#NEW MOODBOARD YAY!

[zorrasucia]

this mess was yours (now your mess is mine) - Part 1

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (6.4k)

Tags: Smut, Set two(ish) years before the present aka the New York years, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy (my beloved), Mutual Masturbation, P in V Sex, Thigh Riding, Handjob, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Friends with Benefits, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary: Carmy is your front door neighbor. You fall head first into a friends with benefits situationship. What could possibly go wrong?

"You know, I had never met someone so committed to ghosting. Leaving the city... That's a whole other level," you said, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Not as bitter as the sight of Carmy, though. He looked beautiful still, eyes wide with surprise and face red with embarrassment. You were in the alley behind the restaurant, where he had dragged you away from the staff mumbling something about "an old friend from New York."

"I've been uh-" his hands were fiddling with a spoon somewhat manically.

"I know," you interrupted. "I read your spread in Food and Wine. I was at the dentist and they had the magazine. Imagine my surprise when I saw that my neighbor, sorry, ex neighbor and ex friend with benefits, was the main story of a culinary magazine."

You were being melodramatic, you knew. But you had earned it. It had been months, fucking months, and not a word - he could be dead for all you knew.

"I told you I was a chef," he said sheepishly.

"Fuck you, Carmy."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's fair," he admitted with a deep sigh. "Do you, uh, wanna talk?"

"Yes."

2 years earlier

The elevator of your shitty, overpriced building was out of order for the third time this year. Fuck. As you climbed up the stairs you started hearing someone on the phone, his voice gruff.

"Sugar called. She is worried about the restaurant, she's worried about you..."

As you got closer you started to make out the voice on the other side of the phone, rougher, defensive, and very loud.

"My baby brother is worried about me? Well, fuck me. I must be a real goddamn mess, huh?"

"Don't be like that, Mikey. If you need me to come back, just fucking say it."

It was your front door neighbor, you realized. He was leaning on the wall by his door, rummaging through his backpack, his face scrunched up and red.

"Don't bother coming over, hot shot, everything's under control," the voice on the phone said, a little condescending.

"That your stupid little brother? Tell him to go fuck himself, will you, Mike?" a second voice chimed in, followed by the defeaning sound of a hundred knives and forks falling to the ground. "Fuck me!"

And the line went silent. You stood awkwardly, hand on your doorknob, waiting. You glanced at your neighbor and found his gaze vacant as he stood in front of his apartment door, keys in hand, standing still. He honestly looked on the edge of a meltdown and your heart ached for him.  

"It's Carmy, right?"

Your voice woke him up from his daydream - probably more like day-nightmare.

"Yeah. Hi," he managed, absent. He was still fiddling with his keys.

"No offense but you look like shit," you said and it made him huff half a laugh - he looked pretty when he smiled. "Wanna come in for a drink?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Carmy replied and followed you inside the apartment.

"So what do you want?" you asked, head inside the fridge. "I have beer-"

"Actually, uh, I don't drink," Carmy said like he had just remembered.

"Oh, so coffee? It's a little late but I think I have decaf somewhere..." you offered gently, moving towards the pantry.

'It's- never mind," he said, looking conflicted, walking backwards, to the door. "I just didn't want to be alone tonight," he winced and your heart skipped a beat. "That sounded awful. Sorry, I- uh- I'll leave."

"It's okay," you said, a shy smile curving your lips. "I've been trying to hit on you for months so it's more than okay."

"Oh!" Carmy froze, eyebrows arched, stunned.

"Yeah," you looked down at the floor, face flushed. "Gave up for a minute there. Thought you had a girlfriend or boyfriend so I-"

"No, there's nobody," he rushed to say. "I'm just busy."

"Workaholic?" you guessed.

"Yeah," he admitted.

You moved towards him, slow, Carmy's blue eyes following the movement of your hips. You stood right in front of him, one hand raising to touch his arm, up his shoulder and then holding his face.

He blurted: "You're pretty."

"You're cute too," you replied, smiling.

You leaned forward and kissed him. Carmy returned the kiss, gentle, soft, your hands tangling in his hair. You parted for a second, eyes searching his, finding him flushed. It was only a second of hesitation before he grabbed your waist and pulled you close, kissing hungrily, his tongue touching yours, holding you tight like you were a lifeline - like he needed this as much as you did.

"Bedroom?" you asked breathily the moment he started kissing your neck.

He nodded and pushed you gently past the kitchen. It was a good thing he had a vague idea where it was.

You hit the edge of the mattress and leaned backwards, dragging him into bed with you, opening your legs to let him settle there. He kept kissing your jaw and collarbone, tickling your skin with his curls, humming while you raked your nails through his scalp. Suddenly, his hands moved from holding your waist to squeezing your ass; you tugged at his hair in surprise and Carmy let out a sound between a yelp and a moan. It made you melt and giggle, bringing him closer still.

Your hands moved down, tickling as they reached the hem of his shirt; Carmy sat up and removed it, desperate.

"Fuck," you muttered, your fingers tracing the lines and planes of his torso for a moment. He was gorgeous.

It had gotten way too hot inside the room and his touch was making you dizzy, so you got rid of your shirt too, a plain beige bra underneath. His fingers traced the edges of the cups, leaving goosebumps on your skin, making you sigh with pleasure. It wasn't enough, though.

"Wait," you gasped and he froze immediately.

"You alright?" he asked, looking up, like he was scared he had done something wrong.

You cupped his face gently. "I'm just taking it off," you giggled, letting go of his face to open the clasp and tug it down. "This isn't even a nice one," you lamented, thinking of a dark lace ensemble, used only once and with someone less enthusiastic about you than Carmy. Still, his eyes became impossibly wide once your bra was off.

"Shit," Carmy whispered, burying his face in the valley between your breasts, eager, leaving kisses everywhere, carefully sucking on your nipples. You arched your back and held him tighter, urging him to get closer - you wished he was a little rougher but the tender way that he was going about things was nice. You felt cared for.

Your hands went down his stomach, fingers hooking in his belt loops, tugging with need. He stopped for a moment, looking straight into your eyes.

"Do you want me to-?" he hesitated.

"We can just keep making out but I'd like you to fuck me," you said plainly. "If you want."

He nodded, dazed. "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

You tugged at his trousers, fighting with the belt buckle for a moment in your haste.

"Hold on. Let me," he said, getting rid of his slacks while you took both your jeans and underwear off at once. He gave you a wide eyed stare as he finally threw his boxer briefs carelessly to the floor.

The atmosphere was charged as you laid down facing each other.

Almost as if to break the tension, one of your hands reached out for his cock, caressing it, making him groan.

"So soft," you mumbled.

He rushed to touch you too, cupping your pussy. His fingers were shaking a little, which gave you pause. You touched his wrist, rubbing your thumb on his tattooed skin. He looked at you.

"Sorry, I'm uh-"

"Nervous?" you prompted and he nodded. "Yeah, same. I've had a dry spell of... Almost eight months. You?"

"Years," he said, clearing his throat.

"Fuck. That's tough," you said with a sympathetic smile, your hand letting go of his cock to caress his shoulder blade instead, reassuring. "How are you at following directions?"

"Honestly, pretty fucking great," he said with a nervous chuckle.

"We can work with that."

You grabbed his right hand, and took his middle finger in your mouth, sucking on it thoroughly, a shiver running down Carmy's spine. You guided his hand back between your folds, dragging it up the length of your cunt until the tip of his finger was right on your clit. You closed your eyes in pleasure, his long, calloused fingers feeling delicious on you.

"There," you said breathily.

"How?" Carmy asked.

"Circles."

Your eyes fluttered once he started moving, slow and feathery. Your hand caressed the head of his cock and the sudden touch made Carmy's hand stutter and then stop completely.

"You first," he mumbled, taking your hand and placing it on his chest instead.

"A gentleman," you joked breathily, tracing one of his tattoos with the tip of your nail. You were getting flustered again now that his finger was moving faster. "A little to your right... Fuck, that feels good, Carmy."

He offered you a wicked smile in return.

"Faster?" he asked.

You nodded, biting your lower lip.

"Keep doing it just like that. Don't change a fucking thing," you pleaded, moving closer, your leg over his hip to give him more access, holding tight to his shoulders. "Fuck, your hands! So good, so good, so good," you mumbled nonsensically into his ear and Carmy smiled wide. You started kissing him frantically, getting closer and closer. "Oh!"

You stiffened in his hold, legs shaking a little, and a long moan leaving your lips. His finger was still moving, helping you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"You okay?" he asked after a minute.

"Yeah," you sighed, and leaned to kiss him, all tongue, lust drunk. "Thank you."

Your hand reached for his cock, finding it achingly hard, Carmy's eyes rolled back at the touch. He moaned. There was a lot of precum on his tip. Was all that from just hearing and seeing you?

"I'll probably fucking embarrass myself but I really wanna be inside you," Carmy managed breathily.

You smiled and grabbed a condom from your bedside table.

"Do you want me to put it on?" you asked when you saw him hesitate to take it out.

"Go ahead," he watched your hands roll the condom on, eyes wide as you held him. "Fuck."

He grabbed your leg and hoisted it back over his hip. "This okay?"

"Yeah," you sighed, guiding his cock inside you with one hand and holding his arm with the other. "I know it's been a while so don't worry if you don't last," you said.

Did you want Carmy to fuck you hard and long? Yes. But you were reasonable.

He nodded sheepishly, moving gently until he was completely buried inside you.

"Fuck, you're so warm," Carmy said, eyes closed in concentration. "So tight."

You chuckled against the side of his face, flushed and hot.

"You feel amazing too," you said, the stretch of your pussy delicious and satisfying. You kissed his temple and his cheek, already a little sweaty and salty. "You can move now."

He didn't need to be told twice. The slam of his hips was frantic from the beginning, feral sounds coming from his chest, it was exactly what you needed. You realized Carmy was probably working his shit out while fucking you but it didn't feel like he was using you at all. He was completely present: his eyes on your face, his mouth on your skin, and his hands caressing you.

"Are you good?" he asked.

"So fucking good," you replied, your recent orgasm leaving you sensitive and electrified. "You're already lasting longer than I thought you would," you said with a giggle.

"Fuck off," he said lightly.

Suddenly, you went back to the third or fourth time you had seen Carmy, crossing paths in the staircase, the primal part of your brain fantasizing about what it would be like to have sex with him, you on top, his strong hands holding your hips possessively. If this was a one time thing, you should make the most of it, right?

"Can I-? Fuck. Will you let me ride you, Carmy?" you said.

His pupils dilated with desire. "Yes. Fuck," he blurted out, rolling over almost immediately.

You settled on his hips, the angle doing wonders for you - his tip brushed your G spot and your clit touched the hair at the base of his cock.

"Fuck."

You took his hands and placed them over your hips, while you pressed your palms to his sculpted chest.

"You're so fucking hot. It's ridiculous," you said, wild with need. It made him blush down to his collarbones.

You kept your eyes on his as you lifted your hips, then sat back down on him.

"Holy shit," he gasped.

"Yeah?" you checked in.

"Yeah. Keep going," he pleaded.

And you did. You started building an undulating rhythm, Carmy's mouth was open and his brows were furrowed. His blue eyes took you in completely: the bounce of your breasts, the curve of your stomach, the way your torso arched with every stroke. His hands moved upwards, cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples, unconsciously making you go faster and squeeze your cunt around his cock.

"Please," Carmy keened.

You felt him struggle, he was close.

"Hold on just a little bit," you whispered. "I'll make it good for you, Carmy."

He nodded, red in the face.

You began riding him hard and fast, the bed squeaking underneath you.

"Oh, fuck!" he moaned. "Fuck, shit, Jesus Christ..."

You went faster and faster until the string of curses leaving his lips became completely unintelligible and his body tensed underneath you.

"Come on," you leaned forward, your hair caressing his chest and your lips grazing his cheek. "Let go."

He came with a series of guttural groans, holding you tight as your hips kept moving, rutting into his, chasing the last remnants of pleasure you both could get.

He let out a long exhale and you dismounted, your thighs shaking at the effort.

"You okay?" he asked. He looked slightly embarrassed as he took off the condom and tied it up.

"Just a little sore," you reassured him, settling next to him on the mattress.

His hand caressed your thigh, trying to soothe the ache in some small way - the gesture made you melt inside a little. You ran your fingers through his hair, his face was sweaty and beautiful.

"What do you do for a living?" you asked.

"I'm a chef," Carmy replied simply.

"Huh. I would have guessed tattoo artist," you said honestly, a finger tracing the ink on his forearm.

"I get that," he gave you a soft smile. "You?"

"I work at a bookstore."

"Makes sense," he hummed, eyeing the packed bookshelves in your room and the small piles of books on your bedside table. You stayed in silence for a while, just caressing each other, his fingers tracing pictures on your thighs. "That was amazing," he said.

"Yeah," you agreed, giddy. Your orgasm must have given you courage because you heard yourself saying: "Wanna do it again sometime?"

Carmy turned to look at you, slightly alarmed, like everything that had happened was a dream and he was suddenly awake. For a second, you were scared that he would bolt out of your bed and your apartment.

"I'm not good with relationships," he said in the end.

"Oh! No, I meant the sex bit," you smiled. "I'm not looking for a relationship either."

You weren't. Your life was enough of a fucking mess without some guy that could upend it by cheating on you or knocking you up.

"Hey, no need to say yes. I'm a big girl, I can take no for an answer," you reassured him.

He rolled over and kissed you hard.

"Yes, I want to do this again."

~

Carmy had left without waking you the morning after you fucked, scribbling a note on a napkin: "Early morning at the restaurant. See you soon? C."

You didn't see him for a few days though, not even a glimpse as you crossed each other in the hallway, but you hadn't stopped thinking about him - his hands, his eyes, the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you... You thought about him while you touched yourself late that following night, gasping his name as you came.

It was a relief then to see him about to knock on your door two nights later, takeaway container in hand, as you climbed up the stairs.

"Carmy," you said fondly.

"Oh!" He turned with wide eyes. "I just wanted to- Would you like to come over for some food?"

You beamed. "Did you make it?"

"Sort of," he shrugged. "It's- uh- leftovers from the restaurant. They're good though."

"Well, how can I say no to leftovers?" you teased and followed him inside his apartment.

It was the same floor plan as yours, only mirrored, and with less stuff - a lot less.

"You sure you live here?" you asked, eyeing the empty, stark rooms.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I don't spend much time in it, though."

Carmy warmed up the food and placed it carefully on two plates, it looked like he was making an effort to be casual about it.

"What kind of restaurant do you work in?" you asked as he handed you a plate. "It smells delicious, by the way."

"Uh, fine dining," he said absently, guiding you to the couch. "You like risotto? Didn't think to ask, sorry."

"It's okay," you shrugged, taking a forkful and almost immediately moaning in delight. "Shut the fuck up! You made this?"

Carmy blushed and looked down. "We never do portions this big but I figured you'd be hungry," he said.

"You thought correctly," you said, swaying a little from how good the food was. It made him give you an endeared look. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he insisted.

You kept eating in comfortable silence.

"Truly one of the best meals I've had," you said earnestly once you were finished.

Carmy took your clean plate and his half finished one to the kitchen, coming back to sit beside you.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Fine," you said, half turning in your seat to take a good look at him. "Sales wise it was shit, according to my manager, but one little girl told me I was cool, so..."

He smiled wide. "Did she get anything?"

"Well, she wanted a book on planets and space. Her parents wanted to buy her an encyclopedia of some sort. It was for kids but still..." you scrunched your nose. "It took some convincing but her parents finally caved in."

"I think she was right," he said softly.

"Mmm?"

"I think you're pretty cool," he said, leaning over to kiss you.

It was gentle, measured, lovely.

"And you?" you asked when you parted. "How was your day?"

Something dark clouded over Carmy's face. "Let's not talk about my day," he rasped and then kissed you hard.

It was wild, hungry, needy.

You scooted closer to Carmy, running your fingers through his hair, humming in pleasure as his tongue touched yours. The angle was weird, and so you climbed over the couch, aiming to straddle his hips but settling on his thigh by accident. He bit on your lower lip and you moaned into his mouth.

"Fuck, Carmy," you blurted out.

His lips started kissing the length of your neck, down your collarbone, over your shirt. You took the hint and took your shirt off, proud that your bra was a little nicer than last time.

