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#without so much as showing an OUNCE of emotion because you know that the second you appear emotional or hurt by it you lost the fight

anantaru · 1 year

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𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 + 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

୨୧ pent up frustration feat. dottore : childe : heizou : cyno : scaramouche : diluc x fem! reader

୨୧ WARNINGS: n.sfw : they‘re frustrated

𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄

"don't make a sound, i dare you to disobey me tonight."

in all honesty, it wasn't unusual for dottore to be rough with you, relentless without an ounce of pity, but tonight was a different story and you noticed.

of course, he mostly worked alone because he preferred it that way, yet today he just had to be pissed off by his co-workers, absolutely loathing it whenever he has to see all their faces, the bunch being a complete sharp thorn in his eyes, not seeing any value in any of them.

he forcefully pushed your hips into the mattress, slipping himself into your tight pussy without giving you a chance to actually get used to his length. The raw drag was slightly painful and had you shudder, your heart race increasing with it thumping in your chest.

in any other case, dottore wouldn't have let you a lot of time to adjust yourself to him anyways, yet still he'd wait for it, only a bit, a mere second, which wasn't viewable tonight, at all.

"fuck." he's swearing now, which wasn't the norm, he was usually pretty reserved and didn't let anything get past the huge wall he built in front of his emotions.

but fuck, with the way you were flexing and curving around his girth, how you were sucking him in all sloppily as he greedily buried himself into your warmth, finally getting that release he very much yearned for.

"how tight you are, don't tell me you missed me."

with that, he was lowering himself to look at you with mischief, grinning down as he rocked his erect cock back and forth, slightly wiggling his hips whenever he was fully sheathed in you which had you in a tight grip, your soul craving for him to crush you already.

his arms were broad and protecting, with his emotions speaking on a different level, is menacing chuckle was just loud enough for you to hear and take in. His lips attacked the thin flesh of your neck, flattening his tongue to lick all the way down your collarbone without stilling his hips on you, working in tandem.

the sounds of sex were embarrassing to hear, delicious but lewd, yet dottore was much louder than any other times you were intimate with each other.

he really needed to let go and you were the best person to do that with, tonight he groaned and couldn't surppress another one coming right from his throat.

you jumped a little when smacked himself in deeper, his cock was massive and heavy in you, rubbing all the right places in your spongy walls with punctuated thrusts forward until you were nothing more than his little play toy.

your head spinning with the growing heat only dottore managed to arouse in you, watching himself disappear as he pleasantly twitched in you, a million other things come rushing through his clever mind on how to make you beg tonight.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄

childe settled his head comfortably in between your legs, his eyes growing with his pupils becoming dilated, covering almost the entirety of the blue in his eyes.

he didn't expect to see you, especially tonight, the work load of his had been piling up over the weeks with the jester only sending him to various more places, not having a moment to catch his breath even if he tried.

"you don't know how happy i was when i saw you today."

he greeted your precious cunt, that of course, belonged to him, with a tiny kiss on your clit, rubbing the tip of his tongue over the sensitivity. Why were his hands shaking? childe honestly didn't know, maybe it was the excitement to finally have you again.

"how happy were you, tell me."

giving him a taunting look with pleading eyes, you pressed his head into your pussy, tugging on his orange hair and massaging his scalp. His love was all the more consuming and so rarely without anything else.

"so so happy baby, let me show you how happy i was." the tenderness he yielded was deceptive, unresisting and sharing his pleasure.

he wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you close, beginning to shake his head feverishly while having his tongue out, smearing and drinking in your sweet essence he very much was addicted to you.

the sharp blows of arousal he managed to coax out of you actually made him stagger, priding himself on what he managed to induce in you.

your whines fell on deaf ears, truly, your hands clenching against his head as you rutted yourself into his needy tongue, his rough, hard strokes perking your nipples up and having them erect while they bounced in tandem with his schemes.

you couldn't help yourself as you began to play with yourself in front of him, twirling and rubbing your buds to take in and archons, how attractive you were right now. Ajax groaned into your pussy and closed his lips around your clit, suckling and hollowing his cheeks while adding the tip of his tongue to drive into the flesh.

the attempt to keep himself from groaning audibly with every step, since he wanted to listen to your sobs a bit more, ultimately failed when he moaned and slurped aloud.

the feeling of the twist of his smooth muscle curving up between your legs had you exposed, bare and inflamed your skin into a frenzy of flayed nerves.

a fine grit that was scrubbing you raw from the inside out, ajax couldn't wait to sink into your wet cunt with his heavy cock later on, head empty with his eyes flown wide.

you smiled happily and full of relief as you heard him moan again, being fond of the little sounds he gifted you with as you stroked and fondled with your breasts, putting on a show for your dear boyfriend, his eyelids falling shut as he lay there, letting him have his way with you.

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

after a tiring day full of solving cases, heizou was more than delighted when he finally had you close to him with you sitting on his face all comfortably, chasing your release, the tight, stretching fullness growing inside him.

"more, give me more."

he's groaning into your pussy with the vibrations of his voice swirling into your veins like an electric current full of lust and desperation. Your hole clamped down hard and then slowly relaxing again, before clamping once more, overwhelming you.

while flicking his tongue over you, he made sure to massage your behind, squeezing and wiggling the soft flesh of your ass while simultaneously digging you further into his mouth, the need to touch himself was massive but pleasuring you like that had its own advantages.

you groaned when he abruptly drove his tongue into your sobbing hole, feeling you stretch open just a bit and just enough for him to tongue fuck you into cloud nine. Heizou was vastly skilled, so ruthless and restless whenever he was frustrated, whenever his job took the best of him and didn't let him rest, didn't let him fuck you just how he wanted.

he pulled himself back only for a bit, to tease you in his own way:

"is that all you can do? i said i want more." settling back into the cushions, he slurped your bittersweet juices, twisting his tongue in and out of your pussy as you arched your spine back, the constant flex of your hips having you sore.

"fuck, heizou, please." upon hearing you beg, so frustrated too, heizou deducted that you were close, so close it probably pained you already, his clammy hands, soft and damp on your secure ass to wiggle you back and forth.

bucking into his mouth, you continued to call for him in a couple of strangled moans, bouncing up and down his wet muscle in staggering shivers. Clenching onto his hair you took a deep breath, holding the air in your lungs as your stomach began to be filled by butterflies, your climax approaching you in a heavy shock, flashing your agony.

with your head now clouded in pleasure, you cummed hard, near overflow, soaking the man underneath you with your slick yet that's what heizou wanted and craved for in the first place, the taste of you was the very thing he yearned, his muscle trembling with his cock twitching in his tight work pants.

𝐂𝐘𝐍𝐎

"you know i can't hear you if you hide your moans like that."

a mile-wide smirk was visible on cyno's lips as he traced his hands over the curve of your ass, letting them dance and trace over your bare back, muscles contracting each other.

he settled his heavy cock in between your ass for once, wrapping one of his hands around his shaft to stroke himself, spreading the pre cum over his length until fully coated, the pleasure in him dissolving into a deep, glowing ache.

he hissed in between pants and his body was sore, the recent events in sumeru had his body on a thin thread, thoughtless, eyes glassy and hooded with saliva dampening beneath his chin.

cyno was tired and exhausted, but also so fucking desperate and frustrated for your loving touch. His free hand lingered on your flesh, squeezing your ass before aligning himself with your heat, at last dragging his raw cock past your hole combined with a big groan when you swallowed him whole.

bouncing you back and forth, you fell under his spell, crying his name out on all fours, "cyno.. so big." you hiccuped at his thick length being buried in you, scattered and fitting oh so perfectly, basically made for you. hot, thick and throbbing in the insides of your pussy.

his swollen cock slipped deeper as you greedily took him all, clenching your hole tightly around his girth when his thrusts stuttered, eliciting a groan form deep inside his throat with your skin burning.

"fuck love, you're so tight. i have to admit, i needed this."

cyno wanted to fuck your body until you gave out on him, keeping you hypersensitive, not to mention he needed to burn the frustration right into you so you could soothe and caress his skin, how sweet it would be to have you like this forever.

you circled your eyes in the back of your head as the wave of pleasure hit you, whining his name one more time when you climaxed, your cunt gushing around him so easily and well, gasping.

cyno's lips were left open, agape, experiencing how hard you sucked him as he grasped onto your ass, stilling his hips on you with his balls now flushed on your behind, the tone in his voice growing a bit lower.

he watched in between your bodies as your wetness slicked up his thighs, dripping wet when his seed plastered into your abused pussy, the sheen liquid mixing into one when cyno abruptly pulled out, turning you on your back in a single motion, restless and barely out of breath at all.

setting of into another room for spasms, "i want to look at you now."

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄

hoisting your body on top of his, scaramouche watched you straddle him, his static, charming eyes laced with pure joy and bliss.

"I really need this right now." his eyebrows scrunched together, there was a rolling note of intensity in his words, indulgent, aroused eagerness.

with that, he admitted it in a somewhat unusual tone, "so you better not mess this up." oh, there it was, the tension unwinding with his words turning back to its normal tone.

you suppressed a giggle, running your hands carefully over his pale chest in a worshipping caress, before aligning yourself with his throbbing cock which was swollen and drooling full of his fluids, stomach lurching together with the warm air filling his lungs.

before pushing him in, you slicked back the foreskin, at last sitting down and fully grabbing him, teetering back and forth.

the sight of scaramouche lolling his head back was arousing you, his hands tracing down the natural curves of your body and shamelessly thrusting up within your core.

how captivated he was with your being, watching you bounce up and down his cock through his thick lashes. With your tits throbbing in tune, it was such a sinful sight to behold.

how amusing, your nipples were hardened in the centre, coiling the sensitivity in your nubs.

Scaramouche licked his lips before pulling you down, wrapping his mouth over your own as he kissed you, hard. He was that vulgar, that brass, you grabbed him tight and whimpered at the unyielding girth of his heavy cock. Naturally, you obliged to his kisses, deepening your connection while rubbing yourself fiercely into him.

he was that vulgar, that brass, you grabbed him tightly and whimpered at the unyielding girth of his heavy cock, the agonizing overload of his swollen tip on your squishy walls had you in a tingling clasp.

"faster, go faster." mostly, there was no begging in his vocabulary, you were his and he ordered you to behave, as always, expecting you to beckon to his requests.

your whimpers expelled from your throat, unconsciously wrapping your hand around his neck to suck on his tongue. It was, of an unusual kink he found out about the other day, but scaramouche utterly adored it when you choked him, when you knocked the breath out of his lungs while riding him starvingly.

the glimpse of his eyes settling back was enough to make you cum, throbbing and flexing your muscles around his sloppy cock as you cried out once more, writhing and being so unbelievably loud you were sure someone must've heard you both.

"fuck, fuck." his mouth was dry, like the desert, words dying in his throat.

whenever scaramouche climaxed, he did it accompanied by swears, hissing and gritting has teeth as he watched his cock disappear within you when finally pushing his seed in, blowing his load into you and archons did he cum a lot.

his back was prickling with sweat and perspiration and the soft tissues in your abused cunt pulsed against him in an uneven rhythm.

further, further, he wanted to impale you further but he couldn't reach you anymore.

his seed was was spilling everywhere, making a mess of your bare bodies while holding you close with the additional stickiness. The wet trail kept connecting you even after you shuffled back, showing him the mess he made when you lowered yourself to his lips, whispering against the shell of your ear.

"happy now?"

mocking his words from before, he rolled his eyes at you, suddenly bleeding his skillful fingers into your skin to knock you into the mattress, now towering over you.

"not at all."

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂

kissing down your neck, diluc drove his fingers into your clenching hole, taunting and making you yearn for more, all the more pleading with his flushed expression, signaling the desire he held on making you cum on his fingers.

playing with you was one of his favorite activities after a long day, the sweet torment of having your shirt draped up against your chest with your hard nipples on display, aching at the coil in the centre.

mostly, the play of intimacy you both participated in was loads of quickies and fondling, diluc was mostly busy so he couldn't properly take time for you whenever he wanted, turning him, of course, very much frustrated in the process.

honestly, he could watch you for hours, just the sight of it lit his loins on fire, wrapping you around his bigger body when he added another finger into you.

sloppily you took him all, greedily drenching three of his digits with your fluids now as you spread your legs further for him, unable to do so with the painful ache on your thighs yet you tried, his thrusts practically rolling into your stomach.

"don't overdo it, you're doing well for me."

you nodded and sobbed into his embrace, your nostrils being filled with his addictive scent and the faint linger of sweat around his collarbones.

the swirling of your juices on his fingers turned him on, very much so, the swell of his bulge growing and throbbing against your body when you cupped it abruptly, grinding your palm into his groin, tugging just tighter and tighter.

diluc hummed in satisfaction, terrible of need for a release, being thankful to get a tiny bit of salvation as he rutted himself into your hand while simultaneously scissoring your drenched cunt, rocking his palm into your core.

"diluc- im so close.. please make me cum, please."

the agonizing pulse he drew on you had your cheeks flush with warmth, a tone that kept rising yet never reaching an apex accompanied with gasps and moans echoing through the hot room, the scent of both diluc's cologne and sex colliding together.

"whatever you, my love, ask for, you get."

his words made your heart swell and flutter, sinking your hips as though overwhelmed of the intensity he was going for now, diluc just had to rub away that incessant itch in you.

with your pleading sounding desperate, he took your thigh in his hand to spread it forcefully, retracting his hand to repeatedly rub them into your sweet spots, swallowing right back into your greedy body.

diluc gasped as he felt you crush onto his digits, gushing on his skillfulness with your cunt vibrating at your welcoming orgasm.

your hands flew to crawl them into his back, digging your sharp nails on his pale skin and kissing him starvingly as the both of you moaned into the kiss, the squeeze and release laced with intimacy.

do not! share, copy or repost my work. ✎ ©ANANTARU 2022

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blueparadis · 5 months

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MERCY ꕀ HIGURUMA HIROMI.

+. CWs —» f!reader, sub-dom portrayal,mention of bdsm relationship,age gap, f! & m!oral,angst undertones. 1k word count.

+. SUMMARY —» A little quickie before lunch wouldn’t ruin your appetite or would it ?

+. NOTES —» don't mind me realizing one fine morning that he got such a pu$$y eating nose\\ REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED \\ back to blog navigation. tags — @6-022-10-23 @orchid3a

At first he said he would like to return the favor but truth to be told it is now embarrassing, to some extent it is even tormenting; to be seated like this, legs folded and knees apart from each other as your hands rush on your barely clad body like dashing waves on shore. Your wet cunt against his panting mouth. It feels like he is snatching your soul out of your body whenever his mouth covers your cunt to suck off your cunt making your teeth voluntarily violate your puffy lips that has still the aftermath of the blow job you just gave to him a while ago being under his desk. Mr. Higuruma Hiromi is exceptionally kind today. Isn't he such a gentleman for doing this?

Yes. He is but that is just for today. He does not really show this kind of mercy. Either he makes you read the papers while making you sit on his lap and of course without your panties on. One pause or one stammer as you read he stops playing with you and dare you turn your head to look him in the eye, lest this wealthy criminal lawyer knows more than thousands ways to punish you than the Gods you pray to. Sometimes Hiromi even asks you to try some new outfits and just spend the day working, actually working. He likes this, the carefully crafted session where he is your dom, you are his sub and nothing else matters. Perhaps just one fact that how he is fully aware of your emotions towards him yet refuses to acknowledge it; it does not matter that you harbor feelings for him or the fact that whatever he is doing is a great specimen of unethical work, to some extent sabotaging the professional relationship between the two of you. It is almost like fetching a bucket of freshwater in the dawn from a pond when all the dirt has settled to the bosom after such a long lonely night.

And now, he is just holding your hips while his tongue is at work, lapping up on your bare cunt, slurping your juices as if he is quenching his thirst for ichor. His deft finger squeezes your cheeks every time you glide against his mouth, the tip of his nose grazing the apex of your vagina.

“mmm-mnhhh” he hums sternly and you can feel it in your gut that he is not getting the full taste of you. Why are you moving so much? You glance at him in the eye as your knees come in contact with the skin of the couch. Hiromi closes his eyes after his lips stretch to a beautiful crescent full of pride; and once his eyes are closed his mouth and tongue get more devoted in distilling your climax from your body. Your back arch, hands roam all over your igniting skin and then you push forward clamping around the hand rest of the couch as his tongue does one final full lap against your lips before sucking on your bud blacking your eyes for a second and then, it stills.

The climax fades and you back away giving him space to sit but your back touches his folded legs and when you look up to him, there is no ounce of further longing, rather a famished look. Now, that’s rare.

Clearing your throat, you say, “I’m sorry Sir.” because you dare not stare too long in those eyes unless. . .

“It’s okay.” Hiromi quips. “You can look at me. You have earned it.” but you still do not. What if it's one of his tricks? Or a test? Or maybe he is just teasing you.

Your eyelids flap like the wings of a drowning bird as his arm slowly approaches you, to chin your face up, his face inclining towards yours, lips thread apart whispering, “It's okay. You can kiss me now.”

You still hesitate ; your lips do not yet all it does it to part. You can smell yourself on him. His wet lips and tip of the nose glistening against the light. “I would like you to kiss me now.”

You lean to kiss him; his hand firmly rests on your bare chest stopping you, his knuckles are still flushed. You gulp and murmur, “Thank you, Sir.” Ahhhh! Those eyes. Those beautiful galactic eyes that once looked up to him with so much respect are now filled with tears. He rubs his thumb over your cheeks. It is as dry as a desert. It is fascinating how you do not let those tears fall from your eyes. Never.

“ please, i would like you to kiss me, y/n.” he murmurs almost like a prayer and then kisses your cheeks before you kiss him back. Your hands are still hesitant to touch him, his collar to deepen the kiss but when you feel him pulling away your fingers take root along his neck grazing back to his undercut. His sudden touch on your breasts remind you how your top still clustered around your waist. You welp; you moan as the kiss continues so does his hand kneading your boobs but it does not stop there. He pinches your nipple, harder than before, makes you flinch and breaks the kiss only to ask, “Do I have any meeting scheduled within the next 30 mins?”

He sounds desperate. He has never been someone to return the favor instantly. Why now? Not to mention, he rarely forgets meetings appointments. He does not really need a secretary for that. You are here as his apprentice that he picked because you shined like a pink pearl in the bed of empty oysters.

“Yes.” you lie. “Would you like to reschedule it?” You quip quickly before the guilt starts to thicken and mixes with shame.

“No.” Hiromi zips up your top. His fingers linger under your chin for a moment before he says, “you know,” the tip of his thumb grazes your lower lip stretching it downwards. “I can always detect a lie no matter how much I don't want to, no matter how much the truth hurts to know than to believe in a lie.”

You stutter as you try to apologize. “I just—he immediately keeps his index finger over your lips but does not touch you.

“confused with timings of other meetings?” he finishes your line of thought. Leaning forward he whispered into your ears, “I wanna let this one slide.” Retreating he meets your eyes, hands resting on the couch, him leaning away from you. “I don't wanna fight ‘this’ — he swings his index finger between you and him as he finishes, “ anymore.”

Your eyebrows jump. Fear, surprise and joy rush inside your heart all at once. There is a few moments of silence before he exclaims in his stern ordering voice, that he generally uses in court sessions. “Get ready. We're going out for lunch.”

You get up and walk away to the restroom while fixing your skirt. ‘don’t wanna fight this anymore’ What a joke! There is nothing to fight. Mercy has never been so brutal before.

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m4tthewsgf · 3 months

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Birthday wishes

Matt Sturniolo x fem y/n !bday girl

Warnings: this one's kinda dark so tw for implied sh and suicidal thoughts/tendencies

Author's Note: today marks my 19th year of living and what's better than writing a story based on your feelings and hoping that it will provide you some comfort? 😃 yeah idk just felt the need to do that I guess so there you go, sorry if this is a bit much. Enjoy!!! You matter!!!

---

The day I've been dreading the most for the past 7 years arose. The day that I was brought into this world, a place I always wanted to leave behind. Ever since I was a teenager, I hated my birthday. Sure, when I was younger I did throw parties and got excited about it, but growing up sucks every ounce of innocence and pure joy that's left in one's body, just like a vampire that craves blood. Growing up sucks. The feeling of standing still while the years go by sucks. Everything sucks, but my birthday quadruples that emotion.

I find it ironic how I am supposed to celebrate my existence on a random day in January when I've been yearning to vanish for years. I mean, my age may change every year but I don't, and that scares me. To me, birthdays are like a second New Year's Day where you recap the year that went by only to realise that you did nothing with your life and that you had, in fact, stood still while the whole world was making any sort of progress. The constant feeling of hopelessness and sadness exhausted me. I had waisted so many birthday wishes the past few years for that matter, hoping that they would someday, somehow work and I'd get better, but it was no use. So, I just stopped wishing. Stopped wishing to get better, stopped wishing to be enough for someone, stopped wishing to finally be happy and loved. I stopped because I realised that I was doomed, and what can one do when their destiny has been prescribed to them from the moment they were conceived?

Now, don't get me wrong, I do find parts of life beautiful. Inside this dark, scary cloud that I have found myself drowning in, there certainly are some sun rays that peak through every now and then that remind me that there's beauty in breathing. Beauty in existing. They may not shine as bright for the most part, but when they do, it's always in the right moment when my evil thoughts and emotions take a hold of me. Music, dogs and cats, chocolate, books… Friends. My friends are the most beautiful people in this life. Well, my boyfriend is the most beautiful one out of all, but don't tell Nick and Chris.

Nick, Matt and Chris are basically the people that saved me. I met them when I was at my lowest and they were like a breath of fresh air, like a sip of clean, cold water after wandering around the Sahara desert. Somehow they just showed up in my life and pulled me out of my misery and darkness without even knowing. Sure, I'm still struggling mentally, but they gave me a reason to keep going when I was sure that there weren't any left. I still cannot understand how they did that, but I'm glad they did. Maybe they are superheroes whose superpowers are spreading kindness and hopefulness to the one’s who suffer. Or maybe their hugs are their superpower; when these guys hug you, they wrap their arms so protectively around you that not even your own thoughts can touch you. I don't know what it is, but they are for sure not normal, mortal people.

Even though I love them all equally and they make my days brighter, Matt, my boyfriend, was the one who actually showed me that maybe, just maybe, I am capable of living the life I always dreamed of. I may be 19 now with no dreams and desires, but I once were 7 as well, and little me always wanted to discover what love was and how it felt. She, in fact, wished for it; love. She wanted to be just like the Disney princesses she was so obsessed with, wanting to be wrapped in her lover's arms and find out herself if those butterflies everyone talked about tickled her stomach or not. And Matt did just that. He became her prince who saved her from the monstrosity of a mind her skull ironically protected. He saved her from an ugly, evil version of herself that older her viewed as a monster. It may not was a wicked witch or a fearsome dragon, but it was someone that was still a threat to her.

Matt knows every part of me. Hell, he knows parts of me I haven't even discovered yet. He knows every dent of mine, every scar and wrinkle and mole. He knows how my hands start to shake when someone raises their voice at me and how I pick the dead skin on my bottom lip until it bleeds when I'm stressed. He knows every single ugly thing about me and yet, he sees beauty in it. He sees humanity in the parts that I've baptised as ghastly and abhorrent, the parts I've spent my whole life hating on because they made me, me. At times it didn't feel real. How could someone as pure as him willingly be with a person who always ought to save others while she couldn't save herself? How could have he endured all of me and still choose to stay?

At first I thought it was pity. I assumed he felt sorrow for me and my patheticness, but that worry of mine was shorty discarded when he kissed every scar I had put on my body. He kissed every single one of them, from my thighs to my sides to my arms, caressed them with his fingertips so delicately that I had to question myself if I was some sort of porcelain doll, and whispered sweet little nothings while doing so. He still does that when I'm feeling down or when I'm doubting his love for me. I mean, who wouldn't? My whole life, all I knew was roughness and I was sure that I was incapable of receiving something other than that, but there he was, treating me with so much softness and warmth I didn't think I deserved. Matt was able to heal wounds he never created. His lips, arms and voice were the strings that stitched them together and made them go away. And whenever new ones opened, his kind and reassuring words were the bandages he put over them before stitching them, opting to keep them disinfected so I won't be in any more pain.

