#but also it's more than the rejection of fantasy and growing up

[literal-ghost]

am i really about to start plotting out a script for a video essay talking about labyrinth and its themes of overcoming childish selfishness and growing into a compassionate and responsible adult?

[sillygoosealert]

CAN YOU DO A REVENGE VERSION OF SUKUNA BETRAYING READER??!! LIKE WHAT IF READER RUNS AWAY BC THEY ACCIDENTALLY WITNESS HIM BEDDING ANOTHER CONCUBINE WHAT WOULD SUKUNA DO? SEND AN ARMY, BURN THE WORLD DOWN?!! 😭😭😭 AND CAN U TRY TO WEITE SOME COMFORT OR FLUFF AT THE END TYSMN

The Morning After (Before)

Days After Initiating Sexual-intercourse (whY)

angst, comfort in being alone, upset (angry) Sukuna, you leave, BEFORE you leave it's a toxic relationship, AFAB reader, woopsie Daisy- i killed off the reader (i got carried away ::( )

To explain your feelings to anyone but yourself brings tears to your already puffy eyes. Since that night, there are so many things you've noticed that you could talk about endlessly.

For starters, his boldness has increased plenty- as he is now more than comfortable with having multiple concubines clinging onto him while he slouches in his throne. When asked to describe him just a month or two ago, you would've gone on and on about how he was a gentle giant with you- a lie, but you would've sugar-coated anything when it came to him.

Right now, all you could even think about when it came to him was how good it would feel for all those women to look at him with disgust at his actions instead of devotion and whatever made-up fantasy they had made up in their heads. That's how you look at him anyway.

You despise keeping up with your cleaning and even dread entering his chamber with him. Furthermore, you do not act like you are interested in him. Eyes once filled with adornment and even some curiosity are now loaded with resentment and a trace of disinterest. He sees it, everyone else sees it, and you feel it. But it doesn't make you feel better knowing he knows- it just makes the pit of dread in your stomach grow.

You know you want him to care, but you can't help but feel he puts up a show of all the women at his disposal when you're in the vicinity- stretching his upper arms out and putting each one around a mistress while one or two sit on his spread-out lap. All you can think when you look at him is how much of an arrogant whore he truly is.

When he calls someone to bring you to his chambers, he always makes sure to feel up whoever is bringing you before shooing them out. His shoulders broaden as he motions you to come up on the bed. He looks bigger than he did a moment ago, and you can't help but feel he's doing it on purpose.

It's been weeks since you watched him choose 5 minutes of feeling good over you sleeping well at night. Was it worth it? You don't know. But the way he tries to passionately kiss you while his lower half eats you out makes you think he's trying to act like it didn't mean anything.

Regardless, you can't help but notice that the same woman is always seated on his lap whenever you catch a glance of him basking in all the attention he can.

The light slap to your thigh makes you look at him directly in the eyes for a second, before looking off to the side. That makes him huff, sitting upwards. Silence speaks volumes for both of you, as you are refusing to talk about your feelings because you think you know how it'll go; and he doesn't want to admit he's hurt by your rejection. So you both don't say anything.

This happens whenever he tries to initiate something intimate. You shut down. It often ends with stillness enfolding the room and an awkwardness surrounding you.

After a few minutes of waiting you leave without a word, and he lets you. While you go on to cry into your pillow and go on another night without comfort, while he gets a few concubines to praise him and fill the growing void with arrogance.

The more you clean and the less you eat and sleep, the feeling of wanting to die increases. Passing out when you get just a chance to lie down is now a common occurrence for you, as well as taking your time standing up.

Maybe you're depressed because you thought he would indulge in your selfishness and let you be the only woman to touch him so intimately. It's also possible that all the chemicals and labor are finally taking their toll on you and your body, meaning your time is shortening just as much as the other maids.

But the day doesn't start with you preparing to dust and sweep; it starts in Ryomen's Room.

You aren't upset anymore. You know that it contributes nothing and won't change anything. Instead of crying into your pillow or blaming yourself for his actions, you just go on. The world kept spinning after that night. Your heart kept beating- for now. The thought of him having sex like it wasn't once you under him isn't frustrating anymore. Not knowing what you want is, but you can handle that. You won't be his woman- you won't even be his man; you won't be anything to him if you can have a say in it.

He sits you in a chair facing his bed, clearing his throat as if he's going to speak- but he doesn't. Raising your eyebrow, you once again are met with speechlessness.

"What?" On cue, he acts offended, as if he isn't relieved you chose to speak up.

"Don't speak to me like that, Concubine."

"I'm more of a maid now than anything, my lord." He hums when you say that.

"You could be more than that- you could be much more. If you weren't so thoughtless." Thoughtless isn't a word you would use. Maybe more impassive- or a less self-absorbed characterization.

"What makes you say that?" An obnoxious sigh comes out of him.

"Jealousy fills you to the point you can't enjoy being one of my favorite concubines," He pauses

"It must be…oppugning to see me with so many women who aren't you," His posture straightens.

"But understand, the only difference between you and them is how you act."

"What's wrong with you? You don't understand why I feel this way at all, do you?" A sneer is plastered across his face now.

"Redirect your hostility towards yourself. Your jealousy is your concern, Not mine."

"I'm not talking to you. Lecture your other mistresses-" A hand pivots your head to face him.

"Keep speaking to me like you are not leagues below me. I won't hesitate to discard you."

"I'm sure you won't." He motions for you to go away as another concubine waits at the door. They give you a curious look before heading in. It's just her, no one else. That used to be you.

Later that night, after the last meal of the day, you're mopping the dining hall floors. You're pouring more cleaner into the water. You are alone.

That realization floods awful thoughts into your mind as the morning replays in your mind. And without thinking, you unscrew the cap again and bring it to your lips.

While taking a large sip from it, liquid spilling from your mouth and onto the floor, the taste of soap and something else fills your senses.

You start to gag and dry heave as it goes down your throat. Swallowing your vomit, you run off to your room after putting your things away.

There isn't anything after you close your eyes, not anymore for you, at least.

You fall asleep thinking about the night in question. It loads you with a peaceful feeling.

There's nothing you can do now. No more choosing to stay silent when all you want to do is crawl into your side of his bed and cry. You don't even have to choose to let go of your feelings of envy and insecurity.

You wonder what he'll do with your body the morning after somebody finds your decomposing body.

Tag list: @kbirdieee2540 @apollogeticx @night-brain

[hom3landr]

Tea with Honey

Bakerverse

Every relationship has its firsts. Homelander’s budding romance with his Baker is no different. But not all firsts are pleasant.

Homelander can’t wait any longer to visit her. His heart stings and aches from the weight of rejection. There is a hole inside him that he hoped the promise of family would heal. He has no experience with Fatherhood but he’d figured that it would be natural; instinctual. But one can’t learn love in a lab. Even his best intentions came up lacking, a fall from a roof seemed like such a necessary harmless casualty. He doesn’t know how to handle things that were raised soft. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, so he spits it out and seeks reassurance from the hands of a ghost.

Deep deep down, he can’t forget. But that’s ok. The Madelyn in front of him lifts two milk covered fingers to his mouth and he willingly takes the offering given. If she is a ghost then she is one with a warm body, an eager mouth, and a soft lap. She is one with assurances and words he needs to hear. She is one that he can keep on a leash and who won’t disappear into smoke. This is a ghost who knows his sins and lets him sigh them into her skin.

He can’t forget but he can control the memory left behind.

He tells her about you and she eagerly responds to his tales of your softness. She urges him to take you. If he could watch from outside himself, he would see it as the plea it is. For Doppelganger is willing to feed you to the lion, toss you like a piece of meat to a snarling dog, wave you like a flag in front of a bull. Homelander hears Madelyn’s voice as a kindness and doesn’t see it for the desperate distraction that it is.

“What are you waiting for?” She coos. “You’ve shown her that you can be good but have you considered that she longs for the raw power you hold? Once she has experienced your strength then she will beg you to take her.”

It’s what he wants to hear. He’s proven that he can be good yet still your kisses remain sweet and your touches light. The beast within him is growing more difficult to quiet when it howls for that sweet heat between your legs. Your gentility is starting to feel like rejection. The hunger inside him is an empty ache. He needs to take up space in you.

———-

He grins at the fat raindrops that dampen his hair as he leaves the cabin. The ozone is a pleasant scent that lingers in the back of his throat and on his tongue. It tastes like power. He can relate to the wild fury of a thunderstorm. He wishes that his rage could also be seen as something natural and not some sort of flaw. Thunderstorms can rain hail and destruction without consequence and people will still find comfort in the rumble of thunder. Perhaps that is another reason why Stormfront makes him so bitter, he envies that she takes on the characteristics of the storms he loves so much. How dare she show her edges and still be adored?

But Stormfront can’t have you. You’ve told him as much. You admitted how much she gets under your skin. You told him that you don’t trust her and that the very sound of her voice makes your flesh crawl.

The only storm you’ll know is him.

————

Homelander’s hunger for you clouds his judgment and the cracks of thunder echo the hot pounding of his arousal as he contemplates his plan. He can’t wait to surprise you and finally show you what he’s capable of. He’s on autopilot as he flies to your apartment, mind busy with fantasies. He intends to make you scream so loud that even the fiercest weather would be deafened by your pleasure.

He lands on your fire escape and knocks cheerfully on your window. He can hear you startle through the walls, your heartbeat fluttering with surprise. He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms under his cape. He has to suppress a grin when he sees your distorted face through the rain smeared glass. You’re a watercolor painting and Monet can go fuck himself cause your beauty makes his works no more than trash. He longs to keep you hidden away so only he can appreciate you.

You open the window wide so he can climb inside. His wet cape drips puddles all over your floor and your brow furrows briefly at the mess before meeting his gaze with a quizzical smile. He takes a brief glance behind you to inspect your place. He hasn’t been inside since that perfect Christmas night and without the decor it’s painfully obvious that your apartment is in a poor state. He huffs a tiny laugh to himself. It wouldn’t take much to convince you of structural damage. He’ll make sure you have a place to stay.

“I didn’t know you were coming over! I’d have made dinner.” You lament, flustered at being caught in such an unprepared state. He waves your concern away. As pleasant as your cooking sounds, he still fully intends to eat.

“I wanna show you something.” He replies with a smile, gesturing to the open window behind him. He’s surprised that he hasn’t done this sooner. What better way to wow you than to give you a practical application. He’s been good but now he’s starving for you to see behind the gentleman’s mask he wears. He takes a closer look at you. You’re wearing nothing more than an old white t-shirt and some sleep shorts. He thinks if he looks close enough he can see the shadow of your nipples through the material. With the way it’s pouring, he’s bound to get an even better look soon.

Madelyn’s voice still echoes in his ear.

He’s so excited that he doesn’t notice things he’d usually be laser focused on. He doesn’t register the shiftiness of your eyes or the anxious way you fidget every time the thunder rumbles. Your heart is racing because you must still be surprised by his arrival. The scent of fear can’t be because of him. You were probably watching something scary. He can hear the strains of a true crime podcast that you’d turned down playing on the tv.

It’s not because of him.

“Right now?” You ask, nervously scratching your arm as a streak of lightning briefly lights up the sky. His hackles instantly rise at your apparent lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He replies sharply, sharper than he usually is with you. The instant rejection is a fierce sting to his ego. His fantasy already isn’t working out how he planned and he’s starting to feel annoyed and out of sorts. He was so sure you’d be wowed but apparently you’re feeling prissy tonight.

You wince at his tone. You glance anxiously out the window and bite your lip. He begins to tap his foot in impatience. You exhale roughly as though you’re preparing yourself for some great trial.

“I’m sorry you came all this way. I’m not feeling well so maybe we should reschedule. You’re welcome to stay and watch a movie! I can order us some takeou…” You don’t get to finish your sentence.

“I didn’t come here to watch a fucking movie!” He snaps and he hates the way you flinch. It makes his throat tighten up and his chest ache with hurt. You’re making him feel mean and foolish, needy in the way he seeks your attention.

This is all wrong. You’re not being you.

“We don’t have to watch a movie! I have some board games and I know I have a deck of cards somewhere.” You try to do damage control but your continuous deflections only make him more frustrated. Your gaze is wary now; it’s the first time you’ve been wary around him.

He stomps over and grabs your arm firmly. It’s not tight enough to bruise but you can’t pry him off as he guides you over to the window. You struggle and try to stutter out excuses and explanations but he doesn’t want to hear it. He scoops you up in his arms and is out on the fire escape in the blink of an eye. The rain immediately drenches you and he’s so frustrated that he doesn’t even register the way your clothes cling to your form.

“Stop whining. You’re gonna fucking love this. Don’t worry.” He attempts to soothe you. You have to like it. You have to like him. You’re frozen solid in his arms but he knows you’ll relax once you’ve adapted. Without a warning he shoots up into the air like a rocket.

It’s beautiful up in the storm clouds. Despite the flashes of lightning, Homelander knows you are safe even up in the sky. He can sense the sizzle in the air and smell the ozone before electricity splits the sky. He’d never let you be harmed. He wants to share this with you. He wants you to know this part of him. This is what you hold in your hands when you kiss him.

He looks down at you, anxious to see the awe on your face. He wants to smell your need for him mixed with the heady smell of ozone. But instead he’s met with your pounding heart and trembling form. Your hands are curled into icy claws and your breathing is rapid and shallow. Tiny pained noises escape your mouth with every panicked heave. You’re fucking terrified.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve got you.” He reassures you but he’s not even sure you can hear him right now. You shake your head jerkily and a wail escapes you as lightning flashes in the distance.

His heart drops and shatters on the ground far below as he realizes that this isn’t some passing anxiety.

Homelander wants to fucking shake you in anger. How come you’re overreacting now? This is him. You’re supposed to share this with him. He’s giving you this privilege and you’re spitting it back in his face.

You��re supposed to love (him) this. Why don’t you?

“P…please,” You manage to stutter out weakly. “Can we go back now?”

He should fucking drop you.

His fingers twitch with temptation. Of course he’d catch you, but you’d learn there are things worth crying about.

You anxiously paw at his chest.

“I want to go down now!” You sob. His fingers twitch again. You don’t smell like brown sugar anymore.

He startles as he feels a sharp sting across his cheek. You’ve grown wild in your terror now. While he lacks the capacity to bruise, the shock of the impact still has him rattled. Your chest heaves.

“PutmedownPutmedownPutmedown!” You repeat in a furious panic as you pound on his chest with your hands. Your fight response is fully activated and logic is clearly no longer in the picture as you lash out at the very thing keeping you in the air.

He almost lets go.

But instead he slowly glides back down, drawing out your torment out of spite. He drops you coldly onto the slick metal of the fire escape. You grasp the bars like a lifeline and Homelander’s nose wrinkles as you spit bile. You still haven’t ceased wailing.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” He hisses. His mood is blacker than the stormy sky. You don’t even look wounded. You might as well still be stuck in the air as you tremble and wheeze.

He wants to put his hands over his ears to block out your cries. He wants to fly away to safety. He wants to crush your skull. He wants to pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless till you calm. He wants to hold you. He wants to kill you. He wants to beg your forgiveness.

He wants. He wants. He wants.

As if on autopilot himself, he scoops you back up into your arms to carry you inside. He deposits you on the couch, gentler this time despite his whole body shaking with restraint. You curl up into a ball and hide your face from him.

This is like Ryan all over again.

He clenches his fists and storms into your kitchen in a rage. He needs distance from you before he does something rash. He paces like a caged animal in the small space. His reflection in the glass cabinets is judgemental but he refuses to acknowledge them. He ignores the soft calls of his name itching at the back of his consciousness.

“Look at me, Tiger.”

“You need to calm down John.”

“Pathetic! She’s gonna fucking hate you just like everyone else does.”

He slams his fists down on your counter and he hears a crack.

FUCK

His eyes land on a lone mug on your counter. It’s colorful and chipped and so you that the unexpected rush of endearment he feels helps direct him out of his rage. His brow furrows as an idea begins to form. He can fix this. He just needs to do what you would do. He looks around, pointedly avoiding the cabinets. He sees a box of tea bags. He exhales sharply. He opens the fridge and fills the mug with water from your filter. He heats it with his vision till it's bubbling. He dips the tea bag in it and with one last flourish because he’s not sure if it’s safe to face you yet, he locates a container of honey that he gives a generous squeeze.

