#Marvel has bad screen writing

[soleminisanction]

What "bad writing" actually means: Some element of the story's construction, whether that be pacing, structure, dialogue, characterization, thematic resonance (or the lack thereof), or even just the way all those things fit together, is lacking in a way that negatively effects the reading experience or detracts from the intent of the piece.

What online comic book fans use "bad writing" to mean: The story didn't do what I wanted it to and I'm mad about it.

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Don't Take Him

Request: Anonymous said: "hi! oh my gosh i love your tyler x reader writings so much. could you do one where the reader is watching the tornado wrangler's livestream while they're chasing and suddenly it cuts out & she's worried something happened to tyler? with just fluff and angst and all that? thank you <3"

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: angst

A/N: I'm afraid i'm officially down bad for tyler owens (and glen powell). send help.

The notification popped up on your phone while you were cooking dinner in the kitchen. 

The Tornado Wranglers started a live video. Watch it before it ends! 

You rolled your eyes and smirked. Tyler and his stupid channel, you thought. 

After wiping your hands on a dish towel, you swiped your thumb across the notification, letting it take you to their feed.

Boone’s face was the first you saw. His goofy, contagious grin flashed across the screen. “Alright, it’s rollin’,” he said, flipping the camera to show Tyler in the driver’s seat. “How we feelin’ today, T?” 

Tyler beamed, his smile causing his eyes to crinkle the way you loved so much. As annoying as it was to constantly be competing with tornadoes for Tyler’s affection, you had to admit that his passion was admirable. 

“Oh, we’re feelin’ pretty good, Boone– why don’t you show the viewers what we’re chasin’ today!”

The screen panned over towards the windshield, showing the storm ahead. The footage was a little grainy, but the impending storm in the distance was obvious.

“Ain’t she a beaut?” Boone marveled. 

“Now y’all got fireworks last week– this week what do you say we give rockets a go?” Tyler said, just as Boone turned the camera back on him. 

“Idiots,” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head. You rested your phone against the utensil jar, propping it up so that you could continue to maneuver around the kitchen and listen at the same time. 

After a while, you got lost in the recipe you were trying, tuning out your boyfriend and his friends.

“Alright, Boone– Lilly?” Tyler said as you continued to chop the vegetables on the cutting board in front of you. “You ready?” 

“Oh, I’m ready!” you heard Lilly chime back. 

“Here we go, folks– as always, don’t try this at home!” 

You briefly turned your attention back towards the video as they began actively driving into the tornado, your view limited to Boone’s shaky camera work as Tyler’s driving undoubtedly turned chaotic. 

To avoid motion sickness, you looked back towards the food in front of you.

“She’s gettin’ close, boys!” Lilly yelled. 

You heard their collective cheers and hollers. 

“Anchoring time–” Tyler said. 

There was a brief pause before you heard Boone. “Hit the button, T–”

“I am hitting the button,” Tyler said firmly. 

“Tyler–” Lilly said. It was the hint of urgency in her tone that had you looking back towards your phone again. 

“It’s jammed–” Tyler said. “Here, gimme the screwdriver.”

Boone had clearly ceased thinking about camera angles. All you saw was the edge of Tyler’s face in the corner of the screen.  

“Tyler, we gotta lock it down–”

“I know, Boone. I’m tryin’ here– the damn button’s stuck again.”

“Guys–” Lilly warned. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the frame. 

“Guys, it’s getting closer.”

“I know–” Tyler said. “Boone, move your hand.”

“C’mon, man, let me try–”

“I’m telling you, it’s stuck–”

“Look out!” you jumped at Lilly’s sudden scream, followed by the sound of a loud bang, that echoed even through the screen. 

“Oh shit–” Boone yelled, camera flying. 

You grabbed your phone urgently, but all you could see was the ceiling of Tyler’s truck. Suddenly, gear was flying through the screen– almost as if the truck was flipping. You held your breath, panic and dread flooding through your entire body as you watched helplessly. 

“Hang on to someth–” Tyler’s voice was suddenly cut off along with Boone’s feed. 

The Tornado Wranglers live stream has ended. 

Even after their video went dark, you continued staring at your phone– like you were hoping Boone would pop back up any second, laughing like this was some sick, twisted joke. 

Except you waited– and waited, and Boone never popped back up. 

And neither did Tyler. 

Frantically, you pulled up your contacts and clicked on Tyler’s name. You had an unspoken agreement that no matter what he was doing during a chase– if you called, he answered. 

So that’s exactly what you did. 

But your nerves weren’t settled. In fact, you stopped breathing all together when Tyler’s phone went straight to voicemail– something he swore he’d never do. 

Hoping that he just had bad service, you called a second time– and then a third. But each time you heard Tyler’s voice telling you to leave a message at the beep, you felt the pool of panic inside of you rising higher and higher. 

“C’mon Tyler,” you muttered to yourself. 

Stupidly, you let your hopes get up when Lilly’s phone actually rang. But when that went to voicemail too, your hopes just about shattered. You didn’t even bother to try Boone– he may have been the camera guy, but he almost never had his own phone within reach. 

After your fifth attempt to reach Tyler, you finally did leave a message. 

“Hey, it’s me. I was watching the livestream when it cut out and I–” your voice cracked, causing you to stop and take a shaky breath. “Listen, I just need to know that you’re okay. So please call me back.”

With that, you hung up the phone, setting it on the counter after finally realizing it probably wouldn’t be beneficial to try calling him a sixth time– no matter how badly you wanted to. You stared ahead out the window that was over the sink. It was blue skies where you were– just a few wispy, thin clouds overhead. Nothing that remotely resembled what Tyler had just driven through.  

You didn’t even know where he was chasing today. You’d meant to ask when he’d called you last night from his motel room, but you’d gotten distracted by the dog whining to go out and ultimately forgot. Now, you had no way to contact him and no idea where he was…  

Suddenly, a sob bubbled in your throat. Before you could filter or control it, you were letting out a shaky gasp– shoulders shuddering as you gripped the edge of the counter and doubled over. 

You felt it everywhere– from your mind down to your toes, your entire body reacted to the cruel, impossible idea of something happening to Tyler. 

Maybe he was fine, you told yourself. Maybe Boone just dropped his phone and the feed cut– But even as the thought crossed your mind, you knew it was ridiculously unlikely. You saw those things go flying– you heard Lilly’s scream. 

Maybe the car flipped, maybe it was crushed. 

Maybe Tyler was pulled right from his seat, tossed into the oncoming storm. 

Maybe he was hit with flying debris, his body mangled and bruised and broken–

“No,” you whimpered to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no– please– please don't take him, please don't take him.”

You weren't even sure who you were pleading to, all you knew was that you couldn’t imagine Tyler not being okay. He was the strong one– always steady, always certain. He was your rock, the person you leaned on for absolutely everything. And the idea of him being hurt somewhere was unfathomable. Tyler didn’t get scared– Tyler didn’t get hurt. Tyler drove into oncoming tornadoes and stayed strong. 

To your absolute despair, all you could do in the upcoming hours while you waited for any sort of news, was hope to God that was still the case. 

Eventually, you found a home on the kitchen floor– back against the cabinets and knees hugged tightly to your chest to try and withstand the dread raging inside of you. 

…

Tyler put his truck in park outside of the house before running a hand through his damp, windblown hair. After the day he’d had, he’d never been happier to be home. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d flipped in the truck. Thanks to the roll cage, they wound back upright with next to no damage– but Tyler knew it’d been his fault. The stupid rods had malfunctioned again– something Tyler had been meaning to take a look at for the past month. Except every time they got stuck, he’d managed to fix the jam before the storms actually hit. But this time, he’d been too late. 

Luckily, his two passengers were even bigger adrenaline junkies than he was. The truck had barely landed back on its wheels before Boone was hollering and pounding his fist against the ceiling in excitement. And Lilly wasn’t far behind him. Meanwhile, all Tyler could do was look down at his shattered cell phone and hope to hell you wouldn’t need to reach him for the rest of the night. 

As soon as Tyler walked through the front door of your shared house, he noticed signs of you everywhere. The lamp near your reading chair was turned on, and the blanket you always used was strewn across the couch messily. He noticed the mug resting on the coffee table, thinking to himself that it was almost certainly half full of the tea you always insisted on making at night but never finished. 

He smiled to himself, as he bent over to untie his muddy boots, eager to spend the rest of his night holding you close. 

He had barely managed to toe off his final boot when he heard shuffling from the kitchen. 

“Tyler?” 

He could instantly tell that something was off– your voice sounded so muffled and choked up.  

“Hey,” he said, turning to offer you a smile. But it faded from his face at the sight of you. Your body was trembling, shoulders slumped and arms wound tightly around yourself. Your eyes were bloodshot and puffy from what looked like hours of crying. 

“Baby?” he said. 

In response, you covered your mouth and hunched over just in time for a sob to escape your lips. 

Instantly, Tyler’s stomach dropped to the floor. 

“Hey,” he said, hurrying forward. He hesitated, hands hovering near your shoulders. He’d never seen you like this– so fragile and broken and obviously devastated over something. But he had no fucking idea what it was– which meant, he had no fucking idea how to fix it. 

Your hair had fallen in your face, but he could still see the tears rolling steadily down your rosy cheeks as you gasped for air. 

“Hey,” he repeated gently, tilting his head down so that he was closer to your height. 

“I-I saw– And I thought–” you stammered frantically, jumping to the next sentence without finishing the first. 

In that moment, Tyler decided against his earlier hesitation and risked reaching for you. Just standing there and watching you fall apart went against every instinct he had– he wanted to protect you, keep you safe from anything that could cause this kind of harm. 

But as soon as his hands grazed your shoulder, Tyler knew that he’d made the wrong choice. The moment he made contact, you lunged forward– hands planting themselves on his chest before you gave him a shove. 

“You asshole!” you yelled through a sob. 

Tyler staggered backwards– more from being caught off guard by your sudden burst of anger, than from how hard you pushed him.

But he barely had time to recover before you were lunging for him a second time. Using what little energy you had, you shoved him again. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” you shouted. 

Tyler took a simple step back, eyes scanning the length of you– trying to decide what the hell he should do. When you attempted to push him for a third time, your arms barely had any energy left in them.

“Hey–” he breathed, gripping your wrists when they landed on his chest a fourth time. 

“Let go of me!” you yelled, wiggling from his grasp. “You’re an asshole, Tyler!”

“Stop,” he begged, releasing your wrists to wrap his arms around your shoulders. You fought his hold, fists colliding with his chest instead. But this time, he didn’t let go. 

“No!” you sobbed, but he could already feel you slowing down. Not like your shoves or fists hurt before, but with each pound, the impact grew lighter and lighter. 

“Stop,” he repeated, forcing you to his chest, despite your resistance. You were pushing him away– but everything about your demeanor screamed that you needed his comfort. 

Finally, whether it was his persistence or your exhaustion, you gave up fighting and let your body melt against his.  

Tyler planted one palm between your shoulder blades firmly and used the other to cup the back of your neck, anchoring you to him securely. As soon as Tyler tightened his hold on you, you erupted into a fit of sobs– like all the dam inside of you needed was just a little bit of pressure to break. The trembling turned into violent shaking, and you began gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it. 

And Tyler had no fucking idea what to do– 

So, he did the only thing he could do, which was hold onto you tightly and let you stain the front of his plain gray shirt with your tears. 

“I got you, baby,” Tyler whispered as he pressed a lingering kiss against the top of your head. “You’re okay, I got you.” 

Eventually, he heard you take a ragged breath and pull away just enough to look up at him. Tyler cupped your jaw with his large hand and used his thumb to stroke your cheek. “Talk to me,” he pleaded.

You bit down on your quivering lip before speaking. “I-I was watching– I was watching Boone’s livestream when it cut out– and then, your phone– I couldn’t reach you. I- I called like– so many times, but you didn’t answer– I thought– I thought something had happened– I thought you were hurt– or-or worse–”

“Oh, baby,” Tyler exhaled, guilt spreading through him at the thought of you having to see whatever got streamed from the accident earlier. He was the reason you were so distraught in your shared kitchen at eleven o’clock. He was the reason your eyes were red rimmed and swollen. He was the reason your cheeks were stained with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“I thought I was gonna get a phone call– from the hospital or- or your mom or something– I didn’t think you’d- I didn’t think you’d come home, I thought you died,” You broke on the last admission, like something inside of you had cracked. You collapsed in on yourself, hunching over and wracking with heaving sobs.

Tyler pulled you back into his embrace, like he was the only thing preventing you from drowning. Gradually, his soft touch and gentle murmurs brought you to the surface again. 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he repeated, lips ghosting along your temple. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“But- the truck– it flipped–”

He nodded above you. “It did– I couldn’t get the screws bolted down in time. But we have the cage, the truck rolled right back upright. Everyone is fine. I mean, Boone might have a few loose screws, but there’s no tellin’ if that’s from the rolled truck–”

Your tone immediately hardened as you sharply pulled back again. “Are you seriously making jokes right now, Tyler?” 

And truthfully, Tyler wasn’t entirely sure how to react. He looked down at you pathetically, chest aching to see you so upset. You being this angry with him was uncharted territory. 

“You could have died!” you said loudly. “I know you think you are, but you’re not invincible, Tyler! This isn’t some movie where you get to drive into tornadoes completely unscathed ten times out of ten. This is our lives! I-I mean, what the hell were you thinking?”

”Everything’s okay–”

“Everything is not okay! I’m not okay! Do you know how helpless I felt? Watching that stupid livestream? I tried to call, but– but you didn’t answer, I couldn’t do anything but wait here! I mean, what if that had been me? What if you’d seen a video of me crashing my car– and then had no way to reach me? What if you had to spend all night wondering if you were going to get a call that I was dead in a ditch God-only-knows-where?”

For once, Tyler had no response. Because the truth was, he knew everything you were saying was right. He’d be equally angry and frustrated and horrified if the tables were turned. 

You wiped the tear falling down your cheek, lip quivering. “I– I can’t live in a world without you in it, Tyler. I really can’t–”   

In the deafening silence, he sighed. “I know,” he said quietly, stepping forward to bring you back into his embrace. He was surprised when you willingly let him wrap his arms around you, head falling to rest on his chest. 

Tyler’s hand ran through your hair. “I know. I’m okay, baby. I’m right here, I got you.”

He was okay. He was alive and he was right here– you could hear his heartbeat beneath you–  feel his breath against the side of your neck. He was alive and unharmed. 

You kept your eyes closed and tried to memorize the sound of his heartbeat. You let it seep into the cracks of your heart and heal whatever had been broken in the last few hours of worrying– wondering if he was alive. You focused on the way his arms felt around you– impossibly warm, and so, so safe. 

Gradually, your breathing and your mind slowed. Until all that was left was Tyler. 

Your voice was shaky when you finally pulled away. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you exhaled. “I didn’t like not being able to reach you.”

Tyler’s hand stroked your hair gently, “Baby, I’m so sorry I made you worry– my phone broke when we rolled. I’ll get a new one tomorrow, I promise.”

You nodded slowly and placed your hand against Tyler’s chest. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

You blinked a few times, realizing how tired you were. “Yeah–” you said, nodding. You felt Tyler’s heartbeat beneath your palm.   

Each beat reminding you that he was here and he was alive and he was okay. 

“Can you–” your voice cracked slightly, making you wince. “Can you please just stay with me the rest of the night? I just–” you glanced down at the floor, embarrassed to admit how much you needed him. “I just need to be close to you tonight.”

Tyler’s eyes softened. “Of course, baby. Where else would I be?”

You nodded slowly. 

Tyler grabbed your hand and led you towards the couch. He took the blanket you’d left sprawled out from earlier and wrapped it around your shoulders before pulling you down beside him. He laid back against the cushions and made a spot for you. Without even hesitating, you curled up between his legs and rested your head back against his chest. 

“I need you to promise me you’ll be careful,” you pleaded. “I know you love chasing, and I’d never ask you to give that up, but I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”

You felt Tyler sigh beneath you, his chest rising and falling steadily. “I promise.” 

“And I need you to promise me you’ll get those damn screws fixed. That’s like the third time this month you’ve told me that they’ve jammed.”

You felt his chest rumble as he chuckled softly. “I will. Believe it or not, I didn’t like rolling in my truck, either.”

You lifted your head from his chest so that you could get a good look at Tyler’s face. Even after all these years with him, he still managed to leave you breathless.  

“Well then maybe it’s time you take a break and just stay home for a little while,” you teased, lips curling into a soft smile. 

The corner of Tyler’s lips tugged upward as his green eyes sparkled under the dim light. “You know what, that might not be a bad idea.” 

You raised your eyebrow skeptically. You knew you shouldn’t get your hopes up, and yet, that was exactly what you did. “Really?” 

Tyler’s hand tucked a loose strand of your hair from your face before his thumb grazed across your wet cheek. He nodded sincerely. “Really.”

You were a mess– eyes puffy, lips cracked. You were exhausted and so shaken up from everything that had happened. And who knew how long Tyler would have to put extra effort into helping make you feel safe. 

But right now, wrapped in his embrace on your shared couch, all you needed was him.   

[burntoutdaydreamer]

To Write Better Antagonists, Have Them Embody the Protagonist's Struggles

(Spoilers for The Devil Wears Prada, Avatar the Last Airbender, Kung Fu Panda 2, and The Hunger Games triology).

Writing antagonists and villains can be hard, especially if you don't know how to do so.

I think a lot of writers' first impulse is to start off with a placeholder antagonist, only to find that this character ends up falling flat. They finish their story only for readers to find the antagonist is not scary or threatening at all.

Often the default reaction to this is to focus on making the antagonist meaner, badder, or scarier in whatever way they can- or alternatively they introduce a Tragic Backstory to make them seem broken and sympathetic. Often, this ends up having the exact opposite effect. Instead of a compelling and genuinely terrifying villain, the writer ends up with a Big Bad Edge Lord who the reader just straight up does not care about, or actively rolls their eyes at (I'm looking at you, Marvel).

What makes an antagonist or villain intimidating is not the sheer power they hold, but the personal or existential threat they pose to the protagonist. Meaning, their strength as a character comes from how they tie into the themes of the story.

To show what I mean, here's four examples of the thematic roles an antagonist can serve:

1. A Dark Reflection of the Protagonist

The Devil Wears Prada

Miranda Priestly is initially presented as a terrible boss- which she is- but as the movie goes on, we get to see her in a new light. We see her as an bonafide expert in her field, and a professional woman who’s incredible at what she does. We even begin to see her personal struggles behind the scenes, where it’s clear her success has come at a huge personal cost. Her marriages fall apart, she spends every waking moment working, and because she’s a woman in the corporate world, people are constantly trying to tear her down.

The climax of the movie, and the moment that leaves the viewer most disturbed, does not feature Miranda abusing Andy worse than ever before, but praising her. Specifically, she praises her by saying “I see a great deal of myself in you.” Here, we realize that, like Miranda, Andy has put her job and her career before everything else that she cares about, and has been slowly sacrificing everything about herself just to keep it. While Andy's actions are still a far cry from Miranda's sadistic and abusive managerial style, it's similar enough to recognize that if she continues down her path, she will likely end up turning into Miranda.

In the movie's resolution, Andy does not defeat Miranda by impressing her or proving her wrong (she already did that around the half way mark). Instead, she rejects the values and ideals that her toxic workplace has been forcing on her, and chooses to leave it all behind.

2. An Obstacle to the Protagonist's Ideals

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Fire Lord Ozai is a Big Bad Baddie without much depth or redemptive qualities. Normally this makes for a bad antagonist (and it's probably the reason Ozai has very little screen time compared to his children), but in Avatar: The Last Airbender, it works.

Why?

Because his very existence is a threat to Aang's values of nonviolence and forgiveness.

Fire Lord Ozai cannot be reasoned with. He plans to conquer and burn down the world, and for most of the story, it seems that the only way to stop him is to kill him, which goes against everything Aang stands for. Whether or not Aang could beat the Fire Lord was never really in question, at least for any adults watching the show. The real tension of the final season came from whether Aang could defeat the Fire Lord without sacrificing the ideals he inherited from the nomads; i.e. whether he could fulfill the role of the Avatar while remaining true to himself and his culture.

In the end, he manages to find a way: he defeats the Fire Lord not by killing him, but by stripping him of his powers.

3. A Symbol of the Protagonist's Inner Struggle

Kung Fu Panda 2

Kung Fu Panda 2 is about Po's quest for inner peace, and the villain, Lord Shen, symbolizes everything that's standing in his way.

Po and Lord Shen have very different stories that share one thing in common: they both cannot let go of the past. Lord Shen is obsessed with proving his parents wrong and getting vengeance by conquering all of China. Po is struggling to come to terms with the fact that he is adopted and is desperate to figure out who he is and why he ended up left in a box of radishes as a baby.

Lord Shen symbolizes Po's inner struggle in two main ways: one, he was the source of the tragedy that separated him from his parents, and two, he reinforces Po's negative assumptions about himself. When Po realizes that Lord Shen knows about his past and confronts him, Lord Shen immediately tells Po exactly what he's afraid of hearing: that his parents abandoned him because they didn't love him. Po and the Furious Five struggle to beat Shen not because he's powerful, but because Po can't let go of the past, and this causes him to repeatedly freeze up in battle, which Shen uses to his advantage.

Po overcomes Shen when he does the one thing Shen is incapable of: he lets go of the past and finds inner peace. Po comes to terms with his tragic past and recognizes that it does not define him, while Shen holds on to his obsession of defying his fate, which ultimately leads to his downfall.

4. A Representative of a Harsh Reality or a Bigger System

The Hunger Games

We don't really see President Snow do all that much on his own. Most of the direct conflict that Katniss faces is not against him, but against his underlings and the larger Capitol government. The few interactions we see between her and President Snow are mainly the two of them talking, and this is where we see the kind of threat he poses.

President Snow never lies to Katniss, not even once, and this is the true genius behind his character. He doesn't have to lie to or deceive Katniss, because the truth is enough to keep her complicit.

Katniss knows that fighting Snow and the Capital will lead to total war and destruction- the kind where there are survivors, but no winners. Snow tells her to imagine thousands upon thousands of her people dead, and that's exactly what happens. The entirety of District 12 gets bombed to ashes, Peeta gets brainwashed and turned into a human weapon, and her sister Prim, the very person she set out to protect at the beginning of the story, dies just before the Capitol's surrender. The districts won, but at a devastating cost.

Even after President Snow is captured and put up for execution, he continues to hurt Katniss by telling her the truth. He tells her that the bombs that killed her sister Prim were not sent by him, but by the people on her side. He brings to her attention that the rebellion she's been fighting for might just implement a regime just as oppressive and brutal as the one they overthrew and he's right.

In the end, Katniss is not the one to kill President Snow. She passes up her one chance to kill him to take down President Coin instead.

[puppetwoman17]

Just thinking about how important it is to Billy that Captain Marvel is the perfect hero.

For one thing, he wears his dad’s face when he fights crime, so he wants to respect him, even in death. Seeing his face in front of a news segment bad mouthing him would make him heartbroken.

And then there’s just Billy’s thoughts on what a hero should be. They should be kind, knowledgeable, selfless, powerful, etc, etc. He wants people to feel hope when they look at Cap. He wants them to feel like everything is going to be okay. He wants to be the hero he never had.

This stays the same even after he joins the League. A part of him thinks he can relax a bit now. He’s been seen by others like him, who say that he is exactly the kind of hero they want on their team. He sees other heroes, like Green Arrow and Flash, and how they feel comfortable joking around and laying back during meetings and monitor duty.

So he loosens up, just a bit. Loosens his shoulders and his smile. Lets other emotions morph onto his face. He feels bad for doing it. It makes Cap less…ideal. But they seem to like it when he talks to them more.

Still, he can’t help but feel like he’s letting everyone down. Like he’s not good enough. Not when he’s Cap, but when he’s Billy. He studies himself whenever he sees Cap on screen, writing in his head, every time he takes a hit a little too much. Every time he isn’t quick enough despite having god-like speed. Every time he makes a mistake. He has to rectify it. He has to.

What will everyone think? If the Champion of Magic can’t be the perfect diplomat, then what good is he?

Meanwhile, the Justice League is repeatedly in awe of their fellow hero. He can rally people together for the common good. Inspire hope. He has the trust of the Big Three, and two of them even call him their brother.

He’s a mediator. Whenever he’s around, he’s able to quell any of the arguments that go on during meetings. He provides a new perspective regarding magic, making the non-magic based heroes understand it more.

He’s like a comic book hero come to life. Always glowing, even in the midst of battle. There’s an aura about him, where you can’t help but put all of your trust in him. He has this big smile that immediately makes them trust him. You can always find him having heart to heart one on ones with just about any hero.

Not to mention, he so dang good with their sidekicks! They actually listen to and respect him, which is already asking for a lot.

They ask him how he does it, and he just says he gets it. Feeling like you’re never good enough. Like you aren’t seen for who you are. Like everything you do is meaningless when people keep ignoring you.

The League is flabbergasted, because how could anyone look at Cap and NOT see the perfect hero?

