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mabelstone · 28 days

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I Could Be Yours

hozier x f!reader

part one of lullabies <3

hi i have risen from the dead... new matt stone will be coming soon i promise!! i've just become infatuated with hozier recently so i had no choice but to devote a new fic to him <3

i didn't proof read because it's bedtime, i will fix tomorrow if there's any errors!! soz

cw: none really... just a shitty boyfriend and drinking. still 18+

word count: 3.5k

“That’s your man, ‘uh?” The deep voice behind me made me jump, forcing me to peel my eyes from Joe and the leggy blonde he was laughing with.

“Stop doing that!” I gasp, clutching a hand over my chest, jokingly punching Andrew in the arm. “But yes. That’s him,” I sigh, wanting to cut the conversation before it had a chance to start. Andrew was far too friendly to be talking to my walking storm cloud of a boyfriend.

“I didn’t know his sister was playing tonight,” he confessed casually, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Which one is she?”

“He doesn’t have a sister,” I shake my head, quirking an eyebrow at the human tower before me. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Huh?” He played dumb, though a soft pink blush tinted his cheeks, looking like he wished he could eat his words.

“Where did you hear that?” I repeated, the room suddenly too hot for comfort, despite Joe's protests that I was dressed like a 'tart,' in his words.

“I’m sure I misheard, hearing’s a bit shot,” he lied through his teeth, and he must be a fool to believed I'd let him play it off.

“Andy," I faced him now, trying to force him to meet my eyes he was so desperately avoiding. "Who did he say that to?”

“That woman,” his voice sounded pained, as if he were almost ashamed to tell me. He was too smart, he could read me, and if anyone could read the room, it was him. I just went quiet, his warm calloused hand placed on my shoulder, feeling like it might burn a hole in my dress. “You deserve better,” he professed sincerely, pulling that horrid face at me, the type you pull when you feel really sorry for someone.

I huffed some pathetic excuse of a response, forcing my eyes to the ground. There seemed to be a magnetic pull, forcing my eyes back to Joe, hurting my own feelings again and again. I can’t recall a time he’d ever looked that interested in me. Not unless he was trying to bed me, which was usually after a stressful day at work or after a massive fight.

“If you were my girl, every man and their dog would know. You’re too good for him,” his voice was warm, like being pulled from a frozen over lake and straight into an oven. His Irish brogue more apparent than ever, and I cursed myself for the way my heart leapt in my chest.

He just slipped past me onto the stage for his set, unaware that he just made me feel nearly every emotion in the span of two minutes.

“That’s not even a real job,” Joe scoffed, shaking his head indignantly like he always did, as if everyone were beneath him. He’s always looked down at others for as long as I’ve known him. His Napoleon Complex makes him feel like he’s six foot eleven, when in reality, I barely have to tilt my head to kiss him.

I bit my cheek to suppress an angry concoction of insults, swallowing it down and opting for, “so my job isn’t a real job?”

“Babe,” he groaned, one soft hand slipping off the steering wheel onto my thigh. “You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just not very manly, is all. He should be doing something that’s not just for chicks.”

“He’s a carpenter, actually,” I lied, arms barricaded across my chest as I tried to focus on the London Bridge we were rolling over. “Manly enough for you?”

“Could you relax? Jesus Christ…” he pulled his hand from me quicker than he placed it there, sighing emphatically. “You gettin’ your period or something?”

“No!” It was my turn to scoff now, turning to face him. His stupid face was contorted like it always was, as if he’d smelt something rotten. “You’ve hurt my feelings, Joe.”

“Oh, everything hurts your fucking feelings,” he seethed, hooking a turn so sharp I just about fell into the driver’s side. I muttered under my breath, gripping onto the handle at the top of my door, as it was highly likely I was going to need it for the rest of the trip. That’s my Joe. Sickly sweet when you first meet him, then cold and sharp when he drops the act. “I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this shit.”

“Excuse me?” I straightened up, my stomach twisting in that familiar nauseating knot.

“You. Your shit,” he rolled his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, turning his head to me, deadpan. “Constantly starting arguments, whining about everything. You’re exhausting me.”

Then the rest of the entourage strides in on cue. The searing pain in my throat, the tears prickling into my eyes. The shame and embarrassment that pummel me like waves in a storm. Oh, God, the embarrassment. I feel my cheeks glow red, and suddenly the chill of late Autumn is comparable to a sauna, and there’s not enough air in the passenger side to satiate my lungs.

“Don’t cry,” he groans again, refusing to look at me again. And suddenly, I’m twelve again, trying to cry silently in my father’s car. Sigmund Freud would be laughing in his grave right now. “I’m sorry," he sighs, reaching for my leg again. I jerk away. "Shouldn’t have taken it so far.”

Though his apologies are just words at this point. I’ve walked this road too many times to not know any better. The rest of the ride home is silent, my knees pressed into the passenger door, trying to focus on anything but the fact that I will probably never leave. I will board this train wreck until he beats me down to nothing.

"He just has this weird infatuation for you. A blind man could see it," he tsked, shaking his head as if it were my fault. "And you just egg him on. He's a proper knob."

"He's the knob? What'd you think of your sister's set, hm?" I seethed, silently letting the tears fall as if I were in some sappy drama.

We didn't speak for the rest of the night, Joe slamming his car door, storming inside to lock himself in our bedroom. I washed my face in the kitchen sink and fell asleep on the couch in the small hours of the morning.

Joe didn't come to my show tonight, opting for the local pub with his work mates. I can't lie and say I was upset about it. Another thing I couldn't lie about is how Andrew's words played on a loop in my head for the rest of that night and all day today. I know he was just saying it to comfort me, but is it sad that I've never been so flattered?

"Hey," I smiled, the condensation from my breath hanging between us as I walked up to Andy. “Thought you were quitting.”

He was leaning against the brick wall outside the bar, a halfway smoked cigarette to his lips. He looked nice tonight. His usual unruly curls framing his face so perfectly, two layers under his dark denim jacket. He grinned infectiously as always, never once tearing his eyes from mine as he shrugged, “I’m no quitter.”

“Shut up,” I groaned, finding my spot beside him, now pressing my back to the cold bricks.

“So, where’s Jake tonight?” Now his eyes were fixed on the busy street before us, his arm brushing mine each time he’d put the cigarette to his lips.

“It’s Joe,” I corrected with an eye roll, though there was no malice in my expression. “And he’s watching the game with his mates. We’ve barely spoken since last night.” My heart ached a bit at the reminder of what he’d said to me on the drive home. You’re exhausting me. If his wish was for me to rethink the past five years, he certainly got it.

He gave me that pathetic poor you look again. "Come on. I'll buy ya' a drink. I insist."

"Who am I to deny you?" I grinned, following close behind him as he stubbed his cigarette out under his boot, holding the bar door open for me.

He ordered himself a whiskey on the rocks, a coconut margarita for me. We slid into a small booth at the back, the walls practically vibrating from the drunken chatter and the obnoxious drum solo on the stage.

"She's busy tonight, eh?" He half shouted across to me, leaning over his drink.

"I know, right? I've never seen the place like this," I agreed, taking in just how alive the atmosphere was tonight. "Remember me when you're famous."

"You're not easy to forget. You remember me!" He grinned at me, taking a large swig of his drink. I couldn't tear my eyes from his Adam's apple bobbing with each sip, his eyes dark in the dim lighting. I felt extreme guilt, forcing my eyes anywhere but his direction.

He must've sensed it. This man could read me like a book. Thankfully, he steered the conversation smoothly, "what're you playing tonight?"

"Oh, no. I'm not singing tonight," I shook my head, polishing off my drink in a sip a little bit too big for my mouth. "Want another drink? My shout."

"Why aren't you singing?" He ignored me, pulling a face that screamed, are you mad? "If there's any night for it, it's tonight."

"Honestly, I just want to get pissed and be the observer for once." I smiled sweetly, hoping he couldn't see through the facade. "What're you singing then?"

"An original," he smiled coyly, eyes faltering.

"Oh, Andy! How exciting," I cheered, genuinely happy for him. He'd shown me some of his poetry, and with such a beautiful voice, there's no possibility he could go wrong. "You're going to blow the roof off. This calls for another drink."

"As you wish," he grinned, holding eye contact as he finished off his glass, the faintest pink tinge to his cheeks.

When I made my way back to the table, my heart sunk a bit when I saw a girl leaning against our table giggling, tucking thick red locks behind her ears. He was laughing too, body language practically begging for more. I might be exaggerating. Why did I even care? I am in a committed relationship.

Funny, he looks just as amused as Joe did last night.

I made my way to the table, sliding his drink to him.

"Hi, I'm Harper," she smiled wide, a beautiful array of pearly teeth on full display.

"Lovely to meet you. Y/N," I smiled back, unable to look at Andrew. "I'm gonna go watch the show. I'll leave you to it."

I turned my back just as he was about to protest, sipping at my drink as I kept my word, finding a seat before the stage. I couldn't really focus on the music though, my mind reeling over what Joe was up to. He hadn't even texted or calls. His location was off too. I grabbed another couple drinks, bumping into Andrew when I made my way back to the stage.

"Y/N," he reached for my arm, a sincerely apologetic tone to his voice. "I'm sorry for earlier, that was rude."

"No it wasn't," I replied a bit too quick, brushing off the apology. "You're single, you can do whatever."

"I meant having someone at our table," shit. Was that the wrong thing to say? Their margaritas are always too strong. "I was enjoying just having you and I time."

"No worries, there's always next time," I smiled sweetly, though really, I just wanted to get in the nearest cab, pack all my shit at home and move back to Bristol. "You're nearly on! I'll be front row." I turned away again, finding my way back to the nice girls I made small talk with earlier.

Sure enough, Andrew was up within the next fifteen minutes. The announcer, somewhere hidden backstage spoke, "please give your warmest welcome to our absolute favourite, Andrew Hozier-Byrne!"

He walked onto the stage, acoustic guitar hanging from his neck as he awkwardly made his way onto the stage, adjusting the microphone to his height as he did each night.

"Ehm, this song is called I Could Be Yours," he offered a tight lipped smile to the crowd, a few cheers heard here and there. "Thanks guys."

I couldn't help but grin at his shyness, the complete opposite of how he was with me.

I could be soft and sweet, I could be hard and loud.

I could be everything you'd ever need somehow.

Why don't you hear me sing out from the lost and found,

I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.

He seemed to be scanning the crowd, probably for Harper, meanwhile all eyes were on him, basking in his glory. As if he were rain in a drought, not a single soul in the audience not mesmerised by his syrupy voice. Myself included, wide eyed, the epitome of awe.

Why don't you try on me? Why don't you take me home?

I'll match the colour scheme of your bedroom walls.

Oh, take a dose of me, it doesn't hurt at all.

I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.

His skilled fingers danced along the strings, his eyes, when not scanning the crowd focused on his measured movements. To say I was moved was an understatement. His voice thick and sweet as honey, his eyes shining under the stage lights, the hypnotic effect he had on the crowd. Unlike anything I had ever experienced.

Then his eyes found mine. It was almost like nothing existed in the same realm as him and I. Just us.

Oh God, I'd benefit from your sweet tenderness.

Oh, thank God, it could've been, 'cause nothing comes from it.

That'd be a helpful thought if I could remember it,

but I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.

"Thanks," he nodded awkwardly to the crowd, eyes leaving mine as he did the stage, the audience cheering and clapping.

I couldn't put into words the feelings I felt if you held a gun to my head. No doubt my eyes glistened back at his, tears of joy swimming at my waterline, completely estranged from last nights'.

"He was looking right at you!" One of the women I'd met shouted over the cheers, shaking me by the shoulder. I just hummed some response, smiling and beelining for the exit.

The bite of the outdoors was a stark comparison to the warmth of the bar, my nervous system seeming to reset instantaneously. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. 8:45pm. I told Joe I wouldn't be home til midnight and not to wait up for me.

It was wrong to feel this way about Andrew. He was my friend. I had Joe. Even if we had our rough patches.

My phone buzzed wildly in my hand, and when I checked the caller ID, I nearly didn't pick up.

I sighed. "Hello?"

"Hey," Andrew spoke loudly over the drunken chatter, a few good one mate, and, good on ya's here and there. "Where'd you run off to?"

"I, uh, had too much to drink," I lied through my teeth, kicking at the gravel beneath my feet. "I'm just heading home."

"Oh..."

"I'm out the front," I piped up, not wanting him to think he caused this. Or that I was running away. Because I was not. Right?

He hung up and shortly after, his tall figure emerged, his shadow reaching me before he did.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. "Great song, Andy. Really beautiful." I meant it.

"Oh, yeah. Thank you," he smiled, looking down at his boots. "How're you getting home?"

"I was gonna get a cab, or an Uber, or something." I shrugged, acutely aware of how breathy I sounded. Beyond tired. I wasn't lying when I said I'd had too much to drink.

"No need, I'll take you." He offered, digging his hands into his pockets and gesturing with his head for me to follow.

