#ic ⧫ yeah. that's me. miss marvel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imyourbratzdoll · 2 years ago

Text

𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅?

part 4 of 💔broken family💔

summary - you and ari finally have the talk you should've had months ago.

warning - angst, sexual harassment, swearing, miscommunication, cheating assumptions, heavy conversation.

the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 5

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

When the morning came, you had woken to your son curled against you. A smile graced your face as you looked down at him, stroking his hair back, enjoying this moment. You didn’t want to think about what you had to do today, but unfortunately, your mind wanted you to remember that you had to see your ex-husband, especially after he had witnessed your breakdown. But he was Jason’s father, and you wouldn’t be the person to keep your son from his own father.

You slowly untangle yourself from Jason and quickly head into the bathroom to freshen up before heading to the kitchen and preparing breakfast. You smile softly when you hear his little feet running down the stairs. “Mumma!” Jason waddles toward you, giggling as you kneel to pick him up, resting him on your hip.

“Morning, baby. How did you sleep?” You smile when he gives you a thumbs up with his little chubby thumb, his fingers curling into your shirt. You place a soft kiss on his forehead before putting the food onto the plates and feeding your son and you. “Are you ready to go back to your dad’s?” Jason shakes his head, and you look down at him, confused. “Why not, baby?”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, pouting. “Is lonely, miss both. Miss here.” He taps your chest, struggling with his words as fat tears appear in his eyes. Your smile slowly slips from your face, realising that not only did this divorce hurt you, but it’s hurting your son, and you don’t know how to fix it because you don’t even know what you did wrong. “Mummy, okay?”

You look down at Jason and place a fake smile on your face. “Yeah, baby. Mummy’s okay. Why don’t we finish breakfast and get ready for your father's?” You watch as he sadly nods, finishing the food and heading into the bedrooms as you both get dressed. You fiddle with your fingers, nervous as you wait for Jason to collect some of his things. He looks up at you with a sad pout, and you grab his little hand, leading him to the car. “It’s okay, baby. You’ll see me soon.” You enter the driver's seat, turn some music on and drive to Ari’s house. When you arrive, you look into the rearview mirror and see your son sitting there with his arms crossed and a pout on his face, none of you noticing Ari exiting the house and watching the interaction. “C’mon, baby. We’re here. You’ll have fun.”

Jason kicks his leg, “Don’ wanna! Wan’ stay with you! Wan’ both of you!” He grumbles and shakes his head. You sigh and look up, noticing Ari moving closer to the car. Your body shivers when your eyes connect, but then his eyes move to your son and open the door. “Go way!”

“C’mon, buddy. Don’t you want to come inside? We can get some ice cream?” Jason shakes his head, huffing and clutching your hand, and Ari looks at you with a glare.

“Not without mummy! Don’ wanna be separated! Wan’ mummy!” He pouts more, and you and Ari sigh, connecting eyes again before Ari nods.

“Okay, buddy. Mummy can stay, okay?” Jason nods and smiles, continuing to grip your hand as Ari collects his things and walks back into the house. You get out and grab your son, placing him on your hip as you slowly follow behind. Unsure if you should even enter until you feel a soft tug on your hair and see your son staring at you with a pout. Once you enter the house, Ari appears with his hands shoved into his jeans. You kneel and place Jason down before standing and watching your son run off to his playroom. Ari clears his throat, “Coffee?” You nod awkwardly, following him as he heads to the kitchen, beginning to prepare your favourite.

You clear your throat, thanking him when he slides the mug over and leans against the counter opposite of you. “Ari… We need to talk.” Your eyes lift from the hot coffee, connecting with his pretty blue ones. “Why did you leave?” You begin to chew on your bottom lip, watching anger flash across his eyes as he stares at you.

“You know why I left. Do we really need to talk about this?” You watch him lift the mug to his lips, taking a sip and your brows furrow.

“Yes, we do, Ari. If you haven’t noticed, whatever is happening between us, is affecting me badly, and it’s starting to affect our son.” You move your hands between the two of you, staring at him wide-eyed.

Ari scoffs. “You deserve it. You hurt me first, Y/n. I don’t think you deserve anything good.” You look at him with sad eyes, staring as you wonder what he means by that, and Ari continues to stare back, waiting for a look of recognition to register in your eyes, but when it doesn’t. He tilts his head. “You really don’t know what you did, do you?” You shake your head. “You cheated on me, Y/n. I saw you.” He keeps his voice down, not wanting Jason to hear. “I thought you loved me, but you ripped my fucking heart out instead.”

You shake your head, tears brimming as you look down at the coffee mug between your hands. Ari chuckles, “And you won’t even fucking own up to it. Are you really going to act like you’re innocent here?” You look at him again, feeling confused.

“W–when?” You watch his mouth open and close as he glares at you. You walk around the counter and stand in front of him. “When, Ari? When did you see me cheat on you? When did you think I had the time to cheat? Hmm? Between my job? Or between coming home to the people I loved the most in the world? When did you see me cheat? When did you see me throw my life away?” You question, the lump in your throat becomes more prominent as you continue to ask.

Ari scoffs again, shaking his head. “You know when. That day at work a few months ago! I came to drop off some lunch, and there was the coworker you always told me not to worry about! He was leaning so fucking close to you, and you were fucking smiling!” You remember that day. You had begged in your head for someone to interrupt him. You never told Ari that you had felt uncomfortable around the man because he would’ve done something. But after that day, you wished you had. He didn’t hurt you but made it known that he was attracted to you, even with your ring glistening in the light. He kept telling you what he’d do to you if you were his, and you had only smiled because he said if you didn’t. You’d wish you had. He had threatened your family and you. When you had come home in desperate need of a hug… Ari had pushed away, and you had thought maybe he had a bad day. “Oh, yeah. You’re remembering it now, huh” You blink away the tears, missing the look that flashed through Ari’s eyes as he noticed the look on your face as if you had seen a ghost.

“Okay…” You swallow, “If that is what you want to think, then I’ll let you.” You look at him, giving a watery smile. “Because if you think I’d cheat on you, that’s on you.” You push the lump in your throat down, not wanting to cry in front of him again. You turn, heading through the house and to where Jason plays, kneeling next to him and giving him a soft smile as he hands a dinosaur over to you, and you play along, ignoring your ex, who stays in the kitchen, wondering why you looked like that when he mentioned that day. It was worse than if you had cheated on him as if something else had happened.

As the sun goes down, you press a kiss onto your son’s forehead, ready to say goodbye. “No, mumma! Stay, pwease!” You look at him with sad eyes, about to open your mouth to tell him you can’t, when you're interrupted.

“You can stay.” Your head turns, looking up at your ex. Ari shrugs, “It’s just one night, and I don’t think he’ll sleep if you leave.” You slowly nod, seeing Jason grin widely, snuggling into you.

“Movie?” Jason stares at you with wide eyes before looking over to his dad, pleading. Ari nods, and Jason cheers before running to the lounge, making sure to drag you along with him. He sits you down, cuddling into your side and whines when Ari goes to sit far away. He pats the spot next to him and smiles when his father obeys, sitting so close and making it feel somewhat like a family again. “Transformers!” As you hold your son close, you don’t notice Ari staring at you from his position. His eyes move down your face, taking in your features.

A few hours go by as you watch the movies, and your son’s breathing slows as he falls asleep. Leaving you and Ari to sit in a dark room quietly. “I didn’t cheat.” You whisper, seeing Ari’s head turn as he looks at you again. Your eyes stay focused on the movie playing on the screen. “I would never cheat. You are… You were the love of my life. The man I felt a spark the first time our eyes met.” You gulp, looking down at your son, running your fingers through his hair as he snuggles into you. Your voice is quiet, as you don’t want to wake him. “I remember the day you talk about, but not for the reason you think.” Your eyes slowly move from Jason’s head to Ari’s. “I never told you how horrible that man was because I knew you would’ve done something to him, and I never thought he’d get as bad as that day. You may have seen me smiling, but it wasn’t one of comfort. He told me that if I stopped, he’d hurt my family. That day…” You swallow the sob that threatens to leave. “That day, he told me everything he would’ve done to me if he had me instead. That day I came home needing someone to hold me, only to find a husband who would no longer talk to me. From that day, I stayed late until my boss could walk me to my car because I didn’t feel safe, and you weren’t there to answer your phone.” You press your hand that wasn’t running through your son's hair against your mouth, pushing the sobs back as you and Ari stare at each other, rage bubbling beneath.

You shake your head, closing your eyes as a tear falls. “That day, I needed you, and you were too busy thinking I would cheat on you.” You gain the courage to open your eyes, staring at his tear-filled ones. “Is this how we were supposed to end?”

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

496 notes · View notes

nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

Text

still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter one: thursday

summary: you, syd, marcus, and carmy return to where it all began: new york city, prompting you and carmy to think a lot about your past... and your future together. (four part series | follow-up to 'make my heart surrender)

warnings: lots of swearing, tooth-rotting fluff, use of she/her pronouns, the lightest of smut, no use of y/n, second person pov

word count: 5k

listen to: 91 - bleachers | now i'm in it - haim | bewitched, bothered, and bewildered - ella fitzgerald (playlist here)

a/n: re: the poll -- yall really said 'let this man be happy please!' and i love that for us. if you voted for the other fic, i want to reassure you that i will be writing that one right after this! please enjoy all of the fluff and joy of this four chapter fic. i also feel like i potentially robbed us of a smut scene so... anyone interested in a bonus smut scene as a companion to this chapter?

