#i can't get them past a certain length in the winter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

satorutini · 4 months

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"caution! this could get ugly" - eren yeager

Pairing: eren x reader

Summary: It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you work through winter break. But when you attend your coworker's annual ugly sweater party in an attempt to get into the holiday spirit, a certain green-eyed line cook is determined to make that a challenge.

Or;

The Chili's!AU Christmas party one-shot no one asked for

wc: 6.6k

Tags: enemies to lovers, coworkers!au

Content warnings: smut, oral ( f receiving), spit play, drug references, eren has big ass hands, minors dni

my first fic in an anime fandom, pls be gentle! you can't tell me eren doesn't give off headass-but-secretly-softie line cook vibes... you can't tell me he doesn't look like that one guy you wanted to smash that one time at work!

um...happy holidays, y'all!

read on ao3 | masterlist | twt

The lady at table six doesn’t deserve about half of the attitude that she’s getting from you tonight. Besides, it’s not her fault all of the sides to each meal she ordered were wrong. It’s not her fault her appetizer had to be recalled two times because there were onions in the guacamole on both instances when her chips and dip platter arrived at the table. She’s not the one who cooked her husband’s steak well-done instead of medium-rare. Of course not, because as she oh-so considerably informs you over the distressed screams of her high-chair-bound toddler, she would never cook a New York strip steak like that.

But between the chaos of the dinner rush and the mishaps of a particular line cook who seems hell-bent on making your night as difficult as possible, table six and her husband are lucky that you are even able to flash them a drawn smile before stalking off.

The double doors to the kitchen – so lovingly called the heart of the house - are a thin veil between utter mayhem and the generally calm atmosphere of the dining area, never staying for longer than a second as waiters rush to tend to their tables. Stepping into the chaos, several obstacles stand between you and the culprit of your terrible night. Fellow employees swarm the narrow walking space, and you slip by with practiced ease and the occasional apology. You’re almost a little envious as you take note of them – no one else looks as half as pressed as you do tonight. As they should be, it’s only a Tuesday night. Not even the weekend yet. And yet, as you shimmy your way through the back of the house, you can’t help but feel a similar fatigue and exasperation that typically follows a Friday night shift. This only serves to further solidify your resolve as you duck past a team of waiters off to serve a business party. A long, stainless-steel counter runs the length of the kitchen space, with shelves that reach the ceiling, effectively separating the servers from the cooking staff. Waiters and line cooks take turns sliding completed and returned orders beneath the shelving, and heat lamps attached to the bottom of the last shelf to preserve the food. It is within this space that you all but shove your head beneath the heat lamps to give Eren Jaeger a piece of your mind.

“Do you have a problem?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eren, standing idly over the stove top adjacent to you whips around at the sound of your voice. He makes a wry face at the sight of you, hunched over the countertop and under the warm hutch, forced to cram your neck in a certain direction to give Eren the full force of your scowl. For all his nonchalance, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You haven’t come to talk to me since you started your shift.”

You blink once, twice, before all but slamming your head into the shelf above you in an attempt to swipe at Eren across the counter. “Are you – are you fucking joking right now? Are you actually fucking messing with my table’s orders because I didn’t say ‘hi’ when I walked in?” Eren sucks his teeth, pretending to rearrange some condiments in front of him. “You’ve been here for two hours already. It’s polite to greet your seniors. Seems you’ve lost all your manners while you were away at college.”

Right eye twitching at the condescending note in his tone, you rear back, ready to straight up drag him into the walk-in and show him just how polite your fists could be. That thought is quickly sidetracked as a broom handle to the back of the knees sends you stumbling back from the countertop. Your manager stands behind you, arms akimbo, broom in one hand. He pointedly offers you a serving tray.

“Your steak is getting cold.” Stern, curt, and orderly, your night manager is infamous for running a tight ship. But even he, for all his methodology and patience, gets run ragged by the customer service industry. If you thought you were over tonight, Levi looks just about ready to turn in his two weeks.

“What about-,”

“I’ll handle him. Now get back to your other tables before I make you clean the bathrooms.” The night shift manager threatens to strike you with the broom handle again before passing off the tray and pushing you in the right direction.

You spare an accusatory glare at Eren, who watches on in bemusement. Rude bitch, he mouths, wiggling his fingers in a girlish wave.

The rest of the night goes on fairly smoothly. The dinner rush subsides just as quickly as it came. No one asks you to sing the Happy Birthday song. The incident at table six lands you a meager tip, but you grin and bear it. Better than nothing at all. Or worse, change. This seems to be the case for Sasha, a regular dinner shift waitress. She marches through the double doors with a fist full of nickels and dimes courteous of her last table of the night – a group of college students. Cursing under her breath, it’s obvious your coworker is ready to call it a night hide in the back with a basket of rolls until close.

There’s an obvious shift in mood as your team transitions to its closing routine. As Levi thanks the last customers for the night and locks the door behind them, the tension from the day seems to almost melt away instantaneously. Connie, a back-of-the-house member who ends up stuck by the dishwasher most nights, takes the opportunity to hijack the restaurant’s stereo system to blast trap music you only know the chorus to.

Closing, believe it or not, is your favorite part of the job. You take pride in how dutifully you restock, fold cutlery, wipe tables, and somehow always manage to avoid being assigned the task of sweeping the dining areas. You’d rather be caught dead before you struggle with that insolent, brittle plastic broom against an entire night’s worth of grime and dropped food. Instead, when Levi wordlessly hands it off to you this time, you make your way to the back of the house, prepared to bestow this lovely gift to the main antagonist of your shift.

You discover Eren lounging outside the storage shed behind the restaurant, the tell-tale sign of the flicker of a lighter giving him away. And the smell. The heady burn of a Backwood climbs its way up your nostrils as you approach him, languidly smoking half a blunt on the clock.

“Y’know the longer you sit out here, the longer it’s gonna take for us to get the fuck out, right?” Eren greets your matter-of-fact tone with a cloud of smoke, thick and distinct in the crisp winter night air. You shoot Eren a disapproving look as you approach plastic broom in hand, fully prepared to guilt trip your coworker into taking on your least favorite closing duty. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, aren’t you? You’re so lucky it’s too cold for Levi to come out here and bust your ass himself.”

This isn’t the first time the heart-of-the-house worker had snuck off to light up before joining the clean-up routine. Connie and Eren regularly covered for each other’s smoke breaks, so often that even Levi began to turn a blind eye as long as everyone clocked out on time. The line cooks' routine typically didn’t affect much on your end unless it was a night like this – a night when everyone had plans afterward.

Tonight, there was a holiday party at stake.

“Levi’s got a soft spot for me, you know,” Eren scoffs, taking another drag from the half-smoked blunt. He still has yet to fully face you, perched on a stack of discarded crates and angled away from the kitchen’s back entrance. Tucked away in the shadow of the storage shed, Eren ashes off the corner of the small building. “Besides, even he can’t resist my charm.”

Rolling your eyes, you wave the plastic broom in front of him, threatening to poke him in the ribs when he begins to protest. “Charm won’t save you from sweeping duty tonight. After what your petty ass put me through tonight – here, take it.”

Eren raises an eyebrow, throwing his hands up in protest when you move to toss the broom handle at him carelessly. He gripes, “I’ve got better things to do than clean up after you.” The blunt in his hand smolders near his fingertips. You pluck it from his hands with little resistance and take a hit, brow crinkling at the taste. Your lungs ache and warm at the sensation.

“Yeah? Yeah, like this?” You wheeze and hope he attributes the water gathering at the corners of your eyes to the cold. “Just get it done, and let’s finish this so we can all get to the party on time.” Eren watches in dismay as you stomp out the remains of his roach.

“Someone’s in a hurry…A Grinch like you, it can’t possibly be the Christmas spirit?” Eren narrowly avoids being jabbed in the ribs again, jumping from his hiding spot when you lunge. He eyes your tense shoulders, nearly hiked up to your ears, and the impatience in your stance. In the years you’ve worked together, your general disdainful demeanor towards him is nothing new, but there’s something else. Something else that leads Eren to believe that the dark flush of your cheeks has little to do with the winter air. He swipes the broom from your grasp, approaching you with a wolfish grin. You instinctively take a step back, a little less confident now with the broom no longer as your barrier. Confronting Eren over kitchen counters, between restaurant booths, and across busy back-of-the-house spaces in the presence of your other coworkers was one thing. But as the young man towers over you, gaze shadowed in the dim glow of the moon and the weak holiday lights haphazardly strewn about the awning around the restaurant, you can’t help but shrink a little under his direct attention.

After a tense moment of silence, Eren relents. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it done. But you owe me a dance later at the party.”

Your stupor was broken, you sputter and gawk up at him, at his audacity. “I- Me? Dance for you? Dream on, slacker. Now, move it. I’ve got tables to wipe down, and I’m not waiting for you to finish sweeping.”

Working at Pepper’s had only meant to be a summertime gig, at first. Looking for a quick way to make some cash before the start of your first year in college, the local Tex-Mex chain restaurant was your least enthusiastic option. A popular location in your small town, it was one of a few dining options that didn’t require you to drive out into the city to enjoy. The idea of running into one of your former high school classmates while donning the company apron and signature red visor, toting a serving tray - or worse, working with one of them - mortified you. But chain restaurants were always hiring, and you needed money fast. Eventually, working the evening shift as a waitress during breaks from school became the norm - until now. Now, as the start of the final spring semester of your undergraduate program approaches, you're left to consider what the next summer will really look like for you once you graduate. Besides, it wasn’t like this was going to be your career, right?

Right?

In your years on staff, Sasha’s ugly sweater party had become an unofficial team bonding event of sorts. No matter how new someone was to the staff or how frequently they were on shift, everyone came to Sasha’s. And everyone came dressed accordingly, or you were turned away at the door. A night of ugly sweaters, spiked eggnog, and best of all, Secret Santa. Since your freshman year of college, Sasha’s holiday party was always something you could look forward to.

You anxiously eye a little red gift bag from across your coworker’s living room, trying to hide your grimace behind your second glass of wine.

“You look like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.” The hostess of the night is pretty quick to clock your demeanor. Sasha slides onto the couch next to you, her sweater an egregious display of flashing multicolored lights, silver tinsel, and a giant patch of Rudolph the red nose reindeer sledding down a mountain in sunglasses stitched to her chest.

You force a smile, attempting to play off your nerves. “No bomb, just…Secret Santa jitters, you know?”

“Ah, the classic Secret Santa anxiety.” Your companion watches as your nervous gaze flickers from the gift table to a certain couple in matching argyle sweaters with tiny Christmas trees sewn in between the jacquard diamonds, huddled in the doorway into the kitchen. Sasha’s eyes widen in understanding. “Can I take a wild guess at who you got?”

You realize you’re not-so-subtly glaring at Jean, who’s laughing with his uninvited guest across the room. Jean, your coworker, and former daytime shift waiter. Jean, your friend whom you’ve admired from afar for his kindness and tenacity. Jean, who got promoted to manager at some point while you were away finishing your last fall semester at college and didn’t tell you. Jean, whom you have the worst, most horrendous crush on. You take another sip from your drink to avoid the pitiful look you know is on Sasha’s face. “I just hope he likes what I got him. I mean, we’re not exactly best buddies or anything...”

If Sasha catches the sour note in your voice, she says nothing to acknowledge it. “I’m sure you know him better than you think.”

You can’t help but huff in exasperation. “That’s the problem though, isn’t it? Ever since I switched from dayshift in the fall, ever since I went back to campus, he’s been so distant. I could’ve sworn we were getting somewhere over the summer, but now…” You tip your glass listlessly in the direction of the object of your ire, whose arm is wrapped around none other than Mikasa, a waitress who quit last year but still hangs around some of your coworkers. Apparently.

Everyone comes to Sasha’s Christmas party.

It goes without saying that Jean is with Mikasa now, but your eyes can’t help but linger in his direction anyway. After all, the last time you saw him…

The pool party. That pool house. The surprise that colored his eyes and flushed his cheeks when you kissed him.

You shake off the memory, scowl deepening. The hostess herself leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, spill. What’d you get him?”

You glance around for any eavesdroppers before revealing, “A leather-bound journal. He’s always jotting things down, and I thought it might come in handy.”

Sasha squeezes the hand on your lap not balancing a drink and offers you an encouraging smile. “Not bad! Thoughtful and practical. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

You nod, a bit more reassured. “I hope so. It’s just…I really wanted to get him something he’d like, you know?” You watch as Jean presses a doting kiss to Mikasa’s forehead, smiling into her hairline. He has yet to look your way once, except for at your arrival.

Sasha pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry too much. It’s the thought that counts.”

The thought. You scoff. You think you might need a third glass of wine.

As Sasha wanders off to mingle with the other guests, a mix of cashiers and kitchen staff amused with seeing one another outside of shift schedules, your attention is drawn to Eren, who seats himself in the spot that Sasha once occupied with all the languor of someone who didn’t show up to the party sober. It doesn’t take much for him to reveal that he heard most of your previous exchange.

