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krirebr · 6 months

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More Than This 1

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, a very brief conversation about the possibility of abuse, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: And here we go! A huge thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down some of the worldbuilding details and @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and especially telling me how to fix the scene that refused to be fixed. You're both the best!!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

It was uncommon to be called to your stepfather’s office. The high rise on the edge of Studio City had housed the heads of his family since the silent film era, give or take a remodel and expansion or five. You’d only been here a handful of times, mostly left out of the family business. When his assistant opened the door for you, you were surprised to see a small group of people, all in expensive business attire, surrounding your stepdad, Joseph Rogers, at his desk. Even more surprising was the figure standing in the corner, staring out the window – your mother.

“Mom?” you asked, unable to hide your confusion. She just gave you a tight smile in return and turned her attention to her husband.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. It’s what he’d called you since you’d first met him as a child and it had always felt patronizing and empty. You were well aware that you were an annoyance he’d been saddled with when he’d married your mother for her late first husband’s connections. Eighteen years later, you wished he’d drop the pretense already. “Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the leather chair in front of his large oak desk.

You sat down across from him. “What’s going on?” you asked, an uneasy feeling building in your gut.

“Congratulations are in order,” he said, smiling at you. “You’re engaged.”

Years of experience at bullshit industry and society parties had you pasting on a benign smile. This was your fourth, no fifth engagement, the first one dating all the way back to when you were 10. They’d all dissolved for one reason or another, the business arrangements at the heart of them disintegrating too. But looking around the room at all the extra people in attendance, you knew better than to dismiss this outright. You were older now. Many of your friends from school had found themselves married as part of business deals in the last few years. Love matches were uncommon in the circles you frequented. There wasn’t much patience for love when this much money was at stake. But still, just because it was expected, that didn’t make you any more ready for your turn.

“That’s wonderful,” you said, putting all your effort into keeping your tone even. “May I ask whom I’m engaged to?”

“Ransom Drysdale,” Joseph said. “He’s the grandson of Harlan Thrombey, the mystery writer. We’ve been trying to secure the movie rights to his works for years and this should finally cement it. It’s fantastic news for our family and this studio. The joining of our families should create many opportunities for all of us. Ransom is one of the most eligible bachelors in Boston. You should feel very lucky.”

Lucky was the last thing you felt right now, but you kept your face schooled as you ran through your mental Rolodex to try to figure out if you had any social connections to this man. The fact that he lived on the other side of the country made it less likely but not impossible.

“So,” he continued, sliding a stack of papers across his desk to you, “all you need to do is sign and initial the contract where it’s marked, and we can get started finalizing the details for the wedding next month.”

At that, all your poise disappeared and the smile dropped off your face. “Next month?”

Joseph nodded. “It’s important to strike while the iron is hot with deals like this. So go ahead and sign so that we can all move on to the next stage.”

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. This was happening. This one was real. “Shouldn’t I read it first?” you asked, somewhat desperately.

He shook his head, “No need,” he said, gesturing to the man you recognized as one of the family lawyers standing beside him. “Julian has already gone through it with a fine-toothed comb. All of our interests are well represented. It’s all in legalese anyway. Impossible to understand if you aren’t a lawyer.” He chuckled and many of the people standing around the desk, staring at you, joined him.

“I just–” you stammered. You didn’t know what to do, but you knew you couldn’t pick up that pen.

Irritation bloomed on your stepfather’s face. “Lydia!” he called.

Your mother stopped staring out the window and stepped up to your chair. “Honey,” she said gently, putting her hand on your back. “This will be such a good thing. And then we can get to all the fun parts of planning the wedding!” She picked up the pen and held it out to you. You took a moment to look at her. Her features were drawn and her eyes looked exhausted. She’d looked that way as long as you could remember. It did nothing to reassure you.

You glanced at the door behind you. You knew you weren’t getting out of this room without signing the contract. You took a deep breath and took the pen from your mother. There was nothing else to do. No other choice. You quickly flipped through the papers, initialing where indicated and signing the last page. Your hand was shaking so badly you weren’t sure any of it was legible.

When you turned over the last page, Joseph clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He took a large binder off the desk and passed it over to you. “We’ve put some information together for you on your new fiance. Ransom will be in town next week to take you to dinner so that the two of you can get to know each other. Now, I’m sure you want to go celebrate, so we won’t keep you any longer.”

At the clear dismissal, you stood up. Many people in the room offered their congratulations and you nodded to them, forcing a strained smile. Then you made your way out on shaky legs, needing to see the one person who might be able to help you process what had just happened.

You’d been six years old when you and your mother had moved into the Rogers mansion. You were terrified, already able to sense Joseph’s indifference towards you. But your comfort during that time, and all the time after, had been his son, Steve. Twelve years old, still reeling from the death of his mother and just as deeply lonely as you, he’d named himself your protector, shielding you from his father’s annoyance and your mother’s sorrow. He guarded you from monsters when you woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and would stare down your bullies on the playground. You were very quickly inseparable.

When you became engaged the first time when you were ten, sixteen-year-old Steve had taken you out for ice cream, telling you not to worry too much, there was so much time before anything would happen and that everything would be ok. When the arrangement had fallen apart, he’d hugged you and whispered in your ear, “See? I’m always right.”

That was the memory you couldn’t stop thinking about as you let yourself into your stepbrother’s apartment, using the key he’d given you on the day he’d moved in. He wasn’t in his front room, so you moved all the way to the back, to the spare room he used as an art studio. You lightly knocked on the doorframe as you entered, trying not to startle him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at a half-finished painting, but looked over his shoulder as soon as he heard you. There was a warm smile on his face, but it dropped as soon as he took in your expression. “What happened?” he asked as you flopped down onto his couch.

“I think I might be really fucked, Steve,” you said quietly, your hands still shaking. You couldn’t get them to stop.

“What happened?” he asked again, more forcefully this time, as he dragged a chair from the corner of the room so that he could sit right across from you.

“Your dad, he–” You stopped and shook your head. Steve’s face darkened. “I’m engaged,” you said with a helpless shrug.

“Okay,” he said evenly. “That might not be the most dire thing. You’ve been engaged before. Nothing ever comes of it.”

You sighed. “They’ve set a date this time.”

“Oh,” was all he could say at first, surprise on his face. “That’s new.”

“Yeah.” you nodded. “A month from now.”

That had Steve sitting up straight. “The hell?!”

“It’s happening this time. I can feel it.”

“Hey, no,” he said, reaching out to touch your arm. “Let me try to talk some sense into him. Buy you some time. He might listen to me.”

You shook your head. “Everything’s already signed. They made me sign. I don’t think there’s any getting out of it.”

“He give you a name?”

“Ransom Drysdale.”

Before he was able to stop himself, Steve grimaced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, briefly covering your face with your hands.

“No, it’s– I’ve only met him once or twice, ok? I don’t actually know anything about him.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“He’s–” Steve paused, clearly trying to find the words that wouldn’t upset you even more, “a strong personality.” He looked at you carefully. “And he’s older than you. Older than me, even.”

“I know,” you sighed, reaching for your bag and taking out the folder. “They gave me this.”

You handed it to Steve and he paged through it. “This is intense. Do you think they gave him one about you?”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. Can’t imagine it says anything interesting.”

Steve nodded, seriously. “It’s probably pretty thin. Just the story of that time you completely freaked out when you weren’t allowed to bring Mr. BunBun to school with you.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and hurled it at him. “You’re such a dick!” you laughed. “I’m very upset!”

He batted the pillow back at you and cackled when it hit you in the chest. “He deserves to know the kind of person he’s marrying. The kind who throws a five-alarm tantrum when she’s separated from her stuffed bunny.”

“I was eight, asshole!” You laughed again but then your brain caught on something Steve had said. “Holy shit, he’s marrying me. I’m getting married. I don’t know anything about him. He could be anyone. You don’t even like him! He could hurt me and–”

“Hey, no!” Steve interrupted quickly. “I might not know much, but I know that. He won’t do that. I’m sure of it. And if he ever even tried, I’d be there so fast. They’d never find his body.”

“Will he be kind to me?” you asked quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him. “Be honest with me. Please.”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” you said, trying so hard not to cry, “I guess at least now we know exactly how your dad feels about me.”

Steve closed his eyes and quietly said your name. When he opened them, there was a resolved look on his face that was painfully familiar. His ‘I’m going to fix this’ face. He was intractable when he got like this. He set his jaw. “I’m going to talk to Dad.”

You shook your head. “Steve.” Your stepfather was just as intractable as his son. This would only result in a shouting match that wouldn’t go anywhere.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said resolutely.

All you could do was say “OK,” with a wan smile, knowing it was a lie. You lay down on the couch and curled up on your side. “Do you mind if I stay here for a bit?”

“Of course not. Lola good on her own for a while?”

You nodded. Your little dog was probably asleep in her kennel. “Yeah, for a while.”

“Do you mind if I keep working on this?” he asked, gesturing to his painting.

“I like watching you paint,” you said, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of something you’d done since you were small.

He stood up and turned back to his easel, and you did your best to focus on watching him paint and not think about how, if this went through, you’d have to move to Boston and you wouldn’t get to have this time with your brother anymore.

As expected, Steve’s talk with Joseph yielded no results when it came to your future. The only thing it seemed to have any effect on was their own relationship, Steve announcing to you that he was no longer speaking to his father the next time you saw him. You hadn’t expected anything else.