"Shit," he mumbled, kissing your breasts, up the cup, and through the lace.

You started grinding on his clothed thigh to relieve the ache between your legs, moaning every few thrusts.

"Is that good?" he asked breathily.

"Yeah," you sighed.

You could feel every seam of your jeans against his muscled thigh. If you weren't so horny, maybe you would feel a little embarrassed about dry humping your neighbor like a fucking teenager but Carmy didn't seem to mind - if anything, he seemed to like it. He held tight to your hips and angled his leg upward so that it would rub against your crotch easier, his eyes marveling at the way your body moved.

"You look so fucking hot," he mumbled into your skin. "Been thinking about you for days... About fucking you again... Making you feel good..."

You had always been a sucker for praise and there was something about Carmy saying nice things on that dirty tone that made you melt.

"Yeah?" you held his face, tilting it so he could look at you. "I've been touching myself thinking of you. Been making myself come thinking of your fingers on my clit and your cock inside me."

"Fuck," he uttered, mouth agape. After a moment of just staring at you, he surged forward and kissed you, mouth open, passionate. The crotch of your jeans was soaked with your arousal, wetting Carmy's slacks too. His hands on your hips urged you to go faster, to get your release.

"Close?" he asked.

You moaned needily into his mouth as a response.

Carmy slid the straps of your bra downwards,

not bothering to open it, and he took one of your nipples in his mouth and the other between his fingers.

"Shit! Fuck!" you cursed, the tightness in your belly snapping while you kept grinding on Carmy's thigh. He left soft kisses on the skin of your chest and caressed your waist while you came down from your high.

"So hot," he mumbled. "So fucking hot."

You giggled, and caressed his face not knowing what to say. You moved to straddle him properly, eager to feel his hardness against your core. He groaned.

"Do you wanna fuck me?" you asked flirtatiously, your palm touching right over his erection.

Carmy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I do," he panted. "Fuck."

You leaned downward, kissing the side of his neck and face. "Where do you keep your condoms?"

He froze.

"Shit."

You sat back, an incredulous look on your face.

"Carmy, really?"

He was flushed with embarrassment. "Even if I had one, it would be expired."

"I'll go get one from my apartment," you said. When you tried to get up, his strong hands kept your hips in place.

"Stay," he pleaded.

"Carmy, you're cute as fuck but no," you declared, rearranging the straps of your bra. "It's just across the hall."

"Wait, wait. I didn't mean we should do it without-" he searched for your gaze. "I meant I don't want you to leave, that's all. We don't have to do anything tonight."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he exhaled, arching his neck to kiss you sweetly.

You giggled. "Next time I come over there better condoms."

"Definitely," he agreed.

You kept making out for a while, his calloused hands tracing pictures on your back, and his tongue touching yours gently. You moved forward a little and pressed on his erection accidentally. He let out a loud groan.

"Sorry," you apologized. "There's something we can do," you said softly, undoing his belt and the buttons of his slacks. "Can I touch you?"

"Yes."

You took his cock in your hand, spreading his precum down the length of it. Your other hand went inside your jeans, gathering arousal to use as lube. Carmy shivered underneath you.

"What do you like?" you asked, pumping his cock slowly, watching Carmy's chest move quicker as you did.

"The tip, with your thumb," he managed. You did as he asked, swiping over his slit, once. He nodded, biting his lip. "Yeah, when I'm close I do that. And just fast. I like it fast."

"Would you let me start slow, though?"

He smiled, running a hand through his messed up hair. "Yeah."

You tortured him a little, to be honest.

You caressed every ridge and vein on his cock, lovingly, slowly, and you kissed his lips through it, swallowing his moans.

"Fuck, it never feels this way," he praised. "So good."

"I'm going to go faster now, the way you like it, okay?"

He nodded desperately. "Please."

You pumped him as fast as you could, watching him become a mess under you, rolling his eyes and shaking.

"Fuck, I'm close," he keened.

You kept on that frantic rhythm with one hand and caressed his head with the other, like he told you. In seconds he was coming all over your hand and forearm, some droplets falling on your belly and chest. You were a goddamn mess but so was Carmy - his eyes unfocused and an absent smile on his face.

"Good?" you asked proudly.

"Tremendous," he chuckled and moved to kiss you holding you tight to his body.

"Careful, I've got- uh-" you giggled, gesturing at the stripes of cum all over your right side.

"Fuck, didn't think about that, wait."

He took his shirt off and wiped you clean with it, kissing you deeply once he was done. He dragged you to lie on the couch with him.

"Sorry about the mess," he apologized.

"Sex is messy," you shrugged.

"Guess I don't have much experience on the subject," Carmy said absently.

"I find it hard to believe with the way you look," you flirted, caressing the muscles of his arm.

"What if- uh- what if I told you you are my first?" he said.

"As in the first person you had sex with?" you confirmed.

He nodded.

"I'd find it even harder to believe," you said, tracing the contours of his face with your finger, the arch of his nose. "But I'd thank you for telling me."

Carmy smiled with relief and kissed you again.

"Can I ask you something?" he said softly.

"Sure."

"When you came thinking of me, what were you doing?"

You blushed and covered your face, the reality of what you had said hitting just now.

"Uh," you hesitated, "well, I was fucking my fingers."

"Would you show me?"

You turned to look at him, his eyes were dark and dead serious.

"Fuck, Carmy," you exhaled. "I thought you were wiped out and this was your idea of pillow talk."

"Oh, I'm wiped the fuck out," he agreed. "It just seems like you aren't," he added with a smile.

You smirked. "Alright."

With your eyes on his, you unbuttoned your jeans and dragged them down your legs along with your underwear, both still wet with your arousal. You opened your legs, one dangling over the edge of the couch and the other pressed against Carmy's body. His hand hooked under the bend of your knee, holding you, his thumb drawing circles on your skin. You shivered.

Carmy's eyes followed your hand as it rested on your mound, your middle and ring fingers going easily inside your cunt with how wet you were.

"Fuck," he said, entranced, watching your fingers go in, knuckle by knuckle.

You arched your back and moaned. Every feeling was heightened by having Carmy watch you. You started curling your fingers inside you, brushing your G spot, gasping. Then, you began thrusting your fingers in and out, your hips chasing the feeling too. Before you could get too carried away, Carmy touched your arm, his fingers closing on the wrist that was giving you pleasure.

"Can I?" he asked.

"Yes," you panted, your cunt clenching at the thought of his calloused hands.

You took your fingers out with a wince. His middle finger traced the contour of your clit, making you shiver and giggle nervously.

"Tell me if I'm fucking up," he said shyly.

"Yes." You kissed the side of his face, encouraging him as his index poked at your entrance. "Little lower. Yes."

He had no trouble fitting in one finger with how wet you were. The second one was a tighter fit.

"Slow, slow," you instructed him, humming with pleasure at the stretch, grabbing at his bicep once every knuckle was inside you. "Fuck..."

He curled his fingers inside you, caressing your walls gently. You let out a loud moan when he touched your G spot.

"Oh! Is that-?" he asked. "It feels different."

"Yeah," you whined because he stopped. "Keep going, Carmy, please."

"Right, right, sorry," he chuckled and continued, his long fingers reaching the depths of you, growing more confident and bolder in their movements.

One of your hands was leaving crescent moon imprints on his bicep - your nails digging in his flesh as your pleasure grew.

"My clit, touch my clit, please," you begged and he rushed to press his thumb on it, circling it, your body responding immediately, arching and clenching.

When you opened your eyes, something proud was coloring Carmy's features.

"Keep going, you're doing so good, making me feel so fucking good, Carmy," you mumbled, burying your face in his neck, panting. Your words made him go faster and a little rougher. "Fuck, you're gonna make me come."

Your voice was so whiny you didn't recognize it but you couldn't concentrate on that, not when Carmy was three knuckles deep inside you, hitting your G spot with every stroke, breathing hard against your skin.

"Are you gonna think about this the next time you touch yourself?" he rasped and you unraveled, seeing stars while you rutted against his hand, drowning your moans on his shoulder, grabbing the cushions of his couch like they were the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You okay?" Carmy asked after what felt like a long time, though probably it only was a couple of minutes. Your cunt was still throbbing deliciously around his fingers.

"I'm perfect," you sighed, grabbing his face for a messy kiss.

"Wiped out?" he asked.

"Not sure I'll be able to walk back to my apartment actually," you giggled, eyes half lidded. "You are truly incredible at following instructions," you teased.

"Told you," he played along, kissing your shoulder gently as he took out his fingers. "You can sleep over if you want," he offered.

"Nah, I need to take a shower," you sighed, a little sad that you had to get rid of the smell of Carmy and sex. You grabbed your shirt and underwear from the floor. "I'll sleep here next time," you promised.

"Next time?" Carmy asked, watching you get up and get dressed.

"Yeah, next time," you insisted flirtatiously. "When you buy condoms."

He laughed.

You leaned downward to kiss him sweetly.

"Thank you. It was good, so good," you said earnestly.

"Fuck. You were amazing too," he replied.

You walked to the door. "Good night, Carmy."

"Good night."

~

You were brushing your hair in front of the bathroom mirror, fresh out of the shower, warm and relieved after a long day. An insistent knock on your door made you roll your eyes in irritation.

"Who is it?"

"Carmy!"

Your heart raced a little and you smiled. You opened the door and sure enough, there he was, disheveled and beautiful, wrapped up in his wool coat.

"Hello," you said with a shy smile.

"Didn't mean to interrupt," Carmy said, gesturing vaguely at your wet hair and bathrobe. You rearranged it and he blushed a little - which was terribly endearing considering he had seen your pussy up close not even a week ago.

"You're not interrupting anything," you replied. Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out and touched his cheek, red from the cold. "You're freezing. Want to come in? I can make us some tea."

"Yeah, that would be nice," he walked in behind you, toed off his shoes, left his coat on the couch, and followed you inside the kitchen.

"Chamomile?"

"Sure."

You went through the preparations in silence, there was a sigh of relief once he grabbed the mug you were offering and held it between his hands.

"You okay?" you asked, leaning on the counter and taking a sip of your tea. "Bad day?"

"Always," Carmy replied and some part of you knew he wasn't joking.

"I'm sorry," you said softly. "Is it really that bad inside a kitchen?"

"Whatever you're imagining, it's ten times worse," he rasped. "Twenty if you have an asshole for a boss."

"And do you?"

"Oh, yeah. The worst," he took a big gulp of tea - you were almost certain he had burnt his tongue with it.

"Then why do you do it?" you tilted your head, searching for his eyes.

"It's- It's- " he hesitated. "It's everything. It's a way of communicating, it's taking care of other people, it's beautiful and complex..."

"And you love it," you concluded.

"I do. Yeah," Carmy ended with a heavy sigh.

"Wait here," you said, handing him your mug, padding to your bedroom and coming back with a coffee table book. "Here," you exchanged your mug for the hardcover and sat on the counter.

Carmy took it and looked at it carefully. It was a book on fine dining - pages and pages of beautifully plated dishes from different restaurants in Europe.

"This is so cool," he flipped through the pages. "I worked here," he said, beaming.

"Did you learn how to make that dish?" you asked.

"Yeah, must have the recipe somewhere... Thanks for showing me this," he said after a while, taking the book and handing it back to you.

You shook your head. "That's yours."

"I can't take it," Carmy refused.

"Yes, you can," you insisted. "A friend gave it to me as a house warming present and I never even opened it. You would be doing me a favor," when you saw Carmy was about to argue some more you doubled down. "Do I look like I need more books in here?"

He chuckled and shook his head, placing the book on the table, giving in.

He walked towards you. "Thanks. I mean it."

"You're very welcome," you said earnestly when he leaned in to kiss you.

Carmy nuzzled the side of your face, then down your neck.

"You smell amazing," he said softly. "Coconut."

"That's my conditioner," you smiled and held him closer.

"Lavender, rosemary," he mumbled into your collarbone.

"My body wash."

He already had you gasping for breath as he kept kissing you, standing between your legs, pulling you closer by the bend of the knee. He ran his tattooed hands up and down your thighs, his finger tips still a little cold.

"Can I taste you?"

"Yes. Please."

Carmy knelt before you, something dark and hungry coming to life in your belly as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. He opened up your robe and found you bare. Then, he started peppering kisses up and down the insides of your thighs, kneading your ass in his hands, getting you flustered without even touching your cunt.

"Let me know when it's good, alright? Like last time," Carmy said against the skin of your thigh, you could feel his face warming up.

"Yeah. Though you're already doing better than my last two boyfriends, Carm," you said lightly, caressing his hair.

He chuckled against your skin and the whisper of air between your legs made you shiver.

The tip of his tongue caressed your folds, gently, teasing. You hummed softly, closing your eyes. Then, he flattened his tongue, going up your cunt several times, faster and faster, lapping at your entrance, getting a taste of your arousal and humming in response.

"Shit," you managed.

"Mhmm?" he checked in, not letting go of you.

"Yes," you moaned louder. "It's good."

He kissed his way up your clit, rubbing his nose on it before he started licking at it diligently.

"Suck on it, please. Oh, fuck. Fuck," you arched your back. "Can you- Shit, Carmy- Can you put your fingers inside me?" you pleaded.

He let go for a moment, his mouth and your arousal making a lewd sound as he parted. His middle finger traced around your cunt, gathering wetness before going inside you in one swift thrust.

"Yes. Perfect."

"Another?" you looked into Carmy's eyes, he was flushed and giddy.

You nodded and his index finger joined the middle, a smirk curving his wet lips when he made you moan with a simple curl of his fingers.

"You're a menace," you teased and he laughed.

"Keep looking at me," he said, going back between your legs, eyes on you as he continued sucking your clit.

"Fuck, that feels good," you were breathing hard, fingers tugging on Carmy's curls, your bathrobe completely undone. He moaned hard when your pussy clenched on his fingers, the vibration making you shiver with pleasure.

"You're making me feel so good, Carmy," you praised breathlessly, one of your hands squeezing your breast unconsciously. "I'm close." He arched an eyebrow, questioning. "A little faster. Fuck me with your fingers."

He started pumping his fingers in and out of you, fast, while his lips sucked on your clit frantically, wet noises turning you on even more.

"Just like that, just like that," you moaned. "Keep going, please, please, please..."

You kept looking at him, seeing his eyes shut in pleasure when you fluttered around his knuckles. Your orgasm hit you hard and had you screaming and thrusting against his face before you could stop - his strong arms kept you in place.

"Oh, my God," you keened as he kept going, prolonging your orgasm until it was almost too much to bear, senseless praise flowing freely from your lips. "You're so fucking good, Carm. Make me feel so good."

Everything was warm, white and fuzzy.

Carmy stopped his movements abruptly. You felt him groan needily against your cunt, turning his face to bite on the flesh of your thigh. Looking down, you realized he was palming his cock over his slacks. He had come to the sound and the taste of you.

You tugged on his hair to get him up on his feet and kiss him. His lips were red and swollen, and his tongue tasted like you. When you parted, you saw a satisfied and sedated look on his face.

"Never had a guy do that."

"Eat you out?" he asked, disoriented. His hair was a fucking mess.

You ran your hands through his curls lovingly. "No. Make me cum that hard. Enjoy eating me out that much."

"It was hard not to," Carmy replied. "The fucking sounds you make..."

You hid your face in his shoulder, cheeks burning red.

"I'll try to be quiet next time."

"Please don't," he rasped, tilting your head to kiss you hard.

~

[Part 2]

[nordsea-horizons]

working on new things..☁️☁️

[aangel222]

love fashion week, hate milan

༻✿༺ ༻✿༺ ༻✿༺ ༻✿༺ ༻✿༺ ༻✿༺

[abuglikecreature]

tw: bugs ! ><

Eeeek!!! self indulgent kinger board i love himmmm

[bittersweetresilience]

there are twenty seven songs in my félix playlist which means a few more and i can do a monthly writing game. why am i saying this when i have several important wips i am meant to be doing? well, you see

[todayimfour]

Hey; your papyrus mood board…. That’s not entirely- accurate

He is also really intelligent and impressive engineer. He may act childish at times but he does plan out his actions incredibly well to have the right outcome.