“Secret Santa jitters, huh?” he teases, propping himself up against one arm of the sofa. The line cook wears a dark blue cable knit sweater, with what you think is some horrific reimagining of Bob Ross knitted across his chest. Tiny, tinkling silver bells adorn the hem, glittering as he shifts in his seat. His hair, typically tied up and away from his face during shifts, spills loosely over his shoulders and shags over his eyes. You recall the way he looked at you earlier in the night behind the storage shed and remember his insistence that you dance with him at this party. In the warm lighting from the barrage of Christmas lights that line Sasha’s living room ceiling, he almost looks pretty like this.

You shoot him a look. “What’s it to you, Eren?”

“Just wondering if I made the nice list,” he quips, winking playfully. You make note of the lack of red rimming his eyes. Maybe he is sober then?

“Cute,” you scoff, trying to dismiss the way heat rises to your cheeks at the comment. Maybe you’re the one that needs to sober up. “Now go sweep something or whatever is it you do when you’re not getting high and crashing parties.”

Eren smirks but doesn’t leave. Instead, he nods in the direction of the gift table, of the little red disaster bag that haunts the corner of your eye. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of your generosity?”

You sigh, giving in to the conversation. “Well, the point of Secret Santa is that it’s a secret-,”

“Jean, huh? That’s interesting.” While you sputter at his presumptuousness, Eren’s expression tightens for a moment, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

Before you can question his tone – or how the hell he had even overheard you and Sasha, for that matter – Sasha calls for attention announcing the start of the gift exchange.

You leave Eren on the couch to grab your present, eager to get away from whatever that was. You have enough to be anxious about tonight without Eren Jeager getting into the mix. Unsure how Jean will react to your carefully chosen present, you grip the little red bag a little tighter.

In the end, you don’t even get to witness Jean’s reaction to your gift. All of that tension, all of your worries on the drive here, all of your anxiety leading up to this moment is all for naught. Eren Jeager makes sure of that.

He doesn’t even try to sound remorseful once he spills his wine down the front of your sweater just as you’re about to hand off your gift to your should-be-former crush. You had mustered up the courage to approach Jean, who had finally wrenched himself from Mikasa’s grasp for a brief moment to collect a wrapped parcel of his own. But as soon as you reach out to catch the day shift manager’s attention, your entire body is shifted off-center. Eren collides into your right side, tipping his glass into your chest with little more than a half-assed, “Whoops, my bad.”

You gasp, the force of Eren’s weight and a mix of shock and horror sending you reeling back from Jean. The surrounding partygoers come to a halt, Jean included as he turns to finally take in the sight of you for the first time tonight, mortified and doused in red wine that bleeds through the front of your white cashmere sweater like an open wound. The little red gift bag hangs limply in your hands.

Jean calls your name, voice colored with surprise and concern, but you’re already marching towards the bathroom, eyes stinging, hands shaking, dropping the gift bag somewhere on the way between pushing through little clusters of your coworkers all squeezed into Sasha’s homey apartment.

Much to your relief, the bathroom to the guest bedroom is already unlocked and unoccupied, a temporary haven for you to gather your bearings.

Or so you thought.

It’s not long before Eren finds you, gently knocking on the door with a soft call of your name. You’ve spent the past few minutes fruitlessly dabbing at the stain blossoming on your chest with paper towels and cold water, only succeeding in smearing it into a much larger mess. The snowflakes carefully stitched into the pattern of your sweater begin to take on a faint salmon color, the sight in the mirror only serving to fuel your frustration. Tears well up in your eyes as mortification over the night’s events threaten to overwhelm you, but Eren’s voice startles you into a sense of annoyance. In your panic and haste, you had forgotten to lock the door behind you.

The bathroom door swings open, and you glance up in time to see Eren duck inside, his expression softened with a hint of something you’re too bewildered to decipher. Your heart sinks when you realize Jean doesn’t file in behind him.

“Need some help?” Eren offers, an uncharacteristically sincere tone to his voice.

You shoot him a skeptical look, “Are you being serious right now?”

Rather than back off when met with your icy demeanor, Eren closes the door behind him. And rather than tell him off when he turns you to face him, nearly bumping heads in the cramped guest bathroom, you both set to work with damp paper towels.

You work in silence, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, the sounds of the party raging on outside. Eren’s touch is gentle, and purposeful as he braces your shoulder with one hand and dabs just under your neckline with the other. A pensive look falls over his face. You wait for an apology that doesn’t come.

Distantly, you hear the Christmas music switch to something with a little more bass and know that Connie has hijacked the speaker. As you dab at the hem of your sweater, convinced that the stain would be a permanent fixture in your sweater at this point, you glance up to notice a smile playing on your intruder’s lips.

You shoot him a withering look, “You think this is funny?”

Eren breaks out into a full-on smirk, impish even, looking a bit more like the line cook you’ve known to antagonize you. He tosses his paper towel in the trash and leans against the bathroom counter, his green eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, they simmer with spitefulness. “I think it’s a hell of a lot less depressing than watching you openly moon over horse face.”

“Horse face?” You blanch. “You mean Jean-,”

“-Besides, I did you a favor. Now you don’t have to go and be disappointed him.”

Your frustration grows, but beneath it, there’s a spark of defiance. You snap at him, “What does it even matter to you, Eren? All night you’ve been on my case; at work, at this party! Whatever I give to Jean – whatever I have or don't have going with Jean is none of your business.”

You feel the tension between you, thick and charged, but the satisfied look on Eren’s face never wavers. He’s lax, head tilted back as he observes you over the bridge of his nose with a gaze that meets yours that could almost be described as bored if not for the hungry something lurking in them. That same look from your closing shift, passing him the broom. He’s not high anymore, you determine, hasn’t been for a while if the intense look expression, and the clarity of his gaze is anything to go by, so you can’t chalk it up to insobriety. You distantly wonder how much more often he’s looked at you like that. For how long? How have you never noticed? It seems so much more apparent like this, outside of work. So much harder to ignore with no metal counters to divide you, and no uniforms to keep up to code.

In your anger, you’ve stepped closer, balling the used towel in one fist and bracing against the counter with the other, half caging in the much taller man against the sink. You don’t realize how close you are, face to face like this, drawn in by the intensity of his eyes. The bathroom feels smaller, the air heavier, and you’re acutely aware of every beat of your heart.

You mutter, “What the hell is with you?” and he huffs a laugh through his nose, a real smile on his lips as you draw near.

“If only you fucking knew.”

Eren leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a bold move that leaves you momentarily stunned. For a moment, you forget about the chaos of the party outside. When he finally presses his lips to yours, it’s a slow kiss laced with arrogance, a statement of intent. And despite your annoyance, you can’t help the feeling of warmth that floods you. Hands seek each other out in a flurry of movement. The paper towels and spilled wine are forgotten as Eren’s hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. Eren lets you cage him fully against the bathroom sink, if only to fit one leg between yours and slot his fingers from around your waist to the back of your neck, into your hair with the free hand not holding himself up against the counter.

The kiss is a collision of emotions – frustration, surprise, and an underlying current of something you hadn’t quite acknowledged before and aren’t entirely sure if you’re ready to either. Unhurried and messy, you can feel the groan that reverberates through Eren’s chest against your own as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. He tastes like smoke and red wine and metal. There’s no urgency behind his moments, languid with the way explores your mouth, as if a crowd of people you’ve worked with throughout some of the more formative years of your life aren’t separated from you by a singular door. As if the man you’d sworn you’d come back to try to commit to wasn’t a brisk walking distance away. He kisses you like a lover, and not like a man who has made it his mission to spend every waking moment you’ve had together grating your nerves.

Surprise shocks you at the swipe of his tongue ring against your lower lip. His thumb at your neck strokes along your chin, and your jaw with a touch that’s borderline reverent. A balmy, pleasant feeling unfurls in your chest, thrums in your veins as you allow him to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss. Eren’s lips are warm and insistent, and despite the bizarre circumstances, you feel right at home in his grasp.

The sounds of the party outside fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thud of your heart in your ears.

You’re surprised at how gentle he is. Firm, unrelenting in his touch, sure, but with none of the simmering aggression you’d come to associate him with. Strong, sure hands, slide encircle your hips under your sweater, thumbs dragging across your hip bones at the hem of your jeans. Stoking that smoldering feeling in your chest, a simmering in your low belly. The sensation earns him a gasp, interrupted by his lips. It takes little convincing for you to remove the sweater altogether, discarding the article of clothing along with it.

You’re rewarded with a pained groan as Eren breaks the kiss long enough to admire you like this, all flush and disheveled from the neck up. His doing. Not Jean’s. He can’t help but feel smug satisfaction, finally having quelled that ugly, nagging feeling that had built up in his chest once he had realized just why you had been so anxious to get to the party tonight. None of that matters now. Eren is too focused on chasing the press of your hips against his. Too focused on the feeling of your lips and the little gasps you make each time he moves to tuck into the crook of your neck instead, teeth finding their way to the pliable skin at the juncture of your bare neck. Too enamored by the way the lust and wine make your eyes hazy and soft on him in a way he wishes you’d look at him during the daytime.

Breaking your gaze, Eren rearranges your legs so that you’re nearly seated on his lap with the way you lean over him against the counter. Eren’s fingertips find their way beneath the hem of your bra, sliding over the seams of your ribcage to trace and then squeeze at the expanse of bare skin there. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, content to rock in his lap and suck on his tongue until the rough pads of his thumbs swipe over your nipples, rendering you just a little more desperate.

“Oh – oh. Eren, please-,” The little silver bells sewn into the collar of his sweater jingle with every rock of your hips, and you can’t help but snicker against his lips once you notice the sound.

“Let me – here, let me take this shit off.” Eren gives you just enough room to swipe the festive sweater over his head, just enough time to toss it somewhere on the floor before he’s on you again. One large hand palms your rear, the other resting against your collarbones, fingers encircling your throat to guide you back into one more heated kiss, prying your mouth open with his teeth and tongue, rolling yours over his.

Your own wandering hands tangle in his hair as it curtains your face, trace the sinewy lines of his back as you silently wonder if he’s always been this strong.

Eren doesn’t let you wonder for long, managing to scoop up you inside the broom closet-sized confines of the spare bathroom and place you on the closed lid of the toilet, skirt fluttering up to the tops of your thighs with a swift motion.

“Wait, woah-,” You’re so caught off guard by the sudden motion, that you nearly miss Eren stooping down to kneel in front of your place on the toilet, large hands bracketing each of your knees. He leans in, a secret smile gracing his features, green eyes bright with mischief under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“I figured, this is the least I can do after ruining your night, right?” As he speaks, his hands hook around the backs of your knees, helping him make room for a space between them. He takes a second to gauge your reaction, and you belatedly put the pieces together of what he’s asking with a slight shiver. His smile ie earnest, eyes unexpectedly sincere.

You think of putting back on your sweater and going back out there to face Jean. You think of fishing your gift out of whatever unfortunate corner of the room it fell into. Of returning home having achieved little other than embarrassing yourself in front of coworkers and friends.

Your thumb traces Eren’s lower lip, and you realize you’re taking too long to answer. Eren. Line cook Eren. Eren the bane-of-every-night-shift-ever Jeager. After all you’ve said and done, after years of working together, can you come back from something like this?

Eren sits back on his heels and presses a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of your knee. Well, you sigh, stroking a hand through his dark tresses, almost lovingly. The hungry, impish grin you receive when you can only respond with a half-choked “please,” is enough to make your heart stutter in your chest. A win is a win.

Unfortunately for you, there reaches a point where you’re not even sure who’s really winning. Eren eats pussy like he was made for it.

He starts slow, tracing his nose up and down the gusset of your panties like you’re not cramped together in the guest bathroom at your mutual friend’s party. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Gentle touches across the backs of your thighs, the plane of your stomach.

When you start to wiggle with impatience, he bites into the crease between your sex and upper thigh, deep and indulgent enough to make you cry out. He doesn’t care much for your choice in panties – they’re quick to join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor anyway.

Eren switches your position again, turning you face forward and bent over the toilet so that your hands brace the lid. You fold your arms, pressing your cheek into the bends of your elbows when he encourages you to arch your back further, palm large and warm and sliding down your spine. From where he kneels, he locks one arm around your hips, the other hand bracketing the crease at your asscheek, just at the top of your thigh. You are rendered immobile, vulnerable as he spreads you open to his gaze and laves once between your folds.

“Fuck-!” The exclamation comes out warbled, almost tearful into the crook of your arms. You wiggle your hips in search of more contact, but the touch never comes. Eren’s mouth remains frustratingly out of reach, instead tracing your folds with his thumb. Of course, he doesn’t start right away. Indulges in the way you squirm, half out of impatience, half apprehension.

Complaints earn you a sharp smack! where you’re left wet and wanting. Your knees bow, legs trembling from the shock of the sudden assault on such sensitive nerves.

“Eren,” you bite back a moan. Your antagonist shushes and coos at your anguish, only pausing in his condescension to sink his teeth into the cheek not held in his grasp. The whine that works its way out of you in response is loud enough for him to relent after a moment, playfully admonishing you.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be this fuckin’ noisy?” He mutters, lips ghosting over where you need him most. “So damn uptight and quiet at work until it’s time to chew me out, right? Now look at you.” Embarrassment colors your cheeks at his words, feeling the slick wetness between your thighs you know he must have a plain view of, and you distantly wonder how you allowed this to escalate so quickly.

