incomplete for such keen attention,” a voice drawled behind you.

You looked behind and met a pair of pitch-black eyes framed by long, dark streaks. Their grayish-red lips were twisted in a mocking smile, that did nothing to soften the sharp, pale features angled towards you.

You looked away from the unsettlingly beautiful face and turned back to the painting. “I like it,” you murmured—your fingers twitching slightly as if to reach out and touch—so softly, he almost missed it.

For the rest of the evening, you were haunted by the same pair of dark eyes. They seemed to follow you everywhere, but when you turned around, they were nowhere to be seem.

Yan! Artist who has been infatuated with you from the moment he met your quiet gaze. He couldn’t get over the soft tilt of your lips when you said those words nor the strange feeling that gripped him the moment you looked at him. He felt so heady, watching you from the shadows, evading his over-zealous fans all around. You floated behind the other girl with a faraway expression, but every now and then you froze and looked around furtively. How cute you were! Biting your glossy lips, that panicked look in your eyes, making him want to pin you down and gobble you up.

Of course, he charmed your little friend into telling him a bit about you— like where you lived, what you did and whether he need to add murder to his list on account of a boyfriend or something. Aah…So you were single! You dated your last boyfriend in college for a few months — hmm, maybe he should bump into him once for old time’s sake— but you had no one in your life right now.

Yan! Reaghan (artist) happens to ‘accidentally’ meet you on the subway back home. You recognise him from the gala, but you’re not very surprised.

“Who else would be skulking around the artworks like that except the artist themselves?,” you chuckle. He looks brighter than the last time you saw him. His silky black hair is tied in a spiky ponytail at his nape. Your gaze is nervously stuck on his prettily flushed cheeks and glittering smile. You don’t think you can meet his dark eyes for all your bravado. They seemed to sink in and devour you in a way that made your thighs clench. Nope, nope! You’re in a subway for goodness’ sake. Plus, he’s way out of your league, right?

So, why are you here with him at this beautiful coffee shop near the station drinking this heavenly pumpkin spice latte?

He has his cheeks propped lazily on his palms, eyes on you over the rim of his cup. You sip the drink, your heart sputtering under his liquid black gaze that sliced into you like a blade.

Except your eyes are drawn to his like a magnet and you can’t tear your eyes from his, feeling as drawn to him as he was to you.

Isn’t it strange? How sometimes, you just know.

Their eyes tell you that there was something about you that inextricably tie them to you, and you to them. Delicate and dangerous, an inescapable connection that cannot be put into words.

Why is it that you feel like you’ve known this stranger all your life? Why do you feel torn about leaving this unearthly moment behind?

How can you explain to the staring barista that this…was different. That you’ve never felt this way before. That you weren’t crazy to look at him like you wanted to be ruined by the promise in his smile?

“y/n”

Your thoughts shatter as you come back to the reality of his unsettling presence.

His dark crimson lips curved at the corners bemusedly.

“Will you be my muse?”

A/N: hmmm, should i write a part 2?

#yanblr #darlingcore #yandere #oc x reader #writeblr #dark romance #obsessive love #yandere x darling #yanderecore #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yancore #villaincore #musecore

[catapparently]

Kaz Brekker Headcanons

Cat entering her hc era thanks to my maid of honor @x-liv25 . Please go read her TIG headcanons!

MASTERLIST

Kaz once said "you shouldn't make friends with crows," "why not?" "they don't have any manners." I headcanon that he tried to feed a crow and actually be nice to it but it bit him so now he forever holds the grudge

He has a stack of makeup in his desk drawer in case he needs to change his face up a bit for a job and he's excellent at it

At some point, when he was still struggling with finding a job after Jordie's death, he stole someone's purse and found bronzer/contour that he used to draw himself abs to look strong and "hirable".

He doesn't mind touching animals without his gloves

He realized that when he tried to save an abandoned kitten in the rain when he was younger

He felt bad for it because it reminded him of him and Jordie

He saw it as a debt-ish to Jordie to save the kitten

It once brought Kaz a mouse as a gift and Kaz genuinely appreciated the gesture

Kaz POV: "What a distinguished gentleman who knows I'm worthy of great gifts and appreciation"

Kaz knew he couldn't really keep a cat in his line of work, it'd be a weakness, so when it was old enough, he snuck it into Pekka's office and watched the vicious little feline tear Pekka's stuff to shreds

"A cat after my own heart"

When Kaz got the Dregs tattoo, he didn't want the artist to touch him, so he tattooed the logo himself. It was a bit shaky but then he hired a Tailor to fix the edges without touching him

Alternative solution to the bad edges: He fixes them up with stolen foundation whenever he isn't wearing long sleeves or something that would cover it up.

They day he first saw Inej and she snuck up on him, he had a panic attack but hid it well

At this point in his life, he was used to being in control, to knowing everything. Having Inej sneak up on him (and knowing that she could have potentially killed him without him having time to retaliate had she been trained) freaked him out. He felt weak, Kaz Rietveld again.

Kaz spends half an hour every other day locked in his office without his gloves, lathering his hands in hand cream.

Whenever he'd grab someone by the collar or any form of violence with contact, the last thing the victim could think about is why his hands smell nice. Nobody ever lived to tell the tale.

He's a sucker for a good chocolate cake.

He absolutely HATES ice cream. It makes too much of a sticky gooey mess for him.

He also probably has a sensitive throat so he doesn't really eat cold/frozen stuff or drinks

Once he made a deal with Nina which resulted in him going to a café to buy her a pumpkin spice latte. Once he sniffed Nina's, he quickly bought another one for himself and chugged it before he could get back. Obviously he did that in a dark alleyway so that nobody could see him and use it as blackmail.

Once he used (obviously stolen) paint to decorate his very own set of cards.

He then made another elaborate plan of his and managed to auction them off for a grotesque amount of kruge.

Probably forged DeKappel's signature on the back of each with perfect precision

For those that forgot, DeKappel is some famous painter in the series. Kaz stole a DeKappel oil painting from Van Eck.

Help I didn't realize how fun HCs were, I could make a thousand of these

#kaz six of crows #six of crows duology #six of crows #six of crows headcanons #kaz headcanons #kaz brekker #kaz rietveld #kazzle dazzle #kaz dirtyhands brekker #inej gafha #inej ghafa #crooked kingdom #incorrect six of crows #jennifer lynn barnes #the grisha series #grishaverse #jordie rietveld #kaz and jordie #kaz and inej #kanej #kaz x inej #jan van eck #soc #pekka rollins #the dregs #the crows

[siempre-bucky]

pumpkin spice

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake's a strict black coffee kind of guy until he wasn't.

wc: 720

a/n: i had this idea at 2am and couldn't put it down...so here we are...

"What the fuck is that?" Jake questioned, a grimace on his face as his eyes followed the cold orange colored drink he was passing to you. 

Shifting in the passenger seat, you rolled your eyes and happily took it from him. "A pumpkin spice latte. It's the taste of fall," you laughed, taking a small whiff of the spices sprinkled on top of the whipped cream. 

"Taste of fall," he repeated mockingly as he took his black coffee from the girl at the window. "Sounds gross." Jake was a strict black coffee kind of man, just like his father and the other Seresin men. Javy sometimes managed to sneak a creamer in when the aviator wasn't looking. He got an iced black coffee in the summer months when he felt adventurous. 

You snorted and took a long drink. "Have you even tried it?" 

"No," he answered confidently, "And I don't need to try it to know it's gross." 

You reached over the console and took his coffee from his free hand and replaced it with yours. "Try it," you insisted. 

The blond formed a pouty face, his green eyes narrowed like a stubborn child. "No."

Time to bring out the big guns. "I'll call you the best pilot in the Navy over comms." The way to get Jake Seresin to do anything you want: stroke his ego. 

Jake gave you an unimpressed look that could only make you giggle, his strong hand gripping the cup a little tighter. "The things I do for you," he joked. Cautiously, he brought the green straw to his lips and slowly drank. 

The coffee hit his tongue and he surprisingly didn't flinch like you were expecting. He looked stone faced at the red light in front of him, eyebrows furrowed in thought. 

If Jake learned anything in his thirty plus years of life, he learned to conceal how he felt. He didn't want to admit that the fall drink tasted really fucking good, he didn't want to give you that satisfaction. He doubted it would give him the caffeine he needed for a day of flying, but damn it was enjoyable. He snuck in another sip before pulling away. 

"Sorry, baby," he chuckled dryly, handing back the drink as the light turned green. "Black coffee's the only drink for me." 

You reluctantly smiled and looked up at one of the jets taking off from base. "Thanks for trying it, honey,” you sighed in defeat.  

A couple mornings later, Jake walked into one of the classrooms at Top Gun with two identical cups in his hands. Their warmth soothed his hands on the cold October morning. 

You were deep in conversation with Halo and Phoenix when he approached you, handing you your cup. You smiled at the way he wrote your name in black pen, accompanied by a little doodle of your callsign. "Tea? I'm shocked you didn't ask for that pumpkin shit." 

 "Thanks, Bagman," you smirked, ignoring his comment. 

Maverick's lecture seemed to go on for hours, a corner of your notebook covered in doodles and your eyes began to fall heavy. Absentmindedly, you reached for one of the cups that sat in front of you and Jake. 

Blowing the steam to cool it down, you brought the lid to your lips. You expected the taste of lemony tasting tea not—pumpkin. Your eyebrows raised at the foreign taste, doing everything in your power not to react and cause a scene. 

You pulled back and pressed your lips together as you turned the cup. 'Jake' was written in thick black sharpie along the side. That sly son of a bitch, you thought before a wide shit eating grin broke out on your face. 

Setting the cup back down, you nudged the man beside you. "What happened to your coffee, Jakey? It actually tastes like something this morning," you teased in a hushed tone. 

Jake tensed up, the grip on his pencil almost enough to break it in half. "Tell no one," he grits. 

"I bet your lips taste sweeter now." You weren't going to let him live this down. Not when his cheeks were a beautiful crimson and he looked like he could shut you up with one bruising kiss.

"Sweetheart," he warned. 

You looked over at him and winked, "Told you, taste of fall."

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fluff #hangman x reader #hangman x you #top gun #top gun maverick

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞

Synopsis: Steve Rogers was looking forward to Halloween. Not because of the costumes, the tricking and the treating, or Tony’s meticulous party planning—he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his Y/N. But a cozy night in with pumpkin spice lattes and that Halloween Town movie he needed to catch up on was soon abandoned when the mysterious house on Easton Avenue called for his attention.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Civilian!Reader

Genre: SMUT | Fluff | Some scary stuff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, P in the V, oral sex, temperature play, sex toys, kegel balls, blindfolds, bondage, pussy slapping, object insertion, deepthroating, shoe humping, degradation, dacryphilia, sex tapes, mirror sex, breast fucking, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, overstimulation, should I go on? It’s shameful sex, basically.

Word Count: 12K

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FOLKS! This is my very first time doing a kinktober special, but I really wanted to submit an entry to @jtargaryen18's Halloween Special! So, I hope you all like this. And forgive me, because I just finished it, and didn't triple-check for typos. Enjoy 🧡🎃

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 of red surged from within the fifth house on Easton Avenue, sending a chaotic ripple across the entire neighborhood. At least, that’s how you pictured it in your head. That house had a vicious and ominous aura, topped with a polarizing effect that both dared you to come closer and urged you to stay away. 

Something about that house wasn’t right ever since its residents claimed it a week ago. It had been a solid year since you moved to Brooklyn to live with Steve, and as far as you knew, that old and frail house had been vacant for the better half of seven years. Yet now, all so suddenly, someone decided it was the most miraculous idea in the world to step through the broken fence and make do with whatever crumbs the beaten structure had to offer—with little regard or effort at fixing it. 

“What in the name of God are you doing?” 

Lost in the abstract aura of your neighbor’s house, Steve had crept up on you, and you were none the wiser. You whipped your head to the back, hands firmly clutching the binoculars. It was not a sound decision on your behalf because Steve’s majestic blue-green eyes were now tenfold bigger, almost as if they were about to devour you whole.

You shrieked, fingers still gripping the binoculars for reasons unknown. Your startled expression made Steve stiffen and look around.

“Why are you screaming?” he asked, taking the binoculars away from your face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he caught the letter “A” engraved on the side. “Did you take these from my mission bag, Y/N?” 

You sheepishly gazed up at him, giving him your best pout. Steve didn’t particularly mind if you rummaged through his things, but the reason you lived on Easton Avenue and not at the Avengers Compound was that he tried to keep you away from his “alter ego,” as you liked to call it. So, snooping through his mission bag might have contradicted the boundaries you had previously set.

“I was birdwatching,” you blurted out without a second thought. 

Steve regarded you skeptically. “Birdwatching,” he repeated, his tone heavy with doubt. 

“Yes. This time of the year brings very colorful birds.” 

He didn’t respond, only subtly arching an eyebrow. Placing the binoculars on the nearby couch, his slender and long fingers pushed the curtain aside—enough for him to peek out the window. And because Steven Grant Rogers was God’s perfect human creation, he didn’t need even a monocle to catch sight of the fifth townhouse down your street. 

“Yeah, you’re right. That ashen plumage does splendidly reflect the beauty of this season.” 

“At least you are a gentleman enough to feign belief,” you remarked, indignantly rolling your eyes. 

Knowing what was going to follow, you picked up the binoculars and headed to your shared bedroom. But Steve was right behind you with the same retort he used when he caught you so much as thinking about that house. “Dove, you need to stop investing so much energy into that house. There’s nothing wrong about it.”

“Everything is wrong about it, Steve!” you defended, picking up his bag from the closet and putting the binoculars back. “It’s creepy and morbid, and I can’t believe anyone would willingly choose to settle in it.” 

“It’s a nice house. I’m sure, with some attention, anyone would want to settle in it.” 

“Well, that’s the thing! Why aren’t the new owners doing anything about it? It’s sitting there like the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The only missing part is the werewolf.” 

Steve looked somewhat perplexed and unconvinced. His lips parted then closed until he was ready to speak again. “Werewolves don’t exist.” Of course, he’d focus on that part. “And, maybe the owners haven’t had the chance to refurbish the house yet.” 

“That’s a great suggestion, Stevie! Why don’t we go and lend a hand.” 

It was not, in fact, a great suggestion at all. What it was though is a ruse.

You didn’t give him the time to answer, immediately bolting outside the room. You knew you had him in a corner because Steve Rogers might’ve been a master strategist, a renowned captain, and a fearless leader, but you could always uncover the cracks in his façade, and you were certain something about this house didn’t sit right with him either. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“Uhm, maybe you should sit this one out, dove. You’ve never been good with a paintbrush.” 

“Maybe so,” you replied with your back still to him. You didn’t need heightened senses to catch the shy curse that left his mouth. “But I’m good at baking. I can offer the new neighbors some pumpkin pie while you help them with the paint. You’re the artist, after all, baby.” 

Steve caught your wrist before you could open the fridge to “search” for the ingredients for your pie. 

“You mean like right now?” 

“Yes! We may not be able to do much, but maybe enough to not have the trick-and-treaters scurry away at the sight of that house.” 

Releasing your wrist from his grasp, you reached for the fridge. Steve’s veiny hand collided with the metal door, forcing it to close. With his hands on your hips, he spun you around and placed your body against the fridge. 

