#anyway i LOVE the turkish one!!

[finn-shitposts]

Hungarian:

Once there was, where there wasn't, beyond the seventy-seventh country*, even beyond the glass mountains/beyond the Óperenciás sea**, where even the curly tailed pig doesn't dig, there was a....

(Egyszer volt, hol nem volt, hetedhét országon* túl, még az üveghegyeken is túl/még az Óperenciás-tengeren** is túl, ahol a kurta farkú malac se túr, volt egy....)

*i have no clue how this translates,, as a kid i always interpreted it as like seven times seven not seventy seventh but fuck knows... hungarians help T.T na de most tényleg, hogyan mondanánk ezt angolul,,, a googli nem segített és a magyar nyelvtanom hihetetlenül piss poor 😔

**made up sea/country thats supposed to just represent nebulous faraway lands

“once upon a time” in other languages

korean: “back when tigers used to smoke” (호랑이 담배 피우던 시절에) [x]

czech: “beyond seven mountain ranges, beyond seven rivers” (za sedmero horami a sedmero řekami)

georgian: “there was, and there was not, there was…” (იყო და არა იყო რა, იყო…)

hausa: “a story, a story. let it go, let it come.” [x]

romanian: “there once was, (as never before)… because if there wasn’t, it wouldn’t have been to told” (A fost odată, ca niciodată că dacă n-ar fi fost, nu s-ar mai povesti…)

lithuanian: “beyond nine seas, beyond nine lagoons: (už devynių jūrų, už devynių marių)

catalan: “see it here that in that time in which beasts spoke and people were silent…” (vet aquí que en aquell temps que les bèsties parlaven i les persones callaven…) [x]

turkish: “Once there was, and once there wasn’t. In the long-distant days of yore, when haystacks winnowed sieves, when genies played jereed in the old bathhouse, [when] fleas were barbers, [when] camels were town criers, [and when] I softly rocked my baby grandmother to sleep in her creaking cradle, there was/lived, in an exotic land, far, far away, a/an…* (Bir varmış, bir yokmuş. Evvel zaman içinde, kalbur saman içinde, cinler cirit oynar iken eski hamam içinde, pireler berber [iken], develer tellal [iken], ben ninemin beşiğini tıngır mıngır sallar iken, uzak diyarların birinde…)

[dingleminyard]

deniz can aktaş & miray daner as halil ibrahim & zeynep karasu hudutsuz sevda | season 1

[faaun]

the way that diff languages sound r so fascinating they're all different and all so vivid

[phagodyke]

kicking my feet and twirling my hair my roomie said we would be drift compatible... 😚😚😚😚

[coughdropenjoyer]

i am in mourning

[fima11]

YOUR ART IS SO CUTE AUGH…….. love the way u draw scarabia it makes my heart go 💗💗💗💗💗💗

I am curious if you have any Scarabia HCs… mayhaps Jamikali HCs?

Thank you!!! <333333

tbh I don't have many headcanons for Scarabia, but imo that's the chillest dorm, even with all the parties. Like, have you seen their dormitory? I wouldn't act up if I lived in a comfy place like that too.

But jamikali. Uhhhh

this is my own sort of turkish palace tv drama. More under the cut. It's gonna be long.

I like to imagine their relationship developing after a nice piece of timeskip (despite most certainly having feelings for each other in college), when they finally learn how it is to live apart from each other, growing out of their destructive behaviors at least for a bit.

My main headcanon and maybe the most delusional one that Kalim would mature up with time, getting more independent when Jamil leaves, though without losing his canonic positivity - in fact just growing up.

While Jamil learns how is it to be simplier and less demanding towards other and himself, traveling alone, not setting down anywhrre for too long. Though the main thing is that they cannot in fact forget each other, and break the attachment despite getting used to each other's absence, and their feelings finally getting some particular shape - and it's impossible to fully let go, no matter how hard they (mostly Jamil) try ;)

I rarely think of a particular reasons that could bring Jamil back to Asim household, though I have one little au concerning this matter which includes long distance between them with no communication, and even some kids, so I may share it one day. so I just keep it on the level of flat concept - Jamil returns after traveling, to either serve again or for Viper family matters.

I love to imagine Jamil's confusion and shyness at the sight of even more confident Kalim after a period of being apart from each other, and Kalim being happy to finally make Jamil look at him differently, which he consciously or subconsciously has been keeping as a goal all the time.

For some reasons I feel like Kalim would take lead in their relationship because he seems bolder to me when it comes to making decisions - Kalim just knows what he wants :/

So it's a hard for Jamil to process all the non-casual compliments, gifts and obvious advances (but not rejecting them, still afraid of his own feelings), just like in this post. Under these circumstances I believe Kalim is the one who attached the most, just because I love crazy devotion and loyalty :P (and Jamil is too used to lie to himself to admit his attachment aloud.)

It's a strange concept, but mostly it's just a huge headcanon I always keep in my head when I draw them - an emotional bond that just won't break, no matter if there's distance, time or silence between them.

It's hard for me to imagine them trying each other out during college years - too many predicaments and prejudices, they are too used to each other, and for their relationahip to work out they both need time to emotionaly mature up and... just have a rest from each other.

Anyway loving them endlessly.

it would be easier to just list the goddamn headcanons but I always talk too much I am so sorry

[alizayildiz]

Heyyy! I was thinking about how he will react after losing a match? Like yesterday against portugal. And how does the reader treat him? I think it'll be a good fics well it's up too you wanna make it smut or no... Have a great day!!

I’m sorry for the long wait girl but I’ve had a dozen requests to write!! Anyways have fun readying lovely ;). I had to keep it short because I didn’t knew if you’d like it as a chapter is just as an preference 😭

You looked at the game that was playing in front of you. Portugal VS. Turkey. For some it was clear from the beginning that Portugal will win.

Still your boyfriend Kenan hoped that Turkey would win, but he soon realised, and that was after their own goal against themselves, that Turkey will loose.

You sat in the VIP Box Kenan arranged for you, and even up from there you could see his depressed face. Arda, who sat next to him, didn’t look happy either.

During halftime you heard lots of Turkish fans shouting at Montella, cussing at him.

“HOW COULD HE PUT THIS 11 AGAINST PORTUGAL”

“Why didn’t Kenan and Arda play from the beginning”

“Their own coach is against them”

“If Kenan and Arda had played from the beginning we would have won”

“The score would have been different if Montella had a fucking brain and put Kenan in from minute one on”

And lots of other comments you don’t wanna rewind. As the referee called the game over you immediately got up walking down on the pitch to Kenan.

The thing about Kenan is that he is determined to win, he gives his best and everyone knows and sees that. But if his team won’t cooperate that it gets worse for him. He gets mad at his colleagues and at his Coach, who for once didn’t put him into the first 11 starting lineup.

Although Kenan is a very optimistic person who life lightens up your moods he is the complete opposite when he looses.

As you passed soßen or fans who try to take pictures with you or your Autogramm, some even grab you by your arm, you continue ignoring them all. Knowing very well that if you’re not next to Kenan he will loose it at some point.

Jumping over the fence Kenan immediately walked up to you, the who of you walking faster and faster to reach each other more quickly.

As your arms wrapped around his neck he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Picking you up slightly as his arm wrapped around your waist he took in your scent.

You’re wearing his favourite perfume of yours. The two of you didn’t talk, just stood there.

You noticed that his grip around your waist got harder whether Portugal fans laughed at the Turkish national team. “Booing” them on, and making fun of the team.

Everyone in that stadium knew that if Kenan and Arda had played from the beginning the score would have looked different.

“Deep breaths” You whisper at Kenan.

Trying your best to calm him down you signalled to his Coach that the security should get the stadium cleaned out.

It’s not that Kenan is a weak person who stars crying when he losses it’s rather that he losses his temper when he looses.

He doesn’t allow himself to lose or fail at anything and when opponent fans get on his nerves he quickly jumps at them.

It happens once during a game of Juventus, media still suspects when Kenan will loose it again like a maniac.

After five more minutes standing like that the Stadium was quiet, no fans, no referees, no other players and no coaches in sight.

Kenan’s ears were covered by your arms because of the way you two hugged each other.

You slowly let go of him looking deep into his eyes.

“You did your best Kenan” you say, giving him a lovely smile.

He played just 30 minutes and that with Arda just playing 20 minutes beside him. What is he supposed to do 1 VS. 11 ?

“If I had played better during practice Coach would have put me in from the beginning” he walks towards the bench for substitute players, sitting down on it.

“You know that’s not true, it wasn’t your fault that you hurt yourself during practice even that shows how passionate you are about your sport” You stood on the pitch walking towards a football.

“EM 2024” was written on it.

Kenan looks up at you, smiling for the first time ever that day.

“Common 1 VS. 1” you say before passing the ball to Kenan.

Instantly getting up from the bench he throws you his jersey, you didn’t care if it was covered with sweat you still wore it.

A topless Kenan stood in front of you, abs showing perfectly.

The two of you started playing together. And although Kenan hates losing he loves losing to you.

The evening continues with Kenan teaching you football tricks.

[star-har]

hi lovey 🩷 may i request gojo x reader tooth rotting fluff where she makes him fairy bread for first time, or baking a pie that he hasn’t tried yet before. we know how he’s an absolute sweet tooth and would lose his mind over his lover feeding into his addiction lol 🍬 loved nightmare so much :’)

“i made you a snack.”

you stand in the doorway to the living room and gojo’s sprawled on the sofa, lights dim as he switches pause on whichever reality show he’s stumbled on this time.

he turns to look at you with furrowed brows and a smile. “just what are you doing up this late, hmm?” he sweeps his legs off the couch, silently asking you to take the seat beside him.

this is one of those nights gojo is struggling to sleep. the gash in his side is painful, a sharp throb spiking his back with white, hot pain every few minutes. and no amount of painkillers are helping, really.

“i made a snack!” you smile, pushing off the door frame, carrying a plate of what looks like toast.

“a snack,” gojo repeats, turning to face you automatically as you fall beside him, one leg thrown over his lap and the other crossed beneath you.

you offer a nod. “it’s a turkish snack.”

gojo’s heart warms and his blood bubbles, eyes softening. he knows it’s an attempt at comforting him and his aching side, and you’ve never been a night owl — so the gesture of you waking up this late just to ease some of his pain makes gojo wants to kiss you senseless.

he nearly does, mind you. if it weren’t for that plate in your hand, he’d have tackled you into the couch as soon as you sat down.

“woah— that smells— woah.” he pauses and snatches one of the desserts off the plate.

“it’s called bal kaymak.” you start, smiling as he digs his teeth into it, snapping off a bite. “it’s basically just toast, cream, and then honey on top.”

he groans and licks his fingers of the dripping honey sliding down to his palms. “this is just—" he cuts himself off to swipe some cream off his lip. “this is just cream, honey, and bread?”

“mhm.”

“really?”

“yes.”

“holy fuck,” he curses, staring incredulously at the toast in his hand and he eagerly snags another bite.

you grab your own toast and snatch a bite too. “i knew you’d like it!”

“you do realize it’s midnight, right?” he says then, leaning back against a cushion, comfortable.

you snort. “please, like you’ve never had a midnight snack.”

he shrugs, leaning in for a kiss which you give happily, lips slanting with his. his tongue sweeps your bottom lip, swiping off the honey that lingers there.

“hey, you stole my toast,” you pout when you catch the empty plate in your lap and he shoves the entire dessert into his mouth.

you quickly realize then his little kiss had merely been a distraction to keep your notice away from his thievery. you scowl.

he scoffs lazily. “what?” his voice is muffled from the toast.

“‘toru!” you smack his arm and turn around, pushing off from his side but he drags you back with a sharp tug of your hand, dropping you into his lap.

“i’m thorry!” he mumbles then moans as you nudge his forehead with your thumb, pressing your knees into his hips.

his gash hurts with the movement, but he musters his pain and swallows the remnants of your bal kaymak, hands holding your hips.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he says, voice dropping to a low thrum, lips sliding to the crevice of your neck, tracing up your throat.

“no.” gojo smiles— ever the stubborn woman.

“oh, come on,” he sighs, pecking your lips. “i’ll watch a movie with you.”

another kiss.

“I’ll stay home from work tomorrow.”

another kiss and this one piques your interest. “you will?”

“add another one of those toasts into this deal,” he whispers and nudges your hips further against him, lips on your collarbone. “and i’ll have you for dessert next,”

you grin and clamber from his lap, bounding to the kitchen.

gojo finds then, that his gash, is not a pain that will matter when you’re back by his side anyway.

———

i thought this would turn out betterrr but oh well!! thank you for this suggestion love it was so cute! my friend introduced me to this snack one day and I actually fell in love and so as soon as i saw this request, i knew just which treat i was going to do!! thank you so much mwahh ik it’s not the pie or fairy bread u requested but I still hope u enjoyed!

tysm nightmares was sm fun to write I’m so glad u enjoyed !

kisses,

har <3

[captainlondonman]

SHORT STORY- TURKISH BARBER

Sam decided he needed a haircut, only a trim but a tidy up anyway and went off to his usual barber. As he went to open the door he noticed a sign saying ‘On vacation. Back soon’

‘Shit now I need to find another place.’