"It's okay, Andy, really," I countered, giving him my must sincere smile I could muster. I was too confused right now. Nobody had ever made me feel this way while I've been with Joe. "Get in there and mingle. They loved you."

"I'd rather know you're safe."

I ended up in the passenger seat of his car. He'd kindly put the heater on full blast, though no doubt, he'd be sweating under all those layers. I protested, but he kept fretting about how red my nose was from the cold.

"You alright?" He asked, my head leaned against his window.

"Yeah," I breathed, struggling to keep my eyes open, though my mind was very much awake and racing.

"You've been acting funny, did I upset you?" He glanced over at me, concern written all over his features. Had he always been this handsome?

"It's not you. I'm sorry," I lifted my head to look at him. Tequila and I are not friends. I flipped down the visor mirror to see a tiny it of smudged mascara under my eyes. I wiped it away, sighing for the hundredth time. "Joe just... things aren't going well. I slept on the couch last night. Well, barely. He's just so mean, you know?" I babbled drunkenly, a huge weight lifting after finally telling someone. "He always picks at everything I do. You complain all the time. You put too much salt in this. That isn't a real sustainable job, babe. We never shag anymore... Shag? Isn't that disgusting, Andy?"

I continued my drunken spiel, probably including more details than I should have. Andrew just kept his eyes on the road, sharing glances here and there to let me know he was listening.

The grande finale, "why can't all men just be like you? You would make a wonderful husband, you know. You wouldn't tell your girlfriend she's too lively in bed, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't," he laughed, shaking his head. He looked at me fondly. For once, it wasn't a look of sympathy. It was kind of sad, almost.

"I've said too much, haven't I?" I probably looked like a kicked puppy at the realisation, but one smile from him eased any disconcertion I had.

"Not at all," he sighed, staring at his hands on the wheel. "I have a lot to say. I just don't think I should be the one saying it."

"Well, now you have to tell me," I countered, lolling my head to the side to face him.

"He's a fuckwit," he shook his head, his grip on the wheel tightening. "He doesn't deserve you. Not even a little bit. He's going to fuck it up and won't realise what he's lost until it's too late. And you know what? Good."

He pulled onto the road before my house with perfect timing, getting out of the car to open my door for me. He took my hand in his, helping me out, and thank goodness he did, because I still nearly rolled my ankle. I laughed and let myself fall into his chest, steadying myself after a hearty, obnoxious laugh.

"Oh my God, I've made a complete fool of myself tonight," I sighed, this time it felt like a release, not a breath weighing me down. "Thank you for taking care of me, Andy."

"Anytime at all," he grinned leaning against his car. I couldn't help myself, lurching forward at him, wrapping my arms around his torso. My head barely reached his shoulder, even when standing on the curb.

"I loved your song," I murmured against his chest, pulling back to grab his face. He turned ghost white. "You are my favourite singer. Ever."

His cheeks darkened as he looked away, chuckling softly with the shake of his head.

"Drink lots of water for me tonight. That's an order as your favourite singer."

"Yes, Mr. Hozier-Byrne," I grinned, turning on my heels and heading for the door. The garage door was 1/4 open. Joe must be home early.

I fumbled through my purse for my keys, finding them after what felt like an eternity of great difficulty. I was going in with a good attitude. I was going to sit him down and hash this out. We can fix this. We've been together nearly 6 years, this is just a rough patch.

I walked up to my bedroom, sure my ears were deceiving me. When I opened my bedroom door, I saw red.

omg angst... just hear me out i have good direction for this one. i hope u enjoyed <3

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier smut #andrew hozier

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succubusmelt · 11 months

Note

Ok, since my birthday is coming up, (I’m turning 19 on the 20th! :D) can we have a fanfic about all the yanderes like Jack/Joseph, Peter Dunbar, Alan Orion, and John Doe planning a surprise birthday for them? Like the MC had forgotten that their birthday is coming up so the yanderes plan out a small little surprise like a date at anyplace. It could be at a park, home, movie, theme park, restaurant, ANYWHERE!

Thank you!! Here’s some tea for you 😌☕️

Tk for the tea! :) and happy birthday~

SUNNYDAY JACK!

That morning, you awoke and began your daily routine as usual. You wandered into the kitchen half asleep, unaware that today was in fact your birthday.

Jack, the cheerful phantom clown who only you could see, had been planning a surprise for weeks. As you entered the kitchen, Jack jumped out from behind the counter shouting "Happy birthday!" while throwing confetti.

You looked at him confused. "It's not my birthday Jack."

Jack laughed. "Silly goose, of course it is! I've had this date marked for months."

You checked your phone and saw to your surprise that it was indeed your birthday. You had completely forgotten.

"Huh, would you look at that. I totally forgot it was my birthday today," you chuckled.

Jack beamed. "Well then, good thing I didn't forget! I've made your favorite chocolate chip pancakes and have a special birthday cupcake waiting."

You smiled at Jack's thoughtfulness. "Aww Jack, you didn't have to do all this."

"Nonsense!" said Jack. "Your birthday is important, we must celebrate!"

You sat down at the small kitchen table as Jack served you a stack of fluffy pancakes and a cup of coffee.

Jack then brought over a lit candle stuck in a cupcake, singing the birthday song at the top of his lungs. You couldn't help but chuckle at Jack's enthusiastic yet slightly off-key singing.

You blew out the candle and made a wish. The two of you spent the morning chatting and laughing over breakfast.

You were grateful to have Jack to help make your birthday feel special in his own unique way.

"Thank you, Jack, you're the best person I could ask for today," you said sincerely.

Jack beamed. "Anything for you, sunshine!" he replied. "Now, how about some movies and maybe cuddle in the sofa?"

"Sounds perfect," you laughed.

JOHN DOE!

You awoke to the shrill beeping of your alarm, hitting snooze and rolling over with a groan. Just another day, or so you thought. Downstairs, John was already wide awake, a manic glint in his yellow eyes. Today was special - it was your birthday! And John wouldn't let you forget it, oh no. He had big plans to make this the best birthday ever, because the subject of birthdays has always seemed curious to him. So he probably spent a lot of time looking at them and analyzing them on TV.

This was going to be the perfect day! He giggled to himself as he troed to hung streamers and balloons all around the house. Into the kitchen next, whipping up a towering (burned) cake. He just loved, loved, loved crafts!

But something was missing…presents! John had searched far and wide for the perfect gifts, each one specially selected to make you smile. Something colorful and full of confetti, meaty and squishy covers most of the furniture in your house and seems to be something sticky. Anyone else would be grossed out, but you were used to it, and somehow it seemed… cute. Even Doe took it upon himself to put a bow on the slimy stuff.

Glancing at the clock, John realized you would be waking up soon. As he heard your footsteps coming down the stairs, he darkened the room and hid behind the sofa, barely able to contain his excitement.

"SURPRISE!" he shouted, leaping out with a flourish as you stepped into the living room. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! I planned a whole party just for you!" You were stunned, having co

mpletely forgotten it was even your birthday. Taking in the decorations, the gross slime in your houses that John had prepared, you were overwhelmed by the effort. "I made this cake myself, 3 whole layers of chocolatey goodness, your favorite!" John exclaimed, wheeling out the mammoth confection. His grin stretched impossibly wide as he waved his arms with flourish like a gameshow host revealing a prize. Before you could even process this surprise, he grabbed your hand and pulled you along. He bounced on his toes and spoke a mile a minute, barely pausing for breath in his exhilaration.

"I just love, love, LOVE birthdays! The presents, the games, the candy, the fun! But most of all I love YOU!" He threw his wiry arms around you in an enthusiastic hug before darting off again.

Despite the shock of it all, you couldn't help but smile at his childlike joy and excitement to celebrate your birthday. No one had ever gone to such lengths for you before. As the day went on, John made sure you were having the time of your life. He even popped out of the massive cake, sending frosting flying everywhere, but laughing all the while.

"This is the best birthday I've ever had!" he declared, licking buttercream off his fingers. You had to admit, it was pretty unforgettable. No one else would or could have done all this for you. Finally, the sugar crash was setting in. As the sun set outside, you and John snuggled up on the couch together, you nestled against his chest. He smiled down at you, his expression softening.

"Did you have a fun day?" he asked, twirling a lock of your hair idly around his slender finger. You nodded, still basking in the glow of the day's events. No matter what misadventures tomorrow might bring, you would always remember the time and love John put into this special day, just for you.

ALAN ORION!

You woke up like any other day, oblivious that this particular day marked another year of your life. As you went through your morning routine, there was no indication that today was special. No one called to wish you a happy birthday, no gifts waiting for you when you went downstairs. For you, it seemed like just another ordinary day.

But someone did remember. Hidden among the trees of the forest you often visited, Alan had been preparing. For weeks he had been planning something special, eager to celebrate your birthday in his own unique way.

The night before, under the cover of darkness, he had snuck into your home while you slept. Confirming the date in your calendar, he grinned in anticipation. You had no idea what he had in store for you. After watching you for a bit, he slipped back out and returned to the forest.

Today, Alan was up before the sun, too excited to sleep. He spent the early hours tidying up his little clearing in the woods, decorating it with wildflowers and vines. He prepared all your favorite foods, packing a basket with sweet treats to share. His gifts for you were handmade trinkets wrapped in simple brown paper and tied off with twine.

Alan could hardly wait for you to arrive. He paced around, checking and rechecking everything. He wanted it to be perfect for you. Finally deciding he was ready, he grabbed his axe and headed out to the woods to gather more firewood. He hoped to lead you back just at the right moment.

As Alan chopped wood, you began your walk through the forest trail. Breathing in the fresh air, you slowly wandered along, enjoying the peace of nature. You hadn't gotten far when Alan appeared, as if out of nowhere, right on the path in front of you.

"Well, hey there, doe-eyes! Fancy running into you!" He greeted you cheerfully. Taking your hand, he guided you off the trail towards his secluded clearing.

You gave him a puzzled look, uncertain why he was acting so excited today. But you followed along, trusting him completely.

Reaching the clearing, Alan led you into the little area. "I have a surprise for you…"

Stepping forward, you gasped in awe. The cozy space was filled with wildflowers, sweet aromas, and decorations just for you. In the center sat a small cake with lit candles. You turned to Alan in shock.

"Happy birthday!" He shouted, pulling you into a warm embrace. "I wanted to celebrate you today. Make this day special. Do you like it?"

You were utterly surprised, touched by the thoughtfulness of it all. You had completely forgotten your own birthday, but Alan had remembered. He knew this date was important to you and wanted to make you feel loved.

Taking your hand, he led you around the clearing, showing you all he had prepared. The food, the handmade gifts, every detail was just for you. No one had ever done anything so thoughtful.

As the sun began to set, you found yourself slow dancing with Alan in the candlelight. His arms wrapped protectively around you as he hummed a sweet melody. This woodland birthday party turned out to be the most memorable one yet thanks to your dear Alan.

PETER DUNBAR!

Today is your birthday, though it's far from your mind when your alarm jolts you awake this morning. You silenced it and started your usual morning routine - shower, breakfast, quick scroll through your phone. The date doesn't even register.

Meanwhile, Peter has been giddy with excitement for weeks leading up to this day. He knows everything about you, including your birthday, and wants to make it extraordinarily special.

You're just about to head out the door for work when you hear the doorbell ring. You open it to find a delivery man with a massive bouquet of roses in every color - red, pink, yellow, white. "Special delivery for your birthday!" he announces cheerfully. Birthday? Oh right, it's your birthday! You had completely forgotten. What a wonderful surprise, you think, as you take the flowers and find the card from Peter.

After stopping to put the roses in water, you rush off to work, not wanting to be late. When you arrive at your desk, you find a perfectly wrapped gift waiting for you. Opening it up reveals a set of expensive bath oils and lotions in your favorite scents - peach, mango, coconut. "A special treat for your special day! Enjoy! Love, Peter" the note attached says. These will be so lovely to use after a long day, you think, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Leaving work that evening, exhausted after a long day, you find one last surprise waiting for you. When you enter your apartment, the lights are off, which is odd. Suddenly, they flip on, and Peter jumps out from hiding shouting "Surprise!" The living room is decorated with balloons and streamers. Your dining table is spread with your favorite foods. In the center is an enormous bouquet of vibrant flowers.

Peter runs up and embraces you. "Happy birthday, darling! I wanted to make this day so special for you." You beam, tears pricking your eyes. You can't believe he put all of this together for you.

"I totally forgot it was even my birthday!" you say with a laugh. "This is incredible, Peter. Thank you so much for everything - the flowers, gifts... It's too much. I'm overwhelmed by your generosity and thoughtfulness."

Peter is thrilled to see you so delighted. "You deserve to feel loved and celebrated on your birthday. I'd do anything to see your beautiful smile," he says, gazing at you adoringly.

You give him a tender kiss, touched by how well he knows you and the immense effort he put into orchestrating thoughtful surprises to brighten your day. While Peter may go overboard with his intensity sometimes, today it comes from a place of pure love and devotion.

