I Want This Thor In My Life

this is so sweet! i almost cried in these chapters it was so good to read. too bad i've only found this gem now.

༻ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 (𝟑/𝟑)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Tarzan!Steve Rogers x doctor!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | 6’6” Steve, feral behaviour/feral!steve, nomad!steve, fluff, angst, size difference, manhandling, possessive!/protective!steve, gentle giant!Steve, SMUT - minors DNI, size kink, manhandling, oral (m&f), dirty talk, p in v, spitting, grinding, lots of cum, unprotected sex.

𝗪/𝗖 | 11K

𝗔/𝗡 | Let's all pretend this was posted on time. Firstly, thank you everyone for coming on this journey with me on my first big AU, I'm sad to see it end, but I'll always be open for blurbs and drabbles for this series. (little past mentioned) James Conrad x doctor!reader. Also, this is not PWP, so it’s much more plot in this chapter than smut !

All mistakes are my own, I'll be revisiting this chapter tomorrow and over the weekend to edit it and add parts, so it'll probably change soon ! Check out the role reversal of this story: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Well, I didn’t know jealousy was in attendance tonight–oh wait, it’s just you under all that green envy, Doc–how’s the gala treating you?”

You inhale deeply, avoiding the smug smirk playing on Tony’s lips. You turn to face him, leaning an elbow on the bar as the wine swooshes in the glass. “Did Pepper finally ditch you for the head security guard of the tower?”

Tony laughs loudly, slapping a hand over his chest. “Oh my, it seems I’ve struck a nerve.” He glances over his shoulder, eyes once again landing on the tall, burly blond across the room by the piano. His carefully gelled hair is visible above everyone’s heads, as a sea of reporters and other socialites surround him, hanging off every word he says. From here, you can practically see them swoon and fall for his magnetic charm.

“This is good for him.” You say, trying to convince yourself. “He’s been practicing speaking for weeks–he wants to make a good impression.”

“He has confidence and potential, I’ll give him that.” Tony signals for a refill of his glass, the bartender filling it immediately. He sips slowly, eyes flickering between you and Steve. “You know, we could have just put out a statement. It would have been far less stressful and you wouldn’t have to watch that.” The brunet winces as a young beautiful woman lays a hand on Steve’s arm, caressing his bulging bicep under his suit.

You quickly look down at your heeled feet, remembering Steve asking how you suddenly got a few inches taller after getting ready–you proceeded to show him your heels, “How…walk around in those? Hurt? So–pointy…”

“The public would have made up horrible rumours about him–you saw what they did to Bucky.”

“Barnes was an assassin who was unjustly blamed for the death of–” Tony snaps his mouth shut, grinning at the passing socialites, then once they’re gone, he rolls his eyes, “--Those two are basically the biggest blabbermouths of the city, and Peter nearly spilled the beans about the manbeast to those punks.” He huffs. “The kid is smart, but his mouth sometimes isn’t… an odd mix considering he’s in charge of presentations for the new interns.”

You sigh loudly.

Tony raises a hand in surrender, “--As I was saying, that is a weak comparison between Barnes and Rogers, one is a completely clean slate, no foul, no blood, nothing–and you seem to be convinced people will dig up some dirt on him, yet allowed him to be interview by himself.”

“I’m not convinced that they’ll dig up dirt–there isn’t dirt anyway, he isn’t a bad person.” You correct, gaze dragging across the vast ballroom. People in different, sleek gowns and suits, chatting enthusiastically, eating hors d'oeuvres and sipping fancy champagne or wine. “The independence will be good for him, and he wasn’t against it.”

“But he wanted you with him all night, right?”

You sag, fiddling with your necklace, that was enough for Tony.

“Doc, I know you care about him,” The man starts, furrows his brows as he finds the words, “but maybe you’re doing what you think is better for him–and in turn, you’re ignoring what he knows is best for the both of you.”

Your eyes widen and you shoot him a look, “What coming of age novel did you get that from?”

“The one Peter left in the lab,” Tony says, so easily that you don’t know if it’s the truth or not. “I understand that getting his face out there and showing everyone he isn’t a threat is important. Ignoring the fact that we’re admitting that S.H.I.E.L.D. is once again, a mountain of secrets that go down to the Earth’s core,” He cracks a smile when you laugh lightly, “But is all that publicity worth it when you’re sulking in this beautiful dress, and some noisy reporter is hanging off your fella’s arm?”

“He doesn’t know what she’s doing, it isn’t his fault.”

“I agree–but, if you told him the difference between being friendly and flirting, I think he’d brush off the press in the blink of an eye,” Tony says as he steps away, disappearing into the crowd.

You knew that, and you also knew that Steve would attract attention. People were moths to his flame, and you weren’t jealous–rather proud that he was handling it all so well–considering he despised the suit he was wearing too, clothes are just, ugh.

You bring the glass to your lips, still in a daze and not realizing your glass was empty. A delicate clang sounds behind you, a familiar drawl ringing in your ears.

“Bartender, refill for that glass, please.”

Turning around, a startled laugh escapes your body. Slowly taking in the tall, slender dark-haired man before you. “I can order for myself, you know?”

The man chuckles, a hand running down his velvet suit jacket. His blue eyes twinkle, “I figured you were too busy staring off into space to bother.” James leans over, following your line of sight across the room, a knowing smile crawling on his face, “or rather, longingly admiring from afar.”

“You’re hilarious.” You say bluntly, taking a long gulp of your drink. “Did your date get sick of you already?”

James rolls his eyes, nudging your shoulder, “I don’t know, did you ever get sick of me when we went on dates?”

Your scoff, a little part of you thankful for another familiar face in the sea of socialites and reporters, though, James’ British accent was fresh among the distant chatter. He’s sporting a slight stubble, his brown-blond hair in a messy gelled style, only aiding to his dashing prince charming flair.

The two of you have a friendly past-turned whirlwind of light romance, stemming from the beginning of your career when you were an intern in a busy city. As the days went by like snapshots, you and James grew close.

When you met him, he was a British S.A.S. officer who was hired by Stark Industries to teach survival techniques and share knowledge about jungle warfare. Throughout your friendship, there was occasional mutual flirting, definitely some attraction until you both took it one step further. The romantic relationship didn’t last very long, you were too busy with your career, and he was being sent back to London for work. The two of you decided it was best to end it before things turned sour–despite the break-up, you still consider James a good friend.

“So, that’s the Rogers’ son.” James hums, “he’s a lot bigger than what I expected.”

You stare up at him because of his towering height. There’s a playful quirk on his lips. “You knew?”

“I suspected something.” The brunet rephrases, “And I may have been consulted for tracking him down.”

Of course, his new profession. “That’s why you’re here tonight, to get your face plastered on the papers for helping?” You quip.

“Credit is due where credit is deserved, and I like to think I helped at least a little,” James smirks, his gaze trailing down your face and neck. “I couldn’t make it to the expedition but I assume it all went well.”

“As well as it could have. A sprained wrist was worth all of this, and all of him.” you glance over your shoulder, locking eyes with the giant ways away, you give him a small wave but Steve’s gaze shifts to your ex next to you. One second later, and the realization is evident on his face, undoubtedly recognizing the man from the box of old photographs deep in your closet.

You and Steve had gone through the pictures, you wanted to show him ones of your family, back home and your first days in New York–you didn’t expect a few coupley ones to slip out too.

“Captain Conrad!” A voice calls from the crowd. James twists around, lifting a hand before pushing off the bar.

“I’ll see you later?” He walks backwards, both eyebrows raised.

You just shake your head, turning back to your drink and noticing it was empty once again. This time when you look back at Steve, he’s still staring at you, the ghost of a grin on his face. He raises his glass of water with a wink, melting you from across the room.

It happens in a passing moment, but Steve, seemingly more vigilant tonight, notices immediately. The night has come to an end, the press leaving in good spirits and hopeful of the absolute story in their hands–the once highly confidential mission of the Avengers’ finally revealed, a man who survived in the jungle for his whole life, the son of a missing S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist who injected him with a recreation of Erskine's formula–a mouthful, but pure gold in the eyes of the public.

Steve’s story is going worldwide, and that creates a tsunami of attention.

Earlier in the evening when he was answering the millions of questions for reporters, he felt strange when they would touch his arms, or lean a little too close. He thought they had too much to drink–you told him what alcohol can do to someone, and Steve connected the dots.

Must be drunk. Maybe needs to stop?

So he took a glass from a young reporter and she giggled and thanked him–she thought he was going to be a gentleman and get her another glass–but Steve just placed it on a passing waiter's tray and returned to the conversation, as if he didn’t just cut the woman off.

Now, you and Steve are standing by the exit, waving and bidding farewell to the attendees tonight. Polite smiles, and halfhearted chuckles, as they leave through the wide elegant doors.

As the young reporter from earlier stalks closer, bright eyes locked on him, Steve feels your grip tighten on his arm. You lightly pull him to your level before pressing a lipgloss kiss to his bearded cheek. Then, you grab his chin, meeting his lips swiftly, giggling and wiping the makeup away.

