#I’m trying to support local businesses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyubakeries · 22 days ago

Text

𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗰𝗲𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲𝘀 | h.js

a/n: so!! part 2 is here! thank you rie ( @okiedokrie ) and a ( @chugging-antiseptic-dye ) for supporting my insanity. this one is for u guys, my fav joshua stans 🫂

part 1

word count: 4k contents: NSFW content , joshua x afab!reader , college au , joshua records nsfw audios as a side hustle , friends to lovers , happy ending , nsfw warnings below the cut!

nsfw warnings: mdni! 18+ , protected sex , fingering (f. receiving) , multiple reader orgasms , come eating , oral sex (m. receiving) , breast play , lots of nicknames (darling, baby, beautiful, good girl)

joshua is a fairly simple guy. he’s kind and nice to everyone. he’s always down to help people if they need it. he’s got good grades, love from all his professors, and the reputation of being the ‘campus gentleman.’ he even volunteers at an animal shelter on some weekends. it’s all simple and great.

except for one secret he swears he will take to his grave.

it’s the black and neon pink website he logs into every other week. it’s the microphone he records his moans in front of. it’s the thousands of people who pay him hundreds of dollars, on a weekly basis, just to hear him whispering dirty words to them.

it was a side job he picked up in the first year of college, when money was tight and his shifts at the local convenience store were barely able to cover his rent and student loans.

he was desperate and grasped at any chance he could get. when he stumbled across the website while trying to look for good porn, (don’t judge him, he has needs too) he made up his mind.

so, for a few weeks, he only had cup ramen for meals and used the leftover money to buy a good quality microphone. he set up his account on www. angelaudios.com, and nervously hit record for the first time.

he never looked back after that.

joshua built a steady following of people who were just as desperate for pleasure as he was for money. he’d post audios twice a week, maybe even go live a few times if he wasn’t too busy. it worked out well for him, considering he could actually pay rent on time and afford to buy fresh ingredients to make his meals.

for each of his recordings, joshua usually needed some time and a vivid imagination to even get hard. but then, that changed when you came along.

you in your skirts and tank tops. you with your perfectly glossed lips. you and your cherry-scented perfume that joshua could only catch traces of whenever you sat next to him in your shared lectures.

after you, joshua didn’t need much motivation. he felt guilty about it every time, but he couldn’t help the natural reaction of his body whenever he thought about how he could see the swell of your breasts in the crop tops you wore, or how your perfectly manicured nails would look wrapped around him.

ShuaTalks gained a lot of traction, and he started earning more when he started posting four audios a week in the second year of college, and he had you to thank for it.

—

“so you’re telling me joshua hong records those asmr ‘POV: i’m your boyfriend and we have phone sex’ audios?” seungkwan raises an eyebrow at you, and you let your forehead slam against the table as you slump over in frustration.

“yeah, sort of,” you reply, your voice muffled because of the way your face is pressed up against the table.

“well, are we sure that it’s him? there’s tons of other guys named joshua, right?” seungkwan tries to reason.

“i listened to one of the audios last week, seungkwan,” you sigh, not even slightly embarrassed to admit it, because your friendship with seungkwan lacks any boundaries, which shouldn’t be healthy, but it works for the both of you. still, you don’t mention how his audios are what you’ve been listening to every night, for the past week. therefore, you can say with conviction that: “it’s him. i know.”

“you are a freak,” seungkwan scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. seconds later, his head is perking up and he looks at you with an expectant gaze.

“do you think i could get the link to the playlist too?”

“no! he’s my crush! go find your own audios!”

“knew it. freak.”

—

“were you busy last night? you didn’t answer my calls.”

you nearly let out a scream when you hear the voice that has been plaguing your thoughts for the past week. after managing to compose yourself, you turn to see joshua sitting down next to you, setting his bag down on the floor.

“sorry, i fell asleep early last night,” you smile awkwardly, trying your best to avoid eye contact with joshua.

“i saw you active at 2 a.m. though? and i’ve been trying to reach out for a week, but you never responded,” joshua refutes, and you mentally kick yourself for your stupid addiction to social media. “did i do something wrong? it’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me, but i just want to know why, and apologize for any mistakes i might have made.”

“joshua, it’s not like that,” you shake your head. “it was just-”

whatever bullshit lie you were going to give him gets cut off by the professor walking into the lecture hall. all students fall silent immediately, and the professor begins his lecture unceremoniously.

“let’s talk after class, okay?” you whisper to joshua to make sure the professor won’t hear you.

and to your devastation, joshua leans in closer to whisper into your ear: “let’s get coffee after class, yeah?”

you can only gulp and nod slowly, your head moving like a broken robot. joshua gives you a small smile and pulls away, shifting his attention back to the professor.

you, on the other hand, try your best not to make it obvious just how affected you were simply by joshua whispering into your ear.

—

after class, there’s not much scope for you to escape without joshua noticing, so you resign to your fate and follow joshua to the coffee shop on campus. although it’s just a three-minute walk, every second feels like an hour in itself, especially because you awkwardly keep your mouth shut and joshua keeps glancing at you in a way that he thinks is subtle.

it’s not.

you’re put out of your misery when the familiar glass doors of the coffee shop open up automatically in front of you. after a deep inhale, you enter the building, and joshua leads the both of you to a table in the corner.

“do you want your usual?” joshua asks, and you nod wordlessly. it’s like there’s a countdown only you are aware of, telling you how much time you have left before joshua confronts you about your strange behaviour and what you’re going to tell him.

you don’t use your time very wisely.

you can’t help but look at joshua, who is at the counter, placing the order for your drinks. you can’t help but look at how his lips move as he speaks. you can’t help but look at how his bright eyes form crescents when he smiles at the employee. you can’t help but look at how his graceful hands carry the tray of drinks back to the table.

you pinch your thigh under the table as you panic. joshua is back at the table, and you have to give him an answer. an answer that you haven’t come up with yet.

“you look like i’m here to interrogate you for murder,” joshua laughs, attempting to cut through the tension. “relax, okay? in fact, if you don’t want to talk about it, you could just leave, it’s alright.”

you bite your lip nervously, wondering what you could say to him without giving away exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

“the link you sent me was- it wasn’t the playlist, joshua,” you blurt out, forgetting all your plans of lying to him.

“so i sent you the wrong playlist,” joshua repeats. “and you’ve been avoiding me because of that?”

“no, you didn’t send me any playlist,” you groan, and joshua still looks confused, which prompts you to take your phone out and open up your texts with joshua. you scroll past all the unanswered texts and stop at the link he sent you.

“click on the link, see where it’s taking you,” you sigh, handing the phone over to him. joshua takes the phone from you and does what he’s told. within a few seconds, his eyes are going comically wide and his face flushes red instantly as he hurries to switch the phone off.

“fuck- y/n, you weren’t supposed to see that-” joshua sputters out. he’s on the brink of hyperventilating, and the other people in the coffee shop keep shooting dirty glares at him.

“joshua, calm down, it’s alright-”

“no! it’s not! you weren’t supposed to know- no one was supposed to know about it!” joshua cuts you off with more panicked rambling, which seems to attract more attention from other people.

“god, joshua, just shut up!” you hiss, leaning across the table to place your hand over his mouth. “this isn’t the place to talk about, this situation. let’s go back to my place, okay?”

at your words, joshua finally calms down enough for you to take him by the arm and lead him out of the coffee shop, both your drinks left untouched. you take him back to your apartment as quickly as possible, offering him a seat on your couch and some water once you’re inside.

there’s a few minutes of silence as joshua drinks the water, and you use the time to blame yourself for being an idiot and telling joshua the truth and throwing the both of you in an awkward situation. your train of thought is interrupted when joshua clears his throat to speak.

“i know you’re probably disgusted by me after- after seeing that,” he starts, his voice shaky. “i’m really sorry for sending you that, it was a complete accident, i swear. i wasn’t trying to be a creep or anything. you’re free to judge me all you want, i deserve it-”

“joshua, i’m not going to judge you,” you assure him, and he looks up to face you, his eyebrows furrowing with surprise. “what you do in your private life is none of my business. even i owe you an apology for acting all strange, but i promise it’s not because i’m disgusted by you.”

“you’re not?” he asks, not quite convinced.

“i’m not,” you confirm, and some of the tension in his shoulders melts away when you shoot him a small smile.

however, his next question has you freezing in your place.

“how did you know it was me, though?” joshua questions. “i mean, you wouldn’t have known if you didn’t listen to the audios. you didn’t, right?”

it’s your turn to blush a violent shade of red and avert your eyes from joshua’s gaze. “i’m- well, i mean, i was- i didn’t know who it was so i, i may have listened to one?”

the previous panic in joshua’s eyes transform into a knowing expression and smirk. “are you sure? just one?”

“no,” you mumble, hoping joshua didn’t pick up on it, but clearly, luck isn’t on your side today.

“so you listened to more than just one?” joshua tilts his head, his voice taking on that sweet lilt you’ve become used to hearing in your earphones. “did you like them?”

your brain, unhelpful as always, decides to bring back bits and pieces from the audios you’ve been listening to all week. joshua’s groans, whispers, and that sound he makes just when he’s about to cum, replay in your ears, and you press your thighs together as arousal spikes in your gut.

“use your words, darling. i can’t read minds,” joshua nudges you, and you finally break.

“i liked them, i liked them a lot,” you admit, eyes boring holes into the floor of your living room. there’s a few beats of silence before a finger is tipping your chin up, and suddenly, joshua is kneeling in front of you, his eyes locked on yours.

then he asks, “did you touch yourself while listening to them?” you nod, and joshua makes a sound of disapproval.

“baby, i told you to use your words, didn’t i?”

“i did, i touched myself,” you confess. “i even- i even made a few donations.”

“really? that’s so sweet of you, darling,” joshua smiles sweetly, yet the hunger in his eyes is anything but sweet. “now that we’re here, you deserve a little gift for being so good, don’t you? let me show you how grateful i am to you?”

“are you- are you serious?” your voice is unsure and hesitant.

“of course i am,” joshua assures. “you’ve been on my mind for a long time, y/n. so, what do you say?”

it doesn’t take you much time to decide what you want. the second you mumble out a soft yes, joshua is leaning in close to capture your lips in a slow kiss.

you’ve spent not only the last week, but the entirety of the time you’ve known joshua wondering how his lips would feel against yours. and it exceeds anything your imagination had come up with.

the way he kisses feels as syrupy as nectar, and it keeps you wanting more, which is why you dig your fingers into the fabric of his shirt to pull him in closer, letting out a gasp when his tongue licks across your lips and moves past them.

his hands, the ones you’ve dreamed of every night, grip at your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles into your warm, exposed skin, where your shirt has ridden up. he then pulls away to latch his lips onto your neck, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of skin he has access to.

“fuck, josh, can we- can we take it to my bedroom?” you gasp when you feel his teeth graze against a particularly sensitive spot on your neck.

“show me the way, beautiful.”

—

in the blink of an eye, you’re already laying down on your bed, your clothes stripped off, leaving you in your underwear. joshua is in a similar state of undress as he hovers over you, the boxers he’s wearing doing a poor job of hiding how aroused he is.

“you’re so pretty, y/n,” he whispers, maintaining eye contact with you as he litters your skin with kisses. he swirls his tongue over your nipple over the fabric of your bra, and the sensation makes you let out a sharp whine. “i’ve waited for this moment for so long, you have no idea.”

“me too, fuck, just take the damn thing off-” you grit your teeth because of how joshua keeps teasing you by mouthing at your breasts over your bra. he smirks at you, and with the flick of a wrist, the clasp of your bra is undone, and it’s pulled off your body.

smiling like a cat who has got the cream, joshua takes the liberty to mark your chest, leaving behind red traces of him so that you remember him for days to come. you arch your back, leaning into his touch and letting out whimpers as he tugs at your nipples with his teeth, leaving them red and puffy.

“joshua, i need you touch me, please,” you moan. it’s been a while since you got laid, which makes every touch feel extra sensitive, and joshua’s teasing is only making the unsettling feeling under your skin worse.

“mm, since you’ve been such a good girl, i’ll give you what you want,” joshua mutters against your skin. you don’t have to beg again, because he’s pulling off your panties next to rub on your clit in gentle circles.

your hips buck up to gain some more friction, and joshua laughs to himself when he sees the desperate scrunch of your brows. he leans down to kiss you once again, reveling in the way you moan into his mouth when he finally slips two fingers inside you.

“god, you’re so tight,” he murmurs into your mouth. “you can’t take me if you’re this worked up, darling.”

“no! i can take you, i promise!” you whine as the scissoring movement of his fingers slow down. “i’m your good girl, i can take it all.”

“desperate for cock, aren’t you?” joshua chuckles, but the sound is mean, and it does a great job of turning you on even more. the feeling of him talking to you in the flesh the way he does in his audios is unreal, and you can’t believe you got this lucky. “i like that, baby. let me stretch you out a little more, hm? so i can fit it all in?”

you nod your head quickly, turning your face to the side to bury it in the pillow as joshua adds a third finger, his thrusts increasing in their pace. you’re trying your best to hold on till joshua finally fucks you, but his fingers are rubbing all the right spots, and before you know it, you’re screwing your eyes shut, clenching down on him and cumming with his name on your lips.

when you finally open your eyes, you feel another gush of wetness drip from your cunt as joshua licks his fingers clean of your orgasm.

“just as sweet as i expected,” he remarks casually, as if he’s talking about the weather.

“joshua, i need you to fuck me right now, or i will actually combust,” you pant, chest heaving with the intensity of your orgasm.

“you’re being quite demanding now,” joshua raises an eyebrow at you. “but i’ll indulge you. where are the condoms?”

“first drawer, to the right,” you point at the nightstand next to your bed. joshua is quick to retrieve a condom. just as he’s about to tear open the foil packet, you stop him.

“can i do it?” you ask, and joshua’s eyes are filled with amusement.

“go ahead, baby,” he nods.

he’s kneeling on the bed, and you get on all fours in front of him. this time, there’s a smirk on your face as you lick at the bulge straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

“baby, don’t tease,” joshua says, his tone bordering on an order, so you comply and tug his boxers down.

“darling, you’re drooling,” joshua’s voice snaps you out of the momentary daze you were in. you feel his hand hold your chin, his thumb gliding against the wetness gathered on your chin. “the sooner you get the condom on, the sooner you get the fucking you deserve.”

hearing his words, you gulp. joshua was, for a lack of better words, huge. bigger than anyone you’ve slept with, and quite frankly, it’s making you nervous. joshua seems to sense that, because he calls your name out again to catch your attention.

“hey, if you’re unsure about this, we could stop here,” joshua offers, his voice gentle now. “i don’t want to force you into anything.”

“no, it’s- i’m not unsure, i want this,” you shake your head. “it’s been a while, that’s all.”

“i’ll go slow with you, if that’s what you want,” joshua says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “i never want to hurt you.”

“i know you wouldn’t,” you look up at him to give him a small smile. his attention is on you as he smiles back, and you seize the opportunity to catch him off-guard.

“oh shit,” joshua lets out a loud groan as you wrap your lips around his tip and suck, hard. he tries his best not to thrust into your mouth, knowing that once he started, it wouldn’t take him much time to cum down your throat.

you seem to have understood it too, because your mouth doesn’t relent. you keep suckling at the tip like it’s a lollipop, the sound obscene to even your own ears.

and then, you hear it. the sound he makes in the back of his throat. the breathy whine he lets out just as he’s about to reach his peak. at that very moment, you pull away with a satisfied grin. you pay little attention to the frustrated sounds joshua makes as you roll the condom over his length, pressing a kiss to the head as you lay back against the pillows again, spreading your legs in anticipation.

joshua all but pounces on top of you, claiming your lips in a hungry kiss as he lines his cock up with your hole, slowly nudging it inside you. your breath hitches in your throat at the pleasurable pain of his cock stretching out your walls. joshua distracts you from the pain by kissing you through it, one hand holding your waist, and the other finding yours to intertwine your fingers together.

“you feel so good around me, baby,” joshua says, and you feel the words being spoken against the skin of your neck as joshua finally bottoms out in you.

“feel so full,” you gasp. “please move, please.”

joshua doesn’t need any more convincing. he slowly pulls out and snaps his hips forward in sharp movements. his thrusts are so deep you think you can feel him in your throat. “faster, baby, c’mon,” you beg, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders and your legs tightly wrapping around his waist.

“you want it faster? want me to fuck you till your cunt only remembers the shape of my cock?” joshua grunts, picking up his speed, making you moan even louder. he’s fucking you so good you can’t even string together a coherent sentence, only mindless babbling leaves your lips.

“‘m so close, baby. you’re close too, hm?” joshua rasps, now rubbing your clit in tandem with his thrusts. “i can feel you clenching down on me. gonna milk my cock like a good girl, yeah?”

“fuck, yes joshua, i’m gonna cum-” your moans are only getting louder, and they provoke joshua to go faster to see just how loud you can get for him.

“go on, baby, let go for me,” joshua says, and if those were the magic words, you’re cumming again. this time, joshua reaches his climax at the same time. his thrusts slow down to a deep grind of his hips as you both ride out your orgasms.

“what the fuck, i can’t feel my legs,” you wheeze, your limbs practically reduced to jelly with how satisfying your orgasm was.

“can’t say i’ve ever had a girl say that to me before,” joshua chuckles. he slowly pulls out of you and collapses next to you on the bed.

“you do this with a lot of girls?” you ask, not daring to look at him.

“with a few, but i don’t have the same feelings for them as i do for you,” joshua replies without any hesitation, and it makes you turn your head to the side to look at him.

“you mean that?”

“i’ve had this hopeless crush on you for ages, y/n,” joshua confesses. “so yeah, i mean it. it’s the truth.”

“okay, good, because i really like you too,” your face breaks into a huge smile. “and i don’t want you to think that it’s only because of what just happened. i’ve liked you since the time you sat down next to me during our ‘history of music’ lecture and asked me to be your partner for the project.”

“that’s almost two years ago,” joshua’s mouth widens with surprise. “we’ve liked each other for that long?”

“god, we’re idiots,” you laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “come to think of it, if you hadn’t sent me the wrong link, how many years would we spend pining for each other?”

joshua’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink as embarrassment creeps up on him. “don’t remind me of that. i’m going to be scared of sending someone the wrong link for the rest of my life now.”

“at least it had a good outcome for us,” you shrug jokingly, and joshua’s laugh sounds like music itself.

later on, long after the both of you have showered and cuddled up under your blanket, you’re struck with a ridiculous thought while admiring joshua’s features in the pale moonlight.

“so, now that i’m a special fan, do i get any added benefits from ShuaTalks?”

“darling, i just gave you a live demo of my audios. are you already that desperate for another round?”

“we’ve got to make up for lost time, don’t we?”

“maybe after my early morning class tomorrow.”

“sure, party pooper.”

fill this form to be added to the taglist <3

head to the masterlist for more!

taglist: @min-imum @sousydive @livelaughloveseventeen @unlikelysublimekryptonite

@theidontknowmehn @t-102 @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia

@cixrosie @baseball-dokyeom @4shypotato

#gyubakeries <3 #svthub #mansaenetwork #seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #svt #svt smut #svt x reader #svt imagines #hong joshua #joshua #joshua x reader #joshua smut #joshua imagines

607 notes · View notes

sixosix · 1 year ago

Text

SLEIGHT OF HAND | LYNEY

summary you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

or, local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

warnings 13+, gn!reader, follows the fontaine archon quest, so there are major spoilers throughout the entire fic! MURDER (lyney trial spoilers) + feminine french pet names ough + bff!Aether loml + sweet talker lyney + KISS SCENE (suggestive)

notes 8K words. thank u to my french bff art @aanobrain who said lyney is a magician he would say mon lapin 🤧❤️ + other various french pet names. thank u to ellie hyomagiri & earthtooz too for hyping this up, my supporters…

“500,000!?”

Sumeru streets are always bustling with its people—from children skipping around the neighborhood to frantic scholars who zip back and forth before returning to their homes when the moon is high. However, the sun is beating down on everyone right now: street vendors are making a profit, dogs are barking as they play fetch with laughing children, and you stand across the blond traveler and his floating companion.

You wince at the volume of Paimon’s shrill voice, inciting bypassers to send miffed glances your way. Embarrassed, you cover the side of your face with a hand, whispering, “Is—is that not enough? I can—”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Paimon’s arms flail around, eyes blown comically wide. “It’s just, you know, more than what we earn from our daily commissions combined!”

“Oh, I see.” you nod, relieved. “Well, I can lower—”

“No, no, no, no,” Paimon interjects hurriedly, and even the traveler shakes his head. “Pleasure to do business with you! Paimon and Aether, at your service!”

“Really?” you can’t believe your luck—the traveler himself agreed to escort you to Fontaine! Or does it count if Paimon agrees on his behalf? “That's a relief. Even Katheryne of the guild had a strange expression when I posted my commission.”

“It’s probably because of the amount of zeroes you might’ve accidentally put,” Paimon murmurs.

Aether tugs on her foot as if warning her. “We'll be leaving soon. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, yes. My stuff’s over there by the bench, you see?”

Aether and Paimon’s faces simultaneously fall. “All of that?” Paimon starts counting it, gaping when she has four little fingers held up.

They sure complain a lot. “You can still back out.”

Aether takes a deep breath, making his way over to your luggage. When he brushes past, you hear him chanting 500,000; 500,000; 500,000 under his breath. He wordlessly carries all of them, his chest puffed and expression grave.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” Aether wheezes out as Paimon flits worriedly around him. “How long are you going to be staying in Fontaine?”

“Oh, just a day or two, maybe,” you say, taking pity and taking one bag from him. “Most of what’s inside are art supplies.”

“Ah,” Aether says.

“500,000,” Paimon reminds him.

“We’re close,” Paimon says, flying back to where you and Aether are still walking behind, him heaving and you offering water now and then. “I saw a huge ravine-looking view! It was like a city on a waterfall!”

“R-Really?” Aether puffs out a breath, sweat rolling off his temple.

You tried prying some of your bags away from him when it seemed like there were monsters up ahead, but he refused instead to fight them with one hand on his sword. He still won. You guessed that he was trying to make traveling easier for you, yet all you felt was immense worry.

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” Paimon asks, floating beside you. “You look unwell.” You should ask your companion that, instead.

“I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s my first time traveling outside of Sumeru.” You smile, patting her head. She doesn’t seem to mind, beaming back. “But I need to get out of my comfort zone to be better, right?”

“That's right! Paimon has a feeling you’ll enjoy Fontaine!” You and Paimon glance at Aether when he heaves a heavy breath, yet he only waves the pair of you off with his free hand. “Before you know it, you’ll be itching to travel again once you’re back in Sumeru.”