He takes a deep breath as he exits the kitchen.

You’ve calmed down considerably although your head is still buried in your knees. Your breathing is a little steadier and your agonized wails have quieted into soft sniffles. You’re still shivering as the fading adrenaline and damp clothes send chills through your body. He grabs a blanket from a nearby basket as he tentatively walks over. He sets the tea down on the coffee table in front of your spot on the couch and wraps the blanket around your shoulders. It feels strange, taking care of somebody else. Especially someone he’s still angry at.

“I’m sorry,” Your words are shaky and muffled. You sound so sad. “I’m so so so sorry. I ruined everything”

Homelander freezes, his brow furrowed in confusion. You’re apologizing?

“I have a phobia and I should have said something but it happened so fast. I was so scared and I lost control and panicked. I shouldn't have hit you.” Your voice is thick with guilt.

“Please,” He scoffs, weirdly amused and a little unsettled by your concern. “You couldn’t have hurt me if you tried. Now c’mon and look at me.”

You lift your head. Your eyes are red and swollen.

“I shouldn’t have hit you.” You reiterate and Homelander’s chest tightens. “I’m sorry. It was wrong.”

For a moment the silence is deafening. The sincerity in your gaze unsettles him. You reach out and your fingers tenderly brush the area of impact. It’s not tender. It barely even hurt

Shocked hysterical laughter starts to build in Homelander’s throat at the solemn look on your face.

Well fuck.

Isn’t that a fucking first.

You watch him quietly as he doubles over and holds his stomach. It’s not a laugh of amusement and if he was an outside observer he’d realize just how wounded it sounds. It’s pure emotional release.

You’d barely even given him a love tap. You’re sitting over there with your big wide weepy eyes as though you’d fucking beat him senseless. You’re acting as if you’d thrown him into a fucking oven.

He wheezes until his chest hurts. All the repressed anger and anxiety now flooding out in sheer astonishment. He was so sure you’d hate him.

He feels something warm wrap around his shoulders and his giggles begin to quiet. He looks over to you only to startle for a second at how close you are. You’ve wrapped the other end of the blanket around him. Your expression is soft but unreadable. You rest your forehead against him and he shudders.

“I…” He pauses. He can’t quite articulate what he wants to say. It’s not your fault. He didn’t pay attention. He didn’t listen. But admitting such feels like a weakness. It chokes him.

“I made you some tea.” He says instead, pulling back to hand you the mug. His voice barely shakes.

You smile and as you cradle the mug and take a sip, he notices that you smell like brown sugar again.

“Tea with honey is my favorite.” You reply sweetly, after giving a pleased hum at the taste. He may not have said it out loud but he can tell you understood with the way you look at him. Things are so easy with you. He turns to bury his face in your wet shoulder as you sip.

“I forgive you.” He mumbles, half hoping you don’t catch it.

“I forgive you too” You reply.

He doesn’t sleep with you that night…at least in the primal sense. But it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep on his chest once the two of you decide that a movie might be just the thing for a stormy night after all. Lounging on the couch, while dressed in some soft sweatpants, and with you warm and sleepy on his chest, he comes to the conclusion that this is just as good as fucking anyway. You make soft noise in your sleep and snuggle further into the whorls of hair on his bare chest. (Something you’re absolutely delighted by if your physical response at the reveal was any indication)

In fact, it might even be better than fucking.

He lazily decides that he can love storms enough for the both of you.

[skyahri]

Yours |Suguru Geto X Reader|

Summary: One bed trope with Geto <3

Warnings: SMUT! Sex, piv, oral (f receiving), choking, spit, making out, cream pie, all pork no plot.

- - - - -

It was supposed to be a simple exorcism; just a class one curse in the Aomori prefecture who only showed up under specific circumstances. What circumstances were, you weren't sure.

It's the height of the Nebuta Matsuri festival, meaning every hotel in a twenty-mile radius was packed full. Principal Yaga tried his hardest, but there was only one available room when he booked for the night, and that room only had a single queen-sized bed.

You sighed. Of course, the one time you actually needed a hotel would also be the one time no proper ones were available.

"It's not so bad, Y/N. Better me than Satoru, yeah?"

Hardly. Yeah, he was a huge flirt, but that was better than Geto's passive advances. You could audibly reject Gojo's passes at you. You could curse him and tell him off. You could put your hand on his face and shove him away. But Geto? He was conniving and backhanded with his compliments and one-liners. He'd sneak it into conversation in a way that would make you seem crazy for acknowledging it.

"At least Satoru is skinny. You'll take up half the bed."

He snickered at you, watching as you pulled random articles of clothing out of your bag and sauntered over to the bathroom. He stripped down to just his underwear and got under the covers before you had the opportunity to see him. He wasn't shy, he just knew if you'd seen him with such little clothing under there he'd be in for an earful.

You exited the bathroom and made your way around the room, turning off lights and double checking locks. Geto could only watch in awe as you moved. He was expecting you to wear something more conservative, so your shorts and tight t-shirt combo really through him through the wringer.

He'd never really seen you outside of your uniform. Until now he'd only guessed what was hidden underneath. He'd always been attracted to your strong personality, so it really didn't matter in the end, but damn was this a nice surprise. He stared at your ass as you walked towards the door and at your breasts when you walked back towards him. The light from the lamp was not helping the situation, further creating a more personal environment and making his rapidly growing hard-on more prominent.

"Got a staring problem?"

His eyes quickly darted up to meet yours. He sucked in a breath of air, trying to settle his racing heart and cool his thoughts.

"Just surprised you're actually a girl."

You quirked an eyebrow up at him. Was he seriously trying to play that amount of staring off as nothing more than a glance?

"Who knew, right? Now you can indulge in all your little fantasies guilt-free knowing there's not a dick hiding underneath my skirt."

You climbed into bed next to him and laid down. You tried to ignore his gaze as it flitted across your face and chest, but damn was it difficult. His usually soft gaze was solid, like an animal eyeing up its prey. The way he turned from his back to his side and propped his head up with his hand made every muscle in his arm bulge.

He couldn't help it. The way you angled your body towards him and brushed your hair behind your ear. The teasing glint in your eye was truly brutal for his dumb monkey brain.

"Not enough blood flow up there, big guy?"

It was almost too easy to mess with him at this point. His face was ever so slightly flushed and his fists had begun to grip the sheets. He swallowed hard, trying to think of something, anything, to retort with. He kept drawing blanks. His usual sense of humor would only add to the tension that was already crushing him.

"Come on, Sugu, it's no fun teasing you if you won't fight back."

You sat up with your legs tucked under you and leaned forward. Your hands pressed flat against the bedding between your knees, accentuating your bust even more so.

"If you'd like my participation, you're going to have to tone it down, princess."

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

He was quick to take control of the situation. In an instant, he grabbed your hips and moved you underneath him, making you squeak in surprise. You could feel his erection pressing into your core. You stammered for a second, your hands reaching to grip on his biceps

Despite all the jokes, you hadn't expected him to make a move. He was a flirt, sure, but you'd never taken any of his advances at anything more than face value.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

He shifted his position, causing his dick to dig into your heat a bit harder. Your legs instinctively tightened against him. He smirked at you, taking it as a sign to continue.

"Where's all that whit now, huh?"

He slid his hands down your legs until they were behind your knees. He put almost his entire body weight on you, forcing your legs flush against your chest. He shifted his hips back and forward once, using his bulge to slide your shorts to the side.

"You had so much to say a minute ago."

He fronted his cock against your lacey panties. The new angle made it easier for him to hit all your sweet spots. You bit back a moan, determined not to completely unfold in front of him. He kept grinding against your heat, noting how much wetter the fabric was becoming with each pass.

"You feel so much better than I imagined,"

"S-Suguru-"

"I can feel how wet you are and we're barely getting started."

He dipped his head down to your neck, lightly brushing his lips against your skin.

"Tell me you want me."

"What?"

"Tell me you want me just as much as I've wanted you all these years."

His movements halted while he waited for you to answer. He didn't lift his head, instead opting to nuzzle the dip in your collarbone.

A wave of emotions overcame you. What the Hell was he talking about? Was he seriously suggesting that all the playful innuendos and chivalry were attempts to win your affection? Had your unrequited crush not been so one-sided after all?

"Of course I want you-"

He didn't hesitate to smother you with a kiss. Your hands went to cup his face and slid back into his soft locks. He trailed his lips down your neck. When he got to the hem of your shirt, he removed his hands from your legs, opting to hold you in place with his brawny shoulders instead, and slid his hands up your waist.

"You're so soft,"

He cupped your breasts in his large hands, flicking his thumbs over your nipples.

"So fucking pretty,"

He peppered gentle kisses down your stomach. His hot breath tickled your skin, making his gesture all the more enjoyable.

"I cant wait to make you mine."

He tugged your shorts down and hastily removed them.

"Lacy panties and no bra? It's like you wanted me to take you."

He shoved the fabric to the side. He darted his tongue out to gently brushed your clit. You twitched, startled by his actions despite knowing what all the lead up was for.

Geto found pride in your reaction. He wanted more. He repeated the action, creating a steady pace of sucking and lapping at your sensitive bud. You couldn't help but squirm beneath him, the only solace being his tight grip around your thighs keeping you in place.

He smirked. Your moans were loud in his head, a sound he'd be sure to never forget. You gripped his hair. You weren't sure if you pulling him closer or trying to put space between your most sensitive bits and his unholy mouth, but you needed to do something.

"Relax princess,"

His voice was like silk, it always had been. Something about his usual nickname for you coming out in what was apparently his bedroom voice was alluring.

You couldn't relax, though. Not when that familiar knot had started to form in your stomach. His tongue was unrelenting, almost like he was trying to punish you for crimes you hadn't committed.

"Suguru,"

You mumbled his name under your breath. You could hardly think with the way he flattened his tongue against your folds. You barely register the quick squeeze he gave your thigh before removing his hand and curling two of his fingers in your cunt. You tense at the sudden intrusion, but quickly let the rhythmic thrust of his hand melt it away.

He picks his head up for a moment but continues to pump his fingers in and out, going as far as adding a third digit into the mix. He takes in the view- your shirt ridden up just under the swell of your breasts, back arched and panting as you approach your climax.

"Stop staring."

Flustered, you push his head down, and he gladly takes the hint and continues to eat you out like a man on the brink of death.

Your legs begin to tremble as you feel the onslaught of your orgasm. The rush of blood in your ears and lack of oxygen in your lungs drives the ecstasy forward tenfold. Your fingers tighten in his hair and your toes curl. Your legs try to close on instinct, but Geto isn't having it. He removes his fingers from you and plants his palm on your thigh, forcing your legs open as he slurps up the remnants of your high.

He makes a show of wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist before moving up in one smooth motion to kiss you. It's weird tasting yourself on his lips, but definitely not unwelcome, especially when he's pulling away and shoving his soiled fingers in your mouth.

"Suck."

You listen. It's the least you can do after being given the most mind-numbing orgasm of your life. He kisses across your cheek and down your neck as he hastily kicks off his boxers. He's kneeling between your plush thighs, grinding his dick through your sensitive folds. You shutter, the tingling from your high still buzzing in your mind. He loves the way you squirm, knowing he's responsible for your movements.

Your fingers trace up his arms and to his shoulders before dragging down his back. He grunts, hips stuttering at the sensation. He could cum just like this, but that's not what he wants. Not when he's waited so long and you're ready and willing to be so good for him.

He removes himself from your mouth and drags his hand down, giving your neck a quick squeeze before continuing down. He's touching everywhere- your sternum, your breasts, your stomach, and your hips. His hands are rough but his touch is tender, leaving a trail of fire behind.

"Tell me what you want."

You can't respond. His heavy ruts against your cunt had turned more desperate. The overstimulation you were initially feeling from cumming the first time is fading away. The vein on his cock is hitting your clit just right. He's switching between nibbling and sucking on your neck.

"Tell me, or I'll stop."

"C-can't, Sugu, please-"

"You're a big girl. Use your words and tell me what you want."

You move your hands from his sides to his face, pulling his slightly damp forehead down to touch yours. Your nose brushed against his and you steal a chaste kiss. You take a deep breath to settle your nerves a bit.

"I want you to fuck me, please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

Geto pulls his hips back and dips forward, sucking in a sharp breath and slowly inching his cock into your sopping entrance. You moan, your head shooting back into the soft pillows as he bottoms out.

"Fuck,"

So tight, so warm, and so made for his cock. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, forcing you into a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. Your ankles cross behind his head and he rests his forearms beside your head. Your bodies are flush with each other, almost like you were made to fit together like this.

He moves to lift your shirt so it bunches above your tits, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking hard. You clamp down around him, causing him to groan. You barely hear it, too fucked out to distinguish his noises from your own.

He sits up suddenly, slowing his relentless thrusts so he can focus. He grips the fat of your thighs briefly before reaching down, collecting some fluids on his thumb and dragging it across your aching bud.

"Fuck- Suguru-"

Just a few quick swipes and you're barreling over the edge. He grits his teeth when you tense, willing himself to hold out just a little longer. He's waited years for this and he'll be damned if he doesn't make the most of it. Your body is shaking, damn near convulsing, actually, as he continues to brush his calloused thumb over your poor clit.

"Please, Sugu, 's too much, I can't-"

"You can take it, princess, I promise. Just one more for me."

You've never submitted to anyone before. You're bratty on a good day and borderline evil on bad ones. You have a commanding air to you and all the confidence to back it up. Seeing you now, blushing and whimpering beneath him, letting him completely dominate you, is surprising sight, to say the least.

And it's a sight he'll never let go of.

He directs his vision down, marveling at the way you suck him in, how you stretch so well around him. His breathing is even but heavy as he collects himself. He gathers some spit in his mouth and lets it fall to where your bodies meet, instantly blending in with the mix of precum and fluids.

"You look so pretty stuffed full of my cock."

"Take me so well, you know?"

"Such a good girl. So dumb on my dick, makes me proud."

He's keeping his pace slow, snapping his hips forward and touching your cervix each time. You're blubbering, mumbling his name, and a few curses each time he thrusts into you. Your mind is muddy, only focusing on his kind praises and the heat building in your stomach.

"Beg."

"W-what?"

"Beg me to cum in you."

You sputter for a moment, completely caught off guard by his request. His rich purple eyes meet yours. Their somewhat hidden behind his hair, but their dark hue doesn't get lost on you.

When you don't immediately answer, he pinches your clit making you yelp. You sober up a little and bink up him. He smooths his thumb back over to ease the pain, but that look on his face is telling you he'll do it again.

"Please, Suguru, I want you to-"

He quickens his thrusts and rubs fast circles on your clit. He runs his fingers up your body and presses his fingers into the sides of your throat. You cry out for him at the change of pace.

"Try again."

"Fuck! Please cum in me, please, wan' you to fill me up, wanna be yours."

He fucking into you like he's desperate. Muttering your name under his breath and gripping your thigh like he's trying to break you. He's using your neck as a handle, trying to keep your body still as he relentlessly pushes inside your glistening cunt.

Your head is light as you cum around his cock, his tight grip on your windpipe making the waves of your orgasm crash down harder. Your eyelids flitter shut and you just listen to Geto curse as he ruts into you impatiently. He removes his hand from you bud and you basque in the height of your high, no longer having to work through the discomfort of overstimulation.

His now free hand is pawing at your chest, harshly squeezing your mound in his fist. You can feel his movements become less and less patterned right before he stills and he shoots thick ropes of cum into you. It's warm and comforting, the feeling of his cum dripping from your abused cunt.

He finally lets go of you and falls to the side. You inhale sharply, coughing and sputtering as your body finally gets the oxygen you need. You force your eyes to focus as you try to regain at least some of your brain function.

"Sorry, didn't mean to almost kill you."