He remembered passing several times a Turkish barber shop where there never seemed to be many clients and the older barber was invariably sitting reading a newspaper

‘Well’, he thought’ it’s only a trim he can’t go far wrong.’

He pushed the door open and walked in

The guy looked up and smiled

‘Looking for a haircut?’

‘Yeah just a trim if that’s OK.’

‘Come and sit down and let’s get started.’

After getting a gown around Sam’s neck the barber took out his scissors and started on the sides. Thinking of getting a conversation started Sam asked

‘Are you Turkish?’

‘Yes sure am but I’ve been here a good few years. Have you ever been to Turkey?’

‘Once a few years ago to Istanbul. I’ts an amazing city. I loved it. So much to see and do. Really where East meets West.’

‘Everyone goes there and you are right but have you been to any of the beaches in Turkey?’

‘No.’

‘That is something else, golden sand and blue blue sea.’

‘Not sure I would find it that easy.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well with my fair skin and flat chest I would find it a bit daunting with all those hairy chested Turks showing off their masculine bodies’

‘You have a point I think.’

‘They all look so manly with their thick beards and dark hairy chests.’

‘You obviously look carefully at us Turkish men.’

‘Well, you cannot miss all that black hair.’

‘You would like to have hairy chest I think.’

‘Sure I would love to but clearly not going to happen so perhaps I leave out the beaches.’

‘Not everyone has black hairy chest. Look at me, mine is now grey.’

‘I see that but even though you only have your two top buttons undone I can see your chest must have been dark at one time and now its grey but a lot of hair. Lucky you.’

‘Wait a minute I have an idea.’

And with that he put down his scissors and walked over to the door locking it. ‘Now let me take off your cover and follow me to the back of the shop. Don’t worry. From what you said you will be happy trust me.’

Sam had no idea what the guy was talking about but got up and followed the guy into the back room.

‘So you like hairy men and even noticed the hairs sprouting out the top of my shirt so I now take off my shirt and you do the same.’

At first Sam thought the guy had taken leave of his senses but part of him wanted to see how the full chest hair looked like even if he was going to show nothing.

Sam stripped off his shirt feeling very self conscious.

‘I see what you mean young man, not much hair to show. Would not be well receievd on a Turkish beach I think. This is more like it.’

The barber slowly took off his shirt and Sam’s eyes were on stalks. Not only was the barber covered with a thick mat of chest hair but it came up all across his shoulders and down his arms to his very fingertips. It was almost like a gorilla. The hair was salt and pepper with a dark area around the navel getting greyer as it rose up over his chest and tits. The shoulders were thick in white hair.

‘Now that is a Turkish chest for you.’

‘Good god that is amazing I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as hairy.’

‘I think you like it judging by your eyes. Sadly my wife hates it she would prefer I was like you.’

‘Then she is totally wrong it looks great on you and I just wish I had some of what you have.’

‘You really would like to be hairy would you not?’

‘There is something really special about hairy and Turkish and arab men. They look so masculine.’

‘Hairy bodies are for men. Hairless chests for boys.’

‘Yeah but I am a man.’.

‘A man who would like to be hairy.’

‘Sure would.’

‘So would you like to touch my chest and feel the hair?’

‘Can I?’

‘Well I have asked you so yes, see what it is like.’

Sam gingerly put his hands lightly on the barber’s chest and felt the thick curling mass of hair.

‘Now come on boy just giving a little touch is hardly being a man. Run your hands over and deeply across my chest so you know what a hairy chest really feels like. Let your hands become entangled in the hair. Let me feel your hands.’

Sam started to move his hands deep into the hair letting the grey thick hair curl around his fingers. He had never felt anything like this. The sensation of touching and rubbing had started to make his cock so erect it was sore. He felt he could say nothing to this older man that he was becoming so aroused and just hoped his tent was not too obvious.

‘Why don’t you move your hands up under my pecs, the hair is thicker there just under my tits. You see how thick it is there?’

‘God I never felt anything like this before.’

‘Looks as if you are enjoying.’

‘Well you said I should move my hand around.’

‘So while you are at it why don’t you try and find my nipples among the hair. That’s it, I can feel your fingers just  touching my nipples. So while they are there I’d like you to give them a tweak. Get each nipple between your fingers and give a squeeze.’

Sam did not know what to do so very gingerly teased them

‘I said give them a squeeze not just a brush. That’s better a bit harder. Us Turks like to have good big nipples and some squeezing helps make them bigger. Now move your hands up to my shoulders. See how the hair continues across my shoulders. And you know it goes all the way down my back. You’d like to feel that as well no doubt.’

‘If you are asking. I have rarely seen a hairy back before.’

‘Well I tell you what, come into me, press your chest against mine and put your arms around my back and let your hands rub up and down my back and at the same time you can feel my hairy chest rubbing against you, so it almost will feel for you what a hairy chest you could have.’

Sam did as he was told and put his arms around the barber, the barber doing likewise and pulling in tight

’See my back is almost as hairy as my chest so let your hands rub into my skin.’

‘Christ it’s amazing,’ Sam replied as he started to move his chest tight up against the barbers hair letting the hairs rub against his skin

‘How does that feel?’

I feel as I rub against you as if I have a hairy chest. Its just what I have always imagined. I am almost feeling like a bear even with no chest hair but all your hair makes me feel as if its mine.

‘That’s the idea. Now I seem to think there’s a bit of a pole rubbing against my thigh. Feels as if you have a hard on.’

‘Not just a hard on but my cock is aching with all this rubbing.’

‘I hope you are feeling something more than a pole against your thigh.’

‘Shit is that your cock it feels more like another leg.’

Taking one hand away from Sam, the barber pushed Sam’s hand down between them

‘So feel that.’

‘Christ its huge.’

‘Of course it is. It’s pure Turkish thick cock. All us men have a good 9” and not just the length but thick and cut as well.. That cock of mine needs to get out and you can see properly so unzip me and take it out.’

Sam carefully unzipped the massive bulge and put his hand inside to feel the throbbing dick. ‘You need to undo the belt and let my trousers down so you can lift it out. It’s too big to just take out like this.’

As Sam let down the trousers so the meaty prick bounced upwards. Sam could not believe the size. If this is what all Turks have then I want one he thought to himself.

‘So now I have let you feel all my hair, I need a couple of favours from you.’

Firstly you get down on your knees and suck. My wife hates a blow job but I love it and only men know how to do it properly.’

‘I might choke with trying to suck.’

‘Trust me once you let your mouth open and breathe carefully this will slip down the back of your throat.’

The barber undid Sam’s zip and slid his trousers down over his cock which was tenting in his pants.

‘Not a bad dick but it could be bigger. I think you would like a thick dick like mine, yeah?’

‘I sure would.’

‘So get down and feel this big chopper into your mouth. I want to feel my cock all the way down the back of your throat. Take hold of my heavy balls and pull them down as you start to lick my head.’

Sam sat on the floor and took hold of the barber’s heavy balls.

‘Now pull down tight and move you head in. Get your mouth full of spit to cover my head.’ Holding the Barbers balls Sam started licking the glistening head covering it with more and more spit running his lips around the full helmet.

‘That’s good but now I need to feel your mouth get deeper. You don’t need to take the full length but go as far as you can without chocking.’

Still holding the balls Sam opened his mouth as wide as possible and moved it slowly down into his throat. It was massive but having such a thick member in his mouth was a real turn on.. The barber took hold of Sam’s head and moved it further into his cock.

‘Good boy you are doing this well now start move your mouth up and down my shaft. Let me feel you sucking  up and down. Christ that feels good but I need to stop you there as there is now the second favour I need of you. Take your mouth out of my shaft and stand up.’

Looking Sam in the face he said

‘My wife hates being bum fucked  but I love arse fucking and your arse is now ready for a fuck. Let me see that arse of yours.’

The barber let his hands move across Sam’s cheeks and started to push them apart to expose his hole.

‘Look quite tight to me but with all your spit you should be able to take.’

‘I’m not sure I can take your prick’ Sam said.

‘Don’t worry I’ll be gentle and I’ll just let a good gob of my spit onto my shaft so it will be easier. Now bend over as it will be better for you.

Sam wanted to feel the barbers cock insider him. He wanted to feel a real hairy man stick it all the way up..

The barber keeping Sam’s cheeks as far apart as possible guided his cock to the hole and with a gentle push started to move his helmet in.

‘Christ it’s huge. I’m really not sure.’

‘Just relax, be a man like us Turks and once in you will want the full length trust me. Now be a man. Pushing a bit more the full helmet entered his arse and then Sam felt he could relax a bit. It felt so good he started to shove his arse back towards the cock.

‘I want to feel those thick pubes of yours up against me and also feel all that body hair rubbing against me as you grind your cock.’

‘I’ll put my full cock inside you and the give you a moment to rest before we do the next part. This next one with be a changer for you. You will become a man just like all us Turks. Now stand up and squeeze your bum so you feel me deep inside you.’

‘Now let’s turn you to look at the mirror so you can see yourself and I start to fuck you harder.

‘Good you can see yourself with that smooth chest and feel my hairy chest against your back.’

‘It feels as if I have the hairy back when you are pressed against me.’

‘So you’d like to have a hairy chest and back would you?’

‘Seeing you is exactly what I’d love to have.’

‘Good I hoped you might say that. So are you ready for me to start a harder fuck and then come inside you cause there’s plenty of spunk in my balls and I want you to feel it shooting all the way up.’

‘I want you all and now even though that prick of yours is so big my arse is aching to be fucked by it.’

As the barber  starting to move his cock in and out down the length of Sam’s arse he moved his arms to the front around Sam.

‘This arse of yours is made for me and boy am I gonna fuck

Let me start rubbing your arms with my hands while I fuck ok?’

‘Please I want to feel those hairy manly arms all over me.’ Sam was almost begging

As he rubbed his hands over Sam’s arms, Sam was suddenly aware that those smooth arms of his were sprouting hairs and not just blond hairs but dark almost black hairs, long and curling from his shoulders all the way down to the tips of his fingers

‘What is happening my arms are now looking hairy.’

The barber replied as he continued to let his cock run the full length of Sam’s arse.

‘You said you’d like to be hairy. Looks good and manly does it not?

‘But they are not just becoming hairy they look more muscular’.

‘Who wants to be a skinny man. We all want to be real men don’t we?’

‘Well yes’

‘So now let me run my arms across your smooth chest and see what I can do for you.’

As the barber ran his rough large hands across Sam’s chest he thought it at first looked like a shadow across his whole chest and then as he looked down he realised it was hairs not just slowly sprouting out of every pore but quickly and looking like a forest of curling black hair all the way cross and down even on his shoulders. Not only around his pecs and navel but the entire chest was hairy. His whole chest was larger with now broad shoulders and dark skin and he had a 6 pack he’d never had before and such a big pair of pecs all covered in coarse hair. It was like a perfect Turkish man’s chest.

‘Let me bring my hands up to your nipples which I can hardly see for hair. You gave mine a nice pinch so let me do the same for you. All Turks love their nipples played with.’

As the barber started to work his nipples so Sam groaned with pleasure moving his arse in and out against the barber.s cock.

‘Christ that is amazing it so turning me on. Squeeze them harder’

Good I like to squeeze Turkish nipples. And you have a really big pair with extended nipple heads. Is that better? These will hsow nicely through all your shirts and everyone can see what a big pair of Turkish tits you have.’

‘It’s fucking fantastic.’

‘You like your new chest?’

‘It’s like a dream. I feel much more a real man. My arse feels bigger and more round and am I right is saying its hairy.’

‘It’s very hairy, all the way inside that nice crack of yours and you now have a big bubble butt and bigger hole so my cock sits well inside you.’

‘I’ts no longer sore and I want you to increase your rythmn I’m so wanting you to come inside me I can feel those thick pubes of your rubbing against my hairy arse. Shit it’s great.

‘Don’t worry “m coming round to put my hands on that cock of your but first I need to rub my hands over your face and head so close your eyes and just enjoy me thrusting faster and faster inside you.’

The more the barber thrust the more Sam pushed his arse back to see the full length of the thick shaft. He wanted every inch as he felt the barber’s hands rub against his face. As he rubbed he could feel that his face was no longer smooth but it was almost as though there was a brush in between his face and the barbers hands. His head felt different and that trim he came in for was as though he had had a very close cut even more than a number one.’

‘Now open your eyes. Look at yourself and the man you are’

The face staring back at him was no longer the wholesome blond Brit. The face he looked at in the mirror could for him almost have been a criminal. He was completely bald, shaven with a shiny top but from the top of his ears there was a thick black beard and moustache. So thick he could hardly see his mouth. The beard was at least 3inches long and took up all his chin and neck all the way down to where it met his hairy chest. He had a brown face, a squashed nose as if it could have been broken in a fight and thick bushy black eyebrows. He looked exactly like a middle eastern thug, a Turkish thug but he looked a man and man that no one would tamper with. He looked every part a man who would dominate but here he was being now aggressively fucked and loving the large cock inside him.

