Okay I'm working so many hours cause its play season and the only thing thats getting me through is imagining Captain Ilya and Boston's number pne draft pick rookie Shane. Ilya agreeing to billet Shane and then regretting it because now he's got a sexy little rookie always hanging around giving him these fucking looks with his big brown baby cow eyes. Ilya can just tell that he wants it bad but does not know what to do about it. Ilya knows what to do about it but thats also his little baby rookie who he just got to stop calling him sir like 2 weeks ago. How long does it take till ilya breaks?
I see the words 'Captain Ilya' and 'rookie Shane' and I start grinning like the Grinch meme.
And, honestly? An Ilya who had to grow up as the undisputed number 1 champion of the NHL, with no one to challenge him, to make him better? An Ilya who never had Shane as a tempering influence over his wilder part boy days? Who had to go through losing his father and cutting off his family mostly alone? I think he'd be faaaaar from well adjusted, and I think that means he'd be EASILY tempted by the thought of corrupting the little rising star's innocence. And honestly, the kid's so obvious, he's lucky Ilya's the one he's crushing on - Ilya can show the kid the ropes, give him a good time before he drops him. Ilya would be doing him a favour by popping his gay cherry for him, honestly - there are a lot worse options out there. Ilya can at least teach the kid to be a little more discreet.
And then of course jaded, older, retired-fuck boy Ilya falls ass over teakettle in love with this earnest, eager, brilliant boy who's living in his house and breathing life into his on ice gameplay and making them soar through the playoffs and who wants to be good for him so sOoOo baaaad~
wait guys one last thing before im dragged back from delusion by the voices
childhood best friends alpha will and alpha aiden except in this universe omega mack is older than them
one night when will is 14 hes sitting on the couch of aidens house watching whatever aiden put on before he ran to the bathroom mack is stumbling through the front door scent sour and just so sad when he sees will sitting frozen on the couch and his face is puffy but he still manages to smile for will before sitting down next to him to ask him abt how schools going bc mack is super cool and is off in college but is still kind enough to ask will how hes been
they talk for a bit before will gains the courage to ask mack if hes okay and mack just sighs deeply and turns to will suddenly all serious
“willy whenever u start dating ur omega u need to promise me that you’re gonna treat them right okay?”
will could only nod dumbly before mack is ruffling his hair satisfied with his reaction and heading up to his room
and so will literally did everything possible to become the best possible alpha……for mack
he learned how to cook bake clean sew and even started playing hockey so mack could pay attention to him bc he watched mack who is 5 years older constantly getting together with dogshit alphas that never knew how to treat him right and hed be damned if hed ever treat his chosen omega that way bc he had found him a long long time ago and he was determined to prove himself to mack bc he carried that promise deep in his heart
part six of an odd combination // matt murdock x f!reader
Matt assured you that words work just fine, but you believe he deserves a proper 'thank you'.
wc: 2900
cw: smut: oral (male receiving), teasing, praise kink to the max, slight nipple play, subspace!!
note: reader has hair. images from pinterest. semi proofread. Everything i know about sex is based on what ive read and my imagination 😊
His...situation that arose at the store has been getting somewhat better, but then you'll skim your hand across any available stitch of skin. Or you whisper into his ear when it's not necessary. “Did you need anything at Top and Bottom?”
It's a miracle his voice is as steady as it is. "I thought that store went out of business.”
To which you hum and reply, “Blow out sale.”
Seconds after his apartment door closes, you're attacking him. You've gone mad, bombarding his face with lighthearted affection. He loves it.
“Thank you so much for the paintbrushes, honey.” The kisses are unpredictable. “How could I ever repay you? My kind Matty.”
Still flushed and slightly out of his mind, he pants, “The- uh, Kisses are good, but thank you is enough.”
Pulling away, you cup his face and ponder. “Hmm, I dunno.” Taking him by the hand, you park him on the couch. He's pliable to your wants and immediately wraps his arms around you when you sit on his lap.
Blissed out, he smiles into your peppering kisses. “Mmm, words work just fine.”
Your hand confidently lowers down his chest, settling on his crotch. “I think I should give you a proper ‘thank you’.” Petting his tenting pants, you hum.
Matt slips into a slight warriness: eyebrows pinched and body shifting. “Sweetheart, you really don't have to.”