“I'm only there for work. I just need to learn a lot, and then I'll enjoy it.”

“Still a student through and through, huh…”

“I can see it,” Aether chimes in, looking all too relieved to rest his arm finally. “I can see Fontaine up ahead.”

You feel the cool breeze brush against your face, a refreshing change from the past hours you and the other two have been trudging through the desert. You could strip off layers and dive if you could. You can make out the harbor even miles away, pouring water out like an endless waterfall stretching for miles.

Arriving in Fontaine is introducing yourself to the rustle of layered skirts, the water-kissed smell, and citizens left and right babbling about tragic endings and thrilling climaxes.

Aether sets your bags on the floor with a heavy exhale. Paimon feeds him with another jug of water.

“I guess we’re here now.” You pull out a heavy pouch you’ve been keeping in one of the bags Aether had been holding over his shoulder. Paimon takes it with greedy, greedy hands. “Thank you for keeping me safe and carrying my luggage, Traveler— are you even listening to me?”

“There’s a girl over there,” Aether says, now staring ahead.

You and Paimon turn to look; sure enough, someone is standing by the edge, looking forlornly over the water. Half of her foot is off the platform, making Paimon fidget.

She gasps. “She isn’t going to jump into the water, is she? Maybe we should go check on her…”

Halfway through Paimon’s sentence, you gathered the courage to speak to the girl with the cat ears.

“Hey, miss.” Her ear twitches. “Is something the matter?”

She turns, looking faintly surprised. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have been able to tell there was a change in her expression. “I'm fine. thank you.”

“Oh.” Now things are a little awkward. “Is there something in the water you’re looking at? You might slip if you keep tipping forward.”

She peers below, unworried—silent.

“As long as you’re okay, I guess,” you sigh, awkwardly hovering above her shoulder when realizing it might come off strange if you touch her. “I’ll leave you be.”

Her lips twitch, something close to a smile. You don’t stick long enough to admire it, heading back to Aether and Paimon and shrugging at their inquisitive looks. “She says she’s fine.”

“I think it’s time for me to separate,” you say. “I want to take all of it in as much as possible. Paimon has my payment. Thank you both so much for keeping me safe.” Mostly Aether, though. But Paimon was there, emotionally.

“It’s no problem,” Aether says, his smile warmer than when you first met him. “Stay safe out there. You can look for us if you need anything else.”

“I don’t always pay 500,000 for each of my commissions.”

Paimon wilts. Aether flushes, stammering, “Not what I meant.” You laugh heartily as they wave when you walk off to the aquabus, hopefully, prepared for what Fontaine will give you.

Your sketchbook is a page away from completion when you hear about a magic show at the Opera House. Not that it was hard to miss—everyone and their grandmothers were prattling about nothing else but the entire day.

Fontaine is known for its love for dramatics, but the twins they keep mentioning must be a one-of-a-kind spectacle to have half their region’s population speak about them so reverently.

After wandering for hours, taking in the endless sights of fresh water streaming and grand castle-like modern buildings, you find yourself in the Fountain of Lucine. You’ve heard of Fontaine being somewhat titled the ‘City of Love,’ but seeing couples surrounding each nook and cranny of the tourist spots was still astonishing.

(You console yourself by thinking that there’s something romantic in sketching frantically while the rest of the crowd are sucking faces.)

To your luck, you spot three familiar heads in the fountain plaza.

Aether senses you before you can even say anything, glancing to the side and smiling when you wave at him.

Paimon flutters excitedly. “Y/N! We didn’t think we’d see you again this early. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Was it that obvious?” you laugh sheepishly. “Fontaine is beautiful; I couldn’t even stick too long in one place before I see something else that catches my attention.” You look to the girl you met earlier, who nods politely. “Hello. Are you three acquainted now?”

“Mhm!” Paimon says, hands on her hips. “This is Lynette! She’s inviting us to the show they’re holding here!” She gasps, “Speaking of—”

“Ah,” Lynette says quietly, “I couldn’t get an extra ticket. I’m sorry.”

Lynette is the magician you keep hearing about? With her seemingly reserved personality, you wouldn’t have guessed it. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Paimon,” Aether speaks up. “They gave you your ticket, right? Why don’t you just float next to me or sit on my lap?”

Paimon’s eyes sparkle. “Great idea! That way, I can give my seat to Y/N, right?”

“You guys…” Your chest feels warm as Aether hands you one of the two tickets in his hand. “You really didn’t have to.” Is this what 500,00 gets you? The loyal companionship of Aether and Paimon?

“It’s a good idea,” Lynette says. “My brother wouldn’t want you to miss the show. He’d be devastated.”

“If you insist, then I suppose I can’t refuse.” Aether and Paimon do a cute little cheer. “But I need to return to the hotel; I can’t be watching a magic show carrying all these.” Surely Aether can understand.

Later, with your hands finally empty and charcoal-free, you rush back to the Opera Epiclese, the person standing guard kind enough to open the doors despite being a minute late.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Opera Epiclese!” The audience roars with cheers as the spotlight illuminates a figure on the center of the stage. You hurry to your seats, brushing past Aether and Paimon. “I am the star of today’s show, Lyney.”

Lyney bows, then stands upright with a Cheshire cat grin.

The thunder of the crowd’s applause is deafening. If you weren’t able to see it, you’d think that you hadn’t been clapping at all—senses numbed and your fixed stare all on the boy on the stage.

Your eyes catch on the small braid on the side of his head before the gleam of his eyes hypnotizes you.

He’s handsome, you think dizzily at the back of your head.

“Don’t blink,” he says, his voice lower as if meant to be a whisper, “or else you might miss it.”

The show proceeds. A dove soars away from inside as he flips his hat; you flush at hearing the soft laughter that slips from him after. The cards that materialize out of nowhere descend to the floor. His fingers shuffle the cards while talking to keep the audience satiated; they fly off his hands, yet he doesn’t lose focus, stretching them mid-air with a sleight of hand. They fall apart and come together neatly and precisely.

His stage presence is demanding. It would be as if Lady Furina herself would accuse you of committing a crime if you were to look away for even a second.

Then, when he scans the crowd, busy twirling his cards in his fingers, his gaze catches your awed ones.

Something in the air shifts. Or maybe it’s that it slows.

A card slips from his grasp. A mistake. He blinks and breaks eye contact, laughing heartily to play it off. But you don’t believe it—not when you swore your limbs locked in place as well when lilac drilled into your soul.

You breathe, hands bracing against your chest. What was that?

You would’ve played it off as something you imagined if not for Lyney continuing to glance at you occasionally. His slip-up had been forgotten, as though it was all part of the show.

(Is it also part of the show when it seems he’s unable to tear his eyes off of you?)

Of course, the twins prove their worth. They showed you exactly why the people of Fontaine adore watching them through theatrical magic, cards in their sleeves, and defying logic.

You’ve shuffled to the edge of your seat as Lynette disperses into bubbles and comes back alive. You’ve held your breath as Lyney emerges from the box across he was in a moment earlier.

You’ve also been witness to the murder of Cowell.

CRASH.

The shatter of glass resounded along with the horrified gasps of the audience. Sickeningly enough, you could almost hear the crack of bones if you hadn’t been crying out in alarm. Yet, as they gape and shriek over the sight of a limp arm popping out, you find your gaze tracing back to Lyney, who stands motionless in front of the box.

When Lady Furina points fingers and has everyone siding against him, the guards escort the audience from the Opera House. All evidence presented left Lyney in a spotlight unlike his performance: with a disgusted and unamused crowd. Even you have to agree that it isn’t looking well for his case at all.

Yet all you can think of as you leave the room is that Lyney looked as terrified as everyone else was—much too raw of an expression for someone to accuse him of anything at all. He looked young and scared.

(His hands were shaking.)

The rest of your Fontaine trip is admittedly duller when you’re a little more familiar with its city and don’t have a yapping little fairy and a capable Traveler by your side. It’s hard not to hear chatter about the events that went down: Lyney’s trial, Aether volunteering to be his lawyer, and the truth behind the real murderer.

It solved a case beyond the murder of Cowell. Fontaine sure has its mysteries, and the crowd sure loves them as they would a magic show.

You keep your hands busy. Last night, you found yourself thinking back to the magic show, to deft fingers weaving through cards, to violet eyes that kept on flickering to you. By the time you snap back to reality, you’ve subconsciously drawn shapes and lines that suspiciously look like the magician himself: the curve of a smile, piercing eyes, and you entranced by it all.

Flustered, you crumple his face staring back at you out of sight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You shove the last bit of garlic baguette in your mouth to furiously bat these unwanted thoughts away.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Paimon’s voice is unmistakable, a short distance off.

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Aether and Paimon waving and walking over to you. You thought they'd already left Fontaine after that; you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you since the Opera House performance,” Paimon exclaims, twirling around your head like a thrilled fly circling a trash can.

You hold onto her back, hoping she’ll stop making you dizzy. “We were escorted out before I could say goodbye. I couldn’t watch the court trial but heard it all turned out fine.”

“That’s right!” Paimon nods proudly. “Paimon helped a ton during it; you should’ve seen it! What have you been doing?”

“I found a fellow architect while visiting the cafe nearby, and we chatted for hours,” you say, remembering that your voice is hoarse for that reason. You also don’t tell them you couldn’t get a certain magician off your mind. “I learned a lot. I don’t regret coming here one bit.”

Paimon says something else that you’re sure you’ve nodded absentmindedly at while your gaze wanders over to the two familiar people a few feet behind, watching you three with cat-like eyes—and it’s not just because of Lynette’s unique features.

“Those are the magicians, right?” you gesture behind Paimon and Aether as if you haven’t already familiarized yourself with their faces.

Paimon nods. “Uh-huh. You should introduce yourself! They look like they want to talk.”

Something about that feels foreboding. “Um, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and interrupt your conversation.”

“No,” Aether says firmly. He seldom speaks; you might as well play along if he says so. “Besides, Paimon is right. Lyney wants to talk to you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! He kept mentioning seeing someone sitting beside us! And it couldn’t have been Neuvillette because he said it was an unfamiliar beauty that bewitched this weak magician’s heart.” Paimon nods, even recalling how he’s enunciated each syllable theatrically.

“I’m sorry?” you blurt. “Lyney recognizes me? What did I do?”

“Paimon thinks it’s because Lyney is curious about who Lynette met! He was like that with us, too.” Paimon changes her pitch to match Lyney’s. “Are these your friends, Lynette?”

Aether’s eyes feel like they know something you don’t. “It won’t hurt to strike up a conversation with Lyney. He’s been shaken up since the trial.”

There’s something unspoken hidden in his words. “What does that mean?”

Paimon doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to where the twins are waiting. Aether chuckles as he jogs behind.

“Paimon, Aether,” Lyney says, almost sly, “You haven’t introduced us to your friend here.”

“Paimon can do it!” She floats on top of your head and does a bit of jazz hands. “This is Y/N, the one who commissioned us to escort them from Sumeru up to Fontaine.”

“Generously,” Aether adds.

It’s a little embarrassing to have the legendary Traveler and Paimon introduce little old you to a famous magician such as himself, but his grin is still excited.

“From Sumeru?” Lyney repeats, smiling wider when you nod—as if that crumb of attention is enough for him. “I see.”

He performs a bow around the same height as where your hands rest; he takes one, kisses the back of your palm, and smiles against your skin. “I’m Lyney, and she is my sister, Lynette.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” You smile at Lynette, who nods in return. Lyney straightens to look at his sister.

“We met when the Traveler and Paimon just arrived at the harbor,” Lynette sighs even without looking at her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, meeting Lyney’s eyes. The spot where he kissed is still warm—tingling. “Your show was incredible, despite what happened. I’m glad that the truth revealed itself.”

“Thank you.” Lyney’s gaze sharpens. “I saw you at the performance, yes. I was worried for a second you might steal the show if you were to come up on stage.”

You blink. “Are you saying—”

Lyney grins, “I apologize that the night had to end that way; it must’ve been horrifying. Say, what if I give you a little show right now to make it up to you?” Did he make it up to each one of his audience, too?

This is not a man acting “shaken up,” as Aether put it.

“You really don’t have to.” You glance at Aether and Paimon, silently asking for help; however, they’re too far gone, urging you to say yes with gestures and encouraging nods.

Lyney tilts his head, demanding your attention on him once more.

You sigh. “I would love to see it if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Lyney looks like he’s the sun bursting personified. “It would be a pleasure, ma chérie. Not to worry, it’s nothing life-threatening. I just need you to focus on me.”

Not that it’s hard. The others have become a dull buzz in your mind as Lyney holds your gaze. “Okay.”

Lyney smiles, much softer, satisfied. “Good. Now,” he tips his hat, “recently, I’ve received a little lesson from someone about the language of flowers. Are you familiar with them?”

“Not in Fontaine, no,” you mumble, watching his hands closely. You were expecting a rabbit to hop out of that hat any second now.

“Shame. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Lyney snaps his finger, then deposits his hand inside his hat. “Hmm… Oh? Something’s not quite right. Would you mind looking into this hat for me to see if the flower is here?”

You hesitate. The hat is so close to him.

Swallowing, you nod, leaning in to inspect his hat at a careful pace. All you can sense is the faint scent of heat Lyney is emanating, the breath you two share, and the pounding of your chest. You swear you could also hear his, matching yours.

“The hat’s empty.”

Lyney smiles wider. “Yes, perhaps because you already have it.”

You jump back in surprise, your hands patting your body to see where he could have snuck the flower in. With your frantic movement, the flower falls off from what seems to have come from your head—Lyney catches it.

His mouth carves into a smirk, leaning to invade your personal space, his free hand coming up to tuck hair behind your ear. “Careful.”

Your face is burning. Plucking the flower out, the delicate and tender pink sears into your palm. “What does this flower mean?”

“What does it, I wonder?” Lyney whispers thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me once you find out.”

And when he inclines backward, it feels like you can breathe again. Time flows normally, and the people passing by seem much louder than before—as though you’ve surfaced from underwater.

Lyney clears his throat. “Shame I haven’t prepared myself a grand show for you, but I suppose that would call for another time, wouldn’t it?”

Lynette is looking at Lyney as if he is stupidly amusing.

“Thank you,” you say, burning, burning. “For the show, I mean.”

“That was a little weird,” Paimon whispers to Aether, but she is terrible with keeping volume and has everyone turning to her with varying expressions. “P-Paimon means that was good! Wow, Lyney! Isn’t that a different flower you gave us? That’s the flower Charlotte was talking about, right?”

“Rainbow rose?” Aether supplies.

“Yes! It means—”

“Ahem.” Lyney is quick to interrupt. “Lynette and I must take our leave now, if you don’t mind. It was fun catching up with you two.” You have to hold your ground and not look away when he hones in on your figure. “And it’s a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Look for me if you want more.”

His smile is a little devilish, you now realize.

“Bye,” Lynette says blankly, following after her brother, who seemed to be hurrying to exit.

His ears were red.

“You’re still staring.”

“I am not,” you rebuke hotly, flailing to cover Aether’s mouth with your hands. Yet all it does is bring your attention back to where Paimon and Aether are staring—the rainbow rose on your person.

Paimon and Aether yelp when you drag them away despite Lyney having already left the scene.

“Hey—! Don’t just go dragging Paimon around like a balloon like that! Did Lyney get to your head that much?”

“He did not.”

Paimon tilts her head, frowning. You shy away from her worried gaze, glaring at the flower instead. You still don’t know how Lyney managed to get it there; you hold it to your chest, where your heart is racing miles per minute because of his stupidly smug smile.

“What does this flower mean, Paimon?”

Paimon seems elated to be of help. “Easy! Charlotte told us that Rainbow Roses mean ‘passion’ and most notably ‘romantic encounters’!”

“Passion,” you curse. The rose seems as if it is staring back innocently, unknowing of the turmoil you’re going through because of it. “Romantic encounters.’ ugh.”

You can still remember how Lyney’s eyes twinkled as you felt his breath against your face.

“Ooh, he thinks he can trick me. He thinks he can affect me just because it pleases him to do so. I’ll show him. I’ll show him! I am not a blushing maiden!”

“You’re already very affected by this,” Paimon says, yet it’s lost by your newfound determination. Two can play at this game.

You’ve definitely been staying in Fontaine longer than what you told Aether and Paimon, but you can’t leave yet. Not when you found yourself walking to a flower shop to purchase a vase, fiercely digging through soil, turning gentle when your fingers reach for the Rainbow Rose. Not when you see it in the corner of your eyes as you try to sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about a charming violet-eyed virtuoso.

It’s for research, you excused lamely at the hotelkeeper who didn’t ask why you’re extending your stay. In truth, not that you’d tell anyone. It was because you were hoping for another grand show from him. A farewell show for you—closure.

If you were to travel back home and get too drunk to think straight, Kaveh would learn about your crisis (romantic awakening?) and laugh at your face.

In hopes of looking for your Fontaine architect friend, you spot Lyney instead, on the side of the street surrounded by cheering kids. They clap and jump, and Lyney laughs. “One more, one more!”

“Again?” Lyney does an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starting to run out of cards in my sleeves. I’ve guessed my entire deck from your hands by this point!”

“But, Mr. Magician,” one of them whines, pouting up at him and blinking, “we want to see more! We want to know how you do it!”

“Alright, how about this, hm?” And then Lyney peers right at you. Ironically, you’re the one startled when you’ve been watching that entire spiel, and he hasn’t acknowledged your presence beforehand. “Y/N, would you mind giving these children a little show with me?” He gestures for you to come closer.

“What show?” you ask suspiciously, taking slow steps in case he pulls out another flower out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lyney laughs. “Will you be my assistant for this show? You are very familiar with this trick.”

“Please, we want to see!”

You falter at the little kids’ excited grins, especially when paired with Lyney’s pout and round eyes. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

His eyes do the little gleam again. “Stand in front of me, mon lapin.”

Your heart is skipping beat after beat, making itself known as you shuffle until Lyney is directly behind you.

“Relax, chérie, you just need to stand still.” It’s a little hard to relax when you feel his breath against the back of your neck, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that, so you keep your chin high and relax your shoulders. “Good.”

He begins to speak louder to his awaiting audience. “I know it’s hard to keep your eyes off this beauty before me, but watch the hat for a surprise, alright?”

He flips it for his little audience, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended to hold his top hat. The proximity is almost suffocating. You watch with bated breath, and they complain about it being empty.

“Oh, is it?” Lyney hums, twirling the hat until it’s flipped upside down, presented right before you. “Perhaps I need my assistant’s help.” You snap out of your daze when you realize he’s talking to you. “Y/N, do me a favor and show them the flower inside.”

You reach inside the hat and, much to your surprise, feel a stem. You pull it out; the Rainbow Rose stares back at you, almost mocking you, saying he did pull out a flower out of nowhere. It's this trick again.

The kids gasp in awe and confusion—it’s all the same for Lyney, who snaps his fingers and creates magic like he was made to. Like magic was for him to summon with his hands.

“What? It was empty!”

“Where did that come from? I was watching Mister Magician’s hands the whole time!”

“Are you a magician, too?”

“No,” you say lamely, holding the rose, feeling Lyney still patiently standing behind you. Heat crawls up your neck. “No, I’m not. It’s all Lyney.”

“It’s all me,” Lyney echoes in amusement. “You’re quite magical yourself.” Finally, he spares you, pulling away to stand beside your figure. He doesn’t take the rose back—maybe even give it to one of the children. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “That’s enough for today. The sun is setting, and your parents might get worried.”

They pout and slump their shoulders, but Lyney has this older brother's sternness to him that has the children scurrying back home anyway.

You then realize having to stand in front of Lyney was unnecessary.

The flower is warm. Lyney’s eyes slip to yours.

“I didn’t even have to stand in front of you like that,” you complain, heart inclined to race off your body.

“Yes, but I feared that I would slip up again if I were to catch a glimpse of your face,” Lyney admits smoothly. His lips curl into a smirk when you stare wordlessly. “What? Don’t believe me? I had to improvise when I saw you watching from afar.”

“A great magician such as yourself? Making a mistake? I doubt it.”

“You already have such high expectations placed on me, chérie,” Lyney says, his smile easy, but his ears are a little red, poking out from his hair. “That’s no good. With no audience, I’m just plain ‘Lyney’ to you.”

“No trickery? No cards up your sleeves?” you play along.

Lyney doesn’t miss a beat. “No, though I do have a few more roses begging to be held by your hands.”

“They can keep begging.” Lyney grins wider when you glance down at his hands. “Do you give them off to everyone you meet?”

“Who do you take me for?” Lyney isn’t offended; he laughs, delighted. He is preening under the sunset—or maybe it’s your attention. “Of course not. At least, not like this.”

You stare, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“So cold, chérie,” Lyney sighs, plucking the stem from your fingers to slot it behind your ear. It seems he likes doing that. “Here I am, trying to get you to warm up to me, and you treat me like this.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be going back home soon anyway.”

Lyney’s expression shifts into something more unrecognizable, his eyes dipping down to somewhere below your nose. “Oh. Avoiding attachment?”

You nod.

He grins, and he’s still so close. He knows how to entrance his audience, pulling you in until you forget to resist. Always watch the hands; yet Lyney could be digging a dagger to your side at this moment, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“I’m flattered you even want to avoid me because you know you’d get attached,” he purrs, tilting his head. Is Lyney just big on personal space?

“Don’t assume,” you retort. “I know how guys like you think. Even a magician as great as yourself can’t trick someone who’s already seen through it.”

“It would be easier if it were just a trick, wouldn’t it?” Lyney sighs, much to your confusion. “I take it that someone has told you what this flower means?”

You’ve nearly forgotten all about it. “Yes.” You find yourself unable to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

But even with that, you can still feel his heavy gaze, pinning you down and threatening the strength of your knees. You suppose it comes with being a performer—watching his audience carefully, pinpointing each micro expression to say the right words.

“There doesn’t have to be any attachments.”

“What are you trying to say right now?”

Lyney’s reaches for your hip, sharing your gaze like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. “That you enamor me. That I am holding back from wanting you. I know you feel the same—you can never hide anything from a magician. But if you’re concerned,” he mumbles, “then this doesn’t have to mean anything. You may call it infatuation.”

You want to laugh. Or maybe you want to cry. Most of all, you want to nod helplessly, wrap your arms around his neck, and give in. It’s hard not to when he looks at you like that. “You want me that bad?”

“I almost want to disagree.”

“Almost?” Lyney gets closer, and you stop him with a palm on his chest. “We’re outside.”

Lyney grins. “Have you forgotten what Fontaine is also known for? No one would bat an eye. Love is in the air, and all that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So still you’re letting me?”

You laugh this time. Letting him, as if you aren’t the one itching to pull him close and find out what he’s like behind the curtains. “Are you asking me as plain old ‘Lyney?’”