For your part, you spent the next week vacillating between going overboard preparing for your first meeting with Ransom—pouring over your folder on him, making salon appointments, shopping for a dress that would make the right impression—and pretending your problems didn’t exist. As such, the day of the dinner still snuck up on you. You were a nervous wreck.

The plan was for him to pick you up at your apartment, but an hour before he was supposed to arrive, you got a text from an unfamiliar number telling you to meet him at the restaurant instead.

So now you sat at the table, alone, in a new dress with your hair done. You’d arrived ten minutes early, and he was now 20 minutes late. You took a deep breath, staring at the empty seat across from you. He would show up. He had to.

Another ten minutes passed and, as you waived off the server for a third time, you let yourself consider what it would mean if your future husband had stood you up. You should go. It’d be pathetic to stay. And even if he did show up after you’d gone, it’d make a point. Show you had a backbone. You should definitely go.

Just as your hand began to inch toward your handbag on the table, the hostess came through, leading a tall, handsome man to your table. She stopped beside you and then ducked away. The man looked at you critically. He said your name like a question and, when you nodded, he sat down. He didn’t introduce himself, but he could only be Ransom.

He was dressed nicely in an expensive sweater and slacks, but much more casually than you were and looking around the restaurant than most of the other people there, too. And when he sat down, you could see the places in his sweater where it was threadbare or torn. You tried very hard to not take it as a sign of how he felt about this dinner, felt about you.

You cleared your throat to say something, you weren’t entirely sure what when he glanced at your glass of water. “You don’t drink?”

“No, I do,” you said, but when he smirked you realized how that sounded. “I can,” you amended, but that sounded odd too. “I mean, I don’t have anything against it. I was just waiting for you.”

He snorted. “Well, aren’t you polite?” His tone made it feel like the worst thing you could possibly be. He flagged down the server and ordered a glass of the Macallan 18, then huffed impatiently while you asked questions about their wine selection. You didn’t know how he could be half an hour late and make you feel bad for taking your time ordering.

Once you’d finally made your choice and the server left, you tried not to squirm as he gave you a once-over with his eyes. You felt disappointing without really knowing why. You tried to shrug off the feeling, but then Ransom said, “How old even are you?” with scorn in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Twenty-four,” you tried to say with confidence.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You did your best not to shrink in on yourself. Maybe he was just nervous too. It was a weird situation. But, “Didn’t they tell you about me?”

He snorted again and rolled his eyes. “Gave me a whole binder. I never opened it.”

You looked down at your empty place setting, embarrassed. You’d studied every inch of what they’d given you, hoping to show him how seriously you were taking this and he couldn’t care less. “Oh,” was all you were able to say.

He grinned a little meanly. “You got one too, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve memorized facts about me that you were ready to rattle off to impress me.”

“No,” you growled out. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small just for trying to show interest in the person you were going to have to spend the rest of your life with.

He swiped one hand over his mouth and chin. “My god,” he muttered, “this whole thing is fucking ridiculous.”

The waitress came back and set down your drinks. Ransom immediately took a large gulp of his scotch. You itched to do the same, but you suddenly felt like proving a point. Even if you weren’t entirely sure what that point was.

You were ready to order, but Ransom hadn’t glanced at his menu yet. Just as you were about to ask for a few more minutes, he said, “Go ahead and bring me another one of these right away,” and gestured with his drink in dismissal. She nodded and left.

Fuck it, you let yourself take a large drink of your wine. “Do you know what you’re going to have?” you asked, nodding to his menu.

He shook his head. “I have dinner plans after this.”

Heat shot through your whole body. “I thought these were the dinner plans.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Getting a head start on the nagging?” he asked, dryly. “Wow, it’s like we’re already married.”

You opened your mouth to do something, you weren’t sure what. Everything in your mind had gone white. But once again, Ransom beat you to it. “Alright, let’s get this done. You’re moving into my house. Fine. But I already have everything we need, so I expect you to pack light. I don’t need your shit cluttering up everything.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know how to have a conversation with him. Someone who left no room for you and seemed not to care at all about anything you had to say. And then there was the voice in your head that kept shouting about how incredibly important this dinner was to the rest of your life. And now it wasn’t even dinner. So when you opened your mouth to speak, what came out was, “I have a dog.”

He stared at you for a moment, seemingly surprised that you’d spoken at all. “What? No. Absolutely not. You’ll have to get rid of it. I hate dogs.”

You didn’t even bother to try to think through the static in your head. “She’s coming with me. I don’t care what else happens, I’m fucking bringing my dog.”

Ransom just narrowed his eyes and stared at you for a moment, then, “Fine. Just keep it away from me. And if it destroys my house, you’re getting rid of it. I’m serious.”

“She won’t,” you said, as sure of that as anything. “She’s a good girl.”

“Whatever,” he said, as the server returned with his second drink. He slid his empty glass to the end of the table, then said, “The bill,” without looking at her. As she took his empty away, he continued to you, “I don’t know why you want to deal with a dog and a baby, but…” he shrugged.

You just blinked at him, trying to catch up with the massive leap he’d just taken. “Baby? What? Who said anything about a baby?”

He laughed, loudly. “Oh my god, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” you asked, harshly, panic starting to build up in your chest.

“Of course, they fucking left that to me. There’s a clause in the contract,” he said, “requiring you to get pregnant with my child within the first year.”

You stared over his shoulder, you couldn't look him in the eye, horrified and speechless. You couldn’t breathe. How were you supposed to breathe?

“You seriously didn’t read your own marriage contract?” The judgment in his tone had you shrinking in on yourself. You couldn’t help it.

“They didn’t give me any time,” you said, quietly. “They just made me sign it.”

“And you always do what you’re told, don’t you? Yeah, you look like a good girl.” He said it the same way he’d called you polite when he’d first sat down with you. Like it made you weak. Stupid. You’d never thought so before, but now you wondered if he was right.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He chuckled humorlessly. “We agree on that,” he said. “This whole thing is fucked.”

At some point, without your notice, the server had returned with Ransom’s card and the receipt. He signed it quickly, then stood up. “Listen, now, at least, we can go back to our parents, tell them we met, chatted, got to know each other. Everything is hunky dory. And then do whatever we want for the next three weeks. Right now, I’m going to try to salvage my night. You go do,” he gestured vaguely at you, “whatever you need to do. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

And then he was gone and you were alone.

You sat in the back seat of the car on the way back to your apartment, running over every moment of your evening. You kept thinking about the way he’d looked at you, talked to you. A baby. You were supposed to have a baby with him. A child that you’d have to raise. By yourself, judging by how invested in all this he seemed to be. Forty, fifty years of him looking at you like that, talking to you like that. And a baby. You leaned forward and asked the driver to take you to your parents’ house instead.

Once you arrived, you said you needed to speak to your stepfather urgently and were shown to his study. You stood in the middle of the room, too anxious to sit down, and waited. Everyone was making you wait tonight.

Several minutes later, Joseph finally came in. “We weren’t expecting you tonight,” he said. “How did it go?”

You ignored his question, which you guessed was an answer in itself. “Please don’t make me do this,” you pleaded.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, disappointed, and moved over to his bar, pouring himself two fingers of decanted whiskey. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. It was awful. He’s– I can’t do this. Please, please don’t make me.” Your voice broke, but you couldn’t be embarrassed about it, not when you were staring down an entire lifetime with him.

“Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. You’ll be fine. This is important. To all of us.”

“It’s not nerves!” You were close to shouting, suddenly. “You weren’t there. You don’t know. There have to be other families we need things from. It doesn’t have to be this family, does it? It doesn’t have to be right now. Please, please, anything else. I’m begging you, don’t make me marry him, have a child with him.”

He chuckled lightly. “Oh, that’s what this is about. It won’t feel as scary once the baby is here. You’ll make an excellent mother.”

You just stared at him, agape. He wasn’t listening to anything you had to say. “How could you not tell me that was part of the contract? I deserved to know. I wouldn’t have signed!”

His face hardened at that. “You were naive to not expect it. Of course, children are part of this. I admit that the timing is a little fast, but Harlan insisted.”

“Joseph, please listen to me. I can’t. I can’t. Please. If you care about me at all, you won’t make me do this.”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s done. Everything’s signed. You signed. Now,” he said and took a drink, “it’s getting late. It’s high time you went home. Hopefully, you’ll be able to calm yourself down there.” And then he left the room, ignoring you as your whole world fell apart.

As you left, you passed your mother in the hall. Neither of you said anything.

When you got home, Steve was waiting for you, having already let himself in, holding Lola in one arm. “How did it go?” he asked seriously. You shook your head and finally let the tears fall. He pulled you into his arms, smushing you against your dog, and gently guided you into your home.

Part Two

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18

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#ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans fanfiction #fanfic #steve rogers #knives out #captain america #reader insert #arranged marriage au #kris wrote something #more than this #ce characters

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briarcrawford · 8 months

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Is This How You Write Romance?

I have never written a romance; not even once. That does not mean there is anything wrong with romance stories, just that I typically am drawn to writing stories that focus on other aspects. Now, that might sound like I am being a snob, but what I really mean is that I am a simple soul; I crave action scenes. Media that is majority romance just tends to bore me.

I do want to improve as a writer, though, and that does include writing romance(as a sub-plot). It is something most people expect in stories, and, if I am honest, a part of the reason I continue to avoid it is that I have no experience writing it. So, to help me get started, I have been doing what I do best: researching.