Matt was aware that on Christmas and my birthday I needed more care than any other day. He knew how on those two days I just wanted to disappear and my emotions consumed me, so he was extremely loving and comforting. We had multiple conversations about it, about what it was that made me so upset in those days so he could find a way to help me in any way, shape or form. The day I finally opened up to him about it still replays in my head.

Flashback

“Baby?” He asked as he entered the living room and closed the door behind him. I was curled up on a couch with a fuzzy blanket wrapped all over me with tear stained cheeks and red eyes. Once he heard my sniffles, he quickly made his way up to me and sat right next to where my tummy landed.

“What's wrong, beautiful? Did something happen?” He softly spoke as he wiped away a few more tears that escaped from my eyes. I didn't answer, I just shook my head and stared at the movie I was watching. He exhaled sharply and looked over at the TV screen, noticing that I was binge watching my favorite animated film I always put on when I needed some comfort.

“Hey,” he whispered and grabbed my chin to make my eyes fall on his, “you can talk to me, y/n. You're safe with me. Whatever it is, we will go through it together, I promise” he scanned my face.

“I'm sorry” I mumbled as more tears blurred my vision. Matt was quick to grab my face with both of his hands and shushing me. He knew I always apologized when I was feeling down.

“Hush dear, no need to apologize,” he cooed, “I just want to make you feel okay, hm? Let me take care of you, let me cherish you” he pressed his soft lips against my temple, slowly making his way down to my lips.

“I got you something,” he said against my parted lips, hands still on each side of my face. I just looked up at him with frowned eyebrows.

He got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen counter. In an instant, he was right back in front of me with his arms tucked behind his back, hiding whatever my surprise was. With a loving gaze, he brought his hands right in front of me, revealing a bouquet of white and lavender babybreaths with a few lilies, my favorite flowers, along with a basket that consisted of my favorite snacks and books that I wanted to read. My jaw hung open.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart” Matt breathed with a toothy grin. I just stared at him with a lost expression.

At this point, we had been together for only 3 months and I was pretty sure I hadn't mentioned any of the things he was gifting me. I couldn't recall a moment where I had vocalized my love for those flowers or my desire to read those books. How did he know?

“Matt” my voice broke. I tilted my head at him and sat up as I felt a familiar lump in my throat. With a quivering lip, I broke down, my shaking hands covering my tears.

“Oh baby, c’mere,” he put the things down and quickly pulled me into his chest. His grip on my back was firm yet not hard enough to hurt me, but to reassure me that he was there. He rocked us back and forth as I sobbed into him, placing sweet kisses on the top of my head and whispering comforting words that only made me want to cry even harder.

He was the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me. My blessing and curse. Those ocean blue eyes of his that pierced through my soul and filled me with strength were the same ones that made me cry the most because I loved him. And love doesn't come without pain, or at least that's what I knew.

“Talk to me, y/n” he mumbled against my hair, his body still moving back and forth with me still clinging on the fabric of his shirt for dear life.

“I just-,” I sniffed and pulled out of his cozy embrace and wiped my eyes, “I hate this” I embarrassingly admitted.

“I'm sorry, I thought you'd like it I'll get you-“

“No! No, I didn't mean your gift!” I shook my head. I truly didn't. It was in fact the most thoughtful gift I've ever received. And also the first time I ever got flowers, something I always wanted to be given.

“I mean my birthday. I despise it” I chuckled at how pathetic I sounded. Matt's expression did relax at my confession but confusion was obvious in his face.

“Why?” He breathed. I looked up at him to meet his gaze that was already on me, soft and loving.

“It doesn't matter,” I tried to wash away his concern but it didn't work.

“It matters to me,” he shrugged, “I want to help you, baby. But in order to do that, I need to understand you first and I cannot do that if you don't talk to me” he simply said.

“And I don't want to hurt you,” he continued, “but I will unwillingly do that if you don't tell me what hurts you. It's like stepping on a minefield; how would I know where to safely step if I don't know where the mines are?”

“I don't want you to get scared and walk away” I choked on a sob. Matt tilted his head at me with a sad smile on his lips.

“You will not, I promise. You're too well tangled in my soul for me to just walk away” he chuckled. I felt my cheeks turn red at his words and bit my lips to fight back a smile that was threatening to form in my face. He grabbed my hand and interlocked our fingers, his thumb drawing lazy circles on my flesh, an act of reassurance and encouragement.

I did trust Matt. Hell, I trusted him more than I trusted my own self. I knew I had to talk to him about it. I loved him. He had to know.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I spoke with a trembling voice that was almost as quiet as a whisper.

“Ever since I was 12 I've hated that day. Before I hit 18, I didn't want to celebrate my existence because I simply didn’t want to exist,” I trailed off with my gaze locked in our touching hands, “I was so sure that I wasn't going to make it till then, but here I am, I guess” I forced a laugh but it soon faded.

“It just doesn't feel real, you know? And I don't mean that in a good way. I feel like a coward,” I breathed while a few more teardrops fell, “it was honestly kind of like a goal of mine, not turning 18, which I obviously failed to accomplish,” I shook my head in disappointment, “my birthday just reminds me of those feelings and it just triggers me, I suppose. And now that I turned 19 and I'm still here... it's just a lot of feelings I can't quite describe. And apart from that, why would I celebrate a life I never wanted?” I tried to joke but I didn't earn a laugh from Matt. Scared of his reaction, I slowly lifted my head to look at him with guilt.

His eyes were watering, his forehead creased and an obvious frown on his lips he didn't even try to hide from me. He just stood there in silence for a minute or two, eyeing every feature that my face had to offer, before enveloping his shaking hands around me once more. This time, however, his grip was harsh and his whole body was trembling. He held me so tightly that I could barely breath, his grasp against my skin so tense I was sure it would leave marks. This time, it wasn't me he was trying to comfort, but himself. Knowing that his pure and genuine heart couldn't take that much hurt, I placed my own arms around him securely.

“It's okay, baby” I repeated over and over again as my fingers played with his dark hair. His face nuzzled in the crook of my neck where I felt wetness in. I hated seeing him like this, but I understood that it was a lot to take in. His reaction was more than understandable.

“I'm so sorry, y/n” he pulled away with wet cheeks.

“It's not your fault, you don't have to apologize.”

“Yeah but,” he choked, “it isn't fair! You were a child, you shouldn't be feeling this way!” he reasoned.

“I know, but I managed, didn't I? I'm still here,” I wiped away his tears with my thumbs. He just looked at me and nodded. His gaze mirrored his troubled thoughts. I could tell it hurt him; hearing the person you love the most admitting such things isn't an easy thing.

“I just…,” he trailed off, “I just want you to know that I'm glad you're still here. You may not believe what I'm about to say, but you do make a difference in this world. You make a difference in my world. The fact that there's probably a version of myself out there that doesn't have you in his life makes me feel sorry for him, because you truly are a gift, baby” Matt spoke.

“I promise you, I'll make it feel better. I'll find a way to make the pain go away, I swear,” he cupped my face and brought it so close to his I felt his hot breath on my skin. Not giving me a chance to speak, he pulled me against him. I let out a sigh before allowing myself to relax under his touch and comfort.

“You're so strong” he murmured against my hair. I laughed.

“I'm not strong, Matt, I am weak. If I were strong, I wouldn't be here today” I blandly told him and I felt him shake his head violently, obviously disagreeing with my statement.

“D-Don't. Don't say that. Please, don't say that. You are strong. Despite everything, you're here. You may not have chosen to stay, but you did. You're strong for not caving in and letting your mind control you, you're strong for handling all of these big and dark emotions ever since you were a child, you're strong for telling me. You may not see it, but there is so much strength in you, y/n, that inspires others. I know you don't get what I'm saying, but I also know how draining it is to feel like this. If anything, you're strong,” he argued and pulled away from the embrace to look me in my eyes. Maybe he was right. Maybe I didn't give myself enough credit for it.

“I'll get you help. I'll find a therapist for you, the best one there is. I’ll pay for your sessions and everything you need. And I'll find ways to help you myself, I'll do my research, read books…I'll do anything for you, angel. I just want to make sure that you're safe. And if there's anything that I do that makes you feel unloved by me or hurts you in any way, please tell me. The last thing I want you to do is question my love for you” he said with puppy dog eyes.

Matt was a sincere and emotional man, two traits that made me fall in love with him instantly. His sympathy was something I've never came across with before meeting him. He was truly an angel sent from heaven.

“Thank you” I smiled sadly at him.

“I am here for you, baby. I will always be. No matter what happens, you'll always have me, I promise. I love you,” he breathed and kissed me with so much passion that made my head spin.

End of flashback

That was the day we muttered that phrase to one another. To some it may seem too soon, but I don't care. I needed to hear it and I needed to hear it from him. And I also felt the need to say it back because I did love him. Probably the most I've ever loved anything and anyone in this world. That was also the day I showed him my scars. Before that, I refused to get naked in front him even to just change my clothes, because I was scared of how he was going to react. Even though I wanted to have sex with him and show him how much I craved him and his body, my fear always consumed me. He didn't put any pressure on me though, he was very respectful of my boundaries and he made sure that I knew he wasn't upset or angry at me for not wanting to do anything sexual with him.

“You could tell me to never touch you again and I'd still feel the same way about you,” Matt used to tell me, and still does, whenever I apologize for not being in the mood to sleep with him. How could I not fall for this boy?

So here we are, a year later in our shared bedroom in his and his brothers' apartment taking in each other’s presence. Our legs intertwined, my face buried deep into his chest and his arms wrapped around my waist. Matt was a peaceful sleeper and in my opinion, he looked the most beautiful when he was asleep. He looked so comfortable and relaxed, his cheek squeezing against the soft pillow that supported his head and mouth slightly agape. Even in his sleep, though, he made sure to keep me close to him. He was always hugging me or touching my hand which I dearly appreciated. Whenever I woke up before him, I just stayed there and admired him until his eyes opened, and that's what I'm doing right now.

Lifting my head up, I look at his dreamy face. I smile fondly at the sight in front of me and I can't help myself but place soft, loving kisses on his features, neck and collarbones. I hear him shift under me, his body slowly stretching, which indicated his awakening. I look back up at him again and see him sheepishly smile down at me, a smile that never fails to make my heart jump and flutter.

“Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up” I apologise softly.

“Mhm” he hums and brings me back against his body. I giggle at his clinginess but allowed myself to turn into a paddle under his touch and loving embrace. He rubs my back and caresses my hair before he places tender kisses on my forehead and lips.

“Happy birthday, my love” he wishes me in between pecks, making me smile against his pinkish, plump lips. I kiss him back passionately.

“How are you feeling?” Matt whispers as he pulls away, resting his face just a few inches away from mine. I smile at him. A genuine, gentle smile.

“I'm good” I whisper back.

“Yeah?” his lips take an upturn curve.

“Yeah,” I breathed before kissing him again. I hover on top of him with my body still laying beside him though, and his hands reach to take a hold of the sides of my face. We both smile into the kiss which ends up being interrupted by the door bursting open, making me jump.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Nick and Chris exclaim at the same time. They're even wearing birthday hats. These kids. I look down at Matt whose face was filled with pure shock. I laugh.

“Thank you, boys” I shoot them a toothy smile.

“Oh wait, I forgot the cake!” Chris says before running back to the kitchen. I look at Nick who stared at his younger brother in disbelief.

“I'm so sorry, I told them not to do-“

“Baby, it's okay,” I whispered, “I'm okay.”

“I'm so proud of you,” Matt says softly before sitting up and placing a kiss on flustered my cheek.

“Here! Make a wish!” Chris says as he came back with the cake which, in reality, was just a few pancakes with a lit up candle on top.

All those years, I thought that birthday wishes weren't a thing until I got blessed with those 3 boys. I don’t know what or who brought them to me, if it was God’s or any other celestial’s work, but I thanked them every night for allowing me to have such people around me. I was so grateful for them and for once in a while, I was grateful to be alive.

I was grateful for not giving up when I felt like it was the only way out. I was grateful for not losing the battle because if I had, I wouldn't have met them and I wouldn't know what love and happiness felt like. I couldn't be able to give little me the love she deserved. She wouldn't have met Matt, she wouldn't have felt the butterflies every time he landed his eyes on her which indeed did tickle her stomach, she wouldn't have known how unconditional love felt like. The thought of that made me uneasy. I couldn't take that away from her and I was more than happy I didn't.

I look around me and cherish this moment. Yes, there is still a lot of healing I need to do still, but I'm getting there. With the help of my friends, I will get there. Their smiling faces give me strength everyday to keep going. And so before blowing out the candle, I make a wish. I wish for all the people who feel just like I once did to get better. I wish for their pain to vanish and be replaced with happiness and peace. I wish for them to realize that their existence matters more than they think. And most importantly, I wish for them to not lose the battle because yes, life may be tough, but they're tougher. Because they are needed and beautiful and unique. Because they deserve a happy ending. Because they do make this world a better place just by being in it.

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seikkoi · 4 months

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ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ [1, 2] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 12k a/n: new year, new format. sorry for the delay! wrestled w this for a bit.

You believed him, obviously.

You drank in every malefic word. It’s only the easiest thing in the world to do. Any voice that suggests your wanton attachment was becoming self-destructive died without a fight. You tell yourself that’s impossible–that you couldn’t see your life without him anymore because it was obviously better with him.

Sure, maybe you had some suspicions about his work, and maybe he could be a tad austere demanding, but that was child’s play compared to anything in the past.

You let your body curl beside his, savoring every ounce of his cologne in the air. It’s unfamiliar, feeling his bare skin against yours, but you’re thankful for it. The sandman visits quickly this time, sending you sleep as a calloused hand strokes your cheek.

There’s a beautiful sight awaiting Tony when he wakes the next morning–you, all tangled in silk sheets, warm arms wrapped tight around his midriff.

Almost every hour it feels like he finds a new beauty in you, another reason you’ll stay on his mind every moment of the day. This time, he’s noticing how breath-taking you look asleep, peaceful and holding him like you’re scared he’ll disappear.

Your form is casked in a shy early morning light as he trails his fingers across exposed skin gently, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing. Tony would pay just about anything for you to see what he saw (which was absolute, unwavering perfection, in case you were still unsure).

Eventually, the sun rises high enough to illuminate the faint, pale marks on your hip–and only part of him wishes he showed more restraint.

No matter how much he wanted to take things slow with you, bring you in little by little, he needed your trust–your loyalty–so much more. He’d never cared much for delicacy when it came to love or attraction, especially not after Pepper. After all the bullshit with her, he wanted every living thing to feel the same desolate anger that fused in his bones. Scorched earth seemed too gentle of a policy.

It’s easy to say the end of their relationship came the second he found out, that all his feelings faded into nothingness and no further harm was done. It’s easy to pretend like he’s always been this way–this sharp-edged, arrogant man who commands loyalty and respect. It’s infinitely more difficult to acknowledge that his love for Pepper went away more like a kidney stone than a dying light.

That hot-headed arrogance, the one that soared at your proclivity for mistrust, or hints of leaving, that had been around for ages. The arrogance and fear of losing what he valued most burrowed together, growing slowly over the years into an obsessive need for control. It had laid dormant, waiting for that strawberry blonde catalyst.

The faint patches on your skin gave him a sense of satisfaction–you were his, and he tried to know that that would never change now. He realizes all his calculated moves probably weren’t needed, that he could’ve been more of himself with you sooner. Tony’s anger let him run clean over any worries that you’d leave at the first signs of his true colors. He really wanted to be the kind of man that was all sugar and no spice, but someone ruined that for you a long time ago.

Certainly, it at least wasn’t what you needed. Tony knew what you didn’t, that you could have any man you wanted. You could have chosen some run-of-the-mill, 9-to-5 guy. One who buys you flowers once a month while you live your own boring life with a dead end job, but you chose him for a reason.

You didn’t need coddling, just a bit of control–direction. All the worry he had about the ink in his life staining you could go away. Sleeping beside him, you looked just as pure and innocent as ever, dreaming peacefully. Hiding his life from you is exactly what led to last night’s events anyway. He made a mental declaration to be less conservative with himself, to give you exactly what you claimed to want (him–entirely and unconditionally).

He feels bad for past-him, who had to wait all those months to hear you cry out his name, to feel how easily your body submitted to him. Truthfully, you weren’t resisting him enough to justify the tight hold he kept, but every movement of your body needed to be his doing.

Maybe he should have just ripped off the bandaid sooner. You didn’t need things as fickle as slowness and patience, you needed to know where you belong–right here beside him, blissful and wearing the marks of his obsession.

Every fiber in his being hated doing it, but Tony pulls out of your sleepened embrace. The sudden loss of your warmth is almost physically painful, but he manages to rise from the bed. Your face scrunches slightly, sheets dragging to accommodate your shifting frame.

He contemplates waking you, if anything just to make sure your thoughts aren’t still set on leaving him. Tony’s not a betting man, but he takes the look on your face after coming to his room as a positive sign. Besides, he doesn't like the idea of waking you this early when you need rest more than anything.

There’s money waiting to be made, but he won’t deprive himself of this phenomenal view to do it. A rosewood table identical to the one in your room is moved closer to the bedside, right where he can keep you in his line of sight.

That’s exactly where you find him when you wake, hours later–already dressed in a black polo and dark pants, peering over his laptop. It’s a heavy knock on the door that stirs you, causing Tony to swear when he sees your eyes open.

The papers scattered about the table are shoved into a folder as he checks his watch and swears again. You’re almost too groggy to process voices at the door, turning just in time to see a wooden box transferred into Tony’s hands before the door shuts as quickly as it opened.

An apology is already spewing when he turns to you.

“You’re fine, it’s fine,” you waved your hand, starting to sit up.

You swing your legs over the edge, yawning and trying to think the last bit of sleep away. You might’ve forgotten about last night for a tiny longer had you stayed down. You feel the tenderness of your body before seeing it. Tony notices the subtle twitch of your brow, waiting for your reaction to worsen as he tucks the box into a leather duffel on the floor.

“We should leave in a few hours.”

There’s a flatness in his tone that pulls a puzzled look from you. He puts more papers away, now not even sparing a glance your way. It’s not out of contempt, just the last remnants of fear about you leaving. He had nothing but confidence when you were asleep–obviously feeling safe and enamored enough to lie beside him.

Now though, Tony’s forced to think ahead in time, trying to plan responses to questions and arguments you haven’t even made.

Maybe all Pepper did was make him insecure. (He’d never admit such a thing, though)

“What was that about?” you asked gently, even though you were genuinely trying not to wonder.

“Just work.” He strides back around the bed, planting a kiss to your forehead.

You manage not to pry, or give much of a reaction at all, simply smiling and still trying to stretch the weariness from your body. Your quiet demeanor comes from your own internal battle about his mood, nothing more. Tony though, for all his talents, sadly isn’t a mind reader. What he is however, is sure it’s his own fault.

Tony lets out a huff when he remembers he decided to be less withholding. You’re confused until the wooden box is brought back out. The bed makes a depressing noise under Tony’s weight as he sits across from you.

He can’t stand the apprehensive look in your eye, and figures there’s no time like the present.

“You wanna ask what’s in the box, don’t you, doll?” He says smugly, tapping the container against your knee lightly.

Trick questions aren’t really his style, but you don’t think there’s a right answer.

Tony’s expectations seemed to grow more complex the longer you were with him, and right now, you’re not certain what’s expected of you. The last ten hours in your mind was a feature film, full of depressing internal monologue about how little you really knew about him.

You know you should trust Tony’s words over the whispers of others, but they’re hard to separate when both sources are drenched in ambiguity.

“Look, I,” he pauses to sigh heavily, looking away from you for a moment. “I was completely open with Pepper–full transparency, no secrets, the whole nine yards.”

Vulnerability in any form was without a doubt his least favorite thing, especially with this. It almost petrifies him that you’ll see him differently. Mostly because he doesn’t know what he’d do if you really did leave. Somewhere, swimming in back of his brain is the idea that you’ll pull the same stunt she did. That train of thought always leads him down dark roads he’d prefer to ignore.

“I guess I was a little too open because I woke up one day and suddenly everything’s gone to shit.”

Tony’s phone rings, and for the first time ever, you see it declined without a second glance

“I cannot have that happen with you. You can ask me anything, if you can promise me you won’t leave if you don’t like the answer. If you can’t do that, you should go.” he ends coldly, and it sends a shiver through your frame.

You wouldn’t–whether he told you the truth or not. So, naturally, you nod in agreement.

A visible wave of relief rushes through him with a sigh.

“Okay, go ahead, shoot.”

What Tony’s expecting is questions about his work, about Pepper, maybe about Steve. The preparation for those questions is immaculate, answer trees with presumed added points of inquiry. Instead, you ask something he feels moronic for not planning for sooner.

“What are we doing here? With us? And don’t say it’s up to me.” You don’t ask how you normally do, with a hint of snide or taste of anger. It just comes like a whisper.

Stark sucks at very, very few things, but this is certainly one of them. Words never seem to do him justice. How he feels, what he wants to say, and what he ends up saying, never quite align. Hence why he much prefers action to rhetoric (hence why last night didn’t end in the screaming matches you might be used to from others).

Tragically for Tony, you’ve got that damned candied look on your face again that he absolutely cannot stand disappointing, even if you don’t know it.

Still, he takes a beat too long to formulate a response, so you continue.

“I mean, what are you telling all these other people who think you’re still married?”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation about my life, doll.” he says a touch too sternly, without meaning to.

He continues before your face can turn too sour, placing an apologetic hand atop yours and sighing.

“Truthfully? No one asks, it's–I think everyone’s able to put two and two together with Pepper gone. If they did, I’d say you were my girlfriend, maybe partner. But honestly, that feels a little inaccurate.”

“Inaccurate how?” you ask tentatively, hoping it wasn’t somehow less than that.

“Underwhelming.” Tony smiles and laughs a bit, making your face warm.

“Promise me that you won’t change your mind about me.” he continues exasperatedly, half joking.

For once, you can read the emotions on his face clearly–it’s obviously not a world of fun for him to say any of this, and you know it’s the closest you’re getting to an apology (and a direct answer).

“I won’t, I promise.”

You don’t fully comprehend the metaphorical contract you’ve just signed, more permanent than any marriage certificate in his eyes.

For your sake, Tony hopes you aren’t the type to break promises.

It’s early in the day once you return to New York, and while you managed to stay awake on the flight, your eyelids shut the moment Tony closes the car door.

You realize you must have nodded off when you open your eyes to the familiar cluttered horizon. As the buildings come into sharper focus, you also realize that the car is completely stationary right outside your apartment.

You shift in the leather seat, turning to see Tony tapping at his phone screen. A wide grin spreads as he catches your eye.

“How long have we been here?” you yawn.

“About an hour.” Tony mutters absently, brow furrowed at whatever his phone displayed.

“You could’ve woke me, you know.” You felt a teeny bit guilty for keeping him when he definitely had better things to do. You shake the soreness from your body, slipping your shoes back on your feet and gathering the items you had spread throughout the car.

“You looked tired,” he says dismissively, pocketing his phone and turning the car back on. “and I don’t mind.”

The apology you want to give is interrupted with the painful reminder that you still have a shift at the bar tonight. Tony watches the realization wash over you, laughing as you dramatically groan and toss your head back.

“What’s the matter?”

“Wish I could go back in time and tell Alicia hell no on closing tonight–”

“Uh-uh, nope, you’re not allowed to complain.” he interjects, shaking his head comically.

“Why not?” you laugh hesitantly, already guessing what the answer would be.

“Honey, it’s almost physically painful watching you waste your time there knowing I can take care of everything for you.”