From your bent position, you think you hear him swallow, mouth working over something that’s decidedly not you until you feel something liquid and warm spatter over your mound. Biting back another moan, you silence the small, nagging part of your brain that seethes at the possibility of him holding this moment over your head in the future. Taking note of the litter of bruises that mark the backs of your thighs, you know the decision you both are making will literally come back to bite you in the ass tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you have to inevitably face him at work again, along with the rest of your coworkers who are no doubt wondering where you’ve been at this point. Eren uses the pads of his thumbs to spread your lips again, brushing a gentle, teasing kiss across your clit and you decide you’ll reconcile with yourself on the matter in the morning.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” you mumble, unable to work up the energy to be irritated when you feel the way he smiles against you.

When Eren finally decides to give in, it comes with a price. His lips seal over the span of your sex, sucking on one fold, then the other before gracing you with a broad stroke across your slit, and you’re a goner.

“Mm-oh! Oh.”

That price is your sanity and your resolve to stay as quiet as possible.

He devours you, seemingly unable to decide between one pace and another as he eagerly works his tongue into your molten core. He’s mean. Deliberate. Worst of all, he seems to be enjoying himself. Starting slow, savoring all of your heat and taste on his tongue. Then fast and relentless, flicking devastating strokes across your clit in a motion that leaves you gripping the lid beneath you. Chest heaving in exertion as you attempt to hold back your cries.

Your legs ache and tremble, knees biting into the cool lip of the toilet lid each time Eren presses you forward in his insistence. Eren dips the tip of his tongue into your slit, nose pressed between your folds with a self-satisfied moan, causing you to jerk and keen in his grasp. Your arms squeak across the porcelain when you jostle a little too far out of grasp. The angle he has you bent at presses you up onto your toes. Eren tightens his grasp around your waist. He presses one long digit into your core and you cry out into your elbows.

“Fuck, just-just a little longer, okay? Just gimme a little more, yeah,” he mumbles, deep, raspy, fucked out, and sounding more like an assurance for himself than you.

The finger inside you and the hand at your thigh disappear momentarily, and you wonder if he’s touching himself. The position he has you in means you’d have to crane your neck backward just to catch a glimpse of his lower half. The thought fuels the searing heat in your veins, as does the slick sound of wet skin and the resounding whimper breathed against your core, confirming your suspicions.

“Eren,” you gasp, whimper, locking up at the sight of his free hand palming at the profuse bulge in his jeans, veins popping in his arms at the effort. “Fuck, wait, fuck-!”

You come hard and fast, blood roaring in your ears, fingers gripping the lid with a white-knuckle grip as you squirm in Eren’s grasp. Coming together and falling apart in an overwhelming wave of pleasure that catches you off guard. Eren is quick to catch on, both hands returning to your hips to lock you in an embrace, face pressed into your sex in earnest. You twitch and writhe in his grasp, unable to escape from his relentless assault on your senses. He talks you through it when he can bear to detach his mouth from you, murmuring praises into the heated skin of your thighs. Bliss crackles up your spine and warms you inside out from head to toe.

“Eren, god, please,” you simper, dizzy with your fading arousal, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. To stop? To keep going?

Eren decides for you, pressing one last parting kiss to your mound before getting to his feet. The moments following go about in relative silence. Despite him having been between your legs just seconds ago, you’re quick to feel awkward and aren’t exactly sure what to say. Surprisingly ever the gentleman, Eren helps you rise off the lid and redress and clean on shaky legs. You are slow to stand upright. Unable to meet his eyes as you try to reconstruct your thoughts from mush. He slides your panties back over your hips and trades your ruined sweater for his own.

Eren stops you before you can protest the offer, vehemently against him commuting home at night, in the cold shirtless. “I’ll just take Armin’s jacket,” he reassures you, adjusting the collar of the horrendous Bob Ross fabrication at your neck. The tiny silver bells jingle at his touch, sounding akin to tinkling laughter

Over his shoulder, you take in your appearance in the mirror. You had done your best to right your disheveled makeup and hair, but the bruises on your neck and the obvious wardrobe change were a lost cause. Even if you dipped out of the party now, there was no avoiding being seen. You were going to have some questions to answer in the morning.

Eren catches your contemplative expression and matches one with his own, a little guarded now. Before now, neither of you had been on the best of terms. A history of annoyance and resentment that lasted years brewed between the two of you. But now…

Now as you consider how terrible the night had gone and the embarrassment you’ll face when Jean inevitably picks up that little red bag with his name on it, now as watch Eren wipe leftover slick off the corner of his lip before sucking the offending finger clean, you figure that’s something you can sort out another day.

5 New Messages

hey! I saw what happened w Eren, u alr??

hello??

I got ur present! Txt me when you get home!

hey!!

can we talk?

#eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren aot #aot smut #aot fluff #jean kirstein #jean x reader #pepper's!au #eren jaeger x reader smut #eren yeager x reader smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #jean kirschtein x reader #ctcgu

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merrycarousel · 1 year

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Weekly Roundup 9 April - 16 April

As a means of catharsis from the mess that was the Love Is Blind season four “live” reunion yesterday, I wrote a weekly roundup of all the fics I’ve read and would recommend this week.

I'm currently a month into an exploration of the Marvel fandom—so that should explain some things.

For most of last week and this one, I was primarily consumed by reading three fics: dnky’s A Father’s Son and ali_aliska’s Winter’s End, along with the separate “what-if” fic for that story.

Winter's End by ali_aliska (Ao3)

Incomplete, on hiatus; last updated November 2018

Mature, 461K words (73/?), James “Bucky” Barnes x Tony Stark (WinterIron)

This slow burn fic centers on Tony and Bucky slowly healing and the development of their relationship. Bucky comes back to the United States alone, without the rest of the Rogue Avengers, so for most of the fic we get almost undivided attention put on the two. One of my favorite moments early on happens when Tony is trying to get an understanding of how to remove the trigger words, discovering Bucky’s Winter Soldier personality in the process and then getting overwhelmed by his intense infatuation with him. It was shocking, unexpected, and oddly funny to me. As the author recommended, I only read through chapter 63 so that I wouldn’t be left on a cliffhanger, and it was satisfyingly end-like that I didn’t feel like I was missing too much by deciding not to continue reading. Overall, this fic delivers on your slow burn angst-fluff fic needs. Similarly, while the narrative often switches between Tony and Bucky’s perspectives, there is a nice bit of head hopping as well—which is one of my personal weaknesses.

Far from Heaven by ali_aliska (A03)

Complete

Mature, 67K words (17/17), James “Bucky” Barnes x Tony Stark (WinterIron)

Love, loss, and late-night shenanigans, this story asks the question of what if everything in Winter’s End was a cryosleep dream for Bucky. As you would imagine, Bucky is absolutely devastated, grieving the death of the Tony he knew as he tries to navigate the dream past-turned-present. Compared to the length of Winter’s End, I devoured this fic almost preternaturally quickly and wasn’t disappointed one single bit by ali_aliska and her perfection in blending angst and sickening sweet love that you just can't look away from. Despite the depressing premise, this fic actually gets pretty fun in certain places that I don’t want to give away so give it a whirl.

A Father's Son by dnky

Incomplete; last updated May 2021

General, 156K (42/?), Virginia “Pepper” Potts x Tony Stark

After all of the emotions from ali_aliska’s works I needed some relief, so I went to one of my favorite tropes: time travel, stumbling upon this beauty. This story is about Jarvis waking up during Infinity War and piggybacking on the Mind Stone and its connection to the other Infinity Stones to send himself and Tony back to his birthday in Iron Man 2. I had a lot of fun reading this, particularly in the execution of Tony’s journey to detangle himself from Shield forever—subverting their authority at every turn, being an absolute pain, and actually suing them at one point. This fic also has no tolerance for Captain America or Black Widow while also including other aspects of the Marvel universe, such as Inhumans from Agents of SHIELD and the X-Men, as portrayed in X-Men: First Class. As previously mentioned, I’m a sucker for head hoping and unreliable narrators and this story likes to switch perspectives frequently, which is especially satisfying when we get to see the perspectives of average joes and the wider public, such as in the aftermath of this fic’s New York. Jarvis also gets to really shine in this fic and his relationship with Tony is the cornerstone of the whole story. Be warned however, this fic ends on a cliffhanger. You can infer what happens next, so it isn’t an unsatisfying cliffhanger but if those bother you, chapter 35 is a good stopping point.

Rise From the Ashes by WitheringEffect (Ao3)

Incomplete series; last updated March 2021

General, 16K, 5 works, James “Bucky” Barnes x Tony Stark (WinterIron)

Tony is a phoenix! Enough said. The implications and realities of this in his life, particularly in Siberia and his childhood, are as horrifying as it sounds. Every work in the series follows a different character’s point of view, exploring how the Avengers and Avenger-adjacent characters react and move forward from the Civil War. Overall, it’s an amazing read.

In Case of Emergency by aliaoftwoworlds (Ao3)

Complete; one-shot

General, 4K

This fic is about Peter becoming sick at school and, due to May being busy, the office is forced to call his second emergency contact, Tony Stark. Short and sweet, it goes about how you would expect and will certainly put a smile on your face by the end. It also reminded of one of my favorite fics (the boy and the mechanic by Bundibird) in which a similar, but more serious take on the premise is used.

#Marvel fic rec #Marvel fanfic recs

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lovemesomesurveys · 2 months

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Has anyone ever made fun of your taste in music? Yeah, but they were just being playful. What’s your favorite season of the year? Fall and winter.

Do you have pop-tarts in your house right now? Nope.

Is anyone’s birthday coming up? My dad's is later this month.

Does someone owe you over twenty dollars? No, I wish. ha.

Do you remember who you liked in grade eight? Yeah, my best guy friend at the time, Kyle.

When was the last time you burned any part of your body? I don't recall.

Have you ever overflown a bathtub? No.

Are you dressing up for Halloween this year? No, I stopped doing that years ago.

Have you ever called somebody dollface? Yeah, but I said it jokingly. I actually had a time when I was younger that I said that a lot for some reason. I even had a sign in name for something with dollface in it lol.

If I gave you ten dollars, what would you spend it on? I've been cravinggg wings.

Have you ever thrown food at a stranger in a movie theater? Uh, no? Piece of shit.

What are you most excited about right now? I'm flying to go to my older bro's graduation in May. He lives on the opposite coast.

Does / did either of your parents serve in the military? No.

Are you somewhat of a perfectionist? No.

Do you like sour candy? Nope.

Where would you like to go on your honeymoon? I hve no idea. I can't even imagine getting married.

Do you have Verizon? I do.

What do you do to stay awake when you’re tired? Just try to fight it if I have to. I get so sleepy though.

Are all nighters something you have grown used to? Not anymore. I did that for so many years where my sleep schedule was completely fucked up but ever since my hospital stay a couple years ago I started getting on a better sleep schedule thanks to getting the right sleep med.

Do you usually wear sunglasses when you’re driving? I don't drive or wear sunglasses ever.

Do you wear your shoes around the house? No.

Is there ever a time that you enjoy cold showers? I always like hot showers.

What clothes are you most comfortable in? Oversized shirts and leggings.

Is there anybody you’re not ashamed to tell anything to? I shre the most on here.

What has changed most about you in the past year? Health took a bad turn again for a bit.

Are you good at painting nails? No, I suck. Luckily for me I have a cousin who got her certificate to do nails and does mine all cute for me.

Smoothies or slushies? Slushies.

Are you good at filling silence in awkward situations? I'm the worst.

Ignoring nutrition, could you live off veggies for the rest of your life? Oh, noooo.

Elaborate on a way you have volunteered? i've volunteered at a homeless shelter, a nursing home, an animal shelter, local festivals, car washes with my school club.

Do you use a full length mirror daily? No. I avoid that as much as possible.

Can you walk in heels, or do you feel awkward in them? I cannot.

Any TV shows you sit down weekly to watch? Currently, just Rupaul's Drag Race every Friday. I used to wath a shit ton more shows, I don't know what happened.

Does anybody know about your sex life other than your partners? I don't have a sex life.

Even if you don’t like politics, do you still have opinions on the issues? Of course.

Are you one to sneak food into movie theaters? Not like full meals, but snacks and drink.

Do you ever actually make your bed? Not anymore. It's hard to keep my bed from having a lot of stuff on it too cause I spend majority of my time in bed and want certain things within reach.

Do you make an effort to eat healthy? Not really.

How are things between the person you like / love / are with? No such person currently. It feels like forever since I've felt that, I forget what it feels like.

Where did you sleep last night? In my bed, of course.

The last time you kissed someone, what color of shirt were they wearing? I don't recall.

What kind of booze did you last take shots of? I don't remember. It's been a little over a decade since I've drank.

What’s something you want to purchase next time you’re at the mall? I don't know. I'm broke anyway.

Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you that you were sexy? Yes. They had to have been lying through their teeth.

If you could see any musician live, front row, who would you choose? I really wish I could have seen Linkin Park with Chester Bennington of course. Such a talent and voice. So sad.

If you had to choose between a million dollars or to be able to change a regret? The money would really help my family and I but some of my regrets got me where I am with my shitty health now, so changing one would be literally life changing.