“Y/N.” The coldness of the fridge’s metal door against your fingertips did little to appease the flames burning in your soul. God damn Steve Rogers and the effect he had on you. “Don’t make me say it.” 

“Say what?” 

“…I hate that house.” 

“The nice house down our street?” 

“The morbid one that looks like Azkaban.” 

“Aha!” You joiced, finger digging into Steve’s chest. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who found that creepy old building ominous.” 

“Of course not. I’ve been pestering Tony for over a week, trying to find out who bought that place and see if they’re a security threat,” Steve admitted. 

You tilted your head to the side, lips pursing in thought. “I mean, I don’t like the house. But is it a security threat?”

Sensing the shift in your voice, Steve’s hand found purchase in your hair, twirling a strand in his index finger. It was a familiar habit he had developed since you’d gotten together. Partly comforting and partly grounding—for both of you. 

“According to Tony, it isn’t. But, you know me. Your safety is always at the forefront of my mind. And I don’t like how that house is so close to us.” 

“Me neither,” you replied, now playing with Steve’s hands. You traced the veins protruding from his skin, marveling at the difference between his large hands and your petite ones. “But with you here, I don’t care about a silly old house.” 

“So, can we forget about your little stakeout missions and go back to planning our private party this evening?” Steve smirked, tugging you closer by your waist. 

“It was one time!” 

“For five days.” 

“Shut up,” you said with feigned indignation. “Or else no private party. I’ll force you to attend Tony’s.” 

Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of Tony’s infamous party. This year, the theme was something along the lines of "Halloween of Doom." And since Steve wasn't a fan of the usual wild parties Tony would throw every chance he got,  he wasn't looking forward to the Halloween shenanigans.

Just as you took his hand in yours and pulled him toward the hall, a sharp tap against your window sounded across the room. Bemused, you turned to Steve. He immediately stepped in front of you, keeping an ear out to identify the source of the sound.

Incessant in its pursuit of attention, the sound boomed louder. Steve motioned for you to stay where you were while he investigated. Five seconds later, he called your name, albeit hesitantly. 

“Y/N,” he said, gaze unwavering ahead. “I think all that birdwatching you did called the attention of an angry bird.”

“Is that an owl?” You hadn’t realized how loud your voice was until the owl in question shrieked behind the glass window. What the hell was an owl doing at your house?

“It looks like it,” Steve answered. 

Neither of you tried to open the window, which agitated the owl. It ruffled its feathers and tapped the glass, clearly demanding entry. You studied the nocturnal creature, which obviously lacked a sense of orientation since you were nowhere near the evening. Something on its leg caught your eye. You gasped, pointing at it. “There’s a rolled-up letter attached to its leg!”

The moment Steve noticed the letter, he rushed to open the window. The owl flew in, forcing you to step a couple of feet back—you were a sane person who didn’t go out of their way to look for owls, let alone ones that appeared in broad daylight.

Steve plucked the letter from its leg and opened it. “It’s an invitation.”

“For what?”

“A Halloween feast,” he said, eyeing the letter suspiciously. “At House 5 on Easton Avenue.” It was the same morbid house you two had been discussing. 

You carefully approached Steve, mindful of the owl on your coffee table. You took the letter in your hands, reading it aloud. 

We’ve Caught Your Unblinking Eye Through the Ashen Veil We Know You Are Curious. We Feel It in Our Veins.

To Uncover the Macabre Truths Shrouded by Our Shadows  Join the Halloween Feast Tonight 

And Embrace a Chilling Night at Doom’s Manor House 5 - Easton Avenue - 9:00 PM

“This is worse than our phones when they display targeted ads because of whatever they heard us talking about,” you exclaimed, hands tightly clutching the piece of paper.

Steve’s eyes widened significantly, pure horror crossing his features. “Our phones do that?” 

"Yeah," you replied with a matter-of-fact tone. You've most likely added one more item to Steve Rogers' “X Things I Hate About the Twenty-First Century” list. "They pick up on our search history too. So, maybe they'll know why that owl still hasn't left yet because it's starting to give me the creeps."

The owl with brown feathers and round yellow eyes hooted, hopping on the table and looking between you and Steve. It definitely did not like you.

“Maybe it wants something?” Steve guessed.

“Like what? Dollar bills or a treat in exchange for its postal services?” you scoffed. The owl wasn’t privy to your cynicism, but you still crept closer to Steve in fear of it deciding to attack you or something. 

“A confirmation, maybe?” The owl hooted, seemingly agreeing with Steve. You quickly grabbed his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Dove, I don’t think it’s taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

As if on the same page, the owl moved away from you both and flew to the outside of the house. You and Steve just stared at the open window, House 5 right there, teasingly close.

Steve was on high alert. His fingers dug into the edges of the wooden window as he fixed his eyes on the mysterious house down Easton Avenue. You’d think that there would be bustling activity considering the owners had only recently moved in, but he never saw anyone walk in or out of that house. He didn’t even recall catching sight of anyone by the window. 

And although the Halloween feast was barely ten minutes away from starting, no one had approached the house yet. 

“Dove,” Steve called, pushing away from the window and adjusting his suit. “I’m gonna head out now. I know that Tony and the others overlooked the invite and didn’t want to interfere, but to be on the safe side—”

He was about to tell you to activate your security system and connect to the emergency line of the Avengers Initiative if he didn’t update you within twenty minutes of entering that house. But his words were stuck on the tip of his tongue when you walked into view.

“Why are you wearing your stealth suit?” you asked, almost glumly. Steve just blinked, looking completely flabbergasted, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I can ask you the same thing.” He pointed at your outfit, his tongue poking out and wetting his lips. “Why do you have a stealth suit on? Where did you even get one?” 

The saccharine surprise in Steve’s tone fueled your heart with desire. You chewed on your lower lip, twirling a strand of your hair to draw Steve’s attention to your ponytail. His breath hitched, his eyes running a marathon across the expanse of your neck. You relished the lust that crossed over his features when you swayed your hips and sauntered to his side. 

“Do you like it?” came your ardent whisper. Steve’s hands circled your hips, fingers burying in the leather of your suit, squeezing your side in affirmation.

You loved Halloween, making it your October resolution to find the best costume. But it was always hard to find one, considering there were so many options to choose from, and you were as decisive as a Gemini. After some time, an Avengers stealth suit popped up during your search, one which sinfully complimented your ass and curves. So you knew, right away, that getting your hands on it was a must if it would drive Steve crazy. 

“Why are you wearing it, dove?” Steve asked once more.

Innocently batting your eyelashes at him, you answered, “Because we’re going to the Halloween feast.” 

“Absolutely not.” And there it was. “I told you, I’m going in to check it. Alone. It’s a mission, Y/N. And you stray away from those.” 

“It’s not an official mission if Tony didn’t approve it.” 

“I’m the Head of the Avengers.” 

“You’re Head Strategist, yes. But we both know that if Tony and Fury don’t give the green light, you can’t treat whatever this is as a mission.” 

You had him there, and you knew it. While Steve Rogers had a knack for defending any argument and finding a way to assert his stance, this time he faltered for an answer, and only managed to say, “You’re still not going.” 

“Don’t you think it’s going to look a tad bit suspicious if you walk into that house alone? And with your suit on?” 

“No,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, that’s why I’m leaving my shield here.” 

“And your common sense.” If his glare was any indication, he didn’t appreciate your commentary. “If I go with you, it would look like we’re genuinely interested in their stupid feast. You can snoop around while I stick to the activities.” 

“That’s too dangerous.” 

“So, why do you assume I’d let you go there on your own?” 

“Because I’m enhanced, Y/N.” 

“And I’m a SHIELD agent for the night, Steve.” 

“And you judge me about my common sense?” 

“Steve,” you stressed, catching his attention. “If that house is not as safe as the Avengers claim, I am not letting you go there by yourself. You can either go against me and leave me here, alone, well aware that our loony neighbors are watching. Or, you take me with you. It’s your call.”

It’s been yours since the beginning, and you’re not the least bit surprised when Steve mumbled something incoherent before he ushered you out of the house. 

The neighboring houses, much like your own, were modestly decorated for the occasion. The Barbers, your neighbors from across the street, had a couple of skeleton bodies strewn across the yard and fake bats hanging from the large tree in their backyard. The Adlers went with carved pumpkins and flickering lanterns, which created a warm, inviting ambiance. Meanwhile, the Hansens had embraced the theme with scattered tombstones and heinous, life-sized witches tending to their boiling cauldrons.

Although the fifth house on Easton Avenue was barren and devoid of even a string light, it stood as the most intimidating and menacing of them all. The sinister atmosphere grew more palpable when you and Steve approached. The wind carried an unsettling chill, and the ancient trees lining the path creaked like ghostly sentinels. It was as if the house was an isle of malevolence adrift in a sea of darkness.

“Why is it the only house with fog surrounding it?” Steve noted. You both stood by a withered fence, the imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows.

“I don’t know,” you replied, glancing around nervously. “Maybe it’s just a fog machine, but this place is terrifying enough as it is. It doesn’t need any more decorations.”

With a heavy breath, Steve stepped forward, the fog swirling around his boots. You watched in apprehension as the entrance loomed ahead. Steve paused for a moment, turning back to you. His eyes, usually full of determination, now held a flicker of doubt. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”

The atmosphere turned even more chilling when, suddenly, a low, dissonant hum echoed from the depths of the house, making your hair stand on end. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Without breaking his gaze from the looming house, Steve extended his hand toward you. You clasped onto it, anchoring yourself to this distorted reality. He spared a glance your way, one that was brief in time yet abundant in intensity, and you responded with a nod, your nerves on edge. With a deep breath, Steve raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, but before he could make contact, it swung open on its own.

You both cautiously crossed the threshold, never releasing each other's hands. You were met with a dimly lit room, paintings strewn across its walls, each with a calculating pair of eyes narrowing on you.

"Welcome, Steve Rogers and Y/N Y/L/N," a commanding voice boomed, rattling the portraits on the wall. You jumped in your shoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the source. You were left bewildered, staring at the void that surrounded you. "Welcome to a chilling night at Doom's Manor!"

You didn’t have time to ask questions—you barely had a chance to think before the front door swung shut and the blinds closed, engulfing the sinister house in even more darkness. 

“What the hell?” you cried as an oppressive silence descended. It was like you were sucked into a black hole with only Steve’s touch tethering you to earth. “Steve! Turn on your flashlight.” 

“I don’t have a flashlight, Y/N,” Steve tersely replied. 

“You have a phone, which has a built-in flashlight. Turn it on,” you urged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Then we can discuss why you brought a gun and no flashlight to this place!”

You heard him groan in frustration, palms smacking against the leather of his suit as he fished out his phone. He pressed it, fingers less than graceful when it came to touchscreens. For a moment, you thought he had forgotten how to unlock the device. Until he said, “My battery’s dead.” 

“Our brilliant Head Strategist venturing on a mission without the means to communicate! What kind of expert overlooks that?” you chastised, fishing out your own phone. You tapped it repeatedly, but the screen remained blank. A sinking feeling washed over you as you pressed the side button, yet it refused to light up. “I swear it was charged,” you whispered in disbelief.

“I’m afraid that your phones won’t work here,” the same disorienting voice said. 

Unexpectedly, a blinding white radiance cut through the darkness, forcing both you and Steve to shield your eyes. As the light faded, it started to flicker intermittently, weaving through the walls and mingling with the torchlights.

Despite all the courage you tried to manifest, your voice brokenly whispered, “Steve, is this a bad time to tell you that I was never fond of haunted houses as a kid?” 

The lights were still flickering when Steve ripped his hand from your firm grasp. Your breath hitched, thinking the worst. But he was still there next to you, eyeing the door. “No one is, dove. And I’m not forcing you to like ‘em now.” 

With all the super soldier strength coursing through his veins, Steve lunged at the door, attempting to force it open. It broke your heart to see it stubbornly clenching its hinges no matter how many times Steve flung himself against it.

The mysterious voice tutted, inundating your being with fear. You held your breath, praying that Steve would get you both out of here fast.

“You should learn to treat even inanimate objects kindly, Captain Rogers. Or does all that strength chip away at your humanity?” 

Ignoring the voice, Steve continued his assault on the door. What he didn’t expect was an incorporeal force that lunged at him without warning. The unadulterated strength in its grip sent him hurling through the air until he crashed to the ground with a loud groan. 

“Steve!” you called apprehensively. 

“Should I have warned you not to do that? Thought it was self-explanatory?” the same voice commented. 

You heard your heels clicking against the tiles before you could even think about moving. Steve was rubbing at his temple, eyes forcibly closed after the fall. You were almost by his side when you felt a hand grab your hair and fling you into the air. 

You shrieked, the quiver in your voice igniting Steve’s anger. He raced forward, arms stretched out. But unlike the pale, ghastly form that manhandled you, tangible vines stemmed from the recesses of the house’s tiles and walls, aiming at Steve. 

“Get off him!” you commanded as you kicked your feet and threw a punch. Your forceful gestures vaporized into the thin air, torpid against the vice grip of the spirit before you. You gasped hard when the misty form wrapped itself around your neck—constricting the air around and molding you and the wall as one. 

“Y/N!” Steve grunted, desperately trying to pry himself out of the vines’ steel grip. “Hold on. I-I’ll get it o-off.” 

The morbid atmosphere was getting worse as dark spots clung to your vision’s periphery. The incorporeal assault remained relentless, slamming you once more against the wall. As you forced your eyes to meander, searching for a solution, you focused on antique torches, each with a blue flame in its grasp. 

The same torch hung from the wall you were trapped against. With a growl and a hell lot of hope that Ghostbusters had taught you something useful, you snatched the torch and incinerated the elusive monster. 

One less than graceful descent later, you braced yourself against the floor with a thud. Steve was still struggling against Mother Nature’s prodigal offspring. He’d gotten a dagger out, but the more he cut through the vines, the more they multiplied. 

You staggered your way to him just as the plant lunged at his face. “Don’t even think about it!” you warned, attacking the plant with the iridescent flames. Steve inhaled sharply as the vines, which were wrapped around him, turned into ash. 

“Dove, I don’t know if I should be in awe or fear of what just happened,” Steve admitted as you helped him up. You were too busy inspecting his body for injuries to answer. 

“We need to get out of here,” you said in one breath. “This place isn’t safe.” 

Steve was about to answer when the eerie voice interjected, “Safe is boring.” 

You sneered, wanting so badly to punch whoever was callously commenting. Steve grabbed you tightly and maneuvered his way through the house. Luckily, nothing else attacked you two as you navigated the narrow corridors except for the thick dust and the cobwebs. 

Steve had found a door, which he immediately opened. As he stepped into the room, large and foreboding, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on his vision, while a musty scent of decay lingered in the air.

You both tried to find a way out, but to your utter horror, the same door you had opened to run into this room disappeared. 

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Steve asked, bewildered. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers tracing the edges of the now-invisible door. “How is that even possible?” 

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t know. But the werewolf would have been better.” 

“Well, that could be arranged,” the mysterious voice announced. 

In hindsight, you should’ve thought twice before giving your two cents. But how were you supposed to know that the sentient house didn’t only manipulate nightmares but could also manifest them?