Thursday

“Alright, guys. We only have a few hours to get our day one prep done. I’ve outlined a schedule for today so that we’re as efficient as possible. Tomorrow’s gotta go smooth, alright?” Carmy instructs, laying out the day.

You listen intently, marveling at your boyfriend in-action. He’s so fearless when he’s in his element, and being back in New York just seems to bring back all the memories of how you met. It’s like you’re twenty seven again, huddling up for a pre-shift meeting, led by recently-promoted wunderkind CDC, Carmen Berzatto.

Only, you’re not twenty seven anymore and Carmy is the love of your life.

“I’m gonna start with the mise for our beef dish, so Syd, can you get working on our signature veal stock? I think we should work with one in the pressure cooker just in case we get short on time and have a back up,” Carmy directs, an intense determination filling his eyes.

He looks from Sydney to Marcus, before continuing his orders.

“Marcus, I need you to start on the ice cream today, chef. I ordered us some liquid nitrogen if we need to make more on the fly, but I’d really prefer not to.”

And then it’s your turn, and boy, do you love to watch him work. You have to fight the corners of your lips from curling into a broad grin because you know now is not the time.

“And lastly, I’m gonna have you work on the pasta. My goal is for us to get all of the agnolotti assembled today, so I’ll jump in when I wrap up with my mise to help you with that, yeah?”

“Heard,” the three of you answer in unison.

Everyone’s got their game faces on because this is a big deal.

The biggest, actually.

Representing The Bear at the James Beard House is more than a big deal – it’s an honor. Only a handful of chefs get invited to cook here per year, and after a little fancy footwork in terms of scheduling, the four of you were finally able to agree on a date with the famous organization. You’re more than elated to be a part of the team, even if you aren’t working at The Bear anymore.

The four of you quickly busy yourselves with setting up your stations. You only have a few hours to accomplish a whole lot of prep, and the pressure sits heavily on each of your shoulders. Tickets to the dinner had sold out within the first hour, which, after all the press, accolades, and media attention the restaurant had earned over the last few years, hadn’t been a huge surprise.

“Think you can keep up, chef? Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ rusty on me,” Marcus quips, already starting the playful trash talking early.

You let out a laugh, before challenging him in jest.

“Damn, Marcus. Hasn’t been that long. Bet I can still kick your ass on a ‘beat the clock’ mise, chef.”

“Oooooh. Shots fired,” Sydney calls out, joining in on your friendly banter.

“Challenge accepted,” Marcus shoots back, almost instantly.

And then you’re scrambling to get as many prep containers and a kitchen scale, as you race your friend and mentee, all in good fun.

You’ve missed this.

It’s only been a few months since you started your new job – a culinary education director at a startup intent on building more sustainable food systems. While your heart would always be at the restaurant, you’d been ready to take on new challenges. The salary pay and benefits didn’t hurt either. You were happy taking a grown-up job, craving a little more stability and normalcy – and so that you and Carmy could stop paying out the ass for health insurance. Besides, you were still working with food. It just looked… well, a lotta different these days.

You’ve missed the fast pace of the kitchen, your people, and Carmy’s desire for excellence, but it’s not like those things have left your life either. You still have them.

After you’d left the restaurant, Marcus had taken over as the head pastry chef. In the last few months, you’ve watched him mentor and inspire a new group of wide-eyed, green, chefs-in-the-making, which had made you prouder than you’d ever have the words for.

You can smell the sharp-allium scent of onions, as Syd quarters them for her stock, and while you have several cartons of eggs and 00 flour, Marcus has gathered all the milk that you’d just purchased for today’s prep.

“Behind,” Carmy says. He passes you by with a few 5 qt storage containers stacked, as he hugs them to his body with one arm.

You feel his other hand place the gentlest touch on the small of your back as he leans in and whispers in your ear, “It’s good to have you back, chef.”

You smile, turning your head just enough to lean back to look at him.

“It’s good to be back, chef.”

He presses the gentlest, slow kiss to your lips, and it feels like time stops for a moment. As he pulls away from you, there’s a small smirk on his face as Sydney shouts, “Oh get a room, you two!”

“If we had the time…” he murmurs quietly, planting one more soft peck onto your lips. His face is still only inches away from yours. You giggle in response, the tender moment filling your heart with warmth.

“Speaking of time… I just bought Marcus a head start,” Carmy teases, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize what he’s doing.

You pull away from him, your head snapping towards Marcus’ direction to see that he’s already filled a 5 qt container to its capacity with one portion of the milk.

“Seriously? Damn it, Carmy!” you cry out, shaking your head. “This is sabotage!”

You hear Marcus laugh in the background and as Carmy walks away with a cheeky feeling of accomplishment. You shake your head in disbelief.

“Sorry, babe. You can deal with a little hazing, yeah? Since you’ve been gone for so long. Gotta give my guy a head start. ‘S only fair.”

“You’re such a dick,” you scowl, scrambling to catch up.

Oh it is so on.

By the time you’re done with your day one prep, the four of you head to the hotel. Luckily, it’s only a five minute walk away, and you’re grateful that the James Beard Foundation chose to partner with one so close. The four of you pull your suitcases down the streets of Greenwich Village, before arriving at the luxurious, vintage-inspired hotel.

You’re eager to get up to your room, as you haven’t had a shower, nor a time to take a break since you all arrived.

“Woah…” Carmy says, his brilliant blue eyes scanning the high end hotel room. “You sure we can afford this?”

You chuckle, “I think uh… they have a partnership with the James Beard Foundation, which is the only way I can answer your question with a ‘yes’ without having to tell you that we have to sell an arm, a leg, and our first born.”

He shoots a half smile in your direction before letting out a whistle as he looks around. The floor to ceiling windows feel way outside of anything you could afford, as Carmy spots the French doors that lead right out onto a terrace. As you continue to explore the rest of the room, you spot a huge tub in the bathroom – something you’re very eager to take advantage of.

“Power nap?” you ask Carmy, setting down your suitcase in the middle of the room.

You’ll put your things away later.

“Fuck yeah,” he agrees eagerly.

You’ve barely put your book bag down before you’re both stripping off your jeans and climbing into the perfectly made hotel bed. After spending the morning traveling, you, Sydney, Marcus, and Carmy had gotten off the plane at JFK and gone straight to the James Beard House in Greenwich. Not only had Carmy been antsy to see the kitchen and get a head start on prep, you hadn’t been able to check into your hotel till this afternoon. You’re both spent, and you know that Carmy’s been running himself ragged preparing for this once in a lifetime opportunity. He hasn’t been sleeping all that well either– his thoughts consumed with nailing down the perfect menu, while paralyzed with indecision.

His quest for perfection had made him irritable over the last few days. You could see that the pressure was getting to him. His appetite was down, he was picking fights with you about small, unnecessary things at home, and pushing Sydney (sometimes a little too hard) at the restaurant.

But today, he seems a little more in control of his feelings, and it puts him a little more at ease now that you’re finally in New York. He knows he’s been driving you crazy all week, and now that you’re all here, he’s hoping he can relax a little.

Now that you��re here, in the city.

Now that the dinner is only a day and a half away.

You’re hoping he’ll slow down at some point too – give himself a little time to enjoy how big of an accomplishment this is. At least by the end of the weekend. Frankly, you’re glad you’ll have Saturday to enjoy the city without any pressure.

For all of your sakes.

You’re surprised that Carmy falls asleep with you during your late afternoon nap. He’s been so wired, so high strung lately, but you’ve just been waiting for him to come back down. Now that it seems like he is, there’s no way in hell you’re going to wake him up. You’re curled up together when you wake, your back pressed against his chest, his arms enveloping you. It feels almost impossible to pry yourself out of his arms without waking him up, but his deep slumber confirms your suspicions and you’re more than willing to let him continue sleeping. It takes a few tries to slip out of his embrace, but you do, and it’s off to the bathroom to get ready for dinner.

You try to make as little noise as possible, but by the time you're out of the shower, and your hair has been blown dry, Carmy’s up. You can hear the hotel TV on as you exit the bathroom and see he’s put his jeans back on. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You notice that the dark circles under his eyes that have accumulated over the years seem to sit heavier this week, as his eyes flicker over towards you.

“Damn, my girl’s got style,” he compliments, checking out your all black-ensemble. “We really are back in New York, huh?”

You nod, grinning at his sweet compliment, as you sit down to slip your white sneakers on.

“You meetin’ up with Liz and Maya tonight?” he asks you.

“Yeah. Syd’s gonna join for a bit before her thing. She should uh… be here any minute, actually.” You begin tying up the shoelaces of one of your shoes, before slipping the other one on.

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

“Nah I-, I'll see ‘em tomorrow right? But tell ‘em I say ‘hello’.”

“Of course. I think they’re both really looking forward to seeing you.”

You check the time on your phone making sure you have enough time, before you make your way to where Carmy sits on the edge of the bed.

“What’re you going to do tonight?” you ask, curiously, stopping so that your body is right in front of his.

“Well Marcus is staging at per se so… I’ll probably just hang out. Order room service or pick up a sandwich across the street. I wanna run through all this shit so tomorrow goes as well as it can,” Carmy answers, waving his notebook at you.