Are you taller than your mom? No.

Have you ever been around someone who was high? Several times, including myself. >>>

Do you prefer to take your showers at night or in the morning? Night.

Think back to June. Were you in a relationship? No. I think I'm meant to be single. I'm almost 35 and haven't had a real relationship. Had a couple guys show a lot of interest, or seemed to anyway, but they didn't want to be together. I wasn't good enough.

What’s so special about what you’re wearing? I just like it.

Do you have any ‘naughty’ photos on your phone? No.

What were you doing at 10:00 this morning? I was at my PT appointment.

Why aren’t you texting the last person you kissed? We haven't talked in years.

Do you think anyone has feelings for you? Nopeeee.

What do you miss the most about your past? My childhood.

When is the next time you will kiss someone? Probably never.

Has anyone taken their shirt off in front of you? Yeah.

Plan on getting drunk or high tonight? Just high.

In the past week, have you cried hysterically? No.

Do you think you’ll actually live a happy life with somebody? I can't imagine it.

Are you on birth control? Nope, I don’t need to be.

Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night? Yeah, my mom.

Last time you were really happy? I have no idea.

Do you tend to fall for players? No.

Why aren’t you in ‘love’ with your last ex? I moved on long ago.

Have you ever asked a boy for advice? Yes?

Are you wrapped in a blanket? No.

Did you get a full 8 hours of sleep last night? I did.

Have you spoken to your mother today? Father? Yes, we live together and talk all the time.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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psychelis-new · 7 months

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Hey Lys

Sorry that it took me a long time to reply... I hope you're in good health.

I am also born on waning gibbous phase..almost become a full moon child if I was born hours later...

Oh no. I was just recalling my visit to one of my state's tourist attraction. I'm not living near mountain but rather on inland. My state (the state in my country) has a mountain. Me, from inland going to the mountain will take 6 hour-ride. I never hike on a mountain let alone a small hill because of health problems. So I never knew how's the sun looking from up there. But my friend had gone to climb mountain and said it was freezing cold but the view was worth it.

By being at the Equator we don't experience long day short night or vice versa. We got the same length for daytime and nightime throughout the year. Maybe for some it's pretty boring but consistency or familiarity feels like comfort to me.

We also have lizards here, the brown one and of course can't forget house lizard 😝

The green one only shows up in the forest. I can almost picture a children's book about Lys saving the lizards family. With pictures looking like being colour with crayon.

Back to weather, it doesn't snow in my place but on rare occasion we could have what look like the beginning of winter where small droplets of shower turn into small flake of snow. But it wasn't obvious. Sometimes we could have stone rain (?) Where the rain have bigger droplets that when it hits you it hurts.

Personally I don't really like storm especially the way they sounded. The past week we just had a regular rain. I don't usually get sick easily. But I do get sick if the weather gone from cold to warm or vice versa in limited time. Just like right now a lot of people in my surroundings cough here and there. So I bet this is the "Autumn" in my country? We do have moonsoons. As i live inland, it mostly feels hot on dry season. But near the mountain the air is cold or maybe the fog covering the sun so theres only so much light sipping in?

No. I don't bake but my sister and mom do occasionally. I can't find the time to do it. If my mom do bake it usually ripen banana cake. Maybe if 1 day I have my own house I might bake?

Hi Nari, I'm kinda okay thank you, hope you're doing good well. Don't worry, life and others things sometimes get in between and need much more attention: a reply can wait. :) Thank you for sending it, by the way! I hope you're taking care of you.

Very cool! Not sure about me but I think it I was pretty far away from new moon or full moon anyway.

Oh okay, sorry I misinterpreted your words. I am sorry about your health problems but I understand why it's better for you to not go hiking, not to mention how far you live from mountains. I live pretty close to mountains tbh, not even 1 hour away. But I think they're not as tall as over there. Still the view is pretty good as well.. maybe this type of mountains would be more affordable for you.

Ofc it depends from one person to another and also what they're dealing with (at times at least). The comfort we get from familiarity and easy situation, especially in certain moments of our life and in specific situation, can really be healing too.

Haha that's a very nice vision! I guess I should write such a book one day :)

Don't you have hailstorms? Like when ice falls instead of rain? We do have a mix of rain and snow as well, it's when it doesn't last and melt salmost immediately... the temperature is generally too high (over 1-2°C here) for snow to form and stay also near the ground level so it melts halfway while falling down.

I used to be scared of thunders, and at times they still make me uncomfortable tbh, but I kinda also like them? Yeah, that's weird. I bet that yea, you can consider this time your Autumn: here too people start to sneeze and cough. Oh that's beautiful, about the fog covering the sun. Here in late Autumn or in whole Winter, fog totally covers the sun and you cannot see anything anymore. People may even get lost if they go out of town in particular as countries and roads are just lost inside this thick grey cover. Those who don't live here or aren't used to fog do get very scared.

Why not, maybe one day you'll have time to bake something too :)

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Their Doll 14

Sweetheart

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n and Steve have some time alone

Warnings: smut, lots of smut. Sweet sex. Maybe some swearing, knowing me there’s probably some

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"Hey, sweetheart." Steve grinned, pulling y/n into a quick kiss as she walked down to breakfast. She gave him a warm smile, leaning onto his touch as Steve wrapped and arm over her shoulders and pulled y/n into him.

"What just happened?" Clint mused, a frown settling on his face as his eyes flicked between the two of them. Nat quirked a brow, Thor smiled like and idiot and Tony rolled his eyes.

"I- I think they just kissed." Bruce supplied, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Finally." Nat muttered, pushing her food around her plate. Thor was still grinning, the curl of his lips boyish.

"What are you so happy about?" Steve asked, brows raised but tone playful.

"Just the fact that Tony here," Thor clapped Tony on the shoulder, "owes me 100 dollars now." Thor confessed, Tony's unamused expression making everyone laugh. Of course y/n's came out silent.

"You bet how long it'd take us to get together?" Steve inquire, and Tony smirked.

"No, I bet you wouldn't get the balls to ask her out because you're frigid and have no clue how to talk to women." He explained.

"I talk to Nat!" Steve countered.

"Nat doesn't count, she's a coworker. And most probably gay." Tony said flatly, and Nat merely shrugged when Steve looked to her for help.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Clint asked after the silence had ensued the room. Tony began to speak but Thor cut him off, earning the Asgardian God a glare.

"We're going to find Bucky." He said optimistically. Y/n instantly perked up, eyes flickering between the super soldier sat beside her and her dad across the table.

"What? Don't look at me!" Steve exclaimed, hands held up in surrender. Tony breathed a heavy sigh.

"That's not what we're doing. Finding my daughter's HYDRA escapade is merely a bonus, and that's if you could even call it that." Tony dismissed and y/n sent him a look at could kill. "Today, we are invading a HYDRA base, so I want everyone on their best behaviour." Tony said, eyeing up the avengers in the room. "And you're not coming." He added hastily, pointing a finger at y/n.

"How come?" Nat asked for her.

"Y/n has already been kidnapped by HYDRA twice, I don't feel like it's a good idea to give them the opportunity for a third time." Steve answers before Tony could.

"What is it with everyone and talking over me today?!" Tony complained, pushing back from his seat and dumping his empty coffee mug in the sink. "Meet at the quinjet at 12." Tony turned to leave, not even making it to the door before he was turning around to face steve and y/n again. "And you're not coming either." He said pointedly at the super soldier.

"Wha- why not?!"

"Because of your emotional attachment. I can't have you freaking out and falling onto a river again just because you had some minor nostalgia." Tony said dramatically.

"That's not what happened." Steve defended.

"Close enough." Tony waved off, leaving the room without another word.

...

"How are you?" Steve asked, perching himself beside y/n on the sofa whilst placing the bowel of popcorn on the coffee table.

Shit. We should be with them.

"I know, Doll. I know." Steve sighed, sinking back into the cushions and slinging an arm over the back of the sofa, behind y/n.

I just feel guilty.

"I get it, trust me, I do. I spent years feeling like this before I got the serum. I changed my form five times before Dr Erskine found me." Steve admitted, placing a soft kiss on y/n's cheek as a method of reassurance. "Now," he spoke after a moment, "what are we watching?"

Y/n grinned at that. She'd been catching Steve up with all the movies he'd missed, and at the same time checking out a few of the ones she'd missed in the four years she was with HYDRA.

A classic, one of my personal favourite movies. Or at least it was.

"And what is this movie called, darling?" It was that moment that y/n pressed play, eyes lighting up with excitement when the film begun to play. When the title screen flashed, Steve smiled slightly, having heard of the movie from all the avengers. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's stone flashed on the screen, y/n smile widening at the familiar words.

We're not stopping until we finish all 8 movies, just so you know.

Steve shook his head playfully. They'd been told the mission would last a few days, maybe even a week.

"Good thing Tony has lots of popcorn then." Steve muttered, settling back into the couch as y/n curled against his hard chest.

They barely began the fourth movie before Steve's hands were wandering slightly, skimming over y/n's thighs and tracing small circles into her skin with his thumbs. His lips kissed along the back of her neck, up to her ear.

Y/n turned her head slightly, giving steve a questioning look. He have her a mischievous smile, dipping his head down to her neck and continuing to kiss the smooth skin. Y/n gasped when his lips hovered over the scar, lightly brushing over the raised skin.

"M'bored." He mumbled, hands inching even higher until they skimmed the bottom of her shorts. Y/n let out soft sighs, leaning into Steve's touch. Her eyes fluttered closed, mouth open in a silent moan when his thumb slipped into her shorts and brushed over her now damn panties. He smirked against her skin. "Looks like someone's not so bothered about finishing the movies anymore." He murmured.

Y/n turned around quickly in his lap, connecting their lips in a desperately slow kiss. Steve moaned against her mouth, hand travelling up to tangle in her hair whilst his other hand grasped her thigh and hooked it over his lap, so that y/n was straddling him. Her arm intertwined around his neck when she felt the bulge pressing between her legs, pressing down against it and grinding her hims.

Steve groaned, detaching his lips from hers and trailing them along her jaw, her neck, pulling down y/n's shirt collar slightly to kiss at her collar bone. Y/n threw her head back, hands grasping the bottom of Steve's t-shirt and tugging it over his head. Steve broke away from her for only the time it took to get his shirt over his head before his lips were latched to her skin again, teeth nibbling lightly at her collar bone before his kisses were trailing back up to her ear.

"Are you sure this is okay?" He breathed, biting her earlobe lightly. Y/n nodded, hands trying to find the bottom of her own shirt. Steve pulled away, hands cupping both her cheeks and forcing y/n to look into his eyes. "Are you sure this is okay?" He asked sternly, but his nose brushing hers affectionately said otherwise.

Y/n remained eye contact, nodding slowly so he understood. A massive smile spread over Steve's face, his lips connecting with her's in a passionate kiss, mostly teeth and tongue.

Before they new it, clothes were gone and Steve remained in only his briefs, kneeling on the floor in front of y/n. He picked up her leg, placing a soft kiss to her ankle, then her calf, then her knee. Finally, he reached her core, where he placed a teasing kiss over her clothed clit that made y/n buck her hips up.

"None of that." Steve chuckled, pressing an arm to her stomach to keep y/n's hips pinned to the sofa. He moved away, kissing the inside of her thighs teasingly while she gasped and sighed above him. Steve smirked against her, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her panties before slowly pulling her down her legs.

Steve buried himself between her thighs, eating y/n out like she was his last meal and he was a man starved. Y/n's mouth was permanently open, the lewd moans she would be making substituted with silence as Steve's tongue lapped around her clit, down to her entrance and back up again.

It had been nearly a month since y/n returned from hell, and they hadn't done much more than kiss. Y/n and Steve had decided to keep their relationship secret for a while, knowing that it may stun a couple of their teammates and not to mention how unpredictable Tony's reaction was.

As much a steve wished he could hear y/n moaning - no screaming - his name, Steve was just happy that he could finally get a taste of the girl he loved. Of course, she didn't know his feeling ran quite that deep yet. He moaned into her core, her taste, her sweetness, one he could devour for hours and still be unsatisfied. One of the things spurring him on were Bruce's words: in a few months, her voice should start to return.

Y/n came with a sinful arch to her back, and Steve happily lapped up everything she gave him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, heavy breathing echoing in the room and Steve fumbled to get out of his trousers and boxers. When they were off, he cooed gently in y/n's ear when she gasped at the size.

"I'll go gentle. If you need me to stop, for any reason, tap me three times with two fingers anywhere and I promise I'll stop." He assured, rolling a condom over his length.

The brightest smile spread on steve lips when the hoarse sound staggered from y/n as he pushed in. We're getting there, he thought. Her eyes widened, an excited sparkle to them in the realisation that she made a noise.

Steve's strokes were slow but powerful, bringing both him and his girl to the edge very quickly. The speed of their release could also be due to the fact that neither of them had been laid in a little while too. Steve's grin never left, the hoarse sounds still coming from y/n. She seemed pleased too, but was way to wrapped out in the feeling of his tip nudging her cervix to care.

When they came, Steve cried out y/n's name with a grunt and a groan, collapsing on the sofa beside her as both avengers tried to catch their breath back.