Steve turned toward you, distress visibly carved across his forehead. He reached out for his gun just as a violent wind attacked the isolated room. Your hair flailed, falling victim to the assault. 

You tightened your hold on the torch despite the wind’s ministrations. It was thrashing within the borders of the room, incessantly clawing at you and Steve. The bright azure flames wavered from where they were perched on your torch, despite all your attempts at keeping them tamed. They tumbled down and crashed into the ground. 

The moment the flames met the tiles, they burst into a fit of undiluted anger. The blue orbs separated, each tracing its brittle path and leaving destruction in its wake. The flames circled you and Steve in a dance of tantalizing grace—rising beyond the surface and falling back into the ground’s arms. 

You and Steve were each pushed to one side. You stood there, him with a fully loaded gun and you with an empty torch, silently watching as the translucent flames birthed a werewolf. 

“I don’t think the situation can get any worse,” you pointed out, taking care to not step into the line of fire. Literally. “So, is it too late to ask for a vampire instead? At least we have a stake.” 

Steve looked appalled by the suggestion. “This isn’t the Edmond-Jason debate, Y/N! Both options are worse for wear!” 

The werewolf wasn’t fond of Steve’s vernacular; at least, that’s why you assumed since it decided to lunge at him first. You slumped back just as Steve ducked his head and rolled to the side. The beast was relentless in its movement, clawing and growling at your soldier—canines salivating with excitement, eager to dip into flesh. 

“I know it’s not the time, but it’s Edward and Jacob! And what I meant is that we at least have a stake! A viable weapon against a vampire. What means of defense do we have against a translucent werewolf?!”

“The same thing we have against a translucent vampire,” Steve grunted, firing three consecutive shots at the luminous creature. All three of them pierced his hollow frame, leaving him unscathed. “Nothing!”  

Despite the fear that inundated your body, you still looked for a weapon to fight the beast with. Unfortunately for you, the room was desolate with nothing but mold and fractured walls holding it on their shoulders. Steve was actively trying to retain its attention, steering it clear from your path, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to last any longer. 

“Well, maybe the house can conjure a non-translucent vampire,” you thought aloud. Truthfully, you weren’t really thinking straight, but what other choices did you have at the moment?

Needless to say, Steve disagreed. “Vampires aren’t real!” 

“Well, what do you know?” you shrieked, all modicum of common sense out of the non-existent window. “There is a Spider-Man and an Ant-Man. Who's to say there is not a.. a Bat-Man that’s willing to make this situation a little less complicated!” The wolf finally caught your voice. It growled as if to show its dissatisfaction at having to hear you speak, craning its head and baring its teeth when its silver eyes landed on you. “Mysterious house, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” 

If you could take a wild guess, you’d say the werewolf wasn’t particularly fond of the creepy voice. That, or it was crestfallen at the idea of losing its chew toys. 

Its blue glow intensified, switching from deceitful calm to voracious hunger. Your heart hammered in your chest, assaulting your ribcage as it sensed the looming danger. You tried to step away, but the wolf spied on your meek attempt. It prowled, ferocious and murderous in its pursuit. 

Just as you raised your arms to shield yourself from him, Steve’s body collided with yours. “Y/N!” his scream ricocheted across the walls. 

Was it so vehemently loud? You wondered. Or were your ears easily susceptible to noise? 

As soon as Steve’s arms wrapped around you, you fell gracelessly into the void. The blue of the wolf fused with the paleness of the room, making a torpedo of vivid, interloping colors swirl before your eyes. The fall was like a dwindling spiral—long, endless, and tiring. And then you landed somewhere more stale; much more dark.

“Y/N!” Your name was the first thing you heard and the light that pulled you from darkness’ heavy lull. Hands roamed your body, gentle yet firm, unrelenting despite the groan that escaped your throat. “Y/N, please. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me that you weren’t hurt.” 

You lifted your head, now aware that you were lying on Steve’s chest. The perilous haze only barely dissipated once you opened your eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?” you asked, eyes raking over Steve’s figure to see if he had been hurt in that fight. Besides his frightened and concerned eyes, he looked alright. 

A long breath escaped his pink lips. His large hand cradled your face, magically bringing your pulse back to a languid pace. “As long as you’re alright, I’m fine. But I’ll be better once we get out of here.”

You stood up, holding your hand out to Steve, which he gratefully took. Lacing your fingers together, you carefully examined your surroundings, noting the hollow room you were in. Once again devoid of light, air, and a way out.

“How are we gonna get out?”

“Through that door.” By now, your senses had been attuned to the house’s tricks, so you weren’t jostled by the resounding echoes of the mysterious voice. True to its words, a large blue door materialized at the far end of the hallway. It rattled against its hinges, almost as if something was trying to break free on the other side. “Better hurry up, angel wings. Or else you’ll miss it.”

The voice dissolved softly like snowflakes giving away to the sun. And yet, its resolve bellowed across the room, the walls and ground shattering against its whispers. 

“Maybe the vampires weren’t such a bad idea after all,” Steve remarked. You knew his Captain's brain was on overdrive, actively searching for the best escape route. But you knew it was there, right in front of you. So, mustering up all the courage you had in you, you tugged Steve’s hand and bolted toward the blue door. 

The walls wailed, angered at your choice. They began to move, closing in on you at a menacing speed. Steve pulled you closer, almost molding both your bodies into one. He gained momentum, and your feet were about to give up from the unbridled force of his movements. 

The walls were at a measurable distance, and you couldn’t believe you’d made it unharmed this far. Steve reached out, trying to push the silver loop that would open the door. But you should’ve known better than to trust the mysterious house. Of course, it wasn’t going to make it easy. 

“Of course, I wasn’t going to make it easy,” the voice parrotted the words inside your head. 

“What do you want?” Steve seethed, looking over his shoulders as the walls picked up their pace. 

“O Captain! My Captain! To enter Doom’s lair, you must first answer my question.”

“What question?”

You heard someone clear their throat, and you could’ve sworn the bastard was smirking before it answered,

“Forged by fears and entangled in thoughts, 

Within the breadth of darkness, I reside. 

Devoid of soul, I grasp control,

In my distorted mist, your will subsides.

I am concealed within deceit and unseen with eyes, 

Tell me, soldier, who am I?"

“Son of a bitch!”

“Language, Captain. And that’s not the answer.”

Your feet quivered, bouncing in place. Steve had lost his patience, now alternating between throwing answers and attempting to knock the door down. He was spewing some more worthless answers while you stared at the walls. Barely 10 inches separated you from your ultimate demise, and nothing but a correct answer would save you from this situation. Despite your fears, you took a deep breath, knowing you needed to answer that question. Now.

“Nightmare!” you yelled. Steve had stopped the assault on the door, looking at you with a perplexed gaze. “The answer to the riddle is  a nightmare.”

A weighty silence gripped the helm of the foreboding atmosphere, lingering until the awaited response finally emerged. “That is correct.” 

The locks turned, the door creaking as it offered you the solace you’ve been so desperately seeking. Steve practically pushed you inside, following you soon after. The door closed shut behind you, ushering you into a misty room. The wind picked up once again, and before you, a cloaked figure emerged. Its head was down, edges of the onyx fabric it wore blowing with every single caress of the wind. 

“Welcome,” the figure said in the same gruff and deep voice that you’ve been hearing since you entered the house. “Welcome to a chilling night at Doom’s Manor!”

“Who the hell are you?” you inquired agitatedly just as Steve ordered the figure to lift its cloak. 

The cloaked figure revealed its pallid hands, previously concealed. With a tantalizing motion, the fingers encircled the edge of the hood, slowly lifting it. Your eyes widened, mind barely comprehending what you saw. And before you know it, you and Steve were saying the same thing in the same affronted tone. “Tony?”

“Oh, god. You should’ve seen your faces!” Tony clapped his hands together, the force of his laughs making him bend down and clutch his knees. 

As he did that, the creepy atmosphere eroded, mist evaporating to reveal the large room behind it. Contrary to the other areas within the establishment, the room was full of life and spacious, with neon lights and a large disco ball illuminating it. All of the Avengers were there, and you even spotted Peter Parker in an Iron Man costume tearing Bucky’s ear off with one of his stories. Judging from the number of waiters tending to the even bigger number of guests, you knew what you walked into. 

“Did you seriously rent out a spooky house just so that you can throw a secret party in its basement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“No,” Tony huffed, seemingly offended by the absurdity of your claim. “I bought it.”

Behind you, Steve was rolling his eyes while you raked your fingers through your loose ponytail. You were never going to understand billionaires and their logic. 

“I thought you were throwing a party at the Compound,” Steve finally spoke. And thank God he did before you ripped Tony a new one for the scare he’d just cost you. You were most certainly going to have him cover your health insurance for the next eon and the one after.

“I was. But then you bailed to play house with your girl—great costume, by the way, Y/N. We should talk to Fury about making you a SHIELD agent. And they say your boyfriend’s ass is America’s ass.”

“Tony!”

“What? Fine, don’t get jealous. You still are America’s ass but in a less sexy and more annoying way.”

“Would you just tell me what the hell was all this?”

“Man, if I knew all it would take me is Wanda’s freaky manipulation magic to get you to curse, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”

Feeling your headache on the verge of expanding, you put your hand on Steve’s arm and interceded, “It’s clear that you're high on mindlessness right now. So, once you’re down from the Tony Stark Clouds of Wonder, we’ll talk about you and your ridiculous behavior.”

“Geez Louise, you’re not dressed as a shield agent, but the female counterpart of Captain Stern over here.”

“At least I’m not one less nose away from looking like Voldemort,” you spat as you trudged toward the party, Steve a step behind you.

Tony scoffed, his voice softer compared to the blaring music. “I’m dressed as the Grim Reaper.”

“Yeah, well, your stick seems to have been lost somewhere up your ass!” 

When you and Steve joined the party, you headed immediately toward the bar. You weaved your way across the dance floor, giving Sonic-dressed Pietro a quick wave and catching the eye of a disinterested Bruce in an Ultron costume. 

Natasha was at the bar, dressed as a ballerina with a pink tutu and a lot of pearly pins in her hair. You shot her a questioning look, which quickly dissolved courtesy of the menacing glare in her eyes. ‘Don’t ask,’ she silently communicated, and you were content with sitting there on a surprisingly comfortable barstool instead of running away from a wolf. 

“I can’t believe Tony did all of this?” Steve voiced out, shoulders hunched and laced with tension. 

Natasha handed him a signature fix she’d just made, passing you your drink of choice. “It’s not just you two. He did it to plenty of people.”

“Like who?”

“Bucky and Sam,” Natasha replied to your question. “They couldn't answer the riddle, so they got stuck outside cursing at one another until Strange had enough of their arguing and portalled them in. They were pretty pissed. Thor made it out, thanks to Loki. He enjoyed it, though. Loki? Not so much. He turned into a snake and tried to bite Tony the moment he got to the other side of the door. Pepper and Happy are next.”

You shook your head at the thought. “She’s going to kill him.”

“Exactly. Which is why he has a surprise for her, under lock and key, somewhere around here.”

Dissatisfied by the piece of information, Steve snatched his drink and faced the other way. “Of course, he’d try to get out something without facing the repercussions.” His attention focused on Tony's exaggerated gestures as he iterated his previous morbid speech to the new guests. 

Your eyes narrowed at Tony, thoughts errant as they dug up a hundred ways you could get back at him. Honestly, a part of you was willing to get Snake Loki to bite him or convince Dr. Strange to send him halfway across the universe. But you wanted to hit him where it hurts. You wanted him to feel the fear he inflicted on you and Steve, even if it was for just a moment. But Tony Stark didn’t fear anything. Well, apart from Starbucks running out of his favorite coffee and Pepper ignoring him. 

“Pepper!” you shouted in glee. Steve and Natasha looked between you and the door, thinking that Pepper had already crossed all the obstacles and made it safely to the party. A crease lined up on their foreheads when they didn't find her there. “Nat, you don’t happen to have a key to that room, do you?"

At the drop of a hat, Natasha caught on to what you were saying. She shook her head but deviously smirked, green eyes flickering to the space behind you. “I don’t. But Wanda’s been regretting helping Stark on this. It shouldn’t be hard to convince her to help you get back at him.”

You jumped from your seat, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The intensity of your excitement and the tug on Steve’s arm made his drink fall and spill on the countertop. It took you a minute to find Wanda, who was sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, nursing a drink. She didn’t hesitate to help you, literally jumping at the chance. 

Moments later, she led you to a room down a few halls and flicked her wrist, materializing a key and unlocking the door. Her 30s-inspired dress swung as her figure retreated. You looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and entered the room. But where you expected to find shopping bags, jewelry, or even a giant Iron Man teddy bear, what you found was something entirely different. 

“Steve,” his name came out as a whisper. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain what I’m seeing. Because I don’t think I can.”

Your gaze was fixed on your surroundings, unable to be torn from anything else. You didn’t see Steve’s unblinking eyes or the tingles that danced across his fingers. It took him a while before he composed himself and answered you. “It’s okay. I already know.”

The room was red, a deep, rich shade of scarlet red. And if you had been careful enough to read the plaque by the room’s door, you would’ve figured it was Tony’s Halloween version of the red room. But what was beneath the mirrored ceiling, which quite frankly made you hyperventilate at the thought of the glass possibly falling on you while sleeping on that astonishingly spacious king-sized bed, was not a welcoming ballet class with metal bars and pink pointe shoes on the side. It was red walls with metal cuffs and chains attached to them and a widespread table with three silk blindfolds, floggers, ropes, and a whole lot of other things that made heat rise to your cheeks. 

“We can’t destroy anything,” you breathed out with a voice that was too airy to be your own. “We can’t even hide anything with that wide selection Tony has. He’s not going to miss a blindfold, and he’ll just ask for another bottle of champagne.” 

Steve didn’t answer, his mind preoccupied with something else. You couldn’t fault him; it was exceedingly hard to look at the room around you. And when you chanced a glance at the corners, you had to bite your lip at the sight of the cameras and lighting. Tony went all out, and to be honest, you didn’t know if this was his “genius-philanthropist” side, who was investing in a sexually healthy relationship with Pepper, or if it was his “billionaire-playboy” side, who decided there’s no shame in indulging in a variety of pleasures and give Pepper the liberty of choice.

You were so lost in thought, you were surprised to find Steve examining one of the cameras. He flicked on the lights and turned the camera to your side. Your brain finally registered his actions, and you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing since he barely even knew how to answer a video call. But before you could say anything, Steve beat you to it.

“Why destroy when we can take advantage?”

The camera turned on. You could tell from the twinkle of mischief in Steve’s irises that he caught the stagger in your pulse before you even did. He turned around, his sculpted and perfectly molded back replaced with the sight of his chiseled jaw. You gulped, blood rushing to your ears while shivers rushed down your spine.

You watched as Steve glided across the room, footsteps light and noiseless compared to the harsh speed of your heartbeats and the fray within your every vein. You wanted him. And he knew because with each step he took to get closer to you, you didn’t falter. You stood right where you were, waiting for him to devour you.

His cerulean eyes transformed, ebbing and flowing in a sea of blue and green. Until his waves crashed against your shore, and you met them somewhere in the middle.

