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pancaketax · 20 days ago

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What Remains | Chapter 3 Between Shadows and Spotlights (Tony Stark x M! Reader)

Summary : After a tense day and an exhausting night, Peter convinces you to attend a party at Stark Tower. Out of place and overwhelmed, you struggle to blend in until Tony Stark himself calls you out for sleeping through his conference. The encounter unsettles you, pulling you back into the weight of your reality—your toxic apartment, financial struggles, and lingering doubts. Peter and his friends offer a brief escape, but as midnight approaches, a harsh reminder hits—you still haven’t finished your project.

word count: 6.1k

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Peter talks at first without waiting for a response, as he usually does. He goes over Stark’s speech, the projects he mentioned, the possibility that he might visit the university someday. He’s still carried by the excitement of the conference, but every word he speaks seems to float in the void around you, never really reaching you.

— "Did you hear the part about the new artificial intelligences? Honestly, it’s kind of scary, isn’t it? I mean, he basically implied that in a few years, some jobs won’t even exist anymore. It must be crazy to witness that kind of progress from the inside."

You vaguely nod, but your thoughts are elsewhere. The image of the dark figure, the screams still echoing in your skull, Stark’s piercing gaze that made you feel insignificant... Everything overlaps into a thick fog you can’t seem to shake off.

Peter eventually notices your mental absence. He glances at you, squinting slightly with suspicion.

— "Dude, are you even listening?"

You blink and shake your head as if trying to dispel your discomfort.

— "Yeah, yeah... Sorry."

Peter sighs but doesn’t let it go.

— "You didn’t check out like that for no reason. What’s wrong? The fact that you slept through the conference? Or was it Stark that made you uncomfortable?"

You take a slow breath, searching for the right words.

— "I’m just tired, Peter. And yeah... Stark, Eliott, all of that didn’t exactly make me want to keep going tonight."

Peter frowns, looking unconvinced.

— "You know you can talk to me, right? This isn’t just about being tired. I mean, you’re completely out of it."

A silence lingers. You lower your eyes to the sidewalk, absentmindedly following the lines drawn on the pavement. Shame slowly seeps under your skin, accompanied by that familiar self-loathing that surfaces every time you feel pushed aside. As if you were nothing more than a background character in other people’s lives, barely even noticed.

— "I don’t want to talk about it, Peter," you finally say, your voice rougher than you intended.

He watches you for a moment, trying to read something on your face. Then, after a resigned sigh, he shrugs.

— "Alright. But if you ever need to get something off your chest, you know where to find me."

You nod, relieved that he doesn’t push further. The rest of the walk is filled with relative silence, with Peter filling the gaps with occasional comments, never demanding a response.

When you finally reach the intersection where your paths split, he gives you a light pat on the shoulder.

— "At least try to sleep this time."

You offer a faint smile.

— "Yeah. You too."

He walks away, raising a hand in farewell, and you stand there for a moment, staring at the distant city lights before finally heading home. The weight of the nightmare, Stark’s gaze, Eliott’s laughter… it all still lingers over you. And you already know the night won’t bring you any rest.

Once in front of your apartment door, you pause for a moment, your hand resting on the handle without pressing it down. You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and the memory of this morning’s argument rushes back. Matthew’s sharp tone, his venomous remarks, his presence pressing down on your daily life like a weight you can’t seem to shake off.

The thought of stepping inside and facing him, even briefly, knots your stomach. But you don’t really have a choice.

As you let out a resigned sigh, you turn the key and push open the door. The apartment is dimly lit, the only sound breaking the silence being the faint crackle of the television. Matthew is slouched on the couch, a beer in hand, his gaze fixed on the screen. He doesn’t immediately turn his head toward you, but his body tenses slightly as the door clicks shut behind you.

— "Oh, you’re finally home? What was more important this time—a public nap?"

His tone drips with irony. You ignore him and head straight to your room, determined to cut the exchange short before it takes a nastier turn.

But, of course, he doesn’t let that happen.

— "So, now you’re just gonna ignore me?" he adds, a mocking chuckle in his voice.

You pause for a moment, your hand on your bedroom door handle. Every part of you screams to just walk in and shut the door behind you, but his persistence keeps you in place. The exhaustion, the humiliation of the day—it all simmers beneath your skin, an electric tension ready to snap.

— "I just don’t feel like arguing tonight, Matthew," you finally say, your voice drained.

He lets out a hollow laugh.

— "Yeah, as usual. Always avoiding confrontation. Funny how a guy who plays the loner still manages to piss everyone off."

You don’t answer. There’s no point. You grip the handle tighter and finally step into your room, closing the door behind you—not with force, but with a firm finality that says more than words could.

The air inside feels heavier, as if all the tension in the apartment has seeped into these walls.

You drop your bag to the floor and let yourself collapse onto the bed, not even bothering to take off your shoes. Your eyelids are heavy, but you already know sleep won’t come easily.

Images of the day loop through your mind—your exhausting shift at work, the conference, the shame and discomfort pressing down on you like a weight you can’t shake. Everything collides in your thoughts, swirling together into an oppressive storm that refuses to let you go.

And yet, despite the chaos in your head, your body eventually gives in to exhaustion. Sleep takes you, but it is restless, haunted by the weight of a day that refuses to fade.

As you jolt awake, it feels as if you’ve only slept for a few fleeting minutes. Your body is sluggish, your head heavy—like the exhaustion from yesterday has clung to you, refusing to let go. The dim morning light filters through your curtains, only making your lethargy more pronounced.

You drag yourself out of bed, your steps sluggish as you shuffle to the bathroom. In the mirror, your reflection stares back at you—a sight you’d rather not face. Tired eyes, dark circles, an absent expression. You splash cold water on your face in an attempt to shake off the exhaustion, but it does nothing.

As you prepare your coffee, your phone vibrates on the table. A flood of notifications floods your screen. The class group chat is buzzing—dozens of messages, photos, and videos about the after-party that followed the conference. Everyone seems euphoric, sharing anecdotes, laughing about a night that was, apparently, unforgettable for them.

You scroll through the images with dull indifference. Familiar faces, bright smiles, raised glasses in an apartment far too luxurious to belong to any of them. With every photo, every excited message, the same feeling creeps in—the sense of being a spectator in your own life. Once again, you were absent, erased, as if your presence or absence made no difference. As if you only existed in the margins of their world.

You lock your phone and focus on your coffee. But before you can find even a sliver of comfort in it, Matthew’s voice cuts through the air behind you.

— "Hey, we need to talk."

You close your eyes briefly, inhaling deeply. Seriously? First thing in the morning?

Turning slowly, you find him standing in the doorway, looking even more disheveled than usual. His wrinkled t-shirt, his unkempt hair, and above all, the stench of stale alcohol hanging in the air—he clearly spent the night drinking.

— "The rent," he says bluntly, tossing a crumpled document onto the table. "You're late."

Your brow furrows, irritation already creeping up your spine.

— "It’s not even the end of the month."

— "Yeah, well, I don’t feel like waiting till the end of the month," he retorts, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "I want my share now."

You slowly pick up the paper, unfolding it between your fingers. Your eyes scan the numbers, and frustration floods through you instantly. The amount is higher than usual.

— "Why did it go up?" Your voice is sharper than you intended.

Matthew shrugs, feigning innocence.

— "Don’t worry about it, man. Just extra charges. Gotta make up for all the stuff you don’t do."

Your jaw tightens. All the stuff you don’t do? Is he serious? You’re barely home, you use almost nothing, and yet, he still finds a way to squeeze more money out of you.

You try to tamp down the anger rising inside you, but Matthew doesn’t give you the chance. He steps forward and, in one quick, aggravating motion, makes you drop the coffee cup still in your hand. It shatters against the floor with a sharp crack.

— "Look at the damn paper," he insists, his gaze pinning you down.

A cold shiver runs down your spine. This isn’t just manipulation anymore—it’s outright confrontation. And yet, you know you don’t have a choice. You grab the paper again, scanning it carefully, each line chipping away at what little patience you have left.

— "This isn’t right," you mutter through clenched teeth, but he cuts you off immediately.

— "That’s how it is. If you don’t like it, find somewhere else to crash. Oh, but wait… you can’t, can you?"

His voice drips with contempt, and you feel your fists clench instinctively. But you don’t say anything. Because he’s right. You don’t have the money to leave, you don’t have other options. So you do what you’ve always done—you endure.

Jaw tight, you gather the shards of the broken mug and toss them into the trash, doing your best to ignore the smug look on Matthew’s face as he saunters off, beer in hand.

The day has barely begun, and already, it feels unbearable.

The cool morning air wakes you up slightly on your way to university, but not enough to lift the heavy weight still pressing down on you. The metro is packed, filled with tired faces lost in their screens or thoughts. The metallic clatter of the train, the endless announcements—everything seems louder than usual.

When you finally reach campus, a notification pops up on your phone: Professor absent.

A small sense of relief washes over you. At least you'll be able to work in peace, away from the suffocating atmosphere of your apartment.

You head toward the university library. The room is quiet, filled with focused students—some absorbed in their screens, others flipping through thick books. The scent of yellowed pages and overly bitter coffee lingers in the air.

You find a spot by the window, slowly pulling out your laptop, still weighed down by exhaustion. The screen lights up, displaying your current project: the advertisement for the eco-themed animated series. No class today, but the professor still expects a submission, and you know there's no room for error.

You dive into your work, alternating between sketches, animations, and color adjustments. Time stretches on, punctuated by the clicking of the keyboard and sips of the awful, lukewarm, overly sweet university coffee.

With your headphones on, music playing softly in the background, you lose yourself in your project. Yet, despite your focus, you’re never fully satisfied with your work. Every detail seems off, every movement a little too stiff. The dissatisfaction gnaws at your mind, pushing you to redo things over and over again.

After a while, a flicker of movement catches your eye through the large library window. Peter, just out of class, spots you inside. With a smirk, he slips in quietly, making his way over before startling you with a slap on the shoulder.

You flinch slightly, pulling out one earbud.

— "Damn it, you scared me..."

Peter plops down in the seat across from you, clearly amused.

— "So, did you sleep well last night?"

He already knows the answer. You carefully avoid his gaze, keeping your focus on the screen.

— "Do you really need to ask?"

Peter crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow.

— "You look even more wrecked than usual, man. Would it kill you to take a break?"

— "I need to finish this project and submit it before midnight." I keep adjusting a few elements, Peter still beside me, watching. "And on top of that, I feel kind of ashamed about my attitude yesterday." I rub my eyes as if trying to erase the exhaustion from my face. "Besides, I'd rather work here. Matthew gave me another lecture last night and this morning."

Peter frowns, his tone softening.

— "Again? What did he say this time?"

Peter shakes his head, arms crossed, his gaze shifting between your screen and you.