You slink lower, off the couch and onto the hardwood floor. His legs mindlessly spread further apart, making room for your kneeling self. Reverent, you slide your hands down his legs and ease off his shoes, then slip them under the coffee table.
Already content and slightly hazy, you want him as comfortable as possible. You run your hands up and down his thighs. "But I want to. Don't you wanna give me what I want?" Slumping downwards, you set your head in his lap and revel in the strong, straining muscles beneath your cheek.
Gentle fingers run through your hair, brushing it out of the way. Matt smiles and relents, “My smart girl. Alright, baby. Whatever you want. But,” he tilts your chin up to look at him, “traffic light system, or tap me twice if you need a break. You understand me?”
Craning up at him, you study his face and nod. “Yes, Matty.” Easing forward, you remove his glasses and set them on the nearby table. He smiles.
“Good.” His body reclines further, but his hand lingers in your hair. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”
Though you’re eager, you gently palm his bulge, enjoying the warmth beneath your hand. For a few moments, it’s a contented quietness. Feeling the heat of his body, waking up, and wanting.
With your head dangerously close to his crotch, the temptation becomes too much.
Slowly, your face slides closer and against his bulge, nuzzling. Matt sighs in satisfaction and strokes your head absentmindedly. Content with whatever he receives.
You want to take your time and tease him like he teases you. But he makes you weak. You move to his middle. The clink of his belt has you reacting like Pavlov's dogs: mouth watering and starving.
You can tell he's trying to stay composed, but the disrobing is clumsy. Without much finesse, he lifts his hips, and you help him wriggle his pants off, but before he can fully kick them away, you push your face into his groin. Genuine sighs of relief huff against his silk briefs. You’re far too horny to be embarrassed right now. He kicks his pants off without your help.
Kneading his cock between the fabric, you feel a damp spot of pre-cum under your hand.
Matt's hand twitches, then gives in to his wantings, grabbing your hair and encouraging your desperate nature. Pulling you closer and groaning when your tongue darts out against his clothed cock.
He's kind at first, and you are too, allowing him to think that this is all he wants. And yet, you can’t help but think that he truly would be fine with just…this. His calloused hands are tender, stroking your face and playing with your hair. “God, you need me so bad, huh?”
Your eyes feel so heavy. “Ahuh.” From down here, the smell is warm and heady. Rich and intoxicating.
You want to take your time, but he's just. so. beautiful. So open and wanting. Twisting your head, you follow the hand that was cradling you seconds ago, and dip your open mouth forward, taking his thumb between your lips. Gradually, you lower and suck lightly.
Matt’s strong jaw accentuates with the shift. His nose flares (more than likely trying to control himself in some manner, which is cute.) You'll be nice and let him have that perspective for now. Let him keep the idea that he controls the narrative.
His pointer and middle fingers eventually come into play, pressing deep, then onto your tongue, leaving you panting and drooling like a dog. It’s all too easy to take your time bobbing up and down, sucking and licking whichever finger he chooses.
At some point, feeling calm and hazy, you pull away. His head tilts at your retreat, but he doesn't complain. Matt sighs when you take him out of his silk boxers. Rising to your knees, you take in the mouthwatering view, then spit in your hand, but decide to wait, to watch him squirm, anticipating the upcoming touch.
Smiling, a shadow of pride shades his expression. “You wanting me to beg? Is that what this is?" Matt's thighs tense, and his cock bobs against his stomach. No longer sadistic, you bring your damp hand to his cock and watch his eyelashes flicker.
The rising and lowering of your hand are languid movements, practically self-indulgent, just wanting to get used to the velvety feel of him. Coquetish, you innocently disagree. "Uhuh. Just wanna see you control yourself so well. It's so pretty, Matty."
His hand shoots to his face, massaging his forehead. “Shit."
Scooting your body closer, you chuckle and say, “Go easy on me, honey." It's crude, smacking his cock against your tongue, then giving his cock a broad lick from base to tip. You grin at his shudder. Finally, you lean over, your head just above his deep red tip, adorned with a pearl of white. Matt is quick to collect your hair, even finding the strays and tucking them away.
Licking away the pre-cum and slowly lowering, you take him into your mouth. You exhale in tandem, both parties feeling chest-deep gratification. It begins slowly. Stroking him at the base, and taking what you comfortably can. You’re in this for the long haul; now is not the time to break your jaw. That can come later.