“Steve.”

He didn’t reply. He inched closer even though there was no more room for his body to creep to, forcing his knee between your legs and giving you no other choice but to open them. You almost stumbled but quickly understood what he wanted.

It was like a dance. Every time Steve moved closer, you found yourself stepping back until your back hit the door, leaving nothing but locked gazes between you. With a bated breath, you studied Steve’s movements, whimpering as his left arm rose and nestled against your head. His palm was pressed against the cold door, whose color burned with desire. And somehow, Steve absorbed that hunger and set your entire body ablaze with it. Without a single touch.

“I can feel you,” he murmured on top of your lips, his velvety breath claiming rights to a first kiss. Steve leaned his body closer, almost engulfing you whole. His index and middle fingers made contact with your skin, and you swore you could’ve exploded. He traced the distance between your fingers and forearm, leisurely exploring the smooth surface that framed your veins. Involuntarily, your head craned, exposing your neck as he inched closer and closer, cheekily exhaling against your pulse point. “I can smell you,” he almost moaned, or maybe that was you. “You smell so tart, so fresh. So, deliriously scrumptious.”

“Steve,” this time, you did moan, implicitly begging him to touch you. You heard the lock on the door click, but you didn’t dare move your eyes.

In the next few seconds, Steve pulled the key out of the keyhole. You exhaled loudly, head banging against the wooden door when he moved the metal keys against your clothed heat. Sparks ignited in your soul as you began to take the fast lane to heaven, and Steve’s voice didn’t help the ache recede. It only fanned its flames.

“So wet.” He knew it without feeling it for himself. “So inviting.” He moved the key from your center to your navel and then to your sternum. You hadn’t realized how hot your body was until the keys touched your collarbone. It was a clash of hot and cold—an explosion of the senses with Steve’s breath hovering against your shoulders to add the final and delicious touch. With tantalizing grace, the key danced across your throat and chin, lifting your head to meet Steve’s breathless whisper, “So beautiful.”

Your eyes met, and you couldn't tell if his pupils were dilated or if his typically clear blue eyes were merely mirroring your own. He trapped your cheeks in his hold, applying the slightest bit of pressure on them. You couldn’t help but gaze at the camera that recorded the way Steve tapped the key against your lips, almost pushing it in.

Within the next second, his fingers loosened around the key, making it fall into the open space of your suit. You moaned aloud, the sound stretching over a minute when Steve stuffed his index and middle fingers in your mouth while bringing his prominent bulge closer to your heat. “My mistake, little dove.” He thrust forward, his clothed dick deliciously humping against your pussy. You whimpered around his fingers. “Be a pretty little girl, Y/N, and suck on my fingers while I get back that key.”

You nodded your head, vehemently following his order. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked his fingers inside your throat—lost in the simple pleasures Steve Rogers was known to give.

He planted wet, demanding kisses on your neck and just below your ear, not too far from your earlobe but not close enough. His other hand caressed your cheek until it retreated and began to reach for the zipper on your suit. It was at the forefront, making it easy for Steve to find it and lower it down. His hips met yours just as you pushed his fingers away from your throat. You pulled them back in, keeping the rhythm going while your tongue swirled around his fingertips.

Your zipper lowered, slowly and placidly, yet there was nothing peaceful about the way Steve trailed his thumb across your exposed skin. A fire consumed you whole, a sinful moan escaping when he found the key and cupped your pussy, with it still in his hands. You could’ve cried then and there, and frankly, there were tears on the edge of your lashes. In your lustful delirium, you hadn’t noticed your hiked leg on Steve's waist, which was pushing him closer to your body. He massaged your heat, his fingers and the key playing with your clothed folds until he backed away completely to cup your cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me, dove?” he asked in a sultry voice that made your core weep.

He took his fingers out of your mouth, keeping his eyes on parted lips. You wet your them eagerly, needing him to satiate your thirst. “Yes, Captain.”

Steve smirked, the key long forgotten but the desire ever-present. “When I sit down on the edge of that bed, you’re going to take off your clothes. I want you to keep that sinful bra, these terrible excuse for panties, and those high heels on. Nothing else, alright?”

“Yes, Captain,” you affirmed.

Steve leaned forward, his pink lips above yours. You chased them, greedily wanting a kiss. But the only thing you got was a smirk in return. He took a slight detour, heading toward the camera on the right to make sure it was on, too. His broad shoulders looked even more breathtaking in the softly lit space.

Then, he sat down on the large bed, legs open and inviting. You took it as your cue. Gracefully, you slipped the suit off your skin, sighing in exaggerated relief as the fabric released its hold. You were filled with a sense of accomplishment when Steve shifted in his seat, his throat bobbing. You grabbed at your sides, making sure your thong was at a perfect angle before lowering the rest of your suit down. Steve’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes examining you as you slipped off your shoes to peel the rest of your stealth suit off.

Remembering Tony’s previous remarks about the suit, you turned back, purposely bending over as you grabbed your shoes. You kept your back at the same lowered angle, giving Steve a front-row seat to your round ass, temptingly framed by the thin black thong you had on.

Despite your bubbling anticipation, you took your time. And you were not disappointed by the sight before you. Steve was already cupping his clothed erection, playing with himself because of your actions. You glanced at him, moving one heel in front of the other, but he put up his hand before you could move any closer.

“St—?”

“On your knees,” he ordered. You were surprised by his command but quickly composed yourself, setting yourself on your knees with your hands flat on your thighs obediently. “Crawl to me, little dove. Come and show me how good you can make a man feel.”

It was like you were moving on autopilot. All your brain could muster were thoughts of Steve. On top of you, underneath you, and facing you. Every single image was of him losing control and moaning your name without abandon. So, you crawled like the good girl you want to be—his good girl.

When you got to his side, you touched his ankles, hands skimming across his legs and fingers teasing the area behind his knees. Choked sounds escaped his parted lips, egging you on. Your lips landed on his clothed erection, and you stilled for a beat, then two. You could feel him twitch as a result of your gaze.

Hands on the inside of his thighs, you gave him a gentle squeeze. You puckered your lips and peppered kisses on his clothed erection, going as far as to whimper. There was soon pressure on your head once Steve carded his fingers in your hair. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.”

Your doe eyes met his in a luscious glance, his eyes never leaving yours. Not when you bit down on his belt, not when you untangled it with only your teeth, and certainly not when you helped him out of his suit, yanking down his boxers and sucking on his tip. “Yes, that’s it, dove. That’s it,” he said, head thrown back.

And you took the chance to make him crumble even more. His dick was large, exhilaratingly captivating. You felt dirty at the thought of wanting it inside of you—inside your mouth and your pussy. Hell, you even loved having it between your breasts. You just wanted Steve’s dick so bad, and you were not shying away from mentally admitting that Steve turned you from his little dove to his good little whore whenever his dick was involved.

You hollowed your cheek and took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth. You had been practicing, some nights trying to deepthroat him thrice to get every bit of him in you, tattooing your every essence on his cock. 

Steve moaned, loudly and pornographically, bucking inside your mouth. You accepted him, moving even further down across his shaft, the wet noises only spurring you on. Greedily, you used your hands to grip his base. When your mouth thrust deeper, your hands moved higher, creating a polarizing rhythm that left Steve throwing himself back against the bed. “Good God,” he practically screamed. “Take me. Take all of me in your little mouth and tiny hands, Y/N. Wet my dick with your mouth, baby girl. Make me cum just for you.”

You obliged, taking him even deeper and relishing his moans. Your lips moved lower, tongue circling around his balls before you sucked each of them in. His grip on you tightened, eliciting a slight pain in your head. But you didn't care. “Fucking good girl of mine,” he cried out breathlessly, fingers fisting your hair. “Fucking perfect mouth that’s made to take no one but me. To swallow no man’s cum but mine. To have its walls and roof painted white by my dick and my dick alone.”

Your pussy ached, and you found yourself desperately humping against the floor while you took his balls in your mouth, moaning like a fucking porn star. You were surprised your lustful sounds hadn’t attracted anyone yet, and you quickly realized that the room must’ve been soundproof. The realization made you rub your pussy harsher against the parquet floor, hands now gripping Steve’s thighs for dear life. 

In your peripheral vision, you saw Steve move his shoe-clad feet closer to your core. You whimpered, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. Steve was a gentleman, and while he could be feral in the bedroom, he could never find it in himself to humiliate or degrade. But he knew that when lust took over, you desperately wanted to be his slut. His whore. Nothing but a hole for him to abuse and fill at his leisure.

The first time you asked him to degrade you, he froze. And when he wasn’t comfortable with doing that, you didn’t ask again. But Steve would sometimes do something. A small gesture to appease the both of you. He’d reach out for the drawer and silently look at you with a soundless question: can I use toys? He’d put three fingers in your pussy and wait for you to ask for more before he fisted you.

And tonight, he was giving it to you. The chance to be degraded—to be his perfect little whore. And you took it, crying out loud, practically sobbing at the feel of your wetness coating his shoes. He didn’t move, but you did, swinging your hips back and forth while taking all of his dick in your mouth. You hadn’t noticed how utterly filthy and lewd you looked until you raised your eyes and met your reflection in the ceiling’s mirror. Steve was looking at you too. He watched the way you humped his shoes and took his cock in your mouth. He pushed you against his dick, and you choked. Your breathing became erratic the more you moved against his shoes, tears spilling down your eyes accompanied by the symphony of your satisfied sobs. And that did it for him. He exploded with a scream of your name, cum invading your mouth and taking over your entire senses.

He slowly shifted you back, freeing his shoe from your hold. You were a sight for sore eyes. Thong wet and askew, bra hanging low with pebbled nipples almost peeking out, eyes blown wide with desire. He devoured the painting in front of him, committing your disheveled hair and the cum dripping down the side of your red, swollen lips to memory.

“Captain.” Though he wasn’t too far off in his dreams—because they couldn’t rival this reality—Steve had to admit that he got lost in his thoughts. Your voice called out to him like a devious siren luring him to his demise. “Please. Take me.”

You gasped when his hands were suddenly on your ass, but you barely had the chance to think about it. In the next second, Steve placed you on the mattress with his lips perched above your own. They were like the forbidden fruit: enticing, delectable, and there. Just there, only slightly out of reach. He lightly caressed your lips, each time pulling back before you could reciprocate, repeating the motion until he finally yielded to you.

“Let me taste myself on your lips, little dove,” he breathed in your mouth huskily. “Prove to me I’m only appetizing on your tongue.” You obliged. Your lips captured his own in a violent assault, claiming his tongue as a hostage. Trapped within the walls of your mouth, it explored the edges and the roof, clashing against your own tongue.

You caressed his face, fingers grazing over the beginning of his stubble. A sigh escaped your lips, both from his seductive ministrations and the thought of his stubble against your wet pussy. The image dissolved as soon as his lips left your own. You yelped, finding Steve’s hands entrapping both of yours. “Stevie,” you whimpered, every syllable begging him for his attention. His other hand slithered down your body, gliding across your inner thigh. You thought this was it—he was finally giving you your heart’s desire. But instead of the moan you expected to flee from your throat’s confines, you heard yourself yelping. A sharp and blazing sensation overtook your core, forcing your head back.

“What do you want, dove? You gotta be specific for me, little one?”

“Your hands,” you moaned. It was quickly replaced by a sharp cry when Steve slapped your pussy again. “In me. Inside of me, please,” you begged, gasping when Steve landed another slap across your lower lips. Your clit ached, swollen and inflamed, showing Steve exactly where you needed him.

He slithered his fingers across your pussy lips, moving them up and down. You mewled, alternating between looking at your reflection in the mirror and looking at Steve. His fingers quickly found your entrance, and he put the tip of his fingers in. But the bane of mischief that Steve Rogers was in the bedroom, he took them out of you, replacing them with a harsh slap.

“Not yet,” he practically growled. Leaving you fighting for composure, Steve reached out to the table by his side. The first thing you saw was the handcuffs he diligently wrapped around your hands and secured against the bedframe. The second was the silver silk blindfolds, which he wrapped around your eyes.

You willingly slipped into the darkness, mesmerized by the sea of possibilities before you. Your senses amplified when Steve’s fingers traveled down the expanse of your body. You felt the bed dip, Steve’s bulky frame nestled on top of your stomach. And you melted in a pool of unbridled hunger when he tapped his index finger against your lips with a single command, “Don’t swallow.”

You half expected him to be jerking and ready to unload his load in your mouth. Or maybe he wanted you to take him once more down your throat. But you almost gagged at the feel of the cold liquid inundating your mouth—the taste of the bubbling champagne asserting its dominance.

Steve set the bottle down, leaving you unsure whether he had taken a sip or not. His earlier ministrations resumed, this time hands tugging at your bra. He cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands. You wanted to moan so badly, but you didn’t want to defy his orders.

He reveled in the way you whimpered, sounds oppressed by the force of his command. He continued playing with your breasts, keeping your left one in his hand and drawing special attention to your right one. He peppered both of them with kisses, using his tongue to circle the area around your nipple and make your pussy clench around nothing but the air that surrounded you.

You bucked against his tongue, hands tugging at the restraints, but they refused to budge. Not that you expected them to. Breathing through your nose, you tried to reach for your impending release. You were no stranger to nipple orgasms, and Steve was trying to draw one out of you—you were sure. A fire built up inside of you, leaving your body temperature rising. You thrust your hips in the air. Sadly, nothing caught their movements.

Steve alternated between both nipples, giving each of them an equal amount of attention. You cried louder, trying to hold the champagne in. You were about to come when Steve pulled away.

A high-pitched whine reflected your displeasure, gaining you a slap to your pussy. “Patience,” Steve ordered, and you reluctantly obliged. Even though you ached to be ravaged by him, whether by his hands, tongue, or dick, you had to admit that you were enraptured by his movements and were always more than eager to lose yourself in his lustful tempest.

You let some fresh air fill your lungs, still breathing through your nose, while Steve adjusted himself on your body. Though blindfolded, your senses were elevated, and you could sense Steve’s body heat creeping closer to yours. True to your suspicion, he loomed over you. One of his hands slithered across your neck, trapping you in a chokehold. You embraced his untamed gestures, craning your head to hopefully meet his face. 

Without so much as a clue, Steve crashed his lips against yours with such fervor it left you reeling. You couldn’t keep the champagne in anymore, feeling Steve steal some of it from your mouth to his, letting the rest fall down across your chin and chest. Steve didn’t kiss you at that moment. He consumed you, engulfed you with his mouth, greedily taking in everything you had to offer. 

You were an instrument, and he was the musician, releasing one string to play with the other. With a loud pop, he let go of your mouth, licking a long stripe down your neck and nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Mine,” he roared, one of his hands moving to your center.

“Yours,” you confirmed, eyes misty with lust and heart lost in the haze of Steve’s ardor. “I’m yours,” you barely managed to whisper before you cut yourself off with a loud yell. Your head hit the pillow, your body forced down by the weight of Steve’s palm on your stomach. You felt something enter your drenched pussy, seething itself to one side. You breathed in deeper now that your mouth had been free of the champagne’s grasp. 

You winced, something else entering the right side of your pussy. Steve played with your clit, easing the discomfort. As the pain ebbed and passion rose, you quickly figured out what had Steve done: he’d put Ben Wa balls inside of you.