Steve has always trusted his intuition. Growing up in the jungle, he had no choice when he wasn’t taught rules of conduct, he didn’t know anything else.

Going by his gut feeling has saved him many times too.

A nasty fruit here, a mudslide or two, an approaching predator, a poisonous bug or reptile–he wouldn’t be affected by the poison, but it would hurt. The bottom line, he trusted his intuition immensely.

After all, it brought him to you. He had smelt something remarkably different from the normal wilderness when he was with Bruce and the magic colour box–it’s a Rubix cube, Steven, Rubix. He was going to ignore it, far more interested in what else Bruce had brought for him, but there was an underlying instinct, combined with curiosity and protectiveness.

Perhaps an unfamiliar animal had wandered too close, and in the jungle, Steve has learnt that unawareness is a weakness.

He was correct about the unfamiliar animal–you were a woman with a smell that made him lose his mind, which led to him tackling you into the ground, hurting you.

Sometimes, Steve feels bad about that–but you always comfort him. Offering him cuddles and kisses as you comb your fingers through his hair, many instances of his guilt episodes have ended up with your panties on the floor, and his face between your thighs.

At the thought of your wetness all over his mouth, staining his beard and dripping from his tongue, he adjusts himself in his slacks.

“Steve,” you scold, pulling away his hand, “Don’t do that in public.”

He breathes heavily, mind flashing with that little glint in your eyes when you kissed him, claiming him before that woman.

You claimed him, you thought he was yours just as much as he thought you were his. Excitement bubbles in his chest, and also his lower region.

“Steve! I said stop that.” You huff, holding his hand in yours tightly. Glancing around the room for any lingering gazes, you look down at his crotch again and gasp. His length nearly bursting the zipper of his pants, very obviously showing off his gracious gift.

“Touch–please?” The blond murmurs, leaning down to nip at your ear, thick arms wrapping around your body to press against his cock. Slowly, his hips move in circles, desperate for relief, “I’m yours… please, touch–”

Your hand slaps over his mouth, a heat blooming on your face as you hurriedly tug him to the car waiting to take you both back to the tower. You push him into the back before sliding next to him, telling the driver to take a shortcut.

Steve ignores your request to put on a seatbelt, instead, rubbing his hand over the prominent tent in his pants, low groans flowing from his pink lips. You buckle him in, unable to stop him from placing your hand over his cock, slowly thrusting into your grip.

The elevator ride to your floor is unbearably long. Steve is grinding against your ass, mouthing messily at your neck as if the camera isn’t blinking from the corner of the ceiling. As soon as you step foot onto your floor, he starts stripping.

“Can try your mouth?” Steve quickly rips off his shirt, buttons flying and fabric tearing. “Please–be gentle… will try to be.”

You don’t have to be gentle, your mind says as you drink in every inch of his pale skin. The dark hair on his chest–that has surely gotten bigger, thicker since you first met him, as did most of his body. Bulging muscles and meat, veins visible under his taut skin, shifting before your heated eyes.

As he stands nude before the elevator doors, you finally spring into action. Dragging him away from the surveillance area and to the privacy of your bedroom, squirming as his hands start tearing your dress from behind.

“Want to see–didn’t let me see before we left,” Steve murmurs as the bedroom door shuts. He pins you against the wall before hiking your thighs around his waist, his hard leaking cock pressing against your stomach. A deep growl rumbles his chest as your breasts spill out, immediately, he takes your nipple into his mouth. Manhandling you higher on the wall with both his arms, closing his eyes in bliss as he suckles your nipple. “So soft–” He switches to the other, and one moment later, you’re flat on the bed.

A loud tear echoes through the room as your panties flutter to the ground, Steve is standing at the foot of the bed with a hand around his cock. His muscles flex as your thighs spread, revealing your wetness.

He groans, kneeling on the mattress and reaching towards you, “maybe no mouth–”

You stop him before he comes any closer, “but I want to taste you, please?”

An audible breath escapes his nose, jaw clenched tightly as he nods once, then twice. “Yes–yes, mouth.”

Flipping over, you crawl towards him. You feel warm as his eyes trace over your figure, lingering on your ass. Now, lying on your belly with his cock brushing your lips, you allow him to cup the back of your head and pull you closer.

“Heard lots about… how feels.”

A heat combs over your skin, you already know your thighs are sticky. “What did you hear?”

You wrap a hand around his base, feeling the throbbing under your fingers as you drag up his thick girth, the tips of your digits not meeting. You marvel at the prominent veins trailing up the sides, leading to the bulbous head, cum leaking down the redness. Taking the head into your mouth, you lightly suckle, swiping his taste with your tongue.

Steve moans loudly, knees buckling as his hips jerk forward, shoving more between your lips. “Feels… so good, oh.” His voice dies as he peers down at you spitting on his cock, spreading your saliva up and down his length. “Tongue…”

You hum, sliding down to the floor onto your knees. You don’t waste any time, licking from the base to the tip and spitting once more. Squeezing your thighs together, you look up at him before taking him deeper. He’s hot and heavy on your tongue and the fat stretch burns your lips, and you want more. Turns out, so does Steve.

“More–please.” His lashes flutter as you massage his balls in your other hand, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth, slickening his cock as you take more of him.

“C’mon, Steve, don’t be shy.”

“Not shy…” He bites his lip, “can take charge, please?”

You nod with a mouth full of his shaft, your eyes watering slightly as he widens his stance, placing both hands on either side of your head.

As he groans above you with a firm hold and you’re taken by him. Piercing his thick and powerful thighs with your nails as he forces you closer, hips naturally gaining momentum. His skin flushed red, blooming up his heaving chest to his bearded cheeks. His hair falls in front of his eyes, but it doesn’t lessen the heat in his gaze.

His jaw drops as your eyes squeeze shut, a choked whine coming from your throat as he fucks your mouth. You can feel your juices trailing down your thighs as Steve slowly pumps in and out, his thick cock slick with your spit.

“Mouth so…” He pulls out as a string of saliva connects his throbbing tip to your lips, he quickly pulls you back on his cock, “wet, feels so good, sunshine.”

You relax your throat, breathing through your nose and let him use your mouth. Wet noises fill the room as you slobber on his length, trying to take as much as you can–but he’s too big, too thick, you can only get halfway before pushing him away.

The two of you build a pace between his praises in broken English and your own muffled whimpers. He takes your mouth like he owns it, allowing his desires and instincts to take the wheel, but you know he’s still holding back, and you tell him that he can go as deep and as hard as he wants. You know he could go absolutely mindless with pleasure–and you’re right.

Steve is always animalistic whenever you’re intimate, it makes sense he’s the same for his first blowjob.

He experiments with pace and strength, gathering the dripping saliva from your chin to smear on his cock, making the slide smoother so you can take him deeper. His neck craned low, eyes locked on your stretched lips around his fat girth, he can’t get enough of your gagging noises.

“Sunshine, so small down there.” He breathes, “know I’m bigger than you–and like it a lot.”

You whine, massaging his balls again as he hits the back of your throat, sliding deeper.

“Like that too? Know you do–can smell you,” Steve pauses, pulling you off to circling his heavy tip on your swollen lips, he slaps your cheek with it too, wanting to mark you in every way possible, “can smell your cunt.”

You can’t help but reach between your thighs, already on the brink with having him in your mouth, using you so passionately. Your fingers slip inside with ease, you slowly start to bounce on your hand and Steve takes notice.

His motions become rougher, your garbled moans more consistent. “Do like it, so much–touching yourself. Wish I was touching you instead.”

When Steve cums, he’s just as beautiful as he was the first time all those weeks ago. His eyes squeeze shut as his mouth falls open, neck and abs tensing under his pink skin, a low guttural groan nearly vibrating the walls. He floods your mouth, his thick seed spilling from your lips and down to your bare chest, you swallow as much as you can, moving his hands to take a last bit of control.

You lick up his length, gathering any rogue droplets, not wanting his taste to escape even the slightest. Steve helps you out too, swiping the cum from your chin with his fingers, shoving them deep into your mouth until you gag again, “like noise…” his blue eyes fall to your hand, still between your thighs, “like taste more though, want you on my tongue again, please.”

You should’ve known he wouldn’t stop after the blowjob. You’re lucky tomorrow was your day off too.

Steve can’t help the nervousness bubbling in his stomach as he stares down at the bouquet–which he made himself at the florists with Sam and Bucky.

This journey actually began with Bruce.

“Love like science?”

Steve trusts Bruce, almost as much as he trusts you. And when he finds the guts to ask about the odd feelings inside him, he goes to the doctor. Although, Bruce wasn’t very knowledgeable in that department and he warns Steve as such.

“Will talk with Buck and Sam, but want to hear Bruce first,” Steve says confidently.

The doctor is nose deep in a thick novel, currently on his lunch break. “You can just tell her, Steve, or make a grand gesture, whatever you feel is right–whenever it feels right.” Bruce tries to be helpful. Truthfully, he’s honoured that Steve came to him first, off all people the man has come to know, he still goes to the first person he’s formed a friendship with. “Unlike experiments, there aren’t specific steps for telling someone your feelings.”

