#but I’m honestly surprised at what I was reading

[deerspherestudios]

RAHHHHH I love MR!Mychael he is so fascinating to me? Simply because I would HATE to be in the same room as him. Or the same general vicinity. I would get to anxious but for the wrong reasons.

It would be HELL knowing that, not only can can MR!Mychael lie to you with ease and put on a flawless facade, but he can (and will) also strip you of the ability to lie/act effectively. You’re at every disadvantage. The only thing anyone could really do is learn to be very honest and genuine, but in a way that isn’t hurtful to you OR him.

You’d really have to look at your own emotions. Work out your biases and smooth yourself over—or at least gain a really good self-understanding and be honest about that. Because, face it!!! I feel like there’s a VERY small chance that someone would be ideal for MR!Mychael right off the bat. You can’t be too nice (he’ll get suspicious), but you can’t be too mean (he’s not putting up with that), but you can’t be a massive liar/good actor (he’ll figure it out ASAP), there’s so much you can trip on.

It’s so interesting to think of what it would look like to see someone adapt to MR!Mychael real-time. To have someone actively work through themselves. I’m sure it would be a surprise to MR!Mychael.

WAGGHHHH that was kind of a lot sorry 💀 I do have a question if you’ll indulge (you can ignore it if you’d like!! /g). How would MR!Mychael respond to someone with intrusive thoughts? What would he do if MC explained them to him (in-depth if they had to, to get him to understand).

For context! Teeheehee reading this was an absolute delight! You've honestly got him spot on, similar to this analysis someone did!

There's not much I can add on that you and the other person hasn't already said, but I imagine MR!Mychael would be even more extreme with his yandere tendencies if he finds someone that special. If OG!Mychael was a bird cage, MR!Mychael would be a bear trap. Interpret that how you will.

As for the question, it depends on how close you are to him! If you're close enough that he can trust what you're saying, he'd give you the benefit of the doubt and learn to sift through your thoughts. But if he doesn't like you, he'd just call bullshit like "what do you mean you can't control them they're your thoughts."

Thank you for this ask honestly, it was soso fun to read.

[darsynia]

Forgiven: joYOUs | CEO Steve/f!Reader series Part III

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Prev Fic

Summary: You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a little over two months, and it's been wonderful. Through it all you've asked yourself if it could possibly be real--but when he finally invites you to stay over at his apartment, you realize that being 'real' has as much to do with his complicated issues at work as it does being a Hallmark movie protagonist brought to life.

WC/Warnings: 5,200 // explicit sex

As 6/7 of my Ro Roll badly-belated-birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, joYOUs is part III in my CEO Steve and f!Freader series. This story also (more lightly than intended) is written for the 'first fall of snow' prompt for @the-slumberparty's December Daze!

Can be read standalone!

Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs.

Joyous

You’ve tried not to read anything into the 36 hours of no-contact since Steve left on his business trip. He had warned you that he would be ‘can’t check the phone’ kind of busy, but you also know that his stress has ramped up considerably with the holidays coming up. You suspect that the café project hadn’t been enough of a respite--but you’d promised yourself not to push him too hard about his burnout, and that includes acting like it’s no big deal that you haven’t talked for a while. 

Just normal early relationship stuff, really.

That all drops away like an uncomfortable bra after a long day at work when you get a text at 10 PM Friday night.

🪴🪴🪴: We still on for tomorrow at 7? I’ve been thinking about you since the plane took off from LaGuardia.

🪴🪴🪴: Whoops i

🪴🪴🪴: was only supposed to send that first part.

🪴🪴🪴: Hit enter too e

🪴🪴🪴: Buck give me back the phone. Don’t send her anything, okay? You’re hopeless, man. You have to leave some mystery. If she had any idea how much you talked about her while we were gone, she’d probably quit her job and leave the state. What’s. Oh shit it’s recording. How do I make it. Give it back. Bucky I mean it just put it down before you screwdriver

Screwdriver?

The (thrilling) mess of words take a minute or two to detangle, and once you parse the dictated back-and-forth, you realize that Steve’s subsequent silence is probably mortification. Adorable mortification.

The phone rings on silent mode, buzzing wildly in your hand. Surprise makes you drop it on your lap like it’s alive-- which it might as well be, because the vibration sends it jittering across your indulgent silk pajamas and onto the floor.

“Shit!” you gasp out, knowing that any delay in answering will probably make everything much worse. You scramble off the bed in a move so inelegant your sister calls out asking if you’ve joined her in Broken Leg Land. “I’m fine, just an idiot!” you holler, finally grabbing the phone from your crumpled position on the bedroom floor.

“That’s not true at all!” Steve Rogers’ voice echoes from the speakers. You must have  brushed the ‘answer’ part when you picked it up, because of course that would happen.

“Oh my god, is there a deity of phones I’ve badly wronged today?” you gasp out, bringing the thing gingerly up to your ear. Thankfully, he’s chuckling, and damn, it’s sexy.

“Seems like it. Should we call this a draw?” he suggests, adding, “I evicted the phone thief, sorry about that. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Which would be… screwdrivers?” you offer, grinning despite your rational brain screaming at you not to sound overeager. “You somehow don’t strike me as an orange juice and vodka kind of guy.”

“You’re right, and that was a nice deflect.” There’s gratitude as well as sheepishness in Steve’s voice. When paired with the ‘forbidden truths’ in the dictated texts, you may be sitting on the floor in twisted-up PJs, but your mind and heart are floating on a cloud somewhere high above Manhattan. “Should I send a car tomorrow?”

Surprise snarls the response in your throat into a twisted um-cough combo that is entirely indelicate. “Sorry, yes, that, yes,” you manage, kicking yourself. He runs a company, having a car service probably doesn’t seem impersonal to him, even though he’s always picked you up or met you somewhere before this. The Maiden Aunt in your brain tries to argue that the magic is over, but she’s drowned out by College TA, who thinks this is a step up in statistical importance.

Some girls get a devil on their shoulder, but you ended up with a pessimist and an overachiever.

“How about a do-over,” Steve says, interrupting your mental chaos. “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yes!” you say in a flood of relief. “I’m sorry, you said ‘send a car’ and all I could picture was one of those movies where someone in livery holds up a piece of paper with my name--”

He interrupts before you can gnaw past the foot in your mouth and up onto the ankle.