Lyney brightens, clearly pleased there wasn’t a ‘no’. “Yes.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks. No strings.”

You let him lead you away into some dark alleyway. He kisses you like he was longing to do so all his life. You have only met him that fateful day, not even a week ago. But you claw at him like you get it—like he’s ruined you for anyone else the moment you shared gazes in the Opera House.

Romantic encounters, you quietly recall as Lyney swipes a thumb over your aching bottom lip.

You don’t see Lyney the day after that. And for some reason, it makes the itch worse. (Perhaps it’s because you’ve gotten a taste and can’t get enough.)

It’s mostly your fault, the sudden disappearance—you’ve cooped yourself up in the hotel room, buried your face in pillows, and screamed. You berate yourself for giving in, but another part of you—one that’s louder than any other thought in your head—wants to do it again. Wants to hold his handsome face in your hands and have him kiss you breathless. That was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You groan. It’s another new day. You might as well make some progress with your portfolio.

There’s a Café you’ve been visiting more often than not. Ordering a drink and spending a good chunk of your day sketching the view. Instead, you find yourself staring at Aether, Paimon, and Lynette seated at one of the tables.

Lynette’s eyes flick up to yours as she sips tea. She murmurs something to the other two, and you watch with amusement as Aether and Paimon’s heads snap to face you.

You let your gaze wander, eventually landing on Lyney, who is reciting his order with his charming-act-on smile, who is present because of course he is. You want to turn and run away, but that’d be letting Lyney win, and you’re nothing if not stubborn and prideful.

“Y/N!” Paimon greets once you’re within earshot, kicking her feet happily. “Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, waving at them. Aether pulls a chair from the other table and gestures for you to sit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” Paimon swipes a fork from the table and digs in on the Ile Flottante, leaving nothing for Aether. “Lynette and Lyney told us about another show they’re holding to make up for the previous one.”

“Mouth full,” Aether reminds her, a little too late as the Ile Flottante spews from her mouth.

“Really now? Maybe I can pay properly for a ticket this time,” you laugh, nodding at Lynette. She smiles faintly, hiding it behind the rim of her cup. Lynette sure is the polar opposite of her twin brother.

A shadow looms from behind, the silhouette of a figure with an unmistakable top hat. You tilt your chin and see Lyney peering down at you with a sweet smile. You will yourself to keep your gaze focused on his eyes only and nowhere else below the nose.

Speak of the devil…

“Sweetheart,” Lyney says instead of exchanging pleasantries like a normal person.

“Lyney,” you reply in kind. Then you look away upon realizing that Aether, Paimon, and Lynette had been silently watching the exchange with muted, stunned expressions.

Lyney, holding a tray of drinks and food in both hands, scoots the chair next to yours with his ankle. “I wasn’t informed that Y/N would be joining us,” he says, setting the drinks and plates down like a waiter with a flourish. “You can drink mine. Let me order another.”

You hold onto his wrist as he makes his way back. He turns to you, surprised. “Let me at least pay for my own breakfast.”

Lyney grins, delicately withdrawing from your grip. He places a loud kiss on your hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And then leaves, because he can’t take no for an answer.

“Is it just me,” Paimon starts as you resign yourself to finishing Lyney’s drink (It’s your favorite, the one you always order), “or is Lyney acting weird around Y/N?”

Aether laughs. “There's definitely something going on. Don’t end up staying too long in Fontaine, now. What was it you told us? ‘A day or two’.”

You huff, your face turning unbearably warm. “Shut up, you two. I am here to do research, not to find a summer fling.” You’ve already failed, but they don’t need to know about that.

If you were to touch your lips with your fingers, you’d think of no one else but Lyney’s hands on your hips and his mouth swallowing your words.

Lynette clears her throat, a quiet but noticeable thing. “Don’t be fooled by my brother, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still keeping my safe distance.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. Don’t be fooled by my brother.” She stares at you from the rim of her cup—something about that has you listening obediently. “No matter what he tells you, he always cares too much. No matter what you may think, he always gets hurt first.”

“That’s not…” You can’t imagine that. From the start, it’s always felt like he was the one who could do what he wanted.

No tricks.

Lynette is his twin, after all. She knows him best.

No strings.

Defeated, you sip on the straw with the same fervor of an aggravated hilichurl, and that’s the end of that.

Conversations during breakfast are much lighter when Lyney returns with a full meal as his treat. Celebration, he says. Celebration for what? Who knows? Lyney winked, but his glance directed to you said enough.

“You say that you don’t want to get attached, but you’re awfully close to the Traveler, of all people,” Lyney says offhandedly once the others have left for their own matters.

You lean against your seat, grinning. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead upturning his nose as if scrambling to regain control. You laugh, oddly endeared. Lyney turns his head away, trying to hide the smile that curls his lips upon hearing it.

“Hey,” Lyney says seriously, reaching for your hand. “Where have you been yesterday?”

“Why? Missed me?”

And because he’s Lyney, he takes his time kissing each of your knuckles. It’s more intimate than the whole ‘no strings’ arrangement you agreed on, but you suppose Lyney thinks that any physical attention is free reign. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“You’ll be fine,” you say slyly. “You’ll have to get used to it if you want to risk your heart just to get laid.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you closer. “I’m not risking anything to get laid. Do you think so lowly of yourself, chérie?”

“Isn’t this all there is to it? Physical attraction,” you ask, genuinely confused.

Lyney blinks. “Of course, but—” His eyes flicker down, and his words trail off.

When you speak, you feel your breath bounce back from his skin—a testament to your proximity. “Lyney,” you whisper. For what? Urging him to continue? Urging him to close this distance? You’re not sure, either.

You have so much to ask. What do you mean? Why can’t you finish your sentence? Why don’t you just kiss me already? But it’s hard to speak; Lyney’s name is all you can think of.

You whisper his name again. His grip on your hands tightens and loosens, a frustrated frown creeping up his brows.

Your hand shoots out to reach for the back of his head and give in. He flinches for a second before relaxing completely.

His lips almost taste sweeter than his words. Almost as sweet as how he finds purchase on your waist and holds your chin during every kiss.

You pull away to breathe, missing how he leans closer to chase after you and pouting when he can’t. “Yeah. That—That didn’t have to mean anything. I just wanted to know what it felt like again.”

“Yeah.” Lyney licks his lips, his gaze unable to tear away from where yours are swollen. “Yeah, I know. You taste like my drink.”

Really, no one’s surprised you gravitate towards each other again, feeling like you’re soaring and melting into a puddle at the same time. Lyney doesn’t touch you where you both know would cross the line, but he grips near possessively to what he can, as if breathing you in and worshipping your skin.

You know after this, he’d go back on stage, fooling his audience with what’s invisible to the average eye, as if this never happened. You know this because this is your deal: satiate the feverish attraction you have with each other and leave once you’re satisfied. (But you also know that you’ll be thinking of his touch and his lips while you stare at the vase beside your bed.)

Lyney is a magician, first and foremost.

He hooks you in, and keeps all your attention to himself like he’d die without it. Then he disappears with a snap of a finger. He’s finished his trick, leaving you befuddled in your seat with more questions than answers.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think of is that there are two roses now.

“Brother.”

Lyney looks up from where he’d been entertaining Rosseland, seeing Lynette with a stern face. “What? What happened?”

Her tail flicks. “You said you weren’t going to get attached.”

Lyney exhales softly, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m not.”

Lynette finds herself smiling softly. “I may just be your assistant, but you can’t lie to your own twin.”

He buries his face in his hands. With his sight gone, images of your face while whispering his name flash in his mind. His eyes fly open, mortified, his whole face red. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t think it’d be deeper than that.”

He was the magician in this, but it felt as if you were the one who tricked him instead.

It’s been two weeks since you first arrived in Fontaine. By this point, you’ve grown more familiar with its views than your own city. Having Aether, Paimon, Lynette, and even Freminet around doesn't make it any easier for you to feel at home.

And then there’s the Lyney Situation. You meet up most nights, more than that when he’s free from shows. He keeps seeking you out, and you keep letting him in. There was one night where Lyney spent the night instead of heading straight to the door—and those nights turned into two, then three, and then he finds any excuse to keep doing it.

It’s not like you could stop. He told you look for me if you want more, and you always want more, because how could you not? Lyney treats you like he’s never had to take care of anything more precious but still manages to render you breathless like you’ve never experienced thrill the way he gives it to you before.

But you still have to go back home. And Lyney still has his own life, has his secrets. He feels untouchable even when your arms are wrapped around his neck.

No strings attached can still work for summer flings, doesn’t it? And what are summer flings, if not just that?

Lyney hovers above with his hands caging your face. He’s grinning so wide—and you’ve seen all kinds of smiles on him with your time spent together, but it was never this genuine.

“You’re bad for me.” He says it like a confession, a prayer.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did I do to you?”

His hand trails down until he’s rubbing shapes on your hips. “Make me feel like I’m myself whenever I’m with you.”

At your silence, Lyney clears his throat. “But it’s not like that, don’t worry. I just mean—”

And how does that even make sense? He pours his heart, then later reveals it’s nothing but a decoy to keep this facade realistic.

“Oh,” you say.

That was the final act you’d been waiting for. The final trick—the farewell show.

And so you pack your bags—shoved your sketchbook back inside, face forward, and promise not to look back. Leaving Sumeru hasn’t even been this hard.

Aether and Paimon shouldn’t be surprised if they find you missing; they’d been the first to know that your stay in Fontaine isn’t meant to last forever. And you’ve warned Lyney about this. Avoiding attachments? It felt more like running away from your problem.

Lyney is a busy man on his own; you’re nothing but some architect from a different region who happened to get caught up with him at the right time.

You sigh and call for the aquabus.

A hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you to collide against a familiar chest. Lyney’s eyes are wide, almost insane. Sweat clings to his forehead, and his breath comes in frantic pants.

“W-What—”

Lyney’s eyes search your face. Or maybe it’s him trying to convince himself that you’re right there, in front of him. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Were you just going to leave like that? Don’t you think I at least deserve a farewell?”

“Lyney, I’m sorry. I know, that was stupid.” You haven’t seen him with an expression like this before—so raw and broken, begging to be glued together with your hands. “I didn’t want to formally say goodbye because I knew I'd want to stay.”

“That’s stupid,” he repeats in agreement.

You breathe shakily, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. What’s The Great Magician Lyney doing here? Holding some stranger in his arms? That must be what they’re thinking.

“How did you even know I was leaving?”

Lyney’s eyes cut down to his hand, gripping a crushed rose. “I was paying a visit to an empty room.” Embarrassed, he tries to toss it away, but you take it before he can.

You wordlessly place it in its home: the spot behind your ears. You don’t tell him that the two other roses he gave you serve as bookmarks in the sketchbook you’ve used all up in Fontaine. Where you’ve drawn his face more often than not.

Lyney groans in frustration, his hands curling around your waist. “Is staying so bad?”

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

And then you notice Lyney’s hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, not unlike how it did during that incident—and with it came the frantic exhales, as if natural human breathing alone is already hard enough for him.

“Oh, Lyney,” you say softly. You drop your bags and embrace him fully.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you closer, burying his face on your neck. “Don’t—don’t,” he gasps, “don’t just try to leave like that.”

It’s hard seeing Lyney like this. He’s usually so composed and easy-going. He gulps in a deep breath, and his voice cracks as he calls for you. This must be something out of his control—something deeper than the back of his stage.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

“Lyney,” you call back as gently.

He swallows your surprised noise with his mouth, moving against you like you’re his last meal on Teyvat. He’s still shaking, but it has subsided the longer you stay pressed against each other. You’re not sure if it’s his Pyro vision or if it’s your skin burning at the thought of Lyney’s skin against yours. It’s searing.

This is different from the last kisses you shared.

Passion, you think dizzily, breathless from his hunger. This is passion.

“What was that for?” you ask, embarrassingly winded.

Lyney brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks sad. As though he only comes alive when you’re with him. “A kiss to make up for your absence in the following weeks.”

“I can always come back,” you say. “No, I will come back. I promise. I just need to get home for a bit.”

“Okay.” Lyney nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah. I know, I understand. Once you come back, come straight to me, alright?”

“Of course.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. You’ve never done it before because it always came off too intimate. And judging by the blush that explodes on his face, he thinks the same.

It all doesn’t matter. The line has been crossed days ago; you’ve just been turning away from seeing it.

He kisses you again. Then again. “Have a safe trip,” he says in between kisses. “I almost wish you commissioned me to escort you, regardless of the price.”

“What, you want 500,00?” The aquabus has arrived; Lyney grips you a little tighter, childishly willing himself not to see it.

“500,000 kisses, and more.” Lyney rests his forehead against yours, his captivating eyes keeping you still, the way it always does. “But you can give me that when you come back.”

( Before they were taken away from the stage for an investigation, Lynette comes up to her brother and asks, “What happened back there, Lyney? I thought you were about to twist your own fingers.”

He is unsure how to tell his sister that he saw your awed expression and nearly lost his wits.

“It was nothing,” Lyney admits, his face growing hot at recalling his slip-up.

It wasn’t out of embarrassment, no—not when the memory of your wide-eyed beaming expression and how his mind blanked along with the skip of his heart plagued his mind.

“It was nothing,” he repeats numbly. It’s not. It was the start of something. )

a/n ok just a quick rant this fic BROKE ME. it was like every other day i hated then loved writing this fic. im not used to writing fics this long so pacing is not my forte </3 but i just feel proud of myself for finishing this so HOPE U LIKED IT. if ure still reading until here ily ❤️

more a/n two lyney fics and two kissing scenes. i can’t even lie to myself. everyone can tell.

more more a/n it was halfway through writing this fic that i rewatched the magic show and only noticed lyneys hands were shaking and i GOT SO SAD OMF 😭😭😭😭

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #lyney fanfiction

4K notes · View notes

the-90s-music-colosseum · 1 year ago

Text

Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #lauryn hill #fugees #damon albarn #blur #90s music #tournament

1K notes · View notes

luxaofhesperides · 1 year ago

Text

“You know, I never realized how true the ‘eyes are the windows to your soul’ thing was until I saw yours.” + fluff + cafe AU ; requested by @kiv1!

He’s sure Danny didn’t expect to see him every other day after he casually mentioned that he had gotten a part time job at a local cafe. However, as his friend, it is Duke’s moral duty to only get coffee from that shop while Danny is on shift, specifically to annoy him.

Also, so he can support his friend, but being annoying takes priority.

It’s a routine now, for both of them. Danny clocks in for his shift and an hour later Duke is strolling into the cafe with his eyes locked on Danny’s. The rest of the baristas always shove Danny up to the register when they see Duke, taking over whatever order he was making. Even some of the other regulars turn their attention up to the counter, hoping for another few minutes of entertainment.

Danny sighs as he gets ready to input Duke’s order. It’s never the same one, because Duke would hate to be predictable and make things easier for Danny, but it has the side effect of making him realize that some of the expensive, seasonal drinks are really good.

It’s a bit hard on his wallet, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay for teasing Danny.

“Hey,” he greets cheerfully as he leans against the counter, grinning at Danny.

Danny sighs again. “What can I get you today, random customer that keeps bothering me.”

“A latte, but make it sweet somehow. And iced.”

“What size would you like?”

“Let’s go with medium today.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Duke leans closer to Danny, watching as he fights down a smile. “I just gotta say that you got gorgeous eyes. You know, I never realized how true the ‘eyes are the window to your soul thing’ was until I saw yours.”

Danny considers this for a moment, then shakes his head. “It kind of sounds like your trying to steal my soul through my eyes.”

“Why is that what your mind goes to?”

“Well. I watched Coraline last night.”

Duke stares at Danny, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. “...Didn’t you say that movie gave you nightmares as a kid?”

“Yeah! And it turns out, it gives me nightmares even now!”

“And ruined my pick up line,” Duke complains playfully.

“It was too cheesy anyways,” Danny replies, putting Duke’s order into the screen. It prints a moment later, no doubt with some bizarre name since Danny refuses to actually name Duke on his orders, and then recites the price.

He pays and watches as Danny slaps the order onto a medium sized up, then tosses it over to the barista making the drinks. He’s not actually sure what her name is since she refuses to wear a name tag, but she always gives him a wave and also a rating of how good his pick up lines are.

“Seven out of ten!” she calls out to him today, then gets started on making his drink.

“I don’t see why you don’t flirt with anyone else,” Danny says, “I’m pretty sure my coworkers like your pick up lines even more than they like me.”

“Why would I want to flirt with them? Danny, I’m literally only here to bother you.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Yeah, trust me, I know. My good looks just keep pulling in business.”

He says it like a joke, but it’s true. Duke has noticed it. Danny’s coworkers have noticed it. His manager noticed it and now has him out on the floor every shift. If they can get him to work on the chalkboard sign outside, or wipe down the two tables out front, then they do it, because Danny is Midwestern to his core and it’s very charming in a place like Gotham. He smiles at people as they walk by, happily answers their questions when they ask him what the cafe serves, recommends food and drinks for them, is generally a bright and nice person to everyone who comes near the cafe.

His cute looks draw people in, then his personality makes them stay.

It’s all customer service, of course, because Duke never gets the cute, sunny Danny. He’s left with the sarcastic, rude, and funny Danny that’s been his friend since they met in junior year of high school.

“Your eyes are really pretty, though,” Duke says, “Very blue. Sometimes green. It’s no wonder people keep falling for you!”

Danny reaches across the counter to shove Duke away, but he’s blushing, so Duke is counting it as a win. “Shut up. Now you’re just lying. My eyes are never green.”

“Yes, they are. Danny, I’ve seen them multiple times. They’re green sometimes.”

“No? My eyes have literally only ever been blue. They’re the bluest blue to ever blue. They don’t just turn green.”

They squint at each other for a long moment, trying to figure out who’s wrong and in what way. Duke’s pretty sure Danny’s wrong, since he can’t exactly see his own eyes, and Duke has spent an embarrassing amount of time just admiring how nice they are in different kinds of light. But also, they are Danny’s eyes, so he should know what color they are.

Then Danny’s coworker is setting down Duke’s drink on the pick up counter, giving Danny an excuse to get back to work.

“One medium oatmeal cookie iced latte for Cornelius Aggravating Douglas.” He holds up the drink and makes very direct eye contact with Duke, holding out the drink towards him.

“Did you really have to make the initials ‘Cad’?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough,” Duke says, making Danny crack a smile.

“Are you heading out after this?”

Duke grabs a straw and sticks it into his latte, swirling it around some. “That was the plan, yeah. Got a few library books to pick up. Why?”

“I got approval for a half shift today, so I’m off in like ten minutes, if you wanna wait for me.”

“Hell yeah, dude! I’ll wait outside so I don’t distract you with my flirtatious winks again.”

“Get out of here,” Danny laughs. Duke lifts his drink in a quick toast, then gets out of there. He takes a seat at one of the tables out front, content to just people watch as he slowly sips his latte.

It’s cloudy out, but not raining, which is always a plus. As much as he’d like to see the sun, these kinds of days aren’t so bad, either. The wind still carries a bit of a chill, but the spring is steadily warming things up. There are tons of people out, a constant rush of movement, but a few do catch sight of him, then look towards the cafe, their steps slowing down as they think. Most keep walking, but Duke does manage to get a few to go in just by taking a long sip of his latte to really enjoy it.

Really, he should be getting compensated for the work he’s doing to draw people in. Danny’s not the only one who can do it.

Bruce keeps offering him money, so he doesn’t need to get paid, but maybe he can convince the other employees to talk Danny into accepting one of his pick up lines so they can go on a date one of these days.

It’s become a bit of a joke, but the first time Duke used a cheesy pick up line on Danny, he was being absolutely serious about it. He definitely shouldn’t have used a pick up line he found from a website centered on relationship advice, but he panicked and needed some extra help.

Instead of smoothly asking Danny out on a date, Duke froze up, blurted out the pick up line, then had to laugh it off with Danny and pretend it was a joke.

He still wishes he was able to ask Danny out properly before, but he’s also glad that they got to spend more time as friends, getting to know each other. It’s easier to be with him now, no longer so tongue tied and flustered.

Duke gets to fluster Danny now, which is much better.

And maybe one day his pick up lines will work! Sooner or later Danny’s going to question why he keeps doing this, and then he’ll connect the dots and understand what Duke feels for him.

As it is, he has yet to connect shit.

“My eyes are definitely blue,” Danny says as he walks out of the cafe, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “I checked while I was putting my apron away.”

“You’re still on that?”

“They’re blue.”

Duke gestures for Danny to come closer. He complies and leans down, letting Duke cup his face in his hands. He checks, considers, then checks again, and says, “They are indeed blue.”

“Told you they weren’t green,” Danny says smugly, pulling back.

“And I said they were green sometimes. Now clearly isn’t one of those times, but they do turn green!”

“I don’t think you should be allowed to say any eye-related pick up lines until you admit that you were wrong and didn’t know my eye color.”

Shaking his head, Duke stands up and pushes in his chair. “Just wait, I’ll catch it sometime and prove it to you.”

“Sure, whatever. Don’t you have library books to get?”

“Yeah, you coming with?”

“Obviously. Why else would I leave my wonderful job where I am left alone to make drinks in peace?” Danny knocks his shoulder against Duke playfully, then reaches over and steals his drink right out of his hand. He takes a sip, makes a pleased hum, and drains half of what was left in the cup.

“Hey!” Duke moves to take it back, which is naturally the exact moment Danny takes off running, effortlessly dodging everyone else on the sidewalk. He takes off after Danny, using his powers to make sure he can move out of the way of anything or anyone who gets in his path.

They’re past the block when Danny starts to slow down, taking another sip of Duke’s latte.

He puts on a final burst of speed and all but tackles Danny into the mouth of an alley, reaching for his cup. “Gotcha!”

“No!” Danny wails dramatically. He takes a step back and Duke watches as his power kicks up again, showing him a vision of Danny stepping on an empty can and falling back. Except he doesn’t really fall back? His foot rolls back on the can for a second, then goes through the can and settles back onto the ground where he catches his balance. Through the entire three second fall, Danny’s eyes are a bright green, brighter than Duke’s ever seen them.

His vision fades away and he moves to catch Danny, taking the chance to watch carefully as Danny’s foot does indeed go through the can. He quickly brings his gaze up to Danny’s eyes, which are green, but not inhumanly bright like they were in his vision.

Is the green not perceptible to normal humans?

He can probably only see it due to his powers. Which means he somewhat inadvertently outed himself as a meta.

Whoops!

Might as well just bite the bullet.

“Hey, do you have powers?”