[leclerc-hs]

tachycardia pt.2 - cl16

pairing: doctor!charles leclerc x nurse!reader (alpha/omega au) summary: in which you don't always get along with the arrogant alpha doctor warnings: LIGHT a/b/o dynamics, angst??, none really (yet!), badly translated French (didn't really put french in this), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 1.5k author's note: hi!!!!!! did you miss me??? I missed all of you! sorry this is SO short but I wanted to post something in honor of reaching 2,000 FOLLOWERS!!! I love u all sm and I'm sorry this is kinda shit. I've been in a really bad writing funk recently but I'm hoping to get out of it. don’t forget to talk to me and don’t be shy I love to hear from all of you!!!! I will try to get the ball rolling on this series as soon as I can. I just kinda started it without even knowing where I wanted it to go so I'm kinda just winging it as I write with whatever comes to mind. if you have anything you would like to see happen in this series PLEASE don’t be shy and let me know I love to hear your thoughts and ideas!!!! xoxo taglist: @amalialeclerc @barcelonaloverf1life @charizznorizz @magicpancake @zabwlky1999

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

AS YOU SIT across from your younger sister in the cozy confines of the café adjacent to the bustling hospital, you can’t help but marvel at the enigmatic workings of her mind.

“Is it really like that? Sex in the on-call rooms?” The question bursts forth accompanied by a hearty laugh, your body leaning forward in laughter. 

“How many times do I have to tell you no?”  You retort, meeting her gaze with an air of firmness amidst the playful banter. 

“What about in the locker room?” She presses further, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“No, and stop indulging in such ludicrous fantasies.” You respond, bringing your cup of coffee to your mouth, you pause before taking a sip. “You know well enough that I don’t engage in relationships with doctors.” A fleeting sense of contentment washes over you with the warmth of the coffee. 

She emits a deep sigh, deeply annoyed. “Are any of them at least cute?”

You feel your stomach churn as the image of Doctor Leclerc floods your thoughts. He’s��far more than just attractive. You hesitate for a beat, staring at her wide, expectant eyes. “Yes.”

Her eyes light up almost instantly. “Who?”

“I forget. I don’t really know him.” Liar.

“What does he look like?”

“Brown hair. Very green eyes.” Your fingers twiddle with the napkin on the table, feigning disinterest.

She gives you a skeptical look as if she can read your mind and tell you’re lying. But she doesn’t push further. “When do you have to be back?”

You briefly glance at the time on the screen of your phone, “Shit.” Rising abruptly, you shove the chair back with a jolt, shooting your sister an apologetic glance. “I have to go. I’ll see you at mom’s this weekend?”

You’re already pushing the front door of the café open by the time you hear your sister half-shout, “Yes!”

-

You burst into your patient’s room, breaths coming in ragged gasps, cheeks flushed with exertion. You say a silent prayer to whatever higher power that he wasn’t here yet. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

Did you mention that this particular patient has a knack for hitting on you?

Your heart skips a beat, and if it weren’t for the already flushed hue of your cheeks, you’re certain the blush creeping up on your neck would be glaringly obvious.

“Mr.,” You pause to glance at the chart to double-check his name, “Mr. Hart, how are you feeling today?”

“Meilleur, now that you’re here.” Better. You curl your lips upward into a soft smile, jokingly rolling your eyes at his antics.

“Surely you’re sick of seeing my face, Mr. Hart.” You quip, reaching for a stool beside his bed while simultaneously checking his IV bags. “Today’s the day I think!”

Mr. Hart has been in the hospital for over a week, recovering from a surgery for a atrial septal defect.  

“Jamais.” Never. He insists, his head sinking back against the pillow as his gaze follows your every movement. “I’m so close to being able to ask you out properly.”

In that moment, a new scent permeates the air, distinct and alluring. Without even turning around, you sense his presence—the man who just breezed in behind you. Whether he heard the exchange or not, you weren’t sure, but the subtle shift in the atmosphere is palpable regardless.

“Mr. Hart,” His voice, deep and honeyed, washes over you, almost too sweet to be genuine. “Still stirring up trouble for our lovely nurses?” Despite the playful tone, you can sense an undercurrent of something morecalculated beneath his words. His presence radiates warmth, his tall figure looming beside you, close enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. 

“No,” Mr. Hart grins. “Just her.”

Doctor Leclerc’s smile remains fixed, but you catch the subtle clench of his jaw as you turn your head to meet his gaze. “Just stopping by to let you know that we might need to keep you for another night.”

The news catches you off guard; you were under the impression that Mr. Hart would be discharged by the end of the day. As if he could sense the questions brewing in your mind, Doctor Leclerc continues, his voice reassuring. “Just a precautionary measure. I assure you; we’ll have you cleared to leave bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mr. Hart hums nonchalantly, as if the prospect of another night in the hospital doesn’t bother him in the slightest. His attention remains fixated on you as you inspect the sutures on his chest, his fingertips grazing against your gloved hand with a deliberate touch. “Can’t complain as long as she’s the one checking on me.”

You let out a small laugh, but don’t say anything, as you stand up and remove the gloves to toss them in the waste bin nearby.  

“Mr. Hart,” Doctor Leclerc’s voice is unamused now. “You would be wise to refrain your hands from touching her again. Next time I won’t ask so politely.”

-

Pressed against a wall while in the presence of Doctor Leclerc seems to be a common occurrence nowadays. His tall frame blocking any potential onlookers from seeing who he had cornered.

“Dis-moi,” Tell me. His voice is low, lethal. “Do you flirt with patients often, hm?” 

“What is your problem?” You quip, your brows furrowed as you crane your neck back to look him in the eyes. 

“My problem?” He scoffs, leaning closer to your face, his lips thinned in annoyance. “My problem is that I have to stand there and watch a patient flirt with you,” He clicks his tongue in frustration, turning his head to look away for a brief moment. Giving you a moment, to take in the sharpness of his jawline, and the unshaven scruff that shadows it. “And you…” His voice trailed off.

“And I, what?” You pulled your lips into a slight frown.

“You smell like that,” His hands wavered around your body, in an exasperated manner.

“Smell like what?” 

As he shook his head in disbelief, a mixture of frustration and something deeper etched acoss his features. The disbelief seemed to stem from his inability to fathom that you were completely unaware of something soevident to him. It was that scent, the sweet floral scent that always accompanied you. It drove him mad sometimes. How it was almost the only thing he could focus on sometimes.

With a disapproving click of his tongue, he took a deliberate step back, as if needed physical distance to collect his thoughts.

Ignoring your inquiry, his gaze softened, the intensity in his eyes giving way to a gentler expression as they locked on yours.

Caught off guard by the swift change in his demeanor, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of whiplash from the abrupt shift.

“I wouldn’t say often,” you began, punctuating the order with a slight shrug. “It’s all harmless.”

His response was solemn, his voice carrying a weight of protectiveness that left no room for misinterpretation. “I don’t want them to put their hands on you ever again,” he declared firmly. “If you ever have issues, you can come to me.”

His words resonated with a gravity that made it clear he meant every syllable, his stance unwavering in its determination to shield you from harm.

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, acutely aware of the intensity in his gaze tracing the delicate curve of your neck.

“Moving forward, I will be the one to check on Mr. Hart,” he announced, his voice carrying a note of authority softened by a touch of concern.

With a deliberate motion, he extended his arm, his fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

The proximity of his touch sent a rush of warmth to your cheeks, the tenderness in his gesture catching you off guard, yet somehow soothing in its unexpectedness. Dr. Leclerc’s presence seemed to envelop you whenever he was near. As if nothing else in the world existed no matter the premise of the discussion, including the constant bickering you two always seemed to do.

“Will you be at James’ retirement party?” The question slipped from your lips before you could fully weigh its significance. Yet, deep down, you knew the answer matters more to you than you cared to admit. You found yourself wanting him to be there, though the reasons remained elusive, even to yourself.

Yes, he was an ass to you most of the time. But, for some reason you couldn’t really fathom, he was always in the forefront of your mind.

His head tilted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Though he would never openly confess, the idea of attending hadn’t crossed his mind until that moment. However, if there was even the slightest chance that you would be there, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. 

“Yes,” he replied simply, the single word carrying more weight than its brevity suggested.

You nodded slowly, as if processing his response required a deeper level of understanding. “See you there?” You ventured, the question hanging in the air, pregnant with unspoken implications.

He nodded, pulling his lips into the faintest smirk.

“See you there, mon lapin.”

[alatismeni-theitsa]

In "KAOS" nothing is anything, and everything is wrong

Two disclaimers: I am no stranger to modern art, and I have no issue with queerness in shows, or in my own mythology (I'm Greek). I am also aware that KAOS is a comedy. It's in the gutter of British comedy, but still part of the genre. At least I laughed every time they said "Oh God!". I don't believe this is the same person who wrote the great and amusing "End of the F**king World"! The premise of "The gods in our modern world" appeals to me a lot, so that wasn't my problem either. My general issue with KAOS is its horrible delivery, bad writing, and piss-poor Greek representation.

This is gonna be long and full of stupid gifs, so sit comfortably, grab a coffee or some popcorn and... pame!

The "ILoveGreekMythology" Kid

Art without context is just a pretty thing to look at. Most of the time, this context can be found within the art piece itself, as the artist has taken care to weave it in. KAOS refuses to connect itself to any context besides the names and a few vague powers. It aims to exist outside of those "boring old stories of the Greek myth" and be entirely "fresh and modern". Something impossible when the entire show and the meanings are based on ancient recorded material. In other words, KAOS is so meta that it ends up being nothing. KAOS cannot stand on its own because you need more than the viewers being familiar with the Greek myth basics to pull such a show off.

KAOS tells us "See? I know all the names of the gods, and what they did, and I know all the locations, so I am qualified to tackle this". More or less like any Western kid who takes all their knowledge from PJO and Marvel and proceeds to unironically hate ancient deities and make a girlboss out of Medusa.

Here's a Greek word for you guys, ημιμάθεια, meaning "half-knowledge". Α Greek saying very well declares "Half-knowledge is worse than no knowledge". The confidence of thinking you know enough often leads you to grave mistakes whereas the humility of not knowing prevents you from touching shit that you shouldn't. When you have no idea what the original myth is trying to say and spit on its meaning, knowing a few names and locations is just smoke and mirrors. I don't believe the audience fell for that.

And don't get me started on the "subversions". A good subversion is intriguing and thought-provoking. In KAOS, every twist was hollow - Greek myth related or otherwise.

"What if Euridice doesn't love Orpheus?" I don't know, babe. What if??? What was the point of that? What did you show us? That women's stories are dominated by men and men don't listen to women, perhaps? And you chose to twist... the love story of Orpheus and Euridice to show this?? One of the best and most tragic love stories Greek mythology has to offer?? You just mocked the myth, you didn't make anything profound out of it.

The Greek Stuff (Nothing salvageable)

I was surprised to see they had a Consulting Producer (Georgia Christou) and an Assistant Script Editor (Isabella Yianni) who happen to be Greek. And I stress that because those people probably weren't hired or utilized for being Greek. We are not sure they were involved in cultural decisions because we have no evidence and because shows with no Greek elements can have more Greeks than that on their staff.

Okay, perhaps they took 5 seconds to ask Isabella about a greeting - which they proceeded to say in a wrong intonation 🙄🤌It's where Poseidon says "ya sás" in the Fates, by the way. How he said it sounds more like "for you (pl.)" than "health to you (pl.)".

Surprise! The only Greek actor present (Peter Polycarpou) has less than 5 minutes of screen time and plays the caricature of an immigrant with a thick (and inaccurate Greek) accent. He has a canteen, selling falafel which is not Greek, and Dionysus buys from him an unidentified tortilla wrap (which... is also not Greek, if you haven't caught up).

For the show they brought in actors of Maori, Nigerian and Sierra Leonean, Pakistani, Black American, Latvian-Jewish, Iranian, Egyptian, Indo-Fijian and Malay descent and you tell me it was impossible for them to seek and find an English-speaking, skilled actor of Greek descent in a show regarding Greek heritage. Sometimes I wonder, do y'all hate us so much?

They considered Greeks only to give us a simple (and wrong) greeting and a stereotype. Crumbs, we are supposed to be happy with. By the way, there are over 70.000 Greek immigrants just in the UK, usually in the urban centers, many of them students or fairly young employees in the corporate workforce. Not the largest minority but not hard to spot either.

Another plague of Anglophone shows: Almost everyone's Greek name is shortened. Yes, we know their full names but we are told that we will use the short ones. Greeks and their "long and difficult" names am I right fellas? Because saying "Ariadne" apparently requires 5 years of Greek language training, and no English word ever has more than two syllables.

Coincidentally, short names are cool in Anglophone imaginary universes and the "long" names are not. it's so strange Anglophones never make universes where it's cool for Greek names to be spoken in full hmmm... They don't even want to practice saying a whole Greek name for just 2 minutes in preparation for a show full of Greek names. And don't give me that "Greek is hard" shit when we only talk about a few syllables. If Greek kids can learn English since first grade and people here can sing English songs and spell English names, you have no excuse.

They also said the name "Fotis" means light, which is close enough but... ugh.. It's like saying Sebastian means "respect". I am not sure if they asked anyone or what their research was here. If I had the writers in front of me, I'd be like:

(This character from an all-time favorite Greek show is called Fotis)

They also made the flag of "Krete" an alteration of the Greek flag and the local Cretan flag. Which is the stupidest move, because they had to remove the religious symbol of the cross to make the flag fit the universe. These are flags created based on 1) Christianity 2) the Greek Revolution of 1821.

National Greek flag to the left, local Cretan flag to the right:

Flag of the KAOS' "Krete":

The only time they seriously took into account anything Greek, was the time when they decided to remove the religious symbol of our ethnoreligion AND (from what I could observe) keep the nine stripes?? The nine stripes of our national flag represent the syllables in "Freedom or Death". The colors are from the white foustanela of the mainland attire and the dark blue vraka of the island attire, the clothing of the Revolution fighters. (That's more of a meta explanation but the characteristics of the flag were decided during and nearly after the Revolution.)

I think I don't have to explain it more but it's not a homage to put the nine stripes in an ancient era where they have no meaning, and to replace a cross??? Let's... not replace religious symbols on national flags, okay? Thank you.

Another cultural element they changed was making everyone have a dedicated coin to pay Charon. Orpheus has Euridice's coin, "her coin", and he's meant to put it on her before she got buried. In Greek culture, any coin would do. Sorry that our culture restricts your script, dear writers. I guess you had to bend this too, in order to create a cohesive plot with a semblance of a twist.

Finally, the many "Kerberus" dogs were cute and I can understand the creative decision behind that. However, in a show full of inaccuracies, this made me roll my eyes a little. I think the showrunners know that Kerveros is not a breed of dog, and there can only be one of him because he doesn't have any other "Kerveros" to breed with. On the other hand, as demonstrated from art/writing on the internet, quite a lot of Westerners are not exactly aware of how our monsters work, so forgive my uncertainty 😅

Nothing is Anything

Every element KAOS played with ended up meaningless. In the words of a Lifo article:

“Zeus is a paranoid authoritarian dictator in mid-life crisis who fears losing his power and murders his aides to vent. Hera is a promiscuous goddess who repeatedly betrays Zeus and has mutilated mute priestesses for protection. Dionysos is a spoiled and immature zoomer who, apart from pranks, indulges in orgies with all genders. Poseidon a sadistic god of the sea, who tortures the crew on his ship for fun. Prometheus is gay and killed his lover so he could overthrow Zeus. Orpheus is a famous pop singer and Eurydice does not love him. Theseus is black and gay. The Erinyes are tough-as-nails mechs that look like they stepped out of ‘Sons of Anarchy’. The Fates resemble a three-member jury in a talent show. The Trojans are a terrorist group that acts against the gods. Crete is more reminiscent of California than the Mediterranean.”

The "River Styx" is a sea, the "River Lethe" is a lake, the gods are nothing more than spoiled humans, the Moirai are drag queens, the Cave is a club where you have to take a quiz to enter the underworld, and generally everything is modern, flat, mundane and anticlimactic. The producers aimed to achieve a work so meta that a "river" is now a concept, a metaphor, whatever you have in your heart. And those who want to see a river when we speak of a river are probably uncultured swines and don't understand postmodernism. Never mind that rivers are rivers in Greek mythology for a reason. That's not culturally interesting enough to explore compared to the new, cool approach of not assigning meaning to anything. That totally shows love for the original rich and meaningful material...

And the reason behind all this subversion? Probably the shock factor. They brought the characters to a point where they said "We have to save the world from Zeus" - Zeus! The father of gods, heroes and humans! - just because they could. It gives off a certain type of smugness that I personally don't like. I mean, I would like the smugness and cheekiness of KAOS if it wasn't a vapid and practically meaningless show. As nothing symbolizes anything anymore, we are just led from hollow plot point to hollow plot point.

If you cut it out of any cultural influence and see it as a story then it's... okay, I guess. But when you consider that it's meant to derive from certain material and it fails spectacularly, it's not a good story. It forgets its bases and doesn't play with the ancient elements at all. Disney's Hercules did it better, FFS!

Bad Writing (pt.1)

KAOS is not without recognizable themes but their demonstration is so juvenile and heavy-handed that it fails to influence a viewer of average intelligence. For instance, "Riddy" says to her religious mother "You dedicated your whole life to Hera, what about me?" Okay, KAOS, we get it. At the same time, this theme nulls itself because it turns out that Ridy's mother was right to do what she did, as she had a greater goal in mind. (And this, kiddos, is called Bad Writing, because your themes and scenes contradict each other)

The biggest theme I spotted was a criticism of religion and religious people who say "Do as I say, not as I do" and create exceptions for themselves. Only, it's not a criticism of anything real, in this case. It's a fact that some people in the clergy tend to preach peace and love and then they do harm, but we don't know, for example, that The Goddess of Marriage is a cheater and yet she pressures everyone into strict marriages. By focusing their wrath on divine beings who are not known for their hypocrisy, the creators missed the mark.

I can give KAOS props for how it handled Trojans to reflect real issues regarding how immigrants and war refugees are mistreated and blamed. I'd argue it was the only (nearly) well-done theme in the whole show because it had the least on-the-nose delivery and some genuine/serious scenes. But that's it.

More Bad Writing!

Jeff Goldblum's Zeus is shit. He'd crap his pants in an argument with a stern Greek dad/uncle his age. Is this character supposed to be intimidating? (Laughs in Mediterranean) That's not to say that Goldblum is not a good actor, but this role wasn't for him. The same can be said for the other actors, too. They are competent but they only give off the air of "The Greek gods if they lived in London, from the minds of people who think beards and body hair are an affliction". In addition to being misplaced, the actors cannot show their talent when following a script that resembles a children's book.

Why does THE GOD Dionysus have the maturity of a 15-year-old? I repeat, The God Dionysus. He's a freaking deity, and a very old one at that. He is not a teenager neither in appearance nor in experience. In our culture, he is mystical, mighty, wise. Why did they downgrade him so? Just for the plot? This is not Dionysus just because you named him so.

The dialogue rarely takes itself seriously to the point it has you wondering at times "Do people talk and behave like that?". In a comedy where everything is meant to be already extreme and parodied. Even in comedies, something must occasionally be serious so there is a healthy fluctuation in tone and the funny moments can hit you. In KAOS very few scenes treated their impactful dialogue as it should be treated.

The queerness and diversity (good elements, in general) were worse off for being in KAOS. Like, I want these elements to be there. I'm just sad about the whole situation. It's not enough that the show is shit, now you also give an additional reason for conservatives to shit on diverse and queer characters because they are part of a stupid narrative.

I'm the type of person who doesn't mind the queerness of Astyanax and Theseus being lovers in the context of this specific show but they're still the oddest pairing to me because they're from the most irrelevant myths and eras. Also, Astyanax in my mind is a baby who died tragically, for little reason if we are honest, so to bring him back and make him a love interest is... ekh.

In addition, isn't Astyanax supposed to be crippled after a fall from the city walls when he was a baby? Sorry to change subjects but the show is so convoluted and with so many issues that it's extremely difficult to stay on track with what's wrong.

To the person who thought this show was a good idea:

Whatever. Bye. I'm fucking done.

[montimer]

Please please if you could..can you make

self aware!Deadpool x gn!reader that got suddenly transferred to the marvel universe?

Like the reader is trying to survive while Deadpool just knows this specific person has a crush on him or.. something else? Your choice!

>insert this anime girl gif as a signature

Mhm sure sounds good! Hope i did good

Self aware!Deadpool x reader who got transferred to marvel universe

Gn!reader

You've been a big fan of him since a long time. You could say you even had a lil crush on him. Smiling so widely whenever hes on screen. Excitedly reading his comic books and buying other merch. Drawing him, perhaps even writing fanfiction.

One day your phone started glowing and you panicked that this old piece of crap is gonna explode or something. Turns out it did not blow up instead when the bright light that made you almost blind stopped, you were in a complete different place. It looked like you were in a middle of a street.

Never been here before, what just happened? And what is that noise? Sounds like someones getting hit, no-shot?

You shaked ur phone trying to do the same affect but stopped as you heard someone coming closer.

"Hmm, whats this? My chimichanga senses are tingling" you turned around upon hearing the familiar voice. There not too far standed deadpool himself. You would be happy if you weren't to notice the dead body as you looked down to his legs.

"Oh uh, don't worry about that. He was a bad guy anyways ya know? Plus as long as you aren't one of those guys, which you don't seem to look like then you'll be fine!" He tried reassuring you. You just stared at him. He squished his eyes into a smile, you seem so adorable when you are surprised.

"Anyways mission completed! And i need my money to take this hot stuff one a hot date!" You still quietly standed there, confused. Is he still talking to you or to himself?

He came up close and you tried your best not to sound too nervous.

"W-wait, before you go can you tell me where am i and how do i get home? I mean my phone flashed and now im here i-" he put a finger to your mouth "shhh, calm down sweets, talk slow" you shut down from this, it made your face feel a bit warm

"I know you aren't from around here. You are a lovely fan of mine!" his eyes turned into hearts and he put his hands together with one of his legs up in the air.

Oh right, he is very much aware. That is rather embarrassing..but wait

"How do you know that?"

"Oh you know when you look at me on tv i kind of look back. And if you want more juicy details then you better accept my invite to this great restaurant that i found!"

He sounds like as if he knew you were gonna transport here..oh well its better to stay with him then all alone for now. Maybe he can help? You don't mind that much anyway

"Fine fine, i'll go if you promise to help okay?" He nodded happily, took your hand and dragged you with him.

Then he quickly grabbed the dead body by the arm and started dragging that too.

"Wha-" "I gotta show evidence that i did the job. I have to get paid first to actually take you out. We'll be quick"

Now holding hands with him you just walked where he did hoping this to be over soon. He did not shut up on his way and he definitely won't keep quiet any time soon either. Stuck with him you accept your fate (secretly you very much enjoy this)

Should i make part too cuz this got a lil too long? Or just a shorter ver explaining more

[nahoney22]

Hi, love! 💙

May I request a F!Reader x Thrawn? NSFW.

Jealous Thrawn , NSFW, tension with Director Orson Krennic~

Reader is an imperial intern in training & stationed to work under the Admiral for anything needed to make up community hours. Reader has had a good idea that Thrawn probably disliked them due to his distant & cold demeanor around reader & slight remarks. Reader is not too fond of the Chiss, finds them ‘rude’, but still obeys (loyal to the empire).

However Reader finds out that’s far from the truth when invited to an Imperial Ball, getting hit on by other superiors (Director Krennic, slight Rivalry between both men from Death Star vs Tie fighter Project), making Thrawn jealous & admit “someone like yourself can make a man like me lose control & do the most unimaginable of things, and suddenly my loyalty & devotion becomes all yours.”

A Warrior’s Needs***

Grand Admiral Thrawn X F!Reader

word count: 8.7k

Sneaky peak at my collab with @raevulsix 🤍 ^

When invited to the Imperial Ball to act as a spy, your galaxy is turned upside down when you witnessed your Boss, Thrawn, get jealous.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit sexual content and language, dom!Thrawn, sub!reader, smut, dirty talk, praises, p in v sex, blowjob, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, face fuck, multiple positions, finger sucking, biting & marking, mating press, creampie, aftercare, doubtful reader, brief mentions of alcohol, jealous and possessive thrawn, kinda boss x secretary, shy imperial female reader who wears a white dress with slit. Director Krennic flirting with reader. NSFW ART. Not proofread. Also noticed I didn’t hit the brief entirely but it’s more or less on point 😅

Includes Fanart by the incredible Raevulsix that can be found here and the NSFW one here so go give her all the support and reblogs! 🤍

Authors note: oh, bestie here we go! This is my first time writing for Thrawn so I hope I portrayed him somewhat okay - I never kinda finished rebels yes I know bad girl. Co-wrote with @raevulsix 🤍

The seemingly endless day was filled with a relentless stream of forms, data analysis, and tasks delegated by your boss that was causing a strain on your eyes from staring at the screen. But when your superior got called away, you seized the opportunity to lean back in your chair and take a moment of respite and listen to the faint hum of the ship.

As you reclined, you surveyed the expansive office belonging to your boss, Grand Admiral Thrawn. The space was dimly lit, dominated by blacks and greys, with a faint luminescent glow that did little to alleviate your eye strain.

Even sitting for the prolonged period had caused your legs to stiffen, so, anticipating Admiral Thrawn's return in about an hour, you stood up and began to walk around, seeking relief.