“I don’t mind driving, don’t worry. See you at seven, then.” With that, CEO Eye, Ear, and Heart Candy hangs up, leaving you in a flustered, anticipatory mess on the floor in your bedroom.

Jennie gives you relentless shit over that whole sequence of events, but she also gives you access to her closet. You’ve already run through your handful of fancy dresses on dates with Steve, and everything else gives you ‘someday I might go clubbing’ or ‘student on a budget’ vibes.

Your sister’s tastes run more expensive than yours, and she’s always been a fan of modular clothing-- skirts that wrap around, blouses with 3x as much fabric as necessary that end up folding and twisting into a masterpiece, etc. It’s worked out well for her while she’s laid up with a broken leg, but the unusual style might help you keep up appearances. You choose a black form-fitting pants topped with a silky wraparound blouse; hopefully they’ll look sophisticated enough for your first visit to Steve’s apartment.

True to form, Jennie makes three ‘wrapped present’ jokes about the two ribbon-tied sections of your shirt before you make it out the door.

Steve is waiting beside his car when you come outside. He’s clearly come from work, wearing tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt that looks so good you’re practically overheating in the brisk winter air. Then he smiles at you, and your body takes a detour from ‘visit to Arizona’ straight down to ‘the Brazilian Rainforest,’ all innuendo included.

Oblivious to your secretly disrespectful ogling, Steve moves to escort you to your car door, standing deliciously close by as he opens it. His aftershave smells heady and masculine, distracting enough that you turn your heel a little bit on the seam of the sidewalk. Your unbuttoned coat swings back and his hand moves to steady you, fingers tangling in the red ribbon holding your blouse together on that side.

“Oh!” you gasp, half because of his sheer strength and half because good god, if that bow comes undone on the street you’re not sure how much you’re even going to care right now. You gently grasp his hand (finding that, yep, the sizzling live wire connection on physical contact is still active), salvaging the knot for the sake of your sanity.

“Wow,” Steve breathes in a low voice that sends its resonance whizzing through your whole body. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur intelligently.

You’re never going to tell your sister how many mental seconds it’s taken you to go from 0 to head over heels for this man.

“Do you need me to adjust the buckle? You were making a face,” Steve explains.

“Oh, no, I was coming up with something suitably embarrassing to text my nagging sister so she doesn’t send me ‘romantic suggestions’ all night,” you admit. “She means well, but I think she’s been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies. Nothing I do or say will measure up!”

He chuckles. “I won’t comment on what my own nag might have to say on the outcome of the evening.”

“You mean the professional phone thief? He owes you, not the other way around! Telling secrets on dictation while your friend’s planning to bring a girl home-- and then sending it? Hung, drawn, and quartered.”

“Well, the method of delivery may have been terrible,” Steve says, looking over at you while paused at a red light, “--but none of that was a secret.”

The light changes, and just like Jennie’s favorite movies, he holds your gaze instead of driving on. You’re suddenly very aware of everywhere your clothing touches you, especially at your chest, where the fabric of your blouse clings to your curves. When you pull in a breath, Steve’s attention dips down to appreciate them, too.

“Eyes on the road, CEO Eye Candy,” you tease (not for the first time), and his expression scrunches up into easy laughter.

There’s an older, well-dressed couple in the parking garage to his building when you arrive, and the four of you ride the elevator up together until you and Steve step out. Just before the doors close, you catch the woman looking up at her husband fondly, nodding toward the two of you. No pressure! you think to yourself again, but then Steve opens the door to his apartment and smiles with such honest happiness that you forget everything else but him.

Just like he is, the main room is a charming mix of vintage and modern, with warm wood accents and high-tech amenities. There’s something both open and intimate that hits you right away; the floor is dotted with comforting rugs, the walls with bookcases, creating cozy little nooks, but the lamplight is warm and inviting throughout.

“I need to start the oven,” Steve says with a light touch to your arm, gesturing to take your coat. You nod and hand it over before you step farther in, finally letting yourself glance beyond the bookshelves of classics and the homey crochet afghan to the view. 

It’s completely captivating. The wall of windows face east, showing the lively cityscape to glorious effect (and you can’t help but picture what the sunrise would look like!). It suddenly hits you that you’re in Steve’s space. There are no phones to ring and save you from a misstep, no waitress to break the tension, no dog running past chasing its ball in the grass.

If he sees just how far gone you are on him already, will Steve think you’re a gold-digger, or will he understand that you can’t help but be dazzled and drawn in by the kind of man he is, not the things he surrounds himself with?

“Are you all right?” Steve asks. You startle, making eye contact with his reflection in the window, and something about the intimacy of that makes you tell the absolute truth.

“I’m realizing there are no flowerpots to hide behind.”

He smiles and moves closer, one hand casually in his pocket. When he’s just near enough that you can feel his warmth through the back of your blouse, Steve tips his head in a move that bleeds sincerity, still holding your gaze.

“What if you didn’t have to hide?”

You can’t look away. “What if that doesn’t make me any less shy?”

“Makes it all the more rewarding to earn that smile of yours,” Steve says, moving to face you instead of the view.

The weight of where you are, who you’re with, and how much it means to you keeps your gaze glued to the view outside the window, but the city lights blur a little with the frequency of your blinking. You want to reassure him that the shyness is good actually, that it means you really like him, that what he thinks about you is important--

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs. You can’t help but toss him the Skeptical Eyebrow, despite your heart voting on the ‘melt’ option. “I’m being serious,” he goes on. “Honesty is in rare supply for much of my day-to-day. Suppliers expect us to push for cheaper materials, manufacturers are uncomfortable with flexible deadlines, and we’ve fired multiple product designers who get upset by how much we rely on end-user feedback.” He lets out a long sigh, punctuating it with a rueful laugh. “I felt more relaxed with the construction crew than I do with my so-called ‘peers.’”

The frustrated defeat in his tone makes you step close to tuck yourself up against his side, hugging him with an arm around his back. Steve’s arm comes around you right away, and god, you wish you could bottle that feeling. The two of you have shared quite a few toe-curling kisses, but physical affection like this is exciting, despite being prompted by Steve’s ongoing business concerns.

It’s easy to believe that this part of your life isn’t real when you’re at work answering phones and giving directions. You’re never prepared for the way Steve tips your life upside down, and in a way that makes moments like this more magical. Late at night, you do sometimes worry your job at his company makes it harder for him to disconnect.