Despite your chaotic schedule, Peter made sure your birthday did not go uncelebrated. Thanks to him, you feel so special and cared for on this day. You blow out the candles on your cake together, share a delicious meal, and end the night dancing in the living room - the perfect birthday thanks to Peter's selfless attention to detail and desire to see you smile.

#mdhm #my dear hatchet man #alan orion #mdhm alan #swwsdj #something's wrong with sunny day jack #sdj jack #sunny day jack x reader #gn!reader #x reader #reader insert #headcanons #john doe game #your boyfriend game

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tenderleavesbob · 7 days

Text

"That's a dangerous way of thinking."

"Almost cost me my life."

Warriors's phrase haunted Twilight. He had been so glib about it even as his words rang with a terrible sincerity. He had grinned at Twilight and an all-too familiar darkness shadowed his brother's eyes.

His brother seemed transparent in the same way that Midna had seemed transparent. They acted like they were throwing everything they were out there for those around them to take it or leave it. Twilight thought he had learned better on his journey and was ashamed that he had bought Warriors's act so thoroughly.

Twilight cheated a little to get closer to Warriors. He would have felt guilty for it and did feel a little bad for lying about his identity, but...

But Twilight had started listening after that comment and he listened to Warriors make far too many jokes like that for his peace of mind. He talked like death, his death, was a joke. He laughed off a terrifying scar too close to his jugular and made comments about why he always wore his scarf.

He joked about suicide once. He cut himself off and Twilight had seen the look on Time's face. He was sure it was echoed on his own.

Rusl had a friend once. Rusl didn't talk about him a lot. Twilight saw him sometimes for dinner. He drank a lot of wine during those dinners and drank other stuff after. Twilight remembered Rusl receiving a letter and his silent, resigned grief. Twilight stood beside Rusl at the man's funeral.

He was terrified that he would stand beside Time and Wind one day at Warriors's funeral.

When Warriors slipped away from their camp to wander into the woods, Twilight didn't feel an ounce of guilt when Wolfie followed his brother. Warriors's glib comment echoed in his head when Warriors walked almost out of earshot of camp and slumped beside a tree. It wasn't a thick area of the forest, and when Warriors tilted his head back, the moonlight shone on his face.

He didn't look sad. That was a good sign, right? Twilight wished Rusl was there.

Twilight only realized he was whining when Warriors turned to him with a smile. He gestured at him to come closer. "Hey, Wolfie," he called softly. "Are you okay? I haven't seen you in a while."

Warriors didn't smell sad, either, but Twilight cuddled up against him. Just in case. Warriors laughed, which lightened Twilight's heart, and wrapped an arm around Twilight. He hugged him and rested his head on Wolfie's.

"I still don't get it about the moon," Warriors confided, "but Time has me leery about the it. Wild and his stories of the Blood Moon don't help. It looks innocuous enough, right?"

Wolfie huffed and looked up at the moon. It was full tonight. Maybe that was why Time wanted his camp in a cave tonight. Wolfie liked the moon himself. It always made him want to howl.

"That's what I thought," Warriors agreed. He sighed and let his weight rest on Wolfie. Twilight was always worried that his brother was too light. Was he eating enough? He had convinced Wild to give Warriors subtly bigger plates but Warriors still seemed so thin.

"You'll help me keep an eye on him, right?" Warriors asked quietly. "I worry about him sometimes."

Wolfie huffed and he wagged his tail. He always kept an eye on Time. He did his best to keep an eye on all of them.

Warriors smiled and rested against Wolfie. "Thanks. I knew I could count on you."

Did he? Did Warriors know? Did he know that he didn't need to be strong? Did he know that he could lean on Twilight just like he leaned on Wolfie now?

He remembered Warriors's casual words and pressed himself a little more into Warriors. He was there for Warriors. He didn't understand what was going on beneath Warriors's charming smiles, but he would always be there for him. He hoped that if Warriors didn't realize that now, Twilight could help teach him that soon.

Wolfie whined and nuzzled his brother. Warriors stroked his back and fell silent.

#lu warriors #tl scribbles #lu twilight

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especiallythewomenandthechildren · 6 months

Text

As If Destiny (part two)🌹

Part One🌹

Summary: You've always been kind hearted yet admirably defiant. Or that is at least one of the ways Coriolanus Snow would describe you. Ever since grade school, you have always been on the same level as him in academics and one of his few competitors for the Plinth Prize. But as tragedy struck your family, Coriolanus thought you would fall away from his life, but instead, you got even more intertwined (not to mention the complicated past knots tying your families together).

Warnings: Terminal illness, parent death, death and brutality (it is the hunger games after all) characters may be ooc. I read the book a while ago but don't really remember much of Snows way of thinking (I mean I know its toxic and insane but yk the other things) so I will mostly be basing off the film and my own thoughts. Also I can't spell for the life of me so be prepared for bad spelling and grammar. Enjoy loves!

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The rest of the day went by quick, with you avoiding Coriolanus as much as possible.

You attempted to be subtle and it probably would have worked on anyone else (besides Sejanus) but Snow was far too intelligent and analytical to not take notice. It was lunch hour and you had made it this far through the day and internally begged that he had long forgotten, but of course, he didn't.

You and Sejanus were in deep conversation about the new renovations occurring in the Capital park and how you were planning on going down there one day and help with the planting and such. Well you were -untill the smack of a lunch tray was heard next to you. You and Sejanus both look up to see a slight smile on Coryo's lips.

"Seat taken?"

Sejanus quickly gestured for him to take his seat with a bright smile while you moved your chair to make more space for you both as he sat next to you while Sejanus was across you both.

"No. Nope. You both are going to be bickering all of lunch and I would like to enjoy my meal in the PEACEFUL company of my friends."

"That was dramatic, even for you, Snow." You playfully chided with a grin.

You baited him and he readily took it, refuting that he has never been or is dramatic. You open your both to refute him when your mutual friend cut you both off

You both shut up at that, you with a slight pout that made Coryo laugh. You were ready to roast the man alive when you got a painful kick to the shin by Sejanus as a warning. With a quick glare, you went back to your meal that consisted of a hearty sandwich and a few fruits on the side along with a cookie for desert. Both boys had a similar portion, Coriolanus with a little more.

It was indeed peaceful as the three of you ate your meal and stared out the vast windows to the beautiful capital. In a quite whisper, Coryo turns to you and asks "How's your wrist?"

You turn to him a bit surprised and embarrassed. You looked into his clear blue eyes and assured him you were completely fine and thanked him for pointing it out. He nodded along but was clearly waiting for you to elaborate. It makes sense why he was waiting. Why did you have so much blood and how did you not feel it?

You were thinking about telling him that it was your mother's. Your peers knew that she was ill and they, along with their parents, sent their well wishes.

But they didn't know how bad it was. No one besides you, father, house staff, and the Plinths, who have become a second family to you.

You always wondered if the wishes were truly sincere. Your mother, Cloria, was an absolute darling of the Capital and everyone loved her so it wouldn't be surprising if they were but then again, they mostly sent them towards the way of your father. He wasn't a cruel or hateful man and a rather good father and person but he was one of the most powerful people in the Capital, thus Panem, and people would be willing to do anything to get on his good side in hopes of sharing that power.

"Are you not hungry, Y/N?" Coriolanus asks you.

You spaced out again. great. You shake your head and offer your lunch to him, seeing as he already finished his and heard his stomach grumble.

"Oh, no that's okay, thank you!"

He flashes you his charming smile that might have caught you off guard but right now, you frankly didn't care. You simply just pushed the tray in his direction until it nearly pushed off his prior tray off the table while you entered the conversation he and Sejanus were having when you were in your head.

The rest of lunch and school day went fine, no more mysterious blotches of blood or the curious stare of those beautiful blue eyes. You made your routine walk home and checked in with your mother, who looked somehow even worse than this morning. She was fast asleep but looked in so much pain and her slight jerks proved your assumption right.

He, like you, never stopped thinking about her and always stayed by her side the second he made it home.

You were questioning whether or not to wake her when the sound of your father's footsteps interrupted. You turned around and gave him a quick hug while he placed a quick kiss on your hairline.

He gave the usual small talk on how school is and how Sejanus is doing. He asked those questions and gave replies to all of your responses but he never once took his eyes off his wife.

You let him know you were going to freshen up and head over to the Plinths and with one last hug, you were on your way.

As soon as your turned, you heard him enter your mother's makeshift hospital room within your penthouse. You sighed thinking about Sejanus's comment on how you were suffering. As you changed and cleaned off, you pondered.

You knew he didnt mean you were suffering like your mother, in physical pain. But were you like your father? You would argue you weren't, you weren't losing the love of your life, the mother of your child. And could you be suffering if you tried to spend as much time away from her as possible?

You weren't suffering, you were a coward. When news of your mother spread, you know some of your peers were slightly pleased, even if with no mal intention, as it was expected that your grades and performance would slip. But it actually turned out to be the exact opposite. You threw yourself in your assignments, the only peace you found besides the warm home of the Plinths. The home, at this point, you have already began the walk to along the paved walkways of the city.

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"That was absolutely delicious, thank you Mrs. Plinth" you try to be as cheery as possible. The meal, some sort of opulent wheat mixture with savory fish, was truly one of the best you've ever had and that's saying something in the Plinth house. But you knew you didn't need to have to amplify your reactions in front of them but it felt rude with any other reaction. She opened her mouth "Why thank you darling but please call me m-" her request was cut off by her son clearing his throat.

The table went silent. You all knew that she was going to request you to call her "Ma", as Mrs. Plinth was far too formal for your relationship with her. She already considered you a daughter but she knew the issue calling her ma might cause you. You were at their dinner table to avoid the constant coughes and screams of your actual mother after all.

You send a reassuring smile and she attempts to bring back the causal mood. "So y/n, Sejanus tells me that you both have an enormous paper for Rhaen." You and Sejanus laugh, knowing how much you both complained about your professor to her. You nod in agreement, informing her that you were probably going to head to the libary after dinner to start on it.

Your confession was received with a groan by Sejanus (which was quickly chided by his ma).

"We just got it today y/n. You can wait a few days, you've been doing so much work lately".

You knew he was trying to make sure you don't get too burnt out, especially before graduation, final exams, and the awarding of the Plinth Prize. But you simply shook your head and reiterated that you are going to start the oh so dreaded assignment.

And that's exactly what you did. That night. The night after. And the night after. It was on your fourth night of extreme working conditions that you were interrupted. You were on your conclusion, tens of pages in, when someone cleared their throat above you. You didn't know what time it was as you always worked untill you were kicked out by the librarian.

"Please, I just have a few more sentences and I'll be completely done. And I mean it this time I swear!"

You didn't even bother to look up, trying to finish up as quickly as possible.

"Wait you already finished Rhaens paper?"

That was indeed not the voice of the ancient looking librarian. You look up, eyes in pain from staring down at your paper for so long, and see once again, those deep blue eyes of Coriolanus Snow.

"What are you doing here?"

You ask, extremely curious why he is here so late at night. wait it was night right? You quickly scan the windows in fear of seeing the breaks of dawn. When you were met with pitch black darkness, you breathed a sigh of relief. Relief so deep that you completely forgot the charming blonde was right in front of you.

"I think I should be asking why you are here. And frankly how long have you been here."

He replies to your current state, which you assumed was quite disheveled. You just shrugged and spread your arms to gesture to your piles of books and papers. He nods in uncertainty while analyzing your face, taking in every detail, seemingly to figure out some sort of mystery you didn't understand.

You just stared back waiting for him to ask the clear questions in his mind. But he just kept on analyzing. Your perception of time was completely warped but even you could understand he was taking too long.

"Hey so since you've been staring for so long, how is my skin care routine looking?"

You said in a slightly irritated tone. He was interrupting your precious moments of focus so he could do whatever he was doing.

Seemingly slightly startled, as if he forgot you were there, he shook his head in apology.

"Is this why you don't sleep at night y/n?"He asks.

Now it was your turn to stare at him. More like a weird mixture of gawking, squinting, and glaring. You were going to open your mouth to question him and why in the world Sejanus told him (as he was the only one who knew), but he put his hands up in defense.

"Sejanus didn't tell me if that's what you were thinking. It's clear on your face. You have bags, you look pale, and you are never focused in class. I never wished to ask as I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or attacked."

He confessed the last part a little quieter, seeming to remember your reaction when he pointed out the blood on your sleeve.

You ducked your head, a habit nowadays, and tried to recollect yourself. Figure out some sort of response. If you told him yes, you were days without proper sleep because of your writing, it wouldn't technically be lying. But it didn't feel right. Coriolanus would understand, you were sure of it. You knew he lost his mother and he would sympathize.

You also wanted to assure him you weren't trying to be cutthroat about the Plinth Prize. In fact, you wished he wins it rather than you, he worked harder than you and most definitely than any of your other classmates.

But any response was cut by the voice of the actual ancient looking librarian.

"You said you were just going to get your book and leave young man. We closed ten minutes ago and yet you both, especially you miss, have overstayed. Go home. It's far too late and your families must be worrying. You are academy students are you not?"