‘Now you look like a man. Makes me even more horny to fuck you like a brother Turk. I need to cum soon but first let me put my hands of your cock so you come at the same time.

The barber moved his hands down to grip Sam’s cock who was still staring at his new face.

‘Now look down’

Sam looked and what had been a good 6 incher before was now 9” and thick like the barber with such a forest of dark pubes. Now  Sam looked just like a masculine tough nut Turk. He was ready to come just staring at his new tool and he could feel the barber’s cock in him pulsating ready to shoot his load of cum.

‘If you are ready we both cum but I tell you this is a new beginning and you will feel at first for a short time a bit different but don’t worry it’s all part of what you want.’

‘I hope so.’ shouted Sam, ‘Just let me have everything you have and let me feel your pubes right up against my hairy arse as you cum so I am about to shoot.’

And with that the barber

Shouted ‘Fuck you Turk be one of us.’

As Sam felt the spunk shoot up his arse so his own cock exploded, arches of cum hitting the mirror and running down, great creamy drops.

When he opened his eyes after his orgasm everything seemed a bit cloudy not just his eyes but his brain. He was struggling to think what to say in English. He thought he knew what to say but he was rapidly forgetting words and instead other words of a foreign tongue were in his mind

‘I feel …. ‘He managed to say in English but even those two words he noted were in a much deeper voice and with a strong accent. It did not sound like his voice.

‘Tell me what you are thinking in your preferred language.’ The barber said

Sam said in a rasping deep voice in Turkish ‘That was a fucking great fuck.’

‘Yes Samir only we know how to fuck like real men. Welcome my Cousin.’ This was no longer Sam looking at himself in the mirror, it was now Samir.

‘Tell you what cousin I look fucking great. A hairy Turk with a huge dick and now you and I have a Turkish coffee and cigarette and then I fuck the living daylights of you. One favour deserves another. We keep it is the family eh?’

‘I get you good job in nightclub Samir.’

‘Sure Cousin, I like a good fight. No one gets on the wrong side of me.’

‘A tough Turk and a good fuck.’

‘Yeah but now time for you to turn round and I give you a good Samir fuck’

[elainavoid]

MV1 – Princess

A Turkish tiktok edit made me go feral... So here its lol! It’s also 2am right now, so i apologize if there is any grammar mistakes. Anyways, I was thinking which pilot would be the best for this trope and my mind was like “anger issues” so I thought max would be the best fit. Ofc it could’ve been yuki too, but honestly, for me he is such a cutie patootie. Sooo here we go! I hope you enjoy this one, feedbacks are always much appreciated. Enjoy again, love you <3

“Baby, I can’t find my black dress.” You pouted your lips, looking at your boyfriend, who was probably looking for something important. He didn’t answer you, ‘He must be determined to find whatever stupid thing that is.’ You thought. But you weren’t giving up yet. He has been so busy this week, you rarely saw him at home. And when he was home, you were mostly sleeping. Craving for his attention, you called his name. “Max!”

Max turned his head, a pair of blue eyes met yours, lifting one of his eyebrows, he waited for you to complete your sentence. But when he was wearing that suit… It wasn’t easy for your brain to function properly.

“I can’t find my black velvet dress.” You sighed, he just shook his head with annoyance when he heard your response. Then simply answered while looking around, “Then just wear the other one.”

You wished it was that simple to “wear the other one” but you’ve already planned everything in your outfit for this dress while staring at the ceiling last night. And if it was not this dress, then it was nothing. You sat at the edge of your bed, huffing. And murmured, “I don’t want to wear the other one.”

He looked at you again, he was probably done with your actions. You weren’t normally like this but today, he didn’t pay you attention, didn’t spend much time with you. But you were going to get what you wanted. You opened your mouth to say something but your words were cut by his. “You can stay at home if you want.”

“What? No, I want to come but I just can’t find my dress.” You exclaimed. However Max didn’t seem satisfied with your explanation. He walked up to you, slowly knelt down to be at your level and slid his pointer finger under your chin, slowly rising your head to look him in the eyes.

“Maybe you're not the only one with troubles in this world, huh princess?”

You didn’t know how to answer. Were you supposed to answer? Was that a question? Your mind couldn’t comply everything together, his face was so close to your, you could hear him breathing, his cologne driving you mad, the first three buttons of his navy blue shirt were unbuttoned, exposing his collarbones.

“I- I don’t..” You stuttered, turning your head somewhere else to escape his gaze.

“No, get up and wear something else. It doesn’t matter since I’d be taking it off later this night.”

note: this is how it felt writing this lmao 😭

[seikkoi]

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

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪᴠᴇ [1, 2, 3, 4] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

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

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 9.8k

There isn’t any conversation surrounding Pepper’s visit, or the divorce, but it’s all around you regardless.

Random items disappear from the penthouse–a Pollock (your present takes its place), some throw pillows from the study, and a few Turkish ceramics you never knew existed. The phone rings far more than you care for. Tony has far more meetings than you care for. A bespeckled lawyer and his blonde associate nearly become housemates, spending hours behind the frosted glass door. Natasha makes a few appearances as well, which confuses you the most. You find the spice in her perfume too bold.

On her third exit in as many weeks, you question Tony on it. He absently traces patterns on your calves, seemingly not paying attention to you or the film on screen. 

“Should I be worried?” you hide your sincerity behind a glass of wine, twirling the stem between your fingers. The red liquid mirrors the motion inside, spidering against the walls.

“About Natasha?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes,” you draw out, “and you–all of it, really.” 

“Now why on Earth would you be worrying about me?” 

You would love to point out the obvious and address the building-sized elephant in the room that says  ‘you’re recently sober and just got a divorce’ but the look on his face tells you it’s unnecessary. 

Tony finds a way to answer the unasked anyways. 

“It’s a shit ton of paperwork, and signing things, so it’s annoying, yes but I am fine. Scouts honor.” 

He kisses your hand and grins with all the confidence in the world. It’s so fucking arcane each time–close to magic in how it undos every worry and mirrors his gleam. 

You wished it had more permanent effects. Something long-lasting and memorable. Easy to spread over the evening and into the early morning hours, when he’s inconsolable in your arms. You could turn it back into magic words. Banish whatever miasma racked his body and go back to peaceful nights (because you had those at some point, right?).

Being able to ask the hard questions doesn’t mean shit if the answer’s always a dismissive work of fiction. You never learned what caused their separation, or sent ‘everything to shit’ as Tony put it. Not because you didn’t ask, no that question came the same night Pepper did.  Apparently it’s the same driver of every modern American divorce–money. Tony summarizes the event as a fatal disagreement over corporate shares, though like always you feel you’re being told an official story. Clean cut with all messy details chopped away. 

“You don’t have a signature stamp at this point?” you joke.

“Oh no,” Tony’s hands brace your ankles to pull you closer, “ every squiggle needs to be authentic and fresh.”

“Right, how could I assume anything less.” Your eyes roll but you let your legs drape over his lap. 

“Seriously, I’m doing fine–things will calm back down soon.” A gentle squeeze drives the point home. 

A thought crosses your mind. An insecurity, really, but one you haven’t let go since meeting Pepper.

“If it’s like, I don’t know,” you hesitate under Tony’s raised eyebrow, “–I can head back to my apartment if it’s too much.”

Stark Industries was still footing the bill even though you spent less than 10 hours there in the last two months. There’s a fear in overstaying your welcome, or whatever it is you were doing here. Either way, you figured it was less than ideal to have your girlfriend around during a divorce. 

“If what’s too much?” 

“I don’t know, if you need your space right now or–” you answer exasperatedly.

“Honey,” he gives a hearty laugh, “if I ever start asking for space, call a doctor.”

All resistance becomes futile.

You keep your apartment (for unnecessary security), but more time lapses between visits. You issue a long overdue farewell to bartending. Even being driven, the commute to that side of town is hellish and the whole thing got more pointless with each day. You drank in the fruits of this life, but not without a tiny bit of unease. It’s unease that you bury down under all the other feelings. The affection, the simplicity, the serenity. So you swap mixers for paintbrushes and solitude for the man you love. 

Other subtle changes require a quicker adjustment, but you’re getting dangerously good at adapting. With Tony’s birthday past, you recognize a pattern to Harley’s visits. Every three months like clockwork. You begin to anticipate them well enough, and start appreciating his occasional presence during your early morning tea. By his third appearance, you brew two cups.

On the first visit he barely utters a word. You were ready for some witty insult that never came, and offered him a cup in silence. You want to ask why he arrives so early just to sit in his father’s kitchen, but opt for peace instead. 

Once Pepper’s placard is gone in the parking garage and Natasha stops showing up (at all hours of the day, atleast), he’s there a second time. 

“How he’s doing with the,” he trails off, peering at you over an empty mug as the sun starts to break. He doesn’t need to motion at the empty space for you to pick up his meaning.

The official story is dancing on your tongue. The one you’ve told two times over at this point (Jarvis, Natasha). He's perfectly fine, better even. It was a piece of cake then, but now you can’t seem to look Harvey in the eye and speak in half-truths. 

“Honestly,” you sigh, “Good–not good, I don’t know.”  You were dying under  the irony of it all. Consoling Tony in the darkness of morning and then watching him make million dollar deals by noon. You don’t know how he’s managing any of it, and if any of this qualifies as okay. 

Green eyes blink slowly through an overgrown fringe. Barbers were clearly scarce in the last three months, wherever he spent them. Exhaustion forces a yawn before he speaks again, pinching his nose. 

“Figured as much.” Harley stands for the sink.

He goes through the labor of washing the ebony cup, a rare quirk amongst the obscenely rich. You’d learned they are very reliant upon their quiet servants. You wondered if he did it out of modesty or good manners.  

“Do you know why they separated?” If he was in the mood to talk about Tony, you weren’t going to pass up the chance.

“Uh, something with the company, her share or whatever. Always about the money with them.” he answers casually, tossing a look over his shoulder. 

It’s genuine enough, but all too similar to the rehearsed lines. You half-expected him to call you nosy. 

“No real loss there.” Harley adds, a hint of disdain in his voice

“Not a fan I take it?” The flimsy tag finally crumbling under your ministrations.

He chortles as he slumps back into the bar stool. 

“Pepper can be, uh,” A yawn and an eye rub take precedence, “overbearing, yeah that’s a good word for it.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine that worked well for Tony.” You murmur into your tea.

“Oh it most definitely did not.” Harley laughs again. “Not for a guy that does the opposite of whatever you tell him.”

His laugh is infectious (like father like son), and you smirk even though instead the mental picture makes you cringe. A lull passes between you. Outside, morning traffic begins, trickling upwards to interrupt the quiet. It cues Harley to get back to whatever it is he comes here to do, while you move on with the day. 

As an advantage of all the free time, you get to invest more time in your estranged friendships. Being around old friends turned out to be surprisingly good. You had anticipated more awkwardness, but there was something comforting about not having to wear a mask for once around someone besides your boyfriend. 

At this point, you slowly filled in a few close ones about your relationship with Tony. Clearly you were in this for the long haul, and keeping things under wraps was becoming futile. The general consensus was positive, thankfully. Obviously, that’s due to a great deal of details being omitted. The act left a sour taste in your mouth. Not from the content–how easy it was. You hated to repeat such behaviors, but it was less complicated this way. You wouldn’t have to labor through justifying your relationship, or hear concerns you didn’t already have. 

Tony’s reception was, oddly, less positive. He didn’t care much for your old ‘starving artist’ clique. He thought you should take advantage of his access to New York’s greatest–the real pioneers. It took little arguing from you for him to drop that thought entirely, and he conceded to just be happy to see you happy. 

Like good friends, they tease about your newfound love. One asks when they’ll get to meet ‘Mr. CEO’ and you have to brush it off casually. You like your worlds better separate. 

A sweltering autumn soon becomes frostbitten winter. This gives you less light to work with, resorting to find shuddering shoulders in complete darkness. You don’t think it’s worth searching for warmer pastures or a simpler life. No, you order a cashmere robe and get used to seeing by touch. 

Late nights in the tower turn out to be a great place to hone such skills. The halls are narrow and void of any windows, so you ghost the pads of your fingers around for customary shapes. A cushioned nook and a neglected book lull you into a nap one evening and you wake past the sunset. If you were able to sleep so late undisturbed, Tony must be preoccupied. You planned to tiptoe into the kitchen without a sound, but your ears catch words murmured behind the glass. The door is cracked slightly, just enough to let a streak of light breaks across the hardwood floor

“–fifteen, ten, maybe if we’re lucky.” 

The bespeckled man’s words are measured, precise as usual. You can almost picture his lips barely parting to utter syllables behind round-trim frames. 

“Jesus christ–the fuck am I paying you for? Because I am paying you, like a metric shit ton” 

At Tony’s voice, you press closer. 