His words are empty, telling you that he knew exactly what he was doing and wasn't going to hurt you. You laugh a bit and turn your head to look at him. His hair is sticking to his forehead and he's breathing heavily, but he's still looking at you like you're the only thing on his mind.

"Even if you had, I think it would've been a fine death."

"I take it you enjoyed it?"

"That's the understatement of a century."

He laughs and stands up, walking into the bathroom and rustling around before coming back out with a towel.

"Oh, no, Suguru, that's not necessary. I'll just-"

When you try to sit up he pushes you back down.

"I was rough. The least I can do is take care of you, princess."

You twitch when he rubs the fabric over your sensitive bits. He tosses the rag in the general direction of the bathroom and climbs back into bed with you. He pulls you into him and glides his fingers through your hair. You rest your face on his chest and rub your hand over his abs.

"So... years, huh?"

"Don't push it. I can still go another round and I'm being nice by giving you a break."

[godspeedmajortom]

I’m fascinated by how variations of Sea Power's “Want to Be Free (Remix)” provide a musical theme for death and endings that follows Harry and his foils throughout Disco Elysium.

The first place you hear it is as “The Field Autopsy” while inspecting the Hanged Man’s body. It's barely recognizable as the original song, though. It's sluggish and muddy and bilious. The piano melody has been lowered and sustained to an ominous funereal organ and combined with deep strings. A lilting viola line in the lush layers of the original "Want to Be Free" is isolated here and contrasts with the low organ, rising like the stench off a corpse. If you do the autopsy first thing as Kim suggests, Harry – freshly, grotesquely awakened from his apocalyptic bender – is not in a much better state than a corpse himself.

The music underscores a visceral scene of death and decay, our introduction to the Hanged Man, the first of Harry's foils. Both Harry and Lely are agents of state-sponsored violence as a cop and mercenary, respectively. They bear similar physical scars from the neglect of the systems they grew up in. They both desperately want to escape the horrorshow of their lives, using drugs and dark fantasies to cope with the terrible things they see and do but finding little more than self-destruction in the nihilism. The Bloated Corpse of a Drunk taking the Hanged Man's place in Harry's first night dream makes their connection explicit: you should be dead, Harry. This may as well have been you.

The next place you hear a variant of "Want to Be Free" is in the washerwoman's shack in the fishing village. “Live With Me” is wistful and melancholic. The gentle piano and cooing vocals evoke the wind and waves on the bay, an escape calling outside the salt-rimed shack. But this is a place of death, or at least its potential, as the return of the high viola from "The Field Autopsy" reminds us. This is where Ruby hid when Harry's arrival made her fear for her life, where she contemplated killing herself if things got even worse. This is where Harry can end up if no one vouches for him at the RCM tribunal finale, where his wounds will grow infected without medical care, where there is little left to do but return to drinking and wait to die.

But true to the song title, the shack also offers Harry the possibility of learning to with himself as he emerges from his bender. Here is a mirror free from the damage and trauma of attempting to destroy himself where he can reflect on who he was and who he wants to become. He can choose to keep or let go of his past coping/defense mechanisms like his facial hair and The Expression. He can choose to embrace or reject the self-defeating fantasy of fascism. The shack marks a midpoint of the game, when the hangover has worn off but before the case is closed. So "Live With Me" scores the balance between potential endings: abandonment or acceptance, relapse or recovery, death or life. Harry breathes in the sea air, breathes it back out, and takes another step.

I didn’t realize this until a recent replay, but “Live With Me” also plays when you visit the Working Class Woman to notify her of her husband’s death. Since this is an optional sidequest, I understand why they didn't create original music for it. But they didn't reuse "Rue de Saint-Gislaine", the song for the rest of the Capeside Apartments (including the Smoker on the Balcony's apartment when you talk to the Sunday Friend). The Working Class Husband is another mirror for Harry who has met his end, and "Live With Me" plays to mourn him.

Victor Méjean died from an accident while inebriated, a fate that also could have befallen Harry on a previous drinking binge. The striking thing about Victor's death is how easily he could have been overlooked and forgotten. He died at the end of a pier in a fenced off, abandoned part of town. His wife wasn't concerned about his days-long absence. It's only by virtue of Can Opening and Jamrock Shuffling that Harry will know about or find him. Victor literally and figuratively died slipping through the cracks – of the rotted boardwalk, yes, but also of any sort of social safety net. This is what happens to alcoholics in Revachol. This is what will happen to Harry if he continues drinking and hasn't built his own personal safety net with Kim or Cuno to prevent the RCM from abandoning him. As Harry informs Billie of her husband's death, it's only natural for him to think of his own possible endings, and the soundtrack reflects that.

The final version of the song you hear is “Burn, Baby, Burn” blasting from Sad FM on the boat ride to the Sea Fortress to find the Hanged Man's killer and Harry's last dark reflection: Dros, The Deserter. Dros shares Harry's penchant for clinging to political ideology to give meaning to his life and obsessing over women he can't be with. He lives in bitter isolation, refusing to move beyond the failures of the past, his personal shortcomings and the evils of the world alike. He's emblematic of yet another possible outcome for Harry: not literal death, but despair-induced stagnation that leaves one living like a ghost in the mortal realm.

By the time Harry gets in the boat to the island, his fate at the end of the game is set. The RCM (specifically Jean) has all they need to decide whether to accept or abandon their prodigal lieutenant-yefreitor. Should his former partners leave him, Harry can return to the shack and the circle of drunks who have also given up on life. Or he can return to the island, where he would take Dros' place as the creepy old man haunting the fortress, scaring children, and staring at the mainland with longing and resentment. But even if Harry returns with his unit to Jamrock, simply resuming his old life will not keep him from returning to the depths of despair. The RCM broke him; the RCM will not save him. Neither outcome helps Harry become a person he truly wants to live with.

"Want to be free/It will last forever/Eternally," croons the boombox on the boat. The lyrics echo the self destruction that Harry sought before the game's events: freedom forever from pain, the ultimate release of death. At least that's what the Ancient Reptilian Brain would see in those words. But there's tension in the lyrics as the desire for freedom and exhortations to "burn, baby, burn" repeat. The bridge offers an alternative vision of verdure not consumed by the disco inferno: "And the trees are green and overhanging/Feather-light, free, and everlasting." Perhaps a less moribund future exists for Harry, even if only in the next world, as a new person.

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

Susan Pevensie comes back from Narnia and tries to forget, not because she doesn't believe in Narnia anymore, but because it hurts too much thinking about what she lost.

In Narnia, she was revered, respected. People wrote songs about her, asked for her hand in marriage. She was with her siblings, and she was free, and she could finally stop worrying about her brothers dying in an air raid. She had a people she protected, a land she ruled, and family to look after. She was respected in courts and battefields alike.

Narnia brought other problems, of course. Not all her suitors were kind about her rejection, and Peter and Edmund were expected to lead armies, which meant they were always in the line of fire. More than once had they come home with grave injuries that took months to recover from, even with Lucy's secret potion.

It is this Narnia Susan vividly remembers just aftee she comes back, a wild and savage land where magic roams free, but evil roams free too. It is the Narnia of eternal winter, of giants and ogres, of Aslan dying on the Stone Table. The Narnia of Telmarines, of dead friends, of failed sieges.

England forces her back into obedience, into a mold. Tells her to behave in a way expected of a young lady. Lucy can stay wild a little longer, but Susan has an education to focus on, men to impress. England tells her she is below her brothers again, should get married and have kids.

So Susan tries to forget, convincing herself that the stiff upper lip, tight collars, kneelong skirts, ridicule from adults when she speaks her mind and forced silence is better than the freedom she had in Narnia.

For that freedom had to be paid for in blood. At least in England her family and friends don't risk dying, not after the war.

She alienates from her brothers and sister further. She tells them Narnia was a game, a fantasy. But the difference in faith is also due tk the way she has to hide how it changed her. Peter, Lucy and Edmund do not have to. The boys write long essays about justice and religion, join the fencing team. Lucy dances everywhere she goes and is known to never wear shoes if she can help it.

But the archery club at school will not accept Susan. Neither will the debate team. Her teachers are annoyed with the fact she never slips up, disgruntled at the fact a woman runs rings around them intelectually. Susan is a young woman after a time of war, and all of society would rather she shut up and do what she is told.

Soon, Susan has new friends, new things that matter. All these adult thoughts she can only discuss with her brothers and sister drive her crazy, and there is no one around that takes them seriously. And so she tries to grow up as fast as possible, get to an age where people listen to her again. She forgets so that she doesn't have to deal with the feeling she was meant for much more, to ease the mourning of all that she lost when she kissed Caspian goodbye.

All the Pevensies start forgetting Narnia slowly, the memories fading. Soon none of them remember the names of their generals at Beruna. They forget the smell of battle, the weight of an iron sword in their hands. But they all still walk as if their crowns are on their heads, and ride horses in a way none of their instructors understand. It takes a while before they are back to their Narnian levels, but it is clear to them someone has instructed them before. None of them can figure out what commands they use, however. Is it western style, perhaps? Or maybe rodeo? They cannot have been taught in England, not with the amount of control they can exert with and without saddles, the sense of balance. Some of their teachers are astonished by their academic growth, but others attribute it to the lax education standards after the war. Susan is sold short most often, but all the Pevensie children suffer from arguments with teachers and attitude problems. Teachers generally don't like it if you behave like you are older or more important than them. It's worse because they are almost never wrong, even though all of them feel the effects that having a teenage brain has on their speed of thought and the coherence of their arguments.

The Pevensies deal with these remnants of Narnia in different ways. Susan becomes an actress. She picks West End over Oxford because the stage is a place she is allowed to be free. And since Narnia, dry textbooks don't thrill her like they used to, while the fantasy concepts of spirits and courts and magic and other things thespians work with entince her all the more. Inside her is a longing to become someone else. She knows where it comes from, but she doesn't want to acknowledge it.

Susan plays a queen often, or a diplomat, or a model. Something about her performances have audiences hooked, convinced she was royalty in a different life.

Remembering Narnia hurts. She scolds someone for being reckless with the stage props while teaching them the correct way for a full minute before realizing the person in question is older than her, and doesn't listen to a young woman. He has the same name as her younger brother.

So Susan forgets. But as she carves her way into the elite of old Hollywood, years later, she begins to remember as well. What it's like to have a voice. How it feels like to have people listen.

When Lucy, Edmund and Peter die in the train accident, Susan weeps for days. She knows what she has lost in them. She is now the only person fluent in their interpersonal language, the only one that still remembers the mating call of the centaurs, what jokes a forest spirit makes. She is now truly alone in the world.

Narnia comes rushing back to her during this grieving period. Eventually, she remembers that she used to have a voice, a crown, lovers of whatever gender she wanted. And also how Narnia would have you pay for freedom in blood. They gave up on that freedom to protect her siblings. only to lose them anyways. Suddenly, Susan remembers how Narnia was fair, how a bargain struck was a bargain kept. She remembers the nymphs, the trees in spring. She remembers the beauty of it all.

Later, when Susan is a grown woman and an arrived actor in Hollywood, Aslan begins returning to her dreams. He never speaks to her, but the sight of him gives her strenght. She was once Susan the Gentle, who accompanied Aslan to his death. It is time she returns to being that person.

After the Stonewall riots and during the AIDS epidemic, Susan is the only actress willing to make a public stand. It costs her 2 box office hits and a 3 month ban from the tabloids. But she remembers justice, and the price of freedom. Others start looking to her for wisdom, just like they did all those years ago. Susan feels her quiet strenght returning, her faith slowly coming back.

She stops wishing she could forget Narnia. The magic that was responsible for the memory faded with time. Maybe it was just to protect her from mourning a world where she was so much more.

When Susan looks at the boys coming back from wars in Korea and Vietnam, she recognizes the look in their eyes. Reflected in their behaviour is a maturity that shouldn't be present in teenagers. The loss of innocence, the unrepairable damage to their childhood illusions. It is a look she spent her twenties avoiding mirrors for, because she knew what it meant. No matter what she told herself then, she believed in Narnia. She still does now.

She knows her siblings are in a different place now, and that she revoked her faith in that place, but slowly, as the years grey her hair and wrinkle her face, she begins to believe she may one day join them there. She remembers Aslan as a kind lion, even if he wasn't a tame one.

She grew old in Narnia once, after all. She hopes to die there.

Once a queen of Narnia, always a queen of Narnia

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hey hun ☺️

just read your new Bucky barnes fic (the one with the pinup girl) and it gave me an idea.

what abt Steve Rogers (the 1940s one) meeting {and fucking} his celebrity crush who he has fantasised about and been in love with since FOREVER and she was like the only girl he ever thought about back when all the girls buck set him up with would reject him (If that makes sense, like she gave him hope or sm)

🥰🥰

Better Than Fantasies » Post Serum Steve Rogers

Pairings: Post Serum Steve Rogers x Celebrity!Female Reader

Summary: Steve’s fantasies are way better than he imagines when he meets his celebrity crush.

Warnings: mix of Fluff and Smut (18+), language, alcohol, flirting, kissing, hickeys, blowjob, unprotected sex, riding, praise kink, size kink, Steve’s dog tags, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵 also I hope you don’t mind that I choose to write this with Post Serum Steve Rogers cause that’s how I imagined it🥰

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Steve knew who you are the second he seen you. He stopped in his tracks when he seen you talking to Peggy. Bucky walked up next to him, furrowing his eyebrows when he seen his best friend in a daze.

“What are you staring at?” Bucky asks him.

“Her.” Is all Steve said.

Bucky followed Steve’s gaze to you. He smirks to himself, knowing who you are as well. You’re Steve’s celebrity crush.

“What’s she doing here?” Steve asks curiously.

“I don’t know.” Bucky shrugs his shoulders.

Steve’s eyes widened and his heart began pounding when you started walking towards him. Bucky watched as Steve smoothed out his uniform and fixed his hair.

“Here’s two more of our soldiers.” Peggy tells you. “This is Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes. Boys, this is Y/N Y/L/N.” She introduced you to them. “I’m sure you two have heard of her.” She says.

“It’s very nice to meet you guys!” You say with a smile, holding out your hand for them to shake.

Bucky shook your hand while Steve continued to stare at you in awe. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He thought he’d never get a chance to meet you, but here he is right now. Bucky gently elbows Steve in his side to snap him out of his thoughts.

“You have to forgive him. He’s a big fan of yours.” Bucky says.

“That’s sweet.” You smiled at him. “Peggy said she’s going to show me around the base, but I would love to hangout with you if that’s ok.” You say.

“That’s more than ok with me.” Steve says, feeling his cheeks heat up.

You gave him a smile before following Peggy for a tour of the Army base.

“She wants to hangout with me.” Steve says to himself. “She wants to hangout with me!” He says again, a smile growing on his face.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile, happy that his best friend might be able to have a chance with a girl. He set him up with girls, but they always rejected him. That was before he got the serum.

Later that day, Steve and Bucky went to a bar after a day of training. Heads turned when you walked in the bar. Steve turned around, smiling when he seen you. You made eye contact with him and smiled, making your way over to him.

“Hi, Steve.” You say with a smile, taking a seat next to you.

“Hi, Y/N.” Steve says, smiling.

“Hi, Bucky.” You say.

“Hi, Y/N.” Bucky stood up. “I’ll leave you two alone.” He says, winking at Steve before walking away.

You ordered yourself a drink and sat back down at the table with Steve.

“So Steve…” You took a sip of your drink. “Tell me about yourself.” You say.

Steve looked at you for a moment, blinking a couple times. This is the first time a girl has ever wanted to get to know him.

“Umm well…” Steve starts. “I grew up in Brooklyn, New York with Bucky.” He says.

“That’s it?” You asked.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “This is the first time a girl asked to get to know me. Girls have rejected me a lot in the past.” He says, his cheeks turning red in embarrassment.

“Hey…” You put a hand on top of his. “You have nothing to apologize for.” You tell him in almost a whisper. “Besides those girls are missing out.” You say.

A smile formed on Steve’s lips.

“I like you. That’s all that matters.” You smiled at him. “Wanna get out of here?” You asked.

“Yes!” Steve says a little too fast.

You stood up, holding your hand out for him which he happily took in his. You two walked out of the bar hand in hand, making your way to his bunk.