Was this the first time Tony indirectly suggested you quit working? Not in the slightest. Lately, a week could hardly pass without even a small mention. In theory, it sounded lovely to you ( as someone who never planned on staying a bartender this long but had no other goals to stand on). Reality bore different fruit that told you independence was probably better.

So, as you’ve done before, that’s exactly what you tell him. You liked making your own money. It causes the billionaire to chuckle as if you’ve told the funniest story ever, making you feel like a paranoid freak.

“No one said anything about taking away your independence.” he chuckles, turning the key. “If making cocktails makes you happy, go for it, but I would at least make sure it’s a nicer location–with bottles worth drinking.”

“I don’t recall you having any issue drinking all those cheap cocktails.”

“I’d drink anything if you were the one serving them.”

You have to try hard not to swoon at his words, watching him leave the car and pop the trunk before you can say anything else. You follow before long, standing to the side as he moves your bags from the car to the sidewalk.

“It’s just hard–what I want to do isn’t really a money maker. People don’t get into art for the paycheck.”

He laughs again, and you’re starting to find it very infectious.

“Maybe I’ll single-handedly revive the field of patronage. Pay you to build whatever kind of gallery you want, if you let me keep a few.”

With a wink, the bags are carried by Tony to the front door, where he gives you a long, slow kiss that leaves your head spinning. Something leaves his lips about taking you to breakfast in a few days, but you’re too charmed to hear it.

All in all, you do end up working a lot less. Mostly because you don’t need to. Over the next month or two, Tony manages to persuade you to get what he wants. Okay, so it was less persuasion and more necessity.

Two weeks after your trip, your roommate gets a job offer out-of-state and moves out faster than you can make up the difference in tips. Originally, you weren’t going to mention it in the slightest. Plan A was to beg your landlord for more time, and plan B was to write a bad check and hope you had enough by the time he tried to cash it.

For weeks straight you worked non-stop doubles to try and close the gap. You were making progress, but steadily wearing yourself down to a dull nub. By the end of it, you were beyond burnt out and completely forgot that Tony knew nothing about it. You fucked up by inviting him over one night, not realizing that the sudden absence of half of everything inside would tip him off (that and the deep bags under your eyes).

Immediately, he asked how on earth you were still paying rent this month, and absolutely despised your answer. Tony had never been shy in telling you how wasted your talents were, and this night was no exception. Especially considering you hadn’t still made enough and planned on working another double tomorrow.

You had little energy or reason to argue with him about it.

Now, you assumed it was a one time thing, just to help you get re-stabilized, maybe find another roommate. Neither really panned out. Every hit on Craigslist gave serial murderer vibes, and tips were starting to trickle as summer ended. The following month, you walked down to the leasing office, last month’s check in hand, only to be told it was taken care of.

Do you think the bitchy lady at the front desk answered you when you asked how that was possible, or do you think she ignored you and called out next in line?

It’s the latter, leaving you forced to call Tony and find out from him. You wouldn’t let yourself trust him, so it’s only right he does it for you. Tony always gets what he wants one way or another after all, causing the same story to be told next month, and the following, and every month after for the foreseeable.

You can’t say he isn’t right, though. Less shifts just means more free time to do all the things you’ve put off for the last five years. And so, your life changes once more. All the paintings, books, and movies that sat abandoned finally get some well-deserved attention. You fall into a mellow routine: spending your mornings ahead of a new blank canvas and afternoons buried inside forgotten novels.

An odd shift is picked up here and there, the appropriate amount to stay on staff and keep some semblance of a normal routine, but not consume your life. You adapt surprisingly well, skipping that awkward stage of persistent guilt for having someone else handle your bills. It’s especially effortless when your now empty evenings are filled by Tony. It becomes easier to relax around him, oddly enough. You never thought that time would come, anticipating a lifetime of tiptoeing or a fiery end.

Funny, it feels like only yesterday when you were reeling at him buying a simple dress.

Between spending more time with Tony and less time working, you see more of what the city has to offer. The heightened level of status that dating Tony Stark brings unlocks a plethora of galleries, restaurants, and events you’d only dreamed of attending. Co-existing with the brazen personalities of the 1% could still be a pain, but now you know how to smile and pretend when it counts.

You even have the temerity to attend some alone. It’s much more fun with Tony, though. Your evenings almost always end inside your apartment, staying up and keeping Tony far later than you should. He rarely minds, often halfheartedly leaving to handle some issue or another. If your luck is high enough, no one needs Tony Stark, leaving him to occupy his time with his favorite person.

If you’re even luckier (or simply brave enough to ask) he’ll slide a taunting finger behind whatever teasing skirt or shorts you’ve chosen (specially to incite this reaction), whisper in your ear how perfect you taste and make your eyes roll. You’ve tried to reciprocate–an embarrassing number of times. Short of actually ripping his clothes off, you don’t know how else to get the message across.

Tony only takes your attempts as a sign that he’s succeeding at keeping your mind elsewhere.

During one of these late-nights, he’s working on doing just that when he notices you’re distracted for other reasons. He’s standing behind you in your dim bedroom, slowly working the zipper of your dress down as he trails the soft revealed skin with heavy kisses. Normally, you’d be panting, pressing against him trying for any bit of friction. Instead, he can see your tightly wound brows, the glossy flesh of your bottom lip jutting between two front teeth, thinking far too hard for how good this felt.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he hums lightly, turning you by your waist as the dark fabric pools at the floor.

Tony doesn’t still his lips at all, leaving tender marks down your neck and chest. The good news is it gets your breath choked and heavy just how he likes it. Unfortunately, your half-presence remains. He stops right before the airy lace of your bra begins, causing you to catch his eye.

“How come you’ve only taken me to the tower once?”

You don’t have a set event that prompted this question. The realization only dawned on you today. You’ve been dating one of the richest men on the planet for the better end of a year, and he’s taken you to his home a grand total of one time. Your brain is good at forgetting that night most days, but today you can’t shake it. It feels almost karmic to bring up bad memories, as if just speaking about it will bring it back into existence.

He laughs a bit when your issue proves so elementary.

“Seriously,” you stress, even though your voice wavers with the arousal he’s building. “We’ve been together all this time and I’ve never really seen where you live.”

“Promise you aren’t missing much.” Tony smiles, capturing your lips and guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“It’s only one of the largest companies in the world. Guess seeing the inside once is pretty lucky.” you sigh, feigning a dramatically sad tone.

You’re really trying to guilt him, making a purposeful effort not to soak into the heat of his touch. Hot hands snake up your thighs, thumbs brushing small circles into the inner skin. He dips below you as you sit, still humming his way up your legs with butterfly kisses.

“Might have been followed, couldn’t risk taking you home.” he mutters, preoccupied.

It’s not his fault you look too good to argue with right now (which you knew and were definitely using to your advantage). The dress you wore tonight might as well have been see-through– it hugged you like cellophane, and he made a mental note to buy you more in the same material.

While Tony’s busy leaving more hickeys on your thighs, a shiver runs through you. What would have happened had someone followed Tony’s car?

Your mind goes to work crafting all types of theories, and Tony recognizes the look plain as day. He stops with a stout sigh, leaning back on his heels. It pulls your attention back to him, looking down at him with uneasy eyes.

“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

Even if you’re not entirely sure what you need protecting from.

“Good, now do me a favor and lie back.”

You do as you're told, of course, more than enthusiastically.

Balance is important after all, though. So, while Tony gets what he wants now (as he usually does), he indulges you as well.

You made an off-hand comment about never actually seeing a broadway show in person, despite living in New York for literal years. Tony finds any missed luxury in your life unacceptable and naturally drops a small fortune to orchestrate a private show. While buying out the theater was partially for the romance, it would have also been too much exposure for him otherwise.

Afterwards, he makes a very notable detour from your usual route home, pulling you away from your long ramble about how awe-striking the show was. Asking just gets you a cheeky smile and turns your attention towards the tower.

You get the full tour that you weren’t afforded the first time (given the circumstances). The lobby you recall, with its marble floors and high ceiling. It’s well in the evening, leaving the tower empty minus a few guards and late-night staff.

You regret never paying attention in science when Tony guides you through the labs and workshops.

As you pass through room after room, each unnerves you. Most things of the scientific nature are lost on you, but you’re certain the high amount vials and chemicals you see would floor even Einstein.

You can’t place why they unsettle you, looking so out of place and painfully high-tech in stereotypical white walls. It also doesn’t help that Tony spiels about the building and not what lies on the tables three feet away.

You swallow your questions, fearing that the answer to be even remotely similar to the one that drove Pepper away.

Tony mentions having dinner upstairs, to which you smile and follow him into an adjacent elevator before you can stress yourself out further.

The doors open to a penthouse apartment that you don’t remember walking through before (definitely too caught up in thinking you were about to be dumped over a drunken mistake). You obviously expected Tony to live in the same luxury he exudes, but the decor and imported wood reminded you just how wealthy he was. He leads you to his office, tucked behind a frosted glass door that you do remember from last time.

“This,” he starts, swiping a small card against the door’s thin black reader with a quiet beep, “is where the magic happens, but it is off-limits without my permission.”

You give an understanding nod when he turns back, although you wanted to laugh at how quickly he switched from sounding like a complete nerd to stony-faced. Tony leaves the door open once you enter, tucking the card back into the pockets of his slacks.

You are naturally more curious than most (for better or for worse), and make quick work walking around the vast space, eyeing each shelf, table, and weird gadget. A pair of soft couches mirror one another in the center of the room, surrounding a cluttered coffee table of notes and books. A whiteboard stands nearby, covered in what’s probably math but could pass for ancient Greek. Every inch of the walls is lined with something–be it awards and diplomas or more books with words you’re convinced are made up. It strikes you then that the office lacks any windows, and you wonder if that’s by design or sheer chance.

At the back wall shines various lights and screens, below it a thin, large clear desk where Tony sits. The desk holds more of the odd, transparent screens, which Tony closes with the swipe of his hand as you approach. A compliment of some capacity about the decor is brewing when you notice the picture frame sitting nearby. Two figures pose in front of a row of trees, one clearly Tony, and the other a young man, with dusty brown hair and pristine in dark blue graduation robes. Tony’s arm wraps around the younger, smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen. The young man holds a slender booklet and a matching smile.

Predicting this, he answers the question before you figure out how to ask it.

“That’s Harley–don’t start getting any ideas, he’s not Pepper’s.” he says, pulling you by the waist into his lap.

“Is he your nephew or something?” you question, resting your head against the velvety fabric of his shirt.

“Howard Stark was a man of one child, to his disappointment, so no. Harley’s a family friend.”

“You just run around befriending random college kids?” you joke, dangling your legs over the edge of the chair.

“If I’m feeling generous enough.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a figure appear across the room in the empty door frame. A tall, older man waits–hands clasped behind his back in black pants and pressed white button up.

“Mr. Stark, there’s a visitor for you.”

He speaks as quickly as he appears, with an unexpectedly posh accent. Tony taps your knee, and you leave his lap very begrudgingly and watch with even more unnecessary sorrow as he exits the room. A promise is given about returning soon, but you know better than to believe that.

A word is exchanged between the two that you can’t hear across the large office. When Tony’s figure leaves, the other man enters. You notice his blue eyes as he comes closer, deciding to take a seat on one of the couches.

“Mr. Stark has requested I quote–keep you from dying of boredom–in his absence.” he says, standing at the head of the couch across from you.

“Has he now?” you laugh lightly.

The thing they don’t tell you about rich boyfriends? It takes time to make all that money, keeping them busy and away from their easily bored girlfriends. So, you nod when the man smiles, making a permissive motion towards the seat.

“My name is Jarvis, I work for Mr. Stark.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m [y/n]”

“You need very little introduction, ma’am. Mr. Stark has talked a great deal about you over these last several months.” he laughs, crossing his legs.

“Really?” you ask. It’s not extremely surprising, you just assumed Tony was perpetually occupied talking about other things. He did make a good move though, Jarvis is much more pleasant company than he usually keeps.

“Indeed, he’s quite fond of you.”

You aren’t used to hearing this–from anyone really. Everyone you know has no idea Tony exists (for better or for worse) and everyone he knows seemingly despises you. It’s a breath of fresh air that does wonders for your insecurities about this whole relationship. Not a complete cure, but the start to some form of remedy..

“And what do you do for Tony?” you ask, not wanting to be rude and keep the conversation entirely on yourself.

He ponders this for a moment, giving you the impression he’s never had to explain this before.

“I assist Mr. Stark in his day-to-day activities, so that he may devote more energy towards the company.”

What was with this calculated nature everyone around him seemed to take on? Still, Jarvis appeared to be a beacon of kindness (the accent might be biasing you). It’s bright enough to tempt you to ask Jarvis what you were too hesitant to ask Tony, mostly out of trepidation over the answer.

“I have to admit I’m a pretty terrible girlfriend–I don’t even know what Tony does.” you sigh and pout slightly.

Naivete was an old trick you didn’t mind pulling out of the bag now and again.

Jarvis chuckles, an optimistic sign that your tactics are working.

“Stark Industries is a manufacturing and research company that specializes in pharmaceuticals and biotech.”

Now that line sounds more rehearsed. More accurately, it’s strikingly similar to the first line that pops up when anyone searches up Stark Industries.

“Doesn’t sound much to me like a merchant of death.”

You might have been better off forgetting Steve’s words, but it’s all you can think of when you picture what lives in the labs just below you. As much as you wanted to play out the rest of your life with Tony in blissful ignorance, you were constantly exposed to things that made you question if it really was bliss.

You expected maybe a twitch of the brow from Jarvis, the face trying to compensate for what the mind already knows. Instead, Jarvis’ mouth turns downward, cocking his head in confusion at the moniker.

“Where did you hear that?”

Before you can answer, Tony’s voice bounces down the hallway. In the next second, he’s back in the office, and Jarvis is standing. You’re disappointed (and shocked) that Tony didn’t take as long as usual, having to cut the conversation short.

The older man shoots you a curious glance as he leaves—an unspoken reassurance that he does indeed expect an answer at a later point.

“Everything okay, doll?”

Tony asks, because you're too busy thinking to mind your face, and it looks troubled. You shake it off though, smiling and taking the hand he holds out.

The two of you have that dinner, though the entire evening you catch weathered blue eyes watching you from afar.

Remember that thing about rich boyfriends and their busy jobs? Yeah, that becomes a pain quickly. You could handle the phone calls on dates or distracted answers while an email is answered no problem. But once Tony brought you to the tower, he didn’t see a reason to keep you away anymore. You happily started spending most of your nights there. You just didn’t fully process the implications of Tony living where you work. Most days he manages to spare an hour here and there, interrupted by phone calls and meetings. So, often you roam around, trying to not wonder just what your boyfriend has to do to earn all that money.

You pick up on a lot of little things about his life from pure close-hand observation. The Tony you know is sweet and passionate. Tony working is almost an entirely different breed. You thank god that you’re just dating him and not working for him. The sternness he tended to use with you wasn’t exclusive, but dialed to an eleven when he came to his work.

The most jarring, however, is the constant presence of armed guards at the Tower, even in Tony’s penthouse. You think back to every date so far, scanning memories for shady figures waiting by exposed exits. A few potentials stand out, but you can’t be certain your memories aren’t being falsified by present events.

One morning, you pass one of the men on your way to the kitchen. It’s an early morning, at least for you, coming down the stairs as he pours a cup of coffee. It strikes you, since they normally keep near the elevator and you’ve never seen them do anything except stand around.

The bald man nods towards you, and out of nothing more than courtesy and habit, you nod back. He retreats to his post without another word soon after.

Despite the early hour, Tony’s already risen before you and is likely tucked away somewhere working. Peace is a valued comfort, of course, but the tower gave you an overwhelming sense of emptiness without Tony around.

Any mess you leave is miraculously cleaned (you learn this is Jarvis’ doing), and most of the tower is off-limits for you. Still, you enjoy being relatively closer to Tony than you were most days, so hanging around isn’t too much of a burden.

That morning proves fruitful as well, as you get to speak to Jarvis again. That’s not to say you haven’t seen him. In fact, he’s almost always somewhere nearby. The issue being that it’s normally coupled by Tony or other parties. This time, he’s alone.

You’d entered the kitchen that morning in a determined search for caffeine, planning to spend your day shopping for something new to wear for a gala that’s a ways away. It’s a much calmer experience without crowds, so you got an early start.

Jarvis enters soon after the guard leaves, setting fresh kitchen towels onto the island.

“Morning, ma’am.” he says, opening a cabinet across from you.

You laugh lightly, finding it odd that a man old enough to be your father would waste such honorifics on you. You inform Jarvis of such, to which he gives a chuckle of his own.

“It’s simply out of respect and the nature of my work, nothing more.” he explains, delicately laying each towel in the small space.

“You don’t find it weird calling people younger than you sir and ma’am?”

It’s a pretty genuine question, having never been in such a role yourself. The cabinet is shut with a soft thud as Jarvis turns towards you.

“I do not.”

He goes for the recently emptied coffee cup beside you, refilling it before you can tell him that’s not necessary.

“Might I inquire to you about something?” he questions, handing you the warm mug.

You were expecting a continuation of your earlier conversation. You had prepared questions of your own, of course. Mostly about Steve, and definitely a few about Pepper. A nod of agreement leaves you as the warm liquid slides down your throat.

“Do you not find it–strange, romantically involving yourself with someone so much older than you?”

The raise of his brow tells you he is similarly being genuine. This floors you though. Ironically, that was one of your main reasons for rejecting Tony all those months ago. But lately? You barely even thought about it. You’d stopped paying attention to the odd snide comments and the occasional bizarre look. Really, the fact only comes back to you when Jarvis mentions it. Come to think of it, you can’t recall Tony ever bringing attention to it either.

“I don’t really notice the little jokes and weird looks anymore, so no, not at all.” you shrug, taking another sip.

“I mean no disrespect, simply curious.” he laments.

“None taken, don’t worry.”

“Might I also ask then,” he pauses, testing out the words in his mouth first and waiting for your approval. “–how your family’s temperament is towards Mr. Stark?”

“My parents died when I was really young, and they were both only childs, so I’m gonna say it’s pretty neutral.”

Jarvis goes a tinge red at this, immediately apologizing as if it was somehow his fault. You can’t help but laugh at the contrite attitude. He stops once he sees the grin on your face, breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t seriously offended you.

“You’re fine, really, I’m surprised Tony never mentioned it to you.”

“Mr. Stark is typically a private man, and I doubt he would share such information with anyone without your permission.”

“Yeah, that can be– annoying.” you sigh.

“I understand, naturally is,” Jarvis nods towards you, walking past you to exit before halting. “Employ a bit of patience, if you can. Mr. Stark’s stress is greatly alleviated with your continued presence.”

If his behavior now was relaxed, you didn’t want to imagine how he was prior.

That afternoon, you returned to the tower, spoils in tow (and paid for with Tony’s matte black card). Despite the time, there wasn’t a sign of Tony anywhere. Most of the lights were off when you entered, causing you to pull out your phone flashlight like some kind of horror movie. You made your way through the penthouse, flipping switches and checking rooms.

Kitchen, empty. Office, empty. Gym, empty.

Your voice bounced through the hall as you climbed the stairs, calling out Tony’s name. Disappointedly, you were only met by silence. Out of the last forty-eight hours, a grand sum of eight of them you shared with him. One out every six hours (and most of those you were asleep). The recurrent solitude made an evening in your own home suddenly sound much more favorable.

You traipse into the bedroom, tossing the gown that you were very excited to show Tony into one of the massive closets. The random handful of items you had scattered around the room are thrown into your bag. Some you leave in their place–you knew you wouldn’t be away long. A bright light shines in your face when you fumble with your phone, reminding you to turn it off. It also gives you the literal lightbulb idea to text Tony.

[ heading home for the night, call me when ur free ]

In the still quiet of the penthouse, a beep reverberates behind you. Puzzled, you turn, noticing the golden light trickling from under the bathroom door.

“Tony?” you call out again, crossing the room towards the door.

On the other side, water runs for a moment, followed by the click of the lock as the door opens.

“Hey, honey.” he drawls, walking out with a sniffle.

“You okay?” you ask tentatively. “It was like, pitch dark in here.”

He pulls you into a welcomed embrace, wrapping large arms around your body tightly.

“I’m fine, they’re just timed. Gotta be eco-friendly, right?”

Tony punctuates his sentence with a kiss on your forehead. You stay in his embrace as long as possible, resting your head against his chest. His heart thumps heavily, beating like a rabbit through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Eventually, the embrace has to end, mostly so that Tony can plead to you to stay another night. He promises that he’s yours for the evening, and given that this was what you preferred anyway, you oblige.

First though, Tony has a surprise. One that he swears will make the tower feel more comfortable for you. His surprises are typically rather ornate or sickeningly expensive. This one, however, is moderately less materialistic than usual.

Down the hall from the frosted door of Tony’s office is a room that you were initially told was off-limits. As you reach the end of the hall, Tony explains he needed just a little more time for some ‘finishing touches’.

Another keycard is produced from his pocket, swiping on a reader much similar to the one in his office. When it beeps in response, the card is planted firmly in your hands.

“Go ahead, check it out.” he grins, motioning towards the door.

Tentatively, you enter the previously inaccessible space. Once inside, your jaw nearly drops. It’s not a large space, but it takes a while for you to process everything within.

Shelves stand tall with various jars and tubes of paint, elegant brushes and canvases of every size. Tables sit near pristine walls, freshly painted and holding any medium you could possibly want. The walls are bare, save for the antique painting hanging by the window. You recognize it instantly, not believing your eyes at first. Tony doesn’t need to say it for you to know–this was all for you.

What Tony does feel the need to say is that if everything isn’t to your liking, he can have it changed in a day. He worries as you stand silent, not reacting in explosive joyful glee like he hoped.

“No, no, it’s perfect.” you swiftly add, turning to him beaming.

You’re still in awe as relief passes through him as your arms wrapped around him. Somehow, Tony always manages to redefine what you thought you deserved. There’s a painting worth half a million dollars sitting less than 10 feet away, and it was purchased just for you.

An impressive length, all for a simple smile. How the hell could you ever settle for anything less from anyone else?

Sure, you don’t realize this is a purposeful gift to encourage you to stay around the tower more, and the knowledge wouldn’t change anything anyway.

After you thank him excessively for the next ten minutes (to which Tony’s response can mostly be summed up as ‘has literally no one done anything nice for you? ever?’), the dress you bought earlier comes to mind. Tony thought you learned by now that he’d buy you the world if it was for sale, but indulges in your feverish gratitude for the time being.

You do the leading this time, back into the bedroom where he waits on the black duvet for you to change. It’s a magical feat that you manage to get it zipped up alone. Stubbornness also plays its own role.

When you reemerge, it’s Tony’s turn to be rendered speechless. A sleeveless auburn number wraps your body, cinching at your waist and following to the floor. Cut-outs show off your midriff, letting the cool air cover your skin. The high level of regality is new to you, but you weren’t risking the embarrassment of being underdressed a second time. It’s also Tony’s favorite color to see you in (which you totally didn’t know and totally weren’t exploiting for this very purpose).

“Well?” you start, give a small twirl. “What do you think?”

There was a worry that he might find it too much. Another thing you picked up on over the last few weeks was Tony’s subtle disdain for clothing he found tacky or too revealing. You hadn’t managed to hit that threshold so far, and knew it better to avoid.

“As amazing as you look, I think you need to take that off before I end up ripping it to pieces.” he responds, voice low and hungry.

Solace finds you, pleased that you didn’t make a wrong choice. It’s brief though, because a second glance at Tony reveals that while he liked the choice, (almost too much, really) he also wasn’t joking in the slightest.

A raise of an eyebrow says it all–don’t make me repeat myself.

So, under his fervent commands, you wind up pinned below him, dress long discarded on the plush carpeted floors as his fingers curl inside of you. A hand keeps your wrists pinned tightly above your head, keeping you at his mercy. If you could call his unrelenting fingers mercy.