Danny chokes, shoving Duke away as he coughs and tries to clear his throat. He looks panicked, wild-eyed, searching for an escape route. “What? No. Why would I have powers? Maybe you have powers, have you ever considered that?”

“I mean. I do have powers. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Hold up. Stop talking. You have powers?”

“And your eyes are green sometimes.”

“That’s. No, they’re not,” Danny lies. It’s a very bad lie, seeing how on edge he is, and as much as Duke hates making Danny feel like that, he did get some bad habits while training with Bruce and this is one of them: the need to keep pushing, chasing after clear answers regardless of what the cost is.

Duke shrugs, taking a sip of his latte, down to its last few mouthfuls, acting casual. “If you say so. But my powers don’t lie, man. As much as I wish they would, sometimes.”

“...Can we not do this out here?” The defeated tone Danny speaks with makes Duke hate himself. But he needs answers now. He needs to know if Danny is like him, if he’s safe, if he needs help. He needs it more than he needs Danny to like him at all.

“Sure. I know a few quiet places we can talk.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Danny mutters. “Did my eyes really give it away?”

“Yeah. I mean, to be fair, I also didn’t realize until literally right now, so I don’t think anyone else will figure it out just from staring into your eyes.”

“See, this is what happens when you keep flirting when you don’t mean it. Secrets get pulled out into the open and it’s bad for everyone!”

Duke lightly punches Danny’s arm, trying to lift the mood. “Hey, who said I didn’t mean it?”

“What?”

“Who said I didn’t mean it when I flirt with you?”

Danny blinks at him, confused, then says, “I mean, no one I guess. But it’s pretty obvious?”

“I only flirt with you, you know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Duke says, trying to ignore how his voice shakes slightly. “There’s another one of my secrets. Can we call it even now?”

“Oh!” The shock of the revelation distracts Danny from his earlier nerves. Which is great, because now Duke is the one who’s nervous. It’s worth it, though, seeing the pretty blush come to bloom on Danny’s cheeks. “So all those pick up lines—”

“Yeah.”

“And the pick up line made you realize my powers!”

“These pick up lines are doing the most,” Duke agrees. And then he realizes, “Hey, you what this means? I was right! Your eyes are windows to your soul!”

“I’m going to hit you,” Danny says, already winding back for a solid punch. He lets Danny hit him since it’s only fair for the stress he caused; as a meta, Duke knows how important secrecy is, how the difference between life and death can be just how well his powers are hidden.

“Are we even now?”

Danny considers him for a moment, then sighs. “Yeah, I guess. Let’s be done with this for now, okay? Let’s go to the library.”

He refuses to entertain any conversation about powers or Duke’s feelings for him. It’s nice to spend time with Danny, but by the end, Duke is sure he can feel his heart start to crack in half. A sleepless night awaits him when he gets home, moving past his cousin’s attempts to talk to him in favor of flopping face down onto his bed.

But the next day, Danny grins at him when he walks into the cafe. He doesn’t have a new pick up line, choosing instead to act as calm and casual as possible to give Danny some space.

Also breaking routine, Danny insists on personally making Duke’s drink, writing something onto the cup before he fills it up with a floral tea.

You’re so fine, you made me forget my pick up line, is scrawled on the side of his cup when he gets it.

“Enjoy your drink, Cutiepie the Third,” Danny says with a shy smile.

“The Third?” Duke repeats, relief making him feel lighter than air, “Who are the first two?”

“Don’t worry about it, cutie. Get to class!”

Duke lets Danny chase him out, and holds in his laugh when he hears Danny’s coworker screech, “What was that?!”

Yeah, they’ll be fine. In the meantime, Duke needs to see if apology pick up lines are thing. Danny definitely deserves one.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #duke went from flirting to accidentally outing both himself AND danny as people w powers. and then lowkey confessing. disaster <3 #meanwhile danny has been slowly falling for duke bc of his cute and cheesy pick up lines that he always turned into a joke bc he didnt #believe that it was real. and also his coworkers would embarrass him if he got too flustered #they all ship him and duke btw. so do some of the regulars #coffe with a two minute show lol #thank you for the prompt!!

688 notes · View notes

hellfirenacht · 1 month ago

Text

Anomaly Chapter 5

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: You and Eddie make some calls and get to know each other a little more.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.4k

Master List

No beta, you all should know better by now.

“You’re old enough to buy your own now, you know. I’m only gonna up-charge you.”

“What? Can’t a girl just buy some smokes from her friend?”

“Right. Friends.”

“Fine, then I’m supporting a local business.”

“What do you actually want, Stacy?”

“I’m just making sure that you two are going to play nice.”

“What the Hell? Shouldn’t you be telling her that?”

“She’s always nice.”

“Right, and I’m the queen of Sheba.”

“Well then, your majesty, just give me my smokes and I’ll be on my way.”

Bev wasn’t too happy that Eddie was going to be coming in an hour and a half later than expected on his Wednesday shift but she waved it off. The Hideout survived without him for god knows how long, the small dive could handle losing a busboy for a few hours on a weekday night.

He sauntered into Ms. Benson’s classroom a fashionable ten minutes late, and a few dollars richer. You were already sitting at a desk chatting with Ms. Benson about who-knows-what before taking his own seat on top of the desk.

If Eddie had to be here, he might as well rebel in his own way. He really would rather be bussing tables and trying to convince Bev to give him extra time on stage than do school services with someone who hated him.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Munson.” Ms. Benson said, ignoring the fact that he was on his desk. She pulled out a thick binder and a rolodex that looked like it would fall apart if she didn’t hold it just so. “In here, you’ll find the budget for Spring Day and all of the different vendors and events that we’ve used over the past ten years.”

Being the smart woman that she was, she placed the rolodex in front of you and dropped the binder on Eddie’s lap. He raised an eyebrow and flipped through it casually, as if looking through the Spring Day binder would provide him with secrets to the school that he could use to force Higgins to let him graduate this year.

“There’s a phone in the teachers lounge you can use.” She continued, grabbing her own purse. “Let me know what you come up with on Monday.”

“Wait- are you leaving?” You asked, jaw dropped as Ms. Benson started out of the room. “You’re not gonna help?”

“There’s only one phone. Just get some quotes for vendors. All of the information is in the binder. Just close the door tight when you leave.”

Your mouth was still agape as Ms. Benson left, which was very amusing to Eddie. It was dead silent before Eddie burst out in a maniacal cackle that echoed through the classroom and made you jump. That also amused Eddie.

“Well well, it looks like it’s just us in charge of Spring Day.” He got off the desk and dropped the binder down where he had just been sitting. Eddie leaned over the binder and flipped through it. “I’m thinking evil clowns, adding balloon popping back but with knives, and a petting zoo with snakes and goats.” Eddie turned and grinned wide at you.

“What, no fortune teller to tell you how you’re gonna die a gruesome death?” Your voice was flat, but Eddie could pick up the hint of amusement in your voice which made his grin widen.

“I’m sure we can dress you up in something covered in stars. I’ll sit under the table and shake it. We’ll make a killing!” Eddie laughed.

“A killing? Really?” You shook your head at the terrible joke and flipped through the rolodex with a sour look on your face. Eddie hadn’t meant to make a pun, but if it annoyed you he’d keep it up.

Play nice.

As if Stacy had any say over what happened between the two of you. He barely knew either of you.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to charge for anything, anyway.” you continued, flipping through the cards almost as fast as Doug flipped through long boxes at the comic shop.

“What doesn’t kill Higgens won’t hurt us.” Eddie pressed, not even fully invested in the idea himself. Something about his talk with Stacy just got under his skin, and the only way he could shake it was by getting under yours now.

“I don’t think half of these businesses even exist anymore.” you said to yourself as you kept flipping through the rolodex with your good hand. Eddie sighed and figured you were ignoring him until you continued. “This laundromat shut down last year. I heard it was a front for some mafia and there was a shootout.”

Eddie perked up a little, had that been an attempt at playing along? It wasn’t completely in line, but everyone in town knew that the laundromat had just been flooded from the inside when a pipe burst.

“There’s no mafia in Hawkins.” Eddie said, looking over your shoulder at the rolodex. “Only cults that sacrifice people to the dark forces.”

You stopped messing with the rolodex, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d said something wrong. You had apologized before, maybe it was too soon to joke about it?

Eddie was usually good at reading people, but you were harder to understand.

“So, what’s the budget that we’re supposed to be working with?” You asked, changing the subject.

“Three pennies and an expired coupon for Benny’s.” Eddie replied, flipping back to the first page.

“Yeah, that sounds right. I guess there’s no room in the budget when the basketball team needs new jerseys or the cheerleaders need pom-poms.” you rolled your eyes, done messing with the rolodex.

Eddie was a little surprised at the dig towards the cheerleaders, considering your best friend was one. Had been one. Why the hell had she wanted to buy smokes from him today?

The two of you finally got up and made your way to the teacher’s lounge. Ms. Teedee, the art teacher, gave him a half hearted wave as she finished washing her coffee cup. Eddie liked Ms. Teedee, she didn’t give a shit about his reputation. Art and shop were the only classes he had ever done consistently well in, so when he was saddled with a third senior year he decided to re-take art as an easy A.

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon calling places and taking down numbers. You did most of the talking, but Eddie took charge when you got up to use the bathroom.

Eddie was surprised when you came back, well that you came back. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you had run for the hills and left him alone. But you did come back, two bags of chips in hand. One of them was offered to him.

“Thanks...?” Eddie didn’t mean for that to come out as a question, but it did anyway. How was it that one minute you hated him, but another you were apologizing? You were scandalized to be left alone with him to work on this, and yet came back with food.

He shouldn’t trust it, but he also wasn’t too good for free snacks.

“So, what’s your deal?” Eddie asked, timing his question with you shoving a few large chips in your mouth.

“Huh?” was your graceful reply as you covered your mouth with your hand. He could see that his timing was not appreciated, which made him feel better.

“Your deal. Which of these fine cliques here at Hawkins Hell do you belong to?” Eddie elaborated, spreading his arms as if gesturing to a crowd when in reality he was gesturing to the table the phone was sitting on.

You took a moment to finish chewing, giving him a glare as you finally got the chips down. Okay, maybe Eddie felt a little bad for that, as you had been nice enough to get him a snack.

Play nice.

He was a dungeon master, he wasn’t known for playing nice. He could at least play fair though.

“I don’t belong to anyone.” you said finally, flipping through the binder and not looking at him. “I got in late, made friends with Stacy and... I don’t know. This late in the game, cliques aren’t exactly taking new applicants. Not this close to graduation when everyone has known each other since elementary school.”

Eddie looked at your broken wrist again, looking at all the different signatures. For someone who didn’t belong to any group, you sure were on everyone’s good side.

Everyone had some group they belonged to. That’s how high school worked. The Freaks sat with him, the Jocks sat with their teams, the Science Nerds sat with the science nerds... that’s how high school- no, that’s how the world worked, according to Eddie.

Your response would normally have you tucked away as “new kid” or “freshman” but neither of those fit you. You knew too many people. You hung out with an ex-cheerleader, but you weren’t exactly jumping around with excitement at the last pep-rally. Stacy still dressed like a cheerleader, and was just as nosy as one but you didn’t look popular.

Not that there was anything wrong with the way you looked to Eddie, you just didn’t look or dress like the popular crowd. He could tell you apart from the near identical wave of perms and ponytails.

What was your deal?

When Eddie didn’t respond in an appropriate amount of time for you, you responded with the same question.

“What’s your deal, Eddie?” His name sounded foreign coming from your mouth.

“Huh?” he asked, shoving a chip into his own mouth, mimicking you. You rubbed your face and let out a laugh, to his surprise.

“What’s your deal? Or, I guess what’s Hellfire’s deal?” You clarified.

“Well, you see, it’s a fantasy game-”

“Not a cult?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“Go on.”

You didn’t interrupt him again as he started explaining the bare basics of the game, figuring that you were just looking for an excuse to stop calling people for a moment. That was fine with Eddie, he’d happily sit here and rant about his favorite game in the teachers lounge, tainting the warden’s space with the game that they tried to hide away from the rest of the inmates.

What he didn’t expect was for you to be listening so intently. You were looking at him, really really looking at him. If Eddie didn’t know any better, and he liked to think that he did, you seemed to be actually interested in the world he was opening up up to you.

His eyes glanced down at your cast, and the curly signature of Chrissy Cunningham shimmered slightly on the underside of your cast. Eddie could barely make out her last name, but he could assume that the glitter gel pen signature belonged to the cheerleader.

That reminded Eddie that, popular or not, you were still in a completely different world than him. One where people actually liked you and didn’t sneer at you for bullshit reasons.

But then why were you looking at him so intensely?

“So you’re playing make believe with dice and if you roll high you can do things and if you roll low you eat shit.” You said, crumpling up your bag of chips.

It was a grossly simplified explanation of the game that Eddie had poured hundreds of hours into.

“Yeah, basically.” At least that had killed a good fifteen minutes.

“And you’re god.” You added, which Eddie did appreciate.

“No, I’m Satan, remember?” He flashed you his most charming smile and you just laughed again.

“You aren’t that bad.” You sounded like you meant that.

“Tell that to my players, they say I’m worse than Satan.” He said with pride.

Your conversation was interrupted by the bell, announcing that any clubs needed to pack up and leave. Eddie took that as your cue that you were done.

You closed the binder and the notes that you two had taken over the past hour and took a deep breath.

“Wait, shit, Mrs. Benson left. What do we do with this?” You asked, motioning to the binder and rolodex. “Do we just leave it here?”

Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice about just dumping it on one of the tables and leaving. He still had his shift to get to, but...

“Come on, we’ll drop it on her desk.” he said, and walked out of the lounge before you could protest.

You caught up to him a moment later, glaring at him for ditching you and leaving you to scramble with your things. Eddie wasn’t sure if he liked you more when you looked like you were hanging on his every word or looking at him with annoyance. Maybe Eddie just wasn’t sure if he liked you. He sure couldn’t tell if you like him at all.

“It’s locked.” you said.

“Barely. Make sure no one’s coming.” Eddie squatted down and pulled out a thin strip of plastic from his coat. He could feel his eyes on him and he looked up at you as you gaped. “Not me, look out for anyone else.” he clarified.

Once you had looked away and down the hall, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for Eddie to jimmy the lock open. He grabbed the rolodex and the binder from you before you knew what was happening.

Eddie had broken into the classroom, dropped the items off the desk, and slipped back out into the hallway in less than a minute.

“How’d you learn to do that?” you asked, following him out towards the parking lot.

Eddie just shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”

It was cool outside, the winter weather seemed to finally be on its way out. A small beep signaled you to the sleek car that Stacy drove and you waved at her. Being the good friend that she was, Stacy had offered to drive you home that night.

“I guess, I’ll see you next week.” you said to Eddie.

“Same bullshit time, same bullshit place.” he agreed, watching you hop into the car before heading off towards his own van and drive off.

“Sooooo, how was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, it was school.”

“Did you make out in the teachers lounge?”

“No, I gave him a hand job in the janitor's closet.”

“The one by the gym, or the one by the science lab.”

“The gym. Smelled worse but at least there weren’t any dangerous chemicals.”

“No, really, tell me what happened.”

“We called different places to get quotes for Spring Day. He also talked about Dungeons and Dragons for fifteen minutes.”

“And then you made out?”

“No.”

“But you wanted to.”

“....Stacy, I’ve never wanted to blow someone more in my entire life.”

Author Notes: Sorry this took so long, I got so brain dead writing this. I really need to visit more of the source material. I love Eddie, but he just hasn't been talking to me much lately. Hopefully when Rise of Hellfire comes out it'll help lol

Tag List:

@eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @cyanfairywren @crocworkships @tomtomslongdong @aphrogeneias

@ghcstpyre @totheforestandtheocean @stevekeeryswife @dreamyyy222222 @ajnerdess

@sp1dyb0y1008 @projectcampbell @emxxblog @thebadbatchfan

@transparentenemypenguin @ghoulsgraveyard @spread-the-hope @exploding-bonbon @paleidiot

@2spock @c14r3v1b3srs @yujyujj @saramelaniemoon @morganlolitta

@veemoon @mrsrdlw @eddieheart @bambibiest @mylovelycrazyworld

@sassidykassidy @cultish-corner @thedoubleexposurephotography @bambibiest @wheels-of-despair

@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld

#nacht fic #anomaly #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

137 notes · View notes

cheralith · 2 years ago

Text

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part ii) 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, some fluff if you squint

word count ; 4.3k

notes ; at long last, here's the much waited part two! truly didn't expect the first part to blow up like it did, but i'm ever so grateful for all the support and the patience for those still here!

parts ; one two three (tba)

“Lyla, show me the nearest florist from here.”

“The nearest flower shop? That’s gonna be Business is Blooming on 27th Street—”

“27th Street?!” Miguel exclaims, his shock at the distance startling him and making his hands accidentally tighten the belt he was fixing much too tightly. He lets out a strangled choking sound and quickly loosens it before his legs lose oxygen, a feat that he’d hate to do just minutes prior to an event that could possibly change his life for the better. “That’s at least fifteen minutes away and on the opposite side of Clark! I’m already late, aren’t there any other ones closer?”

Lyla’s smaller holographic form pieces together on top of his full-body mirror that displays him in a formal-casual attire consisting of a cream turtleneck, black dress pants buckled with a coffee brown belt and topped altogether with a sepia overcoat that hadn’t seen the light of day since he bought it all those years ago. She puckers her grinning lips, a little amused at the rarity of Miguel in such an outfit and thinking he looks like a cup of coffee.

“Well, there’s always that crowded grocery store on Main?” she suggests as she examines her fingernails, instantly changing the pattern of them with a snap of her fingers. “But that’s gonna cost ya another twenty minutes and you’re already what—? Ten minutes late?”

Miguel fights off a groan at her teasing. “Lyla, I’m serious. Are there genuinely not any other ones around here? Any local ones? C’mon, this is Nueva York, there has to be at least one.”

“You could always try the marketplace. But then again, it’s Sunday so might not really be wise to take your chances,” Lyla shrugs.

Miguel even wonders if men these days still even have the dignity to give their partners flowers after realizing there is a significant lack of florists in today’s day and age. He wouldn’t be like them; flowers are a timeless gift everyone enjoys and he thinks if he can’t get it for you, he might as well not call himself a man at all.

His eyes go to spot the window in the reflection of the mirror where the sun is beginning to finally set and the city’s nightlife is rising from the dead. Buildings of all heights buster from every corner and the open road that eradicates much of the land dissolves a weary pit in his stomach, obviously annoyed at the many obstacles that block his path. Miguel takes another glance at the clock, the minute hand inching closer and closer and closer to 6:00. The initial plans were to leave the apartment by 5:30, acquire some gifts for you and then travel to the restaurant by 6:00, but seeing as how he’s still trapped in his abode, Miguel thinks that he can only do so much.

But he realizes that’s for Miguel O’Hara, renowned Alchemax geneticist and full-time father. Miguel O’Hara, an everyday citizen, couldn’t possibly crunch so much in such little time.

For Spider-Man, however…

Lyla eyes him suspiciously and purses her lips when Miguel looks at his wrists and then at the window again. “I don’t think that’s wise, Miguel.”

“What’s wise?” he replies coyly, going to quickly shovel off his clothes to replace them with a familiar blue and red attire.

“I know whatcha gonna do,” Lyla says and glitches around him as he searches for his suit. “But it’s not gonna end well, I’m tellin’ ya right now, mister!”

Miguel shakes her caution off, too occupied with shuffling on his superhero suit onto his body before neatly tucking his other outfit into his hammerspaced pocket. “It’ll be quick, I swear. I just need to get her some flowers and then I’ll be on my way. Lock up the house for me, yeah?”

“You’re not gonna make it,” Lyla shakes her head. “Just ditch the flowers and get her something on the way instead.”

But the last of Lyla’s words don’t make it to Miguel’s ears, as he’s already slinging and gliding himself out of the window and toward the given address of the florist. Lyla can only watch in artificial disdain as Miguel’s figure grows smaller and smaller through the passing seconds. She sighs, rolling her eyes as she flickers off the apartment lights before disintegrating.

The roar of the city life grows louder and louder the more Miguel comes closer to the center of it where the flower shop lays. People gather in clusters bustling about all over, making him a little weary of himself as he stares at them from above a high tower. He’s not exactly an ordinary passerby that can easily maneuver their way through so easily—especially not with this getup. Spider-Man is also a name that rather became widespread across the city of Nueva York, meaning that even if one person were to see the flash of blue and red, he’s up for trouble.

The evildoers tonight seem to be at cease, thankfully. He hasn’t heard of any malicious plotting or future events that will take place today by any of the supervillains that hunt him down like deer recently. Then again, there’s always smaller crimes still waiting to be stopped, but he’s sure the cops will come around for those. Miguel convinces himself it’ll just be a one time thing.

Yet when the familiar song of police sirens blare through the city, he twitches at the thought of leaving such miscreants in the hands of police when he’s sure he can take them down like an army of ten men.

But the police have ten men on them, so truly he can just leave it alone, right? He’s essentially in front of the flower shop that’s seated below an apartment building. All he has to do is just jump down, get the flowers, and leave in the nick of time. He doesn’t have time to dilly dally with low-rated criminals.

Then again, when he spots the gang of robbers in two white vans speeding down the road at a blistering speed without any caution for pedestrians, Miguel grits his teeth. On their tail is a rally of five police cars that keep gaining and losing them by the second and Miguel isn’t sure whether the irritation was from his indecisiveness or the fact that if he didn’t do anything, there will be consequences.

Perhaps do both to ease his mind? No, he can’t do that. You’re most likely on your way to the restaurant, all dolled up and fresh-faced. He still would need the time to fix himself up in some dingy public bathroom. A cop car that’s been hiding in the corner joins the chase—that’s surely more than enough to take care of them?

Miguel’s eyes go back and forth... back and forth between the two sights. Anxiety is doing little to help his situation and a mist of sweat begins to form on his skin the more the seconds tick by, making the innermost part of his suit much more uncomfortable and moist. A clock hangs by an awning nearby that displays the haunting time of 6:03 PM, just twenty-seven minutes shy of the designated 6:30 meeting time.

He glances one more time at the chase, swallowing a thick lump in his throat when he sees the vans hurdle full speed toward an open street of walking pedestrians, all ignorant of the fact to what beholds them in just mere seconds.

Miguel curses under his breath.

It’ll only be this for today, no more after that.