“Nothing to follow?”

“Nothing to follow.” Bruce smiles softly, “Just do what you feel when you feel it's right.”

Before the journey, it was a wondrous whirlwind stemming from when he accidentally threw away your rough version of a document–one that you’ve been working on for weeks. He just wanted to please you, do some spring cleansing–it’s cleaning, Steve, not cleansing–in your shared home.

He dusted the shelves, wiped the windows, cleaned the couch and scrubbed the floor. He also got rid of anything that looked like garbage and in his defense, your bundle of papers was a mess, various scribbles and crinkled sheets, there were coffee stains on the cover. So, he tossed it in the recycling.

One can imagine the rage you felt after coming home to a missing thirty-plus-page document.

You didn’t yell at him, instead, you just sulked into your bedroom and locked the door. Exhausted out of your mind, and completely discouraged.

Steve waited for you to come out, sitting in front of the door and tentatively asking about your day, then when you didn’t answer, he told you about his.

“Got perfect on physics test… and English paper–you helped me write…” He taps on the door, sitting before it like a child. He glances at the doorknob, trying it once again but deflating when it wouldn’t open. “Am sorry, sunshine. Didn’t know–just wanted to do kind thing for you… always work so hard, always so kind. Missed you so much today too–” He presses his forehead on the wood, closing his eyes, “--never meant to hurt, hate when you get hurt or upset.”

He perks up as he hears the shuffling of sheets, jumping to his feet as the lock clicks. Then, he bursts through, sweeping you into his thick arms and kissing all over your face. He feels the wetness on your cheeks and pulls away.

His heart physically aches, like a thousand thorns stabbing his chest. “Oh… so sad?”

You inhale shakily, the softness in his voice making you break down all over again.

“Working too hard, too much. Need break.” Steve frowns, holding you tightly. His bare chest is warm under your cheek. “Will be super careful next time, promise. Will also treat sunshine–be tender.”

From there, bloomed the sweetest displays. Steve put the recipe book to great use, cooking you meals every day and baking you sweets at night and over the weekends. He even had a little apron, always welcoming you home with a beaming smile and delicious food, kissing you breathless before setting up a relaxing bath for you.

Sometimes he’d join, other times he’d just sit outside the tub, holding your hand and listening to you talk about your day.

It was a dream to be doted on like this. Although, you wished to do the same to Steve, knowing he deserved it just as much.

You had gifted him custom plushies that looked just like Peter, Wendy and Tinkerbell. Shortly put, Steve’s body nearly exploded after he realized what they were, he then hauled you off to the bedroom for some special experiencing–as he called it.

Then, he wanted to do more because he felt more than just happy with you, he felt excitement and glee, pure adoration and warmth in your presence.

It was uncharted territory from there. Deeper than anything he’s ever encountered, the unfamiliarity made him uneasy.

That’s what brought him to Sam and Bucky, his first option for help in his particular field. He communicated his confusion with his feelings, starting it off by asking to speak to them in private. “What about… deeper feelings? Like, feel so happy with person, want around all the time–feel relaxed and calm, but also, can’t contain excitement or happiness.”

Sam and Bucky, mostly Sam, proceeded to give Steve several pointers on ‘wooing.’ Dating in the modern world was very different from what he has seen in the wilderness, no mating dances or displays, but instead romantic gestures and gifts, quality time like date nights. He knew respect and communication were important, and to say the least, he was overwhelmed.

“Makes my chest ache–in good way. Just,” He huffs, “Want to go everywhere with her–do everything for her.”

Bucky raises a brow, metal fingers wrapped around a glass. The three of them are lounging on the roof, far away from any prying eyes or nosey spies. The sun is setting slowly, ghosting above the building tops and casting a yellow-orange glow.

“Have you told her that?”

“Don’t know how–already tried to dress up.”

Sam laughs loudly, “Oh, I remember that. Thought you’d have to cut your hair after it got stuck in the scrunchies. How did you manage to squeeze into one of her dresses?”

Steve shrugs, absentmindedly twirling the ends of his hair. He definitely didn’t want a haircut anytime soon, although his beard needed a trim soon. “Ripped it on accident, sunshine didn’t get mad. Just giggle… super cute giggles.”

Bucky and Sam share a long look, seemingly non-verbally conversing about the giant across from them on the plush outdoor patio couch. Sam tilts his head and in turn, Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Women today aren’t the same women as in the forties.”

“Which can be very helpful for our guy here,” Sam appealed, “Advice that worked on women back then and advice that works on women now–we’ll have him primped and polished.”

Bucky checks his watch, slumping, “I guess I could help–”

“--As if you have plans on a Tuesday night.” Sam scoffs playfully, already standing and clapping his hands, “Steve, you’ve got yourself the two most eligible bachelors of the city for all your questions and concerns of the heart.”

That’s how Steve ended up walking along the streets of New York, dipping in and out of various clothing stores, exiting with a new shopping bag and one new potential friend, the store employees and owners were very fond of the curious and blunt giant, most of them fell in love with his bright spirit and charming smile.

His wardrobe at the tower consisted of t-shirts and sweatshirts, mostly track pants or shorts–Steve didn’t wear many clothes when he was roaming around your shared floor. Hence, whenever he made public appearances, Tony had someone drop off carefully selected clothes for said occasion.

Steve inhales deeply, Sam’s words bouncing off the walls of his mind.

“Be confident, your posture is already perfect, you just need to accentuate that energy, and kill her with it.”

Steve’s eyes widened in horror, colour draining from his face, “kill?”

Bucky steps in, rubbing his hands down the blond’s shoulders, smoothening his leather jacket. “Not literally–nice going, Sam.” He murmurs, “You like her, Steve?”

It’s quiet for a few beats, the giant’s blue eyes falling to the bouquet in his hands, “Love her, Buck.”

The brunet smiles, “Right, you love her–”

“--so much–”

“Then, just let her know. She wants you for you–not some yuck-version of you. Be yourself, be honest, be a good listener.”

Steve hesitantly steps into the elevator, pressing the button for your shared floor. He gives Sam and Bucky a short wave.

“Call her a cute pet name!” Sam shouts as the doors close.

“Baby… Sweetheart…Doll … Lover.” Steve repeats every nickname he can think of, his foot anxiously tapping on the floor as the elevator ascends higher and higher. Finally, it dings before the doors slide open, revealing the clean but well-loved living room of your floor. The blankets on the couch are folded, pillows fluffed, but the coffee table is almost covered in all your documents and research papers. The familiar scent of your soap wafts to his nose as the faint music from the bathroom cuts.

“Steve? Is that you?”

“Lover… like that.”

Sam grins, “I don’t hear that one too often, but I think she’d like it.”

“Yes, lover!”

Your footsteps falter as you round the corner, a white robe tied around your waist as you spread moisturizer on your face. You raise a brow, “what did you say?”

“...yes, lover.” Steve is still standing in the elevator but quickly shuffles out as the doors begin to close. He tightens his fist around the bouquet, eyes glued on your bare skin. Trailing up your legs to the expanse of your chest, and finally your neck where a few marks were already healing.

Steve knows he’ll be replacing those with fresh ones tonight. He was counting on it.

“More flowers? The ones you got me yesterday are fine.”

The blond stiffens, “These for…uh…”

You smirk, “are you seeing another woman, Steve?”

“No! Never!” Steve exclaims, desperately shaking his head, “These for you–would never, ever be with other person.” He blinks profusely before gesturing to the couch. “Can—May we talk?”

You know what was coming, but you still keep your mouth shut. Nodding silently and walking to the couch, you pat the cushion next to you. As Steve steps closer, you can feel the waves of distress melting off him, constricting your throat. The bouquet, colourful and sweet, is placed on the cluttered coffee table before he plucks one of them, a yellow one.

Steve faces you, vulnerability behind his light eyes. With a touch as delicate as the morning clouds, he places the flower behind your ear.

When you place a hand on his thigh, Steve takes it and brings it to his lips. Closing his eyes as his lips press against the back of your hand, his facial hair scratching your knuckles, it’s a slow and strong kiss as if he’s trying to send his feelings straight through your bloodstream.

Steve doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. He wasn’t going to tell a wild lie, or break your heart–he’d never do that.

But, love. What was love?

Universal in every form–love began at the list of fundamental human necessities, through complex twists and shades of a million colours, the four-letter word was not simple in the slightest. A blessing and a curse of humanity and compassion. With a camouflaging ability to be bare and shrouded at the same time, being true to one and being unknown to their lover. Although, as pure as it is, love can be tainted by people.

Jealously, begging and pleading, unfair and unjust. Much too strong or much too little, love is beautiful.

Among the different forms of it, complete love included intimacy, passion and commitment.

Steve knew love as actions, things he’s seen with his own two eyes, but feeling love was entirely different. Something so personal and dear, buried within his heart and soul, Steve didn’t know how to define such an intense impression.