You quickly grow more frustrated than ever at the barrier of clothing on his body. It’s always goddamned there, holding back the warmth you can feel radiating through. His restraint prevents you from taking the friction you need. You’re further burdened by the teeth grazing your neck, sucking slow and teasingly on your pulse point. All the man had to do most days to turn you into a needy mess was kiss you, but after so many busy days, this was sweet torture.

Tony knew it too. The increasing pitch in your whine was music to his ears. It’s not before it’s broken and whimpery, your excitement coating his fingers. Every movement was overwhelming, and yet still managed to leave you desperate for more.

“Please, Tony, fuck-” you plead, interrupted by your own moan when he curves his fingers again.

“Aw, do you need something, darling?” he whispers, moving away from your neck. “I know I taught you better than that–use your words, pretty girl.”

This isn't an uncommon taunt of his, loving the embarrassed shy look that crawls over your face each time. He’s pleasantly surprised tonight, however, as you just about had it enough to give in. The award for longest time to make someone wait under they verbally beg for you to fuck them goes to Anthony Edward Stark, with an impressive record of eight months.

Your brows furrow, trying to find your center again to speak with clarity and not falter under his gaze.

“Would you stop being an asshole and just fuck me, please?” you sighed exasperatedly.

Manners would be something to correct later. For now, Tony’s happy to focus on rewarding your needy pleas.

Your wrists are granted all too short reprieve, as he takes little time undressing, climbing back on top of you and attacking your neck with hard, bruising kisses. The hard member you’re used to having constrained by high-end slacks feels larger pressed bare against your folds–hot and heavy as he returns a hand to your wrists.

His free hand aligns him at your entrance, stopping when he notices your tightly shut eyes. Now that simply won’t do.

“Open those pretty eyes.”

It’s a short and breathy order, the tone earning your instant compliance. Tony’s eyes are dark above you, catching them only for a moment before he swiftly sinks into you (he’ll allow it this time).

There’s little resistance, as you were already a mess from earlier, but his thick member still stretches your walls. You cry out when he reaches the hilt, snapping his hips into you only to withdraw and fully sink back into you with the same speed.

Tony gains a new found appreciation for the philosophy behind a reward being sweeter the longer you wait. There’s nothing more delectable in the whole world right now than the fractured moans escaping you, despite your visible attempts to bite them back. As much as he wants to commit this coy little expression of yours to memory, he’s clearly not doing his job if you’re able to hold anything back.

The hands above you let go, gripping your hips instead to thrust deeper into you. It does just what he needs to do, listening to the sweet sounds of your whines as his cock reaches right where you needed to. All this time without h, combined with his fast and hard thrusts has moan after moan falling from your lips.

Tony can hardly contain himself either, high off the sticky mess you're making. Your neck is perfectly dotted with tender marks from his mouth, only driving his ecstasy further.

He knows he’s being more than rough, pounding into you relentlessly–you’re just taking him so well, your nails leaving tiny red crescents on his thighs. It drives him wild, possession does go both ways after all. Every erratic breath and tremble of your legs came from him. You were his–who begged for him and moaned his name.

The fast, rough pace pushes you to your peak not long after, and Tony recognizes the stuttery pitch of your voice.

“Go ahead, darling.” he whispers into your ear, voice soft and gentle despite how deep he was inside you.

Your legs wrap around his waist as your core swells with pressure, desperate for him to be impossibly closer than he was. It’s not long after your voice breaks altogether, falling into a slight plea as your walls tighten around him.

The feeling of you losing yourself around him sets off something entirely new in Tony. He’d never miss another chance to make you his like this. A deep groan echoes in the bedroom walls, unsteady hands holding your hips tighter.

He was absolutely nowhere near done with you.

Before you can catch your breath, it’s taken as he slams into you with renewed energy. A string of curses leave him when your back arches into him, straining against his hold.

Your body feels white-hot with pleasure. You were used to Tony pushing you into orgasm after orgasm, alternating between his mouth and fingers until you’re a pile of jelly below him. This was entirely different, hit that spongy spot inside of you over and over as your walls shutter. It leaves your whole form trembling, mind blanking each time he bottoms out.

“Shit, Tony, I can’t,” you whimper.

It’s a broken plea, already feeling your body go taunt a second time. Still, you hope for a bit of reprieve, just enough to bring your mind back to earth.

“You will for me, darling.” he groaned, voice heavy and breathless, bringing a hand to your hair and exposing your neck to his teeth for another assault. “I know you can take it.”

A shiver runs through you as his latches onto your neck, deciding you could stand to have more marks across your skin. You’re completely lost in the throbbing member splitting you apart, aimlessly grabbing at the soft sheets below you. He leans back, pulling your hips up to keep slamming to you, letting a hand wrap around your throat and press against the fresh mark left there.

“All mine, aren’t you?” Tony moans above you, close to his own peak. He just needs to feel your body to submit to him one more time.

The tender pain in your throat mixes deliciously next to the sweeping euphoria. You want to answer (mostly because you know he’s expecting one), but all your mind can zone into is how electrified your skin is.

“Aw, is my girl too fucked out to answer me already?” he taunts, even if the sight of you this blinded by pleasure nearly sends him over.

No one else could ever have you like this, he’d make sure of it. You were past shame over how his words left you, cruel or praiseful. Any utterances that made it known you were his turning your body into melting sugar.

Tony’s own hips stutter, bucking into you as your peak hits you again, your moan silenced by the tight hand around your throat. He’s close behind you, keeping his rhythm until the shake in your legs lessens.

He sinks into you, caressing your face and burying himself back into your neck. A long moan floods your ears, feeling him still inside of you and paints every inch of your walls white. Hot, heavy breaths cover your ear as he fills you, not withdrawing until he’s certain you’ve taken every drop.

You’re an exhausted pile of bones below him, leaving him feeling quite prideful. Stark on the other hand is oddly energetic. He disappears for a moment, returning after putting his boxers back on and grabbing a towel.

He lies beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. Soft praises and peppered kisses follow, trailing along your face and shoulders. He tells you over and over how perfect you did, though you're still barely present.

You’re focused on calming your breathing, so Tony’s praises fall onto distracted ears. You aren’t that distracted, though, as his next words ring through clear as day.

“I love you, doll, you know that?” It’s barely above a whisper, spoken between into the delicate skin of your collarbone.

You turn your head almost instantly, blinking rapidly because surely you didn’t hear that right. The words left him before he knew what he was saying, caught up in the swirl of post-coital bliss. In an unusually empathetic act of vulnerability, he stands by it. The declaration is repeated louder to your stunned face.

He’s not that vain that he expects an immediate reciprocation–though you eagerly give one anyway. That's all good and well, except he senses concern in your voice.

“That’s just how every guy wants to hear that, thank you.” Tony jokes, propping himself onto his elbow with a grin.

“That came out wrong, I just,” you chuckle softly, trailing off. “You are being genuine, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“I guess–be honest, you really don’t mind being with someone like twenty years younger than you?”

He throws his head back in laughter, and you use the little energy you have to swat at his shoulder.

“You’ve been talking to Jarvis, haven’t you?

“How the-what do you mean?” you fully turn on your side to face him, more puzzled than before. You also worried you somehow crossed a line discussing Tony with someone else in private.

“Don’t sweat it–Jarvis is more of an old friend than an employee, regardless of whatever the old bat says. He’s just overprotective.”

“And he was worried about us?”

“More about you, specifically, that you were some covert gold-digger playing the long game for a chance at the Stark inheritance. He didn’t believe that I had to damn near beg on my hands and knees for a simple dinner.” he says indignantly, and you have to roll your eyes.

“What if I was? You don’t know.”

“Please, no one trying to woo me for my money would start as many arguments with me as you do.”

“I do not start arguments, if anything you’re the one-” you start to defend yourself, then Stark raises an eyebrow and the sentence dies on your tongue. “Okay, point taken.”

Tony pulls your naked form towards him, your head resting on his chest as your body curls beside his. You’re more than spent, the sound of his heart still racing after all this time doesn’t process under the lure of sleep.

For now, you’re too in love to care.

When you wake, Tony’s absent from your side. This is not unusual in the slightest for any night you spend here, but it's barely four in the morning.

You scan the dark room momentarily before switching the bedside light on. Groggily (and on sore legs), you rise, tying a short robe around yourself. Thinking of yesterday, you actually check the bathroom this time to find it empty. You ventured out of the bedroom to an empty and pitch black hallway. Deja vu feels like an understatement.

You start to call out his name just like before, stopping once you see the light flowing from the kitchen downstairs. As you descend, Tony’s voice grows louder. His back comes into view once the final step is crossed, with another figure in front of him.

Tony swivels slowly when you enter, and you notice the person he’s speaking to is the same young man from the photo. You cross your arms over your body as best you can when you enter the space, suddenly feeling very underdressed for meeting a stranger.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” Tony asks apologetically, to which you shake your head and yawn.

“Harley, this is [y/n], [y/n], Harley.” he continues.

Harley holds a blue duffel in his right hand, giving you a curt wave with the other. Under the bright kitchen lights, however, he gets a better look at you. You don’t understand why in the moment, still half-asleep, but he makes an unsettled face at you before darting his sharp eyes back to Tony. After which Tony tells you he’ll be up in a moment and you return back to the warmth of the sheets without protest.

It’s not until you step into the bathroom later in the day that you figured out why he looked at you that way. A few tender marks still spotted the left side of your neck and the top of your chest. While not the best first impression, it sends a wave of excitement through you at the sight. A bit of concealer goes a long way after you shower.

Tony explains that Harley is just stopping by briefly, and that he’ll be leaving after dinner tonight as you get dressed. You obviously spend the entire day worried about it, convinced any further interaction with Harley will be painfully awkward and uncomfortable for you both.

Unfortunately, you end up wishing things were just awkward.

Jarvis prepares an excellent meal, and you make it through the first two courses with Harley’s eyes piercing you across the large dining table. It’s not constant, as he manages to dart away each time Tony speaks to him as if he never looked your way. Engaging in conversation becomes troublesome under his gaze (though it’s mostly just Tony asking Harley about some trip he took). You almost start to think you’re imagining it, wondering what the hell his issue could possibly be.

Thankfully, Tony has to excuse himself for a phone call, leaving the two of you alone.

The moment Tony’s out of earshot, Harley leans in, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” he questions dramatically.

“Are you?”

“Funny.” he snorts, taking a bite of roast potatoes.

He stays quiet for a second as Jarvis clears away empty dishes from the table.

“That’s not a yes, though.” he hums in a high pitch.

“If it would get you to stop staring, I’m twenty-six.”

Harley hums in approval, sitting back in his chair.

“Was that really your problem? You know you could’ve just asked at literally any point in the last hour, or hell, asked Tony.”

“Oh, I did.” he scoffs, shrugging his shoulders.

Tony returns, taking his seat in the same breath that Harley wipes his mouth and stands.

“Well, I’ll leave you and your child bride to it.” he declares sarcastically, turning for the exit.

“Excuse me?”

Tony’s voice stops Harley in his tracks, rising and closing the distance to the young man. You heard worse, but based on the tightness in his jaw you can assume Tony hasn’t.

“Oh, come on. She’s not even four years older than me. What else would you like to call it?” Harley jests, laughing.

“You have a flight to catch, don’t you?” The edge in his tone shocks you, and cuts Harley’s laughter straight away.

He takes his leave without another comment, but he does give you another overdramatic wave on the way out. You tell Tony what passed between you two in his absence and ask what all that was about, but Tony just shakes his head and apologizes.

You’re not sure why–it hardly bothered you as much as it did him.

Later that night you overhear Tony on the phone. You presume it’s with Harley, hearing Tony mention something about ‘showing more respect’ and ‘minding your own business’. You hope it isn’t Harley–even though the kid was an ass, Tony speaks with a ferocity that unnerves you just as the eavesdropper.

Fall passes by without more pop-up visits from impolite guests.

While painting will always be one of your first true loves, even the strongest of loves can grow tiring. The technical term is typically referred to as a lack of inspiration. You can’t get a single image out of your brain and onto a canvas. It’s a well deserved burnout though, the rest of the studio space lined with finished paintings. A consistent month and half of work proved quite the endeavor. Most are simple plays with color, though there are a few you came to be very proud of.

Yeah, a break would probably do you some good.

There’s more than one traditional seat for you to choose from, all extremely lush and definitely better for your back. The floor works a lot better though, so you stand and stretch the soreness from your body. Would you learn your lesson and sit in the chair next time? Nope.

The evening was growing near, evident by the lemony sky. Your hyperfixation meant a lot more nights indoors, even on the sparse evenings Tony was free. All signs pointed towards taking advantage of what was likely one the last warm nights of the season.

You wasted little time changing out of your paint covered sweats, throwing on a simple blue skirt and white sweater.

On your way downstairs to his office, you spot Jarvis in the kitchen preparing a drink you presume is for Tony.

“Oh, I can take that to him.” you intercept him at the bottom, taking the cold glass in your hands.

“Very well.” he nods to you, taking in your dressed up state as you walk away, not expecting either of you to leave the tower that night. “Shall I have the car ready for you and Mr. Stark?”

“For me, definitely. Can’t promise anything about him.” you call back to him, increasing your volume as you head further into the hall.

You knock once you reach the glass door, waiting idly until you hear his voice call out come in. Tony doesn’t lift his head when you enter, scrawling away at something atop his desk. You hear him muttering to himself softly, shirt disheveled and unbuttoned.

You’re certainly not silent as you cross the space. Your heavy boots made a mild thud on the hardwood floor, surely loud enough to get the average person’s attention, you thought.

Nope, wrong.

He does know you’re there, however– the screens in front of him are switched off as you approach the desk, head never lifting from the papers.

You wait patiently beside his desk, setting the drink down the corner. His attention doesn’t yield for no less than five minutes after. When he does finally address you, it’s with tired eyes and gleams.

“My, my, my,” he whistles, guiding you over to straddle his lap. “What a fantastic surprise.”

Tony’s hands can never be idle more than a moment, already snaking them under your skirt to the supple skin of your backside. He’s much more interested in that than anything you say about leaving the tower. Who could blame him, really. Any red-blooded man would after hours of phone calls and calculations.

You twitch when he squeezes hungrily, sensitive from the same hands the night prior. He’d nearly forgotten, and the remainder is a good amusement.

“You know, I could get so much more work done with you just like this.” he hums, lifting your sweater to graze your stomach.

“You’re welcome to join me.” you point out, linking your arms around his neck.

“There’s nothing more I want, but I have a few more things to take care of here.”

You figured as much, of course. Knowing that answer was coming doesn’t make it any less disappointing. Conversely, seeing your smile falter for any reason is akin to a tragedy for Tony.

“How about this, it’s still early– you go out, have fun, I’ll pick you up for dinner later.” he concedes.

That fixes the problem, earning Tony a very satisfied kiss from you. It’s long and heavy, nearly enough to make him consider sending you out on shaky legs, but he resolves to bring that fantasy to life another time.

An hour or so drifts away as you take in the fresh autumn air, window-shopping from store to store. Close to when you're due to meet Tony, you stumble across something you can’t be sure is a really bright bar or a super dark restaurant. As you go for a better look through the towering windows, the doors beside you swing open.

You spot Steve first, getting a clear view of a reddened cut above his eye. You fail at turning away from the door in time. It was worth a shot, even if he was just five feet away.

“Oh, would you knock it off–I’m not gonna bother you.” he exclaims exasperatedly, a deep slur in his words (so that solves that mystery).

You give a half-hearted surrender with your arms, watching him head for the street corner. Mid-way, he stops, turning back unsteadily.

“You still with Stark?” he questions.

“What’s it to you?”” you scoff, rolling your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid–annoying people and their annoying judgements.

“Just don’t tell him you saw me, okay. I don’t need more shit with him right now.”

Remarkably, Steve sounds genuine. Well, as genuine as a drunk man can sound. A grand opportunity presents itself. Someone with a lot more information than you needs something of you.

“Sure, okay.” you agree, watching a breath leave Steve. “If you can tell me what you meant at the party.”

Steve, having drunk every drop of Kentucky Bourbon on the block, happily obliged your question for the small price of not dealing with Stark.

If asked to make a list of all the things you guessed Tony was involved in, your brain would assume the best of the worst to ease its conscience. Steve’s answer is, tragically, nowhere on that list.

You wander around for a bit playing moral adjudicator in your mind. It’s a consuming task, and in your concentration you space completely on the fact that you were expected somewhere. In your bag, your phone buzzes to no answer, muffled in the city’s noisy ambience.

You have to see for yourself, which makes the tower your destination after you’ve calmed your nerves enough. It’s been ages since you’ve taken the subway anywhere, though you somehow manage to work through the busy platforms. You remember you live in the age of technology, deciding to rely on your phone for navigation.

Two missed calls and around five unanswered texts from the past half hour await you, all from Tony. You swear to yourself as the train car rocks, hurriedly typing a response.

[ where are you? ]

[ on the way back now. didn’t feel well. ]

Lying feels like swallowing a bitter seed. You know that ‘s not an answer. You know you’ll have to find some way to explain the missed calls later. Honestly, that might be the harder task than covering a lie. All you hoped was that New York traffic would play in your favor and you could make it back before him.

The luscious bells of victory are right in your sight as elevator dings! open. Your genius plan to check his office is foiled quickly, the black card reader blinking back at you tauntingly.

A moment passes where you question your own motivations. Why were you even bothering to let someone else get into your head again? You could ask him anything, so why lie to him when you chose to stay in the dark–

You all but fly up the stairs, striding through Tony’s bedroom and into the bathroom. It takes a while for you to find it, having to scour the numerous cabinets one by one. Your hands touch a rough leather pouch, right under the sink.

You open it tentatively, praying for Steve to be wrong, but your fingers find the small plastic baggie within, and your stomach flips when you know he was telling the truth.

You don’t have long to process it. The elevator sounds again from below

Shit.

You thought you had more time to craft a better excuse.

“What happened? Everything okay?”

His voice is stern even if his words are sweet, turning his body towards yours as you enter the kitchen. Your hands reach for a glass to fill with water, needing a distraction to ward off his gaze.

“Got a little dizzy, took the subway back.”

“You took the subway alone? This late?”

You can’t tell if he’s wrestling between concern and suspicion, or just pissed. Although, here would be where a normal person would remember that under a year ago you took the subway later than this five nights a week.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just going to get some rest.” you smile weakly, swallowing the rest of your water and heading to walk past him.

Tony makes a quick step to the side to keep you there, looking down at you with pointed eyes. Despite the small heat in his eyes, a hand caresses your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Who were you with?” he asks slowly.

“No one.” you replied, keeping your voice light and confident.

Or so you thought. Tony’s fingers wrap the base of your nape, tilting your head slightly to see if you have the gall to lie to his face.

“Is there a reason you’re lying to me?”

“How long?

“How long what?” he scoffs, unyielding.

The tiny plastic you’ve been white-knuckling for the past few minutes is dangled inches from his face. That hardened jaw falters, shortly returning with a dry chuckle and sly smirk.

“How long have you been meeting Steve behind my back?”

part four coming soon

tag request: @those-late-night-feels

#seikkoiwrites #tony stark x reader #tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark smut #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon

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shu-porang-porang · 5 months

Text

How are you even real?

Some fluff to warm your heart.

Pairs: Lee Minho (Lee Know) / fem!reader

Rating: Explicit

Theme: Fluff, Smut, 18+ NO MINORS.

Warnings: oral (male receiving)

Word count: 1.8 k

He couldn’t help it. You looked like an anime girl and he’d been watching them for as long as he could remember. Anime girls meant sweet goofy innocence to him, they reminded him of home, of when he was a kid and would watch Studio Ghibli’s works for hours on end. Those girls were smart, caring, sweet, brave, self-sufficient, and usually reserved but had a hidden wild side that wouldn’t show to anyone but their beloved soulmates.

He knew just like the girls in those animes, you didn’t need him to survive, but that didn’t mean you’d withhold giving him every ounce of love you had and this fact melted his heart. you weren’t the first anime-looking girl he’d encountered, but none of the previous ones would go beyond the looks. You were the first who held up to the aesthetics of their characters too. He is in disbelief about it! Time and time again, he asks abruptly while showering you with affection “How are you even real?”. Each time, you chuckle and can’t help but kiss him.

He loves every second spent with you, no matter what you’re doing. He loves your silence as much as he loves your excited chatter about whatever happened at work. He loves your baby-talk with his cats. He loves how you sneak up on him while he’s cooking to give him a back hug and distract him from his task by your affectionate kisses on his neck and shoulder. He loves the walks you take late at night, with your fingers intertwined, he loves kissing the back of your hand when his emotions get too strong and he needs to let some out or he’ll explode. He loves how you fall asleep the fastest when your head is buried in his chest, he knows it brings you a comfort you’ve never experienced before and he’s proud of providing that comfort for you. He loves waking up to your kisses, you don’t wanna startle him in his sleep so you start with the gentlest pecks to slowly awaken his mind, when he starts moving around a bit you know you’re halfway there and you move from planting kisses on his hands to his face. That’s when a lazy smile forms on his lips followed by a “Morning princess” in a deep voice.

Because of you, he is now living life more presently. He used to go through most of his days without actually paying attention to what he was doing. Dance practices, performances, plane rides, interviews, all of them would sometimes blend into each other, he jumped from one gig to another, going with the motions. His off days that he’d stayed at home weren’t much memorable either. He would do things just to have done them. Of course, he had his moments of mindfulness too, but they were as rare as they come.

Now though, everything looks more vivid and feels more real, and at the same time, he’s constantly questioning if it’s just a dream. He loves every little thing you do. He looks at you with such adoration as if you’re the only thing that exists in this world. His members warned him about getting a girlfriend, they were worried it’d end up in a horrible heartbreak. He is a pro-idol after all, couldn’t risk having that title taken away from him. But now, he’s even doing better at his job and you are the reason. He wants to make you proud; he wants to prove worthy of having you. He wants to be his best because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he’s afraid of losing you to someone better even though that’s impossible.

You practically worship him. No word leaves your mouth unless it’s a word of encouragement or adoration. Head to toe, he’s perfect to you. He could do no wrong. You love how he treats you so gently as if you’re made of glass. Even his voice is so gentle with you. You love everything he does.

You love how he flashes you a tired smile as you greet him when he comes home after a long day of practice. You love your quiet nights together, curled up against his steadily rising and falling chest while watching whatever’s on. The point is to soak up as much of him as you can, so you don’t even care what’s playing on the TV.

All your senses are engulfed by his presence. You don’t hear anything but his breaths and occasional airy chuckles. You don’t see anything but his veiny hands around you. You don’t smell anything but his cologne mixed with his scent. You don’t feel anything but his warmth. And you’re craving for his lips so bad that you finally give up and decide to interrupt his TV-watching and give him the sweetest peck on the lips. You don’t expect him to reciprocate as he seems to be fully following whatever’s going on in the show, but he does. He kisses back with so much passion that it catches you off guard and you let out a shaky moan.

When you see his enthusiasm, you get bolder too. You run your tongue on his bottom lip, savoring the taste and softness. He takes the opportunity to enter his tongue into your mouth. Wet muscles lapping at each other, fighting for dominance. He sucks on your tongue and draws out another delicious moan from you. You lost the battle. He leans you back on the couch, as his mouth travels down from your lips to your chin and then your neck.

You’re pliant under his touch. He leaves red angry marks across your neck and collarbone, his teeth grazing the tender skin here and there, then soothing the sting with kitten licks. You’re still hungry for his lips, so you guide his head back up with your hand in his hair. He looks you in the eyes, and his gorgeous shiny eyes change your mind. You don’t wanna just kiss his lips anymore, you wanna kiss his entire existence.

You reach up to kiss the corner of his eye, he knows this is cue for “I’m about to kiss every inch of your face!”. With a swift motion, he changes your position. Now you’re on top of him. You cup his cheeks and kiss his forehead. He closes his eyes and takes the love in. “I love you so much Min, you know it, right?” He hums in response, his lips curling up to a little smile.