The bedtime stories are not a weakness but an attempt to keep nightmares away, the car bed- well name any man in their 20s who wouldn’t want that; and just likes collecting figurines. He has a childlike mind, but is not a kid or childish

Hey friend, thank you for your input! I agree that he is very much a grown man and not at all live I've depicted him canonically. I should have been more clear with my post :3

My mood boards are almost always regression themed, meaning that they are sort of a 'what if?' sorta deal. There are countless resources going in-depth into age regression and the different variants and types but the main point is: regressing to a younger mindset as a coping skill.

My mood boards are what if 'character' regressed?? What toys would they like? Would they enjoy pacifiers or teethers? What items would help them feel small and safe and comfortable?

In a way, it's kinda like creating an AU, I'm never meaning to create discourse with my boards or offend anyone who likes non regression content better. I'm just having fun with the silly little guys that take residency in my mind. If that's not for you, feel free to block me <3

[horanghoe]

I thought you were somebody else 💕

but that's not on me 😌

[rafesslxt]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 🎃🍂✨

my first kinktober ever! yay! here‘s my list of the story‘s I‘ll post. Come check the list every day for a new story 🎞️

will include: oneshots, drabbles, thoughts, headcanons and moodboards

characters: slytherin boys, anakin skywalker, sam monroe, scott barringer, Stephen Glass, rafe cameron

nsfw | multiple fandoms | masterlist

───⋆⋅🦇⋅⋆───

⊹₊ ⋆ october 1st ꜜ

sexting / phone sex - Slytherin Boys Headcanon

⊹₊ ⋆ october 2nd ꜜ

lingerie / leather & latex - Sam Monroe

⊹₊ ⋆ october 3d ꜜ

nipple play

⊹₊ ⋆ october 4th ꜜ

threesome / group sex - Slytherin Boys

⊹₊ ⋆ october 5th ꜜ

sex pollen - Anakin Skywalker

⊹₊ ⋆ october 6nd ꜜ

face sitting & fucking / 69 - Mattheo Riddle

⊹₊ ⋆ october 7th ꜜ

praise kink - Sam Monroe

⊹₊ ⋆ october 8th ꜜ

cockwarming - Lorenzo Berkshire

⊹₊ ⋆ october 9th ꜜ

breeding / spanking -

⊹₊ ⋆ october 10th ꜜ

handcuffs / tied up -

⊹₊ ⋆ october 11th ꜜ

begging / voice kink

⊹₊ ⋆ october 12h ꜜ

car sex / public sex - Rafe Cameron

⊹₊ ⋆ october 13th ꜜ

dry humping - Anakin Skywalker

⊹₊ ⋆ october 14th ꜜ

erotic photos / sextape - Mattheo Riddle

⊹₊ ⋆ october 15th ꜜ

daddy kink -

⊹₊ ⋆ october 16th ꜜ

outdoor sex / getting caught - Scott Barringer

⊹₊ ⋆ october 17th ꜜ

masturbation / sex toys - Mattheo Riddle

⊹₊ ⋆ october 18th ꜜ

drunk sex / mirror sex - Rafe Cameron

⊹₊ ⋆ october 19th ꜜ

overstimulation / orgasm denial - Sam Monroe

⊹₊ ⋆ october 20th ꜜ

morning sex - Theodore Nott

⊹₊ ⋆ october 21th ꜜ

table sex / teacher - Mattheo Riddle

⊹₊ ⋆ october 22th ꜜ

Love bites/marks - Theodore Nott

⊹₊ ⋆ october 23th ꜜ

Food play -

⊹₊ ⋆ october 24th ꜜ

sub and dom switching - Mattheo Riddle

⊹₊ ⋆ october 25th ꜜ

cheating / affair - Rafe Cameron

⊹₊ ⋆ october 26th ꜜ

best friends with benefits - Lorenzo Berkshire

⊹₊ ⋆ october 27th ꜜ

belly bulge

⊹₊ ⋆ october 28th ꜜ

blindfolded -

⊹₊ ⋆ october 29th ꜜ

29. workplace sex - Stephen Glass

⊹₊ ⋆ october 30th ꜜ

30. hair pulling -

⊹₊ ⋆ october 31th ꜜ

31. mask kink / ghostface / costumes

───⋆⋅🦇⋅⋆───

i‘ll tag every post on here so take a look each day ;) i also haven‘t decided on which character i‘ll write about for what kink, will decide spontaneous if theres no name behind it already.

───⋆⋅🦇⋅⋆───

like mentioned at the beginning, this won‘t just be storys but also drabbles and stuff like that bc i won‘t be able to write that much for every day to post a story per day <3 this will be my little come back i guess hehe

xoxo sarah <3

[luminiamore]

EX WHO? PT. 2

ex husband eren yeager (he's really ur husband tho) x black babymomma reader

warnings: ur pregnant, yay! softttttt fluffly cute shit., smut

a/n; ultimately decided to release this one first, love u guyssss

moodboard

pt. 1 (can be read as a stand alone though)

masterlist

You honestly should’ve seen this coming. Pregnancy wouldn’t be any easier the second time around, you should have known that. You can feel the pain in your back brewing with each moment that passes in the stiff chair you’re sitting on. The doctor still hasn’t called your name yet, and that’s adding to your already sour mood. Your husband sits beside you, his right hand rubbing on your growing baby bump as he tries to comfort you.

“Just a little longer, mama.” The sound of Eren’s cooing soothes your nerves a little. It’s not enough to make you feel better, though.

You wince, tugging on the ends of your braids to distract yourself after feeling a piercing cramp in your lower abdomen. “Ren.. I’m tired and in pain. Can we please leave?”

You figured you should hate your husband for putting you in this predicament. Pregnant. In pain. And craving toothpaste for some reason. But you can’t find it in yourself to feel that way.

Not when he’s been so attentive and patient with you on those days you feel like death. Not when he buys you gifts almost every week for even carrying his child, just like he did the first time. Not when he’s such a loving partner right now, as every part of you wants to scream and go home.

“No, baby, we can’t keep rescheduling.” He presses a soft kiss to your head, his left hand rubbing circular motions on your knuckles. As he looks down, he can’t help but think about how beautiful the contrast his pale skin has against yours.

Everything about you is so alluring to him, from how you carry yourself down to the melanin coating every inch of your body. It’s no wonder you’re pregnant again. He thinks it would’ve happened soon had you two never gone through that break. He reminds himself to focus. This isn’t what you need right now.

“Just lay your head on me and think about how happy you’ll be when you find out if we’re having a boy or a girl. Raqi’s gonna love her new sibling.”

The baby. This is all for the baby, you reassure yourself. He’s right. Eren can feel the tenseness leave your body, slowly but surely. A smile graces his face when he feels the weight of your head on his shoulder. Though he can’t read your mind, he knows you’re thinking about the baby, listening to his exact words.

That’s another thing he noticed about you. How pliant you’ve been lately. He’s not concerned, really. It’s not as if you constantly banter or argue with him for the fun of it. But recently, it’s as if you trust him to guide you completely without complaint. You don’t question him when he tells you anything. You don’t even protest with a better idea of your own.

It could be your hormones, he considered that to be a factor. It could also be because he kept his promise of being there for you and cutting back on work, so your trust in him increased tenfold. He wonders if he should address it. Talk to you and see if you’re even aware you’ve become more like that.

His forest eyes glance down to peek at your face. While your eyes may be closed, he can still tell you’re not sleeping. You’re pretty close; the cute pout forming on your two-toned lips as you breathe gives it away. You’re not wearing any makeup, just your natural self. Your lash extensions still sit gorgeous on you, but you last went for a refill about 3 weeks ago. He makes a mental note to book an appointment once you both get home.

Your beauty is unmatched. A sight for sore eyes is what you are.

Eren decides you didn’t need to know anything.

“𝜗𝜚, Yeager?” The doctor was ready for you both, shaking him out of his thoughts. He hates to move you from your position. You look so peaceful. So, why not carry you? He eyes the woman who called your name before he responds for you, “Right here.”

You’re shaken awake when you feel a large arm snake around your knees and another on your mid back. You almost have a panic attack when you feel yourself being lifted up abruptly before you start moving. Instinctively, your arms wrap around your husband’s neck before snuggling into him deeper. God, you’re so cute.

The walk to the doctor’s room was short, and Eren made quick work of laying your body down on the examination table once you had made it inside. You’re awake now. Eren watches you settle into the examination table, your tired eyes fluttering open as you adjust to the cool surface beneath you. You groan softly as you adjust, the cool paper crinkling beneath you.

The sterile scent of the doctor’s room is familiar yet unwelcome as it blends with the lingering discomfort in your body. You really didn’t wanna be here. Despite your exhaustion, you muster a faint smile at your husband.

“You okay, mama?” Eren whispers, crouching beside you, his thumb stroking your cheek softly. He wants to ensure you’re as relaxed as possible, knowing the upcoming scan would stir a mix of emotions for both of you. “Mmhm,” you hum, still too groggy to give much more than a nod. Though your body aches, the idea of seeing your baby gives you a soft nudge of excitement. Fuck, you’re really pregnant. Again. Somehow, the idea is still so surreal to you.

The doctor returns with a warm smile, already prepping the ultrasound machine. “Alright, let’s take a look and see how your little one is doing.”

Eren’s grip tightens slightly on your hand, a silent reassurance as the cold gel touches your belly, sending a shiver through your body. When the doctor presses the scan on you, the black-and-white image immediately shows up on the screen before you. It’s not your first ultrasound, but every time you see your baby, you can’t help but gasp.

You watch as your husband’s eyes are locked onto the screen. His face softens as he watches the baby’s small movements, his mind already racing with the list of gifts he’s gonna spoil your child with. He squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly as if trying to ground himself in the reality of the moment. “There’s our baby,” he whispers, his voice filled with wonder.

The doctor’s voice breaks through the trance you and Eren are in. “Everything looks great so far. Baby’s healthy, growing well.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you. It’s a familiar feeling, this mix of overwhelming joy and nervousness that pregnancy brings. Every scan and every check-up feels like a small victory. You think about your daughter, Raqi, and how she will react when she finds out if she’ll have a little brother or sister. The thought makes you smile a bit wider.

“Are you ready to find out the gender?” the doctor asks, glancing between you and Eren.

Your heart skips a beat. You turn your head to look at your husband, who’s already looking at you with that boyish grin you fell in love with. You nod, “We’re ready.”

Laying down on your king-sized mattress, you hear Love Island playing on your TV at a low volume. The room feels cozy, warm, and peaceful—a stark contrast to the discomfort you’d dealt with earlier at the doctor’s office.

Your thoughts are absent, and you’re attempting to distract yourself enough to avoid thinking about the pain you’re experiencing. Eren sits at the foot of the bed, gently massaging your soft feet and softly kissing your painted white toes.

He’s not paying attention to anything but you and the little girl growing inside you. “Should I start spoiling her now?”

You giggle, the sound making his heart swell and his dick jump in his sweats, “Ren, she won’t be due for another 5 months at the very least.”

His movements start to slow as he answers, “Does it matter?”

You don’t notice how Eren is looking at you, eyes hooded and intensely staring at your lower body. He has to remind himself to be gentle with you and take things slow. But how can he? You’re not even doing anything remotely sexual, just existing. And yet, he can’t help but want to defile you in every way possible.

“Oh please, you spoil her already by talking to her every night like she’s listening,” you tease, your eyes half-closed as you sink deeper into the plush mattress. Oblivious to the unwavering gaze your man is sending your way.

Eren hums, not stopping his foot massage. “I told you, mama. She’s always listening, you’ll see. She’ll come out knowing everything I’ve told her.”

His words make you chuckle, but you know he means it deep down. The care and devotion Eren show to your unborn daughter remind you just how lucky you are to have him by your side. You sigh pleasantly when his fingers rub a sore spot on your soles.

“You know,” Eren begins, his voice low and thoughtful, “I was thinking about what I said earlier about Raqi and how she’s gonna react to the baby. I think she’s gonna go crazy.” He pauses, his hand now moving to rub slow circles on your stomach. “She’s been asking for a sibling for months now.”

Your daughter hasn’t noticed a change in your belly yet. It’s not easy to blame her for her hyperactive mind at her age. You think she has a superstition or a really good gut feeling because she sometimes hugs your belly. Not you. Just your belly. A small smile tugs at your lips as you think about it, “Yeah, I think so too. You think we should tell her when she gets back from her sleepover tomorrow?”

You think Eren is thinking about a response when he stops speaking for a moment. That is until you let out a yelp when you feel him place a kiss on your thigh, inching close to where your panties are. “Let’s make it a surprise?” A shiver runs down your spine as you feel his lips brush against your skin, the sensation so thrilling.

“Baby...” Your body heats up as you whine and react to his touch. At that point, Eren knows he doesn’t have to do much more to make you pant underneath him. He feels that you are deserving of this. Your pretty pussy deserves to be taken care of. You deserve to lie down and let your body fill with pleasure that only he can give you. I mean, you’re carrying his baby. A few mind-numbing orgasms are the least he could give you.

He isn’t one to beat around the bush, “I wanna make love to you, mama. Will you let me?”

“Ren... I can’t-” You try to explain that you can’t really move that much. But as he continues to press gentle kisses closer to your panties, the thought starts to leave your mind. He hasn’t fucked you in about two weeks, out of consideration for you. The sexual frustration finally catches up to you.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just breathe and let Daddy take care of you, yeah?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the fabric of your panties. The warmth spreads through you, making it hard to think straight. Nevertheless, you nod. Your breathing becomes slightly heavier when his fingers finally hook into your panties and pull them down your brown legs.

Eren keeps his promise. He doesn’t let you move a muscle, his tatted arm taking your ankles and pulling them over his shoulders. He didn’t have a shirt on, causing you to feel his bare skin against yours, and it’s nothing short of electric. “Words, mama.”

Eren is hungry, desperate for a taste of you, when his green eyes unwaveringly lock onto your leaking hole. Fuck, you’re dripping. His lips are drooling with your lower ones. He feels his mouth salivating, and honestly.. he thinks he’s falling in love with you again. You, the mother of his child. You, his perfect wife. Is he dreaming?

When he hears you let out a pathetic whimper at the sensation of the cool air on your sensitive clit, he answers his own question. This is real.

You’re getting restless, your body aching for your husband to just do something. Anything. “Yes... Yes, Daddy. Please.”

His wet mouth hurriedly attaches to your twitching clit. Eren hums approvingly against your sensitive folds, his hot breath fanning across your clit. He traces the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue before sucking it between his lips, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue.

You’re mewling, your eyes rolling back each time he dips his long tongue teasingly inside of you. You’re overflowing into his mouth, and Eren doesn’t hesitate to devour everything you’re giving him with pleasure.

What lies between your legs should be criminal. It’s making a mess of him. His hair already inching to fall out of his lazy bun, and his pink lips are glistening with your arousal, so much so that he can hear little drops falling onto your shared bed.

“Taste so sweet, baby.” His words are muffled. Eren never once removes his face from your cunt, though you can still make out his words. “Look so pretty, too. My wife. My perfect wife.”

You’re babbling, mindless nodding at his words. “Fuck- Ren!” You can’t help but cry out when Eren slowly eases two thick fingers inside your messy mound, quickly curling them to reach his favorite spot. His pace is deliberate and careful as he penetrates you with his digits.

Regardless, the intense pressure is still there. You couldn’t arch your back at it even if you tried. You’re stuck. Forced to take everything being given to you by your lover.

His eyes snap up to you, and what a sight it was. Your bonnet was halfway slipping off your head, your eyebrows scrunched so cutely, and your mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ shape out of pleasure.

He watches a line of drool slowly cascading down your glossed lips. One of your tits was hanging out, bouncing slightly with every pump of his fingers. Shit, he could cum at just the sight of you.

“I love you so much, mama. I’m so grateful for you. For our little family.” The swirling on your clit is still ongoing, and you’re starting to wonder if the man below you is even breathing properly as he speaks. You can’t dwell on it for long before you begin to feel a familiar fire pooling in your lower abdomen. You’re so sensitive.

You can tell your husband feels it, too. “Swear I’m the happiest when I’m with you.” His fingers don’t speed up; rather, he fucks them inside your warm walls with more purpose. More conviction.

“I- I love you, t-too. I - Ah! M’gonna cum Rennie!”

The obscene slurping of your dripping cunt only increases at his following words, “Yeah? Give it to me, baby. Give Rennie everything.”

Who are you to deny your husband? Your brain short circuits when you finally release all over Eren’s mouth, your mouth opening even wider to release a silent moan. You would’ve been bucking uncontrollably if a large palm hadn’t been gripping your soft hips. He groans when the essence of you impales his taste buds.