With his heartbeat thrumming under your cheek and his arm tucked around you, that concern feels as far away as the streetlights visible across the city. There’s still a thread of tenseness in his embrace that tells you he’s not as relaxed as you are. You might not have the money to take him out for a fancy dinner or attend an exclusive event, but you can show him he’s wanted.

“So what you’re saying is that we should brainstorm another building project for the lobby? Preferably within sightlines of the front desk?”

You get to feel his laugh before you hear it.

“Oh, I wish. I’ve actually started looking into Habitat For Humanity, a couple of other hands-on charities,” Steve tells you, squeezing you tighter against him for a second or two. “They’ve got experience with higher profile contributors, safety concerns, that sort of thing.”

The moment hangs. Humor isn’t enough.

“That doesn’t solve the underlying problem though, because the problem isn’t you,” you realize aloud.

“You’re right.” Steve kisses your hairline, but you can sense that his metaphorically held breath isn’t going to release like this. You’re struck by the rightness of your reflection; the two of you fit together so well visually that it’s easy to miss his job insecurities and your uncertain future. Movement beyond the surface catches your eye, and you realize it’s the perfect way to break the tension.

“Oh! It’s snowing!”

“Those are some giant snowflakes.” He hugs you to him briefly before stepping over to a small panel on the wall. “May I?”

The more time you spend with him, the braver you feel. “I’m going to say yes, even though I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Steve’s answering smile is blindingly handsome. “Watch,” he says, nodding to the view. A second later the lights in the room dim or shut off, heightening the glowing cityscape outside. There’s a beauty to the familiar hodgepodge of buildings, more so with the fairy dust of snow drifting down from above.

“It’s like a snowglobe,” you say, tearing your eyes away from the scene to look at Steve. To your surprise, he’s not looking outside, he’s looking at you.

“May I?” he asks again. Heart pounding, you nod, and he walks toward you, his features thrown into sharp relief by the dim light. When Steve finally reaches you, the anticipation has doused you with fuel set alight by the touch of his hand at your cheek. 

This kiss is nothing like the gentle exploration that was your first with Steve. Where then you were still learning each other, this is knowledge. He lifts you up against him effortlessly, his thumb tangling with the ties of your blouse in a way that pulls it taut against your breasts. You let out a gasp as he kisses his way down from your neck over to the neckline of your blouse, making a begging sound of his own.

It sounds like enough of a ‘May I?’ that you whisper, “Yes.”

In three large strides he’s at the couch, setting you onto your feet as he sweeps the afghan and pillows out of the way. When he turns to face you again, you offer him the end of the ribbon tie holding your blouse together.

The reverence with which Steve pulls it loose is sexy as hell, but you absolutely adore the way he locks eyes with you and keeps your gaze when the fabric falls away. You pull in a ragged breath, and his gaze sharpens.

“What do you want?” he asks, his own answer ringing in the undertones.

You want everything, as far into the future as fate allows, but you force yourself to focus on the here and now. “I-- God, I just want you. I want-- oh!” You press your lips together to stop yourself, shy again. There’s honesty, and then there’s honesty. In that confident but gentle way he has, Steve knows exactly what to say.

“Whatever it is, yes.”

He takes your hand and backs the few inches to the couch, sitting down and tugging gently, a clear but respectful invitation. Steve takes a few seconds to just look at you, his eyes tracing across your features and down to the structure of your blouse. He’d mentioned his sketchbook at one of your early-on dates but never elaborated; now the way he unerringly follows each ribbon with his eyes, fingertips, and then lips make you feel like a work of art.

By the time your shirt drops to the floor, you’re practically drunk on the honest arousal you can taste on his lips--and you’re still mostly dressed! One thing you’re certain of: no one will ever make you feel as much like a medieval harlot and an object of worship at the same time like Steve Rogers.

Reluctantly, you draw back from his addictive kisses, pulling his hand from your cheek to briefly kiss his palm. “I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me without trying to smooth anything over, got it?”

Steve’s gaze darkens with an amused sort of interest. “I’ll see where you’re going with this, but you should know that there are two places I like to be in charge: the boardroom and the bedroom.”

His tone is gentle, but with an undercurrent of steel. You’re completely unable to stop the way your breath catches and your thighs clench. Sweet fires of hell, this man is perfect.

“It’s a deal,” you manage to squeak out.

“Go on, then.” Steve lifts a hand to brush his thumb along your hairline, down your cheek to press against your lips, dragging them open. From there, he continues to where the swell of your breast meets the lace of your bra, skirting your nipple by lifting his hand up to clasp with the other hand behind his head. Throughout, his gaze holds yours, intense and commanding.

“Sure, show me up, like I’m going to remember anything more than my own name, at this point,” you whisper-whine.

“I used it a few times on my recent trip.” His soft admission is in direct contrast to his casual, confident body language. You’re starting to realize there’s a stronger dichotomy to Steve than you thought. Will you get to have the kind, thoughtful boyfriend who saves you from an evening of elitist tedium and a fierce, possessive lover?

Will you survive, if so?

“Tell me. I’m getting a little jealous of whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Steve intones.

You stop biting your lip and grin. “I’m filing away these new pieces of information about you. Just… don’t ask me where I’m filing them.”

“Oh, I will.”

His voice is like a caress that cascades over you, pausing at your most sensitive places. You shiver, both for your own acknowledgment of the sexual tension and for him to appreciate his effect on you. After letting out a breath that’s more like a yearning sigh, you set your hands on the top button of his dress shirt. With Steve’s steady gaze on you, though, you’re questioning yourself.

“My plan sounds stupid in my head now, with you oozing all of this confidence.”

Immediately, his hand covers yours, setting off sparks with every swipe of his thumb on your skin. “At work it’s a facade, a persona, even--and not a flattering one. I didn’t think I could shake it off, the night of the gala. It’s more natural when--” He interrupts himself by pulling you in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You’re not faking it here,” you observe minutes later. The whole concept is knocking you sideways, but-- “Okay, I need to tell you I’m picturing you in one of those tailored suits commanding a room of powerful people and that is just sexy as hell.”

He rocks his hips up into you. “I’ll let them know--but, roll back a minute. What was your plan? Better yet,” Steve interrupts himself, setting a heavy hand on your hip to hold you still as he grinds up against you again. “Show me.”