The office itself was a marvel, a fusion of refined taste and strategic functionality. Intricate artwork adorned the walls, showcasing pieces from various galaxies, while carefully placed artifacts adorned the shelves, creating a captivating ambiance.

You hesitated, torn between returning to your desk or succumbing to curiosity just this once. Normally, being in the same room as your boss felt challenging due to his cold demeanor and strict rules – no speaking unless spoken to, avoiding direct eye contact, and focusing solely on work.

The reputation of the Chiss, their stringent standards and unwavering determination, preceded him. His formidable nature and unyielding drive to succeed made him a daunting figure which makes him all the most frightening. Though, he had never raised his voice in your presence. The odd quip of passiveness was hard to miss however when he spoke to those under him or even as an equal, but luckily, you never came across it.

Until right now.

“I sincerely hope that you looking through my possessions is a hint that you have finished today’s reports.”

Startled by his sudden appearance behind you, you turned wide-eyed and mortified, stammering out an apology. "Forgive me, Sir—Admiral—Grand Admiral," you fumbled, feeling the weight of his piercing red gaze. "I didn't realise you had returned."

His cold stare and piercing eyes bore into you as he coldly acknowledged your oversight. "Now tell me, what are you doing?"

Faltering, you considered fabricating a lie, but Thrawn's demeanor warned against deception. "My legs and eyes started to ache," you admitted slowly, collecting your nervous breaths. "I stood up to walk around the office in your absence to ease it off. Admittedly, I got distracted by your collection." You gestured awkwardly before composing yourself. "I will finish off the reports immediately."

As you settled back at your desk, attempting to regain composure with shaky fingers swiping across the monitor, Thrawn's silent presence once again caught you off guard. A large hand suddenly appeared in front of your face, tapping the screen as he scrutinized your day's work. Frozen, you held your breath, transfixed on the screen.

After an intense minute, he broke the silence. "I need your assistance tonight," he declared, withdrawing his hand and making his way to his desk. You swiveled in your chair to face him.

Tonight? The prospect of more work dampened your spirits. "You will attend this Imperial Ball," he stated, not bothering to look your way.

A ball? You? Your flabbergasted expression went unnoticed as you asked, "May I question why you're asking me to go Grand Admiral? I believe this is for people like yourself, not just workers. And I’m just an intern."

He leaned over his desk, hands flat on the surface, and lifted his gaze to you. "I hope that's not an insinuation that I do not work."

Your day seemed to be spiraling further downward. "Sorry, forgive me, I didn't mean for it to come across like that." Nervously wringing your fingers, you stood. "I just don't think I'm the right candidate for whatever it is."

"And yet you do not know what it is I am asking of you," he replied simply. For a moment, you thought you detected a hint of amusement, but the dimness of the room and the strain on your eyes left you uncertain.

His posture regained its imposing stance as he circled his desk, arranging items with precision, making an already orderly space even more meticulous. Leaning against the black desk, he continued, "There have been reports of a few individuals willing to expose the Empire's plans on Lothal and they've been invited. I need you to gather as much information as you can and report back to me."

You had heard about this upcoming ball. All of your superiors would be attending and you had very little doubt that your friends, other workers like yourself, would be attending. So, the confusion lingered; why involve you in this? Hiring spies seemed a more logical choice. "So, when we land and head to the settlement, dress up.”

You are almost at a loss for words, was this some kind of punishment or did he sincerely trust you this much? So many questions yet his answers won’t settle with you regardless. "But Grand Admiral, I... I don't even own a dress."

"All of that has been arranged already."

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you hardly recognised yourself in the white dress that starkly contrasted with your usual Imperial attire. Only applying little makeup due to the fact you didn’t know how glamorous this was going to be, you marveled at the intricate details of the crystals adorning your dress—light and elegant.

As you added the finishing touches to the ensemble, you spent a moment admiring the transformation. The dress fit perfectly, making you wonder how Thrawn acquired your exact measurements. Perhaps it was part of the meticulous process involving your enrollment details he scoured through.

Yet, a peculiar thought crossed your mind: imagining Thrawn personally selecting this dress for you. Shaking off the notion, you grumbled to yourself, averting your gaze from the mirror. Such thoughts seemed absurd, given the professional context and how alluring you felt with a dress with a knee high slit. Your gut, however, betrayed you, swirling with a sense of uncertainty.

Left in disarray, you then pondered the impending social interaction with your superiors. How in the galaxy were you going to do this?

Thrawn had departed without providing you any guidance, leaving you to grapple with the dilemma of presenting yourself as his assistant or someone of greater significance.

When the time came, navigating the unfamiliar surroundings with nervous steps, you followed the confident strides of those who seemed familiar with the venue.

Presenting your pass to a guard, you slipped inside and held back a gasp at the sight that unfolded—an elegance seldom witnessed within the Empire's strict regimes. It was special, yet you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place.

As a wallflower, you stood on the sidelines, observing and absentmindedly tapping your fingers against a glass of an unfamiliar alcoholic concoction handed to you by a server. Unbeknownst to you at first, your eyes were scanning the crowd, searching for your boss, Thrawn.

Surrounded by people you didn't know on a personal level, everyone exuded a somewhat regal aura. The faint but lovely music played in the background as the room unfolded into a wide-open space where various groups mingled, leaving you feeling like a hopeless outsider.

Taking a sip, cursing your shaky hand, you mustered the courage to fulfill your task. It was time to eavesdrop and gather the information Thrawn sought.

Worming your way into conversations wasn’t the easiest task you ever had to do but still, you managed it. Avoiding small talk, you nodded and smiled, feigning comprehension while attempting to extract useful information.

Yet, nothing seemed amiss.

Everyone appeared content with the Empire's forthcoming plans and events, leaving you struggling to maintain the forced smiles and laughter.

As you moved from group to group, you still found yourself keeping an eye out for Thrawn but no luck. Perhaps he wasn’t even attending. After all, his presence to you would have stood out since he was the only Chiss and his character was non-short of intriguing.

After an hour of this charade, weariness crept in. Your feet throbbed in the unfamiliar heels, prompting your excuse from a group - to whom didn’t seem to even acknowledge your existence - no one noticed your departure as you went to a quiet corner to collect yourself.

In the quiet corner, frustration and exhaustion compounded as you pondered the lack of information to report back to Thrawn. With past mishaps already haunting your thoughts, you berated yourself for the potential third strike.

However, things started to take an unexpected turn.

"Not enjoying the night?" The voice sliced through your thoughts, and you turned to see a figure adorned in a stark white military imperial uniform with a flowing cape to match. There was only one man you knew who wore that ensemble.

"Director Krennic," you blurted out, swiftly standing and adjusting your dress, visibly flustered. "I was just taking a moment for myself."

The man chuckled, swiftly suggesting you retake your seat, which, hesitantly, you did as he settled beside you.

Internally, you were freaking out. The power and influence of Director Krennic were both impeccable and imposing, especially considering his involvement with the upcoming and developing 'Death Star' project. "I hope you don't mind the company? It's been a long evening for me too," he mentioned, his gaze intense.

His stare unsettled you, sending an uncomfortable tingle down your spine. Yet, despite your unease, declining the company of one of your superiors wasn't an option. "Not at all," you replied, forcing a laugh that sounded awkward but hopefully convincing.

"Since you know who I am," Director Krennic began, turning to face you, "it is only fair that you tell me who I have the pleasure of meeting?"

A gulp caught in your throat. This was the first time tonight that someone had paid attention to you, and you debated whether to fabricate details about your identity. Ultimately, you settled for honesty—your name, at least. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've heard many things about you," you said, hoping your nervous breaths weren't too apparent.

He smiled, seemingly charming. "Beautiful name for a beautiful lady."

Mentally, your smile dropped, but you maintained it outwardly. Was he flirting with you? This exceeded any expectations for the night. "Oh, erm, why thank you."

He chuckled, leaning back and making himself comfortable on the loveseat you both occupied, taking a sip of his drink. "So, tell me about yourself. What is it you do?"

The moment of decision that had loomed over you all night finally arrived, and you found yourself veering away from the complete truth.

His reaction was palpable. A flicker of tension crossed his expression, transforming his once-charming smile into one that grew tense and strained. "Ah," he responded after a pause, his fingers tapping against the glass as his demeanor turned slightly hostile. "So, I will assume you work under someone of... authority."

The word 'authority' sounded more like a growl than a mere observation. It was evident that Krennic held some animosity toward Thrawn, likely due to their conflicting projects that often caused tensions between the two.

"That she does."

A voice sliced through the tension, and you turned to see Thrawn standing behind both of you. Your eyes involuntarily scanned his attire��a departure from his usual white military uniform to an impeccably suave and expensive-looking all-black tuxedo. It was a stark contrast to his typical appearance, and he looked good, remarkably good.

"Thrawn," Krennic acknowledged, standing to match his height. Kind of.

"Director Krennic..." Thrawn drawled slowly, the two of them staring each other down.

(Art by Raevulsix)

The tense exchange between Thrawn and Krennic didn't escape your notice, particularly Krennic's apparent lack of acknowledgment toward your boss's full title, indicating a hint of pride. Thrawn, on the other hand, maintained his dignity with elegance.

"I was just speaking to this nice young lady and getting acquainted," Krennic stated.

"I noticed," Thrawn replied, his gaze briefly fixating on you. A sense of impending chastisement for lying to a superior loomed, but for now, Thrawn played along, redirecting his attention to Krennic. "But I need to speak with her in private.”

Krennic's expression twisted into a smirk. "We all serve the same purpose, Thrawn. Whatever you can say to her, you can say in front of me."

Maintaining his composure, Thrawn remained unaffected by Krennic's arrogance. "It is a matter that does not concern you."

"And it does her?" Krennic prodded.

"Yes," Thrawn affirmed, tone low.

Krennic's scrutiny fell upon you, making you feel a chill run down your spine. Unable to meet their gazes, you were frozen under his stare. "I see. Well," he extended his hand, and tentatively, you placed yours in his, allowing him to help you stand, his grip maintaining a slight tension. "It appears my presence is not warranted."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Director Krennic. Perhaps we could talk again soon?" The words slipped out before you could consider the implications, and Krennic's sly smile at your proposition didn't escape Thrawn's notice, his glare feeling like sharp daggers at the back of your head.

Suddenly, you’re pulled towards Krennic, his breath lingered near your face as he spoke in a whisper but loud enough for a certain someone to hear, "That would please me, but I shouldn't continue to play with possessions that don't belong to me."

Thrawn's sharp rebuke sliced through the air, "That will be all, Krennic." In an instant, Krennic released his hold on you, leaving you stunned as he walked away.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to face Thrawn, your heart racing. The unsettling implication of being referred to as a possession of more so, his possession, lingered in your thoughts. As you stared up at Thrawn's stern expression, full of thunder, you tried to gather your thoughts.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn, I—"

"You are not to ever speak to Director Krennic again, is that understood?" his command cut through your attempted explanation.

The tension thickened as you nodded in acknowledgment of Thrawn's command, keeping your gaze lowered. However, instead of walking away, he approached, sending a jolt through you.

A gentle touch beneath your chin lifted your gaze to meet his, and you're awestruck as his eyes glowed. Not even metaphorically or hypothetically - red eyes that held a powerful allure, captivating your attention. His words became a distant murmur as you found yourself too entranced by his intense gaze to even realise he was speaking to you.

Was anyone else seeing this? Surely someone had to have been watching this somewhat intimate exchange.

Suddenly, his raised brow and deep furrowed eyes broke through your reverie, snapping you back to reality. "Sorry," you stammered, embarrassed. "What did you say?"

For a second, he paused before a sly smile merges on his face. "I said,” he starts but a part of you didn’t quite believe he was telling you everything, “I hope you have some information to tell me. After all, that is why you are here," he repeated, his tone unwavering.

Your stomach sank as you realised you had nothing to report.

"Actually, I—" you began, but he interrupted, instructing you to head to his quarters to discuss further. As he stepped away, you finally regained your senses, but before you could utter a word, he vanished into the crowd.

Feeling the weight of the situation, you sighed, acknowledging the mess you were in.

Entering Thrawn's office, anxiety flooded your thoughts, making the walk feel slow and burdensome. Anticipation of the imminent repercussions swirled in your mind.

Without seeing the point in waiting outside, you ventured in, greeted by the familiar ambiance—chilled air and a dimly lit room adorned with sculptures, artifacts, and paintings, showcasing Thrawn's appreciation for art, a shared interest between the two of you.

Moving towards his desk, your fingers traced the flat surface before taking a seat in one of the chairs opposite.

"I feel sick," you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your hair as your knee bounced nervously.

"Perhaps some water?" Thrawn's calm and composed voice cut through the silence.

Caught off guard by Thrawn's sudden appearance, you startled in your seat, quickly composing yourself with an apologetic tone. "Sorry, I... I'm fine."

He hummed softly, crossing into the room. "Are you sure you do not want a drink?" His offer was polite, but you declined, mustering a steadier breath. "I'm sure. Thank you, though."

Seated behind the desk, Thrawn's piercing gaze seemed to bore into you, an intensity that was strangely captivating rather than uncomfortable. Boldly facing the inevitable, knowing your fate might be sealed, you met his gaze head-on.

Despite working under him for months, it was the first time you truly looked at him. His angular face was striking, his skin a captivating shade of blue reminiscent of the most beautiful oceans you had only dreamed of seeing, yet it was his glowing eyes that held the allure.

"So," he finally spoke, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers on the desk, breaking the silence, "fill me in." The directive was clear, and despite your nerves, you prepared to relay the truth, whatever the consequences might be.

"Grand Admiral Thra—"

"Thrawn," he interrupted, and confusion furrowed your brows.

"S-Sorry?"

"Thrawn is just fine. Proceed," he instructed, nodding, and despite your confusion, the fear of falling short in your duty took precedence.

"I have nothing to report," you rushed, holding your breath.

Thrawn's expression remained unchanged as he leaned back in his seat, nodding slowly. "Is that because you spent the evening with Director Krennic?"

Your heart sank at the insinuation. "Not at all. I only spoke to him for a minute before you came over," you defended, sitting a little more forward. "I genuinely have nothing to report. I saw nothing awry."

"Interesting," Thrawn drawled. "And he gave no hints of deception to you?"

Thrawn was clearly fishing for information on Krennic, but you had nothing substantial to provide. "No, though he wasn't too pleased about me working for you. Lie or not."

The room fell into a hush, the only sound being the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the desk. "That I can imagine, given how he was looking at you all night."

The mention of Krennic's prolonged interest caught your attention, and Thrawn noticed, a fleeting smirk crossing his face. "How is it you like the dress?"

Glancing down at the attire, you smoothed out its seams. It was the most extravagant outfit you had ever worn, and while it felt foreign, it also made you feel special. Especially considering the attention from someone as influential as Krennic. "It's lovely."

"I knew it would look good on you," he replied casually, causing your heart to pause momentarily.

"Can I ask what you mean by that?" you inquired, exhaling shakily, eyes widening. Did he choose this dress for you?

Thrawn tilted his head. "I think it is obvious what I mean," he stated, then stood, circling the desk until he stood in front of you. You craned your neck to look up at his imposing figure. "But I will spell it out for you. I picked this dress specifically for you… And you look divine."

The realisation struck like a thunderbolt, rendering you momentarily speechless. Krennic's cryptic insinuation about being a 'possession' suddenly made sense—jealousy seemed to be the most plausible explanation, although it felt improbable given your position as just his assistant. Then, doubts began to seep in as you recalled that he might have had someone else before you, and maybe even before that.

Standing up, nerves jangling, you instinctively took a step back from the Chiss, your thumbs nervously twiddling as you grappled with the situation. "I'm not that kind of girl, Grand Admiral—"

"Thrawn."

"Yes, sorry... I'm not that kind of girl."

He regarded you with an almost quizzical look, his eyes betraying a subtle understanding of the implications behind your words. "And I'm not that type of man," he responded calmly, though your scoff interrupted him. A brief pause followed as he closed the distance between you, his gaze piercing. "You do not believe me."

"You're a powerful man, you've probably had numerous assistants, interns, before me..." you stated your thoughts, a surge of boldness propelling your words. "I don't want to be just another assistant, disposable at your whim."

Thrawn observed you, his face maintaining an air of impassivity yet hinting at a hidden admiration for your courage. "May I be honest?"

Silent but attentive, you allowed him to continue, even as his words stung. "Your work is subpar. Lacking."

Ouch.

"Yet, you've remained my longest-serving assistant," he remarked, drawing closer, and this time, you didn't pull away. "Despite mistakes, missed deadlines... Do you know why?"

He stood before you, his presence almost overwhelming, his eyes emanating a deep red hue, sending shivers down your spine as his warm breath brushed against your skin. Inhaling a distinctive, spicy scent mixed with a hint of alcohol from the Ball, you felt your knees weakening, your preconceptions about him slowly crumbling. "N-No," you finally managed to breathe out.

Thrawn's admission rang out in the quiet room, his voice a blend of quiet intensity. "Because what I want is you. I want you to be mine, I need you to be mine."

"Grand A—"

"Say my name properly," his hand swiftly found your waist, tracing the delicate details of the dress he had meticulously chosen for you. "Say it."

Your eyes met his, the words you intended to voice dissolving as all you could focus on was his demand. "Thrawn."

His chest heaved subtly at the sound of his name spoken by you. "Again," he urged, this time his other hand tenderly yet with some vigour cupping your jaw.

Your eyes closed involuntarily, caught in a trance. "Thrawn... what is happening?"

"You have captured my interest since the first time you entered my office," his hand glided from your waist to the small of your back, and you found yourself instinctively leaning into his touch.

The nagging doubt that this could be too good to be true lingered in your mind. "Have you said that to all of your assistants?"

He chuckled, the resonance of his low laughter sending vibrations through your chest. "Now, now... I was not lying when I said that I am not that kind of man. Have you ever seen a Chiss with another person?"

Truthfully, you had never witnessed any other Chiss aside from him. "Well, no, but—"

"Then understand me," he insisted, drawing you closer against his chest, your hands clutching the lapels of his black tuxedo. "Understand that I do not seek companionship, I do not pursue romantic commitments. War and military endeavors dominate the minds of my species. So, tell me, why are you at the forefront of mine?"

"I... don't know," you confessed, feeling an electric excitement coursing through your skin.

His hand cupped your cheek, his breath grazing against your skin as he leaned in. "A woman like you can make a man like me lose control."

His proximity made it hard to breathe, yet it felt inexplicably right to lean toward him. "Can anyone know about us?"

The query hung in the charged air, bold and daring. You anticipated the response, though his confirmation solidified it. "No, nobody can know."

The weight of the decision hung heavy in your mind. You understood the necessity of keeping your connection with him secret; his position was far too vital to risk any involvement. “But, my devotion, my loyalty… it’s all yours.” His interruption broke through your thoughts, and as you opened your eyes to meet his gaze, you found yourself once again ensnared by the fiery red glow that captivated you.

"Lose control then."

Without hesitation, his lips crashed onto yours, enveloping your senses in a whirlwind of passion. His kiss, intense and commanding, nearly swept you off your feet. His hands explored your body, fingers gripping your hips firmly before lifting you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso as he skillfully guided you through his quarters, never once breaking the embrace, and eventually leading you into his bedroom.

You find yourself being placed on a bed, his body leaning over you as his lips, intoxicating and flavoured with just a tinge of alcohol from this evening move from your lips, down your neck before he stands over you.

“I have submitted to you,” with one hand he unclasps the button of his tux before moving it off his shoulders and carelessly chucking it to the side, followed by him unclasping the top button of his shirt, “are you willing to submit to me?”

(Art by Raevulsix)

Sitting up on your elbows, you’re prepared to answer but your words are caught in your mouth as he unbuckles his pants, sliding the belt out of the loops before he releases his strong, throbbing cock.

Your mouth salivates, watching as he moves his hand along its length. You couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips just at the size of him and it made you both excited and also a little nervous.

“I assume that you like what you see?”

You nod, your legs coming together as you feel your cunt begin to throb which doesn’t go unnoticed by Thrawn. “Crawl towards me.”

Obeying, you crawl on your hands and knees across the sheets, your white dress trailing behind you before you are sat comfortably in front of him, his beautiful blue cock twitching under your wanting gaze.

Thrawn lets out a soft sigh, sliding his hand down to the base of his length and tilts his head at you before dangling the curve of his dick down toward you. You open your mouth almost on instinct and slide your tongue out, grazing the underside of the head.

“You’ve done this before,” he comments with glowing eyes.

“Once or twice,” you whisper, sitting up onto your knees to take the fullness of the head into your mouth, rolling your tongue around the tip of it, melting at the saltiness of his precum.

Thrawn moans, long and low. It's been excruciating for him to not have been able to touch you until now and you were absolutely perfect. Large blue hands lift to your head and his fingers slide through the roots of your hair, tugging softly—encouraging, pushing you to take more. "Now that is my good girl." He practically purrs, and the ache between your legs throbs even more with excitement. “You are wonderful.”

You blush, unsure if it’s due to the compliments or the fact your boss's cock is stuffed in your mouth which had your lips etched open wide and eyes already starting to water. As he drops his pants fully and removes his shirt from his body along with his tie and pants, you look up at him with adoration.

You run your hands up and down his toned thighs as you begin to take him deeper into your mouth (if you even can), your saliva dribbling down his heated skin and your chin.

Thrawn curls his dexterous digits tighter into your hair and holds your head still as you envelope him as far as you can, opening your throat for him as he begins a violent and sudden ruts into your mouth. You whimper in please, a hand coming between your legs as you pull your dress to the side and dive your fingers straight to your clit as he deepthroats your pretty mouth.

His grunts and moans fill the room yet remain low and husky as you feel his tip poke at the back of your throat that forces a response from you; gagging on his velvety and soaked cock.

You hold strong for him, your fingers aching as you rub your clit in a circular fashion and push down the pleasant assault on your throat. “Look at you, a mess… it is rather arousing.” He cooes, one of his hands leaving your hair and holding his cock as he pulls out, giving you a very brief gasp of air before he slips it straight past your lips again.

Closing your eyes, you swallow uselessly around his thickness as he grunts and gives a few shallow thrusts before he pulls you back off. The sound you make is ragged, spit bubbling from your lips and tears rolling down your cheeks as he cups a hand under your chin and brings your face up. “And did I say you could touch yourself?” His eyes glance down at the sight of your hand between your legs. “Very insubordinate.”

You had never been so belittled yet praised at the same time before but it had your blood boiling in lust for it. “I couldn’t help it,”

“That much is obvious,” he replies as he wipes a stray tear from your cheek, “lay back. I want to look at you.”

Doing as you’re told, you scoot back before laying back on the bed, your head hitting one of the pillows as he analyzes you fully from the end of the bed. His expression was unreadable, not showing much signs but as he looked at you, you just admired him for a second too.

Tall, handsome and clearly strong from being a skilled fighter, you were a little breathless and now, a little insecure.

“Don’t worry,” his words broke you out of your trance, watching him kneel on the bed before he moves towards you, “you are breathtaking to look at.”

Heat rises to your cheeks and bashfully, you look away from his gaze but find yourself softly moaning as you feel something warm and wet caress at your exposed thigh.

Looking back his way, Thrawn lay flat on his stomach and tediously licked at your flesh, your skin dousing in goosebumps at his touch. “Thrawn…” you breathe, now meeting his dark, glowing gaze as he folds your dress upwards, exposing yourself to him.

Thrawn pushes your panties to the side, hooking his finger through the damp fabric to expose your glistening cunt to which he made a noise of satisfaction. “You smell beautiful.”

You let out a soft and nervous chuckle but your nerves are dwindled when Thrawn continues to kiss at your inner thighs, tasting the slightly salty tang of your skin before you let out a small yelp of surprise when his teeth sink into your skin, his tongue circling around the teeth marks that he left. “I hope you do not mind if I sometimes find myself needing to taste you.”

You blink at him, breathing ragged. Nobody had ever bitten you before but it didn’t even hurt. It was new to you and the sensation made your mind whirl. So, you shake your head and watch as he continues to leave love bites on the inside of your thighs, marking his territory; his breath warm and fanning agasint your sex that you were so eager for him to touch.

“Thrawn… touch me. Please.”

There’s a chuckle that lasts a moment before he says, “I am not one to take orders… but since you asked so nicely.” He growled the last part until his lips latched to your cunt and you let out the most pathetic whine you could muster.

“Perfect." Thrawn grunts, his breath on your wetness making your toes curl as tongue slides flat against your folds and up to your clit.

“F-Fuck, Thrawn…!” You choke, stifling your ragged gasp with a hand over your mouth in the fears someone would hear the lewd noises of your moaning and the lapping and sucking of your pussy.

You look down at Thrawn at work, obsessed with the fact that his eyes were trained on you with an intense gaze. He’s sucking on your clit with such dominance that has your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as his hands clasp on your thighs, spreading them open as they threaten to close.

It had been a while since you had been touched like this so there’s no surprise that you felt your climax begin to bubble.

“Oh my.. fuck… Thrawn I’m going to-.”

“Do it. Cum on my tongue. Now.”

Legs spasming, stars blurring your vision you feel yourself let go, followed by a collected moan from the both of you as he laps up your juices. Your body is heaving from the sensation but Thrawn doesn’t stop.

“Another.”