Her stern words echoed into the empty libary that you just noticed. You both nodded to her question and she responded with a heavy sigh, shaking her wrinkly head while muttering something about teenagers nowadays. You were going to ponder that if she is upset with you two being good students and dedicated to your work was bad, how were teens back in her days? And you most likley would have ended up down a rabbit hole of thoughts if you didn't notice Coryo picking up your books and putting then in your bag.

"Oh you don't need to do that, I got it!"

You got up, far too fast and nearly fell over. He quickly grabbed you by your arm and pulled you back, steadying you. You stare up at him surprised and still a bit shook as he flashes you "yeah sure you are" kind of look. He finishes up clearing your table before giving you his arm to lead you out the libary, speed walking past the harsh glare of the old woman, a few giggles coming out of you due to your situation.

You and him walked in silence for a few minutes and you took it all in. It was late at night and you were on the arm Coriolanus Snow as he carried your bag and took you home. Once the thought hit you, you were sure that you were blushing, hoping the lights of the Capital didn't illuminate it too much. But it wasn't a bad thought. No, not in the slightest.

You found it endearing, even a slight desire. you are definitely in a hazy state, your voice of reason mentioned at your attempts to delude the intentions of his actions.

"Would it be okay if I took you upstairs? I want to make sure you make it there safely" He wonders as you reach the base of your complex. Aww, he wants to make sure you made it home safely.

His concern was a quick reminder however of your weak state and inability to move nor act (or think, that little voice chimed in) normally. In reality, he probably didn't want to be arrested for your murder because he was simply the last person seen with you before you fell down the stairs because you can't even count the number on your fingers properly.

You nodded and he led the way, opening up the door for you. You weren't really conscious as he clicked the button for the elevator (something you forgot existed in your imagination of how the night would have gone if the boy was not with you) or when you both got to your front door. But your consciousness came in full force and all of your sleepy haze went away as you heard the absolutely horrific screams of your mother.

how did you forget. how did you forget. Somehow, on your entire walk with Coriolanus and when asked if he could take you up, you completely forgot what would be awaiting you. And the absolute horror it must be for him. You quickly turn to him, as he looked like he was going to kick down the door and come to her rescue. You rushed to pull him back, attempting to assure him.

"It's okay Coryo! She just gets like this sometimes. My father is with her and so are nurses. I promise, it's okay. Thank you truly for taking me home, go get some rest".

You try to assure him with a smile, but he wasn't looking at you. He was staring straight ahead at your door, his chest rising up and down in deep pants and breaths. You try to get his attention but it wasn't working, so you put a few finger on his chin and make him look at you.

Looking deep in his eyes, you evenly say "It's okay. Please, just go home Coryo, I'm sure your family is worried where you are."

He says nothing for a moment, simply gazing deep into your sympathetic eyes. In a whisper, his question comes out more as a statement.

"This why you haven't been sleeping?"

You sigh, knowing there is no need to deflect now. You nod and take a breath, ready to turn around and head into your home, knowing you will be up for hours. Then another round of your mother's shrieks hit your ears and you cringed back tears and shuddered at the sound.

You were still close enough to Coryo that you backed up into him in reaction. He quickly wrapped an arm around you protectively, as if he could shield you from her pain. You didn't know what to do, so you just stood there, wrapped by his arm just listening untill it intensified for a quick second as the door opened.

Rhayes, your long-time family chauffeur but who is more of uncle as he has been serving your family since your mother was your age, came out. He seemed stunned and alarmed, you assumed from the scene inside but the way he stared at Coriolanus arm around your torso made you question.

"Apologies, miss y/n, I thought I heard voices".

His eyes flicked over you both once again as he spoke.

You wondered how to explain your situation and were going to move Coryo's arm off you before he interrupted with "No need, we simply came by to let someone know y/n will be staying with my family, if that is alright."

It seemed both you and Rhayes were shocked into stillness. He however recovered much faster.

"Is that so?" He asked skeptically, looking at you for confirmation.

You were thinking about brushing Coriolanus statement off and letting him peacefully rest for the night, not wishing to be a burden to him or his family. But he seemed concerned, was he not? You couldn't trust yourself at this point, but you could trust the slight squeeze he gave with his hand to let you know it was okay.

You nodded your head in agreement and that seemed to worry Rhayes even more, a look of guilt in his eyes.

"Would you please tell my father that I stayed with a friend and will be back tomorrow. I still have work to get done."

Your loyal driver takes in the situation once more and nods his head in obedience, wishing you a good night and well wishes with your ever growing work.

He opened the door into the now silent home as your mother has seemed to have calmed and looked back at you with those deep brown eyes of his, searching for something, as he closed the door. You didn't realize the quick glare however, he sent deep into the eyes of the Snow heir. Once the door was closed, Coryo moved his arm from snaking around your waist and around your front, to holding your hand and leading you towards the elevator once more.

He dragged you a few feet when you stopped, making him turn around fast and landing quite close to your face. You were looking up into his eyes, which seemed to sparkle under the dim warm lights of your penthouse hallways. He looked back into your eyes, something that seems to be happening quite often lately.

"Are you sure?"

You were nervous to ask, not wishing to offend him (and in all honesty, dreading returning back to your situation). He seemed to somehow deepen your shared stare and leaned in a little bit closer.

He whispered "Let's go home darling".

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A/N: AHHHHHH! Two chapters back to back! Don't expect this pace to keep up however, especially with school returning back (only for a few more weeks but still). I know it was LONG and maybe unnecessarily so. You guys are warriors for reading through all that! I know I said that characters may be ooc but Snow may be the most. I know he seems pretty fluffy rn but I am trying my best not too change him too much as I find him interesting with his flaws. Also, in later chapters, you will see that he is now the only one with a flawed character and outlook (cough reader cough). But hey, maybe this time, he will use one of those chances to reform. or not. Guess you just have to wait and see! Thank you again and much love❤️

@notyourwildestdream 🌹

#coriolanus snow #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #sejanus x reader #sejanus deserved better #snow lands on top #sejanus plinth #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader #reader insert #x reader

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ghcstao3 · 7 months

Note

what about werewolf!ghost x vampire!soap 👀

hope you don’t mind me using the occasion to revive the rileys for an awkward family dinner

Being brought home to meet Ghost’s family is probably one of the more interesting moments of Soap’s (unbearably long) life.

And not only because he’s never properly dated someone as long as he has Ghost before—it’s also because said family isn’t human, and is more than aware of the fact that he drinks blood to keep himself alive.

So. Interesting is where he stands.

Soap is lured in with a false sense of security from two things—the first being Ghost’s insistence that his mother, brother, and sister-in-law are all nicer than him. The second being the warm smile Mrs. Riley offers him at the front door, entirely friendly and sincere, not like the brandishing of sharp canines that Ghost has flashed Soap with once or twice.

She’s pleasant to talk with, already siding with him when it comes to her son’s tendencies, and she even goes so far as to pour him a glass of pig’s blood she’d purchased just for the occasion. And being that it’s so nice, Soap doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he can only tolerate the stuff at best, especially now that he only ever takes from a specific source these days.

It’s through this lovely conversation with Ghost’s mum and the general sense of domesticity that has Soap believing that he shouldn’t encounter any problems when Beth and Tommy arrive.

But how wrong he was.

Beth at least tries to be polite, though Soap doesn’t miss the distasteful scrunch of her nose once she obviously catches scent of what Ghost so lovingly calls the wrongness of vampirism. Tommy, on the other hand, doesn’t so much as bother trying to hide his disdain.

(Thank God Soap finds out later that it’s mostly just the whole protective older brother act, but still. It hurts Soap’s feelings, just a bit.)

Dinner is absolutely stifling when all but Soap are eating what Ghost’s mum has made, all chatter dying off much too quickly in what little bouts Ghost, of all people, tries to initiate. Soap traces his finger around the rim of his barely-touched glass all while he tries to ignore Tommy’s pointed looks like Soap had done something to personally offend him.

Maybe he had.

“You’re sure about this, Simon?” Tommy eventually, finally asks after nothing but pressing silence. Though the question is asked to Soap’s left, he still feels golden eyes near identical to Ghost’s bearing down on him.

Ghost drops his fork onto his plate, his frustration palpable, emanating in waves. “Do you have to be such a prick, Tom?”

“Boys,” Mrs. Riley scolds from her end of the table. “We have a guest.”

“Yeah, and that guest’s a vampire, Mum,” Tommy spits, throwing out his hand in gesture to Soap. “He eats people.”

“Tom,” Beth hisses.

“Common misconception,” Soap mumbles. He feels all attention shift to him, as if they all remembered he was present—right, super-hearing. He clears his throat, raising his voice, “Only the… bad ones do that.”

“Besides,” Ghost is adding, and Soap is a little fearful of where he plans to take this, “he only feeds off me.”

A tense silence blankets the table. Soap wants to sink into the floor.

“…What?”

“It was my idea,” Ghost attempts to amend, but it’s already much too late. This is already a disaster, beyond disaster, and maybe Soap should’ve stuck to his guns about not meeting a family of werewolves as a vampire.

“Doesn’t matter, Simon!” Tommy exclaims his disbelief.

Ghost rolls his eyes. Soap had not at all imagined this to be where the night would lead. It’s what he desperately wished wouldn’t happen. Because he loves Ghost, and Ghost loves his family—so Soap had felt he needed to be in their good graces.

There goes that idea.

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t trust him, Tommy,” Ghost says slowly, challenging. “Is how I feel about him not good enough?”

This finally seems to stun Tommy into some form of submission. Soap doesn't miss Beth reaching out to flick Tommy's ear.

"S'pose it is," Tommy grumbles.

"Good." Ghost sits back in his chair, and resumes eating with a smug self-satisfaction poised in his broad shoulders.

There's a kick under the table delivered to Tommy, though Soap can't tell by who. He only knows its recipient by the muttered sorry, John, that follows.

Soap supposes he can be content with that for now. He gives Tommy a close-lipped smile, fearing that any show of fangs might provoke him.

All things considered, things could be worse. Even his military training wouldn't give him a considerable upper-hand against a natural-born werewolf.

He'll have to talk to Ghost about it later. Maybe when the werewolf is shifted, and Soap can dig cold fingers through thick fur. Then again another time, when Ghost can respond with more than huffs and whines and low growls.

They'll figure it out—they've already done it once before with just each other.

But they definitely have to smooth things over sooner rather than later, or else it's going to be real awkward when Soap finally gets the courage to pull out the ring that's been weighing his pocket down for little over a month, now.

It's fine. Everything will be fine. Soap can manage interesting.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing #alternate universe

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ghouljams · 7 months

Text

Reverse Fae!AU feat. Witch!Price and Fae!Witch

I know they didn't win the poll but I wanted them to win and it's my blog so you're getting them first. Also as a penance for being gone for the last half of last week. Please accept my humble intro of these two.

It's not often you meet someone foolish enough to wander into your domain. Not just Summer, no you get the feeling this man was determined to land himself right in your court. You tip your head to watch him from your throne, stretch your legs with a hum, all the sunshine in the world couldn't pull the ache from your bones. He's quite nice to look at, you suppose, he stands proudly and looks around with clear eyes. It's the beard, you like the beard. And the rough edges of his hands, they speak to his profession.

He’s a long way from the safety of witches. He slips the hat from his head as he makes his way towards the steps to your throne. He stops just at the bottom of them, like he’s waiting for your invitation. Well, he won’t find one of those here. Although, you suppose it’s nice to see someone new. Someone interesting.

"You’re so far off your path," you tell the interloper, the witch, or- hm, the men these days like to be called something different don't they? Sorcerer? But witch is a profession, a title, and he seems smart enough to know that. He breathes magic, exhales it and draws it in. You can feel it circle through his body, seeping into his musculature and clinging to his blood. Witch, the air hisses. "How did you get here?" You ask him, settling your cheek against your hand.

"I walked," he tells you, the plainest thing in the world, "picked a direction and made the world take me where I wanted."

"To my court," it's fae magic, stolen magic, that he's talking about. You can feel it in him, chained to his bones and pacified, no wonder your usual safe guards let him through.

"Where else would I find you?" He asks, settling his foot on the first stair. It's rhetorical, there's nowhere else you'd be. The summer sun, the court's prized possession, queen of the golden throne. He takes another step, unafraid of your heat.

"Why do you want to find me? Are you trying to die?" Your threats seem to hold no bite, your teeth filed down, your claws dulled.

"To you?" You wish he'd stop climbing the stairs towards you, wish he wouldn't look at you like that, "wouldn't that be something." His eyes are so warm, reverent, they seem to touch on every part of you. You’d think you, of anyone, would be able to handle the heat of them, and yet you feel their absence. How awful. How terrifying.

"You think I won't kill you where you stand?" You try to steel yourself, your resolve. You don't care for foolish men, and yet it isn't hubris that drives him. No, you sense a purpose behind his movements. You need to get this witch out of here.