His confidence is literally rubbing off on you. “All right, but fair warning: it’s very ‘over-eager receptionist peeks at you between decorative plants.’” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his warm hand travels from your hip around and down, fingertips pushing aside your waistbands to firmly grip your ass.

“I know exactly who I’m here with.”

There’s enough of the altruistic, spend-a-week-building-with-the-bros tone in his voice to be reassuring, and you nod.

“Right, then.” Briskly, with the heat of arousal singing through you from every point of contact, you unbutton the top button of his dress shirt. “You’re kind.” Button two: “You’re moral and fair.” Your eyes are focused on your ‘work,’ but you can see Steve break into a smile. At button three, you’re almost halfway down. “You’re a hard worker.”

Steve lets out a deep ‘Mmmm’ sound. Thanks to his ass-grab leverage, he blatantly moves your hips in time with his for a cycle of thrusts that leave you breathless. You can’t look at him, so you clear your throat like a prudish schoolmarm and meticulously unbutton #4.

“You’re good at your… job.” It takes a little while to free this button, so you end up worrying your lower lip with your teeth as you try. Once you’re finished, with anticipation lifting every single hair follicle on your body, only then do you make eye contact.

He mutters ‘fuck’ and reaches between the two of you to unbuckle his belt, popping his trouser snap with an expression that challenges you to object.

There are two shirt buttons left.

You’re completely out of your depth, as desperate to come as you may have ever been in your entire existence, and you have zero idea what else to say--but you reach for button number five.

You wet your lips. Slowly.

Steve grips the couch with his free hand-- but the one he’s holding onto you with is still firm and not at all bruising (not that you’d mind. You’ll paint yourself with this man’s passion if he lets you). 

“You’re passionate.”

He makes a cut-off sort of growl in the back of his throat when you move to the last button. You can see the heavy bulge of his cock in his boxer briefs just an inch away from your palms. In a perfect world, you’d say ‘fuck it’ to coming up with another word. In a perfect world, you’d reward both of you by giving up and sliding to your knees, demonstrating exactly how much you appreciate this tall, sexy, beast of an honorable man--and then you have an idea.

Your borrowed pants have a simple clasp, and you move your hands slowly from Steve’s last remaining shirt button to release it, incidentally dragging across his straining cock as you do so. The blatant teasing gets ‘worse’ when you draw down your zipper, nudging, rubbing, and pressing until it’s fully unzipped.

Throughout, Steve’s hand on your ass remains steady, but his breathing grows more and more ragged.

Finally, you lift your hands up and away, denying him any more contact before dropping down to reach for the last button.

“You--” he rumbles, but you interrupt him with two words.

“You’re patient.”

With a practically incomprehensible oath that thoroughly refutes your last impudent compliment, Steve shoves down your loosened clothing and angles the two of you to the side on the couch, all in a single action. Then he sinks two fingers inside you roughly, both of you groaning at the desperate, glorious pleasure of it.

You cram a fist in your mouth, but he stops in the middle of his one-handed shucking of his pants and boxers to yank your fist free.

“All through that shitty conference I imagined the noises you’d make tonight,” Steve grits out, looking down at you with naked desire in his eyes. He twists his fingers mid thrust, and you can’t help but cry out, your hips chasing every movement his talented, devastating fingers perform on you.

You’re already so close. The white-hot, catastrophic release starts to cloud your vision, stayed only by your delayed understanding of what he just said.

“Wait, you’re saying during the--”

Steve kicks the last inches of his lower clothing free and swaps hands deftly, spreading your arousal on his cock with an ‘Mmmm’ of pleasure so filthy you flutter around his fingers in pre-orgasmic shock.

“Thinking about you genuinely kept me sane, and I'm going to turn those daydreams into reality,” he rasps, a modern Greek god with the morals of a saint and the body of a satyr, as if you could ever do anything but gratefully worship him.

You mouth something like the word “Yes,” too desperate for anything more coherent.

The pleasure that follows his first deep thrust is ruinous. You forget everything but Steve, the taste of praise on his lips, the delight his touch chases across your skin, and most of all, the power he arches into you, music and mayhem and meaning, all at once. By the time you’re shuddering around each other you’ve ended up on the floor in front of his couch--and you only notice because Steve’s got a hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m out of adjectives,” you whisper weakly. “All of the good ones. Most of the naughty ones. Fuck, other languages, too. Even extinct ones. You’re fluent in everything.”

Steve pulls you to his chest and does something athletic that ends with you on the couch beside him, his soft homemade afghan covering the most pertinent parts of your nakedness.

“You make me want to be fluent in everything,” he murmurs. “And, thank you.” Steve grabs his shirt and holds it in front of his crotch. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

He’s jogging farther into the apartment before you can respond, but something about his protective actions trigger a flurry of realization, something you should be--

Oh.

The fall of snow past the giant picture windows brings reality crashing into you. You just had glorious, intense, messy sex in a room that is visible from other nearby buildings!

Steve reappears with a soft-looking washcloth. He’s wearing pajama pants, with what looks like a matching long-sleeved top slung over his shoulder.

“I forgot about the windows,” you say in a small voice, taking the washcloth and using it under the afghan.

“Oh, right,” he says in a completely un-worried voice. Steve looks over at you, sees the half-scared expression on your face, and his demeanor sort of… softens. It’s both obvious and hard to quantify, and it hits you that he’s almost certainly done that before, even if you hadn’t noticed. You imagine there’s a lot of things his clothes and a carefully-crafted facial expression would cover for. He sits down beside you on the couch and offers you the shirt as he says, “The couch is recessed enough into the room that it’s not very visible, I think, but I wasn’t thinking, and I should have asked you about that. I’m sorry.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, and you ask him about that while pulling on his proffered pajama top, juggling the blanket in the process.

“Would it be strange to say I get very… goals-oriented?” he asks, rueful and amused in equal measure.

“How much different a ‘persona’ are we talking, here?”

The question is meant playfully, but Steve takes long enough to answer that you can feel the warmth of the washcloth start to fade in your hand.

“Too different for comfort, I’m coming to realize.” 

He reaches for the washcloth, but you pull it close and get up, gesturing for him to lead you to wherever you can rinse it out. On the way, you can’t help but eye the windows in a new way, perhaps as unintentional adversaries.

“I haven’t let myself be truly seen in a long time,” Steve says as you drape the rinsed washcloth on a drying rack in the dimly-lit kitchen area. “The reason is--well, it might be insulting, but it’s honest.”