“You’re such a perfect little dove, Y/N. Letting me do anything and everything I want to do with you, knowing I’ll make you feel so good. Make you feel so perfect.”

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, restraints rattling in harmony. “Yes, Captain. You make me feel so good.”

Steve smirked, and you just knew it from when he cupped your breasts and covered them with his mouth. “Just as you make me.”

He pulled your tits apart, and you hopped that meant he was going to fuck you. To fuck the brains out of you and the desire that’s nestled deep within your core. But of course, a super soldier like Steve wouldn’t be done yet. You didn’t know how much time had passed, whether it was an hour or an eon, but time always seemed inconspicuous when Steve was involved.

“Do this one little thing for me, baby doll. And I promise, I will let your pretty princess pussy milk my cock.”

“Anything,” you replied. Steve kissed you then, short but passionate. He pulled back and gave you one more peck before you felt him squeeze your tits once more, this time putting his dick between them. “Oh God. Oh God, Steve!”

“You like taking my cock any way you can, little dove,” he stated matter-of-factly, thrusting himself in the space between your tits and toying with your nipples at the same time. “You like having me as yours. Being the only woman in the world who can take my cock in a dozen different ways. The only woman who I can paint with my cum.”

“Steve,” you mewled loudly and sinfully. His movements, your thoughts, and the added pressure of the Ben Wa balls deep inside of you did so little to appease your heat. You cried and cried, moaning louder than any porn star in existence. And when you felt Steve grunt in pleasure, you gave it to him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he cursed when you spat at his dick, drool dripping down your lips and mixing with precum. “You’re so shamelessly beautiful like this. My favorite piece of art.”

He thrust faster, lifting one breast and lowering the other to create an earth-shattering friction that left his dick twitching by your mouth. You knew what was coming, and you didn’t care whether Steve would allow your release or not. You opened your mouth, counting down his brisk breaths. He grunted twice, moaned once, and nestled his head in your neck to bite down on your shoulder. He was coming. So, you opened your mouth and took as much as you could while the rest of him mesmerizingly decorated your face and chest.

Steve released your tits, but the pressure in your core only barely subsided. He kissed your forearms, wet lips trailing your hands until he reached your wrists. Finally, after so much waiting, he released your hands and untied the blindfold. You squinted at the invasive light. Steve took this as a chance to kiss your eyelids, thumb caressing the curve of your mouth. “You’ve been so good to me, little dove. I think it’s time to get your reward. Would you lay on your stomach for me?”

You opened your eyes, seeking the warmth of his irises. “Uh-huh,” was all that you said before Steve helped you to the position he wanted. He unclipped your bra and slowly discarded your thong. Your pussy clenched, and he kissed your ass cheek when he noticed. “I’ll give you everything you need and more, my Y/N.”

Steve reached out for a pillow, placing it on your pelvis. “Stevie, please. I can’t wait anymore. Please, baby.”

“Don’t beg, little dove,” Steve told you while moving your hair to the side and positioning himself above you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m yours. Take all of me.” 

You whimpered, teary eyes looking at him to relieve you of your ache. Steve immediately moved his tip along your folds to collect your essence. Yearning for you as much as you yearned for him, he began to slowly sheath himself inside of you. You cried out at the sheer size of him, hands fisting the sheets beneath you. 

Steve inserted himself slowly, bottoming out with a deep, guttural moan. “Fuck,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his—the friction amplifying his passion and yours. The Ben Wa balls intensified your lust, making you feel full and empty all at once. 

Slowly, he started to move. His thrusts were sharp and deep, reflecting his need for you. But the more you moaned, the more he faltered, digging his dick further inside you. “You feel so good,” he admitted, knowing this position was a favorite of yours. You both had quickly discovered that it made for the best sex—giving Steve a clear route to your g-spot and an earth-shattering orgasm.

“More,” you demanded, seeking out his unbridled hunger. “Please, more!” You wanted to feel him lose control inside of you. You adored feeling him lose control inside of you. Steve obliged, thrusting in and out of you at a maddening pace, deeply embedding himself within your heat. “Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” you cried, his balls hitting your skin, adding to the lewdness of the scene.

“Tell me I can go faster,” Steve almost begged. You tilted your head, finding him with eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, and you sought his hand to interlace your fingers, finding ways to mold into each other further. “Tell me I can ravage you. Tell me that I can give you all of me, Y/N.”

You squeezed his hand, and he reciprocated your touch. His thrusts were on the precipice of control, as were his actions, this close to tipping over the edge. He had taken your neck hostage in his large veiny hands, thrusting his tongue inside your mouth in tandem with his dick inside your pussy. “Lose control,” you told him. “Lose yourself in me, Captain.”

And lose himself he did. His thrusts became irregular, and it was hard to tell where exactly his hands were on your skin. They were squeezing your breasts, roaming your stomach, tightly pressing against your ass. He was everywhere. You looked up at the ceiling, salivating and burying your face in the mattress at the beautiful portrait you and Steve painted together. You both moaned louder than ever before, the cameras eagerly commemorating your actions. 

“Steve, I’m so close,” you warned him when he kept on repeatedly hitting your g-spot. His response came in the form of short but sweet-sounding kisses planted from your collarbone to your neck. He nibbled on the shell of your ear, licking the skin there and sucking on it.

“Cum, little dove,” he said huskily. “Cream my cock.”

You moved faster against his dick, taking all of him in until you collapsed in on yourself, every part of you stealing Steve’s affection. You clenched hard against his dick, feeling yourself squirt and cream his cock. It didn’t take him seconds before he exploded inside of you, emptying his load for the third time with a scream of your name. He didn’t relent, though. His sporadic movements picked up again. At this point, you were far too lost in the haze of your unabashed engagements to notice. It didn’t take you long to feel another orgasm building up.

You were about to warn Steve when he flipped you over on your back, dick salaciously pounding into your pussy. Determination itched on his brows, and undiluted want lined his irises. He put his hand on your mouth, and you wailed, back arching, pussy squirting (again. How is this even possible?), and your entire surrounding collapsing on itself.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?” you heard a high-pitched scream. Too far gone in the throes of passion, you weren’t aware that Tony had opened the door, leading Pepper inside the room. But oh, Steve did. Judging by the smirk, he had heard them coming in.

“Do I really need to explain to you the birds and the bees, Tony?” he mocked, securing the sheets around you both and hiding you from view. His dick twitched inside of you, making it harder for you to breathe.

Tony looked furious. “What I need to you to explain, you ungrateful ass, is what are you doing in this room?

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Procreating,” he answered. You had to cover your mouth and hide behind him so as not to laugh. You could barely move from all the previous activities, and Steve’s dick inside of you, trapped between your overused pussy and the Ben Wa balls, wasn’t really helping the situation. “What are you doing here? Is that why you made comments about Y/N’s ass? Were you hoping to watch us or something?”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Pepper. No, I swe—”

“Is that your idea of making it up to me? Watching Y/N and Steve go at it. Tony—”

“Absolutely not! Do I look like I have a grandfather kink or something?”

“Then, why are we in this room?”

“Well, I was hoping we could engage in—”

“ENGAGE? With Steve and Y/N??”

“NO. I don’t even know what they’re doing here!”

“What every two consenting adults do,” you added with a raspy voice. Tony’s expression was almost as good as the sex you just had. He was utterly dumbfounded, desperately raking his brain to persuade Pepper that this wasn’t what she thought she was. “Nice costume, Pep. I’m sorry. We were told there was a surprise waiting for us for the emotional trauma caused by your genius playboy.”

“Yeah,” Pepper exhaled. She was dressed in what you assumed was an Asgardian dress, and you felt guilty to have ruined her night. “Well, it was a surprise for all of us. I’m sorry on behalf of the idiot playboy.”

Pepper glared at Tony, heels digging into his shoes. He cursed, his frustrations matching hers. “Pepper,” he begged breathlessly. But she was already gone. “I’m getting you two back for this. I swear.”

“No, Tony. We will not send you a copy of our sex tape,” you teased, purposely raising your voice. You swore Tony’s arc reactor was going to malfunction.

“I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. PEPPER, I SWEAR. SHE’S LYING!!”

And with that, he left, leaving you and Steve hysterically laughing. He kissed you breathlessly, hands holding your face like you were the most precious thing in his life. “Halloween wasn’t that bad.”

“No. I kind of like this house now, too.”

“Me too, dove. I love every place I make happy memories there with you.” And happy memories you continued to make with Tony and Pepper’s squabble long lost in the background.

I'm going to hell for this.

You can also find my work on AO3. 🤍

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #kinktober 2023 #marvel kinktober #steve rogers kinktober #halloween fanfic #JamiesHalloween2023

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 12

Masterpost of ao3 link and all parts.

wc 2295 (Chapter 9 when on ao3)

“Hey, it’s Danny, right?” asked the person standing next to Danny’s seat. They shifted, tucking a long strand of pitch black hair behind their ear.

“Yes?”

“We thought—”

“She thought,” said the woman who practically barreled into the first speaker’s back. She hooked her chin over the other’s shoulder with a grin as she adjusted her hijab. “Cloe thought, but we all agree.”

“Which is why I said we, I’m Cloe, this is Fara, that guy over there is José.” She motioned to a young man with a head full of curly brown hair and an easy smile waiting by the door. “We need a fourth for the group project, want to join us?”

“Me?” Danny repeated in surprise. No one in Casper High ever wanted him on a team, not unless it was Tucker and Sam.

“Totally. Your comment today on the possible advancements of propulsion technology was just the sort of thing that we’d love to do our topic on. It didn’t look like you had a group?”

“No, I don’t, not yet. That would be nice,” Danny said with a crooked smile. He’d been worried about having to find a group to work with so the offer was a huge weight off. Honestly the presentation was way too much of their grade in his opinion (but maybe that’s just because he had been dreading it).

“That’s great!” Cloe smiled back at him. “Do you have time to meet now? Just, like, to a coffee shop or the library. We can hash out the basics and what everyone should research before we meet up again the next time.”

“Sure. I could almost always use a coffee,” Danny said as he shoved his aging laptop in his backpack.

“Yeah, we can kinda tell with the…” Fara pointed at her own face, finger circling around her eyes.

Danny barked out a surprised laugh when Cloe let out an affronted “Fara!”

“Hey, I’ve been cultivating these dark circles since high school. They’re like fine wine,” Danny said. Snarky he knew how to handle.

“Oh, José will like you,” Fara said with a laugh. She linked arms with Danny and practically dragged him towards the door. “José! I found you another coffee addict.”

“Thank you,” he praised, “because Cloe only drinks the most basic bitch drinks and Fara likes tea.”

“I make an exception for pumpkin spiced lattes and hot chocolate,” Fara said with coy smile.

“See? See what I have to put up with. Please, my dude— is it my dude?” Danny nodded in response. “My dude, please tell me you drink real coffee.”

“With as many espresso shots as they’re legally allowed to add,” Danny said.

“A man after my own heart— a heart that runs on coffee,” José said with a laugh as they all spilled out the front of the engineering building.

Maybe this presentation wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-

Okay, so maybe Danny was just really not used to being around people any more.

Really, really not used to it.

He’d only spent an hour or so with the other’s at the coffeeshop, but between that, class, picking up a treat for Jason, and just having to go back and forth throughout the city Danny felt his nerves crawling under his skin. Every noise from every apartment around was so loud. Even his fridge seemed to be screaming at him with its incessant whine.

And there was no where to get away from it.

If he went out, Danny would just be surrounded by the sounds and smells and lights of the city. People would jostle into him or sit too close on the bus and— Danny shuddered at the idea of being touched by strangers right then.

He rubbed his fingers against his palms as he shifted and tried to lay more comfortably on his small sofa. He had his t.v. on, streaming mindless video game play throughs, but he wasn’t really paying attention to it. It was just to try and block out some of the noise.

There were things about the city that he loved, sure. The access to food was great. There was an amazing variety in walking distance of his place or campus. He’d also found a few great stores— a game store and a second hand clothing shop were top of his list. It was great how there was always a distraction.

But there was always a distraction.

Nothing ever really stopped in the city. That constant hum, after a few weeks of it, was really getting to Danny. He hadn’t thought he was rural or anything, but Amity’s hundred thousand or so people never prepared him for living here.

He closed his eyes and made himself take a slow breath.

Jason was going to show him some places around the city today.

He had to get a handle on himself before then.

He’d been trying for an hour now— or so his phone alerted him to when he checked it for the hundredth time. He laid it back on his chest and closed his eyes. When it started ringing a moment later he nearly jumped out of his skin.

‘Jason Calling’, it read. He fumbled to swipe the screen. “Hi.”

“Hey. My meeting wrapped early so I was going to head your way now if that’s good?”

Danny swallowed, trying to force back the buzzing under his skin. “Oh, um, yeah, sure.”

The line was silent for a pause. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Jason snorted. “That’s a lie.”

Danny flung an arm over his eyes and forced himself to take another breath. “I guess, just… It’s stupid.”

“Fish.”

The endearment was more gentle than Danny felt he deserved. He was being stupid about this. Who struggled to be around people? And he wanted to see Jason too. It was just… everyone— everything else.

He could hear the sounds of the city on Jason’s end and tried to focus on his voice instead. “Come on fish, talk to me.”

“It’s just— being in the city all the time… it’s just getting to me a little, I guess. I’m not used it it. That’s all. I’ll be fine.”

Jason gave a considering hum. “Okay. Change of plans. Do you have a leather jacket?”

“What? No?”

“Okay. Are you up for one stop first? We’ll make it quick.”

“One stop before what?” Danny asked as he pulled himself up by the back of the couch.

“Before my new plan for the day.” Jason sounded smug.

“I don’t— we don’t have to—”

“Trust me, okay?”

It was such an earnest request that it brought Danny to pause. He swallowed once more before he found his voice. “Of course I will.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you in twenty. Go put on jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and some sturdy shoes.”

The abrupt end to the call had Danny blinking down at his phone before he pulled himself up to do as he was told.

-

Jason studied Danny as the other came out of his apartment building. He hadn’t liked how Danny sounded on the phone and he didn’t much like how Danny looked now. It was like the other had tucked all his loud, jagged, wonderful edges away. It was like he was hiding from the world.

Well, Jason would just have to fix that.

“Just one quick stop,” Jason said, handing Danny a helmet.

“I’m fine, you don’t have to ba—”

“Fish,” Jason said firmly. He waited until Danny was actually looking at him (not frowning at the ground) to continue. “It’s okay if you’re not okay. You don’t have to apologize to me or about it or about you. You can be not fine.”

Fuck he was sounding like his well meaning family now. Still, it got a wobbly smile from Danny, so maybe it was worth parroting back the words. The words didn’t always help, he knew that. They certainly didn’t fix stuff that he still struggled with some days, but they couldn’t hurt. It couldn’t hurt to be reminded that someone cared.

“Okay. One quick stop,” Danny agreed.

“Right,” Jason said. He turned and straddled his motorcycle. “You ever ridden before?”

“Yeah, actually I have. A friend has one.”

“Huh.” Jason was actually a little surprised by that. “Okay then hang on tight. We won’t be doing anything crazy in the city, but we might have to stop quickly. Some drivers are jackasses about motorcycles.”