“Nice poster.” You say, smiling when you seen a poster of you on his wall.

“Bucky got it for me for my birthday last year.” He tells you.

“That’s nice of him.” You say with a smile.

Awkward silence filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say to you. He didn’t think he’d get this far.

“So Steve…” You walked towards him, making him walk backwards. “We both know that we didn’t come here to talk.” You say.

“We-” His back hit the closed door behind him. “We didn’t?” He says more like a question.

“Let me ask you something…” Your hand grasped his tie, making his breath hitch in his throat. “Have you ever kissed a girl, Captain?” You asked.

“No.” He answers, his cheeks turning red in embarrassment.

You gave his tie a tug, pulling him down just enough for you to kiss him. Steve was caught by surprise, but he kissed you back. His hands found their way to your waist. Your free hand roamed his body, stopping on his bulge. Steve slightly jumped at your boldness.

“Wait a second…” Steve breathes, pulling away from your lips.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, looking in his beautiful blue eyes.

“I’m- I’m a virgin.” He tells you, his cheeks turning red in embarrassment.

“Oh god…” You took your hand off of his bulge. “I’m so sorry.” You apologized. “I didn’t mean to overstep.” You say.

“It’s ok.” He assures. “If I’m being honest, I have been fantasizing about this.” He tells you. “Kissing you and more.” He says.

“Tell me about the more part, Captain.” You say, biting your bottom lip.

“You on your knees, sucking my… cock.” His cheeks turned even more red. “Then we get on my bed and have sex.” He says.

“Lucky for you, Captain, I can make those fantasies come true.” You seductively said. “Only if you want to.” You say.

“Yes please.” He says.

You sunk down to your knees. You looked up at him, waiting for permission to go further. He nodded his head, meeting you know you can go further. You unbuckled his belt and undid his dress pants, pulling his pants down just enough for his hard cock to spring out. Your eyes widen at his size. You wrapped your hand around his cock and pumped it in your hand, swiping your thumb over his tip to use his precum as a lubricant while looking up at him with an innocent look on your face. A small moan fell from Steve’s lips. You wrapped your lips around his tip, sucking on it a little before moving your mouth further down on his cock. You bobbed your head while your hand pumped what couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Oh my god…” Steve moans, loving the feeling of your mouth.

Steve felt like he was in another world. He couldn’t believe this was happening. His celebrity crush on her knees and sucking his cock. He never thought this would happen. This is the farthest he’s ever been with a girl. He knows one thing, he loves what’s happening in this very moment.

Steve was snapped out of his thoughts when you took his cock out of your mouth and licked from the base of his cock to his tip. You also licked along the veins of his cock. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when you did that.

“Fuck…” He moans. “Do that again.” He says.

You obeyed him and did it again. A moan of your name left his lips when you did that. He watched closely as your tongue swirled around his cock. Your tongue swirled around his tip, making him want more. Your hand pumped his cock as you continued your actions with your tongue. Steve felt his orgasm building up sooner than he liked.

“I-I’m close.” Steve stutters through a moan.

You put his cock back in your mouth and sucked his cock like your life depends on it. He was getting closer and closer to the edge when a loud moan of your name left his lips as he came in your mouth. Steve leaned against the door panting while you stood up from the floor, your knees red from being on the floor for so long. Steve’s eyes were filled with lust as he looked at you.

Steve got a confidence boost and kissed you hungrily. You moaned against his lips. He pushed the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and pulled your dress off your body, letting it pool around your feet. One of Steve’s hands went behind your back and unclasped your bra, letting it fall from your chest. He picked you up and walked you over to his bed, gently laying you down.

“How’s it fair that I’m almost naked and you’re not?” You say with a playful pout.

Steve chuckles before standing up and took off his clothes. He spread your legs and hovered over you. His Army dog tags were dangling above you. You grasped on the chain and pulled him down for another hungry kiss. His lips moved to your neck. You gasped when you felt his teeth nip at your skin hard enough for a hickey. He kissed his way down your body, stopping at the waistband of your panties. He looked up at you for permission. You lifted your hips, giving him permission. Steve hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs, dropping them on the floor by his bed. He kissed your inner thighs, getting closer to where you need him most. A shiver went through your body when you felt his breath on your pussy.

Steve paused for a moment, not sure what to do next. He licked his lips at the sight of your wet pussy. He knows one thing… he’s always wondered what you taste like. His tongue gave your pussy a curious lick, moaning at your taste. A moan left your lips when he did that. He did it again, earning another moan from you. His tongue licked from your entrance to your clit. He swirled his tongue in circles around your clit. Steve knew he was doing something right when you kept moaning his name. He decided to take it a step further. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer to him. He latched his lips on your clit and sucked on it while his tongue moved against your folds. Your hands found their way to his head, tugging on his hair.

“Oh Steve!” You moaned.

Your moans encouraged Steve. His tongue moved faster against your folds. One of his arms unwrapped from your thigh, bring his fingers to your pussy. He slowly slid one finger inside of you, groaning when he felt your tightness around his finger. You moaned when you felt his finger moving along your walls.

For Steve’s first time making a woman feel good, he’s aced it. You felt like you were on top of the world with the way he was making you feel in this very moment. You learned something new about him in that moment, he’s skilled with his fingers and tongue. Your curiosity was peaked. You let your mind wander. You were wondering what his cock felt like inside of you. Your thoughts were cut short when Steve unexpectedly slid another finger in your pussy.

“Oh fuck, Steve!” You moaned more in a whine.

Steve’s eyes glanced up at you, watching as pleasure took over your body. His other arm let go of your thigh and slid his hand up your body, stopping at your breasts. His thumb rubbed over your nipple before pinching it. A moan left your lips and a tingling sensation went through your body. He repeated his actions with your other breast, earning the same reaction from you. You arched your back off the bed in pleasure, pushing your breasts more into his hand.

“Oh yes, fuck!” You moaned loudly when his fingers hit your sweet spot. “Right there!” You tell him, followed by a moan.

Steve’s fingers continued to hit your sweet spot while his mouth worked on your clit and his free hand stayed on your breast. Soon enough, your orgasm was building up. Rather quickly you might add.

“I’m so close!” You moaned.

His name left your lips as you came, soaking his face and fingers. Steve pulled his fingers out of your pussy and sat up, hovering over you. You stared up at him, trying to catch your breath.

“How- Where-” You were unable to form a coherent sentence as you tried to ask Steve where he learned to eat a girl out like that.

“If you’re wondering where I learned how to eat out a girl, Bucky told me how.” Steve says.

“Remind me to thank him later.” You giggled. “Now…” You used all of your strength to flip the two of you over so Steve was laying on the bed and you were on top of him, straddling him. “I want to make your fantasies come true.” You lean down to kiss him. “Only if you want to go any further.” You say, not wanting to pressure him into doing anything he doesn’t want to do.

“Please…” He begs. “I want this. I want you.” He says.

You kissed him once more before lifting yourself up and picked up his cock, lining it at your tight entrance. Both of you gasped, when you slowly sunk down on his cock. His tip only stretched your pussy. It hurt, but it also felt good. Steve watched intensely as his cock disappeared in your pussy. Steve groans softly, loving the tight feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock. You on the other hand took a moment to adjust to his size.

“Don’t be afraid to get handsy with me, Captain.” You say seductively.

You placed your hands on Steve’s strong chest and moved up, only leaving his tip inside of you and slide back down. You rode him at a decent pace, not wanting to overwhelm him during his first time.

“Y-You can go faster if you want.” Steve stutters through a small moan.

You increased your speed just enough to get you two wanting more. Steve was mesmerized by your breasts bouncing as you rode him. He lifted his hands to your breasts and played with them as you rode him. Suddenly, Steve wrapped one of his arms around your waist and sat up, leaning his back against the headboard so he can mark up your breasts with hickeys. That created a new angle for the both of you.

“Oh fuck, Steve!” You moaned.

One of Steve’s hands was occupied with your breasts while his free hand roamed your body, stopping on your ass and gave your ass cheek a squeeze. You playfully gasped at his actions. You leaned your head down and placed your lips on his neck, marking him up.

“There.” You pulled away from his neck, grinning as a hickey slowly began to form on his skin. “Now everyone will know that you’re mine now.” You say, biting your bottom lip.

Steve moaned when you called him yours. It’s like he wants everyone to know that he belongs to you now.

“You like that?” You almost whispered. “You want everyone to know who you belong to?” You asked seductively.

Steve nodded his head eagerly. You bit your bottom lip as you put your hands on his strong shoulders, steadying yourself. Steve’s hand that was on your breasts wandered down to your ass. His hands grasped your ass cheeks and moved you faster on his cock. Loud moans left your lips at his actions. Your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head back, enjoying the pleasure. A small squeak left your lips when Steve pinched your ass cheek.

“Eyes on me.” He tells you. “I want you to look at me while you ride me.” He says confidently.

You looked in his beautiful blue eyes that are now filled with lust. You leaned down, kissing him sloppily. Your hands found their way to his head, your fingers tugging at his hair. He moaned at the feeling. You pulled away from his lips, tilting your head back and moaned when his cock hit your sweet spot.

“Yes! Fuck!” You moaned.

Steve knew he found your sweet spot again and smirked proudly. One of his hands found its way to where the two of you are connected and began to rub your clit in circles.

“You’re going to make me cum if you keep doing that!” You moaned, referring to his fingers rubbing your clit.

That was Steve’s goal. He applied a little bit of pressure on your clit as he continued to rub it causing your pussy to squeeze around his cock. Steve moaned at the feeling. You felt your beginning to build up the more he rubbed your clit. You felt your lower stomach tighten. It felt like a rubber band was about to snap inside of you.

“Stevie, I’m- mmm fuck!” You were cut off by a moan leaving your lips.

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” Steve says huskily.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a loud moan of his name left your lips as you came. Steve gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own orgasm which wasn’t too far behind yours. You could tell that he was getting closer to cumming from how sloppy his thrusts were as he thrusted up into you.

“I know you’re close.” You panted. “Cum for me, Stevie. Cum inside of me.” You say followed by a moan.

After a few more thrusts, Steve came inside of you. Your bouncing and his thrusts came to a slow stop. He carefully lifted you up, his cock sliding out of you, making you whine at the loss of his cock being inside of you. He carefully laid you down next to him and covered the two of you up with a blanket and wrapped his arm around you while you laid you laid your head on his chest, your fingers playing with his dog tags.

“That was way better than what I fantasized.” Steve says after a couple minutes of silence.

“I’m happy that I made your fantasies come true.” You say, leaning up to kiss his lips softly.

“Thank you for giving me a chance.” He says.

“I will always give you a chance, Stevie.” You say with a smile.

🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖

-Bucky’s Doll

[changbinsboobs]

What attracts SKZ at first sight?

🍄For this reading i used the Erotic Fantasy Tarot Deck🍄

*Keep in mind this post is solely for entertainment purposes and does not state facts!

Chan - Page of Swords

His cards were incredibly easy to shuffle and sprung out very quickly and clearly. He def has something that catches his eye instantly and knows it and doesn't mind sharing information, thats something i picked up on in the past as well, he's very open and kinda even wants to share. Physically he likes athlethic looking women, almost with slight masculine look to them (lean muscular legs, lean (not skinny) muscular stomach, he likes a straight athlethic posture and kind of "hard" vibes. Maybe girls that are a little bit snappy and a tiny bit mean, someone that would tease him or roast him a bit. I feel like he likes powerful, dom looking women, i get siren / mommy typa vibe. Like a bit mysterious and scary, and i think he is kinda into someone that gives off toxic vibes at least based on their looks. And he knows it and is proud of it too😂 doesn't disagree. He likes women that wouldnt mind stepping on someone or hurting someones feelings to protect themselves or to get the respect they deserve. I believe this is something he actually wants to do/be himself, but cant allow himself to do so, and thats why he admires it so much on women. Although if a man were to exhibit those qualities i feel he would be annoyed cuz it would trigger him that another man allows himself to do what he cant allow himself. And by saying that im not assuming his sexuality, its just that this specific piece of information came like that. That specific behavior, when exhibited by women is attractive, when exhibited by men it puts him off. That all being said, based on the reading im getting the vibe he leans more towards women, but with a bit of masc qualities.

Leeknow - Page, Knight, 10 of Cups

The deck was quite for a bit and than BAM 3 cards. All continuous cups, shows he is attracted to consistency in the building of the connection. Someone that seems serious. He doesn't have something to catch his eye immediately based on looks or personality wise. He is open to get to know any kind of person if they show genuine interest and are consecutive in their actions. He wants someone reliable in their emotions, someone who is self aware and comfortable with their emotions. Someone mature, that is visible that they have worked on themselves in the past to achieve the level of comfort and understanding they've achieved in themselves. He wants someone he can grow and build with. Contrary to Chan tho, his reading isn't that focused on romantic or sexual interest. The vibe is more platonic. Which also shows me, for him to actually feel attracted to someone in a romantic/spicey way, he has to know that person on a deeper level and possibly be friends for a while first.

Changbin - King of Cups

The deck acted very dense, as if it wanted to stick together and shield itself from spilling anything. He is someone with deep running emotions, hard exterior but very soft and deep on the inside. He has to be conscious of himself not to overspill as this has caused hem feelings of rejection, pain and feeling misunderstood. I believe he has a bit of trauma regarding that. Feeling like too much for most people. I believe he doesn't "choose" based on looks or even personality. He goes by vibe! Even if he has a specific set of features he finds attractive, they don't hold that much weight in actually attracting him. That said, i think he has A LOT of traits, aesthetics and logical/personality traits he looks for/likes in a partner, when the vibe isnt there right away. I would say he is also someone that doesnt really have a set type, even if he thinks he does. He might have a few versions of girls he has in his head that he likes, but in reality those dont mean anything cuz the girls he actually falls for are never coherent with the type he actually has, and girls that would be his perfect type, he doesnt care for them. This is something thats confusing to him and might cause him some distress in his love life as he feels uneasy trusting his gut, and thinks he should stick to what his head thinks he likes. But he's a very hearty, gutty, intuitive person and generally speaking, in life the best decisions he can make always come from his gut and heart, not from his head. Also im getting the very strong vibe he's into women. Overall a very sensitive, deep person, that doesn't want to see or accept his depth and constantly keeps trying to be "normal" or like the "others" when it comes to this specific aspect, hence why he has over-logicalified his idea of a perfect partner. This may be something causing him to constantly choose a partner thats not really fit for him, leading to a love life full of disappointment and honestly trauma. All those ideas and features he has in mind go all out the window, tho, when he actually meets someone thats meant for him and the chemistry begins "torturing" him.

Hyunjin - Ace of Swords

He likes striking, high contrast features, maybe some sharpness in the face or the body as well, probably someone on the taller side who's also pretty slender. Could be of either gender. I believe he likes more of a masculine look, if its for a woman for example someone like keira kneightly or jung hoyeon. Those two just popped into my mind. Someone with a good style, someone who KNOWS THEIR style. Like their hair, maekup, outfits, jewlery, shoes etc, are all picked up for a reason and consciously put together. He likes it when people put thought into their appearance and express themselves through it. He thinks it sends a message that this person is worth it and deems themselves and is of high value, someone that takes good care of themselves. He likes small charmies too. Like if the person has an incredibly unique charming smile. Or if they have a rare unique eye color or shape. If they have exceptionally long hair or an exceptional hair color. If they have their signature earrings or signature scent, or nails or whatever. He likes a classy aura, well put together style, but with something unique that sets that person apart from the others. Something he can remember them by. People like this leave an impression on hyunjin.

Han - Empress & High Priestess

I immediately get the vibe that he likes older women. Women that are wise, have experience and are of a mothery nature. Women that take care of him. This could also apply to men that exhibit those mothery qualities. There's not much else to add here, this leads me to believe that this specific thing is kind of the "boss" and theres not much else that matters when it comes to first impressions regarding attraction.