You resist the urge to hug your arms around yourself. He’s given you a shirt to wear that matches his, and you were serious with those compliments earlier, despite the pleasure-wrought desperation you felt as you spoke them. “Go on?”

“You’re yourself with me. Not fawning. There’s no facade, no attempt to pretend you have more money or influence. That’s rare. Precious even.”

His statement stings, despite everything that’s happened tonight, despite the way his compliment hews off the rough edges. There’s no derision or judgment in his tone, so you smile at him, albeit stiffly. 

“I don’t really have a way to hide those things. I’m me. I figured if you were bothered by--” you wince, feeling a sense of inferiority rise up inside you (dropped out of college, pulled out of your internship, entry-level job, depleted nest-egg, caregiver for your sister, baggage, baggage, baggage) before you wrestle it all back down. “--any of that, you’d move on, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Steve says firmly, brushing his hand over your hair as if to adjust the disarray that came from putting on his shirt. “I want to move forward, even if that means you can see through some of the windows I usually cover with curtains. Will you be exclusive with me?”

“I’d really like that,” you whisper, overcome. “And not just because you fuck like a complete god.”

The words slip out before you can fucking stop them, and you gasp, the tidal wave of your social inferiority to a man like Steve coming blasting through all the tentative bridges you’ve just built. You hear buzzing in your ears, your vision is misted over with regret--but seconds later, you realize he’s laughing.

“Okay I swear on every single deity that exists, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud! I’m so sorry,” you groan, your relief over his amusement barely tempering the metallic tang of adrenaline on your tongue.

Your… your boyfriend Steve Rogers takes your hand in his and lifts it up, bowing over it before kissing it with more chivalry than a whole season of Game of Thrones. Even one of the early ones.

“Sweetheart, you’re forgiven.”

<- Previous story...

[achilles-rage]

achilles-rage’s twelve days of christmas

day eleven: wrapped in red (ft. eddie diaz)

summary: with the chaotic weeks leading up to christmas meaning that you and eddie have barely had a moment alone, you decide to surprise him with an early christmas gift.

word count: 2.7k

series masterlist

a/n: sorry this is late, i’ve been having trouble writing smut lately. i hope this is okay!! and also i can’t believe this is the second last day of twelve days!! i don’t want it to end!! at least i still have one more day, and possibly a part two to my rocker secret santa fic (depending on how i feel). anyway, enjoy<33

warnings: smut, hint at predator/prey kink(??), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

With the holidays coming up, life with Eddie has been extremely chaotic. If you’re not anxiously looking for gifts that Christopher has asked for – that every other kid in LA wants too, apparently – then you’re shopping for gifts for your friends and family, or planning Christmas parties, or attending Christmas parties. Honestly, you’re barely even sure that you or Eddie has had a moment to yourself since December 1st.

This also means that you’ve barely gotten a moment with Eddie for weeks, and you’re starting to get a little bit restless. Other than the occasional touches when you’re both just waking up; barely conscious enough to open your eyes and hands wandering aimlessly and with no real intentions, you can’t remember the last time Eddie has properly fucked you.

So, you came up with an idea: wrap yourself up and surprise him with some festive lingerie. It’s, admittedly, a little silly, but you’re sure that Eddie will appreciate it. At the very least, he’ll get a good laugh out of it.

You already have the perfect wrapping paper; a bright red, sparkly design with small white snowflakes, so all you have to do is cut it and tape it together. You decide to only make a little skirt out of it, instead picking out a beautiful green lingerie set with a small red bow on the bra, and one on the panties. You even add a gift tag reading “To: Eddie, From: Santa”

Before Eddie gets home, you get ready; putting on your set and your skirt, and then you decide at the last minute to put two big red Christmas bows on your bra, right where the straps meet the cups on the front.

You’re extremely proud of your skirt; you’d found a tutorial online for a pleated wrapping paper skirt, and it turned out perfectly. Now, all you have to do is wait for Eddie to get home.

Christopher is at Buck’s for the night, probably baking cookies and building gingerbread houses if you know them at all, so you have your boyfriend all to yourself.

When you hear the front door open and shut, you smile to yourself, then step out of the hallway and into Eddie’s sight. He’s in the middle of greeting you when his eyes land on you, and the words die on his lips as he takes you in.

“Why are you wearing wrapping paper?” he asks after a moment, brow raised as he focuses on the skirt. He tries extremely hard to not focus on your tits, otherwise, he might rip your skirt to shreds in a desperate attempt to see you naked underneath him, and he’s not sure what the skirt is for.

“Because I’m your present tonight. Do you- do you not like it?” you ask sheepishly, feeling your cheeks heat up as you look down at your outfit. You thought it was silly, sure, but you didn’t think he’d hate it. Instead of being met with a smile, he just looks confused, and it’s making your stomach churn and your hands fidget at your sides.

“No, no. I fucking love it, just wasn’t sure what it was for.” he reassures you, quickly closing the distance between you two and grabbing one of your hands. He gives you a smile, and you smile back, nodding slowly.

He raises your hand over your head and urges you to do a spin, and as you turn, he tries to look at every inch of exposed skin. He takes in your soft belly, and your chest sitting perfectly in your lace bra, and your bare legs, and his mouth waters.

When you’re turned to face him again, he pulls you toward him, moving the hand he’s holding to drape over his shoulder and then placing both of his hands on your waist. It’s now that you can see the lust in his eyes, and your smile widens as you feel your whole body get hot. Having his undivided attention after so long feels so fucking good.

“I missed having you like this, mi amor. I’m gonna make sure you don’t leave the bedroom until tomorrow morning. If you can even walk tomorrow morning.” he purrs, and you giggle softly, rolling your eyes.

“You like it that much?” you ask, eyes darting across his face so close to you as his eyes travel down your body again. He lets out a growl at the sight of your tits sitting so perfectly for him, and his next words come out low and raspy, which has your squeezing your legs together.

“I fucking love it. I feel like a little kid right now; all I want to do is rip the wrapping off my present.” You bring your hand up to run through the hair on the back of his head, which makes him finally look back up into your eyes.

“So do it.” you tell him, raising a challenging brow. He smirks, and lets his hands run over the paper and down to your hips.

He lets out a quiet chuckle when he reads the gift tag you’ve attached to the waist of your skirt, and then in one quick motion, he rips the paper off of you.

You’re left in just your matching bra and panties, and he groans when he sees the tiny red bow sitting on the waistband of your panties. Like a present. All for him.