Fatigued eyes go to watch as the last people leave the restaurant, leaving you isolated in your little corner both embarrassed and hungry due to the heavy lack of food served on your platter for tonight. The other waiters begin to scrub the tables and booths free of crumbs and topple the chairs onto them, indicating that tonight has drawn to its close. You think you’ve memorized the entirety of the menu at this point, considering it’s really all you’ve been averting your eyes towards to avoid the looks of others.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see the waiters and waitresses pitifully gossiping about you and a heat flashes onto your face by how incredibly desolate you’ve looked in the past three hours. Internally, you thank them for their patience and how they’ve tolerated your excuses for your date’s tardiness-turned-absence, knowing that it must be a pain to look after someone that hadn’t even ordered anything besides water for the time she had been here.

You don’t even wait for your waitress to come to your table for the nth time tonight, going by your own initiative to pack up your things. Your phone is still devoid of any notifications from Miguel, as well, even after the four calls, occasional text checkups, and last minute voicemailed question of a needed rescheduling if he so desired.

What remains is just a grayed out Read, 7:47 PM underneath all the text bubbles.

“I… sincerely apologize if I loitered at all,” you murmur with your head half-down to the young host who shuffles the menus back into the lectern. “This was truly the last thing that I had expected from him…”

You instantly take back that statement the moment it leaves your lips. If anything, you should’ve known that this would’ve happened. Foolish you were—you’ve been with Miguel for the past three years, this was everyday behavior for him. You suppose this is how Gabriella must feel constantly and another heartache pits itself within you at the shared feeling.

The host shakes his head sympathetically. “You wouldn’t be our first case, I’m sure you didn’t have any ill intent. If anything, I’m the one sorry that he made you wait that long,” he replies with evident pity. “Whoever he is, he must be a dick for leaving such a pretty thing like you alone all night, ma’am.”

“Oh, he’s—” you fall short on your words, not even having the energy to sorely defend Miguel’s name. “Never mind…” you mutter.

“Do you need a cab?” asks the host, “Well actually, I’m about to clock out for tonight. I can drive you home, if you want. It’s the least I can do for you after tonight.”

You’re about to reply to him to turn down the offer, as you suspect he’s the type of guy to use women in these situations to his advantage, but the doors suddenly burst open to reveal the one and only in a hazy state and what seems to… flowers clutched in his hands? The petals, however, are corrugated and some have even completely drooped down from their stem. The paper that is supposed to guard them is wrinkled and torn at the corners. Almost all of the bouquet is wilted, much like your own composure for tonight.

Miguel isn’t much better. Hair and clothes a little damp, he’s frazzled and evidently guilty, as his face pales when he sees your contrasting appearance. You’re adorned in an a-lined, half-sleeved royal blue dress that made you look so regal in comparison to your daily white blouse-black pants outfit that he's seen too much of. Not to mention additional details of your styled hair and accessories just brought out the best of your beauty that was wasted on essentially nothing this evening.

“Mr. O’Hara…” you breathe when he passes through the door. The first thing that you notice automatically when his face properly comes into view is a sharply jagged, yet thin cut on the side of his cheek. “Did someth—”

“(Y/N), I’m so… so sorry,” he chokes out. “Something c-came up at work and they asked me to help them out… I’m sorry, I know I should’ve said no, but they were kind of on my ass about it and I got so caught up with it, so I wasn’t able to text you and—”

“She waited three hours,” the host drones and juts his thumb toward the dining area where all the chairs are laid atop the tables. Its lights flicker out, leaving only the foyer and smaller hallways lit so dismally in the night. “Until closing. She didn’t order anything in the meantime, so not only you left her alone tonight, you left her alone and hungry.”

“Hey listen, bud,” Miguel snaps at the host. He points a finger at him with irate in his eyes. “Not your business, so stay out of it.”

The host scoffs with a smirk on his face. “Not the first time I’ve heard that and certainly not the first time I’ve seen this happen. Guys like you always—”

You raise a hand to stop their bickering, afraid of what might happen if things escalate further as you really didn’t desire to do anything more than just sleep off your feelings. Both men stop and turn to look at you with concern on their faces.

“Do you still need that ride home?”

“Are you still hungry?”

A frustrated head shake finally silences the both of them.

“I’m fine, thank you for the offer, though,” you say quietly to the host. You turn to Miguel, who swallows at the sight of your tired eyes. “May we talk outside? I’d hate to stay here any longer than I need to.”

Miguel attempts to excuse himself one more time, but when you begin to pace yourself toward the door without waiting for him, he realizes he can’t exactly make any more decisions of his own any more this evening. Not after choosing his heroic duties again and again for tonight instead of tending to you.

The moon and stars tonight have made their presence with the special guest of light rain coming in for a visit. The whisper of a drizzle ghosts itself on your goosebumps skin and the chill of a wind nips at your flesh.

Miguel is quick to follow you. “I’m really sorry again, (Y/N),” he utters so softly that it makes your heart ache with familiarity. It’s the same tone of voice he’s used with Gabriella when at times, he wasn’t able to make it to her events or practices like he promised. “Are you still hungry by any chance? I know a good 24/7 diner that’s pretty close here.”

Without turning around, you politely shake your head and begin to search for any cabs coming your way. “I’ll be okay. I think I have some leftovers in the fridge that can suffice.”

The thought of you eating alone like he did on a night that you shouldn’t be sends shivers of guilt down Miguel’s spine. He curses himself at his past actions—deciding that it was stupid to catch those robbers who didn’t even put up much of a fight, to stop that gang brawl that was happening on the corner of 5th that was resolved the moment the elderly shopkeeper began to yell, to help that old lady that was certainly taking her sweet time to cross the street. They were such unbelievably mild crimes that he didn’t need to attend to, but did anyway even with the thought of you in mind.

Perhaps he should’ve had more faith in technology, because he’s sure Lyla was going to have much fun taunting him for the rest of the week.

“You can keep the flowers, too,” you say softly when a cab begins to pull up. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think I have a vase to store them in unfortunately.”

Miguel’s grip on the dismal bouquet tightens, not even trying to fight your refusal as you get into a cab. He stops the door from closing just as you’re about to, trying one last time to make up for his actions.

“At least let me pay for your cab,” Miguel whispers.

You know he’s sorry. You can see in his eyes the familiar gleam of woe that he’s given to his daughter. Your eyes go to flicker at the cut again, but you know that if you ask, he’s sure to give one his many excuses because it isn’t the first time he’s shown up with an injury before. And you don’t want to put yourself through that wall of verbal familiarity.

With sorrow gentleness, you pry his fingers off the edge of the car and shut it, putting a physical barrier between you and Miguel. The eyes of the driver goes to pitifully glance at your state before beginning to rev up the engine.

You don’t even have the courage to share a glance towards Miguel one last time before the cab begins to drive off—your wallow of disappointment is deep enough as it is.

The rest of the week is agonizingly slow; Miguel dares to say it’s torturous, even.

He’s thankful you’re still acknowledging his existence and talking with him, but your conversations lack the usual warmth and gentle playfulness they often had. It was already lonely enough dealing with the lack of a third person like him at home, but the feeling of isolation felt even more scarring this time because when he came home late after your babysitting session, you didn’t bother with small talk with him, the only thing that made him realize he didn't have to do everything by himself alone.

You didn’t ask how the late shift was, how were the bosses treating him, if he was getting enough rest… no, you only kept him updated on his daughter's schoolwork and any future events regarding her and her only. Your words never included him or you, only finishing off with a goodbye and have a nice night.

At least you were still kind enough to fix him the usual leftovers.

Work itself wasn’t much better. Conversations were brief and the lab in which you two worked privately was filled with silence that was only broken with the occasional demands and directions of lab work. Sometimes a forced cough would sneak its way through Miguel’s lips if the silence began to disturb him too much. He attempted to make some at the beginning, asking how your day was and whether your father was on your tail again, but he was met with short, sharp responses.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m not sure.”

Never have such words been so agonizing before. Ironic that they are because Miguel often hated it when people rambled and preferred it when conversations got to the point. He supposes, though, you get to the point too fast for his liking nowadays.

When he tried bringing up an explanation for Sunday’s events, you’d quickly shut it down as tenderly as possible, saying things along the lines of “It’s alright, your schedule is hectic. I can understand.” or “I just hope your work didn’t give you too much trouble.” You’re so polite about it that it hurts him. Miguel would much rather have you lash out and insult him than have you soften the landing that does barely anything to ease him because it feels like you’ve put on that mask you put in front of others—professional and orderly—and Miguel didn’t want to be seen as just a mere coworker, let alone your boss, to you.

His pride bites at his ankles. Lies coming out of his lips too regularly, he had to fib to Gabriella the morning after her sleepover when she asked about the date that you had fallen sick and weren’t able to make it. The disappointment on her face mimicked yours too eerily. She asked him if they were going to reschedule it. Miguel could only shrug his shoulders—he wasn’t even sure if you wanted anything to do with him after that event.

At least nothing changed with you and his daughter. He’d still home to an apartment with you helping with homework or her helping with dinner or tucking her into bed. That’s all he could ask for right now.

Miguel still had the chance to redeem himself this week. There was the annual banquet held at a banquet hall to celebrate the yearly achievements Alchemax and those associated had accomplished, as well as discussing major plans for the future. It was a boring, yet formal event used for connections and idle chatter, something Miguel usually didn’t look forward to. Lyla suggested to him to convince you to go and that Gabriella would just have a one-time babysitter while you got to enjoy (or in your case, put up) with his company as he redeemed himself best as possible. You’re not one to talk with others you’ve never met, so he knew that you would most likely stick by his side for a sense of familiarity.

It took a while, but you murmured you’d go under your breath to shake him off your tail. Miguel was elated, but it was quickly shut down halfheartedly by the reminder that you were still somewhat upset by Sunday’s incident, saying you’d take a cab to the banquet instead of driving with him like he offered.

No matter, as long as you were there by his side.

Miguel made sure that this time, he’d be out the door much earlier than the last, promising to never keep you waiting longer than a minute. A text on his phone pings that you’re near the back entrance, where the parking lot was so it’d be easier to find you. He swerves a little too harshly into the lot—either from nervousness or excitement or both—at the mention and had spotted you near the staircase adorned in a floor-length blushed, ivory pink halter gown with luminescent tulle, making you look like the human embodiment of an ocean pearl.

His eyes are so fixed on you that he didn’t realize he almost knocked himself straight into an oncoming BMW. The owner, a crabby old man he recognizes from human resources, swears and honks at him, making Miguel hide his face before hurriedly parking a little more safely.

When he approaches you, he drinks you in your full glory. Everything about you is so fresh… so exhilarating. You’ve done your hair with a couple of clips this time, with more subtle jewelry this time. Your makeup looks tidy and perfect and Miguel enjoys the way it emphasizes your best features instead of morphing them. If only he was wiser on Sunday, he would’ve been able to savor a different version of you in blue.

Nevertheless, you still manage to take his breath away with just a simple breath like you always have. It’s just that it was only recently had Miguel realized you had that ability and he’d be alright experiencing it again and again if it was with you.

“Mr. O’Hara?” you say and wave a soft wave in front of his face to break his trance. Somehow, you begin to grow self-conscious. Perhaps he didn’t like it? Maybe it was too revealing… the slit at the halter neckline did somewhat peek at your cleavage and you weren’t used to baring your shoulders out. “I-is everything okay?”

Miguel blinks a couple of times. His surroundings finally come into focus like your figure, making him realize how long he had been staring. “Apologies. I… never got to tell you this on Sunday, but I hope to do it now, (Y/N)... ” he clears his throat and straightens his posture, remembering to act everything out as practiced, before softly whispering with evident fondness that, “You look beautiful, tonight.”

A spark of surprise shocks your features for a brief moment, before your usual modesty is displayed again. Eye contact is broken, for you can’t fathom the thought of someone like Miguel O’Hara, favored in every possible way, would be complimenting you so casually. “Oh um. Thank you,” you choke out halfheartedly.

Miguel leans over slightly over your figure and tucks a lock of stray hair behind your ear. If he wanted to truly make up for what happened, he was going to have to go all out tonight, even if that meant rocketing out of his comfort zone. He just barely catches you hitching a breath at the semi-intimate of physical contact as he tries his best to hide his own when he murmurs in your ear again.

“I’m not saying it out of manners, I’m saying it factually,” he mumbles, eyeing the passersby that stare in wonder at you. Some ego swells inside of him at the jealous looks that are given to him. “You’ve bewitched me and many others already.”

You stray your gaze away at him with your hands fiddling at the skirt of your dress. “You didn’t have to, but thank you for the dress, by the way,” you murmur timidly. “I’ve never heard of a brand called Lyla, but I admit, this dress of theirs is rather nice.”

Miguel furrows his brows at the mention before Lyla briefly appears on your head, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up before disappearing. It doesn’t take Miguel long to realize that Lyla had shipped something so pristine to you without his permission, though he supposes that she had done him and you a favor given how majestic you look tonight.

He lets out a soft breath of a chuckle before shaking his head. Maybe he’ll give her some upgrades in return.

You turn your head behind you, not knowing what he was looking at. “Is something wrong? Is there something in my hair?”

“No, no. Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts…” Miguel interjects before offering his arm to you. “We should get going. I’d hate for a dress like this to go to waste for only my eyes.”

Internally, Miguel wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be greedy and have you all for himself, savor your every move tonight, have you and him be the only ones in this place. He didn’t want anyone to look towards your direction and have you look at anyone else besides him. A little venomous thought of people not realizing you had so much more potential than they realized embeds in himself, and that their awe for tonight was too artificial. He wanted more and to give you more, but then again, he’s still Spider-Man at the end of the day, the impossible man that somehow does it all and faces the consequences head on. He can only offer a regular day citizen like you so much.

But for now, he’ll make do with what he can. Not as Spider-Man this time, but as Miguel O’Hara.

a/n ; hi yeah don't panic, there'll be a part three lmfao i lied lolol. most likely it'll be the last part to this little series i've got going, too, since i think making it a fully fledged series would kind of lead some things astray for me. that doesn't mean the end of the miggy o'hare writings, however! still will most definitely attempt to write for him bc bro's GLORIOUS

thank you all for the patience for part ii, and i hope to see that part iii comes out asap! i'll give updates for it as always, but in the meantime, thank you for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and infinitely appreciated ( ˘ ³˘) ♡ !

taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @toofsfairys @raeisthebae (for those with strikethroughs, i'm not able to tag you for some reason :(!)

#spider man: across the spider verse #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv miguel #across the spider verse x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #fem!reader

3K notes · View notes

eand47 · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter I | Fantastic Mr. Fox and The Cry Baby

Summary: You moved to one of the biggest cities in the world - Grand Line to pursue filmmaking career. Soon enough your path will cross with the vocalist of upcoming band called “The Neighbourhood”. At first you decided to be just friends - because it would be easier, but sadly as everything in life sometimes by taking the easy path we regret a lot of things.

Main characters: Portgas D Ace x Reader (female)

Supporting characters: Nami, Usopp, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Deuce, Shanks, Buggy, Sabo, Eustass Kid (more to be add)

Description: Modern AU | Musician Ace

WARNINGS: None for this chapter.

Word Count: 4,5K

story masterlist | main masterlist | next chapter ->

NOTE: This is my first time writing a fanfic. English is not my first language so please if there are some mistakes let me know. The whole fanfic was mostly inspired by the song “Flawless” by The Neighbourhood and today as I was feeling nostalgic for the 2014/2016 Tumbler Era I was listening to them and something made me think of Ace (as I think about him 25/8) and I just imagine him singing these songs therefore that is why I named the story “The Neighbourhood”. So I hope you all will enjoy the journey that I will try to write down as good as possible. Most of the chapters will be inspired by songs by The Neighbourhood. I don’t own any of the characters and everything is fiction! This chapter was inspired by the song “Cry Baby” listen to it when you see it mentioned if you want to get to “experience” the story. Enjoy ♡

Grand Line – one of the biggest and busiest cities in the world. Most people who moved here did it to chase a dream, those who were born and raised here carry themselves differently. Autumn has come and the chilly weather could be felt by everyone. The streets were already full of people – some going to work, others to school, and the lucky ones were just enjoying a nice walk around the parks or a warm coffee with a friend. The ringing of my phone woke me up. I picked it up without checking who was calling me.

“What?” I groaned.

“Hey, there.” The voice from the other end sounded cheerful as always. “How is my favorite niece doing?”

“Shanks I’m your only niece, and this line is getting kinda old don’t you think?” I scoffed at him.

“I just make sure you always know this.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah sure. Now tell me why you are calling me so early in the morning?”

“Don’t you have classes?” He asked sternly.

“I do but not until 1PM. So, shoot, why are you bothering your one and only favorite niece for?” I mocked him.

“I hope you don’t have any plans for tonight as I need some extra help at the bar. There is this new local band that is going to perform tonight and they sold out so fast the bar is going to be full, so I would really appreciate some extra help.”

“It’s not like I really have plans, but still can’t you find someone else to help?” I wasn’t in the mood for work tonight, especially in my uncle’s busy bar.

“If I had I wouldn’t have bother to ask you.” He said and then added. “I will pay you double if you come.”

“Oh you should of start with this.” I laughed.

“I should count on you to come then?” He asked me seriously.

“Yes, Shanks I will be there just let me know what time.”

“Well they will start playing around 10PM so be here at latest at 9PM, okay foxy?” he has been using this nickname for me since I was a kid.

“Okay, see you then. Bye Shanks” I didn’t even bother to wait for his goodbye as I hung up.

I looked at the clock next to my bed and it showed me that it’s 9:38AM so I decided to get up and get ready for the day. I have recently started studying Filmmaking as I took one gap year as I wasn’t really sure what I would like to pursue as a career, but I have always loved filming, so I took the chance and got into a Filmmaking program. With taking the program, I also moved from my hometown so now I live alone, and I love it, even though I miss my dad. But at least I have my uncle close to me.

The love I have for movies comes from my dad. He is quite popular comedian known as – Buggy the Clown. His stand-up shows are always sold out and he knows how to make people laugh. Another thing he is quite recognized for is this big bright fake red nose that he always wears in his shows, and he always tells people how much his daughter hates it. On the other hand, Shanks is not really my biological uncle, but him and my dad are like brothers. Ever since my mother left us, Shanks has been always the one to help my father take care of me. Shanks has been like a second father to me, when I moved to Grand Line, Shanks even invited me to live with him, but I declined his offer as I wanted to start living on my own. My apartment wasn’t big - it was just a one room apartment, but it was perfect for a “broke” student. My dad and Shanks loved to make fun of it, calling it “the foxy cave”, but I didn’t really pay attention to them as they have always loved to tease me.

I decided to not waste my time laying in bed, so I started to get ready for the day – after I brushed my teeth and did my make up, I looked around my messy wardrobe thinking what to wear today. It was already Autumn so the weather can be quite tricky. I decided to go for some sheer black tights, with a denim skirt and a black polo shirt as I added a lot of silver jewelries to the outfit – I finished it off with some knee length black boots and an oversized bomber jacket. I grabbed my bag and I double checked if I took everything with me and the most important thing - my laptop.

I still have two hours left before my classes start so I decided to go to my favorite coffee shop. It was close to my university, a hidden gem for people who like to escape the noise from the busy streets as it usually was not very busy. As I entered, I went and left my bag and jacket in my favorite corner in the coffee shop, exactly next to the big windows as the lighting was perfect there and I loved to just sit sometimes with my back facing them as I just enjoyed the cozy atmosphere of the coffee shop.

“One black coffee, please.” I went and ordered my coffee to the barista, who at this point recognized me as a regular customer. I paid for it as they handed me the coffee and went to sit back down.

I took my seat and opened my laptop as I started to think how I should continue with my script for this week’s assignment. I was so deep in thoughts and work as I didn’t realize I’m almost out of battery. When I opened my bag, I realized that my laptop charger was not there and then it hit me that I forgot it at home.

“No, no, no, nooo” I got up from the chair as I started to look around just in case, but I cursed myself for being so forgetful all the time. “Fuck” I said out loud, a little louder than I intended to. I looked up embarrassed to see if someone heard me, only to see this old woman giving me a disappointed look as she heard me cursing to which I mouthed “sorry”. I saw a guy sitting on the table next to my left side, and noticed he had the same laptop as me so I decided to ask him if I could borrow his charger.

The guy was sitting a little slouched as he was humming to himself as he was tapping with his finger on the table. He was wearing this orange beanie with a set of headphones on top of it, but I still couldn’t see his face clearly as his messy black hair was covering most of it. As I approached him, I gently tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around and took off his headphones as he looked questioning at me.

“Hey, sorry for disturbing you.” I apologized as I finally realized that I was just standing there staring at him without saying anything. “I noticed that we have the same laptops, and mine is almost dead as I forgot my charger home and.. um I was wondering if you don’t mind me borrowing yours for just a couple of minutes.” I awkwardly asked him.

“Oh yeah, sure.” He responded to me immediately with a smile, and I smiled back at him. “There you go, just don’t forget to return it.” He said to me with a little smirk as he was handing it to me.

“I-I won’t, I promise” I said as a little blush appeared on my cheeks and nodded.

My heart was beathing fast when I got back to my table and sat down. I looked up to where the guy was sitting and I caught him looking at me as he continued to hum something to himself. Quickly I looked away, back at my computer as I could feel my cheeks getting warmer with every second I kept on gazing at him. After a few minutes when I finally calmed down and continued to work on my script, I heard one of the chairs next to me moving and someone sitting next to me. I looked up from the laptop screen, and it was him.

“Hopefully you don’t mind.” He said it more as a statement than a question with a little smile on his face, I couldn’t find my words as he was sitting so close and unexpectedly to me, so I just shook my head “no”. “Nice. My name is Ace.” He introduced himself as he gave me his hand for a handshake.

“(Y/N)” I replied as we shook hands. His hands were surprisingly so soft.

“(Y/N), that’s a beautiful name.” He repeated it one more time as to make sure he remembers it.

My mouth got dry so I took a sip from my coffee and couldn’t help but wrinkled my nose and furrowed my eyebrows.

“Is the coffee that bad?” He raised an eyebrow at my expression.

“No, the coffee is alright. I just hate coffee.” I scrunched my nose from the after taste of it.

“Then why are you drinking coffee if you hate coffee?” Ace chuckled.

“That is a question I get a lot.” I laughed. “But – you know what. Honestly, I don’t know, maybe I just want to be “different”.” I raised and shook my hands to my head when I said “different” as I was referring to one of my favorite movies “Fantastic Mr. Fox” but I knew he wouldn’t get the reference or the joke.

“I think I have this thing where I need everybody to think I’m the greatest.” My jaw almost fell to the floor as he quoted the movie, as he did the exact same gesture with his hands.

“No way – no way you got the reference.” I couldn't hide the amazement in my voice. “No one, and I swear no one has ever gotten this reference when I’ve done it.”

“There is always a first.” He winked at me, his charming smile growing on his face.