Felix - 7 of Wands

The deck kept blurting out groups of cards, but then not, but then yes, then another group etc. I feel like his type changes constantly and quickly so he can't really put his finger on what he likes and doesnt like. This is very dependable on the people itself and what experience he has with them. For example he meets a redhead and they hit it off right away, and suddenly his type are redheads. Then after a week he gets bored and then he suddenly doesnt like redheads anymore. Then he starts vibing with a short person, now his types that. A month later they have a fight or something, now he keeps away from short people, yk...his type fluctuates and is HEAVILY influenced by the emotion thats evoked in him during interactions & experiences.

Seungmin - Emperor

Stern looking people. I think he likes tsunderes. People that look cold and stern on the outside and he enjoys the honor of making them smile, making them soft for him later on. He also admires the stability and confidence they excude. He also sees coldness as a sort of power. Like its an ability to choose who enters and who doesnt, and he likes 1. to feel exclusive when he gets in, and he also likes the privacy of being around someone like that or having a partner like that. I want to say he likes the emptinness a relationship like that would bring. Like theres no unneccessary drama, opinions, etc. theres enough empty space for them to be whoever they want and do whatever they want.

I.N - 2 of Pentacles

Thats very random but he really likes bright green eyes. This is a feature that instantly catches his attention and no matter the other features of that person, if they have green eyes they immediately become highly attractive to him, or at least their attractiveness level rises, like from a 3 they're now a 6. He also likes ankles and looks at the shoes, those are things that can impress him. His reading is very different, he has very set things he knows about and almost actively looks for, i feel like he would be someone that has a list of things he looks for in a partner, some things being even as shallow as the type of shoes they like to wear, and he would date a person just solely based on this list of his that he has. And i think he would be pretty happy too😂 like i don't see much emotion, in the sense that he falls in love without him wanting to because that feeling is stronger than him - no, he deliberately chooses who he feels attracted to.

[stxneflxwers]

into your heart.

⋯⁂ summary. cuddles on a snowy day bring his heart more peace than the deafening ocean depths can.

⋯⁂ a/n. short and sweet post here; so im not really worried about small grammar errors, word count, formatting, or what have you (yes, again. shhhh) i need to cuddle him !!!! you dont understand!!!!! also this is my 200th post, woo!

⋯⁂ characters. freminet. gn reader.

⋯⁂ cw. fluff for daysssss. physical affection (cuddles, a cheek kiss). minimal dialogue.

freminet.

you are the most precious gift of all in his life—sometimes he swears you are his true fantasy he's always longed for. pers is a fantastic addition, of course, but to be understood and seen—to be heard—is something he never really knew he needed. he was convinced that all he needed—wanted—was the silence of the depths.

but you surprise him in many ways.

when it snows heavily in fontaine, you'll wrap him up in a big comforter and give him fuzzy socks to slip on—no matter how much he'd like to protest, he relents. he always gives in to your soft pleas. how could he possibly reject you, anyway? you've offered him so much patience and grace all this time...

he watches you light the fireplace, the little flames growing into bigger ones on the hearth—the warm glow of the fire illuminate his face so perfectly. then, you scurry over to him and snuggle up to him under the fluffy, queen-sized comforter. he smiles a little, but still as bashful as ever, his eyes dart away from you.

you snicker and press a deep peck against his plush, freckled cheek. his face immediately blazes as hot as the fire in front of him, turning his gentle features bright red. you mutter something about him being adorable, but he disregards it...for now.

without warning, you pull him in close to you—tugging him into a "forced" cuddle session. (it's hardly forced, he enjoys every second of it regardless of the furious blush and pout on his face.)

you hum while he tentatively rests his head on your chest. he couldn't care less whether your chest was "truly" soft or hard, it's still the warmest, fluffiest pillow he could ever hope for. your hands interlock around his back, keeping him safe and snug—your thumbs rub little circles along his spine, lulling him dangerously close to a quiet, salubrious slumber.

and he wouldn't complain even if he could.

this is all he could ever ask for.

"thank you..."

[reinekes-fox]

Interactive WIPs w Demo

FAQ

Grey Swan I - Birds of a Rose

The Divine Flock. Some call them crazy, some even dangerous. Some even say the cult is hiding dark secrets. But, in all your life you have yet to find one. After all you should know should there be any dark secrets: you are a member after all! A member, not only of the Divine Flock, but also of the Avis Academy, the best school the cult has. Your life is quiet and follows a strict routine, at least until two Strays from the outside, the normal, world are allowed in the normally so closed off grounds and as a newly appointed Wing it is your job to keep an eye on one of them. With their arrival some of those dark secrets may finally come to light…

You ARE not playing as a BIRD!!!

New demo https://dashingdon.com/play/wolv/grey-swan---birds-of-a-rose/mygame/

Old demo https://dashingdon.com/go/13119

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Dark Academia.

Moniker for MC: Wing MC.

Genderselectable MC: cis male or female, trans male or female. However due to growing up in a cult, MC wont know that trans is a thing/what it means, this is something MC can learn about. The same goes for sexual orientation: play as gay, bi, straight, aroace or ace, but be prepared for consequences.

Pick your level of devotion: be a devout follower of the teachings of the Divine Flock, reject it partly or wholly, or simply not care. All of it will have consequences.

Choose one of various school clubs, your volery, and get an unique storyline. Ranging from dance to school security, to managing your social media page.

Important people: Your flock, a group of younger pupils you were responsible for before the Strays arrived. You may not be their Wing on paper anymore, but you still hold a special place in their heart! They do miss you and are looking forward giving you a present on your birthday!

Your volery: whichever volery you joined, you are going to met pupils that are just as enthusiastic about your chosen interest as you are! Some more than others.

Your parents. It’s another question if the relationship between you is good, but important it surely is!

ROs: Fuchsia King

Chase Watson

Wing Droznik Juschka

Wing Astoria Rapace

-only for Peacocks: Marter

-only for Swans: Elrond/Estelle Falkenflug

-Vampire route: Sebastian Voss

-AMAB Raven RO: Marcel Rabenschlag

-Heron RO: Amelia Fern

Grey Swan II - Hawks and Doves

Unless otherwise stated you are playing as a normal human! Two legs, two arms, internal organs, hopefully a brain too. We will see how much of this organ stays intact after state propaganda, will we?

Someone once said that you were the most happiest youth in the world after the Great Heartbeat, that had shattered the old world. Earlier you would have agreed in a heartbeat, wearing the light green uniform of your state youth organisation. But now? When war has come to Avistrions shores and news reels show only destruction ?

Choose your gender, way of thinking and stance while growing up in a religious dictatorship on the giant island Avistrion. Be a devout follower of the Divine Flock, the only thing that survived the earthquake that devastated the earth. Or be the Vulture, trying to rip it to shreds, while wearing the badge of youth leadership… where will you be when war strikes your so closed off country? Which side will you be on when it ends? Will you even survive long enough to see the outcome?

Moniker for MC: Fugol MC.

ROs

Agon Falkenflug Adler/Weihe Habichtklau

Johanna/Nikola Arra

Grey Swan III - Wisteria Birds

Wisteria Birds (fantasy, drama, angst)! Currently on pause.

You are beautiful, trained in art and music. You are deadly, trained in the unique weapons that no one except you can use. You are dying. Kept alive by the very same thing that keeps you save from others abusing their power over you… You have no rights. But you can do whatever you want, even kill, without having to fear any consequences. You are the most pleasant death that anyone can wish for. You are an artwork. And all you are supposed to be is look pretty, show of your owners wealth. But oh, you could become so much more…

You play as a highly specialised trained entertainer… an Artwork, expensive companion to the rich and noble ones in Aklant, a country with rigid rules and unspoken laws, strict class divide and obsessed with anything that shows how rich they are… or at least let them appear rich. Artworks themselves are outside of this all, freed from all those social chains, but not seen as human… maybe its time to change that? Or leave the status quo as it is, up to you!

Moniker for MC: Artwork MC.

ROs:

Fauconniers, your potential buyers:

Chevalier Armand Sanson Alexandre Desrosier Others, you may work together with one or more of them? “Mouette” Sanglant du Verdier

You have been a Hound, the human companion of a vampire, for years.

Until you find yourself among the undead and masterless after a night where everything went wrong… leaving you with no other choice but to move back in with your parents.

ROs (will expand)

Theo Grimm

Agent Rosa Caleb

Marian Viorel

Citadel of dancing birds

Ghibli inspired! Mainly Howls moving castle.

You play someone from our world who ends up in another world! Since this is an aspect I greatly enjoyed in the book and was really sad they didnt include in the movie, there will be chances of jumping between the worlds (and of course becoming a magician too!).

ROs, some are locked into specific magic combinations:

Opera Job and changing into Animals: Santu Cajarin

Changing into Animals: Rosalind Eagledancer

In planning:

-Grey Swan VI - Fallen Dove

-Grey Swan - Birds of a broken mirror

Sth with magicians

Pet projects:

-Unwind Dystology IF

-sth inspired by my fav dojinshi series from like a decade ago

-sth inspired by stranger things and stephen king

[somebodys-nightmare]

The Cloud & Tifa Love Story: An Analysis

This is a piece originally published to Twitter that analyzes not only the canonical evidence supporting Cloud and Tifa's romantic relationship and its root at the heart of the story of FFVII, but also the special nature of it.

Cloud and Tifa’s relationship in FFVII is a unique, complex, & subversive take on the childhood friends-to-lovers trope. The many layers of depth in their relationship make their romance and bond far more compelling and relatable than most fantasy romances.

Cloud & Tifa’s relationship is threaded w/ themes of distance & reunion: in childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, & adulthood. It’s the heart & soul of FF7, driving the protagonist’s arc & his motivations. The progression of their relationship also drives the plot forward.

Cloud and Tifa’s story begins when they are very young children. They live next door to each other & often spend time playing together. They were so close that they freely went in one another’s houses to play. This closeness isn’t a secret to anyone, including Tifa’s parents.

Distance first grows between Cloud & Tifa between the ages of 7-8, before the death of Tifa’s mother & before the mountain incident. This is important bc Cloud is the one who begins to pull away, & it isn’t because of her mother’s death & that incident, her initial assumption.

Cloud pulled away because he didn’t understand nor know how to handle the complex feelings he was beginning to experience for Tifa, especially as her friend group expanded.

Cloud was an isolated child. He was an introvert w/ a strong independent streak. He also had an inferiority complex that he masked w/ a desire for self-importance to hide his true desires and inner loneliness.

Tifa was the only girl her age in the village. As such, her friend group consisted of the other boys by default. They played together innocently as children. Cloud was not excluded from the group, but rather chose to isolate himself. (there is a well-known mistranslation here)

During the mountain incident, Tifa’s friends abandoned her, while Cloud, on the other hand - who had already begun to distance himself from Tifa - followed her. He wanted to protect her, but they both fell and were hurt.

Cloud took the blame for this incident and internalized this failure, especially because of the reaction of her father and the lies told by the other boys. Tifa, however, did not remember what happened and was confused by the incident and what she was told of it.

After this incident, distance grows between Cloud and Tifa. Cloud isolates himself further & his complex deepens into a desire to prove that he is not only better than the other boys but that he is deserving of Tifa’s attention and affection.

This also coincides w/ the children growing into adolescence & the expectations for the future. Nibelheim was a small, traditional village & there were expectations set for children at a young age. Boys were expected to be providers & girls were expected to take care of home.

The boys in the village seek out their prospects for future work & wives. Tifa, the only girl in the village, is the main attraction. Cloud is no different - except that the mountain incident proves that Cloud actually cared about Tifa. He didn’t see her as a prize to be won.

Tifa’s friends openly try to court her, even w/ her father’s blessing. Tifa politely finds ways to reject or skirt around their attempts - (a useful skill she’ll need later in life). She isn’t interested in anybody but Cloud. Meanwhile, Cloud continues to admire and interact w/her from afar. It isn’t until Cloud decides to join SOLDIER to impress Tifa - and to make up for his failure on the mountain - does he make his intentions known to her. At the time of this invitation, Tifa ponders the nature of her feelings for Cloud. She’s hopeful that he likes her the way the other boys do, but she’s young and thinks her feelings are shallower than they truly are - that she likes him because he’s beautiful and unreachable. She has these feelings because of how her mother once described him, but also because of how distant Cloud has kept himself from her, something that’s confused her since they “stopped being friends”.

But on the water tower, when Cloud declares his intentions to her, Tifa realizes that he isn’t unreachable but, but ordinary and real. He has the same kinds of dreams that any other boy his age might. Tifa, a 13-year-old girl, thinks that is beautiful and special and she falls in love with him. She asks him to make her a promise because she wants to see him again - she wants him to come back to her so that she can spend the rest of her life with him.

After this brief “reunion”, distance opens up between Cloud & Tifa again. Cloud leaves for Shinra & they don’t see each other for 2 (7) years. While Cloud is away, he is striving for SOLDIER because that is what he declared to Tifa. He wants to become someone special for her.

Meanwhile, Tifa goes on to learn martial arts & develop many other skills & hobbies in the village - all while not only thinking about Cloud, but admiring him for who he is to the point she even wants to be more like him. And she cherishes their few but precious memories.

When Cloud returns to Nibelheim at age 16 as part of the survey team to inspect the reactor, he hides himself from Tifa due to his shame at not getting into SOLDIER. While he is there, he is not only pining for her, but also striving to protect her. Tifa, meanwhile, doesn’t know that Cloud is there. She hopes that he’ll come - but not because she wants a SOLDIER. She wants to see Cloud, the boy she always wanted to be closer to, the boy she fell in love with, again. She’s disappointed when he doesn’t come.

Tifa doesn’t know it, but she is actually reunited with Cloud during this incident, & he keeps his promise to her, protecting her the way that he always wanted to. And Cloud doesn’t know it, but Tifa survives her injuries that day. Tifa is taken away by Zangan, ending up in Midgar. But she never forgets Cloud & still has him buried in her heart despite the challenges & traumas she faces over the next 5 years. Cloud is trapped by Hojo’s experimentation & transported to Midgar by Zack over this period.

This distance is closed when Cloud & Tifa reunite as young adults at the S7 train station. Cloud is incapacitated by mako & infected by Jenova cells, but seeing Tifa he awakens. However, his true identity is broken by the experimentation AND his inability to accept himself.

He creates, as a coping mechanism, a false persona - the “Ex-SOLDIER 1st Class” person - that is based on his ideal self - someone cool, tough, and strong - someone who made it into SOLDIER, possessing the characteristics of a man who can keep that promise to Tifa.

Even though Cloud & Tifa are ‘reunited’, Tifa knows that something is wrong - and it’s not only their mismatched memories or his mako-colored eyes. Tifa knows the real Cloud & this false persona raises her red flags, even though his true self emerges briefly with her. Throughout the game, this distance grows and closes and then grows again between Cloud & Tifa because of the false persona, mismatched memories, & Jenova’s interference, all of which Sephiroth - the villain - is exploiting. The ReTrilogy greatly expands on this, but the point stands - Tifa is doing everything she can to care for Cloud’s fragile state while trying to navigate the discrepancies in their memories.

At the Northern Crater, Sephiroth severs the bond between Cloud & Tifa by gaslighting them over these mismatched memories. When Tifa’s belief in Cloud wavers, his psyche completely breaks - the false persona is no longer enough to hold him together.

Tifa’s true, unconditional love for Cloud is revealed when she finds him in Mideel. When the world is falling apart, she chooses to stay by his side & care for him, not knowing whether he will ever wake up again. She does this because she loves & cares about the real Cloud.

It isn’t until Cloud & Tifa fall into the Lifestream that they have their true reunion. Tifa not only learns the truth about their memories, but the truth about Cloud’s feelings for her & why he did the things he did - including isolating himself when they were children.

The reconciliation and understanding they reach in the Lifestream allows Cloud to reclaim his memories and the truth and accept his true identity - flaws and all - through Tifa’s acceptance, love, and support.

After this, Cloud and Tifa confirm their feelings, closing the final distance between them under the Highwind. Once again, they subvert the common fantasy couple’s trope of bold declarative statements, confirming their feelings with actions rather than words.

Even so - they do confirm their feelings with words eventually - and then go on to build a home, businesses, and a family together, being by each other’s side for the rest of their days.