Matt knows all too well that you need to hear him; he’s more than happy to oblige. “Mmm, thank you, baby.” You pull off for a moment and breathe, still moving his cock and reveling in the indecent sounds. Smiling, he cups your cheek. “So good. Just for me, huh?”
Taking him again, you hum in agreement, and he groans. An especially lewd sound makes you retreat, nosing against him in embarrassment, but Matt laughs freely, making you giggle too.
Praise falls from his lips, making you squirm. He tastes too good, too warm and slick. Wet squelches and shlicks sounds accompany his controlled breathing.
Greed gets the best of you, going faster and reaching a little lower than the time before. Then, you gag, and even though his cock twitches, he swallows his moan and tries to pull you off, but you work against him, taking a shuddering inhale through your nose and burying deeper.
Matt’s head juts back, and he groans. Panting, he reminds you, “You can tap-"
You withdraw only to complain in a hoarse voice. "I know, Matt. Shut up."
Logically, you’re certain Matt would let you go if you asked. Hell, you're pretty sure you could say you changed your mind and don't wanna blow him, or that you never want to give him a blowjob ever again, and he'd take it in stride. Probably tuck himself away, then beg to eat you out.
After a few more undulations, taking him in, departing, then diving back, you give in to the idea. It's just a small test. Two small taps drum against his leg, and you're gone, moved away without a second thought. Both of you catch your breath. "Okay, baby?"
"So good. Promise." One of your hands slides under his shirt and up his torso, admiring his abdominal muscles and broad chest. Matt’s head slumps back at your tender touches, but his hand joins yours and leads you to his pecs.
Entranced at the very idea, you pinch his nipple and are beyond turned on to watch him squirm. A light tug on the sensitive nub makes his back arch. Pulling harder the second time, he gives a high-pitched moan, “Fuck, Matt,” you whisper, “you're serious?”
Matt’s flushed face is stunning, but this aspect will have to be explored later. You can’t take it. You move your hands to anchor on his thighs, and plunge back down; his chest heaves at the sudden onslaught of wet warmth.
Teasing your tongue on the underside, then licking where his tip begins, slowly moving up and teasing the slit. He hisses, “Ah, ah, shiiit.”
You then set a moderate pace, only going deeper when his hips buck and thighs tense. "Fuck, yes, just like that." The sounds are obscene, but it only makes you restless. Panting, he huffs, “Can I fuck your face? That okay?" Your cunt clenches at the request, thrilled but anxious. "You can tap out, smack me, pull off. Whatever you need."
Panting, you agree, “Yes.”
Although the grip on your hair tightens and you’re pushed deeper, the thrusts still feel shallow. Hesitant. He's holding back and you know it. Shoving yourself up, you gasp, "Fuck my face, Matthew."
The command changes him. His hold is no longer for assurance, but for unrelenting guidance, forcing you down. The newfound power and rough thrusts make you moan, causing him to moan in turn. Fuck. “Good girl, so good.” It gets frantic. “Yesss, atta girl. ‘S perfect.”
You can feel his control slipping away. He moves forward, his chest almost covering you, and he fucks into you with wild abandon. Writhing, you think, Fuck, can I cum completely untouched? Tears spill and drool splays over your mouth, hands, his dick, and his lap. Obscene, wet smacks slap against your skin.
Then you're gone. Pulled off and panting. Upset at the sudden stop, you wriggle, but one hand holds your hair tight, keeping you where you are, and the other slowly pets down your flushed cheek. “Wha?”
“Y-you havin' fun?”
Dazed, and not fully understanding the abrupt halt, you nod and say, “Ahuh.”
“‘S good. You need to breathe, baby.”
You melt, slumping and pressing your cheek into his calloused palm. Your voice is rough and slurred. “Feels ‘s good, Matty.” You want more. You wanna keep going, but he’s not letting you. You know how to fix this. “You- you're not giving me what I want.”
Matt’s jaw clenches, and his grip tightens. “Don't be a brat. You know what you want, but I know what you need. You gotta’ listen to me, baby.” Two small taps rap against your skin, reminding you that you have a say. That his word isn't the end-all be-all.
