Summary: Steve returns from his workout and can’t seem to get one person out of his mind.
A/N: Just trying to work through this writer’s block.
Warnings: Smut, masturbation (male).
The bathroom door opens before Steve steps in to his room,
his towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets falling from the ends of his
hair and on to his shoulders, rolling over his skin. He pulls his towel from
around his waist, drying his hair, a scowl on his face.
With a sigh he looks down at the evidence of just how much
she affected him. The cold shower didn’t help.
“She just had to wear
those god damn pants” he mumbles in frustration before dropping the towel and
walking to his bed, giving in.
Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall, he decides he had
enough time before the debriefing in half an hour as he rests against the
headboard, his jaw clenching as he wraps his fingers around his length.
A satisfied sigh escapes his parted lips as he slowly begins
to stroke himself, his mind trying and failing to keep images of her out of his
Just moments ago her body was pressed under his on the mats.
He was hesitant to spar her but she was insistent and he could never resist her
smile. And so he gave in and regretted it as soon as he caught her punch, using
the leverage to pull her to the ground and get her in a hold before he felt a
very noticeable twitch in his boxers.
His hand pumps the length of his shaft as he works himself
closer and closer to his climax, his heartbeat quickening, soft groans passing
Her workout attire didn’t help, a sheen of sweat over her smooth
skin as she sparred him in nothing but a sports bra and leggings. His eyes
flutter shut as he throws caution to the wind, letting his mind be filled with
the images of her body, her muscles rolling as she threw her punches, the way
her thighs felt around his waist as she tried holding him down.
He was getting close, his body yearning for some relief. His
eyebrows knit together as a soft whimper falls, his hand quickening as he
strokes his shaft, paying attention to the head of his painfully erect member.
Her name falls from his lips, his mind now overcome with her
groans, her smell, her body against his as they sparred.
His breath stutters as he strokes over his turgid length and
with one last groan, he mutters his sexy, sexy catch phrase “The human is torching” as he finally climaxes
in his hand.
Felicity finally meeting the star player aka Oliver on her friends(probably Dig, I could see Oliver as a pitcher and Dig catching as a duo) baseball team - the one she she finds does those attractive af pants(honestly tho what magic is there in baseball pants to make them so hot???) better than anyone else out there. (this may or may not be inspired by the days me and my friends used to watch the guy she was crushing on play because of those damn attractive pants) (I LIKE A GOOD BOOTY OK)
“I still don’t understand why I had to come to the game. Everyone knows that Oliver Queen and John Diggle are the star players,” Felicity said, squinting at the bright sunshine and then rummaging in her large pink tote bag for her prescription sunglasses. “No offense to Barry and Tommy, of course.”
“Trust us, you’ll want to see a game,” Caitlin Snow said.
In unison, Lyla Michaels and the Lance sisters, Laurel and Sara, nodded their heads.
“Okay …” Felicity said, settling the sunglasses on her nose and following the other girls out to the field.
She had transferred to Star City Senior High three months ago, a skinny sophomore who was more comfortable with computers than with other people. To Felicity’s utter surprise, she had quickly found a great group of friends, starting with Caitlin and Sara, who were in a few of her classes. And through them, she had gotten to know Lyla and Laurel, who were both seniors.
Having friends was great … most of the time. But getting dragged to a baseball game, with end-of-semester exams looming, wasn’t one of those times. Yet all the girls had been so insistent on her coming, Felicity had been worried what would happen if she didn’t go along.
But if she did go, she risked embarrassing herself, yet again, in front of Oliver Queen. Because whenever she was around him, she seemed to end up tongue-tied and fire-engine red. Or, even worse, babbling like an idiot. Which was not fair–she had a genius-level IQ!
For some reason, Sara seemed to think Felicity had a chance with Oliver and kept pushing her and Oliver together. Since Sara’s sister was dating Oliver’s best friend, that meant there was plenty of chances for Sara to push Felicity towards Oliver.
“It’s gonna be a lot of fun,” Sara said, linking arms with Felicity. In her red tank top and black jeans, her hair in a high ponytail and her sunglasses on, Sara was effortless cool. Meanwhile, Felicity felt like a little girl in her full skirt and t-shirt.
“If you say so,” Felicity said, her eyes widening as they approached the field. “Wow.”
The baseball complex was much more elaborate than Felicity had expected for a high school field. More than that, though, after growing up in Las Vegas, she was still a little bit breathless when she saw so much green grass.