— "You can’t stay in that place forever. Seriously, that guy treats you like shit. You really need to get out of that apartment."

You let out a sigh, your fingers continuing to adjust the layers on your software.

— "You think I don’t know that?"

He straightens slightly, leaning on the table, visibly frustrated.

— "Then why are you staying? You have plenty of other options. You could look for a different roommate. I mean, even crashing at someone’s place for a while would be better than putting up with this every day."

You pause for a moment, your gaze drifting toward your screen without really seeing what’s on it.

— "It’s not that simple. I don’t have any savings, not enough to cover a security deposit, a new rent, or anything. And I don’t want to rely on anyone."

Peter furrows his brows, his tone growing softer.

— "It’s not about relying on someone; it’s about giving yourself a chance to breathe. Do you really think it’s better to slowly waste away in that place? Have you seen yourself? You’re exhausted, and he’s not going to stop."

You run a hand over your face, searching for words, weighing the absurdity of the situation.

— "I don’t know, Peter... I don’t want to burden anyone else with my problems. I’m already struggling to handle all of this; I don’t see why someone else should have to deal with it too."

He shakes his head, visibly frustrated.

— "It’s not about being a burden. It’s just... I don’t know, man, you’re my friend. I hate seeing you like this. And you know if you need help, you can count on me."

You have no response to that. Because deep down, you know he’s right.

Peter frowns, his tone becoming more serious.

— "And have you told your parents?"

The mere mention of that question makes your jaw clench. You freeze, turning your eyes back to your screen, as if focusing on your project could erase the conversation.

— "No."

Peter narrows his eyes slightly, immediately sensing your discomfort.

— "Why not? Your mom could probably help you."

You take a deep breath, forcing your tone to remain neutral.

— "Because I barely talk to her. Once a month, maybe... if I even pick up. She doesn’t know anything about this. She thinks everything is fine, and... it’s better that way."

Peter stares at you for a moment before sighing, his frustration evident.

— "Dude... it’s not better this way. You’re destroying yourself."

You shrug vaguely.

— "I’ll check for listings. Maybe I could pick up some extra hours at work. That might help a little."

Peter shakes his head.

— "Are you serious? You think a few extra hours of grinding away for pennies is going to fix the problem? Just come stay with me for now, at least until you find something better. It’s not much, but it’s still better than that place."

You finally lift your eyes to meet his, but your gaze is firm.

— "Thanks, Peter, but no. I’ll handle it. I always have."

He exhales, sinking into his seat, visibly frustrated.

— "Yeah... until the day it all blows up in your face."

You have no response to that. Because deep down, you know he’s right.

You spend most of the day working on your project. Peter takes the opportunity to work as well, and as the hours pass, the atmosphere lightens slightly. There’s no real need for words between you anymore—just the rhythmic clacking of keyboards, the scratch of a stylus against a tablet, and the occasional sigh of frustration.

Then the late afternoon rolls around. Peter starts packing up his things and, glancing up, catches your gaze. You’re staring blankly, lost in thought, and he has no trouble understanding what’s going through your mind.

You dread going home. You already know what’s waiting for you—snide remarks, veiled insults, maybe worse if Matthew’s been drinking again. You shake your head slightly, as if trying to push those dark thoughts away. But the idea lingers, gnawing at you: How far will this go? Until he finally lays a hand on you?

Peter watches you closely, then, with sudden determination, snaps his bag shut.

— "Tonight, you’re coming with me."

You snap out of your daze, looking at him in surprise.

— "What?"

— "I’m going to a party at Stark Tower. And you’re coming with me."

The idea chills you instantly. You frown, uncomfortable.

— "Why are you even invited to something like that?"

Peter shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips.

— "I have my connections. But seriously, man, you need a break. Just one night away from all of this. Do you really wanna end your day going back to get harassed by that asshole?"

You hesitate, your gaze darting away.

— "I don’t know… I’d feel completely out of place there. That’s not my world."

Peter rolls his eyes.

— "Don’t worry about that. Stick with me, have a drink, relax. And if you hate it, we leave. But you’re coming. End of discussion."

He’s not giving you a choice. He won’t let you refuse. You let out a nervous chuckle, lowering your head.

— "You’re such a pain."

Peter grins triumphantly.

— "Yeah, but I’m the pain in the ass you need."

Your eyes flick to your unfinished project.

— "I can’t stay too late. I still need to finish this before midnight."

Peter sighs, dramatically rolling his eyes.

— "You’ve been working on it all day. You can take a break. Just an hour or two. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find some inspiration after spending time in a place like that."

You search desperately for another excuse.

— "What if I’m not dressed for something like this?"

Peter snickers.

— "Dude, it’s Stark, not a Buckingham gala. As long as you’re not wearing a trash bag, you’ll be fine."

You press your lips together, still hesitant.

— "I’m gonna feel out of place… You know this isn’t my thing."

He plants his hands on his hips, exasperated.

— "Nothing is ever your thing. And that’s the problem. You shut yourself off from everything—all the time. You bury yourself in work, in exhaustion, in isolation. You really think that’s living?"

You drop your gaze. His tone is serious, almost harsh. He’s right, and you know it.

Peter exhales again, but this time, his voice softens.

— "Come on. Just come see for yourself. We’ll go together, you stay as long as you want, and if it sucks, we leave. No pressure. But at least try."

You fidget with your stylus, waging an internal war. A part of you wants to refuse, to retreat into the safety of the familiar, even if that "familiar" is anything but comfortable. But another part—quieter, more exhausted—whispers that maybe, just this once, you could try something different.

A grin spreads across Peter’s face.

— "Alright, let’s go."

The two of you step out of the university building, the crisp evening air a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the library. The orange glow of the streetlights begins to flicker on, casting long shadows across the damp pavement. A slight breeze rustles the fallen leaves piling up at the base of the benches.

— "You instinctively tug at the sleeve of your hoodie, eyes lowered to the pavement. After a few steps in silence, you mumble, "Maybe I should go home and change first?"

Peter doesn’t even slow his pace. He turns his head towards you, amusement flickering across his face.

— "Oh no, I see exactly what you’re doing."

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

— "What? No, seriously, look at me..." You glance down at your worn-out brown pants, slightly frayed at the knees, and your oversized black hoodie. "I don’t exactly look like someone heading to a party at Stark Tower."

Peter chuckles, giving you a light tap on the shoulder.

— "Dude, you think they’re gonna kick you out for that? You don’t need to show up in a suit. As long as you’re clean and don’t smell weird, you’re fine."

You frown slightly, still unconvinced.

— "Yeah, but—"

— "Nope, no ‘but’." Peter stops dead in his tracks and points a finger at you. "Listen. If we go back to your place now, I already know what’s gonna happen. You’ll sit down for five minutes, start overthinking, convince yourself it’s a bad idea, and I’ll end up at this party alone. That’s not an option. You’re already outside—so we’re going."

You sigh, frustrated, but you can’t deny he’s right. You always find an excuse, always look for an exit. But tonight, Peter isn’t giving you one.

He resumes walking, and you eventually fall in step beside him, hands buried in your pockets. The idea of stepping into such a luxurious environment unsettles you. It’s not your world. You don’t belong there. But at the same time… going home, facing Matthew and the suffocating tension in your apartment, feels even worse.

Peter glances at you again, his expression more serious this time.

— "I know this freaks you out. But trust me. You’ll survive—I promise."

You don’t reply. You just keep walking, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the pavement. Maybe, just this once, you could try listening to Peter. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.

The glowing city streets blur past as you and Peter head toward Stark Tower. With every step closer to the massive skyscraper, your stomach tightens further. The building’s futuristic design, its glass panels reflecting the city lights, all scream a level of opulence you’re not accustomed to. Each towering floor stretches skyward, making your approach feel almost insignificant.

You instinctively hunch your shoulders under your hoodie, a reflex to combat the rising anxiety clawing at your chest.

— "Maybe I should go home and change," you mutter again, glancing at your old brown pants and oversized black hoodie.

Peter doesn’t break his stride.

— "Stop. I know exactly what you’re doing."

You raise an eyebrow.

— "What? I’m just saying I’m going to look completely out of place in there."

Peter chuckles softly.

— "You’ll look out of place because you’re stressing like crazy, not because of your clothes. Trust me, no one’s gonna judge you."

You sigh, unable to find another credible excuse. You keep walking, each step bringing you closer to the grand entrance, where a bouncer in a dark suit stands guard, scanning the arrivals with a scrutinizing gaze. His expression remains unreadable, his broad shoulders forming an almost impenetrable barrier.

Peter approaches with his usual relaxed demeanor, slipping his hands into his pockets.

— "Peter Parker. I’m expected."

The bouncer’s gaze lingers on him for a moment before shifting toward you. Instantly, you feel his silent evaluation, as if he’s determining in an instant whether you belong here or not. Instinctively, you lower your head slightly, uncomfortable under the weight of his stare.

Peter, noticing, tilts his head slightly toward you and states without hesitation,

— "He’s with me."

Without a word, the bouncer nods and steps aside to let you both through. You exhale a discreet sigh, not daring to fully express the relief washing over you.

As the doors open, the first thing that strikes you is the light. The hall is vast, bathed in a dim ambiance where modern chandeliers cast a soft golden glow onto the gleaming marble floors. The ceiling is so high it seems to vanish into the darkness, amplifying the overwhelming sensation creeping into your chest.

The space is packed, alive with the constant hum of elegant conversations, light laughter, and the clinking of champagne glasses. The guests are dressed with effortless sophistication—tailored suits, flowing gowns, delicate jewelry catching the light with every movement.

And then, there’s them.

The Avengers.

They’re not in uniform, yet their presence alone commands undeniable attention. Steve Rogers stands in composed conversation with someone, his flawless posture and poised demeanor exuding natural authority. Natasha Romanoff is nearby, holding a drink, her sharp gaze scanning the room with practiced ease. Even Thor, towering with his imposing frame and golden hair, is engaged in conversation with a figure you don’t immediately recognize.

And somewhere in this crowd… maybe Stark himself.

Your heart skips a beat at the thought. You swallow discreetly, fingers tightening slightly around the sleeves of your hoodie. The feeling of being in the wrong place at the wrong time intensifies. You’re an outsider in a world where you have no bearings.

Beside you, Peter gives you a light tap on the shoulder.

— "Relax, man. Breathe. It’s just a party."

Easy for him to say. Your gaze sweeps over the space, every detail feeling too grand, too bright, too overwhelming. You’ve never felt this small in an environment so imposing.

Peter doesn’t give you time to sink further into your anxiety. He grabs your wrist and pulls you through the crowd, weaving effortlessly among these confident people. He spots a small group gathered near the bar and stops abruptly before letting go of you.

— "Hey!" he calls out enthusiastically.

