#unhap | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loud-mouth-loser · 11 months

Text

not him

summary: you’ve been steven’s best friend for a while and have had a crush on him as long as you’ve known him. unfortunately, his eyes are on layla, his alter’s wife. let's just say, you’re not the only one put off by this. this is a story of how you and marc bond over your sorrows.

pairing: marc spector x reader

rating: angst

warning: drunk kiss, one-sided pining, (kinda) cheating, angst, feelings (?)

w/c: 2.7k

a/n: sometimes you just need to feel needed

part two

----

Steven is the type of guy who has no idea what to do with his hands. But when it comes to you, he’s all hands on deck. He’s touchy and you think it’s partially because he’s touch-starved.

And you are too, but in a different way.

Where he craves for touch, you simply cannot process the feeling. It’s foreign. Overwhelming. You’re just not used to it.

But you pull through it because you like him.

And he has no idea.

Steven Grant, the most clueless man in London, gently grasps your hand like you’re not about to keel over from the mere presence of him. You never imagined yourself harboring a massive crush on your best friend, but it’s happened. Or, it’s been happening.

Steven sees you as a safe and reliable friend – one that wouldn’t get the wrong idea if he were to cuddle behind you or play with your hair. And he’s right, in a way. You do understand exactly what his intentions are. And that is nothing.

You’re one to never get your hopes up. Preferring to expect the worst so you’re never disappointed in the end. So you’re fine just being there for him because you’d rather have him as a friend than nothing at all.

He’s adorable really. At first glance you may think he’s a quiet bookworm, looking for a nice spot against the wall to live out the rest of his days, but really, if you give him a chance, he’ll talk for hours. And you’ll listen.

He has a higher-pitched voice than you might’ve expected. His British lit takes it up a notch and you think it’s endearing. He can go on and on about different Egyptian mythological stories, telling each one with details that you swear can only be known by those who were actually there experiencing them.

His eyes light up with a sparkle of his own that you crave to see whenever he’s around. It’s that type of look that spreads his passion and curiosity to whoever's around. You’ve never experienced passion like that until you met him.

And you want more. You’ll always want more. But…it’s too late.

Steven is taken. No – actually he’s married. Well, let’s take a couple of steps back, he’s actually two guys: Steven and Marc.

Marc, the American pessimist, is actually married to a woman named Layla and has been for years now. He just decided to show himself out of the blue one day and now he’s part of Steven. Or he always was a part of Steven, just a hidden one.

Steven, the romantic he is, quickly clicked with Layla and has been chasing after her like a love-sick puppy ever since. And much to Marc’s displeasure, he’s formed a bond with her.

“...And we kissed, can you believe it?” There’s that sparkle again. “I swear to you, she has the softest, most wonderful lips.” He drones on and on about Layla and you can tell it’s all genuine and innocent, which makes it so much worse. “She’s strong and brave, and possibly the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.”

She’s…perfect.

The back of your neck prickles with heat as he continues, “I know I’ve only known her for a couple of months, but I think – no, I know that I love her.” There’s a tingle at the back of your throat that tightens at his words, threatening to burn your eyes with tears if you’re not careful. You swallow it back, jaw clenched to control yourself.

After a moment, his warm brown eyes bore deeply into yours, thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of your hand. You force a small smile at him, holding back the urge to pull your hands away from his. “That’s great, Steven. I’m so happy for you.”

You’ve never been so jealous.

—

Turns out you weren’t the only one unhappy with the news. Apparently, Marc punched Steven in the jaw when it happened (meaning he technically punched himself), telling him to stay away from his wife, but, of course, that didn’t stop Steven and Layla from seeing each other after.

So that’s how you formed an unexpected friendship with Steven’s other half. It’s nothing like Steven and Layla, you are simply just friends. Disgruntled friends at that. Drinking buddies if you want to be more accurate.

You’ve shared a case of beer with Marc countless times. Steven sleeps early so as soon as 10 pm rolls around, you’re stuck with Marc. Well ‘stuck’ is a bit harsh, but being that Steven is your preferred company at any time of the day, it’s true.

But you’ll admit, it’s not that bad.