The bike dipped under him as Danny settled on behind him. There was an obvious moment of hesitation before Danny let himself slide forward. As Danny settled along his back, Jason had a thought of how well Danny fit. He briefly squeezed the arms wrapped around his waist in notice before he started his bike up and they took off through the city.

The one quick stop was to get Danny a riding jacket and gloves; Jason wanted to be sure that Danny would be warm and, more importantly, protected on the drive. As it was, Jason drove more cautiously than normal, very aware that Danny’s safety was in his hands.

It wasn’t long to the store, and he tried to make sure the shopping didn’t take too long. He could practically see Danny’s edges fraying. He did make Danny try on several jackets, even if he tried to make sure they didn’t linger, so that Danny could find the right one.

“Are you sure this is it?” Danny asked, tugging on the hem of the black leather jacket. It had a bit of a retro cut, but there was enough modern padding that if Danny fell off the road rash wouldn’t be that bad. Besides, Danny looked good in it; it cinched nicely at his waist and fit his shoulder snugly.

“Yep,” Jason said. He reached out and smacked Danny’s hand away when he tried to take a peak at the price tag again. “Stop that. I already told you I’m buying.”

“Jason—”

“Just accept it. Give me the jacket and go pick out some gloves,” he said.

Danny rolled his eyes, but shrugged off the jacket and handed it over. Jason took the moment to explain the mater to the sales person, who was cooperative about not saying the total out loud. The knowing smirk was a bit weird though. It even had Danny glancing at Jason suspiciously, but they got out of the store with what was needed and Danny none the wiser to what a good motorcycle jacket could cost.

Jason took the time to sync up both helmets so that they could talk on the ride if they wanted to, but he left the matter to Danny. It turned out to be mostly silent once they left the city, especially since Jason wasn’t explaining where they were going. The longer they were on the open roads, the more that Jason could feel Danny relaxing against his back until. Finally he settled in and rested his head against Jason’s shoulder blade.

“Thank you.”

“Ain’t seen nothing yet,” Jason rumbled back.

Danny just answered with a soft hum before he fell silent again.

Jason took them on the highway, down some side streets just for the view, and through a smaller city to the more secluded parking lot that he knew about. He could feel Danny freeze up behind him, and chuckled as he pulled off his own helmet. Danny did the same as he stumbled off the bike.

“Come on,” Jason said. He practically had to guide Danny down the path and to the top of the first bluff where the concrete ended.

Danny let out a breath exhale. “Oh, wow.”

His mouth hung slightly open as he stared out at the crashing waves and the beach that stretched out before them. A cloudy fall day wasn’t exactly the best time to visit the coast (not that they were the only ones doing so), but Danny still stared at it like it was the best thing he’d seen in a long time.

He stared at it like it gave him life.

Jason found he wanted— suddenly and fiercely— to find a million more moments that would bring that same spark to Danny’s eyes. He didn’t want Danny to stop living just because he had died.

Jason didn’t want to stop living just because he had died.

Not anymore.

He reached down to undo the knots on his boots with Danny scrambling to do the same. Laces tied together, Jason slung the boots across his shoulders and made his way onto the beach. He reached out to help balance Danny as he stumbled a little on the soft white sand.

When they had gotten to the edge of the water, Jason hung back slightly in the damp, but not wet, sand while Danny, with all of his normal abandon, rolled up his pants legs and barreled into the waves with a whoop. He ran in and out of the surf like one of those sand piper birds as the wind whipped his dark hair around his face like a storm of shadows.

Laughing as he was chased by a larger swell of water, Danny stumbled back to Jason’s side. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with salt air, and then just slumped heavily against Jason like he was boneless. Jason took the weight easily.

Jason grinned down at Danny, who’s eyes were still locked on the water. “Worth the trip?”

“Yeah. Yeah, worth the trip. Completely. Thank you Jason.”

“’Course. Gotta get the fish to water now and then.”

“Shut up, dead boy.” Danny rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t drop for a second.

Jason chuckled, but found he didn’t  need to say anything back. He was content to just watch Danny watch the ocean.

-----

AN: Finally an update for you all~ ngl, there are some rough spots I'm not entirely happy with, I feel you can really tell what I wrote when I was feeling really, really poorly. But that's what a re-write is for, I guess!

The classmates won't show up too much, but I needed an outside perspective and to show Danny is settling in- even if he's struggling with some things.

Apologies for any typos, I currently want to melon ball my eye out from this migraine so you know, words are hard. Anywho, stay delightful, darlings!

tag list of doom: @fisticuffsatapplebees​ | @thegatorsgoose​ | @wolfeyedwitch​ | @lazy-bouqet​ | @confusedandghostly​ | @glomsk​ | @kailithiel​ | @bahfev​ | @d4ydr34min9 | @claudiashq​ | @someonebored0100​ | @pastalavistamf​ | @samgirl98​ | @angelheartgamer​ | @lehana37​ | @spiteismymiddlename​ | @rosecinnamonbun​ | @demon-cat-goes-woof​ | @violet-catsarelife​ | @avelnfear​ | @undead-essence​ | @basilf1res​ | @amillionandonefandoms​ | @stealingyourbones​ | @sarcastic-yami​ | @bun-fish​ | @aconitewolfsbane​ | @dontfightmecauseillcry​ | @omgnectarina​ | @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff​ | @the-blind-one-speaks​ | @mimilikey​ | @wolfe-marvin​ | @learning-to-fly-on-my-own​ | @multplelifes​ | @yurijay​ | @bae-graphomaniac​ | @fan4rt1st​ | @weirdestarrow​ | @wolfjackle​ | @onyxlightdragon​ | @zotinha456​ | @wwwwyamd​ | @river9noble​ | @starscreamlover​ | @michealawithana​ | @robinmedea​ | @spideypoolalways​ | @jesus-camp-the-sequel​ | @persephoneblackrose​ | @f4nd0m-fun​ | @mady-is-ace-trash​ | @ascetic-orange​ | @renwilson​ | @ace-aro-as-shit​ | @rangerhorsetug​ | @thatrandomsarahchick​ | @holygoldfish​ | @mlpizza​ | @chrysanthemum9484​ | @justwannaseesomebrozawa​ | @newgraywolf​ | @crazylittlemunchkin​ | @fire-glass​ | @eonic​ | @autumnrosnor​ | @the-nerdy-fangirl​ | @faithblob-says-things​ | @aisec-phantom​ | @a-star-with-a-human-name​ | @winged-scaly-attic-dweller​ | @mistermetalmaker​ | @apersond​ | @mustachebatschaos​ | @joaniejustwokeup​ | @that-dumbass-on-a-horse​ | @plainly-colorful​ | @blackcatsandhaunteddolls​ | @booklover223​ | @alice-hazelwood​ | @answrs​ | @enbydemirainbowbigfoot​ | @felicityroth​ | @wanderingrutabaga​ | @seraphinedemort​ | @write-it-right-2​ | @my-mom-calls-me-rat​ | @01101010-01100001-01111001​ | @arc-777​ | @crystalice067​ | @phoenixdemonqueen​ | @icedbluesoul​ | @itsparadoxlacuna​ | @wisp-wishes​ | @spikedlynx​ | @redhoneysugarorange​ | @russetfur1128​ | @mutable-manifestation​ | @stargirl1331​ | @chaoticchange​ | @living-on-borrowed-time​ | @orshie​ | @britcision​ | @littlefeather345​ | @sunflowershine03​ | @aro-acedumbass​ | @thefanficcup​ | @shibanoh​ | @racoonmcg​ | @icefirecrystal​ | @thatonejumbledmess​ | @cy-ella​ | @dolfay​ | @kobol1​ | @metal-sporks​ | @tired-yet-awaken​ | @currant-owo​ | @firegirl108​ | @stupidlovepurplepeace​ | @drowningroane​ | @imagineshazamlokimight​ | @immakittybear​ | @justalittletotheleftofnormal​ | @akikoyuii​ | @chrysanthemum9484​ | @kawaiikenna​ | @imaginationmademanifest​ | @a-salty-sal​ | @mentalcarebear​ | @mj-arts-n-stuff​ | @xysidhe​ | @cottonscrambles​ | @manapeer​ | @yjfk​ | @ryisc​ | @666deaddash999​ | @nutcase8691 | @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit | @dr-syko-pharm-4 | @i-have-opinion | @ballzfrog | @mysoulspiralbound | @istillhavenosociallife-blog | @gin2212 | @annabethchase0 | @eiderdown-eider | @basementloser | @plotwholls | @minnowmarsh | @neverlandingbird | @rootsmudge | @fandom-reblog-central | @serasvictoria02 | @mnemovoid | @taniaundertaleau | @kirineo-kiki | @ironicvixen | @violetfox2 | @redhoneysugarorange | @allulily | @jaxinkh | @naluforever3 | @horribly-lost-and-gay |  @babblingbat | @frostedthroughghost | @kyrianclawraith | @caspertheloudassghost | @the-forgotten-dragon-anankos | @lyra689 | @v-inari

#dp x dc #danny fenton #jason todd #dead on main #deadonmain #danny x jason #like betta fish do

[cloveroctobers]

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 1. Luca

PROMPTS from here + here and I’m using: “I really appreciate that you’re getting into the Halloween spirit, but it’s ten in the morning, please turn off the slasher films so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” + “Pumpkin spiced latte, please.”

A/N: so glad Luca was voted for the most on the poll lol because he’s the only one out of the options I started writing for in the drafts! let’s see if I can keep up with making these short this year 🤭! This is nothing but fluff and a smidge of annoyance — reader on Luca’s nerves just a bit really. Mentions of a classic horror film, that I actually need to go back and watch! I think I watched it once before since I won’t lie I usually watch the more updated versions when it comes to that franchise more so,, although I’m not the biggest fan of the series anyways like dear Luca…don’t drag us too much ⚔️!!!

WARNINGS: Reader being a bum for the day? Luca just wants to eat without background noise? + slight language, oh and pumpkin slander!

*GIF BELONGS TO: @wiha-jun !

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。

Luca prefers his mornings to be soothing, not filled with screams that can make anyone’s ear drums bleed or have the neighbors in the cul- de-sac sending the coppers right over. He had just gotten back from his morning run around the city, finding you sleeping down on the couch now compared to your shared bed. Which was humorous that you had the energy to climb out of the bed wrapped in mountains of blankets that you kept stored in a woven basket tucked away in the living space; during his absence just to continue your rest on the pale gray sofa.

You barely budged when he announced he was heading out into the damp morning and also repeated the same motion when he’s back, gently bending down to press a kiss to your edges before disappearing upstairs to shower. You’re awake with lidded eyes once he’s arrived downstairs, smelling of fresh mint soap and Olibanum as you’re messing around with the flatscreen on the entertainment center.

“Are you truly awake for the day darling or is it going to be another two to three business days?” Luca jokes on his way by, not expecting what you were going to set the television on.

You’re mocking him, voice still full of sleep, leaving the taller man to chuckle to himself as he heads into the kitchen, searching the fridge around the corner to ponder over what he can whip up. There’s plenty of possibilities as Luca’s eyes scan over what’s stocked in the fridge, finding that’s something he had to do now that you both shared a home together.

He could do cold smoked salmon…putting the protein to good use along with the radish and watercress…yet you were out of cream cheese. He could always ask his favorite critic, brace yourselves, it’s not Luca himself but rather you, what you were feeling like for breakfast but he knew regardless what he prepared you’d probably eat.

Thinking to himself, fingers tapping against the handle of the open fridge, he decides to go for something simple and more festive if you will. So he decides on homemade maple pancakes, without the walnuts since you were allergic and picks the pecans that your grandfather brought over from his pecan tree back in Georgia earlier this year. He’ll fry up some danish bacon with thyme searing the pan—hoping to bring flavor to the pork—or really to basically get rid of it, although it was a kind gesture from a neighbor who learned Luca was in the culinary field—the both of you were not the biggest fans of Denmark’s bacon.

No disrespect of course.

“Hey, want some of this Risalamande?” Luca calls out as you began to get engaged into the film, that’s probably been on for about twenty minutes since Luca takes more time debating on what to eat at home than when he’s out in the city.

Immediately your nose scrunches up as Luca is diving into the colorful rice pudding, leaning against the doorway that leads to the living room and front of the detached home, “Texture, Luca. Come on!”

Luca snorts with a slight roll of his eyes, “Ah, I see I’m getting picky you this morning, yeah?”

A wag of your finger as if it were a wand goes shooting into the air while you respond, “Sssh!”

“Rude.”

Luca spins back into the kitchen with a shake of his head, downing what most would consider a Christmas dessert but he doesn’t care one bit. He’s a man that enjoys eating and Christmas was more of his holiday anyway.

That holds him over long enough and he’s got the comfort of him whisking the dry ingredients together, focus steady on getting just the right mixture before moving onto the wet ingredients. It’s easy work really, which means Luca doesn’t mind making breakfast more than any other meal. It was similar to his own work, yet pastries were more his speed and he often challenged himself to try out new techniques majority of the time, so it wouldn’t always be easy but it was the pleasure in knowing that this is the starting point of your day, which beats a protein bar any way.

Luca uses his hands everyday and yeah it so happened to surprisingly be his weekend off, he didn’t mind keeping his hands busy when it came to breakfast and serving to the person he truly adores.

He’s at the stove, with minutes passing by at ease, his arched brows raising so often when the tempo of the movie begins to picks up. “What are you watching?”

He can’t help but to ask.

“…The Evil Dead, 1981.” He’s shocked he even gets a response from you since you tend to zone out when it comes to media.

Sometimes it was certainly a bad habit. You were an environmental documentary editor so it wasn’t unusual for you to get wrapped up in screens. Yet Luca couldn’t really blame you for that since he got lost in his craft as well; the both of you were working to get better with turning those habits off when together.

…if you don’t count right now that is! There was nothing wrong with being passionate about your interests but it was also always important to prioritize your partner, especially when work was a good chunk of your lives, yet it wasn’t the only thing that mattered. The both of you understood that.

He hums, finding possession films and gory themes weren’t really his thing. He actually has a weak system when it came to those type of horror films or rather blood (passing out from the mere sight fake or not or simply the stench of it is not something Luca was proud to admit) and let’s just say he was glad to not be in the room with you now. Horror really wasn’t your lane either, you were more into sci-fi films whereas Luca loved a good action film or documentary.

You were both each others test subjects, you with his food and him with your edits on your hybrid schedule.

“Come eat,” Luca says after while, the food steaming and filling the house with a sweet, salty and slightly earthy aroma.

He’s wiping his hands off with a rag, which he steps to the center of the kitchen, balling up the used rag to toss with a swift flick of the wrist into the laundry room up ahead. The rag plunks right on the washer and Luca smirks to himself before heading back to the dining table tucked in the corner by the oven. He always sits with his back to the oven because in a sense it’s brings him placidness. It didn’t make much sense to you since you originally thought Luca just wanted the view of the screened in conservatory all to himself but he flirted that you were enough of a view for him. Nonetheless he didn’t really need to explain it to you, if that’s the spot Luca wanted then so be it. You rarely argued about it simply because you could eat out there if you really wanted. He could keep the meaning of sitting with his back to the oven to himself. Perhaps it was his way of putting it behind him for awhile when engaged with you? Who truly knows but you did think about it a bit once you settled into the shared home.