“Feelings… are strange.” He begins, mumbling against your skin before setting your palm on his chest, you can feel the faint thumps of his heart. “Feeling something—is so different from speaking. Wish was other way to describe what I feel here.”

You meet his gaze, giving an encouraging nod. “I know what you mean.”

His brows knit tightly, “but want to tell you how I feel…through words.”

It’s incredibly difficult to explain to anyone else–but so clear inside. Indecipherable yet easy.

“Want you around all the time–hate when apart. When together, feel happy—so happy, comfortable,” loved, “with you.” Steve cradles your hand between his, occasionally squeezing your fingers, “My sweet, beautiful, kind, cute—so cute and tender, soft, sunshine… everything good inside you.” He shuffles closer, the emotion behind his eyes is spellbinding, “teach me so much—never get annoyed or mean when I can’t understand.” He knows that some people aren’t as kind when it comes to his lack of knowledge and experience.

“Not first to be kind or tender to me—but have always been, from the beginning, even when I hurt you.” He inhales sharply, leaning down to nuzzle your cheek, he whines lowly in his throat, “know I’m forgiven, but still hate that I hurt you.”

“Steve—”

“Promise to never do it again, will never harm, hurt you.” He interrupts, “Always be tender, sweet… because you deserve that.”

You laugh wetly, cupping his bearded cheek and sniffling, “You do too, Steve. Don’t forget that.”

“Won’t forget—promise that too.” He leans into your touch, eyes almost fluttering shut before they shoot open, he squints, “But, Sunshine promise too?”

You nod as a wave of adoration almost knocks you to the floor, but even if it did physically strike you, you know you wouldn’t fall, not with Steve pressed against you. The gentle giant, with a heart of gold and a set of diamond eyes that gleamed and glimmered with hope, a purity that was so precious.

Steve licks his lips, falling forward until your foreheads meet. He squeezes your hand once more and dips down until your noses touch. He hums happily, wide eyes staring into yours. “You’re so beautiful up close—uh, lover.”

A part of Steve wanted to climb inside you, because maybe then he’ll finally be content—there was no describing how close he wanted to be with you. He wanted to live within your heart, kiss your soul and bathe in your existence, but he couldn’t explain that with his lack of vocabulary. So, he says it differently and in a way he does fully understand.

“Colourful birds in jungle—macaws…like little rainbows with feathers and can fly. They have one love for entire life,” Steve’s cheeks are cherry red, his blue eyes so clear, you can almost see his spirit, “And want… I want that with you.”

If he closes his eyes, he can see the vibrant birds. Perched high in the trees, the wisps of nature surround him as they mutually groom and share food with each other. Similar to the other animals in the jungle, but those creatures didn’t mate with only one for their entire life. They weren’t like the birds.

The birds that wake up every morning and check their mate for any concerns, they didn't groom them or solely share food with them. He knows those actions stemmed from something inside, deep within them. To have one for a lifetime.

“Please speak… feel so many nerves now…” he whispers, brushing his nose along the side of your face, a quiet whine coming from his throat. “Please—”

He’s cut off by your lips crashing against his, trying to convey every emotion. You cradle his face between your hands as he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Steve loves you—the glorious man with a brilliant will. A dream in every sense of his being, a disadvantaged soul who has blossomed into a lively flower. A strong stem with the ability to withstand almost anything, physical and mental obstacles included. The petals vary because they’re coloured with his qualities—some are more than one shade to represent his change in characteristics, from a dull grey to a bright tint. And the pistil, it was blinding as if the sun had shrunk to size, although small, the radiated warmth wasn’t any different. Still beaming and sparkling before your eyes.

Steve pulls away with a wet smack, lips a little swollen, “Take that as same feelings?”

You’re engulfed in his glow, soaked to the core with Steve–this was the kind of intensity you’ve only fantasized of. Yet, it’s right before you, he’s right in front of you and inches from your face. With the most adorable grin and doing his signature head tilt.

You manage a nod before Steve is hauling you up and dashing to the bedroom. As you’re placed on the bed, the springs squeaking beneath you, he’s climbing on top of you again. Too lost in his touch, you don’t realize what’s happening until a sharp tear bounces off the walls.

Steve’s face flushes, “ah, oops…” He offers you a crooked smile, still clenching the loose threads of your robe, “not patient enough to untie.”

Then, you notice he’s also naked. His leather jacket flung across the room, as well as the rest of his clothes. His hair was slightly tousled and falling in front of his face. One of his hands reaches down, wrapping around his hard cock.

It didn’t take a genius to know what was on his mind.

“Are you sure about this?”

The giant grunts, his other hand gripping your leg and shuffling between your thighs.

You reach out and grab his chin, forcing his eyes to yours. “Are you sure about this, Steve?” The intense passion swimming in his eyes is answer enough, but you want to hear him say it.

“Yes, so much—made sure to pay attention to specialists, want to do it with you. Feel close to you, and feel you on me… be inside you.” He dips down to mouth at your exposed chest, trailing up to your neck and biting on a fading mark. “Please, let me inside?”

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat as the head rubs your clit, spreading your arousal before brushing your hole. He’s gotten close to slipping inside more than a few times, but this would be intentional. And you were ready.

“Y-Yes, Steve—” You gasp as he immediately starts pushing in. The mushroom tip is unable to breach your tightness, even with your excitement dripping out.

“Should open you up first–” He starts pulling away, fisting his cock again as the thick head bobs against his abs.

“No, no,” you desperately shake your head, your heart pumping against your ribs, “please, don’t stop. I want–ah!”

Steve has a finger shoved inside your hole, curling until he feels that rough patch. A dribble of spit lands on your pussy as he glares down at you, “Specialist said to make sure you’re comfortable–”

“I am, fuck, I just want you inside me, baby. Please.” Your voice trembles slightly, eyes watering as he pumps another long digit into you. Your hips rise off the bed as he pulls them out, messily rubbing your clit.

“Say it again.”

“Please, baby, I love you–I want your cock–ah, inside me. Know you want it too, your cock is leaking–” He moves so fast, hooking your knees over his elbows and his length sliding between your folds until the head pops in. He doesn’t pause for a moment and continues penetrating your soaking sore, causing you to squeak loudly.

He groans, eyes shut as his shoulders shudder. The feeling of your pussy wrapped around him, choking his thickness and he isn’t even halfway. The last string snaps and he bites into your neck, muffling his helpless moans.

You have zero clue what’s happening as he begins pumping in and out of you, each time, getting deeper. The juices spilling from your pussy soaking the sheets, nearly dripping down his balls with every thrust.

“So wet—tight.” Steve grits his teeth, gaze bouncing between your blissed-out face and your little hole struggling to take his girth. He spits down on your connected centres, using his fingers to spread your combined wetness down the rest of his cock.

He’s so big, it burns, but you want more.

“All the way, baby, please.” You cry out, legs flailing before he grips them, pinning them to the mattress.

He continues working into you, stuttering groans filling the room and harmonizing with your whines. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders as he braces himself on either side of your head, his breath fanning across your cheeks. As he draws deeper, the base of his cock meeting your cunt, his pubic hair touches your tingling clit.

The euphoria is evident on his face, completely taken with the short amount of time. He whimpers as he pulls out almost all the way, the heavy tip rests inside your cunt before he goes forward again. “Want to last long but can’t—feels so good.”

You hiccup a, yes, digging your nails into his broad shoulders as the pressure builds within your stomach. His veins brushing against your throbbing walls, the stretch of your thighs similar to the stretch of your hole, burning.

Steve’s eyes fall to your heaving chest and down to your tummy, his pace quickening as the wet slapping sounds increase. He growls as you clench, his cock reaching the deepest part inside you, sending waves of pleasure through your bloodstream.

“Can see myself, baby.” Steve groans, alternating between thorough grinds and deep thrusts, watching the bulge appear under your skin. “So little—small, but taking me so well.”

A warm hand lands on your lower tummy, pushing down as your thighs tense, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer. He gets rougher too–just as eager as the headboard bangs against the wall. Every pound of his hips sends your juices spilling, a creamy ring appearing at the fat base of his shaft.

He wipes the drool from your lips, bringing it to your nipple and pinching the nub. “Can be more gentle, but love you–love seeing me inside you. Seeing you stretched–it hurts?”

You shake your head, vision blurring. He kisses you, shoving his tongue into your mouth and swallowing each of your cries. His hands grip your shoulders as he pulls away, keeping you firmly locked on his cock, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts.

“Want me to be gentle?”

You shake your head again, eyes fluttering open. You watch his girth slam into you, a redness blooming on his skin, as your little pussy takes everything he has to offer.

“Can finally cum inside you–instead of just on.” He growls, “Want that? Be filled with me, only me. Can watch it spill out too, claim from inside.”

Your high topples over, stretching your mind paper-thin, his name written on the page.

Steve’s jaw drops as you convulse around him, squeezing him so tightly he whines. You squirt, soaking him with your mess. His cum painting your walls white, flooding you from the inside out. He grinds against you, his pelvis rubbing your pulsating clit raw. Every dirty motion shoves his seed deeper, the tip of his spurting cock kissing your cervix.