“I’m not the idiot getting a divorce.”

“Okay, okay, let’s just stay focused here.” Natasha raises her voice above the two men, and you hear a chair drag across the office.

“Uh-uh, don’t think you’re getting off scot free–we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you did your job a tad better too.” 

“I will say it was ‘lot easier to spread the financials between two people.” 

Social norms concerning privacy start to get to you, urging your feet to pivot and take you back upstairs. Your escape goes undetected, and you seek refuge in the shower. 

You wash the day away under warm jetstreams. Part of your mind is stuck replaying everything, wondering how he was handling it all, trying not to indulge in the urge to check the sink drawer. In a flash, you toss the thought away. It’s easy to not overthink at this hour. Especially when coconut vanilla soap tugs you back towards exhaustion. You make it back out to the bedroom, where you find Tony removing his shoes at the end of the bed.

He smiles at the crack of light from the bathroom. Tony’s days were getting longer while the rest of the hemisphere’s got shorter. He would say he missed when life was simple, but he can’t remember such a time. Life growing up was anything but simple, then the older he got the more it sucked out every ounce of his energy. Everything after became, well, everything after.

Picturing a new future keeps him going. One in a coastal city, something global like New York but much, much warmer. He fights the urge to picture your silhouette amongst the waves. It’s not guaranteed. He might find himself in this dreaded cycle all over again. Then his coconut scented fantasy would be tarnished. 

No, it’s better to cherish the present with you. Like right now, watching coconut scented water droplets descended down your legs and shoulders. Even though he knows he won’t be here long. Truly, he’d wish you weren’t awake,  knowing he’d have to leave soon.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You teased, abandoning your towel as you pulled the dresser open.

He’s easy to rile up, and you know exactly what you’re doing–bending over slowly to pull your panties above your hips. You can’t help it when he stares like it’s his first time seeing you, every time. 

“Please don’t tempt me.” 

Tony’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. He’s unmoving on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside his thighs as his eyes follow the movements of your hands around lacy black fabric. Truly he’s perplexed. Who knew watching someone get dressed would be just as much of a turn-on. Or maybe it’s just you.

You toss one of his faded band tees on, and he thinks this might actually be better than any sun-soaked dream (it’s definitely just you). 

You cross the bedroom, the loose cotton brushing against your skin with each step. As you approach, you snake your arms around Tony's neck and straddle his lap. His large hands ghost up the smooth skin of your thighs, leaving a trail of warmth as they make their way to your back. The moment your skin touches his, Tony’s eyes lock onto yours, but you can tell his focus is elsewhere.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly, raking your hands through brown coils.

You assume his mind is still on the conversation downstairs, but the grin spreading on his face says otherwise. His lips move to pepper your exposed neck with kisses, still smiling.

“Really wanna know?” 

“Sure, hit me.”

The ghosts across your veins turn into full blown grazes. 

“You, in a bikini, drinking margaritas somewhere with no extradition laws.” 

You chuckle at the notion and swat his shoulder when his teeth find your pulse point. 

“Hey, you asked,” he laughs into your skin, gripping your hips tighter, “besides it’s your fault–’smell like I’m damn near there already.” 

Tony’s mouth turns hungrier and hungrier, moving feverishly across every exposed inch until the flesh is tender and you're panting in his lap. It’s just encouragement, so he doesn’t pause for a moment as his fingers slip behind your lace. They work at the wetness already ruining the fabric, dragging it across your length and making your shiver. 

Okay, sure, maybe another period of minimal alone time was getting to you, maybe. Sue me, you thought. Honestly, Tony should be more grateful to have such a willing partner–and you told him as much. Unfortunately, this elicited a need for Tony to instill a sense of gratitude in you.

In the next second, you're tossed onto your back, wrists pinned tightly above your head. His other hand pulls your panties down your legs and you try not to make a joke about the futility in getting dressed. Instead, you soak his weight against you, the roaming hand between your thighs and teeth on your neck. 

Marking you is the obvious goal-sucking harder with each breathy whimper. He wasn’t kidding earlier, either. You smelled good enough to devour and he intended on doing so. His danced along your folds, a cufflink scratching the supple skin at the top of your thigh.  They are never anywhere long enough to give you any real pleasure. Just to take more breath from your lungs and feeling from your legs. 

You squirm against vicuna dress pants, trying to gain more friction on his hand. Instead of catering to your needs, he stops all together and the noise you make is almost pathetic. Who are you kidding, it’s fully pathetic–it couldn’t have been over two weeks, and pleas can hardly form on your tongue for more. 

Tony reels back with a smirk that flips your stomach. A scheme is brewing behind darkened pupils. His eyes stay on you as his hand returns to your center, slow and heavy over your clit. 

He doesn’t relent when your wrists strain and hips buck against him. No, a tighter grip and knee over your hip hold you steady enough for his fingers to work faster. You want to chastise yourself for how much you missed this–then two fingers slide into you and there isn’t room to think of much else.

He moves quickly and silent, like a serpent, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your eyes flutter. Your soft moans fill the quiet space. He’s too steady, not changing a muscle as your peak comes closer. The most desperate you get, writing against his palm to get even one extra inch of depth, the slower he moves. 

“Did you have fun sneaking around?” 

Your eyes flutter open in the dim bedroom, Tony’s sly grin shining above you. It cuts straight through the fog of pleasure taking you over. 

“I don’t know what you’re–” you start to bluff. 

“You’re not very sneaky, you know? Or a good liar. That’s a particular skill set that you, my dear, sorely lack.”  Slow and teasing, he slides two fingers back into you.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was eavesdropping a little.” He finally moves with purpose again, but of course not enough.

“A little? Let’s not start underrepresenting things, hm?” 

Before you can debate him further, he withdraws and you think you might honestly cry if this continues.

“Okay, point taken, would you please stop torturing me now?” 

“Now, why would I reward bad behavior?” he asked, lowering his gaze.

“If it helps, I wasn’t trying to.”

“It doesn’t.” 

His palms grip your hips, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your waist upwards. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, searching for balance on your forearms until they’re pulled behind your back. 

“You know exactly which nerve to press, don’t you?” he breathes into the base of your neck, chest flush to your back as he hands work at his zipper.

How ironic, considering he spends the next hour tuning your body like an instrument. Knowing exactly where to press, where to ease off, until you finally unlock, bare and moaning into the mattress.

Afterwards, you fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart. 

You’re half way to sleep when Tony slinks out of your arms. At first, you don’t bother stirring. Then, the soft draw of the dresser catches your ear. 

You flip over onto your stomach to get a better view. You watch Tony’s shadowy figure attempt to quietly dress. For a rare sight, he abandons the tailored suit for dark Levis and a t-shirt. It hardly looks like him, in the best way possible (ignoring the obvious question of where the hell he planned on going in that. Less larger-than-life, more real. This, now this was someone you can imagine running into at the grocery store. The sharp edges of his suits always added a degree of gravitas to everything.

“Where are you off to?”

“Going to see a man about a horse.” 

He leans down for a bright smile and a quick kiss before he leaves, and you let sleep suppress any thoughts about what that could possibly mean.

You awake to a sun that has long outran the horizon. The sheer curtains were already pulled back, with the smell telling you Jarvis made a feast for breakfast. Tony’s side is empty. Which is no surprise there, but you don’t expect him at the kitchen table. 

He grins behind a newspaper as you approach. Jarvis is busy with the espresso machine, muttering curses under his breath. 

“Tell me, what are your thoughts on cyclamen–oo, or actually, narcissus, yeah, that’s better.” Tony asks like you've been having some sort of conversation before five seconds ago.

Jarvis clicks the tamper in with a satisfied click as you stare back confused. You’re two blinks away from falling back asleep and desperately craving something stronger than green tea. 

“What are you-Is-Are those restaurants?” 

“Oh, morning ma’am. Shall I prepare you a tea, perhaps breakfast?” Jarvis turns at the sound of your voice, wiping damp grounds from his hands.

“Good morning, but no, just some coffee, please.” You try to sound natural. It’s weird giving someone else orders. 

“Nope, flowers. We could do something simple like a peony but I don’t think that matches the whole vibe with the satin garlands.” Tony continues. 

“Tony, hon, I have no idea what you’re on about right now.” you groggily slouch in the chair beside him. 

“We, my dear,” the newspaper is folded and plopped onto the table for dramatic effect, “are having a Christmas party. The proverbial ‘we’ in this situation being the company, of course.” 

“A Christmas party?” you muse with a laugh.

“For tax purposes, a gala. For my purposes, and therefore to make it fun, it is indeed a party, yes.” 

Espresso warms your veins as you listen to Tony ramble through plans for catering, guests, decanters and a whole bunch of other shit you can hardly keep up with. Good thing that responsibility falls to Jarvis, who jots away on a worn notepad. Once your eyes fully open, the thought starts to excite you. Your yearly festivities normally boiled down to a bottle of chardonnay and some loosely Christmas film like Die Hard. “Plus, if I auction some art, it works out even more.” He punctuates his brilliant plan with a bite of a muffin. 

“That’s not like a massive trigger for you?” 

High-volume social events dropped off the radar recently, for good reason, you assumed (not that you minded a break from fake smiles and cold handshakes) . Instead, Tony dragged you along to more intimate dinners with whatever broker or councilwoman he needed to charm. Your role as plus-one never went anywhere, but doing so at Tony’s your home would give you more confidence. 

“What are you, my sponsor?” he teases but you're less amused at the thought. 

“You don’t even have a sponsor.” You know so, because Tony believes Narcotics Anonymous is a, quote, ‘sad-ass glorified tea party’. 

“I have Jarvis.” He’s completely serious, and Jarvis hides his laughter behind a stack of plates.  

You don’t want to point out the obvious cognitive dissonance. That a man who spends his nights in petrified somnolence might crack under the pressure of dozens of inebriated colleagues. Not now, in a moment of peace. Not in front of Jarvis. You’re not sure how much sound slips out into the hall.

Tony watches the worry creep over your face from the edge of his newspaper. With a sigh, he abandons it again.

“Look, all you have to do is look pretty–which is no sweat for you, maybe drink a few apple cider cocktails, and relax. I’ve got everything else perfectly handled.”

He gives you a look, both reassuring and decisive. It’s a simple message meant to be taken without debate, ‘trust me’. 

You get one more peaceful morning drinking tea in the dark with Harley before the holiday season.

The event overtakes your life from Thanksgiving onward. You really don’t know how this sudden festive fervor spawns, but it slowly creeps into everything. From the elevator music, to miniature elves by the door, to candy canes everywhere, and more Christmas ties than days in December (you can’t be sure he’s not switching them multiple times a day). 

You weren’t a total Grinch, not by a long shot. Tony just so happened to be creeping into that weird overly festive zone reserved for suburban moms and kindergarten teachers. 

“Tony, what’s all of this?”

Vivaldi plays faintly on the record player. There’s a delicately placed mistletoe just off of the elevator, accompanied with a haphazard trail of roses leading out onto the balcony. You navigate through a candlelight kitchen juggling a heavy box of resin. 

“Tony?” you call out again once the box makes contact with the counter,

“Out here!” 

You follow the voice and rose trail to the balcony. Unsurprisingly, he’s donning a god awful Christmas sweater, grinning and pointing to the wool like it’s runway fashion. A small table holds two covered silver platters, and a tall bottle of champagne rests in a bucket of ice. It’s the kind of overtly romantic display you’d gotten since night one, but it never fails to sink your breath straight in your heart. Something about the way he’s standing there, beaming like a nervous, lovestruck fool, tells you this isn’t just a normal gesture of affection.

Still, your lips part to thank him, but he stops you instantly. 

“Just wait–” he pleads, “I got like thirty minutes of practice into saying this and I can’t fuck it up.” 

His voice is rushed enough that you believe. Clearly the words were threatening to jump out of him. It sets you a bit on edge, trying to anticipate what this was about. You indulge him anyway and nod. 

Tony crosses the balcony to take your hands in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Okay, I know things haven’t been copacetic around here. And I know I’ve asked for a lot–more than I ever thought I would–and you know sometimes it feels like I’ll never be able to return what you’ve given to me, but I swear I’m going to make this worth it.” 

He squeezes your palm, tired brown eyes searching yours for something, any sign that his words meant a single thing. It’s a fast-winded speech that makes you wanna laugh at the irony. Tony, the man who’d move the stars if they had a price tag, somehow feeling the need to repay you.  Yet his voice is raw like a frayed nerve. Exposed to the cold winds whipping against the tower glass. 

“Tony, you’ve made it more than worth it, everyday.” You smile, though it’s worth wondering what’s driving him to say all this. The words ring true regardless.

“Not nearly enough,” he says softly, “but I’m going to–I’m going to give you the world.”

In that moment, you see it: the weight of everything he’s been carrying. Your ribs seem to tighten inside your chest. That unspoken fear you’ve both been trying to avoid–it was far easier twenty seconds ago when you thought it was yours alone. You realize now that the fearless man you saw in fact was scared of something (losing you, primarily). Yeah, you comforted him through nightmares, but even then he managed to carry an aura of control.  