"You won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm interesting," his voice is deep, rumbling, you tip your head back to look him in the eye as he makes it to the top step and stands in front of your throne, "and you haven't seen anything interesting in a long time."

It tells you nothing, gives you no information on the man in front of you, no strings to work with, no answers to spin. You don't like it, but he's right. It's been ages since anyone interrupted your watch, since anyone but the few wardens of this place spoke to you. Your curiosity will be your undoing. This man will be your undoing.

He’s taller than you’d thought. Colder. Winter clings to him. A shiver creeps down your spine, exhilarating and unfamiliar. He bows his head to you in greeting, a sincere gesture with a sly smile. A wolf’s smile. You find yourself smiling in return.

"That’s a good look on you,” He tells you, and you feel your face heat. Another unfamiliar feeling, it matches the rapid pace of your heart as he steps closer. You press back against your throne, away from him. You have nowhere else to go. He clicks his tongue in disapproval, tips his head forward to look down at you. “No need to get shy on me sweetheart, I’ll be gentle.”

He drops to his knees, and you press the ball of your foot against his mouth to shut him up. His words are starting to get too close to something you can’t touch. Something you can’t imagine a witch would want anything to do with, not with the fae at least. He doesn't move, just stares up at you, waiting. His patience against yours, both of you testing the other's next move. You feel his fingers slip against your ankle, edging themselves under the heavy iron shackle there.

“Who are you?” You try not to wince when the iron shifts, the tentative edges of fear are starting to drag themselves over your skin. He moves from your foot to press his lips against the knobby bone of your ankle. His fingers are quick, seeping magic under your skin, breaking heat over cold iron.

“John Price,” He tells you, and you feel the weight of his name settle more heavily over your shoulders than any chains could, “I’m the man that’s going to steal the Sun.”

“What?” Your breath catches as his magic clicks in the lock. You feel your magic rush at you as the shackle falls dead on the ground. It hits you so suddenly your head swims and your vision fuzzes. You tip forward and he catches you, lifts you up over his shoulder and out of your former prison.

“Well, suppose that needs amending, some present tense perhaps,” He chuckles, and you feel your stomach flutter, “I’m stealing you, any objections?”

“None, thank you,” You whisper, feeling another bond settle in place. One you never hope to pay back. His shoulder is firm, his hands gentle on your skin, you wrap your arms around his middle and rest your cheek against his back. It's been so long since you were out of that chair, how could you not thank him? He hums, like he expected that.

“You’re very welcome.” His thumbs rub against the back of your thighs, and you feel yourself starting to purr. "Let's get you home, something as pretty as you has no sense being locked away."

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rosegasly · 10 months

Text

wish on elevens. | pg10

⇢ summary: "Sure mon amour. Podium's a good look on you anyway," you quip, scrunching your nose and smiling in an attempt to ignore the way your heart stops and beats again, racing twice as quick and strong. ⇢ genre: fluff ⇢ pairing: pierre gasly x reader ⇢ a/n: celebratory post dutch gp podium fic coz how can i call myself a g10 girlie if i dont write today. stoked.

He's dripping, sweat and champagne coalescing into sticky sweet droplets that bloom on your tongue when you kiss him, hands against scruffy cheeks. "You did it amour! P3!!"

The dark of his alpine hat sits low over brilliant blue eyes that gaze back at you, glistening with joy so infectious you wonder how everyone around you isn't utterly in love with Pierre Gasly too.

"Chérie, we did it." He says and you shake your head fondly, eyes still locked with his as affection bubbles and spills over somewhere behind your ribs, heart jutting out with the love you have for this man and you are crying. Vision blurring as you throw your arms around him again, uncaring of how the champagne and sweat stain your front as you sob into his neck.

"I am so so proud baby. you deserve this! you were so good, so brilliant-" it's hard to speak around the growing knot in your throat but you push through, "I love you so much! You drove incredibly. I was screaming by the end," you laugh as you squeeze him tighter, pull him closer, "My voice is shot. What a fucking day."

Strong arms wrap around your waist, broad shoulders hunching to nestle you against the hollow of his clavicle and you scratch your skin, cheeks pressing softly against his fireproofs as you laugh again, unadulterated delight spilling out of your pores and you don't even want to think how cheesy you both look. Swaying, giggling and wet in his side of the Alpine garage as you celebrate his podium.

"I am so glad you made it today chérie," Pierre pulls back, catching your eyes again as he continues in a voice so soft one would be hard-pressed to say it was him screaming in the team radio less than thirty minutes ago, voice shrill and so far from his usual gravelly baritone. "You are my lucky charm. Je t'aime babygirl. Let's repeat today again, a hundred more times." He says, words sincere and accent thick as ringed fingers caress your cheek, idly wiping the stray tear and you tug him closer by the collar of his fireproof.

"Sure mon amour. Podium's a good look on you anyway," you quip, scrunching your nose and smiling in an attempt to ignore the way your heart stops and beats again, racing twice as quick and strong.

The admission, subtle as it may be, isn't lost on you. You've known Pierre long enough now to realise how carefully he words his responses, never unwittingly promising more than he is willing to give and while with someone else you would chop the words to post podium adrenaline, with Pierre they ring true.

Time suspends for a beat, you don't make any proclamations, don't directly promise anything back but the way you carefully caress his cheeks, the way Pierre lets his inhibitions go, surrendering and nuzzling your palm, the blue swimming in his gaze still holding yours, for once uncaring of the flashing cameras not ten feet away as he melts into your arms, boneless when you pull him in an embrace again–it's enough.

Neither of you says more, but then you don't have to. Not when you already know you'll come back, time and again, fly to any corner of the world without a second's hesitation to have his back. Cheer him on from the sidelines as many times as he needs, and all the times he doesn't, but you would still be there anyway.

The words form on your tongue, but they don't come out, bitten back and cluttering behind your teeth as you try to shield your heart–to no avail.

They don't have to escape to be heard, not when they ring so loud and evident between your breaths.

Pierre Gasly owns your heart and for however long he wants you back, you'll let him keep it.

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italianlobster · 4 months

Text

This Love

PAINNN </3

Summary: You and Matías were perfect for each other, until one day, he called it quits. He starts dating Malena Sanchez, and you're left all alone, mourning over the loss of your first love.

BTW the story is named after the song from Pantera, if you like that band, ily =)

As you entered your apartment, your eyelids felt heavy. This was due to crying. Why? During the day, your ex-boyfriend Matías had asked if you'd like to stay over at his house so he can give you one of his acting lessons. You had suddenly gained an interest in acting recently, and Matías was eager to teach you. He was a good actor, too, and had time to teach you today. Before you can say yes with a smile on your face, the familiar sight of a thin, pale woman had captured your eyes.

Malena Sanchez.

Matías' new girlfriend.

You and Matías had broken up a year ago. However, your heart belonged to him only, and you just couldn't move on. Although it felt like he ripped your heart into pieces and left your side the moment he got someone new, he had constantly plagued your thoughts and dreams. The only man you had your eyes on. Matías was your first everything; from your first love to your first kiss. So when the two of you finally broke up, you felt like a piece of you was lost. You couldn't imagine being with anyone else. This went as far as you rejecting others and not allowing yourself to be in a relationship.

For four months now, he had been dating his friend Malena Sanchez, and they were madly in love. One couldn't be seen without the other. You saw the way Matías looked at Malena, and your already broken heart started to decay. There were no tears left to cry at this point. But you wished them the best and tried to be happy for them while you were left in the dark. Your eyes were puffy, and your face was red.

When Malena had shown up, you had kindly declined Matías' favor and decided to go home instead. Thoughts had raced in your mind during the way home. You had no car and walked the long way home. Your vision became blurry, and you were already hyperventilating. It was also raining, which made your heart break even worse. Your tears blended with the rain. You didn't really pay attention to where you were going, but fortunately, you made it home. Keys fumbling, and the door was open, your eyes scanned across the room to search for your comfort items. A teddy bear Matías had given you for your birthday. It had a zipper located at its back, which contained the jewelry he had given you. There were rings and necklaces. One even had his initials engraved onto it. There was also a letter. You just couldn't bring yourself to throw them away after the breakup.

So you decided to do the most dangerous thing and read the letter Matías had given to you, which had his love confession in it. You took out the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. It was definitely going to make you feel worse, but you proceeded anyway.

Dear Y/N,

You have caught my eye. Whenever I'm around you, my heart races, and my pale face turns red. I just gawk at you. You're just the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Although you may not feel the same, I can't hide my feelings anymore. Please, let take your hand, and we shall jump together in the sea of love.

Sincerely, Matías Recalt

You sighed as the memories of you and Matías together danced in your mind. From picnic dates to trips at the beach, your eyes connected to the ceiling for what felt like hours. Then you feel asleep. At least in your dreams, the both of you were still together.

You were the makeup stylist for Matías on the set of Apache. Since the day you both were introduced to each other, you were inseparable. Texting and calling each other for hours, meeting up after filming was done. This went on for months until finally, Matías had sent you the letter confessing his feelings for you. You felt the same way for him and started dating. Unfortunately, Matías broke up with you a year later due to losing interest in you. He left you there to cry after breaking your heart. Before your breakup, you had also noticed some signs: Matías being visibly uncomfortable whenever you showed affection toward him in a romantic way, like kissing. His responses while texting became shorter, and he'd also take a long time to respond to you. He even stopped saying I love you. Once Malena entered the picture and became a friend of Matías, it was only a matter of time before he broke up with you. He seemed interested in her, but you brushed it off, thinking your mind was playing tricks on you.

Matías had never said he broke up with you to be with Malena, but you knew well that was also another reason why you both broke up because the moment he left, he began to date her. You begun to compare yourself to Malena. She had the perfect body. The perfect face. The perfect personality. You even begun to copy her fashion, hairstyle, and makeup for him to notice you. No wonder why Matías fell in love with her. You were nothing compared to her. But you could never hate her. She was always nice to you despite you being his ex. She'd always invite you to parties or shopping, but you'd always decline. You tried your best to be her friend, but the memories of Matías just kept coming back. All those things he was doing with you, he was now doing with her. That thought absolutely destroyed you.

It bothered you how Matías acted like you didn't mean anything to him before and that you were once the person he considered marrying. The both of you are still friends, of course, but you knew that everything wouldn't be the same after the breakup. For example, he doesn't even text or talk to you first anymore. He doesn't invite you to things that aren't even considered intimate, such as taking a walk in the park or just having a simple conversation.

Everyone else seems bothered by your constant rambling about Matías. You complained about how much you missed him, how you still have feelings for him, and even more nonsense. Years have passed, and you are now the makeup stylist for the LSDLN cast. Everyone in the cast continuously rolled their eyes and excused themselves from the conversation whenever you brought up Matías and Malena. All except for Enzo. He was the only one who listened to you. Whenever you were feeling down, he was there for you, comforting you and allowing you to cry on his shoulder. His chocolate eyes were filled with anger toward Matías, about how he dropped you the moment he got someone new. Although he didn't hold a grudge toward the couple, his blood still boiled.

You just wanted to scream at those who were bothered by you. If they can be in your shoes for one day to understand how you feel. They didn't hate you, of course, but you wished they were more emotionally available like Enzo. You wished they would listen.

A recent moment besides yesterday when you saw Malena visiting Matías on the set. She gave him lunch, and then they went off to somewhere private. Probably went there to make out or something. You sighed and also went somewhere private and took the letter out of your pocket. You read it over and over again. Since nobody was near, you said out loud,

"I guess he never meant what he wrote in that letter."

Your back slid down the wall as you sat down.

It's not easy having your heart broken.

You'll never forget how Matías left you. How could he go and leave you behind? All alone, to cry on your own. You should've known he was going to bail on you.

You closed your eyes, wishing this feeling would go away but deep down, you knew it wouldn't.

#matías recalt #matias recalt #matias recalt x reader #matias recalt fanfic

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anika-ann · 5 months

Text

Back and Forth - part 3.2

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 14000

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

Series masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DJ: Fair

DJ: Charming or sexy?

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

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

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

Me: Nope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: You’re getting better and better.

Me: He’s onto you now though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

DJ: Fine, keep your secrets, Ms Avenger

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

DJ: Crap gotta run

DJ: Number four is the one I think

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

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

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

DJ: You too

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

DJ: …Ms Avenger

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goddamn him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. The mission.

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

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

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

Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.

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

Small talk it was.

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

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

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

What was wrong with you today?

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Location.

Time.

Two names.

Four objectives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Her contributions to our common goal are invaluable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Having fun as we were ordered?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Make Avengers look good.

Look good.

Have fun.

Do not kill each other.

Do not kill each other. Got it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…right.”

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

“Either way. Would you like to dance?”

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

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

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

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

But how could you do any different?

“Sure,” you said simply. “Why not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t sell yourself so short.”

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

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

It was terrifying.

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

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

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

Oh for god’s-

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

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

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

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

“I wanted to apologize.”

-he just said he was sorry.

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

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

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

“For what?” you asked quietly.

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

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

But even with him deliberately ignoring the threat…

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’d do the same,” you added.