He actually talks to you, sometimes. You were surprised the first time you got him to open up about how he and Layla were married, but separated. Apparently, being the righteous man he is, he suddenly made the executive decision to move away for her safety, worrying that his work as an avatar could put her in imminent danger. No wonder Layla was less than jazzed to find out about his life in London.

You knew a little bit about Marc and the Egyptian god, Konshu, but because it has never really directly affected your life, you’ve never fully believed it. The random bouts when Steven has disappeared, however, have been worrying, but Marc filled in the gaps pretty well while making sure to refrain from sharing any sensitive information. You realize Marc probably doesn’t have many friends he can trust with any information at all, so you’re willing to stay and listen like you would for Steven. And it’s fine. You’re content with the dynamic.

Marc is just different. More serious, less…gentle.

But don’t get it wrong, Marc can be enjoyable, even funny sometimes. Sometimes. He has this dry sense of humor that you never expected from him and sometimes it feels like he’s actually engaging in conversation instead of him talking at you. And when he’s in a really good mood, he even flirts with you for the hell of it. You never take it seriously, but that is something Steven doesn’t like – and he hasn’t even seen the half of it. You brush it off, believing Steven is just being protective while Marc instigates as much as possible to get back at him.

Tonight is one of those good nights. It started normally: Steven went to bed, Marc got out of bed, and you’re now letting old episodes of a sitcom run in the background as you trade stories about the horrible drivers you’ve encountered in the past.

“ – Then the guy stops in the middle of the road, green light, and everything, and opens his trunk because he wanted to change his shirt!”

Marc’s eyebrows are high on his head as he listens animatedly. “Right there?” His hand is wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer that’s half-drained already. He’s on his fifth, you’re on your third. It’s one of the heavier nights, but neither one of you mentions anything.

“Yes! Right there!” You smile against the mouth of your bottle at the sound of his deep chuckle. It’s so different from Steven’s, but you still enjoy hearing it. Maybe even strive to hear it. You take a deep swallow of your drink then set it down on the crowded coffee table. It’s littered with books, bottles, and a few remotes for various parts of the tv.

“Did you drive around him?”

“No, he was taking up two lanes with his crooked-ass park job! Oh my god, people were so pissed, honking and yelling at the guy – He didn’t even care!” You like him like this, light and open, like everything in his past has evaporated off his shoulders. You can see prominent smile lines at the corner of his eyes as he laughs at the story. Sometimes you wonder who put them there. Steven or Marc. Or was it a joint effort?

The energy in the room dies down as you close the story, but it doesn’t bother you. You just wait for him to continue the conversation, to do his part. That’s how this works: you speak, then he speaks, then you go again.

But he doesn’t, not this time.

You look at him, expecting a dumb question or controversial take on something like usual, but he just stares right back, eyes half-lidded. You’ve never seen that look before.

There’s never any real silence when you and Marc hang out – and even when there is, there really isn’t. That’s why the TV is always on, so you never have space to think. Like really think. It’s like having music play as you eat dinner: the noise plays over the sounds of obnoxious chewing and utensils scraping against plates.

You need that sound. Without it, you wouldn’t be able to sit here next to him. But sometimes it’s not enough. This time it’s not enough.

This silence feels different, even as the muffled voice of the TV drones in the background. It’s unnerving and it settles around you, like fine dust over furniture.

“Is that a new shirt or somethin’?” He sits up slightly against the arm of the couch, eyes sweeping over your body, “I swear, I’ve never seen your cleavage from this angle before.”

“Marc!” You cross your arms over your chest, “Stop looking you perv!” Your face blooms with heat, though it’s already quite warm from the alcohol you’ve been drinking. He has a teasing grin on his face, but his eyes convey something else.

“Mhm…You wore that for Stevey didn’t you?” His words come out in loops, slurred slightly from the drinking challenge you had earlier in the evening.

“And?” Your ears burn as you confirm his suspicions, “What if I did?”

One of his eyebrows lifts in amusement, “You know he’s in love with my wife, don’t you?”

You frown at him, “Yes, Marc. I’m aware.” Your hand reaches for your bottle of beer if only to have something to look at other than those familiar eyes of his. The label is starting to rub off from the perspiration on the glass.