I have been (halfheartedly, with my phone in hand) watching the odd romance movie when my mom has them on(those ultra cheesy Hallmark ones), and it seems like most romances can break down into a simple formula.

The formula is:

1. The Meet-Cute

After the viewers have had a look into the life of the main character, the meet-cute happens. This scene is most likely funny or overly dramatic.

“In film and television, a meet cute is a scene in which the two people who will form a future romantic couple meet for the first time, typically under unusual, humorous, or cute circumstances. This type of scene is a staple of romantic comedies, though it can also occur in sitcoms and even soap operas.” Wikipedia

2. Building a Connection

Scenes that gradually bring them closer; typically do to coincidences or circumstances that force them to keep meeting. These scenes are when your readers will decide if they have chemistry or not.

3. Turning to Feelings

They continue having scenes together, and show signs of mutual interest. These scenes are when readers decide if they would make a healthy couple, and romance fans start looking forward to what could happen.

4. Feelings Confirmed

Something happens (such as a rescue, or a near kiss) that makes them realize or suspect that the feelings are mutual.

5. The Test

Their relationship is tested, and they realize how much they need each other. This is normally when one side runs off, and the other chases.

Without some sort of conflict and character building, the romance may come off feeling like filler content or fan service.

6. End

All is resolved, and they are together now.

Obvious, right? Well, the trick is to weave these into your main plot without them standing out too much.

Once you know what readers want in romance, the tricky part starts.

1. Confirm your genre.

What scenes are most important to you? If it is the romance scenes, you may want to rethink how you classify your genre. For example, there is a difference between writing a fantasy with a romance subplot, and a romance with a fantasy subplot. Deciding if you need to shift your main focus will change how much of each content makes up the percentage of your book.

2. Decide Your Goals.

What are your goals for the relationship? Sometimes, the plot points above stretch through just one book, while other times it can stretch for a whole series. If your goal is to have them get together in one book, know that you will have to deal with continuing that romance throughout the rest of the series(and adding in enough drama to keep it worth the subplot time).

3. They Should Amplify Your Main Plot.

If you have your characters become a couple in the middle of your main-plot’s climax, you risk ruining what tension you have built. Some writers do fight this and go with it anyway, though that is often because one of the love interests is almost guaranteed to die in the next scene.

Instead, consider having the relationship build at the same speed of the main plot. This is why end-of-series kisses are so popular to write.

Another popular option is to have them get together early on, but separated. That way, the hero is fighting not only to survive, but also to get back to their love.

This is, of course, all written by someone learning, so if any of you have any tips for writing romance, please let me know! I am not planning on watching any more of those movies(sorry, mom haha), so I will take all the help I can get.

#writing #writing help #writing advice #writing tips #romance #writing romance

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comfys · 8 months

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fave cc creators.. with notes!

this is a list of my frequently used cc creators and some of my thoughts on them. this list will be updated sporadically.

build/buy

felixandre + harrie (house of harlix) - best maxis match build creators hands down. well made, consistent, always versatile. changed the sims 4 cc game in my opinion. could write a book about why they're great.

pierisim - also extremely consistent, really well thought out sets that are essential to me.

the clutter cat - super cute items that will make your build complete. continuously improving in quality.

syboulette - extremely versatile. has build items that i use across all categories, does both alpha and mm.

peacemaker - og creator. great sets in many different styles. quality of items still improving after years in the game.

myshunosun - really cute mm stuff. always free

awingedllama - nice, down to earth sets

sixam - versatile, very cute, well made mm items across design styles.

charly pancakes - cute and dependable mm

tuds - super classy items that will elevate your build

rustic sims - unique and bold style mm items that will stand out

aira - adorable clutter stuff. really cute for kids

max20 - good stuff that blends very well with maxis

kkb - very underrated. maxis match and really useful

pinkbox-anye (aka plushpixels for mm content) - the best alpha build buy creator in my opinion. really classy and useful items

aggressivekitty - amazingly detailed items. creates large sets will tons of clutter items

novvvas - good alpha stuff

cowbuild - alpha creator

leosims - really cute items in lots of different styles

little dica - i only have few items from them because they're not really my style. but you should check them out for appliances

around the sims 4 - really useful clutter items that will bring your build to life

s-imagination - good quality mm sets

lory sims - alpha car cc

lilli's palace - traditional/historical european build items

ledger atelier/modern sims - nice alpha furniture

platinum luxe sims - luxe decor

wondymoon - alpha-ish build stuff. usually modern style

hel-studio (1, 2) - great alpha content. *warning: they are retired therefore there is a small risk their cc could break and they may not be able to fix it. i have no issues though*

clothing/cas

rimings - well made alpha clothing mostly for female sims

belaoallure - trendy, sexy alpha clothing for female sims

babyetears - cute

serenity - well made maxis match

gorilla x3 - great for male sims. well made alpha style

sentate - well made pieces for female sims

kk's creation - great for men's clothes. alpha style but looks sorta mm

joan campbell beauty - nice clothes for female sims

greenllamas - cute and fun clothes and hairs, mm

caio - good mm

woosteru - really cute mm clothes for male sims

rusty's - really nice well made mm clothes

elliesimple - classy and trendy. alpha

charlonlee - ultra hip and trendy. alpha

jius - great shoes for both genders and all ages

madlen - nice mm clothing and shoes

backtrack - fun female clothes, alpha

christopher067 - great accesories

darte77 - high quality alpha men's clothes

aretha - cute mm items geared toward younger female sims

b0t0xbrat - alpha clothes for young female sims

tommeraas - really cute stuff for infant-child sims

sifix - classy alpha clothes

simpliciaty - maxis mixy clothes, high quality alpha hairs

hair

daylife sims - elevated maxis match. bold styles

simstrouble - maxis match but detailed and high quality

dogsill - cute female hairs

shea buttyr - necessarry for black hair

imvikai - great quality mm female hairs

gegesims - really cute styles for black hair

johnnysims - great hair for guys

aharris00britney - good mm hair for female sims

simcelebrity - great mm hair for female sims

qicc - great for curly and textured hair

sleepingsims - really cute black hairstyles

aladdin the simmer - cute and detailed mm hair

khadijah551 - nice afro textured styles

ceeproductions - good quality mm hair, textured styles

ebonix - gorgeous alpha hairs for black sims

okruee - cute distinct hairs

genetics, etc.

luumia - creator of height slider and other sliders, male body hair, vanilla skin default

kijiko - creator of EA eyelash remover + 3d eyelashes

nesurii - great mm skin overlays/genetics

mclaynesims - Great tattoos for male sims!

northernsiberiawinds - both alpha and mm skin overlays and other details. very well made

twistedcat - gorgeous skin overlays and cute makeup

obscurus - great for all kinds of overlays and genetics

golyhawhaw - great body presets, skins, and other genetic items for male sims

praline sims - great for makeup, beards, accessories and more

#simblr #sims 4 #ts4 #ts4cc #s4 cc #simblog #sims4 #the sims 4 #ts4 cc #ts4 custom content #sims 4 alpha #sims 4 maxis match #sims 4 mods #sims 4 maxis cc #sims 4 mm #ts4 cas #showusyoursims #showusyourbuilds

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ronearoundblindly · 3 months

Text

Hideout (1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Puppy, (see premise post or series)

Summary: An ultra-shy man named Grant arrives with various friends to your family-owned motel. He opens up slowly over the months...and grows a fantastic beard. 🤭

While this part has no mature situations, this series will be 18+ only. MINORS DNI. This is mostly pure setup for the smut in every future chapter. Your media consumption is your responsibility; please choose for yourself if these matters trigger you. If so, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this work is not it! WC ~2k

He first arrives with only his friend—two fit fellas, one white, one black. They pay in cash, share a double room. The most information you get is Tom Smith, the more open of the two, joking that you’ll have to excuse Grant’s shyness.

Grant doesn’t seem to respond to his own name.

He’s a beefy blond, and your impression is the man doesn’t need to have a lot going on up top to get by in life. You do try not to judge, though. Your job is more about keen observation and recognizing the needs of your guests.

These two guests need privacy. They aren’t unfriendly, but they are not chatty. They go as quickly as they came. One night. The room is slept in, but they were clean enough.

The next time they show up they need three rooms, but you only have two available. Tom and Grant bunk up again, and a couple are with them who do not come into the office. The woman has beautiful auburn hair that she covers with a ball cap, and her very tall beau—whose hand she holds—shields himself in far more clothing than necessary this time of year.

They all sleep (you assume) during the day and only socialize at night when the other guests aren’t around.

Not that the party is loud; they simply seem more at ease when it’s harder to see. They stay three or four days, leaving rather suddenly early one night after paying for the time already.

Sporadically, this continues.

Once it’s only the couple. She is very reserved and he is very awkward, but again nice enough. They stay for nearly two weeks, enjoying hikes in the area, always holding hands. The woman relaxes significantly. It’s quite lovely to see.

Mister and Misses Durham, you know them as. They don’t always respond by name either.

Another visit makes five guests with the addition of a beautiful young woman. Her hair is cropped and bleach blond, and she is by far the most at ease.

It’s this visit that you realize they are just staying in their rooms during the day not sleeping, and you find the karaoke machine to take to Tom’s room.