“Yeah, you are definitely right about that.” I chuckled. Our gazes locked and we shared a laugh. I looked at the time and I saw that I had to get going, as my classes were starting soon. ” Well it was very nice to meet you Ace, thank you for the charger.” I said as I gave him back the charger and he flashed me with another charming smile.

“Happy to help.” He replied. As I was about to leave the cafe, he called after me and I turned around to look at him. “See you around?” He raised his eyebrow in a questioning way.

Instead of replying to him I just did the hand gesture again and he just laughed at me as he shook his head and leaned on the chair.

Walking to university I couldn’t stop the big grin on my face every time I remembered the little encounter I just had with this guy Ace in the coffee shop. I really hope we could cross paths again as he seemed very nice, and undeniable handsome, so I wouldn’t mind getting to know him more. When I reached the university I saw two of my closest classmates and friends – Nami and Usopp sitting on the couches in the chill aera.

“Hello guys.” I greeted them. “What are you doing?”

“I had an amazing idea for my character final goal but I don’t know how to develop it so Usopp is helping me.” Nami explained to me.

“No one can beat my imagination, so she came to the right person.” He pointed at him self with a cocky smirk as Nami just roll her eyes at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway..” Nami looked at me with mischievous eyes. “Are you free tonight?”

“Sadly, no. I’m helping my uncle Shanks with his bar tonight.”

“No, tell him you can’t. I have a better offer. Our friend Luffy invited us to listen to his brothers band play tonight in this place called “The Red Pirates” so you must come.” She emphasized on “must”.

“Yeah, they are super good. We have been to all of their gigs and those guys are soon going to be big name if they get better at promotion.” Usopp agreed with her. “So you should definitely come with us.”

“Thank you guys for the invitation – but funny enough coincidence, where your friend’s brothers are playing tonight is also where I will be working as “The Red Pirates” is owned by Shanks.” I laughed at the coincidence.

“Ohh, but you will be working it won’t be the same.” Nami whined.

“I know but hey – I can give you some free drinks.”

“Sold.” Both Nami and Usopp said at the same time. I rolled my eyes playfully at them.

“What is the band called by the way? I forgot to ask Shanks.”

“The Neighbourhood. One of the brothers is the vocalist and plays the guitar, the other one is the drum player and there are two more guys. But all of them are very good.” Usopp explained to me. My curiosity piqued. Usopp was producing music himself and he was good at it, so if he says that these guys were good - they were.

“Well I might not be able to enjoy it with you guys but at least I will be able to hear them.” I shrugged.

“Next time they play somewhere you are coming with us no matter what!” Nami pointed her finger at me with a very serious tone as I just laughed at her and agreed. Then we all got up and headed to class as we didn’t want to be late. Walking to class Nami looked at me and smirked.

“What?” I looked at her confused wondering why she was looking at me like that.

“What’s with that grin you have on your face?” She teased me. I haven't realised that I still had it on my face.

“Can’t I be in a good mood without a reason?” I teased her back.

“Of course you can, but there is something in that smile that is telling me that something has happened to you, care to share.” She looked at me with curiosity.

“Maybe, maybe not.” I decided to mess with her a little bit.

“Oh come on, we don’t keep secrets from each other.” She whined.

“But I’m not keeping anything.”

“But you are also not telling us something.”

“Nami just don’t want to see us happy.” Usopp whispered to me, only to get smacked by her.

“If you want to tell me something, say it to my face Usopp.” She hissed at him.

“I think I said enough.” He replied as I could only laugh at them.

As we sat down in class and waited for our professor, Nami and Usopp were having a back and forth as usual. I decided to interrupt them. “Who else is coming with you guys tonight?”

“Zoro – you have met him already. And Luffy and Sanji, but you haven’t met them yet but we will try to introduce you to them tonight.” Usopp informed me.

“Nice, I like Zoro – he is cool.” I said as I have met him already like two or three times. “Nami are you going to be the only girl hanging with them?” I felt a little bad for her, as even though I knew that they all have been friends for a long time sometimes it might suck to be the only girl in the group.

“Maybe – I asked Vivi if she wants to join as well but she already have made some plans so she is not really sure if she can make it tonight.” She shrugged not like she did really care. “I was more looking forward for you to join us – but you chose work over us.” She pretended to be hurt but she wasn’t the best actress.

“Good thing you chose filmmaking and not acting.” I joked with her and we laughed when she pushed my shoulder. We were messing around until our professor entered and the lecture started.

Time passed by quickly and we were done for the day and this week.

“Geez writing scripts is tiring” Usopp announced loudly as we were leaving the classroom.

“At least next week we are in the same group, and we have to do sound.” Nami said.

“Yeah but sound is actually not an easy task guys.” I said and Nami whined. “But I’m interested in what we should base the story on for the sound – I spoke with some people from the second year and they told me last year it was based on some medieval picture where people were portrayed like someone was torturing them.”

“Wait we have to come with a script for the sound exercise as well?” Nami whined.

“Yes, a script based on the picture we will be given so we can create sound after it to match with it.” I explained.

“I don’t know about you girls, but I love working with sound.” Usopp exclaimed happily, his posture relaxed with both hands behind his neck.

“Thanks God you are in our group.” Both Nami and I said. Usopp just laughed at us and he embraced us in a hug.

“What are you two going to do without me?” He cocky exclaimed.

“Probably find someone else to take over your place.” I poked him on the sides and I escaped his embrace. He let a groan as Nami also poked him and he let her go.

“You both are cruel.” He whined as we laughed at him. As we continued to walk and chitchat, I turned to Usopp to ask him how his music producing was going.

“Actually” he started excited. “Luffy’s brother Sabo asked me to help them with producing a new song so I’m quite excited to work on this project with them as believe me when you hear these guys tonight – you gonna become a fan immediately.” Nami agreed with him as she eagerly nodded her head.

“I’m telling you when Luffy first told us his older brothers are starting a band we were all in disbelief as none of us expected them to be so good, and when they dropped their first EP we were all shocked.” It was so strange to watch Nami speak so highly of someone so I guess these guys should be quite good.

“Bro till this day I can’t comprehend how good of a vocalist Ace is, like man really has the talent.” As Usopp mentioned the name “Ace” something in me clicked. I thought of the guy I met earlier today, wondering if it might be the same person. As Nami and Usopp were gushing about how good the band was my curiosity grew more and more with every passing second.

“Do you guys have some pictures or something” I asked casually, but I wanted to see if any of the members was the 'Ace' I met earlier. I remember he was humming and tapping with his fingers, something that musicians do quite a lot even without realising. Both Nami and Usopp shook their heads.

“They don’t have any pictures across any of their band social media." Usopp explained but Nami started to laugh.

“What?” I asked confused of why she was laughing out of the sudden.

“Because they don’t want to be known and get famous for their looks.” Nami continue to laugh. I looked even more confused at her.

“Are you for real? This sounds pretty arrogant.” I raised my eyebrow as I couldn’t imagine the confidence someone must have to say this.

"Don't listen to her." Usopp rolled his eyes and chuckled. "They are going for a certain low profile aesthetic vibe that is why they don't really post themselves."

“Well, Sabo said it himself." Nami defended herself quick.

"Sabo is the least relatable of them all." Usopp laughed out loud.

"True but… even tho I kinda feel embarrassed to say this as I know them for a long time…” Nami started as she got a little blush on her cheeks. “They are very good looking so they should start posting themselves more.” She murmured but we heard her clearly and Usopp started to tease her immediately.

“OHH I’M TEELING THEM THIS” He shout out as he started to run as Nami started to chase him.

“DARE AND YOU WON’T SEE ANOTHER DAY” She screamed after him. I run after them trying to catch up with them.

“Guys stop – wait for me. No one is telling anyone anything.” I caught up to them as we were all out of breath. “Damn all these hours of sitting and editing are starting to catch up to us.” I joked and they laughed. “Can you play something from them, I’m curious to hear them now.”

“Yeah sure.” Nami pulled out her phone to play them to me but Usopp stopped her fast.

“Don’t - let her hear them live fist.” He mischievously suggested to Nami. She looked at him and then at me for a second before turning to Usopp.

“I get your point, but no. So let’s play her one song.” Nami said this Usopp eagerly agree with her, and they both sat me in a middle of a bench – Nami sitting on my left and Usopp sitting on my right side.

“Here put this.” Usopp put his headphones on my head. “Which song do you plan to play to her?” Usopp asked Nami.

“I was thinking of “Cry Baby” as they wrote that one based on one of Luffy’s crushes.” Nami suggested to Usopp.

“I was thinking of “Wiped Out” as it’s one of my favorites – but yeah “Cry Baby” is a good choice.” Usopp agreed. “Play it!”

The song started to play, and the intro reminded me of a nice sunny day at the beach. Then the first verse started.

I think I try too hard How I look, what I do, what I'm sayin' I spend too much time explainin' myself

So far, the first verse sounded very catchy. Then the Pre-Chorus and the Chorus started, and I loved the song.

I know I'll fall in love with you, baby And that's not what I wanna do I hope you won't ever lie to me And if you do, I know I won't be your cry baby

Usopp was right about the guy who sings the song, his voice was mesmerizing.

Cry baby, cry baby We need to cry And if we do, I know that would be alright

The he song finished and I took off the headphones. Both Nami and Usopp were looking at me expecting my reaction.

“Sooo…” Nami nudged me to say something. I looked at Nami, then Usopp before I said anything.

“They better sound as good as in the record when they performed tonight.” Usopp and Nami gave each other a high-five.

“I knew that you gonna like them.” Usopp said excitedly.

“That is good that you liked them now every time them perform you will be tagging along with us as we never really miss any of their concerts.” Nami nudged me.

“But what did you mean by that this song was written for your friend Luffy?” I asked as I would not have ever guessed that this song was written based on someone’s younger brother’s crush.

“Apparently when Luffy was a kid he used to be a big cry baby and Ace and Sabo used to tease him about it a lot and call him Cry Baby, and there was this girl he had crush on, but she was kinda.. you know leading him on so yeah… apparently, he cried over her and that is how the song came to life.” Usopp explained to me, and I just nodded.

“Is your friend better now?”

“Yeah he is fine. He literally forgot about her after a week or so.” Nami brushed it off as if it was nothing.

We sat for a little bit more talking about school when Usopp received a text from his girlfriend Kaya.

“Okay girls I’m leaving you for now. Kaya needs me to help her with something so see you later.”

“Is she not coming tonight?” Nami asked.

“No, she has some plans with her friends, so she is not coming.” He shrugged as he gave Nami and me a hug goodbye. “See you later.” We bit him goodbye.

“So you are telling me there is nothing you can do to not work tonight?” Nami looked at me pleadingly.

“No, I’m sorry Nami sadly not – you know I can’t do this to Shanks especially tonight. But I will be still there – just behind the bar.” I really wished I could of join them, but I can’t turn up on Shanks in the last moment.

“You better make good drinks or else I will complain to the manager.” She joked with me.

“I promise I will make the best once for you.” We both sat for a little bit longer before we hugged goodbye.

Before I headed to the bar I decided to go home and change. It took me some time to reach my apartment and as I entered, I took my boots off. I quickly changed to some old jeans and sweater I had. I still had like two hours before I started so I just ate something quickly as I was scrolling around social media. As I was scrolling, something piqued my interest and I decided to check these guys band Instagram, so I went to Nami’s profile trying to find them in her following list. I found them but as Nami and Usopp said they really didn’t have any pictures of them posted, I thought about checking their following list as they were following only four accounts and I guessed it was the band members, but I decided not to – as to surprise myself tonight. I contemplated for a second whether I should follow them or not, but I did anyway. I looked at the time and decided to head to work. I put some comfortable sneakers on my feet as I knew it would be a long night. I grabbed my bag, turned my headphones on and left.

115 notes · View notes

amethystarachnid · 1 month ago

Text

CHRISTMAS KITTY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Request: 26. Decorating the Tree Together – You and your character decorate a Christmas tree together, each putting your personal touch on it. A quiet moment full of holiday spirit, plus maybe a surprise gift hidden in the branches! This prompt with Tony please? 😁 and the surprise gift is a kitten? I love kittens and cats 😻😻😻😻😻 (@ts-rdj-reader )

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It's December in New York, and the first snow of the season has just begun to fall in delicate, fluttering flakes. The city, as always, feels like it's bustling with energy, but there's a softness to the air today, a quiet sort of peace that only the holiday season can bring. The kind of peace you can’t help but be caught up in.

You're bundled up in a cozy sweater and thick scarf, watching Tony fumble with his jacket. He looks up at you with a slight smirk as he zips it up, his chest puffed out as if the jacket somehow makes him look even more impressive.

“Think you’re ready for this?” you tease, adjusting your hat as you stand by the door. “I mean, buying a Christmas tree is serious business.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, but there’s a twinkle in his expression that betrays his excitement. “Of course I’m ready. What could possibly go wrong? It’s just a tree.”

You raise an eyebrow, watching him try to act nonchalant. Tony Stark might be a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, but there’s one thing he’s never had to deal with—decorating for the holidays. This is your first Christmas living together in his sleek, glass-and-steel penthouse, and you’ve both agreed that it’s time to make it feel like home. A tree is step one.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen.

“Pepper says she hopes we don’t burn down the building,” Tony mutters, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “I’m thinking a big, grand tree this year, something that’s going to put Rockefeller Center’s to shame. Don’t you think?”

You laugh at his over-the-top enthusiasm. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Stark. Let’s just get the tree first. We’ll save the grandiosity for the decorations.”

It’s only when you step out into the chilly evening air that the weight of the moment settles in—your first holiday together in the place you’ve both made your own. The city feels a little more magical now. Maybe it’s because of the snow, or maybe it’s just the way Tony makes everything feel like an adventure, no matter how mundane the task. You wrap your arm around his, feeling the heat from his body through the layers of clothing. He pulls you in closer with a quick kiss on the top of your head, and the world feels a little warmer.

“So, what’s your ideal tree?” Tony asks as you start down the street toward the small, family-run tree lot he’s insisted on going to. The man is always about supporting local businesses, even if that business happens to be a Christmas tree seller in the middle of a snowy December night.

“Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully. “Something tall, but not too overwhelming. You know, elegant. And definitely one with a strong scent. The kind you can smell as soon as you walk into the room.”

Tony grins. “I knew it. You’ve got that Pinterest board thing going on.”

You shove him lightly, your cheeks flushing at how easily he can read you. He’s right, though. You’ve spent hours scrolling through Christmas inspiration—dreaming up a perfect holiday, and a perfect tree to match it.

As you approach the lot, you can already hear the festive music playing in the background and smell the faint scent of pine and fresh-cut trees. Tony pulls open the gate for you, letting you inside first. The lot is smaller than you imagined, but it’s full of trees of all shapes and sizes, stacked haphazardly but with care.

“I think I see it,” Tony says as he scans the trees, his eyes narrowing. “The perfect one.”

You follow his gaze, and your breath catches in your throat. There, nestled between two slightly crooked firs, is a tree. It’s taller than the others, its branches a deep green, with just enough space between them to be filled with twinkling lights and ornaments. Its shape is symmetrical but not overly perfect—just like the way Tony always manages to balance chaos and precision in everything he does.

“That’s the one,” you agree, giving him a playful shove as you walk toward it. “Well done, Mr. Stark.”

Tony shoots you a wink and saunters over to the tree, inspecting it like it’s a high-tech gadget instead of a holiday decoration. He kneels beside it, reaching out to touch a few of the branches. “I don’t know, I think it’s a little too… nice. We need something that says ‘Tony Stark lives here.’”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips. You love that about him—that he can make everything feel bigger than life. Even something as simple as choosing a Christmas tree becomes a mini-event in his world.

“You’re not putting any of your weird tech inside the tree, are you?” you tease, hands on your hips. “No lasers, no rockets, no holographic star, okay?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, looking far too interested in the idea. “You’re asking the wrong person. But, no promises,” he says, already pulling out his phone to check something on his holographic display.

You give him a playful shove, and this time he stumbles a little, catching himself against the tree. He lets out a dramatic gasp, looking down at it like he’s about to fall in love with the idea of the tree himself. “It’s perfect. We can definitely make this work.”

The seller walks over to you both, an older man with a thick beard and weathered hands. “I see you’ve got a good eye. She’s a beauty, alright. We just brought her in this morning. I’ll have my son help get it to your car.”

You nod, smiling warmly at the man. “Thanks so much. We’ll take it.”

As the seller arranges for the delivery, Tony reaches for your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. The moment feels calm and easy, just the two of you standing in the middle of a Christmas tree lot in the heart of a bustling city.

“I can’t wait to see it in the apartment,” you say softly, glancing up at Tony.

He smirks, squeezing your hand. “It’ll be legendary.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling the joy of the moment settle into your chest. Tony, in his own quirky way, always knows how to make everything seem like an adventure. It’s like he lives for these moments of pure, unfiltered happiness. And you’re lucky enough to experience them with him.

As the tree is loaded onto a delivery truck, you make your way back to the penthouse, arms around each other, sharing quiet smiles. The city is alive with lights and the glow of Christmas spirit, but with Tony beside you, it all feels a little brighter.

You both arrive back at the penthouse just as the first snow of the evening begins to pick up again, turning the streets into a winter wonderland. Tony pulls out his phone, checking the progress on the tree’s delivery. You walk over to the window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city below, your thoughts drifting to the holiday ahead.

Tony joins you a few moments later, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You tilt your head back, finding comfort in the solid presence of his chest against your back.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hand.

“Doing what?” Tony asks, his voice low and amused.

“This,” you gesture to the apartment, “making our first Christmas together. It feels… right.”

Tony presses a kiss to the side of your head, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah. Me too.”

The sound of a truck pulling up outside catches your attention. You glance out the window, smiling when you see the delivery man bringing the tree up to the door. Tony squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Ready for this?” he asks, his voice filled with mock seriousness. “The holiday season is about to be officially underway.”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face. “Let’s do it.”

The tree is brought in, standing tall and proud in the center of your living room. It’s a perfect fit for the space, and as the lights shine through the branches, you feel the warmth of the holiday spirit filling every corner of the penthouse.

Tony looks at you, eyes shining with excitement. “What’s first?”

You take a deep breath, glancing around the room. It’s all yours. The tree is just the beginning.

“I think,” you say, your voice full of excitement, “we start with the lights.”

Tony nods, his grin widening. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You kneel down in front of the tree, placing the first strand of lights in your hands. The room feels even warmer now, the dim lights from the penthouse windows softly illuminating everything with their golden glow, but it’s the tree that stands proudly at the center of it all. You reach for the plug to connect the lights, only to hear a faint grunt behind you.

Tony, in his usual enthusiastic style, has already jumped headfirst into the next task: stringing the lights up the tree. Or, more accurately, tangling himself in them.

You glance over your shoulder to find him hunched down, one arm flailing in the air as he tries to reach the highest branch. Unfortunately, the string of lights is now wrapped around his torso, like a garland that has a personal vendetta against him. His expression is one of deep concentration, but also complete and utter confusion.

"Uh, Tony, are you sure you know what you're doing?" you ask, trying to suppress your laughter.

"I’m just… uh, testing the lights,” he mutters, looking incredibly focused on not falling face-first into the tree. "Gotta make sure they work before we get them all in place."

"Uh-huh." You narrow your eyes. "Sure you are. That’s why you're wrapped up like a Christmas present."

Tony looks down at himself, his eyes going wide in genuine surprise. "Well, I didn’t plan for this," he admits. “But… hey, at least now I’m ready for any unexpected electrical malfunctions. Safety first, right?”

You can’t help but burst out laughing, watching him try to extricate himself from the mess of lights. He tugs at the string, but it only tightens more around his chest like a boa constrictor.

"Tony," you say, holding your hand up to try to stifle your giggles. "Maybe you should stop for a second, and we’ll start from the beginning, yeah? You can’t exactly decorate a tree while stuck in a knot."

He pauses, staring at the lights for a long moment before sighing dramatically, like he's performing some sort of grand monologue. "I never imagined my life would come to this," he says with a theatrical sigh, “trapped by holiday lights. Who knew the holiday season could be so treacherous?”

"Maybe if you actually followed the instructions," you tease, walking over to help him. "You know, instead of winging it like everything else you do."

He gives you an exaggerated pout. "I don’t need instructions. I’m Tony Stark. Instructions are for mere mortals."

"Oh, I’m sure the lights will be impressed with your genius," you reply, tugging at the string around his arm. "Alright, hold still. I’m going to help you out of this before you make it worse."

You gently start untangling him, but the more you try to help, the more absurd the situation becomes. At one point, his arm gets stuck in the lights so badly that it seems like they’ve fused into his jacket sleeve. He attempts to free himself by flapping his arm around in exaggerated circles, causing the lights to wrap even tighter.

"I think it's just easier if we burn the whole thing and start fresh," he mutters. "It would save a lot of time and frustration.”

You shake your head, chuckling. "How would you even burn it? You’d probably end up blowing up the building."

“I’m not that bad,” Tony protests, though he still looks tangled beyond belief. “I’ve got it under control… mostly.”

With a final tug, you manage to unravel him from the lights, leaving him looking defeated, his hair a bit more disheveled than usual. He looks at the string of lights in his hands with a defeated sigh.

“Alright, that’s it. You finish this part, I’ll handle something else,” he declares, tossing the lights toward you. “But only because I love you, and I’m clearly not cut out for this domestic stuff.”

You roll your eyes but give him a playful kiss on the cheek. “I love you too, even if you’re a disaster when it comes to holiday decorating.”

He grins at you, his usual cocky confidence returning. “Hey, someone has to make the season interesting.”

You take over, carefully stringing the lights around the tree. Tony stands off to the side, looking around at the ornaments you’ve laid out on the coffee table. His eyes immediately light up with mischievousness.

“Now this,” he says, picking up a glass ornament shaped like a small rocket, “this is the kind of decoration we need. A bit of me in this whole thing.”

You glance over, raising an eyebrow at the tiny rocket in his hand. “A rocket? Really?”

“Well, what better way to spice things up than a tiny Tony Stark rocket? I mean, the thing is pretty cool.” He grins, holding it up like a prize. “I could program it to do something flashy. A little jet-powered display, maybe?”

You hold up your hand to stop him. “Tony, no. Please don’t turn the Christmas tree into a mini Iron Man flight simulation.”

He chuckles, finally relenting and placing the ornament back with the others. “Alright, alright, no mini explosions. But can we at least agree on this—when we get the star on top, it’s going to be the most badass one ever?”

You smirk. “If you’re thinking about making the star fly, I swear to God…”

Tony throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine! No flying stars. I promise. But it’s going to be shiny. You’ll see.”

With the lights finally in place, you stand back to admire your work. The tree is looking better by the second. The warm glow from the lights fills the room, and you can already imagine how cozy everything will feel once you start adding the ornaments and tinsel.