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

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

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

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

Yet, you tried at least now.

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

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

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

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

“Apology accepted, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then your brain caught up.

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

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

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

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

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

And then Steve spoke up again.

“…and you’re probably right.”

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

Did he just-

Stop the presses! you wanted to shout.

Did he just admit he himself was a hothead?

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

This was simply too satisfying to be true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then again, that was probably the point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked.

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

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

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

“Mission accomplished, it suits you-“

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

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

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

“Yeah... did I?”

“You did.”

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

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

Peace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t okay, but it was alright.

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

And perfect was never in your reach.

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

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

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

“You know-“

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

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

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

“Thank you for the dance, stranger.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Son of a-”

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

But apparently not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…are you positive?”

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh, that was not good at all.

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

“Sorry for-“

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

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

You never got to finish the message.

Steve never got to even step out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

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

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

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #agents of shield #inhuman reader #agent reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanficton #back and forth #anika ann

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riddle-me-ri · 3 months

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I've just found your blog and read just about every penguin x reader I could find man! I gotta ask for more (I'm so sorry if your askbox is closed or anything again so sorry ignore this if it is) how do you think they'd handle a chubby short reader feeling insecure? Since I know you did one for reader comforting the colony on their insecurities

Either way have a good day/night/whenever you read this, take care of yourself, and get hit with the self care and seld love beam or so HELP ME :D

a/n: awww this is so sweet, nothing like reciprocated love and support, cause if there’s any rogue that understands these insecurities it’s definitely a handful of the pengys. I hope you enjoy!

Content Warning: none

The Penguins Comforting Reader's Insecurities

Arkhamverse Penguin:

- Oswald understands all too well how you feel…

- He wishes he can just get rid of those thoughts for you.

- Oz mostly uses actions rather than words to try and reassure you.

- He will spoil you with clothes that he knows will compliment your body.

- Oz will wrap his arms around you or squeeze you.

- He will solidify his actions with words if he can tell you’re still not convinced.

Reevesverse/Farrell Penguin:

- Needless to say, this Oswald compliments you…basically daily.

- He does everything he can to put your insecurities at bay.

- Oz will fill your ears with sweet honeyed words about how much he loves to touch and hold your plump skin.

- He will tell you how your chest is his favorite pillow to nestle into.

- As his words get sweeter, his grip around you gets tighter and he pulls himself closer to you to kiss you.

- Just the warmth and sincerity in his voice may just be enough to make you convinced.

Gotham Penguin:

- Oswald hears you out, and it hurts him to hear how you feel about yourself.

- He instantly wants to know if there’s anyone in particular that said something rude or judgemental to you.

- However, even Oswald himself doesn’t know how to take care of an enemy when it’s their own person.

- Oz will want your full attention when he tells you that he wouldn’t change a thing about you.

- A king always knows what he wants, and he only ever wants the best.

BTAS Penguin:

- Oswald wishes he could find the words that could cease your insecurities for good.

- The way he compliments you is like something straight out of a poetry book or romance novel.

- He holds your hands and squeezes them reassuringly before kissing them, just adoring you the only way he knows how.

- He will spend the whole day with you, never letting you out of his sight.

- Oswald assures you that you're just the perfect beautiful dove and that you two were always meant for each other, no matter what others say or feel.

- Pretty soon, your feelings will slowly be replaced with love and contentment.

Telltale Penguin:

- Ozzie's first instinct is to go fists to cuffs with whoever said anything to you or made you feel that way.

- However, when he realizes it's just your mind…he can't help but understand somewhat.

- He knows what it's like when your mind goes out of it's way to make you feel like shit.

- Oz isn't always the most physical when it comes to affection, but in these circumstances, he pulls out all the stops.

- He rests and nestles his head on your thighs or chests, where else would he rest his weary head if you weren't generously chubby there.

- You shouldn't have to worry about your height, he's got all the height you'll ever need.

- And you'll always be the only person he will ever need.

One Bad Day Penguin:

- Oswald can tell you’re feeling insecure by just how hesitant you become.

- You don’t want to go out sporting a new dress, you don’t want to embarrass Oz, or see people judging you.

- Ozzie racks his brain trying to find a way to make you see what he sees.

- He begins flirting with you, teasingly so, not too far off from how he actually first approached you when you first met.

- You can't ignore the butterflies in your stomach or the soft smile stretching across your lips.

- Out of all the beautiful people that were in and out of the Iceberg Lounge…he only had eyes for you.

The Batman (2004) Penguin:

- Ozzie's first remedy for your insecurities is to make you laugh.

- He’ll make fun of conventionally attractive people and/or skinny people (totally not also because he has a grudge against them)

- They aren't as fun as you are, they aren't as amazingly beautiful inside and out as you…

- Before either of you realize it, he somehow goes from joking to sincere-

- He just wanted to see you smile and happy again, but he means everything he says.

- Ozzie wishes he can more, but he always hopes that his words are enough (they are)

Batman Unlimited Penguin:

- Oswald is hesitant and unsure what to do despite desperately wanting to help…

- How does he reassure someone of something he often struggles with that's only left him bitter and resentful.

- It breaks his heart to hear how you dislike your physique.

- He tries to deter them with his own words, how lucky he feels to have you…(especially…given his own appearance and age…)

- Not to make it about him but as a means to let you know he can understand and relate…

- But he has been able to be more secure in himself because someone as beautiful as you loves him for who he is and what he looks like inside and out.

- And he hopes to return the sentiment tenfold with his words and undying devotion to you.

#ri writes #the penguin x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #arkhamverse penguin x reader #farrell penguin x reader #reevesverse penguin x reader #gotham penguin x reader #btas penguin x reader #telltale penguin x reader #one bad day penguin x reader #obd penguin x reader #the batman 2004 penguin x reader #batman unlimited penguin x reader

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its-not-a-pen · 1 year

Text

1460th day as the prime minister of han and you are the enemy general at my mercy. since your absolute loser of a liege lord is MIA you agree to work for me until he returns and in exchange i agree not to raze your city to the ground and put every rebel to the sword. i hope this magnanimous gesture will convince you of my good intentions.

1461st day as the prime minister of han in order to knock you down a few pegs i try to sabotage your integrity by making you share a room with your loser liege lord's two wives but you just stand outside the door all night with a candle and aren't tempted at all. (i am honestly baffled, as far as i'm concerned other people's wives are utterly irresistible.)

1462nd day as the prime minister of han, my advisor tells me it's easier to catch flies with honey so i begin plying you gifts and pretty serving girls but you keep sending them to your loser liege lord's wives. instead of passing the evening with me engaged in gentlemanly conversation, you spend long hours drying their tears and reassuring them their loser husband is safe. i can't say i'm not annoyed by the snub but your filial piety is commendable

1463rd day as the prime minister of han and even with my considerable intellect, i cannot understand why a man of your skills would chose to serve such an unworthy master. that sanctimonious sandal-weaver has lost nearly every battle he's fought (most of them against me), yet heroes still flock to his cause and peasants aid him at every turn. how does he inspire such loyalty?

1464th day as the prime minister of han, i definitely will not be throwing you an extravagant banquet every day because that's just desperate! i'm only throwing them every fifth day and small ones every third day. do you not like the silk-and-gold robes i've been sending you? you can speak plainly, general, i wont be offended. do they not fit? i must see for myself, please disrobe--

1465th day as the prime minister of han and you finally join me for a drink. i've forgotten how nice this is, in between fighting bandits, quashing rebellions and running 1/3 of a country i've not had much time to myself. the wine loosens your tongue and you talk about brotherhood, sacrifise and sacred oaths in a peach garden, things i've heard about but never seen, like the qilin and other such fantastical beasts but you're so sincere i can't even bring myself to scoff at you. i've lived my entire life looking over my shoulder; better to betray than be betrayed, that's my motto. i've never known anything else.

1466th day as the prime minister of han and i give you a silk bag to protect your long, handsome beard after you made an offhand comment about the whiskers getting brittle in winter. the emperor himself remarked upon it and even though you were humble and self-effacing as always, i preened. it pleases me that you look so well under my patronage, yet your eyes are so troubled. i must not be doing enough, time to consult my advisor again...

1467th day as the prime minister of han i noticed your green battle-coat was threadbare so I fashioned a replacement made of the rarest brocade but you only ever wear it under the old coat loser liege lord gave you because having a piece of him around eases your heart. i don't even have a clever quip for that. although in hindsight i should have expected this turn of events given your utter indifference to that loser's wives and my pretty serving girls.

1468th day as the prime minister of han, i give you the fastest horse in the world and to my surprise you're elated, bowing and thanking me profusely. then you go and ruin the moment by telling me how grateful you are because it means you will be able to travel quickly to your loser liege lord when you discover his location and now i wish i'd turned that damn beast into glue. this is the first time i've ever seen you smile.

1469th day as the prime minister of han, a verse came to me during our walk through the woods; "the magpie flies south and circles the tree three times. where shall he rest?" i want you to stay. i want you to be mine. lead my armies and help me bring order to the realm, i'll raise you monuments and immortalise your name. alas, the bitter irony is not lost on me, i want you for your loyalty but your loyalty is the reason you cannot stay. if you could have been persuaded i would have lost my respect for you.

1470th day as the prime minister of han and news arrives that your loser liege lord is alive. my advisor tells me that you won't leave until you've repaid my kindness. i guess i better keep you away from the action and hope the next few months are boring and uneventful. in the meantime why don't you try on this new robe! no, i don't mind you undressing here--

1471th day as the prime minister of han and my city is under attack. you single-handedly break the siege and bring me the enemy leader's head. hospitality repaid, you ride off without a backwards glance and i watched the horizon long after you have disappeared.

4391th day as the prime minister of han. I trust you've been well, general, since we last met. I often dreamed that you would return to me, we'd sit under the trees and drink a toast for old times sake. As far as reunions go, the middle of an ambush is not very auspicious. Our roles are reversed, I am the bleeding hart and you are the faithful hound. by rights you should have delivered me straight to your master but instead you let me limp away. why did you do it my beautiful, foolish, loyal general? you know i will only cause you grief. this war will not end as long as i draw breath. this country cannot have three kingdoms any more than a single mountain can have three tigers.

-epilogue-

last year as the king of wei and i trust you've been well, general, since we last met...

notes under the cut:

It's a truth universally acknowledged that any funny joke on tumblr.com will be run into the ground.

this is a spoof of the 2nd Century Warlord by @romanceyourdemons

1/ Events are based on the historical novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms, supplemented by historical events.

2/ In 196 AD, Warlord Cao Cao moves the capital of China to his territory of Xu City with the Emperor as his puppet. His offical title is the General-in-Chief (大將軍) although I've gone with the more recognisable "Prime Minister". In 200 AD, Cao Cao captured General Guan Yu, who was serving under Liu Bei.

3/Book!Cao Cao is portrayed as a villain and his name is literally synonymous with the devil in Chinese culture. IRL Cao Cao was considered to be a wise and capable ruler. I've decided to bridge the gap a little.

4/ Cao Cao (and sons) were very influential poets, the line "the magpie flies south" is a passage from the Unnamed Magpie Poem, after consolidating power, Cao Cao encourages all the best and brightest in his kingdom to flock to his court.

5/ "I dreamt of you, general" monologue taken verbatim from the 2010 tv show. People in the han dynasty were battling demons and that demon is bisexuality.

6/ Book!Cao Cao does not actually think Liu Bei is a loser, he considers him to be "one of the only two heroes in the world". but my god, you can pry that alliteration out of my cold, dead hands.

#chinese history #ancient china #romance of the three kingdoms #san guo yan yi #history meme #cao cao #liu bei #guan yu #second century warlord adjacent i guess #i realise it's an incredibly bold move to spoof a popular post when the op is literally ur mutual #do you like stories that are 7/10 history and 3/10 conjecture and 10/10 batshit crazy? read romance of the three kingdoms!#the moss translation none of the other ones

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mebemilena · 5 months

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We fight and break up, we kiss and make up

A/N: i need more maya lopez x reader. Saw someone saying they'd go a far as writing some themselves and i thought the same. Also, i'm a sucker for her fighting. And i really wish i'd come up with better titles, i'm usually good at it.

tittle from Hot n Cold by Katy Perry

pairing: Maya Lopez x Reader prompt: "there is only one bed" summary: Kingpin sent you to follow Maya until Tamaha.

Maya felt something was off. She spent the whole day feeling like someone was watching her but couldn't find any observers, thinking it could be a little bit of paranoid.

She went out for a walk by the lake and felt the soft breeze on her skin, closing her eyes for a minute or two. Her calm was interrupted by that sensation again, like someone was staring holes to her nape.

Maya turned around but saw nothing suspicious, only the wind stroking the trees. She turned back on track and was startled to see you, your nose just a few inches from hers. She took a step back. "What the hell!", she signed. "What the fuck are you doing here?", her expression was a mix of rage and frustration, you couldn't decide.