He’s thrilled, thank goodness, because you don’t normally offer up activities to those who don’t ask about them, but Tom bangs on the doors of the other two (you think) couples so they can join him.

You’re about to leave when he asks you to do a duet with him.

Grant throws out that Tom enjoys Marvin Gaye. It’s the most you’ve heard him say, ever.

“I do,” Tom agrees, “but I don’t mess with the master.”

So you have the idea to sing Marvin Gaye—the song—with Tom as Charlie Puth and you as Meghan Trainor.

It’s quite a lot of fun, belting as best you can, finding Grant’s intense gaze on you for the lyrics: I’m like a stray without a home… I’m like a dog without a bone…

Just as quickly, however, you have to go back to the front desk. Duty calls and all.

You make sure they know the machine is all theirs for as long as they want. Their rooms are too far down the line of the building to hear if they do enjoy it for long, but you get no complaints about noise. You hope for the best.

Later that night, Grant comes by the office, carrying the machine with a smirk on his face and the most genuine appreciation on his lips. He has a lovely deep voice you never knew about.

He just talks to you.

It’s all superficial conversation about the area, the weather, what activities you like on your days off, but even that seems a struggle for him.

Tom was not kidding. His friend is extremely shy. He has trouble thinking up casual questions. He can’t look you in the eye until responding, and he doesn’t give more than a few words in answer to anything.

You laugh--you have to—when Grant asks if he can walk you to your door, which…is ludicrous because you live in the house a whopping fifty meters past the main motel. Your family has owned and run this place for three generations. You’ve walked that path your whole life.

“I like walking,” he shrugs, though from the sheer muscles on him, he does way more than just walk. “I was gonna do a lap or two anyway.”

“Well, I have to wait for Clark to show up, but—“ you look him up and down “—okay.”

Grant is so sweet but so stiff. He holds himself with purpose when actively thinking, but you catch him having these distant moments. He withers like a violet, a shell that’s too small for his big body. He seems lost and lonely.

You’re glad to do whatever keeps him company. Your goal for the night is to make Grant smile as much as humanly possible, but that’s difficult when he won’t let you know anything about him.

Twenty minutes later, Clark, a local stoner kid who hardly looks up from his phone, waltzes in, stepping around Grant like a wall that’s always been there and throwing a “hey, man” out with zero regard for a response. Classic Clark. That’s why he’s on night shifts.

So you grab your bag and let Grant hold the door open for you.

Maybe you’ve been watching the Durhams too much when they come around, but you feel a compulsion to hold his hand. You don’t, obviously, because you only just heard this guy speak for the first time today. It would also be incredibly awkward to hold Grant’s hand in the dead silence that follows on your way up the gravel path.

You’re so consumed by figuring out what to say next that you don’t notice till the beast is right there.

An elk walks right in front of you, taller than Grant. From this angle the animal blocks the entire view of your house it’s so big, and you jump back, slamming into your startled escort’s chest.

You both freeze as it moves slowly at a diagonal to the other side of woods, bringing it and its gigantic horns closer still.

It squawks like some sort of awful banshee and stamps huge hoofs. You throw your weight backward and spin to flee, clambering over Grant’s body.

Why you’re so scared, who knows; you should be used to the wildlife, but no creature has ever done this before.

The most shocking thing, however, is how strongly Grant tries to hold you immobile.

The harsh grip on your waist and the way he hisses through his teeth for you to stop should be your hint, but instead you cling to him harder, asking quietly if the animal is gone.

“Uh…” Grant tenses against you. “It’s…it’s just—“ he shudders when you wriggle “—yes, gone,” he bites out, pushing you away by the hips.

He takes a second to breathe, buries his hands in his pockets, and leans forward, gathering himself.

It was scary. That could have turned nasty very quickly. You were lucky Grant was there and calm…except he was sorta the reason you were distracted in the first place.

Finally composed, he sighs and motions forward. “Let’s get you home.”

Two months later, Grant’s initial five o’clock shadow has come in nicely.

You’ve learned the routine of their check-in. There’s only one room available, unfortunately, but if they stay more than two days, there should be another open.

Tom shrugs and offers a playful, “we’ll see. We go where the wind takes us.” He smooths his palm over a fresh fade at his nape and the sharp angles of his goatee.

“And you, I see, have stopped in for a cut with Terrence in town. He loves the three slices like that.” That's how the barber marks his work. Terrence's shop is very popular.

“It’s a good signature. Wish I could'a convinced this big lug to get a trim.” Tom elbows his friend who stares at his feet.

Grant runs his fingers through his golden locks and swallows. “Yeah, well, maybe next time.”

Without realizing what you’re doing, you stand on the rungs of your stool behind the counter and reach for his lusciously full beard.

“Don’t you dare get rid of this,” you chide, fingertips grazing the skin of his cheek beneath the course yet soft hairs.

You should apologize. You should let go and sit back down. You should professionally hand them their key and be done with it, but instead, you linger, watching his blue eyes darken with a primal devastation.

He’s prey caught in a cage.

You release Grant’s face with an awkward laugh and a shake of your head.

Tom makes his own, very knowing face, and winks.

“You should do that more. Touch him. He could use it.”

Grant clears his throat harshly and blushes, mumbling something about which room number you said they had and that he’ll bring the other bags from the car. He leaves. Tom takes the keys with another wink and a sassy tap on the hardwood.

“Thank ya, ma’am. We appreciate it.”

It’s about twenty minutes later when your pen rolls off the edge of the counter, you find a small duffle left where Grant stood.

“He was joking. It was a joke,” Grant blurts when he finds you standing there to give it back.

You just smile and say Tom isn’t wrong.

“So, if you ever just want a hug…” you mutter, taking a chance to scratch at his bearded chin again. “Not like you’re gonna hurt me.”

He looks back inside, as if seeking permission or checking to make sure his friend is still in the bathroom, singing in the shower.

Grant can’t seem to meet you halfway, but he does inch forward, struggling to word a simple ‘yes.’

The tentative embrace starts with only the top of his chest touching you, bent so his butt is out, no pressure on his hands at your shoulders, so you push a little more and a little more. You get close enough he needs to wrap his arms around you instead. He has to stand straight so his chin doesn’t poke your forehead. He whimpers slightly when your own arms encircle his tiny waist.

A few breaths later, he relaxes into a lovely full-body hug, his rough fingertips on your bare skin where your shirt bunched up. You’re both being human, no more, no less, tangled in simple comfort.

Grant tucks his face into your collarbone suddenly and squeezes, not so hard that it hurts but not gently either. The move tickles you with his beard, your hands pawing up his back as you giggle, and he whines like wounded prey.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you soothe. “I can be here, if you want, to hold. It’s okay.”

That has the opposite effect you intended, knocking him out of some soft reverie and launching him back a foot, a necessary but unwelcome distance.

Grant looks guilty, needy, and resigned as he thanks you for returning the bag and sees you out the door.

dividers by cafekitsune and firefly-graphics

A/N: This will be the shortest (probably) of all the parts, and yeah, we get into some smuttier moments pretty quickly... Stay tuned!

[Next Part: Sweet Baby]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #nomad steve #nomad steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #touchstarved #touch-starved!steve #hideout series

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whoopsyeahokay · 2 months

Text

October Sun

summary: Wally might've been preoccupied with Field Day but that hadn't meant he didn't plan on getting answers. Thankfully, the universe was on his side because there you were, right where he wanted you.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence.

as promised, here's PART SIX, no wait necessary! 🫶😅

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.6

Wally grinned from ear to ear, eager for Maddie to accept the gesture Mr. Martin offered in the length and shape of a golf club. He'd spent a great deal of the morning figuring out how to coax Maddie to join in their shenanigans, proud Field Day enthusiast that he was, and was pleased as punch that she seemed to be getting into it.

He'd been there, filled with pent-up aggression and bitterness, and grief for a life that had been snatched away from him before he'd understood what it meant to live.

Contrary to what Maddie thought of him, Wally hadn't always been an upbeat, ultra-positive member of the afterlife. In fact, he'd wallowed a whole decade away, trudging the tiers of the stadium seats, seeking answers or forgiveness or enlightenment; something that would help put his world back to rights.

It never happened. He'd simply moved on. Matured, maybe. Ajay and Bernie—the autoshop pancake and bus stop tragedy, respectively—had encouraged him to open himself up to Mr. Martin's brand of therapy, and then, slowly, he'd started to relax into his place in the metaphysical world.

He hoped he could be there for Maddie the way they'd been there for him.

Which is why he hadn't made an excuse to slip away and find you. Oh, he'd tried to catch you at your locker before your first class, waited for twenty minutes after the bell had rung, but you hadn't shown up. So, he'd gone to Group in a funk that had lingered until Mr. Martin had announced his decision to proceed with Field Day.

Yet, as joyful as Wally had been to partake, something inside him had ached. The strong, honeymelt tug of the connection between you extended outward from his chest as if reaching for you through the ether. Demanded he ignore everything in the interest of finding you, took your head in his hands and made you look him in the eye—he longed so badly for you to see him.

The feeling hadn't subsided. Rather, it had burrowed deeper into his brain and challenged his thoughts, the feeling like he had somewhere he needed to be but couldn't recall the address. And it only seemed to worsen the further away he got from the main school building.

The sound of exploding glass forced Wally back to the present. Maddie swung the golf club again, shattering another window, which Wally applauded with exuberance and congratulated Maddie on another impressive attack.