“T-Thrawn… I can’t…” you rasp, completely overstimulated as your body writhes in your dress and across the sheets.

“I know you humans are capable of some remarkable achievements. This is one of them. Cum again.” His mouth is back on your folds, tongue rubbing along your clit furiously to force another orgasm from you.

You wanted to cum again, desperately, but your body was tingling and shaking too much for you to fathom what was even happening.

Despite the bed being so large and spacious, as your body involuntarily fights against him, your head is bumping against the headboard as Thrawn pushes his tongue deep inside you, strong and powerful hands biting into the flesh of your thighs as your whole body convulses.

“Thrawn,” you gasp, your hand finding its way onto the sheets, gripping tight, “I can’t.”

“Another.” He demands from you, tongue relentless. Not once did he even lift a finger to your pussy, the pleasure being solely done by his tongue. You pondered what it’d feel to have his fingers inside you but as the familiar sight of stars began to speckle your vision, your body fires up.

“That’s it,” he growls into your cunt, sending violent vibrations through your body, “I knew you could do it.”

You're crying his name, sweat coating your body as you let out a lewd cry as your body gives in to Thrawn’s advances.

As you heave, catching back your breath Thrawn has moved away from your cunt as you flop onto your side, completely spent.

Your legs still twitch and Thrawn watches you in amazement. The mattress sinks beside you as Thrawn brings you to him, your back pressed to his bare chest as he runs his fingers up and down your arm. “You really are quite enchanting.”

You let out a breathless laugh and found your head falling back into the crook of his neck, your heart rate calming down. “So are you.”

The compliment repeats in his mind, not really used to such pleasantries but nonetheless gives a rare smile. “Pleasures all mine,” he purrs, leaning down as his lips ghost over your ear before he plants a delicate kiss to your lobe that had you biting your lip.

You could feel his erection pressing into your back and you damned the beautiful dress for blocking the warmth of his skin against you again. But despite the room having a chill to it, the fire in both of you was sure to warm you up.

His lips move from your ear as he leans more over you and you crane your neck, giving him the access you knew he desired as his lips found your skin, teeth grazing your pulse.

Your breaths came in shallow, uneven waves, charged with anticipation as you awaited his next move.

"Do I detect a flicker of unease?" His voice, low and delicate, cascaded over you, sending goosebumps skittering along your spine.

You turned to meet his gaze, a response ready. "Not at all," you replied, your voice betraying the hint of excitement that danced within.

He leaned closer, his words a whisper against your lips. "All in good time, my pet. Patience," he murmured, grazing a phantom kiss over your mouth. "For now, I just want to revel in your presence."

Your smile was tender, curiosity lacing your words. "And how long do you plan to bask in this admiration?"

His gaze held yours, an intensity in his touch as his hand cupped your jaw. "Are you expected elsewhere tonight?" His inquiry lingered, hinting at a deeper intention.

“No,” you shake your head, looking down at his lips and subtly biting your own before meeting his gaze, “I just want you.”

“You are to do exactly as I say,” he utters, his thumb trailing over your lower lip before you take the instinct of letting him slide it inside your mouth, allowing you to suck on his digit eagerly, “and that is to be patient.”

You whine softly around his thumb, your pussy beginning to throb as you crave him. Suddenly, you got bold. You pull his thumb out of your mouth with a pop and meet his beautiful eyes again. “Perhaps I should have kept speaking to Director Kren-.”

He snaps.

A fire sizzled in him at the mere sound of his rival's name coming from your mouth, his jaw clenching but alas increasingly aroused at your defiance and his clear sign of jealousy.

Smashing his lips to yours, you’re brought to his chest with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him yet. Your lips felt swollen from his scorching kiss that left you breathless, needing more as you tug on his broad shoulders to bring him even closer to you.

“How dare you say his name in here,” he growls, raking his hands up your thighs as he shifts your dress past your knees, letting it ruch just above your navel and pulling your panties down to your ankles that you kick off, “that man infuriates me to no end.”

He leans over you, capturing your lips but before you could kiss back, he’s pulling away, teeth grazing your lower lip. “Sounds like you’re jealous,” you rasp only to receive a firm spank to your rear before his mouth moves to your neck, sucking and marking his territory once again.

“How can that be?” He murmurs against your hot, sweating skin, “I’m the one with the masterpiece.”

Before you could even fathom his words, you’re pushed up against the headboard, making space for Thrawn’s large and toned body between your legs, his cock and balls resting hot and heavy against your bare, wet cunt.

Dazed, you look at the scene between your legs before you, never in a thousand years would you think you would have the Grand Admirals cock just resting against you. On you.

“I’m going to fuck you,” his words both sounded like a command and a promise to which, you mouth a breathless ‘please’.

You whimper in anguish as he presses his cock down against your folds, teasing you as he thrusts his hips back and forth slowly. “I want you to beg. I want you to beg me to slide my cock into your pussy.”

“Please Thrawn, please fuck me. Please fuck me until I cum all over your cock again.” You wiggle your hips, attempting to coax Thrawn’s length to conveniently slip inside but by the size of him, this would be a delicate operation.

“That’s it,” he cooed, gripping his cock and stroking it slowly above you, letting the tip rub against your aching pearl, “you have submitted to me perfectly so far…”

Then, you feel his cock press into you, your pussy opening to welcome him all the way in. You're tender already but the pain that hits you as his cock splits you open is fucking incredible.

It’s hard to read his expression but he’s holding his breath, letting his eyes close he slowly seethes all the way in you. His fingers bruise into your thighs as he keeps them apart as you white-knuckle grip onto the sheets. “Wow,” you keen, “f-fuck - that’s amazing.”

“What a good girl you are,” his blazing eyes meet yours, “and it appears you take my cock exceptionally well.”

The motion of him sliding in and out of you slowly only lasts a few moments before Thrawn gives you everything. Grabbing your hips, he lifts you to meet his now rough and demanding commands, eyes not once leaving your face.

He’s analysing every movement, every sound and every look you make. Like he’s making a mental note of you.

Words strangled in your throat but the gentle groans and low rumble of his rare praises is enough to have your eyes rolling back, cursing loudly as you feel him so full inside you. A prick of heat dances down your spine and settles in your abdomen, increasing the already growing fire of arousal that was quickly overtaking you.

He moves one hand down your body, caressing your breasts from over your dress which has your head tilting back in pleasure but not before he grabs at your throat. His hold isn’t dangerous, in fact it was very alluring as he keeps your focus solely on him. “Don’t you look away from me.”

“Yes, Thrawn.” You pant, gasping as he ever so gently squeezes your throat as he drills hard and fast right into you

Minutes of exctasy pass and soon, Thrawn has flipped you so you straddled on top of him, not once breaking away from you as he ruts his hips upwards, your chest falling against his bare one as he fucks you with great determination.

“O-oh fuck! Thrawn please…!” You whimper pathetically, sobbing into his chest as his arms wrap around your body, pressing you tight against him, confined to his warm skin.

He’s groaning your name, teeth biting into the flesh of your shoulder before he moves you so you’re sat up straight, grabbing hold of your dress so you have nowhere to go. “Ride me. Come on.” With one hard spank to your arse, you squirm in pleasure; eyes locked to his as you began to move your hips to and fro, dragging your pussy along his cock that was soaked with your juices.

Nails biting your hips, you writhe on him, your hands falling to hold onto his toned pectorals, watching as he stares up at you as he fills every inch of you.

His blown pupils show that he is hungry and at long last, he starts to remove your dress. Tossing it to the side, he sits up slowly watching your breasts bounce up and down on your chest as you grind hard on his cock. “Your body would be perfect as a sculpture.” His fingers caress over your stiffened nipples, a hum of satisfaction in his throat. “That way I could admire you when you are in my absence.”

You couldn’t help yourself, planting a heated kiss to his lips as his words spur you on to satisfy the Grand Admiral. His right hand cups your cheek, his tongue sliding in your mouth where you could taste your orgasm from before. “I need you, Thrawn.”

“You are mine.” He murmurs to your lips, noticing as your rhythm starts to get jagged he does you the courtesy of laying you down on your side. And just like the before, he slips behind you but this time also sliding himself inside you.

Legs like jelly, your body is still alight with desire, one arm snaked under your nude body, cupping your jaw as he holds your head back just far enough so he can kiss and nip at your lips. You cock your leg up a bit, allowing Thrawn to fuck you with extra slickness. You take him inside your fluttering cunt with almost no resistance, just enveloping him in a heat that you were desperate for him to not to leave because it feels so good. You feel so good and so full.

The sound of his cock slapping your wet cunt was disgustingly filthy and you kept having the creeping nervous feeling that someone would have heard both of your secret ‘meeting’. “Nobody will enter,” he says as if reading your mind, “try and relax.”

His lips move from yours to your neck, sharp teeth grazing over your already bruised skin as he keeps one hand on your jaw, the other sliding over your breasts and giving them a teasing slap that emits a moan from your throat. “Oh, you like that? Would you care for another?”

And before you could even scream yes, he slaps your tits one more before his hand flies straight to your cunt, fingers expertly caressing your clit that makes your body involuntarily jolt.

“Gorgeous little tart.” He growls, hips now pounding into you that you were certain it was going to leave bruises as he circles his fingers deliciously over your swollen bud.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck—" you cry, sweat beads trailing down the side of your face, only to have Thrawn's strong tongue dancing with your own.

Toes curling, you're melting into his mouth and under his touch as you whimper that you’re going to cum, only for him to encourage you to do so. And you do.

Your body burns with heat until it feels like you have been doused with water, putting out the flame inside you. You cum harder than you think you ever have in your life. A strangled cry of pleasure is made from your mouth, as if you were in pain but not at all.

“That’s it… what a delicious sight you are.” He purrs, eyes burning with delight as his thrusting lets up, welcoming the feeling of your tight and wet walls caressing around his cock.

Then, you’re being moved into the most compromising position you could be. Your chest is heaving wildly, eyes glistening in lust because despite your legs still shaking from your climax, you are pressed onto your back, legs folding over your body as he crouches between your legs. His cock pushed down straight into your core. His veined hands grip your ankles, keeping you in place as well as using you for balance.

“You have presented yourself so well tonight and you have obeyed me perfectly,” he rasps, mouth almost drooling, “now is time for your reward.”

Speechless, as usual when you’re around him, you’re surprised at how flexible you suddenly are as your feet almost come to the side of your head. His body pressed tight to the backs of your legs until his lips touch yours, rough and demanding just like his thrusts.

The position, the sounds, who you were with was sending your mind into overdrive. Your hands find their way around his back, nails accidentally scratching at his skin that made him hiss subtly as you go to apologise, he says, “harder.”

“What?” You gasp, both from him unexpected pleasure in you clawing at his back and how his cock has filled you completely, tip pushing right to your cervix.

“Harder.”

So you do. Your fingers claw at him desperately, legs aching and clenching your cunt around his cock hungrily making the roll of Thrawn’s hips more violent and his subtle groans of pleasure louder.

His hot breath catches your own as he pressed his sweat-slicked forehead to yours, legs quivering as you pant his name.

“You’re going to take every drop of my seed, do you understand me?” He growls, a shit-eating smirk on his lips as he gauges your reaction.

You nod your head eagerly but it wasn’t a good enough answer for him as he lets go of one of your ankles and wraps a tight hand round your throat. “Answer me.”

“Yes, y-yes.” You cry in pleasure, matching his smirk before time seems to grind to a halt as he plants himself as far as he can go into your womb, letting all of his scorching seed spill out with each pulse from his stiff cock.

Rope after rope of white lace pours into your used pussy, and the Grand Admiral doesn’t dare to pull out before he has made sure that you have received every last drop inside of you.

He lets out a heaved, heated breath before he pulls out of you, the feeling lewd and filthy before he collapses on to the bed beside you.

You lay still, heart racing at what just happened and before you could even turn to look at your Boss, he had stood up and walked across the room and left behind a door.

A twinge of hurt proceeds you as well as the sudden change of temperature in the cold air. You swing your legs round and sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through your sex-crazed hair before you swipe up your dress in your hands.

Before you could slip away, preparing for the awkward retreat to your own quarters, the door glided open with a hiss.

"I have drawn you a—" His voice filled the room, interrupting your hasty exit, causing you to swallow hard. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw him holding one white robe while draped in another.

"I just... I thought..." Your words trailed off as he advanced toward you, a sudden surge of nervousness overtaking you.

He tilted his head to the side, his gaze penetrating. "Did I not convey that every word I spoke was genuine?" The question hung in the air, his sincerity challenging any wavering doubts.

“It seems too good to be true.” Your sigh carried both disbelief and a tinge of self-doubt as he closed the gap between you, his presence a calming yet overwhelming force. "I don't deserve a man like you," you confessed, your words carrying the weight of uncertainty.

In response, he enveloped you in a comforting embrace of a soft, white robe, shielding your exposed skin from the cool air.

"And why would you think that?" His question hung in the room, probing deeper into your insecurities.

As his actions of tonight seemed to have spoken louder than words, a glimmer of reassurance began to emerge within you. With tender care, he guided you across the room, revealing the spacious bathroom with its welcoming, steam-filled air. The drawn bath exuded an enticing warmth, a stark contrast to the chilly room.

"I want you to be mine. If you will have me," he murmured, his voice resonating with earnestness, echoing the genuine desire for your acceptance.

You turned to meet his gaze, observing the hand clasped in yours before lifting your eyes to his captivating, unique red gaze. There was a captivating allure, something undeniably beautiful and different about him.

Your attempt to decipher his unreadable expression failed as his stoic visage remained unchanged. Yet, those enigmatic eyes held a magnetic pull, drawing you in. "Will you take care of me, Thrawn?" you asked, your voice carrying a vulnerable plea.

"I will do everything in my power for you," he assured you.

The moment lingered, and finally, your lips met his in a tender, gentle kiss. He guided you towards the inviting warmth of the bath, easing your weary body into the scorching water, allowing the tension to dissipate.

"Your face is like art," he suddenly declared, catching you off guard once more. His words prompted a staggered breath, causing you to look up at him as he admired you.

"Do you not agree?" His question tinged your cheeks with doubt and embarrassment.

"I've never viewed myself like that before,"

“I’m sure you will begin to find that you will agree with me for most things,” he drops the robe from his body and gestures you to sit forward and as you do, you sigh heavenly as he slips in behind you, arms wrapping around your body as your back is brought to his chest.

"And soon you will agree and see why you belong with me," he murmured, his voice carrying a sense of quiet assurance as he tenderly ran warm water up and down your arms, creating a serene atmosphere enveloping both of you in a comfortable moment.

His tender care continued as he focused on you, his lips trailing softly over the marks he had left on your neck. Whispered words of praise graced your skin, creating a delicate symphony of affectionate gestures, each touch and utterance a testament to his adoration for you.

Later that night as you grew tired, he gently carried you back to his bed and settled beside you, drifting off to sleep, the weight of your actions pressed heavily on your mind. The realisation dawned that this relationship would be far from ordinary. He held power, wealth—everything beyond your reach but he was offering it to you. a fundamental shift, a leap into an entirely different world.

Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected turn could be the shift you had been waiting for your entire life.

———

———

Masterlist

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 7 @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @mysticalgalaxysalad

[constantfragmentation]

Arcane S2 Thoughts

I've had a week to digest this season and well, I guess I have the unpopular opinion of being very disappointed. After the initial flash of gorgeous animation and some ooo's and awe's.... I was left with a bitter aftertaste. I can rewatch S1 loads of time. I don't think I can watch S2 again.

I'm happy for the fans that loved it and got what they wanted or the shippers that got what they wanted. I'm happy for you. Do your thing.

Me? Not so much. Even as a Silco fan (and I admit to squeeing for any footage of him at first), I'm not pleased. Yeah, my young Silco is a nerd, man-bun hottie, but that's where it ended for me. His entire characterization was nothing like the character I fell head over heels for in S1.

Vander's Flashback: I honestly don't find Felicia's inclusion necessary at all. In fact, I think it waters down everything between Silco and Vander. Their knowing her and the kids creates more questions, plotholes, and problems than it supposedly solves.

Why is Vander only in those memories with the kids? It's before the fallout with Silco. Why don't the kids know or remember nice Silco? Why do they only fear him (obv that's from Vander and Benzo, yes?)?

Why doesn't Silco seem to know Powder at Vander's dead body? Why would he kill Felicia's kids? None of it makes any fucking sense if he cared about Felicia. He hates Vander so much, he hates the kids too because he adopted them?

How the hell does S2 Young Silco turn into S1 Silco? Riot really messed this one up. Vander's attempted murder didn't change his entire personality.

It was a rebellion battle. People were going to get hurt and killed. They had to know this. So, whether Silco accidentally killed Felicia (as some fans are debating) or she died, is so damn dumb for Vander to solely blame Silco. Takes the kids, becomes a pacifist FIRST and then decides to (shave and grow younger) kill his brother for the greater good. Doesn't make one lick of sense narratively.

The narrative, characterization and animation inconsistencies don't help from S1 either. The drowning scene doesn't fit the S2 explanation. They're too young. Vander had a beard and appears much older on the bridge. Hell, S2 Young!Silco looks older than S1 Young!Silco. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. If people want to kiss Riot's ass, fine, but there was too much that was straight up lazy writing.

Silco's death is just glossed over considering how important he is. Silco did what Vander couldn't. Even without Shimmer, the Underground was thriving. Cait's mother's death/burial/statue gets more screen time and Silco gets dumped in the river. No one seems to question his death or what happened? Yeah, ok.

I'll use this moment to complain about the excessive music video montages this season too. I watched S1 again and the writing and use of music worked in unison and enhanced scenes. S2 felt like scenes in between music videos and it was irritating.

There was so much screentime wasted that could have been good dialogue heavy scenes that S1 was great at. Instead, time wasted on poorly executed plotlines that needed way more time to flesh out (Mel, Ekko and Viktor) and we have slowmo music videos and MCU fight scenes. Hermie's guitar song and Mission Impossible jokster crap was laughable and not in a good way.

Riot tried to pack too much into one season, and it was a mess. This season felt like watching a Marvel movie. Cool action sequences with little to no substance. All the nuance and grit from last season were gone in favor of the 'good vs. bad' trope. All the political-societal issues in S1 were abandoned that were far more fascinating to explore.

Mel has superpowers now? It feels all out of place. Her, Ambessa, and the Black Rose plot have zero time to make it interesting and plausible. She was introduced as this master manipulator/politician and her sage persona feels so forced.

Jesus Demigod Viktor was too much. I was excited for the Machine Herald and the psychedelic Arcane magical multiverse took me out. Making him to be the big baddie and timeloop it around to Jayce felt like a big cop out. Viktor deserved better. Hell, Jayce deserved better.

So much was sacrificed to make the whole Arcane magic THE point of the series when it was one of the least interesting aspects of the show. Hextech for weapons and the continuing problems between Piltover and Zaun was RIPE for storytelling. It seems each act needed several episodes to cover.

Ekko sure as fuck deserved better than that half assed time warp with Hermie. The AU really bothered me. Everything felt wrong. EVERYTHING. Nothing was explained well at all. It felt like complete fan service at the expense of the characters. Before people rip me saying "well duh! It was an AU!". You don't assassinate characters and plot to have a happy ending that insults your viewers.

They turned Zaun (its own cool character) into the bargain basement of Piltover. How is it sunny and pretty? Really? Mirror tricks? Everyone just forgave Piltover after years of oppression?

You're telling me Vi's death saved humanity? Fuck that shit right now. Piltover just stopped because a kid died? Suddenly everything became better? What happened to Jayce? Viktor? Hell, Hermie after decades didn't give two shits about Zaun, so what changed with the Council? Where's Singed? I don't buy it.

I don't buy Jinx/Powder being super normal smart girl. I LOVE JInx, but I believe she had mental issues prior breaking into Jayce's apartment. I don't think Vi's death made that go away (as I don't believe Silco's death did either). As someone who battles with mental health, this is insulting to me as a viewer.

I hated AU Silco. There. I said it. He just forgave Vander? Really? Bullshit. The reason Vander tried to kill him is stupid. A simple letter changed Silco? That fluffy-haired softy is not Silco. I can't imagine that Silco being the one who fought a rebellion. He probably would not have become a mob boss peddling drugs but this AU softboi dad feels so wrong. I never would have stanned AU Silco. Not in a million years.

S1 Silco's traits didn't magically appear because Vander betrayed him. The young S1 Silco had to be similar in many ways to older S1 Silco. Drive, ambition, ruthlessness, willing to die for a cause. I don't see Felicia's death changing that. I certainly don't see Vi's death changing that.

If Vander needed to kill Silco to stop the violence, etc, it's because he saw Silco as a threat to him or society as a whole. S1 Vander is known as The Hound. So, he seems to be violent as well. He takes credit for building the Underground when Felicia credits both 'bozos' for it. So Vander being upset she died and blaming Silco to the point of murder is a slap in the face to fans' intelligence.

I do hate that by Vi's death, everything is magically better. I can't express how much I hate that. AU Powder was irritating and was nothing like my Jinx that I love. Again so much wasted time that could have been better spent on good character driven scenes that actually advance the plot.

Pointless characters. Introduce Isha (who I adored). Make her seem important to Jinx. Kill her and never mention her again. So what was the point of her inclusion this season? Just to make Jinx suicidal? I hated that also. Again WASTED SCREENTIME.

Oh, and Caitvi was a disgrace. I think shippers deserved better here, too. Caitlyn goes crazy dictator because of guilt over her mom. Granted, Caitvi only knew each other for a week-ish? Not a lot of time to make their relationship serious past an infatuation. Cait turns from all her good points last season to Ambessa's padawan.

Don't get me started on that side piece Maddie. Really? Cait you were that hard up? And that long awaited sex scene was a big eye roll. Vi goes to her sister, and shit goes to hell, and a few minutes later, she's fucking Cait in the same cell. Vi was reduced to shit this season.

I mean, these characters just got shafted in every way for a high speed train wreck ending that we've seen a million times in Disneyfied stories. Action sequences were more important than actual character development and plot.

You can't make me believe that one speech from Jayce 'seeing a possible future' suddenly got Zaun to work with and dress up as Piltover soldiers? Really?

I had high hopes for Sevika, and the girl got shit nothing to do except in two episodes. Her seat on the Council feels like a last-minute decision and not worthy enough to expand on.

What made S1 so great was the class divide between Zaun and Piltover and how it affected the characters. S2 decided to scrap that and go with the easy good vs evil trope instead. Even the parallels didn't have the same hit as last season.

I did like Jinx talking to her 'ghost' Silco in the jail cell. He was calming to her in contrast to Milo/Claggor except the implication that she should die (that's what I got out of that).

We didn't even get much from Singed. Yeah, he got his daughter back (in some form) but his story was so blah. We didn't get nearly enough of him and Warwick and what made Warwick.

I guessed a few years ago it was going to be Vander but I didn't like how it was handled.

Too many plotlines all rushed together without getting any decent screentime and explanations that don't confuse or insult viewers intelligence. OR you have to be a LOL fan/player to understand. I never played LOL before S1 and wasn't confused as to the main plot.

I loved all the characters in S1 and felt they were pretty much watered down or assassinated in S2 for an apocalyptical Demigod villain vs humanity battle done to death finale.

The Zaun/Piltover political-societal problems, parallels, corruption, science going wrong, pathway to hell paved with good intentions themes from S1 was so much better in every single aspect.

I'm still a fan of S1 and the characters and frankly, I'm going to ignore 95% of S2.

[amethystarachnid]

Hey, can I request for you tony stark x f!reader, they work together in the lab and they love each other but never admit, one day reader tell them that she's dating and tony will be so jealous and after some investigation (nothing creepy, just tony being cute and cautious) he'll see that her boyfriend is not a good guy and start to show her that he's the right guy for her (bringing her favorite coffee and flowers, little gifts, things like that) eventually she'll see that he's not good and break up with him, tony will comfort her and they will confess their love and be happy together

ENOUGH

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: angst and some fluff towards the end

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 13k (I swear it's worth it, this fic means a lot to me)

ᯓ★ Summary: You always had a strange feelings towards Tony, but you were too scared to recognize them because you didn't want to ruin your friendship. As you find yourself falling for another man you think you've found your forever, but your forever isn't supposed to make you feel happy, loved? So why does every interaction with Cole make you feel bad, sad? You feel like you're losing yourself but, luckily, Tony is right there to help you find your way back.

ᯓ★ TW(s): toxic and manipulating relationship (y/n and another guy, not Tony)

ᯓ★ I'm sorry this took so long but I 'used' your ask to write a fic that means a lot to me because I really want to spread awareness about this subject, and I hope you all understand that love is supposed to make you feel happy and secure, nothing bad. <3

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

The lab is quiet at this hour. Most of the team has called it a night, but you’re still here, engrossed in calibrating a particularly fussy piece of Stark tech. It’s late—late enough that the hallways outside are dark and empty, but you don’t mind. Working in the stillness of the lab, the gentle hum of machines and the cool blue glow of screens, is soothing.

What you do mind, however, is the way Tony keeps glancing over at you, like he’s waiting for you to say something. It’s unnerving, that knowing look of his, like he’s daring you to meet his gaze.