Your drum back is light and somewhat shaky, but you understand. “Okay, Matty.” Attentive to his needs, you keep stroking him, but ask, “Where do– face or mouth? An’ I’m not swallowin', ‘s gross.”
Matt’s laugh is deep, but it turns to a hiss when you twist your hand. You giggle when the words can barely escape, too far gone and overwhelmed by your work. "Mouth?"
“‘Kay.” You let go and lean over Matt, grabbing tissues from the box on the end table, and watch them float to your knees.
“You ready?” You nod into his hand. “Alright, baby.”
Gripping your scalp, Matt shoves you down and groans in satisfaction. Your nose brushes against the neat thatch of dark pubes. You stroke his balls, inner thighs, and knead the straining muscles. He's relentless; it’s euphoric.
Shoving you, then lifting you off. A continuous cycle. He disregards your gags and squirms, gripping your hair and using you for his own pleasure. Desperate for him to break, you suck harder and moan when he throws his head back and groans, “Fuuuck, shit, yes. Just like that, that’s it. That’s a’girl.”
It’s rough and unforgiving, but with him, it's easy to ignore the gags and respiratory needs. Each gag and groan fuels Matt, pushing him further.
It feels so good. So rough but tender. This is the same man who cooks you dinner and buys you fancy paintbrushes. The same man who cuddles into your neck and hums at head scratches. The same man who takes off your coat for you and walks on the outside of the sidewalk.
This man pushes you to allow yourself good things; he wants you to want, so he can ‘treat you right’ and ‘spoil you’. And you want this.
His balls tighten in your hand. He's there. Right there, but holding back even when you told him not to. It's frustrating. Even with his tight hold, he eases when you drive against him. You rasp the magic words, "Gimme what I want," then return like nothing happened.
Going back down on him, you open your throat and huff through your nose, going deeper than before, using your tongue to lap at the very base, and caressing his balls. “Fuuck. Good girl. So good. Tellin’ me what she wants, f-fuck, so proud ‘a you."
The praise makes you squirm, your pussy aching, feeling empty without him. Matt’s no longer holding on to your hair to follow your motions or drag you off as a 'just in case', his grasp tightens, making your scalp burn.
His hips lift, fucking your face and causing tears to spill. "Shit, fuck. Gonna make me cum." The trusts turn erratic and hiccup. “Gonna- fuck” You moan at his letting go, filling your mouth, and continue to stroke him through his orgasm. Matt’s moans are gorgeous, even prettier than you imagined.
His head slumps, knocking it against the back of the couch. Moving away, you spit, and he shivers at the disconnection. A warm, bitter tang lingers on your tongue. But, unable to help yourself, little licks and kisses still follow across his groan, and who can blame you? You've got an unbelievable view. You have mercy with him when his shaking turns to overstimulated twitching and the moans are no longer fun.
You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, panting and recovering, but it's long enough that the world is still a little blurry, yet you’re now aware of your aching jaw and the chilled floor. In a hoarse voice, you ask, "How are you?"
Matt’s laugh sounds wrung out, but in the best possible way. He echoes your question. "How am I?" A hand runs down his face, muttering through his chuckles, "Oh, sweetheart, c’mere." Matt pulls you onto his lap, careful of his sensitive body and your sore legs. You sit in his lap and sag against him.
Grabbing another tissue, he wipes away stray tears, snot, and messy drool. "I'm wonderful. Made me feel so good." Heated hands run up and down your legs, pushing lightly to dissipate any and all tension. Matt folds you into him, bringing your flushed face into his neck. A soft emotion creeps up the back of your neck and encases you in cotton.
A peck presses into the top of your head. "Oh, my good girl. 'm so proud. You like knowin' you did such a good job?" Chest hitching, you nod, getting high off his praise. "Did you like that?" You nod. “How’d you feel, baby?”
For some reason, all the answers feel far away, so you snuggle closer and think. Matt’s caressing never ceases, moving across your body, tethering you. You’re not sure if that helps or hinders the thinking process. Finally, you murmur, “Feel…soft. Tired. But…good tired.”
Matt’s smile is kind; your fingers gently trace the crow’s feet. “Mmm, a good tired. Do you feel kinda floaty? Maybe a little far away?” You nod. The next question holds a more serious tone. “Have you ever felt like this before, honey?”