"Told you you're a natural!" Wally encouraged, beaming a supernova smile that Maddie couldn't resist returning.

Charley hummed thoughtfully from his perch on the picnic table behind them and slanted a conspiratorial grin at Wally, "A real natural." He commented, "Totally sane."

"The sanest." Wally agreed and turned back to watch Maddie as she trudged around the corner of the equipment shed, gearing up to unleash her violence on the vending machines.

And then, like lightning on the breeze, Wally sensed it. You. Static down his spine, heartbeat ratcheting up, cinnamon spice on his tongue. Automatically, his gaze shifted from Maddie to a figure in the distance, clad exclusively in black, head down, features obscured by the shadow of a hood.

Wally sucked in a deep breath as subtly as he could, tasting the crispness on the air and dull notes of burnt vanilla. He could hear every step you took, the rustle of fabric as you fished your phone from your back pocket. He felt your desperation as if it was his own, how you needed to find someone right fucking now, where had he gone?

Glass erupted, sprayed the ground at Maddie's feet, crunched under her boots as she moved onto the final vending machine. Wally wasn't going to waste an opportunity when it presented itself perfectly.

"Ooh-hoh! Yes! That was—" He smacked a kiss to his fingertips, "—beautiful!" He turned to Charley, praying he wasn't demonstrating too much gusto that it raised questions. "I'm going to find more shit for us to break. Best Field Day ever!"

He took off, sprinting up the slight hill and onto the path that circled the field. Once he felt he was a safe enough distance away, he twirled on his heel to check that Charley and Maddie weren't watching. Maddie had joined Charley at the table, both now engrossed in a conversation, paying no mind to Wally.

Good.

He didn't need to seek you out, his gaze finding you easily as you marched across the grass toward the front of the school, staring at your phone like it held the secrets of the universe. Maybe it did, Wally had no idea, too intimidated to try using one of those things.

"Hey." He called once he was close enough, trailing you as you made your way into the parking lot. That feeling that had been with him all day intensified as the proximity between you lessened, white-hot and smoldering beneath his flesh.

Although you didn't answer, your back stiffened, almost imperceptible if Wally hadn't been paying such close attention, and your stride shortened marginally.

"I missed you." He confessed, breathing heavy from exertion, "Didn't see you this morning. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to avoid me." He glanced at you cheekily, settling into step beside you.

You ignored him, focus fixed on your phone, though the screen was blank.

"I had things to do, anyway." Wally said, shrugging it off. "You know how it is; a lot to keep a guy busy in the afterlife."

He noticed you'd changed direction, leading you both out of the parking lot and onto the walkway that looped around to the side of the school where the bus stop stood. Part of him buzzed at the thought that you'd done it on purpose. To avoid crossing the invisible barrier that would catapult Wally straight to the 5-yard line.

Wally licked his lips, leaned into your space so his arm pressed against yours as you walked. Pinkies brushed, skin on skin, sparking electricity up his arm that burst in his chest.

He pressed on despite your resilience, "It's Field Day today. Or, Destroy the Field Day, really." He snickered at his own joke, figured he'd do it for you. "It's fun. You should try it sometime. You know, when you stop pretending you can't see me." He spun around to walk backwards, preferred to see your face even if you refused to look at him. "I could show you the ropes like I did for Maddie—"

Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks, chin lifting, eyes spiking up from your phone as you pulled down your hood in one motion. Wally froze. His pulse hammered a chorus in his ears—boom clap, boom clap—wind knocked from his lungs as slowly, so so slowly, your eyes glided to meet his.

The intensity in them pinned Wally in place. Time receded. The noise of afternoon activity dimmed. You saw. him. This was more than acknowledgment, this was proof. Proof that he took up space in your world as you did in his. He was witnessed, real, a l i v e.

Wally uttered so quietly, terrified to break the spell that bore you both in its palms, a soft and reverent, "Hello..," the weight of it catching in his throat.

As if fighting against yourself, you brought your phone to your ear in small, measured increments, gaze unwavering. Wally was enraptured by the marbling colors in its depths and couldn't help but wonder if your eyes did that whenever you peeked through the veil, or if it was a reaction unique to him.

And then that didn't matter because, for the first time, unmistakably and with intention, you spoke to him.

"What did you just say?"

💀___________________________

PART FIVE - PART SEVEN

note: i'm gonna do my best to get the next part up in a timely manner, but please bear with! thank you again, my dudes, for sticking with what is becoming a behemoth of a story 💀 i probably should've mentioned that it's a very involved, very dense plot, huh? 🙃

if you'd like to be kept up-to-date, please join the tag list!

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #October Sun

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tossawary · 9 months

Text

I really can't remember everything from the 1986 movie or G1 S3, but... I don't really remember Rodimus talking much about his life prior to becoming the Prime. If we're taking lore SOLELY from the show and movie, given how often G1 just had the Autobots or Decepticons just Build New Guys, I don't think it's too unreasonable for some casual (or forgetful, idk) fan to assume that Hot Rod was built on Earth in the time skip period between S2 and the movie. You could totally do an AU interpretation where Rodimus and Daniel are the same age or close to it.

Some Autobot back on Cybertron: "When was this new Prime constructed? I don't recall meeting him before."

Rodimus: "I'm ten."

Some Autobot: "Ten what? Ten million? You wear your years extremely well, then. You can't possibly be only ten thousand, that's much too young for a Prime-"

Rodimus: "Just ten years old, buddy."

Some Autobot: "..."

Rodimus: "And trust me, every single one of them has sucked ass enough for a million. Are we doing these super important galactic politics today or what?"

Some Autobot: "I have energon stones in my filtration tanks that are older than you."

Rodimus: "Yeah, and I have to go beat the shit out of some Quintessons with my bare hands later, AND I still need to squeeze my daily crisis of depression, guilt, and self-loathing in somewhere because Ultra Magnus says I'm not allowed to put it on the official schedule anymore. Are we having this meeting or not? I'm a busy guy."

#tossawary transformers #tf g1 #rodimus prime #daniel witwicky #ultra magnus #fic ideas #child emperor rodimus au

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urbancripple · 10 months

Text

To able‐bodied people, wheelchair users have a certain mystique. They’re constantly asking us about how our bodies do or don’t work, whether we can have sex, why we haven't just killed ourselves yet. But despite their intrusive questioning, there is one area that ableds seem to be absolutely certain about: the existence of ultra‐convenient readily‐available accessibility modifications and mobility aids.

As wheelchair users, how many times have we been told to “put some chains on that thing!” As we struggle through the snow? How often is it suggested that we get a hand‐bike so that we can cycle to work like our coworkers? If I had a nickel for every time someone suggested I attach some tried‐and‐true motor to my chair, I’d have enough money to pay someone to invent it.

People are constantly sending me links to articles and videos to supposed life‐changing mobility aids that can climb stairs or move over rough terrain. They tell me that things can’t be that difficult with a constant stream of new, convenient doo‐dads being put out in the world. Hell, when discussing how difficult it is to find a single‐story home in Seattle (existing or custom), the suggestion was made that I simply build a multi‐story home but also put an elevator in.

Here’s the thing though: has anyone, wheelchair‐user or otherwise, actually seen any of these so‐called solutions in person? The stair‐climbing wheelchair? The magical snow tires? The super fast motor? I haven’t. As for the elevators and hand bikes, I can count the number I’ve seen on one hand and I’d need way more fingers and toes to show you the price tag.

Despite their near non‐existence or insurmountable financial cost, people keep telling me I just need to “get me one of those…” and continue to cast my existence and the problems that come with it in a mythical light.

An elevator for your house starts at around six‐thousand dollars. If you want one that doesn’t look like the rickety stair‐lift at your local Eagle’s Club, it’ll cost you upwards of sixty‐thousand.

The price of an average, entry‐level bike is four‐hundred bucks. If you want an accessible hand bike, you’re going to start around a grand.

Custom wheelchair tires can vary anywhere from two to five thousand, often times costing more than the chair they’re attached to.

That stair climbing chair? Eleven grand. Want something that’s a little more “every day”? That’ll cost you seventeen grand. Just need a motor for your day chair? Six grand and it weighs fifteen pounds.

Now, some folks might be thinking “sure, it’s expensive now, but the price will come down as technology improves and more people buy these devices”. But with an employment rate of roughly 7 percent (before COVID) and rules governing the amount of money disabled people on SSI can have in the bank (no more than two-thousand dollars), most wheelchair users can’t even save up to buy one of these devices. And no, insurance won’t cover any it.

A lack of accessibility is not something we can just “tech” our way out of and disabled people should not expected to purchase access to a world that everyone else gets for free. Talking about mobility aids you’ve never used or seen when someone is trying to explain to you the barriers they face in their day to day life due to a lack of accessibility isn’t helpful, it’s dismissive. Quit doing it.

#disability

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outsideratheart · 10 months

Text

Under Pressure (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: Chapter 5 of The Legacy Series. I apologise in advance, it can’t all be sunshine and rainbows.

The biggest thing you feared was that you wouldn’t be able to feel at home in Barcelona but it turns out you had nothing to worry out. After the WICC cup there was two weeks of preseason training and after a day or two you had figured out how to play for the team. Sometimes you would watch from the sidelines during certain plays then go out onto the field and play them like you had been at the club your whole life. It’s safe to say you had settled in well.