He’s like a man possessed, but it’s one of the many reasons you love him. You pull the notebook out of his hands tossing it somewhere on the bed behind you. You place your knees on each side of his hips, before settling down on top of him.

“Think you can relax a little tonight?”

He pulls you in, his arms moving over your hips. Carmy leans in, placing a small kiss against your glossy lips.

“Think you can help me with that?”

You giggle in response, twisting your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I think… that could be arranged.”

Before anything too spicy can happen, there’s a knock at the door and you know it’s Syd. Carmy groans as you pull away, falling back onto the bed with a sigh of defeat. You climb off of him, heading to answer the door.

“Hey, you ready?” Sydney asks, as you greet her.

“Yeah, let me just grab my phone,” you reply, stepping aside to let her in.

As she enters the hotel room, Carmy’s sitting up. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, he leans over, resting his forearms on his legs as he runs a hand through his messy curls.

Sydney looks from you to a somewhat pouty Carmy, as if she knows she interrupted something.

“Staying in tonight, Carm?” she asks him, as you gather your things.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, and you can’t help but notice how tired he looks.

Sydney rolls her eyes in response, “Don’t worry. I’ll have her back by nine.”

“Alright, I’m ready,” you say with a smile as you address Sydney.

“You guys have fun,” Carmy nods, with a half assed wave.

“Don’t work too hard, boss,” Sydney adds, as the two of you turn to leave. “Oh and Carmy. You’ve got a little…” She gestures towards the lipstick you’ve left on his face.

You laugh in response, and as you close the door, Carmy can hear Sydney’s ‘oh my god, you two are like rabbits’ comment in the distance.

Carmy allows himself to fall back on the bed, reaching above his head to grab his notebook again. He’s honestly grateful to have a night to himself. He’s never been much for going out, or big social events, so having a night in feels like a good kind of calm before the storm – especially because the next few days will be full of social interactions. He’d always found New York City a little overstimulating.

Between the dinner and the reception on Saturday, Carmy felt like he was collapsing under the enormous pressure – his only out being excellence. It’s not just the fact that being invited to cook at the James Beard house was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but there’s important business to announce here too. And then there’s the social aspect of it all, and he can’t help but feel like there are high expectations: from the food world, his reputation, your old friends from New York. And he wants to make everyone happy – he wants to impress them all.

Something about being back here, and being back here with you, has him caught up in his head about it all. This is where you’d met. It’s also where he’d been at his lowest – right before Mikey died. So much has changed, and Carmy feels too large for his old battlefield.

Because that’s what it had been for him: a battlefield.

A battle for his mental health, to rise to the top of the New York City fine dining scene, fighting with his feelings for you.

Over the last two years, he had learned that he didn’t have to fight every single damn day. Some days he could just… be – be himself, whatever the fuck that meant, be a friend, and be with you. It felt strange – familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Being back here makes him somehow feel like the total loser he was six years ago when he first arrived in NYC… and a completely different person at the same time.

While he was over the moon when he got the call from the James Beard Foundation, he also couldn’t fight this uncomfortable feeling that’s been sitting in his stomach all week long. Carmy had never quite been able to come to terms with the whole ‘celebrity’ aspect of the food world. He knew what he could do in the kitchen. That was unquestionable. But the rest of it – the networking, the celebrity chef circles – was the part he felt most unsure about.

Ever since Sydney’s Rising Star win, he’d let her take center stage with her rising visibility in the culinary world. Actually, he’d been grateful that she was so good at it – that it seemed like she enjoyed the part of the job he hated. There was someone to take the pressure off of him – someone who thrived in front of the camera so that he didn’t have to. But he knows at some point this weekend, he’ll have to face the music.

There were big changes coming to The Bear.

It didn’t take long after the initial introductions for your friends to fawn over Sydney. They were more than happy to meet your friend they’d heard all about, and the incredible chef who was shaking up the Chicago food scene.

“Well I’m glad to hear that some things have changed and that working with Carmy’s not a total nightmare any longer-?” Liz concludes your conversation about the restaurant, earning an eye roll from Maya and a laugh from both you and Sydney.

“Oh no it’s still tough sometimes,” Sydney says back. “He has his days. We all do.”

“Liz!” you protest, in regards to the Carmy-bashing.

“What?! You didn’t have to work directly under him back then!” she defends herself, before clarifying with Sydney. “And in his defense, Sydney, it was really our exec chef who was the real nightmare.”

“Oh she works directly under him, alright,” Maya jokes, raising an eyebrow at you.

“And sometimes on top of him, and also-,” you quip back, ready to play along.

“Oh my god, you’re out of control and I am sick of you!” Sydney exclaims with a laugh in reference to your crass comment.

“So tell us more about the new restaurant,” Maya prompts, refocusing the conversation back to Sydney’s previous reveal.

Sydney tells your friends about The Bear’s plans to expand, and shares ideas she has that even you haven’t heard from Carmy yet. As she wraps up her story, she realizes what time it is, meaning that she’s gotta head uptown soon. She really only was supposed to stay for a glass of wine, but meeting your friends has been so fun that she’s lost track of time.

“Shit. I have to head out,” she says. “But I’ve really loved meeting you guys. You’re coming to the dinner tomorrow night, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Absolutely.”

“And the reception!” you add gleefully, so glad you get to see your best friends three days in a row.

“It’s been really great meeting you, Sydney,” Liz says, shooting you a look of approval. She squeezes your hand under the table momentarily, before saying, “Thanks for taking care of our girl. She speaks so highly of you.”

“Where are you off to next?” Maya asks, excitedly.

“Syd’s got dinner plans,” you answer, waiting for Sydney to provide more detail.

“Yeah, I uh-, I got invited to one of the To Be Hosted events and it just worked out that we’d be in town for this the same weekend,” Sydney replies, a glimmer of excitement flashing through her eyes as she shares.

“Damn, you got invited to a supper club?” Liz marvels. “Okay!”

“Yeah because she’s a rockstar,” you cheer your friend on, saying it so matter of factly that even a stranger would believe you.

You all say your goodbyes to Sydney before ordering food. It feels so good to be back in the city, back here with some of your best friends. Maya and Liz had been the friends that held you up, and you them, when you lived here. While you had met Liz at your last job, a sous chef under Carmy’s leadership, Maya worked in fashion and the two of you had become fast friends after meeting through an ex-boyfriend. Once you introduced the two of them to each other, the three of you had been inseparable ever since.

They had always been your biggest cheerleaders – especially when it came to you and Carmy.

“She’s great,” Maya says, in reference to Sydney.

“Right? I’m so excited for her. This is a huge deal: create her own menu, a chance to run kitchen without Carmy…” you agree, feeling deep satisfaction over the amazing people you have in your life. “We’re announcing the big news at the dinner tomorrow.”

“Speaking of, how is our favorite guy? What’s he up to tonight?” Maya asks, guiding the conversation back to Carmy.

“I told him he could come but I think he wanted to stay in tonight. I think he needs some time to decompress. He’s been pretty high strung all week,” you answer.

“Carmy? High strung?” Liz asks back sarcastically, earning a laugh from you. “I’m kidding! I really am looking forward to seeing him tomorrow.

Maya shakes her head, before taking a sip of her glass of wine. She’s always adored Carmy, but knows that Liz has a different relationship with him, having worked as a line cook.

“You guys are… getting serious, huh?” Liz asks, glancing over at you.

“Um.. I think those two were married after their first coffee date,” Maya adds.

“It was not a date!” you insist, shooting her a look.

Liz lets out an unconvinced laugh, and you accept defeat because you know they’ve always been right about you and Carmy.

“Maya, don’t forget. Our girl is and has always been the Queen of Denial,” Liz adds, winking in your direction.

“Oh ha-ha. You guys are so funny,” you reply dryly. You nod, thinking about you and Carmy’s relationship over the last few years. “Yeah uh… it’ll be three years in the Fall so… you could say it’s getting pretty serious.”

Your friends are beaming back at you in response to your admission, and while you’d love to spend all night talking about how head over heels you are for Carmy, you’re also kind of ready to shift the attention off of you and your relationship.

“Enough about me. What’s going on with you guys?” you change the subject.

It feels so good to catch up with your girl friends. You all agree to make it an early night. While Maya’s husband had agreed to put their kid to bed, she wants to make it home in time anyways. Liz has a date later, and before you know it, you’ve wrapped up dinner and are walking back to your hotel. You send Carmy a quick text, because you’re only a few blocks away.

You: On the way back.

New York City has always been so inspiring to you. The city itself feels alive – like there’s an electric undercurrent that always makes you feel so full. There’s never a dull moment, and it feels as if the potential for a wild adventure is always around the corner. It’s also the place that you and Carmy met, all those years ago. It’s funny. The version of you that met him six years ago never could’ve predicted this: that you’d actually get to be here together, after almost three years of loving each other fiercely.

Your friends were and always have been right about you.

Back then, you were Queen of Denial and even then, Carmy had been your king.

But you’re here now: in the city you met in, stupidly in love with the man you’d met six years ago who had seemed terrified to merely have a conversation with you.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, interrupting your trip down memory lane, as you peek at the text you just received.

Carmy: Went out for a walk and a smoke.

You type back a quick, yet short reply.

You: Love you.

When you return to the hotel room, you enjoy the quiet of the evening. It still feels like spring in NYC, so you open a window because it just feels too damn good outside. No wonder he’d gone for a walk. You kick your shoes off, placing them gently by the door, before stripping off your jacket and heading into the bathroom.