“Okay,” you say, moving to the table where the rest of the ornaments are waiting. “Now we get to the fun part. You ready?”

Tony stretches, shaking out his arms like he's preparing for a big game. “Born ready,” he declares, grabbing a handful of ornaments without looking. “Alright, I’m going to start with these. The important ones.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can stop him, Tony hangs the first ornament—a bright red one—with no regard for symmetry. In fact, it’s completely off-center, hanging at an odd angle that’s almost comical.

“Tony,” you say, biting back a laugh. “What are you doing? You can’t just randomly throw ornaments on the tree.”

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s Christmas. The tree can be a little… spontaneous.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. “It looks like the tree’s been attacked by a very enthusiastic toddler.”

“Hey, don’t knock the randomness,” Tony defends, sticking his tongue out at you. “It’s… avant-garde.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not sure ‘avant-garde’ is the word you’re looking for.”

“Fine,” he sighs dramatically. “I’ll do it your way. But only because you look so cute when you’re being all decorator-y about it.” He gives you a teasing wink before picking up another ornament.

You can barely keep your smile in check as you show him how to hang the ornaments more evenly. But as you demonstrate, Tony inevitably sneaks in a few of his chaotic touches—an ornament hung upside down here, another off to one side. At one point, he hands you a glittery snowman ornament that is somehow tangled in a length of tinsel.

“Here, put this one up,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself. “It’s got character.”

You burst out laughing as you try to untangle the snowman, holding it up in front of your face. "Character? It looks like it got stuck in a snowdrift.”

Tony laughs with you, the sound of it easy and warm. “I think it adds some charm to the tree.”

As the two of you finish decorating, you step back to admire your work. The tree, though slightly lopsided in places, has a certain charm to it. It’s uniquely yours—full of mismatched ornaments, half-wrapped ribbons, and just the right amount of chaos.

Tony steps back, admiring it with a proud grin. “You know what? It might not be perfect, but it’s got style.”

You glance over at him, shaking your head but smiling. “It’s a little more than that. It’s ours.”

His eyes soften, and for a moment, there’s a silence between you. You both stand in front of the tree, feeling a sense of contentment that only comes with creating something together.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice quieter now, “this is nice. I like this. Decorating the tree with you… it’s something I could get used to.”

You turn to him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Me too, Tony. Me too.”

And as you stand there, side by side, with the tree twinkling in front of you and the warmth of the holiday season filling the air, you realize that no matter how messy or chaotic things get, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

The tree stands tall and glowing, a patchwork of holiday spirit reflecting the personalities of its decorators—quirky, vibrant, and just a little chaotic. The warm light dances across the room, and the faint scent of pine lingers in the air. You and Tony sit curled up together on the couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs, your head resting on his shoulder as you both admire your handiwork.

“This turned out better than I expected,” you admit, your voice soft as the quiet holiday music plays in the background.

“Better than expected?” Tony feigns offense, turning to look at you. “Did you doubt me? I’m hurt. Wounded, even.”

You snicker, nudging him lightly. “I just wasn’t sure if the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist thing translated to decorating Christmas trees.”

He smirks, his arm tightening around you. “Well, clearly, I’m a man of many talents.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth of the moment keeps you from retorting. Instead, you snuggle closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as the two of you enjoy the rare quiet of the evening.

For a while, it’s perfect—just you, Tony, and the soft glow of the tree. But after a few minutes, you notice Tony glancing toward the clock on the wall. At first, you think nothing of it. Tony’s always been fidgety, always a million thoughts ahead of himself. But then he does it again, his gaze flickering toward the clock almost absentmindedly, like he’s trying not to make it obvious.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Tony shakes his head quickly, a little too quickly. “Nope. Just thinking about… stuff. Business stuff.” He waves his hand dismissively, but you can feel the slight tension in his posture.

You narrow your eyes, not buying it. “Business stuff? Tony, it’s almost time for dinner. You’re not supposed to be thinking about business stuff.”

He looks down at you, flashing one of his charming smiles, the kind that usually works on just about everyone. “You’re right. No business stuff. Just tree stuff. And couch stuff. And you stuff.” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, clearly hoping to derail your train of thought.

And for a moment, it works. You let yourself relax back into him, letting the sound of his heartbeat and the warm weight of his arm around you pull you into the comfort of the evening. But then his phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Your gaze flicks to the screen, but before you can read the notification, Tony shifts forward, reaching for the phone with a quickness that feels just a little… off. He doesn’t open the message right away. Instead, he stands up, the blanket sliding off his lap, and steps toward the window. The soft glow of the city lights frames him as he unlocks the phone and reads the message in silence.

You sit up straighter, watching him carefully. “What’s that about?” you ask, keeping your tone light but curious.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Instead, he stares at the screen for a moment longer before locking the phone and slipping it into his pocket. “Nothing important,” he says casually, turning back to face you. But there’s something in his voice—something slightly distracted—that makes your stomach twist.

“Tony,” you say, tilting your head as you study him. “What’s going on?”

He hesitates, and for the briefest moment, you think he might tell you. But then he clears his throat and puts on that easy, carefree grin again. “It’s nothing, really. Just something I need to take care of real quick. Won’t take long.”

You frown, standing up and crossing your arms as you watch him grab his jacket from the back of the chair. “Take care of what? It’s late, Tony. Where are you going?”

He looks at you, his expression softening just enough to make you second-guess your suspicion. “It’s a surprise,” he says, stepping closer to cup your face in his hands. “I promise it’s nothing bad. You’ll like it.”

“A surprise?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“It could,” he admits, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “But trust me, it’s better if I handle it tonight.”

You search his face, trying to read the truth behind his words. Tony’s always been good at keeping secrets, but this feels… different. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—nervousness? Guilt? You can’t quite pin it down.

“I don’t like it when you’re vague,” you say quietly, your arms dropping to your sides. “If it’s really a surprise, you can just tell me.”

He shakes his head, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I know. But you’ll just have to trust me on this one, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”

You don’t answer right away, your heart tugging in two directions. On one hand, you trust Tony—you love him, and you know he wouldn’t leave like this without a good reason. But on the other hand, something about the way he’s acting feels… off. And the fact that he’s leaving this late, when you were supposed to spend the night together, doesn’t sit right with you.

“Alright,” you say finally, your voice tinged with reluctance. “But if you’re not back in an hour, I’m calling Pepper to tattle on you.”

Tony grins, clearly relieved that you’re letting it go, at least for now. “Fair deal,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug before heading for the door. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered. Just enjoy the tree and keep the couch warm for me.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, the glow of the Christmas lights suddenly feeling a little less warm. You glance toward the clock, then toward the door, a knot forming in your chest as the silence settles over the room.

You sit back down on the couch, pulling the blanket over your lap, but you can’t relax. Your eyes keep drifting toward the door, your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of surprise could he be planning? And why did he seem so anxious about it?

The minutes tick by, and though you try to focus on the tree or the soft music playing in the background, your thoughts keep circling back to Tony. Something about this doesn’t feel right, and the longer he’s gone, the harder it becomes to shake the uneasy feeling in your gut.

The ticking of the clock grows louder with each passing minute, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the room. You glance at your phone for the hundredth time, debating whether you should call Tony. It’s been an hour and a half since he left, and your mind has wandered to every possible worst-case scenario.

Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. Maybe he got sidetracked by some last-minute business emergency. Maybe he’s planning some kind of over-the-top stunt, and it’s taking longer than expected. You try to reassure yourself, but the knot in your stomach refuses to loosen.

Then, just as you’re about to give in and dial his number, the sound of the elevator whirring to life snaps your attention to the front door. You sit up straighter, your heart thudding in your chest as the door slides open to reveal Tony stepping inside.

He’s carrying two things: a large cardboard box with small holes punched into the sides and a massive shopping bag that looks ready to burst at the seams. His hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a sheepish grin on his face as he meets your gaze.

“Miss me?” he asks, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Tony!” You rush to your feet, half-relieved and half-annoyed. “Where have you been? You said you’d be quick!”

“I know, I know,” he says, setting the box down carefully on the coffee table. The shopping bag follows with a dull thud. “And I’m sorry, sweetheart. But, uh, this couldn’t wait.”

Your eyes flick to the box, then back to Tony, your suspicion immediately kicking back into gear. “What do you mean, ‘couldn’t wait’? What’s in the box? And why does it have… holes?”

Tony scratches the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Okay, so, remember how I said I had a surprise? Well, this is it. Or, uh, part of it.”

“Part of it?” you repeat, crossing your arms. “Tony, if there’s a bomb in there, I swear—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No bombs. I promise. Just… open it, alright? Trust me.”

You eye him warily, but curiosity gets the better of you. Stepping closer, you reach for the box, lifting the lid slowly. At first, all you see is a bundle of soft, orange fur curled up in a cozy blanket. Then, as the light filters in, two tiny green eyes blink up at you, followed by a delicate little meow.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Tony… is this—?”

“A kitten,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “Your kitten. Merry… well, pre-Christmas.”

You stare down at the little creature in disbelief as it stretches and lets out another soft meow. Its fur is a vibrant orange, its tiny paws tipped with white like it’s wearing little socks. Its tail flicks lazily, and it looks up at you with the kind of wide-eyed innocence that melts your heart instantly.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, gently lifting the kitten from the box. It’s warm and impossibly small, its tiny body fitting perfectly into your hands. “Tony, I—where did you even—?”

“It’s been in the works for a while,” he explains, watching you with a fond smile as you cradle the kitten against your chest. “You’ve mentioned wanting a pet a few times, and I figured, hey, why not make it happen? But the shelter called me tonight and said they couldn’t hold him any longer. Apparently, he’s a popular little guy.”

“You… went to a shelter?” You glance up at him, your voice soft with surprise.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I might be a genius, but even I know you’d never forgive me if I bought one from some fancy breeder.”

Your heart swells, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Tony, this is… this is amazing. He’s perfect.”

The kitten nuzzles into your chest, purring softly, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve always wanted a pet, but between your busy life and Tony’s hectic schedule, it never seemed like the right time. But now, holding this tiny bundle of fur, everything feels just right.

“I’m glad you like him,” Tony says, his voice unusually soft. “Because, uh, that’s not all.”

He gestures toward the shopping bag, which you now realize is overflowing with supplies: a litter box, bags of kitten food, a variety of toys, a cozy little bed, and even a scratching post. There’s enough in there to keep the kitten happy and spoiled for months.

“You really went all out,” you say, laughing through your tears.

“Hey, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, you deserve it. Both of you.”

You place the kitten carefully back in the box so you can throw your arms around Tony, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “This is the best surprise ever.”

He holds you close, his hand running gently up and down your back. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I’m more than happy,” you say, your smile widening. “I’m completely in love. With both of you.”

Tony chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Well, I can’t compete with a face like that,” he says, nodding toward the kitten, who’s now batting at a loose ribbon in the box. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

The two of you spend the rest of the evening introducing the kitten to his new home. You let him explore the penthouse at his own pace, watching as he pounces on the smallest shadows and skids across the hardwood floors in an adorable flurry of fur and energy. Tony, for all his swagger and bravado, is just as smitten as you are, crouching down to dangle toys and laughing when the kitten leaps after them with wobbly precision.

“What should we name him?” you ask at one point, sitting cross-legged on the floor as the kitten curls up in your lap.

Tony tilts his head, considering. “Well, he’s orange. How about something like… Rusty? Or Cheeto?”

You give him a look. “Cheeto? Really?”

“What? It’s cute!” he defends, grinning. “Alright, fine. Your call. I’ll just veto anything boring.”

You laugh, looking down at the kitten as he blinks up at you sleepily. “How about… Pumpkin?”

Tony pretends to mull it over, then nods. “Pumpkin. I like it. Festive, cute, and just a little bit cheesy. Perfect.”

“Pumpkin it is,” you say, gently stroking the kitten’s soft fur.

As the night goes on, the three of you settle back onto the couch, the kitten curled up between you and Tony. The Christmas tree glows softly in the corner, casting the room in a warm, golden light. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should be—cozy, peaceful, and filled with love.

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as you both watch Pumpkin doze off. “You know,” he says softly, “this might be the best Christmas ever.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It definitely is,” you agree. “And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Well, consider this a warm-up. The real show’s just getting started.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in Tony’s arms with Pumpkin purring softly beside you, you can’t imagine anything better.

Tony Stark doesn’t consider himself the jealous type. Not when it comes to humans, at least. He’s Tony Stark, after all—billionaire, genius, and your boyfriend. Why would he ever need to compete for your attention?

And yet, as he stands in the living room of his penthouse, watching you coo at Pumpkin for what feels like the hundredth time that day, Tony feels an unfamiliar twinge in his chest. The kitten, curled up in your lap and purring loud enough to drown out the faint hum of the city below, soaks up every ounce of your affection like he’s been in your life for years instead of just a couple of days.

“Pumpkin, you’re such a good boy,” you murmur, stroking the kitten’s soft orange fur. He stretches lazily, his tiny paws reaching out to bat at your hand, and you giggle in response, your face lighting up with pure adoration.

Tony clears his throat, hoping to grab your attention. When that doesn’t work, he tries again, louder this time. “You know, I’m still here,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. “Your human boyfriend. The one who, might I remind you, actually got you the furball in the first place.”

You glance up at him with a grin, clearly amused. “I know, Tony. And you did a great job. I love him.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony replies, raising an eyebrow. “You love him. And what about me?”

“Oh, I love you too,” you say, laughing lightly. “But Pumpkin’s just… so cute. Look at him!”

Tony sighs dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah, he’s cute. But I’m cute too! I’m fun. I’m Tony Stark.”

Pumpkin chooses that moment to yawn, his tiny mouth stretching wide before he curls back into a contented ball on your lap. You immediately let out an “aww” and start petting him again, completely ignoring Tony’s faux outrage.

“Unbelievable,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as he flops onto the couch beside you. “I bring you a kitten, and suddenly I’m chopped liver.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow. “You’re not chopped liver. You’re just… second place right now.”

“Second place?!” Tony stares at you, his jaw dropping in mock offense. “I didn’t spend a fortune on that scratching post in the corner so I could be demoted to second place.”

“Tony,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as you turn to him. “Pumpkin is a baby. He needs attention.”

“I need attention!” Tony counters, pointing to himself. “What about me? Who’s gonna scratch my ears and tell me I’m a good boy?”

You burst out laughing, and Tony can’t help but grin despite himself. There’s something about your laugh that always makes him forget whatever point he was trying to make, even when he’s “arguing” with a kitten.

“Alright, alright,” you say, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You’re a good boy, Tony.”

“Too late,” he replies, huffing as he leans back against the couch. “I see how it is. I’ve been replaced. I might as well start growing whiskers and eating kibble at this point.”

Pumpkin stirs in your lap, his green eyes blinking open as he lets out a soft, high-pitched meow. You immediately coo again, leaning down to nuzzle the kitten. “Aww, did you wake up, little guy? You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Tony watches this exchange with growing exasperation. “Oh, come on. He meowed. That’s it. Do you want me to meow? Because I will. I’ll meow right now.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but it’s a losing battle. “Tony, please don’t.”

“No, no,” Tony says, sitting up straight. “I’m serious. If that’s all it takes to get your attention, I’ll start practicing my feline repertoire. Meow. There, how was that?”

You’re laughing so hard now that Pumpkin looks up at you with what can only be described as mild concern. “Tony, stop,” you manage between giggles. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?!” Tony gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is my penthouse. My tree. My girlfriend. And now, my replacement.” He gestures at Pumpkin, who has climbed onto your shoulder and is pawing at your hair like it’s his new favorite toy.

You reach up to steady the kitten, still smiling. “Tony, you’re being jealous of a kitten. A kitten.”

“Not jealous,” he says quickly. “Just… concerned. For my well-being. Do you know how much of my lap space he’s taking up? And what about my snuggle quota? I’m going to be malnourished from lack of affection at this rate.”

You shake your head, still laughing as you set Pumpkin down on the couch between you. The kitten promptly curls up into a ball again, seemingly unbothered by the ongoing drama. “Tony, you’re ridiculous,” you say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “But you’re my ridiculous.”

“Damn right, I am,” he mutters, though he can’t hide the pleased grin that tugs at his lips. “Just remember that next time you’re fawning over the furball.”

You roll your eyes but settle against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you both look down at Pumpkin. “You know, you’re the one who brought him into the house. You did this to yourself.”

Tony groans, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize I was signing up to be the third wheel in my own relationship.”

You glance up at him with a smirk. “If it makes you feel better, you’re still my favorite billionaire genius.”

“Favorite billionaire genius? That’s a low bar,” he grumbles. “How about favorite everything?”

“Fine,” you say, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Favorite everything.”

He grins, finally looking smug again. “That’s more like it.”

Pumpkin chooses that moment to let out a soft snore, and you both look down at him. Despite all of Tony’s grumbling, you can see the fondness in his eyes as he watches the tiny ball of orange fur sleep peacefully.

“He’s pretty great, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Tony sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, he’s alright. But if he starts hogging the bed, we’re gonna have words.”

You laugh, snuggling closer to him. “Deal.”

For the rest of the night, Tony continues to play up his faux-jealousy, sneaking exaggerated glares at Pumpkin whenever you’re not looking. But deep down, you know he’s already completely smitten with the kitten—even if he won’t admit it. And as the three of you settle into the glow of the Christmas tree, it’s clear that Pumpkin has brought even more joy into your already chaotic, love-filled life.

75 notes · View notes

writingwithfolklore · 9 months ago

Text

5 Things about working in a (small) publishing house that surprised me

My experiences definitely aren’t true of the entire industry. I work in a very small, very local publishing house as a marketing assistant, and I’m certain that you’d have a much different experience at Penguin Random House, or even another small house on the other side of the country. That being said, here’s five things that really surprised me about what I’ve seen from the industry so far…

1. Very few of the people who work in publishing are writers

Okay this was one of the biggest surprises but also kind of makes sense? Publishing is a lot about the business side of things—numbers and marketing strategies and event planning, etc. People who are talented in design and accounting and other essential pieces to book publishing aren’t necessarily good at or practiced writers, and not all people who love reading also love writing!

I guess this surprised me so much because I’ve never been a reader without being a writer, but we often actually rely on the author’s writing on their own works (summaries, bios, etc.) to populate the backs of books and other marketing. Including me, there are three writers in my entire office.

2. Big booksellers (think Indigo) release yearly cover palettes for book covers

When we’re deciding the colours for a book cover, one thing that goes into that consideration is actually the different palettes Indigo releases! They have different palettes for different sections they update every year. I imagine it’s to fit a certain look for their shelves for new releases, but it’s not something I had ever really thought about, or thought that they would care about!

3. On that topic—publishing houses don’t sell to readers

My first day in marketing, my manager told me, “you’d think we’re selling to readers” I did think that. She said, “we’re actually selling to bookstores and libraries, they sell to readers.” How the money works is booksellers buy our books to put on their shelf. Everything they don’t sell, they’re allowed to trade back for credit, so we want them to buy big upfront, and then sell big to readers. Every book they send back is inventory we can’t get rid of and a “free” book for them down the line, so we don’t want books to come back!

If you want to support authors and your favourite publishing houses, buy from local bookstores who can’t afford to keep underselling books on their shelves for as long as say Indigo. If you really want to support authors, check out their books from libraries (yes really). Libraries are great because they buy books from publishing houses and can use the same one book to get into the hands of several readers, (in Canada) authors get a small amount every time a book is checked out (up to a certain amount so that the library’s entire budget doesn’t go to one book/author). Often, an author’s largest cheque is from libraries.

Unfortunately in the States authors don’t get the same boon, but still supporting your local libraries is just as good as supporting your local indie bookstores!

4. Soo many people look at covers, and soo much goes into creating them

I’m not really a designer, so I’m certain this wouldn’t surprise those of you who actually do graphic design, but they seriously look at every single detail and how it will benefit or hurt the sales. The placement of blurbs, choice of fonts, colours, subtitles, even the placement of raindrops for a rainy background, everything is discussed and tested and tried several different ways. So yes, DO judge a book by its cover, we work so hard on making covers perfect for the audience we’re trying to reach.

5. Publishing houses don’t necessarily have in-house editors, publicity, or other roles

I had always assumed that every publishing house had its own editors and publicists and what not. That’s probably true for the bigger ones, but if you’re being published by a smaller one (which you may be for your debut) you may be working with freelance editors and publicists who work somewhat with your publishing house and also with others as well. We have one in-house publicist, and no editors!

I wouldn’t turn down a publishing house just because they use freelancers (our freelancers are amazing!) but it’s important that they’re upfront about it. Huge red flag if they say they have in-house editors and they don’t actually—I would pass on a publishing house that lies to you.

Any other questions you have about the industry I’ll try to answer!

#writing #creative writing #writing community #writers #screenwriting #writing inspiration #books #filmmaking #film #writing advice #publishing industry #publishing #traditional publishing #trad publishing #publishing house

161 notes · View notes

promotionaldisk · 3 months ago

Note

well, i did it again when I said I wasn't gonna. I tell you, it's more for curiosity than anything else (I'm not an addicted freak! Right?) though the pleasure is intense if I can manage to break through the skeeve factor and get a proper hardon. Again, said I was over it and this one was just *too weird*, right? I wouldn't try it, would I? Well, I did. Was driving down a wooded two-lane, minding my business. A squirrel with a death wish flew out of the woods and directly in front of a lorry- he would have made it had he just continued crossing, but to my alarm he second-guessed himself, made an acrobatic 180 and went right under a tyre, killing him instantly. I wasn't going to stop. It was just a squirrel. But then I thought how interesting it is to put roadkill in front of my game camera at the edge of the forest, and see what scavengers come. I stopped. I picked him up. He was still warm and pliable, but was clearly wrecked inside, glad he didn't suffer anyway. Some of his innards had exited through what used to be his anus, he was ripped open there and I'm pretty sure all his ribs and spine were smashed too, he was less stout than a ragdoll. I took him out to the country place where my camera is. Actually forgot about him for a bit while I did chores. Wasn't important. But then I had to walk out to the camera and remembered the squirrel. I got him and looked more closely, then my fingers got curious. He was warm, wet, and squishy inside, and surprisingly not terribly bloody. Then I guess what would be called the evil inside me spoke up, "You could fuck that, it feels good in there, he's like a natural fleshlight." Oh, no, shut up will you? Christ. Well, never one to back from a challenge, I laid down on my picnic blanket under a big oak tree, just me and this poor squirrel, and I stroked myself to hardness thinking about something else (trickery is necessary, I never found a squirrel to be sexy!) and then achieving the proper hardness I introduced my boner to his wound. It was a strange disconnect visually, seeing a squirrel impaled and wholly supported by my dick, enveloping me entirely- but the sensation was surprisingly familiar, it was warm, wet, squishy, and had some texture, very not unlike a good pussy. I was going to cum in this poor bastard. I gently gripped him and stroked him up and down on my now very rigid cock. I turned him around and found that felt even better. I pushed hard and stroked faster, then quite quickly came very hard in him, unloading all I had. I couldn't believe what I'd done, but, just another weird thing to add to all the other weird things I've done I guess. I cleaned myself up thoroughly and took his broken corpse to the camera. I laid him down gently in front of it. I apologized for fucking him, and said I was sorry he had gotten killed by one of humanity's infernal machines. Weirder maybe, but I gathered some nearby wildflowers and laid them in a circle around him to honor his poor little wild soul. At least the local foxes will get a good meal, and also enjoy a little bit of me as well.

i’m so glad you shared this with me!! it’s so amazing to see people give into their animalistic urges, doing such depraved stuff just to get off <333

#necroposting #pro para #paraphile #paraphiles please interact #actually necro #necrophilism #gore lover #irl necro #necrozoo #noellerot

62 notes · View notes

runnning-outof-time · 5 months ago

Note

Hii! Can i pls request a arthur Shelby x wife!reader where the reader isn't involve in any of the business of Arthur and his family and during the vendetta the italians kidnap her to kill her as revenge but Arthur and his brothers come in time and Arthur comfort scared reader?