When the first game of the season came, you were calm and ready to play as many minutes as Lluis would allow. Alexia had insisted that she picked you up so you two could go over any concerns you had. The woman had been your saving grace since moving to Barcelona. She could pick up when you were starting to get in your own head and managed to pull you out before you went too deep. She understood you as if she had known you your whole life when in reality it had been just over a 8 weeks since you first official meeting.

You had gotten to the ground a little bit earlier than everyone else; the team and fans included. You followed Alexia as you walked through the building but are confused when she walks straight passed the locker room.

“Let’s go the pitch” she suggests.

Now it wasn’t your first time being on this pitch as the team trained here a couple of times but today was different, today you would make your debut for Barcelona.

Alexia let you have your moment as you walked to the centre circle of the pitch. The energy was different today and it was the type you, as a football player, lived for. You take a few minutes to yourself before hearing Alexia calling your name.

“Time to get ready”

This time she does lead you into the changing rooms and you can see most of the team have arrived. All eyes are on you but you don’t think anything of it, that is until you see your locker. There hanging in the middle of your cubby was your shirt but what came as a shock is the number that was below your name. 14.

“Aitana” you turn you face her “I can’t accept this. I told you I wouldn’t come in here and take your number”

“You’re not taking it. I’m giving it to you. This is your number”

It wasn’t your number it was his and everyone knew that. Sure part of you wanted to wear your father’s number at this club but it’s is Aitana’s or at least it was.

You watch the game from the subs bench until the 65th minute mark. Lluis’ right hand man tells you to get ready as you had already warmed up. As you stand on the sidelines you make the mistake of looking back at the stand behind you. Everybody had their phone out ready to document the moment you step foot on the pitch. It only added to the pressure you were already feeling.

When the final whistle is blown you have to take a moment to gather your emotions. You join the team in the lap around the field and stop near the ultras stand. The fans soon stop shouting your name when they realise what you are doing. There above them sits ‘Estadi Johan Cruyff’.

“He’s be proud of you” Lieke joins you and looks up. She sees the direction of you gaze change as you look up to the sky.

“Lieke is right. You made him proud today” Alexia joins in.

You didn’t know what to do so you patted them both on the back and carried on with your lap. The fans had showed you constant support since your arrival so you stop to greet as many as you can before leaving the pitch.

You had survived game number 1.

The months that followed proved to be more difficult that your first. The fans, media and the rest of the world were quick to pick up on the fact that you were yet to score. This is a stat you were well aware of and you kicked yourself every time you left the pitch without having your name on the scoresheet. You have several assists to your name but none of them seemed to matter. Your job was to score and assist. You weren’t doing what the club brought you here to do and it was eating away at you.

“Sandra” you pull the goalkeeper aside one day after training “Would you mind staying back so I can practice my shots some more. It won’t be for long, maybe half an hour”

“Claro”

“Muchas Gracias”

Alexia noticed your absence in the locker room, of course she did. It was almost an hour later when you walked into the locker room where much to your surprise Alexia had been waiting.

“What are you still doing here? Do you have media or something?” You ask.

“I was waiting for you” She has no problem with admitting her reason.

“You want to join me in the ice baths?” You already know your answer. Alexia’s Spanish blood had a strong hatred for the cold.

In an attempt to change her mind, despite her not giving an answer, you take off your shirt and throw it at her before sending her a daring look.

“C’mon Ale, I dare you”

You walk away knowing that Alexia won’t back down to a dare. You are in the ice bath all but 2 minutes before she joins you. Albeit she enters much slower than you which if you ask any athlete only prolongs the discomfort that comes with ice.

“Now that I have joined you in this hell, care to tell me why you stayed back an extra hour?”

“I haven’t scored” you ego took a hit as you muttered the words.

“You scored loads today”

“Not today, in games”

The disappointment you are feeling doesn’t come as a shock to Alexia. She first noticed it after the second game when you had 5 shots on target and none of them went it.

“They are expecting me to score”

“Who is?”

“The club, the fans, the team, you”

“This team is a hard one to settle in to, just ask Lieke. All you need is a little bit of time”

“I don’t have time. Everyone’s eyes are on me and each game that passes is proving that I’m not good enough to play here”

Up until this point, Alexia was stuck in her place. The more she moved the more the freezing cold water touched fresh skin but seeing you down on yourself made her forget about the ice as she walks towards you, slowly.

“I know you’ve been feeling the pressure Y/N and I know it’s different to the kind I get. You leave for international duty tomorrow. Take this time to reset and come back with a clear head”

Although she wasn’t ready to admit, Alexia was dreading the day you leave and go to Zeist for camp.

“I’m going to miss you Alexia” you don’t hesitate to be honest with your team mate.

“You’re going to miss the team”

“Yes, I will but I will miss you in a different way. I spend more time with you than anyone else and you’re the one I call when I have my…” you want to say episodes but it sounds too dramatic.

Just as you had thought, being in Barcelona caused feelings you once buried deep down to come to the surface. Alexia found you one day after training when you were feeling too much and she stayed with you until you had calmed down. Since then she was the one you called.

“You have your friends and I’m sure you’ll see your family but if you do need me then i’m only a phone call away”

The timer you had set on your phone goes off and you and Alexia are quick to jump out of the ice bath.

“Promise?” You ask her as you get changed.

“I do and Y/N” you turn to face her “I’ll miss you too”

You were gone for ten days and you only had one episode but you called Alexia more than once. In fact you were in constant communication with her. Whoever got up first would text the other good morning and the day would go on from there. Even in different cities, Alexia played a huge part in your day.

Whilst in The Netherlands you did as she suggested, you used the time to clear your head and it worked. You played 90 minutes in both friendlies, one against Sweden, the only against Italy and you managed to score three goals in total. You hadn’t lost your touch but you did learn that the pressure in Barcelona had taken the fun out of the game or at least that is the reason you came up with. It wasn’t until the post match press conference that you realised it could be something bigger and much worse.

“Y/N you have played outstanding in these past two games yet your performances in Barcelona seem to lack the flair that we are used to seeing you play with. You are 9 games into the season and you still haven’t scored. We are so used to seeing you on the scoresheet and this stretch is the longest in your career without hitting the back of the net”

“Is there a question in there or are you simply reminding me of my failures” your tone is emotionless but that is far from how you are feeling.

“I didn’t mean to step out of line. It’s just you come here and put on a world class performance but fail to do so there. I think the question everybody want to know is why. What is the difference between here and there?”

The journalist’s words were running on a loop ‘what is the difference between here and there’.

You hadn’t asked yourself this question but the answer wasn’t hard to come up with. You always put your career first and your personal life second. You wouldn’t answer the journalist’s question as it was clearly rhetorical but you knew the answer. The difference was Alexia.

Sure she had been a positive impact on your mental health but should you have been training more instead of exploring the city with her? Should you have been getting more sleep instead of staying up to talk to her? Should you be more focused at training instead of stealing glances at her whenever you could? These are all questions that you needed to know the answer to for the sake of your career.

On the flight back to Barcelona you make the foolish mistake of searching your name on twitter. The fans had started to come up with theories as to why you weren’t playing like you normal do in Barcelona. One article popped up and it mentioned both your name and Alexia’s. She has taken part in two press conference whilst on international duty with Spain and your name had being brought up multiple times despite it not being relevant at the time. Maybe you had become a distraction for Alexia too. Sure she was scoring but it wasn’t as much as last year.

When you landed you saw that Alexia had texted you and asked you to come round to her apartment once you had unpacked the little suitcase you took home with you. Now was the time and as you drove over to her place you started to feel guilty about the decision you had to make.

“Y/N” The brunette pulls you in for a hug, once which you wished would never end.

“Hi Ale. Did you enjoy camp?” You pull away before her warmth makes you change your mind.

“We did ok, a win and draw wasn’t what we wanted but we move on. Did you? I watched your games you played amazing” Alexia walk through her apartment towards her kitchen. It was the area that hosted company the best.

“About that. There’s something I need to te—“

“So I was thinking” Alexia says and you know that she put not have heard you “There’s a new seafood restaurant that’s just opened by the marina. I know we have been spending a lot of time together as friends but I was hoping to take you here as something more. I want to take you on a date”

“Alexia I need some space”

Those four words had hurt her, the look on her face proved that.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked.

“No. It’s me and what I am facing. You know about the pressure but the light that has been shone on me needs to stay on me. I won’t bring you into the media scuritiny that I am facing. Everyone is questioning my ability on the pitch and I need to prove them wrong. I need to prove to the club that signing me wasn’t a mistake. I have loved spending time with you Alexia but I need to focus on my performance. I cannot be a failure”

“I can help you” Alexia tries to bargain but you have already made up your mind.

“Ale, I need to do this alone” you take a couple of steps closer to her but she holds out her hand to stop you. You deserve it but it didn’t mean you had to like it “het spijt me”

Training doesn’t start for another three days due to the club wanting their players to recover from international duty. During this time you workout out 3 times a day; a run as the sun rises, a pitch session in the morning and a weights session in the late afternoon. You kept you body busy but Alexia still remained at the forefront of your mind. You began to think that you made a mistake in asking for space.

The first day back at Johan Camper is weird. For what could only be the 4th or 5th time since the season started, you had driven yourself to training. Upon arriving there were two people you didn’t want to see each for two different reasons. One of them just so happened to arrive at the same time as you.

“What you’re not riding with Alexia anymore?” Lieke questions as the two of you walk into the facility.