His hands are gripping your hips hard as he looks down at your body, a grip threatening to leave bruises as he drinks in all your dips and curves. He can’t believe you did this all for him. If you were to ask him what he wanted for Christmas, he’d say that this is it. Just you.

“Bedroom. Now.” he growls, and without another word, you turn on your heel, practically vibrating in excitement. He smacks your ass as soon as you turn, and you squeal at the impact, looking over your shoulder at him as you keep walking.

He has a predatory look in his eyes as he watches you, and when he begins to stalk after you, eyes narrowed and chest puffed out, you let out something between a giggle and a squeal. You begin to run to the bedroom, your heart racing in your chest as you begin to feel like you’re being hunted.

He runs after you, footsteps heavy as they hit the hardwood, and when you both get to his room, he grabs your hips and pulls you back against his chest.

“Uh uh, why are you trying to get away? You’re my gft, remember? I get to play with you however I want.” he rasps in your ear, causing shivers to shoot down your spine. You can feel his hard length pressing against your back, and you let out a soft whimper, slowly moving your ass back against him.

He lets out a hiss as his grip gets tighter against your hips, then turns you around and pushes you onto the bed in one quick movement.

You bounce gently as you hit the mattress, and when you look up at him again, you back up on the bed, watching him step closer and drink in your plush figure. He pulls his shirt off quickly, and then his pants and boxers, and when he’s completely naked, he crawls onto the bed and towards you.

He meets your lips hungrily, his hips grinding against you and letting you feel the hardness of his cock. Your hands go to his sides as you kiss him with equal fervour, letting your tongues meet each other as you feel your brain go fuzzy. He’s barely started and you already feel so overwhelmed with his touch, and his attention.

He moves his kisses down to your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes, and when he reaches the top of your bra, he leans back and looks down at your dazed expression.

“Don’t know if I want to keep this on or rip it off of you.” he tells you in a low tone, letting his eyes move back down to your lace covered chest as he licks his lips.

“Well, what are you supposed to do with the wrapping on a gift?” you tease softly, quirking a brow with a small smirk.

He chuckles, then shrugs his shoulders as he looks back up into your eyes.

“Good point. Just wanna see you in it for a little while longer.” he mumbles. He presses one more hot kiss to your lips, then leans back on his knees and moves his hands up your legs until he gets to the edge of your panties.

He pulls them to the side quickly, then grabs the base of his cock and brings the tip down to slide between your folds. You both let out soft moans, and you spread your legs wider, letting him move freely as he slides the head of his cock along your clit.

You’re both desperate to feel all of each other, to get the sweet release you’ve been waiting weeks for, but Eddie is more patient than you, it seems. He wants to see you cum before he actually fucks you.

You sit up on your elbows as you watch him in a daze, biting your lip as he taps his cock against your dripping pussy.

It’s hard to resist the urge to bury himself to the hilt, but he holds back for now, enjoying your soft mewls and whimpers as he drags his cock through your folds in achingly slow movements.

“Eds, please.” you whine softly after a while, your eyes pleading as you look up at him. He chuckles softly, then pushes himself into you, just barely. He lets himself rock against you gently, hand firmly gripping the base of his cock as he lets his tip enter your desperate cunt.

He switches between this, and tapping the head of his cock against your clit, and pretty soon, you’re both close to the edge.

Your moans have gotten breathier, and your hands are gripping the sheets beside you as you feel that ball forming in your lower belly. And Eddie is slowly losing the ability to hold back; his cock moving deeper and deeper each time his tip slips between your glistening folds.

“You gonna cum for me, baby? You’re so pretty when you cum.” he rasps, and you nod quickly, letting out a soft whimper.

He chuckles lowly and pulls his cock away completely, instead using his hand to fist his cock as his other hand comes down to circle two fingers around your clit. You throw your head back as you near the edge, but when you hear him tut softly, you bring your head back up so he can meet your eyes.

“Look at me, baby. Watch me when you cum.” he tells you sternly, and in a few more seconds, you’re both falling over the edge with loud moans. He covers your cunt in his release, groaning at the sight of his seed painting your slick folds and dripping down onto the sheets below you.

He barely gives you enough time to come down from your high before he’s flipping you over on the bed. His hands move to your ass, massaging at the flesh before he brings a hand back and spanks you hard. You whimper, letting your body lurch forward in response to the surprise, and then he spanks you again, just to hear the harsh sound of skin meeting skin.

“Gorgeous, mi amor. And all mine.” he murmurs, then rips your panties off you and tosses them to the side.

You gasp at the sound of fabric ripping, and try to look over your shoulder at him with narrowed eyes.

“Eddie, I just bought those!” you argue, although you’re not really mad. They were expensive, but you can’t deny that the action has desire pooling in your belly.

“I’ll replace them.” is all he says before he reaches down to your hips and brings you up onto your knees, face now pushed into the mattress as he spreads your ass cheeks and takes in the sight of your pulsing cunt.

You shiver when you feel the head of his cock teasing your folds again, but it doesn’t last long; he’s desperate to feel you wrapped around him completely. When he pushes into you, he buries himself to the hilt, letting his hips meet yours as he grips at your flesh hard.

You moan into the sheets, body moving forward at the force behind his actions, and when he pulls out almost completely just to bully into you again, you moan louder.

His hips pick up their pace, and as they snaps against yours, flesh slapping against flesh, his hands roam your body, squeezing and massaging at your ass and your thighs.

“Taking me so well, mi amor. Fuck-” he groans, tip kissing your cervix as he relishes in the way you squeeze his cock so perfectly.

He watches the way your ass and thighs jiggle with each thrust, and he has to tilt his head back and close his eyes for a moment, focusing on not cumming too soon.

You moan loudly under him, eyes clouded with pure bliss as he fucks into you roughly, hands eager to touch every inch of skin. When you reach your hand back in a desperate attempt to feel him, he grabs your hand and brings it behind your back, then moves your other one to the same spot and holds your wrists there with one large hand.

“You like that, baby, huh?” he asks, and all you can do is nod, whimpering as his hips meet yours harshly.

When you begin to push your ass back towards him, he growls, then releases your wrists and brings both hands around to your front and squeezes your soft tummy between his fingers. His thrusts momentarily stop as his front presses against your back, but when he pulls you up with him, back still pressed against him, his hips continue their unrelenting pace.