“Know about this…” He trails off, fingers delicately tracing through your wetness that soaked his thighs and the bed. “Love it, baby, so much.”

The laugh you let out is quite pathetic, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not with Steve flattening you to the mattress, covering you in his warmth–as you’re also filled with his cum.

You try to move, your thighs aching. “You have to–ah, let go of me.” You yawn, and lightly tap his back, your digits trailing down his spine.

The giant grumbles, shifting around and you think he’s finally going to release you, but no. Steve slips his arms under you and rolls over as you start fading away into unconsciousness. The last thing you hear is him getting up, mentioning getting sunshine all clean.

“Wake up… please.”

You flip over, squinting at the harsh sunlight. “Hm?”

Steve is facing you, a blanket barely covering his muscular form. He smiles, hair messy and eyes soft. “Sex again?”

You giggle sleepily as he crawls over you, nuzzling your neck and nipping your cheek. He kisses you gently, fingers tracing down your body. “I almost forgot you barely need rest.”

“You okay? Good sleep?”

“Best sleep.”

He pulls away, thick lashes brushing his cheekbones, “...can experience you again? Before work, please?”

You lace your fingers in his long hair, lightly tugging. His eyes fall shut as his hips sink between your thighs, bare as you, he slowly grinds. “Take me however you please, baby.”

You peek from the corner of your eye at the giant who was still staring at you, his clear blue gaze searing into your skull, you honestly think he could read your thoughts. Although, you know if he did, he wouldn’t be staring at you in the first place.

“Angry?”

“No, Steve.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, he averts his gaze to his little notepad, pencil still in hand. “...upset?”

You sigh, “Why would I be upset over a barista?”

There’s a long pause, “Flirting?”

“She wasn’t flirting with you, she was just asking if you wanted whipped cream on your drink.”

Steve was still getting the hang of certain mannerisms, and apparently, everything that was remotely kind was classified as flirting in his eyes.

Especially when it was towards you. You can still remember the terrified face of the mail carrier who had complimented the array of plants on your windowsill in your office, Steve happened to be on a break between his classes and saw the whole thing. The poor mail carrier had dashed out the door after Steve growled and scowled like a wild animal, establishing his dominance by hovering like a shadow, glaring them down until they tucked their tail between their legs and left.

It didn’t help that an intern who had occasionally flirted with you entered right after. Somehow, he didn’t notice the giant man in your office and proceeded to slyly chat you up with his eyes on his phone, texting away. Once his phone was away, he was met with the deadly gaze of a manbeast, jaw clenched as tightly as his fists.

The blood immediately draining from his face, the young man profusely apologized and excused himself. He shut the door but that didn’t stop Steve from thundering down the hall after him. You were racing after him, bumping into other scientists until ramming into his wide back, the elevator doors had saved the young intern momentarily.

Calming Steve down had been a mission itself, one that involved missing clothes, shut curtains and your office desk breaking. You were stuttering with warm cheeks while explaining the incident to Tony after he caught you disposing of your broken desk. Although, he made sure to order you a new, very sturdy one.

As if on cue, the intern walks in, his eyes bugging out of his head as he spots Steve, sitting next to you with a thick novel in his hands. Broad shoulders stretching the white henley, hair slightly touselled.

“Can help, boy?” The blond hisses, leaning towards you protectively.

The young man’s eyes flash between you and the documents in his hand. He slowly inches backward, “Dr. Banner wanted you to look over, uh, his recent physical test.”

“Oh, okay.” You stand but then you’re yanked down to Steve’s lap, a startled gasp escaping your lips.

“Give.” The giant holds out a hand expectantly, he grunts a quiet, “Thank you, boy.”

You hide your embarrassment–and sudden arousal–with the folder, holding it in front of your face as the intern lingers by the door.

“Can leave.”

“Dr. Banner also wanted to meet with the both of you in twenty minutes.”

As you review the results of Steve’s recent physical, the differences from the last one are stark. His weight has increased, probably from the change in his diet, from whole fruits to carbs, and his desire to try at least everything once.

You start squirming on his lap, his thick thigh tenses. “O-Okay, thank you.”

Steve inhales sharply, keeping his gaze locked on the intern until the door clicks shut. Then, he’s on you, flipping you around and plopping you on the desk, no definitive crack resonating through the room like last time. You noted to send Tony a fruit basket.

Steve’s face is buried in your neck, his beard roughly scratching you as he mouths at your skin. “Getting wet again…”

Your whine is muffled by his hand, vaguely reminding you of your first meeting in the jungle. Steve must remember it too, because he smiles, then nuzzles one half of your face, then switches to the other side.

“Smell good, sunshine…Love you.” His fingers trail up your skirt, pulling at the tights, “Taste before we go?” You gasp as the fabric is torn, from the crotch and down your legs until it’s a mangled mess on the floor.

A loud squeal escapes you as he latches onto your cunt, mouthing messily along your folds and suckling your nub. He groans against your wetness, his beard rubbing you raw.

Steve pulls back, wide eyes blinking. “Want you to squirt–again, please, like when we fucked.” You cover your face with your hands, thighs snapping shut but he prys them open, rough hands massaging your thighs, “again, please, love when you do it.”

You can’t deny him and it seems everyone also knows that because when you leave, they all give you knowing looks, the intern hiding behind his computer screen with the most startled expression. A contrast to Steve who was as smug as can be, your creamy mess still evident in his beard.

You were so kind, all the way from the beginning. Your good heart could outshine any flame, glow amongst the brightest smiles, just like right now. In the sea of grinning children and parents, their gleaming faces are nothing compared to the beam on your lips.

“Your family loved you, they weren’t perfect but no one is.”

Steve doesn’t miss a beat. “You are.” His eyes are honest, blue.

You smile softly, “I have my flaws.”

“And they’re perfect to me…everything about you is perfect to me.”

You smiled so lovelily when he said that this morning, and as if history was repeating itself, you were smiling like that again. Except from halfway across the room as you lean on a bookshelf, listening to him read ‘Tarzan’ to the small circle of children.

The library walls are vibrant and the decorations are cohesive. The theme of a pond, painted trees on the walls and bookshelves, mushroom or flower painted table tops with little chairs at each.

The young children are completely immersed with the man in the comfy armchair. Steve flips the page, showing the colourful illustrations before reading the words, with just as much enthusiasm as he started the session with. Exaggerated facial expressions and giving each cartoon character their own voice. It’s crazy to think that just a few weeks ago he was repeating everything you said, learning different tones and pronunciation.

His eyes meet yours once again. Twinkling as they take in your gentle face.

You’ve been like this since he met you, and now that he knew you, he wanted you for the rest of his days.

After confessing your love for each other, Steve got more confident. Sexually, through his own initiations but also within himself through self-assurance. Mistakes have been made, they were unavoidable, but Steve always kept trying and that combined with your never-ending encouragement, has led to now. From struggling to read the letters from his parents, to reading with an animated voice to young children.

“Want to read, but will ask if don’t know. Want to try.” He exhales, determinedly glaring at the papers in his hands. “Will help, right?” After you nod, he begins the first one, dated a few weeks after his birth.

He quietly reads next to you and pauses to ask for help. Blinking down at you as his nose turned red, lips quivering.

‘We never want you to think that we don’t love you’ they say multiple times in the letters, they call him their angel, sweet boy, their baby. You watch Steve tear up as faded memories rush back, consisting of faces he couldn’t remember.

‘You love the animals and playing in the water,’ is printed in faint cursive, ‘I always told your father there was nothing bluer than your eyes–not even the crystal waterfall.’

There were many letters, and as the final sheet is pinched between his fingers, he pulls you onto his lap. Burying his face into the crook of your neck and kissing the skin.

“Am so sad–but don’t remember them. Barely remember faces…” He rubs his nose under your ear, “Wish they were there, have so much to tell them.”

‘The world is beautiful, my angel. As are animals and nature, all things are–and always will be–naturally beautiful. Although the effortless vision, be wary of those who choose to make the world a dangerous place.’

“Think I understand that…” Steve sniffles. “Not only good in the world–but doesn’t mean world bad–people can be good or bad. Just have to find the good, tender.” And be good and tender. “I found my good.” He says against your shoulder.

Steve succeeds and reads them all, with you hovering closely for help. It’s quite often, but you’re immensely proud of him. With a comforting hand on his back, rubbing slow circles as you listen to his deep drawl.

The sheet flutters to the coffee table, lying in the bed of tissues. And Steve breathes shakily, wrapping a blanket around the both of you before sinking into the couch. He’s snug between your thighs, the side of his face pressed against your bare tummy. He kisses the softness, possessively gripping your hip with his hand. “Want you for life. To the end–and whatever comes next.”

You clap with the rest of the crowd as Steve ends the book, setting it into his lap with a grin. Avidly asking the children what part was their favourite, beginning the energetic conversation that they all look forward to.

“How is he adjusting?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, wide eyes meeting James’ as he leans on the bookshelf across from you.

He cocks a brow, “are you all right?”