“I’m going to be driving myself for a while” you didn’t look at her, you couldn’t.

“Y/N what have you done?”

Lieke saw the way your behaviour change after the press conference but only now did she realise how much that man had gotten to you.

“I did what is best”

Sensing that now isn’t the time for an interrogation, Lieke drops the subject and the two of you walk in a comfortable silence.

“Ah dios miso, Alexia. I was only asking if you has anything planned this weekend. There’s no need to snap at me” Patri slightly scolds her team mate.

You know what she had planned this weekend and it included the two of you sitting at a candlelit dinner over looking the water but you had ruined that.

“I just want to focus on training. You understand that don’t you Y/N?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to answer as she walks out onto the field.

“So that’s what you did” Lieke whispers as the two of you begin lacing up your boots.

“You’ve seen what they’re saying. I won’t bring her into this media shit show, you know she hates it and I won’t be the reason for them going after her. I never wanted this for her but I was too late”

“You’re not telling me everything” Lieke knew you too well.

“I need to focus on my career. I can’t fail this club and I can’t tarnish his legacy”

“Y/N” Lieke reaches out to comfort you but you pull away.

“You think I want this? Of course I don’t” Your raised voice gains the attention of the other players in the room but you don’t care.

During training you stick to the players that won’t ask questions which is Lieke and Aitana but Jenni does make the effort to work with you as well even though she is one of Alexia’s best friends.

You try your best to focus on the drills that Lluis sets and it seems to work. You play very well and even the coach tells you that he is impressed, so much so that he is going to start you against Real Madrid at the weekend. This was your chance to prove the media wrong and rid the fans of any doubt. You had to score and score you did, twice in fact and you were able to assist one of Alexia’s goals.

This is how you were suppose to play at Barcelona yet you didn’t enjoy it in the slightest. You dreamed of how you’d celebrate your first goal and you wanted to do so with Alexia but because of your stupidity and need to please people who didn’t matter, you ruined that chance.

Your good form continued game after game and you could have sworn that things between you and Alexia were starting to return to normal. Of course this was only during training or playing because she was respecting your wishes.

“Y/N can I talk to you for a second?” Alexia asks one evening after a game review session.

“Let’s grab a coffee”

When the two of you arrive in the canteen, Alexia goes to the table and you get the coffees. This is how is was before and you loved that it was happening again.

“How long will you need this space? I talked to Lieke and she helped me understand your reasoning, I wished you would have told me but I know now. It wasn’t in my head, I know we had a connection and I need to know if there’s a chance of rebuilding that or if I need to move on”

“Alexia I chose my career over you”

“No you didn’t and we both know it. You needed to beat the pressure and you have. You have been amazing these past couple of months but I have hated not having you around, not even as a friend”

“Alexia we haven’t been just friends for a while and you know it”

“I do. It’s why I wanted to take you on a date, I still do by the way”

“I hurt you and I want to re earn your trust. How about we start with coffee on Sunday after the game”

“It’s a date” the smirk on her face was contagious.

“Alexia” you could tell she playing but you weren’t.

“What” she says innocently “it’s a date between friends”

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #Barcelona femeni one shot #Barcelona femeni imagine #espwnt x reader #espwnt one shot #espwnt imagine

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darlingdarkly · 5 months

Text

New Year, New You Part 2

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

Just over 3.5k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, 18+, mature themes

Part 1, 3

You enter the building, it’s noisy and busy in the lobby. Coming up to the kiosk you sign in and a new bracelet is spit out at you. You put it around your wrist and step past the lobby and further into the building. Sitting alone at a table in the smoothie alcove is Johnny and when he sees you his face lights up. You told yourself the night before, somewhere between coming down from your Johnny fueled orgasm and the drifts of your dreams that the first day was a fluke.

They’re all trained like this, to seem super bubbly and interested in you. It’s a ploy, a sales tactic, it’s to get you back in the door, have you pay that membership fee so you’ll be the center of attention of this super attractive, highly magnetizing flytrap. If you were a man there’d be an extremely fit, ultra flirty woman counterpart to come over and hyperfixate on you until you caved and bought a membership for the hopes of getting your hands in that tight little sports bra and the gym raked in another sucker.

They probably pay them extra too, some kind of bonus or sales commission for the trainer who racked up the most membership fees that month. Johnny was just trying to meet his quota and you were fresh meat. You ignored the empty pit that had formed at the center of your chest with this epiphany and told yourself you weren’t even mad about it. It was a ruse, clear and simple but what they didn’t know was that they weren’t gonna make a sucker out of you, that was for sure.

If Johnny was gonna use you, so be it. The joke was on him, he’s gonna put all this time into you and when your two weeks were up you’d be gone. The first thing he said to you was “Homework?” With his hand out, like there was some physical object you were meant to place in his hand. You were pretty sure he had given you a few sets of exercises to do, physical activities. Not paperwork. “Yeah, I did it.”

He looked up at you, head tilted like a dog. “Proof.” You laughed, a trill little nervous sound. What could you possibly have to be nervous about? Pleasing him? Being in some sort of trouble with this man you just met yesterday? But you couldn’t exactly shake the feeling. “I… I don’t.. have proof. But I did it.”

He sighs and gestures for you to sit down. You pull the chair out and sit across from him and he leans forward muscular arms on display as they rest across the tabletop. “I’ll let it go this time, since ye didn’t know but when I assign ye homework I expect proof.” You take your gym bag strap off your shoulder and set it down beside you. “Proof like a log book? Or something?”

The grin that grows on his face is gorgeous but condescending. “Can cheat a log book can’t ya hen? No. I need video evidence.” Your jaw drops a little. “You want me to videotape it?” He nods and smiles. You consider this, it’s a little strange, but you guess you can do that, prop your phone up and videotape your evening workout assignments. “Ok.”

He sits back in his chair and you relax. You go to get up and he adds. “One more thing, hen.” You stop and sit back down in the chair. “Got a few questions before we start today and I want ye tae be as honest as ye can. Can ye do that fer me?” This sets you a bit on edge but you nod in agreement.

The questions start out basic and non intrusive. Have you ever worked out before? Ever worked with a personal trainer before? Then they grow a bit more personal. What kind of home do you live in? Do you have any family living with you? A boyfriend or husband? Roommates? You answer them slowly but honestly.

Then the questions take on a more medical standpoint. Do you have any allergies? Any health problems he should know about? Are you on birth control or IUD? Are you sexually active? You look around to see if anyone is paying attention to your conversation but it seems not to be the case. Your mind is trying to process an answer to that last question but before you even can he looks up from where he’s been recording your answers in his phone and asks “When’s the last time you orgasmed?”

You're dead quiet. Did he just ask you that? Your ears must be deceiving you. “I’m sorry?” He doesn’t even smile, just asks you again. “Orgasm. When was your last orgasm.” You cough at the utter vulgarity of it. “None of your business.” He chides you, like you’re a child. “Nothing to be ashamed of, lass. I’m yer personal trainer.” He says it like it holds the same weight as being your physician.

When you still don't answer he begins to explain. “Yer body lass, is a very particular beast. It needs balance. A very carefully curated balance of nutrition, regular exercise, mental and emotional inputs, creative and productive outlets, and a series of stress and tension releases, among other things. As yer personal trainer it is my job tae make sure yer body is in balance and yer living as healthy and fit as I possibly can. Yer sexual health is as important as yer mental and physical health, and I’d even go as far as to argue it’s an integral part of an adult’s mental well-being and stability. We’re both adults here lass, so I’ll ask ye again. When’s the last time you had some real resease?”

Your mouth is dry, and as you sat there and listened to him you felt a little ashamed of yourself, thinking he was being lewd by asking you these, on the surface, seemingly crass questions when in reality he was just doing his job. Trying to be to the best of his ability as attentive to your needs and as thorough at his job as he could. You felt suddenly compelled to apologize for being perhaps rash and accusatory, jumping too quickly to conclusions.

Your next instinctual thought is the one you jump on, pure honesty and your cheeks flare with heat as you say it. “Last night.” And while you had been honest to try and save some sort of face you come to immediately regret your decision as the professional, serious demeanor he’d donned to pry the answer from your lips drops. His eyes are shiny devious lights, lips turning upwards at the very corners, bright white predatory teeth flashing at you from the parted lips, wolfish in their grin. He leans forward and you feel your heart beating louder in your chest as his eyes hold yours, locked and daring, his hands disappear from the tabletop.

When he speaks next his voice is fundamentally different, almost like you’re speaking to a different man. His voice is gruff, tone a whole octave lower as he growls out from his chest in a voice just loud enough to float to your ears. “Dirty girl. What were ye thinking about hmm? Did ye think about me while ye touched that pretty little pussy?” He must see the way you feel reflected across your features because his eyes darken and he continues on.

“Aye. It was me wasn’t it. What’d ye think about me doin’ tae ye. Did ye think about mah fat cock in that tight little cunt? Bendin’ ye over and sliding in til’ I’m buried to the hilt?” You felt the palm of his hand glide up over the curve of your knee, his fingers wrapping around the width of your lower thighs as they snaked up your leg while he poured filth into your ears.

“Or did I have ye on yer back, legs spread nice and wide while I feasted in the valley of yer thighs til’ yer eyes rolled back and ye were scremin’ mah name tae the heavens?” Your jaw dropped of its own accord and he smirked, fingers squeezing the meat of your leg as he held you captive with his eyes.