The group turns to him with warm smiles. There’s a girl with short, honey-colored hair, a tall guy with glasses, and another with a laid-back yet well-put-together look. Peter jumps straight into introductions.

— "Guys, this is—" He turns toward you, prompting you to fill in the blank.

You stammer slightly before managing to say your name. The discomfort is palpable, but to your surprise, no one seems to judge you.

— "Nice to meet you! I’m Liz," the girl says with a sincere smile.

— "And I’m Ned," the guy with glasses adds. "You’re a friend of Peter’s, so that automatically makes you cool."

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by how easily they accept you. The last guy, MJ, simply nods in greeting.

Peter claps a hand on your shoulder.

— "See? You’re already fitting in. Now, take a deep breath and try to enjoy yourself."

The group’s atmosphere is light and relaxed. Soon, the conversation drifts toward more casual topics, and before you even realize it, your discomfort starts to fade.

As the night progresses, you find yourself unwinding. You listen to the discussions, nod at the jokes, and even though you don’t chime in often, you feel that your presence is acknowledged without judgment. Peter, ever the social butterfly, keeps the conversation flowing effortlessly.

Then, without warning, Steve Rogers approaches and places a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder.

— "Come with me, Parker. I’ve got something to show you."

Peter blinks before turning to you.

— "I’ll be back in two seconds, okay?"

Before you can protest, he vanishes into the crowd alongside the super-soldier. You freeze for a moment, scanning the room. The lively chatter around you carries on, but suddenly, you feel an odd sense of emptiness.

You’ve just lost your only anchor in this place

A slight tension rises within you. Your fingers glide unconsciously along the glass you’re holding, and before you even think about it, you head toward the bar. Maybe a second glass of wine will help ease this unpleasant feeling of sudden solitude.

The counter is wide, polished to perfection, reflecting the ambient light in a golden hue. The bartender gives you a neutral glance, waiting for your order.

— "Another glass of wine, please."

He nods and gets to work while you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The evening has taken an unexpected turn in an instant. You’re alone, lost in a world that has never been yours.

Around you, conversations continue, but you catch furtive glances, barely audible murmurs. Some guests scrutinize you with an expression that’s hard to decipher. Is it curiosity? Judgment? You feel watched, like an intruder who has crossed a forbidden threshold.

You have nothing in common with them. Every tailored suit, every elegant dress only heightens your sense of being out of place. Here you stand, in the middle of this luxurious setting, clad in your old black hoodie and worn brown pants, like a stain on an otherwise perfect canvas.

You take a deep breath, trying to convince yourself it’s just an illusion, that no one actually cares about your presence. But the feeling is stronger than you. An invisible weight presses down on your shoulders, a constant reminder that you don’t belong here.

Then, almost reflexively, your mind drifts to an even darker place—your apartment. The cramped space, the stale scent of beer, the walls steeped in built-up tension. You think about Matthew, his sharp remarks, his oppressive presence.

A shiver runs down your spine. Even here, in a place so distant from that miserable daily life, you still feel his hold on you—that cage you can’t seem to escape.

You grab your glass of wine and slowly swirl it between your fingers, the dark red liquid creating hypnotic spirals. You take a sip, feeling the alcohol slightly warm your throat, but it’s not enough to dispel the unease creeping into you.

You’re here, surrounded by people, and yet… you feel unbearably alone.

Behind you, a clear and confident voice rises:

— "A whiskey, please."

You straighten slightly, your heart tightening the moment the figure settles beside you. Without even turning your head, you already know who it is.

Tony Stark.

He exchanges a few words with the bartender, his tone as casual as if he were simply ordering a coffee. Then, he turns slightly toward you, his eyes scanning your face with an unmistakable glint of amusement.

— "You’re Peter’s friend, right?" he asks, his tone relaxed.

You sit up a little, fighting against the tension rising within you.

— "Uh… yeah."

He nods, briefly glancing at your glass before picking up his own, which the bartender has just placed in front of him.

— "Funny thing—I didn’t really see you enjoying my conference yesterday… but then again, it’s hard to listen to a speech when you’re sleeping."

You tense up, an uncomfortable heat creeping up your face. You knew this moment would come, but hearing it from him makes it so much worse.

Stark leans against the counter, taking a sip of his whiskey before fixing his gaze back on you.

— "I have to admit, that’s a bold choice. Dozing off in the middle of my presentation, then showing up here the next evening like nothing happened. I like people who own their decisions."

His smirk only deepens, clearly entertained.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out immediately. You just grip your glass a little tighter, unsure of how to react to him.

He studies you for a moment before adding, his tone more intrigued this time:

— "So tell me… what exactly are you doing here?"

You tense again, that same heat rising back to your face. You knew this moment would come, but hearing it from him makes it feel even worse.

You sigh and finally say:

— "Honestly? I’m asking myself the same question. But the real question is—why are you even trying to make conversation with me?"

You meet his gaze for a moment before looking down.

— "No… I’m sorry. I’m just tired. And… sorry again for falling asleep at your conference."

Stark raises an eyebrow before taking a sip of his whiskey.

— "You know, you’re lucky I’m a forgiving man. Well… when I choose to be. But to be honest, kid, you’re not the first person to fall asleep in front of me. I once saw a senator nod off during a security council meeting."

He pauses, eyeing you with amusement.

— "But you are the first to do it so openly. I respect the boldness, even if it wasn’t intentional."

He smirks, sizing you up one last time before adding:

— "Just don’t fall asleep here too, alright… ‘Somnolito’."

A satisfied grin tugs at his lips before he turns and disappears into the crowd. You’re left staring at your glass, caught between embarrassment and bitter amusement.

You watch the deep red liquid in your glass, swirling it absentmindedly as if it holds the answers you’re searching for. Then, with a mechanical motion, you bring it to your lips and down it in one go. The alcohol burns slightly as it slides down your throat, but it’s nothing compared to the storm churning inside you. Your mind drifts, thoughts tangling in a web of doubts and questions you can’t seem to escape.

The apartment. The roommate. Matthew. His toxic grip. The weight of rent pressing down on you like an impossible debt. Leaving? It feels unreal. Finding a new place, starting over—but with what? Your cashier’s salary barely allows you to consider a real solution.

So, should you talk to your mother? Tell her the truth—the truth you’ve been hiding for so long? Admit that you’re not as independent as you pretend to be? That you’ve been enduring all of this in silence?

The very thought makes you nauseous.

Your fists clench against the counter. The loneliness clings to you, thick and heavy, a burden no one else can share.

A hand suddenly lands on your shoulder, yanking you out of your spiraling thoughts.

— "Hey, man."

You flinch slightly before turning your head. Peter is there, a knowing smirk on his lips, studying your face with a mix of amusement and concern. He glances at your empty glass before raising an eyebrow.

— "So, you’re drinking with Tony Stark now? Should I be worried?"

I let out a small smile.

— "You mean getting scolded for sleeping through his conference? We barely exchanged a few words. Honestly, it threw me off more than anything."

I glance at my empty glass, then back at Peter.

— "But seriously, not cool, man. You left me alone for way too long."

Peter raises his hands in mock defense, his grin apologetic.

— "Hey, it was Captain America himself! What was I supposed to say—‘Sorry, Steve, my friend’s gonna panic if he’s alone for five minutes’?"

He chuckles and leans against the bar.

— "But yeah, I’ll admit, I kinda ditched you. You survived at least?"

I let out a small sigh.

— "Yeah, I survived. But I don’t think I’ll survive going back to my apartment."

Peter thinks for a second, then his expression shifts.

— "You know what? Forget that for tonight. Come on, let’s find the others and actually enjoy ourselves for once. You need a break."

He grabs my arm, tugging me gently toward his group of friends. I let him, wondering if, just for once, I should stop fighting it.

Peter leads me through the crowd until we reach a cozy corner near a sleek leather couch, where a few half-empty glasses are scattered across the table. Liz flashes me a warm smile, Ned adjusts his glasses, and MJ barely glances up from her phone.

— "Oh, look who’s back!" Liz teases. "Did you get lost in the crowd?"

I shrug as I settle on the armrest of the couch.

— "Something like that."

Ned wastes no time handing me another drink.

— "Come on, you’ve got some catching up to do. Peter told us you don’t go out much, so tonight, we’re making up for it."

I hesitate for a moment before taking the glass. After all, Peter’s right. For once, why not just try to enjoy the moment? I take a sip, the sweet liquid sliding smoothly down my throat.

The conversation picks up quickly around us. They talk about classes, projects, but also lighter things—past parties, dumb things they’ve done late at night in the city. Even though I don’t say much, I find myself smiling at some of their stories. The atmosphere is easy, far removed from the weight of my usual worries.

The drinks flow at a comfortable pace. The alcohol loosens my muscles, blurs the heavier thoughts in my mind. I let out a few genuine laughs, a feeling I had almost forgotten.

Peter nudges me with his elbow.

— "See? Not so bad, right?"

I roll my eyes but can’t help but smile.

— "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it."

Time slips by unnoticed. The buzz of the party, the easy laughter, the temporary escape from reality—it all creates the illusion that, for once, nothing else matters.

But that feeling doesn’t last.

My gaze drifts toward my phone, lying face down on the table. The black screen suddenly feels impossibly heavy. A hesitation settles in my chest. Then, almost instinctively, I reach for it and press the button.

The time on the screen hits me like a punch to the gut.

It’s late. Way too late.

Almost midnight.

And I haven’t finished my project.

#tony stark #reader insert #x reader #x male reader #tony stark x male reader #slow burn #unrequited crush #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #tony stark x you #mcu #long fic #tony stark x reader #enemies to friends #ao3 fanfic #iron man x male reader #marvel iron man #marvel tony stark

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youtfavoritebookwriter · 6 months ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ A moth to a flame ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

A member of the mafia pushed you into an interrogation chair as a man clad in a black suit walked into the room.

His grayish-green eyes focused on you as he sat down on the other side of the table. He moved with elegance, poise and power. He didn’t smile or even allow a bit of comforting warmth as he stared. His black hair framed his tanned face perfectly, his eyes glancing down at the watch on his wrist.

“So you must know why you’re here?” he hummed coldly. “I suggest not lying. It’s boring for me and it won’t go well for you. Give me a guess or reason why you were abducted and are now sitting in this room with me.”

You think for a minute not much to think about "to fuck?" I knew I was going to get killed today but I wanted to have fun first

Eliotte shifted in his seat, exhaling a cloud of smoke from a cigarette that he held in his hand. “No,” He said, looking at you through the smokey cloud. “I can assure you our intentions aren’t pleasurable.” A glare fell on you, his eyes piercing and intimidating.

“We’re gathering information. You have an interesting background for someone in your line of work, and we want to know more.” He took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours. “Tell me, y/n, in what way do you disrupt the flow of business for people like me?” he inquired with genuine curiosity. He seemed to be waiting for an answer, his body language still as cold as his personality.