You list every part you love about him while kissing it “I love your pretty eyes… your handsome nose… your soft cheeks… your perfect hairline… your delicious lips…” you linger there longer as he won’t let you go continue with your list, his lips latching onto yours as if his life depends on it. Finally, you move on to his earlobe, taking it between your teeth and slightly pulling. “I love you Min” you say in a voice slightly above a whisper. You kiss under his ear and you can hear his breath losing its steady rhythm so you keep messing with that sensitive spot. You wish you could mark him just like he did to you but you can’t have him exposed so you gather all the control in you to settle with gentle kisses.

His hands are aimlessly roaming in your hair and on your back. He manages to sneak a hand up your sweatshirt. You get the hint and take it off. The air’s a bit chilly but who are you to refuse Minho’s need for more skinship? And you’re not wearing a bra, coz why would do? You never wear bras when you’re home! So his hand quickly finds its way to grope your exposed breast.

You yank at the hem of his shirt and he pulls it off, revealing more of his skin for you to kiss. You’re both getting impatient by the second and need more friction. You feel his bulge poking you through the fabrics and his hips involuntarily buck up.

You palm him over his sweatpants as you watch his face turn red. “Jagiya… please…” He’s usually not the one to beg for release but you put a spell on him with your touches and kisses, he’s not afraid of being vulnerable around you. You decide to have mercy on him and release his throbbing member from its confinement. He lifts his hip so you can slide his pants and boxers down.

He’s watching you as you travel down his navel ever so slowly, a kiss here, a lick there. You wanna take your time worshiping him. You feel him shaking beneath you, it amuses you how easily he turns to mush under your touch. So you keep on with the playfulness, ignoring his aching member and latching your lips to the soft skin of his inner thigh. You take your time leaving love marks all over his thighs. His thighs… they make you go crazy; you can hardly control yourself.

His impatient hips remind you of your previous pursuit. His fingers tangled in your hair, but he doesn’t guide your head to his cock, he lets you have full control even though in an instant he could shift the dynamic and get what he needs without all the nonstop foreplay.

You finally stop messing around, bring your lips to his tip and kiss the precum off of it. You run your tongue under the slit and he throws his head back with a guttural groan. His hold on your hair tightens as you slowly take him in, tracing the protruding veins with the tip of your tongue. You look at his face through your lashes, the tears welling up in your eyes make your vision blurry but you can still appreciate the fucked-out expression on his face, eyes closed, lips parted, the blush has now spread to his neck and chest.

You speed up the bobbing of your head, the tip hits the back of your throat but the discomfort doesn’t stop you, one hand stroking the base that you can’t fit in your mouth, and the other roaming on his abs. “I’m close…” he warns you and you salivate with the thought of swallowing his release. You suck on the tip as your hand strokes the length. He ruts into your mouth and with one final suck, he generously feeds you with his juices. You keep stroking him as he comes down from his high. You’re a mess, with swollen red lips and cum and saliva running down the corner of your mouth. You crawl up to give him a taste of himself. He eagerly licks your mouth clean. His arms around you, holding you secure beside him on the couch as he kisses your swollen lips. “Thank you, baby… what have I ever done to deserve you?” you chuckle and kiss him back.

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peachymilkandcream · 6 months

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Evelyn x Movie! William Afton Smutshot

(A/N: This has been hiding in my brain ever since I saw the movie, and I wasn't going to write this but one I get it out I figured the space this man is renting in my head will be vacant. He is such dilf energy and gives me Break Me Slowly Levi vibes. Obviously, this is totally not canon in any way shape or form, Evelyn is just my go to OC and persona so I just decided to use her. I just had to give into my demons. To repent for my sins of this I'll try and get a Break Me Slowly chapter up today. [Also I'm not totally fluent on all the lore so bear with me])

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

==============================================

The restaurant was failing, the rumours surrounding those missing children had damaged his business almost beyond repair. While it was his own fault, William was too proud to admit it. Nothing was ever because of him, he was only responsible for the good that happened in the lives of him and his children.

His anger and frustration needed to be taken out on someone, and while he wanted it to be on Henry or another unsuspecting child, he needed to pace himself. If he did too much and got too greedy all that would get him is a prison stay and he'd never see his wife or kids again. After all the work he did to have all those things, he wasn't about to lose it.

William marched into the house, happy to see his wife Evelyn with their daughter Elizabeth on her hip. Four kids hadn't changed her body, and unlike him grey hadn't threatened to streak her hair. She looked just as beautiful as the day he married her, all those years ago when he had convinced her to marry him since he had gotten her pregnant.

Her whole life had become nothing but living under his thumb as a dutiful wife who lived to take care of the children he gave her and all of his needs. Slowly, he approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Without an ounce of emotion or barely and reaction she continues making whatever she was doing for dinner.

"Hello William."

"Evelyn." His hands snake up to her chest, squeezing slightly. When she brushes his hands away he just returns to grip them harder. "Don't you try it."

"William the children are here..."

"And they can see a loving married couple. I don't see a problem here. Think of it as a teachable moment."

"Please William, stop-"

He does, for a moment, taken aback by her sudden distaste to him. It wasn't something he was used to, and didn't like in the slightest. He straightens himself out and stares her down.

"Kids go to your room." His voice is stern and full of authority.

The two children quickly leave their seat and hurry to their room, the oldest, Micheal staying for a moment to collect Elizabeth from his mother. With them out of the way William turns back to Evelyn who stands there shaking with fear.

He does nothing for a few moments before his hand flies out and connects with her cheek, sending her reeling and holding the red spot starting to show. Before she can recover he grabs her roughly by the shoulders and pushes her over the counter, standing in between her legs.

"You think you have a right to just, order me around? I don't know where this sudden display of an attitude has come from but I can tell you I won't have it in my house!" He lifts the skirt of her dress up and over her hips, exposing her to him.

Evelyn sobs and holds onto the counter, begging him to stop because he's scaring her, as if pitiful pleas had ever stopped him from getting his way. Without a second thought he pushed all the way in her, causing her to moan in between a sob, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the counter to get away from him.

He held her firmly in place before moving inside her, knowing full well that there would be bruises on her hips for the next little while from the force he was exerting. It was her own damn fault though, if she quit fighting him all the time and remained his naive and pliable wife she wouldn't have this problem. He was only a little controlling, making her parrot whatever he tells her and making sure she believes his every word without question, that shouldn't be too much to ask.

"You brought this on yourself, you created this mess and now you have to deal with it. So stop that crying before I give you something to really cry about."

She bites her lip so hard it bleeds to keep the sobs at bay, while tears still poured down her cheeks at least now she was quiet. He could focus on the pleasure without her whining distracting him. Part of him wanted to give her another child to take care of so she could be even more tied down to him. However he knew that was foolish considering his current financial state, he wasn't too driven to do something stupid. For now that idea would have to wait.

Even with this in mind, he still pushed all the way in and came inside her. Once couldn't hurt, and her walking around full of him was enough to throw caution to the wind. If something happened they would make do and deal with it, plus the look on her face when she felt the hot liquid inside her made it all worth it.

He pulls out with a soft sigh, zipping up his pants. "Don't just stand there, go clean yourself up. I'll be in the basement."

William leaves her there shaking and processing what had just happened while he retreats to the basement to find a new way to save his business and reputation. Even if it means cutting a few people down along the way.

#william afton x reader #william afton x oc #william afton smut #steve raglan x oc #steve raglan x reader #five nights at freddys #five nights at freddys movie

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meshlasolus · 2 years

Text

House Of Memories (31/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!reader

Warnings: kissing, fluff, brief nudity (idek)

Summary: It's your first morning waking up next to someone whom you know loves you.

A/n: this ones just fluffy and sweet my mom showed me a ewan movie called ghost writer and i suffered through two hours and eight minutes of it, trying not to make a big deal out of how much i wanted to touch his hair... this is purely indulgent on that

also y'all if you like the story, maybe consider buying me a coffee :)

Words: 2.1k

His hands were soft, as they gently caressed your skin, down the stretch of your arms and jumping to the small of your back. They ever so slightly made a graze around your middle, coming to the front of your waist before they were back behind you, pulling you closer. The smell of him was purely blood sweat and tears, but then again, most of the Jedi were like that, now.

His lips tasted like fresh spring water, and the way they moved against your own was paradise, purely paradise. It was raw, and full of emotion, and you’d never felt stronger for another person in your life. Your signature was tangled in the comforting flow of his own, and it made your heart race to feel his passion through it.

Never before did you hear such a melodious sound in your life than when he let out a noise of satisfaction into your mouth. You couldn’t even compare it to the lovely music the people in the city made, putting on shows for an abundance of credits. It was partial to him, because it was him. You wanted everything with him, and though you knew this kind of possession and attachment were forbidden, you were so hungry for it, longing to know what it would be like to be his and only his for as long as you lived. No missions to account for with the Jedi, no duties to uphold to the people of the republic, and no rules that you had sworn to abide by.

“I love you, Obi,” your sweet whisper was echoing in his mind, several seconds after you’d said it.

“My little one,” he moved his lips to your neck, tipping your head to the side so he had full access to the untouched areas.

It was all real now, not a dream to wake up from, but the very threads of what were happening to you. It was real...

Your legs were tangled under the sheets of his bed, shifting around every once and a while to achieve a new position to lay in. As of now, you were draped over him like a blanket, hands in his unruly hair as you let out shaky breaths. He hadn't wasted an ounce of time since you'd returned to the temple, making sure you knew that you had his fully undivided attention.

The council, being the wonderful gathering of Jedi that they were, wanted to assign Obi-Wan on yet another mission right after he returned from the previous one, to which he politely declined. They had earlier mentioned their concern for your behavior recently, your rejection of gaining another Master and your darkness infused tendencies... that's why when they asked him why he wasn't accepting the republic's mission, he answered honestly, telling them that he would be spending some much-needed time with his Padawan, to help her climb out of the darkness and keep following the light. Given that Obi-Wan was now on the council, his chair gave him the power to refuse them without being horribly reprimanded. He was wise, indeed, and deserved his spot amongst them. He and Master Yoda were quite frankly the only council members that you tolerated. Perhaps tolerated was not a good word use for Obi-Wan, because what you were doing with him right now went far past the boundaries of tolerance.

"At some point, we do have to talk about this," Obi-Wan needed to be the voice of reason, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to drag his lips away from you long enough to do so. Your skin was addictive, he'd been waiting to taste it all this time, and now that he finally had it in his grasp, he couldn't get enough. He wanted more, wanted it all, wanted you, in every capacity... but he was going to take it slow. You were not like the fling of his past. He'd known you almost all your life, and you were important to him, even outside of the romantic feelings he felt for you. He loved you so innocently, so purely, and he knew that it must have been because on almost all fronts, you were innocent, and you were pure, and he didn't want to spend the first hours of your relationship, whatever it was, ruining that.

"What is there to talk about?" your sleepy eyes fell back into contact with his, and the serious look he gave you was a buzz in the moment. You wanted to simply lay here all day, wrapped up in his clothes and perched on his chest. Your hair fell in loose strands around your face as you were looking at him, and though he could just ignore everything and admire you for as long as you'd let him, he knew that as your master there were still responsibilities to be met.

"I promised the council that I would discuss with you the things which happened in my absence," he danced around the topic, not phrasing it the way you would have, but he knew you would correct him, because it was in your nature to.

"You mean during your death."

He sighed, running a hand through your hair and trying his best to keep going through with this. You were going to have the upper hand, and he knew it... but there was still concern in him, that he for once shared with the council. He had to understand what had happened to you.

"I wasn't dead, my love."

"But I didn't know that," you answered, your tone becoming a little more on the offensive side. You knew it was over, and in the past, but if he was going to bring up the feelings you'd been fighting, then you were going to bring up the reason they came to you in the first place.

"I will never forgive myself for letting you believe it," he paused, shifting to sit up against the headboard, and bringing you to sit on his lap, legs across the bed and arms around his neck. "But if I don't find out if there was anything else that had transpired to cause what happened to you, I would be a failure as your Master."

"I understand," you nodded to him, ready to listen for whatever he asked you.

He wished you'd put up a little more of a fight, he truly didn't want to go into detail about the process of your grief and what almost made you turn. This was for your sake, not for his, and he had to remind himself of that in order to continue.

"The darkness, it was taking you over... and you were letting it in," he had to stop and remember for a moment, the scene that played out on that ship, "When I saw what you had done to your saber..."

"I hate it," you admitted, your eyes finding it where it laid on his nightstand. It was right next to his, but you didn't feel it deserved to be there. "When I was younger, I wanted to be a blue saber so badly. I wanted to be like you. I remember being so disappointed when I found out it was green, but then I talked to you, and you convinced me it was beautiful. I loved it every day after that... but then I ruined it. It's ugly now, tarnished."

You were no longer captivated by the dark side, that much he could tell, which was honestly another reason for concern. Just the loss of him caused you to embrace it, what would happen if he had been gone for real? Would you turn to the Sith? Fight with the separatists?

"A bleeding Crystal can be healed," he reminded you, but you weren't quite sure you believed the old stories. They were legends, and no one had been able to do it on record, but it was still taught in every generation of Jedi. "I can help you."

You smiled at him, all the sincerity he shown on his face, and the love and compassion he held in his eyes. He was everything...

"I may need some time," you told him. You weren't unsure of your ability to use the light side of the force, what you were afraid of, was him sensing your pessimism that it couldn't work. He believed so deeply that you could, and that this brush with the darkness was going to make you even stronger. "But I will try when I'm ready."

He nodded in reply of your agreement, and brought you closer to him, arms around your waist. He kissed the side of your head and began to move you off of his lap. You were unsure why he was leaving, because as far as you knew, there was nowhere else he needed to be but here, with you.

"Where are you going?"

He chuckled at how upset you seemed, just for lacking his embrace after five seconds.

"Well, the fresher would be a good start, I've not showered in days... I'm quite surprised you haven't noticed," He stood to his feet, and scrunched up his face to show his slight disdain.

"Oh, forgive me, I was distracted by you being alive."

Your joke was meant to be more sarcastic than it came out, but you did mean it sincerely... and to be completely honest, you really hadn't noticed he'd not showered. He smelled the same as he usually does, just stronger, which you could hardly complain about. You had missed his scent so much when he was gone, and the pillows you clung to were not much help. You had come to a realization about that, though. The pillows, though well absorbed with his scent, were also infused with yours, making the small one of you both, together. A product of some sleepless nights, when he would hold you after a nightmare, or let you simply lay beside him because he'd been on a mission and oh, how you missed him. It was a realization that came suddenly one night, and you loved the way it sent your heart soaring every time you thought about it hence forth.

"Even still," he chided, walking over to his bench that sat before the foot of the bed. He grabbed his robes that he'd only barely worn once since being back, and out of habit, he didn't think twice before taking the shirt he had on off.

You watched with a fixed stare, every move his body made, each muscle, unrestricted by clothing, and you wondered what it might be like to touch his bare skin. You'd touched his bare chest once, out of impulse while putting him back together on a mission. This was so entirely different. You wanted to feel him, to softly caress the exposed areas, to understand the exact way his chest expanded and fell with each breath. You wanted to run delicate fingers over the broadness of his shoulders and feel the pink lines that were left over as scars from his past experiences. Every touch would be purely out of an instinctual need that formed in the back of your mind.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, little one... I just forget that-" he had noticed your stare, but refused to invade your thoughts that occurred simultaneously, so his instant response was to think you'd somehow been made to feel unsettled.

"You didn't," you stopped him in his rambling. You loved the man to the moons and back, all four of them for the case of Coruscant, but sometimes his obliviousness was wild. "I was just looking because..."

What were you even planning to say? You'd stopped speaking, so clearly you had no kriffing idea.

"Because?" he furrowed his brows, completely unexpectant of the words you'd finally found to finish your sentence.

"Because I think you're beautiful."

You grew timid when it passed your lips, but you weren't the only one with the slight embarrassment worn on your face. His cheeks turned pink, and he had to duck his head in order to fully process what you'd said. You'd confessed your undying love already, but there was still so much new territory that you both had yet to come across. This would definitely be considered as a new territory for him, as you'd had to be the first person to simply tell him he was beautiful.

"I'm sorry if I'm the the one who made you uncomfortable."

He shook his head and walked around the bed to where you sat on the side of it, gently shoving you back into it and collecting your lips in one more kiss. Your mouths were just messily brushing up against the other, for he couldn't stop smiling from ear to ear. You, in the past day, had made him the happiest he'd ever been. It was partial to you, because it was you. You were the one who had made him so happy.

"As much as I would love to stay here with you, I really need a shower."

@spencerrxids @sawendel @fandomstanner24 @i-shall-abide @officialjellydoughnut @whatshxrname @darkened-writer @superavengerpotter @cutiepoo16 @hypnoash @softlymellow @howlerwolfmax @mephistominion @honestlywtfisgoingon @anakinskywalkerog @mandiiellen @je--a-n @guyinachair27 @avenger5-a55emble @amelia-song-pond @kaminanii @the-abyss-of-fandoms @queenofnightdreamland @world-dominating-kitty @mandowhatnow @ella-error505 @annahalo @infinity-witch @beetlejuice-stuff @liueski @solarbxby @sirianisrock @lxdyred @endless-warrior-always-fighter @iloveinej @msjb2002 @shoochi @itsilvermorny @gingerrosecosplay @sebschicken @loversjoy @argentinemango @1-800-vader @house-of-kolchek @marierg @graciexmarvel @ttzamara @truly-madly-nerdy @molieux @majahu @dyzlks @pancakefancake

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occasionally-good-authoring · 11 months

Text

barnacle skin, porcelain lips

@indigothemuse @squishmallow36

tw: child abuse, blood

Keefe has known they were in love with Fitz since the fourth month they knew him. They were watching Fitz study, eleven years old bent over a notebook. The two of them were on the edge of the pond, Keefe’s feet in the water.

Wind tosses his hair around gently, Fitz moving it out of his face every few seconds. He doesn’t even notice Keefe staring at him. They’re happier that way. They’re eleven years old, but they know enough to know they shouldn’t stare at Fitz. Not in the way they are now. Birds sing, animals skitter in the bushes.

They would give anything to draw Fitz in this moment. Capture the way the sun catches in his hair just right, sewing the deep brown—not black, though it almost looks it—with gold. And Keefe knows he’s in love. Right then and there, eleven years old, that Keefe Sencen is completely and utterly in love with Fitz Vacker.

He’s got a wrinkle between his eyebrows. Keefe wants to reach over and smooth it out, smile at Fitz in a way that lets him know what they’re feeling. Lets him know that after three months, Keefe loves him. And maybe they’ve fallen too quickly and much too young; they’ve done it anyway nonetheless. Keefe tucks their hands under their legs, not trusting themself not to. They’re eleven years old and they know it’s wrong to love a boy.

But this doesn’t feel wrong. It feels more right than anything Keefe’s felt before. Love doesn’t feel like it can be wrong. How can loving Fitz be wrong? He’s beautiful. The sun causing a night sky of freckles, so faint anyone who wasn’t looking wouldn’t find them, to paint his face. How can constellation skin be cursed to care for?

Keefe doesn’t feel wrong. Not in the least when they’re with beautiful Fitz Vacker. Fitz eventually looks up, much to Keefe’s dismay. They have to look away then, out at the pond, fish lazing around just underneath the surface.

“What? Do I have dirt on my face?” Keefe just smiles at Fitz. It’s the wrong one. It tells Fitz nothing of what they feel; and it’s better that way. Truly. Because any other way would be wrong, wouldn’t it? “I do, don’t I? Dad’s going to kill me. Where is it?”

“You don’t have anything on your face, just a stupid little wrinkle.”

“God, not you too. Biana noticed it a few weeks ago and won’t let it go. I don’t need this slander,” Fitz says. Keefe notices a tone in his voice, much too tired and true for eleven. It’s a tone Keefe works to keep out of their own words every day. They’d give anything not to hear it from Fitz.

They don’t say any of this. They don’t let any of it show. Keefe just throws their head back in laughter they don’t mean. Some part of it hurts, but it’s a part Keefe is willing to ignore if it means they get to see Fitz laugh along too.

It’s contained, like he’s afraid of anyone seeing. One day, Keefe swears to themself in that moment, they’ll get Fitz to laugh. Really, truly laugh without any ounce of restraint. For now, they’ll have to settle for what Fitz gives them now, small laughs and a smile covered by his hand. Keefe takes that smile, those laughs, and burns them in their brain.

…

They’re thirteen when they find out that Fitz feels the same. He doesn’t say anything, and Keefe doesn’t need him to. The brush of their hands in Keefe’s bedroom is enough. A wave of emotions crashes over them and they’re drowning, water filling their lungs and heart, and it pounds, crashing against their ribs.

And then it’s gone. Fitz’s hand is gone (his hands are so warm, like bonfires on cold nights and Keefe misses him already). Keefe wonders how long it’s been since they’ve manifested. Foxfire’s been on break, and they can’t remember their parents even touched them. Maybe that’s a sort of blessing. Keefe doesn’t think they’d be able to handle knowing exactly what their father feels when the slap comes. Not yet.

Midnight stars shine outside Keefe’s window, and they stare out into them. They can’t bear to look at Fitz now. They can’t trust themself not to say something, and maybe make the drowning they both live in now real. Because the water isn’t real right now, it’s there, filling Keefe’s lungs every moment with Fitz next to him. But it’s not real. No matter how many times they reach through the water, they’ll never find Fitz’s hand in the deep.

It’s only fleeting moments like this where Keefe gets a glimpse of reaching out and finding someone. It’s love all the same. It’s hands brushing at midnight, silk sheets under them but Fitz’s skin is the best thing to ever touch Keefe’s. Love that drowns Keefe, love that makes them want to drown, so long as it’s for Fitz.

“We should probably go to sleep, right?” Fitz says. He’s tired, Keefe knows by his voice. They know everything by the inflections of Fitz’s voice, they know every turn it can make and have it mapped out in their head. They pass over those roads sometimes, when the night lays heavy on Keefe, and the water takes over every part of them.

“Probably. You can have the bed,” Keefe says. They don’t any softness float into their voice, all of the emotions they have, kept behind a concrete wall. A flood ready to spill the moment Keefe lets it.

“It’s your room, Keefe.”

Keefe rolls their eyes and laughs, just like how they Fitz expects them. They do this every time. Fitz always ends up asleep in the bed. “Look at that window seat, Fitz. That, my friend, is a place of luxury. I only get away with it when you’re here.”

“One of these days, I’m going to test that.”

Keefe hands Fitz a wry smile. “That day isn’t today. Thank god for that, am I right?”

Fitz laughs (still restrained, but eventually) and Keefe makes a show of walking to the window seat. The cushion has been worn by years of Fitz staying the night. Keefe outgrew it last year, having to bend their knees the entire night. They always wake up aching, joints begging for Keefe to never sleep there again. They always do.

They always stare out the window for an hour and wait, turning around when Fitz’s sleeping breaths are the only sound in the room. And then Keefe falls asleep to the sight of Fitz. His hair mussed and all of Keefe’s pillow like spilled coffee. It’s the only time when Fitz looks his age, all the years forced onto him by his parents seeping away, replaced by the simple peace of sleep.

Keefe wants to be the reason for that, someday. They want to be the reason Fitz gets to feel thirteen, like a kid.

But Keefe wants a lot of things, and wanting doesn’t mean anything to fear. If there’s anything Keefe has learned from love, it’s fear. Fear that someone will find out that Keefe loves Fitz, hopelessly drowning in it every second they’re awake (and when fate is cruel, in their sleep as well). Fear that Fitz will find out, and he’ll hate Keefe for it. Fear that love won’t be enough and they’ll break apart anyway.

That’s what happened to Gisela and Cassius. They loved each other (didn’t they?). And now they live in a house built from their love (isn’t it?) and feel nothing but hatred.

(They had to love each other, even if it was a long time ago. Keefe had to believe that. They had to have some faith that love could be found, that it could mean something, that it could be real. That what they felt for Fitz could mean something, even if it was never something real.)