You can’t stand that look. It gets under your skin, tugs at something deep inside you that you refuse to acknowledge, but it never stops. It’s been years of this—working side by side, sharing laughs over takeout boxes in the lab, enduring countless sleepless nights debugging Tony’s latest invention or patching up battle-worn tech. The two of you have always been close, closer than most. And you’ve done an excellent job of pretending that’s all you want.

But there’s something about tonight that feels different. Maybe it’s the way he’s watching you from his desk, his eyes tracing over you in a way that’s just a little too warm, a little too careful. Or maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t said a word for the past ten minutes—an unprecedented stretch of silence, for Tony.

“You’re staring,” you finally mutter, not looking up from your work.

“And you’re pretending not to notice,” he replies, tone light, but there’s an undercurrent to it that makes your heart pick up. “Is that how we’re doing this now?”

You raise an eyebrow, trying for indifference. “Doing what?”

“Working in silence. Not our usual style, is it?”

You shrug, forcing yourself to focus on the small circuit board in front of you instead of the steady heat of his gaze. “It’s late, Tony. And we’ve been at this all day.”

“Right. Right, it’s late,” he says, stretching out the words as he leans back in his chair. You can see his smirk from the corner of your eye. “You, of all people, should be in bed by now. I distinctly remember you threatening to crash at eleven.”

“Guess I changed my mind.”

“Guess I knew you would,” he says, and now he’s leaning forward, arms braced on the desk in that familiar, frustrating way that makes him seem both casual and intensely focused. He’s watching you like he’s studying you, reading every flicker of your expression like it’s one of his schematics.

It’s maddening, and it’s also just a little intoxicating. You try to ignore it.

Instead, you clear your throat and look down at the circuit board again. “So, what’s the deal with this, anyway?” you ask, tapping it lightly. “Doesn’t look like your usual tech.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, rolling his chair closer, until he’s beside you, watching as you work. His proximity feels warmer than it should, his arm brushing yours as he leans over your shoulder, peering down at the board.

“It’s… a prototype for something I’m working on,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, soft rumble. “Something for field ops. You know, keeping our favorite Avengers safe.”

“Right.” You nod, but your fingers tremble slightly as you work, acutely aware of the warmth of his breath on your cheek. “Safety first.”

Tony chuckles, the sound so close it reverberates right through you. “Always,” he murmurs. “Even when certain people in this lab seem determined to work themselves to exhaustion.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. “Look who’s talking. When’s the last time you actually slept, Tony?”

“Touché,” he concedes, leaning back slightly but still close enough that you can feel his presence, as constant and undeniable as gravity. “But I’ll have you know, I managed a whole hour of beauty sleep last night.”

“An hour? Impressive. Almost enough to be functional,” you tease, daring to glance up at him.

His smile softens, a small, fond twist of his lips that catches you off guard. There’s a gentleness in his eyes that you’ve seen before, but rarely for this long, and never with you as its sole focus. It’s the kind of look that makes you wonder—no, that makes you hope.

“You know,” he begins, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant, “you don’t have to stay up all night with me. I’ve got this handled.”

You blink, taken aback by the sudden shift in his voice. “What, you’re trying to kick me out now?”

“Not… exactly,” he says, and you swear he looks almost flustered for a split second before he covers it with a wry smile. “Just… you don’t have to be here, that’s all. It’s late, and you could be doing anything else.”

A part of you aches at his words, knowing how easy it would be to walk out, to go back to your quiet apartment and let this night pass like so many others. But the thought of leaving him here, of letting the comfortable silence between you slip away, makes something twist painfully in your chest.

You shake your head, more to yourself than to him. “I know I don’t have to be here, Tony. But… I want to be.”

The air between you shifts, charged with something heavier, something unsaid that has been building for months, maybe even years. His gaze softens, and for a moment, you think you see something flicker there—hope, maybe, or fear. Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling exposed, as if he’s managed to see right through you, right past the walls you’ve so carefully built around yourself.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice rougher now, his eyes searching yours.

You swallow, suddenly feeling like you’re standing on the edge of something that you’re not sure you’re ready to confront. “Yeah,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “Besides, you’d probably break this thing if I left you alone with it.”

He laughs softly, and it’s enough to break the tension between you, at least for now. But there’s still a lingering warmth in his gaze, a subtle shift in the way he looks at you that makes your heart hammer in your chest.

“I suppose I should be grateful, then,” he murmurs, his tone just a little too casual, like he’s trying to hide something. “You know… you’re the only one I trust with my projects. With my, uh, less-than-brilliant ideas.”

“Less-than-brilliant?” You arch an eyebrow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, even though your face feels like it’s on fire. “Is Tony Stark actually admitting that he’s not perfect?”

“Careful,” he warns, but there’s no heat in his words, only a soft amusement that feels almost… tender. “Don’t let it get to your head. I’m only admitting it because it’s you.”

You laugh, the sound half-nervous, half-genuine, and it’s enough to break the tension just a little. You glance back down at the circuit board, taking a steadying breath as you focus on the familiar rhythms of your work.

But out of the corner of your eye, you see him watching you, a soft smile playing at his lips. It’s a look you’ve seen countless times over the years, but now, in the quiet of the empty lab, it feels different. It feels like a promise, like a question he’s too afraid to ask but too stubborn to let go of.

And in that moment, you realize that you’re afraid, too—afraid of the way he looks at you, afraid of the way your heart stutters every time he laughs, every time he brushes against you, every time he gives you that damn smile that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

But more than anything, you’re afraid of what it would mean to say it out loud, to let the words slip past your lips and into the air, to admit that maybe this thing between you is more than friendship.

So, instead, you keep your head down, pretending not to notice the way he leans just a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours in a touch that feels almost intimate, almost deliberate.

And, for now, that’s enough. For now, you’re content to let the silence between you speak the words you’re both too afraid to say.

Tony Stark isn’t jealous. Not really. Jealousy is for guys who don’t have a tower with their name on it, a suit that could blast a hole through anything, and—let’s be honest—a jawline that does all the heavy lifting in the charm department. No, jealousy is beneath him. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself every time he sees you walk into the lab with that soft, distracted smile you’ve been wearing lately.

That’s not a work smile. That’s not even a Tony-just-said-something-obnoxious-but-funny smile. That’s a someone else is putting that smile on your face kind of smile, and Tony hates it.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Not at first. You’re your own person, after all, and if some guy—Cole, his brain spits out bitterly—if Cole makes you happy, then who is Tony Stark to interfere? Besides, you’re glowing these days, more relaxed than he’s seen you in ages. It’s probably just paranoia. His inner demons twisting things into shadows that aren’t really there.

Except Tony Stark is rarely wrong.

It starts as a nagging thought, one he keeps pushing away. He tries to focus on his work, on the new suit he’s been designing, on anything that doesn’t involve picturing you laughing at someone else’s jokes or holding someone else’s hand. But every time Cole comes up in conversation, every time you casually mention something he said or did, Tony feels that tiny itch in the back of his brain grow stronger.

Something doesn’t add up.

“Cole’s great, Tony,” you tell him one night, completely oblivious to the way his jaw tightens when you say the guy’s name. You’re sitting across from him in the lab, fiddling with a new circuit board. “I mean, he’s sweet, and he listens, and—God, I think I might actually be falling for him.”

Tony’s stomach drops. He’s heard you talk about Cole before, but this is different. There’s a softness in your voice, a vulnerability that makes his chest ache. You’re not just infatuated; you’re serious about this guy.

“That’s… great,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Really. I mean, falling for someone? Huge step. Big deal. Congratulations.”

You glance up at him, frowning slightly. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

“What? No. Thrilled is my middle name. Anthony Thrilled Stark.” He gestures dramatically with his hands, trying to play it off, but the look you give him is skeptical at best.

“Tony…” Your voice is softer now, concerned. “Is something wrong?”

Wrong? No. Everything’s fine. You’re dating a guy who he’s never met but already hates, and Tony’s spent every spare moment pretending it doesn’t feel like he’s losing you. Nothing wrong with that.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he lies. “I’m just… you know, being overprotective. It’s kind of my thing. But if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

You give him a small smile, the kind that twists the knife a little deeper, and go back to your work. Tony watches you for a moment longer, then turns back to his own desk, staring blankly at the screen in front of him.

He tells himself to let it go. To trust you, to trust that you know what you’re doing. But the nagging itch in the back of his brain refuses to fade. Something about this guy doesn’t sit right, and Tony Stark didn’t get to where he is by ignoring his instincts.

So he starts digging.

It’s not creepy. Not really. It’s not like he’s hacking into the guy’s emails or anything (although, let’s be honest, he could). He’s just doing a little background research. Running some basic searches, cross-referencing public records, scrolling through social media. All perfectly legal. All perfectly harmless.

At first, there’s nothing. Cole looks clean—a little too clean, actually. No embarrassing Facebook posts from his college days, no bad reviews from ex-girlfriends, not even a speeding ticket. Tony doesn’t trust it. Everyone has skeletons in their closet, and the fact that Cole’s closet seems spotless only makes Tony more suspicious.

Then he finds it. A single thread, barely noticeable, buried in the endless digital clutter. It’s an old forum post, years old, from someone who claims to have dated Cole. The details are vague, but the tone is unmistakable: bitterness, regret, and a warning for anyone who might follow.

Tony narrows his eyes, digging deeper. The more he finds, the worse it gets. Cole’s spotless public image starts to crumble under closer scrutiny. There are patterns—subtle, but there. Former coworkers describing him as manipulative. An ex-girlfriend mentioning how he’d gaslight her during arguments. A series of short-lived jobs, each ending under murky circumstances. Nothing outright damning, but enough to paint a picture Tony doesn’t like.

He sits back in his chair, staring at the screen. His chest feels tight, a mix of anger and something else—fear, maybe. He doesn’t want to be right about this. He doesn’t want to believe that you could fall for someone like that, someone who might hurt you. But the evidence is staring him in the face, and Tony Stark has never been good at ignoring the truth.

The next day, he watches you more closely than usual. You’re in the lab again, humming softly to yourself as you work. There’s a lightness to you that makes his heart ache. He doesn’t want to ruin that, doesn’t want to be the one to bring you down. But he also can’t stand the thought of staying silent.

“Hey,” he says, leaning casually against your desk. “You free tonight?”

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Got another groundbreaking invention to show off?”

“Maybe,” he says, smirking. “But actually, I was thinking dinner. My treat. You, me, and a bottle of ridiculously overpriced wine.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “As tempting as that sounds, I already have plans. Cole’s taking me out.”

Of course, he is. Tony’s smirk falters for a fraction of a second before he covers it with a shrug. “Right. Well, rain check, then.”

“Definitely,” you say, flashing him a smile before turning back to your work.

Tony watches you for a moment longer, then turns and heads for his office. He needs a plan—a way to bring this up without sounding like a jealous idiot or an overbearing dad. But as much as he tries to think of the right words, they won’t come.

That night, he paces his workshop, trying to talk himself out of doing something stupid. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Cole isn’t as bad as he seems. Maybe Tony’s just projecting his own insecurities onto the guy. But then he remembers the forum post, the warnings, the pattern of behavior, and his resolve hardens.

He picks up his phone, hesitating for only a moment before dialing your number. You answer on the second ring, your voice warm and familiar.

“Tony? What’s up?”

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound casual. “You busy?”

“I’m with Cole,” you say, and there’s a note of hesitation in your voice, like you’re not sure why he’s calling. “Why?”

Tony swallows, gripping the phone tighter. “I just… wanted to check in. Make sure you’re okay.”

There’s a pause, and then you laugh softly. “I’m fine, Tony. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”

But he does. More than he wants to admit. And as he listens to your voice, so full of trust and affection, he knows he can’t keep this to himself for much longer.

“I’ll let you get back to your date,” he says finally, forcing a smile into his voice. “Just… take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” you promise. “Thanks, Tony.”

He hangs up, staring at the phone in his hand. The weight in his chest hasn’t lifted. If anything, it’s heavier now.

Because Tony Stark isn’t jealous. Not really. He’s just terrified of losing you to someone who doesn’t deserve you. And the worst part? He doesn’t know if he can stop it.

You never thought it would feel like this—being with someone, falling for someone. Isn’t it supposed to make you happy? Isn’t it supposed to feel safe?

But with Cole, it’s… complicated.

At first, everything seemed perfect. He was sweet, attentive, always quick with a compliment or a thoughtful gesture. You’d convinced yourself he was everything you could ask for in a partner. And maybe for a little while, he was. But now, months into your relationship, cracks have started to show.

It starts small. The occasional offhand comment that stings more than it should. A subtle shift in tone when you talk about your work in the lab. You brush it off at first, telling yourself you’re imagining things. But then it gets worse.

“Late again,” Cole remarks one evening as you walk through the door, exhaustion tugging at your every step. He’s on the couch, his arms crossed, eyes sharp and unyielding. “How many hours did you spend with Stark today?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and accusing. You swallow hard, setting your bag down by the door. “I wasn’t counting, Cole. You know how it is—we had a lot to get through.”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, with a pointed sigh, he gets up and walks into the kitchen. “Sure,” he says over his shoulder, the word dripping with bitterness. “Because Tony Stark is the only person in the world who needs your time.”

“Cole…” You trail after him, your voice quiet. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Do I?” He turns to face you, arms braced against the counter. “Because it feels like I’m sharing you with him. And you don’t seem to care.”

The words hit you like a slap. “That’s not fair,” you say, your voice trembling. “Tony’s my friend. We work together. You knew that when we started dating.”

“And maybe that was a mistake,” he snaps, his eyes narrowing. “Because it’s pretty clear where your priorities are.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come. The guilt that’s been gnawing at you for weeks rises to the surface, sharp and suffocating. You do spend a lot of time in the lab. You do lean on Tony more than you should. Maybe Cole’s right. Maybe you’re the problem.

“I’ll try to do better,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cole’s expression softens, just slightly, and he steps closer, cupping your face in his hands. “That’s all I’m asking, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “I just want to feel like I matter to you.”

You nod, forcing a smile even as something inside you twists painfully. “You do. I promise.”

But as the weeks go by, it becomes harder and harder to keep that promise. Cole’s demands grow more insistent, his comments more cutting. You start to dread going home, knowing there’s always another fight waiting for you. And worst of all, you begin to pull back from the one place that’s always felt like home: the lab.

Tony notices, of course. He notices everything.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tony greets you one day, setting a steaming cup of coffee on your desk. “Extra caramel, just the way you like it.”

You look up, startled. “Tony, you didn’t have to—”

“Of course, I did,” he interrupts, flashing you that trademark smirk. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer through the day without caffeine?”

Despite yourself, you smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, leaning against your desk. “Although, I have to say, you’ve been a little MIA lately. Should I be offended? Or are you just trying to make me miss you?”

You laugh softly, but the sound feels hollow. “Just… busy, I guess.”

Tony’s eyes narrow, and you know he doesn’t buy it. But he doesn’t press. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. “Oh, and I got you this.”

Your brow furrows as you take the box, opening it to reveal a sleek, silver keychain in the shape of a tiny wrench. It’s beautiful, understated but thoughtful, and it makes your chest ache.

“Tony…” Your voice catches. “Why?”

He shrugs, his expression softening. “Saw it and thought of you. That’s all.”

You bite your lip, overwhelmed by the gesture. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

He watches you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “You deserve it,” he says quietly. “You deserve more than coffee and keychains, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

His words linger long after he’s gone, echoing in your mind as you work. You wish you could tell him everything—about Cole, about the fights, about the way you’ve started to feel like a stranger in your own life. But you can’t. Tony has enough on his plate without dealing with your problems.

So you keep it to yourself, even as the weight of it threatens to crush you.

The gifts keep coming. A bouquet of your favorite flowers on your workbench one morning. A set of noise-canceling headphones to help you focus. Little things that remind you someone cares, even when you feel like you’re drowning.

Cole notices, of course. “What’s with all the stuff?” he asks one evening, eyeing the flowers on your kitchen counter.

“Just Tony being Tony,” you say, trying to sound casual. “He likes spoiling his friends.”

Cole’s jaw tightens. “Friends,” he repeats, his tone sharp. “Right.”

You don’t argue. You don’t have the energy. Instead, you turn away, pretending not to notice the way his expression darkens.

One night, after another fight with Cole leaves you feeling hollow and drained, you find yourself sitting in the lab long after everyone else has gone home. Tony walks in, a takeout bag in one hand and a familiar, comforting smile on his face.

“Figured you’d still be here,” he says, setting the bag down in front of you. “Dinner’s on me.”

You look up at him, tears threatening to spill over, and for the first time, you let yourself lean into his presence. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t push. He just sits beside you, eating in comfortable silence, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.

Tony Stark doesn’t say the words. He doesn’t tell you that he thinks you deserve better than Cole, that he thinks you deserve better than him, even. But he doesn’t have to.

In every cup of coffee, every flower, every small act of kindness, he’s telling you that you’re worth more than you’ve been made to believe. And slowly, you begin to believe it too.

For now, it’s enough.

The atmosphere at home feels suffocating these days. The relationship you once cherished with Cole has become a minefield, every step fraught with tension. You’re constantly second-guessing yourself, careful with your words, trying to avoid setting him off. But it never seems to matter. Lately, even your best efforts only seem to fuel the simmering resentment in his eyes.

And Tony’s gifts? They’ve only made things worse.

It starts small, like everything with Cole does. A passing comment, offhanded and laced with sarcasm.

“Another coffee from your friend, huh?” he remarks one morning, his voice just a shade too sharp as he watches you take a sip from the steaming cup Tony had left on your desk.

You force a smile. “It’s just coffee, Cole. Tony’s like that with everyone—he’s generous. You know that.”

His lips twist into a tight smile. “Right. Generous. Just funny how his generosity seems to center around you.”

You bite your tongue, unwilling to let this spiral into another argument. Cole isn’t entirely wrong—Tony has been more attentive lately, but it’s not what Cole thinks. It’s just Tony being Tony, looking out for you the way he always has. There’s nothing wrong with that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But Cole doesn’t drop it.

The next time Tony leaves you flowers, Cole’s reaction is colder, sharper.

“Do you think this is normal?” he asks, his voice low and tight as he stares at the bouquet sitting on your kitchen counter. His fingers drum against the edge of the counter, his jaw clenched. “Your boss giving you flowers?”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “They’re not romantic, Cole. They’re just… thoughtful. Tony knows I’ve been stressed lately, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “And what’s he doing to help with that stress, huh? Bringing you coffee? Flowers? What’s next, jewelry?”

The accusation in his tone stings, and you feel your patience slipping. “Cole, you’re reading way too much into this. Tony and I are friends—nothing more. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”

“Maybe you should,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”

You flinch at the harshness in his tone, the knot of guilt and frustration tightening in your chest. “This isn’t fair,” you say quietly. “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me.”

Cole scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s not you I don’t trust, Y/N. It’s him. Guys like Stark don’t just do things out of the kindness of their hearts. There’s always an angle.”

You want to argue, to defend Tony, but you know it’ll only make things worse. So you say nothing, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

The next day, you try to keep your distance in the lab. Tony notices immediately.

“Okay, what’s up?” he asks, leaning casually against your desk as you work. His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp, searching. “You’ve been weird all morning. Did I do something? Forget your birthday? Make a terrible pun that offended your delicate sensibilities?”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “No, it’s nothing. Just tired.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “Tired, or ‘I’m avoiding something and don’t want to talk about it’ tired?”

You sigh, setting down your tools. “It’s complicated, Tony.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a genius,” he quips, giving you a crooked smile. “Try me.”

You hesitate, chewing on your lip. Part of you wants to open up, to tell him everything about how things have been with Cole. But another part of you is terrified of what that might mean—what Tony might say or do. So instead, you give him the barest truth, the safest version of the story.

“Cole’s just… he doesn’t love the gifts,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or the coffee. Or… well, you.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me?” he repeats, clearly taken aback. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “It’s just… he thinks you’re too generous. That you’re overstepping.”

Tony stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, if my coffee and flowers are causing problems for you, just say the word. I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, your chest tightening. “That’s not what I want, Tony. You’ve been… you’ve been amazing, honestly. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. Then he smiles—a small, gentle smile that makes your heart ache. “Well, for the record, I don’t plan on going anywhere. But if you need me to ease up, just let me know, okay?”

You nod, trying to smile back, but the guilt gnaws at you. You hate that Cole’s jealousy has made you second-guess Tony’s kindness, that it’s made you feel like you have to choose between the two of them.

Things with Cole only get worse. The arguments become more frequent, his words sharper, more cutting. He starts keeping tabs on your schedule, questioning every minute you spend in the lab. And when you do come home, he’s cold, distant, like he’s punishing you for something you can’t quite understand.

One night, after another fight leaves you in tears, you find yourself staring at your phone, your fingers hovering over Tony’s contact. You want to call him, to hear his voice, to feel the comfort of his unwavering support. But you don’t. Instead, you curl up on the couch, clutching the tiny wrench keychain he gave you like a lifeline.

Tony doesn’t press you, but he doesn’t back off, either. If anything, he doubles down on the small gestures. He brings you coffee every morning, just like always, but now there’s a little note attached—a joke, a doodle, something to make you smile. He leaves snacks on your desk when you’re too busy to eat, reminds you to take breaks, and even surprises you with a new toolkit when your old one starts falling apart.

“Can’t have my favorite lab partner working with subpar equipment,” he says when you thank him, his tone light but his eyes serious.

Every time he does something like this, it chips away at the walls you’ve been building around yourself. Because Tony doesn’t just make you feel appreciated—he makes you feel seen, like he knows you better than anyone else in the world.

Cole notices, of course. And he’s not happy.

One night, after you come home with another gift from Tony—a small, sleek notebook engraved with your initials—Cole snaps.

“This has to stop,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. He’s pacing the living room, his hands clenched into fists. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you let some other guy spoil you like this.”

“Tony’s just being nice,” you say, your voice shaking. “He’s my friend, Cole. That’s all.”

“Bullshit,” he spits, turning to face you. “He’s not just your friend, Y/N. No guy spends that much time and energy on someone without expecting something in return.”

The accusation makes your stomach churn. “That’s not true. Tony’s never—”

“He doesn’t have to,” Cole interrupts, his eyes blazing. “You think I don’t see the way he looks at you? The way you light up when he’s around? You’re already halfway out the door, Y/N, and you don’t even realize it.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but the truth lodges in your throat, heavy and suffocating. Because part of you knows he’s right.

Tony does look at you like that. And you do light up when he’s around.

But that doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong. It doesn’t mean you deserve this—Cole’s anger, his jealousy, the constant feeling that you’re walking on eggshells.

“I can’t do this right now,” you say, your voice breaking. You grab your bag and head in the bedroom, ignoring Cole’s protests as you leave.

It’s been days since the last fight with Cole, but the weight of his words hasn’t left you. He’s been quieter since then, distant but simmering. Every interaction feels like walking a tightrope—one wrong step, and everything will come crashing down.

You try to focus on work, on the comfort of the lab and Tony’s steady presence. But when you’re home, the walls close in. Cole’s criticisms have sunk deep, making you question everything about yourself. When you’re not fighting, there’s a suffocating tension, a calm before the inevitable storm.

One night, after a long shift at the lab, you come home to find him waiting in the living room. His expression is dark, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“You’re late,” he says flatly, his voice devoid of warmth.

You sigh, setting your bag down carefully by the door. “I told you I had to finish something important with Tony.”

“Of course,” he snaps, standing and pacing. “It’s always Tony, isn’t it? Tony this, Tony that. You spend more time with him than you do with me. Do you even want to be here, Y/N?”

The accusation cuts deep, but you’re too tired to argue. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He stops pacing, his eyes narrowing. “Barely. And when you are here, it’s like your mind’s somewhere else. Admit it—you’re thinking about him.”

“Cole, that’s not fair,” you say, your voice shaking. “I’ve told you before—Tony’s my friend. That’s all.”

His laugh is cold, bitter. “You really expect me to believe that? After everything? The gifts, the flowers, the way he looks at you? Hell, the way you light up when he’s around?”

“Stop,” you plead, tears welling up in your eyes. “Just stop. I can’t keep having this same fight with you.”

“Then maybe you should leave,” he says harshly, his words like a slap.

The silence that follows is deafening. For a moment, you wonder if he means it. But then his expression softens, and he steps closer, reaching for you.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly. “You know I just… I just get jealous because I care about you. Because I don’t want to lose you.”

You nod, even though your chest feels tight and the words taste bitter.

You let it go. Again.

The breaking point comes a few nights later. You’re in the kitchen, making dinner, when Cole comes home. He’s earlier than usual, and you can tell right away that something’s off. His movements are sharp, his expression stormy.

“Hey,” you say cautiously. “Everything okay?”

“Funny,” he says, dropping his keys on the counter with a loud clatter. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

He holds up his phone, and your stomach sinks when you see what’s on the screen: a photo of you and Tony in the lab. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand lightly brushing his arm.

“Where did you get that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says coldly. “What matters is that while I’m here, worrying about us, you’re out there playing happy little lab partners with Stark.”

“That’s not what this is,” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re blowing this out of proportion, Cole. It’s just a picture.”

“Oh, it’s just a picture,” he sneers. “You’re unbelievable, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself? Do you even realize how disrespectful this is to me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“I’m done,” he snaps, his voice rising. “I’m done being the guy you come home to while you spend all your time with him. If you want Tony so bad, why don’t you just go be with him?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Cole…” you start, tears streaming down your face. “You’re twisting this into something it’s not. I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” he says harshly. “If you did, you wouldn’t make me feel like this. Like I’m nothing to you.”