"That was...amazing." Steve sighed, smirking when he felt y/n nod against his chest, which she'd now curled into with a leg thrown over his waist. Steve pulled a blanket over them both, carding a hand through y/n's hair and rubbing smooth circles into her scarred back.

His fingers ran over the dips and bumps of the raised flesh, a pang of guilt eating at him when Steve realised everything she'd been through. He sighed deeply, sinking further into the sofa as y/n nuzzled into his chest further, he steady breathing telling him she was already fast asleep.

Steve could feel his own eyes drifting shut now, his long eyelashes scraping over his cheeks as sleep pulled him under. Little did Steve know, that the next few weeks would be full of sex with his girl, the act something she'd become obsessed with because she could make a sound whilst he was buried balls-deep within her.

It ended up driving the rest of the team mad, especially Tony. Y/n would try and pull Steve out of conference meetings, tease him throughout briefings and debriefings, keep him up all night when they had nothing to do the next day, just so she could hear her own voice again.

And don't get steve wrong - the sex was wonderful, like entering heaven, but the tiredness that ensued and pulled his whole being down like an anchor wasn't so great.

Everyone noticed it, but Steve would brush them off - after all, he only wanted to see y/n happy, and he loved hearing her voice, no matter how strained it currently was.

So when the team got back from their mission the first time they slept together, devoid of Bucky, Steve and the rest of the team decided to keep the rest of their missions to find the winter soldier on the down low. The shear disappointment steve had seen in y/n's eyes when they told her shattered him, made him want to cry as tears slipped down her reddened cheeks.

269 notes · View notes

freddieslater · 3 years

Text

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Scydia/McMartin | Scott McCall x Lydia Martin (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @wonderdoves & anonymous

"This place is…"

Scott can't even think of a word. He just gazes ahead of them in wonder and awe. For miles, all he can see is snow. A thick white blanket of it covering the entire path ahead, the roads, the cobblestoned buildings, the trees—god, even the trees feel like something out of a fairytale, with long, twisting branches that have a dusting of snow themselves. And it's still going, trying to make them part of the scenery, too.

"You'd think you'd never seen snow before," Lydia teases.

"I haven't—not like this! California's snow is nothing compared to this."

Lydia just smiles, a certain fondness in her eyes. She squints up at the sky, her nose wrinkling slightly, their suitcases dragging along through the snow behind them as they continue their way from the ferry port. Something else that Scott is admittedly still in amazement over; he'd never actually been on a ferry before.

It's just a good thing that the snow stopped long enough for them to actually reach Ireland, or else they'd have still been holed up in their cabin, stuck somewhere in the middle of the sea. Not the worst scenario he can think of, to be fair. But he's glad, nonetheless, because this is so much better.

"I don't know," Lydia says. "I think I prefer the warm winters. I'm just hoping that Gran and Nana make their hot chocolate like they used to when I was younger, I'm telling you, it's the best thing ever."

Scott smiles, finally looking at Lydia as they come to a stop outside a two-storey, cobbled house with a gate around the garden. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her nose a pale pink. Snowflakes have clung to her green hat, along the shoulders of her matching green coat, and to her eyelashes. There's a gleam of pure excitement and joy beneath them as she stares at the house.

When she takes a deep breath, it returns like a puff of smoke. Scott gently squeezes her hand and holds it up in his own, bringing her gloved knuckles to his lips.

"You look nervous," he tells her softly.

"A little," Lydia says, nodding. "Only because I haven't been here since I was… nine? And there's so much to tell them. I mean, I know my mom filled them in on pretty much everything, but still."

Scott nods as well, saying, "I know. It's a lot. But it'll be okay."

"Yeah, of course," Lydia agrees. Her smile seems a little more confident as she gives another nod.

They walk through the gate, into the garden that Scott's now seeing is teeming with things; empty plant pots, kids toys, an overturned bicycle. Even the stones of the house are more interesting than he had initially realized, with bright murals painted across the whole front of the house.

As soon as they enter the house, the door closing behind them, they're hit with unexplainable warmth. And the shouting and giggling of kids that whiz past them, nearly knocking them off their feet.

"I forgot how loud it gets here," Lydia says, but she's laughing. Scott can see it in her eyes as she looks around the entrance hall, beautifully decorated with lengths of tinsel, and handcrafted baubles hanging from the ceiling.

Framed pictures line the walls up the stairs as far as he can. The closest one, hanging by the bottom of the stairs, has a familiar little girl, giving her biggest smile to the camera beside a young woman with a striking resemblance.

"Is this you?" Scott asks, his smile wide.

Lydia looks at the photo. "Oh god, yeah. I think that was when I was, like… six? I came up here every Christmas and New Year before my parents divorced. That's my gran."

"You look like her," Scott tells her, and he can hear the joyful skip of heart, hear it in her proud little hum of agreement.

"Well, maybe without some of the grey hair," a voice says from behind them.

They both turn around, and Lydia's face lights up. She's already squealing and dropping her suitcase and Scott's hand.

"Gran!" Lydia practically flies at her, hugging her tightly.

Her gran laughs, caught by surprise but only for a second, wrapping her up in her arms. "I've missed you too, Ariel!"

"Haven't heard that name in a while," someone else says, with a distinctively more Irish accent, but still holding the same fond, overjoyed tone.

Scott looks at the woman who appears at their side from the room behind Lydia and her gran. He recognizes her instantly from all the photos.

Maddy places a hand on Lorraine's shoulder as she and Lydia pull apart. Lydia looks on the verge of tears as she buries herself into Maddy's open embrace as well for a second, both laughing now.

"And you…" Lorraine looks over Scott with a smile and a gleam in her eyes. A certain kind of knowing. "... You're Scott McCall."

Scott returns her smile and nods. "I am. I've heard a lot about you, Mrs. Martin."

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about you as well," Lorraine tells him, and he knows.

He knows she isn't just talking about him and Lydia being together, but about everything. The deadpool. She knew who he was and what he was going to be before he even hit ten.

For a moment, his worries from the ferry come back. Not all supernatural creatures are a fan of each other, and with the destruction that werewolves have a history of causing, banshees can't be that fond of them. And especially with everything that's happened to Lydia.

But then her smile grows and she says, "I'm glad to finally meet you! And, please, call me Lorraine. This is my wife, Maddy."

"So, this is the little wolf that got your heart, huh?" Maddy jokes to Lydia, an arm around her shoulders.

Lydia looks at Scott. She bites her bottom lip through her smile, and her eyes are saying everything.

She nods and softly says, "Yeah. He is."

"Then you're more than welcome here," Lorraine says.

Relief starts to lift the weight off of Scott's shoulders and chest. The warm, welcoming atmosphere is hard to resist, and he's already feeling at home.

Lydia was right. The hot chocolate is one of the best things he's ever had. Creamy and overflowing with marshmallows with a candy cane to stir it around. Not to mention the plate of cookies. He has never had a gingerbread man that tastes this good.

It's already dark outside, the sun having set an hour or two after they arrived. They already changed into warmer, more comfortable clothes, and settled in front of the fireplace in the living room to get rid of the chill from the snow. Lorraine and Maddy insisted. Didn't want them getting sick, and ignoring their protests about not being able to actually get sick.

"Your cousins don't look like they're having a good time," Scott comments quietly, watching the half-asleep couple sitting in the corner.

"They have five kids, all under the age of ten," Lydia replies. "I think the only thing they can feel right now is exhausted."

Scott snorts. He looks around the room. He's met nearly everyone on this side of the family by now. Every cousin, second cousin, aunts, uncles. The kids that Lorraine and Maddy took in have been especially eager to meet him.

His attention is drawn back to the little boy sitting cross-legged in front of him. He's only nine.

Scott wasn't expecting it when Lorraine and Maddy told him that around ten years ago, another banshee had found them. She was only nineteen and had no one and no idea what was going on with her. They took her in, Lorraine helped her. And from then, it's like their home was its own supernatural beacon, but for kids who had nowhere else to go.

Sean, the little boy currently sneaking another gingerbread man from the plate, is a werewolf. His family, his pack, were hunted down when he was four. Lorraine felt it coming. She and Maddy found Sean.

There's a little yelp and Sean clutches his hand. Scott catches a glimpse of tiny claws where nails should be.

"Can I…?" he asks, holding out a hand.

Sean hesitates, but he glances at Lydia, who smiles and nods encouragingly, then back at Scott. He slowly gives him his hand, palm up.

"I don't know how to control it…" Sean mutters, looking down sheepishly.

Scott inspects where the small trickle of blood is coming from. Three little lines where his claws accidentally caught his skin in passing.

Shaking his head, Scott speaks gently, and draws on the pain in Sean's hand. "It's okay. You're still learning."

"Yeah, it's actually harder for born wolves," Lydia chimes in, nodding convincingly when Sean lifts his eyes to her with curiosity. "You'd think it was the other way around, but one of our friends—he was born a werewolf."

"And he didn't learn until he was sixteen," Scott tells him. "It just takes time."

"And knowing what keeps you grounded," Lydia adds. "Your anchor."

Sean looks at Scott. "Do you have an anchor?"

Scott nods. "I do. I had to learn to let me be my own anchor, but when that doesn't work for me, I focus on all the people I love. My mom, my best friend, my pack."

He glances at Lydia only to find her already gazing at him with the softest smile, her cheek leaning against her shoulder. She places a kiss to his shoulder, her hand resting on her arm for a second.

"You just need to find something that makes you feel more in control," Scott finishes, turning back to Sean. "Even if it's an emotion."

Sean nods slowly. His expression is one of deep thought, trying to work to figure out what his own anchor could be.

"Now, you should go clean this up," Scott says. "Just run it under warm water with some soap, okay? It might sting a little, but just ask Lorraine or Maddy if they have any antibiotic cream, and then put a bandage on it."

"Are you a doctor?" Sean asks.

"No," Scott can't help but grin as he says, "I'm just a vet."

That answer only seems to confuse Sean. But he gets up and hurries off to go do what Scott instructed.

When Scott turns back, Lydia's still watching him. She has this look on her face, a thoughtful glaze in her eyes and a certain kind of smile that he can't read.

Chuckling, Scott asks, "What is it?"

She lets a beat pass. She shakes her head, takes a slow breath in, then looks over at the window instead.

"It's still snowing. Do you wanna sit in the garden? There's a nice bench out back."

Scott's eyebrows furrow a little, but he stands with her, following her to the back door from the kitchen. Stepping outside is like what he'd imagine stepping into a walk-in freezer would feel like.

But the cold biting at his skin is unimportant. The awe hits him all over again as he takes in the sight of the garden, feeling like he just stepped into a fairytale instead. Everywhere he looks, everything is white and sparkling. From the entire ground, to the gazebo at the end of the garden.

Somehow, in amidst it all, there are flowers. Whole roses and everything, snow dusting across their dark red petals.

"This is…" Scott breathes out, his eyes wide, "... I don't even know what this is. This place doesn't feel real."

Lydia laughs gently. She wraps her arms around her and nods, looking around as the snow falls around them.

"Yeah, it does feel kind of… magical."

"We could actually make a snowman," Scott continues. "Or have a real snowball fight. Are snow angels things that people actually do?"

Lydia's eyebrows are raised when he looks back at her, and she's shaking her head. But she's got a smile that stretches to the corners of her eyes and he can feel emotions radiating off of her.

"You are so dorky." She moves closer, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. "And I love you."

Scott smiles. His voice is soft and giving away all of the fondness he feels for her when he says, "And I love you."

She leans in, her head tilting. Her lips are soft against his. He pulls her a little closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. The cold and even the snow is easier to ignore.

Lydia pulls back, her hands lingering on his shoulders. Scott doesn't let go at all.

"I'm really glad you're here with me," Lydia tells him. "And my whole family now loves you, so that's a nice bonus. I think you even made a friend."

Scott grins, shrugging. "Your family is great, and I am… beyond relieved that they like me. And, I think with Sean, it's a werewolf thing."

"Oh, no." Lydia shakes her head firmly. "Maybe that's a small part of it, the whole Alpha thing and all, but all of the kids in there love you."

They pull apart. Lydia sits down on the bench. Scott follows, and can't help but start piling the snow from the arm of the bench into a ball in his hand.

"You were amazing with Sean," Lydia comments, glancing at him. She's doing the same thing with the snow on her side.

Scott shrugs again. "I just told him the same as I told Liam. And Alec. It's how I wish I could have been introduced to all of this. With someone reassuring me that it would be okay."

Lydia nods in a shared understanding. Neither of their starts in the supernatural word were exactly pleasant or comforting. Scott's only sorry that Lydia was brought into it the way she was.

She rests a hand on top of his, curling her fingers beneath his palm. She squeezes gently.

He knows that she can tell what he's thinking. Sometimes he worries that banshees have the ability to read minds as well. But the look she gives him and her hand there with his draws his thoughts away from the past. Everything is okay. It's better than okay.

"It's amazing what your gran and nana have done, though," Scott says. "Taking in supernatural kids who have nowhere else to go."

"Yeah, it's like a little foster home, but… for werewolves, banshees, and everything else," Lydia jokes, but her smile is sincere. "It's a really good thing they're doing. The kids are so happy here."