Eren pulls his fingers out of you slowly. That seems to be the theme tonight, not that you’re complaining. You let out a weak cry as he continues to softly suckle on your clit because the taste of you is simply addicting. He can never get enough.

Your eyes are pleading when you call out to him. “Ren- Baby.. I need you.”

His eyes roll back into his head when those words leave your panting mouth. He pulls away from you with a resounding pop! Watching your legs plop down on the mattress just to slowly crawl up to the top of the bed next to you.

“You need me, mama?” He carefully turns you on your side, facing him as you both cuddle into each other. You didn’t even notice when he took his sweats off, but that’s honestly the least of your concerns when you feel his fat tip leaking with pre-cum press against your folds.

You’re nodding so fast you think it might give you whiplash. “Put it in, plea- Oh!.”

Eren is pushing his leaking cock inside of you before you can finish your sentence, “Anything for you, baby.”

And he means that, beyond just fucking you. Your husband would do anything for you.

You’re soaking, so there isn’t much resistance for Eren. You both let out a desperate groan when you feel his tip pressing right where your cervix is, deliciously grazing your sweet spot in the process. He pulls his back delicately before slapping against you harshly, creating a wet, squelching sound.

Your cries are heaven to his ears. Your lips look so plump and perfect he wants to bruise them. So, he does. Eren grants you a deep kiss that knocks the breath out of your lungs as you struggle to return his vigor.

How your hands scramble to reach for his to ground yourself is so adorable to him. He couldn’t imagine himself being in love with anyone other than you. Couldn’t imagine himself being with anyone but you. He continues his onslaught on your poor pussy, whispering sweet praises of,

“You’re so perfect, mama.”

“I’m so in love with you, baby.”

“Fuck, you and this pretty pussy were made for me.”

Eren’s gaze never once left your face as he snakes his hand to softly rub your clit. Watching every scrunch, every contort, into pleasure all because of him. The panting of your breath as you simply lie down and let him have his way with you... Fuck. Eren knows that he won’t last long inside your tight warmth.

You’ll never get used to the feeling of being so.. stuffed.. so full... His slow strokes never once falter inside of you. The sounds you both were making were nothing short of lewd; with each stab to your womb, he was bringing you closer and closer to your second orgasm of the night.

“Augh! Daddy- I love you, I love you so much-”

“My pretty girl, I love you so much more. Cum for me, mama. You deserve it.”

You’re trembling, your body violently shaking as it listens to your husband outside of your own will. You’re creaming all over him, a sticky white paste forming at the base of his cock the more he thrusts into you. You’re crying, he notices. Light tears slip down your puffy cheeks, and he can’t tell if it’s due to the pleasure or all the emotions you’re feeling right now.

Your pussy has him in a tight grip, refusing to let go of him. Eren isn’t far behind you, your release naturally triggering his own. His heavy breathing accompanies his soft moan as he dumps his thick seed past your puffy lower lips.

Both of you stay there, sweating and soaking up the afterglow. After a moment, Eren kisses your forehead tenderly, his lips brushing softly against your damp skin. His arms wrap protectively around you, pulling you even closer if that were even possible. You can do nothing but nuzzle into his hot chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You okay, mama?” His voice is low and soothing, breaking the comfortable silence as he strokes your back gently.

Your response is a hum, too blessed to form words, but the way you melt into him reveals everything. He chuckles softly, placing another kiss on your head. Eventually, he makes a slight shift, but his hand remains on your waist. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

You lift your head to look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “And you’re everything to me, too, Rennie,” you whisper back, smiling softly.

For a minute, you just gaze at each other, and there is no need for further words. Everything he needed to say had already been told in the way he touched you, held you, and cherished you tonight. You really couldn’t ask for anything more.

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @jiyascepter

Through The Years

Jotun!King!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: This story takes you and Loki on a journey through the twins life. From their first steps all the way to their first time falling in love.

Warnings for this Chapter: fluff, father-son moments

Word Count: 413

a/n: I finally managed to post the epilogue - yay! I'm SO sorry it took me this long... I love this Universe - this series with all my heart. Thank you all for joining the ride! I sincerly hope you enjoyed it. 🤗

❄️ Chapter Six ❄️

Ice Flower AU Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Epilogue

The landscape of Jotunheim extended to the feet of the high cliff. It was winter and therefore was everything covered in a thick blanket of snow and ice. It was bitterly cold today, but the sky was clear. A rare thing to happen in the harsh winters of Jotunheim.

On top of the cliff was standing Loki; wrapped up in the warmest furs. He gazed down on his home. He loved this place and often went here. A lot of memories were made on this cliff... With his father. With you. With his sons - who were approaching him. Steps could be heard in the crunching snow, as the twins came to stand beside him. "Dad..." Váli said, looking at him with concern. "Is everything alright?" Continued Áki. Loki smiled, nodding. "Oh, for sure." "Why did you want to meet us here then?" Loki teared his gaze away from the landscape and looked at Váli. "Because this place holds so many memories..." He then looked over at Áki. "And I wanted to add a new one."

Both men smiled; stepping closer and following their father's gaze. Loki placed his hands on one shoulder of each son. "Your grandfather took me here often and showed me what was ours. Told me stories about our home. About the cliffs and fields. About the Jotuns - and about the palace. One day, he brought me up here and showed me what was mine..." He squeezed their shoulders. "Today, I'm bringing you up here, to show you what is yours." Both, Váli and Áki swallowed at their dad's words.

Loki turned to face Váli again. "You are king now, son. You are ruling over the realm and leading all its people. And I know you are going to be a great king. Perhaps even a better one than I was. You are kind, wise and strong. Keep that up." With a smile, Loki turned to face Áki. "And you, son, are the leader of our army - and first advisor of the king. You are going to protect whole Jotunheim and stand by your brother's side. I couldn't image a better leader. You have your heart in the right place."

Once again, he gave their shoulders a squeeze and returned his gaze on the beautiful landscape ahead. "Whatever is going to happen in the future... To me, to your mother - or even to your husband and wife. I want you to always remember this place... Home."

Tags: @eleniblue @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @smolvenger @hisredheadedgoddess28 @icytrickster17 @chennqingg @glitchquake @princess-ofthe-pages @crimson25 @elegantcheesecakecrown @buttercupcookies-blog @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @herdetectivetheorist @loz-3 @brokenpoetliz @km-ffluv @stupidthoughtsinwriting @jennyggggrrr @lady-rose-moon @lovingchoices14 @salvinaa @irishhappiness @sheris532 @princessdragon23 @xxannyxx @kimanne723 @mandywholock1980 @the-holy-trinity-l @loki-laufeyson223 @vbecker10

[jolapeno]

the yearly round up

so, i am not someone who tends to toot their own horn a lot, but i thought i could be forgiven since it's my birthday. if there were a party, i'd maybe give a speech, right? so, instead of talking about myself, i thought id talk about my work and some of my fave things I've written this year and a little bit as to why. for this list, i have not included late night texts purely because i gave it a lot of love on my last secret birthday. and equally, as do me yourself comes to a close during this one, i feel it's having such a hot moment in the sun, i didn't want to bore everyone. also because if you ask me anything about dmy i won't shut the fuck up. to ask anything about these just add an 🍊.

anytime javier p x f!reader

best friends who go to a wedding only to realise they're in love? sounds like jo. this story fell out of me upon seeing a moodboard by /wildemaven and god i love them. i think about them so often and it makes me want to write him like this again. just fun, easy. it helped me find my nerve to tackle him again after a break when LNT finished, so it was nice to hang with him again.

in my room javier p x f!reader

this idea lived in my head for so long, it went through so many variations until we landed on this. i loved writing it because i hadn't written him like this, and how closed off they both were was so much fun. not having a resolved ending was tough to, but it was also really nice?

i like the way you frankie m x f!reader

would it even be a list if i don't include this? it's a work that on the surface might just feel like a lot of fun. and it is, for sure. but also this fic really taught me a lot and helped create a new relationship with sex. i won't bore or dwell on sad things, but even with therapy, a solid and healthy relationship, this fic helped heal some lasting wounds with my relationship with sex. all through the eyes of two friends who were just trying not to confess they loved one another. so very jo.

up sky, low high frankie m x f!reader

im not sure why this man makes me write some incredible smut (IMO, ofc) but he does??? this one wouldn't exist without @morallyinept urging me on, because honestly i wouldn't have had the guts without her convincing me. but, god i think about this fic a lot? i write a lot of lovely romance, but the romance in this with the smut? i never EVER thought id find that balance. and i did, have, yay!

be good, be you joel miller x f!reader

never in a million years did i think this would have been so popular. and that's not why it's on this list. it's on this list because i lived with this fic for weeks. every bit of rain the UK we had, i thought of this. anyone who knows me, knows how much i love bill + frank joel, so this was like giving into an idea that i thought would only live in my head. and now, it's there, and I'm not ashamed to say i re-read it a lot.

meet you once, saw you thrice lucien flores x f!reader

who'd have thought this would make this list? not me. but it has, and god. i really tested myself with this one. creating him was days of churning over interviews of other actors, of finding who he is in the centre of fucking nothing. and then pouring my heart into it for lovely @pedgito and god am i grateful that's the moodboard i was given. i was terrified (ali will attest) but now i am so proud of it. i love it, and him. I'm almost terrified now to see the movie and watch this version die and wilt hahaha.

din and the travelling of planets din djarin x f!reader

not a one shot, but a collection, because i spent longer trying to choose than i did dwelling on choosing the rest and writing this post. i never thought id step back into star wars, but i'm so glad i did. din and his girl, seeing different planets together, letting us see the world through her eyes. there's a lot of my writing I'm proud of, but I'm most proud of the lines in this. because i get to describe in a way where i don't feel its redundant. because we're seeing it at the same time as she is. i also have so much fun each time i get to write him, and that, makes me happy.

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 3.2

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 14000

Chapter summary:  In which you have to survive the charity auction and it's not easy... for several reasons.

Series masterlist

Warnings: overthinking, self-doubt and issues with self-image, A+ parenting and its consequences, mentions of (in)human experimentation, alcohol (briefly as a coping mechanism), SPOILER armed assault, language and charming Steve, because he is most definitely a warning

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: Second 'half' of the 3rd chapter. As you might have noticed, this is a long one. But with hints of fluff. So…yay? 💕 If you wish/need to split the reading, I recommend to end a reading session at the second in-text divider 😊

Daisy Johnson, despite being the legendary Quake, did in fact have a moment – which was enough of a shock to stop your headache from getting worse, even if your hands seemed to get a little clammy as your phone lit up with her response.

You would have done just fine without anyone’s input, you considered yourself competent enough to choose an evening gown, thank you very much. But after the day you had had so far – you could hardly believe it wasn’t even noon yet – there was a small traitorous voice of hope in the back of your head. Despite the heavy feeling in your stomach weighing you down, a dull reminder of being alone in this world, it urged you to reach out to the one group of people that once made you believe that you could share more with someone than workload or more than lust that turned into ashes and smoke once the fire had been lit up too strong. Daisy had been in the centre of it – she and maybe Coulson.

It was a dangerous game you played, indulging in the one thing you knew would come back to slap you in the face; entertaining the idea that there was someone who genuinely cared for you regardless of your abilities was setting you up for disappointment. But there was something about Daisy, so honest and sincere, that had wormed its way through the walls you had sworn to keep up for support, several inches thick and vibranium-strong. And that didn’t change, even as you had been given, not for the first time, the evidence of how volatile a faith in friendship can turn just short of two hours ago.

Knowing that Daisy didn’t turn her back to people, not even to her father after all he had done wrong, knowing she chose to see the good in people and to put her heart into nurturing it in them despite the risk of getting hurt in more ways than one, left you defenceless against her powers that had nothing to do with her genetic code. She was, even if distantly, the closest thing to a sister to you, older, due to her experience with Inhuman powers and in Coulson’s team, and younger, due to her pure heart and excitement about new things; once she had managed her powers which she had got about a half a year before you did, she became your guide and confidant; though you hadn’t dared to taint her with the knowledge of your pain.

While you had started search for the dress without her, she texted you barely a half an hour in; fresh out of a meeting, apologizing she’d only have twenty minutes before they’d be in the drop-zone for their current mission. Twenty minutes. And yet, she had made the time for you. Somewhere, thousands of feet in the air, in between preparing her mission gear, she had decided to sneak in a few minutes for you.

The knowledge alone eased the pressure in your stomach and gave way to a wholly different feeling, equally dizzying. She cared. Yes, you could argue that since she had been tasked to lead the division of Inhuman agents of SHIELD, it was her duty to respond – and at times, you reminded yourself of that, that you really weren’t special – but the fact was that she was. And she truly did care. You hadn’t been wrong to call her a friend yesterday; and Daisy-the-teenager couldn’t have had picked a better role-model in life. For most part anyway.

It didn’t matter in the slightest that Daisy Johnson had barely squeezed you into her schedule; it still carried meaning. And it would be enough, because she could be very efficient, sorting through the dresses you had considered so far as easily as if she had been slicing through the security system of the Pentagon – for a person with her hacking experience anyway.

A set of easy questions you yourself had been asking was her effective tactics.

Mission or fun? she had asked first, no doubt already knowing the answer as she went through the early picks. There was a reason why no dress had bare back, while all of them had necklines designed high enough to hide at least a strapless bra.

Me: They call it a mission to have fun, but I’ll be damned if I go without being ready other kind of mission.

DJ: Fair

DJ: Charming or sexy?

Your lips twitched in a small smile, your mind conjuring the image of Daisy’s face when she was typing the question. She was one of very few people – probably the only one – who could make you feel the teenage-like excitement about challenging authority. There was always a reason to the madness of doing so, but there was something about her attitude that always whispered of poking the bear for the sake of fun only.

Charming, you replied, almost regretfully. As much fun as it would be to see brains of some of those pretentious jerks you were about to meet short-circuit just because they were seeing an extra silver of flesh on a young woman – a thing that would make for as much of an icky feeling as hilarity – your mission was to represent, not cause havoc or seduce.

Blah. Colour-coordinating with anyone? she asked then and you chuckled at her poorly hidden attempt to fish for gossip – and at the idea of actually trying to do what she was suggesting. No. You were not going to go and ask Rogers what colour he was about to wear. Less so since chances were high that he was about opt for a traditional black tuxedo suit with a white shirt.

Me: Nope.

DJ: Come on! At least tell me who you’re going with?!!

DJ: You know this is a much of a secure channel as it gets

DJ: And you said it wasn’t really a mission, so it can’t be classified

DJ: …and I can’t find it within the system.

I’ll tell you if we survive it, you replied simply, even as laughter already bubbled in your chest, cheeks beginning to hurt from disuse and the sudden exercise as to stop you from grinning.

You should have known that she’d hack the system and go straight for the mission database unless you told her the details. Tony, bless him, threw a tantrum whenever she did that – which wasn’t too often, but it had happened before. On days when you allowed yourself to ponder, you wondered why he never told anyone – as far as you knew, that was, because no one came down on you, raining holy fire of wrath, despite it being obvious you were the cause of Daisy’s hacks – and why he tolerated it. Some days, you thought he was amused by it and felt bad for you, seeing you missed your former team, granting you connection with Daisy even if the way she went about it drove him absolutely nuts. Other days, you were sure he simply enjoyed a challenge and this was as good one of those as any – and he’d be caught dead before he’d admit in front of anyone that someone was able to crack into his system. Most days, you were content not to look given horse in the mouth.

Like clockwork, FRIDAY’s mechanical voice interrupted your thoughts:

“Agent Spectre, Mr. Stark would like to know if, I quote, you know anything about some punk kid sneaking into the mission logs again, maybe Little Miss Richter Scale, end of quote,” she stated, causing a snort of laughter actually escape you at Tony’s new and dead-on nickname. You’d have to tell Daisy that later – she’d have a good laugh at that

Me: You’re getting better and better.

Me: He’s onto you now though.

DJ: He should, he’s slacking, took him forever to notice

Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if Tony Stark and Daisy Johnson found themselves in one room and she’d tell him that to his face; but that was a thought to entertain another day.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Mr. Stark to relax. We’re safe, it is just Daisy.”