You shake your head no and say, “Uh-uh.”
Quiet, he whispers, “Okay,” kissing you on your cheek, then grabs a blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping the two of you together. “I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Get you all cozy and bring you back down, okay?”
Eyelashes tickle against his skin at your fluttering. Timid, you test, "I made you feel good?"
Matt’s smile is devilish. "Oh, so good. And you told me what you wanted. ‘M so proud of you.”
Coming back down to Earth, you nestle against him and cocoon the butter-soft cashmere blanket around you both. “Thank you, Matty.”
taglist
@junior2428 @lina-murdock @dissolvedprincess @ifyoulovemeletmebinge @scoliobean @sarahskywalker-amidala @kneelforloki @crowleythesexydemon @kityri-imera @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers
*plz comment if u would like to be added/ or if i forgot (sorry) thank u :)
a 14 years old Ilya Rozanov watching a 18 years old rookie Shane Hollander in the day of his draft saying to the journalist that if you believe in yourself and work hard every dream will come true and then a 18 years old rookie Ilya drafted to the same team chasing Shane around flirting with him. “you said if i believe myself all my dreams would come true” “not like that!” “but you’re my dream, shane”
There's a fantastic opportunity in your "Soap-hunts-Nik-for-sport-to-get-that-dick" canon now that we know Nik sleeps naked. Because something tells me if a certain sergeant were to bang on his door at ass o'clock in the morning (they DO actually need Nik's help) he'd get an eyefull of exactly what kind of weaponry Nik is swinging around.
Just, a slow glance down, licking his lips, eyes dark. Grinning around a suggestion of exactly where Nik could sheath that thing.
Possibly the first and only time he ever sees Nik blush.
It was hot.
Libya. In August. Of course it was fuckin’ hot.
They were meeting a contract of Nik’s just outside Al-Kasarat in less than twenty-four hours, which meant camping out in a cheap hostel in Aziziya as a base of operations. An old fan battled valiantly against the night time heat, rusty hinges creaking as it tilted to and fro, barely disturbing the thick humidity in the air.
Soap had soaked through his t-shirt despite removing his plate carrier, and the damp cotton clung beneath his arms and down his back. He lifted his scope to his eye and scanned the street for the sixth time in twenty minutes. Nought but an emaciated dog scurrying in the heavy night time shadows. The town was dead.
Price stirred to his left. It was nearly dawn, which would bring another scorching day traversing dusty roads, with the potential for a firefight at the end if everything went to shite. Soap found his mind wandering to the thought of an ice cold beer and a shower…
“Soap, go wake Nik,” Price murmured. “S’time to get movin.”
“Rog,” Soap grunted, peeling himself off the wall he had been leaning against for the better part of two hours. LT was tucked away in a sniper's nest in the building opposite, keeping an eye on the exits, and Garrick was stationed on one of the lower floors to cover the back. Nik needed his wits about him for the exchange, so Price had sent him to get some kip for a few hours.
Soap left the room and crossed the narrow hall to the one opposite, sweeping aside the curtain. “Oi, N–” His voice caught in his throat as he caught an eyeful of Nik's naked body sprawled out on the narrow cot.
Nik was a big fuckin’ guy. He matched LT in height and exceeded him in bulk, with a pair of tits that would make any lass jealous, thick arms and broad shoulders, furry all over. But it wasn't those admittedly crackin’ features that had drawn Soap’s eye. No. It was the sight of his giant hog laying between his meaty thighs. Nik had kicked the thin sheet away as he slept, apparently content to sleep naked as a newborn in the middle of an op. “We meet at last,” Soap breathed.
Soap knew the stats. He was a phallus connoisseur; a size monarch, if you will. Only 0.7% of men had a dick bigger than nine inches. And Nik was gifted. It was fuckin’ stunning. Jonah Falcon better watch his fuckin’ back. Nik was uncut, with the foreskin drawn back just a little around a fat head, the ridge of his crown visible at the end of a long, girthy shaft that curved down slightly over the heft of his balls, with neatly trimmed curls of black hair at the base. Soap was certain that, had the light been better, he would have picked out silver and white too; evidence of Nik's fine vintage. Cocks looked funny more than half the time, even when that's what you were gaggin’ for, but some were positively photogenic. Nik was mouthwateringly perfect.