"I can see why," Scott says, gazing back out across the garden. The snow has the sky practically glowing, in no way looking like it's dark enough to be night.

There's a slight pressure against his hand from Lydia's fingers, moving slowly.

"Do you… do you think that's something you'd ever want to do?" Lydia asks, careful with her words.

Scott looks back at her. She's watching him again, with curious eyes. His heart drops many beats.

"Wait, are you—?" he starts to ask, but Lydia's eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head.

"No!" she hastens to answer. "No, I'm not! I just meant… you know, in general, is it—is it something that you can see for the future? Not necessarily the foster home part, but… you know."

She chews her bottom lip. Scott takes it in, letting the question process. After a moment, a smile curves the corners of his mouth up.

"Imagine, the first werewolf-banshee hybrid," he says.

"That can't have been done before," Lydia agrees, a laugh to her voice. "I wonder if one side would skip them, or if we'd be creating a whole new species."

Scott actually does laugh now, and Lydia joins him. His stomach is buzzing with butterflies or bees, he can't tell.

When they both go quiet, Scott slowly nods. He lifts his eyes to meet Lydia's.

"I like the sound of that," he says softly. "Whether it be a werewolf-banshee hybrid, or even an orphaned werewolf with nobody else… yeah. It's something I see for the future."

Lydia takes in a deep breath. She presses her lips together as her smile threatens to take over her entire face. She just nods, and breathes out slowly.

"Good to know," she says. "I do too, for the record."

"Okay, that's great," Scott says, grinning from ear to ear.

Lydia hums in agreement. Then the ball of snow that she'd been forming hits him square in the chest.

It's safe to say that it is freezing. The snow instantly seeps through his Christmas jumper, melting into his skin. He gasps while Lydia laughs behind her hands, hee eyes wide.

"You said you wanted a snowball fight…" she reminds him.

Scott nods. "You're absolutely right. I did."

The ball of snow in his own hand hits Lydia. She gasps, snow sticking to her jumper as well now.

"Oh my god, so cold!" she exclaims. "Why is that so cold?!"

"Because it's real snow," Scott says, his excitement quickly returning.

Lydia looks at him, her eyes narrowing. A familiar, competitive smirk forms on both their faces.

"Game on," she says.

Next second, they're trying to dodge out of the other's way, snowballs flying across the garden. There are gasps and shouts and laughter when they successfully land a shot.

Maybe it's a little unfair that Scott taps into his heightened abilities to move faster. But the advantage doesn't stop Lydia from managing to sneak up on him and tackle him into the snow. It's so deep that they sink a few inches into it, laughing until their sides and faces ache, and neither of them actually win, both claiming they did. But they end up just lying there in the freezing snow, curled into each other, staring up at the night sky.

#teen wolf #twedit #twrarepair #scydia #mcmartin #scott mccall #lydia martin #scott x lydia #lydia x scott #twelve days of rarepairs #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedits*#wonderdoves #OKAY SO I LOVED WRITING THIS #you really let me just go for it with that prompt damn I love that thank you #and scott and lydia are like one of my favourite otps for teen wolf so once again THANK YOU so much for allowing to let them be soft #hope that you enjoy!!#also if any rarepairs are late at all over the next twelve days... no they aren't you can't see that

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emospritelet · 4 years

Note

Extracurricular verse, bc we can't forget these happy fuckers : 84 “The more, the merrier!”

I haven’t written any Extracurricular since last Christmas, which is a crying shame, but this is going to be my 100th fic on AO3, and I thought making it these three was somehow appropriate. Unfortunately you’ll have to wait for the next chapter for the smut, but there will definitely be threesome smut :)

[AO3]

As he drove slowly along tree-lined streets in the north of Berkeley, Professor Gold reflected that life could be incredibly strange. If anyone had suggested to him two years ago that he would be house-hunting on Christmas Eve with the love of his life he would have scoffed at the very idea. If they had then suggested that he would be house-hunting for three, with Professor Rush being one of the party, he would have thought them certifiable. And yet that was how they had chosen to spend at least part of their Christmas holidays. In fact it was how they had spent the past four weekends, with no luck finding a place they all liked.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t compromise when it suited them—two years as a threesome had made that very necessary—but they were each very certain about what they wanted from the house they were to share and to make a home in. None of the properties they had viewed thus far ticked all their boxes. Either the rooms were too dark for Belle’s liking, or there wasn’t enough quiet, contained space to put whiteboards for Rush’s liking, or the kitchen wasn’t up to Gold’s usual standards, or the garden was too overlooked… They had spent weeks searching with no luck, until Belle had spied the place they were headed to, recently reduced in price and therefore within the budget they had set themselves, although admittedly most of the money was coming from him. He didn't mind that; he was by far the wealthiest of them, and it was worth paying extra to get a place they all liked and could call home together. Perhaps this house would be the one. If Rush made it on time, of course.

“It’s here,” announced Belle.

Gold turned the wheel, steering the car into another tree-lined street, this one quieter, with large houses set back from the road and well-kept lawns outside. There were strings of coloured lights on every house, and in the trees, which made Belle smile delightedly, even though the large plastic Santa and reindeer in one of the gardens looked out of place in the California sunshine. It seemed a pleasant, quiet neighbourhood, and a little calculation in his head showed it to be reasonably close to the university. All good so far. The house they were to see was at the end, the real estate board outside proclaiming that it was being sold by De Ville’s. Gold parked up, opening the door and getting out before going around to open Belle’s. She was looking around excitedly, her cheeks flushed with the relative chill of the winter day, and he wanted to kiss her.

“It’s so green here!” she said happily.

Well, that was certainly true. Each house had a neat, well-kept garden and a large stretch of lawn. Some even had white picket fences to add to the quaintness. Trees and privet hedges bordered the gardens between neighbours, and Belle peered at the house, rising up on her toes as though that would give her a better view. She was itching to go inside, he could tell. Still, the realtor had told them to be there at twelve, and it was almost that now. Not long before her curiosity could be satisfied. So where was Rush? Gold looked at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently.

“He’s late,” he observed.

“You sound surprised.” Belle’s voice was teasing, and she glanced across at him with a grin. “Did you remind him?”

“Yes, I reminded him, I sent him a bloody text!” said Gold impatiently. “And I might add that I’m not his bloody PA. If he can’t organise his own bloody appointments I fail to see why I should be inconvenienced.”

“The realtor’s not even here yet,” said Belle soothingly. “He’ll be here.”

Gold grunted.

“He’ll be nose-deep in some bloody ridiculous theoretical crap,” he said, and straightened as a sleek silver car pulled up onto the long driveway. “Look, here’s the realtor. I told you he’d be late!”

“Would you relax?” Belle turned to face the realtor’s car. “Remember, if he doesn’t make it, you get to have first choice of the rooms.”

There was that, he supposed.

“Well, we can always look around the house ourselves,” he agreed. “Serve him right if he didn’t show and I put his office in the basement.”

The car door opened and a woman swung pale, slender legs out of the door, pushing to her feet with a toss of jaw-length blonde hair. She was tall and thin, wearing an elegant black dress beneath a short white coat that Gold was fairly sure was made of real fur. Red lips curved in a smile as she held out a hand.

“Mr Gold, I presume?” she drawled, in a very English accent. “Cara Deville-Waters. Delighted to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Gold shook her hand. “This is my partner, Belle French.”

He gestured to Belle, who stepped forward to shake Cara’s hand.

“Right,” said Cara breezily. “Well, here is the house. Lovely, quiet neighbourhood. Mainly professionals, some with young families. The owner has moved to Europe, as I understand it, so we’re maintaining the property in her absence.”

“It seems a lovely area,” observed Belle.

“Yes, very pleasant. The area itself is stacked with amenities, and has very good schools. Do you have children?”

“No,” said Gold.

“Not yet, anyway,” added Belle, making Cara grin.

“Well, best to plan ahead for these things, I always say. This is the sort of house that has the space for a large family, as you’ll see when we go inside. Shall we?”

“Oh, we’re just waiting for the third member of our - uh - family,” said Gold. “He should be here any minute. Or at least he would if he had any sense of punctuality and common courtesy.”

Belle gave him a level look as Cara looked intrigued, brows lifting.

“Oh, so there are three of you?”

“That’s not a problem, I trust,” said Gold, in a very even tone, and she waved a languid hand.

“The more, the merrier!” she said. “And the house is certainly large enough. Do let me know if you have any other requirements, and I can point them out as we go.”

“The listing mentioned a hot tub,” said Belle.

“It’s out the back,” said Cara. “There’s a section of raised decking leading out from the kitchen. If you like we can—”

She was cut off by her phone ringing, and after glancing at the screen she pulled a face and sent them a guilty look.

“I do apologise,” she said fervently. “It’s my wife. She doesn’t call during viewings unless it’s urgent, so—”

“Oh please, take your time,” said Belle hurriedly.

She grasped Gold’s hand and pulled him up the driveway as Cara answered the phone, and Gold ran his eyes over the large brick-built garage with its painted roller-shutter door.

“Enough room for both our cars, easily,” he remarked. “Rush’s Ford will probably drip oil all over the paving, though.”

“He says it’s your car that’s the leaker,” said Belle absently, and Gold frowned.

“The Cadillac does not leak, she just - gets a head cold every now and then.”

“Mhmm.” Belle looked amused. “What do you think of the neighbourhood?”

“Pleasant,” said Gold, looking around. “Lots of green space, which I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”

“Yeah.” Belle whirled on her toes to face him, eyes sparkling. “Can we get a dog?”

“A dog?” Gold pursed his lips. “Who’s going to look after it when we’re at the university all day?”

“You could take it to class,” suggested Belle. “That’s an eccentric thing to do, isn’t it? You can get away with it because you’re Scottish.”

“I doubt that,” said Gold dryly.

“Well, it’s not too far from the university,” she persisted. “I could cycle back every lunchtime and walk the dog.”

“We’ll talk about it if and when we buy the place,” he said, and she huffed.

“Okay, that’s fair enough.”

“We can certainly get a couple of cats,” he added, and Belle squeaked in excitement, making him grin.

Cara had put her phone away and was hurrying towards them, looking harassed.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, almost wringing her hands. “My wife’s car has broken down. She’s stuck on the side of the road waiting for a tow-truck. Unfortunately, she was on her way to the airport to pick up her father, who’s coming to visit for Christmas. She’s asked if I can go instead. I’m so sorry, but I’ll have to postpone our viewing until later.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip, looking disappointed, and Gold raised an eyebrow.

“Well, as we’re still waiting here anyway, why don’t we look over the house?” he suggested. “We could drop the keys back at the office in a couple of hours if you’re not back by then.”

“I really should be here to answer any questions you might have,” she said, running a hand through her hair in agitation. “Although I suppose two hours would get the job done. Are you sure you don’t mind looking around by yourselves?”

“Given that we have no idea when the third of our party will finally remember he has somewhere to be, I doubt it’ll be an issue,” said Gold, in a very dry tone, and Belle gave him a look.

“I’ll make a note of any questions we have as we’re going around,” she said, and Cara sighed heavily and dug in her bag, fishing out a set of keys and a sheaf of papers.

“Property particulars and room dimensions,” she said, handing them over. “I’ll be back by two, barring unforeseen circumstances.”

She hurried back to her car, heels clicking on the paving, and Belle and Gold shared a grin.

“Well,” he said. “Let’s take a look.”

The entrance hall was spacious and warm, a tiled floor leading to a sweeping staircase that led to the upper floor. The banisters were in warm, shining wood, and the tiles gleamed as though they had been mopped that morning. Gold suspected they had. He took a step forward, testing the surface with the end of his cane, but to his relief it wasn’t slippery. Getting around with a limp made some floor surfaces treacherous. Sunlight was shining in from the top of the stairs and from a window at the far end, and overall he thought it was a pleasant, welcoming space.

“Looks good so far,” he said, tucking the property particulars inside his coat. “Shall we explore?”

Belle went first, opening the first door she came to.

“Here’s the lounge,” she announced.

Gold followed her in. The lounge was large, the front windows of the house letting in plenty of light. The floors were covered in pale cream tiles, and Gold’s cane clicked as he walked. It was still furnished with a couple of large leather couches and an easy chair, grouped around a glass and chrome coffee table and a wide stone fireplace. The room had been emptied of anything else that might have hinted at the tastes of its owners, but the couches gave it a comfortable air.

“Ooh, we could have a log fire!” said Belle excitedly.

“In California?” remarked Gold, and she sent him a look.

“It can get cold here!” she insisted. “It’s cold today, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” He walked slowly around the room. Beyond the hearth, the room turned a corner into a large open plan dining area, and he turned back to Belle before heading into it. “This is a nice room. Plenty of space, and enough light to read by for most of the day, I should think.”

“There’ll be more light at the rear,” she said. “It faces south.”

“So perhaps that’s where we should install the library,” he said, and wanted to grin at her beaming smile.

“Oh, so I get my library?” She walked towards him, swaying her hips in that infuriatingly alluring way she had when she was getting exactly what she wanted. “I knew I could talk you around.”

“I hardly took much convincing, as I recall,” he remarked, and Belle pouted, sliding her hands up his chest and letting her fingers push into his hair.