“Very well. Apologies for interrupting your free time, Agent Spectre. However, I was also tasked to inform you that Sergeant Wilson prepared enough lunch for an army and extended the invitation to join him to everyone on the team. Even to those who are currently on a mission out of state, which I find odd and, frankly, despicable.”

Even though the corner of your lips twitched at FRIDAY’s comment, your heart skipped a startled beat, a fist of cold feeling squeezing your stomach. The invitation was a nice gesture, even if not meant for you. You could read between the lines: the family the Avengers team had built themselves into, even if the second strangest you had ever seen, did not involve you. You were barely a part of the team, a temporary loan, so to speak, even as you had signed a contract. Extending the invitation to the team meant extending it to friends, to that very family. As kind and welcoming as Sam seemed, you certainly did not belong to that category.

The vibration of your phone startled you; the message as amusing as bittersweet.

DJ: Fine, keep your secrets, Ms Avenger

Right. Ms. Avenger. Case on point. You might be one, technically, on paper, but in spirit… hardly. At best, you were determined to try and prove that the way you controlled your abilities could be at least Avengers-adjacent. The harsh truth however, was that if anyone from your old team would have had it in them to become a true Avenger, it was Daisy herself. Alas, she was too busy running and flying the world with another team, protecting, teaching, and recruiting Inhumans... and saving the world in the process.

DJ: Crap gotta run

DJ: Number four is the one I think

Whoever you’re going with is gonna lose their shit when they see you, she added, once again making you snort, this time without humour.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. If chances of becoming a friend to an Avenger were astronomical, chances that Steve Rogers would be impressed by you dressing up to the nines were outside of all the realms known to Thor himself. But it was a nice sentiment, you supposed; the flicker of affection towards the optimist in Daisy was a testimony to that.

Me: Thank you for the help. Stay safe out there.

DJ: You too

DJ: But from what I saw about yesterday, you got it

DJ: …Ms Avenger

Shaking your head, this time unable to stop the smile taking over your lips, you set the phone down and ordered the dress to be delivered express, and moved onto shoes and a handbag; you ignored the growling of your hungry stomach and distantly couldn’t but wonder if maybe there’d be some leftovers of Sam’s pasta to have for lunch later.

Tony was not exaggerating when he was talking about the charity auction being a mission. A mission required preparation; having documents land in your inbox along with an alert of high-priority intel relevant to your mission lightning up your StarkWatch yesterday evening, you had never been more grateful for being obliged to read up on something.

As you were putting the last touches to your make-up in the quinjet bathroom, you sent another mental thank you to Tony, because the extensive files on all expected guests, besides having potential to be useful to you during the event, gave you the perfect excuse as to why leave last preparations to the flight.

Naturally, the intel itself was a message with a bitter aftertaste, because it highlighted your role and tasks. Represent. Make small-talk. Show interest. Compliment a healthy amount; meaning bootlick a bit, if necessary. You knew the dance and it had always made your head spin in the worst way. To show enough admiration and knowledge about the world’s finest to look professional and a bit of a fan, but not as a stalker, even as there were people among the attendees tonight who would have probably appreciated a stalker-level interest and considered it a compliment.

But despite the slight nausea hitting you when leafing through the files, you had appreciated the out Tony had given you, whether it was intentional or not; because with an excuse of mountains of intel to try to learn by heart, you didn’t have to sit opposite to Steve in the quinjet in awkward silence. Or worse, trying to make small talk with him, just as awkward. Or, in the worst-case scenario – which would be in the direct conflict with one of the mission’s laughable objectives, specifically trying not to kill each other – fight with him.

And you probably would have done exactly that because there was no way Captain America himself had been wrestled into this the same way you had. They might have had to twist his arm to make him go with you, but not to go. He had been given a choice and chose to attend, despite the concerns you had voiced. And you probably hadn’t been the only one, which meant Steve had to be hyperaware of the potential security issue and he deliberately ignored it. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He was Mr. Captain America and nothing could ever happen to him; be it because he thought there was no danger and you were allegedly making it bigger deal than necessary or – which drove you all high up the wall and made you want to punch him into his damn perfect teeth or at least punch his stupidly firm pec – the threat was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Goddamn him.

You crumbled the fabric of your dress between your fingers in a firm grip as you breathed through the rush of pure indignation with him being a brave stubborn dismissive dumbass and breathed in slowly; you held your breath for a few seconds, and only then released it along with the grip on your dress. You blinked at yourself in the mirror and repeated the action, arranging your face into a neutral expression at least.

Tony might have as well come up with the idea to send the intel solely to prevent you from attempting to strangle Steven Grant Rogers before you even landed, so it would be polite to honour his efforts.

When you finally exited the bathroom and entered the main space, you found Steve in one of the seats with a tablet in his hand, the screen dimly illuminating his face. He looked up as you approached, rising to his feet almost as if on instinct, his lips slightly parted for a brief moment. His gaze glided over the dress from where it brushed your ankles, over the line of the skirt, the slit reaching mid-thigh opening and closing as you walked, revealing a silver of your leg tastefully and covering you again, then over the waist, V-shaped neckline ending mid-sternum, short sleeves with delicate frills. For a moment, the intensity of his gaze surprised you; but then you realized that he was committing the dress to memory to find you easily in the crowd in case any Avengers-related business came up.

Then, an obtrusively gentle thought nudged at your mind; he was an amateur artist. You had got a glimpse of him several times, a sketchbook and a pencil in his fingers, look distant or extremely focused on the paper in front of him. He could appreciate beauty – and the dress you chose was without doubt an embodiment of it. The glimmer of it was subtle and the sparkles sparce; in the rich dark blue blending into a purple just as dark, it resembled the sky just after dusk, with the first stars coming out. Whether he had a sense for fashion or not wouldn’t matter – the dress was, at least in your eyes, gorgeous. Not flashy, not too shiny to attract too much attention, but with an idea making up for the otherwise simple design.

When Steve met your eyes, the light of the quinjet made it appear as if there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks. And there actually might be, since his eyes lingered on the dress for a moment too long; which wouldn’t be a crime if you weren’t already wearing them, making it seem like he was staring.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the soft tone making it sound almost as if it escaped him unwittingly.

It was the most ordinary of compliments and yet, it surprised you that he had even paid it. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, as he was a product of his time – a time in which if men didn’t compliment a woman’s appearance, they were probably called louts. And yet. Even with that knowledge, something akin to warmth fluttered in your chest, a brief smile passing over your lips, the silent ‘thank you’ the least courtesy you could give in return.

If he had tried to commit your dress to memory, you’d allow yourself the same luxury. A quality black tuxedo with a faint navy-blue glint, pristine white shirt, a black bow-tie. His outfit would be but a drop in the sea, nothing that would stand out among those of other men; but you had the advantage of him being easily found in the crowd thanks to his physique alone. The broadness and strength he radiated could carry the weight of the world – and it felt like it did – narrowing beautifully into the trim waist in a ratio not even a loose jacket could hope to hide, let alone such well-fitting one which seemed to accentuate it a little more than was strictly necessary. With him towering over about ninety-five percent of people and having shoulders wider than about ninety-nine percent of the usual present company, he was truly hard to miss.

Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target who was truly hard to miss indeed.

And now you were staring and he was no doubt aware – it was impossible not to, less so with how much attention he paid to things. So you stood there in silence, awkward one, precisely the one you had wanted to avoid and yet managed to reach it in thirty seconds flat – but at least neither of you were yelling. Yet.

As glad as you were to see that Steve Rogers had clearly decided to leave whatever disagreements you had ever had back at the Tower for the sake of this mission, trying his best to be the exact opposite of antagonistic, you were not going to tell him he looked extremely good to make things even more awkward. You wouldn’t even think it, as right as the assessment was. It would be inappropriate, even as he had complimented you first.  You needed to be professional. There was a task at hand.

Right. The mission.

Steve was still watching you, something akin to curiosity in his gaze.

You cleared your throat, nodding towards the tablet in his hand.

“You were going through the files on the guests?”

Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.

“Yes. Have you?” he asked as he laid the tablet on the seat, straightening to his full height again; it was ridiculous how tall he seemed in the low-ceiling cabin of this type of quinjets. There was a faint smile on his lips, no tension in his jaw as he watched you; he already knew the answer and he wasn’t trying to provoke you.

Small talk it was.

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. You would swear a little twinkle of humour appeared in his eye – but it was probably just the lights reflecting in his cerulean blues. “Yesterday and today. Should be more than enough to represent properly.”

Alright, it must have been humour, because the corner of his lips twitched now at the lightest trace of defiance in your voice. Then he smiled fully, the spark burning brighter, your stomach somersaulting a bit.

Who were you kidding you had no idea; he looked more than just extremely good and handsome. In a different kind of suit than you were used to, bright eyes with their blue accentuated by the colour of his tuxedo, with uncharacteristically relaxed features and even a smile aimed at you, the beauty of him seemed so surreal you might have as well entered another dimension. Which, given your experience with Coulson’s team, was not unplausible. And yet, your heart fluttering had nothing to with fear as he went to sidestep you.

What was wrong with you today?

“Well… good. I’m sure you’ll have the two remaining objectives handled as well,” he said kindly.

You blinked, neurons firing in all directions, heart leaping to your throat. Surely, he didn’t just—the two remaining objectives. That wasn’t--- that didn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t receive the same documents, his mission package different from yours as he was one of the original Avengers, the strategist.

And yet, a worm of curiosity had already chewed its way through to your brain, an itch you needed to scratch otherwise you’d go crazy. Certainly, he couldn’t have implied-

He stepped out towards the bathroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by your impulsive words.

“Can I borrow your tablet for one more moment?” you blurted out, clearly taking him by surprise; but not unpleasantly. “I just… I just want to check on some of the guests again.”

“Sure.”

With the same faint smile adorning his absurdly handsome face, he took a few steps back to reach for the tablet, unlocking it for you and opening the file with individual documents for you to browse before taking his leave.

You weren’t sure why you needed to check – if you were a sucker for pain, needing to know your assumption he had only received three objectives was correct – but you opened the mission overview anyway.

A lump grew in your throat as you skimmed through the document, your stomach suddenly unbearably warm.

He didn’t mean it. He forgot there were four not three objectives, a sharp voice in your head argued, instantly opposed by another, even if less insistent, reminding you that Captain Rogers was believed to have eidetic memory and you had seen his impressive memory indeed in action before.

It didn’t matter. You were making a big deal out of nothing; and ocne you came back from this excuse of a mission, you needed to have your heart checked, because the irregularities in rhythm and the palpitations upon simply reading had to signal an underlying health issue.

But it was right there, in his device, in one of the documents he had just been reading through. The overview.

Location.

Time.

Two names.

Four objectives.

Four objectives which were no doubt written down by Tony, given the choice of words and their existence to begin with, because no one else would have treated an official document this way.

Make Avengers look good; Look good; Have fun (includes using Stark/Avengers card in the auction); Try not to kill each other.

You felt your cheeks heat up even though there was not a single reason to feel that way. You were a grown woman. You had been complimented countless times before, in much more flattering ways, though less playful ones. Steve was just being… polite. And a little teasing, trying to put you at ease, probably thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, having been informed about your… reluctance to attend the auction. His niceness was in overdrive since he had been literally given orders not to treat you as if he wanted to kill you. He didn’t mean it and even if he did, you had no business reacting this way.

But still. It seemed that Steve Rogers decided that for the sake of the mission, he would more than just leave your differences of opinions behind for the night; he decided to truly work hard on the one single objective that did not come easily to him. There was no other reason for that, but despite your better judgement, it brought a ghost of a smile to your face, one that felt a little stupid.

As you heard him open the door, you were quick to close the document and tap on a random one concerning the guests, just in case Steve would want to check. You pretended that you were too immersed in reading to address him as he walked to you, but there was no need.

The gentle swing of the quinjet slowing down made you forget about whatever he had been trying to imply alarmingly fast.

You were almost there; in the lion’s den. It was time to pull yourself together, be the picture perfect this mission required even if you were not. Just because your idea of a useful mission was different, you wouldn’t treat this one with any less focus or professionalism; even if you’d rather find yourself tied-up and gagged an abandoned warehouse in a middle of nowhere, with no back-up in sight, than kept a fake smile plastered to your face for hours.

Avenger or not, your task was to represent. And so you would, conveniently with the man who represented the goals and values of the team better than anyone else ever could. You’d do your best to support him in that, and you’d do so while fulfilling all the objectives of the mission indeed, even if you doubted that you’d be any better than an accessory the size of Steve’s cufflink. You doubted that Steve Rogers would need the slightest support in charming rich people and the staff alike.

Just for that, you mentally added a fifth objective, an objective anyone drawing up the document should have added themselves. For Steve, it would be not to be a dumbass and not to get himself hurt, hit by anti-serum, kidnapped or killed. For you, not to let any of these things happen to him.

It wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if it was anyone else with you, but since Steve goddamn Rogers had decided to--- no. Not today. He truly was trying to be bearable. You’d meet him halfway; but you’d be damned if you didn’t keep your eyes open.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you murmured as the quinjet touched down on one of the rooftops on a nearby hotel, courtesy of Tony’s negotiating skills – his irresistible charm, as he would say – earning you Steve’s startled look. “You clean up well too.”

His shoulders sagged, eyebrow arching subtly, but his surprise melted into a slight smile again. “Thank you. Shall we?”

Like the gentleman he had been raised to be, he offered you an elbow as the ramp of the quinjet opened for you to step out. There was no need – you had walked on far worse surfaces than this in heels before, you had been forced to run and kick in them too – and you had to physically swallow the remark that would inform Steve about that. But you’d be an idiot to not see that he didn’t offer you an arm to be condescending; he did so to be nice. You could work with nice.

“Thanks.”

And with that, you stepped out, counting steps until you’d walk into the lion’s den indeed.

To say that functions, balls and auctions were not your scene would be a serious understatement. Not in the sense of you being unable to tackle them, no – you had plenty of experience – but in the sense of you absolutely despising them. Specifically, you couldn’t stand what people pretended to be when in that environment; and that included you.

It hadn’t always been like that; visiting events like this started off pleasant. People in luxury robes with wide smiles and subtle laughs echoing in glimmering halls were a thrilling environment before. Before you could fully understand what was happening, before you could read the room. It was only much later when you’d identify these events as necessary evil when working for SHIELD and the time between the two points was a long journey.

Your father would have sneaked into these, either in his own ways or through your mother’s alleged renown status; and you, naturally, went with them. She’d often leave you and your father to your own devices, charming guests into adoring her, speaking of her dedication to both her work and her family, particularly to her daughter, her tone speaking louder than her words in the case of the latter; contempt.

Meanwhile, your father was the complete opposite. He had you joined at his hip, a crutch for when his own tactics of pretending to be someone truly indispensable to SHIELD failed. If people roaming higher circles of society didn’t recognize him as the god’s gift to humanity he hoped to come across as, you’d come in; a charming young lady ready to take the world by storm, his beloved daughter, his pride and joy. Errors made that day, that week or past months didn’t matter – they didn’t exist at the moment, your performance always painted as perfect for the sake of the bragging.

It was a divine experience to receive so much praise, him sounding so earnest in front of all those people; it got sicker and more twisted the older you got, seeing the mask slipping on and off as it suited him, knowing that in the discomfort of home, you were none of what he described you as that to him. And yet. To be finally loved and seen as exceptional by your own father, the one person who had always believed in you and told you so; who wouldn’t want that? Just a taste; like melting hot chocolate on your tongue, thoroughly warming your very being, the softest of blankets that turned scratchy the moment you left the room, snatched away to leave you out in the cold reality of being born a hope and growing up a failure. But those moments, those moments you craved as much as you hated them. Because you knew they would never last.

It was one of the many contradictions of your childhood and adolescence, one of many topics of your therapy sessions that seemed to have no end. It reminded you of what Lincoln always said – that every Inhuman had a purpose and that every Inhuman’s power reflected, to a point, who they were. The way you felt you were often being pulled in two directions, loved and despised, dotted on and ignored, obedient and rebellious, to be exactly who your father had always intended for you to be and find your own path – or pretend you could, for a bit at least, to give him a glimpse of a real disappointment; all goals in direct opposition to each other. You were surprised your ability wasn’t the same as Alisha’s who could literally split herself into several images of herself. But you were hardly an overachiever, were you? You had learned long time ago that perfection was out of your reach, no matter how much you’d cry and bleed and clawed your way through to it, only to see the top of the mountain move when your fingers had almost touched it at last. And on top of that mountain; people like Steve Rogers. The man who could shove it into anyone’s face that it wasn’t that the summit was too high; it was just that they were too small of a person. That you weren’t enough.