The five girls chatted as they found seats in the bleachers and waited for the start of the game. Other than Sara, Felicity was the only one who wasn’t dating a baseball player. Which at least meant she wasn’t the … eleventh wheel?
“And now, taking the field, the two-time reigning state champions, the Star City Stallions!”
The crowd went wild as the home team took the field. Felicity could see the speedy Barry take up his position at shortstop, and Tommy heading out to right field. John Diggle, Lyla’s boyfriend, was warming up on the mound. And even though she told herself she wasn’t looking for Oliver, she scanned the field for him.
“Where’s Oliver?” The words slipped out before she could hold them back, making her blush a little.
“Behind home plate,” Laurel said, chewing on a piece of gum.
“Behind … ? Ohhhhhh.”
All the girls sitting beside Felicity exchanged looks and grins that were verging on smirks. Felicity could see that from the corner of her eye. But all her attention was focused on home plate.
Because Oliver Queen, in full catcher’s gear, was crouching behind home plate, his already-snug-fitting baseball pants stretched across his very, very, very nice ass.
“Oh my God. I’d pray to that if I wasn’t Jewish,” Felicity breathed out before her cheeks lighted on fire.
“What about being Jewish would preclude you from praying to Oliver’s ass?” Lyla asked with a grin.
“First Commandment. You shall have no other God before me,” Caitlin said.
Sara snorted. “Why are we talking about commandments with all the lusting we’re doing?”
Dimly, Felicity heard the other girls debating the question, but she was not paying attention. Which was probably violating some code of friendship, but … now she understood why they wanted her to come to this game. Now she knew that whatever she was feeling for Oliver Queen wasn’t just some school girl crush. No, watching him crouch and kneel in the dirt … she felt like a woman for the very first time.
A sharp pain in her side brought her back to Earth. “Ouch!” she said, rubbing her side as she turned to look at Sara. “What was that for?”
“Go tell Oliver good luck.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Sara gestured to their now-empty bench. “It’s tradition. Each ball player needs the girl they like to tell them good luck before the game. That’s where Lyla, Laurel and Caitlin are.”
Felicity looked around and saw a clump of players and girls along the first-base line. Then she looked back at Sara and bit her lower lip.
As much as she would like to go wish Oliver good luck on the game … it wouldn’t count. Not when she wasn’t the girl he liked.
“Trust me, Felicity,” Sara said softly. “He wants you to be the one to cheer him on.”
For a long moment, Felicity looked at the girl who had become her best friend. Sara was outgoing, wild, always up for a good time. But she was also incredibly loyal and read people better than anyone Felicity had ever met.
If Sara said that Oliver liked Felicity … she couldn’t help believing her.
Swallowing, Felicity glanced down at the field and saw Oliver, still behind home plate, glancing towards the first-base line. And there was something about his body language that made him look … wistful. Sad. A little lonely.
“Okay,” she said, standing up quickly. She wavered a little and took a deep breath, before climbing over the bleacher risers towards the walkway that would take her along the first-base line.
She edged down the line, not getting too close to the other couples. She took another deep breath, then looked over towards Oliver. He wasn’t looking in her direction anymore, which meant she would have to get his attention somehow.
Licking her lips, Felicity called out, “Number Twelve!”
Oliver’s head whipped around, and even behind his mask and from this distance, she could tell his eyes widened in surprise. Then, he gracefully rose from his crouch and jogged over towards the line, pushing his mask up to reveal those gorgeous blue eyes, a slightly-stubbled jaw, and a wide, beaming smile.
“Hey,” he said, not sounding even a little out of breath as he approached her.
“Hi,” she replied shyly, gazing at him. “I’ve never been to a game before, so I … I didn’t know about this tradition.”
He leaned against the railing that separated the bleachers from the field. “It’s a good tradition. Especially if you have a girl.”
“I … I’m surprised you don’t,” she said, feeling a rush of pleasure at the words coming out flirty instead of shy and vulnerable.
“Well, you need the right girl. Else she’ll wish you good luck and you’ll go 0 for 4 with an error,” Oliver said, looking right at her with a small smile.
Felicity found herself smiling back. “Maybe I shouldn’t wish you any kind of luck. Just to be safe.”
His smile widened and his hand reached out to gently hold her elbow. “I don’t play safe.”