As you pull your hair up and out of your face, piling it into one conglomerate on top of your head, you eye the large bathtub you’d admired earlier. Not only are you in need of a relaxing soak, but you’re hoping you can persuade Carmy to join you – maybe even help him destress a little. You don’t think twice about it, as you strip off all of your clothes, sliding on one of the fluffy robes that the hotel has provided. You flip on the hot water, the sound of rumbling water against tile hitting your ears.

There’s a bath soak in a glass jar that you find on the bathroom counter, before adding it to the increasingly hot water. While it looks like a mixture of some kind of soak and epsom salt, large bubbles begin to form underneath the rapid stream of the faucet, and you inhale deeply.

Lavender. Vanilla. Chamomile, maybe?

The smell puts you at ease and you can feel your shoulders melting away from your ears.

It’s not long before Carmy returns, the bathtub is almost at its capacity and the bath soak that you put in the hot water has bubbled up and blossomed into large, sudsy configurations. You’ve put on a jazz playlist, the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald filling the small space as you hum along.

“Babe?” Carmy calls out to you, as you hear the front door close behind him.

“I’m in here,” you call to him, turning the volume of your phone down a few levels. .

You hear a shuffle of shoes, before he’s peeking around the door frame, his eyes lighting up as soon as he sees you. He knows it’s silly. It’s not like he’s been able to be very present over the last week, and it begins to dawn on him that he’s missed you.

“How was your walk?” you ask softly.

“Good.”

He looks around the bathroom, the air thick with humidity from the hot water. You turn the faucet off, as you’ve now filled the tub to its capacity.

“You look comfy.”

“I am. It’s a very comfy robe.”

You wait a beat before preparing your ask.

“Big tub,” you entice him, gesturing towards the bubble bath that awaits you.

“Yeah?” he asks, a half smile on the edges of his lips as he takes a step towards you.

“Big enough for two,” you nod, making your case.

It’s all the convincing he needs. You’re removing your robe, leaving your bare body on display for him to see, and soon enough, he’s stripping down and climbing into the bathtub with you. You share an awkward laugh as the two of you clumsily figure out how to position yourselves for optimal comfort. Your back is pressed against his chest, and you’re truly in awe of the large bathtub that somehow holds the both of you.

It becomes progressively easier for Carmy to relax. Between the hot water, and your naked body pressed against his, thoughts and worries about tomorrow begin to slip away. The two of you enjoy the quiet intimacy between you, the soft sounds of your favorite jazz standards, and Carmy’s lazily dragging his fingertips across any bit of exposed skin that he can.

You lean your head back against his shoulder, and Carmy buries his face in the crevice where your neck and shoulders meet.

“Why don’t we do this more often?” he asks, in between leaving a few slow-paced, soft kisses across your shoulders.

“Hm?” you hum in response. From the way his mouth and hands move across your body, and the silky feeling of the hot water, you barely have a thought left in your head.

“This whole… bath thing,” he clarifies, exhaling a deep sigh.

This may be the most relaxed he’s felt all week and he likes that you seem to be enjoying this too.

“Probably because we have a tub that I can only assume was built for a small show dog,” you joke.

He laughs dryly.

“Fair enough.”

Carmy waits a beat before speaking again, enjoying how his mind has quieted for the first time in days.

“Let’s put it on the list… for when we’re ready to move to a new place,” he suggests, quietly.

“Somewhere with a big tub?” you ask, only sort of surprised by his request.

“Yeah.”

You turn your head to look at him, as Carmy presses a searing kiss to your lips. You feel his hand snake between your legs and you begin to understand exactly why he’s enjoying this whole bath thing.

“As much as I’m enjoying this…” he whispers against your lips. “Think you maybe want to get out of this tub…”

Another kiss.

“… dry off…”

You slide your tongue against his as his fingertips move higher up your inner thigh, earning a hiss of pleasure from you.

“…not put our clothes back on?”

And then he’s swallowing your moans in his mouth, as he continues his exploration. Your head is spinning, and it’s not just the hot water that makes you feel as if your soul was set aflame.

“Yes.”

The next morning, you wake up alone. On the bedside table there’s a note in Carmy’s scratchy handwriting that reads:

Couldn’t sleep. Went to Chelsea Market. Love you.

You let out a frustrated sigh. Last night had been incredible but you also knew it’d be back to the grind today. While you’re excited for him – and for tonight – you’re also kind of ready for this to be over. You’re ready to have your boyfriend back.

read: bonus smut scene | chapter two

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #make my heart surrender

579 notes · View notes

mushroommanstan · 2 years ago

Text

Mommy’s milkshake

College au tenko x reader

Warnings: mommy kink, duh, exhibitionism, dubcon kinda, cum in food

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

“Hey… p-pst, stop it! I mean it… s-stohaaah, stop iiit.” Tenko whispered desperately, his thighs quaking as you thumbed his slit. You didn’t listen though, no, you just kept driving him crazy while wearing that devious, grinch-like smirk that made him shudder.

You might be asking yourself: what’s going on? Why did Tenko of all people want you to stop playing with his dick? Well, it all started like maybe ten minutes before this, when you and him were walking past the entrance of the cafeteria on your way to the local game store.

You had insisted the both of you get snacks first, craving one of the chocolate milkshakes that were so heavily advertised around campus, to which he agreed mumbling about getting a panini or something.

You got your shake and joined him at the table he found. It wasn’t hard to find him, he was always given a generous amount of elbow room from his frightened peers. Immediately when you took your first sip, you realized something was off. It was just… bland. I mean, yeah, it was sweet but… that’s it. Where’s the bitter in of the chocolate? Where’s the salty of the… I don’t know, salt? It just-it should have more to it than just… sweet.

You scrunched your eyebrows in disgust, which Tenko noticed almost immediately. He took another bite of his sandwich before softly asking “was wong? Don’ like id?”

You could just barely make out what he was saying with the full mouth he had. You shrugged. “Eh.. it’s fine…”

You swirled the straw around in your drink, watching as the dark chocolate lines swirled and swirls until they faded beyond distinction and you were left with a tan brown surface. Then you took the straw out, watching as the blob of ice cream still one it started to sag in the open air, before placing the tip of your straw on your tongue and letting it fall into your awaiting mouth.

Tenko shifted uncomfortably, and seeing the movement in the corner of your eye you turned slightly to look at him, only to see a familiar blush adorning his features. You smirked, wrapping your tongue around the plastic tube then putting in your mouth and swirling it about. He whimpered. It was quiet, deadly quiet, and if you hadn’t been concentrating you would have missed it. But he whimpered.

You smirked, looking down at his lap and seeing what you had suspected. Full mast, just like that. You almost chuckled at the sight, heh, that Tenko and his libido. If you and him were the last ones on the planet he’d have the strength to repopulate the whole world single handedly you suspect. The amount of eager cum in his balls on a daily basis was a marvel of science. Which… gave you an idea actually.

With shaking hands, he returned to his sandwich, expecting that to be the end of it. So color him surprised when he felt a familiar hand groping his bulge. You wrapped your fingers around his bulge and stroked him from base to peak like a scammy claw machine continuously failing to pluck a toy from the mass. Or maybe like an octopus expanding and condensing at it swims. No, no the claw machine was a much better analogy. MOVING ON:

He nearly choked as you caressed his bulge, and his eyes darted around anxiously before settling at you, giving a pleading expression as if this wasn’t what he wanted. Silly boy, you can hear his panting and see his trembling from here. That, and he knew he could just say the safe word. But he wasn’t, was he?

You leaned over to his ear and whispered “Mommy’s milkshake is dreadfully bland. What say you help me give it some of your special flavor, hm? Be a good boy for mommy and I might just reward you tonight. Maybe I’ll use some of my special toys ‘n fill your cute little slutty hole to the brim~.”

His hips jumped at the thought and you chuckled softly. You licked the shell of his ear, making him shudder, before you continued. As you spoke, your fingers became harsher and harsher, now whole handedly squeezing his package and massaging it as he tries his hardest to hold in moans.

He shook his head rapidly, his pitch black curls slapping against his temples as he tried his darnedest to resist your temptations. “N-no!” He whisper yelled in between quiet moans. “No so-aah~someone wi-will, hah, see-mmn.”

Your hand stopped and he was ashamed how much he missed your movements despite his protests. “Is my Tenko seriously telling mommy no? That’s not good boy behavior. No, that’s not good boy behavior at all. Does mommy really have to punish you so soon?”

He shook his head, biting his lip tightly as you gave him slow, hard presses with your palm. “N-no mommy.” He whispered back. “I’m y-you’re good boy, I promise.” He gasped as your hand sped up again, now reaching for his zipper.

“Good.” You said. Then you were kissing his neck again, watching as his face got redder and redder, sweatier and sweatier. You leaned back to enjoy the sight of him, your little whore trying desperately not to cause a scene, before you leaned back in for one last comment as you reached down his pants, finally pulling his member out.

“Besides. Even if someone did see you, would that really be such a bad thing? Being known as the guy with a “not giving a fuck” attitude who gets jerked off in public by his super hot girlfriend? Doesn’t sound so bad to me. Cmon, let me be your trophy wife for you.”

He shuddered. Admittedly, when you put it that way, it does sound appealing. Lord knows his reputation is in the crapper as it is, so anything helps.