“Pity,” she said. “I thought of a few more methods of persuasion I could use to ensure we get a dog.”

Gold chuckled, one hand sliding around her waist to pull her closer.

“Oh, you can still use your wiles against me, Miss French,” he said lazily. “But perhaps we ought to finish looking over the house first.”

Belle rose up on her toes to kiss him, soft lips pressing against his before she settled back on her heels.

“I wonder if there are any other university types in the neighbourhood,” she said.

“Unlikely, unless they have another source of income,” said Gold. “We could ask the realtor what she knows about the residents of this area, though.”

“I’ll add it to the list of questions,” said Belle, still stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m surprised she let us look over the place ourselves. I thought she’d tell us to come back another day.”

“I imagine the commission on this sale would be an extremely welcome Christmas present,” he remarked.

“I suppose.” She looked around. “It has a nice feel to it, doesn’t it?”

Gold thought about it for a moment. He was far from the superstitious type, preferring to go on facts and figures, and tangible evidence. On paper, at least, the property was both a good investment, and appeared to meet most, if not all, of their requirements. They would have a better idea of whether it was correctly represented when they had been over the place, but he thought he understood what Belle meant. There was a pleasant atmosphere, a warmth that didn’t just come from the underfloor heating.

“It’s - it’s certainly a good start,” he said, and kissed her again. “But I think we should look beyond the lounge before making a decision on this place.”

“Like the kitchen?” she said knowingly. “Okay, you’re on.”

Gold glanced out of the window over her shoulder as a flash of dark red caught his eye. His mouth flattened.

“Looks like someone finally got here,” he said, and Belle chuckled, wriggling from his arms and trotting into the hallway.

Gold followed more slowly, trying to keep the smile from his face as he saw her sprint down the driveway and fling herself on Rush almost before he had gotten out of the car. The force of her greeting knocked his glasses askew, and he was clearly trying to simultaneously keep his balance, close the car door and hug Belle. He made it by shoving the door shut with one hip and frantically grasping at his glasses before they could fall.

“You’re bloody late!” called Gold.

“Only five minutes.”

“More like twenty, but who’s counting?”

“You, apparently.”

“Stop bickering!” chided Belle, still hanging onto Rush. “Come on, I want us all to look over this house! I think it could be the one!”

“You said that about the last four,” said Rush, clutching her around the waist as they walked back up the driveway.

“Yes, and I have to be right at some point.”

He grunted in amusement, running a hand through hair already messy from the day. His stubble was growing through again, the winter sun glinting on his cheeks and chin. His shirt was also very wrinkled, and Gold suspected he had spent the previous night at the university, head down in some sort of research. He and Belle had spent the night at his place, curled up in each other’s arms, and had spent the early morning eating breakfast at his kitchen table before heading out. Rush’s own breakfast had probably been a pint of coffee and a few cigarettes, and if nothing else, he suspected that them all moving in together would be good for Rush’s health. At least he’d have two people around to nag him into eating and sleeping properly.

“And don’t even think about going back to the university when we’re done here,” added Belle. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I want both of my men firmly committed to the festive season. Here.”

She pulled out of Rush’s grip as they reached the doorstep, pawing through her shoulder bag before pulling out a large handful of red plush and white faux fur and brandishing it with a beaming smile. Rush sighed heavily.

“What’s that?”

“Santa hats!” she said gleefully. “Come on, it’s Christmas!”

As if to demonstrate, she pulled one of the hats down on her dark curls, white pom-pom bouncing. Belle held up the other two hats, shaking them back and forth.

“I can already tell you that doesn’t go with my outfit,” remarked Gold, and Belle pouted at him.

“If you don’t have a Santa hat, you don’t get inside.”

“I’m already inside,” he pointed out, and Belle smirked.

“Who said I meant the house?” she said lightly.

Minx, he thought, and she grinned at him, bouncing on her toes as though she could read his mind. Rush grumbled under his breath, but reached for one of the hats.

“Tis the bloody season, I suppose,” he said, and tugged it down on his head. “Come on Gold, don’t be such a bloody Scrooge.”

Gold sent him a very level look, then sighed and held out his hand.

“Alright,” he grumbled. “But no pictures.”

“Oh, I’m not promising that,” said Belle airily, giving him the hat. “Now let’s go check out that hot tub.”

#sprite's festive fic fest #fic: extracurricular #rumbellerush fic #my fic #rumbellerush #ripperblackstaff

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themagicianshea · 4 years

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We hope you've been enjoying the published fanworks so far! Here's a little taste of what's coming this next week:

December 8th

The Sky full of Stars

Eliot, an ex-professional ice skater is hired by the King of Fillory to help his son, Teddy, put on a holiday skating performance. As Eliot spends more time in the palace they both find themselves drawn to each other, but relationships are hard enough without a whole nation watching and Quentin has to put his country, and his son above everything else.

December 9th

Waiting at the cottage door (where two hearts become one)

Bestselling YA-novelist Quentin Coldwater doesn’t spend time with his almost… something Eliot Waugh without mutual friend Margo forcing them. But she’s getting married over the holidays, and so Q has to go, even though his girlfriend and editor keeps reminding him that he has a manuscript deadline on January 1st. At least the wedding is in Fillory…

December 10th

What If I Came Knocking?

Quentin Coldwater is an aspiring author without a novel. Eliot is a prince who hasn’t gotten around to being crowned king.

When Quentin’s job at the Brakebills Inquirer sends him undercover to Eliot’s home in the small country of Fillory, their paths cross in unexpected ways. Swept up into a world of royalty, party planning, and enough nerdy references to fill up a feature length film, Quentin finds himself right at home. But when he starts to fall for the prince, he must choose between his career in New York and his new life in Fillory.

December 11th

wish me a wonder and wish me to sleep

when insomniacs quentin coldwater, an english phd student, and eliot waugh, a bartender at a speakeasy, discover they can only fall sleep when next to each other, they realize it may mean something more than they expected…

The Magician Queen

Alice is an average American woman, with average everyday problems. She stresses as the deadline for her upcoming book approaches and leans on her boyfriend, Quentin, for comfort. Her best friend prepares Alice for what seems like a life altering question that Quentin will ask, what Alice got instead turned her world upside down. Quentin is a King! With encouragement from her best friend Kady, she travels to Quentin’s home country to learn more about his secret identity. Upon meeting the High Queen, it's apparent that Alice is not welcome. And the more she discovers, the more she becomes unsure about her relationship. Quentin does everything to ensure to Alice that she is his one true love. And as Alice maneuvers around the unknown country and learns more about the history, she discovers a mystery that's been shrouded from the world.

From High Queen Margo scrutinizing her every move, to Quentin’s past lovers, Alice begins to question everything. One thing becomes certain, Alice must choose between staying with Quentin or return home to her ordinary life. But with war looming from West Loria Quentin also must decide who is more important; his country or Alice. Can Alice get Margo to accept her? Will she let Eliot steal Quentin's heart? And who exactly is the Magician Queen?

December 12th

The Mistle-Tones

Quentin's desperate to win his mother's approval by auditioning for the a cappella group she founded which performs at Brakebills mall every Christmas Eve. When he's rejected by Marina, his only option is for him to form his own group with the help of his best friend Penny and his work colleagues, Fen and Josh. However, he knows that his only chance to beat Marina once and for all comes in the form of aloof boss Eliot Waugh's stunning voice. Quentin will do whatever it takes to get him to sing, whether he wants to or not. The only problem is Eliot hates him. Oh, and the fact that he has a crush on the guy.

December 13th

is it the truth (or merely a description)?

Eliot Waugh, co-host of a national talk show, didn’t think his argument with interviewee and small town mayor Fen would lead to a weekend of professional exile. When he finds himself putting together a piece in the holiday destination of Fillory, will he be broken down in ways all too reminiscent of his youth? Or will a partnership with his longtime producer, Quentin Coldwater, show him that vulnerability, when derived from empathy, can be a strength?

December 14th

A Winter Prince

Prince Quentin, working incognito at a ski resort, must team up with the owner's best friend, Eliot, to plan the resort's 50th anniversary celebration.

And while everyone seems eager to prove that when the going gets tough they can single handedly take on all the problems facing them, they all find that help is not to distant when they just remember to ask.

Like gravity from underneath, we can't outrun our destiny

A talking rabbit appears out of thin air and Quentin's life takes a turn when he finds out that his grandmother left him the keys to a magical land. Overwhelmed, he wants nothing to do with it and plans on leaving it to someone better equipped to look after it. However, things change once he gets to know the place and a new High King is crowned.

#mhhe #the magicians #the magicians art

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missluthorwillseeyounow · 5 years

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Trust (SuperCorp Criminal Minds AU)

I have 2 SuperCorp versions of this. This is currently my favorite one. Born mostly because Katie in Kevlar is HOT.

DISCLAIMER: I know nothing about the FBI, law enforcement or intelligence agencies, sorry. Also, for the FBI agent watching me, THIS is what all those searches were for, and nothing else:

⦁ The BAU (Behavioral Analysis Unit) team in this AU is led by J'onn, and consists of Alex, Maggie, James, and Winn. Brainy is their technical analyst. Sometimes I add Sam in as the PR liaison in the team, and Nia as an FBI trainee.

⦁ Lena is in the team, too. She's a transfer from Interpol, and she's had years of experience in profiling, suspect and victim identification, as well as infiltration, under her belt (I also hc that she worked with the CIA and the MI6, mostly in intel, profiling and undercover work). In this version, I kinda put her in Prentiss's role, but y'know, more Lena Luthor-esque.

⦁ Lena is still a Luthor in this one. Lex is a serial killer, and this is part of the reason why Lena took an interest in criminal profiling, and joined the BAU in the first place. She feels responsible for not stopping Lex before he could kill at least 47 people (that they know of).

⦁ Lex started killing when Lena was ten. She'd been shipped off to boarding school, and she didn't know about it. During the holidays when she returned to Luthor Manor, she didn't see it at first, because Lex was very clever at hiding it, but soon, she begins to see signs of his psychopathy.

⦁ In one version of this story, Clark is a reporter who, like Lena, made the connection between Lex and the murders. One night after dinner with the Luthors, Clark sneaks into Lex's study to find evidence he can use for his story.

He’s rummaging in a desk when he hears a voice from the doorway.

"You won't find anything there." Clark whips around to find Lena standing there, silhouetted against the light coming from the hall. He tenses, thinking she's about to tell her brother what Clark was doing.

"If Lex really is behind these murders, and I know you think he is, you won't find anything there. He's not foolish enough to hide evidence here."

Clark doesn't say anything, he just stares at her. Lena pauses, looking away. "I... I didn't want to believe it. Not Lex... He wouldn't..." Steel injects itself into her green gaze. "But the more time I spend with him, the more clearly I see the truth. You see it too, don't you?"

Clark straightens up and nods gravely. “Yes.”

⦁ I haven't thought it through quite yet, but they get the FBI involved, including one agent on the fast track to unit chief, J'onn Jonzz. He meets Lena only briefly, and he's struck by the young girl's keen intelligence and remarkable calm. He's the one who suggests that she consider a career in profiling and criminal psychology.

⦁ Fast forward 12 or so years later, Lena is on the BAU with the others. For the sake of her anonymity (and also because it was necessary for her undercover work), she's erased all connections to Lex and the Luthors (including old photographs and newspaper articles until the name Lena Luthor is but a footnote in the Luthor history with nothing to tie her to who she is now). She's also changed her last name to her birth mother's (and just because I'm also an Adlocker, I hc that her last name now is Wolfe but whatever).

⦁ She's very professional, is revered by the younger agents in the Bureau, well-respected by her colleagues and highly praised by her superiors (they all secretly call her "The Ice Queen"). But she's very guarded and keeps everyone at arm's length, doesn't go out for after-work drinks with the others, practically sleeps with one eye open -- years of working undercover and living with a serial killer will do that to you.

⦁ Until a certain promising young recruit comes along. Special Agent Kara Danvers is new in town -- adopted sister of Agent Alex Danvers, the cousin of one of J'onn's old friends (I don't think teaming family members up is actually allowed in the FBI, so some suspension of disbelief is required here). Since he doesn't want to be accused of nepotism in his own team, he asks Lena to oversee her training and transition into the team herself.

⦁ Kara's sunny demeanor couldn't clash more with Lena's icy, professional front. Lena approaches the task with thinly-veiled impatience and something remarkably close to disdain.

However, Kara quickly proves to be more than a perky attitude and a pretty smile. She squirms at blood, which Lena is initially quick to exploit (What FBI profiler can't stand the sight of a bludgeoned corpse? "We profile serial killers here, not celebrities in high-waisted jeans.") -- but Kara displays true empathy to the victims and their families, she's sensitive to other people's emotions and knows just what to say to get a reluctant victim or witness talking. She's extremely dedicated to catching the unsubs, and relentless in her investigation, and she's extremely handy to have around in a crisis.

⦁ Lena finds this last part out when they're on a case, trying to find a missing girl. The team is headed to the unsub's apartment, but on a hunch, Lena heads to an abandoned warehouse near the apartment, with only Kara as backup. They enter the warehouse, and just as they're clearing the rooms and checking for the missing girl, the unsub attacks Lena and manages to pin her to the ground, choking her. Kara gets there just in time to shoot the unsub in the leg, saving Lena's life.