Hi anon! I hope you don’t mind the formatting of this - I’m trying something out in hopes that it’ll help me get these requests shared. It’s not quite a structured story, but it’s also not quite headcanons - it just kinda showcases the major plot points of the story along with some added supporting details … whatever it is, I wrote it! I hope you enjoy!

When The Day’s Done | Arthur Shelby x Reader

**gif credit: @/sparksetfire, who sadly deactivated**

Summary: Arthur meets a woman when he moves out into the country. She stays behind when he must return to Birmingham to fight the vendetta because they feel that it's safer for her to stay here. Their decision turns out to be the wrong one, and now Arthur must save her.

Warnings: season 4 spoilers, kidnapping

Word Count: 2777 (way longer than I expected)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Arthur met (Y/N) when he moved out to the country.

**Linda's not present in this story, but he'd still move out there after the events between seasons 3 and 4 finished. **

Ada - with the help of Polly - would have a big hand in prompting this move. They both know that Arthur could be better, and that what he surely needed was to be away from the smoke of Small Heath. And they were correct.

It didn't take long for them to meet.

(Y/N)'s house was the next one over - down the street that is - and she met Arthur when she opened her front door to find him one day.

Arthur had met her father prior. He already had an established farm, and that's something Arthur's hoping he could create for himself now that he's got this land. So (Y/N)'s father had told him to come over and that he'd show him around in hopes that some inspiration would strike Arthur.

(Y/N) still lives at home with her parents. She's got a job within their community - running the farmer's market that all of the local farmers bring their goods to (her father included) ... it's just easier for her to stay at home, and her parents are quite happy that she chooses to as she's an only child. They like to keep the family close.

So back to Arthur meeting her at the door. Knowing how Arthur is, I'm sure you could picture how he reacted when he came face fo face with this beautiful woman instead of the older man he'd met earlier in the week. Yeah, he suddenly doesn't know how to form a complete sentence.

(Y/N) finds it adorable. And she goes to get her father when Arthur finally manages to get out what it is that he's there for.

She makes sure to ask her father about him once he leaves, too. Like she pretty much plays twenty questions with him. Her father obliges and answers what she asks...and he's got that look in his eye too - like he has an inkling of an idea as to why she's asking all the questions. (Y/N)'s too oblivious to catch it.

The next place Arthur finds (Y/N) is at the farmer's market. He's getting some things that he needs and she, of course, checks him out (in more ways then one, if we're being honest).

He's actually able to strike up conversation with her this time around - asking her about the market and how long she'd been working there. And she happily shares answers with him. He ends the conversation with "well if it all goes right, you'll be selling my things here too."

To which (Y/N) responds with "if you're following my father's advice, you'll be growing things in no time."

She leaves him with a sweet smile and then kicks herself once he exits the market. Since when have I ever been so giddy over a man?, she thinks to herself.

Little does (Y/N) know that Ida, one of the older women in the community, watched the entire interaction with a knowing look...she can read these two like an open book.

And it just so happens that Ida's one of the women in the village that loves to gossip.

The first person in Arthur and (Y/N)'s circle that this gossip gets to is (Y/N)'s father...yeah, probably the worst person it could have reached. He overhears it when he's at one of his fellow farmer's home. The fellow farmer's wife decided to bring it up as a topic of conversation, surprising (Y/N)'s father.

He doesn't even wait to speak to Arthur about it. It's during one of the evenings where the two men are meeting, because Arthur's still getting a handle on the whole farming thing, that the older man decides to bring it up. He comes right out with it, too - "whatever your intentions with my daughter are, you'd better be an honest man about it."

Arthur's surprised, to say the least. But he doesn't deny the interest he has in (Y/N). He puts on a serious face and nods, saying "I will, sir." (Y/N)'s father nods in response.

So the next time Arthur sees (Y/N), which happens to be when she answers the door to find him on her family's front stoop - again, Arthur asks her to dinner.

And that's the start of a lovely relationship.

He's careful with who he tells. He wants to leave his life in Small Heath out of it for the most part. Sure, in some ways that's doing a disservice to (Y/N), but this new start has been good for Arthur.

He tells John and Ada, who are both incredibly happy for him. Finn just kind of finds out one day when he's visiting his eldest brother, and he's got nothing bad to say about it. He'd tell Tommy too...if Tommy wasn't so hard to reach. Polly is also hard to reach during this time, but he does mention it to her.

They're truly inseparable from the start. (Y/N) feels bashful at the fact that she practically lives at Arthur's home now, but Arthur repeatedly tells her that he's so incredibly happy that she's staying with him.

It's during these months that he's the happiest he's ever been. His little farm is flourishing (thanks to the help from the farmer's daughter and her knowledge), and he's sure that he's now with the love of his life.

The move that he was initially feeling uncertain about has turned out to be one of the best decisions he's ever made.

About three or four of these blissful months pass before Arthur's meeting with (Y/N)'s father again. This time, however, he's got a question that doesn't involve farming.

He wants to ask him for his daughter's hand in marriage.

He does everything in proper fashion too - sits down with him, professes how (Y/N) makes him feel and even shows the ring that he'd picked out a few weeks back.

(Y/N)'s father essentially has to agree to Arthur's questions twice because the latter doesn't hear him the first time. He's too busy going through the speech he'd prepared to take into account that her father could answer before he finished it.

And when he does hear his answer, he's immediately relieved.

He wastes no time in asking her. In fact, he does it that evening while they're enjoying some time out on the grounds of his property. Of course she says yes!

News of the engagement spreads like wildfire throughout the village. Some think it's way too early for that step, but others - particularly those who have known (Y/N) and her family for some time - think it's perfect.

(Y/N)'s so excited to plan their wedding, and Arthur's eager to allow her to have anything she wants as part of their big day.

She pours every ounce of herself into the planning and preparations over the next few months.

All of the excitement, however, comes to a screeching halt near Christmas of 1925, when a Black Hand comes in the mail.

To be clear, by this point Arthur's told (Y/N) about what sort of business he was involved in prior to moving out of Small Heath. He felt that if he was going to truly be with her, she deserved to know every part of him.

Sure (Y/N)'s not exactly enthused to learn of the types of things he'd done in the past, but anyone was easily able to see that he was making a good faith effort to separate and distance himself from every part of that lifestyle - besides keeping in touch with his family, of course.

When it's decided that the Shelby's would move back to Small Heath to face the vendetta head on, Arthur insists that (Y/N) stays back in the village. He hopes that the Italians don't know much more about his life there than the address of his home.

There's some hesitance from (Y/N), but she ultimately agrees and moves back with her parents as Arthur heads to Small Heath.

The distance is tough for the two of them. They've essentially gone from being each other's everything every day for the past year to not having any contact whatsoever.

And so while hell's happening in Small Heath, (Y/N)'s living a normal life back home. Things go on like this for some time too...until one day things change.

The - for lack of better terms - hit gets put out after Arthur kills the two men in the basement of the factory.

Two strange men were hanging around the farmer's market for the entirety of (Y/N)'s shift. She feels something uneasy about them, but tries to shake it off and focus on helping customers and whatnot.

They bring her to a stop on her walk home and force her to get into their car, driving off without a word.

(Y/N) decides to stay quiet and remains relatively calm. She doesn't know what these men want, and hopes that if she's compliant with them, they'll let her go.

Unfortunately things don't pan out that way.

The drive feels like it goes on forever, and it's dark by the time they make it to their destination. Because of this - and the fact that the men were forcibly dragging her to the doors - (Y/N)'s unable to catch any defining markers of where she now is.

She's dragged into a dark room, where the only piece of furniture is a wooden chair. Nothing is said as she's shoved into the chair and the men begin tying her to it. "What do you want from me?" she finally asks.

One of the men smirks, glancing at his counterpart before responding, "I'd get comfortable, sweetheart, you might be here awhile."

With that the two leave her tied to the chair, nodding to the man that she now notices is sitting by the door of the room.

A decent chunk of time passes - (Y/N)'s not sure how much because there's nothing that could tell her - before the door opens again.

A different man walks in this time. He's wearing a nicely tailored suit, a fedora, and as he comes to a stop in front of her, (Y/N) can see that he's chewing on the end of a matchstick. A wicked grin spreads across his lips as he gets a good look at her.

"Who are you?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

"You don't know me, sweetheart, but I know all about you," the man answers, "and your family."

This confuses her even more. "What do you mean?"

The man responds quickly, "Your husband killed my father. I want to know where he is."

"I don't...I don't know where he is," she says while trying to hide the fact that her heart is beating out of her chest.

The man just laughs at her statement. "See I don't believe that."

"It's true," she quickly responds, the desperation in her voice not helping her.

The man shakes his head, a wicked smirk forming as he looks her over. "Let me put this as simply as possible: you have twenty-four hours to give Arthur Shelby to me, or it'll be you who dies next. Understood?" (Y/N) doesn't answer. He gets really close to her as a look of annoyance spreads across his face. "I said: do you understand me?" The cologne he wears is almost too much for her to bear. Her face wrinkles together for a moment, hoping if she holds her breath, he'll just leave. But he doesn't.

So she opens her eyes and locks them onto his. "I do," she finally answers, her voice steady despite the fear that's coursing through her.

"Good," the man smirks, finally stepping away from her. "You'll tell him when you're ready," he states, motioning to the man who'd been watching her since she was placed in the room. "I'd do it sooner than later, sweetheart," he suggests, laughing to himself as he exits the room.

(Y/N)'s left with a startling decision now. She truly doesn't know what to do, or if there's even a way out of this.

Back home, people are talking. (Y/N)'s absence isn't hard to miss. At first it's thought that maybe she's gone out for the day, but worries skyrocket when she hasn't returned by the evening.

Her parents waste no time in contacting Arthur, even though it might not be the best move.

(Y/N) told them of the way she was instructed to get any urgent information to Small Heath - by calling the factory they owned and placing a message.

When Arthur receives this message the next time he's at the factory, he immediately knows something's wrong with her. There wouldn't be any other reason why (Y/N)'s parents would be the ones sending out the call.

They manage to send one of Aberama's men out to gain more details, and what information is brought back to Small Heath instantly makes Arthur's blood run cold. His fiancée was in danger. Everything else could wait...what needed to happen next was they needed to find where she was being held.

— ••• —

(Y/N) doesn't give any information to the man appointed to watch over her. She wasn't going to give her fiancé up. She holds onto hope that something'll happen before her time is up.

The man sitting by the door keeps a steady watch on her. (Y/N)'s surprised that he hasn't nodded off to sleep yet, as he hadn't been switched out for anyone else.

It all happens so suddenly. One moment, the man was turning his head to investigate a scraping noise that he heard just outside the doorway. The next, there's a man with what (Y/N) makes out to be shoulder-length hair peeking out from under a fedora pressing a gun to the seated man's temple.

The breath gets stuck in (Y/N)'s throat, but she doesn't panic.

"You speak and it'll be the last thing you ever do," the gun wielding man threatens the seated man. As expected, silence follows. "She's in here," the man then proclaims, making more footsteps sound in the corridor.

The voice that comes next has sobs of relief leaving (Y/N)'s mouth. "(Y/N)," Arthur calls as he rushes to where she's tied up. "(Y/N), love, I'm here."

"I...I didn't know what to...I didn't tell them anything," she stumbles over her words as Arthur works quickly on untying her from the chair. The second her hands are released, she falls into his arms.

"I've got you now. You're ok, you're safe," he whispers into her hair as she clings to him.

"What do I do with him, boss?" the man, who's still pressing a gun into one of her captors' temple, asks.

"Dispose of 'em," a second man responds. A slight struggle ensues, but (Y/N) doesn't move to see what happens. She stays put in Arthur's arms.

Time passes and the couple stays put. Arthur's thanking every god he knows of for keeping (Y/N) safe. (Y/N)'s still trying to get a hold of her emotions. Keeping them bottled up for this long while she was tied up is catching up with her.

"I didn't know if you'd come or not," she finally says some time later.

"I'll always come," he assures her, his voice gravelly as his emotions catch up with him. "When the day's done, I've got you, darlin'."

His comforting words made her finally lift her head from his chest. Her teary eyes found his and she couldn't help but smile. It felt like they'd been apart for years. Something quickly became apparent to her as she took in his appearance.

"Arthur..." she paused, letting out a mixture of a laugh and a sniffle, "your hair." What was all one length and longer was now shaved short on the sides but kept long on the top. She just had to reach out to feel it, wanting to confirm that it was actually real.

Arthur's brows furrow in confusion for a moment before he realizes what she's talking about. He can't help but chuckle as he feels her fingers run through his hair. "I cut it. Hope you don't mind, love."

"I don't," (Y/N) answers, shaking her head. "I love it."

Thank you for making it through…whatever this was. I appreicate you sticking with it. I’m not sure how many more fics I’ll write in this format but I will say that it really helped me get an idea I was originally struggling with out.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @the-anxious-youth @mystcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing

@evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy

@strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut

@zablife @cillmequick @letal-y-poetica @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx

@red-riding-wood @padfootdaredmetoo @crabat-the-queen @sebastianstangirl01 @everythingelseisextra

@kmc1989 @papichulo120627 @brummiereader @adaydreamaway08 @justrainandcoffee

@peakyltd @johannelis2302nely @just-a-blackhole @anotherblinder @ce1iat

@christinasyellowflowers @insanitybyanothername @daisyblinder @wotcherpeak @call-sign-shark

@sleepyycatt @novashelby

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x you #arthur shelby x y/n #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #fanfic #fanfiction

139 notes · View notes

ellethespaceunicorn · 11 months ago

Note

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Well, it took me a couple of days but I did it!! Oh, and it's the longest drabble in the world. Did y'all know a drabble is only 100 words???? I thought it was 100-500...I still wrote way more than that, but still.

Title: No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Prompt: Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Warnings: age gap (Ari is mid-40s, Reader is early-20s), yandere Ari, drugging, non-con fingering (f receiving), non-con p-in-v intercourse, non-con creampie, choking, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Hahahaha this was supposed to be a drabble. Thank you to @peyton-warren for the beta!

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Moving out on your own isn’t exactly the easiest thing for you. You spent four years living in your college dormitory, but you always had at least one roommate. So, signing a lease and accepting the single set of keys was a huge accomplishment.

Your landlord, Mr. Levinson, is so great. He told you to call him Ari more than once. From the first tour of the apartment to the day of your move-in, he offers his help in many ways. Where the best farmer’s market is, how to reach him if you need any repairs, and even when the local bars close are just a few tidbits he leaves you with.

You get to know him a bit more during a block party one Saturday night. The two of you talk over cheap beer, tamales from Señora Cruz, smoked brisket from Mr. Lorenzo, and lasagna from Mrs. Di Paolo. Ari seems like he is lonely, and your kind heart can’t stand to see someone in need.

Before you know what you are getting into, you agree to have a weekly tea date with him. It’s during one of those visits that you realize that something is a bit odd about Ari. He tries to cover up how he knows what cabinet you keep your tea in, but he makes up some dumb excuse that it would just be “the perfect spot”.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom as he busies himself with setting the tea, and when you come back, a steaming mug is waiting for you on a saucer on your coffee table. Usually, you make the tea, but Ari wanted to help out, and you had a long day at work, so you accepted.

“What is in this tea? It’s almost spicy,” you ask, taking another big gulp of the tea you don’t recognize.

“Is it spicy? Well, it does have ginger and cinnamon in it. Some chamomile, too. A little benzodiazepine in there,” Ari clambers on, trailing off at the end.

“D-did you say benzo…dia…zep,” you slur, reaching for Ari as you sit on the couch, but you end up passing out with your head in his lap.

When you come to, you struggle to remember what happened. Your heavy head pounds as you turn it to the side before putting the heel of your hand to your still-closed eyes.

“Take it slow, Bunny. You must’ve been really tired,” he consoles, from the other side of your bed.

“Mr. Levin-”

“Uhn uh. Call me Ari; no more of that Mr. Levinson polite shit, ok?” he swears for the first time in your presence.

“Um, Ari… What are you doing in my bedroom?” you ask, your mind a blank slate from earlier.

“Oh, Bunny. You invited me over for tea, and then you weren’t feeling well, and you asked me to stay until you felt better. Next thing I know, I’m carrying you in here because you fell asleep on me with that sweet little face of yours right in my lap,” he comforts, the knuckles of his hand sliding down your face before he boops your nose.

“Why do you keep calling me Bunny?” you mewl, still trying to get in control of all your limbs.

“When you sleep, you furrow your eyebrows and scrunch up your nose like a little bunny. It’s one of the cutest things you do,” he admires, his hand now moving down your neck and through the valley of your breasts to get to where your skirt rides up your thigh.

“Mr.-Ari…I think I feel better now; you don’t have to-”

Your words are cut off when Ari reaches under your skirt, and you specifically remember having on panties earlier today, but his fingers are touching your tender pussy directly. Did he take off your underwear?

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Must’ve been all that time I spent rubbing your cute little cunt through those white cotton panties. God, those little moans you were making went straight to my cock, Bunny. Feel it,” he dares, grabbing your hand and resting it against the thick outline of his dick through his Wranglers.

While your hand is on his length, he shoves two of his fingers into your wet heat. At first, you are surprised by the shock of it. But soon, you can tell that he knows how to work your body. You scream out his name, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he shoves one hand over your mouth and gets close to your ear.

“You’re not gonna ruin this for me. You have been parading yourself around here like you’re some holier-than-thou sweet little thing. And I knew you’d end up letting me smash at some point. But I didn’t wanna wait anymore, Bunny. You have had me wrapped around that little finger of yours since you moved in. It’s time that I get what’s owed to me-what you’ve been flaunting in front of me,” he sneers, pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them clean before opening his pants and pulling his dick out.

He lines up with your sodden core before thrusting in with no grace or elegance. Slamming himself inside your tight snatch for the first time feels like he is splitting you in two. You’re no virgin, but you also don’t have much casual sex, so Ari’s thickness was a shock, to say the least.

“Sweet Bunny, you’re so tight. What a good girl! You’ve been waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for you, huh? Fuck, you’re like a fucking vice. You hear that, Bunny? Hear how that cunt loves it when I fuck it? Love that loud, sloshy pussy,” he beams, his wide hips between your legs making your joints hurt.

You’re in stunned silence as Ari uses your body to chase his release. Your mind is bringing up all the times it seemed like he was getting a little too close for comfort. All the times when he would talk to you about his divorce, or his current dating trend, or the fact that he once told you that a pretty thing like you belonged locked up in a tower for a prince to come and free you.

Did he think he was a charming prince?

“Oh, Bunny, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer. Look at me; wanna see your eyes when I cum inside you,” he blurts, holding your face in his hands as you look into his dilated, hungry eyes. “Take it. Just. Like. That.” The last few words are punctuated with thrusts as he paints your walls with thick, milky ropes.

Once he closes his eyes, his hips remain still, and his forehead meets yours. This would be almost romantic if Ari didn’t make it beyond creepy by whispering how perfect you are and peppering kisses all over your face. His softening cock finally slips free from you, and you are happy to be empty until you feel the flow of his semen leaking from you. He notices your discomfort and mocks your whines as he pushes his jizz back into your swollen hole.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he starts, moving off of you to recline next to you, “Not gonna leave this bed ‘til you’re knocked up. As soon as you are, I’m gonna move you in with me. You are gonna be well taken care of, too. You are so perfect-every little thing about you. And when the baby comes, we are gonna be the perfect little family. You wouldn’t wanna ruin our family, right? You’re gonna be a good girl for me, huh?” he implores, holding your cheeks in his hand so your lips poke out a bit.

You nod while tears stream from your eyes, finding it hard to form words. But what would you have said? He seems to like you mostly silent; you haven’t uttered a single word since before he was inside you. It wasn’t too late to try, but it was too late to have hope; at least that’s what you told yourself.

“I don’t know about you, but I am starting to get hard again just looking at you. On all fours for me, Bunny. I know you got it in you,” he orders, no kindness in his voice.

You quickly scramble to get on your hands and knees for him and are happy that he is pleased with your speed. As he slides into your sensitive folds again, you grimace but hold in your noises of pain. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you hurt, even though what he is doing is traumatizing. He relishes in the gushy sounds your pairing makes and the mighty “oomph” you make when he wraps an arm around your neck and flattens you down to your belly.

He has you in a chokehold while his hips canter back and forth, plunging his length deeper and deeper inside you. When he hears you start to sputter and gulp in air, he removes his arm from around your neck and holds your face cheek-down on the bed.

“Look at her, taking my cock just like she should. You’ll be the prettiest little wife and mother, won’t you? Gonna keep you nice and round as much as I can. My perfect little Bunny…ugh, fuck,” he blurts, his release surprising him suddenly.

When he pulls out, he smacks your ass and lays down next to you while your life flashes before your eyes. He moves closer to you, readjusting your body to lay on top of his as he rubs your back. He kisses the top of your head in such a kind gesture that you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

You can’t even bring yourself to fully cry, the tears streaming down your face just to splash on Ari’s denim shirt. Forgotten and dried up to never be seen again.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble!!!!

**Tag List**

I also didn't know who to tag since this is the first time I wrote Ari.

#chris evans #ari levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson smut #chris evans characters #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill #ask reply #landlord ari levinson #dark ari levinson #dark ari levinson fanfic #dark fic #dark fanfiction #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dead dove

310 notes · View notes