One hand goes back to your hip, helping you move back to meet his thrusts while the other cups one of your tits and squeezes it. He rolls your nipple between his fingers as he feels it bounce with each thrust of his cock, and he can feel himself beginning to twitch inside of you as he gets close to the edge.

“You wanna cum with me, baby? Cum on my cock?” he murmurs in your ear.

“Yes, please. Please, Eds.” you whine, and he smirks, moving his hips harder, if at all possible.

“Cum with me, baby. Let me feel you.” he tells you sternly, and in no time you’re clenching around him as you cum.

When he feels the way your pussy squeezes his cock as you let go with a loud whimper, he lets go, filling you to the brim as he keeps himself buried deep inside you.

You feel him paint your walls with his cum, and you lean your head back against his shoulder in pure bliss, letting your eyes flutter shut as you ride out your high.

He slowly pulls out with a groan, and lets his hands travel up and down your sides as you lean back against him.

“God, I’ve missed this.” he tells you quietly, feeling himself come down from his high, your skin under his fingertips helping to ground him and forget all about the stress of the holidays.

“I love you.” you whisper, trying to catch your breath as you feel your pulsing cunt clenching around nothing. You can feel the mess between your thighs, but you hardly care.

If you know Eddie at all, he’s not done with you yet, anyway.

“I love you, mi amor.” he whispers back, then kisses the side of your neck before helping you lay back down on the bed.

“That was the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” he teases softly as he crawls over you.

You giggle as he begins to press kisses across your face, not leaving an inch of skin unkissed.

“I’m glad.”

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[theocddiaries]

Sonic: There's someone at school who's making Tails' life miserable. Shadow: What happened? Sonic: I don't know; he won't tell me. But he's more anxious than I've seen him in a long time. Can you take him to class today, please? Shadow: Why me??? Sonic: Because if I go, I'll lose it. You know me. I don't want to make it worse for him. Shadow: Yeah, you’re right. When that kid's involved, you can’t control yourself… Sonic: Exactly. So, you take him to school today? Shadow: But the kid hates me. Sonic: Please, Shads, it’s just dropping him off and leaving. It’s not that hard. --- Tails: I’m late for class. Shadow: …I know. I can read the time. Tails: Doesn’t look like it, because I’m late for class. Shadow [takes a slow breath]: Alright, I’m sorry, okay? Tails: At least you could write me an excuse. That’s what Sonic does. Shadow: Then you should’ve asked him before I had to drag you out of the house before we would be even more late. Principal: Well, look who’s late. Are you his brother? Tails: Ew, no. Shadow: No, no-- Principal: Honestly, I’m not surprised you’re denying it. Shadow: No, I'm no denying anything, he's really not-- Principal: I’d deny it too, seeing how the kid turned out. All he does is disrupt class and waste his classmates’ time. But what can you expect from a child who was basically feral until he was four? I imagine he’s driving you crazy at home too. [grabs Tails by the hand]: Off to class now-- Shadow [steps in front of them, blocking the way]: No, no. Excuse me, what did you just say about the kid? You know what, instead of going to class, why don’t we go see the principal and get their opinion on your teaching methods? Tails [whispers]: She is the principal. Shadow: Oh… Well, then I’ll say it to your face. Do you think it’s appropriate to insult your students? He’s just a kid. If your self-esteem is so low that you’re personally offended by him being smarter than you and everyone else in this dump of a building, then go to therapy. Don’t give him a complex. The reason we’re late is because you’ve got him so terrified and anxious that he barely wants to come here anymore. Got it? Shadow [grabs Tails by the hand and pulls him close, then picks him up]: And just so you know, if this kid wants to be an aerospace engineer, a mechanical physicist, or invent a whole new career, he’ll do it. Because my brother has the brains for that and more. [walks to the door]. Tails: You know what I want to be when I grow up??? Shadow: Of course I do; you talk about it all the time. Tails: And you called me your brother? Shadow: …Do you want to talk about that or go get some ice cream? Tails: Ice cream. [A while later, they return home] Sonic: Why are you back so early? Tails: Shadow got into it with the principal. Sonic: What? Shadow: I’ll explain later… If the school doesn’t call you to explain first. Sonic: What happened??? Tails: We left after Shadow told her off and left her speechless. It was awesome. [tugs on Sonic’s arm to bring him down to his level]: Can you date Shadow forever, please?? Shadow: That depends on how he takes the fact that I got you kicked out of school. Sonic: You got kicked out?? Tails: In his defense, we walked out. Sonic: Okay, um… Hey, why don’t you go check on the food in the kitchen, and you’ll tell me about it later? Tails [nods and leaves] Sonic [smirking]: So I’m the one who can’t keep it together when the kid’s involved? Shadow: …Shut up.

Part 1

[theartofwoompwoomp]

I’m falling behind…

Rise Donnie x Reader 

prompt : “I’ve tried everything, but you-you just don’t care !”

————————————————————————

It had been terrible.

Everything went wrong since the moment you awoke. Just remembering it was bringing you a headache.

You massage your forehead trying to soothe the pain a bit. 

It didn’t help that these past few weeks haven’t been any easier, clearly life decided it suddenly wanted to be funny and honestly, you were so sick of its jokes.

But, even though this was all on your plate, you knew that wasn’t the real reason for your current mood. 

It actually had to do with a certain someone.  

Worst part is, this certain someone, is non other your turtle boyfriend.

I mean, you always tried to be understanding. Knowing that sometimes he needs his space and just won’t be able to talk everyday, that’s totally okay with you. 

but him not even responding and leaving you on read when you need his support !?

now that’s a different story 

You’ve tried being reasonable, after all, he is someone of logic who will act accordingly. But this had been different.

he just suddenly decide that ghosting you was the best solution !? 

Now, you had been patient with him. But it’s been two whole months, and you still haven’t seen or heard from him once ! 

And you knew there wasn’t anything particularly wrong. You had been keeping contact with his whole family to make sure he was alright. 

In fact, they didn’t understand his actions any better than you did. 

And when it finally hit three months you decided you waited enough. 

On your way there you messaged April that you’d get in a few minutes, and she confirmed that Donnie was there.

The whole family had a group chat without you or Don so they could usually gossip about y’alls dates and stuff. Though these past few months it’s mainly been used to try to figure out what’s going on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you all typing suspiciously on your phones at the same time?” 