Something inside you snaps.

“I’ve done nothing but try to make this work,” you say, your voice breaking. “I’ve bent over backward to prove myself to you, to make you feel secure, and it’s never enough. Nothing I do is ever enough for you.”

“Maybe because you’re not enough,” he says, his words cutting like a knife.

The room spins, your chest tightening as the weight of his words crushes you. But then, through the haze of pain, something shifts.

You realize you can’t do this anymore.

You can’t keep living like this—walking on eggshells, shrinking yourself to fit into the narrow mold of what Cole thinks you should be.

Without a word, you turn and walk to the bedroom, grabbing a duffel bag from the closet.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice panicked now.

“I’m leaving,” you say, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “I can’t do this anymore, Cole. I can’t keep sacrificing myself for someone who doesn’t even see me.”

“You’re overreacting,” he says, his tone shifting to pleading. “Y/N, don’t do this. Don’t throw everything away.”

You stop, turning to face him one last time. “You did that all on your own.”

And with that, you walk out the door, the weight lifting off your shoulders even as your heart shatters.

It’s late by the time you arrive at Tony’s penthouse, your hands trembling as you knock on the door. The ride over had been a blur, your mind racing with everything that had just happened. You have nowhere else to go, no one else you can turn to.

When the door swings open, Tony’s standing there in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair tousled from what was probably a rare early night in. His eyes widen when he sees you, and then his expression softens, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Y/N?” he says gently. “What’s wrong?”

You try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat. Instead, a sob escapes, and before you know it, Tony’s pulling you into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his voice soothing as he holds you close. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long moment, you just stand there, letting yourself break in his arms. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t ask questions. He just holds you, his presence steady and grounding.

When you finally pull back, wiping at your tear-streaked face, he guides you inside, leading you to the couch.

“Take your time,” he says softly, sitting beside you. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, and then the words start pouring out. You tell him everything—about the fights, the jealousy, the way Cole made you feel like you were never enough. By the time you’re done, your voice is hoarse, and you’re trembling from the weight of it all.

Tony listens quietly, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with anger. But when he speaks, his voice is calm, steady.

“Y/N,” he says, reaching for your hand. “You didn’t deserve any of that. Not a single word, not a single moment.”

The sincerity in his voice breaks something inside you, and fresh tears spill over.

“I just… I thought I could fix it,” you whisper. “I thought if I tried hard enough, I could make him love me the way he used to.”

Tony’s grip on your hand tightens. “You shouldn’t have to try to earn someone’s love,” he says fiercely. “You deserve someone who sees you, who values you for exactly who you are.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything, letting his words sink in. And then, for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a spark of hope.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “For everything.”

Tony smiles softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Always.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in the safety of his presence, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re finally free.

Tony watches you carefully, his expression soft yet laced with worry. You’re sitting on the couch, bundled in one of his blankets, your eyes puffy from crying but starting to regain some of their warmth. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“Y/N,” he begins gently, his voice low and calming, “you don’t have to decide anything tonight, but… I want you to know you can stay here. For as long as you need. No questions, no pressure. Just stay.”

The weight of his offer makes you pause. It’s so simple, so heartfelt, yet so overwhelming. After everything that’s happened tonight, the idea of being anywhere but here—with Tony, with his steady strength—feels unbearable.

“Tony, I couldn’t,” you say, shaking your head. “This is your home, your space—”

“And now it’s your space too, if you need it,” he interrupts, his tone resolute but kind. “Come on, Y/N. You just walked out on a toxic situation, and you don’t need to figure everything out overnight. This place is big enough to lose half the Avengers in; you’re not crowding me. Besides…” He shrugs, grinning playfully. “I could use a roommate who doesn’t hack into my suits for fun.”

Despite yourself, you let out a soft laugh, and Tony’s smile widens, his expression lighting up at the sound.

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding slowly. “Just for a little while.”

Tony leans back, his relief palpable. “Good. And don’t worry about anything. I’ve got guest rooms, extra pajamas—hell, I’ll even share my secret stash of premium ice cream. No strings attached.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You have a secret ice cream stash?”

“Like I’d survive this crazy life without it,” he quips. “Come on, let’s raid it. Ice cream fixes everything.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sitting side by side on the couch, each armed with a pint of ice cream and a spoon. The TV plays in the background, some cheesy action movie neither of you is really watching. You’ve spent the past ten minutes venting, pouring out everything you’d been bottling up for months—the fights, the manipulation, the way Cole made you feel small and undeserving of love.

Tony listens intently, his expression shifting from anger to sadness to something else entirely—something softer, more protective. Every time you mention Cole’s name, his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He lets you talk, lets you spill everything, and when you finally fall silent, he speaks.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with both anger and sorrow, “I can’t tell you how much I hate that you went through all of that. And I’m trying—really trying—not to go full Iron Man on this guy and teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.”

You chuckle weakly, shaking your head. “Please don’t, Tony. He’s not worth it.”

“No, he’s not,” Tony agrees, his tone firm. “But you are. You’re worth everything, Y/N, and you deserve so much better than the crap he put you through.”

His words hit you hard, tears threatening to spill again. But this time, they’re tears of gratitude, of relief. You don’t know what you’d do without Tony’s unwavering support, without his ability to make you feel like you’re not alone.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “For all of this. For everything.”

Tony smiles softly, reaching over to give your hand a gentle squeeze. “Always.”

The night stretches on, and eventually, exhaustion starts to creep in. You’re still on the couch, your ice cream forgotten on the coffee table, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s voice is like a balm to your frayed nerves. You don’t even realize how tired you are until your head starts to droop, leaning closer and closer to Tony.

Before you know it, you’re resting against his shoulder, your breathing slow and even as sleep takes over.

Tony freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy. But then he looks down at you, his expression softening into something indescribably tender. He can’t help but smile, his heart swelling with emotions he’s spent years trying to keep at bay.

God, he’s in love with you.

He’s known it for a long time, but seeing you like this—vulnerable, trusting, safe in his presence—it hits him all over again. You’re everything to him, and if he’s being honest, he’s more than a little relieved that you’re finally free of Cole. Not just because of what Cole put you through, but because now there’s a chance—a tiny, fragile chance—that you might one day see Tony the way he sees you.

But tonight isn’t about that. Tonight is about you.

Carefully, Tony shifts slightly, wrapping an arm around you to make sure you’re comfortable. He grabs the throw blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you with practiced ease. You murmur something in your sleep, nuzzling closer to him, and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he whispers, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

He sits there for a long time, holding you as you sleep, his mind racing with thoughts of the future—of what he can do to help you heal, to make you feel whole again. Because if there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s this:

He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you never feel unloved or unworthy again.

Life at Tony’s penthouse is different—quiet, comforting, and safe. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like you’re holding your breath. No more walking on eggshells, no more second-guessing yourself over every little thing. It’s strange, this newfound sense of freedom, but slowly, you’re beginning to settle into it.

Tony, of course, makes it easy. He’s there in every way you need, whether it’s with his quick wit that always coaxes a laugh from you, or the way he seems to sense when you’re overwhelmed and knows just when to step in—or back off. He never pries, never pushes, but he’s always there.

A week into your stay, he insists on taking care of what you’ve been dreading.

“Y/N,” he says one morning over coffee, “I’ve got it handled.”

You frown, looking up from your mug. “Got what handled?”

“Your stuff,” he says casually, as if it’s no big deal. “I sent Happy and the team over to Cole’s to grab everything that’s yours. No way I’m letting you go back there and deal with him. Ever.”

Your stomach twists at the mention of Cole, but the weight lifts just as quickly at Tony’s matter-of-fact tone. He’s already handled it, just like that. No drama, no arguments, no lingering ties to your old life.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you stammer, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness.

Tony shrugs, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Say thank you, and maybe bake me some cookies later. I hear you make a mean chocolate chip.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “Thank you, Tony. Really.”

He winks. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

When the boxes arrive later that day, it’s bittersweet. You’re relieved to have your things back, but seeing them stacked in the corner of the guest room—the room Tony’s insisted is now your room—feels surreal. This is your life now, and it’s so different from what you’ve known.

Tony gives you space as you unpack, but he hovers nearby, always ready with a joke or an offer to help. When you pull out a framed photo of you and your family, your hands freeze, a lump forming in your throat.

Tony notices immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You nod, blinking back tears. “Yeah. Just… it’s a lot.”

“I know,” he says gently, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Take your time. And if you need a distraction…” He holds up a box with a grin. “I’ve got a few boxes labeled ‘miscellaneous,’ and I’m dying to know what you kept in them.”

You laugh, swatting his arm. “Nosy.”

“Hey, I’m offering my world-class organizing skills here. I’m practically Martha Stewart.”

His antics make it easier to get through the day, and by the time you’ve unpacked, the guest room feels less like a temporary space and more like a home.

Living with Tony is… easy.

He’s nothing like Cole, and that contrast is both liberating and disorienting. He doesn’t criticize you for sleeping in or for spending hours tinkering with your own projects in the lab. He doesn’t demand to know where you’ve been if you step out for a walk, or guilt you for wanting time alone.

Instead, Tony encourages you to take up space, to be yourself.

“You’ve got ideas, Y/N,” he says one day as you both work in the lab. “Brilliant ones. Don’t hold back just because you think I’ll be offended. Hell, half the time, you’re smarter than me. And trust me, that’s a compliment I don’t give lightly.”

You smile, the warmth in his words chasing away the lingering doubts that still sometimes creep in.

“You really mean that?”

“Always,” he says firmly.

And it’s not just his words—it’s his actions, too. Every morning, there’s a cup of your favorite coffee waiting for you, often accompanied by something small and thoughtful. One day, it’s a book you’d mentioned weeks ago. Another, it’s a tiny model of a starship from your favorite sci-fi series.

And sometimes, it’s flowers.

You find a fresh bouquet on the kitchen counter one morning, the note attached reading:

“For the brightest part of my day. -T”

Your heart swells, and you catch yourself smiling like a lovestruck teenager.

Not everything is smooth sailing, though. There are moments when the shadows of your past creep in, moments when Cole’s voice echoes in your mind, making you second-guess yourself.

One evening, after spending hours in the lab with Tony, you sit at the kitchen counter, staring at the empty takeout container in front of you. Guilt gnaws at the edges of your thoughts. Cole’s voice whispers in your ear: You’re wasting time again, Y/N. Neglecting the things that really matter.

Tony notices immediately.

“Hey,” he says, setting down his tablet and moving to your side. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You hesitate, not wanting to burden him. But Tony doesn’t let it slide.

“Y/N,” he says gently, his voice coaxing. “Talk to me.”

“I just… sometimes I feel like I’m not doing enough,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’m wasting time, or I’m not…”

“Not what?” Tony prompts, his brow furrowing.

“Not enough,” you say, your voice breaking.

Tony’s expression softens, and he crouches beside you, taking your hands in his.

“Y/N,” he says firmly, his voice full of conviction. “You are more than enough. Anyone who made you feel otherwise was wrong. Dead wrong. And if I ever meet him…” His jaw tightens, but then he exhales, forcing himself to relax. “Let me rephrase. If I ever meet him, I’ll shake his hand for one reason only—because he was stupid enough to let you go, and now I get to remind you every day how incredible you are.”

You blink, his words sinking in like sunlight breaking through a storm.

“You really mean that?” you ask, your voice trembling.

Tony grins. “Of course I do. Have you met me? I don’t say things I don’t mean. Now, come on. Let’s grab dessert and watch something terrible on TV. My treat.”

He pulls you to your feet, and for the first time in a long time, you feel light—free.

As the weeks pass, you start to feel more like yourself again. Tony’s unrelenting support, his thoughtfulness, and his ridiculous sense of humor remind you that life doesn’t have to be heavy, that you can be happy without fear of consequences.

And through it all, Tony is there—steady, reliable, and quietly, hopelessly in love with you.

It’s an ordinary evening at Tony’s penthouse. You’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a soft smile on your face as you watch Tony make an attempt—well, a valiant attempt—at cooking dinner. He’s muttering something about how much easier it would be if he could just program JARVIS to handle all his culinary disasters, and the sight is enough to make your chest feel warm.

For months now, you’ve been living here, slowly piecing yourself back together. Tony has been your anchor, your constant, and somewhere along the way, the feelings you’d kept buried for so long started to resurface. At first, you chalked it up to gratitude, to the safety he gave you, but now you know better.

You’re in love with him.

It terrifies you—because the last time you opened yourself up to someone, it left you shattered. But this is Tony. He’s nothing like Cole, and deep down, you know he never would be.

Still, you haven’t told him. Not yet.

The sound of your phone vibrating on the counter pulls you out of your thoughts. The number on the screen is unfamiliar, but without thinking, you answer.

“Hello?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, and then a voice you haven’t heard in months makes your blood run cold.

“Y/N,” Cole says, his tone smooth and familiar, and your stomach clenches.

Panic floods your veins, your breathing hitching as you freeze in place.

“Y/N, it’s me. Look, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I just… I need to talk to you. I need you to understand—”

Your mind races, and suddenly, the walls of Tony’s penthouse feel too close, too confining. Before you can respond—or hang up—the phone is gently taken from your hand.

You look up to see Tony standing beside you, his expression calm but deadly serious.

“Who is this?” he says, his tone steely as he presses the phone to his ear.

There’s a pause, and you watch as Tony’s jaw tightens. He glances at you, his eyes softening briefly before his face hardens again.

“Cole,” Tony says, his voice low and dangerous. “Yeah, I know who you are. And you’re going to listen very carefully. This is the last time you’ll ever call her. If you try to contact her again—in any way—I’ll make sure the authorities know exactly who you are and what you’ve done. Am I clear?”

You hear muffled protests on the other end, but Tony doesn’t let him get another word in.

“Good,” Tony snaps, and then he ends the call, tossing your phone onto the counter.

The room falls silent, save for the sound of your uneven breathing. Tony turns to you, his expression softening immediately.

“Y/N,” he says gently, stepping closer. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s not going to bother you again. I promise.”

You nod, but the panic is still bubbling under the surface, your hands trembling as you try to process what just happened.

“Come here,” Tony says softly, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. His embrace is warm, solid, and for the first time since you heard Cole’s voice, you feel like you can breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Tony pulls back just enough to look at you, his brow furrowing. “Hey, don’t apologize. None of this is your fault. Not a single thing.”

You nod, but tears spill down your cheeks anyway. Tony reaches up, brushing them away with his thumb.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice steady but full of emotion. “You’re safe here. With me. He doesn’t get to have any power over you anymore, okay? Not while I’m around.”

You sniffle, managing a small nod. “Okay.”

Tony’s arms tighten around you, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“You’re stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

His words sink into you, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. “Thank you, Tony.”

He smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Always, sweetheart.”

And in that moment, as you look into his warm brown eyes, you feel something shift. The fear and panic begin to fade, replaced by something else entirely—something safe, steady, and unwavering.

It’s love. And this time, it feels like it could be yours.

Tony Stark steps out of his sleek black Audi, the hum of the engine fading as he straightens his suit jacket. The dimly lit street in front of Cole’s crummy apartment is a far cry from the luxury of the penthouse, and the contrast isn’t lost on him. He checks his watch briefly—he doesn’t want to take too long. Not when you’re back at home, waiting for him to start your movie night.

He sighs, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the discomfort of what he’s about to do. This isn’t his style, not anymore. But for you? For you, he’d tear apart the world.

Walking up the cracked concrete steps, Tony barely glances at the graffiti-covered walls or the muffled arguments echoing from other apartments. He finds Cole’s unit easily enough; Happy’s intel was, as always, flawless. Without hesitation, he knocks sharply.

The door creaks open, revealing Cole’s confused face. It takes him a moment to recognize Tony, but when he does, his confusion morphs into unease.

“Tony Stark?” Cole asks, his voice unsure. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Tony doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Cole scoffs, attempting to mask his nerves with bravado. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. And Y/N—”

“Stop,” Tony cuts him off, his tone sharp as a knife. He steps forward, his presence filling the doorway. “You don’t get to say her name. Not after everything you’ve done.”

Cole backs up slightly, his bravado slipping. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but this is none of your business.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, his expression calm but ice-cold. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Y/N is my business. She’s under my roof, and she’s finally starting to feel like herself again after everything you put her through. And then you had the audacity to call her?” He steps closer, his voice lowering to something almost lethal. “Big mistake.”

Cole tries to put on a sneer, but it doesn’t quite land. “What are you gonna do, Stark? Use your money to buy me off? Intimidate me with your Iron Man shtick?”

Tony smirks, pulling a sleek envelope from his jacket pocket. “Actually, yeah, I am.” He tosses the envelope onto a nearby table. “Inside, you’ll find a one-way ticket to France, fully paid for, and a sizable amount of cash to make sure you don’t come crawling back anytime soon. Call it my version of charity.”

Cole picks up the envelope, flipping through the contents with a scowl. “And what if I don’t take it?”

Tony steps closer, his voice dropping to a low, deadly tone. “Then I’ll make sure everyone knows who you really are, Cole. Your manipulative, gaslighting, toxic little games? They’re over. If you so much as breathe in Y/N’s direction again, I’ll ruin you in ways you can’t even imagine. You won’t just lose her—you’ll lose everything.”

Cole glares at him, but the fear in his eyes is unmistakable. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, I can,” Tony interrupts smoothly, leaning in so his face is mere inches from Cole’s. “And I will. Because she deserves peace, and I’m going to make damn sure she gets it. So take the deal, Cole. Consider it the best option you’ll ever get.”

For a moment, the room is silent. Cole’s jaw tightens, but he knows he’s been cornered. With a muttered curse, he throws the envelope onto the table.

“Fine,” Cole snaps. “I’ll take your stupid deal.”

Tony straightens, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “Smart choice. Now, pack your things. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning. And remember…” He pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “Stay gone.”

Without another word, Tony leaves, his steps confident as he heads back to his car.

By the time Tony returns to the penthouse, the tension in his chest has eased. He knows Cole won’t be a problem anymore, and that knowledge alone is enough to make him feel lighter.

When he steps into the living room, he finds you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs and a bowl of popcorn in your lap. You look up as he enters, a soft smile spreading across your face.

“There you are,” you say warmly. “I was starting to think you bailed on me.”

Tony grins, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “Bail on movie night? Not a chance.”

He sits down beside you, grabbing a handful of popcorn and leaning back into the cushions. The tension from earlier melts away entirely as you press play on the movie, your laughter filling the room moments later.

Tony glances at you, his chest tightening—not with worry, but with something far sweeter. You’re here, you’re safe, and you’re smiling.

And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

The morning sun filters through the penthouse windows, bathing the living room in golden light. You’re seated on the couch, your laptop balanced on your knees as you scroll through apartment listings. A knot tightens in your stomach with every tab you open, but you keep going. This is what you need to do, you tell yourself. It’s time to stand on your own two feet again.

Tony strolls in, coffee mug in hand, dressed casually in sweatpants and a faded band t-shirt that somehow looks effortlessly stylish. His hair is tousled, as if he just woke up, and the sight makes your heart ache more than you’d like to admit.

“Morning,” he greets, his voice warm and gravelly. He nods toward your laptop. “What’re you working on?”

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I… I’m looking for apartments.”

Tony freezes mid-sip, lowering his mug with exaggerated slowness. “Apartments?” he echoes, his tone carefully neutral.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile. “I mean, I’ve been here for months now. You’ve been more than generous, Tony, but I think it’s time I find my own place. Get back to normal, you know?”

Tony leans against the counter, his gaze fixed on you. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence stretches just long enough to make you squirm.

“Normal?” he finally says, a hint of teasing in his voice. “What’s so great about normal? I thought you liked our penthouse movie nights, me burning half the dinner, and JARVIS randomly suggesting we upgrade the toaster.”

You laugh softly, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I do like all that. It’s just… I can’t stay here forever. I need to prove to myself that I can do this on my own.”

Tony’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He sets his mug down on the counter, crossing his arms. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/N. Least of all me.”

“It’s not about proving something to you,” you say, your voice quieter now. “It’s about proving it to myself. I’ve been leaning on you for so long, and I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done. But…”

Tony’s lips press into a thin line, and he nods, cutting you off gently. “But you’re ready to spread your wings, find your own space. I get it.”

He’s trying so hard to sound casual, but you see through him. His eyes don’t quite meet yours, and his usual easy confidence seems dimmed.

You hate how much it hurts to see him like this. And worse, you hate how much it hurts you to even consider leaving.

“Tony, it’s not like I’ll be far,” you say, trying to ease the tension. “I’ll visit all the time. You’ll probably get sick of me dropping by unannounced.”

Tony finally meets your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not possible. But, hey, if that’s what you want, I’ll support you.”

The words are so simple, so Tony. He’s always supported you, always put your needs above his own. And maybe that’s part of why leaving feels so wrong.

Over the next few days, you keep searching for apartments, though your heart isn’t in it. You don’t want to leave—not really—but the fear that’s been gnawing at you since Cole resurfaces every time you catch Tony looking at you a little too long, or when his hand brushes yours during movie night, or when he smiles at you like you’re the only person in the room.

You’re falling for him. Hard.

And it terrifies you.

You’ve been burned before, shattered by someone you thought you could trust. And even though Tony is nothing like Cole—even though he’s shown you nothing but kindness and care—part of you can’t help but think that loving him would leave you just as broken.

So you push him away, bit by bit.

Tony notices.

One evening, you’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner. You don’t hear Tony approach until he’s standing next to you, leaning casually against the counter.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, his tone light but probing.

You glance at him, forcing a smile. “Have I?”

He nods, studying you with those sharp, perceptive eyes. “You’re pulling back. I can see it.”

Your hands still, and you grip the edge of the counter. “I’m not pulling back,” you say weakly.

Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, if you need space, just say so. I’ll back off, no questions asked. But if this is about more than just apartments…” He trails off, searching your face.

You shake your head quickly. “It’s not about anything else.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you. But he doesn’t press further.

“Okay,” he says softly. “If that’s what you want.”

That night, you lie awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling. The guilt churns in your stomach, warring with the fear you can’t seem to shake.

You think about Tony—his laugh, his kindness, the way he makes you feel like you’re worth something.

And then you think about Cole, about the way he made you feel small, worthless, afraid.

Tears prick at your eyes as you realize the truth: you’re not pushing Tony away because of him. You’re pushing him away because of you. Because you’re scared of letting yourself be loved, scared of what it means to let someone in again.

But deep down, you know that Tony isn’t Cole. He never has been, and he never will be.

The thought stays with you as you drift off to sleep, unsure of what tomorrow will bring—but certain of one thing.

Tony Stark has your heart. And maybe it’s time to let him keep it.

The new apartment is nice. Spacious enough, with lots of natural light pouring through the big windows. It has the kind of charm you’d usually love—cozy corners for reading, a kitchen you can actually picture yourself cooking in. But as you stand in the middle of the living room, surrounded by neatly stacked boxes and the faint smell of fresh paint, it feels hollow.

Tony is across the room, carefully setting down a box labeled "fragile." He straightens up, brushing imaginary dust off his hands, and gives you a lopsided grin. “Well, that’s the last of it. You’re officially moved in.”

You force a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Thanks for all your help.”

“Anytime.” He pauses, his smile faltering slightly as his eyes flicker over your face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, avoiding his gaze.

He doesn’t push, just nods slowly. “Right. Well…” He glances around, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How about one last night at the penthouse? A farewell to the old place before you settle in here.”

You hesitate. You know he’s giving you an excuse, a reason to stall without outright saying it. But the idea of leaving this quiet, empty apartment for one more night in the warmth of his home… in the warmth of him… is too tempting to resist.

“Okay,” you say softly.

Tony’s face lights up, and it tugs at something deep in your chest. “Great. Let’s go grab takeout and pick a movie. Your choice this time.”

That night, you’re lying in bed in Tony’s penthouse, staring at the ceiling. The sound of the city hums faintly in the background, but your mind is far from quiet.

This doesn’t feel right. None of it does.

Moving into the new apartment, leaving behind the safety and comfort of Tony’s home—it feels like you’re walking away from something you don’t actually want to let go of.

Your chest tightens as you think about him, about the way he’s been your constant these past months. The way he’s shown you kindness and patience, reminding you of your worth when you’d forgotten it. The way he looks at you, like you’re the most important person in the world.

And the truth you’ve been avoiding hits you like a freight train: You’re in love with him. You have been for a long time.

The thought makes your heart race—not with fear, but with something else entirely. Something that feels a lot like hope.

Unable to stay still, you throw off the covers and swing your legs out of bed. You need to tell him. Now.

But when you open the bedroom door, you find him standing there, in his plaid pajama pants and an old band t-shirt, looking startled to see you.

“Tony?” you whisper, confused.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, I wasn’t spying or anything, I just… I wanted to check on you. You seemed off earlier, and I thought—”

“You were standing outside my door?”

“Yeah,” he admits, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Okay, it sounds weird when you say it like that, but I didn’t want to bother you if you were sleeping, so…”

Your heart swells at the sight of him—this brilliant, confident man looking so adorably unsure of himself.

“Tony,” you say softly, stepping closer.

He takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious. “I need to say something,” he says, his voice quieter now. “And I know the timing sucks, and I’m probably going to mess this up, but… I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you for a while now. And I know you’ve been through hell, and the last thing I want to do is make things harder for you, but I can’t keep it in anymore.”

Your breath catches in your throat, but Tony doesn’t stop.

“I get it if you’re not ready, or if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed you to know. Because having you in my life has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and—”

You don’t let him finish.

Closing the space between you, you press your lips to his, cutting off his rambling with a kiss that’s soft and certain.

Tony freezes for a moment, his brain seemingly short-circuiting, before he kisses you back with an intensity that makes your knees weak. His hands come up to cup your face, holding you like you’re something precious, something he can’t quite believe is real.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, his expression caught somewhere between stunned and elated.

“I want to give this a chance,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m scared, and I need to go slow, but… I want this. I want you.”

Tony’s face splits into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen, and he looks at you like you’ve just handed him the universe.

“As slow as you want,” he says quickly, his voice full of breathless excitement. “But, uh… can I have another kiss? Just, you know, to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

You laugh, your heart lighter than it’s been in years. “Yeah, you can have another kiss.”

And when you kiss him again, it feels like coming home.

Life with Tony Stark as your boyfriend is both everything you expected and nothing like you imagined. He’s indulgent, affectionate, and relentless in making you feel like the most important person in the world. But there’s also an unshakable tenderness in how he supports you—helping you unpack not just the physical baggage of your life but the emotional scars left behind by Cole.

It starts with the small things.

In the weeks following your confession, Tony seems to be on a personal mission to make you laugh every day. He whisks you off to rooftop picnics, surprises you with coffee at exactly the right time during your workday, and keeps gifting you little trinkets he claims “just reminded me of you.” One morning, you wake to find a tiny key-shaped necklace on your bedside table with a note attached: “You already have the key to my heart, but this one’s cuter.”

He doesn’t stop there. Every chance he gets, Tony casually reminds you of your beauty. Whether it’s a whispered “God, you’re stunning” as he watches you brush your hair, or a grin as he walks into the room and says, “How are you real?” he refuses to let a day pass without telling you how much you mean to him.

At first, it’s overwhelming. You’re not used to this—to being loved so openly, so freely, without conditions.

And sometimes, the habits Cole drilled into you creep in.

One night, you’re cooking dinner. It’s been a long day for both of you, but Tony insists on helping, chopping vegetables while chatting animatedly about a new design he’s working on. You laugh at his enthusiasm, but there’s a pang of guilt in your chest as you glance at the cluttered counter.

“I should’ve cleaned up first,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this mess.”

Tony pauses, knife mid-air, and looks at you with furrowed brows. “What?”

“It’s just… messy,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the kitchen. “You’ve had a long day, and—”

“Whoa, hold up,” he interrupts, setting the knife down. “Y/N, I’m not exactly allergic to a few crumbs on the counter. And even if I were, it wouldn’t matter because I’m here with you.”

You glance away, embarrassed. “I just don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Tony steps closer, gently taking your hands in his. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not an inconvenience. You’ve never been an inconvenience. If you leave a mess, we clean it up. If you’re tired, we order takeout. Whatever it is, we figure it out together. Okay?”

You nod, blinking back tears.

He leans down to kiss your forehead, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t have to shrink yourself for me, Y/N. Not ever.”

Moments like that happen often.

You find yourself unconsciously deferring to Tony’s preferences—asking him what he wants to watch, what he wants to eat, what he thinks you should wear. It’s not intentional; it’s just a habit born from years of trying to keep the peace with someone who made you feel like you could never do anything right.

Tony, of course, notices.

“Okay, hold up,” he says one evening, holding the TV remote hostage as you try to hand it to him.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not making this decision,” he declares. “You pick the movie.”

“But—”

“Nope.” He cuts you off with a cheeky grin. “Your turn. I’ll watch anything. Even one of those rom-coms where everyone falls in love during a snowstorm and learns the true meaning of Christmas.”

You laugh despite yourself. “You hate those movies.”

“Not true,” he says with mock seriousness. “I love them if you’re watching with me. So what’s it gonna be?”

It’s a small thing, picking a movie. But when you make your choice and see the way Tony smiles—like he’s proud of you for speaking up—it feels like a victory.

Tony’s affection isn’t just verbal.

He’s incredibly touchy, constantly finding excuses to hold your hand, drape an arm around your shoulders, or pull you into a hug. When you’re working late in the lab, he sneaks up behind you to kiss your temple or nuzzle your neck, murmuring something about how much he loves seeing your “brilliant brain in action.”

And he adores cuddling.

One lazy Sunday morning, you wake to find him practically glued to your side, his arm slung around your waist and his head resting on your shoulder.

“You’re clingy,” you tease, though you make no effort to move away.

“Clingy?” he echoes, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know this is a highly advanced form of affection distribution.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Oh, is that what this is?”

“Absolutely,” he says, leaning into your touch. “Can’t let my girlfriend forget how much I love her. It’s a full-time job.”

Your heart swells at the word girlfriend. It still feels surreal, hearing him say it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Over time, you start to notice a shift within yourself.

The habits you developed around Cole—the constant second-guessing, the need to please, the fear of taking up space—begin to fade. It’s not an overnight change, but it’s there, thanks to Tony’s unrelenting patience and love.

He doesn’t just tell you that you’re enough; he shows you, every single day.

One evening, you’re sitting on the couch together, your legs draped over his lap as you sip a glass of wine. Out of nowhere, he says, “You know you’re amazing, right?”

You look at him, surprised. “What brought that on?”

“Just felt like saying it,” he replies with a shrug, though there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re smart, funny, gorgeous, and you have this way of lighting up a room without even trying. I don’t think I’ve told you that today, so…”

You set your glass down and lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?” he asks, his arms sliding around your waist.

“For loving me the way you do.”

Tony pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression serious. “Y/N, loving you isn’t something I do. It’s who I am.”

Months pass, and the two of you settle into a rhythm—a life filled with laughter, love, and the occasional mishap (usually involving Tony’s cooking experiments).

You start to feel like yourself again, like the person you were before Cole, only stronger. And every time you catch Tony looking at you with that soft, adoring expression, you’re reminded that this is what love is supposed to feel like.

Safe. Supportive. Unconditional.

And every day, you fall for him a little more.

Girls, boys, people, never ever doubt your self worth, and more than anything don't let anyone make you doubt of it. Because you're worth it, you're worth everything. Remember, if he hits you, it's not love, if he makes you feel small or underserving or bad, or anything like that, it's not love. Love is supposed to turn you to the best version of yourself, to make you happy. Always remember that <3

[fanfictiongirlie]

Marvel: Unplanned Chapter Six

Parings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (First person written though)

Description:

"It says...it says it's positive doll" His voice matching mine in a quiet shaky whisper.

"Fuck... I'm pregnant?"

"Yeah doll, you're pregnant"

"Fuck" I whisper.

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: Daddy kink, smut, swearing

Chapter Words: 3,150

(I have the urge for every Marvel fanfic I write to have a seperate timeline where nothing bad happens, and everyone is happy)

A few weeks later Bucky and I sat in the dreaded doctor's office again, my knee was bouncing as we waited to be called in. I had hoped during my adult years I'd get over my fear of doctors, but of course not. 

Once we were finally called in, the doctor; Dr.Addams had me lie down on the table and lift my shirt. I watched the screen as it showed our baby, I felt tears in my eyes as I watched, Bucky's hand held tightly onto mine as he watched the screen, his eyes wide as he watched the screen. 

"Do you wish to know the gender?" Dr.Addams asks. Bucky glances at me, his eyes meeting mine. I nod gently to him. 

"Yeah, we'd love to know" He says to the doctor, his voice filled with anticipation. Our doctor smiles and continues to move the wand over my stomach, searching for the right angle. 

"Alright, I think we're got it, are you ready to find out?" She asks. Bucky and I nod eagerly. I feel my heart pound a little harder, mine and Bucky's hands were sweaty as we held onto one another. 

"You're having a girl" The doctor says excitedly. I squeeze Bucky's hand a little tighter. 

"A girl?" I whisper. 

"Yeah doll, we're having a girl"

Bucky couldn't stop smiling, his eyes fixated on the ultrasound screen. He leans over to me and presses a sweet kiss to my lips. Once we were done in the Doctors, we left and drove straight back to the compound, excited to tell everyone the news. I smiled fondly to myself as I drove us home, the Avengers were excited to have a baby in the building. 

Bucky walked beside me as we entered the Compound, his arm was wrapped around my shoulders, holding me close. I felt as if we both had a glow about us, from the happiness we felt. 

"Should we tell everyone now?" I ask as we walk through the hallway towards the common room. Bucky nodded, his smile not faltering one bit. 

"Yeah, let's tell them. I'm sure they're all dying to know" 

"I bet they're waiting for us" I smirk. 

"Yeah, they probably are" He grins, nodding in agreement. I take his hand in mine and pull him towards the common room, we were right, they were waiting together, huddled in the room, they had clearly been waiting for our arrival. 

"Were you waiting for us?" I ask, I step closer to Nat, her hand moved up to touch my bump, stroking me gently. The group laughed and nodded to my question. 

"Yeah, we've been sitting on the edge of our seats" Clint spoke first. 

"We wanted to know if we were getting a niece or nephew" Nat said fondly. 

I raised my hand holding it over my heart "Oh you guys, you're so cute!"

Everyone grinned, clearly enjoying themselves. I watched as Bucky walked over to Steve, the two of them doing that manly hug they always do. 

"We're having a girl!" I say excitedly. There was a chorus of excitement and cheers from the others, clearly happy and thrilled with the news. Sam lets out a whoop. 

"Wow, a girl? That's amazing" Tony adds. 

"Congratulations, you two" Nat speaks "I'm happy for you" 

I watch as Bucky grins, I walk over to where he sat and got comfortable on his lap, his arms wrapped protectively around me, his face covered in obvious happiness. 

"A girl, eh? That's wonderful news. I have a feeling she'll be as fierce and strong as her mother" Thor says, his voice bellowing throughout the room. I turned to him and smiled sweetly. 

"Thank you Thor" 

"You're welcome, and I'm sure Bucky here will be a great father! He has a good heart and a brave soul!" Thor says, slapping Bucky on the shoulder fondly. I grin and look to Bucky, my heart swelling. His eyes meet mine, a soft tender look travels between us. His hand finds mine and laces our fingers together. I lean down and pressed my lips against his, kissing him more deeply than I originally intended too. 

I moved away and muttered a sorry. 

"No need to apologise doll, I didn't mind that" He answers. 

"Mmm even though I kissed you in front of everyone?" I ask. He chuckles softly, a smirk over his lips as he looks to me. Luckily the Avengers weren't paying attention to us. 

"Yeah doll, I don't mind knowing how much my girl wants me" He murmurs, reaching up to kiss me again. 

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A few weeks later as I entered my 23rd week of pregnancy, I laid on my bed, it was roughly 2am, and I was awake, I groaned loudly my hand holding onto my stomach as the baby kicked me again. 

"Doll, what's wrong?" Bucky asked, his voice deep from sleep, he sat up slightly and looked at me, worry in his eyes. 

"She's fucking kicking" I groan again as the baby gets another kick in. "I just wanna sleep"

Bucky frowns, clearly concerned as he moves closer to me, he reaches up to brush a strand of my hair away from my face. 

"Is there anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable?" He asks. I feel my cheeks flush as I think of something I had read in the baby books. 

"Talk to her?" I ask, the voices feeling silly as I spoke them "The books say it might help"

Bucky's face softens, a small smile tugging at his lips, but I knew he wasn't laughing at me. 

"Yeah I can do that, I can talk to our little girl, try to get her to settle so you can sleep" He scoots closer to me and wiggles down the bed, his hand moved over my stomach, and he speaks again, his voice soft. 

"Hey there, sweetheart...It's your dada speaking, can you be good for mama, and let her sleep?" His voice was soft, and his lips brushed against the skin of my stomach as he spoke "Your kicks are making her uncomfortable" 

My heart swelled at his words, I closed my eyes as he spoke, trying to relax, Bucky's hand rubs my bump gently, continuing to speak in a low, soothing tone. I felt the baby kick again, I groaned. 

"Come on, darlin'. Settle down, your mama needs her rest, I promise you can kick as much as you want when she's had some sleep, okay?" 

"Hey!" I whine "Don't tell her she can kick!"

Bucky grins at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he chuckles. 

"What? I can't tell our little girl to kick her mama as much as she wants? That's no fun!" 

"You're a dick" I say, groaning as she kicks again. Bucky laughs and presses a kiss to my bump. 

"Hey! Watch the language doll, we don't want our girl's first word to be a curse, do we?" He smirks, I definitely swore too much, and he always commented on it. 

"Oh shut up" I say rolling my eyes "She hasn't even been born yet, she can't hear me swear...can she?" I ask, unsure, could she hear me? Bucky grins and shakes his head, his hand rubbing my bump softly. 

"She can definitely hear you. They say babies can hear voices and noises from the outside word whilst they're in the womb, so watch your mouth" He grins "You don't want our little girl to grow up with a potty mouth, do you?"

"I hate that you read the baby books" I say smirking, joking of course. Bucky laughs and shrugs. 

"I want to be a good father, I figured I ought to do some research and educate myself, don't hate on me for being a responsible daddy" He grins, beaming as he bigs himself up. 

"Mmm I think daddy should come up here and kiss me" I smirk, feeling a little silly, but it felt hot saying it, and by the way Bucky's eyes darkened, I could see he liked it too. 

"Oh yeah? You want daddy to come up there and give you some loving?" 

"Mmm yeah"

Bucky grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief, he slowly crawls up the bed, approaching me. 

"You want lovin' from daddy doll?" He asks again. 

"I do baby" I smirk, loving the game I had started. Bucky grins, his eyes smoldering as he moves closer to me, now hovering over me. 

"You like it when daddy takes charge, don't you? You like it when daddy gives you what you want?" He whispers. 

"Fuck yes, yeah I do" 

Bucky growls low in his throat, his eyes darkening further, he moves closer, pressing his body against mine. 

"You want daddy to give it do you baby?" He asks quietly. Each time he says the word, it sends sparks down to my pussy. I needed him. 

"Daddy" I said, breathing heavy, my eyes now closed "Give it to me" 

Bucky was grinding his hips down onto mine, his hard cock rubbing against my pussy, only his boxers and my pyjama bottoms in between us. 

"Oh I'll give it to you" He whispers, his throat letting out a low, feral growl, he moves forward nuzzling his face into my neck, his lips grazing my skin. "Daddy's gonna give you everything you want, and more, just say the word and it's yours"

"Fuck me please" I whisper as I rub my hips up towards his. I could feel how wet I was, a wet patch obvious were he had been rubbing on my pyjama trousers. Finally Bucky's fingers snake into my trousers, he lets out a low guttural groan as his fingers slide into me with ease. 

"Fuck, you're so wet, so wet for daddy" He groans, his fingers spreading my tight hole. 

"Flip me over and fuck me" I demand softly, his eyes snap to mine, looking at me with such need, I watch as he smirks, he moved his fingers away from my pussy and to my hip, gently he flips my body over, pulling me up on my knees. I rested my arms on the bed, holding myself up. 

I shivered as I felt him line his cock up to my hole, he pushes forward and enters me, his head falls forward and rests in the middle of my shoulders as he pushes completely against my hips. 

Bucky let's out a stifled groan as he enters me completely. He waits a moment, and then slams into me, I moan loudly, my head falling forward to rest on the pillow. 

"Fuck yes daddy" I whine. Bucky lets out another low growl, his grip on my hips tightening as he picks up the pace, his body slamming into mine. 

"Feels good, huh? Feels good having daddy take your tight little hole? You like this, don't you? Fuck, you're so perfect baby, play with yourself for daddy" His words were rushed, and low as his cock stretched me out. I moaned at his words, and did as told I snaked my arm down and played with my clit, rubbing myself harshly, needing to come. It didn't take me long, I felt myself tightening around him, my legs become weaker as I come, his grip on my hips holding me up. 

"Fuck, yes Bucky, you're so fucking good at that" I moan. Bucky groans loudly, his hips moving faster as he releasing into me, coating my inner walls. I clenched his cock as he moved out of me, causing him to groan. 

"Fuck, that was good" I whisper as he flops half on me and half on the bed, careful not to lay on my bump. 

"That was really good doll"

I groan again as the baby kicks my stomach. 

"Ow!"

"She kicking again?" He asks, his hand moving to rub my stomach. 

"Yeah, I might take a bath, maybe it'll calm her down" I say, climbing out of bed. Bucky follows, pushing my gently back on the bed. 

"A bath sounds like a good idea, I'll go run it for you" He grins walking into my bathroom, I waited on the bed, rubbing my stomach absentmindedly. Once the bath was drawn, Bucky came and took my hand in his, pulling me towards the bathroom, I step into the water moaning at the feeling of the warm water on my skin. 

"How's the water doll? Not too hot, right?" He asks sitting on the floor next to the tub. 

"It's lovely" I sigh happily, as I relax into the water. Bucky grins and reaches out to stroke my hair gently. 

"Good, just relax and enjoy, you need if after a long day of carrying our girl around" He whispers. 

"Mmmm you're so nice" I say, sighing happily. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure doll"

"We've been officially dating for what..3 weeks or so? Why haven't you taken me out on a proper date?" I ask, I turn my head to lean on the tub, my eyes locking with his. Bucky looks at me surprised and a little sheepish, he scratches the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed. 

"Uhhh...well...I've just been...I've just been focused on taking care of you, you know? With the baby, I figured it was more important to be here for you, make sure you're comfortable and everything. I guess I didn't really think about taking you out on a proper date...I'm sorry" He rambles, I smirk enjoying the flustered Bucky. 

"Lame excuse" I say "I wanna be wined and dined, just without the wined part" I say making a sad face, not being allowed wine at the minute. Bucky chuckles and grins, amused. He reaches and rubs my arm, his touch affectionate. 

"I get it doll, I'll take you on a proper date, I promise, I'll spoil you rotten"

"Sounds perfect" I say, I take another deep breath moving again to get comfortable, the baby stopped kicking thankfully "What shall we name her?"

Bucky thinks for a moment, his eyes look down to my bump and then back to my eyes "Hmm, I don't know...Do you have any names in mind?"

"I'm not sure" I say truthfully. 

Bucky smiles and reaches up gently to caress my cheek. "We have plenty of time to figure it out, we can look through the baby books to get some ideas"

"I like that idea" I say wistfully, the water relaxing my whole body. "She's not kicking anymore...We should pick godparents, I know we won't be officially baptising her, but I'd like to have two people there incase anything happens to us" 

"That's a good idea darling" He agrees, his expression suddenly very serious, he takes my hand in his and squeezes it gently. 

"Who though?" I ask. 

I watch as Bucky thinks for a moment, his hand still holding mine. "Hmm, well I would like Steve to be one of those people, he's reliable, responsible and he'd do anything to protect her"

"Yeah Stevie's an obvious choice" I smile, I knew Bucky would probably have picked Steve, so it only made sense that I chose my best friend.

"I'd like Nat to be a godparent too, she's my best friend, she's do anything for me and for our little girl" I say softly, my eyes drooping slightly, the bath relaxing me. 

"I have another thing to tell you" I say suddenly, I had meant to tell Bucky this earlier today, but I had completely forgotten. Bucky cocked his head, looking at me, waiting for me to speak. 

"Tony has been renovating a new apartment space for us, it'll be bigger with a main bedroom, a nursery and a small living room and connected kitchen, he thought it'd be nice for when the baby was here" I say, nerves kicking up over my body. 

"That makes sense doll, we spend every night together anyway, might as well make it permanent" He grins and moves forward pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

"We can paint her nursery pink" I giggle sleepily. 

Bucky chuckles at my excitement, his eyebrows lifting in amused surprise. "Pink huh? You already have your heart set on pink?"

"Oh definitely, my favourite colour is pink, and I have a feeling she will love it too!" I grin. 

"Oh, you think so huh? You think she'll take after her mama?" 

"I hope so, knowing my luck she'll be a complete mini you" I smirk. Bucky laughs softly, a cocky smirk on his lips. 

"You say that like it's a bad thing" 

"Hmm maybe" I smirk playfully "I can't believe we're having a daughter, like we're having a baby" 

Bucky's smile softens, his expression turning fond as he gazes to my baby bump, as it poked above the water slightly. "Yeah doll, I can't believe it either, it's surreal...In a few months we'll have a little girl, it's kind of crazy to think about"

"We really need to start shopping" I say laughing softly, we hadn't done any shopping yet. "So, we gonna talk about earlier?" I ask, thinking back to the sex, the warmth in my legs growing as I thought about it. I watch as Bucky blushes. 

"I guess we got a little carried away...Didn't we?" He said sheepishly. 

"You seemed to like it...daddy" I smirked. I watched as his blush deepens, his smirk widening into a cocky grin. 

"Don't get cheeky doll, talking to daddy like that"

"I'm sorry daddy" I smirk, blowing bath bubbles at him. He laughs, his expression transforming into a look of playfulness. 

"You're not sorry, you're being a brat" He says, his voice low and dark. 

"Okay...so you definitely like the daddy play" I say smirking. 

"Oh yeah doll, I really liked it. Couldn't you tell by my reaction?" He says, his expression slightly mischievous. 

"Think I'm done with the bath" I say, standing up, I watch as Bucky shamelessly lets his gaze wander up and down my naked body, admiring my figure. I grab a towel and dry myself off, Bucky grabs me a new set of pyjamas, helping me get into them, I smiled warmly at him, feeling my heart swell. We climbed back into bed, he follows me, and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close against his body, he nuzzles his face into my neck, his breath tickling my skin. 

"Goodnight Buck" I whisper. I feel as Bucky presses a kiss to my skin "Goodnight doll, sleep well, sweet dreams" He rambles, I wait a little bit, not able to fall asleep just yet, I snuggle closer to him, listening to his breathing, I smiled softly when I heard soft snores next to me. I turn my head slightly to look at him. Bucky was asleep, he looked so peaceful, and perfect. 

"I love you" I whisper, as I close my eyes, resting my forehead against his, ready to sleep. 

(I do not consent my works to be posted anywhere else, by anyone other than myself)

Taglist:

@quinquinquincy @jaybbygrl @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @learisa @hi172826 @ravennablue @purplecolordeer @a-small-blue-nebula @buckitostan

[wherewisteriaends]

It really took me 24 hours to realize something. It's not that the ending is a bad ending. I mean, take us back a week ago. We all said that their kiss would be the kiss of death. We all predicted that Agatha would sacrifice herself for Teen. We also saw that the Road was it was very probable that Billy or Agatha (turned out both) could have created the road. If we all thought it, that says something and that is this ending made sense. So why are we all so angry ? Because even if it was an ending that made sense, they didn't write it in a way that it would make sense. And I'm not saying we didn't get a redemption arc when we should have. I don't think Agatha should have had a redemption arc. However we should at least have had her accepting Death as the end. And also her bonding with Teen. Because yes she has bonded with him but clearly not the point of choosing to die because he mentions Nicky. Which seriously, this sentence made no sense, gave absolute no explanations. Another major issue is the dynamic between Agatha and Rio. Them in episode 8 has nothing to do with all we saw before. It really feels like something happened that we missed or like the story was different. What they showed us of Nicky was beautiful, also doesn't explain Agatha and Rio dynamic in 8 while 8 makes the conflict all about Nicky. Apart from the grave, the whole scene in Agatha's basement was ridiculous. When Agatha is in Teen house, he doesn't act at all like he wants to kill her. And all of sudden he wants to banish her. I'm serious, they fucked up the relationship dynamics and developments. Same goes for Jennifer. She makes it out of road and she doesn't even search for Teen ? Because that would be the best reaction for someone who just said she wasn't letting anyone die under her watch again and that doesn't know Teen is behind her torture. Again, at the opposite of the development we saw of Jennifer. And Billy, which his portrayal is completely chaotic since episode 6. One time when Agatha comes out of the mud he appears like he wants to see her dead. Then in 8 he trusts her with his life all over again. And don't get me started of the nonsense of Billy in episode 9. And no I'm not a Billy hater, but they certainly write him as an inconstant character that obviously results in him being mistrusted by the viewers. Also what pisses me off is that Lilia's ending was perfect, and even Alice sour departure was beautifully handled. Which adds even more to it the sense of ruin.

And there was strong dialogue, strong acting skills in those two last episodes, beautiful scenes on screen. But it still doesn't make sense. I solemnly thank the actors for their portrayal, I thank the whole production team, makeup, costumes, light, cut, sets, everything because this was by far one of the best MCU projects - if not the best. And I doubt it's someone fault for what happened with the last episodes. SO PLEASE DON'T GO HATING ON PEOPLE. Please, think of your own humanity, and even if media make it very easy to succumb to hate, no one is responsible, no one deserves your hate for their part into the production of a show. What gives me a bit of hope is that they were so much left untold that it is possible we get a season 2 or other projects centered around Agatha or Jennifer or other witches. And because there was so much blur, we, as writer and reader, can see the opportunity to partake into a fiction we all so loved. So don't give up on Agatha All Along just yet and see a bit of the bright side. And because, the MCU ethics seriously should be questioned, wait on me, I will come with an essay down the line. And if I do and if you think it's worth readable, I'll send it to Marvel teams.