“Then why do you keep trying?” You feel exasperated. Why do you keep trying? You know Steven’s feelings and intentions, and none of them relate to you. You’re his best friend and he’s…well, he’s taken. You’ve never wanted to risk losing your friendship with him, but at the same time, you’ve never lost hope.

“I… don’t know.” Your skin itches. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. Usually, you and Marc would spend a few hours taking turns talking about nothing then you’d call an Uber home and see Steven in the morning.

“Well…He’s an idiot.”

“What –”

Marc sits up, body almost leaning into your space, “Steven has no idea what’s right in front of him.”

“Marc,”

A hand catches yours and you’re thrown back to that day when Steven told you his feelings for Layla.

You are sitting in the exact same position on the couch as that day: you and him, hand in hand and face to face. But this is different. This time Steven’s mouth is telling you exactly what you want to hear.

“You’re beautiful.” But it’s not him.

Marc’s gaze searches your face for a reaction, but all you can do is stare back and look into those soft brown eyes. They have that sparkle. The same look you’ve longed to be directed at you since you met Steven.

You almost give in to that look, wanting to soak in the eagerness flashing in his eyes, but you don’t. You try to take your hands from his hold but he pulls you closer instead. His face is barely a few inches away from yours.

“We shouldn’t…” Your voice is low in a mere whisper. Like you’re sharing a secret.

He smells like him, and he should, you suppose, but it’s still odd to think about how Steven and Marc share a body while being completely different people.

His eyes are different though. His brows sit lower, almost grazing against his dark lashes, infinitely more intense than Steven’s curious look. He’s more alert, or at least, less tired than Steven. And somehow, Steven’s sleepless eye bags disappear when Marc takes control.

But he also looks at you differently. At first, he didn’t look at you at all. He was standoffish, uninterested, and unimpressed. But now, his eyes bore into you and pin you in place. He’s more than looking at you, he’s devouring you. And you like it.

“We shouldn’t…” He echoes your words almost like he’s agreeing, but his eyes flit down to your parted lips directly contradicting your shared sentiment. “But I want to.”

“I-...” He follows your tongue as it pokes out and wets your lower lip nervously, his eyes are nearly glazed over with desire. His hand cups your jaw gently and he slowly tilts your face to look at him. You lean into his touch, craving the feeling of his calloused skin against yours.

Your eyes flutter closed as he leans in, but the kiss never comes.

Instead, a soft sigh brushes your mouth as he holds you close, barely a few centimeters from meeting your lips.

He whispers low with his eyes trained on your parted lips, voice strained with desperation and need, “Please…let me kiss you, sweetheart.” He sounds so broken, yet so sure of this. Like he’s been waiting for this his whole life. You let out a small whimper at his words, unable to hold in how much you want him. His forehead rests against yours, “Tell me you need it as much as I do.”

You attempt to push against him, to capture his lips with yours, but he doesn’t let you. His hand keeps you just far enough to keep you from what you want. “Please.” You beg. Rather than giving in, he parts even further from you and you’re met with that hungry look of his once more.

“Say it.” He sounds so serious, his voice low and rough, but you can tell he wants it as much as you do. He needs this. He needs to hear it.

“I-I want it.” Your hands come up to cradle his face, “I want you to kiss me, Marc Spector. I need you.” The last word is barely audible as you crowd closer to him, nose nudging against his as you lean in.

You feel yourself melt against him as his lips meet yours, warm, soft, and bitter from the beer. There’s an unexplainable feeling that zips up your spine when he kisses you back, hungrily moving his mouth against yours.

You didn’t know a kiss could feel this good.

There’s a push and pull as you move against each other. As the kiss deepens with desire it’s abated by a softened touch as light as a whisper. You love the small sighs he lets out when you sweetly pull back, letting him chase your lips for softer, more playful nips. And then the deeper sounds when you’re flush against him, eagerly drinking him in.

By now, you’ve been pulled onto his lap, legs straddling comfortably over his. His chest rumbles with a groan as your tongue brushes against his, desperately taking in his intoxicating taste. You lean further into him, needing to feel his body against yours.

Your hands drift from his jaw into the soft curls of his hair, tugging gently at the ends, if only to hear that breathless groan of his once more. His hands wrap around your waist and drop to squeeze at your hips, holding you closer as if you aren’t already fully against him.