Luca’s pulling himself up to the table, picking up a fork to start plating and clenched his eyes as more screams fill the home.

“I really appreciate that you’re getting into the Halloween spirit, but it’s ten in the morning, please turn off the slasher film so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” Luca calls out to you, after picking up that you were in a lazy mood and not ready to join him at the table.

The film actually gets lower as Luca shoves the pancake into his mouth, beginning to chew the meal as you say back, “pumpkin spiced latte, please.”

Luca questions with his mouth full, “what was that?”

“I’ll join you if there’s a pumpkin spiced latte waiting for me.”

Luca sits back in his chair and swallows, “you don’t even enjoy pumpkin so what are you on about?”

“But it’s fall, Luca.”

Luca pinches the space in between his skinny brows, “…for fucks sake, you’re quite spoiled you know that?”

“I love you.” You sing out while Luca scoffs.

He comments, “You better.”

So now he’s up on his feet again, messing with the olive espresso machine that you still won’t tell him how much you paid for last Christmas, he’ll use the last bit of maple syrup that he had leftover from the pancakes, there’s no pumpkin spice in the flat since he isn’t a big fan of pumpkin flavor either so he uses: 2 teaspoons cinnamon, 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg, 1/8 teaspoon ginger, and 1/8 teaspoon of ground cloves, yet he brought home some pumpkin purée that one of his fall-loving co-workers gave to him; homemade from her mini pumpkin patch in her backyard, he steams the oat milk, mixes the espresso, puree, syrup, spices, and vanilla all together before combining it with the milk. From there he frothed it just for a few seconds to get some foam and finally tops it off with whipped cream and more cinnamon.

Sitting back down, he slides the drink over to your side of the table and before he can call out to you to inform it’s ready, he’s hearing the shuffle of your feet in those ridiculous hot pink fluffy slippers. Luca glances at you and finds you rather cute still in your cozy pj’s and hair a complete mess.

“Your royalty,” Luca bows towards your drink, making you gasp playfully as you approach him, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, “it’s still hot,” he warns as you reach over for the handle of the mug at the same time but you pick it up with ease.

You peek at the latte and then back at him saying, “Shoo,” you wave your hand making Luca frown up at you.

You and these damn hand movements, you should be a conductor like your older sibling instead.

He soon picks up on what else you want, making yourself comfortable right in his lap, making Luca shake his head at you, tangling around you now so he can finish the breakfast but with you in his lap.

You on the other hand werent much of a breakfast person, although you loved a good brunch moment with your mates! but you hardly turned down much of what Luca prepared. He knew you’d get around to the pancakes if you didn’t start picking at his own plate soon.

“How is it?”

You nod, running your tongue over the top of your lip to get rid of the whipped cream, “hmm, now I kinda see what those pumpkin bitches go crazy over.”

Luca chuckles, “do I get to sample?”

“It’s the least I can do,” you tease as you blow on the steam before tipping the mug towards Luca’s lips.

He ends up blowing on it more before sipping and it’s your turn to watch his own opinion before he says it. You can always tell what direction this may go based on the way his eyebrows and eyes move.

“Not half bad if I do say so myself but a smoked butterscotch latte from Café bønne is actually better. I frankly don’t see the hype with this latte.” Luca shrugged with a pinch of his lips in thought before turning his hand back to the bacon.

You groan, “we haven’t been there in ages! We should go there today.”

“Nope, storms coming in this afternoon actually with a chance of power outages which is why you should eat those pancakes sooner than later, love.” Luca explains before adding, “should have gone running with me this morning. I passed by that route today too.” Luca tells you while you take another sip of the latte.

You weren’t aware of any storm coming in but you had to admit that you fell asleep on the news last night after the show you stayed up to watch with Luca went off. It really amazes you how he can stay up late and get up to function the next day. You on the other hand? Had to follow a routine or else you’ll be no good at work, hybrid schedule or not.

“Fine, I guess the shitty pumpkin makes up for it.”

Luca peeks at you mid chew, “Are you insulting my beverage when you asked for it?”

“Never! This definitely gets a 8.5 across the board. So I’ll shut my spoiled self up, babes.”

“Now that’s the spirit.”

A shove to his shoulder makes Luca wink and grin over at you, poking his lips out for a peck, making you aware that he was only teasing you.

Sighing you lean forward to press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, “thanks for breakfast.”

With his free tatted hand, he runs the pad of his thumb against the childhood scar on your kneecap stating with a smile, “anytime, darling.” He says as he peers at you from underneath his eyelashes before tossing in, “Even when you’re being a picky pain in my arse.”

“Welp! Moment’s ruined.” You hopped off Luca’s lap while he tried to latch onto you with a laugh but you swung your hips out of his reach, however not without plunking up his last pancake to take with you.

See!

Luca huffs, sticking his tongue into the side of his cheek before taking your plate with him to follow you into the living room. You’re seated back on the couch and he sits on the opposite end of it, tangling his limbs with yours as you cover each other with the blankets.

“This pancake is delicious.”

“So are yours,” Luca is smug as he eats from your plate now before glancing at the horror film on screen with disgust, then softening his expression as he sets his eyes back on you.

Which leads to the both of you taking turns eating pancakes and sharing the pumpkin latte, making the feel of autumn in the atmosphere sink in with the warmth of each other.

Hours later…you’re laying cuddled up to Luca’s chest on the couch, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling along with his hands clasped together against the small of your back is enough to almost put you to sleep. The wind has picked up now, whistling through the cloudy skies of Copenhagen followed by a harsh patter of rain that can be heard from the ceiling of the living room.

Which is just enough remedy for the both of you while you rest until you suddenly ask, “what did you think of the evil dead?”

Luca almost grimaces before he states, “…I prefer midsommar.”

“I want to debunk that with you but I also want to go back to sleep.”

Luca laughs before nuzzling his cheek against your head, “Fine by me, we have time to get into it later.”

“Over pancakes?”

“Breakfast for dinner? As long as you promise to actually sit at the table with me?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be…and I also want to hear your thoughts on that film. A true Mukbang starring us two, can’t get any better than that, no?”

A smile curls onto Luca’s lips at your excitement, then he speaks, “who’s the audience then?”

“The entities that maybe lurking around this house.”

Luca pops a eye open, “I really don’t like how you just said that. Especially after you had me watching that horrid fucking film.”

“Hey! A lot of horror lovers will definitely drag you for that but don’t worry, I’ll fight anything and anyone that dares to step to my man and that’s on what?”

Luca shakes his head while pretending to think about it, “period? Or whatever it is you say. You’re still a brat for saying that though. I don’t know if you notice but Halloween isn’t until the end of the month.”

“I’m sorry,” you coo squeezing his shoulder, “but Halloween starts as soon as September hits and don’t you forget it you big baby.” You curl your hand from around Luca’s shoulder to squeeze his cheeks together.

“You’re the…baby.” Luca mimics, his cheeks now appearing like a gapping fish due to your actions, “Taking thirty naps a day and being a massive pain in my bum.”

“NAURR,” you exaggerate making Luca lift his brows in annoyance before you continue, “I’m your favorite headache.”

Luca let’s out a sigh, “you’re not wrong.”

“I never am,” you sass before the room goes quiet a bit more—besides the weather outside until you voice your thoughts out loud, “Midsommar though? Really? I wouldn’t put that and Evil Dead in the same category.”

Now it was Luca’s turn to shush you.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.

#the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear s2 #the bear hulu #the bear fx #luca the bear #will poulter #october prompts #Luca the bear x reader #will poulter x reader #queued #Spotify

[ericsprincess]

i can't stop for you and me

nc-17, Sung Hanbin/Reader, office au, lawyer!reader, also bully!reader (kinda), doormat!Hanbin, cunnilingus

~~~

A/N: Reparations ;) This is a gift for a friend. I'm not a ZB1 fan and I don't know them well, so I hope it’s at least a little bit of a fitting scenario for Hanbin.

~~~

Fucking CUTE. You think while spinning your pen between your fingers. You’re sitting behind your big wooden desk, peeking over the dossier that you’ve been pretending to read for the past 15 minutes, your eyes scanning through the office in front of you, until they find your favorite target - your new pretty assistant, Hanbin. 

To be honest, he’s not even doing anything particularly cute, he’s quite literally just doing his job, staring into a computer screen and typing occasionally. He’s that pretty and adorable just by existing, with his delicate porcelain doll face and black hair.

I should have hired that old lady, you lament, but you know it’s bullshit. You knew you’re gonna give him a job offer the moment he walked into the meeting room for his interview, all fresh from school and excited to start his career. He looked so proper and polite, thoughtfully answering every question, even daring to blush and sweat under your scrutiny. You took one brief look at his CV to check if he’s qualified enough, and he was. There might have been better, more experienced candidates, but you decided to do this thing for you, just this once. Treat yourself. 

And now it’s coming back at you in full force. 

This is not good. This is a problem. His presence makes you feel things and all of them are inappropriate at the very least. 

It’s not helping that he would obviously bend over backwards to make you happy. You don’t even need to finish the question and he’s already eagerly rushing to complete whatever unnecessary task you made up this time. No request is dumb enough for him to object, and you actually tried. He would just happily go about his way to fulfill it. You could send him to sort cases by alphabetical order backwards and he would just ask when it’s supposed to be done. Sometimes you like to ruffle his feathers a little more by giving him work that he’s clearly not ready for, like that one time where you made him give a presentation to your client instead of yourself. You actually thought he’s going to faint, but somehow he powered through it just by sheer determination, earning an approving smile and nod from you, going all red in reply. 

Not to say that thanks to his good looks he solved your perpetual problem of missing partner at every work function and dumb dinner party with clients. Now you get to drag your handsome assistant along as your plus one to every event, where you can not only parade him around, but also enjoy him fussing over your comfort, bringing you drinks, holding your coat or bag and even driving you home. You can see the jealousy in others and it makes you secretly happy. 

You wouldn’t be able to do that, if you hired that old lady. 

And even today, despite being already long past his shift, he still decided to stay working late, just because you did. The office is already empty and dark, the only sole source of light shining on his face is his computer screen in his cubicle and the light coming out of your glass walled office. 

He rubs his eyes. 

You slap the dossier down on your desk.

“Hanbin-sshi, can you please come here for a second?” you call out. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he immediately replies and gets up. He’s sluggish and obviously tired and you almost feel bad for him. Almost. 

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks. 

“Yes. I would like you to run to the Starbucks, I want some coffee. I’d like a venti pumpkin spice latte-” you pause, seeing as he’s struggling to fish out his phone to take notes. “with four shots of espresso, almond milk, light caramel drizzle, light foam, one pump of pumpkin sauce, one pump of maple pecan sauce and salt topping. Thank you.” you smirk at him as he’s dutifully tapping everything down. 

“No problem, I’ll be right back, ma’am,” he bows a little and rushes out of the door. 

Your stomach rumbles. Actually. 

“Actually!” you call out, but he doesn’t reply. You jump out from behind your table in hope of maybe being able to catch him, but when you run out of the office you can see he’s already left.

Oh well. Maybe I’ll just send him for the second time, when he gets back. 

You turn back to return to your office, when his computer pings with a message. 

Huh? He didn’t lock his computer? 

You take a look, and really - he didn’t. He must have forgotten or just didn’t care, since no one else is left at the office at this time.

Moreover, the message is not from your designated work chat app, but from a personal one. You lean forwards to take a look at the unread notification. 

matt says: so how’s the late hours with the sexy boss going? dude you’re a masochist. 

You blink. Without any hesitation you click on the chat and scroll through the last messages. 

hb says: fuck it's getting really hard to hide my boners from her

>every time she orders me around i can barely think

>i just go home and jerk off everyday thinking about her bossing me around

>if she ever finds out im screwed

>i literally stayed working late, just in case she wants something

>she could ask me to eat her pussy under her desk and i would just crawl under 

>matt i’m so fucked

Your reflection on the computer screen twists into a wide grin. Oh. What a beautiful bunch of revelations. 

You had a hunch that he must like taking orders and feeling accomplished by completing tasks, but you didn’t know it’s sexual for him. Much less, that it’s because of you, in particular. But hey, at least it validates your own interests in this little game. 

You do your best to curb your giddiness and return back behind your desk. Hanbin appears a few minutes later, with your coffee in hand and a little bag in another. 

“Here, ma’am. I also took the liberty to bring you some snack, since it’s really late and you must be hungry.” he hands you both. 

You open the little back and pull out a blueberry muffin. “Thank you, Hanbin-sshi,” you take a bite. “It’s like you’re reading my mind. I hope I’m not putting you through too much trouble.” 

“Oh, no, really, it’s not a problem,” he’s quick to assure you, shaking his head. 

“Hanbin-sshi, it’s such a joy to have you. You’re always so eager and helpful, I could not pick a better assistant,” you smile kindly at him. 

“T-thanks, ma’am, this really means a lot to me.” he stutters, cheeks already burning red. 

“Sometimes it feels like I could ask you to eat my pussy under my desk, and you would just crawl right under, wouldn’t you?” you ask with a smirk.

He freezes. Gotcha.

“I-..”

“You?”

“I- I actually, I would,” he admits. He looks nervous, like he's sure he’s busted, outed as a pervert and will be fired immediately. It looks good on him.

“Okay,” you nod and push yourself off your desk on your chair. You gesture at the space. “Be my guest.”

He looks at you disbelievingly, as if he’s not sure if you’re serious or if it’s just some kind of a prank. But eventually, he seems to make up his mind. 

He slowly falls on his knees. He looks at you, as if to check whether it is really something you want, and when he sees you’re not putting a stop to it, he slowly crawls on his all fours under your big desk. 

You roll your chair back to its place. You look down, where two big eyes are staring right back at you. 

“I hope it were not just empty words, Hanbin-sshi. I’m sure you don’t want to disappoint me,” you warn him. 

“No, of course not, ma’am,” he hurries to assure you and visibly gathers all the courage to actually touch you. He runs his hands over your legs and leans forwards. 

He starts kissing your thighs, while bunching your skirt up, even daring to suck and lick a little at your skin. He slowly gets to your pussy and he doesn’t hesitate to lick over your panties, already wet ever since you discovered his true feelings. It’s like he’s trying to get as much of your taste as he can through them, licking until they are completely drenched with both your juices and his saliva. He’s kneeling in front of you, holding you around your hips, his whole face buried in your crotch, like he doesn't care if he can even breathe. 

It feels good and you’re getting more and more aroused, but you can’t wait for a more direct stimulation. You grab him by his hair and pull him off you by force. You quickly lift yourself up to pull down your panties, and he frantically helps, even tries to dive back in, but your hold won’t let him. 

You look into his eyes and wait a second until he calms down a bit, while he whimpers. He’s all red and clearly aroused and he looks so pretty, you’re sure you will never forget this sight of his delicate face, eager to pleasure you. 

“Now you can,” you say and let go of his hair. He doesn’t hesitate a moment and quickly leans forwards to get back your pussy. 

It feels like his tongue is everywhere. He’s licking all over your pussy and trying to push his tongue in. You have half a mind to tell him to use his fingers, but his tongue already feels so good, you want to see if he will manage to make you cum only like that. 