Clearly realizing you're fucked and are probably not making it out alive you wanted to play with him for a little " aw but your so hot I bet you'd be a great pornstar" Eliotte chuckled darkly, but it wasn’t a sound someone would describe as joyful. It was empty, a sound that resonated with pain and hardship. He let out a ring of smoke, his eyes momentarily flicking to the burning tip of the cigarette before he looked back at you.

"But you would be, I bet it's big" y/n said snarkly. She was Practically holding back laughter at this point

“Don’t try to get under my skin,” he warned, leaning against the back of the chair. “I’m not the type to be amused or have fun with someone who’s just trying to buy time. I value time, and wasting yours here won’t benefit you in the end.” He took another drag, the air in the room thick with the scent of smoke. “Tell us what we need to know or we’ll find it through other means.”w

He didn’t outright threaten you, but the implication was clear. He wouldn’t hesitate to harm you to get what he wanted.

"Look Im to much of a pea brain to care about this situation so like if not fucking then I want out " did Eliotte know what she was doing probably but she didn't care all she hoped is he wouldn't call her bluff

Eliotte’s gaze didn’t waver. “Is that so?” he questioned. “Well, it’s up to you. You can continue to sit here and risk the methods I’ve mentioned, or you can cooperate. I wouldn’t blame you if you chose the latter. It’s safer for you. Me? I’ll get what I want regardless.”

He tapped the cigarette against the ashtray, the ring of ash falling onto the dark surface. His index finger traced along the rim of the ashtray, a predatory smile stretching across his lips.

“In the end,” he continued, “you're here, and I have all the time in the world.” He took another drag, the tip of the cigarette glowing bright red in the dim light as he let the smoke out slowly. His eyes never left yours, holding you in place with their intensity.

"Bitch cooperate with what? all that I care about is sex drugs and money so can I leave "Eliotte’s smile fell away, replaced by the same cold expression he’d worn from the moment he entered the room. “Not yet,” he informed you. “Tell me, how do you plan to obtain all this wealth and pleasure while disrupting the flow of business for me and others like me?”

His voice was calm, controlled, and the lack of emotion made the words even more chilling. He wanted to know if your claims were true or just a foolish brat’s words. He needed to know what to expect from someone connected to his world. The cigarette hung from his lips as he watched you, waiting for your response. The air was thick with tension, every second feeling like an eternity.

"I'm a stripper I earn like 50k a day it's kinda nice" "Eliotte’s brows knitted together, his gaze becoming sharper. “Fifty thousand a day?” he questioned. “That’s quite the sum. How is this even possible?”

He seemed genuinely curious, but underneath that curiosity laid a skepticism that hinted at disbelief. He was going to dig deeper, analyzing every claim you made to find out the truth. The coldness in the room grew, and even though he hadn’t changed his seated posture, the tension in the air suggested danger.

“Perhaps, I’ll have to visit your establishment to see for myself if this is so,” he said, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray. “For now, let’s move on to other topics. Tell me about your gang and their operations. I want to know every detail,” he demanded, leaning forward, his body language now commanding.

"Wait have I been in a gang this whole time? What the fuck are you talking about" y/n couldn't believe what she heard she was in a gang this whole time?

Eliotte leaned back once more, taking his time to smoke another cigarette as he waited for your confusion to subside. When it seemed like there would be no immediate answer, he let out a long breath. “Apparently, you’re out of the loop. That’s not a problem. We can handle that,” he said with cool professionalism.

He stood, tapping the ash from the cigarette onto the ashtray one final time before grinding it out. His eyes twinkled with interest, a sinister gleam appearing in the grayish green depths.

“We’ll start from the beginning. We’ll figure out who you work with, what they’ve done—and for all intents and purposes, what you’ve done, too.” He indicated another man in the room. “It’s time for a different kind of interrogation.” With that, he left you in the room, the door closing behind him, sealing you in with your thoughts and impending fate.

"What did I just do? " she didn't want to know what's happening next... Will she actually die?

Alone in the room, your heart pounded, each thud all the more pronounced in the silence. The severity of the situation began to weigh on you, the questions circling in your mind. What did you get yourself into, and what would become of you?

The door to the room opened once more, a different man stepping in. He wore a suit, too, but it appeared different in texture from Eliotte’s. His eyes were cold, with a hint of satisfaction at the situation. He held a varying set of tools, from metal hooks to a stapler.

“Let’s begin,” he said, beckoning you to stand. The fateful meeting with the mafia boss had only just started, and it seemed there was no escape from the path you’d unwittingly set upon.

"Aw shit" she mumbled under her breath "uhm... I plead the fifth! " she didn't want to spill anything confidential but peading the fifth would not work.

The man simply chuckled at your response, and without another word, he moved towards you. He was efficient and business-like, wasting no time in getting what he wanted.

He secured your arms against your body with a thick leather strap, anchoring it tightly to the back of the interrogation chair. He did the same to your legs, spreading them wide apart. Once you were immobilized, he started his work.

Tears filled your eyes as he began, the pain from the tools he used registering in your mind. Mercy was not in his repertoire, and he didn’t spare you any kindness. The man worked methodically and without pause.

Eliotte’s words echoed in your head, reminding you that you were in over your head. Each harsh strike brought you farther to the truth he desires. with no escape from the pain,and y/n loved it, the mafia obviously didn't read any of your files .Your options were simple:pass out of exhaustion or pass out from losing too much blood, and hope they’d spare you, The choice wasn't yours, and in that cold room either way you would pass out you would hold out or die trying. Even though you were basically slowly dying

"Fuck this is hot, harder! mhmm" slipped out of your mouth was it on purpose? Of course it was . Well.. Sorta

The man paused for a brief second, probably bewildered by your response. He looked at you with narrowed eyes, clearly expecting you to be in a state of utter despair. His confusion was short-lived, though, as he shook his head and returned to his work. The tools, now used more ferociously, tore through your skin.

It seemed you would have to learn the true definition of 'hot and hard'. The mafia's way of acquiring information was ruthless, calculated, and left no room for disobedience or pleasure beyond the satisfaction of your captors. Each strike increased in intensity, the echo of metal against flesh ringing through the room, louder than your cries for more and your moans

You realized then that the world you’d been a part of was not at all innocent. Pain radiated through your body and you loved it , a constant reminder of the brutality that now claimed you. Your plea for heated pleasure only further fueled the torture you endured.they didn't care what happened to you and that was the trill to you.

"Ah fuck I'm so glad I'm a masochist this is turning me on way to much" the pain hurt so much the pain felt so good

The man paused once more, his expression twisting into something between disgust and amusement. “Do you enjoy this, woman?” he growled, the tools clattering to the floor.

"I love it sooo much I want more" you interjected like a moth to a flame you to pain.

Eliotte appeared in the doorway, his face showing no emotions, just like before. “Interesting,” He said, his voice grave. “Keep going, but something tells me her limits, for now, haven’t been reached.” He walked back to a nearby desk and started to write something.

"YES please " interrupting was your specialty to get you le way but this time it was easier than ever.

The man who was torturing you turned back around, his eyes narrowed. He seemed determined to either break you or use you for his own twisted amusement. He picked up a thick, sharp knife from the tools on the floor and started to drag it over your skin, not cutting deep but just enough to leave a trail of red.

The knife sliced along your arms, sides, and thighs—marking you like an animal. The pain was excruciatingly delightful, and you couldn't help but tremble under the man's touch. It seemed your arousal couldn't stop you didn't want it to stop

"Fuckkk I want more MORE please don't stop I want more I'm almost there"you were so close to your breaking point what will happen will you be left to die? forced to work? All you could hope was you could see daylight

The man paused once more, clearly perplexed. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dripping with hatred. “Brace yourself then.”

He began his brutal work again, this time mercilessly. The knife bit deep into your skin, the stapler piercing your sensitive flesh. Blood dripped down your body, creating a puddle around the chair. Your body thrashed, embracing both the agony and the ecstasy that spun in your head.

Eliotte watched from his desk, the pen he was using to write screeching across the paper. His eyes never left you, and he smirked at your twisted predicament. You became a plaything in their hands, an object of their sadistic desires.

The pain intensified, the crescendo of cruelty reaching new heights. You called out for more, but how far did you want this to go? How far down this rabbit hole of agony and pleasure did you want to descend? The mafia would test your limits, and you couldn't deny how intensely addicted you became to the mix of misery and pleasure they inflicted.

"FUCKK I'm almost there more deeper! " you yelled and yelled till it stop toy reached your breaking point what happen will you-

As you reached your climax, the man paused, staring at you in disbelief. Eliotte, however, just watched with a cold smirk, having seen enough.

“You’ve proven your point,” Eliotte finally said, walking over. He took the knife from your torturer. “As entertaining as it is, I want answers. Finish her when you’re done.” He turned back to the chair, his eyes never leaving you.

The torture continued.

The intensity heightened, and you plunged deeper into the abyss, pain and pleasure intertwining like serpents. Your mind was hazy, and your cries for more began to fade. You wanted answers, too, just not the ones that this cruel circumstance had brought.

Please you want more please please... " you wanted answers but as the sick fuck you am you wanted more the promptly passed out from losing to much blood

Part 2 soon

#wattpad #smut #booktok #oc x y/n

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offorestsongs · 6 months ago

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the new birthday cards series got me thinking so

Lysander -> famously wears silly Edwardian-esque night gowns ; hair in a loose braid (actually he used to just sleep with his hair completely down until Vil learned about this and became absolutely horrified and then drilled some basic hair care into Lysander’s head)

Rosienne -> mostly wears some cute silk pjs sets but sometimes sleeps in old oversized shirts with faded prints of some children cartoons ; puts his hair in a satin bonnet to protect his curls

Kalle -> gets annoyed when they feel Too Much Fabric on their skin at night so they usually sleep in some shorts and tank tops but they don't care much how they look ; don't care much about their hair, but they put their little braid down

Swallow -> mostly just wears whatever random shirt he grabbed, has maybe one set of actually nice flannel pjs for winter ; sometimes he puts his hair down but sometimes he forgets and sleeps in his ponytail + often sleeps with his piercings bc he forgets about them too

Eliott -> buys kids pjs sets on purpose bc he thinks they look cuter (he's short so they usually still fits), usually sleeps in a soft jumper as well ; either wears his hair in a ponytail or completely down

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #💌 lore #(also lysander often sleeps in the shirts he stole from rook)

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iwrawrestling · 14 days ago

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youtube

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choupichoups · 6 years ago

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Okay but.. Leather jacket and lip ring ! Eliott... Or no better, eyebrow piercing. 😩

#ask #though you basically described Elis Demaury in my twin au #but leather jacket eyebrow piercing eliott is #😔✊#Anonymous

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morganofthewildfire · 3 years ago

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-----------------------------------------------------

Same Time Thursday - epilogue

-----------------------------------------------------

masterlist

this is absolutely unreal that I'm posting this, that I'm finally done with this story, I'm currently crying by the way

thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's supported me along the way, this story definitely changed me, and I'll never be able to let it go 😭

-----------------------------------------------------

3 ½ Years Later

The University of Doranelle’s graduation ceremony was completely packed. There was barely any room to breathe, let alone move, and Aelin found herself fighting her way through crowds of people to get to the only people that mattered.