At some point, you have to break the kiss, if only for a second of air. You look at each other breathing heavily, wrapped around one another, unwilling to part any further.

Silence hangs in the air, but it’s light. Barely even there.

You look at him, and he looks right back, lips swollen with love, or at least the adjacent.

You let out a breath, more like a sigh of relief, when you see it: that sparkle. It’s still there.

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight #steven grant x layla el faouly

2K notes · View notes

harborchild · 2 years

Text

have some art of the Lord of Decay being jus an absoulute huffy creature (in two diffrent pencil flavors!)

#oc au #oc guise #cursed twins au #The Lord of Decay #traditional art #unhap cuz cant find their babbies

1 note · View note

andreadesantis3806 · 1 month

Text

A lil continuation to this wonderful prompt by @ariesdiary

I WANNA CONT. THIS T_T (Full credits to @ariesdiary for the wonderful idea) Would've directly reblogged it but for some reason my tumblr is showing error whenever i try to reblogT_T. Pls refer to the linked post to makes sense of whats goin on.

Alicent finally decides to walk up to the boy who maimed her son, the boy she hated for the unfairness of it all, the boy who now is reduced to nothing more than a ghost; drifting from one place to another in the Keep, the boy holding no smiles for any other but his darling sweet new born babe, just like her when she would hold Helaena and find warmth in her sweet girl when the Keep seemed so...cold and merciless.

She found Lucerys exactly as she would have expected, sitting on a plush armchair by the window overlooking the Blackwater bay and its dark enchanting waves. His dark brown hair fell around his eyes as he cradled his little boy close, humming something Alicent vaguely recognized as some song in High Valyrian. The babe was born prematurely, as the midwives had later told The Queen, was weak and pale for the first few days after his birth before slowly improving and being as healthy as a kicking goat.

She remembered coming to see the child, her king-husband's deathly weak form buzzing with joy over his great-grandson. She remembered Lucerys' exhausted face. She remembered her son Aemond walk up to his husband and son. She remembered the hopeful glint in Lucerys' eye which evaporated as soon as Aemond did nothing but spare a few pats and a light kiss on the babe's head before moving away to let his mother approach.

He did not even ask to hold him.

Remembering all that and relating so much, Alicent stopped by the doorway to Luke's room and her nails ripped skin as she decided that Lucerys was not the first person she had to talk to.

She found her son in the training yard, engaged in a duel with one of the Cargyll twins. Something hot coiled her insides; anger. Aemond was dueling while his husband turned into a living-dead with each passing moment.

''Aemond.''

White hair whipped around as her son turned towards her voice. He panted with exhaustion and remaining adrenaline as he frowned.

''Mother?''

''Come with me.''

She turned to walk away, living no room for refusal.

''What is it Mother?'' He asked, having followed her into a hallway. The sweat was wiped away, the doublet replaced with usual wear.

Alicent pursed her lips, ''Do you not wish to see your son? How he is fairing? How Lucerys is fairing?''

Aemond flinched at the name. Looking away towards the window. The sunlight made it hard for her to fully gauge his reaction. She had seen him done the same whenever his husband would be saying something.

''Does not matter what i want.''

Alicent drew a breath, praying to The Crone for patience.

''And why would you think so?''

Aemond still did not meet her eye, '''He would not appreciate it.''

''And why do you think so?''

Aemond's flinch was barely noticeable, ''He has made it quite clear how unhappy he is within my presence.''

Alicent grabbed her son's shoulders to have him face her fully before swinging her hand swiftly, slapping him hard.

Aemond's face was thrown sideways, the uninjured side of his face turning white to red rapidly. He turned to face his mother; violet eye wide.

''Mother-''

''You foolish, foolish boy! You have lost but one of your eyes yet how an you still be so blind?!''

''Mother- i do not--''

Alicent slapped him again. This too was on the unharmed side of his face. She was not cruel.

''How could you not understand what is happening? Lucerys has done nothing but kind to you since the day your betrothal was announced yet you condemned him! You still continue to condemn him even after you marriage and the birth of you son!''