Soap’s knees shivered a little, his own prick giving a needy little throb as he watched Nik stir. He gnawed on his lower lip with a soft groan. What he would give to get his mouth on it, to have it hard and leaking down his throat, lips stretched wide to accommodate; he'd suck and kiss it to full hardness, worship it with his lips and tongue until Nik was gasping, growling, feral. How good it would feel fucking him in a mating press, or from behind as Nik scruffed his mohawk and pounded his ho–
“Can I help you, sergeant?”
Soap blinked. His eyes lifted slowly to Nik's face, still fuzzy with sleep, one of his big arms curled behind his head. Nik had made no effort to cover up, completely at ease with his nakedness. Well, with a body like that, who wouldn't be? Soap cleared his throat. “Cap sent me tae fetch ye, but I didn' wan’tae wake the beast.”
Nik raised an eyebrow and then followed Soap’s eyes down to his crotch. “Ah. I am sorry, it was hot…”
Soap licked the salt from his lips without thinking, and Nik's eyes widened. “Nay need tae apologise. Nicest weapon ye’ve ever shown me. If ye need somewhere to holster it, ah’ve got a few suggestions.” He grinned, lopsided, his eyes dark with desire.
“Sergeant…” Nik pulled the sheet from the floor to cover his lap, sitting up with a soft cough. But Soap had seen it, the way the damn beast had twitched with interest in the moments before Nik had sat up. Oh, Nik was keen on the idea. There was hope. “I will be ready in five minutes,” Nik said.
Wait, wait. Was Nik blushing? Well, that was fuckin' gorgeous. “Aye, well… offer stands. Ah’d give ye the worshippin’ ye deserve.” Soap turned his back and swept the curtain aside, his other hand dropping to squeeze his dick as he hobbled back into the hallway. He decided to check the perimeter to give it some time to calm down, trying desperately not to think about grinding down on Nik's thick, perfect cock until his balls emptied into his guts. Jesus fuck.
“she could go to jupiter, and he’ll still find her.”
a small blurb that was heavily inspired by what shawn hatosy has said about samira mohan from the perspective of jack abbot ♡ he’s always been so passionate about supriya’s characterization of samira so i obviously had to write something. enjoy!
wc: 2.2k
April 1st, 2026.
Samira hadn’t felt this giddy since she received her acceptance to the PTMC emergency medicine rotation five years ago.
Today was the day Artemis II would be launching. After years of meticulous planning and one failed launch the year prior, she would finally be able to witness humankind on the Moon, years after the Apollo missions.
They had to get it this time.
After requesting a few days off last year to travel to Florida to watch the space launch in real time, the failure to launch felt personal. Especially after her walk of shame back to Pittsburgh after having excitedly told everyone she would be witnessing history.
Except the only historical thing she had witnessed was a very drunk George Washington from the Fort Pitt Museum throwing up all over her scrubs during her double. And a very embarrassing picture that is still in Parker Ellis’s phone to this day.
“I’m saving it for yours and Abbot’s eventual wedding. This’ll make a hell of a start to a toast.” Samira threw a pen at Parker, the other dodging it skillfully.
So perhaps she was wrong about having never felt this giddy since her acceptance.
That one faithful night on the roof of the PTMC, rain pouring heavily from the sky as Jack Abbot, the man whom she had eyes for ever since her second year, held her face in his hands as if he were holding the entire world in his palms.
“I’ve loved you even before I made you do that risky pigtail catheter procedure,” he had said. She couldn’t tell if it was the rain or her tears falling down her cheeks at that moment, but she had kissed him with so much passion and fervor that all distracting thoughts had vanished within seconds.
For the first time in her life, she had felt confident about someone loving her in her entirety. How could she not, after he had risked his status as attending and his lungs to stand in the heavy rain just to pour his heart out to Samira?
It was a wonderful kiss. Unfortunately, the scale of the downpour resulted in the two catching nasty colds and taking the next two days off simultaneously (which had not gone unnoticed by certain nosy residents.)
So yes, she has not been this giddy since her emergency rotation acceptance and the day she found out her feelings were reciprocated.
As she nurses her mug of steaming chai, she anxiously checks the antique wooden clock hung above Jack’s wide-screen TV. There’s still time until the launch.