You were now properly pumping him, your hand going up and down his admittedly long shaft in practiced rhythm. He was oozing pre at this point, making good lube, and the wet slaps that followed were just barely overshadowed by the chitter chatter around you. Every downstroke you were graced with the feeling of his long, wiry pubic hairs tickling your pinky, a welcomed feeling that no doubt would unfortunately make your hand smell musky for the rest of the day.

His hand rose to his mouth, and he began biting his knuckle in the hopes of muffling himself while sinking lower and lower in his crappy plastic chair. You could tell he was getting close, so with one hand you popped the lid off your milkshake and snuck it under the table. His tip hit the rim, a little bit of the cold residue stuck to it making him hiss. But the feeling was soon forgotten as you sped up, licking your lips as you nearly drooled in thirst, thirst for his cum.

“Cmon baby. Cum for me. Cum for mommy.” You once again whispered, and he whined out slightly louder than before, eyebrows curved upwards in a pleading expression as his eyes fluttered shut. His hips were rising slightly, and you knew it was only just a moment till-

“N-nyaahah!”

A hot, thick rope of cum shot out of him, landing on your fingers and making you tsk. Your hand slowed to a more gentle pace as you milked him into your cup, whispering praises in his ear as he trembled. Like usual, there was a lot, and you felt as maybe 3 or 4 good ropes hit the walls of the cup before dribbling down into the brownish cream. When he was finished, you tucked his wang back in his boxers and even zipped his pants back up for him, smoothing out the wrinkles and leaving it looking like it hadn’t been disturbed.

He was a panting mess, hand dropping from his mouth limply and sweat dripping from his forehead. You, on the other hand, remained casual, popping the lid back on your drink then clicking your tongue at the mess made on your knuckles.

Noticing your dilemma, a peer of yours stopped in his tracks as he walked by, offering you a slightly crumbled napkin to help clean up what he assumed was spilled ice cream. “Here sweetheart.”

Agitated by the pet name, Tenko regained full consciousness, about to show this guy a lesson despite his boneless state before you stopped him, declining and instead opting to lick it off. You turned slightly to Tenko, making eye contact as your tongue followed the white trail on your finger, collecting it and bringing it to your mouth. He inhaled sharply, forgetting everything else as the random guy looked at you both confusedly, but in the end didn’t care and just walked off.

With your hand clean and your shake improved, you took a big sip and smiled at the new flavors. Sweet and salty, a little sour, a little bitter, and the nice musky flavor of him. Perfect.

It’s so good that, well, maybe you’ll have to do this again.

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

Tada! I did a fic! Yay…..

Idk why but lately my motivation has been poopy, so I’m sorry about that. But I hope y’all liked this. Sorry if I made this a little more “mommy” than usual hehe.

#shigaraki tenko #my hero academia #shigaraki fanfiction #my hero academia shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #boku no hero academia tomura #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki smut #college au shigaraki #tenko smut

375 notes · View notes

ablinkntime · 3 months ago

Text

"Remind me never to tick you off." Grinning, Clarice waved a dismissing hand at the rubble. "Well, Molly. Since there's not much can be done about the hole until somebody figures out it's there, what d'you say to a snack? Pretty sure somebody left some beignets in the kitchen..."

"I mean... Not as hard as I could have. I punched a skrull over the top of a building before." She shrugged, feeling a bit relieved that she wasn't going to get immediately in trouble. "I'm Molly. My friends call me Mol. Sometimes I've been called Bruiser, but that's hurtful 'cause I've told people to call me Princess Powerful."

#ic ⧫ yeah. that's me. miss marvel #powerfulprincessmolly #v: earth-616

16 notes · View notes

wonderjanga · 2 months ago

Text

Sharing Can in Fact Lead to Caring

Sometimes Billy doesn’t need Solomon. Sometimes, Billy just says whatever that comes off the top of his head, it can be surprisingly helpful at times. (Billy doesn’t realize most of them are just coming to their dad figure for advice)

Such as the time Wonder Woman came to him concerned about time dilation. When Solomon explained what that meant, he had a pretty good idea of what she was talking about. Basically, she was worried about the afterword of the Justice League and her friends and how she would outlive them all. He brought her ice cream and they talked it out. In a way, he supposed he understood her. Billy couldn’t remember his mom or dad’s faces or personalities. He only had Captain Marvel to go off of and he guesses Mary, but she looks more like a young version of their mom. In the end, after much talking and trying to show he understands her worries, she seemed to be doing better.

Then, there was a talk with J’onn. The Martian had confided in not feeling at home with the humans. Not that he blamed him. J’onn had lost his home. So, Billy talked with him. Again, sort of relating. The way the Martian described missing his planet, reminded Billy of how he’d missed his parents. By the end of the talk, the Martian seemed to feel a little lighter after it.

Then, there was this kid.

Little Girl: *sitting on a bench alone*

Marvel: “Hey there, miss. Where are your parents?”

Little Girl: *stares* “There not here.”

Marvel: “Why’s that?” *sits down next to her*

Little Girl: *shrugs*

Marvel: “Well, then do you have any guardians?”

Little Girl: “I think so, but I don’t really like her. She’s mean. I don’t think she likes me or my foster siblings.”

Marvel: “Oh? You’re from foster care?”

Little Girl: *hesitantly nods head*

Marvel: “And I’m guessing you ran away?”

Little Girl: *nods again* “Are you going to tell on me?”

Marvel: “No. I ran away from my foster homes all the time.” *shrugs, doesn’t know why he’s saying this but might as well go with it*

Little Girl: “You did?”

Marvel: “Yeah. They were all terrible. And the ones that weren’t terrible were just neglectful.”

Little Girl: “What does neglectful mean?”

Marvel: “It means not paying attention to something. Like for example, I had this foster parent who would go days without coming home, leaving me and the other kids to have to feed ourselves. She wasn’t paying attention to us or our needs.”

Little Girl: “That’s sad.”

Marvel: “Yeah, it is. So, why did you run away from your foster home?”

Little Girl: “The lady who adopted me throws stuff when she gets mad. She’s mad a lot.”

Marvel: “That sucks. I had a foster home like that too. He would throw a bottles, forks, books, whatever he could get his hands on.”

Little Girl: “You did? Did you think it was scary?”

Marvel: “Yeah.”

*silence*

Marvel: “You know, a friend of mine got adopted recently.”

Little Girl: “Really?”

Marvel: “Yeah, he’s been with them for about half a year now. He says they’re great. They’ve been fostering kids for a while apparently too.”

Little Girl: “That sounds nice.”

Marvel: “It is. Do you want me to ask about it?”

Little Girl: “Huh?”

Marvel: “Do you want me to ask him if there’s any spots open?”

Little Girl: *stares for a bit* “Yeah.” *stomach growls*

Marvel: “Alright, then I will. Now, how long have you been on the streets?”

Little Girl: “Oh uhm… a couple days.”

Marvel: “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.” *stands up*

Little Girl: “Really?” *hops off the bench*

Marvel: “Yeah. You feeling chili dogs or tacos? Those are the only two vendors I know that’ll give me something free.”

Little Girl: “Tacos, please.”

Marvel: “Alright then- uh, my bad. I never asked your name?”

Little Girl: “Oh uhm it’s Darla.”

Marvel: “Darla? Alright then Darla.” *fatherly ahh smile* “Let’s go get you some food, ‘kay?”

So ya. He met Darla. She’s a sweet kid. He would need to ask Freddy more about the Vazquez situation. Hopefully, just hopefully, they could squeeze the little girl into their family.

Also, uh… I guess in this AU, Freddy met the Vazquez and got adopted because he went back into foster care for a bit for whatever reason. There, he got adopted into the family. Darla joins after him for this post to work.

#billy batson #dc captain marvel #shazam #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett comics #fawcett #j’onn j’onzz #martian manhunter #freddy freeman #darla dudley #wonder woman #diana prince

502 notes · View notes

ablinkntime · 3 months ago

Text

@mouthymercx0x0 replied to your post “"How about no!"”:

"Don't make me come off there and kiss you and touch ya ears."

"Kisses are fine but the ears are off limits unless you're gonna follow through."

#mouthymercx0x0 #ic ⧫ yeah. that's me. miss marvel #dash shenanigans #( HER EARS ARE SENSITIVE SHHH )

12 notes · View notes

aphroditelovesu · 2 years ago

Text

(no longer updated)

masterlists || rules and fandoms list || wip’s list || prompt’s lists || love letters || disclaimer: some of my works may have nsfw content in addition to the yandere genre. if you are sensitive to these topics, I recommend not reading.

⤷ genre: yandere/dark au.