This wasn't about  holding onto the life you’ve built together, the one that’s felt so fragile lately. And for the first time, you see how much that matters to him, too.

He starts to say something else, dropping your hands. His fingers fiddle behind his back, seemingly nestled in his back pocket. He stares like he intended to say something else, lips parting and closing right back. In the next second, he seems to shift gears, pulling you into a hug. 

You welcome the warm embrace, as the chill has started to gnaw at your bones. He plants a kiss to the top of your head, and you want to stay in that feeling for the rest of your life.

Sadly, he does eventually pull away to admit dinner on the balcony would be quite miserable, and the two of you move inside. 

You could spend the rest of the evening overthinking about what all that meant, but you don’t bother. Why go through that mental labor, when instead you could drink $500 champagne, carefree while your handsome boyfriend flirts with you like it’s the first date. 

You don’t think about it then, or later in the night when your legs are pressed to your chest and you can’t recall a single thing he said. You focus on what he’s saying then–filthy words about who you belong to, and exactly where you belong–a whimpering mess underneath him.

Even when it turns possessive (more so than usual), when your throat is littered with marks and his hand stands to leave another on his hip, you don’t think of it. But it’s the only thing on Tony’s mind. When another orgasm rips through you, all he can think about is how much he needs you. He whispers ‘you’re mine’ over and over and over as you fall apart just so your broken moans can still echo–so he can hear just how true it is. How could you, with such a dutiful guide at the helm?

Afterwards, when you’re drained of every ounce of life, it still doesn't bother you. You don’t wonder if tonight might be another night he slips into plain clothes and disappears until sunrise. You can’t muster a single thought as his arm slinks around your waist to pull you closer. 

You simply close your eyes, and let sleep take you. 

Eventually the days tick by to the gala, and you’re somewhere between impressed and overstimulated with all the ensuing holiday glamor. 

Though, you can’t say he doesn’t go all out. 

The first floor of Stark Industries is transformed from a cold minimalist space to Ebenezer Scrooge's worst nightmare. A makeshift stage sits at one end, complete with enough tinsel to suffocate a horse and twinkling garlands. Piles of fake snow anoint the corners, and a particularly large one sits beneath a 12-foot tall Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby. The open bar even serves drinks in frosted holiday glasses. He even has the guards wearing reindeer ears. 

By ten p.m. the vast floor seems smaller than a shoebox, packed with guests in evening gowns and tailored tuxedos. Initially, you’d planned on wearing a new piece for the gala–something to make the overwhelming festivity Tony demanded. Once it came time to get dressed, your eyes caught the sanguine dress. You hadn’t gotten the chance to wear it since your first date. It had felt too exquisite for any other occasion, but for some reason you were drawn to wear it tonight. 

You wish you could say Tony had a good reaction–or a reaction at all. From sunrise until the doors opened, he’s caught up in planning and preparations. Matter of fact, you were two hours into the gala and had only seen glimpses of him shaking hands in the crowd. It takes away from the expected familiarity. You imagined this night to be simple, easy for you to blend it with Tony on your arm, in his home your home. Instead, you wander like a lost gazelle, feeling every pair of eyes on you. You want to blame the dress. Revealing and bright red.

In the blurry swarm of faces, bright auburn stands out. Natasha wouldn’t be your first pick, but she’s the only familiar face and you need a respite.

You squeeze in next to her at one of the corner tables. The spice of her perfume permeates your nose but you can look past it for the moment. She pays you no mind at first, legs crossed and head turned to the crowd. You don’t mind one bit. It’s quieter towards the back, and you have no issue with it staying that way. 

Natasha sighs deeply, almost in boredom, maybe annoyance, but not with you. 

“I don’t know how you stand him.”

“How do you figure?” you respond absently, picking apart at a stray piece of tinsel.

“One of the richest men on Earth-I know he’s got the ego to match it.”

“You’d know better than I would, wouldn’t you?” you answer. You’d gotten the sense Natasha and Tony back way further than him and Pepper a while ago,

“Touche, but I’m not dating him.” she shifts to take another sip from her glass, “though, I’m not really sure why you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you really love him, or are you just after a family fortune?” Emerald eyes points like knives, her tone blending from casualty to scorn.

“W-what,” you stammer, “Of course I love him–Tony pursued me.”

“Please, he’d pursue anything with a pulse,” Natasha chuckles, “and relax, I’m just finally getting around to doing my due diligence.” 

“Your ‘due diligence’ is being a cunt?”

“Ooh! I see you’re a feisty one–you did sit here after all, you know.” she muses.

“Just needed a break from the crowd,” you mummer, rising. 

“Stay then–relax, like I said.” she gestures towards your now-empty seat. When you sigh and retake your place, she smiles. “I like you, you know.”

“We’ve barely spoken.” you declare, a dry chuckle spewing alongside. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know a smart person when I see one.” 

“Smart?”

“Smart decisions, going out with Tony, not screwing that up, though I’ve been told you’ve come close a few times.”

“Who–”

“This isn’t an interrogation, like I said, I like you–I don’t really care what happens between you two.”

“Then what is this?” you flag the nerdy tuxedoed waiter for a glass of water. 

“You said it yourself, we’ve barely spoken. My job is to keep Tony’s business running smoothly, and that’s become a lot harder since he won’t make a single decision without considering the ‘y/n’ of it all.” 

You scoff, unimpressed. “We don’t talk about his business.”

“Oh, I know,” Natasha remarks, “A bartender has no idea how to run a billion dollar corporation, and even less of an idea how to advise one.” 

“This is the part where you tell me I have no business being with him, right?” The waiter drops off a tall pitcher of water for you both. Once your glass is full, he passes along a message that Tony’s speech starts soon. 

“Dear god no,” Natasha laughs, “I imagine you’ve heard that enough–and he’s much more pleasant since you came around. Besides, you’re living the dream.” 

“Is that so?” You have to give a laugh of your own (considering you had a bit of jealousy buried for her). 

“Oh yes, filthy rich, live in a penthouse, never work another day in your life, loving husband–maybe not my dream, but still a dream.” 

You don’t know if she’s trying to be funny but your next laugh is genuine, and she joins in.

“What is your dream, then?” you question.

Natasha’s grin stiffens, surprised. Contemplation passes for a second and you worry that you’ve underdone the last three minutes of camaraderie. 

“Ballet teacher–but that stays at this table.” She gives you a matching pointed look.

“My lips are sealed.” You do try not to giggle, but it’s odd to imagine her frigidity in a warm lit studio surrounded by tutus. 

“Did you mean it, what you said about Tony? That things are...okay?” Natasha asks, referring to Tony’s sobriety. It’s weird how everyone dances around it, especially someone so usually straightforward as her. 

It was weeks ago when you parroted that claim. And you only call it that because the question annoys the fuck out of you. It’s entirely subjective, and you give in to the optimistic look in their eye and tell them what they want to hear. He’s fine, better even.

Maybe it’s because she’s being nice, or because you already gave up this facade with Harley, but you can’t be bothered to pretend you know what’s going on with him all the time. Besides, clearly you weren’t doing a good enough job for her to ask you about it again

“I want to say yes, but I don’t know, I guess?” you admit, staring into the crowd. 

Natasha’s mouth parts to speak again, only to have the microphone’s feedback interrupt her. The host–some Nobel prize winning chemist Tony invited to pull donors–clears his throat before starting his introduction, and the noise draws to a lull. Natasha excuses herself, presumably to find Tony before his speech. You decide to stay at the back of the lobby, with a good enough view of the stage. 

Supposedly this entire sordidly festive affair had a true business purpose, some big announcement Tony was making on the ‘future of the company’. He didn’t explain much more than that, and you’re certain the technical logistics were beyond you anyway. 

After a long, boring welcome, the mic is passed off to Tony. It’s the first time today you’ve been able to see him fully–draped in a jet black tuxedo and bright red bowtie. 

It whines again in his grip, and Tony pauses once the cheers die down, glancing at the expectant faces below. Thick cards press into his palm, each written meticulously inked by Natasha last night He clears his throat, glancing out past the lights into the crowd. He hopes they can’t see how heavy the stillness starts to weigh on him like before. The sudden quiet, all that attention. Including yours, somewhere out there. His heart stalls at how must look to you up here. Larger than life probably, or maybe you weren’t looking at all (he hopes you aren’t). A hundred odd pairs of eyeballs, and he hides from yours. 

Tony knew what he had to do, and was quite confident in his choice. But he can’t risk looking you in the eye while he does it. Ironically, his decision had very little to do with you, and everything to do with Pepper. The edge of his mouth still twitches. 

“Tonight…” he starts, turning the twitch into a warm smile, “…I’ve asked you all to be here in celebration, to celebrate Stark Industries, and talk about the future of the company,” He clears his throat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to loosen some unseen knot.

There’s a small, brief ripple of confusion among the front of the room, murmurs. Something shifts in his expression—just a flash—before his eyes catch something and harden. A gesture is made to the guard at the end of the stage. His hand tightens around the mic.

“To keep things transparent,” he says, stuffing the cards into his pocket, “the real reason I threw this party, asked you all to be here, is because I want everyone to see how much this means to be.”

Your ears perk up. Natasha swears under her breath, glancing at you before sharply leaving the table, tapping away at her phone. Tony can’t hide from your gaze anymore, and he finds your confused face in the back corner. Before you think about a path to escape, the crowd follows his attention, taking their eyes from the billionaire to the nobody fiddling with tinsel alone.

“I want to celebrate the love I have for this woman, and take this opportunity to share it with everyone.” 

What the hell is he doing?, you think. He can't be doing this here, like this. 

“The truth is,” he pauses, feeling his phone buzz off the hook (most certainly Natasha telling him to stop), “I’m getting married, and Stark Industries will be welcoming a new partner in its operations.”

The room erupts in a chorus of oos and awes, all to the tune of your racing heart. It takes you a second to process. He means getting married to you. You never even talked about marriage, the future, anything like that. Yeah, maybe in passing the idea came up, but at no point did you accept a marriage proposal. 

Everything feels nauseatingly blurry after. Random individuals come over with their congratulations, while half the crowd stares and the other half still bothers to listen to the rest of Tony’s speech. It’s a bunch of nonsense about restructuring and profits, and you’re too confused, pissed, and too fed up with fake smiles to bother standing around to listen. 

You suffer through two more superficial conversations about the marriage you were only made privy a few minutes ago. Finally, you escape to the restroom. You find an empty stall to hide in, trying to process what was going through Tony’s mind.

He couldn’t be serious, could he? This wasn’t real–it was some ploy or tactic. He didn’t genuinely intend to marry you. You didn’t like to think of the long-term for the same reasons you didn’t think about the short-term. This was unpredictable, you learned that. You learned to be okay with that. You could soak in the pleasures indefinitely without ever worrying about how it might all end. This, this brought it into a sharp focus you weren’t ready for. 

You’re not even certain he’s fully divorced yet. 

Once your palms finally dry, and the threat of a panic attack fades, you step out of the restroom. You don’t even know what to think, and the sterile walls weren’t helping. Glancing back toward the gala, you spot Tony scanning the room—until his eyes find yours. You don't hold his gaze long; instead, you turn sharply toward the elevator. You hear your name faintly called from somewhere behind, but you keep moving down the hall, ignoring it.

He breaks into an awkward jog to catch you. You keep your eyes forward.

“[Y/N], look I know this wasn’t what you were expecting, and I can explain I just need–” he starts,

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Stark,” Natasha heels stomp angrily down the hall, stepping in front you to point her finger in Tony’s face, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Alright, alright, not you right now–cut it out!” He smacks her hand away flippantly, “I’m not entirely sure you and Matt haven’t been drinking the kool-aid either.” 

Tony huffs and straightens his bowtie and you step back from Natasha’s heat. Behind the three of you, someone gets their hands on a karaoke machine and a terrible rendition of Santa Baby follows.

“The whole point of this bullshit was to go public and get out of this shit so explain to me how this gets us anywhere closer to that?” She grits.

Tony throws his hands in the air, “Maybe it doesn’t, but your dumbass plan wasn’t any better.”

“You think marrying her is going to help you? You know I was joking when I said that, right?” 

Suddenly, a spotlight seems to beam over you. Neither party stops their death glare to fully acknowledge you. That wasn’t a proposal–you were just some pawn in their game.

You don’t even know what the hell they’re playing for.

“This is a great time to remind you who signs your checks.” 

Only then do her eyes bother to glance at you. 

“This isn’t gonna end well, and you know it.” She concedes, still stern. After that, she stomps back off into the crowd. 

Tony turns towards you, but you're already back at the elevator, watching the buttons finally reach L.

“[Y/N], please–” 

The doors ding open and you don’t stop to hear anymore. Despite your feverous attempt to close the doors, Tony makes his way inside. The door just barely misses his coattail, to your annoyance.   