Aemond clenched his jaw, ''He has shown from the moment we took our vows his unhappiness towards the union, towards me as his husband! How can I face him knowing to see nothing but unhappiness on his fac-''

Alicent's palm met his face again.

She was livid, panting hard and eyes wild with fury. It turns out Aemond despite being intelligent and unparalleled in almost everything, he inherited his foolishness in matters regarding family from his father, and his cowardice to face the truth forefront from Alicent herself.

''If only you took the time to notice--to understand, to just look at your husband for more than a moment long than you would have understood that your claims just the opposite.''

Aemond frowned at her.

''Lucerys looked unhappy during your wedding because he faced your indifference towards him, and processed the fact that you will forever hold nothing but hate towards him, that you will never be able to love him or respect him like a spouse should! And all along you did nothing but feed his assumptions with your attitude towards him. Did you ever see, Aemond? What he has been reduced to? That bright boy now nothing but a shadow of what he used to be; trapped forever in a marriage with someone who will never forgive him, never love him...never love their child.''

''I do not hate our chil--''

''Dont you? Mayhaps you don't....but have you not treated him the exact way your father has treated you? Treated Lucerys like how Viserys treated me all this time?''

Aemond's face blanked out completely, going paler than his natural tone.

Alicent stepped closer to him, eyes finally softening. Her hands grasped his bigger ones roughened by swordfighting. When he met her eyes, they were distant and....sad. 'Sad' was the least complicated word to put what it was.

''My boy....do you truly want history to repeat?''

'''What if you are wrong? What if he truly does not want me....or if he did....does it still remain? After all i did?''

He looked suddenly like the boy who cried in her lap when his dragon egg refused to hatch.

''Do you forgive him?''

His silence was enough answer.

''Do you love him?''

Again his silence spoke more than words ever could.

She smiled at him, ''Then go and show him.''

Aemond's footsteps felt heavier and soundless as he walked up to his husband's chambers. They had separate ones, long distances away from each others'.

His face still stung from the slaps from his mother but he was glad.

If she and he were still wrong, then he still take it in stride. But his mother was right, he couldn't live knowing the truth.

It was evening now, the hallways darker and alight with fire torches. He clutched the thing in his hands tighter, faint warmth bringing him comfort.

He knocked twice, hesitant.

Few moments passed and he was sure Luke was not inside, before-

''Come in.''

The voice was light and heavy at the same time, tone of it still not failing to bring an aching relief in his chest.

He pushed the door open gently, a part of him wanting to run away. He still stepped inside the room, which was warmly lit with the hue of the fireplace.

Lucerys stood in front of it, a blue shawl hugging his form. Aemond's breath hitched as he took in the sight. His husband's moonlight pale face glowed in light of the fire in front of him. He had always been beautiful. But as the memory of his mother's angry voice sunk in, he saw how Luke truly was. Haunting and ghostly....just there, but not really.

Luke turned to see him and froze, eyes widening briefly. Aemond gulped, his toes inside his boots curling.

''Aemond...''

He tilted his head, trying to understand why he suddenly was here....when he never was.

''I....''

''Do you..require anything?''

Aemond's heart ached at the voice. Finally realising what he had done to the one he loved.

''I just....wanted..'' Why was it so hard? ''Just wanted to see you...''

Lucerys blinked. He blinked again until a unsynchronized series of blinks ruptured his beautiful doe eyes, eyelashes fluttering. The previous guardedness he had shown when Aemond stepped inside his room vanished to form a mix of surprising and questioning. As if he would never expect such a thing. As if--

Luke's eyes went guarded again.

''Are we required to sire another child?''

Aemond blinked and sputtered, single eye widening, ''NO! no-i-'' He struggled to form words over the sudden sting and guilt in his heart that his husband had learned to expect nothing but that from him. ''No i just....i...well--i brought something...''

Luke frowned in question and realization that it was not what he thought and a little smudge of guilt.

''Oh..i am sorry..''

''You have nothing to apologize for.''

''You are acting quite bemusing today, husband.''

Aemond pursed his lips before he brought out his other hand which was behind his back, holding on to what he had brought.

Lucerys' eyes widened and lips parted in a gasp as he took in what it was.

A dragon egg.