It wasn’t fair to despise him for it. But it wasn’t fair that some of these people could insult you to your face and imply you were a lesser Avenger – while representing them nevertheless – and you had no chance to truly fight back without somewhat proving them right.

About a hundred and then some boring conversations later, encounters in which you felt your skin crawl because you hated rubbing elbows, facing fake smiles and carefully crafted politeness with veiled insults weaved between the words of those who could afford it, you were ready to take a break and you were afraid it was beginning to show too.

Captain Steve Rogers, of course, did not seem tired of pleasantries in the slightest; the golden boy still roamed among the crowds, more than willing to engage in any conversation, shaking hands and rubbing elbows indeed as if he had been born to do exactly that. Crowds loved him and that was a fact, whether what Tony had insinuated was correct or not and Steve couldn’t stand this kind environment either indeed.

You had to give it to Steve, however – and truly, you should have expected it, because this was Steve Rogers, originally a little man who could not stand people looking down at others, less so diminish someone’s worth, and he was the protector, the ultimate good guy, the perfection personified – the encounters you had handled side by side with him did not see you neglected. Quite the opposite. If someone didn’t recognize you, which applied to the majority, he was happy to introduce you, or, as it had been in most cases, he had you introduce yourself and only then he highlighted your importance to the team if anyone seemed less that impressed.

Contrary to what you would believe, his words and demeanour, however, pushed the icky sensation of the scene away rather than intensified it. Unlike your father, Steve didn’t have you trail after him. He didn’t belittle you to lift himself up. He didn’t boast about his brilliant decision to reassign you to the team since you were so useful When he spoke of you as the new addition to the team, he didn’t highlight your most recent accomplishment either, not with a condescending or patronizing tone or words that would make it sound as if he as saying oh she saved a few people just two days ago, including Natasha Romanoff, someone give her a candy.

Steve didn’t speak of you as if you were hisachievement, didn’t speak of letting you join the team, of the cooperation being his or their choice.

“We are honoured to have her join the team,” he’d say instead.

“With every mission she takes on, she proves how fortunate we are that she is one of us.”

“Her contributions to our common goal are invaluable.”

“She is an essential part of our team and we are thankful she continues to make this world a safer place with the rest of us.”

On one hand, it was almost sweet; on the other, it was irritating. You didn’t need him to earn you their respect and it should make you livid he was trying to do that, to play the hero who’d rush to your rescue. To a point, it did, because you could fight your own battles; but this battlefield tended to make you slip into a mindset you hated – made you slip into a skin you hated wearing. Still, Steve’s tendency to make it his personal mission that you were not overshadowed by him – a futile effort truly – should make your blood boil, because there he was, the world’s mightiest saviour in action again.

But the way his body language changed when someone eyed you as if you were an unwanted addition to the conversation seemed to whisper of other things than self-proclaimed white knight needing to sweep in; it expressed itself as a personal insult to him that your supposed brilliance was not acknowledged. It seemed almost as if he was gesturing to you wildly with his large palms, his voice as if demanding from the people he spoke to: do you really not see how amazing she is? Are you an idiot? Naturally, he was doing so in much distinguished manner, but that was how it felt.

You were certain someone must have got to you before Tony did back in the park, landing a hit to your head or two, causing a microtrauma that only now manifested in your entirely skewed perception and hallucinations. They must have, there was no other plausible explanation. Or maybe you had actually died; laying your life for Natasha’s would have certainly been a worthy cause. Or perhaps it wasn’t so dramatic and you had simply slipped into a coma and this was some weird manifestation of your brain recovering.

And yet, you had a feeling that if you pinched yourself, you would still feel as grounded in this strange reality as you did now, the intense surge of affection for the man still overwhelming, the satisfaction of seeing the swellheads meek and slightly embarrassed at Steve’s tone upon them dismissing you curling hot in your core. You needed to stop revel in it so much.

But be as it might, despite trying to carefully shield yourself from the effect of Steve’s very public words of appreciation due to knowing it wouldn’t last, you felt yourself grow taller than you ever had been in an event like this. You didn’t feel as obliged to smile politely just for the sake of pleasing others, even as you did smile. Despite the presence of Captain America, larger than life, you felt confident and powerful, even if this kind of feeling normally only came when you were on a mission with the target already in your pocket.

And yet, this surge of courage – and all the wondering about what an alternate reality you had entered – didn’t make the game of social chess less exhausting or brought it closer to your ideas of fun. After almost another hour of wandering on your own, tending to every conversation necessary and even those less necessary, you did find yourself in a need of a break and you liked to think you deserved one.

Naturally, fate – if there was such thing – did not grant you such courtesy.

When you finally did find yourself at the bar, it was one godawful encounter later – a single polite conversation that had sucked all life out of you, all of the little glow you felt you had gathered swept away with a single snap of fingers. It was unfair. It was unfair that your mother still had such hold on you after a lifetime of you being nothing but a bug on her windshield as she tried to drive into the sunset of her own glory, even months and months after her final abandonment.

The matter was only worse since it wasn’t even her. Just a distant colleague – her superior, no less. A few minutes, every second dragging since the moment Doctor Franklin had mentioned your mother, and you were ready to hit the bar for something far stronger than champagne.

“Ah, I knew I saw a resemblance. You must be so proud to wear your mother’s features and name. A strong woman, a survivor, truly dedicated to science, exploring the wonders of the nature of Inhuman transformation. Examining her own genetic code to be able to share fascinating facts of the uniqueness of her case. Even the draft of her study was most intriguing… pardon me, what was it that your abilities are after you, unlike her, simply acquired powers like everyone else?”

It shouldn’t have affected you; but it did. With what felt like chunks of metal in your stomach, the tickle of nausea in the back of your throat, you were almost proud you managed to hold somewhat of a smile, actually uncertain if the woman was clueless in the matter of politeness and tact or whether she was making a calculated insult.

“I’m afraid the exact nature of my abilities is classified, ma’am,” you replied. The words, even if they should feel full of vindication, tasted bitter on your tongue.

Trust your mother to finally find her exceptionality and built the pinnacle of her career on a flaw in her genetic code. Of fucking course. Making herself the centre of attention while being the primary source of that attention at the same time; what a brilliant move. Someone should give her a damn Nobel. You really were doing something wrong in your life.

So truly, you felt like were entitled to a breather as you walked away with a polite nod, trying not to throw up in your mouth as the world got slightly blurry at the edges for a moment, your heart pounding, knees feeling a little weak. You felt the sticky remnants of Doctor Franklin’s words linger on your skin, resisting the urge to rub it off.

You deserved a shot of something stronger. You weren’t sure anything weaker than absinth would do the trick and help you snap from the strange haze your body slipped into; but facing the man behind the improvised bar, you couldn’t make yourself ask for that however.

Well-aware that you needed to keep at least some face since the mission of the evening was to represent, you opted for vodka, small shot only. And despite the weary conversations, you didn’t forget: in addition to representing, you wanted to be ready to fight whoever could possibly go after Rogers. As much as you’d like to get wasted to feel actual nausea instead, something tangible and real like the burn of the strongest alcohol known to mankind, you couldn’t. Vodka it was.

You turned the shot bottoms-up, focusing fully on the hot trickle down your throat, the fire dampening all your other senses; and for a few second, it was bliss.

Until your nostrils were hit by an unfairly familiar cologne and aftershave, a deep timbre soaking into your bones whenever spoken despite how much you tried not to let it do exactly that.

“Having fun as we were ordered?”

You froze, shame, indignation and the alcohol lightning you up like a wildfire.

Great, Mr. Morality is here, you thought darkly, setting the glass down, turning to Steve with poorly masked annoyance. Annoyance which was quickly wiped out, the flames licking at your gut put out.

You expected his face to be full of judgement, anger and disappointment; but much like his voice had been, you realized, it was free of any bite or sting, simply showing light amusement and compassion, a slightly worried crinkle between his brows.

His voice had been quiet, purposely so, as not to attract lookers-on. It was a little naïve – to think he could walk in anywhere without at least ten pairs of eyes following him – but it was nice of him that he was trying not to embarrass you by publicly calling you an alcoholic.

But the gentle mix of emotion adorning his expression only made your stomach twist. It was a great paradox really; it would be so much easier to deal with tonight if he was being insufferable and judged you. But that bastard, the irritatingly handsome bastard, was being simply amazing. A much greater person you could ever be. And he didn’t mean to, probably – but he was just screaming exactly that to your face with every little action he had opted for tonight.

Not his fault, not his fault, you tried to remind yourself as he continued to watch you, curiosity sneaking into his gaze now.

Make Avengers look good.

Look good.

Have fun.

Do not kill each other.

Do not kill each other. Got it.

“Guilty as charged,” you said finally, the light tone you had hoped for not coming out quite right; but he didn’t hold it against you.

“Nothing to be guilty about,” he said, shrugging subtly. “I… might have gone for one of those myself had it had any effect on me.”

Right, you realized. Supersoldier. Accelerated healing, fast metabolism. You did happen to know he burned off most things even faster than other men built like mountains. Shorter and less broad mountains, that was.

You felt you head instinctively tilt to side a bit, contemplating what he said without spelling it out. He didn’t seemlike he needed a strong drink. In fact, he seemed perfectly like a fish in water among the sea of piranhas of people – and yes, you were aware that was a harsh judgement on some of them who were indeed rather pleasant to talk to – but Tony’s words echoed in your head.

He’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it, he had said. Steve was exactly that; but apparently, he was also pretty great at hiding his distaste.

Of course that he was, you thought bitterly, even as a hint of compassion nudged at your mind; just because he was good at disguising it, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel just as sick filling the role of the most excellent companion.  

“You could do it just to feel the heat,” you suggested half-heartedly, regretting the words as soon as they left your mind.

You had to phrase it just like that, didn’t you.

Steve watched you with unnerving intensity for a moment, before he seemed to shake off whatever dark thought had occurred to him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“That is true, but somehow it’s even more disappointing if that’s the only consequence, you know?”

“…right.”

He cleared his throat, your gaze falling to his bowtie as he released you from the trap of his gaze.

“Either way. Would you like to dance?”

Your head snapped back up, shock no doubt painting your face, rendering you mute. He wasn’t--- oh he was.

Despite your expression – one painfully resembling of a deer in the headlights of an off-road SUV coming at it at hundred miles an hour – he seemed unfazed, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye barely noticeable in the otherwise genuine demeanour. You frowned, suspicion dying out as fast as it had arisen.

Whatever motive he had to ask, it couldn’t hurt the mission, you supposed. And it would be impolite to decline. You had promised yourself to meet him halfway in his attempts to be civil; and he had gone far beyond that. For the past two weeks, not having confronted you about either the flash-drive situation nor the went-full-spectre-in-a-public-park incident, that had been him being civil. Tonight, he was courteous even. Pleasant. Kind. You had no idea why he hadn’t sought you out to get answers or scold you, nor why he went this far out of his way to treat you like this tonight, but you had enough common sense not to poke even as it had been eating away at the back of your mind.

You just needed to accept it and be thankful, and needed to aid the common goal; and maybe, just maybe, revel in it and store the memory for later, even if such luxuries only burned with emptiness once they were gone.

But how could you do any different?

“Sure,” you said simply. “Why not.”

How could you feel any different when his lips smiled half-heartedly, but his eyes showed true warmth? A startling warmth almost; but it was nothing in comparison to the heat of his body when he offered you his elbow and led you to the small dancefloor in the adjacent room with only a few high tables lining the walls; it was nothing in comparison to the soft jolt of electricity that ran through your nerves all the way down your spine when his hand took yours carefully, eyes fixed on your face, checking for any sign of discomfort when he pulled you close at the first notes of a waltz.

Up close, without either of you screaming into each other’s faces, he was painfully beautiful; you knew that. You knew that already, because you had played the forbidden game of imagining what it would be like to see his face from this distance; but the reality of it was startling, a tingle of a thrill and pain at once. Inches close and miles away from reach. To be at the receiving end of the look in his eyes, painted partly by delusion and the aforementioned hits in the head you had probably suffered, was the sweetest torture.

It was impossible to ignore his firm but gentle grip, his confident lead; a wall of perfectly controlled muscle, hard planes of his body and yet its surprising softness and warmth, leaving your head spinning and sending your thoughts to an indecent dangerous direction; what would it be to feel him even closer? What would it be like to—

You’d never know. For a large part, of your own doing; for another part, of his own, because you had never met a more irritating person in your life and you had met a quite a few. He was impossible in his very unique different way – even as you knew that was tainted by your own perception – he was impossible in a way you couldn’t but want anyway.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, snapping you from your useless musings back to reality.

Yeah, thanks, I was signed up for ballet class about as soon as I could walk, because it should have helped my posture and body coordination in preparation for working for SHIELD before I could attend martial class lessons. Because a kid younger of six years getting punched would have been a bad image for my parents. Not that I knew any of that at that time. Anyway, I had to rediscover my love for dancing much later on-

You cut off your train of thought, swallowing the unnecessarily hostile and dark truth. Instead, you reciprocated his easy subtle smile, something inside your quivering at the casualness and sincerity of the compliment.

“Depends on the lead, right?” you murmured.

Mentally, you sighed, cursing yourself for your loose mouth.

You could have said something along the lines of you too, and it would be an understatement; Steve’s lead indeed was firm but not forceful, elegant ease without a shred of indecency, his sense of rhythm impeccable, which was much more than you could say about some of your companions on the dancefloor. But no; you chose to mention his leading skills, instantly circling back to what was bothering you – you having standing up to his lead as a Captain before and him not mentioning it. He had kept blissfully quiet and here you were, dangling the topic you should have been glad had been put to rest in front of him as if you wanted him to take the bait no matter the cost.

You really must have been hit in the head; or perhaps you were finally returning to normal yourself.

But Steve Rogers was a man of many faces and surprises up his sleeves, apparently. His smile only widened briefly at your note, eyes flashing with amusement, before a little frown creased his brow.

“Don’t sell yourself so short.”

You gulped. Again. He complimented you with such ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; and it seemed like he meant every bit. The way your heart fluttered at that ached pleasantly. Hadn’t it been for the sober voice in the back of your head, telling you were on a borrowed time of this kind of treatment, it wouldn’t ache at all. It almost, almost didn’t.

Because the one word you had left out when thinking about his lead on the dancefloor, having avoided it on purpose, was safe. You entered an uncharted territory tonight; you knew Captain America’s lead from your numerous missions you had been chosen for under his command. And even as you had challenged his leadership before, you trusted him on that front. But tonight was a very different thing; and still, he somehow emitted the same aura, in a considerably more intimate way.

It was terrifying.

But as much as you were taken aback, with no clue how to even respond to that, your instincts – probably all over the place, because had you been in sound mind, you would have run for the hills before accepting his offer in the first place – whispered you were safe indeed.

And if you’d turn it into a joke, you’d be even safer.

“If that was a reference to my height, I’d like to point out everyone is short compared to you. And that is with all the extra inches--- that my heels have.”

Oh for god’s-

Your fingers flexed reflexively on his arm; your hand in his would have twitched if he hadn’t held it so firmly. You did not just say that, did you? Closing your eyes briefly, you felt your face burn hot, the furnace of Steve’s body suddenly feeling like ice in comparison. Why on Earth did you talk about inches? First feeling the heat, then this, damn Freudian slips, damn his well-fitting suit and handsome face-

Bless him, his chuckle was good-natured and not in the slightest dirty – then again, you should have expected nothing less from the golden boy, shouldn’t you? He wouldn’t hold it against you and had it been anyone else, you would have been grateful, much like in any other situation. But this was him and tonight your mission was literally to avoid this kind of embarrassing phrasing.

“You know what I meant,” he said, not unkindly – much to your relief and irritation.

You hummed noncommittally, still processing this was somehow a reality you had found yourself in. A reality in which Steve Rogers was a pleasant company, kept you close and safe enough that you had spent several moments with your eyes closed while dancing without fearing you’d end up with a broken ankle, a reality where-

“I wanted to apologize.”

-he just said he was sorry.