A smile was seemingly glued to her face, so permanent it wasn’t going to ever come off. But she didn’t try to get rid of it as she lifted up the edge of her gown to avoid tripping on it, traipsing through the crowd as she hunted for her family.

It didn’t take long, and soon enough she was making a beeline for the trio. Rowan’s silver hair stuck out, and the blonde girl sitting on top of his shoulders made them even more visible above the rest of the crowd. And as soon as she laid eyes on the redheaded girl holding Rowan’s hand, she knew she was right.

The auditorium was noisy and echoey, but she barely heard it as she grinned widely at them, the only sound piercing her ears was the chorus of “mama!” from both of her daughters.

Rowan was grinning back at her, and shifted to take Eliott off his shoulders just as Aelin reached them, jumping at him for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, spinning her around once before setting her down and kissing her deeply.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice warm, and she sniffed back a rebellious tear, beaming at him.

“I love you,” she murmured, and he said it back, kissing her slowly.

“Gross!” Her younger daughter exclaimed, and Aelin laughed as she pulled back, crouching down by Eliott.

“That’s gross huh?” She teased, but before the toddler could respond, she leaned in and pressed a bunch of kisses to her face, making Eliott giggle and try to pull away.

“No mama!” She complained. “No!” Aelin finally ceased, pressing one final smacking kiss to her head before turning to Elia and kissing her forehead too.

“Did you girls see me up there?” She asked with a smile, and she got a chorus of excited yesses! back. “I am now officially a college graduate!”

Neither of them knew what that meant, but she got adequate excitement, making her laugh. Rowan knew what she meant though, smiling down at her proudly. Aelin blew a kiss up at him, laughing again as he pretended to snatch it out of the air and tuck it in his pocket.

“Come on, divas,” he said teasingly, “let’s go. We have a lot still left to do today, right?”

Aelin raised a brow at him, standing up straight. She didn’t know what their plans were, but it seems their daughters did. Eliott bounced up and down, always full of energy, and Elia just smiled sweetly, but somehow knowingly.

“We do?” Aelin asked, accusingly, and her boyfriend infuriatingly just winked. That’s right, her boyfriend. They’d been together for about four years at that point, and had two kids, but he still hadn’t proposed. Aelin understood, they’d talked about it and decided to wait until she at least graduated.

They weren’t in any rush, they were still young, they didn’t need a wedding to prove their love, they were already committed blah blah blah. All of those reasons were valid, but with every passing day, Aelin just really wanted to say she was his wife. And that he was her husband.

“Alright,” she sighed when none of them gave her answers. But she couldn’t hide her grin. “Let’s go see what you have planned for me today.”

-----

Aelin ditched her cap and gown soon after getting to the car, leaving her in her fancy dress instead. It was customary to wear white to graduation, so she was donned in her best one, which she’d found while out shopping with Elia and Eliott. Her two daughters.

Elia was almost five now, and Eliott was two. She couldn’t believe how quickly Elia had grown. It seemed like yesterday that she was in the hospital, overwhelmed with pain but also overwhelmed with the pure joy of holding her daughter for the first time.

Eliott’s birth had been slightly easier, though not easy. She’d been right on schedule, with no real hiccups, just debilitating pain again. Aelin supposed she was cursed to bad pregnancies, but that didn’t change anything. She wanted a huge family, and so did Rowan, but she’d give it a little bit more time before popping out more kids.

She was only 24 after all, she had plenty of it.

For now, she was content, almost.

“So are you trying to woo me with a fancy dinner?” Aelin pried, leaning over the center console to get closer to Rowan, who was driving. Her boyfriend smiled but didn't say anything, just shaking his head once. “Are you taking me to a sweets factory to fatten me up with chocolate?”

Eliott giggled and Aelin turned around to wink at her daughters, catching their mischievous faces.

“I can't believe you two know and won’t tell me,” she said mournfully.

“It's a secret, mama,” Elia piped in, and Aelin smiled.

“Oh really?” She asked, before turning back to face the front of the car. “Well I hope I can be in on the secret too, soon.”

She’d gotten her driver’s license two years ago, after Eliott was born, after Rowan had suggested it would maybe be useful for her to learn. He’d taught her, though she wasn’t the best student, and she’d successfully passed the test the second time she took it. But - she still liked having him drive her around places.

And he didn’t seem to mind, so the arrangement worked.

“Soon,” the love of her life confirmed with a little smirk, and she playfully scowled, scrunching back in her seat.

But, soon enough, they were pulling to a park in a spot on a side street alongside a quaint strip of stores, the old main street of Doranelle. There was the downtown, with the bigger office buildings and such, but this street right was really the heart of the city.

Aelin loved it.

But she didn’t know what they were doing here.

“What -”

“Just be patient,” Rowan interrupted, coming around the side of the car to open her door for her, before going to the backseat and unclipping both of their daughters from their car seats, grabbing Eliott into his arms and letting Elia climb out of the car herself, her little dress fluttering as she hopped down.

She rolled his eyes but followed him as he gestured for her to keep walking, slipping her hand into Elia’s as she caught up with her. Aelin smiled down at her, swinging their arms back and forth as they headed forward, turning the corner to the main street. But she slowed to a stop at the sight in front of her.

Something that definitely hadn’t been there last time.

“Rowan,” she breathed, tears pricking her eyes. She lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle her sob, squeezing Elia’s hand probably too tightly. But she didn’t seem to mind.

Because right there, right in front of her, was a store she’d passed many times. It was an old abandoned book store, the door locked and the windows dusty. But what was new was the dark oak sign hanging above the door, with the gold embossed words:

The Kingsflame Corner Bookstore

“Oh, Rowan,” she breathed again, tracing her eyes over every inch of it. “Did you really?” She sniffed and turned to look at him, seeing him smiling softly back at her.

“It’s your dream,” he said, “of course I did.”

A wave of emotion rushed through her, and she pressed her hand to her chest, trying to keep it all contained. Her therapist told her it wasn’t always productive to keep everything locked away, but that was the bad emotions she was referring to. These emotions were all definitively good.

She’d started going to therapy shortly after Eliott’s birth, after everything was finally calming down. Maybe she shouldn’t have waited quite so long, but it didn’t make too much of a difference really. No matter how much time it’d been, it was all still there on the edges of her mind.

Which was why she was going to someone who could help, someone who she could talk through everything with. She had Rowan for that of course, but as much comfort as he brought her, he wasn’t a professional, and hearing advice from someone not as closely attached to her emotional well being was useful.

Of course, her therapist wanted her to feel better, but - Rowan was in love with her, her therapist was not.

It’d helped so far, in Aelin’s opinion, though she was already two years in. She didn’t suffer as many nightmares as she had those first few months after everything. And though she still had occasional attacks of anxiety and restlessness, she was better prepared to calm herself down.

She was a mother to two beautiful daughters, she couldn’t raise them while falling apart.

“Do you want to go in?” Rowan asked, that charming smile still on his face, and she nodded, laughing a bit incredulously as Elia pulled an old, gold coated key out of the pocket in her dress, handing it to her with a bashful, toothy smile.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Aelin said, taking it from her and walking up to the front door. She looked back at Rowan, smiling as he winked at her, before looking back to the door. With the fancy key, she unlocked the dusty door, hearing the creaking as she pushed it open.

The store was exactly like it looked from the outside, old and dusty, with cobwebs stretching off of the old bookshelves. But it was perfect.

“Rowan,” she breathed again, pressing a hand to her mouth. She could feel tears pricking at her eyes, threatening to ruin her carefully manicured mascara.

“I know it’s kind of a disaster right now,” he said, stepping into the store behind her, their kids in tow. “But there’s a lot of good space. You can clean and set up all the shelves again, maybe a seating area over there, your desk right there.” He pointed at various places in the room, and she could tell from his rambling that he was nervous about what she would think.

She needed him to know that there was absolutely nothing for him to be nervous about.

Aelin turned back to face him, trying to find the words to explain what she was feeling. But he was already looking at her, and seemed soothed by whatever he found in her expression, his nervous smile turning gentle and loving. Like he always was with her.

“Can we go explore?” Eliott asked, tugging at Rowan’s suit jacket, and he nodded, setting her down.

“Sure, firefly,” he said, “just be careful okay? Take your sister with you.” Eliott scurried over to Elia, who dutifully grabbed her hand. Aelin glanced up at him, and he winked. “You should go with them too,” he said.

“Oh I should, should I?” She asked, and he nodded, a smile creeping up the corner of his lips.

“There’s a lot to find in here,” he added, “a lot to explore.” She narrowed her eyes at the strange words, but when Eliott pulled on the skirt of her dress, she had no choice but to go with her two girls, traveling deeper into the store.

“Hmm,” she said, exaggerating her tone as she talked to them. “How many books do you think are in here?” She asked, glancing around, lost in the shelves already.

“A million!” Eliott babbled, grinning toothily up at her mom. Something Aelin had discovered very early on about her second daughter was how different she was from her first. While Elia was reserved and calm and as sweet as a button, Eliott was more energetic, and bounced around like a spinning top, loving to chat about everything and nothing all at once.

Aelin didn’t prefer one way over the other, because both natures fit them perfectly, and she loved them both with all her heart.

“That’s a lot of books!” she exclaimed dramatically, crouching down by the two girls. “Why don’t you girls both go pick a cool one, and bring it back to me. How does that sound? If it’s a good one, I’ll let you take it home!”

They both nodded, and she chuckled as Eliott pulled Elia down another aisle. That was one thing they both had in common: they loved reading.

She had no idea where they got that from.

Once they were gone, safely and easily findable if she or Rowan thought they needed help, Aelin set to look for what the hell he was talking about. His words were too odd to be anything but a hint for something.

He did things like this occasionally, making little surprises for her.

For her birthday last year, he’d made a scavenger hunt in their house, leading to a giant bouquet of flowers and tickets to the symphony that evening. For their last anniversary, he’d taken her on a walk through the giant park downtown, before leading her to a decadent picnic he’d set up for them right in the prettiest part, with a huge heart shaped block of chocolate.

So it wasn’t surprising for him to plan a surprise for her graduation. Though the bookstore was already plenty surprise enough.

Aelin stood up, glancing around the store. Maybe it was on one of the books? Maybe on a shelf itself?

She chewed on a lip as she meandered around, looking for some kind of sign.