“I’d be perfectly fine if you didn’t sneak up on me like that.” You huff.

“I’m here for my nephew and I’ve been standing here the entire time, but you were too lost in him again.” James notes, “seems like he has that effect on people wherever he goes, hm?”

You sigh, about to speak but cut off by loud giggles. The children have all scooted closer to Steve as he flips through the picture book, excitedly pointing at the illustrations. Various colourful drawings of the jungle and wild animals, Tarzan’s adventures that almost mirror Steve’s life.

“Does he miss it? I can’t imagine the culture shock.” James asks quietly, following your gaze, “All of the unfamiliarity–the sudden wave of new. He seems fine but… you know, never mind.” The dark-haired man lifts his arm, revealing a tiny purple coat, “I’m glad he has you. He’s very lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one.” You glance at him.

James smiles as a young boy stumbles closer, he steps forward to scoop him off the ground and turns to you again. “Always the sweetheart, aren’t you? That’s what I adore most about you. Perhaps the both of you are lucky, then.”

All of the children reluctantly leave with their parents, enthusiastic farewells and waves to Steve, who happily returns each and every one of them.

The giant frowns, eyes following James as he waltzes away. He grumbles, “Flirting?”

You blink and shrug, “I actually don’t know.”

He makes a disgruntled noise, murmuring to himself, you only catch a few words, steal, fight, and mine. “Ugh, what he thinks he’s doing…”

“It doesn’t matter what he was doing because I don’t care. He is not one of my concerns and I’ll never go—”

“—steal, he can steal you—”

“—no, he won’t. Never.” You pinch his cheek, “do you know why?”

Steve blushes, “because love me?”

You grin, going on your tippy-toes and pulling him down for a quick peck, “that’s right, baby.” You release his face to grab his hand, about to head towards the exit doors, but he pulls you back. A startled squeal escapes you as you crash into his firm chest, his arms wrapping around you instantly.

“Why not say it—want you to say it, please?”

You turn in his hold, cupping his jaw and bringing him down to your height, “I love you, Steve. I love you so much.”

The blond chirps happily and affectionately nuzzle your face. He kisses your nose. “I love you—more than reading.”

Once you’re in the comfort of your home, you change into cozy clothes while Steve strips down to his underwear. He sits on the couch and pulls you to his lap, mouthing along your neck softly, as not to intentionally lead to anything—although he wouldn’t be opposed to it—but just a simple action to feel closer to you.

The television plays in the background to your thoughts as James’ words sink in. Of course, you’ve considered that before, but hearing it spoke those static concerns into fruition.

Poor Steve, the sinking feeling goes straight to your heart, tugging the strings in all sorts of directions and spelling out your guilt.

“FRIDAY, where’s Steve?”

“In his studio, Dr. L/N.”

As you step into the room, your jaw drops. There’s paint everywhere. Dark blue and black on the glass ceiling, there’s some deep green too, and it drips down. It’s also all over the walls, and floor, and most importantly, covering the blond man standing in the middle of it.

“Steve!”

The giant jumps, paintbrush clattering to the ground as green spills onto his feet. A half-painted tree on the sunroof, next to bright white spots.

“What are you doing? Tony said no paint on the glass.”

There are streaks of paint on his face too. “...but sky…”

You gape at the once clear ceiling that projects anything–that did project anything.

Steve looks like a kicked puppy, with furrows brows and a pout. “City sky… can’t see stars–hate that can’t see stars. Miss home lately.” He confesses in a small voice, looking down at his black and blue hands. “Always slept under the stars… talked to the stars… when I don’t see it, I feel sad.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until Steve wipes your tears. His face twisting in confusion and worry, “what’s wrong?”

Every time you blink, you can see his home and his friends, Wendy, Peter and Tinkerbell. When your eyes are closed, you’re transported to that blissful heaven in the jungle with Steve, the man who smacked oranges out of your hand and carried you everywhere, the giant who risked his life for you.

Then you open your eyes and are flung back to reality. In the city that never sleeps, a playground bustling with energy and technology. Steve is still there and he hasn’t changed, except for the altered mannerisms for the modern world and widely expanded vocabulary and knowledge. But there’s a sadness in his eyes, you can’t tell if it’s a reflection of your own regret.

“What’s wrong?” He repeats with a deep frown.

You hiccup as he rubs under your eye, brushing away the tears. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“For what?”

“I—We took you away.”

Steve tilts his head, bare chest rising and falling with each breath. The seconds bleed into minutes and soon enough, you’re lying on your back with Steve hovering over you. His hair tickles your face as he kisses away your tears, the delicate presses of his pink lips sweeping away the blue.

“Can be sorry… but don’t need to be.” He murmurs against your cheek. From his perspective, meeting you and leaving the jungle was both a blessing and a burden.

Hopping on a plane and flying across the globe was overwhelming enough. As was discovering the truth of himself and his family, what lay in his very existence. The jungle was his first home, the place where he’s spent most of his life, discovering himself within the sky-high trees and sparkling clear waters, it’s also where he’s nearly died a few times. But the city was his second and current home, especially with you in the picture.

Simply put, he loves the jungle, he loves the city and he loves you.

The city came with so many great things and introductions to opportunities and new experiences he’s been graced with. He’s made many new friends, like Sam, Bucky, and Tony, people with who he can communicate, people who are just like him. And the food was an enormous advantage too, no more fruits and bugs, rather meals stemmed from different cultures all around the world.

And the world—the world was huge, and there was so much to explore, so much he would have missed out on if he stayed in the jungle.

The blond sprinkles kisses from your forehead to your chin, “World… world is wonderful place, want to see every part of it.” He murmurs, brushing a hand on your neck, “Wouldn’t get to do that if never met you–or never left.”

Steve is just as beautiful as he was when you first met him. His chest heaving slightly, a faint sheen of sweat covering his skin. His hair is wet too, just like yours since you did a spontaneous jump off the waterfall a few minutes ago.

He seems more relaxed to be back in his element, the jungle. You squeak as he pulls you on top of him, your naked skin sticking to each other.

“Stars–missed them so much.” He has a blissful expression on his face from the sparkling in the sky. One of his hands falls to your ass, cupping the flesh firmly. “Can smell you getting wet.”

“Technically, I am wet. It’s from the water.” You gesture to the rushing falls behind you, still as clear as your first visit to the island, but a little scary considering how dark it was outside.

“So happy Peter and Wendy liked gifts–Wendy looks cute in clothes…”

You hum, silently thanking Tony’s marvellous mind for bringing you all back here again. He proposed a little project last month after the paint incident. Stark Industries to operate a reserve for the island, protecting it under the law with big and nasty–his words–lawyers to ensure no one harms the wildlife or resources.

“My lawyers won’t fail to jail anyone who messes with the manbeasts island, and that’s a promise. We’re securing the island from anyone who doesn’t have explicit permission, creating a safety bubble of sorts, who knows, maybe you’ll live there once day, doc.”

You’ll never forget the way Steve’s eyes lit up at the mention of going back to the jungle.

“Always saw the stars when I slept here. Love seeing them again!” He exclaims, flipping you over to pin you against the blanket. Back at camp, your little shared cot is stripped bare–just like the two of you. Steve wiggles between your thighs with a smirk. “Want to know a secret?”

You hum, half amused. “I think I already know what you’re going to say.”

The moonlight caresses his features, “Didn’t know much about sex when we were here the first time, but want to have you now. Here, under the stars… my homeland.”

“You’re going to take me right here in the wild like an animal?”

“Mhm… know you’ll like it, sunshine.” Steve grins madly, “Also know you wanted me when we met–smelt you then.”

You go to shove his shoulder, but he grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles, nibbling on each of your fingers before pressing his lips to your palm. “So little compared to me…” He mumbles, trailing down your arm to your elbow, each movement sinks him closer.

Your eyes fall shut as he kisses across your chest, to your neck, murmuring about your smell and taste.

“Moon loves you.”

“Hm?”

“Moon must love you.”

You shiver as his hands massage your thighs. “How do you know that?”

“Love makes people glow… and you’re glowing now.” He preens as your fingers knot in his hair, eventually cupping his bearded face. “Or, maybe that’s because you’re sunshine… but also don’t think I’m making sense right now…”

The laugh you let out is pure glee as you yank him down, your lips colliding in a slow kiss. His hard, big body presses against yours, his facial hair tickling your face, causing you to giggle again.

“Mhm–stop it, trying to kiss you, not your teeth.” Steve grunts, laughing too. He pulls away with a grumble, “trying to be romantic, why you’re so giggly?”

“I’m happy.” And, so, deeply, mindlessly, in love.

“I’m happy too.” The giant softens, “haven’t been this happy in jungle before… feels good to be back with you.”

It does feel good, it feels great, phenomenal.

Your journey, although it was completely out of your control, started on this very island, a few miles North. You suppose it only makes sense for a chapter to conclude back at the beginning.

Looking at Steve, his skin covered in a light sheen of sweat, thick lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, you can see the faint red of his skin under the moonlight.