Your eyes snapped open, your step, a second nature you barely needed to think about, faltering just a fraction. You found your footing with the very next step and perhaps not even Steve had noticed; but he for sure must have noticed the undiluted shock that overtook your features.

Yet, he held calm in the face of your awe and bewilderment, gaze fixed on yours whispering of nothing but sincerity and regret indeed.

He was apologizing.The sudden lump in your throat was the only thing in physical reality that felt real at all; the rest truly must have been but a fever dream. That and the frantic beats of your heart.

“For what?” you asked quietly.

You weren’t trying to be petty, if he truly was apologizing. You meant it.

Naturally, you had a good idea what he was referring to, but that was part of the reason why it was so puzzling; more so since he now knew what the intel was about, since he was aware who exactly you put in danger by failing. Then again, the fact you were both here despite it told you all over again that he didn’t let that bother him too much.

But even with him deliberately ignoring the threat…

Yes, he had not acted very thoughtfully, but whether you liked it or not, he wasyour superior, he had put together that mission and so you understood the frustration he had felt at the moment. Hell, you had felt it yourself – you would have yelled at yourself too. And looking back, you knew that some of your momentary view of his behaviour and attitude, of his actions, stemmed from the fact you had been disappointed in yourself too; and that most time, he did in fact realize he could do wrong and that he in fact did care for every single member of the team. He probably did give a damn about the fact that you – your spectre anyway – got shot. He probably cared about the fact that two days ago, you left a big damn opening when you projected in public without making sure you had someone in your corner.

You weren’t sure that there was any need to apologize, even with him yelling at you in front of everyone to the point where you hadn’t been able to stand it and a few tears had escaped you – because damn, did he touch a nerve – even if he had been a bit of an asshole.

Most people apologized because they felt the need to ease their conscience, to keep up appearances; but seeing Steve now, the soft and strict lines of his face, told you that he was apologizing for your benefit mainly. It would be sweet if it was so irritating.

Golden boy. Shoved straight to your face. You could never be as good as him, because he simply wasn’t human – and you were the Inhuman from the pair. God, he had his hands on you and he didn’t even try to cop a feel or anything for crying out loud. He was being kind and respectful and so damn beautiful and tall.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said slowly, gaze intent as if he wanted to make sure you absorbed every word. “I shouldn’t have done that to begin with, but the witnesses made it even worse. And all you did was making a quick decision in a difficult situation, according to your best conscience no doubt. I might not have agreed with it, but you still didn’t deserve such treatment.”

“And you’d do the same,” you added.

You almost slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as the words were out.

This was what happened when you felt safe. You talked back. Dammit.

You could see – and feel, because his chest was practically brushing yours, something you were hyperaware of even as you tried your best not to be– him breathe in to retort.

You really needed to have your head checked out. You should have just taken the apology and cherish it, like any normal person, even if it irked you that Steve Rogers was capable of self-reflection and had enough strength to admit his shortcomings. He was simply better than everyone else. It was easy to see that with no emergency in sight, but that didn’t make it easier to accept that and act accordingly every second of the day.

Yet, you tried at least now.

“Sorry! Sorry. Don’t push it, Spectre. Got it,” you blurted out, fixing a quick smile and you would have sworn you had seen a sparkle on mischief in his blue irises under the indignation. You cleared your throat. “Apology accepted, Captain.”

His relaxed his tense jaw, gaze softening further; painfully so.

“Thank you. And I thought you knew you could call me Steve.”

Golden boy – case on point. You swallowed, unable to keep the swirl of warmth in your chest from creeping into your voice even as you knew you were diving into dangerous waters with reckless abandon by following his request.

“Apology accepted, Steve.”

If your voice was warm, his smile was half the power of the sun, heating your very bones, your heart stumbling in your chest. You should run; you should run because you were never going to receive a gift like that again and the longer you basked in it, the worse it would be when it was gone. But you had already established that sometimes, you couldn’t help but throw caution out of the window despite knowing how much it would hurt later when you’d have to go and scramble to gather it again, hadn’t you?

And so when the song blended into another, the smallest squeeze to your fingers a wordless question, you nodded against your better judgement.

Steve’s smile grew a fraction, feet quick to adjust to the new rhythm, the air around you warmer another few degrees. It was hard to let his apology and kindness linger in the air and not react to it; even as you needed to breathe in and out a few times, eyes examining his face carefully as to predict whether what you were about to say would come back stabbing you in the back.

“I’m sorry for my outburst too. I… acted emotional.” As you recalled the traitorous tears that had escaped you, you thought that to say that was an understatement, but Steve didn’t seem to hold it against you. Instead, he listened with unnerving intent to all you had to say. “Which isn’t an excuse, but I’m still sorry. I… didn’t exactly watched my tongue. I mean, I didn’t-“

­-I didn’t mean what I said, you wanted to say, your voice dying in your throat at the startingly gentle blue of Steve’s eyes, your breath hitching at the sudden vice squeezing your chest. This moment, whatever it was, was becoming overwhelming fast; and you found yourself unable to force the words out.

Because they weren’t true; you had definitely meant a few things, your anger with Steve snapping you back when you had been this close to gathering intel on something that threatened, without exaggeration, his life, just because he had been outraged at… whatever, that was very real. Much like him, you had had a reason for your outburst; and for that itself, you couldn’t apologize. Not when you wouldn’t mean it. Not when he was looking at you like he’d trust anything you said. You couldn’t but reciprocate his honesty even if it should earn you an official demerit from Captain America himself.

“…I didn’t mean at least half of the things I said.”

Steve’s welcoming expression shifted in an instant, your heart already startling in reaction to the change, muscles tensing in an instinctual fight-or-flight response.

And then your brain caught up.

Steve was grinning. He was grinning with mischief lightning up his face bright, humour dancing in his eyes – good-natured humour without a single trace of offense, but maybe with a little speckle of surprise; and if you looked close enough and entertained the thought, pride.

And by god he was breath-taking, leaving you feel like you had flown too close to the sun for a moment unaware that the inevitable fall would kill you.

“Well, as long as it was only a half,” he hummed, his amusement audible in his voice too. There was a strange but not unpleasant tilt to it; almost as if he knew that if he simply accepted your apology right away, the situation would have had you run for the hills indeed. “Apology accepted, Spectre.”

You gulped, taking a wavering breath, flying just a little higher. “You know you can call me by my first name too, right?”

That was only fair, no? That was what you told yourself until Steve smiled softly and repeated himself slowly, this time with your name indeed. That was when you realized you really had caught yourself in a foolish indulgence, because the feeling washing over you was… nice. Very, very nice. His tone, his words were both indescribably nice, and so was the way he held you to lead your through the room without an ounce of indecency, and so was his proximity and his warmth. It was dangerously nice and you felt your chest, having briefly be filled with that tender fragile feeling, tighten instead.

And then Steve spoke up again.

“…and you’re probably right.”

Your eyebrows shot up, gasping; and had you any different company than a room full of important or at least self-important people dressed in black-tie attire, you wouldn’t have stopped your jaw from falling.

Did he just-

Stop the presses! you wanted to shout.

Did he just admit he himself was a hothead?

What peculiar kind of an alternate reality had you entered indeed to see Steve Rogers admit he had been a hypocrite?

This was simply too satisfying to be true.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m the best example,” he added.

You found yourself chuckling through your shock, earning a glare that might have no anger in it, but certainly emitted indignation and gravity. Except the corners of Steve’s lips were twitching.

Damn him. Damn him and his charming side. Since when did he have a charming side and engaged in self-reflection so deep?

Since always, an annoying voice whispered in your head, reminding you that at certain times, you were, in fact, very well aware that Steve Rogers was just as golden as people claimed – even if in way they couldn’t hope to fathom and neither could, not fully.

“Nah, I think it’s one of the very rare traits of yours that should definitely be copied,” you retorted cheekily, never having time to wonder if you went too far since Steve simply kept him mouth shut.

It was a good thing he did, because if he didn’t, you might get tangled in your lie; and might have to admit that you believed that while there were a few of those that shouldn’t be copied in order for the world to maintain some shreds of sanity, there were many more of those which, should they be replicated, would make the world a better place. He probably knew that anyway; he strived to be the example to all. He didn’t need to hear it from you, didn’t need to know that despite your disagreements, you felt everything but contempt for him, with respect on top of the list. And then there was the fact that you were not blind to him being literally meant to be built like the peak of man and looked precisely like it.

And still, his silence surprised you. Despite what you thought of him on better days, it was still a wonder he didn’t try to disprove you; he was full of surprises tonight.

Then again, that was probably the point.

“You know, Tony and Pepper would probably have had no problem coming here tonight,” you spoke lowly into to the silence that settled between you. “They just pushed us together to do something like this.”

Steve’s eyebrows jumped a bit, a brief smirk passing his lips.

“Well-aware. Does that bother you?” he asked, head tilted to side slightly.

You pondered his question for a bit, not sure why. You could have easily said anything, the first or the second or third lie popping up in your mind. But his genuinely curious gaze observing you as he waited for your response, his demeanour the whole evening, and his surprisingly open expression made you want to tell the truth again.

“Not that much. You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” you teased him lightly, feeling your lips permanently stuck in a smile now.

His own smirk melted into a smile again as well, soft crinkle in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you. I know I said it before, but you do look beautiful.”

You blinked.

There he went again, driving his point across; he wanted you to think, to believe perhaps, that his compliments were genuine, not a turn of speech. Why? And what could you even say to that when he kept looking at you like he meant it, the world around you blurring a bit, falling into but a background noise, years of training and his confident hold on you leading you through the dancefloor with ease still, even as the song must have changed again. Had it?

You wished conversation would come just as easy, even when emotions swirled in your chest wilder than your skirts around your calves.

“…thanks. Uhm, Tony said to buy something nice-“

“Mission accomplished, it suits you-“

“-I think he was probably sick of us clashing a lot lately,” you added quickly, almost speaking over him.

He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for – after all, he had brought up the topic of your fight in an environment where it would have been rude of you to flee just in case you wanted to and he wasn’t called a master strategist for nothing – so he caught your attempt to deflect. And he graced it with brief silence, not pushing, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. Golden boy. Perfect. Too good.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he hummed, one corner of his lips rising higher, his smile almost boyish now. “Did I mention I was sorry?”

“Yeah... did I?”

“You did.”

“Good,” you muttered, blissfully lost in his gentle gaze, even as you had to crane you neck a bit.

The moment was sweet. Slightly electric. Surprisingly comfortable. Peaceful.

Peace.

That was a specific word. With a pang in your chest, it occurred to you that was precisely what it was that Tony intended to achieve when he assigned you to this. To begin to renew the peace that had been within the Avengers family before your presence disrupted it. And Steve had accepted the invitation with you attached to it because he saw the importance of the team holding together from the strategic point of view.

Tonight was a mission. Necessary networking, even as Steve had tried to make it feel like anything but, and necessary attempt at smoothening the relationships within the team. Yes, it was beautiful, but Tony himself had called you a Cinderella. This was but a fairy-tale. An illusion. A projection.

The very spectre of you and Steve, of you being a full Avenger.

Once tonight was over, you’d have to snap back, like you always did. And like always, the pain of what you had lost as a spectre, be it blood or a warm embrace, would linger too. Back in your cold aching reality.

But not in Steve’s; Steve would remain who he was, to the world, to his team, to his friends. To you. It had been a sweet sentiment, a good-natured attempt; and for the night, it lasted. Once again, you felt played by your own naivety, already feeling your waxed wings melting and slowly prepared yourself for the brutal landing.

You kept up your smile, even as you felt the pleasant hum in your ribcage fall silent, your eyes not burning, because there was no reason for it, was there?

“You have good friends, Steve,” you whispered, the blue of his gaze warming up with fondness as he no doubt agreed. “They might be nosy, but they mean well.”

“And they are your friends too,” he replied softly, the pang in your ribcage stronger this time. He believed that, he genuinely did. Maybe that was why it hurt so much; he had seen the worst of the world and believed in the best still; you could read it in his actions, in his expression right now.

But you couldn’t bear it anymore, your gaze falling to the smooth fabric of his bowtie, contrasting with the pristinely white shirt indeed, just as you had known from the start he would wear. Pure. The symbol of all goodness in your culture. Just like him.

You heard what he was saying and yes, it was a tempting thought you had fallen for before. That you could be friends with the team, that the others cared – but you could count the number of people who cared for you on one hand and still had fingers left. People cared for your abilities, admired them maybe, sure. But you were a realist. Even before the Natasha incident – which truly was just her doing her job – you knew and you kept repeating it to yourself, because entertaining any other possibility was dangerous: your abilities, your results or the lack of them, those were what truly mattered. To everyone. To your father, eventually your mother too, to your SHIELD team, to your fellow Avengers. To Steve too. Had those powers come in a different meatsuit than yours, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were just a casing for what they needed.

It wasn’t okay, but it was alright.

The thing was, you couldn’t make Steve admit that – not him. He was a good man – infuriating one, yes, not without fault, yes, but incredibly undeniably good in his core. All the Avengers cared for people too, you would be an idiot not to see it, but if there was one person who would try to look the furthest beyond the abilities you carried, it would be him. Perhaps that was the scariest part of tonight – of him being not only civil, but perfectly pleasant and meaning it. Because he was just that perfect.

And perfect was never in your reach.

“Sure,” you replied absently as you looked up again.

You could tell his own gaze never left your face; and he no doubt noticed the change. His eyes were roaming your features, searching, wondering and seeing; you found yourself slipping into a neutral mask, your way too relaxed stance straightening, muscles tensing.

You only tensed further when you recognized softness and understanding creeping into his gaze, his voice quiet.

“You know-“

You thanked your lucky stars when the song ended and you were allowed to step back from him with an awkward smile.

“I’m going to find the restroom, excuse me.”

You swallowed heavily upon seeing something akin to disappointment and exasperation on his face; but when you pulled away, he didn’t stop you, didn’t use his strength to keep you in place, leaving the choice – as much as he clearly not approved of it – to you. You tried to force your smile further, grateful for that if not for nothing else.

“Thank you for the dance, stranger.”

And with that, you disappeared to the crowd, well-aware that if he wanted, he could have followed, because even in the sea of robes, his eidetic memory told him exactly what yours looked like.

Getting a fifteen-minute break from people, one in particular, was more than generous and yet you granted it to yourself; because putting yourself back together took time. Not for the first time, you sent a silent thank you to Agent May for having taught you her ways of accepting your emotions as they were, locking them away for later and channel them in the right direction when needed.

If you counted your dances with Steve – even as you tried very hard not to think about them – it added up for almost half an hour of the breather you had planned when getting the drink. You needed to go back to work, back to networking, because it was getting late; you had no doubt there were still people to talk to, no matter how efficient your colleague had been.

As you walked the halls with a smile arranged on your face, nodding politely at people admiring the various pieces of art of all forms, from drawings and paintings to sculptures and installations, your gaze fell on one of auctioned objects.

You smile slipped, your steps faltering along with the steady beat of your heart; and then you forced the corners of your lips back up, nails digging into the back of your hand as you folded them in front of your abdomen, to stop yourself from running to the glass stand where what seemed like a very old artifact was laid proudly on display.

And by old, you meant thousands of years old. And you really, really prayed that you were wrong, that your mind was simply playing tricks on you to avoid the emotional turmoil of today, to-

“Son of a-”

Three more steps closer and the curse was on your lips before you could swallow it completely, heart thundering in your chest against the sudden tightness. You didn’t like to be wrong; but in this particular case, you really wished you had been.

But apparently not.

See, this is why we can’t have nice things, you thought to yourself as you released a wavering breath and took off in the search of Steve, as if you hadn’t run from what seemed to be particularly nice things yourself only a little over ten minutes ago.

You swallowed the panic rising in your throat as you caught a glimpse of him talking to an elderly couple, telling yourself that your discovery was the only reason for that. Because that would be plausible and completely valid; an appearance of what SHIELD called an 0-8-4, an object of unknown origin, was never good news.

Except you were rather certain of its origin and that only made it worse.

Steve spotted you now, a small smile lighting up his face as if you hadn’t just taken an escape from when he tried to convince you were a part of the team in the friendliest sense of the word, gesturing to you lightly so the couple turned to you as well.

You smiled wider, squeezed your hand stronger. Too bad – the Lewises – had seemed nice enough when you had read up on them, were one of the rare attendees who were here for their genuine interest in art.