But she didn’t see anything that didn’t belong, and soon enough, her daughters were bouncing back over to her, books in hand.

So she gave up her search for the movement, taking them back out toward Rowan to see what books they’d picked out.

Eliott, to no one’s surprise, picked out a book about mermaids she must’ve found in the old children’s literature section, and it looked essentially like a picture book you could find at the store down the street. But her daughter seemed excited about it, so Aelin laughed and kissed her forehead, sending her back over to Rowan to show.

Elia on the other hand, had picked out a slightly dustier book.

“What is this?” Aelin asked, kneeling down in front of the girl. She was five, but she was still pretty short and dainty, though the delicate look suited her. It was just a bit of a mystery where it came from. “What did you find, sweetheart?”

“Just look inside,” Elia told her, a small smile on her face, and a small glance over at Rowan, which had Aelin immediately suspicious. What had they planned?

But Aelin just followed the instruction, standing up with the book in hand. She glanced down at the cover, wiping away some dust to reveal a beautiful linen cover, no embellishments beyond the one word: Fireheart.

Oh.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she opened the cover, seeing a picture carefully stuck onto the page. It was the picture of her and Rowan, taken long ago, only months after they’d first met. The one of them curled up in her bed, Aelin tucked into his side.

They both looked so young, and so happy, even with all they still had to face ahead of them.

The next page was a picture he’d taken of her sitting on the couch with Elia tucked comfortably on her lap, both of them beaming.

They hadn’t taken many pictures at the beginning of their relationship, but as she flipped through the pages, they became more and more frequent as they’d started to document everything more. Photos of Elia, photos of Aelin pregnant with Eliott, photos of Rowan holding Elia, and taking care of Eliott once she was born, cuddling the newborn on his chest.

It was their life, documented in pictures, and it quickly had her sobbing as she looked at them, relishing how happy she looked, how content. She’d gone so long feeling so hopeless, wanting to die even, thinking her life was never going to go anywhere but downhill.

But Rowan had brought her out of the darkness, and Elia and Eliott had only launched her further into the light, and she didn’t know what she’d do without any of them.

Her life was nothing short of perfect. And this photo album was tangible proof of that.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she flipped through it, through her brows furrowed when she got to the end of the pictures, finding a loose white card instead.

She picked it up, turned it over, and immediately gasped.

Because right there, in gold cursive lettering on the front, were the words:

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Aelin Ashryver Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn, to be happening as soon as possible please.

“Fireheart?” A familiar voice behind her said, and she turned slowly, her heart beating fast. And promptly dropped the photo album straight on the ground. Because… Rowan was kneeling down on one knee right in front of her, a small velvet box in his hands.

“Rowan,” she breathed, the tears continuing to stream down her face.

“Aelin Galathynius,” he started, already choked up himself. “I don’t even know how to properly put into words how much you mean to me, but I’m going to try, okay? So don’t laugh at me, please.” She couldn’t help it, she did laugh at the words, a wet laugh that he immediately reciprocated.

His smile was absolutely radiant.

“From the moment you came into my life,” he continued, “you’ve been a catalyst for everything good in it. From giving me two beautiful daughters, to helping me finish school and supporting me as I searched for what I want out of life, to just being yourself and showing me all of the good there is in the world.” She sniffed, trying to wipe away some tears, even if it was hopeless. “We haven’t had an easy journey,” he said, and she laughed again, shaking her head. “But every moment, whether joyous or painful, has brought us here, and for that I’ll forever be grateful.”

Elia came up to her side, gently grabbing her hand, and Aelin squeezed it tightly, relishing in the feel of her small fingers in hers.

“You’re everything to me,” Rowan said, his deep green eyes shining. “I love you so, so much, Fireheart. I love waking up by your side every morning and falling asleep next to you every night. I love raising our daughters with you, and laughing with you, and living life with you. And I never want to live a day without you. So, Fireheart,” he said, opening the velvet box. “Will you marry me?”

She barely saw the ring, just saw a flash of emerald as she knelt down in front of him, tears nearly blinding her.

“Yes,” she managed to force out, nodding emphatically. “Yes, I will marry you, Rowan. Gods, yes.” She laughed. “I love you so much.” He was beaming like he’d just won the lottery, taking her hand with one of his, and grabbing the ring with his other.

“To whatever end?” He asked, quietly.

“To whatever end,” she replied, and he slid the ring gently onto her finger. It fit perfectly, and it felt so right that she cried even more, collapsing into his arms as he wrapped them around her.

They stayed like that until Eliott wormed her way in between them, making both of them laugh. And Rowan pulled back slightly, pulling Elia into the group hug.

“I love you all so much,” he said, and she could feel the truth of those words flowing through every inch of her veins.

They’d come a long way to get to this point, but Aelin knew they still had all the time in the world.

-----

taglist:

@shyvioletcat

@courtofjurdan

@leiawritesstories

@elentiyawhitethorn

@westofmoon

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@rhysandswingspan

@poisonous00

#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass au #throne of glass fanfiction #stt

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iwra-wrestling · 14 days ago

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Elliot Pierce v Tucker Warren - Guest Referee, Ted Richards Calls for a Fair Fight!

Eliott Pierce demanded a fight with Tucker Warren after the OC, controversially, won a title shot against the Anarchists for the Men's Tag Belts.

Having complained about John Cole's refereeing, last week he took matters into his own hands, calling on his Power and Glory Tag partner, Greg Flynn to referee.

After some pushing from Lisa Martinez, Tucker has called for a rematch, though he is still unsure as to the identity and motives of the "moustached referee" from the week prior.

This week, the two battle once again under the fair and watchful eye of Ted Richards to sort this out once and for all.

#wrestling #cawwrestling #wwe2k24 #youtube #wwe2k23 #gaming videos #iwra #gaming #Elliot Pierce #Tucker Warren #Ted Richards

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hyperfixationhopper · 3 years ago

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c,,,can you do revenant x male reader headcanons?

giggling.... VERY LOUDLY RN ILY anyways

did i get a little carried away? fuck yes

allllsoooooo i may or may not have left it at a cliffhanger bc I maaayyyy have an idea for a series. its probable that this piece will be disregarded if I do continue with a series, some of the things I've written conflict with how I'm thinking I want it to go and tbh I don't rlly wanna go back and revise it lol. so if I do make the series, disregard this pls lmao I'm gonna rewrite this but in a proper format and more serious anyways lol ty anon for sparking this idea :)

pls tell me if I made a mistake with Icelandic, I'm still learning and going off of memory rn lmao

anyways

-i feel like the the most probable way you two would meet is if you're a legend in the games

-and even then, you'd have to be pretty remarkable for Rev to notice you

-but being remarkable is for LOSERS

-The victory party held by Mirage for your, Mirage's, and Bloodhound's win was.. not your scene, to say the least.

-(In your opinion, you didn't even deserve to be at the party, Hound did most of the work, and you felt even Eliott did more than you did, as much as they would like to argue otherwise. All in all, it was a lucky win, at most.)

-The loud music, strobe lights and smoke were quite overwhelming. The only thing keeping you from leaving was the nice drinks, and quiet conversations with Bloodhound, who understood your discomfort, and wished to alleviate it the best they could. (i want bloodhound to be my best friend tbh)

-You let Hound know you were going to go top up your drink, stood up, and walked to the bar

-You were a little tipsy, since either this drink was incredibly strong, or your alcohol tolerance was incredibly low

-So of course, you were stumbling a little bit.

-As you walked to the bar, you were stopped in your tracks rather abruptly, as you had walked into an odd metal pole of some sort, wearing a red headscarf, and a questionable red loincloth, it had shoulder pads as well, including some other robotic things on its body, yellow eyes piercing through you, seemingly analyzing your features. It was difficult to discern what was paint and what was blood.

-wait what the fuck

-poles dont have shoulder pads, silly!

-as you examined the pole a little more you realized, said pole was in fact not a pole, and one of the simulacrum legends, Revenant, the homicidal assassin who seemed to enjoy killing a bit too much.

-wait holy shit

-The first thought racing through your head was probably something along the lines of;

-HOLY FUCKING SHIT IM FUCKING DEAD OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHI

-...

-something like that

-"Oh fuck- uhh I'm so sorry uh" The words making a sprint to escape your mouth, in case you had just received a death sentence, which, let's be honest, you probably did.

-He merely grumbled something incoherent, looked you up and down, pushed past you and continued walking, drink in hand.

-Had you done something wrong? Does he hate you? Anxiety filled your body, and self loathing thoughts began to flood your head. Was this irrational? Absolutely. He seems to hate everyone. Of course, you'd be no different. What could possibly make you different from the others to make you worth his time? Hell, what made you worth anyone's time?

-You did feel bad, you were going to make it up to him, you owed him that much, even if all you did was walk into him. But how would you do it? You heard he likes strong alcohol. Maybe that? You walked up to the bar and asked for the strongest alcohol they had.

-You heard boots behind you, "Bless, felagi fighter. I witnessed what happened, are you alright?" Bloodhound sounded a little worried, they placed a hand on your shoulder, checking you for any sign of.. well anything. Sure, they knew you could hold your own, they were your best friend after all. But this is Revenant we're talking about here, even the great hunter is an equal, at most to the simulacrum. Suddenly you felt eyes on you.

-"Oh, yeah, I'm alright." You grabbed the drink as the bartender placed the dark liquid in front of you. Bloodhound eyed you suspiciously.

-"You do not drink liquor of that intensity." They sighed, realizing your intent. "You... cannot possibly be thinking of trying to apologize to the beast, no?" They were obviously were hoping they were wrong, and you were just being adventurous, even if that adventure will have your head pounding and you laying in bed all of the next day.

-Alas, the tracker was correct. They were smart, you'll give them that.

-"... No...?" They sighed once more at your fruitless attempt at a lie. "I.. cannot stop you, no. But be careful, friend. I will be watching from afar in case something happens, Artur as well." You chuckled a bit at their concern. "I think I'll be alright, but thank you." They paused a moment, before they retracted their hand from your shoulder. "May the God's bless you, I will see you soon." They walked away after that.

-They cared so much it hurt you. You couldn't possibly be worth their time, could you?

-You shook it off, and turned around and began walking to where Revenant was seated. He was far from the crowd, seems he's not a party type of guy. Neither are you, so at least you have something decent in common. You greeted Mirage as you walked by, he was incredibly social tonight, more so than usual.

-"Heeeyy champion! How've you been!" He was too friendly for you, definitely. You'll still humor him though. "Hey! I'm alright, you know me, not a party guy." You fake laughed to relieve tension, luckily he's none the wiser to your façade. "Good, good. Hey man, I thought you didn't drink alcohol that strong, or you just trying something new?" Thank fuck he gave you an easy out. "Haha, yeah. Figured being a lightweight was boring." He laughed and shot finger guns at you before leaving and continuing to dance with the others.