✿.｡ requests are CLOSED/asks and concept are always open.彡 rules and fandoms 彡 emoji prompt list 彡 prompts list 彡 kinktober 2023 masterlist 彡 wip’s list: I, II, III, IV, V ✿.｡

⤷ BTS : 💜

⤷ BLACKPINK : 🖤

⤷ ITZY : 🧡

⤷ Stray Kids : 💙

‘‘Love you so bad, love you so bad, mold a pretty lie for you.’‘

⤷ Greek Mythology : ⚡

⤷ Egyptian Mythology : 𓂀

⤷ Historical Characters : 📜

‘‘We are the lovesick girls, you can’t just end this love on your own.’‘

⤷ The Vampire Diaries/The Originals : 🧛

⤷ House of the Dragon : 🐉

⤷ Game of Thrones : ❄️

⤷ The Sandman : ⌛

⤷ Outlander : 🗿

⤷ Wednesday : 🎻

⤷ Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir : 🐞

⤷ Brooklyn Nine-Nine : 👮‍♂️

⤷ Bridgerton : 🐝

⤷ Shadow and Bone : ☠️

⤷ Outer Banks : 💰

‘‘Yeah, we were born to be alone but why we still looking for love?’‘

⤷ Percy Jackson : 🌊

⤷ Harry Potter : 🔮

⤷ A Court of Thorns and Roses : 🌹

⤷ A Song of Ice and Fire : 🔥

‘‘Love it’s so mad, love it’s so mad, trying to erase myself and make me your doll.’‘

⤷ Attack On Titan : 🗡

‘‘I’m the one I should love in this world.’‘

⤷ Marvel : ۞

‘‘I finally realized so I love me, not so perfect but so beautiful.’‘

‘‘Dearest (Y/N),

We are very happy to hear that you are back with us. It's been so long since we could hold you that we even forgot the feeling. We missed you during your absence and were almost worried to death when we learned of your disappearance. You almost had us dead! Don't ever do it again or you'll see the consequences and you know they won't be good. Or will they be? Only time will tell.

For now, we'll just leave you this letter as a reminder. But don't worry, you have a lot of letters to read and more will follow. We will send them with all the passion of a writer completely in love with its muse.

With love,

Your yanderes completely in love with you.’’

⤷ Love Letters : 💕

⤷ Love Letters II : 💕

‘‘Don’t you know that you’re toxic?’’

Thank you all so much for the kind comments and for supporting my writing despite my english not being the best. I love you all! ❤️ All the best to you guys and stay hydrated!!

₊˚.✦*:･there a̶r̶e̶✧乀✿one of☆˚˖੭ those days•.꒰˖days whe̶n̶ I✧ৎ⋆s u d d e n t l y feel♡.*⊱all a̶l̶o̶n̶e̶❛ ━ :❘❘↴when i feel˘.+*✦like I d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ !¡❞♕‵̤ belong anywhere.:✧°whenever t̶h̶o̶s̶e̶ days°⊹come, you+tell⋆̥˚̣̣̣͙❞me❀⊰｡how p̶r̶e̶c̶i̶o̶u̶s̶ i am▾₊˚i become a.✩*⊹very special me₊˚.*:you make m̶e̶˘.+*feel s p e c i a l¸*.❀

⤷ cited songs: Fake Love ;; Lovesick Girls ;; Epiphany ;; Toxic ;; Feel Special

#masterpost #masterlist #masterlists #wip #wips #rules #fandoms #yandere #yandere au #love letters #yandere love letter #emoji #emoji prompt #lists #emoji prompt list #prompt list #prompts list #kinktober

179 notes · View notes

ablinkntime · 27 days ago

Text

"Oh you'd hate Cartusia, then," she said with a little snicker. "Probably Florida, too. It's not just hot, it's humid hot. Probably too much for a fuzzball, however cute."

open | mutuals only

“I’m naked.”

“Und I’ve been naked all weekend, too hot for clothes. This heat wave is ridiculous and I’ve showered many times already.”

#ic ⧫ yeah. that's me. miss marvel #bothsidesofaquestion

13 notes · View notes

lucaaazd · 7 months ago

Text

Reibert bus shenanigans part 2. Read part 1 here. Anyways START SCENE

“Stay cool, stay cool,” The blond boy clutched the back of a seat, “All we gotta do is take the bus the other way, right?”

Bertolt was inconsolable. Take the bus the other way? What’s he talking about? He had no money. Why couldn’t Dad have given him a metro card with more than one ride on it? He cussed himself for losing his student pass in a school toilet on Taco Tuesday. He’d had too much beans and rice and was eager to leave the crime scene in case the next person who used the bathroom linked his presence to the radioactive stench. Being caught stinking up the already disgusting boys’ bathroom would be his social death, although to be honest he was getting there without the help of a poopy reputation. There’s no way he’s getting back home. Fluorescent street lights flew past the windows in a bright, ghostly arch, illuminating the run-down, industrial cityscape. Bertolt had only been to Queens twice to visit his family friends, the Galliards’. They lived in a three-story house with an overgrown backyard and chain link fences, and Bertolt had marveled at how much bigger everything was there. The streets were wider, the gas stations enormous, miles of parking garages the size of malls overlooked the highway. The highway. “We’re literally on the highway!” Bertolt sobbed.

“Eh, yeah,” the other boy agreed, “Hm,” he looked down at his feet, any residual pompousness evaporated.

“What’s wrong, darlings?” Squeaked an old woman with a walker. They had caused quite a scene. Bertolt went bright red, “Eh, nothing.”

“Dear me, you lads seem quite young to be taking the bus all by yourselves,” the lady said, “How old are you kids?”

“13,” said the blond kid, puffing up his chest.

“12,” Lied Bertolt. He was turning eleven in a week and a half.

“Oh my,” the woman stood up with difficulty, her shriveled arms shaking like mad above her walker, “Not lost, are you?”

Bertolt looked around quickly and registered the fact that they were the only people on the bus. “No,” both boys said at the same time and looked at each other, flabbergasted. “Hold on,” Bertolt remembered something, “Where’s your phone?”

“Right here,” the boy waved his ginormous iPhone twelve with its Spider-Man case and four cameras.

“Oh,” a hint of resentment flashed through Bertolt, “Can you look up where we are?”

“Eh, no.”

“Why?” Resentment quickly festered into annoyance.

“It’s dead,” said the kid, “Where’s your phone?”

Oh. Duh. “Dead,” said Bertolt bashfully.

“Why didn’t you charge it before you left?” The boy prodded.

“I did,” Bertolt felt defensive, “it’s old.”

“I saw you watching Ice Spice.”

“Hey!” Said Bertolt, “it’s none of your business. Why were you spying?” He bit back.

“You were playing it from your phone really loud. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

“No I wasn’t. I had my headphones in,” gasped Bertolt.

“Guess you didn’t charge your headphones either,” the annoying new boy shrugged.

Bertolt turned scarlet. So the whole bus could hear him. Great. Everyone probably thought he was a little weirdo.

“I don’t blame you. She’s hot,” said the other boy with a longing look. Bertolt’s ears started burning. “Barbie World is a really good song, okay?” he stuttered.

“Sure,” the kid towered over him, waggling his eyebrows, “You totally don’t wanna ‘undress her everywhere’.”

“Ew!” Bertolt protested.

“I wish she had more melons,” his eyes began to cross, “The things I would do to them…”

Bertolt felt extremely uncomfortable, “Please stop. Seriously.”

“I’m Reiner, by the way,” the boy snapped out of his daze with a sheepish smile, “What’s your name?”

“Bertolt,” Bertolt answered reluctantly, bracing for taunts.

“Burger?” Reiner repeated.

“Bertolt,” Bertolt said a little louder.

“Okay Birdsack,” said Reiner, “Let’s get off this fucking bus.”

Bertolt gasped at his audacity. He was disliking the boy more by the minute. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“So,” Reiner whistled, jumping up and hanging onto the bar with one hand, “let’s - wait.”

“I think,” said Bertolt apprehensively, “We might be waiting for a really long time.”

Before Reiner could respond, bus driver barked, “No swinging!” It caught Reiner off guard and he fell right into a pole. “Ow!”

Bertolt watched with little sympathy as the older boy clutched his right knee, hopping on one foot with a pained expression.

“Easy love,” the nice lady with the walker cooed over Reiner, “Want to get off the bus, you said?”

Bertolt nodded furiously. The lady smiled and pointed at a red button next to her head that spelled “STOP” in all cap. She pushed it and a “ding!” issued from the speaker. “Stop requested,” it announced.

“That’s it?” Bertolt said in disbelief.

“Never took the bus before?” The woman grinned toothlessly.

Bertolt stared around him like he’d never taken a proper look at the inside of a bus before. Now that he’s paying attention, there were indeed red buttons everywhere that said “STOP”. The answer was right in front of him this whole time. Bertolt wanted to slap himself. It’s true that he didn’t take the bus very often. Mom didn’t like them. She said it was a vertigo thing, plus they came rather sporadically. Bertolt’s mother was a career woman with very short patience and had sworn off the bus due to the one time they had to wait an hour for the M4 after her meeting at a partner hotel on the East Side. Bertolt had to listen to her rant about how disorganized and inefficient the MTA was as a company and in a lower voice, how rude the bus driver was when her card kept declining. Bertolt tuned out the rest as usual by thinking about that cute girl in his social studies class. He must have had a faraway look in his eyes because his mom had grabbed him by the ear seconds later, hissing at him to pay attention. “Well, there, that’s your stop, young man,” the old lady pointed at the back door.

The bus had come to a stop, sending Reiner crashing into the seat in front of him. “Come on,” Bertolt thought about lending him a hand but instead tucked both into his pockets.

“Okay,” Reiner grimaced as he followed Bertolt to the door. For a moment, they both stared at the glass screen, unsure of what to do.

“Touch the yellow tape to open door,” the same robotic voice from earlier said. Bertolt pushed the yellow strip and the double doors folded aside. “Thanks, ma’am!” Bertolt muttered before hurrying off the bus.

“Good luck, kids!” Said the woman, waving at them from the window, “The other bus is across the street!”