She watches the stream, voices filtering out and thinking of how her Appa would’ve been ecstatic to see the Artemis II launch. He had loved space. He had loved the vast, unexplored expanses of space and what it had to offer.
“Kutti, see that? That’s Callisto, one of Jupiter’s moons. Galileo discovered it centuries ago with a homemade telescope. Can you believe that?” Ten-year-old Samira stared at her father in awe. The gleam in his eyes was much more beautiful than the stars he insisted she look at through his Celestron Ultima 2000.
The same telescope she had to part with tearfully during a rather financially straining time last year. Jack had insisted on her keeping it, but they had barely been two months into their relationship and it felt wrong for him to take such a big step to support her financially.
She feels herself slowly falling into a depressive spiral, but the sound of keys jingling and the front door’s three locks being unlocked jolts her out of it.
Jack stumbles in with paper bags, kicking the door shut behind him. She quickly stands up to help him but he’s quick to place them on the counter before turning to Samira.
“Hey sweetheart,” he greets, voice gravelly. He pulls her against his chest and noses her hairline. She inhales his musky, pine scent while sinking into his embrace. Almost immediately, her chest feels less heavier and heartbeat begins to slow.
“I missed you.” She buries herself further into his chest. She feels the sudden urge to mold herself with him so she never has to leave the comforts of his solid chest.
Jack was always ever so thoughtful. To anybody else, this launch would’ve been something silly to take the day off for. But to Samira, it was something so sentimental. It felt like the only major connection to her appa after her mother had sold her childhood home back in Jersey. And understood her wholeheartedly.
He had taken the day off with her just so he could give her company. He knew that this would be an emotional time for Samira, and he had insisted on being there for her during every second.
They continue to embrace each other under the warm lights of the kitchen until Jack pulls away first. She pouts at him and he smiles, pressing a feather light kiss on her lips.
There’s something so blissfully domestic about watching the man she loves shrug his Carhartt jacket off and make his way over to the leather sofa to remove his boots and prosthesis.
She walks over to the corner in his living room to fetch his crutches as he’s finished removing the sleeve. She places them next to him, gently taking his hands from the stump and massaging the phantom pain for him. She places a kiss on his knee and she looks up at him.
He’s looking at her with the softest gaze one could muster. Regardless of how familiarized they’ve gotten with this now joint routine, the vulnerability and trust from Jack never ceases to tug at her heart. She slowly stands up, standing in between Jack’s knees spread apart.
“Have I ever told you how nice you look in synthetic nylon?”
He laughs, face warm in her palms. She strokes his cheekbone with her right thumb and counts the freckles that span across his face. Like the stars in those constellations she’d see through her appa’s telescope.
“No, I’d love to hear more on that.” He pauses, maintaining his usual intense gaze. “Except you looking at me like this has me thinking of other things right now.”
Her stomach does this little flip. She giggles, teeth showing and everything. She bends forward and slots her lips with his, like a puzzle piece being fitted in.
He tastes like the Aquaphor chapstick that she had insisted he buy. His tongue makes his way past her lips, and she can now taste remnants of dark roast and minty gum. He pulls her down onto his lap, giving him easier access to Samira as his big hands snake under the hem of her worn out crew neck sweater. His left hand traces her spine, the callouses on his fingers sending a fluttering sensation up her body. The other squeezes her ass lightly, drawing out a small moan from her.
He groans against her in response, voice deep with want. She so desperately wants this to escalate into being pinned down in his silk sheets, with Jack barely whispering filthy things into her ear as he plunges into her from behind. She’s even ready to call it a night as she feels the hardness in his cargo pants rubbing against her clothed cunt.
“Jack,” she all but whimpers out. “We have to watch the launch. I can’t miss this one.”
He exhales against her lips. They pull away from each other, and she suddenly fears she may have disappointed him by not taking this further.
“I’m sorry, I got carried away. But you’re just look so damn beautiful right now. Couldn’t help myself,” he rumbles. She presses her lips together, gaze faltering from his.
“Samira, baby, I can see you drifting off.” He strokes her cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now, and we’re here to do something more important. We’re okay, yeah?”
She nods. His deep understanding of her leaves no room for any further doubts.