And it seems he will, since when he moves to your clit, it’s basically game over for you. 

He’s clearly bringing out his A-game, rubbing all over your clit with flat tongue in cruel tempo, building up your pleasure, until he can tell you’re getting close, then switching to quicker flicks, his mouth sealed around your pussy as if he was making out with it. 

You’re getting close and you know he can tell, just by the sounds you’re making. You’re so wet it must be dripping off his face. He’s tireless, his tongue never stopping, he’s even moaning a little, as if it was him being pleasured.

You grab him by his hair and push him even closer and then you’re cumming, smothering him with your pussy and juices and not letting him breathe at all, not until you’re finished. He’s not fighting it, letting you ride his face as much as you need, slowly coming down from your orgasm. 

You let him go, and he takes a deep breath. He looks up at you.

You roll your chair back a little. You take a moment to enjoy the look at him all out of his mind, kneeling under your desk, red, sweaty and disheveled. He’s breathing heavily, aroused and undeniably close to orgasm, without even touching himself.  

“Are you hard, Hanbin-sshi?” you ask. 

It’s a stupid question, his cock is obviously tenting his pants, even leaving a dark wet spot on them. But he nods regardless, eyes glazed over, face still wet. His black hair is sticking to his face a little.

“If you manage to drive us to my apartment without either crashing or cumming, I’ll suck you off. What do you think about that?”

You can see his breath hitching. He doesn’t even need to answer. 

“Go get your coat.”

#hanbin smut #sung hanbin smut #zerobaseone smut #zb1 smut #ficscafe #hanbin fic #sung hanbin fic #hanbin #sung hanbin #kpop smut #kpop fic #hanbin imagines #sung hanbin imagines #hanbin x reader #sung hanbin x reader #hanbin scenarios #sung hanbin scenarios #zerobaseone scenarios #zb1 scenarios #zerobaseone #zb1

[codfanficedits]

Believe.

CW: ANGST. A lot of angst </3 no proofreading because i cried while writing it

Fem!reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

“Do you believe in alternative universes, lieutenant?” You ask Ghost, while the both of you lay in the grass, his large hand holding yours.

“What?”

“I was watching this movie the other day, and there were like an infinite amount of universes. So an universe where I would be your lieutenant.” You say with a slight chuckle.

A light squeeze in your hand. “That would be quite the sight.” Ghost answers, and while you can’t see his face, as your gaze is on the moon, the tone of his voice tells you he has a smirk on his face.

“Alternative universes, huh?” Ghost repeats.

“Yeah. What universe would you want to live in?”

“Depends, what would my options be?”

You let out a groan, you just explained that there could be an infinite amount of universes out there. “Think big.” You urge him. “You know, an universe where you’d work at Starbucks.”

That remarks rewards you with a laugh from Ghost. Not a polite, fake laugh, but one of those laughs that comes from his stomach. “Can you imagine?” He snickers. “I’d be fired on the first day for killing a customer.”

The image pops up in your head. Your lieutenant not wearing his usual army uniform but a Starbucks apron, an annoyed look on his face as some woman goes off ranting about some sort of discount. Him trying to get a straight face when he tries to explain that a military discount does in fact not apply when you’re dating a marine, but he keeps his temper in check with the first customer, only to completely lose it when a man comes up when he calls out a drink for Debra. The male customer going off about how he didn’t order a Venti pumpkin spiced latte, about how stupid the barista’s at Starbucks are. It is in that moment, in that universe that Ghost decided he didn’t need that goddamn job. The thought of it alone is enough to make you snicker too. “Shit you’d make the headlines.”

Ghost stays quiet for a brief moment. “Would that mean there’s an universe where my father..” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but you know what he means. Your heart aches for him, an empty sensation in your chest. During one drunken night Ghost confessed all that had happened in his childhood. The words spilling out of his like a drunken waterfall. Word after word flowing out of his mouth, leaving him a drunken, crying mess. When you tried to bring it up the next day he waved your worries away. The fact that he brings it up right now.. It hurts.

“Yeah.” You mutter as you fixate your gaze on the moon. “That universe does exist.”

“Huh.” Ghost lets out a soft sound. “I hope that version of me is happy.”

Your hand squeezes his tighter, as if you want to never let go, as if you want to heal his inner child with every ounce of love you have in you.

His voice breaks the silence. “What do you think the version of us who didn’t join the military would have as a job?”

You need to think for a moment before you can answer his question. The army had been your life the moment you had joined, all your friends were in the army, some of them being close enough to you to be considered family, Ghost being one of those people.

“I think I’d be a teacher.” You eventually say. “You know, I’ve always enjoyed teaching people, and I have a lot of patience.”

Ghost laughs at your answer. “You? A lot of patience? I’ve heard you yell at Soap for fucking up a recipe.”

“In my defence.” You start your protest. “He was frying a goddamn egg and burnt the whole thing to a crisp. You have to be a complete moron to do so.”

“And you think kids won’t be complete morons?” Ghost questions.

“That’s different.” You try to save your skin. “But maybe not a teacher. Maybe I’d be more fit to be an artist, or a florist or something.” A soft sigh follows your words.

“Ya know. I could see you be a florist.” Ghost answers you. “I could see you tend to flowers, make bouquets. Coming home smelling like a thousand and one different flowers.”

The idea alone brings a smile on your lips, maybe that would’ve been a life you would have  enjoyed. “What about you?” You ask Ghost.

“A mechanic.” A sense of pride in his voice. “I might not be the best driver there is.”

“That’s an understatement.” You chime in.

“Shut up.” Ghost mumbles. “As I was saying. I’m not the best driver, so I’d have to learn to fix my car myself, and you know, one thing leading to another, and before you know it, I’d be a mechanic.”

You can’t deny that the idea of Ghost being a mechanic does seem right to you, he’s smart enough to learn things like that, not afraid to get his hands dirty. But of course you can’t let the opportunity to bully your lieutenant slide.

“Even if there are an infinite amount of universes, I don’t think there is a single one where you’d be a good driver.”

“Oh I swear to God.” Ghost groans. “I wreck three cars and all of the sudden I’m a bad driver.”

You close your eyes as warm, wet droplets fall on your face, the rain feels refreshing and you’re in no mood to leave the grass, being too comfortable on your back, Ghost laying next to you, your fingers intertwined.

“This would mean that there is an universe where I would be a dad.” Ghost mentions. You want to turn your face, look at him, but the rain would make it uncomfortable, so you decide against it.

“I think you’d make a wonderful dad.” You say with a soft voice. The image of Ghost being a father filling your mind. The big, scary, buff lieutenant being a dad to a little girl, trying to get her ponytails as neatly as possible. The big, scary Ghost sitting at a pink table that is way too small, pretending to drink tea, holding up is pinky as he does so. Ghost going to a fair with his little girl on his shoulders, winning a big stuffed unicorn for her at a shooting game. Softie Ghost who has to first back the tears when his little girl leaves for the first day of preschool. Big dad Ghost holding his girl tight after her first break up, wanting to break a neck someone breaking her heart.

The big, scary, buff lieutenant holding his baby boy for the first time. A tiny baby being held by those large hands. The big, scare Ghost roughhousing with his boy, letting the kid win. Loud groans filling the living room as he admits defeat. Ghost going to a fair, his little boy holding his hand before he tries to teach his son how to shoot. Softie Ghost, clenching his jaw and trying to hold back the tears when he prepares his sons lunchbox for his first day of preschool. Big dad Ghost, silently cheering on his son as he musters up the courage to ask his crush to prom.

“Yeah. You’d make a wonderful dad.” You repeat yourself. You can tell by the way Ghost squeezes your hand again that your words mean a lot to him, and you can’t blame him, given his own childhood.

“You’ve never answered my first question, Simon.” You say, as the reality of the situation starts to settle in. “If you could choose any universe, which one would you like to live in?”

It stays quiet for a moment, before you open your eyes, turning your head to look at him, blood splatters painting your face red, as your mind tries to convince you that it is just the rain, and you know that if you close your eyes again, you’d believe it. You can tell by his raspy breath that it is getting harder for Ghost to cling on to life.

“I think.” He starts, as the bullets fly around you, the bullet wounds in your lower abdomen and chest are starting to hurt more and more, and you can no longer ignore the burning sensation they bring. No matter how much you try to focus on your conversation. His head turns to face yours. “I think I would like to live in the universe where I would take you out for dinner after this mission.”

A soft, sad smile forms on his lips. “Or I would like to live in the universe where you would come home from your florist job, and I would be at home waiting for you, our little boy and girl being ecstatic that you’re home again.”

He squeezes your hand one more time, it takes him all the strength that he has left. “I’d like that.” You whisper. “I think I would love to live in that universe too.”

You’re lucky enough that he can hear those words before the light leaves his eyes. If only you’d both be living in another universe. If only this universe would give you both another chance. Your eyes shift to your hand, your fingers still intertwined with Ghost’s as you wait for your death to come.

#ghost x you #ghost x reader #angst #cod x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod fanfic #fanfic #fandom #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #ao3 writer #ao3 #fanfic edit #fanfics #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw2 #heavy angst #no comfort

[pitchsidestories]

Better latte than never II Sam Kerr x Reader

chelsea women masterlist I word count: 629

You loved the first days in autumn, when the leaves in Hyde Park were bursting in the colours of yellow, red and orange, and you could take your morning walk in the crisp air while your girlfriend was still asleep, covered under several blankets because according to the Australian she was always cold. Excitedly you realized that now was the time to get the cinnamon buns from the bakery which laid just across from the home you shared, the lovely smell coming up everytime you passed that building.

On the other hand, Sam hated autumn, when it’s started to get freezing outside, the early evenings were already dark and the iced coffee she was loving so much was not the right beverage for that time of year. So, your plan was to show her the beautiful things September and the upcoming months had to offer, and you would begin today with getting her a pumpkin spice latte in the café you both loved which was a bit hidden from the highstreets of the big city.

“Good morning, love!”, you called her as you entered your bedroom after your running walk through the park. “Morning…“ Her mumble was muted by the blanket that she had pulled over her face. With the coffee in hand, you sat next to her on your unmade bed side. “I got a surprise for you.“, you smiled, hoping that it would help your girlfriend wake up.

She threw off the blanket and blinked at you with tired eyes. “Is it coffee?“ “Yes.“ Carefully, you held out the hot cup for her to take but instead she just eyed you warily. “That’s not iced.“, she said, more a statement than a complaint. You shrugged innocently, “I know. But it’s getting colder outside so I thought something warm would be much nicer in this weather. Just try it.“ When Sam still didn’t react, you added, “I promise I won’t poison you.“

Finally, your girlfriend sat up in her bed, looking absolutely adorable with pillow marks on the right side of her face. The smile on your face grew wider as she finally took the coffee out of your hands. With a sceptical look, she took a big sip. You watched expectantly as she tried your favourite fall drink. Sam grimaced as soon as she tasted the coffee. “What is that? That’s horrible! Thats’s not even coffee!“

You tried to hide your disappointment and covered it with masked cheerfulness: “Sammy, you should start getting ready for training, you know how much Emma hates players who are running late.” This unlocked another groan from the mouth of the striker as she peeled herself out of the warmth from the bed.

Much to your own surprise aswell as your teammates Guro Reiten, Millie Bright, Erin Cuthbert, Sam came back after your lunch break a few days later with two pumpkin spice lattes in her hands. The Scottish midfielder was the first one to speak up: “Sam, I never saw you with anything else than an iced coffee in your hand!” “Well, I guess unfortunately it’s not the season for that, so I needed to find an alternative. To be fair, I did not like it at first, but it reminds me of my girlfriend and turns out I do like a Pumpkin Spice Latte especially on cold and windy fall days.” With these words she handed you the hot drink, while you were thanking her for it.

Maybe the Australian will never love autumn as much as you but you were always sure of her love for you. And you fell for her like the leaves of the tree did in the exact moment while you both were chatting with your teammates who were also one of your closest friends.

Let us know if you enjoyed this short and sweet oneshot. It's the first part in our ☕ Latte League series. ☕

#sam kerr x reader #matildas #sam kerr #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #auswnt #sam kerr imagine #sam kerr fanfic #woso fanfics #ficlet #matildas x reader #woso one shot #chelsea wfc #fanfiction

[notyetjae]

RDR2 Coffee orders.

an: this is a modern au if it isn’t clear,

Arthur Morgan:

Black coffee

And he orders like “A large regular coffee” and if you ask if wants cream or sugar he’s like “Nope, regular.”

He gets oddly pissed off about that, (High honor arthur doesn’t show it tho.)

He’ll put like 2 sugars in if he’s feeling fancy.

John Marston:

Black coffee in front of the gang, coffee with french vanilla creamer by himself

He used to drink it with creamer in front of Arthur but he made fun of him.

He’s just takes care of his tongue okay. He’s sensitive.

I feel like he would sip Abigails super sweet latte and be like “eww wtf” and inside he would be like THAT SLAPPEDDD

Let John Marston drink a pumpkin spice latte.

Dutch Van der lin:

Black coffee OR Cappuccino

Modern Dutch would be a coffee nerd, an annoying one too, if you’ve encountered a coffee nerd irl you know.

Spends 20 minutes explaining the intricacies of a cappuccino to Molly. (Poor thing)

He hates flavor though, he thinks it’s the devil.

Charles smith:

Coffee with cream and sugar/flavor, maybe a latte as a treat.

I feel like he would like coffee over a latte, too much caffeine makes him feel crazy.

He’s such a plain jane I’m sorry.

Hosea Matthews:

Proud latte enjoyer.

This man has such a sweet tooth, even if he gets a coffee with cream he’ll add like whip cream onto it 😭

He has no problems with black coffee, but go big or go home right?

He would fuck up one of those signature lattes from Dunkin

Lenny Summers:

Not a coffee enjoyer, will shot gun a bang energy however.

Mary-Beth Gaskill:

Iced latte with caramel + vanilla and cold foam with cinnamon sugar

Listen now that we’re onto the girls shit’s getting serious.

I also believe she’s an avid cold brew enjoyer.

SHE LOVES SEASONAL FLAVORS.

Dunkin > Starbucks girlie.

Also probably gets a choco muffin.

Tilly Jackson:

Cold brew 3 mocha, 2 caramel, 1 french vanilla, oat milk and sugar with cold foam and mocha drizzle.

She gets this like 4 times a week.

And no one batted an eye until Karen saw the sticker on the cup and was like girl ur gonna die by 30.

Genuinely confused about how her order is “too much.”

Karen Jones:

Iced coffee girl FOR LIFE.

Honestly her order changes alot, She’ll order the same thing for a few weeks and then switch it up.

Also a dunkin > Starbucks girlie.

Will ride or die for Caramel. (Also she says it “car-mel” aka the right way.)

The type of girl to have like an absurd amount of reward points because she doesn’t use them.

Sadie Adler:

Honestly prefers sweet tea to coffee.

But when she does need energy she’ll get an Americano with an extra shot (she’s tired of Pearson’s bullshit.)

No cream or sugar, like a real woman.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead headcanons #arthur morgan #john marston #sadie adler #lmk if you want more of this #im a barsita btw #certified lesbian in a coffee shop