Oliver leaned up and just like she knew what she was doing, Felicity leaned down. And when their lips met, Felicity found herself thinking that Oliver’s way was the best way.
And from now on, she sure wasn’t going to play it safe.
First off Happy Valentine’s 😍 I hope yours was wayy better than mine 😂
But this is a little update thing mostly because I haven’t updated in awhile.
So, I know I know Ashley what the actual fuck! I want my damn Dolan Imagines! And im sorry I’m sorry… Please dont hurt me. I’m having a rough day. And I am sorry I wanna update some more and I know I take months off and get into it but hey.
I have figured out a schedule for both of my accounts. Why you always lyingggggg okay yes its true I still haven’t and I’ve just been updating on my other because there’s way more people I have to write for.
But hey hey hey I’ll update soon! Maybe…. I’ll try tonight okay I’ll try and I can’t promise but thank you for still following me. 1.1k that’s a lot gosh.
Happy Dolan Twin Tuseday!
And damn look at my daddy. Hod those pants. God that shirt. There so tight. Mmmmmmm 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍
I’ve been reading too many imagines on @theartofimagining13 … this is the first chapter of the story monster it created.
Chapter One - Mutual Nerdery
You sneak up behind your co-star where he is stretched out on your couch, a beat up copy of the play and your cat settled on his lap, and take a quick picture with your head on his shoulder, both of you making faces. You looked a little ragged after working for hours together in your cramped living room, going over the different versions of the text and other insights into your characters. You posted the picture on twitter for your modest fan base, “Hours discussing Shakespeare? I can think of worse ways to spend a Saturday night. #MutualNerdery.” When he’d suggested these little “dates” to help develop your character’s chemistry and to research together, you half thought it was just his way of flirting, being that smart and charming, but it wasn’t, it was just wonderful conversations, food and kinship with your co-star, you were getting use to it now, you were friends. Less than ten minutes after you posted the picture, you look at your cell phone and can’t help but laugh, you knew that your best friend would not let the selfie you just posted slide by without a comment.
Please tell me you did not just post a no-makeup selfie with your hair in pigtails. – Lou
She would focus on your hair. She seemed to miss the point of the tweet. You had been keeping your next job underwraps for weeks, not even telling your best friend, Lou, that you were headed to Broadway. You shoot off two texts in a row.
No comment on ANYTHING else in that picture?
You’ve been begging me for weeks to tell you about the next project, well…
“What are you giggling about?” You show him the texts and he laughs too. “I’m looking forward to meeting Lou, by the way.”
You wave him off playfully, “You’ll love her, everyone does, she’s me, but younger, prettier, and put together. We always say I got the brains and she got the looks.”
His head tipped back in laughter as my text alert went off again.
Yeah I saw, Tom Hiddleston, that’s no excuse for pigtails. – Lou
You start to reply when Lou’s ringtone, The Pet Shop Boys, Opportunities, starts playing and Tom just laughs harder as you pick up and put her on speaker. “Hey Lou. How’re the kids?”
She launches into a mini-rant, ignoring you entirely. “Why was Tom Hiddleston wearing your glasses, in your living room, looking like he slept there last night? (Y/N), I swear to God that if you were wearing those damn pajama pants when you took that picture, I will find a way to teleport to New York just to punch you in the tit.”
Another, frankly adorable, round of full bodied laughs shake Tom as you look down at my outfit, an oversized Steven Universe T-shirt and grey flannel pj pants that were easily a decade old, and shrug. Tom piped up, “Your guess is spot on. Tom Hiddleston here, I am guessing you are the notorious Lou.”
“(Y/N)! Am I on speaker?” You can hear her start to shift around. Only Lou would primp because she was on speakerphone with an attractive man. “Hello, Tom, Yes, I’m Lou. I am the woman who is going to punch your co-star in the tit for posting a selfie on twitter looking like she just rolled out of bed with you.“
Tom’s eyes went wide a moment before another boisterous round of laughter started up.
You choke a bit, “Jesus, Lou! So classy.”
“Hey, at least you can’t see her stripey socks in the picture. Small miracles.” He kept laughing.
Lou’s light and pretty laughter rings through the room as you bop Tom in the back of the head with a throw pillow before he follows suit and almost knocks you onto his lap with the pillow next to him. You shove his legs off the couch and park yourself next to him.