Indeed, the desolate, dimly lit little bus stop stood twenty feet before them. Bertolt looked both ways to make sure no car was coming before crossing the road in a jog. “Wait up, Borgat,” Reiner called after him, panting. Remembering that he had fucked up his leg earlier, Bertolt felt like an asshole. He turned around and reluctantly lent Reiner a shoulder, which the other boy clung onto for dear life. Together they wobbled to the sad little bench in front of a Viagra ad. Bertolt studied the twin cups with a curious expression. “Those don’t work,” said Reiner expertly, wincing as he eased himself down onto the bench.

“I don’t get why you can’t just get more toothpaste,” said Bertolt.

Reiner looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“What?” Bertolt shot back.

“Nothing,” said the other boy.

They watched the scarce traffic go by the poorly lit street. “How do we know when the bus is coming?” Bertolt wondered out loud.

“Dunno,” Reiner shrugged, “Oh, I think you can text a number.”

“Great!” Bertolt clapped his hands together, “Let’s text the number.”

Awkward silence hung in the air. “Or,” Reiner coughed into his hand, “We just wait.”

They waited for what felt like fifteen minutes, during which Bertolt adamantly avoided eye contact with the other boy. He distracted himself by thinking about Annie, whose number he acquired last week during recess after half the boys in his class egged him on. They had looked shocked when he came back with ten digits scribbled on the palm of his hand and no bruises anywhere. “No way,” one of them held Bertolt’s hand like it was a piece of important evidence at a crime scene, “it’s probably fake. She’s messing with him. Let’s call it after school.” The same boy’s jaws were slack when she actually picked up later that day, sounding bored as ever. She’s the coolest. She wore her hair down yesterday and Bertolt found himself not so casually staring at her the whole period, earning himself a few extra head smacks from Mrs. Mcleod. For some reason Mrs. Mcleod had decided to dress code Annie as soon as class was over, and she returned from the principle’s office wearing an ugly wrinkly school T-shirt that said “MSC” instead of the blue tank top. She was still cute when she was fuming.

“What’s with that smile?” Reiner’s voice snapped him back into an Annie-less reality, “Thinking about Ice Spice again?”

How dare he make such a vile allegation? “No!” Bertolt bellowed.

“Chill. I have a proposal,” said Reiner.

Bertolt waited for him to continue.

“You see that deli over there?” Reiner gestured behind them at the sketchiest looking deli Bertolt had ever seen, its narrow doorway lit up beneath the man-sized Viagra bottle. “Let’s see if we could charge our phones there.”

“I don’t have a charger. Or money,” Bertolt worried.

“Me neither,” said Reiner in a mock sing-songy voice, “I could use some Taki’s though.” He made to get up and Bertolt had to try and stop him, “But your leg! Plus, I have a feeling we shouldn’t go in there.” Bertolt eyed the men hanging out outside the shop, smoking cigarettes with their backs against the graffitied walls.

“Fine, you wait here then,” Reiner pushed Bertolt’s hand away and strode towards the deli.

“Wait up! Don’t leave me here alone,” Bertolt whined. When Reiner didn’t answer, he gritted his teeth and followed the older boy.

END SCENE

#aot #attack on titan #reibert #reiner braun #bertolt hoover #annie leonhart #RBA

13 notes · View notes

antigone-ks · 4 months ago

Text

Lantern of Evil, Chapter Ten

MARVEL MASTERLIST

READ CHAPTER NINE

Chapter Ten: Autumn in New York Brings the Promise of New Love

It's autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love/ Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain

____________________

“Captain Rogers, why is this lady – are you all right, miss?”

“I’m fine,” you say, sniffling into Steve’s shirt. “Thank you; I’m fine. This is just . . . it’s a very moving piece of art.”

The docent stares doubtfully at Joan. “Okay . . . well, take your time with . . . all of this.”

You sit up straight, wiping at your eyes. Steve hands you a handkerchief and keeps one hand on your back, not patting, just resting there like he needs to keep touching you.

“Do – do you maybe want to go somewhere else to talk? Or we can stay here, if you want. If you want, I’ll . . . I’ll do anything you want.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. Should you give him the handkerchief back now, or wash it first? What is the etiquette of handkerchiefs? You really should have spent more time on social history. “Sorry, I thought meeting in public would stop me doing, uh, this,” you say, gesturing broadly.

“It’s okay. Um. Do you want to go home? Or to my – to the compound?”

“No!” It comes out louder than you’d intended. “My house?”

“Did you walk today? I can –“

“I drove.” You don’t seem capable of multisyllabic words. Maybe the few minutes’ drive will improve your vocabulary.

He walks you to your car, hand ever-present at the small of your back. You want to ask him to move it, to not touch you so familiarly, like he has any right to. But you also want to lean into him, to feel his arm slide around your waist the way it used to. You want to lean your head against his chest again, to feel his heart beating. Grant’s heart was always a little fast, a little strong, trip-trapping wildly against his ribs. You’d been too focused on his voice to notice before, but you imagine Steve’s would be slower, steadier, healthier. That’s good, you think, it’s good he’s not going to keel over. It’s good he’s healthier. It’s good he’s who he wants to be.

You’ve already pulled into traffic before your treacherous brain asks and do you think he’ll still want you now?

He looks so big in your living room. It’s not a small room; this is an old house and the ceilings are ten feet and even though you know he’s not really that big, he gives off the impression that a deep breath would bust out the walls. It’s probably just the comparison to Grant; even though he’d only been here once, he’d left kind of an impression on the place.

You still think of them as two different people.

You avoid looking at his eyes. You’d prefer not to cry again.

He keeps touching you, standing too close, acting proprietary. You know it’s just . . . he did all these things as Grant, and you never objected, but he doesn’t have the right anymore. You can’t just pick up where you left off, if he even wants to.

He’s right next to you as you pour the iced tea; you almost bump him when you turn around.

“Stop looming,” you say, and he looks startled and sheepish. “Go sit down.”

He takes the sofa, the same spot where you’d ridden him with his mouth on you the last time he was here. You know the instant he realizes; the tips of his ears turn pink and he drops his gaze, hunching his shoulders a little.

You settle into the armchair and ponder how to start this. He scoots over to the side of the sofa that’s closer to the chair (and farther from the scene of the crime).

“So,” you start, faltering when he looks at you with those eyes. “How did this . . . all happen?” Of course, with his job – “I mean, what are you able to tell me?”

He considers for a moment. “Lab accident.”

“Lab accident? That happens often?”

He shrugs. “Hardly ever.” You must look as nonplussed as you feel – Avenger-shrinking accidents ‘hardly ever’ happen? WTF? – because he chuckles a little. “They’re usually not . . . I mean, this has never happened before.”

“Shouldn’t they have, like, kept you under wraps? It seems like sensitive information, that you can just stop being Captain America.” For the first time, you think about what could have happened to him, what someone might have done to him if the word had gotten out, and your stomach clenches with horror. “What if – “

“Hey, no,” he reaches toward you, then carefully folds his hands back into his lap. “I mean, yes, it would have been a disas – it would have been unfortunate – and yeah, I was supposed to stay in the compound, but . . . Guess I went stir-crazy. And I’d never really been to the museum before; they did an exhibit of art from the War –” you can hear the capital W “– and they asked to use a couple of my drawings, but I’d never been to just look around.”

He peeks up at you through his eyelashes, and it’s so familiar your chest hurts. “And the first time I went, I saw you.”

“And, what, you just had to meet me?” you snort, because that is patently ridiculous. “’Cause I was looking so fine in my June sweat?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “And I liked how you looked at the art.” You give him a skeptical look. “Not like you had a list, you know – Dürer: check; Rembrandt: check. You were so focused on that Hamilton, of all things. You made me want to look at it, too.”

“Well.” You’re quiet for a moment. “Sorry about that.”

“You should be,” he says, sternly.

You very tentatively smile at each other for the first time since this all went to hell.

“I shouldn’t have talked to you in the first place,” he says.

Well. That’s an icy dose of reality.

He sees your face fall and starts rambling, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I didn’t think you’d be so . . . I thought it’d be safe, that I wouldn’t need to talk to you again, but then you were . . . and I then I thought, well, we could be friends and then after I got fixed we might – I mean, you’d never want to be with me like that, so – and Nat said you’d think I was just fooling around and she was right, and I hate when she’s right about things like that, she gets this look – but she’s been real good about it this time –“

“Wait, this time, how many times have you faked your identity to hook up with women?”

“Just this once. Wait, no –“ He does grab your hands this time, before you even realize he’s moving, and he won’t let go. “I need you to believe me. Even if you don’t . . . I never wanted to sleep with you. No, shit, wait –“ you’re trying to tug away; this is so much worse than you thought it would be. “I did want to sleep with you, but not just, I mean, I really liked you, I . . .”

Did. Liked. Past tense. Once he gets his conscience clear, he’ll be long gone, and who can blame him. He’s Captain America, and you’re . . . not much, by comparison. Not anything.

And he's not Grant.

But you make yourself smile, and let him hold your hands. “I know. You were right; it wasn’t fair of me to say it, that night.”

“No, I – I handled everything wrong. I can’t even imagine what you were thinking. Except - except for the parts you said. It’s just . . .” he squeezes your hands again, rubs his big thumbs over the backs of them. “You called me Grant.”

“Well. I mean.”

“No, I know. I just couldn’t – you deserved to know. I couldn’t . . . do what we were doing when I was lying to you.”