Looking at you, Steve remembers you saying there was no magic in your world–but you’re wrong. Because how else would he end up where he is, with you under him, a giggly and beautiful mess. How could everything fall into perfect place without magic?

Yeah, you both decide.

You both definitely want the other as a staple in your next adventure, making it a shared one. And hopefully the one after that, and after that. All the way to the end.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: I never thought i’d actually end a story with ‘the end.’ As stated at the beginning, this part will be revisited tomorrow and over the weekend (for editing and adding parts, probably making the smut longer and putting more dialogue, so the word count will increase too).

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! My new series has been posted, it’s a role reversal of this lovely work with feral!reader — 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞

☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

Thank you everyone who has supported me since I started this series, you've all made me so happy, and I'll never be able to thank you enough. I hope you all enjoyed. I'm always open for feedback/your thoughts !

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞-𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 

like or reblog this post if u save/use

black vampires + witches

akasha, queen of the damned (2002)

louis & claudia, interview with the vampire (2022-)

tara thorton, true blood (2008-2014)

blade, blade (1998)

marcel gerard, the originals (2013-2018)

sarah fox, my babysitter's a vampire (2011-2012)

alex & camryn, twitches (2005)

rochelle zimmerman, the craft (1996)

bonnie bennett, the vampire diaries (2009-2017)

vincent griffith, the originals (2013-2018)

marie laveau, american horror story (2011-)

macy vaughn, charmed (2018-2022)

Thank God she now has Sarah and Calliope or she would be easily swallowed, even the queen is distilling poison against her. Waiting for Sarah to highlight this jewel for her only son 🤭

upon his grace 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: friday!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You are summoned to the queen’s chambers shortly after your arrival. You come together with the other young ladies from courtyard in the corridor just before a set of painted doors. Within, Queen Margaret keeps court with her ladies, of whom you are to be one of. The thought alone has you devilishly unnerved. 

The guards in their livery greet you with dull eyes. The groom announces your purpose and receives little in return aside from the one soldier’s lazy reach to tap upon the door. He lifts the lever and eases a space between the wood. 

“Your highness, you’ve some ladies requesting an audience,” he drones through. 

There is some movement from within. A lady servant appears in her white cap and beckons you inward. You are further intimidated by the formality of it all. Marcia and Marigold rush ahead to be first and the three earls’ daughters from the White Plans take up their train. You glance over at Calliope and trail after her. 

The doors shut at your back and the lady maid retreats, her soles scuffing amid the murmur around you. You look around the skirts of the other debuts and see women in recline, others perched upon cushions and stools, all at leisure with needle, book, or frame. There is another at the window, sat between two ladies on the bench, the late afternoon breeze stirring the long waves that hang around her face, the rest of her chestnut hair twisted up behind her hood.  

The lady maid stands at the wall in deference, “your highness.” 

The brunette raises her chin and her eyes narrow at the lot of you. You can barely see much past the shoulders of the twins and the other ladies clustered closely in shared apprehension. Still, the twins stand tall and the other ladies hardly seem as wrought as you in the ceremony of it all. 

“The twins of...Mawsley, is it?” The queen declares, “yes, your father proved himself a valuable asset, didn’t he?” 

“Your highness,” the twins recite in unison and bow, “Marcia,” the first introduces herself, “Marigold, the second adds. 

“How keen,” the queen chimes, “you look as the same person. How amusing.” 

“Thank you, your highness,” the sisters chirp. 

“And those gowns, wonderful. I may have to ask after your tailor,” Queen Margaret preens, “and where is the Countess’ daughter? I recall I met you once when you were still a child.” 

Calliope steps dutifully, “my mother sends her regards.” 

“Oh, yes, that poor widow,” the queen bemoans, “she is ever steadfast despite her plight.” She takes pause as you sway to see her, “and the rest of you, forgive me, these last days have been a whirlwind and I’ve heard an endless slew of names one after another. 

“Lady Selene,” the very lady proclaims. 

“Lady Ameri,” she bows in quick succession. 

“Lady Dorida,” the last shows her courtesy in an elegant bend. 

As you come forward, the twins push their arms together as if to block you out with their sleeves. You sidle side to side and sweep around their skirts with an ungraceful stumble, “your highness,” you greet as if you have something stuck in your throat. You swallow before you can muster your own name and title. 

“Woodsdam,” the queen tilts her head and looks from the lady at her left shoulder to the one on her right, “I’ve never heard of it.” 

“Neither have I,” the leftmost agrees. 

“Farmland,” the right says. 

“Yes, your highness, my father is a farmer, but an earl as well,” you supply. 

“Mm,” the queen looks down her nose as her lips thin, “it appears the Woodsdam style is much... defined. I don’t think I’ve seen that style gown since my grandmother was still on earth.” 

You look down at your modest cotton. The square cut of your bodice is much different than the other ladies’ rounded collars. Your mother crafted the dress from pieces and the seams are tidy, yet it does lack a similar flair to the others around the chamber. You raise your eyes and keep your composure as best you can. 

“Many thanks, your highness.” 

The queen scoffs, “quaint, indeed.” She sits straighter though her posture is already unyieldingly staunch, “ladies, please acquaint yourself. And be certain to pay heed to these ladies who know well the ways of court. For all that’s changed in these past years, we will retain as ever our elegance and our etiquette.” 

You peer around, uncertain what comes next. A lady stands and calls to Calliope, “Lady, it is me, Gwendolyn, of the Spades. Near Clovers, you will know it?” 

Calliope accepts the initiation and there is a swift storm of voices swirling around the lot of you. You flutter hopefully that someone might think of Woodsdam or might’ve been to the waterfall near Aquil, not far from your father’s hold. The twins confer still with the queen and her ladies, trilling and giggling, as Serena and Dorida marvel over another ladies’ sewing frame, and Ameri is overly familiar with a lady swollen with child. 

You drift away from the centre of the chamber, trying not to draw unwarranted attention. It would do little for any to note your insignificance. You’ve all to soon faded into obscurity. No one cares for a farmer’s daughter. 

“Eh, do you read?” The question startles you and has you spinning to face its speaker. She looks as she sounds; squawkish. Birdlike. Her blond waves are woven with strands of silver and her hooked nose is not unbecoming. 

“Yes, lady, I do,” you answer, uncertain if she is genuine or she means it as jab. 

“Have you read Corswin? He wrote a fair tale about a shepherdess.” 

“I’ve not heard of him,” you recover your confidence at her interest. It is clear she humours you, that she is speaking to only keep you from floundering. 

“I must lend you a book or two,” she insists, “come sit with me. These old hens grow tiresome.” 

“Many thanks, my lady,” you accept and claim the stool next to her, shifting it closer. 

“Sarah,” she gives her name, “Woodsdam. I’ve never been. I hate the swamps.” 

“Oh,” you nod, “yes, it isn’t very swampy. Only in the rainy seasons but we get the sun.” 

“Mm, still, I’ve been down Ashton and I hated the place. My horses caught some sickness there,” she gripes, “perhaps though, your home is more pleasant. A woman old as me, though, I don’t venture far as it is.” She tuts and taps her oval nails on the book in her lap, “if my son wasn’t so foolish as to take up his sword, I’d still be in my library, hidden away from these chits.” 

You clasp your hands together and smile. She’s amicable and you wouldn’t want to bother too much. She flutters the pages of her book and huffs. You look around, sensing some intrigue from the other ladies though they do their best not to let their flitting eyes be caught. 

“All these birds know how to do is cloister themselves up like nuns,” she bemoans, “I’d as soon be out in the sunlight. If I were home, I’d be in my courtyard with a better book than this,” she wags the volume in agitation, “and you, lady? What is it you do on the farmstead? Chase hens?” 

“We have geese,” you say, “though they aren’t truly kept. They sort’ve linger around. And some cattle.” 

“It does sound rather bucolic, this must be all so drab to you, castle walls and dusty tapestries.” 

“Oh, it’s all so wonderful,” you expound. 

“It is?” She drawls tritely, “aren’t these ladies of ours so polite? The way they whisper about our hems and our titles. Don’t let yourself be fooled, though I suppose that should be as good a warning against myself. Ladies of the court are like crows; the like shiny things and the hold grudges, and sometimes, they needn’t even a reason to peck your eyes out.” 

You close your lips and swallow. Her tidings only underline the unwelcome forged in the queen’s introduction. All you might forgive is at least she seems genuine in her girding. You look down at your skirts and run your fingers down a crease. 

“The dress is not so hideous,” she assures gently, “some of the ladies do forget we did just fight a war. There are those without silks and without food in their bellies. They should weigh their fortune that they are still alive and well.” 

Your eyes meet and she looks a little less stony. She turns her head to the window and her gaze drifts into the distance. You follow them with a sense of solemnity. Again, you snare a few glances from the others. Many men died, women and children too. It wouldn’t do to care so much for what people think of your wardrobe. 

👑

Your first day at the castle ends in a fine supper of freshly baked bread, beef with gravy, and seasoned scallions, onions, and sweet herbs. It is not so hearty as your mother’s stew which you share as often with the servants nor so delicious. It’s a different sort of taste but not unpleasant. 