…

Sophie is a hammer into the glass of Keefe and Fitz. The gentle glass that let them stay together, tied by fate (their parents, but is there really a difference in the end?) to each other. Held together by the understanding that they only had each other in life. Fitz may have had Biana and Alvar, so maybe that last part was only for Keefe.

Maybe Fitz was all Keefe ever had in the end. Maybe Biana was only there because Fitz was and Alvar was only there because Keefe was. Maybe their parents never loved them and never loved each other. But in the end, at least there was Fitz. There was beautiful Fitz, and there was Keefe’s glorious drowning.

Not anymore. Not anymore because Sophie Foster is here now. And now they’re broken. The glass is shattered. Keefe is no stranger to this feeling, the one that comes when you’ve lost part of your soul (since when did Fitz become part of Keefe’s soul? They can’t know, but he is. He is). They lost their father before. Cassius haunts Candleshade now, a violent ghost that Keefe has learned how to avoid.

So Keefe does what they do best, they go on as usual. They laugh and joke and flirt with everyone (besides Fitz, never Fitz; he’s too good for Keefe’s meaningless words). Sophie is the main recipient of everything, even when it hurts Fitz and Dex every time. Biana too, though Keefe isn’t sure ae knows why. Keefe knows. They know everything.

They know that Maruca still looks over to them all at lunch, and Keefe doesn’t need to be an empath to read the look in her eyes. They know how Marella looks at Biana with something that’s not entirely hatred. They see how Dex messes with a bundle of wires and gears under the table during lessons, terrified of someone seeing xem.

They see this all from Fitz’s side, hands brushing for a few moments. The same wave crashes over Keefe every time and reminds him of just how much they’re loosing. Because even when Fitz’s hand brushes against Keefe’s, his other is in Sophie’s. Fitz isn’t Keefe’s anymore, and hell, maybe he never was. But then why does this feel so much like cutting off a limb?

They join the Biana, Fitz, and Sophie in games of Bramble. They savor the feeling of Fitz’s skin when the run into each other, holds onto the hurricane of Fitz’s love. They’ve given up on the hurricane being real, being anything more than hands brushing.

But then Sophie and Dex are killed. Keefe felt an entirely new type of hurricane, from both themself and Fitz.

“I’m sorry,” Keefe whispers. They’re alone, Sophie and Dex’s planting having just ended. Fitz clenches his hands into fists and slips down to his knees. Keefe goes down with him. “I’m so sorry, Fitz.”

“For what,” Fitz snaps. “You didn’t kill them, did you?”

“I know,” Keefe says. But they don’t mean it. They’ve told a million lies before, and this is no difference. Keefe wanted Fitz back, they wanted Sophie to go home (they don’t, not anymore, they’d do anything to bring Sophie and Dex back). Now she’s dead and Dex too. Dex didn’t deserve this, Sophie didn’t deserve this. Fitz doesn’t deserve this.

Keefe leans against Fitz, carefully putting his arm over Fitz.

“I shouldn’t have brought her here,” Fitz says. Keefe knows the sound of anger in his voice well, and they’d do anything to take it out of his voice now. Fitz shouldn’t feel this way about himself. “This is my fucking fault. She would’ve been safe if I’d just left her in the Forbidden Cities.”

“No,” they say quickly. “Don’t. You can’t blame yourself. Blame whoever killed Sophie, blame Alden for sending you out, blame anyone you want. Not yourself.” Fitz should blame them. They got exactly what they wanted; Fitz is theirs again. He theirs and god, it hurts so much.

Keefe is staying at Fitz’s house when Sophie and Dex come back. They’re pretending to be asleep while drawing Fitz’s portrait on the bedsheets with their fingers. It’s the best way. No one will ever find the invisible marks in the purple satin.

They’ve lost Fitz all over again.

…

“God, I don’t know what we’re doing, Keefe,” Fitz laughs. He’s sitting on the edge of a lake, his feet aren’t in the water. Keefe’s aren’t either. A full moon stares down on both of them, it’s craters the only eyes on them. Everyone else is asleep. They both should be, but Keefe found Fitz out here.

They haven’t done anything like this in a while. They haven’t been friends in a while. Keefe hasn’t had anyone in a while. They missed this, being around Fitz and drowning in him. Drowning in love, drowning in Fitz’s love, drowning in the dam they’ve made to hold all that water. All that love.

“I don’t think anyone does, Fitz. Besides Forkle. That man knows everything,” Keefe says. They offer Fitz the same wry smile they always do. Fitz looks away, his nostril flaring.

“Fuck you, Keefe. Fuck you.”

Keefe scoffs and sits . “That’s one hell of a greeting, Fitzy. Love you too.” Keefe makes sure his love doesn’t sound genuine. This is the closest they’ll ever get to a confession, anyway.

“You always do this. One serious conversation. One serious fucking sentence would be enough. I’m going to sleep, Keefe. Have a good night,” Fitz spits. He stands up, Keefe grabs his wrist. All that anger washes over them, sadness mixed in, desperation.

“What do you want me to say?”

Fitz sighs angrily. “Anything that means something, Keefe.”

Keefe opens their mouth, searching for words that Fitz can accept and not say anything at all. They close it. Fitz closes his eyes and tears his wrist back. Keefe feels empty without Fitz’s storm, even when their own rages inside of them.

Fitz starts to walk away, and Keefe can feel the walls between them grow higher. Their glass shattered even more. Keefe pushes a drop of water over the edge of the dam Keefe’s built.

“I’m scared, Fitz.”

He stops walking. Keefe has never been more afraid of their own words, their own emotions. They should stop, they need to stop.

“I don’t know what’s happening, and my entire life is falling apart. And I’m losing everyone. I’m scared.”

Fitz walks back, sitting back down next to Keefe. He grabs Keefe’s hand, and Keefe nearly vomits at the anger that’s still there, the sympathy.

“You still have me, Keefe. I’ve always been here,” Fitz says in forced softness. Keefe swallows their tears and the call of liar on their tongue.

“I know.”

“Are you going to be there for me?”

“Always.” It’s not a lie. Keefe doesn’t think it’s a lie, at least. They’ve been in love with Fitz for years, and they’d give anything to be the one Fitz goes to. That’s Sophie now, but Keefe will make this promise anyway.

Fitz, Keefe finds out, kisses softly. Like he’s kissing a porcelain doll. Keefe is anything but, they’ve survived years of two hurricanes (three, if you count their father, it’s an entirely different type of storm; a worse one). It might just be fear, and Keefe understands that a million times over.

It’s late, the long reeds that line the lake brushing the back of both of their legs. Frogs and birds sing a melody and this all feels like a scene in a movie Sophie made them watch. This kiss, it’s an accident. They’re both drunk of stars and a few too many late nights, and finally let the dams leak.

(They’re not broken. At least, Keefe’s isn’t. There’s a whole hurricane inside of them, a million emotions and Keefe is kissing Fitz back with control. They want to put every goddamn emotion they’ve ever had for Fitz into this kiss, but not with Fitz kissing him like a doll. Like they’re breakable. It’s fucking laughable. Keefe’s already broken.)

Fitz pulls away, pressing his forehead against Keefe’s.

“I don’t believe you,” Fitz whispers.

…

Keefe misses Fitz more than anyone when he runs away. They know they have to, that there was no other choice. That it was the only choice to keep people safe, but when Sophie’s voice rings in their head, they wish to god it was Fitz.

They explain all their reasons to Sophie, and they explain it to Sophie like she was Fitz. Guilt clings onto the wind flowing over the waters they hold back, a storm building and building. But Keefe has always been good at holding it all back, concrete dams thick and high.

Fitan takes him to the Forbidden Cities, and Keefe feels a million other storms. Every human emotion is one of the most extreme ones Keefe feels from elves. Keefe can hardly handle them. They don’t know what they’ll do if Fitan has them touch one of them to get an even better read. Keefe already feels so much, they don’t know how many more of Fitan’s lessons they can take.

They can’t go numb, they can’t. They want the storm of what they feel for Fitz. They want to drown, to gasp for air, to cough and spit out all the seaweed emotions in the morning. They want to scrape barnacles off of their skin and ignore the way it bleeds. Fitz hurts. His kisses are so soft they hurt, porcelain lips against Keefe’s broken shards. Fitz hurts and Keefe wants to revel in the pain of the storm Fitz brings. They want to open their mouth and let the rain fill their lungs, feeling Fitz’s own storm when Keefe touches Fitz. Hands brush in the hallway and Keefe drowns twice over.

So when they lay at night, Sophie’s voice in their head, they hold on to the storm it brings. Every mention of Fitz sends a lightning bolt into the water, clouds brewing, the water threatening to spill over the edge. Keefe builds the dams higher and takes a dive into the waters.

They’re not numb, not yet. Even when a million storms drown them.

…

Keefe doesn’t need to touch Fitz to feel his anger. He’s controlling it, seeing as all their friends eyes look down on the two of them. Keefe left, and Fitz is angry. Keefe spit up seaweed love and made a noose from it. They swung around and Fitz had to watch Keefe. They ran. It was the right move, but Fitz doesn’t see it as such.

“Are you even going to say something? Defend yourself just a little bit?” Fitz spits. Even in anger, Keefe would love to draw Fitz in this moment. They’re sitting in Foxfire’s library, all around the largest circular table. Keefe and Fitz are the only two standing.

“It was the right move, Fitz.”

Fitz slams his hand against the table. “Like hell it was! You could’ve gotten hurt. You could’ve gotten us hurt! Fuck, Sophie was a mess, Keefe! You did.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly fine. You left. You didn’t think of anyone but yourself. You thought of yourself, your feelings. Maybe you thought you were protecting yourself, but you did what you always do, Keefe. You got selfish.”

“Fitz—” Sophie starts.

“No. I’m done here. I’ll do research on my own.” Fitz storms past the rest of them, stopping next to Keefe for a second. His words a low and for Keefe alone. “I didn’t believe you, Keefe, but I trusted you.”

He keeps on walking then, leaving with a slam of the door. Keefe sits down slowly, swallowing down salt water and kelp. It gets stuck in their throat.

Keefe drowns for the rest of the day. They want nothing more than to lay down and let it wash over them until they’re some semblance of above water. They don’t get that chance. But when the research session ends, Biana gives Keefe an offer they wish they could refuse. They wish they had the strength to say no.

“Do you want to stay the night? If you don’t want to go to Candleshade.”

Keefe has a place to stay besides Candleshade. They should say no. They really need to say no. But Biana’s hand on their arm reads of nothing but sincere love, not the storm that comes from Fitz. A gentle wave on a beach, flowing over Keefe’s feet. There’s no sea water for Keefe to spit up, no seaweed emotions to choke on. Just gentle water and seashells under their feet.

“Just for tonight,” they say. “We don’t want your parents getting any ideas, right Bee? Look at what happened to Romeo and Juliet.”

Biana rolls aer eyes, but seems to have forgotten aer hand on Keefe’s shoulder. Ae’s still worried for Keefe, that gentle love washing over their knees now.

“I think you and Biana are on very different pages there, Keefe,” Marella laughs. “We all know who Romeo really is, Jules.”

Dex chokes on xyr water, gripping Marella’s upper arm and shaking cer. Sophie stifles a few giggles. Even Biana and Linh laugh a bit. Only Tam and Stina stay blank faced. Keefe, they swallow lungs full of salt water. Kelp and seaweed catch in their throat, wrapping around their stomach. The barnacles that normally sit on their skin in small clusters cover them completely, locking up their muscles.

But they can’t go doing that, so they throw on a crooked smile. They reach into their pockets, finding an old chess piece (it’s Fitz’s, Keefe would pretend they didn’t know how to play just to have Fitz teach them). They bend down on one knee in front of Marella.

“Oh, Romeo, shall thou be my betrothed, for I have waited years for a love such as ours,” Keefe says. They force a laugh into their voice. Dex laughs even harder and shakes cer even harder. Sophie breaks into full out laughter. Biana’s covering aer mouth and shakes.

“Careful, Juliet, I don’t think my girlfriend appreciates this,” Marella laughs. Ce nods to Stina, stony faced still. Tam isn’t anymore, just a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, even as he’s fighting to keep it down. Keefe isn’t sure if they’re thankful for her seriousness or nervous about what it means.

“Your love has always been forbidden,” Dex cackles. Sophie breaks down completely and Tam finally lets out a small snort. Biana’s shaking aer head. Ae pulls Keefe up off the ground gently, aer love closer the sand between Keefe’s toes than water. Good. Water is too emotional, too messy.

“Come on, Loverboy, I’m exhausted and you’re coming with me.”

“Wait a second, Bi, I want to talk to him,” Stina says. She stands up and doesn’t wait for a response before pulling Keefe into Foxfire’s hallway. A million emotions come from her contact, and Keefe knows she feels a million in turn.

Keefe plays it as usual, leaning against the wall with the same smile they always have.

“What? Mad about Marella, Paris?”

“You’re full of shit, Keefe,” she says. “I don’t need to be an Empath to see that. Or then again, maybe I do, because it looks like you’ve got everyone fooled. Maybe just entertained.”

Keefe feels the seawater climb up their body. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My hand’s still on your shoulder.”

Keefe looks down. Stina’s hand is resting softly on their shoulder, psoriasis splattered on her fingers. Keefe doesn’t want to drop their walls for Stina. What other choice do they have, though? Stina already knows. Of all the people Keefe thought to find out, it was never Stina. But her face is kind enough and her hand is soft on their shoulder.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t, but you can talk to me, Keefe. Call me when you need to talk, I’ll have Biana send my Imparter number to you. I can’t make you do anything, but I’m here. If anyone gets Empath emotions, it’s me.”

Keefe looks away. “It’s not just Empath’s that feel like this. Humans do.” Stina draws her hand back and nods. She knows they have more to say, so she just waits a moment. “Fitz does.”

“Call me, Keefe. You don’t keep this shit inside,” Stina says softly.

Biana knocks on the door of the library before sticking aer head out. “Okay, I’m actually five seconds from falling asleep, so yeah. Keefe, you still coming to Everglen?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They see Stina nod as they walk away, hand in Biana’s.

…

Keefe doesn’t mean to run into Fitz that night. Maybe it was unavoidable. Maybe it was the reason they agreed to go to Everglen in the first place (maybe that’s more than a maybe). Keefe, after all, might just be a boy made of maybe’s. Maybe they could’ve been better. Maybe they could’ve been something other than an Empath. Maybe they could’ve been the son their father wanted.

But one thing that’s never a maybe is Fitz’s anger. They’re in the kitchen on the first floor, far away from everyone asleep in the house. Fitz was baking, Keefe doesn’t know what they were doing. They never do, Keefe thinks, on the late nights.

“I see Biana still forgives too quick,” Fitz says. He doesn’t even bother to look up. Keefe doesn’t say anything, just watches Fitz roll dough into balls and place them on a cookie sheet. They’re a few feet from Keefe. “Would it be too much to apologize, Keefe? To feel fucking sorry? You said you’d be there. I lost my fucking brother and then you were gone too.”

“I’m sorry,” Keefe chokes out. The words get caught on the kelp in their throat. Fitz tenses his muscles before letting them go, like he’s stopping himself from something.

“No, you’re not. I know what you’re apologies sound like.”

“No, you don’t,” Keefe says quietly. They don’t know why they say it. They don’t know why. Maybe they want Fitz to see just a glimpse of how utterly fucked Keefe is.

“Yeah and that’s an improvement. Fuck you, Keefe. Go back to Biana’s room.”

Keefe walks closer to Fitz, sitting on the counter next to Fitz’s cookie sheet. “Maybe I want to spend time with you.”

Fitz scoffs. “I don’t care what you want right now, Keefe. You left. You don’t get to come back and act like nothing’s wrong because you want it to be normal again.” Fitz’s voice gradually gets louder. “There’s no more fucking normal, you made sure of that.”

“I don’t want it to be like it was, Fitz.” Another lie. At least before Keefe ran away, Fitz kissed them. It was dangerously soft, Keefe’s broken pieces cutting into Fitz’s soft lips. Now, Keefe’s shattered to fucking dust and Fitz is cracking. Pressure doesn’t always make diamonds. Sometimes, it just breaks you.

“I needed you. I’ve never—I don’t need people. Maybe I trust them, talk to them. I don’t fucking need them. But I needed you. Alvar—he was my fucking brother. My older brother. He taught me everything I knew. How to deal with Alden. Fuck you, Keefe, I fucking needed you. For the first time and you left me.” Fitz finally looks up, staring Keefe dead in the eyes. Keefe drowns. “We’re not going back. We’re never going back.”

Keefe looks right back at Fitz. They toss a few drops of water over the edge of the dam they’ve built. “I was scared, Fitz. For you. For everyone. For me. I needed a way to get rid of it, at least a little bit. I’m not sorry I left, but I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well you did, Keefe.”

They look away, fingers gripping the edge of the counter tightly. Keefe doesn’t break eye contact with Fitz. Hoping that maybe, he’ll look through the dam and see the hurricane drowning Keefe.

“I know.”

Fitz looks away. “That’s it? You know?” Fitz stares down at the nearly empty bowl of cookie dough. “He was my brother, Keefe. I’ve only had three people in my life. You, Biana, and Alvar. That’s it. Alvar’s fucking gone, he played me. He used me. And what did you do?”

Keefe looks down to their knees.

“Tell me what you did, Keefe. I need to hear you say it.”

“I did what I needed to. It hurt you, and I’m sorry for that, but I won’t apologize for leaving,” Keefe says. They grab Fitz’s hand. It’s sticky from cooking spray and sugar, and Fitz doesn’t look over at Keefe.

“Fuck you,” Fitz whispers angrily. His words burn Keefe, and they’ll never forget the hatred that drowns Keefe. This time, the salt water burns their throat as it pours down their throat. He looks up to Keefe. “Fuck you.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Fitz swallows, seawater slamming against Keefe in waves of anger. In a split second, he’s kissing Keefe. There’s no softness in this one, only Fitz’s anger. All his hate, all his hurricane emotions. It all pours into Keefe’s lungs, both of their lips getting cut on each other’s broken pieces. They’re both bleeding with bruised lips when Fitz pulls away.

“Get out of my house, Keefe. I don’t want you here.”

“I know,” Keefe whispers. And they kiss Fitz again. He pushes Keefe back, cabinets digging into Keefe’s spine. Fitz’s hands are on Keefe’s sides, keeping them right where they are.

These are the kisses Keefe deserves. Bruising and angry, no emotion other than the crystal in Keefe’s back and the water in their lungs. It’s drowning. It’s a seaweed noose. It’s fear. It’s anger. And hell, maybe it’s some twisted kind of love. What else could ever come from two boys as broken as they are?

…

When the Shadowflux seeps through their skin, all Keefe can think of is how it feels to drown. They’ve drowned before, a million times, but they’ve never felt it like this. Every inch of their body is on fire, and Sophie’s in their head.

Desperation burns through with the pain. A hurricane builds in his chest, a million words swirling around. They all spill out into Sophie. They’re not made for Sophie. They look around desperately for Fitz, delirium spreading over their mind. Fitz isn’t here, but Keefe yells to him in their mind.

I don’t want to leave. Not this time. I had to leave the last time but I don’t want to leave. I’m sorry. Please, don’t make me leave. Don’t let Gisela throw me away. I don’t want my legacy. I want you.

Keefe fights against the Shadowflux as it takes over their vision. They search the throne room, knowing that Fitz isn’t there. They want Fitz to hear them. They want one last goodbye if this is it, if the price of Keefe’s legacy is blood. But Fitz isn’t here. Sophie’s the one listening and the eyes they find are Tam’s.

His read of an apology. Keefe doesn’t want to know what theirs read of, they just know that it’s gallons of water spilling over the dams. Then the Shadowflux takes over their vision, every part of Keefe fading out.

I love you, Fitz. I’m sorry.

And then it’s all gone.

…

They wake up a weapon. A sword in anyone’s hands if they try hard enough. Keefe’s already lost control, how could they trust themself not to hurt anyone? Dex says they’re not dangerous, that they’ll learn. Elwin’s got the same (foolish) trust in them.

Keefe runs anyway. It’s safer. For everyone, so long as Keefe stays away. Even when they have to fight to stay drowning when the tides threaten to recede, leaving Keefe breathing fine for the first time in their life. They might have to run, but they want to keep the memories of Fitz’s hurricane.

They want to keep the feeling of Fitz and Keefe’s broken parts grinding against each other. Shattered and ground into dust. It gets stuck in Keefe’s skin, drawing blood, but they relish in the feeling. They’ll never get real love from Fitz, so they’ll take the pain.

But it fades. The waters recede. The cuts scab over. The seaweed stops coming up in the morning. Keefe’s not drowning anymore and there isn’t even enough water left for them to miss the feeling. Keefe knows he should be sad, that they should miss them all more.

They don’t. Because after years of drowning, the water’s gone and Keefe’s numb. Or maybe they’re still drowning, but they just can’t feel it. Maybe the barnacle memories are forming armor on their skin and the seaweed is forming a noose. They can’t tell which it is, and they don’t care to check.

Keefe spent years drowning. They reveled in the feeling and maybe they miss it. But can you blame them for wanting a breath of air? To remember what it feels like to breathe, truly breathe (it’s a lie; they know that, but god, for now it’s close enough)? Keefe hasn’t felt this way in years, not since they met Fitz.

This feeling is childhood in Candleshade, before it all fell apart. Cassius was distant then, until he wasn’t and Keefe was bruised. But back then, Gisela still pretended she cared. She wiped away the aches and was there. It was a lie. Of course it was, but sometimes Keefe misses it anyway.

They miss their mom and they hate it. It was a goddamn lie and the barnacle memories are stuck on their skin, bleeding whenever Keefe rips them off. They always come back, but Keefe picks and tears and scratches but they always fucking come back.

But they’re fine. Numbness is fine, because they’re not drowning. For once, they’re not drowning. And that has to be okay. What would they do if it wasn’t? This is a blessing, it has to be. Keefe has to keep themself in check now, loosing control could get someone killed. They’re numb. They have to be. And they have to be okay with it.

…

Tensions are thicker than the barnacles crusted on Keefe’s skin when he comes back. Keefe’s still numb but the air gets stuck in their lungs, drowning them anyway. Fitz is the worst, all anger and sadness, though Keefe knows he’s burying it down.

After all, they know a lot of things now. Sophie’s in love with Biana and thinks Biana would never feel the same. But Biana is even deeper for Sophie, and even more convinced Sophie doesn’t feel that way. Keefe swears to make them realize someday.

They know Dex always feels like xe’s watching them all through glass. And how sometimes xe feels like xyr banging on it and no one can see xem. Keefe wants to promise that Keefe sees xem, that everyone does. That none of them wanted to make xem feel like that, and they’d do anything to take that away.

That’s Linh’s angry enough to rival Fitz and just now showing bits of it. Linh, Keefe finds, chose to make herself soft. To look at the world trying to break her down and love anyway, care anyway. But they know that Linh’s angry, and sometimes it gets hard to keep it all inside. So she lets it out with all the control she had saving Atlantis. Measured. Never enough to flood anything. Keefe wants to tell her how much they admire that.

That Tam wants to save this wretched world. That he knows it’s fucked, a million times over, but no one else is doing anything. Keefe wants to tell him that he’s right, and that they’d help. Tam is right. This world is worth saving.

Marella, Maruca, Wylie, Jensi, Stina. Keefe knows everything. All of the emotions they bottle up, the ones they don’t show. The ones they don’t show all of. They hate it. No one should know these things but goddamnit, Keefe does. They know all of it.

And now, as they lay under the stars, they wonder if this was what Gisela wanted. Keefe would be the perfect spy, with all that’s given. They wouldn’t do that. Gisela couldn’t make them, could she?