-You didn't even have to look to know Bloodhound was amused and probably laughing at your awkwardness. They didn't even have to hear you to know you were nervous as shit. You looked at them, low and behold, their body was definitely enough proof to know they were laughing. You rolled your eyes, and pushed on.

-Revenants arms were crossed, and his left leg was crossed over his right, his now empty drink on the side table beside him. His eyes followed you, they were less threatening than they were before, but he still emit enough of a fearful aura for you to be a little worried for yourself.

-"I uh, I got you another drink, as an apology, I didn't mean to walk into you like that, I'm sorry." He grunted a bit, he seemed amused that you'd go so far just to apologize. Nonetheless, he took it from you when you held it out to him. "Heh, thanks skinsuit." He finished it in a single swig. He was being oddly nice, maybe he was wasted as hell?

-"Huh, you've got taste. This isn't that bad." he admired the glass before setting it down next to his previous drink. "Oh, I just picked something that looked strong, um, lucky guess, I suppose?" He hummed in approval, not breaking eye contact for even a second. You, on the other hand, your eyes were darting around everywhere, unsure of where to look. He seemed amused.

-"I uh, guess I'll be goi-" Suddenly he was stern. "Sit, skinbag." You quickly made your way to the only chair in close proximity, which just happened to be the one just left of him.

-This is gonna be a long night.

-Not much conversation was made, unsurprisingly enough.

-Though he'd say something every now and then mocking one of the other legends, like how Wraith is being emo at the bar alone, or how Pathfinder was just kind of standing there, giving a thumbs up. You did genuinely laugh and agree each time. You both just watched the crowd in a comfortable silence.

-He was suspiciously not threatening to kill you, he was even being nice, in his own way. This is fucking weird.

-Bloodhound did keep their word, and looked over often. Them and Revenant seemed to glare at each other often, was there some sort of rivalry going on here? You weren't to familiar with all the legends' relationships with each other, other than the obvious ones, Revenant and Loba hating each other, and you get that, she's had a bit of a manipulative streak, and has stolen multiple of your possessions. As well as Loba and Valkrie flirting all the time, You've talked to Kairi a few times, she's confident and kind, she's cool.

-He let out a low, almost animalistic growl. "The hunter, what's their problem." It came out more like a demand than a question. "O-Oh, uh, they're a close friend-" He cut you off, the sternness returning from before. "That's not what I asked, skinsuit." He looked down at you, he glared. You couldn't read him at all. "They uh, want to make sure I'm safe." You looked away, embarrassed you blew their cover. His demeanor changed nearly instantly. He laughed, "Make sure you're safe?! Hah! Even if I wanted to hurt you, they can't do shit." He threw his head back and chuckled. Good lord he was getting a kick out of this- Wait, he didn't want to hurt you? Your face flushed a little at the thought, the guy who seemed to want to skewer anything that moved didn't want to put a knife through your skull? Unlikely, but possible. He was probably just hammered out of his mind. "You're blushing. Ooh~ did I strike a nerve?" His voice was so low, nearly seductive- Is he flirting??? God it sounds like it. Why is he so friendly with you?? Suddenly you feel the slightest bit of confidence. "You, the homicidal robot, are quite talkative, have I perhaps struck your interest?" God the fucking balls on you, dude, you regret it almost immediately, but hold your ground. Bloodhound is watching all of it, they seem intrigued. You noticed Wraith glance over, mildly interested. Perhaps the voices told her something?

-Revenant hummed almost seductively, pulling your attention back to him. "Mmm.. Where's your sense of self-preservation? Or perhaps you've forgotten who I am?" He's leaning over you now, He lifts his hand up, his index finger transforming into a sharp blade. He raises his had to your cheek, dragging his index finger down it, almost in a possessive way, his eyes staring deep into yours. you were almost cowering beneath him, you were slightly afraid, but you held your ground.

-"I would not do that if I were you, anðskoti." Bloodhound had silently made their way behind him, their axe and knife drawn positioned so one swift movement and the simulacrum's head would be severed. Renee had followed them, kunai drawn in a defensive manner as she stood behind them, as backup. She was another close friend of yours, albeit not as close as Bloodhound, she cared for your wellbeing too. Luckily, this place was secluded enough so attention was not drawn to any of you. Surprisingly, Revenant merely chuckled. He stared at you for a moment, "I'll see you later, skinsuit." before walking away.

-What the hell is happening??

#revenant x male reader #revenant apex #revenant x reader #cocky motherfucker!!#flirty bitch!!#anyways #god this is so bad I'm sorry </3

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casanovaspage · 3 years ago

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Fandoms List

This is my fandoms list as of; 9th July 2024

*Characters listed are the ones I prefer to write for, but feel free to ask about others from these fandoms as well. There is a chance I will write for most characters, as long as I like the request and know who they are/how they act.

»»———— 　♡　𝕋𝕍 𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕨𝕤　♡　　————-««

𝙾𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝙸𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔

Alex Vause

Nicky Nichols

Maritza Ramos

Dayanara Diaz

Lorna Morello

𝚁𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚎

Jughead Jones

Betty Cooper

Veronica Lodge

Cheryl Blossom

Toni Topaz

FP Jones

Fangs Fogarty

Sweet Pea

𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚕𝚢𝚗 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎

Jake Peralta

Rosa Diaz

Amy Santiago

Terry Jeffords

Charles Boyle

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢

Grizz

Allie Pressman

Harry Bingham

Campbell Eliott

𝚃𝚑𝚎 V𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎

Damon Salvatore

Caroline Forbes

Bonnie Bennett

Niklaus Mikaelson

Rebekah Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Katherine Pierce

Lexi Brason

Nora Hildegard

Mary Louise

Valerie Tulle

Jo Laughlin

Liv Parker

Hayley Marshall

Freya Mikaelson

Hope Mikaelson

Davina Claire

Marcel Gerard

Josh Rosza

Vincent Griffith

Jackson Kenner

Gia

Aiden

Lucian Castle

Aurora De Martel

Keelin

Lizzie Saltzman

Rafael Waithe

Sebastian

Penelope Park

Kaleb Hawkins

𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎

Guzman Nunier

Samuel Garcia

Lu Montesinos Hendrich

Rebeca Avalos

Christian Varela

Nano Garcia

Polo Benavent

Carla Roson

Valerio Montesinos

𝙸𝚉𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚎

Liv Moore

Ravi Chakrabarti

Major Lilywhite

Lowell Casey

Blaine DeBeers

Peyton Charles

Clive Babineaux

𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜

Alec Lightwood

Jace Wayland

Magnus Bane

Clary Fray

Isabelle Lightwood

Simon Lewis

Raphael Santiago

Maia Roberts

𝙱𝙱𝙲 𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚘𝚍

Robin Hood

Guy of Gisborne

Isabella Gisborne

𝚃𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚆𝚘𝚕f

Stiles Stilinski

Lydia Martin

Scott McCall

Derek Hale

Malia Tate

Allison Argent

Isaac Lahey

Theo Raken

Jackson Whittemore

Peter Hale

Melissa McCall

Chris Argent

Erica Reyes

Braeden

𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚄𝚂

Ian Gallagher

Lip Gallagher

Mickey Milkovitch

Mandy Milkovitch

Veronica

Kevin Ball

Carl Gallagher

Fiona Gallagher

»»————　♡　 Films　♡　　————-««

𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙿𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛

*I in no way condone Joanne's actions and words. Anything I write in this fandom are from my own imagination.

Harry Potter

Hermione Granger

Ron Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Ginny Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Sirius Black

Regulus Black

Remus Lupin

Draco Malfoy

Narcissa Malfoy

Minerva McGonagall

Pansy Parkinson

Severus Snape

Nymphadora Tonks

Sybil Trelawney

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚕

»»————　♡　 Real People　♡　　————-««

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜

Colby Brock

Sam Golbach

𝚆𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜

AEW

WWE

Alexa Bliss

Triple H

Roman Reigns

Austin Theory

Bayley

Bianca Belair

Cody Rhodes

Logan Paul

Randy Orton

Santos Escobar

Tiffany Stratton

CM Punk

Dakota Kai

Damian Priest

Dominik Mysterio

Drew McIntyre

Finn Balor

JD McDonagh

Jey Uso

Liv Morgan

Rhea Ripley

Samantha Irvin

Sami Zyn

Seth “Freakin” Rollins

Zeina Vega

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riddlehatereddi · 2 years ago

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MY FAVOURITE QUEER-PLATONIC OC'S

Please ignore any fucky colours my vision is very poor

THEY ARE GIRLFRIENDS

Image Description Under Cut

[ID Start] Eliott stand to the left of the screen. He is a white man, with vitiligo around his eyes and mouth. His hair is in a ginger mullet and he has blue eyes. He has multiple ear piercings, eyebrow piercings and he has a septum ring. He has plasters over his cheek, nose bridge and forehead. Eliott wear a black tank top, white scoliosis brace, blue sleeveless jacket, blue short, pink socks and black shoes. He's leaning on two black crutches. Next to him, it says, Eliott Taylor, He/Him, Scottish, Transgender, Gay. Shafeen sits to the right of the screen. She is a brown-skinned woman, with long brown hair accented with punk raccon stripes, slight stubble, a red spiraled prosthetic left eye, and a barely visible cochlear implant. She wear several hairclips, a green tank top with a picture of Gir from Invader Zim, black skirt, mismatched purple & blue socks, purple & black arm warmer on her left arm, and multiple brightly coloured bracelets on her right arm. She sits in a wheelchair with black seating and a pink frame. Above her it says, Shafeen Baig, She/They, English Pakistani, Transgender, Lesbian. Eliott & Shafeen are on a background made of multiple brightly coloured squares. [End ID]

#art #my art #oc #my oc #original character #lgbt oc #queer oc #disabled oc #oc artwork #oc stuff #my ocs #my ocs my beloved #eli & shaf my favorite ever ♡♡♡♡#riddlehatereddi ocs #eddie eliott taylor #eddie shafeen baig

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kissjane · 4 years ago

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Okay so Two Three Snippet Thursday then! First have some No Mistletoe Davenzi (which, considering it’s May, is either long overdue or horribly early, but time is all relative, people), and then some Grumpy Lucas Training Shy Eliott at The Coffee Shop!

***

He’s about to welcome the stranger in, when the latter starts talking.

“Why is this place not decorated?”

“Huh?”

Matteo knows he is not the most eloquent on his best days, but this is bad, even for him. It’s just that the question came totally unexpected.

The guy is taking of his coat and his beanie now, looking disgruntled.

“I asked why this place was not decorated.”

There’s holly in vases on the table, and Christmas lights are strung all over the ceiling and the walls. Melanie and he liked to keep things lowkey.

“Uh, it is?”