“Aye that’s it then.” Your mouth closes and opens like a gaping fish as you try to get a grip of the situation and stutter some kind of refusal. Some kind of response that will make you regain control of the conversation but the sudden change of direction, the pure whiplash of it puts you at a loss for words. All you seem capable of doing is yammering out meaningless syllables and the starts of words. “You- I didn’t- Wait-“

But he’s not done and he silences you as his fingers brush the hem of your sweats. The shudder that runs up your spine is violent and makes you twist in your seat, unintentionally bucking into his touch.

“Nothin’ tae be ashamed of hen, I thought of ye too last night. Fist wrapped around mah cock as I thought of that sweet wet little gob of yers. How pretty ye’d look on all fours fer me. We’re gonna have a lot of fun, me n’ you.”

With that he stands, hand removed from your leg and you didn’t miss him quickly adjusting the growing tent in his gym shorts as he rose. He leans over the table and your head cranes back as he leans in close. “Go get changed. I’ll see ye in the gym, it’s time for our first session.”

You finally manage to collect yourself in the girls locker room. Luckily it’s mostly empty as you slide your sweats off to find your panties ruined. How had it gone so sideways? You came in determined to outplay him and instead you find yourself wet and hanging onto every single one of his words like some kind of filthy slut. That’s the only word for it, you feel like a filthy little slut. Just the pure audacity of him, to speak to you in the most vile and shameless way, had you soaked.

It was the thought of him, thick cock in hand, stroking it with slow languid strokes as he dreams of you on his knees in front him, your hand replacing his, the look of pure ecstasy in his eyes as he watches you take him down your throat for the first time, bobbing your head up and down his- STOP. This is not helping. This is exactly what he wants. But it doesn’t make it easy to push the fantasy from the forefront of your mind (because actually getting yourself to stop imagining it is impossible).

You finish dressing, zip up your gym bag, place it in the locker and leave as you watch the red light replace the green. He’s waiting for you in the open gym by the free weights and when he sees you there’s a content little smile on his face, like he wasn’t just wrecking your entire train of thought with nothing more than dirty words and a hand trialing up your thigh minutes ago.

You get the first word in, you know it’s the only way you’ll be able to control the conversation, if he speaks your whole argument may crumble to dust before you’ve gotten your point across. “We need to set some boundaries. You can’t just speak to me that way. It’s inappropriate and unprofessional and I won’t stand for it.”

To your surprise he just smiles and agrees, which deflates your sails completely. But you showing up after yesterday and staying for the session even after the “inappropriate and unprofessional” talk when you arrived was all he really needed to know. He’ll let you tire yourself out like a horse with bit in its mouth for the first time. Wild horses must be broken.

“If we’re going to do this then I want you to treat me with respect and decency. Do we have an agreement?” He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest and a neutral expression on his face, and the pause he leaves between your demands and his answer makes you feel a little like a child throwing a tantrum. “Aye, lass. I’ll treat ye with all the decency and respect ye deserve. Are ye ready to get started now?”

You nod and he motions you over to a matted area of the room, free of weights and other objects so you can stretch. Something you think would go like him demonstrating and then you imitating while giving you verbal pointers, but no. It actually means he shows you once and then makes you imitate it and if it’s not exactly how he did it he comes over to you and rearranges you.

Hands all over your body pushing down on your lower back for proper push-ups, hands gliding up your legs all the way to the undersides of your ass cheeks to straighten your legs for proper toe touches, he’s sitting on your feet for your sits ups, claiming your feet are wobbling too much, leans in way too far while you’re coming up so you’re face to face when you do and you catch him several times staring at your lips, his own slightly parted, even having to tell him you’ve done your last set of ten when he was supposed to be keeping count.

When you’ve finished what he calls your warm up he explains the next steps in a proper session. “I wanna work on yer flexibility. We’re gonna have ye doin’ full on splits by the time done with ye.” And he’s smiling and laughing like it’s some sort of secret joke between the two of you.

You sit on the mat, legs spread out before you in a comfortable V. Slowly he begins to spread your legs wider and wider. They come to a natural stop and he gets between them, using those toned strong arms to push past their limitations. Your brow furrows as the burn in your hips intensifies. “Johnny, s’too much.” But he keeps going, pushing on your inner calves, stretching them wider. You roll onto your back and think that he’ll stop but he doesn’t, just climbs over top of you and continues to push. His crotch presses up against yours as he continues to split you. “Johnny!”

“Just a wee bit more, lass. You can do it. Doin’ so good fer me.” And you hate the way the praise sinks into your skin and soothes you. He’s stopped pushing, just holds your legs at this shockingly obtuse angle you never knew you were capable of achieving. You’re whining and whimpering, the ache and burn of your legs fills your mind, all encompassing and excruciating, you can feel tears forming at your waterline, threatening to spill. “Johnny, please!” And he finally relents, slowly releasing the tension on your thighs until you’re breathing heavily and lying limp.

You have time later, at home in bed recounting the events of the day, to imagine the absolutely scandalous sight the pair of you must have made. Your back on the mat, Johnny practically mounting you on the floor of the open gym as he spreads your legs wider and wider while you whimper and whine as cries of his name and “it’s too much” fall from your lips. It’s enough to make your face heat with embarrassment but also make you extremely wet.

He doesn’t move, still slotted obscenely in the space between your thighs, your legs wrapped loosely around his waist as he rubs soothing circles into your hips. The burn in your legs is slowly ebbing to a dull throb and as you lie there you wonder just what you’ve gotten yourself into but he doesn’t let you marinate in your thoughts for long as he rises and extends a hand to help you up.

What follows is him shuffling you around to numerous machines you’d have been too shy and un-knowledgeable about to try on your own, instructing you how to properly use them, the muscle groups they worked on, and setting your weights and reps for. He was very adamant about the rule of three. For the first session it was important to establish a baseline to follow, a minimum amount of each exercise that you were fully capable of carrying out. You could push your limits later but for now he wanted at least three sets of each activity.

And through it all you found that you were actually learning a fair amount about exercising that before seemed daunting and out of reach. You thought that maybe, with his help, you’d actually be able to accomplish some real tangible goals, results you could see. He finished off where the whole journey began, you on the treadmill, he set you off on a jog and spoke to you as you began to move.

“I’ve got some things tae handle, hen. I want ye tae try and keep jogging the whole time I’m gone. Do ye think ye can do that fer me?” You nod, and he walks up to the side of the machine, standing there until you look over and catch his piercing blue eyes. “Yer not just cheating yerself when you slack off, yer cheating me as well and trust me I’ll ken if ye do. I always get what I’m owed, bonnie.”

The threat in his tone chills you but he smiles as he says it and you wonder just what sort of consequences might come with a thing like that. You decide then that you’re not quite ready to find out and with that he leaves you to it.

He’s not gone long. Ten minutes tops and while you’re tired and had slowed to a lighter jog at times you know you had done as he asked and was sort of glad with what you’d been able to manage. He gets you to stop and congratulates you on a fine first session. Even pulls you in for a hug, despite the sweat that’s collected on your skin. It's longer than you’d have liked but at least he’s not outwardly groping you.

He takes you down to the smoothie alcove, orders you a smoothie and has you sit down. You take his offer immediately, glad to be momentarily off your feet. He brings you your drink and lifts one of your legs, unlacing your sneaker and pulling your sock off. “Johnny what are you doing?” He placed your shoe and sock on the floor by your chair and begins rubbing your foot. “Dinnae want ye tae be too sore to workout tomorrow. The first session can be very taxing on the body. Build up of lactic acid in yer muscles and ye’ll be cryin’ tae me tomorrow about why ye cannae come in. Cannae have that now can we?”

You sit forward as much as you can with your foot in his hand. “Actually I need to talk to you about that, I can’t come in tomorrow, I’ve got a huge work thing and I’ll be staying late to help prep the presentation for it.” He hums and switches feet, getting your sock and shoe off before he answers. “Ye can still do yer homework and send it in, I’ll give ye my number. I wanna see the same thing ye did last night on video this time and I wanna see ye practice yer stretches, ye ken?”

You nod in understanding and he begins working up your leg towards your calves, you bite back a moan at the painful but magical sensation. “And I wanna know about these things ahead of time. I’m a flexible man bonnie but I need tae fit these kinds of changes in yer schedule in advance.” You say you understand and even thank him for being so understanding, which brings a huge cheeky grin to his face.

He gets behind you and massages your shoulders as you finish your drink and the feeling of his warm hands on your shoulders and back have you on an erotic edge that you feel uncomfortable with in such an open setting. You quickly finish the last of the smoothie and rise from your seat. After you’ve said your goodbyes and he’d given you a card with his number on it you head for the locker room and begin undressing. You unlock your locker to find your gym bag unzipped and open.

It gives you pause, you’re almost certain you did not leave it this way, you’ve always had the habit of rezipping your gym bag after changing. You quickly rummage through it but find nothing missing. Phone, keys, wallet. Everything was there. You shake it off and label it as a mistake. You must have left it unzipped when you were changing and still flustered from your first little chat. Swinging the bag over your shoulder you leave the locker room and head home, waving to Johnny on your way out the door.

#johnny soap mctavish x reader #dark!johnny #soap x reader #twdubcon #cod soap #cod mw2 #cod x reader #dark fic #cod #dub con

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