Even worse, and completely on par for the evening, the jingle bells elevator music plays the moment the doors shut. 

A hard, awkward beat passes. You’re pinching the bridge of your nose, sparsely emptied of any more energy for this night (mentally or otherwise). 

“You look fucking stellar, by the way, love that dress–”

“Tony.”

“Right, you’re right, sorry.”

Neither of you spare another word from the elevator to the bedroom. Tony follows behind, closing the door softly as you toss your earring onto the dresser. You’re waiting for him to speak again. Explain, deflect–hopefully just explain, but he doesn’t. He sits at the end of the bed, eyes trained to you in the mirror. 

“Why didn’t you ask me? Alone? Before today?” you sigh, “

“I wanted to, I was going to, the other night on the balcony I just–” he answers quickly, but trails off in a way that has you turning to face him instantly.

You don’t doubt that for a second. Truthfully, the level of effort and random heartfeltness of the night gave you some clue. But, when it never came you just chalked it up to Tony being Tony. Painfully romantic in most conditions. 

“You just what, didn’t want to?” There’s anger, though you know it's hypocritical. 

“No I just,” he exhales, dragging his fingers through slicked back hair, “I knew you’d say yes.”

“You knew I’d say yes? What the hell does that mean?” Your necklace joins the rest of your jewelry with a loud clink. 

“This is coming out all wrong–”

“You think?” The six inch heels are the next thing to go, throwing haphazardly in the closet. Tony rises to cut you off in front of the door, eyes pleading for understanding you’re not sure you have. 

“I saw the look in your eye, I’d done so much to make sure you’d say yes in that moment because I needed you to–not because I wanted it and that wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.”

“You don’t know that I’d say yes.”

“You would,” he says with that practiced charm, all sunny but hollow. A trademark Stark move—confidence teetering on arrogance. When you hesitate, he’s ready with another word, a gaze intense enough to hypnotize. “You know you would.”

You laugh, looking away as if it’s absurd. “Are you really so sure?”

His hand slips into yours, gentle but firm, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that makes it seem like he’s talking to you, only you, and not the thousand voices in his head screaming at him to get this done. 

“I know you’re scared, but” he says, leaning into your warmth. “Don’t leave me hanging here, please.”

“You sound so desperate, it’s kind of sad.” 

But there’s a softness to your voice now, a hint that he might be getting through. For a moment he was worried he wouldn’t be able to get away with this again, that you’d learned all his tricks since the boutique. 

It’s enough of a crack in your resolve for him to keep pushing. He slips closer, voice low. 

“Look, I know I keep asking a lot of you, but, There’s a pause, just long enough to let the ache in his voice sit, before he adds, “this could fix everything, everything can be okay.”

There’s a sliver of doubt in your eyes, and that’s what he clings to. 

“And when was the last time everything was okay, Tony?” You watch him in the bureau’s mirror. 

 “It could be. All I need for you to do is say yes, so I can fix this,” He squeezes your hand, the hint of desperation all but veiled now. 

And when you finally exhale, when that flicker of sympathy slips in, he knows he’s won.

It’s good enough. Better than he hoped, honestly. The relief slides into him like a tonic, loosening the tight lines in his jaw. He keeps his hand on yours, knowing the warmth of it will serve to distract from the creeping dread, from the hollow pit that’s been widening ever since the stakes got so high he couldn't see the top of them.

For Tony, this is all still just a means to an end. One step closer to true liberty and the life he was supposed to have. If he had to lie and disappoint–cheat and charm, then he’d do it. It would be worth it. In the end, the sum of his achievements would outweigh his sins.

He reminded himself of that a month ago, the night before he decided to have the gala. When the bedroom door closes, a sigh of relief escapes. He was lucky that you didn’t catch the conversation with Matt and Natasha in full. What he had in the works was sensitive, and he couldn’t have that ruined by anyone knowing the details in advance. He couldn’t lose you again, not when he needed you most. 

There is a shred of guilt as the elevator whirs down to the garage. You’re probably thinking the worst, understandably, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Only to pray his love was enough to placate you for now. 

Especially when he doesn’t even want to fucking do this. Each day seems to come at the loss of his autonomy, another suit on his payroll telling him what’s best for his life. It’s more deplorable when the people closest to him come up with the shittiest ideas to fix this. He can truly thank Pepper for his recent migraines (and a bunch of old ones). Filing for divorce was quite a move to try to get what she wanted, and throw him to the mercy of the Securities and Exchange Commission at the same time. If you listen to Matt, Tony’s mere minutes away from a cold cell. If you listen to Nat, Tony’s plummeting stock will be the sealer of his fate. And as of right now, two of the smartest people he knows can’t come up with anything that doesn’t come at the cost of you or his company. And he can’t live with either. 

Since, both their solutions arguably suck, he tells a lie or lack thereof to find a third opinion. Or a hail mary. However it’s called, it’s a long shot that he can’t be certain won't jeopardize him even more. 

The drive to Hudson Valley is peaceful, to the point he forgets his world is on fire. It’s late, or early, depending on who you ask. Few cars grace the road and he finds solace in the solitude. The radio is ignored for the repetitive rumble of the tires, until paved tar turns into rough gravel. 

When Pepper sent over the address, he wasn’t too surprised. She always rambled about moving out of the city, dreaming of cabins in the woods and sprawling hills. Tony could never wrap his head around living anywhere else. In retrospect, that was another early omen. They never even shared the same dream. 

He can’t say it doesn’t look impressive. A dark a-frame that strikes beautifully against the earthen spruce. Maybe that is why she had him drive all the way out here and not somewhere in the city. Part of masterplan to show him what she presumes he’s missing out on. 

The porch lights flicker on once he parks, and he makes his way up the stone path to find Pepper sitting just outside the door. She’s preoccupied with a thick novel, acknowledging Tony with the raise of a finger. 

It’s strange, being alone with her for the first time in years. She’s not dressed in Valentino but tattered college sweats he had forgotten about. Seeing her at the penthouse all those months ago was troubling, but this was different. Here, it’s too quiet. Even though he’s a few paces away from the table, he can hear the tension of her nails against the pages–the swirl of wind through her hair. Sure, she can’t control the environment but he knows this is a calculated move too. To make him wait, make him uncomfortable. Every other sense sharpens in the absence of constant noise. Norway spruce and duplicity. 

He’s losing his nerve and he needs this over. 

“Why the hell’d you make me drive this far out anyway?” He tries to keep a level voice, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to use his irritation against him. 

“It’s the one place I’m certain your little spy hasn’t found yet.” she murmurs.

Okay, fine, so he’d used his son to spy on his ex-wife. Big deal, he couldn’t be certain she wasn’t doing the same. Plus, Harley had offered to keep an eye on her. It was a matter of security, not personal (mostly). 

“Can we get on with this?”

“I suppose,” she sighs, tossing the book onto the table. The thud reverberates, stark against the stillness of the valley. “But I’m not sure what it is you want from me–you did call me after all.”

“I did.” And he’s regretting it every second.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“You can start by accepting the deal Murdock sent, and let this be over.” 

Pepper chuckled, crossing her legs. “What are you playing at, Tony?”

“I’m not playing at anything–this needs to be over, you need to move on.”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffs, “this is all very rich considering you’ve held me in litigation for months, you rejected my offers over and over, so why the sudden change of heart?”

A cold chill and burning annoyance pull him closer to the table. 

“Yes, because I should just give you forty-five percent of my company–I can get it gift-wrapped too if that makes it all the better.”  

“That’s right, your ego won’t let you admit I’m the only reason you have a company to speak of.”

“Can’t you find an ounce of compassion in that gaping pit you call a soul, for me?”

“Such harsh words from someone who needs something from me.” Pepper smirks and stands once the heat recedes from Tony’s face. 

“Take the twenty percent, finalize the papers, and end this, or else there won’t be anything for either of us.”

She circles the table to stop in his view. Tony wishes he had a time machine.

“Let me guess, someone’s under a little heat.” she muses, voice high and dripping in sugary venom.

“Little is an understatement.” He steps back, hands tight in her pockets.

“And why would I give up my shares to help you?”

“This entire thing started with you, and the second it wasn’t convenient you ran. The least you could fucking do is help me out of it.” Tony snapped. 

“Right, and if I don’t?” 

She still laughs, because it’s all a good game to her. Entertaining to see him against the ropes–desperate enough to reach out to her. For once though, it’s calming. It soothes his anger and reminds him why he agreed to this at all. This time, he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Then I’ll tell just that to whoever needs to know–you know I have the evidence. You’ll go down right alongside me.”

In the quiet solace, for a moment, she’s outplayed. Her smile falters and brows crinkle. Truthfully, as much as he’d love to, he could never sell her out. But she had a terrible tendency of assuming the worst of him, and he was banking on that. 

“Please do, I’m sure they’d love to hear what I know about Obadiah.” 

Oh, so that was her ace.

A soft buzz vibrates his back pocket. He doesn’t need omniscience to know it’s you. He can picture it clearly–you, traipsing around the penthouse looking for signs of life. He knows you hate that feeling, and he hates to cause it. 

There’s a more pressing issue; not giving Pepper the emotional reaction she wants.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Spare words from some forgotten bin. 

“Not if you don’t force my hand.” 

A painful pause ensues. The valley’s fauna recognize the tension, silencing out of respect for the sound of Tony’s plan shattering. A true stalemate. Not what he came for, but his throat swells thinking about the aftermath from a war of attrition. 

He can’t let that get out, above all else. That’d be his dissolution. Stark Industries, everything he worked for would vanish. You, without question. You never see him the same again. The crafted image he sought, the life he was creating with you for you, it’d be wasted effort. 

“What’s it gonna take for you to help me?”

After another migraine-causing conversation, Tony slumps into the driver seat, shoulders heavy and eyelids even heavier. Fifteen minutes have passed since your text, and he wonders if it's better not to answer at all. 

[ everything okay?  ]

[ be home soon ]

Ignore. Deflect. Move on.  

The drive back to the city is less pleasant. Actually, it’s a nightmare that he disassociated through the moment he entered the garage. He was, tragically, fucked. There was no telling if he had the capital to replace whatever Pepper took, and he certainly couldn’t risk everything by going public. And if he didn't give Pepper what she wanted, he might be looking at a depressing future behind bars. And that was not an option. 

So he’s at the mercy of the ginger Judas who put him on the path in the first place. Go figure. There’s self-blame for entertaining this option at all. For not guessing she’d snake her way into the upperhand like always. This wasn’t a beast he could defeat with regular tactician and planning. No, he needed to surprise her–usurp her. Piss her off the way she pissed him off. Go against the grain and act in a way that she couldn't predict. Something she couldn’t maneuver around. 

So, when the mic graced his hands, and the coached words on his marriage, the marriage  he never asked you about. The marriage he couldn’t ask you about because he wasn’t ready either. 

He said fuck it, and did it anyway. 

He knew you would’ve said yes then, so you obviously would answer the same afterwards. Even if you were predictably, and understandably pissed, you loved him, and he intended to use that. Grand gestures were his thing after all. A huge public soiree was more on brand than some private dinner. And, he was Tony Stark. The man who got everything he wanted. Why would your hand be any different? Certainly it fell under the same bracket (and really, an argument could be made that he had your loyalty regardless–this was just a title). 

It was justified in his mind the moment the words hit the mic. It just sounds right– Y/N Stark. Like he should have made it that way a long time ago. For a second, the ceaseless pit of vengeance is taken over by something more. 

It;s even easier to justify when he gets a wave of childlike excitement over it. Imagining the ring on your finger, the life he could have with you. Palm trees and salt waves on a remote coast. No more Stark Industries, no more nightmares about cold federal prisons, just you and him. 

Then, in the crowd, he spots what must be Pepper’s lookout. A short, brayish man stays still while dozen roar in congratulatory apologize. Pepper should’ve coached him better, a clear sore loser in a room full of winners. 

The real reason he’s doing this comes back. Tony makes a quick signal to the guard behind him, and moments later the man is escorted upstairs. He used to hate doing this. But he soon learned that humanity gets you nowhere in this business. Still, he almost tells his team to go easy. Then he remembers the cold look on Pepper’s face at the valley while he plead for mercy like a sad dog. 

Fuck that. The man knew the risks. It’s not Tony’s fault they didn’t play in his favor. 

Out of whatever kindness was left, he makes a note to have his body dumped somewhere nice. 