“(Y/N) I swear to God. Can take me off speaker, Darling?” You just shake your head, and put the phone back to your ear. “Are you trying to repel an attractive, single man? Wait, have you already slept with him and that’s why you are comfortable giving up on looking fuckable? But wait, Shakespeare? What show? Why are you two researching in your apartment? What is HE wearing?”
You answer in order once she’s wound down a bit. “No and God no, not yet anyway.” Tom raises his eyebrow and you give him an innocent look, ”Yes, Much Ado, Because I live in this city and he doesn’t, hoodie and trackpants, and to the answer the first question, we have the same prescription and didn’t notice for an hour that we had accidentally swapped glasses. Did that cover it all?”
You could hear Lou shaking her head, “You’re going to marry him, just watch.”
That made you laugh and Tom raised an eyebrow at you as you put up one finger and shook your head to get your breath back. He just pats you on the head, standing to answer the door buzzer and fetch the take-out you had ordered. “Never, Lou, I will always be yours. Now, we need to go, our food is here.”
“See, you’re already we and our, it’s curtains for you and me (Y/N). Just make sure my Matron of Honor gown is pretty, I want to look good in the pictures next to Benedict.”
“You’re cute, shut up and call me later, love to Max and the kids.”
You hang up and grab plates and utensils from the kitchen before settling in again with dinner, Shakespeare, and Tom.
Warnings: Smut, Mirror kink, Metal arm kink, teasing, NSFW
A/N: Others wanted a continuation of the imagine, so here it is! Sorry if I haven’t been posting very much, life’s been a struggle for me right now, but I’ll try to post some more soon. :) Thank you all for being patient with me, it means more than you know.
Alexander Hamilton had exactly three extra curricular activities: studying, drinking, and arguing. You had the pleasure to witness each of the different sides of him, sometimes they intertwined (you can still hear echos of him drunkenly murmuring about the very first murder trial of the United States of America).
Currently, he was content with the last of the list. If Alexander and his ‘rival’ (as he eloquently puts it) Thomas Jefferson happen to share a room, ‘shit is about to go down’ (as Laurens eloquently puts it).
You had droned out many of their arguments before, and this wasn’t any different.
You silently compared the two men: Thomas, long and lean, intelligent beyond belief and opinionated. He spoke in long, quick phrases that left you dissecting them for hours after he said them. He was poetry, in a way. Poetry you would never read, but a poem nevertheless.
Alexander, shorter in stature but he certainly made up for it in passion and enthusiasm. He was on par with Thomas in his intelligence. If anything, his raw determination may have given him the upper hand. He spoke nearly as fast, but twice as elegant. If Thomas was a poem, Alexander was a Shakespearean sonnet. Complicated and witty. Hilarious and otherworldly. Breathtaking.
“Something on your mind?” Lafayette teased next to you, watching as you carefully inspected Alexander.
“Hmm?” You responded, startled by his presence. Had he been sitting there a minute ago? “Oh…I was simply…admiring his finely tailored pants?”
Hercules scoffed from the other side of Lafayette, “Those are the cheapest pants he owns.”
‘Damn fashion major.’ You thought to yourself.
“Maybe Y/N can settle the score.” Alexander insisted, suddenly pulling you between the two heated men.
“Thomas insists he received a higher grade on our History of Law pop quiz. Tell him he’s wrong.”
You should have known being a TA for a class both Thomas and Alexander were enrolled in would bite you in the ass eventually.
“Alex, what have I told you about pulling me into your cat fights?” You sighed.
Their History of Law teacher had a habit of putting a ‘fun little bonus question’ at the end of every test. They always revolved around trivia from well known movies. You knew the question a day in advance and had discretely sat Alex down to watch it. Alex received full credit, plus the bonus. Thomas received full credit.
“Alex had the higher grade.” You laughed as Thomas cursed and Alex, in a fit of happiness, pulled you into a hug and spun you a bit.
“I knew I befriended you for a reason!” He cheered, “Besides how breathtaking you look in this,” He gently tugged at the hem of your sweatshirt, which once belonged to - and still smelled of - Alexander.
“Yeah, and you don’t look too bad in your cheap pants.” You giggled.
“Well, if you like these pants so much, you should see me out of them.”
Lefou and Stanley keep playfully flirting with eachother, and like; “Damn Stan, if I’d have known those pants would fit you that well, I’d have bought a ton more for you.” “Right, like you want me to keep them on.” And just winking everywhere and it drives everyone insane.