A shade of teal which graduated to a dark indigo.

''For...our son....'' Aemond muttered, before walking forward with shaking legs towards his husband. He stopped when he was close enough just to see the freckles dotting luke's pale skin. Luke's eyes still stared at the egg with a hint of wonder.

Aemond was suddenly unsure of what he did. But he did not know where to start from....he wanted to build what he had broken down, carefully and cautiously. It would take time as the things which are broken down the fastest, takes the longest to repair. But he will wait, forever if he must.

''Its beautiful, Aemond...'' Lucerys whispered, making Aemond let out a breath he did not know he was holding. He slowly turned and walked towards the cot which was placed at the corner of the room.

He felt Luke follow.

Once he reached, the sleeping face of their son met him, something warm trickling through his insides. He was perfect. He had Aemond's pale hair but unlike his straight ones, the child's was curly like Luke's. He knew his eyes too were the same shade as his, so was the chin that was like his own as well as King Viserys' and Rhaenyra's. The nose, cheeks, the shape of his eyes however were all Lucerys. He was perfect. He only held his son twice since his birth, and he longed for more but was hesitant as to how Luke would take it. But since he was violently proven wrong this morning, the hesitation was gone. Of course he wanted to hold the child close, but for now he did not wish to disturb his rest.

He gently placed the egg on the sheets inside, beside the child and sighed. He felt Luke's warm presence beside him. He wished to wrap his arms around him, but held back. Later....he had to rebuilt everything first....

''It will hatch, rest assured...'' He begun. ''I had the Dragon Keepers made sure that there was a pulse beat inside....it won't be like...''

It won't be like mine.

''I know..''

Aemond turned towards the voice, finding Luke to be already staring at him.

There was a glimmer of something in his eyes he had last seen when Luke had just given birth and saw him approach. The one which faded after he had turned away from them.

Now they burned, only just a tiny flame, but still there nevertheless.

Aemond will do everything to make sure it never flickered.

YEP LITTLE OL' ME WHO CAN'T REST WITHOUT A HOPEFUL ENDING. I should be studying Chemistry wtf. But here it is, thanks to the lovely @ariesdiary for kicking my writer's block out of the solar system. Hope yall and @ariesdiary likes it <3

#house of the dragon #lucemond #lucerys x aemond #aemond x lucerys #lucemond au #fic prompt

73 notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 1 year

Text

King [Steve x Reader]

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: mob boss!Steve x female!Reader Word Count: 1k

Summary: As an archeologist neck deep in a library for research or out in the wilds of desserts and jungles searching for ancient civilizations, you’re not the type you ever thought would catch the attention of one of the city’s mob bosses. They meant nothing to you, and so you never expected it, and you certainly didn’t know how it happened, and yet you find yourself entering the early domestic stages of a serious relationship with Steve Rogers, king of one of the most powerful mob networks in the country, and he’s made dinner for you, seemingly with no agenda…

Content Warnings: a bit of angst, feminist frustration

Additional Notes: Another day, another short piece for my 2022 Holiday Extravaganza! This one was inspired by King by Florence + the Machine. It really hit me hard when I first heard the single earlier this year, and it’s been clawing its way into this little story for many months in my brain.

You threw you plate down into the sink, shattering it, taking Steve completely off guard.

“Hey!”

You slam one hand down onto the counter, and cover your mouth with the other, hanging your head as tears burn behind your closed eyes.

“Hey,” he says again, more quietly now, coming up behind you. “What’s-?“

“No!” You shout, flinching away when his hands went to rest on your shoulders. “I’m not ready!”

“Not ready for what?”

“Kids!” You turn abruptly to face him. “I’m smart enough to know that my mob boss boyfriend isn’t dropping idle comments about children without intent behind them, and they’ve been stacking up all week!”

“Fine. You’re right. I want kids and I want to have them with you.”

You turn to face him finally, the tears having spilled over. Sad and angry. “I’m just not ready now, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

“How can you say that?”

“It’s all so easy for you! You only have to dump your seed and then wait nine months for a baby to pop out, and then, what? Pat it in the head once or twice a day? Go off and continue doing what you do every day, while I, on the other hand, a pregnancy will change every single moment of my life! Carrying it to popping it out and then watching over the child for the following eighteen years! I won’t even be able to fly on a damn plane in the third trimester of the pregnancy, and if I can’t fly, how am I supposed to remain one of the forefront archeologists in the field when I can’t even get to the field?”