In adulthood, ACC introduces a conflict that creates a new distance between Cloud & Tifa. This conflict is predicated on Cloud falling ill to Geostigma and entering a depression due to his survivor’s guilt over the deaths of his precious friends.

Cloud distances himself because he doesn’t want to let down Tifa and his family and once again believes he is not worthy of them because of his past and his illness. He is already in a weak place because of his past traumas & worries about losing his newfound happiness.

Cloud works through his guilt with support from Tifa and is able to confront his past & forgive himself. With this behind him, Cloud returns to his family where he belongs. Cloud and Tifa are once again reunited and continue to live together as a family.

Final note- Cloud & Tifa’s promise is made under Tanabata stars. There’s clear symbolism. The Tanabata tale is about 2 lovers eternally separated & reunited. For Cloud & Tifa, this distance & reunion happens throughout their story - physically, emotionally, & metaphorically.

This isn’t your typical meet-cute and let’s go on an adventure together romance. This is a well-developed & nurtured relationship that has a long history and battle scars that many relationships couldn’t survive.

It’s a relationship meant to show the challenges, barriers, and misunderstandings that true love is capable of enduring realistically, one that is relatable to people living in the real world and not in fantasy lands with magic and fae.

It’s a relationship written with a lot of love and thought & was woven intrinsically into the plot of FFVII. Because the truth is - without Cloud & Tifa & without their love & bond, many of the events of FFVII will not happen.

Thanks for reading!

[yannaryartside]

Carmy will have to decide between two types of love

I keep thinking about why Carmy (possibly) deciding between Claire and Syd is taking so much time on the overall plot of the series. We have used a entire season of him falling for Claire, and my theory is that in this season the Syd vs Claire is gonna be toe to toe, and then in the final season he goes for Syd.

Now, if that happens this way, I have been analysing it from a writers perspectives, how this love stories create Carmen ultimate character arc. I am gonna propose to you two narratives and why I would go for the later. Character analysis ahead.

The Claire option

Walk with me here. If you ship Claire and Carmy and believe the trailers, you could say this whole thing is about Carmy learning to accept love and good things. That is why the last season ended with him rejecting the relationship out of trauma just to realize that Claire loved him. This season could be about him healing to a point where he learns he deserves love, apologizing to Claire, and getting back together. And you know what, that does make sense, writing this show as an exercise for learning to heal childhood wounds. It is clean and makes sense. Then in s4 his new self can make all the good decisions, have a couple of kids, bum you have an arc.

But the background noise, or the clues floating around, to call it something, doesn't make sense. Here insert all the Sydcarmy clues the fandom has talked about.

The show is trying to tell us that Claire is the love Carmy wants because he is trapped in his wounded self mentality.

As I said in this post, Claire's behavior looked extremely naive but manipulative sometimes. Her relationship with his family and the trauma surrounding it. How everybody seems more enthusiastic than him about the relationship at times.

The reason: the wound.

Claire is uncomplicated love, love with no expectations or boundaries, with only space for his needs, never hers. That is the kind of love a child expects from a parent. My theory is that Carmen, being with Claire, wanted to experience that kind of love, the one he didn't get from Donna. with a touch of his teen self fantasies and sex included.

And that also makes sense. Everybody that has been abused, particularly in childhood, will tell you that picking a partner without relying on your wounded self is very difficult.

A little bit of TMI on healing from abuse when you look for a romantic partner: One of the reasons I got into therapy is because I was terrified to end up marrying a man as abusive as my dad was with my mom and me. I had a problematic episode with one of my exboyfriends that made me realize I was repeating specific patterns, even when consciously, I thought I was picking men who didn't act like my father. It is something difficult precisely because you are not aware of it. It is all happening subconsciously.

So maybe that is why the writers want to give Carmen the chance to choose a partner as a healed person (Syd) and not as a wounded person desperate for love (Claire)

You cannot choose a romantic partner looking for the love of a parent, because parent to child love is the only type of unconditional love that can exist. Some therapist will tell you that the only way to cure that lack is with self love and forgiveness, but that is besides the point of this post.

Romantic relationships cannot be unconditional, it is a partnership. There needs to be expectations of grow, sacrifices and compromises, the two people need to get their needs met. You may heal together, but you partner may trigger your wounds sometimes, the same as your other relationships.

Syd definitely forces Carmy to evolve, while Claire enables him and keeps him in his past self.

Now here is where I think the twist of the series will come.

Remember when I said that Carmys core wound is ther he felt he was not good enough for Donna to love him? Because he could not be like Michael? This is the post

Syd is Carmy’s anchor and his peace. She is also characterized as someone who helps people to grow, who gives grace and sincerity when mistakes are made. She is the actually healthy woman/parent he never experienced.

Carmen has not healed his core wound. The lie he believes that he has to go the extra mile to earn people's love. The way he became the best chef in the world, dreaming of just getting a “good job” from his older brother.

But because his wounded self doesn't feel like he can be enough for somebody he actually wants (Syd), he felt for a woman that didn't asked anything of him (Claire).

That (never giving but always receiving) dynamic is what allowed Carmy to accept the relationship in the first place.

Thinking of all this made me realize that not only has Syd been the only person Carmy had chosen for himself (as other posts have brilliantly pointed out), but Syd is literally the only person who can make a relationship with him work. She had seen the worst of him (Donna) and had the capacity to make him think of himself beyound all that, hence the peace that she brings him “you are the best cdc” as in “you are great, you are good, a good partner, a good leader, you are my friend” you are not just the bear (your wounded self). He smiles because the person that he wants can see this even if he doesn't dare to belive it yet.

So I don't know how they could make Carmy realize all of this. I also could be wrong and the meaning of all of this could be something completly different. I also don't know of this opinion is controversial. Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading.

[somewhereincairparavel]

HIIII CONGRATS ON 400 AGAIN!!!! i’m in the car rn but i couldn’t wait till i got home LOL 😫 can i get “to be young and in love, ah” w jason and a demeter girl pls 😣😣😣😣 THANK YOUUUUU

"˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. Garden girl x Weather boy!˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. "

Jason Grace x daughter of Demeter headcanons list! @gentlehue this is so cute and fun to make aww

˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ A few jealous people in camp would try to change Jason's mind about liking you. Saying stuff like “a powerful Zeus kid deserves more than a vine growing girl” like wtf

˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎJason would get so mad, like do they not know who Demeter is?? Demeter has the ability to cause life threatening famines by stopping harvest and growth?? And apparently that isn't powerful?

˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎBesides you were nurturing LIVING BREATHING things and were dedicating your life towards it. And he loved that. He didn't care about what other people thought about his love life.

༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎHe was so over people telling him what to do and what not to do

༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎJason would ask you out by giving you a bouquet of origami paper flowers he made himself. Because he knows how much you hate it when people pluck real flowers out, so cute 🥹 he'd spend hours and do it all by himself. He didn't care if you rejected him either (not that you would lol) because he just wanted to tell you how he felt :(You accepted immediately ofc. You kept the flowers with you ever since he gave you them!˚

🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎAlso also, whenever your plants die, you get so upset about it and that makes him sad :( so he makes you cute lil letters and stick those dead flowers onto them so you keep them with you even though they're wilted 🥺🌷

˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎGardening dates >>>

˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎis willing to get dirty to be with you.

༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎHe would SO read books about flowers so he could talk about it with you. Like being your bf, seeing you indulge in plant conversations with other people makes him sad. Bc he feels dumb for not knowing anything about them enough to talk about it. Loves loves loves when your face lights up talking about herbs and shrubs.

˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎHe's actually a very fast learner too?? Like at some point, he'd be correcting YOU about plant information?? Like sir?? I taught YOU that?? And now you're upstaging me? He's a nerd okay.

༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎHe makes sure that the weather is perfect for your precious plants. If he spots the flowers in your garden wilting? Rain is summoned immediately. You'd pretend not to notice that he did it.

˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎWhen you guys get older and do shopping for your new house, he'd SO build you your own personal garden with a huge lawn and you'd both plant new seeds there.So the garden would be filled with butterflies and bees, and you'd wake up every morning looking at that scenery. Ahh a fantasy dream.

˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎAlso, you'd plant a tree when you have a child so the tree would grow together with them 🥹

[agentrouka-blog]

Accidentally stumbled into a Sansa anti (well they call themselves an Arya stan but they apparently think those things go hand in hand)blog and am now baffled and a little disgusted at the amount of vitriol these people have for..a little girl, honestly they had reblogged a post about how Arya being believed to be a hostage to Ramsay galvanised so many people in the North, etc and the difference between that and Sansa being the Lannisters hostage/Tyrions bride, and like..so this little girls life being worthless to these men (whether that's true or not) is somehow validation for you? Honestly it's a little disturbing (there's also a pattern of most of them hating Alicent as well which seems..meaningful)

Ah, yes, the fantasy that they have that the North uniquely loves Arya and somehow instinctively rejects Sansa, and that this would be a good thing rather than screaming misogyny. 😊

There's exactly one group in the North agitating for Ned Stark's daughter herself (the one within reach of them, mind) and that's the mountain clans, for two reason:

Distant family loyalty, alongside Stark loyalty. (A Liddle also aids Bran in the mountains.)

A culture that encourages them to seek death, not survival, at this particular time where Stannis comes knocking.

His father's mother's mother had been a Flint of the mountains. Old Nan once said that it was her blood in him that made Bran such a fool for climbing before his fall.  (ASOS, Bran ll)

It was a tale that any northmen knew well. "My father's grandmother was a Flint of the mountains, on his mother's side," Jon told her. "The First Flints, they call themselves. They say the other Flints are the blood of younger sons, who had to leave the mountains to find food and land and wives. It has always been a harsh life up there. When the snows fall and food grows scarce, their young must travel to the winter town or take service at one castle or the other. The old men gather up what strength remains in them and announce that they are going hunting. Some are found come spring. More are never seen again." (ADWD, Jon X)

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned's little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue." (ADWD, The King's Prize)

Let's not overtly romanticize the North. Manderly's money is on Rickon the son. There's a sizable faction actually supporting the Boltons (Dustin/Ryswell and Karstark). No one lifts a single finger for "Arya" until Jon gives Stannis the advice to gather support in the mountains with his army, and those are the ones with comparatively little to do but die and "bathe in Bolton blood".

The main aspect here is opportunity v. cost.

But more to the point, just as you point out, if it was Sansa that Jeyne was pretending to be, it would be the same. It's not the girls (within their actual reach) they specifically care for, it's Ned and House Stark.

The specific (small) subset of Sansa Anti/Arya stan that pushes these takes is, indeed, less interested in Arya, the actual books and the political dynamics therein, than they are in a distorted Cinderella fantasy where Arya is uniquely chosen and loved over Sansa. The rejection of Sansa is as central to that fantasy as the elevation of Arya, because the Mean Girl needs to be vanquished and punished in order to destroy the very notion in the world that Their Projection Surface was ever not The Prettiest And Bestest, deprived of the admiration she rightfully deserved by the cruel machinations of a middleschool bully.

You know, that's the complex philosophical, political and literary themes and interpersonal dynamics that GRRM is known for. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[dragon-communion]

Every day I am one step closer to either writing an essay or writing a fic about "what if Miquella's god was Frenzy". Because like. Marika has the Greater Will. Ranni has her Moon. Malenia has the Rot. What's Miquella supposed to embody?

He's too small, too ineffective, too idealistic. Everything he does fails. Everyone he loves dies. He just wants people to please be nice to eachother. His own mother paints rivers of blood across the continent. He wants to grow up and he can't. He wants to save his sister and he can't. No one else can save her, everyone gave up on her. His father's useless, his mother's a warlord, his consort won't take him seriously, his own abilities are limited.

He has reasons to feel despair, but he Fucking Loathes Gods, and I firmly believe that the only reason he survived infancy is because something in his divinely blessed immune system responded to Malenia's rot by just. Making him a living panacea of some sort. Or, at the very least, immune to the influence of gods. His experiments with unalloyed gold are efforts to put his own immunity into some sort of functional material other people can utilize. Quite possibly by bleeding into the molten metal or something similar.

And I think that's what the cocoons are, too- Miquella trying to imbue his followers with his own biological advantages, and also cause them to be reborn into a cycle of his own making, much like Erdtree burial, except not necessarily through dying. A kind of baptism through metamorphosis.

Miquella distinctly lacks a patron deity, and if anything strikes me as the high fantasy equivalent of an atheist. Outer gods exist and he wants nothing to do with them, even if his initial project is modeled on Marika's Erdtree. It's what he knows.

And then, at some point, he develops Trina. Who has all of the characteristics of an outer god- a primal force that spreads through infection and has a psychopomp function for processing the dead, complete with the ability to change the eye color of her devotees (hello Thiollier).

And she's got more than one notable connection to Frenzy. The cut merchant questline, but also through the albinaurics, and the fact that Sleep and Frenzy both utilize the Focus stat. Eyes of Yelough and Trina's Lilies also have some somewhat similar soothing/addictive qualities that really got me thinking.

An Empyrean is a vessel, and they are meant to be filled. Miquella rejected that, and so was filled with something else- an aspect of himself that could play that role, that just so happens to function very similarly to Frenzy.

I'm just saying. What if?

[seikkoi]

ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ | ᴛᴏɴʏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

18+ ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ

content/warnings: named reader, explicit sexual content (very end), alcohol consumption, mentions of financial issues, employer/employee relations, explicit mentions of mental health issues (reader has the anxieties™), mentions of physical injuries, set in canon universe before aou.

genre: mostly angst ngl, sm*t at the very very end

word count: 7,463 im sorry

a/n: lightly inspired by the song 'october' by rothstein

dedicated to: the lovely @alessandraavengers

"Maybe you should worry about yourself, Stark. I've been doing just fine before you decided to make my job your business."  Tony's jaw clenches, and a shaky hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.  “My business is your job."

I won't complain,

I will be decent, 

though it will be freezing,

I welcome the rain.

The hands of the clock on the wall ticked silently, a sign of the building’s expense. You clutched a leather binder filled with papers in your lap as you sat. Everything you had to show for the last seven years of your life. Countless awards, certificates, recommendations—the expensive bachelor's and the bank account-draining master’s. Your leg bounced on the dark mahogany, steadily increasing frequency as seconds turned into minutes.

Ironically, this would also be interview number seven. For the job you were least qualified for. You applied for close to twenty at this point, all well below your skill, but you were desperate. You had barely a year of experience—quitting your first job one year out of school after one-too-many sixty hour work weeks. The moment you turned in your resignation, dread and regret over your choice in profession filled you. It held you down, sleeping and rotting the days away. Eventually, reality set in, pulled you out of bed and back into the corporate world. 

Turns out, lack of experience and ‘quitting with notice’ is less than ideal.

You hoped a step down in prestige would result in less stress. All your fantasies of a top floor corner office and luxury disappeared like ash under a light rain. You always held expensive tastes that you couldn’t sustain unemployed.  But the stress wasn’t worth it. All you needed now was to pay the bills. Too quickly ‘over-qualified’ or ‘under-experienced’ became your least favorite words. You had to fight back the dread every time you checked your email. 

Just when you’d started pondering entry-level positions, a notification came through for a new vacancy ‘Fit for your skillset!’. To your dismay, the description sounded no different than the job you left. More grueling expectations and personal sacrifice. On top of that, you still were under-experienced by their requirements. Not to mention who it was for. Overworked employees typically miss most current events, but far too much has been going on with this company to make even you pay attention. Working for such a high-profile, drama-ridden company might be even worse.  But after weeks and not so much as an offer letter, you had to try anything. On the plus side, at least it paid well.

Three days later, you found yourself inside of Stark Tower, wishing the silent clock would move faster.

Square breathes, internal mantras—nothing worked. Your heels still made a gentle clack against the floor. Thankfully, the general noise of the front lobby kept it from being a nuisance. 

What you swear is eons later, your ears prick up to a similar click growing near you. You turn your head as a tall blonde approaches the small waiting area. She stops at the front desk a moment, making your heart skip a beat when the receptionist points to you. 

‘Just relax, you know what to say.’ you thought to yourself. ‘They won’t hire you if you’re a nervous wreck.’