They’re lost in everything when anger washes over them. It’s an anger they’ve felt a million times before. A storm they’ve drowned in a million times before. Keefe opens their eyes, watching Fitz get closer. Every step lets Keefe convince themself they’re not numb anymore, drinking in the water of Fitz’s hurricane.

Salt washes over their tongue and they know just how much they missed this. Fitz sits down quietly next to Keefe. Keefe doesn’t say anything, just takes in all they can from the hurricane next to them. For however long they’re allowed to.

“I swore this time I wouldn’t miss you, Keefe,” Fitz spits quietly. “I did. I missed you, you asshole.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to apologize and mean it. I need to hear this from you, Keefe.”

“Why?”

Keefe can feel something else in the storm, something they know they’ve felt before. It’s terrifying.

“When you apologize. Don’t lie to me.”

Keefe considers it anyway. They’re numb, but everything they learned is still there. Keep it all inside and that’s how you stay alive, especially in Candleshade. But this isn’t Candleshade and Fitz’s storm is safe enough. Keefe holds their wrist out for Fitz, who takes it without a word, fingers on their pulse.

“I’m sorry, Fitz. I-I was scared of what I could do. Of what people could make me do. So I ran. I’m sorry.”

Fitz drops Keefe’s wrist. He nods.

“Why?” they ask softly.

Fitz’s storm is only half angry now. The other half fills Keefe with fear they didn’t know they could feel anymore.

“I love you. Maybe I’m wrong and I hate you. I remember how you talked about the similarities between the two, but I think I love you.” Fitz looks Keefe in the eyes as he says this. Keefe can hardly breathe.

Keefe can’t think of a word to say, or maybe they just don’t trust themself to speak now. This isn’t numbness, it’s dangerous. It’s love, Keefe knows for sure, even if Fitz doesn’t. They can’t speak now.

So they lean forward, hand on Fitz’s cheek.

Keefe?

Tell me to stop.

Fitz doesn’t. Keefe leans closer. Their lips ghost over Fitz’s, waiting for Fitz to tell him to stop. He never does. And so they both drown in each others storms, getting caught on each other’s broken edges. It isn’t soft, it isn’t angry.

It’s storms and love and drowning and the summer sun on their skin. They’re both broken. They’re both drowning. But at least this time they aren’t angry.

#this took me so long #keefitz #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #stina and keefe should be friends fight me #biana vacker #sophiana #sophie foster #dex dizznee #tam song #linh song #marella redek #redheks #stina x marella #stina heks #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities

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homemade-ghosts · 1 year

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I know this is a kind of weird question, but why do you think you never got into EJ and Gina?

I saw a comment saying was season 3 was backtracking, "how their relationship was so genuine and supportive in the first two seasons then suddenly all the development was gone in s3 with EJ back to being inconciderate and Gina is back to having feelings for Ricky'

Not a weird question at all!

I’ll start with things I think I’ve mentioned in previous PW-related asks (just to get the repetition out of the way lol). They share no common ground beyond both initially being seen as the scheming antagonists when the series began. They don’t understand each other — nor does EJ ever make a concerted effort to understand Gina, beyond asking her (literally one time) what it feels like to be constantly moving. They don’t communicate well; EJ put no effort into maintaining their relationship. + EJ essentially refuses to support Gina the second it becomes inconvenient for him (sure, he’ll pick her flowers to congratulate her on landing the lead, but then he’ll negate that by immediately talking about himself and his failings without giving Gina a moment to celebrate her own success).

& on top of EJ & Gina being, on paper, not compatible — regardless of who they are being played by — there’s also the fact that I have never once felt an ounce of romantic chemistry watching Sofia & Matt on screen together. Chemistry is, in part, something that just is. You either have it with your scene partner(s) or you don’t. They don’t. (IMO) That’s problem #1. & even actors who establish that natural onscreen chemistry can’t coast on that alone, to really get the audience (in this case, me lol) invested, they both have to have the emotional range to back it up.

Which brings me to problem #2: I don’t think Matt has the kind of depth, as an actor, that it takes to be a good scene partner to someone as incredible an actor as Sofia. I don’t want it to sound like I’m just trying to dunk on Matt, he seems like a nice guy and I by no means think he’s a bad actor (I don’t think anyone on the show is a bad actor) but, in my opinion, he doesn’t bring much, if any, nuance to his performance. It’s always very…shallow — meaning that Sofia, too often, has to carry (most? all?) the emotional weight in their scenes together. Josh, in contrast, is a much stronger actor who can hold his own in a scene with Sofia because he’s capable of giving a layered performance. Like Sofia, there’s so much going on behind his eyes, so much in the slight change of a facial expression. She doesn’t have to do all the heavy lifting in their scenes together, it’s more of an equal partnership.

I should probably also mention that I have never exactly loved EJ as a character, for reasons completely unrelated to Matt’s portrayal of him. Even when s1 was airing and he was in everyone’s “Big Three” edits on Twitter, I didn’t really get the appeal. I thought he was funny sometimes and a necessary part of the show’s narrative, but I had a hard time rooting for him because his problems were often so trivial compared to other characters’. Like, Ricky’s parents were in the midst of a divorce and his mom was miles away, seemingly starting a new life with a new relationship, without him. Gina had finally found a home and friends and somewhere to belong, only to have all of that ripped away from her, out of nowhere, the instant her mom gets a call from work. Meanwhile, EJ…lied and lost Instagram followers because of it ?? & I’m expected to sympathize with him? Then, in s2, Gina is heartbroken, without her mom to comfort her, Ricky is forced to move out of his childhood home & Nini is finally embracing her independence and learning not to see herself through the eyes of others and EJ just…doesn’t get into one Ivy League school until his dad effectively buys his way in and again, I’m supposed to feel for him because he's sad he couldn't earn that spot on his own? The only thing I feel is that he’s incredibly privileged. & when he was desperate to please his dad in s3, I tried to care (because it's the closest he's ever come to genuine struggle on the series) but I couldn’t because he was doing it at the expense of Gina & her feelings — something he never took responsibility or apologized for, by the way. Ricky makes a mistake, learns from it and does his best to make up for it. EJ makes a mistake and…well, that’s it. He keeps making it, but it’s supposed to be okay because he’s a good guy who’s always trying to do the right thing, even if he doesn’t succeed. & I’m tired of it, honestly.

TLDR: In order for me to root for a couple, they need to have chemistry, the actors need to have comparable acting abilities & I need to sympathize with both characters, to like both of them &/or to find them both interesting (I specified the “&/or” for that last part because I do have a couple ships where I don’t necessarily like one of the characters, but I do feel for them at times & find them interesting/compelling). PW has none of that.

As for the second part of your ask, the old “EJ & Gina’s relationship was great in s2, but the writers ruined everything in s3 by having EJ go back to being selfish and Gina go back to being in love with Ricky.” Ugh. Here’s the issue with that: neither of these factors ever changed. EJ has always been an inconsiderate & insecure boyfriend and Gina has been in love with Ricky this whole time. Neither of them went “back” to being anything, they just never left. EJ had all the same negative qualities in his relationship with Gina that he displayed in his relationship with Nini in s1 — jealous, insecure & secretive, with an inability to own up to his own actions & a tendency to blame Ricky for something that was entirely his own doing. That isn’t a sign of character regression. You can't regress if you never learned, never changed, in the first place. PWs only convinced themselves that EJ had changed because he was single for nearly all of s2 and that allowed them to completely forget what he was like in a relationship. Out of sight, out of mind.

& I don’t know where PWs get the idea that Gina was completely over Ricky once her & EJ got together. She only accepted EJ’s offer of a date after making it clear (at the sleepover) that she thought Ricky was no longer an option, not that she didn’t still harbor feelings for him. There was no closure between them, they never talked about Opening Night and, in order for EJ & Gina to get together, she had to literally not be on speaking terms with Ricky.

Also, about the whole “EJ was so supportive in s2” thing: I’m guessing their idea of “support” is 1. EJ asking how she was one time — even though he didn’t ask because he noticed she was emotional and wanted to check in, he asked as in, “how do you feel about everything you’ve pulled off tonight?” because she had helped plan the entire party and performed that musical number for Carlos in front of everyone. Gina, feeling alone & dejected, took it for more than it was. & 2. EJ bringing Gina that ass granola bar from his back pocket at the airport. Both of these aren’t so much expressions of support as they are the absolute bare minimum, which required little effort on EJ’s part. Like, wow, in the entire time they’ve know each other, he’s asked her about herself twice and picked her up from the airport once — boyfriend goals, am I right?

#apologize for any potential typos in advance #it's late and my brain is small lol #hsmtmts #asks #filmmakerdreamst

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sherreenwrites · 2 years

Text

MID-YEAR SELF-REFLECTIONS: REALIZATIONS ON SELF-PRESERVATION AND OTHER PREDICAMENTS.

I —

The excitement of the new year has long faded away. The wide eyes, open spirits for the resolutions and the lists and the plans of redemption are tired. Half of the year has passed already, and I am tired of reinvention. Time passes ever so quickly when you’re growing older. I long for the days when the summer felt like years packed into each other, the school year in the fall looking as far as ever, and the years ticking by so slowly. Now I blink and so much happens so fast, and yet, I look back and what happened mere days ago feels like decades.

I don’t know what I’d expected of myself this year. I try not to expect much of myself, if I’m being honest. But halfway through the year, I find myself stuck in another version of myself I can’t understand, and I’m looking for ways to untangle the knots, to make sense of how I got where I am.

It started slowly, in the smallest ripples snd smallets dots that I am now just connecting.

What little I know of myself includes the fact that I don’t know how to let go, of feelings, of people, of the things that I’m familiar with. The concept of unclasping and walking away remains torturous for me. So long ago, I’ve made peace with the fact that I will always carry this ache within me, and I will learn to be okay with it.

But then one day, I woke up and I didn’t ache anymore. The things I used to miss, I didn’t anymore. Most nights when I lay down, I close my eyes and don’t flinch when the thought crosses my mind. It passes, and I let it.

Grief hits you when you least expect it. The first time, I didn’t see it coming. But when it did, I had a feeling in my gut that I’d always been waiting for it, more so lately. I cried once, on my own, and told no one that didn’t need to know. I carried regret and guilt within me that I, somehow, uncharacteristically, dismantled with logic, and woke up from that haze faster than I’d expected — faster than I think is healthy, faster because I think if I’d let myself think too much about it, I would’ve been consumed and swallowed whole. The second time, I saw it coming. I hoped against it, in the days before, but I told myself it was a possibility to prepare myself. During, I didn’t shed a tear. And afterwards, I’d convinced myself it was inevitable, and I’d seen it coming, and there was no reason to hurt. But amidst it all, I felt like something was deeply wrong with me. Something broken.

Does the awareness of your denial, your lack of a reaction, of your complete uncharacteristic and foreign apathy make it okay? I’m still not sure. I watched people weep and bend over from pain and hold each other up — I held people weeping against my shoulder, but I stood still. Perhaps from the outside they looked at me and thought I was being strong. Perhaps they thought I was heartless. But the truth is that I’m probably somewhere in between, and mostly I’m on the verge of repression, desperate to never show an ounce of emotion or vulnerability in front of anyone else.

I woke up one day and realized I have hardened, without understanding how or when it happened. My heart is, suddenly, stone and rock and ice-coldness that lies heavily, in the void of my chest. Things have affected me too much and now I am barely affected, if at all. It is easier to walk away then put myself out there and risk being ruined again. But does avoiding hurt save you or hurt you further? And so, in an attempt to not feel completely numb, I try, still. I force myself to try, to not be hard, to feel — but that’s all it feels: forced. I pull the words out of my throat to try to open up, to get myself out there before I shut out completely, and they feel like they’re tearing me apart. My silence is unsettling, most of all, for me. All I see are the ways this could break me. All I feel is the numbness that will eventually come after the pain.

There’s a sense of indifference that is foreign to me. A void of numbness that has washed over me. There is a quietness, a stillness to how I function nowadays. I’m acutely aware of what I lack, of what I miss, of what I lost. I’m aware of how hurt I should be, and of how little reaction I’m showing. A part of me is always waiting dor something to finally snap and break me down, but it never comes. I am as broken as I always have been. Outside, I am sharp edges and stone walls, but my inside remains fragile. A paradox, I walk on, hiding everything behind a hard shell. Perhaps it’s my mind’s attempt at self-preservation, or perhaps it’s grown too tired to try to feel anything.

—

II —

My life is a delicate balance of pleasing that never tips in my favor. I have made sure of that, long ago, when I convinced myself the world will only let me be if I gave something in return, and would throw me out and leave me behind at the first sign of a mistake. All my life, all I’ve been trying to do is please people.

I had convinced myself if I ever said no, if I ever made a choice, I wouldn’t be loved. I’m still spending so much time, looking for validation in the places that never seem to have it for me. I am constantly shut out and shut down, and I keep coming back because I’m desperate for this thing that I never seem to get, and I’m desperate for all the versions of me that never had this, and the versions of me that I know will regret not trying. So I try.

And so the thing I’ve resisted being for so long, the thing they told me I should be was the thing I became, and I let myself accept it, and I thought it would make it easier for me, somehow. That I would no longer be the failure. The disappointment. The joke. So I smiled, and I wore it happily, and I tried so hard to make something out of it. I thought it was my chance to fit int the places that I never did, the places that told me I needed this thing to be worthy. But the truth is that, eventually, it didn’t matter. Even after I let it fit me, and fit my life around it, adjusting and arranging to be a version of myself that I told myself I could get used to despite its unfamiliarity. Even after I wore it well, and saw all the good that could come out of this thing I fought against for so long. It still wasn’t enough.

There is a certain sense of utter humiliation and complete ruin in opening yourself up, in saying I’m trying, and beind told it’s not good enough. In realizing that perhaps the problem isn’t in any external factor surrounding you, after all, but is within you, because you have no idea where to start looking to make it right.

When I was younger and less tired, I kept trying, anyway, because I felt like I owed it to myself to give everything I had before giving in, because I was hopeful and open and I knew that the risk of being hurt was a necessary part, and it worth it to be hurt rather than miss out on all the beautiful things that could come. But at some point you start to think that if you’ve done everything they’ve wanted and they still turned you down, then it must be you. Not the things you do, or the versions of yourself that you become — but something in you. And isn’t it natural that you stop trying altogether?

Sometimes, when starting again, I still think I can be different. Maybe I can be less like myself. But then I wonder what is the point of being loved if you’re not really yourself? What’s the point of letting them in if they’re only going to leave? So lately, I’ve been choosing to walk away, and close those doors, and I found myself on an island of detachment, all of a sudden. At first, it was slow. I’d told myself to stay away for my own good. That it was best to take time to heal. But then, I was keeping everyone out, and holding everything in. The effort of knowing new people and letting them know me was too much for me to bear, and I knew I was at risk of being broken again, of being used to having these people around, of racking my brain to be everything I could to make them love me, and eventually being left behind by them.

I still know the risk of being hurt will always be there, but I’m too sore, too broken, too afraid to try anymore. I don’t have it in me anymore to be told no. I don’t have it in me to open myself up and pour it out for someone only to have them walk away, eventually. There is something unbelievably painful about walking around with that many stories of people you used to know who left you, all of a sudden, without an explanation, and I don’t have it in me to keep looking through every failed relationship I’ve had, every lost best-friend, every broken promise, and try to find what it is I have done wrong or what it is about me that drives all those people away, and come up with the answer that maybe it’s just me.

I am constantly caught between trying to go back to who I was before everything shifted and changed and fell apart, or forcing myself into a mold of who I should be to fix it all, skipping all the steps and the versions I have to go through before I get there. What I know now that I didn’t know then, is that forcing my way through, persistently and stubbornly, in the hopes that the impact will force me out of my comfort and into something new and wonderful — into everything I wish I was — is unattainable. My limitations are tight knots around my limbs: I am bound by them. I can’t walk forward and expect them to untie themselves and set me free. I know that now.

There is a loss in accepting who you’ve become, at a moment in time. It’s a sort of grief I am now accustomed to — I grieve all the things I miss out on because of the things I can’t speak out. All the things I have to let go of, and the ways I hold myself back. I grieve the potential. The possibilities. My acceptance is a dull ache I carry within. My grief, a constant pulse.

It’s a delicate kind of grief — one that no one else can see or understand. One that is quiet, tender, and overwhelming in the most subtle of ways. I contain it within, as I do, everything.

I contain it, and nobody every knows.

I contain it, and let it morph me into yet another distorted version of who I am, one made up of a thousand fragments of all the versions I’ve tried on thus far. But for now, I look at her, broken parts and impulsive decisions and reckless mistakes, and I know she’s trying her best. I know she’s trying.

For now, I let her try.

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memryse · 3 years

Text

many thoughts about Scar in Last Life

We all know Scar is one of the standouts of Last Life; he’s always been one of the key players ever since 3rd Life, driving conflicts and shaping the course of the server. His chaotic nature lends itself perfectly to 3rd/Last Life, and he seems to have only refined it in the hiatus between seasons.

In 3rd Life, Scar was more of a subjective villain. From his own perspective and Grian’s perspective, he wasn’t scary at all! The two of them were just having fun and causing problems – sure, they threatened people, but their dumb antics together made them just feel like two friends messing around; their POV was lighthearted until the final session, really. From other perspectives, however (particularly Dogwarts’ POVs), that was not how the two of them came across. They felt malicious, scary in how casually they approached such a bloodthirsty game. They’d laugh as they took lives, showing no care for anybody but themselves – they’d betray their allies in a heartbeat without an ounce of remorse, and the rest of the players knew it. Scar wasn’t someone to fear from his own POV.

Since Last Life began, however, Scar has become very openly malicious. Even watching his own POV, it’s hard to see him as anything but a villain – his own comment section is full of people commenting on how scary he suddenly seems. I want to expand on some of these villainous moments, because holy fuck, Scar.

In session 1, Scar is certainly a prominent figure, but we mostly get to see his classic silly Scar antics. Sure, he plans on “selling souls”, but it feels like the equivalent of his reputation points in S1. We still don’t get the sense of him going full villain arc yet. He allies with Joel and commits a crime, and we all expect another lighthearted Scar scam which definitely does not go to plan.

And that is what happened… sort of. He’s immediately caught by Scott and Pearl, etc etc etc. The two of them cheerfully agree a scheme to try and kill Jimmy, but that casual discussion of murder is as bad as they get.

Session 2, Scar is chosen as one of the two boogeymen, alongside Joel.

Things go decidedly not to plan immediately. The two of them had agreed last session to try and kill Jimmy, and were supposed to be trusting enough to tell each other if they’re the boogeyman – and yet what does Scar do? Immediately try and push Joel into lava. He’d betray Joel without a second thought – already a contrast to 3rdLife, where upon turning red Scar threw flowers at Grian and asked if they could still be friends. He doesn’t succeed, of course, and Scar and Joel realise they’re both boogeymen, before parting ways.

Scar heads to the nether, where he immediately decides to deceive Etho and Bdubs into thinking he’s weak and has no food, so that he can get close to them nonthreateningly or something. I’ll talk about this more later, but here we get to see what a good liar Scar actually is. People want to assume that he’s all bark and no bite, that he’s a schemer who poses no real threat – when Scar plays into this, he can be reallyconvincing.

The next big moment I want to talk about is, of course, Joel’s trap. The first thing to comment on here is that Scar cries “Joel, are you trying to kill your best buddy?!”, and I can’t work out whether this is Scar acting to diffuse suspicion, or genuine surprise that he’d pull the trap when Scar was right there, but either way it definitely has the former effect. None of the Southlanders suspect Scar in the slightest. Until Scar murders Mumbo in a matter of seconds.

What’s really horrifying about this is that Scar had been begging Mumbo to ally with him just last session. And yet here… not only does he go for Mumbo without hesitation, his reaction afterwards is downright chilling. He just laughs, and tells the others “Welcome to Magical Mountain!” – it’s really quite like a movie villain in how little he seems to care. He doesn’t actually say a word about killing Mumbo; again, despite having desperately wanted to ally with him. To Scar, this was nothing more than an opportunity. Or maybe it’s all a show to him. Maybe it’s both. Scar doesn’t actually care about winning this game – to him, it’s more fun to put on as good a show as possible, and drag as many people down with him as possible (which is definitely a “cc!Scar being a good entertainer” thing, but it translates very well into being a LL!Scar character trait too).

He then hands Joel some supplies, and with the exact same level of nonchalance, tells him to go burn Scott and Pearl’s house down. I’m… getting the sense he enjoyed burning down Etho’s castle in 3rdLife.

Not much of note happens during his subsequent conversation with the Southlanders beyond him failing an initiation spectacularly – after this, he heads back to Joel. They chat from opposite ends of a broken bridge, which is quite a poetic scene honestly, representing the gap between their lives, the destruction of their alliance, etc. I’m just here to talk about Scar’s villainous moments, though, so let me point out one specific line from this conversation.

“I did avenge you, to be fair - Mumbo, I burned him to death, which was enjoyable. I heard him cry, so it was- yeah, that was a thing.”

Just… what the fuck, Scar? What? I know he tried to push the “red lives are psychopathic and feel nothing except a small sense of happiness when people die” in 3rd Life, but this was definitely a lie or at least an exaggeration, because 3l!Scar definitely had a much wider range of emotions than that. Either way, here he doesn’t even have the excuse of being a red life; this is just active malice, pure and simple. Bdubs had a similar level of pride in his boogeyman kill, but I never got the sense that he enjoyed it like Scar did.

Scar goes off to visit Scott and Pearl, and figure out whether they have the enchanting table or not. Note the emphasis on simply figuring it out, not actually getting the enchanting table. Here’s where I want to talk about Scar being a great liar: he fully convinces them into thinking that he was willing to trade lives for the enchanting table, and then he convinces them that he’s so desperate to get the table that he’ll lie about Joel burning their house down. The thing is, Scar had no intention of ever getting the table at that moment – he wasn’t going to trade lives for it to begin with. He’d try his luck at threatening them, but nothing more. He got exactly what he wanted out of that situation: proof. Meanwhile, Scott and Pearl were left believing they’d outwitted him, that they’d called his bluff and bullied him into leaving. They never saw his true intentions, never saw him as an actual threat. Scar is much smarter than people believe, which only makes him all the more threatening.

And finally, he goes on to prove this intelligence even further. He figures out that Scott and Pearl planned to trade for the enchanting table simply by seeing Scott ask Lizzie if she’s home in chat. He then goes to visit Lizzie, and she tells him she declined their offer. What’s notable about this scene is how much less belligerent Scar is than usual: he readily accepts what Lizzie says for once in his life and leaves without being too annoying about it. He later talks about lulling the others into a false sense of security, letting them think he’s not after the enchanting table anymore; that makes me think his visit to Lizzie was purely to confirm that the offer was even made, and he’s now certain that she accepted it. It’s not hard to work out, especially if he noticed her life count.

So, all in all, if you’re not scared of Scar in Last Life, you most definitely should be.

Did I forget to mention he’s currently tied for the highest life count on the server?

#last life smp #goodtimeswithscar #smallishbeans #mumbo jumbo #ldshadowlady #scott smajor #pearlescentmoon #bdoubleo100 #ethoslab #(all tagged are discussed in the post)#mae analyses

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weirdos-am-i-right · 3 years

Text

Fuck Traveling// Pete Davidson x reader

Request from @annalayton19

Hi! I’m a new follower and I really like your stuff! Could I request a Pete Davidson x reader (angst to fluff) where Pete is on tour or filming away from home and the reader is left behind. After like 6 months of being apart Pete starts to get tired of the long distance and basically like done with it. And then he realizes his mistake and comes home to make it up to her! I’m sorry if that’s super long! Also if this imagine doesn’t interest you, then no sweat! Thank you so much in advance 💕

A/n: This took so much less time then I thought it would. Anyway, here you go, I really hope you like it!

Warning: angst, swearing, like one cigarettes

€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€

Six months. Six months was an extremely long time to be away from someone you loved.

Y/n sat on the couch, a small pout on her lips. She looked at Pete—her boyfriend of a year—and frowned. “I wish I could go with you.” Pete frowns too, and sits down next to her.