[sapphoshands]

"We broke every rule we established for the trials and the characters broke every rule given to them but its funny that viewers have different interpretations" not cute actually, Jac. Just bad writing that verges on outright racism by killing off the one Asian character and making the Black character over the top malevolent. Oh and putting the sole (white) man in narrative center. Should've known it was too good to be true.

it is of course extremely déclassé to go into the inbox of someone who is loving a thing and tell them why they should not be loving the thing, but you know, i'm so deep in this show, i'm just like *rubs hands* more time to think about my blorbos! so!

i will do you the courtesy of ignoring your bad faith phrasing to engage with your actual points - and of course, we also have to keep in mind that we're just over halfway through the season, so things may come back in ways we can't yet see. that said, i adore the idea that agatha's punishment in this was to be seen by yet another coven as an object of horror and fear, especially after a few moments where she was seen as a real person. i think that's going to play very strongly into the end of the season and i think it's a very smart bit of writing that plays with the expectations of the characters on screen and the audience watching the show. i got a little seduced by some of the alternate trial theories, ngl, but that is one of the joys of episodic television and i am having a blast watching more of this story unravel.

re racism, i as a white woman am certainly not going to tell anyone how they should receive a story like this. but i feel about alice's death much like i feel about the push for no more dead lesbians, which is that if we erase any sort of peril for any given segment of the population, we are no longer telling full stories about them. speaking for myself, i am a advocate for increased representation of all sorts on screen (and behind the camera), and simple math tells us that having more people of colour on screen means more people of colour will die on screen. so i always ask myself whether the death feels racially motivated, and in this case, to me, it doesn't. we've already lost a white woman to the road and it is important for the show to keep the stakes high. to me, alice's story was gorgeously tragic and a really wonderful parallel to agatha's - you really felt alice, having discovered the depth of her connection to her mother, feeling that lack for agatha. but naturally... you may have a different interpretation.

jen, on the other hand - oh my god, jen, i fucking loved her in this episode. and again you can read her as OTT, although in contrast to agatha i think she's really rather restrained! obviously tropes play differently for Black characters than white, but in the context of the show, in the context of the way the rest of the coven has been portrayed, she fit perfectly. i mean, in jen's trial, agatha tried to sacrifice mrs hart, tried to cheat, tried to literally break out, etc, because she was so determined that her quest was the only thing that mattered to her. i frankly don't blame jen for pulling an agatha and deciding to put herself first, and i don't think the show wants us to blame jen either. totally tracked to me. the retainer moment? exceptional. and alice and lilia were right there with her - it's not like she was the only one pushing this agenda, you know? certainly she wasn't singled out by skin colour.

billy, now... i am not gonna lie. i am a little worried that we're gonna turn this into the billy show. and i do mostly trust jac schaeffer and mary livanos and the whole setup of the fucking show that they won't, that this is about women and witchcraft and queerness and all of my favourite things. but it's a marvel property, right? and we always have to have this fucking fear. but this interview, again, actually made me feel a lot better about that:

obviously this sounds like it was really early in the room and things change throughout the course of development, but it is really reassuring to me that in the early stages of breaking agatha's story, billy... wasn't billy. he was, you know, a sexy lamp. someone else could've done his job. so his innate billyness didn't matter. to me, that suggests that the established arc remains agatha's and billy's just there to prop it up. i'm sure that since he became billy in the writing process, he became more important and elements of his story became part of the narrative and so on, but i expect it was a series of discussions on how to fit him into the story rather than how to rewrite the story to suit him.

i'm just as biased in my defence as you are in your annoyance, so you're welcome to dismiss all of this and grump on with your grumpy self. but i think this is a smart, interesting, nuanced show that hasn't spilled all its secrets yet. and i cannot wait for more. is it wednesday yet?

[digital-loader]

Not to get involved in discourse but to all the people who are “boycotting” Late Night With The Devil or giving it bad reviews even though you enjoyed it because 3 title cards were made with AI even though they are on screen for like 2 minutes max throughout the entire movie, as someone who’s career is in indie movies and even has a Shudder flick lined up, fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you I don’t understand what you think you’re doing? Who do you think you’re protecting? You think executives are going to read your review saying “LOVED the movie! Giving it 1 star because of the AI!” ????

No. They are seeing the average of reviews being tanked and maybe not wanting to take the chances on the original and interesting content that is up to be made next. Do this shit on block-busters. Disney, marvel, starwars - whatever. Don’t kill the little guy trying to make art because they used MIXED MEDIA fuck dude let me make good movies! Let the people in this industry have any fucking agency on what kind of films they help make. You’re killing the good parts (which are the small parts) of this industry. IT WAS A TITLE CARD 😭😭😭 it’s not like they recreated an actors face or used AI to write the script! You’re killing us well meaning indie makers who care about the craft because of your bullshit self righteousness.

[gwenyundreiko]

I need to scream about Arcane S2 (spoilers for the whole season)

Alright, it's been 2 days since I've watched the end of Arcane, and I'm still in a bad mood over it, so I am going to scream into the void about it, and hopefully it will allow me to move on.

I do not like the second season of Arcane.

Season 1 ? Absolute banger, still love it. I love it even more after recently watching it a second time in preparation for season 2.

Season 2 though ? ... I will not go into the details (because I feel like I would need to rewatch it again to be more accurate, and I don't want to do that), so I am just going to write about how I feel about it now that it is over.

Season 2 has left me deeply unsatisfied, to say the least. I think this feeling comes from the fact that most characters' arcs look like they were either cut short, or didn't really go anywhere. This makes the entire story feel pointless; an undeniable marvel of aesthetics and animation put in service of nothing.

I could talk about a lot of the main cast, but I'll only talk about Vi, her relationship with Caitlyn, and the Zaun vs Pilltover theme.

First off : Vi, the character who fought tooth and nails for those she loved and always tried to do the right thing. Accepting responsibility for everyone who looked up to her... and got nothing for it in the end but pain. From the start of the serie, she is set up to be one of the protagonists, along with her sister and Caitlyn. Yet the story feels pervert in the way it insists to both :make Vi suffer without giving her any sort of confort or moment to express her feelings ; and make all of her actions be pointless.

In episode 8, when she says "I always make the wrong choice and lose everyone", we have to admit that from a narrative point of view, she is absolutely right. For the first time, Vi is self pitying. She's shown as vulnerable, doubtful, almost sounding like she's giving up by saying that all she ever does is useless or worse. This is incredibly out of character for her, and yet the story proves her right. Nothing she does matters in any meaningful way. She doesn't even contribute to the final battle : she gets stranded in the defence of the artillery tower (which turned out not to be a key asset in the battle), then go 1v2 Warwick with Jinx, and Jinx ends up sacrificing herself to kill it, but only AFTER the battle is over and all the narrative tension has calmed down. (Sidenote : yes yes I know it is hinted that Jinx is still alive, but still. Let's agree that it's in bad taste for a suicidal character's triumphant moment to be a reckless act of self sacrifice, independently of the outcome.)

Vi gets mistreated throughout the whole storry and gets nothing in the end despite her bravery and efforts. No matter how hard she fought, she still ends up separated from her sister and she still loses Vander. The only thing she gets in the end is a girlfriend with whom she basically had no tender moment since their breakup, making Vi feel like a rescue dog at Caitlyn's house, but let's talk about her relationship with Caitlyn in more depth.

I'll say this first : I love the sex scene. It's tender and passionate. It's a bit awkward, but in such a relatable way that it only makes the moment sweeter. It does an excellent job at showing us how the characters feel about each other. Taken on its own, it's perfect. Two people that love each other so much they just need to have each other right here, right now... I just wish their relationship around it was more fleshed out.

From what we get to see on screen, they get a really messy break up in episode 3, and then never interact again until crossing paths at the commune. In the meantime, Caitlyn has allied herself with Ambessa, declared martial law on Zaun and is oppressing it with the full extent of her legitimate violence... but upon seeing Vi again, she instantly switches side to go against Ambessa with a rushed plan.

We get absolutely no other insight into their emotions or thoughts at this moment. No scene to show that despite their conflicts and standing on opposite sides, there is still tenderness and affection between the two of them that could hint at them getting back together. Instead, Vi calls her a petname once, and it's done, no further convincing needed. (Sidenote again : this makes Caitlyn look impulsive and irrational, when everything that comes before shows us that she is smart, collected and patient. Here, she instantly abandons everything she was previously fighting for, even at the risk of putting her entire city in danger. This includes abandonning her vandetta against Jinx, which is the reason why they split up in the first place, but this isn't adressed between Vi and Cait ever again either.)

After that, Vi holds her accountable for her actions for the time of 1 dialogue.

Then they barely interact again until the jailcell scene. Hell, once the battle starts, I don't think the two of them interact AT ALL until the epilogue.

The lack of substance in the portrayal of their relationship makes this sweet and tender sex scene feel like a spur of the moment thing. An almost self-destructive action from Vi trying to scrape at any possible source of confort after being cut out by her sister. A good thing happening for the wrong reasons. (Mind you, a hate sex scene would have worked wonders in my opinion, but that's not what we got.)

So yeah, given all of that, I'm struggling to see how Vi ending up with Caitlyn is supposed to be a meaningful and happy resolution to her story, when this relationship is barely shown on screen during season 2.

Finally, let's talk about the Zaun vs Piltover situation : it goes nowhere.

An entire 5 acts showing us that Piltover treats Zaun like shit, turning it into a ghetto and leaving it to rot in its own misery . The promo campaign for season 2 teased us a revolution... and in the end, we barely see any change. The way the story resolves implies that now that Zaun and Pilltover have triumphed over a shared ennemy, they grieve together and make peace because they have learned that war comes at too high a cost, and Zaun gets to be represented by ONE councilor.

I'm sorry but either the show tried something and missed, or the show was just incredibly shallow from the beginning. This conflict was set up from the first second of the show by having the main characters be orphaned by cops in a popular uprising which only looks more and more justified as we learn more about Zaun. That is to say that Topside doesn't care about Zaunites. From what we can tell, Heimerdinger has been leading the city for 300 years, and he discovers just now that Zaun has problems ?? Piltover prides itself for being the city of progress and equality, while exploiting the misery of the people that are LITERRALY BENEATH THEM. It's the final shot of THE FIRST SCENE IN THE SHOW, the topside people are sitting ON TOP of Zaun, reaping the benefits while throwing their wastes at them.

I think there's no better illustration for how Piltover considers Zaun than the scene where Jayce announces to the Council that Silco has demanded independance. All the councilors lose their shit. They are OUTRAGED by the demand. Clearly, Piltover considers Zaun its property. People to exploit, whose need and misery they can ignore, and ultimately, a problem to be solved through the police by having them arrested/beaten up/killed.

So either the show was indeed trying to tell a story about class struggle and oppression, and failed to deliver a satisfying conclusion; or the show was only interested in the appearance and flavor of class struggle only as a vessel for the cliché of "the cycle of violence". Which hmm, yeah it's 2024. I don't think anyone needs me to write an entire section about the necessity of fighting for human rights and resisting oppression.

I could have talked about how pitfighter Vi was 60% of the promo for Season 2, and yet was done and gone in a minute, which was also what we got with the promo, or how a French animation studio decided to call an independant, pacifist and egalitarian community " The Commune" (if you know you know); I could have also talked about Jinx's character, and how the show portrays her self healing from her devouring guilt, but I'll stop rambling here. I hate that I have wrote this, because I don't want to spread negativity. I'd rather spend this kind of energy on things I love.

The thing is, I really really wish I enjoyed Arcane season 2, because season 1 means a lot to me. Vi's character awakened something in me. It is representation I never knew I needed and it changed me. I know this sounds silly. It's only a fictionnal story after all, but it helped me grow into a better and more hopeful person. In the end, I just feel like season 2 went too far too fast, and left me behind to try and pick up the pieces of my expectations. If you've made it this far, I sincerely thank you, and I hope you have a beautiful rest of the day.

[bite-the-bloody-hand]

Owlcatober 1 - Teatime [Part 1]

I'm a little stalled but I love where this is going, so have the first half of Teatime, featuring Zell's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good Very Bad Morning. Please forgive the formatting.

Teatime [Part 1]

He should have known this was coming. All the signs had been present, after all, but he’d ignored them. Surely it was just the stress of his new appointment; a few sleepless nights; endless threat of demonic incursion; so on and so forth. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

Yet of the many trials and challenges that had been presented to nascent Knight Commander Zell Hellsing during the first insane few weeks of his new job, there was nothing old or new in the world of Golarion that could compare to his two most ancient and beloved of nemeses: His own Hubris and The Fucking Sun.

Hubris, ever the sly fair weather friend, had convinced him that the cramping muscles, irritation, mania, and general malaise of the last day or so had just been simple exhaustion. They had been out on the road a few days too long, so what? He could muscle through it, no problem. No absurd dreams of being dragged through bloody battlefields, bloody streets, or bloody portals could keep him from his many…. Many many tasks. Hubris had whispered its sweet poison into his ear and he’d gladly tilted his head for a little more. Like a moron.

Then there was The Sun. Beloved giver of life. Beloathed stabber of eyeballs. It was through the small seam at the southeastern facing corner of his tent that the evil little assassin, the wicked beam of light entered. Cruel, wretched light, enemy of his similarly wretched vampire progenitor but most importantly, right now, his enemy because it was really making his head hurt.

Surely it was just the sun and not the everything else. He would kick himself about the hubris later.

There was a rustle, bootfalls that somehow thundered against the sod and straw floor, and the sudden Knowledge that the command tent was now flooded with early morning light. He then heard Anevia’s fist rapped against the partition screen propped next to his bed. He could feel the twin pressures of sunlight and Anevia’s gaze upon him.

“Mornin’ report! And since when are you a past-dawn layabout, not even up and stretchin’ yet?” her voice was so marvelously cheery, and usually so very welcome to help start his day. Zell covered his eyes with his blanket and groaned pitifully.

“Anevia. Death is here.”

“Well shit, boss, that sounds like a big problem for the Crusade.” A light rustle as she dropped a sheaf of papers on his desk. “Not much today really; Wilcer’s got that herd o’ horses you ordered all ready for inspection, and we’re still workin’ on opening up the road between here and Leper’s Smile.”

“I’d love to hear the history on that name sometime,” Zell mumbled. Of course Wilcer would have the horses ready now, when he is least able to appreciate them. Another little trial. “Anyway, wicked sun,” he grasped in the air for the words he wanted, landing eventually on something close enough. “Finally has come claimed me.” Anevia made a sympathetic noise.

“I don’t have a funny comeback for that one that wouldn’t be a little too mean this early in the morning, I think.” Zell heard her move to the tent door, and the leathery sound of the tent flap dropping down into place. The pressure of the light eased. “Bad headache?”

“Kill me.” “Come on, you know I can’t do that. We’d have to do the choppin’ and the burnin’ and bury your parts at crossroads and it would be a whole thing. Nobody’s got the time.” Zell scoffed, immediately regretting it. “I – ugh - can’t believe you, of all people, cannot be writing ‘put poor Commander out of his misery’ to your schedule.” “Believe it or not, Boss, but I’m a busy gal.” “But so much faith I have in you…”

“And speaking of I’ve gotta get scouting, since the only news right now is your horrible impending demise, unless someone can brave the sixty paces to the healer’s tent to get you the good tea.” She paused, and from the soft creak of her boots and rattle of the screen, he could all but see her peeking over the partition at him. Her voice went soft in a way he wasn’t sure he’d heard before. “I’ll see about getting any crazy stuff sent to Beth first, so you can try and rest a little, okay? You’ve been working pretty hard, by Knight-Commander standards.”

“This Crusade is nothing without you, Anevia,” he sighed in gratitude. As long as he could make it to the healer’s tent, he could count on Anevia to keep her word.

“Don’t I know it,” she replied, before taking her leave.

Zell lingered in the dim silence of the command tent a few moments longer, weak to the knowledge that the second he started to stand up, his head and stomach were really going to start with the nonsense. But stand he must, so stand he did. Slowly. With extreme caution, pushing himself up by meager degrees until he was sitting upright. The bright buzzing angry pressure in his head turned into a wave crashing bright spots against the inside of his skull, while his stomach turned elegant flips in accompaniment. If he were in a more poetic mood he could have gone on about the sensations, how uniquely beautiful and awful they were, but in the moment he felt like boiled ass on dirt and couldn’t think of a pretty word to save his life.

So he forced himself to his feet and wrapped his blanket around his head and shoulders as a makeshift shroud. With great effort he pushed himself from the end of his cot to the end of the partition screen, stumbling from it to the corner of his desk. He tripped, cursed, and stumbled forward to the tent flap, grabbing the canvas to keep himself from falling. The whole tent shook violently for a second but stayed intact. Zell cursed again and righted himself, dragging the makeshift hood over his eyes just in time to avoid a sudden slash of bright sunlight across his face.

“Sir?” A voice he recognized punched him in the ear. He stumbled and forced himself not to hiss. It was just one of the lads that always lingered around the entrance of the command tent, no need to lash out. “Can I assist?” “No, no, I have this,” he said, waving the boy off. He could barely think it was so bright, even with the blanket making a deep hood to shield him.“I make for the healing tent. Not an emergency.” “Oh, well, but Sir I-”

Please child by the name of whatever God you hold holy I will bite you if you speak again, Zell’s head throbbed like something disgusting. “Not emergency,” he growled, teeth snapping in irritation. The lad shrunk back, hands up as Zell pushed past him. “I tell you when emergency.” He left the boy behind him, stuttering.

It wasn’t really that long a walk. He’d made the trip both mildly hungover on demon blood and while still aching from a poison he’d accidentally forgotten about. This was doable. Allegedly. In some world, in another world that was not the one which he currently occupied, the task was doable. In those other, beautiful worlds, his head was not already splitting apart from the force of its own willpower. In those worlds, walking past the blacksmith would be such a little, trivial task.

Each ring of the hammer echoed between his ears and tilted the ground beneath him, making his stomach churn. He barely caught himself on a tentpost once he cleared the causeway beyond the Smithy’s tent, shuddering as his knees nearly gave out. He had to be more than halfway there, surely. No other terrible obstacle could keep him now.

“What party did you not invite me to that you are this hung over?” A voice just behind him demanded. He caught a glimpse of a warped golden glow at the edge of his hood and snatched it back down before the reflection of Count Arendae’s halo could blind him.

“Not hungover, just headache. Anyway you’d crash if you weren’t invited, I know this.”

“Hm, true. You sound wretched.” Daeran announced, without a hint of sympathy as he came closer to investigate. “Why ever are you attempting to stumble around on your own?”

“Getting tea. Headache tea from healer’s tent.”

A pause. Then Daeran asked, in a tone that was usually reserved for very small, slow children, “Why didn’t you send a squire to get it for you?” Zell considered the question. Rather he realized that he hadn’t considered that at all. “What… do you mean.” “You know, the lovely young men and women that linger about the front of your tent, waiting to run small errands at your beck and call. One of the magnificent perks of gaining the title of Knight Commander of Mendev’s Crusade.” A terrible silence settled between them.

“That is many words, you have just said to me.” “So you forgot about the squires.” “...Head is stupid right now,” Zell grumbled. Daeran stifled a laugh.

“The tent is to your left,” Daeran supplied.

Zell turned, and felt a light tap on his shoulder.

“Your other left, Commander.”

Zell grunted his thanks and turned in the proper direction. After a moment of stumbling, he caught the red-lined edge of the healer’s tent in his field of view. Finally.

“Anything else I can do to help?” Daeran asked, though the lilt of his voice suggested his help would extend little further than guiding Zell to another, less ‘busy’ healer. But he had followed, which was an interesting detail he would forget to think about for several hours. “Yah , do me an favor and cut my head off,” Zell muttered, fumbling with the door flap to the Healer’s tent. He felt Daeran nearly run into him as they entered the tent together. There was a momentary pause. He thought he heard Daeran clear his throat, but the sound seemed a little off. “We’ll save that for after you’ve won the Crusade and the Capitol decides to convict you of war crimes,” The Count eventually replied, his voice airy. “You’re such a good friend.” Zell pressed at the sides of his head, grasping at the back of his neck. Something popped; a tiny bit of pressure released. Thank goodness it was so much darker in the healer’s tent, it made thinking a little easier.

A sudden jolt of realization hit him. He groaned, pulling his hood over his face and down his chest until he was less a man than a walking stupid blanket.

“For the fucking sake of pity, Daeran, be angry at me. That was the most meanest stupid shit thing I could say just now.” He doubled over in misery as another lance of pain hit its mark.

Daeran responded to his apology with a laugh that came out loud at first but he caught himself, dampening it down to a deeply amused chuckle. “Please, Commander, apologizing after such an excellent barb? I suppose I shall accept, if you would rather your venom be intentional. Cot to your right.”

Zell turned, then felt another light tap on his shoulder.

“Your other right.”

He turned the opposite direction, shuffling slowly until he felt his knees hit the edge of a bed.

“Who is that under – Commander?” He heard Sosiel’s voice nearby and stumbled slightly as he turned to sit. Oh of course it would be him, and not the other one who was always there. Of course.

“Kind healer I beg your indulgence,” Zell croaked, not obviously attempting to look pathetic but doing a great job of it anyway. “I was told you have the good tea for the headaches brought by the sun.”

“Oh, certainly,” Sosiel paused, slight confusion in his voice. He was also probably wondering why Zell hadn’t just sent for a squire, but at least he was too polite to say anything about it. Instead he addressed Daeran. “And you, Count Arendae? I hardly suspect you need my assistance?” “Oh, I’m just here because misery loves company,” Daeran replied. Zell felt his weight settle down next to him on the cot. “And of course performing my duties as field advisor.” “By doing what, pray tell?” Daeran waved his hand in a vague gesture. “I advised Commander Hellsing on the field placement of this very tent, and quite competently I might add.”

“Lost without you,” Zell mumbled truthfully. He debated the merits of pushing Daeran off the cot versus just using him as a convenient pillow, but eventually decided either one would be far too much effort. Instead he hunched into himself, the blanket billowing around him to looks something like a nest. Zell heard the rustle and clatter of herbs being prepared; smelled the sharpness of ginger and the green acerbic bite of willow bark. Then came peppermint and mallow; Sosiel was definitely not skipping out on the good stuff. The scent alone was enough to start settling his stomach.

“Thank you for taking the time, Sosiel,” he murmured, wishing he could at least look the man in the face with his thanks. Though perhaps he hadn’t noticed-

“I was beginning to worry I had made you uncomfortable somehow, and you wouldn’t come to me for help,” Sosiel replied. His voice was kind, but Zell didn’t have to be functioning to sense the hurt in his words. Zell flinched, ashamed.

“You noticed I am er... avoidant,” he admitted. He had tried so hard to be polite, rebuffing Sosiel’s offers for help not out of some misplaced projection but because he “didn’t need it.”

He did not address in the moment why his own thoughts felt the need to emphasize - with deep sarcasm - his insistent lack of need.

“I did, I thought perhaps after the incident at Martyr Zacharius’s Cemetery, that I had done something in particular to put you off…”

Zell felt his heart clench. He had been unkind to Sosiel for no reason. Alas, in a better mindset a more elegant explanation may have come to him. In lieu of that...

"No, it is not your fault. You just...” He grasped for the right combination of words, flailing until he landed on “...remind me of my... ex." The final word ended in a hiss that was part confusion, part embarrassment. Not that it wasn’t the right word, he just didn’t want to have had said it ever.

Daeran snorted inelegantly next to him.

Zell grimaced. No, that was a stupid way to put it, He had to explain it better. "Not really ex, more like. His boss had him string me along because I,” he gestured to himself, again at a loss for words. “Asking questions." Oh yes, that was much better.

He heard the soft clatter of the kettle being rested on its trivet. Sosiel responded, "You're saying I remind you of this person?" Zell could hear the good-natured humor in Sosiel’s reply. At least he didn’t seem to have taken it personally.

"Of his persona! His front. He was very-" he waved a hand, gesturing at where he imagined Sosiel stood. "Like you, but about Sarenrae. Devoted."

"Devout?"

"That's also that one yes. And like you he healed us, and very much was handsome as well. It's the good things I think of, I promise." Zell pressed his fingers to his temples. The pulsing whine in his ears felt almost like laughter. Or maybe that was Daeran. Who could say. "I did not mean to be so clumsy in saying it. My head makes me stupid."

“I see,” Sosiel chuckled. “It is nice to know that I wasn’t being avoided for anything I’d done, though I was a bit curious.”

“I am an ass, unworthy, please forgive me,” Zell apologized through another wave of nausea.

“He’s so precious when he’s contrite,” Daeran quipped. “All patients should be so easy, wouldn’t you say, Brother Sosiel?”

“There is no need to apologize,” Sosiel’s voice was firm, though he was still clearly trying not to laugh. “Besides, what kind of Cleric would I be if I showed any less grace than you to our beleaguered friend, your Lordship? Commander, drink this-”

Zell felt Sosiel’s hand close over the back of his own, steadying it to accept a warm wooden mug. The sharp scents of ginger and peppermint floated up into his hood; he breathed them in with gratitude, grasping the mug with both hands. Whatever sharp reply Daeran gave Sosiel was missed as all of Zell’s attention centered on the warmth and the smell.