PART SIX SOON

[allaboutnayeli]

Omg fic idea I NEED but can't do

Reader is a teacher in a kindergarten and elisa comes and surprises her with lunch. She introduces elisa to the class and the little girls go crazy all over elisa because they have a crush on her 😭😭

(I really need to study ap bio 💔)

kindergarten painted hearts [e.de almeida x art teacher!reader]

prompt: elisa surprises you by bringing your forgotten lunch to your job and it seems some kiddos gained their first crush.

author notes: this plot is actually so cute tho like ugh elisa with kids>> anyways hope you like this bestie! (and you need to lock in on that studying fr).

you and elisa met nearly fourteen years ago. with you both playing at the same youth club in y'all's hometown. football at the time was just a way for you to fill your schedule after school and on the weekends. you were an energetic kid, so your parents decided you needed to work out some of the energy with athletics. meanwhile, you could tell football was an passion for elisa. the first day you saw her show off her defensive skills at practice, you just knew she would go far; and that she did.

you two became best friends after a while of playing together. getting ice cream after practice or games, sleepovers that one of you always begged your parents for, being separated at practice because y'all distracted each other, and more became a part of you two's blooming friendship. eventually that friendship turned into something more. with elisa being the one to ask you out at your highschool graduation party. it was nearing the end of the party with elisa laying on your bed. her eyes half focused up at the ceiling and half focused looking at you sitting beside her. you were looking at some turkish telenovela on your tv.

"uh, y/n?" she murmurs, barely audible. still you hear her, looking down at her with a smile.

"yeah, eli?" she bites down slightly on her lip as you speak out the words. god her heart was racing and she swear she could feel her palms starting to sweat. "not that it matters or anything, but.. do you like girls?" elisa asks. closing her eyes in slight embarrassment the moment you narrow your eyes at her.

the embarrassment fades once she hears you say, "yeah. do you?"

elisa feels a string of confidence go through her as she sits up. scooting back so she is shoulder to shoulder with you. "you already know the answer to that," her head is turned so her nose is touching the tip of yours. "mhm. i just wanted to confirm.." you say softly. your eyes looking into hers. the nervousness elisa was feeling is so evident in her eyes that it almost makes you giggle.

"i hope i'm not reading this all wrong, but.. can i kiss you?" she asks, licking her lips. you don't even give her a response back. just pulling her into a kiss as your hands go to hold onto the back of her neck.

yeah, that was elisa and yours first kiss. that kiss led to you two now being a loving, committed relationship.

after graduation you proceeded to forget about your soccer days and put all your energy into your university. long days filled with studying in an elementary education major with an art minor. being creative was a passion that had been simmering inside of you for years, it was your calling so after getting you college degrees, you went and became a kindergarten school art teacher. that entire time elisa was by your side. supporting you in your studies. and you were supporting her too. elisa went into professional women's football just like you thought. the defender spent some time at different clubs before eventually landing a contract with paris saint germain, her current home away from home. you were there the entire time; coming to games, bringing her snacks to practice, and massaging elisa's body after a long day of training.

now you two are happily engaged and planning a wedding. your relationship is known to the public, but is kept quite private in general with you just wanting things to be kept simple.

your students at your school obviously knew you were engaged to someone. the decently sized diamond ring on your finger is an automatic attention grabber for a bunch of five year olds. all they know is that you have a pretty ring and sometimes mention how your wife is sorta chaotic like them sometimes & that's it. you did plan to introduce elisa eventually since some of your students loved football. you felt it would be such a cute moment, but with elisa's busy schedule it was hard to find a good time for her to come in. unknownst to you that moment would come sooner than you thought.

all because you forgot to bring your lunch to work one day.

it was an wednesday which was usually the most chaotic and messy day of the week. it's the middle of the week so the kids are already feeling tired from monday, but excited for the upcoming friday. those two emotions together make for rowdy students who can't seem to focus on anything.

the first half of the day before lunch is exhausting to say the least. one of the newer students, léa, kept refusing to sit next to her bestfriend ameila over "such a big problem." in reality, the little French girl didn't want to sit next to her bestie because ameila shared her breakfast apples with another girl; typical kindergarten friendship jealousy. resolving this problem required you to stage a mini intervention. five year olds are surprisedly stubborn when it comes to apologizing, but it ends well. with the two bestfriends going back to being their usual clingy selfs to each other.

then another problem was a little boy named samir who has been your student since the beginning of the school year. the boy was tall for his age with him reaching your hip and he took advantage of that too many times to count this morning. grabbing toys out of his classmates hands then holding them up above his head, touching things he shouldn't like the glass heart you have on the top of a shelf near your desk (it was a gift for your birthday from your fellow teachers), and constantly taking out toys that would usually be out of someone of his age range's reach. an absolute pain in the ass; even with his adorable big brown doe eyes and little afro. still, an absolute pain.

by the time lunchtime comes around you are wondering why you even picked this career. kindergarteners eat in their classrooms at your school, so you couldn't even escape the little rascals for a single moment but it's all good. usually the students are more quiet and focused on eating than doing something they shouldn't.

you pull out the cart of lunchbags from the closet. calling up the tables by number to come grab their lunchbags. once all the little kiddos have their lunch it's finally time for you to sit down at your desk and enjoy the lunch you packed.

you start to search through your bag, looking for the lunchbag you always bring. remembering that you cooked and packed some fried chicken with fried brown rice with vegetables makes your stomach growl. yeah, you need to find that lunchbag right now.

"what the..?" you mumble to yourself as you come up empty handed. you swear you remembered packing the lunch in your bag the night before, but apparently you didn't.

you stand up, planning to just go ask ms. janie who is the first grade math teacher to come watch your class while you go out and buy some lunch. just as you open the small closet next to your desk to get your coat here comes a knock at the door.

"someone's at the door, ms l/n!" shouts out manon. she's one of the loudest and chaotic kids in the entire class, so you knew the moment she said that all the other little rascals would get hype too. all the kids are not very interested in the door. the knock from before made some of them perk up earlier, but their food and whatever kindergarten level conversations they were having were way more interesting then some knock at the door.

léa and ameila are now gossiping about who could be at the door. "i bet it's mr. walker or ms. bernard!" ameila speculates loudly. her ponytail wearing bestfriend shakes her head in disagreement. "nope. it has to be mr. martin. he said he would bring candy on friday, but maybe he wanted to do it early," léa says.

you just ignore the conversations going amongst your students as you open up the door.

standing there is elisa with your lunchbag in hand. a mischievous smile sitting on her lips, "forgetting something, babe?"

the surprise that comes over makes you stay silent for a moment before fully processing that your fiancee was standing in front of you at your work place. "what are you doing here?" you ask with a smile as you take the bag out of her hand. opening it to look inside and see if it has the right contents inside. "practice was cancelled and when i came home i noticed you left your lunch so i decided to bring it to you since i missed your face," she says. her words make you roll your eyes lovingly.

you can hear your kindergarteners (barely) whispering about who is at the door. with your body covering up most of elisa's as you stand in the doorframe, they couldn't make out who it was.

"that doesn't look like mr. martin," léa says as she tries to sit up more in her seat to catch a glance of who is at the door. ameila does the same thing, "i think it's some boy. maybe that's ms. l/n's son! i knew she had a kid and just wasn't telling us."

you hear everything clearly since kindergarteners are a least good at projecting their voice unlike with whispering. "well come inside and come meet my children away from home," you turn and come more into the classroom. going back over to your desk real quick to set your lunch aside. elisa walks inside and closes the door behind her. the french player's smile grows wider as she look at all the eyes on her.

your students look at her in half confusion and half curiosity. you just know they're going to ask way too many questions. most of which are going be a little too personal. "alright you guys.." you say as you come and stand next to elisa in front of the class. "meet my fiancee, elisa. she's a footballer," the moment you say that the boys in the class look more hype. a few girls as well. especially gabriela who sits with her ronaldo jersey on in the back of the class.

samir is the first to raise his hand. you sigh before signaling him to speak. he smiles as he says, "have you played with mbappe?" the question is innocent enough but it makes elisa laugh. you give her a light slap on the arm and she stops. clearing her throat before saying, "no. girls and boys don't play together at my age," elisa says.

that one question and answer makes all the other little kindergarteners in the classroom want to say their own questions too. with it being only ten minutes left of lunch, you allow elisa to handle all the questions while you go munch on your lunch.

those ten minutes pass quickly as you chew happily on your food. you finish half of it by the time class is supposed to start, so you pack it back away and leave the lunchbag on your desk. a warm smile graces your lips as you look over to see elisa sitting at the back of the classroom with a small group of the girls in the class.

the conversation they are having makes you almost laugh, but you stop yourself. you come over, saying, "it's time to go put your lunchbags up in your backbags girls."

gabriela is the first to groan. pouting as she looks at elisa. "you look strong, elisaaa. can't you put it up for me?" she whines as she pouts at the french player. the sight is adorable but makes you question a few things since gabriela is probably one of the most independent kindergarteners you have ever since. now she wants elisa's help? elisa just smiles at the compliment. patting the five year old's head.

manon and ameila who were also at the table pout at elisa too. five year olds can be quite impressionable at the worse moments. now you have three kindergarteners who don't want to get up and put up something themselves.

"girls, those are your lunch bags not elisa's" you say, but still five year olds are stubborn at times too so the three just continue looking at elisa.

"it's fine, babe" the french player says before standing up. you sigh at her; she was basically going against your words in front of your students and now you just know for the rest of time elisa is here, those three will be listening to her not you. still elisa just shrugs as she grabs the three lunchbags laying on the table. "which backbags are y'all's?" you hear elisa say as you walk back to the front of the class.

you can see the puppy lovesick smile on all three of those kindergarteners faces and knew the rest of class was probably going to be more difficult than usual.

and you were completely right. the whole rest of the class ameila, manon, and especially gabriela trailed behind elisa.

when it was time for math and you were going to hand out the materials, those three wanted elisa to instead. same thing when it was time for science and you were helping everyone get on their experiment gear. gabriela clung to elisa's side and asked her with a pout to help her out. ameila stood on elisa's other side and asked the same thing. both blushing once the french player finished helping them. it was very cute to see and what happened at the end of the day was even cuter.

it was the last few minutes of the day with the kiddos finishing up their art projects. the assignment was to draw something that represents love. gabriela was hyperfocused on hers. making sure to make it way more beautiful than she usually does for art projects.

at the end of the class as you were telling the kiddos goodbye as they one by one got picked up by their parents, gabriela walks up to elisa who's sitting at your desk. Chewing on some gummies you had laying around (they are for children but she really doesn't care). the little girl shyly taps on elisa's thigh. "hm? what is it, gabs?" the french player asks as she sits up a bit, smiling at gabriela.

the little kindergartener's heart was racing so fast as she holds out her little card. It's pink construction paper with a red heart on it. on the heart it says my favorite footballer. "before ronaldo was my favorite but now.. i think i want a elisa jersey," gabriela says. elisa smiles as she accepts the card and pulls the five year old into a small hug. "this is so cute, thank you!" elisa says as she pulls away.

you just smile as you see how happy gabriela looks. she gives elisa a shy wave before grabbing her backbag and coming to the door. you pat her head as you say, "have a good evening, okay, gabs?"

she smiles up at you and shakes her head as her mother approaches the classroom. you speak to her for a few minutes before letting gabriela go. closing the door once she was fully gone. thankfully all the parents were on time today and all the little rascals were gone.

you turn to elisa and smile, "she's totally crushing on you." elisa just shrugs with a smug smile, "can't be helped i guess?"

you come over to your desk, still smiling as you ruffle elisa's hair. she pouts slightly. not enjoying the feeling of her hair being all messy. "always knew she was sorta into girls. i think she has a little crush on ameila," you say.

"oh? so i wasn't her gay awakening?" elisa jokes. you roll your eyes before saying, "oh no you definitely was. you made her realize she may be a little into girls. i bet that tomorrow she will be showing her crush for ameila way more than usual."

and you were correct as the next day gabriela wore a jersey with de almeida on the back and was sharing her snacks with ameila. you caught the two giggling as ameila braided gabriela's hair. an obvious blush sitting on gabriela's face.

[padawansuggest]

You know you into yarn when you have headcanons about what spindles characters would particularly like, what they prefer to do with the yarn, what type of wheel spinner they are, and who has 17 projects going on at once (Anakin) vs who’s gonna focus almost entirely on one project as they go through thought spindle spinning a fine yarn, plying and washing enough of it for a blanket, immediately sticking it on the loom, and weaving a particularly intricate pattern (Obi-Wan) vs who’s the ‘I add the knots of silk and locks so that I can live in the moment and let chunks come out when they need to’ (as if I even have to say it, it’s Qui-Gon)-

ANYWAYS. I actually love yarn and think that yarn craft should be more in fics but that’s sorta like how lots of chefs and bakers make a lot of foodie fics like it’s nice but. Everyone eats. Not enough people care about Scottish spindles. Obi-Wan has 7 Scottish spindles and like 8 Turkish ones so he can make a blanket’s worth of yarn in a single go without having to unwind them and ply right away. Qui-Gon likes supported spindles and a traditional wheel. Anakin designs and makes his own electric spinners, electric yarn counters, and electric cone winders. And then he knits Padme shawls. Qui-Gon crochets blankets and keeps leaving them in the creche or outside random apartments in the temple. Obi-Wan weaves. Anakin spent 5 hours learning how to dye fiber in Padme’s favorite colours, made an electric wool carder to make batts of them, spent a solid 15 hours spinning enough for a massive shawl in lace weight yarn for his wife, knit her one, and then went back to his ADHD project hopping.