“Good evening, I am so sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Lewis,” you said sincerely, introducing yourself as the lady already extended her hand to you, followed by her husband’s. “It is a pleasure to meet you and I would be very happy to talk to you if you’d be willing, but I need to borrow Captain Rogers for a little bit-“  

“By all means, Agent, don’t let a couple of old folks keep you two,” Mrs. Lewis chuckled, gently touching Steve’s forearm as she smiled at him almost motherly. “Thank you, young man, it’s nice to see bright young minds interested in conversations about thought-provoking art. Do find us if you can spare another minute later.”

“I would personally use the words lovely couple, Mrs. Lewis,” you said warmly before turning to Mr. Lewis. “I promise to bring him back as soon as possible.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Steve added as he covered her feebly hand on his, squeezing gently. “Agent?”

“Just a small issue, I’m sure it can be dealt with quickly,” you assured him in front of them, your face growing more serious the second you turned away, your voice falling so low only his enhanced hearing could hopefully catch it. “Thought-provoking art indeed. There’s an 0-8-4 on the items list.”

The way Steve’s back straightened, a sign of him turning mission-alert in an instant, would have been a treat to watch in any other circumstance, you supposed. But not in yours. And not in this case.

As you walked away, he followed your unhurried tempo, stopping by the displays briefly when you did, as if you were simply admiring the art. His face gave away nothing unusual happening beyond a minor inconvenience; you weren’t sure if he believed you were making a big deal out of nothing or if he was that good of an actor.

“Anything you encountered before? Potentially how dangerous are we talking?”

His voice had dropped too, but barely enough for you to hear. To an untrained eye, it probably looked like a normal hushed conversation, a couple – of friends – sharing opinions on the auction items indeed. Good. You didn’t need to spread panic on top of barely containing your own.

“Yes and no, I only recognize the symbols. And I can’t tell, but I wouldn’t underestimate it,” you uttered as you gradually moved closer, the artifact now in sight.

Steve stood diagonally beside you, barely a step behind your shoulder; he could keep his voice very low that way, practically whispering to your ear, while you could keep talking almost soundlessly.  

“Should I recognize this? I’m not familiar.”

You bit back a bitter smile, stepping in front of the display together at last. The item itself looked unassuming; a stabile built of plates of metal, interwoven and reaching out of the tangle like tentacles. Except the surface of the plates wasn’t smooth; an intricate pattern of lines and circles rose slightly above it, a geometrical masterpiece only a few people on Earth knew the meaning of. Outside of Earth, well; you wouldn’t dare to guess.

The good news, hopefully, was that the sculpture meant to be in one piece was broken into two; that meant that if the effect was, like with many others you had encountered, tied to breaking the casing of whatever weapon it could be hiding, it had been out for a while and thus might not pose danger anymore. But you weren’t willing to take that chance.

“I’m not sure,” you whispered, almost choking out the words, wary of one word in particular as not to alarm anyone in vicinity just in case. “It is mostly Coulson’s team that handles all the… Kree mess.”

Short silence followed, only for Steve to draw in a shaky breath.

“…are you positive?”

It probably wasn’t meant to be a challenge, but you took it as one anyway, a flare of anger rushing through your veins, because was he serious? That was genuinely insulting. You spent practically your whole post-academy service to SHIELD with Coulson’s team following the trail of artifacts left behind by the lovely alien race Kree were – in fact, artifacts uncomfortably resembling this one. So yes, you were pretty bloody positiveyou were right.

You turned to Steve and took a step back to throw to his face – in as calm manner as was socially acceptable despite wanting to just spit it out – that you were pretty damn certain, because one did simply not forget a single thing about the literally blue aliens that indirectly gave them powers. Except you never got to make a single sound, because Steve’s eyes widened all of sudden, gaze still fixed on the display you had just turned your back to and his fingers closed around your wrist and tugged you closer to him again with surprising force given how gentle he had held you when you-- so not the time.

“Alright, point proven,” he whispered hastily, stepping back and releasing you before you could question him just turning from a gentleman of the year to a lout who just… grabbed a woman and manhandled her.

Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see a faint light of the symbols dying out, your panic skyrocketing and making you forget all about your exasperation.

Oh. Oh, that was not good at all.

It recognized you. It sensed the Inhuman in you as you had unwittingly moved closer to it. It was reacting even sooner than the Diviner had, the first Kree artifact your team had encountered, whose symbols only lit up upon being touched by an Inhuman, or a person carrying Inhuman markers in their DNA yet to be turned into one.

“Sorry for-“

“It’s fine,” you interrupted his apology, appreciating it nevertheless. Yet, your smile probably turned out to be more of a grimace, bitter sarcasm bleeding into your tone. “Well, Tony said we should bid on something anyway, right? I’ve got my pick”.

Steve’s eyebrow twitched without a hint of amusement, but he didn’t disprove you, moving to scan the room for any vendor to start bidding indeed; you automatically reached for your black-tie-attire-friendly StarkWatch, to alert the HQ.

You never got to finish the message.

Steve never got to even step out.

A tell-tale metallic sound, a clink of a grenade hitting the tiled floor had both of you snap your head to the source, losing two precious seconds by looking for where exactly it landed, startled intakes of breath taken before a scream could gather in your lungs to warn people to get down.

There was no time to react. The screams aligned with the eardrum-rupturing noise of an explosion, a blur of a movement to your right and a force to be reckon with slamming into you.

Even without his signature weapon, Steve automatically threw himself between you and the grenade, pushing you down and shielding you with his body at least. The heat licked at your skin just as the pressure wave slammed into you both, sending you flying and crashing hard into the glass cabinet, Steve’s arm taking large portion of the brunt of impact.

A jolt of electricity rushed through your nerves along with the pain, a dull crack in your head, the edges of your vision blurring. You barely registered the stream of agents in black gear cutting through the clouds of smoke and vapour tear gas. Smell of copper and iron hit your nostrils, strong enough to make you nauseous; blood and fire. Steve’s cologne; then more blood. Lights and shadows bleeding into one, the former too bright for your smoke-filled teary eyes. The noise was deafening too – shouts and shrieks of terror you knew you should respond to, because it was your duty as an agent and as a half-baked Avenger.

But you didn’t seem to control your body for long enough to as much as lift your hand to check if the sharp pain in the back of your head was an open wound or not, let alone to climb to your feet as Steve’s voice echoed in your ears, warm hands firm on your waist, prickling sensations like thousand needles piercing through your skin all over.

The pain tore through every single cell of your body without warning, but you didn’t have time to find the cause or wallow in it; darkness enveloped you completely and you sank into its thick waters without a chance to fight it, until it swallowed you whole.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Hope you don’t mind a little cliffhanger, hehe... as a treat for reading! I wanna say I was really excited about this chapter, sneaking in something soft and fluffy in between the angst, but I’m excited to share everything so... yeah.

I would like to take a moment or two to thank you, again, for your comments. They give me a rush of joy and I read every single one of them more than once; they give me strength to continue even when sudden feeling of ‘this is meh’ attacks me and the thoughts you share ground me back in the story when I feel like I’m slipping away from where I wanted to take it. I cherish your feedback, no matter the form, so much. Thank you 💕

[siyzuii]

  ✦    ⤹    점점 더 난 네게 빠져가    ⊹    ❍

    ⟢    ₊    ↷ 𝒴ou attack my heart!

⠀   ͡ ׅ ۟  kassiadreams/siyzuii  ָ֢  ֹ  ֹ ۪ 𝟥 new layout? do we fw it?

✦   ⁔⁔ ۪   my first moodboard ever idek what they're used for but i love making them (not dr related like i said it would be.. but oh well i'm obsessed with chuu in the underwater mv anyway) i hope it looks decent?? might put one for every post if i feel like it heheheh ⊹  ֗  

☆⠀⠀𓈒⠀⠀ׁ⠀⠀this song is truly the cutest thing ever and a literal masterpiece at that, dare i say my fav kpop song!! ok now back to the actual post sorry LOL⠀ ׅ⠀⠀ ͡

── NEW INTRO POST 🔔

◌⠀ׁ₊   ˚  hiii!!! this is my shifting blog (and also my main blog)!! my username used to be siyzuii and i used to go by xylia or léa so u might know me from there but i go by kassia now! (close friends can still call me stella ofc)

i shift.. obviously anyway i've shifted to my dr 3 times now and shifted to parallel realities (on accident too) like a whole lot of times i can't even count

i have discord, tiktok, and instagram but i pretty much only use discord & tiktok, i exclusively use insta if there's someone i'm friends with that genuinely doesn't have any other socials.

note that i also only post shifting content on here. but i'm also 10x more active on discord & tiktok (mostly discord) than i am on tumblr, so feel free to add me (pls ask for my user first bc i have anti shifter friends and i don't want them finding this lol)

i also write and make edits (like every 2 months) yay!!!!

── INTERACT NEOW!!!

other shifters (specifically kpop shifters i need my spotify premium back. hi yes lets yap about our drs together pls) (honestly i'll yap with anyone about each others drs) (this is a silent invitation)

i don't care if you don't believe in shifting, if you respect people who do believe in it (and aren’t gonna force your beliefs on them) feel free to interact! i don't know why you would but whatever

cool people!!!

── GO!!!!

anti shifters (bye)

basic dni criteria

people who actively hate on everything (do you have a life?)

── WHAT TO EXPECT FROM MY PAGE

shifting content (mostly storytimes & yapping and whatever with the occasional sprinkle of memes)

shitty & messy blog layouts because idk how this app works

rants

yapping

probably me going inactive for either 2 days or 2 weeks straight (school keeps me busy and i already skipped my homework for this)

i might call u slurs if we get close!! (THAT I CAN RECLAIM)

me NOT talking about my favs (i cant openly talk about them idk why it's so embarrassing bye)

potentially horrid english because english is not my first language (i pull this excuse every time)

slow replies on here bc i forget about this app 24/7

── MY CARRD

kassiadreams.carrd.co

literally this whole thing summarized

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ♡ ͟ ׂ 𓂂 THANKS FOR 400+ FOLLOWERS I LOVE YOU GUYS MWAH !! should i do anything special?? if u have any ideas lmk and i'll see what i can do LOL

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⊹ ׂ ok i know a while ago i said to drop some stuff in my ask box bc i'm bored but i havent answered any of them yet BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO FIND THEM UNTIL I GOT ON MY PC AGAIN so i'm gonna restart this time i SWEAR ill actually go over them from now on everything you ask i WILL see. thx guys!!!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⋆ ۫ ໒ give me post suggestions i beg..

[daffi-990]

Fuck it Friday & Inspiration Saturday

it’s Saturday for me so I’m smooshing the two together.

Tagged by @thewolvesof1998 @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @lover-of-mine @disasterbuckdiaz @devirnis @spotsandsocks @callmenewbie -> tagging you all right back for inspiration Saturday 😘

Okay so I’m back from holidays and the writing beans did visit me (yay!) … but did they visit for any of my current wips? Haha of course not 🤪. Being near the beach inspired a new buddie wip that is going to be part of a series called Daylight, inspired by the Taylor Swift song of the same name. I already have some stuff written for two more fics in the series too haha.

Here’s a moodboard for the series and a little snippet from the first fic, I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20 year dark night (now I’m wide awake).

Quick summary -> musician Buck is tired of the fame, fortune and loneliness of a life that doesn’t even feel like his own, so he packs his bags and runs away and ends up in the small beachside town of Hartlan Shore where he may just find everything he’s been longing for.

“What are you playing?”

Buck’s fingers pause in their strumming, his left hand sliding along the neck of the guitar as he abandons the chords he was playing. He opens his eyes to find a kid, no more than 8 years old with curly brown hair and wide inquisitive blue eyes framed by red rimmed glasses standing before him.

Buck squints his eyes against the morning sun. “Uh, nothing really, just playing random chords hoping it’ll turn into something.”

The kid moves on shaky legs to drop down in the sand on Buck’s right hand side. “I want to learn to play the guitar, but my Dad says no one in town is offering lessons.”

Buck frowns in sympathy for the kid. He remembers being a kid in Hershey and begging his parents for guitar lessons. He still doesn’t know why they turned him down at first, leaving him to seek out lessons from the school music teacher, Mr Glover, every Thursday at recess. It wasn’t until Mr Glover flagged his parents down at the one parent teacher night they actually managed to attend, using the magic words natural talent for the guitar and great potential with the right vocal training, that they agreed to get him not only private guitar lessons, but singing lessons too. Mr Glover had been more than happy to keep their lessons up, but Phillip and Margret Buckley didn’t think a mere school music teacher was good enough to teach their son, not if he was going to become somebody. Buck hadn’t cared who taught him, he’d just wanted to learn, just like this kid seems to.

“Would you like to learn a couple of chords now?” Buck asks.

The kid’s face lights up, a wide smile stretching across his face as he nods his head eagerly. Buck feels himself melt a little at how adorable this kid is.

“First things first.” Buck lays his guitar over his lap and extends his hand out to the kid. “I’m Buck.”

The kid looks at his hand for a moment, long enough that Buck is starting to wonder if maybe he doesn’t know what a handshake is, but then a small hand slips into his. “I’m Christopher.”

No pressure tagging: @watchyourbuck @hippolotamus @athenagranted @eddiebabygirldiaz @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jamespearce9-1-1 @wildlife4life @weewootruck @rainbow-nerdss @the-likesofus @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @clusterbuck @monsterrae1 @mellaithwen @nmcggg and anyone else who wants to join in and share something ❤️

[chickpea0]

u were so right abt puppyre jesse pinkman maybe u could do a puppy jesse moodboard!!! :3

Folks, I present: Jesse Pupman

Thank you very much for requesting this, I had a lot of fun lol. Jesse is such a good character and I love him to bits. I'm also submitting this to the petre/animalre contest that @theregressionlibrary is doing! Yay! Hcs below the cut :>

For starters I think he would unconciounsly resonate with working/obediant breeds. He really does want to be well-behaved and play by the rules but that's never worked out for him (caugh undiagnosed ADHD/ASD cough). He's a natural follower probably partly because he's been taught that he's always 'wrong' by so many figures in his life, though he can lead quite well when it's called for but he doesn't see himself as a leader. I think he usually gravitates to collie, alsation, shiba, jack russel types but he doesn't really care about breeds.

Doesn't really remember when it all started but he became very aware of it once Walt reentered his life. He had it rough before but good gravy.

He's often in a constant state of survival which doesn't let him slip or be any kinds of vulnerable until he feels safe. But to a certain point his brain just gets overloaded and does a force shut down, leading him to go pretty deep into doggy mode.

It's a big mix of comfort, stress, turmoil and dissociation but it does help him get through things, even if Jesse is a bit ashamed of it. He does quite like it when he can enjoy it though. I truly believe with an outlet/coping mechanism as strong as this, he could have escaped a lot of the show lmfao.

Alternative timeline: he embraces his regression, moves to "Oregon or whatever", starts a new life, does a lot of self disovery and maybe even meets a caregiver/guardian figure.

Still a lot of angst from his journey so far but he's like, safe. Yo.

I do think he would benefit from finding someone really caring though, and open minded. It'd do a lot of good for him to be able to meet someone who doesn't riducule him and instead forms a healthy, balanced bond with him.

And who buys him puppy chew toys (because those ones are softer on teeth)

btw when he's puppymode he has the biggest most expressive puppy eyes. if you care.

[divider]

[the---hermit]

31|08|2023

Tis the last day of August, and my brain is shifting in autumn mood already. Today I went to my local haberdashery shop (which btw I had no idea had this name in English so yay me for learning a new word, I guess?) and I got yarn for a nee project. I saw online these adorable cardigans with mushroom embroidery/applications, and I decided I had to try making my own. I got these beautiful earthy and muted colours, and I am vibing with them so much. It's exactly the type of colours I feel like surrounding myself with in the moment of my life. I have never made anything like this before and I am not following a pattern so cross your fingers for me that something nice will come out of this. I also worked a bit in my family's store this morning, and then I spent the afternoon crocheting.

Chill hobbit summer activites of the day:

Read in the morning

Answered texts

Took a small morning walk

Ran errands and got this stunning yarn

Worked

Planned my crochet project on a small notebook my mom got me, that I decided to turn into my crochet journal

Crocheting + listening to podcasts

Enjoyed the slowness of the day

Irish practice on duolingo

Started putting together an autumn moodboard

📖: The Dragon Republic by R.F. Kuang