Snapping the things off and quickly repositioning themselves in the most normal poses. “What are you talking about Don??? We weren’t on our phones.” Leo strains a smile as the sweat drops from his head 

“Yes, and i don’t have eyes. Don’t lie to me Nardo, it’s not funny.” Offended a bit that they were clearlylying to his face. 

Yet the only thing they could think of was buying you more time. They knew nothing was going to improve if these two didn’t speak to each other.

And at that, leo got an idea. 

“Nardo why are you looking at me like that?”  Questioning as his twin goes near him making him back up a bit. “What do ya mean Donnie, I ain’t doing nothing.”

He squints at his brother in distrust, knowing that smirk on his face. “Nardo, what ever you are planning i suggest you refrain this insistence.” 

Leo shrugs but not before striking to open a portal right under him, trapping him as he falls into a confined room.

“Sorry Dee, but trust us ! You both need this !” And the portal closed.

———————————————————————

the heck?!

What was his brother thinking?! And what in the world did he mean by both? As far as he can see, he’s the only one in the room.

Well at least he has his phone. 

He kept spamming his family messages, yet wherever leo left him had the absolute worst signal. 

Honestly he was already planning his twin’s murder as he played some offline mobile game.

It wasn’t tell he saw the portal up again he stood up ready to give his brother and earful of his anger. 

“Nardo you crossed the line.” His nose scrunching a bit, “you won’t get away with this.”

But leo never came out the other side.

Instead he was shocked to see the person he hope he never saw again. 

You came through, and the portal closed behind.

All his emotions crashed as reality wrapped around his throat, preventing him to reach out or say anything.

That look on your face was harsh and cold. A lot more empty and tired than what he remembered. 

“What’s wrong Dee? Didn’t like my surprise.” You taunted him. He had expected your attitude, but it still hurt seeing how much you changed because of him. he didn’t plan on seeing you again this way. 

but, maybe you were right,…. maybe it was too late to save anything.

———————————————————————

Masterlist 

[nbkdramathings]

…are people actually disappointed with Alchemy of Souls? Am I missing something every weekend?

[maacbrem]

Once again getting ready to watch critical role live while on episode 25/26 because I’m here for a good time not a making sense of the plot time

[beanmaster-pika]

A sizeable chunk of the fanbase (especially those who read the webtoon) seeing Collei in 3.0: aw thank goodness she’s doing well and even has two dads who are in love :)

Hoyoverse half a year later, writing Cyno and Tighnari into an event that in-game half of Mondstadt considers a lovers’ festival: shit shit shit shit shit we have to no-homo this

[i-may-be-an-emu]

SFTH Fic Masterlist

#11. Inside The Mysterious Cube (Part Two)

Full masterlist here

Part One

[delta-piscium]

wip wednesday but everyone just tells me to write my paper and i submit to the peer pressure and do it

[badolmen]

Soldiers kill sheep in the streets and I see bison skulls piled high, the bullets are made in the United States.

Trees are set ablaze by tanks and I see Moses kneeling in fear and reverence, God does not speak from these flames.

The people starve and I see seaweed gathered in baskets on Irish shores, Dutch tulip bulbs boiled with rabbit bones.

When they said ‘never again’ it was never for love of the hundreds of millions murdered, nor fear of the systems that allowed such evil to rise. They said ‘never again’ to shipping lane inconveniences, to stock market woes, and to being seen for cowards.

At least a coward would sit in quiet fear, content in inaction. Now they sign over billions, condemning millions to the total destruction. Where is the shame? Where is the apathy? At least in that I can call them mere cowards. What else am I to call them but the evil they so long taught me to revile?

God have mercy on their souls. God have mercy on ours. For the body is doomed - the bombs will still fall, the blood will still spill, the graves of thousands will fill.

(How long is the queue to the pearly gates? Is St. Peter agrieved to see so many young faces? Are wives rejoicing or grieving the reunion with their husbands? Does the brother laugh or cry when he finds his sister among the crowd?)

From Carthage to Auschwitz we were warned. From Roman roads to shipping lanes we watched the weapons trade hands. And when we cry out to the powers that be, they turn away - unseeing, unhearing, unfeeling. Machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts.

But the horror is in knowing they are not machines. This is not their nature. They are men. Born with a love for humanity in their hearts, a desire for community and companionship and art. How did they lose such a fundamental part of their being? Was it beaten out of them by bitter men before them or did they discard it themselves, as though it were a cancer to be excised? Does it matter when they so zealously jump knee deep in blood and bone among bomb shattered homes?

And while it is troubling to consider that, being human, we too can have our hearts hardened, it is far more uncomfortable to consider that, being human, they may one day revert to natural compassion. And what does one do when the machine becomes man again? When he proves it was a choice all along? A choice he refused and snubbed until the bodies cooled and the graves grew grassy with age?

God forgive what I cannot.

[biohazard-inevitable]

“So what’d you do over winter break?”

Got through 2 one piece arcs why

[cheese-water]

My favorite thing about a post of mine vaguely mcyt related getting popular is when a certain group of fans, who have absolutely no shame in showing who they choose to support, likes and reblogs, and I have absolutely no shame in blocking them on sight 👍

It’s like a game of among us but instead of imposters being good at the game, they support groomers.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

i once read a post that went something like “your phone is ruining you in so many more ways than you know” and yeah !!!!! i have never been an anti social media purist (i think it has done so much good for me and many others), but the facts really cannot be denied. i feel like there’s a direct link between curation / consumerism and the sheer willingness of some people to highlight how uncaring they are about genocide. and it’s all because smartphone use has continuously reinforced the mindset that our world stretches about as far as we care to swipe. there really is no room for kindness or compassion in that kind of programming

can’t stop thinking about the fact that our relationship w the world is being made so much worse by our phones. being bombarded w ads catered to us, dating apps where we get to swipe left on actual human beings bc they were not a product we liked, the complete and total ability to be insulated from anything happening in the world, news cycles moving on so fast… i feel like all of it is truly for the purpose of making someone feel like they’re the most important person in the world. and that itself begets so much entitlement among people. that’s why we see things like palestinian genocide being handled w such flippancy and apathy. people have come to think that everything that occupies a space in their lives, from people to media to experiences themselves, has to be precisely curated to fit their liking. life as we know it is such a lonelier experience bc of it

[cozmos-talkin]

Found out my mom READS omega verse today. I’m not sure how I feel.

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”