⦁ Later that evening, Kara and the rest of the team go to the bar to celebrate. Lena is absent, as usual.

Just as Kara is getting another round of drinks at the bar, a low, smoky voice interrupts her. "Didn't profile you as a drinker, Danvers. I wonder what other surprises you're hiding behind those glasses and cardigans."

Kara squeaks and turns to see Lena behind her. "Agent Wolfe! I didn’t expect to see you here-- No, these aren't all for me, I--"

Lena's face softens at Kara's babbling, and she takes a few of the shot glasses from Kara's hands. "You know, I have a rule... Anyone who saves my life gets to call me Lena."

Kara blushes profusely at the other woman’s arched eyebrow. "Well then, if I'm calling you Lena--"

Lena smirks. "Kara it is, then."

For the first time -- much to the gaping surprise of the rest of the team she's worked with for years -- Lena joins them for a post-case drink.

⦁ To everyone's -- and no one's -- surprise, the pair quickly become the best of friends. 2 days into their friendship, Lena starts jokingly calling her Supergirl. 3 weeks later, they start grabbing lunch together.

3 months in, Kara sends Lena a video of herself petting a St. Bernard on the street only to be bowled over in a mass of furry paws and puppy licks -- and the cadets Lena is training are even more bowled over to hear the "Ice Queen" laugh (of course, they're later treated with a scorching glare and a sharp reprimand, but it's a revelation just to discover that she's actually physically capable of laughing).

By 6 months, the whole department is in a secret "will they or won't they" betting pool. A year in, and every other department has stakes in the pool (Alex publicly condemns the pool, but secretly has Maggie bet a hundred bucks for her that "they will" by winter next year).

⦁ But despite their growing closeness, Lena has yet to tell Kara about Lex, or about her life working undercover for Interpol (which includes a decidedly less-good Kate Kane). She decides to bury it in the past, (wishful) thinking that it belongs there. Lena is no longer the same teenager betrayed by her brother when he killed forty people. Nor is she "Lauren Reynolds", the undercover "arms dealer", who had betrayed Valhalla, the woman who commanded a terrorist cell by day and worshiped Lena’s body by night (yes, I put Kate in the role of Ian Doyle).

So she keeps silent. About Lex. About Kate Kane and Valhalla. About the beautiful little boy with wide, trusting eyes, who was not her son, but whom Lena had loved and protected all these years as if he were.

⦁ There are too many secrets, Lena decides, as she shoves them all one by one into their little boxes, clamping the lid securely shut. Kara is too good to be tainted by any of them. Kara, who gets squeamish at the sight of blood, but resolutely hunts each killer like an avenging angel. Kara, who somehow, still believes in the good in people, and when she realizes that there is very little of that to be found in Lena Wolfe or Lena Luthor, Kara will hate her as much as Lena hates herself.

But then the day comes when Lena receives a package in the mail. She reaches in and pulls out two things: a four-leaf clover, and a surveillance photo of Kara and Lena having lunch together. On the back of the photograph are three cryptic little words that fill her with dread: “See you soon.”

[yeah, so I’m binge-watching Criminal Minds with these AU-goggles firmly in place now] Should I continue this????

#supercorp #katie mcgrath #melissa benoist #lena luthor #supergirl #kara danvers #alex danvers #j'onn j'onzz #clark kent #lex luthor #criminal minds #fanfic #supercorp au #i just had to get this out of my head

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Their Doll 4

Y/n Stark

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: the avengers find some stuff out about y/n

Warnings: swearing

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"SO there's some weird HYDRA girl locked and sedated in my basement? Cool, don't want to know." Tony dismissed, not looking up from his white mug as he tipped a generous amping of sugar into his black coffee. He swirled the liquid in the mug and turned around, leaning against the counter as he raised the drink to lips lips and took a sip before sighing intently. Bruce frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Tony, I don't think you get it, I ran a DNA test and-"

"And she's probably some innocent girl that went missing years ago and was never found? I get it, I feel bad for her but at the end of the day she has nothing to do with me." Tony dismissed, pushing away from the counted to deposit his now-empty mug in the sink. He turned the tap on, rinsing out the cup before carelessly placing it on the drying rack.

"Just, please, come and see her. You won't regret it, and if you do - dinner's on me?" Bruce suggest, arms outstretched in welcome. Tony rolled his eyes, before scoffing.

"Yeah, no. I'm good. Catch you in the lab later though?" Tony was quick to deflect, exiting the room with so much as another glance. Bruce's hands feel to his side with a slap as his shoulders sagged in defeat.

...

Bruce nervously paced the lab, desperate to tell someone his horrifying discovery. The click of the door made his head snap up, a smile of relief spreading his on lips at the sight of Nat.

"Nat, finally." He sighed, walking towards the scowling girl.

"What did you need to tell me Bruce? You sounded pretty urgent when you called." She pressed, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a brow. His smile faulted, his gaze dropping to his hands where he fondled with a biro pen.

"I- uh. I made a... discovery about y/n." Bruce confessed, finally meeting Nat's eyes.

"Go on.." Nat prompted. Bruce took a deep breath, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. "Bruce-" she started.

"Y/n isn't entirely human-"

"Well we knew that much."

"It's what she is, that's shocking. Looking threw all her blood tests and whatnot - it's showing she has an ability to manipulate minds when she s-sings. It's like a certain note her voice forms that can control the minds of people around her."

"So what is she?"

"I don't know, there's not really a name-"

"A siren. She's a siren." A third voice joined the room, and both the avengers' heads snapped round to the direction it came from. In the door stood Steve, shoulder leant against the frame and ankles crossed.

"Who's watching y/n?" Nat asked.

"Clint. Anyway, my father - he used to read me a story when I was a kid. The Odyssey, I believe it was called. It was a Greek myth about a bewitching girl who lured saloons in with her voice so she could feed off them." Steve continued, pushing himself off the door frame and walking further into the room.

"There's no way that's real, though." Nat dismissed, frowning heavily at his words.

"No, no. He has a point - I mean, look at Steve. Look at me." Bruce said, gesturing to himself and Steve. "We shouldn't be possible, but science does some crazy things. Y/n was with HYDRA, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"Well, what if they did this to her. We know she was taken when she was young, so what if they did so to experiment on her?"

"I should go talk to her, you know - girl on girl. She seems to like me, maybe she knows what she is and she might open up to me, if I ask nicely." Nat suggests, walking out the room when she was met with no protests from the two men.

"There's something else I should mention." Bruce started fidgeting again, which man Steve's brown knit together.

"What is it, Bruce?" The super-soldier prompted. Bruce continued to fidget, not looking up from him hands as he spoke.

"Are you aware Tony used to have daughter?" Bruce asked sheepishly.

"Tony had a daughter?" Steve said, brows now raised with genuine shock. He knew of Tony's...escapades from before he was with Pepper, but he couldn't see Tony as the type to actually keep a child from just a one-night stand.

"She was adopted, some kid he found on the streets with no parents. So he took her in, raised her and then she just disappeared. Many people have forgotten she existed, and those that remember her are all under the impression that she is dead. I thought so too, until..." Bruce paused, flipping through some papers on his clipboard until he found what he was looking for. "Until this." He finished, handing the board over to Steve.

In Steve's hands was proof that matched y/n's DNA to that of Tony's adopted daughter.

"Well that explains the name, and her hesitation to tell us who she really is." Steve frowned, eyes scanning over the paper repeatedly. Bruce hummed in agreement, taking the clipboard back from Steve when he held it out for Bruce to take. "Do we tell Tony?" Steve asked after a moment.

"He doesn't want to know, I've tried telling him but he doesn't care." Bruce told Steve and Steve pressed his lips together as he thought. "I do think we should wake her up though. If she's Tony's daughter there can't be anything that's more dangerous about her than you expect her attitude." Bruce said and Steve nodded, suppressing a laugh.

"I'll tell Nat to wake her up." Steve said as he exited the lab.

...

The steam from the shower engulfed me, my hands running through my hair and brushing out the tangles lightly. As I scrubbed the shampoo from my scalp, I hummed a small tune - thankful to be somewhere noisy enough that I wouldn't risk affecting anyone with my powers. After waking me up Nat told me to clean up and get changed before handing me a pile of clothes and telling me that she would meet me at my room in half an hour to take me to meet the rest of the team.

Shutting the water off, I slid the glass door open and my feet padded onto the thin bath-mat. The towel wrapped around me as I patted my hair dry with another one, looking over my scarred figure in the large mirror opposite me.

A large scar spanned the width of my stomach, smaller remnants of cuts littering my thighs that were joined by one larger one from where I was once stabbed. Looking at myself over my shoulder, I observed the large scars that spanned over my back, the layers fading at different degrees from their varying ages. The memory of how I got them brought tears to my eyes, which I was quick to blink away and focus back onto what I was doing.

Pulling the large sweatshirt Steve had lent me over my head, I left the large bathroom clad in a pair of leggings and some socks I borrowed from Nat. I brushed my fingers through my wet locks, detangling them. I threw the towel onto the bed in the room I had been assigned and plopped down next to it, taking my time to survey the room I barely got a look of earlier.

The door to the en-suite bathroom I just exited sat on one side of the room, accompanied by a big closet and a dressing table. A chest of draws was propped next to the king sized bed the sat in and the free corner housed a small kitchen. It had a stove, fridge-freezer, sink and a few cabinets. On the side sat a kettle, toaster, blender and some chopping boards.

A sharp knock on the door bought me back to my senses, making me perk up a little at the sound of Nat's voice.

"You feeling okay?" I nodded. "Good, well Steve and Bruce want you to meet them in conference room 4. I'll take you." She quickly added the last part in seeing my scared face.

As we walked down the halls we chatted, talking about our pasts and finding out that we were fairly similar - we were both forced into the bad things we did, we both found a way to redeem ourselves, neither of us have ever had a boyfriend and we both love chicken noodle soup.

"Well, this is it." She announced, pointing at a door to our left. I nodded, going to open the door before pausing and turning around.

"Thank you. For taking me with you, for giving me this chance, for hiding me from HYDRA - thank you, really." I spoke softly, giving her the friendliest smile I could muster.

"No problem. I couldn't live with myself if I knew we could've helped you. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"I genuinely can't thank you enough - you saved me." I said, quickly swiping away the threatening tears with the heels of my hands.

"I was nice meeting you, y/n."

"You too." And with the last words said, I pushed the door open, walking into the room and being instantly greeted by Bruce and Steve.

"Hey, y/n, why don't you take a seat and we'll get the introductions out the way?" Bruce suggested and I nodded shyly. I took a seat next to Steve, who appeared to shuffle slightly away from me but I couldn't be sure.

"So, another midgardian?" a bulky man with shoulder length blonde hair and a red cape clipped to his shoulders broke the silence. He was clearly the God I'd been hearing about - I mean how much more of a costume does he need to look like Thor?

"Yes, we think so." Bruce confirmed. I frowned at this. Midgardian? What the hell was a midgardian?

"We think she's been tampered with, like me," Steve elaborated, "but as far as we know, she is of this earth." Steve spoke and Thor nodded. "We are keeping her safe from HYDRA." Steve said to break the silence as they all stared at me with funny looks. I kept my eyes cast down now, cheeks hot with embarrassment after feeling so many eyes on me at once.

"Does she-" I interjected the second I heard another voice. I stood abruptly, pushing me seat back and wincing at the screeching noise it made before resuming my angry face. I slammed my hand down the table as I stood, catching the attention of everyone sat at the table.

"If even one more of you refers to me as 'she' rather than just fucking talking directly to me I am going to end up sirening one of your asses!" I demanded, seething with anger. A grin broke out on Thor's face.

"Atta girl, I like this one already!" He laughed and I sat down again, smiling contented ay his compliment.

"She's got Tony's patience, all right." Another man remarked with a smirk. Steve simply rolled his eyes as common menus about my attitude were thrown around the room. Finally, someone addressed me. It was a woman with Blonde hair and kind eyes. She looked motherly.

"Hey, I'm pepper." She smiled kindly and I quickly reciprocated it. They went around the table - the man who had commented about my patience was called Clint, the blonde man was was indeed called Thor and obviously I'd already met Bruce and Steve.

"I'm y/n." I returned and she repeated my name in her beautiful voice, almost as if she was testing how I'd felt in her mouth.

"Y/n. A stunning name for a stunning lady." Thor commented, boyish grin still in place and I gave him a sheepish smile.

"Oh, cut it out big guy - you're like, a billion times her age." A voice came from the door and we all turned to find out who it was.

"Tony. I wasn't aware you'd be joining us." Steve said in a monotone voice and Tony gave him a tight smile.

"You don't get everything your way, Capsicle. Now, who's this?" Tony said, stuffing a mouthful of blueberries in his mouth before stuffing the bag of food in his back pocket and motioning to me with a nod.

"Tony, this is y/n," Bruce said moving out the way from where he was standing so Tony could see my face. The man's eyes widened instantly as the recognition sank in. "Y/n Stark."

#smut #captain america #winter soldier #winter solider fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve x bucky #steve roger fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve Rogers image #bucky barnes #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #marvel fanfic #marvel smut #marvel

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