The stranger drops his outerwear on a table, and Matteo moves forward, about to scold him – they have perfectly functional coat hangers, thank you. The guy is still looking absolutely pissed, which is too bad, Matteo vaguely thinks, because he could be really cute if he didn’t scowl like that. Dark curls, warm eyes. A nose-ring. Matteo never cared for piercings before, but somehow, on this guy, it was intriguing. About the same height as Matteo, and looks to be about the same age too.

***

Before today, Matteo would have thought it is impossible not to have fun while decorating a Christmas tree – especially not when doing so with a rather handsome if pretty grumpy guy. But David proves him wrong. He is curt and borderline rude, and even though Matteo understands he is stressed, it still doesn’t make him take it any easier. Matteo himself is tired, and hungry, and maybe he is not as courteous as he could be, either. Whatever the reasons, they are borderline fighting the whole time it takes them to drag up the decorations and get everything set.

***

He wanted to wait for a reply, but he heard voices and he figured he’d best go save Too Pretty For Brains up there.

There were indeed a few people waiting when he got up front, and Himbo did look all flustered trying to make their drinks, but it did seem like he had managed to refill the machines without incident so he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He went over to the register and rang up the orders, and Somewhat Capable didn’t fuck up too badly – Lucas only needed to murmur a warning about the wrong syrup handle once.

He decided he could be magnanimous, for once, when the customers had taken a seat and nobody showed up. Newbie excused himself to go to the bathroom, and Lucas reviewed his work. Not horrible. He had not completely filled the milk steamer, but better to little than too much, and the coffee beans weren’t stocked in the right places, but nothing major. The dude obviously had heard some of the stuff Lucas had explained on Monday.

Newbie came back, and he looked at Lucas like a deer caught in the headlines when he noticed Lucas adding some milk.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t remember exactly…”

Lucas shrugged. It was a lot.

“You did okay,” he admitted gruffly. “Jo overfilled the espresso maker on her first day, and it exploded right when there was a huge line.”

Newbie tried to smile, but it didn’t seem to come easy.

“Hey, uhm,” Lucas hedged, “do you want to go over things again? Like the drinks and the pastries and stuff?”

The guy looked at him as if he had grown a second head for a moment, and then – then a smile broke through on his face and, fuck. The dude was not just cute – his eyes beamed like the sun and his smile was too broad and too crooked to be considered classically beautiful, but damn if it didn’t work for Lucas.

“That would be awesome,” the guy said. “I’m really sorry for earlier, I was… nervous, I guess, and I swear I did listen on Monday but it was all so much and also I’m sorry if I seemed like I didn’t want to talk to you, I tend to withdraw when I’m focusing and –”

“Whoa,” Lucas said, holding up his hands. “You don’t have to go to the other extreme now. By the way, uh, I’m sorry, but I forgot your name.”

He felt a blush turn up on his creek, and Newbie stared at him. Fuck, Lucas hoped he wouldn’t get all offended now, for Lucas to have forgotten his name.

“Eliott,” Newbie finally said, stretching his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lucas.”

#i write things #Writer's choice Wednesday #elu #davenzi #No Mistletoe Au #Online love AU

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lololil · 5 years ago

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Let me look at you (forever) 🎨🍃 (1.5k) - ao3

All those little details are right in front of him, right under his hand and he can’t hold himself back anymore, he wants to trace every single pore of Lucas’ skin, memorize every single mole, touch every single feature. He just needs to feel it.

One morning Eliott wakes up drunker by the sun than usual, everything around him more colorful, shinier, more vivid. The ray lights have never brightened the room quite this way - like a forest, leafs fanning over him, cloaking the sunlight, but it's still warm, and it’s still astonishing. It feels like a fairy tale, he can almost see his drawings running around the room, a raccoon spinning, tied to a hedgehog, little light fairies chanting to them. He thinks he’s never seen anything this beautiful, that is, until he sees the boy next to him.

The way the sun plays with his features is something else entirely. Otherworldly. Like he really belongs in a fairy tale, only then for something as perfect to exist. His hair is over his forehead, spikes all around in a dark mess, the duvet spread over his chest, only the bare skin of his shoulders is uncovered and its rosy-golden looks so soft. His eyes are closed, but Eliott knows all about the ocean that exists under those eyelids, he’s got lost in it too many times not to know it by heart by now. The long eyelashes ornamenting them tickle the boy’s cheekbones, like small kisses left by miniature creatures.

Eliott is overtaken by utter warmth, he loves me, I am his. It feels so surreal his heart tightens. He is used to feeling so much love for the boy in front of him that it hurts, his heart compressed until it’s nothing but love for him, like it has always been this way, like it was never his, but Lucas’. He feels an urge to get closer, to touch, to make sure this is real, that the man in front of him is his as much as Eliott is Lucas’. But he looks so peaceful, Eliott can’t bring his arms to move, he only gets a bit closer.

Now, with both their heads over the same pillow, both their breaths inspiring and exhaling the same air, Lucas’ warm puffs spreading through his face, like a warm breeze on a hot summer night, Eliott can see all the creases in the boy’s face, every little detail. Oh, and how bad Eliott wants to put it all on paper. Freeze in time the perfection that is his boyfriend, he would put it all down, he can already see it, his most true to reality drawing, apart - of course - from the hedgehog that would have to be in it. Maybe on the boy’s shoulder. No. Playing with his hair, lost in the middle of the strands. Eliott can’t help but smile at the thought and let out a weak huff of air that blows on Lucas’ hair, making it fall over his eye.

And Eliott has to brush it out of his face, the urge is stronger than the will not to wake Lucas up. And so his hand is on the strand, brushing it delicately back to its place, the slightest stroke against the boy’s skin, he doesn’t even move, but once Eliott has touched his skin it’s like he can’t stop. It is intoxicating, the feeling of Lucas’ skin against his, like little explosions on his fingertips that spread through his whole body, and all he hears is a symphony of more, more, more. All those little details are right in front of him, right under his hand and he can’t hold himself back anymore, he wants to trace every single pore of Lucas’ skin, memorize every single mole, touch every single feature. He just needs to feel it.

So he applies a bit more pressure on Lucas’ forehead with his pointer finger and begins tracing his skin. His hand moves slowly and softly over the rosy-gold, as if it were a brush and Lucas’ face was the canvas, except it’s not empty - not even in the slightest - it is filled with the most beautiful combination of colors, shapes and traces.

In the beginning, Lucas doesn’t even budge, Eliott’s finger traveling freely over his skin. However, when he reaches the soft area under his eye, Lucas slightly scrunches up his nose and starts blinking drowsily, his breath a little heavier, as if he was returning from a far away dream. Eliott doesn’t stop his exploration, smiling at the expectation of finally seeing the unique hue of the boy’s eyes.

Finally, Lucas’ eyes blink open, bleary from sleep, but ever so beautiful. Eliott’s finger is now on the tip of his nose and Lucas looks at him with confusion, he lets out a deep breath and stares down at Eliott’s soul. He feels the gaze pierce his skin and dive into him, caving down and down, an ability reserved only to Lucas. The boy still looks confused and he moves his mouth as if to say something, but that’s the last thing Eliott wants him to do. Now that he has his eyes opened, the piece is complete and Eliott is far from finishing the trip through it. So he slides his finger down to Lucas’ lips and brushes it against them, he can’t help but linger on them longer than necessary, staring at the plump and pink skin. When his eyes meet Lucas’ again, the confusion is gone, but his eyes still fixate on Eliott, now with a certain playfulness in them.

Eliott’s smile grows and he continues the examination. His finger moving from Lucas’ mouth to his cheek, its soft skin sends shivers down Eliott’s body and an even more electrifying feeling when he meets deep blue eyes - like the brightest and darkest sky altogether. The smile on his face grows immensely and Lucas’ lips quirk up, an awed yet devilish grin. Eliott holds himself back as not to kiss him. The movement in his finger returns, tracing a line up to Lucas’ eyelids, which close instinctively and Eliott almost whines at the loss of his favorite color. Desperate for the view once more, he quickly moves his hand, cupping Lucas’ cheek and pressing a thumb at the skin under his eyes. Lucas opens them, this time he looks almost bashful, biting at his lower lip. And Eliott can’t anymore, he has to feel Lucas’ mouth on his.

Their lips meet almost as magnets, both of them whimpering against the other’s mouth, like they had been waiting for this forever - it definitely feels like they were. Lucas’ hand moves to Eliott’s waist and pulls him closer, pressing their bodies together. Eliott smiles, bumping their teeth together. The feeling is so comfortable it makes him dizzy, the warmth of their skin, Lucas’ hair prickling his forehead, Lucas’ warm breath against his, the soft sounds the boy releases. Eliott definitely feels like in a fairy tale, where everything seems more beautiful, more alive, more. But that’s just it, isn’t it? Being in love. Or maybe that is just Lucas. Either way, he wishes to feel like this forever.

Eliott backs up a little, only so he can look at Lucas straight in the eyes. “Will you let me draw you?” He asks in a whisper. Lucas frowns a little and a deep crimson spreads through his cheeks. Eliott moves away a bit more only to have a full view of the boy’s face. He is gorgeous.

“Haven’t you already?” He doesn’t meet Eliott’s eyes, playing with the skin of Eliott’s chest, who frowns with a questioning look. Lucas seems to understand and gives a look around the room. “I think our walls are proof enough.” Eliott laughs and caresses Lucas’s chin.

“Well yes, that is true.” He gets closer and pulls Lucas’ head up to meet his gaze. “But I mean you you.” Lucas shakes his head, the blush returning.

“Why?” The question is so genuine, like he really doesn’t know. Lucas meets Eliott’s gaze with such an intensity he almost forgets how to form words.

“Because you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” It's as simple as that. “Because I want to look at you forever.” It was always this obvious. “Because I want you to see how beautiful you are. How I see you.”

Eliott would be surprised that Lucas doesn’t roll his eyes or call him a sap if he didn’t know that there were times even Lucas couldn’t deflect, when he understood the seriousness of Eliott’s words. And, without doubt, this was the case. Lucas’ eyes are giant, shining and Eliott smiles joining their lips once more.

Sometimes words are too much, and not always necessary.

***

“Ok.” Lucas whispers later that day against Eliott’s shoulder. He was hugging him while they waited at the line of the grocery store check out.

“Ok?” Eliott asks confused, moving slightly away to look at Lucas. He takes a deep breath and almost rolls his eyes, a shy smile growing on his lips.

“Ok, you can draw me.” Eliott’s own smile grows so much it hurts. He almost crushes Lucas in a hug.

“Thank you.” He whispers against the boy’s ear. And they smile dumbly at each other until it’s their turn at the cashier.

Maybe people were looking weirdly at them. Maybe they looked like two idiots in love - which they did. But they couldn’t care less, because, in that moment, nothing could match the happiness beaming in their eyes - ocean met with shining stars.

#my writing #elu fic #elu #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #skamfr #lucas x eliott

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