“Oh.” Your heart swells and breaks, swells and breaks again. That’s sweet. He is a good man, really. He’ll be really good to someone else. And there goes your idiot face, leaking again. “Thank you?”

“And you said you loved me.”

Oh, of all the fuckshit times to remember something like that.

You pull your hands away and scrub at your face. “Yeah, but. It’s not. Like, you don’t have to . . . You can just forget I said that, if you want.”

He stills in his rambling, eyes shuttered. He sits back, rubs his hands along his jeans. “Heat of the moment?” he asked, sounding like he means to be casual.

You could slap him for that. How dare he trivialize that moment, those words? You loved him, you still love him, or love who you thought he was.

“I just mean, I don’t expect anything from you,” you say, far more calmly than you feel. You can sense his gaze on you, and when you look up his jaw is tight and his eyes are hard. You shift uncomfortably. “So, yes, I meant it. I did mean it, but now you’re all of this again,” you gesture to him, “And I understand that you don’t feel the same and, I mean, you’ve got a lot better options now anyway,” you say, trying to keep your tone light as it thuds to the ground.

His voice is dark and clipped. “So you think I only went for you because I didn’t have other options.”

“That’s not what I said. I know you had options.” Of course he had; Grant was so handsome, and thoughtful, and funny; didn’t he notice the looks women gave him?

“That’s what it sounds like.” He stands – this is it, this is the last time you’ll see him, and he’s angry. He’ll only remember being angry with you.

“Then why’d you waste your time on me in the first place, when you could have been with anyone else?” It’s a cruel thing to ask, but you can’t decide if you mean to be cruel to him or to yourself.

“I wasn’t looking for anyone else,” he bites out.

“Why not?” you cry, and you both look shocked at it.

“Because I loved you,” he says quietly. “Because I love you.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath.

“Oh.” His words start to penetrate your distraught mind. “Wait, what?”

***

Steve’s heart breaks just a little. Well, a little more than it was already broken. How could you not know?

Aside from lying to her for months and then confessing at just the worst moment – or maybe the second-worst; after doing the deed would probably have been worse – and then losing your temper and almost walking out and also never actually telling her – yeah, Steve, why doesn’t she know you love her?

“I knew I loved you that day on the bridge. I think I felt it before, but that’s when I knew.”

You’re just staring at him, tears spilling down your cheeks. Your eyes are turning red and puffy, your face has gone splotchy, and he thinks you’re so lovely.

Steve moves closer and holds out his hand, tense with worry that you won’t take it. He knows you don’t like him touching you anymore; it makes sense to him, really it does – he abused your trust and won’t get it back quickly. He can be patient . . . and then you reach for him and he stops breathing.

There’s something so fragile in your eyes, hope and disbelief together. He speaks quickly, before you can pull away. “You saw me. You looked past that scrawny little guy and saw me. And somehow you decided you wanted me, in spite of –“

“No." He freezes, searching your eyes. "Not in spite of. I didn’t look past the little guy. I liked the little guy. He’s funny, and smart, and he made me feel special. There was nothing to look past.”

His heart swells. God, this woman. “Can you . . . would you give a big guy a chance to make you feel special again?”

You’re quiet for a moment, and his chest seizes up. “Yes,” you say, slowly. “But we have to start over, or at least back up a few steps.”

He wants to dance. He wants to sweep you into his arms, but that’s probably several steps faster than you're ready for. “We’ll go as slow as you need. I’ll do anything, I promise, anything, to rebuild your trust.” He looks down at your hands, still entwined. Everything he wants to do is too much, right now. He settles for squeezing your hand and smiling a little crookedly. “Do you want to . . . Can we maybe – I mean, if you don’t want to, but – do you want to sit down? We could just . . . talk, if you want. I guess you probably have some questions."

"I really do," you say, and squeeze his hand back, making his heart flutter. "But right now, could we just . . . I don't know, I don't want to get into all of that right now. I've cried enough lately." Steve winces as you continue. "Let's just do something normal. Let's . . . what would we be doing if none of this happened?"

"You could tell me about your day. We could watch TV."

You chuckle. “Watch tv with my boyfriend like a normal person? I could do that.” He smiles and lets you pull him toward the sofa. You look up sharply. “Uh, I mean, if you want to be that. We don’t have to use that word.”

“We can use that word,” he says. He loves that word. “If I can call you my girlfriend.”

You smile, genuinely, and Steve relaxes into the sofa cushions. “I guess you can do that.” His girlfriend settles next to him, your little hand soft in his. He gives you another little squeeze, just to see if you’ll return it again, and his stomach wobbles when you do. He has no clue what’s on the television; his whole focus is on the warmth of your body next to his, not quite touching, except your hands, but closer than you’ve been in weeks.

He’s going to be bold.

No, nope, he’s going to ask first like he's got two working braincells.

“Can I put my arm around you?” he whispers, elated when you look up at him, blushing, and nod. He carefully settles his arm behind you and pulls you just a little closer. It feels . . . different than before. You don’t fit the same, but it’s still good.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” But your shoulders are tight, your breath a little too shallow.

“Are you sure? You’re stiff. Like the first time I put my arm around you.”

“You mean the time you walloped me in the back of the head, or the time after that?” He hangs his head, smiling ruefully. “This is the first time, though.” Steve looks confused, and you plunge ahead. “The first time you put your arm around me. Not . . . I guess not the first time for you, but it’s the first time I have had Steve’s arm around me.”

He knows it’s unreasonable to feel annoyed, he knows this, he knows, but his arms know you so well, they ache to hold you. "It was always Steve's arm, though." He tries to laugh, but his throat is tight. “Same person, better package."

You make a face. “Don't say . . . ok, I know that in my head.” He waits. “In my body, it kind of . . . feels like I’m cheating on Grant.” You bury your face in your hands. “I’m sorry, I know that’s ridiculous, but. It’s just.” You turn toward him, eyes pleading for him to understand. “I got used to how Grant – how you – felt, and now it’s different. Your shoulders used to be here” – you poke him in the sternum – “and now they’re all the way up here. I can’t even put my head on your shoulder. Your arm is so big now; it doesn’t feel the same. I don’t – I don’t mind it, but . . .”

Steve looks back at the tv. It’s playing football highlights, he realizes. He feels a little hollow.

"It feels like I'm betraying him."

He scoffs, keeping his eyes locked on the screen. "There's no him. There's just - you know Grant and Steve are the same man.”

From the corner of his eye he can see yours narrow, and he feels the ground start to rumble under him. "Yeah, ok, but for me you've been the same man for like an hour. That's why we have to back up."

He pulls his arm back, still not looking at you. "That's why I asked you if - just tell me what you want!"

"Ok, stop."

Steve takes a breath, bites his lip, looks down at his now-empty hands, wondering if this is it.

“No, look at me,” you say, sounding frustrated. “We have to communicate better. Maybe that's . . . maybe if I'd told you how I felt sooner, you could have told me then, and none of this would have happened.” He turns his head, and you reach up, cradling his face in your hands. “First of all, I think you’ve got this idea that I was just settling for you, before, and I ought to jump into your arms now. Like it was ‘well, he's not much to look at, but at least he’s got a good personality,’ and that's not it at all. I was attracted to you. I thought you were handsome the first time I saw you. I loved your face, I was infatuated with your hands, I thought your shoulders were perfect. And the way you felt against me” – your cheeks are turning an alarming shade, but Steve’s not going to stop you now – “was so good, I thought it about it all the time. At really inappropriate times. I wanted you. So yeah, I'm happy that you're back the way you want, but it’s going to take a minute for me to adjust.”

His heart stopped a few sentences ago. He’s already died, and it was worth it to hear you say these things. You’re staring at him, eyes wide, chest heaving distractingly.

“Then you’d better move back, sweetheart.” You tilt your head to the side, confused. “Because I’m about to kiss you, and I don’t think you’re ready –“

You surge forward. It’s not a careful, decorous kiss; you half-miss his mouth and have to recalibrate, but then his hands slide up into your hair and guide you, and your lips part, and Steve is very definitely alive. Breathless, and about to have a heart attack, but more alive than he’s felt since . . . since the last time you had her on this sofa. Try not to screw it up.

Your hands slip down to his chest and he falls backwards, pulling you on top of him with a little squeal. One hand cradles the back of your head; the other wraps around your waist, holding you against him. He’s never going to let you up. You’re going to live here, in his arms. He’ll just carry you wherever you need to go, and then you’ll see the benefits of him being re-serumed.

He’s still drifting on a cloud of ridiculous daydreams when the kiss ends, and you lay your head on his chest. He’s winding your hair through his fingers, and feels you make a questioning sound in your throat.

“Hmm?” That’s it; he’s not capable of words.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whisper. “I thought it would slow down now that you’re big . . . it was always so fast before, too.”

“Hmm.” He squeezes you tightly, feels your own heart race. “It’s just you. Always pounds for you.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, then.” You shift against him, nuzzling his jaw, and he can imagine your cheeks heating up.

“So does this mean you’ve adjusted already?” he asks hopefully, and you snort.

“No. But I’ll get there.” His arms tighten around you and you sigh contentedly. “Probably need more kisses.”

“I can do that,” he promises.

____________________

Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong – Autumn in New York

It's autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love/ Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain

READ CHAPTER ELEVEN

#steve rogers #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x reader #my fanfiction #lantern of evil