I have ideas!!!!!!

[erabu-san]

Hello!!I want to start off with the fact that i ABSOLUTELY LOVE your art!!The way you draw characters is amazing,you draw them nearly the same as i hc them

I was scrolling through your blog (the art is beautiful please dont ever stop) and i saw some anons complaining and insulting you for drawing some characters (mainly characters from natlan and sumeru) with different shades of skin.While i dont know much about this topic i just wanted to share my opinion.

Sumeru is based off of middle east,the majority of which has tanned skin (but its very mixed from what i know!).Natlan is based off of a lot of places (which is honestly another sign of racism in my opinion)I myself am from Turkey which can count as both middle east AND Europe (even turkish people dont know what we count as).I have a lot of middle eastern friends as well (Iran,Iraq,Sauda Arabia,Syria…) and they are brown or tanned and one of them is white!

i saw a lot of people say that “not every character needs to be black/brown” and i answer this with not every character has to be white.White,brown,black,asian,native american and every other race exists and every race deserves to be respected.No race should be insulted for wanting representation.No race should be seen as outcasts either.Wether that be white or black,no one deserves to feel like they are not fine the way they are.

I myself hc Zhongli as pale as a ghost to indicate that he is a god (as being pale is associated with being a superior being in chinese culture).I hc Xiao as tanned due to him spending all his time,day and night,fighting monsters.I hc Neuvilette has slightly blue-ish skin bc hes the hydro sovereign.I hc as black bc i like him that way.I hc Alhaitham as brown and so many more characters.Nobody would want to play a game in which there is no diversity.Diversity helpes the characters feel more real and gives them character depth.Diversity helps make Teyvat feel more real,like Earth itself.

But anyways this is just my opinion,i would love to learn more and hear everyone’s opinions.And if someone doesnt like your art they should just block you if they dont want to see it🤷‍♀️ Your art is amazing though so please dont mind those buffoons 🙏

Sorry it this got too long or complicated.English isnt my first language and im still learning

And dont even get me started on the body shapes of the characters

Hii !! Thank you so much ! 😭😭🙏

Yesss I completely agree with you !

And if I can be honest, I wasn't aware of this question of representation and diversity before Genshin Impact. Once, I saw a fanart with someone making a white character black, and in all of my ignorance, I was wondering why (a genuine question). So I asked my friend her thought (because I love hearing her opinions) and she makes me aware about representation in media, and issues they are facing to. And, wow, I learnt a lot ! Maybe it is a bit silly but, I always tend to focus on canon content, and all my HC was around interactions or their behaviour, and I never thought about their body appearance HC. And since I learnt that, my creativity developed a new skill ! So it is only recently I put HC on their physical appearance (like Sethos with dimples KKGEKDJS it ain't that much but it is fun, I guess HC on physical appearance is not my domain)

But it is thanks to Genshin, a game about exploring a whole world with diversity lore in each region, and what representation Hoyoverse used for making their game that I started to be into it. So yes, there is a lot of problem in genshin, making some rep worst. But without this, I wouldn't be able to learn more about SWANA culture with a thread I read on Dehya Nilou Tighnari Faruzan, Japan with Wanderer, Chinese with Yun Jin or recently on Hawai'i with Mualani and even on France United Kingdom with Emilie (i think I also read a thread about GaMing too...?). And what a surprise, I am close to France and UK but I never knew about Emilie's inspiration. Not only on character but also lore, and how some desert name in genshin is also part of culture (I don't remember where I read it tho !! Gosh i wish to reread it again).

I love genshin for its diversity whatever on region or lore but even on gameplay it offers us in our adventure. But I also agree on those who complain about character design ! Not only about representation, but about storytelling in character design (for example, you can't guess Xilonen is someone who forges ; her nails, accessories and hair would be on her way). And it happens that I receive some hate message (on tumblr and twitter. Mostly twitter) saying "this game is not for you, just leave" with some insults that I prefer to not share lol

I agree and also disagree. What do you mean this game is NOT for me ?? Searching our lost sibling, tragic lore, wholesome encounter, satisfying gameplay, vivid color landscape, with great characters, ALBEDO ??? Not for me ?! 🤨 My love for genshin is immense. But, I agree on the fact that.. yes. Indeed, I am not the target for genshin character design. I played a lot of gacha game, and it is mostly based on collectioning waifu with big boobs and big ass (you were a great game, Epic Seven...). When I look at hater's account on twitter, there is a pattern : throwaway account, account full of problematic opinion, or full of porn 2d woman with the basic hourglasses morphology big boobs big butt even on characters who are flat. It is undeniable that most of genshin characters are sexualised, and this, for sell them better. And, making them white is one of criteria to sell them better to those type of client 🙂‍↕️

I study sociology (i am a newbie tho, nothing deep) and I can extend this light analyse on what I learn : the success of Genshin, why there is such a contrast between Genshin players and their different profiles, the benefits Hoyoverse do and how difficult it is to satisfy all players (and so sacrifices are made, like characters design). It is all supposition tho BGKEJGJS but maybe if I do my last year of sociology and still into genshin, why not making my essay on it bahahaha

BACK TO THE TOPIC !!! (SORRY I HAD A LOT TO SAY) don't worry, since this anon hate, I tend to block everyone who try to argue or insult 😭 and just mostly shock how people are openly racist when they are behind a screen WOW lucky me I am not affected by those words ☠️ and all of this just because I draw Kinich black skin or Xilonen with a bit more textured hair...? That's so crazy ! Anywaaaay diversity is great and it works also on creativity too !! World is boring if everything looks the same, and it is also the same in Genshin ! Imagine in 4 years, genshin only released mondstadt 1, mondstadt 2, mondstadt 3.... I believe the game would be dead sooner if it was the case bahaha

And thank you again for all your compliments about my art anon !! I love drawing so much, and it is my source of fun and happinness <3 There is in some drawings I thought "wow !!! I improve !!" And i am so happy when people notice it too! 😭🙏

Don't worry abt your english, mine isn't the best neither BAHTVZJHGJZGAA

[ivyblossom]

That thing where I feel like I'm going to have to write fanfiction again

This is a weird one. I just want to say it somewhere, so that I've said it somewhere, but I realize there's there's one person who actually cares about this and she already knows, so. This is just for me, I guess.

Fifteen years ago, I wrote most of a Narnia fic. It pairs of Edmund Pevensie and Bacchus, aka Dionysus, the ancient Greek god of grapes, wine and uninhibited ecstasy. Also theatre. I know, that's a bit weird. Is Bacchus even in the Narnia stories? (Yes, he is. He even has lines!) Why on earth am I pairing him up with Edmund, who is 10 when we first meet him?

It's all the weird memory tricks, I'm a sucker for those. The Pevensies forget about England because they stay so long in Narnia and stop thinking about England, and they can (and do) forget about Narnia if they stay in England too long and don't think about Narnia enough (poor Susan), and I find that really interesting. It offers up so many nooks and crannies to stick story in. They grow up and become adults in Narnia, but are required to forget most of it in order to return to build children in England.

And come on: is Bacchus not also very obviously the god of Narnian orgies? I mean, yes. Clearly. He's also Aslan's default caterer and water-into-wine head tech. If you need buildings destroyed and bullies turned into trees and/or pigs, Bacchus is your guy. He's not big on wearing clothes, and according to Edmund, he's incredibly beautiful and extremely dangerous. Edmund is only 10 when we first meet him, sure, but he grows up, reverse ages, and then starts to grow up again. Bacchus throws them a G-rated orgy in Prince Caspian. There's love there.

Hasn't Edmund suffered enough? Yes, he got addicted to the Turkish Delight that time, but he'd been struggling and was being bullied, he was carrying a lot of self-hatred and shame, give a kid a break. He did get himself heroically killed putting it right, only to be healed physically and psychologically by Santa Claus's magic healing cordial, as one does. Doesn't Edmund deserve a cute immortal boyfriend with quirky friends and a serious green thumb who grows his own grapes, makes his own wine, can manipulate and control the desires of everyone around him like conducting an orchestra, and who will love him until the end of time? There aren't many humans in Narnia, why not hook up with the god of uninhibited ecstasy? I mean, he's right there.

Anyway. It was fifteen years ago.

I wrote 3/4ths of it, I had one part left to go to finish it, I had an idea about what how it would end, but for some reason I never wrote the ending. I don't remember why. So it's been sitting there unfinished since 2009.

And in the last few weeks I started thinking about it again. I had an idea about that ending. I couldn't remember if this idea I was toying with was my original concluding idea or not, it's been that long, but I liked the idea, and I thought, you know, I should write that idea in as the last part and finally finish that thing.

And then I read what I'd written. And a) 15 years is a long time and I have so many criticisms, I was clearly in love with the sound of my own voice (uh...nothing's changed there I guess?), b) I wrote the thing in such a way to exclude my new idea, so apparently that wasn't my original plan, but c) yeah, I should have written this thing properly the first time around. And now I have 104 more ideas and I love them all, so.

I think I have to rewrite it. Or, I suppose, just write another one and replace it? I dunno. Just playing it out now.

I think I'm going to write it. Is this an active fandom? I don't think so. I don't care. This love story needs to be told. Edmund deserves this.

[itsblasttothepast]

Why do you like Max? He was horrible to Checo, the way his family spoke about him was so awful, I can't understand how Checo fans can like this guy

Oh anon, this is a very complicated question, because like many Checo fans in 2022, I also hated Max back then.

But it will be a long, long, LONG rant, so click under if you want to enter this particular rabbit hole:

Before they were teammates, Max was just another driver in my radar (as you are asking for my PoV, which is clouded as a Checo fan), nothing to notice there except a few interaccions with Checo; I was very surprised in Turkish 2020 because I thought Max would go for blood when Checo made him spin around twice (minute 1:20 of this video). But nope, at the end they even chatted and everything (a small Chestappen seed was planted since Monza 2017 and it had been growing with these interactions).

Anyway, when Checo became Max teammate, the contract was clear: He was there to succeed in what other teammates failed: helping Max winning the championship and take the heat of the team.

And he did, during 2021 they were working hard for that championship, and bonded really well, they seemed to get along great, share some sort of weird sense of humor and they were really nice to each other.

But in 2022, Checo thought that since he already fulfilled the requirement for 2021, he could fight for the championship in 2022. That led to straining the relationship with Max, and all that tension boiled over in Brazil. It was messy, and yes, Max was an asshole back then because they weren't fighting for the podium, and Checo needed the points. But what came after was the worst part because the declarations from both Checo and Max, and the Max's mom getting involved with the cheating thing... honestly I don't know how they managed to finish the season without killing each other.

Most Checo fans said that Max tried to make up with Checo in the 2022 Honda Racing Thanks day thing; all I noticed was Checo with the fakest smile he could put for the cameras. PR to the bone. I mean, they had Marc Márquez there to be a buffer, along with Yuki and Pierre, you could see it in the pictures:

They had Marc there to keep Max chatty:

You could see how far apart they were in the group picture (far apart for what they have us accustomed to):

(they left space for Jesus)

Also Max said he would help Checo in the last race of the season, but that was just adding salt to the wound.

Checo had just renewed contract, so we thought he would get the boot because obviously RBR was keeping Max, the one expendable was (and is) Checo. For some reason, they decided instead of doing that, to try and smooth over the situation. Checo apologized for his statements to the press and said it was all good with Max, and they had couples therapy.

No, really, they hired a 'mediator' or something like that, to help them regain the camaraderie of 2021. But instead, they fell in love and got really close. However, RBR had their plan B, bringing Ricciardo as the third driver in case things didn't work out (in fact, this is why we thought Checo was out of the team for 2023, we were looking options, seeing which teams needed drivers... wild times).

So, when Max did the Brazil thing, obviously Checo fans hated him and wanted his head, I remember people not even in the F1 fandom hating him (still butthurt about the world cup and the 'no era penal' thing). I particularly thought it was a dick move, but also kind of understood where Max was coming from. He was raised for glory, totally different to Checo who practically raised himself since he was 15. Checo and Max families are also vastly different, and the culture as well. So I hated him but not really?

So during 2023 I saw Max changing and being more mature, calmer, softer sometimes. He wasn't a bad person, he just made mistakes like any human does, and the pressure people put on him was insane! To me, Checo and Max balance each other really well, which is why they could work things out. If Checo could move on and be friendly with Max, I'm sure that we, as his fans, can do the same.

I like Max because he's genuine, and he learns from his mistakes. He is a little crass when provoked, but in general he is a nice guy; I don't know if you believe the whole 'Max is faking caring' that most haters say (they imply Max hates Checo and just tolerates him because he's forced), but I do believe Max can't fake this much this long.

Anyway, as usual, I went overboard with this, sorry anon, I wanted to give you context about why I like Max, and then filled this with my ramblings.

You can dislike Max anon, that's fine, just don't be hateful or claim to know better than them. Only Checo and Max know how is their relationship, but if Checo seems okay with him, that's all good in my book.

I think I haven't rambled this long in a while 😅