You manage to muster what little confidence you had left after weeks of rejection to stand and straighten your dress as she greets you. Thankfully, the smile she extends is friendly enough. The hand you feel is soft and manicured too— acute tells of an easy life.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ms. Potts, I’ll be bringing you up to meet Mr. Stark.” she says, turning and heading further into the lobby.

‘Maybe this won’t be too hard. Maybe this job won’t be like the last.’

-

During the entire elevator ride to Mr. Stark’s office, Ms. Potts spews out factoids about Stark Industries but you’re too busy rethinking your entire interview strategy. Something about a cave, Obadiah Stane and a wormhole whizzes through your ear to no reaction. It was nothing you hadn’t already read in the weekly papers, nor did it ease you one bit. 

You were even more taken aback when you realize you’re descending, and the silver doors open to a spacious garage. The faint sound of movement echoes, source unseen. You turn to Miss Potts, who only gives another pleasant smile and gestures into the concrete space.

Sure, the whole world knew Tony Stark was a bit eccentric. You knew that well enough when you applied. Hell, it probably explained the vacancy. Maybe this was some type of strategy, or just his nature. Either way, something was screaming at you to tell Miss Potts you had changed your mind, go home and apply for anything else. 

Then, you remembered how badly you wanted success. You couldn’t accept anything less.

The elevator closed quietly behind you as you exited, looking for the source of the noise. There’s cars (some ridiculously new and some pathetically old), studded workbenches, and chaotic piles of robotics and machinery strewn about. You have to round the corner to find him, behind a small bar tucked away from the metal mess everywhere else. 

He’s turned away from you, seated at the bar with eyes glued on a few papers before him. An ornate pen signs away without pause. You’re certain the sound of your heels against the floor gave you away, but you’re sure to clear your throat to not shock him. 

Mr. Stark, clad in a grease-stained white tee and dark denim, shifts in the barstool slightly to give you a cursory look. You can tell immediately his mind is lightyears away from the present situation, focused elsewhere. On a lighter note, you notice how much kinder he looks in person. All the magazines and op-eds made his face harsh, never smiling. 

“You’re the one who applied for assistant thingy right? Miss…” Stark trails off, scanning back through the papers in front of him. There’s a slight slur in his speech, one that forces you to remember the early hour.

“Cassian.” you interrupt his search and he laughs, abandoning the papers for a shiny glass on the counter.

He brings the amber liquid to his lips before he speaks again. 

“Right, Cassian, look—” The glass finds its way back to the solid surface despite his sway. He stands once it does, facing you with a wide smile. “You’re hired!” 

With that, you’re left more dumbfounded, staring at the billionaire as he sauntered over to one of the cluttered workbenches. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I really don’t understand—” You turn towards him as he walks by, not sparing you another glance.

When he reaches the middle of the garage, he lets out an exhausted sigh. The familiar regret seeps in, turning your nerves up another notch.

“The woman that probably brought you here—Pepper, she used to be my assistant, and handle all the tabloid bullsuit.” he mutters, fiddling with a wrench from the bench. 

“After the whole ‘tower nearly blowing up’ situation, she’s taken a step uh-out of my life. For better or worse. I didn’t wanna hire anyone else, she’s convinced I can’t manage my own life— we compromised.”

You start to speak, trying to formulate the right words to say. Stark pays it no mind, tossing the wrench back down gently.

He pivots towards you, and you see the stress in his eyes. You can see why she’d quit-hell you were starting to wish you never applied. The name ‘Stark’ proliferated in the papers these days.

“Offer letter is signed, on the bar, job’s there if you want it.” With that, he walks across the garage, past you into the elevator. 

The electronic ding! sounds, leaving you in the garage alone without another word. You’re convinced this is a terrible idea- even before whatever that just was.

Something sparks your curiosity to look at the signed papers, and put a dollar amount to this madness. You walk back to the bar, grabbing the stack of papers with a faint ring of water in the corner.

You’re certain you’re dreaming when you count the number of zeros. 

THREE WEEKS LATER

You were ready for retirement at the ripe age of twenty-six.

This was a new type of demand. Running nearly every aspect of Tony Stark’s life didn’t eat your soul, but it ate at your mind. You could spin embezzlement or drunk-driving into a heartwarming story- alien attacks and Hydra were a whole new ballpark. 

It was almost refreshing. Spinning stories for shitty people and tailoring public statements for the goal of maximum human exploitation never quite sat right with you. Handling Stark’s life just felt like defending someone who deserved it. It felt more honorable working for him than a greedy tech firm.  (There are some questionable times when he doesn’t, but you don’t bother with those).

The righteousness helped the uncharted territory be more than manageable. Still, making Stark’s technology enterprise mesh well with his role as Iron Man felt like a hero’s feat on its own. The media would come up with any number of wild conspiracies about Iron Man, most of them disparaging to his image. 

Stark was legitimately aiming for good things in the world. The weariness in your bones kept you craving more simplicity and ease, nonetheless.

You sunk down into the leather couch of the conference room, watching as the board members filed out in quick order. The room was filled with the golden ray of sunset— soon to turn pitch black. 

Officially done with the day’s meetings, you forgo any workplace formalities and kick off your heels, despite your boss’s presence. 

A light chuckle at your exhaustion breaks the silence, Stark slumping into the empty space beside you. You raise an eyebrow when he wriggles at the lavish tie around his neck, tossing the garment to the floor next to your heels. 

“What, you can kick back but I can’t?” he jests, undoing the top two buttons of his black dress shirt. 

You give a ‘fair enough’ shrug, leaning back to start mentally processing the last ten hours.

You found yourself staring at his exposed neck as your mind trailed off, his head leaned back, eyes shut. His jaw is tight, forehead pinch in a now-familiar focus. Stark looked nearly as drained as you, still you knew better than to try and equate things. Honestly, you considered yourself semi-lucky to only have to make things look nice for the cameras and not be present for them. In the evening glow, though, he looks close to ethereal.

You shift your eyes at the thought.

You two sit in comfortable silence as the sun moves behind the New York city skyline. 

You’re doing mental math on how soon you can retire when he fills the void with a question.

“Regret taking the job?” he asks, unmoving. 

You add ‘potential mind reader’  to his list of skills. 

“Some parts are better than others.” It’s as honest of an answer you can give without sounding ungrateful for the opportunity (or thinking about the alluring glow on his skin).

He laughs again, turning to meet your eyes. This would mark the first time you’re under a heat lamp from his gaze, irises tired and alluring. 

“Seriously,” 

Clearly your answer isn’t convincing, because he turns to his side on the couch to fully face you. 

“You aren’t regretting this? Because lately you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” he says with a lazy grin.

You thought you were doing a good job of burying your issues beneath walls of smiles. Hearing otherwise hurts your resolve a bit, especially from Stark. He had enough on his plate without worrying about you.

“It’s just…a lot,” 

Despite how you felt, you couldn’t lie about it, not to his face. 

“But it’s not your fault, it’s not you.” you swiftly add upon seeing his somber grin fade away.

“Ha, isn’t it though?” A dramatic sigh escapes his mouth like a deflated balloon, running his hands through messy brown locks. “This..rollercoaster I’ve put myself on.” 

“Rollercoasters can be fun.” 

“You hate it.” Stark faces you once more, propping his arm up on the back of the couch. 

“Wouldn’t blame you if you quit.”

The suggestion pulls a laugh of your own. “I don’t think that’s an option.”

Stark makes a genuinely puzzled face, to which you spend the next minute or two explaining why you quit your first job, the weeks you spent rotting away after. You had hoped to never recount such a sad time outloud, but you couldn’t stand him feeling at fault for your lack of enthusiasm. 

Ease passes through you when it seems to comfort him a bit.

“Maybe I hire you for something else, maybe pay you to not deal with this shit.” he says, laughing.

You brush off his joke with another short laugh. “Wouldn’t that be something? Really, it’s fine. Just need a long hot shower.”

You start to stand, but are stopped when a hand graces your thigh. 

“No jokes, I know what it’s like to get more than you signed up for. If money’s all that’s keeping you here, trust me that’s not an issue.”

You give a flustered smile, trying not to focus on how warm his hand was. 

“It’s not all that’s keeping me here.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

“You know it’s just a dinner, right? Like just food, maybe music, high probability of dessert?” Stark taunts, noticing your trembling leg from behind his phone screen.

The car seems like it’s moving way too fast, even though you can very clearly see the speedometer under 25 miles per hour. 

“Yes, I know what dinner is.” 

You let out a deep sigh, trying to regain the ground under your feet. The part Stark conveniently forgets is that it is a very large gala he’s dragged you along to, and not just a normal dinner. You can do normal dinner, not a one hundred plus person dinner with reporters and red carpet. He’s also not considering the part where he didn’t tell you about it until two hours ago.

“Oh, that’s a relief, thought you might jump out the window.” he pockets his phone, turning to you. “I can just have Happy take you home, you know.”

“No, no, this is…excitement. I’m excited. Totally ready.” you’re really trying to convince yourself, but it only makes Tony snicker.

“These things are really boring, promise. That’s why you’re here, keep me from falling asleep.” 

Out the window, the street lights start to turn back into normal orbs instead of blurry splotches. The car pulls up the curb with enough ease for you to take in the venue. It's a marble hall, one you feel suddenly underdressed for. You make a mental note to tell Stark never to give you this little notice again. Perhaps you should save yourself the trouble and head home. 

Stark could behave himself, right? 

The black window tinting your view disappears when the door is pulled open. You hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t beside you anymore, now holding the door and gesturing to the entrance. You get your first good look at the suit he’s wearing, tailored and jet-black. The flattering seams are a decent enough distraction to join him on the sidewalk. 

Stark places both hands on either of your shoulders, giving you a playful shake. 

“You look amazing, I look amazing, please stop worrying. It’s starting to spread and I can’t eat on an upset stomach.” he forces himself into your gaze, searching your face for the supposed ‘excitement’.

A deep breath, then a second passes through you, staring at Stark's eyes until you can manage a curt nod and still legs.

“See, you’re gonna be just fine.” he exclaims, dropping the hands from your shoulders and already smiling for the line of photographers waiting by the door. 

You follow unsteadily, praying this is a speedy event. You could do this for an hour, maybe two. Stark takes notice of your delay, turning back to you just before reaching the first nerdy cameraman.

“Hey, what’s the issue with this? If your not comfortable with the cameras, you know we can just go around—”

“It’s not that,” you interrupt, gripping your clutch with sweaty palms. 

“Then what?” he asks sympathetically.

“There’s like a hundred people in there, Stark.” you admit with a long sigh.

“And I’m one of them, what’s the worst that can happen if you're with me?” He turns and props his arm out towards you. “Miss Cassian?” he says, dragging out your name.

You want to roll your eyes at his constant unserious nature, but instead you take another deep breath, loop your arm through his, letting your fingers wrap around the satiny fabric on his bicep before taking slow steps forward.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

Bright bulbs of light flickering in blinding succession. In every direction, microphones with human mouthpieces spew their hurried questions. Your boss answers in his typical Stark way, earning only more adoration and curiosity. You come to humor yourself with the questions they ask. Always seemingly random, from his favorite brand of whiskey to his opinion on migrant detainment in the Mediterranean. 

You stand to the right as he smiles and poses for them. You almost hate how good he looks in the cold wind, face most definitely beaming behind designer snow-white frames. Outside of that, you admire his patience, knowing this winter vacation (where he didn’t have to be Iron Man for once) was leaked and now semi-ruined.

It would’ve been a well needed break for you as well. Three months of non-stop press releases, conferences, and meetings were wearing you ragged. Late nights were occupied with drafting memos and wishing you chose a career with less work. While you hated the time work took away, you unfortunately began to admire the work you did. Working for Stark turned out to be more desirable than you thought. You imagined dealing with another frustrating, reckless CEO- not a charming, witty superhero. Regardless of the long hours and chaos, you loved helping put more good into the world. 

Finally, as snow starts to fall, he answers a final question on if he’ll change the color of his suit before turning to enter the cabin.

“Mr. Stark— Iron Man, won’t be taking any more questions, excuse me, thank you.” 

You tried to squeeze past incessant reporters and fans, barely making it through the hotel front door if it weren’t for security. The commotion outdoors gets muffled by the tall wooden doors. You sigh and lean against them, shutting your eyes for a moment.

“Feeling alright, Cassie?” 

Stark’s voice makes you open your eyes to see him standing in the foyer. This would be the fourth time you feel his eyes burning through your skin. You expected him not to be upstairs in bed, asleep already, not in front of you, eyeing you with his hands buried in his pockets. 

The place he chose spared little expense, clearly for starlets like Stark looking for a lush, woodsy escape. Wooden walls covered every inch, adorned with fancy art and a modern fireplace in the living room.  The color reminds you of the tower lobby, a deep mahogany. 

“Yeah, just remind me why I’m here and not at home in my heated apartment.” You keep your voice light as you hang your coat on the rack by the door. 

Stark gives a playful scoff, too used to your sarcasm to take offense. 

“A certain former assistant thinks I need a babysitter on my own vacation.” He turns on his heels, heading towards the kitchen with a renewed energy (surely only now remembering he’s supposed to be relaxing). 

“She’s not wrong.” you agree only because Stark re-emerges from the kitchen with a tall amber colored bottle and two glasses. 

You can’t help rolling your eyes at his stiffened jazz hands, tossing yourself onto the plush armchair by the fireplace. The cold seemed to wrap itself around you, not leaving despite your proximity to the fire. Stark chose to sit on the side table next to you, rather than the wide array of more comfortable seating options. You’d gotten used to him entering your personal space since your talk in the conference room. You took it as a sign of his narcissism more than anything.

“Not sure I’m meant to be a drunk babysitter, Mr. Stark, ” you quip as he starts pouring.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he winks, offering you one. “And come on with the ‘mister’—making me feel old over here.”

It’s bothersome how little he has to say to change your mood. Something about being with just him, away from press, deadlines or state secrets, pulled you in and kept you coming to work everyday. In this moment, however, his solitary presence made you anxious. You’d have to get through this sabbatical without the chaos of the world bringing you back to reality. The real world, littered with expectations.

Free of any reason to decline, you take the glass. You and Tony do a lazy toast, clicking the glasses together before taking a sip. The peaceful quiet envelopes the cabin, save for the crackle of the fireplace. 

“You okay?” you ask upon seeing the weariness in his face, contrasting the grin he held.

“Better than okay,” he finishes the rest of his drink, pouring another faster than you take a second sip. “Happy to be away from everything, ‘get in touch with the great outdoors!’ as they say.” 

You laugh at the dramatic mocking tone he uses, extending your arm out when he makes a gesture at your empty glass. 

“I hope your atleast being slightly genuine, Mr. Stark.” you say once the glass is full once more.

“When am I ever not, Miss Cassian.” he draws on your name with the same mocking pitch as before.

You fake a wince at the taste of your own medicine, which amuses the hell of the already tipsy Stark. 

“I see what you mean, felt fifteen years added on instantly with that,” you admit, chuckling at his demeanor. 

“Hence why I’m such a nice guy and call you Cassie like a normal person,” he states smugly, taking another sip from his glass.

“Oh really, Tony? ‘Cause you only gave me that nickname after I explicitly told you no one ever calls me that.” you laugh.

“Yes and that was a great loss to the universe that I fixed,” Tony turns his head to meet your gaze, eyes sparkling (you tell yourself it’s just the alcohol and nothing else).

The both of you stay there silent, eyes locked for what quickly becomes far too long and the awkwardness makes your attention back to your drink. You finish the contents, hoping that the liquid would cool your now burning skin. 

You internally remind yourself that this is just how he is- a playboy philanthropist turned charming hero, nothing else. 

“Sorry, I know this isn’t really much of a vacation for you. ‘Know you wanna be at home, away from Stark Industries,” he deflates a bit, pouring a third drink.

“No, it’s not like that,” you interject, speaking softly, “I really don’t mind being here, and it’s still a good break from meetings and all that other tedious shit.” 

He takes a sip, seemingly mulling over your words. “Give any more thought to my offer?”