Samira lounges with the array of pillows and her fuzzy throw blanket that now smells of a mix of her floral, tangerine scent and Jack’s pine, musky scent. She watches the crew talk about what their mission will entail while the bathroom sink runs in the background.
Her mind drifts off once again to wishing her appa was with her. Would he have been happy that she still keeps his love for space alive? Would he have been proud of her for scoring an interview with Presby for an attending position?
Would he have loved Jack just as much as she did? Unlike the harshness that had radiated off her Amma’s judgement towards her relationship?
“Samira, he’s fifteen years older than you! What is wrong with you? And a white man, nonetheless?” Samira gripped her phone tightly, tears threatening to fall. “Amma, I love him and he loves me. Isn’t that what really matters? Why can’t you just be happy for me instead of being so fucking cynical for once!”
She had missed her appa rather immensely after that fight. She craved the gentle cadence of his voice and his reassurance. He had always been a stark contrast to her mother’s fiery personality. Yet, somehow, that’s what strengthened her parents’ relationship. He was a patient man, so deeply in love with her mother. He never once had raised his voice at either her or Samira. In some cruel way, it made sense for fate to take away the one healthy masculine presence in her life before Jack came along years later.
She hears the creak of crutches on the wooden flooring behind her. She watches as Jack makes his way next to her, now dressed in a black t-shirt and those oh so distracting grey sweatpants. She fights the urge to stare at the obvious print for any longer and glues her eyes to the screen instead.
“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” She preens at the term of endearment. The sofa dips next to her and he positions them to have Samira lying back against the expanse of his chest.
“Doing okay, I think,” she murmurs. She plays with his fingers as she hums. “Just thinking.”
His chest rumbles behind her as he responds with a hum of acknowledgment.
“Anything you wanna talk about?”
She shifts slightly, half looking at the television and half her attention towards Jack.
“It’s just… ever since this launch, I’ve been thinking a lot more about my father. Just a rush of sentimental memories and all the things we used to do back home when it came to indulging in his hobbies related to Space. He was always so nerdy about it,” she laughs.
“He’d be so happy to see a woman on the crew, too. He always advocated for women in STEM. I wish he could’ve seen me become a doctor.”
Jack runs a hand through her curls. “And he’d be so proud of you. Samira Mohan, the smartest doctor of us all, and the future of medicine. I’m proud of you.”
She sniffles a little. “Stop, you don’t have to exaggerate.”
“Would I ever lie to you, baby? I’ve been saying that to everyone since you joined the PTMC. Your father would’ve been ecstatic to see you today.”
“I guess he would’ve.” Jack shifts under her to gaze down at her. She begins to count his freckles again, a habit that she can’t seem to let go of. The lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth look like lightning streaks across a starry, freckled sky.
“He definitely would be so, so proud of you. His love for Space continues to live across missions like these. You witnessing this today is a testament to his commitment towards your passion and his own. You’re continuing to fuel his passion and keep it alive as he supported yours until the end.”
She feels tears burning at back of her eyes. Moments like these make her wonder if Jack was a blessing sent to her by her appa.
“I love you,” is all she can muster out. But she truly means it.
“I love you, too, Samira.”
“I mean it, Jack. You taking the time off to watch this with me, even when you didn’t have to,” she smiles up at him. “You knew how important this was to not just me, but my appa too. I just know he would’ve loved you.”
Jack’s eyes widen slightly. His puppy dog eyes, as she’d like to call them. “That’s such a lovely thing to hear. Thank you, sweetheart. I know how much he means to you, too. I’d do anything for you, Samira Mohan.”
“You could go to Jupiter, and I’d still find you.”
She laughs. “You’re such a dork.” He smiles, crow’s feet showing.
“Only for you, baby.”
The two watch as the shuttle takes flight eventually. Samira is fixated on the screen, but Jack is more entranced by how the screen reflects off of the dark brown pools in her eyes, almost like stars.
As the two doze off on the sofa, limbs all tangled up, Jack’s phone lights up with a notification.
Your EBay order of the Celestron Ultima 2000 has been delivered.
this has got to be the longest blurb i’ve written so far, lol. and yes, jack did buy samira’s dad’s telescope back because he’s husband material like that. the first bit about samira going to florida to see the launch was based on what actually happened to me irl (tragic) but be on the lookout for an ao3 link to this soon! let me know what you think in the comments ⭐️