You retire at the queen’s behest. She declares she must see to her husband and several of the other ladies claim the same of their own. You rise and wait courteously to tail after other ladies, not wanting to get underfoot as you so often did on the farm. As you stand aside, Lady Sarah swats you with her book. 

Skirts swish against the rows of chairs and benches that line the long table. The dining chamber is set with the portrait of peregrine and similarly hawkish depictions woven into tapestry and tablecloth alike. Despite the uniform decor, the furniture is mismatched and the hews of wood and metal alternate with each piece. 

“Don’t fear the stampede, little calf, run with it,” she chides, “ah, I’ve decades upon these sows and they plod like heifers.” 

He uncouth words draw your surprise. She laughs at the look you send her and waves you off with the hardcover. She shoulders past you without pause. 

“One day you will see, it is better to speak the truth than let it shred up your soul,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Ah, naivete, how entertaining you are.” 

Her voice carries and you notice how the other women shy away from her. There’s a glint of deference to the tilt in their chins as they part for her like a like drawn in the sand with a stick. You wonder how she can be so bold and why the other might tolerate it. As Queen Margaret girded, you are to maintain propriety. Sarah seems to carry the same manners as any farmhand you’d known. 

You hurry to meet Calliope near the door as she departs. She seems the tamest of the lot thus far. Sharp-witted but not needlessly cruel. She turns her head slightly in acknowledgement of your presence. 

“There you are,” she mutters. 

“Did you enjoy the afternoon?” You ask brightly. 

“Enjoy? I tempered it,” she retorts, “I’ve the measure of most ladies.” 

“The measure? They were all quite friendly.” 

“You are too friendly,” she admonishes, “this is court, you cannot be so simple. Each lady is attached to a lord, thus they work upon his purposes. Her ears are always listening, eyes always seeing.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You represent your father and though mine may be in the ground, I carry his mantle all the same. We are our houses, not ourselves here,” she keeps her voice low and slows markedly to keep away from the others, “you should count yourself fortunate for my wise counsel, lady, for no other would give it.” 

You chew on her words, tasting their bitterness, “so why do you, Lady Calliope?” 

“For I despise those twins and I know they aren’t so keen on you,” she sighs, “and I saw you as any other did with the dowager.” 

“The dowager?” You echo. 

“The king’s mother, Lady Sarah,” she sends you a sharp look, “don’t tell me you didn’t realise?” 

“Oh? No? She spoke of books and her gardens, she didn’t mention...” you peter off and snap your mouth shut. But she had, she did say her son ran off to war. “Oh!” 

“Oh! Indeed,” Calliope mocks and shakes her head. “Look, I’ve not the patience for these women, but you’re not so bad. You don’t speak without meaning. Shall we be companions?” 

“Pardon?” You let your surprise bleed through. 

“I need at least one person I might stomach, how about you? I don’t think the others are so eager to be friends. Marcia did say how you look like a peasant.” 

“She did?” You frown. 

“Hm, you need me,” she insists, “you can’t let yourself be so whimsical. Never mind what they say or think. What do they care so much for anyhow? They are a duke’s daughters, they will do well enough.” 

You carry on next to her. You feel as if you’re being pulled in all different directions though all tell you just the same. Be wary 

“Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day. Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.”

SAM REID as  Father Ignatius in Lambs of God (2019)

for @aemondtargeryen

HALLE BERRY in X-MEN (2000)

Okay, I feel bad for feeling sorry for him. Did he really think that just because she was alone, she needed him? I believe he mirrored in her the feelings of loneliness and emptiness that he himself felt. Now I'm sad because even he, a monster who shouldn't have feelings, felt alone and thought that simply ripping her out of her life would be better because now both would have company. This attempt to explain yourself and try to calm her anger, Steve I know you're there... 🙇🏾‍♀️ Furthermore, her anger and frustration are real, imagine not even being able to have the thought of running away because there is no way? I know he will hurt her again and those steps of his must hurt deeply.

Off: I love the dynamic of her being angry and him just huffing and getting frustrated because he wants to change how she feels.

Mission Control 15

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You curl up on the couch and watch the fire. It isn’t the isolation or his silence that will drive you over the edge, it’s the idleness. There’s nothing for you to do. Not to distract yourself or to get yourself free. All you know of him and whatever he is now assures that there is no escape. You won’t even let yourself dream of the possibility or it will crush you. 

He doesn’t emerge before you fall asleep. The blackness sweeps over you as you hug yourself into the couch. A dreamless slumber has your head throbbing and when you wake, you hear the clacking of logs. A crackle of the kindling and his shadow flickers over you. His footsteps leave you again. 

Is he mad? You don’t care. You’re mad. It’s all you can feel. If you let the terror break through, you won’t be okay. No, you’ll be angry. He did this to you. He’s taken away your life. 

You can’t sleep. If you do, your head might split. You sit up when you’re certain he won’t return. You go to the kitchen and put water on to boil. 

You find the tea shop bag on the counter. You shake as you look at it. You take out the pot and the cups. You wash them in the sink and dry them carefully. Then you take out the canisters of loose leaf. You read the flavours labeled on the side. It all feels so out of place in the desolate cabin. 

You brew the apple chai and sit at the table. The scent wafts into your nose but it cannot comfort you. Nothing can. You are lost. There's no one to save you. You are certain of that. The world’s greatest hero, or used to be, is gone. He’s a shell. He’s a villain. 

You shift on the chair and let your hand wander to your thighs. The bruises remain tender. You feel rotten that you almost forgot how cruel he’d been. He can be gentle but it cannot undo what’s been done. 

You finish the tea and wash the cup. You put it away. You pace around the kitchen and the front room. Your weight makes the floor groan. You know he can hear you. You don’t care. You will never be ready for the next time... so you won’t try. 

When you venture to bathroom, you notice the bedroom door is slightly open. A weak invitation you won’t take. You lock yourself in to attend to your human needs. That’s what is so chilling. He doesn’t seem to recognise those. Not in your or himself. He’s almost confused by the most basic facets of existence. 

The more you think, the worse you feel. Not only for your own helplessness, but for him. You shouldn’t feel bad. No, he’s a monster. Yet you can’t help but suspect there’s something wrong. No, not something wrong. Something’s missing in him. 

As the morning rises outside the windows, you watch the trees. The leaves shed as the pine stands thick and dark against the paling horizon. The grass is flat and yellow around the dusting of dirt and twigs. The moon is still visible even as the sun climbs. 

You shiver and turn away. You change into the clean clothes and put the dingy ones aside to wash later. You take out the broom and sweep. You tie back the tattered curtains even as the glass lets the chill creep in. 

You feed the fire and stir around the embers. You hold onto the long poker and examine the point. You tap it on the brick of the fireplace to knock off the ash. It’s sharp and heavy. Iron. 

You hear him approach. You drop your arm and turn to face him. He has something in his hand. He looks at it, then you. He stops on the other side of the couch and his eyes flick down to the poker. You glance at your hand then relinquish the poker to the stand. 

You cross your arms and step away from the fireplace. You glare at him. He squeezes the notebook in his hands, the pages curled at the edges. A pen is tucked into the bent spiral. 

He turns it and offers it over the couch. Reluctantly, you near and lean in to read the page. There’s ink scratched in the same tortured writing as the food packets. 

‘I keep you safe.’ 

You blink at the page then take a breath. You look him in the face. He rescinds his reach. 

“Safe from what? The only person who’s hurt me is you.” 

His eyes round and he looks down at the book. He searches the page. His thumb runs up the spiral and he slides out the pen. He puts the tip to the paper but doesn’t write. He pauses and thinks. 

When he does, he shows you the page again. Another word. ‘Need’. 

Your chest squeezes and your stomach churns, “you need what? To hurt me? To feel better?” 

His cheeks pinch and his eyes crinkles as his mouth draws in a line. He angles the pen around the notebook and taps the word ‘safe’. 

“No, I’m not safe,” you argue. "Not with you."

He drops his arms in frustration. His jaw squares and he puffs out deeply. He shakes his head then brings the notebook up again. He writes. The next words he shows; ‘Alone. Both’. 

You bite down on bile. He just doesn’t get it. 

“Yes, I was alone. I didn’t care. I was... me.” You insist. 

His forehead lines and the scar down his cheek tautens. He nods. 

“I would rather be alone. Do you understand that? Can you? Do you understand anything? Huh?” 

He stares at you and his throat bobs. He pushes his chin up. He closes the notebook. He flings it one way, then the pen in the other. 

You brace yourself as he twists on his heel and his shoulders square. He stomps across the room as he raises a fist and hits the wall. The planks crack and splinter as he growls. He doesn’t look back as he retreats to the bedroom and slams the door. The whole house shakes with his anger. You do too. 

You shouldn’t have said any of it, but maybe you don’t care. You’d rather he just hurt you already. Waiting is much more painful. 

♡ㅤׄㅤִㅤ ୨୧  rafe cameron & his black girlfriend ✧