“Sweatheart–“

“No! Don’t sweetheart me, Steve! Growing up, I was definitely one of those girls who just wanted to go to college, meet the man of my dreams, be swept into the perfect wedding and marriage and pop out five babies before I was thirty. House with the white picket fence, dinner at six, kiss my husband goodbye every morning, but then I finished college, no marriage. Went to grad school, dove into this field, found something exciting that I’m passionate about and damn good at. Still no man in sight. I turned thirty. I actually went to a conference with a bunch of strangers over my thirtieth birthday weekend - it was kind of an unexpected thing that came up, and I accepted because I was so relieved I wouldn’t have to be around my family and friends turning thirty and still single and alone.”

Steve moved forward, wanting to take you in his arms, but you moved back, and held your hand up.

“I need to finish saying this. It took me so long to untangle myself from the fluffy housewife propaganda I was told was the only thing I should aspire to be, to shove away the silent disappointment from other people’s expectations of what I was supposed to do, and to find things that made my heart sing, made my soul burn with purpose just because I wanted them any no one else. And I was happy before you.”

“Are you unhap–”

“No, I was happy before you, and I’m happy now,” you cut him off quickly. “But it’s unfair how easy it is for men, and it’s not your fault, but it is a reality. For me… you know I can’t half-ass something even if I tried. I won’t do it if I won’t do it well, and I don’t know how to… I don’t even know how to be your girlfriend yet. I know you’re not asking me to just give up my life, but I do know you’d prefer it.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said simply.

You shake your head. “Don’t lie. I overheard you on the phone with Bucky last week say how much easier it would be if I could be the simple housewife type of girlfriend.” The words had been horrifically branded into your brain.

Steve exhaled and put his hands on his hips.

You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to respond.

“Yes. That’s true. I did say it would be easier. I didn’t say it’s what I want though.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t. As you so aptly noted, I’m always very careful with my words. It would be easier, but I don’t want easy, I want you, and I want you to be happy. The closer we become, the more of a target you are.”

“Oh,” you responded quietly. Steve saw you start to let your guard down, so he stepped forward and brushed his fingers up and down your arm, then grasped your fingers.

“I have been dropping comments about kids and our future because I am ready to talk about it with you. A future with you is what I want, but I was testing the waters trying to get a read on if it’s what you want.” A smirk flitted across his face, and he added, “You have been playing things very close to the chest.”

“Yes,” you huffed, “well, that’s because I’m terrified of falling for you.”

He gently pulled you closer, and you melt against him. “Fall with me then. I’m already at the edge of this terrifying cliff, I’m ready to jump.”

“How can this be terrifying? You’re a mob boss!”

Steve laughed. “That’s nothing compared to handing my heart over to someone else and trusting them not to smash it or throw it away, to literally give them everything – to give you my everything.”

Your chest constricted, breath catching at his words.

His hands moved to the small of your back, securely holding you closer to him. “I mean it. Everything.”

His eyes locked on yours, and you couldn’t look away if you wanted to. The moment stretched out between you – he would wait for you to answer – and your heart seemed to stop, freezing the moment in time.

Then finally you reached up and pulled his lips down to yours, crashing fiercely together. You still had so many questions, but you did at least know you were certain about each other now. You would rule your worlds together.

And that's day three of the Holiday Extravaganza! Do we want to see more of mob boss!Steve and his reader? (Archeologist because... why the hell not?)

I think I might have something totally out of left field for you lovelies tomorrow, just depends how the muses go...

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed, reblog to help others find this story AND to normalize the fic-reblog culture. There are so many talented writers, and a reblog really fuels the muses of the soul more than you know - we all appreciate it whether we're big or little fish in this pond.

My askbox is always open. See you on the flipside for day four of AHE...

#aspen wrote something #aspen's holiday extravaganza #ahe 2022 #steve rogers fic #mob boss!steve #steve x reader #steve x female reader #steve x yn #steve x you #female reader

206 notes · View notes