It all started too quickly. You found yourself throwing punches at each other, as far as you almost falling on the river. Maya kicked your ribs and pushed you on a tree, making you wince in pain. You jumped on her, your legs too fast for her to follow and you kept going like you were dancing all around each other, not really trying to hurt each other anymore, just contain the rage on both of you.

But then she held your leg up after you tried to kick her sides and threw on the ground again. You laid there, eyes closed while catching your breath.

Maya made a face at you and left, walking to the house. You followed her and grabbed her wrist. "I'm here to take you home, Maya! Fisk sent me.", you explained like it wasn't obvious.

Fisk knew the effect you had on Maya, she had a sweet tooth for you. If there was anyone who could make her do anything just by asking nicely, that'd be you. That's why she hadn't said goodbye when she left New York, she knew if you had asked her to stay she'd consider it.

You stood there just looking at her for a moment, taking in her image. "I'm not gonna ask you to come back. I just wanted to see if you're okay.", you told her.

Maya seemed to contemplate. She liked you, that much was true, but she didn't know on which side you'd stand and, before she could ask, you claryfied.

"I'm with you, Maya. Always.", you were sincere, she knew.

Maya took you to her house as if she didn't know you had already looked the place over. "We're not gonna play a cat and mouse game.", she signed. "You stay the night and leave by morning, no breakfast included.".

You sighed heavily but agreed, confident you could convince her to at least have a meal with you, to chat and maybe something more.

- - -

"There's only one bed.", Maya calmly signed to you, arching an eyebrow when you threw yourself on her bed. You looked around, then faced her. "Where will you sleep?", you joked.

"Funny.", she replied, getting herself ready to wash and brush her teeth.

Maya watched you walk around the bedroom, gathering your toothbrush and a pair of clothes. She had gone through her night routine herself and was ready to take some well deserved rest, but you were not sleepy and that'd be a problem.

You left the toilet wearing shorts and a clean oversized Pantera shirt, feeling her eyes on you as Maya followed your moves. You stretched your arms above your head and settled right next to her in bed, facing her with a dreamy smile.

"This is not a honeymoon.", Maya told you, but you just smiled wilder.

"Understand?", she insisted, facing away from you for a second before turning back and laying her head on the same pillow, her eyes on you again as if she tried to read your mind.

"I missed you.", you signed. "I wanted to text you but i was hurt that you left.", you explained, your heart on your sleeve as usual, but just for her.

Maya waited until you finished. "I won't apologize. I did what i had to", she told you.

"Of course.", you finished.

- - -

The cold air entered the bedroom through the opened window. You tossed in the sheets, realizing you were totally uncovered.

You looked around just to see Maya very well asleep, the blanket all around her like a burrito, her back facing you. You rolled your eyes before hugging her from behind, tapping on her shoulder and humming your lips to her nape. That was almost an inside joke of you two, a code for "cuddle me".

She woke up but moved just enough for you to have a piece of the blanket too. You took your chance to hug her again, feeling the warmth of her skin. Your hand stopped by her hips and she turned around, looking into your eyes for the hundredth time now.

Maya kissed you on the lips. Softly. She tossed a bit and hugged you, her head under your chin. She kissed your throat and you smiled, your arms around her and your legs tangled.

You fell asleep planning to surprise her with some eggs and bacon by the morning.

Check out my redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/MilenaFernandes/shop?asc=u

toss a coin to your artist (me) at ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/mebemilena

#maya lopez x reader #echo #maya lopez #marvel women

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inkedroplets · 8 months

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Supercorptober 2023 Day 19: Hazy

Read on AO3

After nearly a lifetime of being gawked at and whispered about (sometimes in not-so-quiet voices) Lena had gotten very good at knowing when someone was staring at her.

She noticed Alex casting a furtive glance at her from across the table during a game night that was just beginning to wind down. She initially ignored it, focusing on the game board even though the winner had already been decided. Thanks to a number of very lucky dice rolls Kara had pulled into an insurmountable lead which left the rest of them to battle it out for second place. Everyone except for Lena. Her ending up in last place seemed preordained and Lena considered her options and realized that she was almost assuredly destined to remain there. She gave the dice in her hand an obligatory shake before letting them fall from her hand.

“Damn it,” Lena murmured before the dice had even stopped rattling over the top of the board. The roll was bad. She knew that with the kind of certainty that a seasoned pitcher knows when a throw is bad even before it leaves their hand. “Tough luck,” Nia said consolingly, moving Lena’s piece for her a paltry two spaces, seven shy of the space she was aiming for. She gave Lena a comforting pat on the arm but the wide grin that had spread across her face somewhat dulled the sincerity. “You look really torn up about it,” Lena teased as she passed Nia the dice. She smiled when Nia gave her best Who me? expression complete with doe-eyes but couldn’t help but notice that Alex was still looking at her out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t have something in my teeth, do I?” Lena asked looking over at Alex who went slightly pink at being caught. “No,” Alex said hurriedly and looked as if she were debating whether or not to try and shrink behind Kelly. “It’s nothing,” she said in a tone that really meant it was nothing bad. “I’m just still wrapping my head around you...” She made a flourish with her hands and Lena could only stare back bemused for a moment until it clicked.

Her magic…

“That makes two of us," Lena said, wishing she had simply left it alone instead of letting her curiosity get the better of her. She still hadn't completely come to terms with the concept of their being such a thing as magic, much less her being able to use it. A part of her wondered if she ever really would. Magic was something that was simply too antithetical to her worldview for her to accept easily. Even in a world with metahumans and aliens, magic seemed a bridge too far. “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Alex said.

“No,” Lena said reflexively. She mustered a smile that had all the makings of the genuine article and shook her head to hide its imperfections. “It hasn’t really sunk in yet that I can… that I’m…” She copied the gesture that Alex made, finding that easier than actually saying the word ‘magic’. “Of course,” Alex said quickly. “It does make sense though,” Nia said sagely. She exchanged a look with Brainy who had just moments ago been gazing intently at the gameboard. He took a moment to ponder the question, glancing over at Lena for a brief moment before nodding in agreement. “What does?” Kelly asked, wading into the conversation carefully. “Lena not believing in magic,” Nia said. She looked around the table as if to gauge everyone’s response to her theory. When she got back around to Lena she offered her another consoling look, this one far more sincere than her first. “It would be hard for anyone to accept.” “Not Kara,” Alex said, smirking a little. “She’d come around pretty fast." “I would not,” Kara interjected. “I don’t know,” Lena teased and flashed Kara a shy, secretive smile. “Ganging up on me.” Kara shook her head but Lena could see that she was smiling. “Everyone except Kara,” Nia amended. “But Lena would naturally have a harder time than most since it’s so unlike her. Science and magic don’t really mix,” she said. Like oil and water.” “She’s right,” Lena agreed and found that having Nia explain it in her stead made it easier for her to talk about. But it wasn’t just that the two didn’t mix. In her mind, science and magic were diametrically opposed. “Magic, it’s not…” She paused, fishing for the right word. She noticed that everyone was looking at her now, the game all but forgotten. “Not logical,” she finished.

There was a brief moment of silence followed by a murmur of agreement from around the table. “ Highly illogical,” Nia agreed and held her left hand up in a Vulcan salute which got a small smile out of Kelly.

"I get that," Alex said, no longer looking like she wanted to crawl under the table out of embarrassment. "That's what's making it so hard for me to believe it too but Lena you can do magic." She stared at her, waiting for what she said to sink in. "You have a spellbook for God's sake," she added. "Doesn't that make it a little easier to accept?"

"It should," Lena admitted. "But I still don’t quite believe it. Can’t believe it,” she admitted. Even now. With Lex and Nyxly nothing more than a very bad memory, in no small part to the help she was able to provide. Thanks to her magic… Even still, she found it impossible to believe. Lena braced herself for the follow-up questions that were sure to follow, hoping she could discretely steer the conversation elsewhere. Not that she didn’t ever want to talk about it but not tonight. Not just yet… She saw the way that Brainy was looking at her and knew he likely had several questions for her. But before he could open his mouth, Kara cleared her throat. “Who’s roll is it again?”

In near-perfect unison, everyone around the table stopped looking at Lena and turned to look at each other.

"I think it's Kelly's turn," Nia said. “It is,” Kelly said a little sheepishly and leaned over the table to grab the dice. She gave the board a cursory once-over and didn’t seem to like what she saw judging from the way her mouth turned downward.

“You’d need double sixes to ensure second place,” Brainy said. He didn’t even glance at the board as he said it, which Lena took to mean he had already figured out the exact number of spaces each of them would need to move for the best possible outcome.

"Never going to happen," J'onn murmured.

Brainy shook his head, looking far more interested in the topic than the game they were playing. "Actually, the probability that Kelly rolls two sixes is—"

"I don't want to know!" Kelly interjected, waving him off. “It’s bad luck.” “No math at game night,” Nia said darkly but grabbed Brainy by the arm and gave him a quick but fierce hug to show that she was clearly joking. A ripple of laughter echoed around the table and as everyone turned to watch Kelly take her turn, Lena glanced over at Kara who was watching her with a smile on her face.

" Thank you," Lena mouthed. She flashed Kara a small secretive smile and when she felt herself start to blush she turned her attention to the board, pretending to be just as interested in the game as everyone else seemed to be.

By the time everyone was ready to call it a night, Kara’s apartment looked as if a mini tornado had touched down and cut a path of destruction from her kitchen to her living room. There were empty takeout boxes strewn all over the kitchen counter that was speckled with drips of sauce. A quartet of empty wine bottles were perched on the edge of her kitchen table and in the center of it there was that night’s selection of board games still not in their boxes.

“Don’t bother cleaning up,” Kara said when Nia began to gather up the wine glasses bunched up together on the coffee table. “I’ll have the place looking spotless in no time flat. It’s late,” she said, taking the glasses from Nia, clutching them delicately by their stems, and ferrying them to the sink. “It’s not that late,” Nia countered but she hid a yawn with the back of her hand as she said it. “Okay maybe it is late but I can stick around long enough to help un-trash your apartment.” Kelly nodded. “It’s no trouble, Kara.” She was still sitting on the end of the couch next to Alex who was already half-dozing, her head resting against Kelly’s shoulder. “Go on,” Kara insisted and pointed at Alex discreetly. “You’re going to have a hard enough time pouring her into a cab,” she teased. Alex stirred against Kelly’s shoulder but didn’t lift her head as she pointed forebodingly at Kara. “I’ll stay,” Lena said and gave Nia a little nudge on the shoulder. “I’m not anywhere close to tired,” she said and began to gather up some of the dishes on the coffee table. Her sleeping schedule had never been anything other than erratic and after several late nights at the office,

"If you're sure…" Kara said carefully, watching her from the kitchen. She didn’t seem as eager to talk Lena out the door and looked almost guilty for it. There was a sly smile on her face like the tiny glow from a spark that might grow into something more.

"Very sure," Lena said and couldn't help but grin when Kara beamed back at her, feeling her heart do a little skip in her chest.

"Okay then," Nia said softly. She looped her arm with Brainy's and instead of standing her ground tugged him towards the door. "Thanks for tonight,” she called over her shoulder. “My place next week,” she reminded them before turning to Brainy. He was looking at her with a look of polite confusion on his face. One that Nia seemed to expect because she leaned close as she opened the door for the both of them and murmured, “I’ll tell you in the elevator.” “Wait for us,” Kelly called after them as she helped Alex up off the couch. “We can ride down together,” she said

“Have a good night you two,” J’onn said as he followed along in Kelly’s wake. He lingered in the doorway long enough to wave to the both of them. Lena nodded at him and Kara waved back cheerily before he shut the door behind him. Lena could hear all of them chatting animatedly as they made their way down the hall towards the elevator, their voices slowly growing more muffled. “You didn’t have to stay,” Kara said, drawing Lena’s attention back to her. “But I’m happy you did,” she added quickly.

“The loser should have to stay and help clean up,” Lena joked. She was blushing a little as she said it. Something easy enough to blame on the wine. "I might slow you down," Lena warned. It was all too easy to imagine Kara as a blur zipping to and fro, leaving everything sparkling and immaculately clean in her wake.

"Nah." Kara shook her head. "You could never do that."She snapped on a pair of kitchen gloves and surveyed the impressive tower of dishes in the sink with one hand on her hip before she got to work. Lena watched her for a moment, marveling at Kara's speed before she got to work herself.

With both of them working together it took them barely any time at all. Lena was just putting away the board games in the small closet next to the living room when Kara came strolling out of the kitchen, singing softly under her breath. She was carrying what remained of the chiffon cake that Alex had brought for dessert in one hand and two forks in the other.