You let out a small laugh, thrown off by his sudden mention of it. You were certain then that he wasn’t being anything near serious. 

“What, you paying me to not be here? I didn’t think that was you being serious.”

“It’s a win-win, no? You get a salary, I don’t have to drag you along for this rollercoaster, Pepper doesn’t worry, everyone’s happy.” 

Clearly you’re left silent for too long, because Tony stands before he speaks again. He seems conflicted, running his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Look, I don’t need to see you miserable, I guess.”

“What, who said I was miserable?”

“Anyone would be dealing with me.” 

TWO DAYS LATER

After a few days, an air of melancholy had hung over you. Two days of nothing turned into endless overthinking about your life. Every decision made seemed to rattle in your bones, looking for a place to be. You tried to tell yourself it was normal to feel lost, to feel as though everything you’ve ever done was pointless. This was the first time you’d had room to think, of course everything would be overwhelming.

That didn’t help, but whatever red wine Tony brought did. 

You found it on night two, cracking open the second bottle when Tony comes downstairs. You gave a sluggish hey that gave away your state immediately, but you were too absorbed in your thoughts to meet his eyes. 

“Didn’t take you for a wine connoisseur.” he mutters, sitting in the chair across from you. 

You don’t bother with a response. In fact, you wished that he’d go away. Seeing Tony lately just reminded you more of the life you were sure you wouldn’t have. You were certain you made all the wrong choices, took all the wrong paths.

“Cassian?” he leans forward, forcing his face into your point of view. “Kinda' freaking me out here.”

“You ever think about what your life would be like if you weren’t,” you trail off for a moment, slurring slightly. “I don’t know—you?”

He laughs and it feels infectious, closing your eyes to hopefully shut up the twist in your stomach.

“Me, specifically? Who knows? Maybe I’d be a pilot, or own a hotdog stand.” he goes silent at your lack of reaction to his joke, resting his chin against his hands.

“Why, thinking about faking your death and adopting a new identity?”

The red liquid in your glass coats your dry throat. You’d love to start over. Go back and see what the other paths held. Then, the deep pit of your stomach turns, remembering how different and worthwhile working for Stark made you feel.

“What if I did everything wrong?” you ask quietly.

If you did, a small part of the anxiety in your gut assures you that it was worth it to find your way to him.

“Define ‘wrong’.”

“Not what I imagined, I guess”

To help someone who wanted to do so much to help the world.

“Well, what do you want from life?”

You go silent again. “I don’t know.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

With nothing to prove you,

and if I should lose you

—It won't be in vain.

On the last day at the cabin, you feel a genuine sense of sadness at the thought of leaving. 

Fourteen days with no reminder of the outside world had you the most relaxed in years. Bliss was all you felt waking up each morning to no phone calls, no emergencies, and no meetings. You forgot what it was like to just exist, to not have your thoughts bogged down by deadlines. You had even forgotten the benefits of good company. The demanding nature of your job meant little social life, and you didn’t realize until nearly two days in that you had been craving it. What surprised you more was that you received that good company in the form of your boss. Tony seemed to go out of his way to fill any voids of silence with quips and self-deprecating jokes to make you laugh. Clearly to spare himself the awkwardness of your dissatisfaction. 

Nothing changed about personality, but removing the dark shadow of responsibility made him visibly less wound up. It must have done the same for you, because you spent most of these last two weeks laughing (or catching up on well-needed sleep). You tried to avoid him lately, not wanting to add fuel to the fire you could feel growing for him. Opting for weeks of solitude with him was possibly not the wisest route.

Retroactively, if you had all this sudden free time at home alone, you probably would’ve gone a little crazy. 

You must be wearing your solace on your face, because that night, during dinner, Stark asks if something is wrong.

“Is it a bad thing if I don't want to go back to New York?” you chuckle at your own absurdity, scraping the last bits of food into the trash.

“Is it worse if I agree?” he smiles, looking up from his own plate. 

“Not excited to go back to being an Avenger?” you ask honestly, sitting back down at the kitchen table, next to him.

“Ha, excited’s the wrong word.” he sits back in his chair, letting out a sigh. “You’re not jumping to get back out there either.”

You give an agreeing nod, resting your head in your hands when you start mentally going through all the tasks waiting for you tomorrow. 

“You don’t have to go back like I do. You can get away from all this.”

When you look up, Tony’s eyes are glued to the floor. 

“You know, you can just fire me if it’s that much of a bother to you.” you say sharply. 

Truthfully, it was starting to come off as a subtle hint to leave rather than concern. It muddied whatever imaginary connection you maybe thought you’d fostered over these last few weeks. All the little touches and extra concern bounced around in the back of your head like a live grenade. You didn’t know how much of it was aimed towards you, or just his charismatic nature. Maybe there was never any charisma, and he was the same as any other CEO.

“Cassie, that’s the last thing I want.” he says, like he’s offended, and you want to laugh at the audacity.

“Could’ve fooled me.” you retort, standing to exit the kitchen.

Tony intercepts you at the doorway, however, clearly scrambling for words to ease the newly-created tension. All it really does is annoy you more, seeing those brown eyes pleading silently. Either way, you can’t get past. 

“I—This is too much for anyone to handle. I can barely handle it and that’s because you do so much behind-the-scenes for me. A lot of people have reached their wits end with me and I don’t want that with you.”

It sounds painful for him to say, and despite his soft tone, it’s the most serious you’ve ever heard him be.

“I think you’re worried a bit too—”

“I’d rather not be the reason you spend weeks in bed, okay?” 

Frozen in the doorway, your anger still boils. It felt like the thing you were most ashamed about being thrown in your face. You want to go back to that conference room and never tell him a thing. It’d save you the confusion, save you from all the mixed signals. He couldn’t mean it. You remember the way he reluctantly submitted to Pepper and hired you. Tony didn’t care, he never wanted you here in the first place. You felt stupid for thinking anything else.

"Maybe you should worry about yourself, Stark. I've been doing just fine before you decided to make my job your business." 

Tony's jaw clenches, and a shaky hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. 

“My business is your job, can’t you see I’m trying to be supportive?” 

You almost start to regret your words, but you can’t stand the way he looks at you like some fragile thing. 

For the fifth time, you're hot under his gaze, but it does nothing besides flare your anger more.

“I don’t need your support, stop acting like you have any idea what’s best for me.” you snap, taking a step closer.

To your surprise, Tony closes the remaining distance, and you have to look up to maintain your glare. Tony's expression shifts from concern to frustration, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Clearly, you don’t even know what’s best for you. Forgive me for giving a damn.” he scoffs.

You roll your eyes, deciding to just put an end to this conversation. In his frustration, Tony left a wide enough gap for you to try and snake through. Your heated exit must’ve been obvious, because he steps back to keep you in front of him.

“Seriously?” your fists clench at your sides, heat spreading up your arms to your cheeks. 

“Why are you still here?” he softens a bit, but not entirely folding his arms over his chest.

It’s not enough though— your irritation is unchanging even under his tender gaze.  It was easier to stay angry and pretend like he wasn’t the only thing keeping you. To not admit that you didn’t want to abandon him.

“Why’d you bring me here?” you retort through gritted teeth, motioning at the logged walls around you.

“Damn it, I thought it’d help, Cassie!”

The severity of his words leaves you speechless. You never heard him really raise his voice, let alone come close to yelling.

“But, clearly, I shouldn’t have bothered.” Tony moves from the doorway, taking fast steps past you towards the main door before you can say anything.

In an effort to keep him from storming out, you reach out for his arm as he brushes by. Instantly, he pulls away as if you're made of open flames. You try to show the hurt on your face, but now that your anger has started to dissipate, you notice a similar transformation in Tony. To your benefit, though, it keeps his feet firmly planted. 

“I’m not some broken person you need to protect.” you admit, avoiding the potential anger still in his eyes. 

“Wow, really? Didn’t know.” 

Always with the jokes and sarcasm. You lift your head to Tony’s expectant gaze, causing you to sigh heavily.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he states dryly, leaning back against the kitchen table. “Why are you still here?”

“You keep assuming I hate my life.” 

It’s his turn to roll his eyes, rather dramatically in your opinion. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” he responds, mocking your words from earlier. “You avoid me like the plague lately, and I don’t know how you expect me to just see you unhappy and say nothing”

“That has nothing to do with work-”

“Then what is it?” 

There’s something else in his eyes, something like the sparkle you saw all those months ago. 

You look at him with pleading eyes of your own. A sense of entrapment overwhelms you, stuck with the choice between potentially ruining everything or, well, still potentially ruining everything. You wish he really could just read your mind and understand. Understand that you didn’t want to leave him, that you were avoiding him to protect your own, admittedly fragile, heart. 

"Can't you just accept that I don't want to leave?" you manage, your voice barely louder than a pin drop.

Your heart flutters as he steps closer, though it shouldn't surprise you; he's never been one to respect personal space, and an argument wouldn't change that.

"No, I need to hear you say it," his tone is low, almost taunting, and his unyielding gaze sends another wave of fluttering through you.

"I don't want to leave you."

In the next second, Tony's lips crash against yours, pinning your back to the wall with a heavy thud. You don’t notice, the world fading with the taste of vanilla on your tongue and the scratch of his beard on your chin. Your thoughts become a blur as Tony's teeth graze your lips, and his hands squeeze your waist, pulling you closer, the arc reactor pressing into your skin. 

When the kiss ends, you're both left panting, yet he still clings to you, gripping your waist like he’s scared you’re going to run away. 

“I told you- the last thing I want is for you to leave.” he says sternly, voice still low. You can’t see his face, buried in the crook of your neck, but the heavy breath on your skin makes you lightheaded.

“Tony-”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s wrong to think I know what’s best for you. I just want you to be happy.” 

“I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“I care about you too much for that, Cassie.”

“I’m your assistant, Tony.”

Tony gently cups a hand under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his, his thumb caressing your cheek. He studies your face intently, searching for any signs that he should stop while he's ahead. You stopped counting how often he leaves you a mess with his eyes, and try your best not to stare at his swollen lips.

“Then tell me you don’t feel the same.” he whispers.

A beat of silence passes, the fire crackling in the next room uninterrupted. 

“I…can’t.” you answer hesitantly.

The confession hangs heavy in the cabin’s stagnant air. Your mind racing a thousand miles per hour, waiting for the dream to end. 

“What are you so afraid of?”

“Doing this wrong, ruining everything.” Your eyes squeeze shut from embarrassment.

Tony laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said, before kissing you again. It’s soft and slower than before, calloused hands still cupping your face.

“I think you’re the one who worries too much. When has anything bad happened to you when you’re with me?” Tony suggests, grinning, his eyes filled with warmth. 

You want to mention an office party a few months ago, where a drunk attendee threw up on your shoes, but you let him make his point. 

“Let me do the worrying for a bit, sound good?”

THREE WEEKS LATER

You felt like you traded seasons getting back to New York at the start of spring. You hadn’t gone home, instead staying in the tower at Tony’s request. You didn’t mind it at all, being surrounded with more comfort than you could ask for. 

Tony made it his personal mission to keep you away from all things work related, despite how many times you told him you enjoyed helping him. One small problem being that he left for a mission a few days ago, and you haven’t got the faintest clue where he was or when he was returning. The first day, you relished in a bit of solitude, reading books that sat on your shelf the last two years untouched or catching up with friends that you lost touch with. To your relief, most understood your reason for disconnecting, and the books were captivating. Now, however, it was day three, and you were starting to do the one thing he asked you not to— worry.

Just as the rain starts to splatter the tall windows of his penthouse, you’re considering reaching out to Fury or Hill to make sure he’s at least still breathing. The only thing that stops you is the ding! of the elevator, turning your nerves back down to zero.

When you meet him at the door, a wide smile breaks out on his face—surprised you’re still there.

“How was it?” you ask, as Tony drops his bag and moves towards you. You feel slightly awkward in this new territory with him, shifting your weight anxiously.

“We’re getting closer to the scepter. Hydra’s pulling out all the stops these days.” 

As Tony steps into the light, a deep freshly-stitched cut under his right eye comes into view. Before you can say anything about the cut, you notice the large bandage on his arm, and a matching bruise crawling up his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” 

Tony slowly peels off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch behind you. “Oh, this? This is nothing, you should see the other guy.” he says with a flashy grin.

You’re busy scanning for more injuries, eyes raking for more bandages and stitches. Tony doesn’t let you continue for long though, taking your hands in his.

“What’d I tell you about worrying?” he teases, stroking your hair and planting a quick kiss on your lips.

You give an annoyed sigh, wishing he didn’t irritate and charm you in the same breath so much.

“I think it’s natural to worry when you’re bleeding.” you gruff, letting Tony pull you into a tight embrace. 

“Then I’m not doing my job, am I?” You don’t protest when his hands roam over your body, placing light kisses against your neck. “Let me take your mind off things.”

The light kisses on your neck turn into heavy bites, leaving marks along your collarbones. He creates his own path along your skin, sighing softly as his mouth finds every inch of skin your pajamas didn’t cover. You’re a panting mess as he trails down your body, twisting a hand into his messy locks. 

When he kneels before you, you feel unsteady on your feet. You wish you could say you two had gone this far already, but Tony considered himself a self-proclaimed gentleman and insisted you wait. It seems three days away from you was enough for the chivalry to fly out of the window. 

He stops for a moment, fingers hooked in your shorts, thumb rubbing gentle circles on the inside of your trembling thigh.

“Cassian?”

“Mhm?” You mumble, shutting your eyes. Nerves and anticipation mix terribly in your stomach, making you unable to process the desire on his face. You feel the fabric of your shorts slide down your legs with your panties. The cool air doesn’t help you any, rendering your skin sensitive and Tony’s hand feel like a furnace. 

“Relax, doll.”

You suck in a breath as his lips wrap around your clit, body stilling— the hand in his hair tightening. Weeks of Tony’s insistent waiting had you thinking your first time with him would be slower- you were ill-prepared for the way he runs through your folds with absolute filth. He moans into you, keeping a tight hold on your thighs to hold you close. 

He’s quick—grazing teeth against your clit as his tongue laps at your entrance— just to drag the tip of his tongue against your length and return your clit to start the cycle all over again. You feel the wetness coating the inside of your thighs, saturing his scratchy stubble on your skin. 

You bring your free hand to the back of the couch as he continues, sighing into your core and sending shockwaves up your spine. You try to maintain some type of balance, legs growing shaky again in pleasure rather than anxiety for a change. 

“Tony, god, that’s-” You’re cut off by your own moan when you feel Tony insert a finger into your soaking cunt, rocking slowly as his mouth finds its way back to your clit.

He pulls away a moment, letting his thumb keep the pressure against your sensitive bud. Your head tilts back, nails digging into the leather behind you. Out of your view, Tony wears a smug grin, pleased to see you taking his directive to heart. The middle of the living room might not have been his first choice, but it’s well worth it. Besides the fact you taste like heaven, it’s worth hearing every sound escape your lips.

Getting caught up in that, however, caused him to loosen the grip on your thighs. When his fingers curve inside you, your hips jerk against him. The calloused fingers tighten on your legs, to your slight dismay.

“Easy, doll, I got you.” he mumbles, returning his focus to eliciting more intoxicating moans from you.

Tony renders you a complete mess sooner than you’d like to admit, gasping above him as the warmth in your core grows overwhelming. If you told yourself a year ago that your boss would have you panting and begging, you wouldn’t believe it. Regardless of belief, his tongue pulls plea after plea from you. Your stomach feels painfully coiled- mind absorbed with the wet, filthy sound of Tony’s mouth on your cunt.

With another curve of his finger, you sent over the edge—crying out Tony’s name like a prayer and abandoning the hand tangled in his hair to hold yourself up. Tony lets you ride out your orgasm against his fingers, kissing the damp skin between your legs and muttering soft praises. 

It’s not until you sense him standing again in front of you that you open your eyes. You immediately want to take it back when you see the shit-eating grin covering his shiny face. The sight sends a new wave of desire through you, staring at his mouth with your lips parted, panting softly. Did he have to look so good constantly?

“As cute as you are when you’re worried, I think I prefer this look on you.”