“I know. I wish you were coming with me too. But hey, it’s only a couple of months, all right? I’ll be back before you know it.” He kissed her cheek.

“I just wish my contract would let me. You have no idea how annoying it is to not be able to do things because of freaking Marvel.” She groans, falling on her back with a slight ‘plop’.

“Well, because of freaking Marvel, you are one of the best actresses out there. And I know you’re going to kill it with filming. My tour isn’t even that cool. It’ll broke you to death.” He jokes, leaning back on the arm of the couch.

“Babe, you’re a comedian.”

“Oh right, I forgot.” He grabs her arm, and pulls her up into his chest. “I love you, okay?” He lifts her chin up, and kisses her. “So fucking much. We’ll face time everyday, I’ll call you every evening and wish you goodnight.”

“Okay.” She looked over a the clock, and sighed. “We have to go. Your flight is leaving soon.” He brushes hair behind her ear, bringing her eyes back to him.

“I love you. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I love you, too.”

********

The car ride to the airport was long, and quiet. Pete was driving, he had one hand on the steering wheel, and one hand on Y/n’s leg, rubbing small circles into the center of her thigh.

She knew she was going to miss him so much, but she also knew she was going to be extremely busy with filming, so it wouldn’t be as bad.

Once they were at the gate, they tearfully hugged, and she kissed him. “All right, now get out of here. We’re not doing that rom-com turn back at the last second goodbye.” She laughed at him, tears steaming down her face a bit. He wiped one with his thumb, and kissed her again. “Love you. Now go, so I get to watch you walk away.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She turns around, and starts walking back to her car. She knew he hated leaving her too, but he was a lot better at hiding emotions then she was, that was one of the only things she learned while dating him.

She got in her car, and put her head on her steering wheel.

She groans, and leans back. Starting her car, she pulled out of the airport, and drove home.

**********

The first few months were the worst. Y/n hated going to bed alone, the left side of the bed always cold.

She was filming almost every day, and seeing her co-workers and friends always cheered her up, after all she had been working with the same people for quite some time now, so she felt comfortable around them.

The fourth month was slowly becoming easier. She got use to coming home to no one there, and making dinner for herself. She still talked to Pete every day, texting him good morning, and Goodnight, and FaceTiming him a lot during the day.

Though she knew he loved her, she felt as though he was slightly pulling away. The FaceTime calls were short, and he never texted her back right away like he use to.

“And so, we we’re almost done with the shoot, so close I could practically taste the coffee in my trailer waiting for me, and then Kevin calls cut, and he makes us do the whole scene over again! I swear, I was about to strange that man. Ugh, I can’t wait til you come home. Only two more weeks, I can’t believe we made it.” Y/n rants, talking to Pete on the phone.

“Uh huh. Cool.” He wasn’t looking at her, instead his attention was somewhere else. Y/n frowns, tilting her head a bit.

“Pete…are, are you okay?” That seemed to catch his attention, and he finally looked at the screen.

“What? I’m fine.”

“Okay…you just seem so…different lately. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but you seem like you don’t have time for me anymore. Or if you do, you don’t like talking to me.” Pete scoffs.

“Of course I don’t have time for you right now. I’m in between shows, I’m driving to one as we speak. I mean, god forbid I get a minute to myself without my agents or you calling me.” Pete snapped.

“Wha-I’m just talking to you. If you didn’t want to, you could have said something.”

“That’s bullshit you would have thrown a fucking hissy fit or something.” He rolls his eyes.

“That’s not true. I understand when people are tired, believe me I would know.”

“Would you?”

“Yes!” She had tears stinging her eyes. “Of course I do, you’re forgetting what I do for a living. I work from 6 am to whenever we finish which most of the time is in the middle of the night. I have to re-do the same scene about ten times because RDJ won’t stop making jokes in the middle of the scene!”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot about your super-star actress life.”

“Why are you being so mean to me? I was only concerned about you.”

“Mean? What are you, five? I can’t-I can’t do this anymore.” She huffs, crossing her arms.

“What do you talking about? Are you breaking up with me?”

“Wh-”

“Because then fine. If you don’t want to be with me, I don’t have to take this shit. I’ll be with someone who, oh, I don’t know is actually here.”

“Oh that’s fucking rich, you know I can’t be there, don’t even do that.” She scoffs.

“I don’t care. You want to act like a petty bitch, I have no problem doing it right back.”

“No, I think you’re just a petty bitch.” She wipes her eye, and he laughs dryly. “Oh of course you’re crying.”

“Shut up. If you don’t want to be with me, fine. Go enjoy your show, Pete.” She hung up the phone, and turned off the ringer. She plugged it into her charger, and went into the bathroom, turning the shower on.

********

Pete rubbed his eyes, and took a drag of his cigarette. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped at her, it wasn’t her fault he was cranky, and needed to take it out on someone.

“I’m a dick.” He mumbles to himself, and bangs his steering wheel.

His phone rang again, and for a good second his heart leaping out of his chest, thinking it was his girlfriend, calling him back. He checked the phone, seeing it was Colson. He answered the call.

“What’s up, man?” Pete asks.

“The shows starting soon. You almost here?” Colson questioned. Pete looked at his google maps, seeing he was supposed to be there in ten minutes.

“I’m a good ten minutes away. I’ll be there.”

“You sound weird. What the fuck did you take without me?” Colson asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“Uh…Y/n and I just broke up. I think.” The line was silent for a few seconds.

“Why the fuck would you do that, you idiot? Are you kidding me?” Colson scoffs. “Man, what the fuck?”

“Shut up, man. I can’t stand talking on the phone with her. I’m busy, she’s busy, she plays a superhero for fuck’s sake. I didn’t even expect it to last this long to be honest.”

“Man, you fucking dumbass. That girl was probably the only good thing you had going for you. Get her the fuck back.I thought you loved her.”

“I did-I do. I do love her. I’m just so stressed right now, and excuse me for not wanting to hear about fucking Kevin Feige being a shitty director.”

“Hey, fuck-shit, you ever think that maybe this is more hard on her? Acting is fucking hard, you should know that, especially for a company like Marvel.

“Man, who’s side are you on?” Pete turns into the parking lot, and grabs his phone.

“You think I’m on your side here? You’re forgetting that we were friends before I met you. I can not believe you just fucked up the best thing in your life. Fix it, man. You’re going home in a week, fucking fix it.” And with that, Colson hung up, and put his phone away.

He kicked a rock across the pavement, and cursed under his breathe.

********

The worst thing about breaking up with someone you live with, who so happens to be long-distance is that their stuff fills the apartment with an existential amount of regret.

Y/n laid on her couch, flipping through the channels of the TV. She had called off work for the next few days, not feeling up to put on a performance for anyone. She knew she would get shit for it later, but she didn’t care.

Her head perked up when there was a knock on the door. She sighed, and got up, going over to the door. She really didn’t feel like company at the moment, and was sure she was going to send away whoever it was.

When she opened the door, her breathe caught in her throat. Pete stood in the doorway, looming over her. He looked like shit. She could tell he hadn’t slept, and probably didn’t eat anything, but she knew he didn’t look much better.

“Why-why didn’t you use your key?” Y/n asks, opening the door a bit for him.

“I uh, didn’t want to barge in on you. You also probably weren’t expecting me.”

“I wasn’t. I thought you didn’t get back until next week.” She says. It took every ounce of her not to jump into his arms, and kiss his face until she was sure she kissed every part of it.

“I took off early. Can we talk? Please. I was a dick. I was such a dick. I’m sorry, I know we grew apart in the last few months, and I promised we wouldn’t but we did, and I’m so sorry for that, baby.” He grabs her hand, and she slightly pulls it back, but let’s him grab it. “Please, forgive me. I love you, so much, okay? So fucking much, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she looked away from him. “What you said really hurt.”

“I know. And I’ll spend every day trying to make it up to you.” She quickly wrapped her arms around him, pushing her face into his chest. He didn’t hesitate to hug her back, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Fuck traveling.”

“Fuck traveling.”

#pete davidson #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson fanfiction #machine gun kelly #mgk imagine #angst

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rviden · 3 years

Note

Ngl I want to see Baal, Zhongli and Venti take revenge on the Harbinger reader now.

— BETRAYED BY THEIR HARBINGER S/O | PART 2

#includes — baal, zhongli, venti

#warnings — descriptions of death, blood

#pronouns — they/them

#BAAL

her heel pressed down between your shoulder blades — the pressure growing more and more as the time passed. every second that she saw you defenceless and powerless under her, bleeding and pleading for her to stop, only fuelled her anger.

“i trusted you. i believed that you had no ill intent. and i cared so deeply for you — and look what it’s come to,” every break of sentence was furthermore accentuated with a jolt of her foot, pressing your front harder into the rough ground. “the god you claimed wasn’t worth a damn thing now has your life in her hands, and the thought of revenge on her mind...” her foot left your back, but the crackling of electricity, and the purple glow you knew all to well appeared. “you’re nothing but a bug in my path — one that i will crush without regret.”

“betrayal truly is a pain in my ass-“

“when you turned your back on me and used me as if i was nothing... that was the day you sealed your fate as yet another vision in my collection,” with those words, she knelt down, keeping the sword of hers within your view, and ripped the vision from your hip. bringing it up to her eyes, inspecting the vision much like you inspected her gnosis. “it will make a fine addition to the statue however... i think it will go front and centre — a beautiful centre piece with such a wonderful story behind it.”

the half groan, half whimper at the words from her sounded like music, yet twisted her heart at the same time.

“what’s the story behind it?”

baal brought her foot to your side, and flipped you so you were laying in your back — your eyes now facing the darkening sky as rain began to poor down.

it was fitting really.

“the story?” she brought the blade of hers to hover over your chest — the electricity that made up the blade sending shocks to your skin, making you wince in pain. “a pathetic mortal — one of which served another in secret — used an archon of all people, and really thought that they would come out on top,” the tip of her blade came to rest over your heart. “now look who’s looking down upon them with a blade to their chest.”

she raised the blade above her head, looking into your eyes with a look of hatred and betrayal, with a glimmer of sadness — sadness due to the thoughts of you and her happy with one another once upon a short time ago.

“this is the end of your story.”

you could only offer a smile through the pain your were feeling. “make sure to tell my tale.”

“your tale will be wiped away as i rid my blade of your blood — but i’ll make sure to deliver your body in pieces to your beloved archon.”

her blade came down — blood splattering onto her face and hands as she listened to the last breath escape your mouth alongside your whimpers and cries.

“i’ll see you in the afterlife my darling.”

#ZHONGLI

“i wish it didn’t have to be this way, i truly mean that,” his body sat beside your own bloody, bruised, and broken one. despite holding back, zhongli had done enough damage to ensure your slow death without fully intending to.

“we could’ve been happy — we could’ve lived a long life together-“

“that’s not true and you know it, don’t be naive,” you whimpered out, desperately trying to put all of your energy into your veins to try and will yourself to sit up, but every breath, blink, and beat of your heart sent sharp and brutal pains throughout your body. “i serve a cause that is completely against all that you are, and you represent nothing but a mission.”

zhongli lowered his head, his eyes filling with tears. he knew he’d hear words that sent his mind into a scrambled mess and made his heart break into grains of crushed glass.

“a mission huh,” he sighed, trying to grab ahold of his emotions that were just a smidge out of reach. “well i suppose this is the end of that — you lived an exciting life however, and i’ll try to make the end of it quick.”

the panic rushed throughout your powerless body — trying to will your broken limbs to move in any way. to swing at the archon, to crawl away, or to shield your body from the spear he readied over your body.

moments prior, he had scanned your body, trying to decide on the quickest way to put you out of your misery, and also one that wouldn’t hurt you too much.

as much as he wanted to be mad, to bring every ounce of his power down upon you until you were buried beneath thousands of pounds of stone — he couldn’t.

because although you had taken his heart, his trust, and almost everything that made him who he is away from him, he couldn’t bring himself to wish pain upon you.

so with a teary, whisper goodbye, his spear lodged into your chest — your body growing limp immediately under him.

“goodbye y/n.”

#VENTI

venti cradled your head against his chest, tracing the features of your face, smudging around the droplets of blood that coated your skin.

it was a quick means to an end overall, and while he was fulfilled with his doings, his heart ached just as much as it did the day you betrayed him.

“i remember when i first met you, y’know that,” his gaze never lifted from your face. “it was at dilucs tavern — i was playing that night, and you had just arrived in mondstadt with nothing more then a smile that made almost everyone swoon.”

looking back, he remembers feeling special — like out of all the gentlemen and maidens in the room, he had caught your heart. your eyes had stayed trained on him despite the countless bodies coming up to your own, offering drinks and food, promises of good times, and questions about you.

but you had stayed near the small stage tucked in the corner — the bard himself stood atop it plucking away at his lyres stings, and serenading the tavern with a soft voice and his rhythmic words.

but it was all an elaborate plan to steal something of his away.

“why did you have to work for the other side,” his head smacked against the tree trunk behind him, a groan of sadness and discomfort following. “this is the last place i wanted to end up, and yet here we are.”

venti pulled your body closer to his own, giving one last squeeze before standing and laying your body at the roots — a tree that only he and friends of old knew about.

a place tucked away from the rest of the world, so you could be left in peace.

“the lousy god beat you,” he let out a small, halfhearted laugh at the revaluation. “and here — he lays you down for an eternal rest.”

he left your body there, flowers surrounding your body and a full bottle of mondstadt’s finest wine — a toast to your glory days, when all that you showed him was love and affection.

the resting place of someone he used to know.

i’m proud of baal’s and zhongli’s but i’m not sure about venti’s...

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broadwayandnetflix · 3 years

Note

i have a request for bo burnham!!:) maybe like the reader and bo watch the special when he gets done editing it and doing all the other stuff he has to do for it, and he records her reaction to the whole thing and that’s how he announces the special?? i know that’s weird but it’s been stuck in my head, so you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to!

Test Run - Bo Burnham x Reader

Warnings: Language

Theme: FLUFF (angst if you like squint)

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: y’all I wrote this so fast, like kachow. I hope you enjoyed it, and got a break from all of the angst. but angst is still good. but this fic is not me fangirling over inside. never, couldn’t be me. I hope you enjoyed the fic though @bos-a-feminist I had sm fun writing it.

It had been late one evening when Bo had practically burst into the door of your bedroom. You sat puzzled as you gave the man time to catch his breath, as he gave you an eager look.

Trying not to giggle as Bruce yipped at Bo’s feet in pure excitement, it seemed he too was trying to figure out what was going on.

“What? Are we finally gonna have sex again?” you say humorously, causing the man to break composure for just a second.

“No! I mean what the fuck? Yes, yes, and to answer your question, yes. But not right now.”

You giggle as he looks at you with an expression you couldn’t fully decipher. In any constellation, it had been months since you had seen the man this energetic.

Usually, when Bo would come back from his long days in the guest house, he’d tend to be exhausted. Often just giving you a quick kiss before collapsing onto the mattress.

His blue eyes softening towards you as he extends his hand for you to take. Which made you realize that there was an ounce of seriousness in his actions.

Your hands fitting perfectly in his as he pulls you up from the bed, one hand making sure to hold the small of your back.

“Where are we going?” you breathe out.

Bo remained silent, but you found out soon enough as he led you outside to the guest house.

You had stopped dead in your tracks, causing him to do the same. Eyes widening as you realized what was gonna happen, turning to Bo and giving him the biggest grin you could muster.

From the minute he had set foot in the guest house to begin his special, he had been very secretive about it. Something about how it helped him to create something that no one really knew about.

I mean, you had some idea when the UPS trucks kept delivering camera equipment. Or when he had asked if he could take some of your clothes. Other than that, though, top secret.

It had been about roughly a little over a year when he had started the special. A year of emotions and hard work, and by the looks of it.

It seemed as though he had finished.

“Wait are you doing what I think you are doing?” you say, looking at him expectedly.

“Shit babe you catch on quick. Yes, if we are on the same mindset. I think we are, now hush, or I’ll never get to show you it.” Bo instructs before leading you inside.

In all honesty, you didn’t know what to expect. The last time you had seen the guest house had been roughly two years ago. Now? It looked completely different.

Wires and different camera equipment lay waste on the floor, making it almost a hazard. Other lights of various types and sizes filled the room like mini metal trees. It looked disorganized and yet organized at the same time.

Yet Bo walked through the maze of equipment with ease, almost as if it wasn’t even there. You smiled before tiptoeing to the clearing that Bo had made for you.

“Yeah apologies, I wasn’t expecting company.” Bo smirks as you break into laughter.

“It looks…well it looks well used.” you reply, getting comfortable on the chair he had provided.

In front of you sat a projection on the wall of what seemed to be an editing software. You looked back at Bo with an eager grin; he gives you a slight wink.

Anticipation settling in the air as you watched him mess around with the monitor. Until his cursor finally presses on a folder and a video screen pulls up.

You half expected him to sit beside you. Still, instead, he remains behind the computer, amongst his sea of technological instruments and cameras.

“Y/N, I’m showing this to you. Simply because you deserve to see why I’ve been so busy for like a year or more. Plus, you mean the world to me and I wanna know your input.”

Bo says softly. You can detect a hint of nerves in his actions and tone; you practically melt, realizing that was he anxious. Regardless you knew without a shadow of a doubt you were gonna love whatever he puts out.

You open your mouth to reply before he presses play, and an eerie ringing fills the room. Music filling your senses as the special, titled Inside, plays before you.

The next hour or two fills you with a multitude of emotions that you can’t quite place. It seemed like Bo was making you laugh seconds ago, and now you can’t help but feel tears well up in your eyes.

Cinematically it was stunning, breathtaking even. It was hard to believe that Bo had turned the little guest house into a studio. Or at least to the extent that it became, with its gorgeous displays and production.

Performance-wise, it was a completely different ballpark. Bo fucking delivered in more ways than one, whether in humor or just pure raw emotion.

Acting or not, it broke your heart to see the man you loved so dearly in the state that he was in. Of course, you could tell something was up even then when he was filming, but he never gave away the extent of it.

Just hearing him cry made your stomach twist in knots; you wanted to comfort him. Only to be reminded that it was just merely a video of him.

Even at the moment, it took you everything not to look back at Bo; you knew how much he valued your attention. Plus, you wanted to experience the special in full, just as you would if he were on stage.

The special wasn’t the same as his others, but it was well needed for a time like this. It felt personal and introspective, but it was also oh so clever and in-depth. You adored it and the time and effort that he had put into it.

As the credits rolled out and you saw an acknowledgment for your name, your heart soared.

You knew that the two of you had worked hard to be there for each other the past year. Especially with everything that was going on and Bo working most of the time.

To know that you had helped him in any shape or form. It just meant a lot, in more ways than he’d ever know.

The lights in the room flickered on as if he had made a make-shift movie theatre. You wiped away any stray tears, and before he could even say anything, you ran into his arms.

Bo jolting back in surprise before accepting the embrace and holding you tighter into his chest. His head resting gently on top of yours due to his taller stature.

“God I love you so much, more than you’ll ever know. I seriously don’t know if I would’ve made it out alive this past year if I didn’t have you.” he croaked into your hold.

It took you a second to realize that the man was crying, and you pulled away to meet his eyes. Your fingers brushing away his tears before reaching up to give him a kiss.

His figure bending down just a tad to meet your lips as he kisses you back sweetly. It’s light and yet so filled with passion for making up for what time that had been lost.

Yet as he looks down at you, a smile etching across his lips. As he asks you about what your thoughts are on his special, he already knows your response.

Unbeknownst to you, he had recorded your entire viewing experience. Of course, if he were to ever share it anywhere, he’d ask your permission, but it was apparent.

Even as you told him how much you loved it and how much you enjoyed it. You knew that he knew that you understood the special the way he had intended it.

It was one of the many things that made him adore you endlessly. You meant the world to him.

“We should celebrate babe! Maybe order a pizza or something.” you exclaim, arms still wrapped around his neck in your embrace.

“We definitely should, but what pizza places are open at this hour?” Bo smirks as you give him a slight frown.

“I don’t know, that’s a good question.” you hesitate.

“Actually I do know one place that’s really good and delivers.” Bo whispers seductively up against your ear.

You giggle and gesture for him to continue as he swiftly pulls away from your hold. His hand outstretched for you to take once again as he leads you towards the house. Or, more importantly, towards your bedroom.

“Me.”

——————————————————————------------------------------------

Bo sat anxiously beside you as his fingers lingered over the ‘post’ button on his different social media accounts.

The post in question was a video that he stitched together of you watching the special. With your consent, of course.

It had been edited together to be vague enough that he wouldn’t spoil the special. But nonetheless, it was sweet, and he totally made sure to include you tearing up in it.

You made it a priority to tackle him for that one.

The video was sweet and short, but it got the intended message across, and you personally loved it, just like you loved Bo and the special.

“Any-day now Robert.” you tease as you hold his one hand in yours.

“Do you think that they’ll wanna watch it?” he whispers quietly.

“Of course they will, it’s you. Baby you are so talented, your fans will be so excited.” you reassure.

Bo sighs before squeezing your one hand tightly before pressing the button. And letting Inside out into the world.

#@broadwayandnetflix #bo burnham x reader #bo burnham #bo Burnham x you #2021 #fluff #Fanfic Request #inside #make happy #words words words #what

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venusisgeeky · 2 years

Text

Billy x stu one shot- "mistakes like this"

Warnings- ansgt, sad, mentions of death, blood, violence

A/n I hope you all like this, I was planning on posting it to Wattpad and then I was like "why not Tumblr please feel free to like and reblog it would mean a lot. Also please send in requests I'd love to do more writing.

Gif is not mine

It wasn’t my intention. I’m not suppose to care, but i can’t shoved the feeling that i hurt the one person i love, the one i realize has never left. Stu stares up at me and i see the words “it’s okay, you did what you had to” fall from his lips in voiceless movements. Those same lips i kissed four nights before, knowing our plan could mean life or death if gone wrong. I didn't care but now I'm not so sure. I’m a psychopath but feel so much for the blond boy.

“I don’t want you to leave me, F**k” I whisper under my breath, raking my hands through my hair. I don’t believe in god but i pray stu couldn’t hear me, showing any ounce of emotion makes people vulnerable and i hate being vunerable. I should be freaking happy, i finally manage to put a bullet in that bitch sidney and let me tell you seeing blood leak out of her felt eurphoric. Instead i worried that my partner in crime will lose his last breath. I never understand how much stu meant until i see him on the edge of death. I kneel next to him, grabing his bloodied hand and placing it on my forehead. I feel tear escape my cold blue eyes, i couldn’t hold the rain in anymore so i let them fall. A sudden desire to have stu’s last memory be my vulnerability, wanting to show i can have somewhat of a heart.

“Billy it’s okay, you didn’t mean to hurt me that deep.” stu reasures weakly moving his hand to wipe the tears, trying to make the guilt go away. Trying is all he can do though.

“That wasn’t the plan!” my grittle voice yells,frustrated. Without thinking, I hit Stu’s stomach (with a fist i didn’t know i was making), which made him let out a groan of pain. A groan turning my soft tears into hard sobs. “I was only suppose to stab deep enough to make you look like a victim of near death, not actually kill you” My voice was breaking like glass with each word. Not helping was the idea a police care or a ambulance wouldn’t be here in time to save Stu.

“Please don’t cry man, it won’t help any of us in the end. So what if i die? We knew this would be a conequence.” Stu’s breath was getting more shallow by the second.

“I’m not ready to let you go”

“Please.”

“No!” I yell out again, this time hitting the floor. How can Stu be so stupid?

“Why?!?” stu exasperatedly yelled suddenly, "Why do you care so much?!?”

I took a deep breath, looking straight into his aqua marine eyes “Because man I f**king love you.”

#scream #billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis imagine #stu x billy #billy x stu #billy loomis x stu macher #scream the movie #they were soulmates #so gay i love it #so gay lmao #sidney prescott #Spotify

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