“No room in the fridge,” Kara said. “I should really get around to cleaning it,” she said and spared a guilty glance back towards the kitchen. “I think there’s still some old takeout shoved in the crisper… But do you mind helping me out a little more?” she joked. She set the cake on the freshly cleaned coffee table and sat down before scooching over to make room for Lena on one end. “Well,” Lena said, taking one of the forks from her before sitting down herself. “I suppose I could help out a little more. Not that I think you need it,” she teased. “You know,” Kara said after they had polished off the cake (which like the cleaning went much faster than Lena had expected), “I think it’s neat.” “Neat?” Lena looked at her, grinning a little at the turn of phrase. It was too perfectly Kara. Coming from anyone else it would have sounded the tiniest bit odd. “Yeah,” Kara said a little defensively, sitting up a straighter, grinning back. “Your magic, I mean… I think it’s really neat.” “I guess it is,” Lena said fairly and was more than a little shocked that she agreed, at least in theory. It was neat. “I just wish it was easier for me to accept that part of myself.” She laughed, feeling more than a little foolish that she was still determined to remain obstinate to the very end. “I guess it’s a little easier for you to accept. You being you,” she said fondly and imitated the pose Kara often took when flying, her fist raised up and over her head. “That might be true,” Kara admitted, “But I think it’s just because it doesn’t change anything. You’re still you Lena. Magic or no magic. I know how that must sound,” she said and from her tone maybe expected Lena to call her out on such a simplistic outlook for a problem that had plagued Lena for months now. “But it’s true. I already thought you could do anything you set your mind to. Magic doesn’t change that.” “It sounds like you,” Lena said. “And if you really think that—” “I do,” Kara interjected, nodding so earnestly that Lena had to stifle a laugh with her hand. Too afraid it might become a full-on laughing fit if she didn’t nip it in the bud. “Then I want to say thank you. I think I needed to hear that,” Lena said, feeling as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders, one she hadn’t even realized she had been carrying. “Anytime,” Kara said modestly. She smiled shyly at Lena before her expression turned uncharacteristically grave. “Your pose is all wrong though.” Kara leaned back, surveying her with a careful eye. She nodded to herself, looking more sure than ever, and leaned forward to push Lena’s fist a touch higher into the air. Looking satisfied she sat back down. “Now you got it,” she teased.

“I'll keep that in mind for the next time I go for an afternoon fly around the city."

Kara started to laugh but stopped almost as soon as she had started. “Lena…” She reached over and squeezed her arm like she sometimes did when they were eating lunch together in her office. "You don’t think you could…” Kara began to say before trailing off

“Don’t think what?” Lena said and knew what Kara meant to say when she refused to look at her. "That I could fly? Kara, you can't be serious."

"I don't know,” Kara said a little defensively, looking so thoroughly embarrassed that Lena couldn’t help but laugh. “Is it really that hard to believe?” “No,” Lena admitted. “And that’s why it’s so weird. Oh God, can you imagine if any paparazzi snagged a picture of me flying around on a broom? The headlines would just write themselves, wouldn’t they? And even if I could fly,” Lena said, knowing that Kara was the only one she would ever humor with such a thought exercise, “you know that I don’t care for it. The only time I feel safe flying is—” She nearly said: when I fly with you and felt her cheeks start to glow. "When I fly in clear weather,” she finished, hoping it didn't sound as lame to Kara as it did to her.

"Well, if you ever did find out you could fly, I'd be happy to give you lessons. I'd even let you borrow one of my old capes."

Lena smirked. "I'll hold you to that," she said. The mental image of herself standing on top of a tall building with her hands on her hips while a red cape flapped in the wind behind her was almost enough to send her into a fit of laughter. It was simply too weird.

"Fine with me," Kara said cheerfully. She beamed at Lena and scooted closer so that their knees were touching. "Can I ask you one more thing and then we can turn on a movie until it's too late for you not to stay the night?” “I can always call a car,” Lena reminded her although she already knew that Kara would never actually let her go through with it. They had done the same song and dance many times before and each time they did, Kara always won out in the end. She’d insist too heartily that Lena stay, making a show of her already prepared guest room that would just go to waste otherwise, insisting that Lena could never be an inconvenience and if Lena still wasn’t convinced, Kara would take her by the hand and tug at it as if trying to coax her to walk with her and that would be that. “Stay,” Kara insisted. “Unless you have an early morning meeting you forgot to tell me about, I’d understand.” “No early meeting,” Lena said. “Ask your question and maybe I’ll stay,” she teased.

“When you were younger did you never imagine what it would be like to be able to do magic?”

“Ah,” Lena said, realizing that a part of her had instinctually known that was the question Kara wanted to ask her, or at least something along those same lines. “You don’t have to—” “I suppose I did,” Lena said in a careful tone usually reserved for white lies. “I’m almost certain…” She tilted her head at an insouciant angle, trying to remember, to sift through what little remained of her early childhood memories before she became a Luthor. Trying to find a memory she wasn’t sure even existed in the first place.

"Maybe," Lena amended. Before my mother passed, I remember I loved to play pretend. Surely there was at least one time I pretended to be a witch," she reasoned. "Although I can't remember it. All my memories of her have faded too much to recall much of anything in particular. I was too young,” she said as if she needed to apologize for forgetting, even though she had tried her very best to remember. “And once I was taken in by the Luthors,” she said and shrugged as if to say need I say more? “I don’t think I could have believed in something like magic even if I wanted to.” “I’m sorry…” Kara took her gently by the hand and pulled it into her lap. “I shouldn’t have asked.” “You have no reason to be sorry, Kara. You’re the only person I can talk to about this. Magic,” she said almost conversationally as if they were talking about something mundane like the weather. “It’s a bit too much for one of my tiny boxes,” she joked, although there had been a very real temptation to try and shove it away. The only thing that had stopped her from doing so had been the knowledge that Lillian had tried to do the very same already.

"My magic," Lena said, the word still feeling strange on her tongue, “it’s the one remaining link I have to my mother. And when I think of it like that… It's not so strange."

"No, it's not," Kara agreed. "Not one bit.” She squeezed Lena’s hand in her own. “It’s just another part of you to… admire.” Her gaze flickered away and back and all at once Lena became very aware of Kara’s nearness.

“What about you?” Lena asked. “You must have thought once or twice what it would be like to do magic… And what you do with a pen doesn’t count.” Kara smiled sheepishly but her eyebrows shot upward. "You know most people would focus on me being able to fly and bench press a building when they start talking about magic," Kara said, sounding amused.

"You have a gift," Lena said simply and grinned happily when she saw the joy her response brought about. "Don't try to dodge the question," she joked.

"I'm not dodging," Kara insisted. "I might have thought about it once or twice… or a few hundred times." Kara looked immensely unapologetic as she said it. "You try watching The Wizard of Oz without it crossing your mind at least once."

"Fair enough," Lena agreed, thinking of how many times they had watched the movie together and how Kara not only never seemed to tire of it but got lost in the movie each and every time. "Imagining yourself flying around in a bubble?" she asked, half-joking.

"No," Kara said, sounding amused by Lena's joke. "More like imagining…” She trailed off, looking embarrassed. “It’s stupid,” she said dismissively.

“I’m sure it’s anything but,” Lena assured her. Kara managed an uncharacteristically half-hearted grin but gave Lena’s hand another little squeeze. “Sometimes I have this thought, a wish really, usually when things are especially good… Nights like this with everybody together, lunch dates with you in your office, whenever I see my name on the byline of an article…” Kara grinned proudly and Lena noticed the way she glanced over towards where her Pulitzer was proudly on display. “I wish I could have seen into the future, " Kara said carefully as if still afraid that Lena might change her mind and think it stupid. "So that when I arrived on Earth I would know how good my life would turn out… know that I wouldn’t always feel so alone…” Lena nodded somberly, understanding the appeal perfectly. She saw in her mind’s eye herself as a child in Luthor Manor, sitting in a bedroom that was cold and strange and seemingly hers. A bedroom that was too large a room for such a small girl in too large a house for anyone really. She remembered how afraid she had been. How lonely she felt even though she wasn’t quite old enough to understand the hurt. Only knowing that she didn’t want to be alone and fearing that she would always be so.

"But then again maybe it would have ruined the surprise," Kara reconsidered, looking at Lena, clearly wanting her opinion on the matter. "Like sneaking a look at your presents before you're allowed to open them."

"If you saw everything that was going to be, I guess it would kind of take the fun out of it," Lena said fairly, putting much more effort into the thought exercise than she would have for anyone other than Kara.

Right?" Kara nodded to herself. "It would take the fun out of it," she agreed, sounding as if she was trying hard to convince herself it was true. "But one quick peek wouldn’t be so bad,” she reasoned in that familiar, impossible-to-argue-with tone that Lena found herself powerless in the face of.

“What would you want to see with your one quick peek?” Lena asked. “Just one?” Kara said in a pained tone as if she wasn’t the one to suggest the rules in the first place. She fell silent and stayed that way for nearly two whole minutes, deep in thought. “A night out at Al's or any game night, I think.” She blushed a little as she said it, perhaps because she saw how much her answer had surprised Lena. “I never would have believed in a million years that I could be surrounded by so many people who care about me. That I could feel like I belong here.” She glanced at her kitchen table where they had all been crowded around just hours ago and smiled fondly. “I’m very lucky…” “We’re the lucky ones, Kara” Lena said, surprised when Kara blushed a deep crimson. How could you never realize that? she wondered. “Lena…” “I could blame it on the wine,” Lena said, even though she knew she wasn’t anywhere tipsy enough for that. “But I’m just being honest. We’re very lucky to have you in our lives.” I’m lucky…

“What about you?” Kara asked, still blushing. “What would you want to see with your one quick peek?” “ Mine ?” Lena asked as if she hadn’t already known that Kara would want to ask her that very question. The answer came to her at once. The day she had met Kara. Maybe because meeting her had led to so many wonderful things or simply because it was her. “I’m not sure… Too many good memories to pick just one,” she fibbed. “A game night,” she said. “Preferably one where I didn’t come in last place.” “That’s cheating,” Kara said dismissively. “Game night was my answer,” she teased.

“You should have made that a rule then,” Lena said, pretending to scold her.

“I’ll know for next time,” Kara said. She settled back against the couch looking comfortable for a moment before she turned to Lena again. “You know… I was going to say the day I met you,” Kara said. “Meeting you put me on the path I always wanted to find. The day I met my best friend,” she said as if that was reason enough. “ But as happy as that would make me, I would hate to ruin the surprise of meeting you.” I would too,” Lena murmured. “You were, are, the best kind of surprise.” She could feel Kara’s gaze on her, the almost irresistible pull of it, and forced herself to glance away, pretending to look at the clock. "What about now?” Lena asked. “What does Kara Danvers hope is waiting for her in the future? Another Pulitzer?” Kara grinned appreciatively. "I hope so. But besides that… I don't really know what I want." She looked thoughtful for a moment, dazzling Lena with a hesitant smile. "What do you think is waiting for future me?"

"I have a spell book," Lena said drolly, "not a crystal ball but if you still want my opinion…”

"You know I do."

"What did those Magic 8-Balls use to say? Future too hazy, try again later?" Lena wondered aloud before actually trying to imagine a potential future for Kara.

"I most definitely see another Pulitzer. You might want to invest in a nicer shelf," she suggested. "A promotion or two is in the cards, as well. You'll drag me to a thousand more karaoke nights and spend the night dazzling anyone lucky enough to be in the audience."

"I do have impeccable taste in songs," Kara said, nodding along, clearly pleased. “What else?”

"I'm sure you'll save the world a dozen or more times between now and later." Her smile faded a little. "It will be dangerous but you'll come out the other side every time because I'd never let anything happen to you." "Ditto," Kara whispered beside her. "And you'll inspire countless people. With and without an 'S' on your chest. The way you always do. You probably won't even realize it, because that's you," Lena said, wondering how Kara could be so oblivious to the effect Kara had on people before remembering that she herself was guilty of being fooled by a pair of glasses. "You sound so sure," Kara said and there was a note of wonder in her voice. As if she couldn't help but believe every word.

Lena smiled, finally turning to face her. "It could turn out differently. Life is so..." The word messy leaped into her mind and she shoved it away impatiently. "unpredictable," she finished. "Never in a million years could I ever imagine that I would make so many friends or be able to do magic or meet someone like you. But I know you and that's enough to guess. To hope..." "And what do you, Lena? What's in your future? L-Corp growing large enough to absorb Queen Industries and Waynetech in a giant merger?" Kara brought her hands together like springing a trap and grinned. "Oh, I'm sure the FTC would just love that," Lena said, laughing as she tried to imagine the swathes of red tape she would need to hack through for such a deal to even be brought to the table. "In the future, less time in my office would be a plus. Beyond that..." She shrugged. "I have no idea." However, that wasn't quite true. As unpredictable, as messy, and as cruel as life could sometimes be, Lena knew one thing for certain. She hoped that Kara would remain a part of it. "Hopefully I put a little more good into the world. Maybe take a vacation. Or two. Or four. I think I'm due a little downtime. Spend more time with my best friend. Let the rest be a surprise for better or worse." "Definitely for the better," Kara said from beside her, leaning her head against Lena's shoulder as she reached for a blanket to throw over the both of them.

Lena nodded in agreement, Kara's presence making it that much easier for her to do such a thing. To believe that tomorrow could be good. To hope.

#supercorptober2023 #supercorptober #my writing #just fluff

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