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preet-01 · 6 months

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Lewis wasn’t unhappy per se. No, he had no reason to be unhappy. Everything was perfect.

He had the handsome husband with a title. He had four beautiful children, each one perfect and wonderful. He was the Viscountess Wolff and a respected member of society.

Everything was perfect.

His family adored Toto and the children, their friends envied them, the people in the village loved them.

He should be happy, overjoyed, ecstatic. But he wasn’t happy or overjoyed, and he certainly wasn’t ecstatic. But he also wasn’t unhappy. No, he fell somewhere between happy and unhappy. Perhaps content, but even that felt like the wrong word for it.

“Will you be going back to London?” Lewis questions as he puts his nightgown back on. Had it been a few years earlier, he would have never thought to dress himself so quickly after he and Toto enjoyed their marriage bed. His bare body would’ve been pressed to Toto’s bare body as they talked about everything and nothing. Alas it wasn’t like that anymore and it hadn’t been like that for quite some time — not that anyone else would know. No, they kept the picture perfect facade up for the rest of English noble society.

“Yes, there is business in London,” Toto replies, making no move to pull Lewis back into their marriage bed and ravish him like Toto used to do during their early years of marriage.

“Business, of course,” Lewis mumbles. Business was, of course, a twenty some year old opera singer named Georgie that Toto put up in a nice apartment in London where none of their noble friends would go for any good reason. Lewis wasn’t meant to know, or at least he hoped that Toto never intended for him to find out. It would have been wholly unkind if Toto had purposefully orchestrated Lewis finding out about the whore he kept on the side. Toto was many things, but unkind was not one of those.

“I want to see you before I leave tomorrow,” Toto says.

“Hmm?” Lewis hums in question. It was an odd request in recent years. Gone were the days of Lewis pressed up against some piece of furniture because they couldn’t keep their hands off of one another and Toto needed to feel his wife before he had to leave for work in the House of Lords.

“The new footman is arriving tomorrow,” Toto explains.

—————

Servants are notorious gossips. John had learnt that when he was a wee little boy clutching his mother’s skirts.

“The Viscountess and children are the only ones who stay in the house for prolonged periods,” the butler, Marcus, had told him. The Viscount supposedly spends his time in the family’s London townhome and has a whore in the city.

John didn’t believe that someone would stray from their marriage when they had someone like the Viscountess. How could anyone compare, he wondered.

There were not enough words to describe the Viscountess’ beauty. Enchanting brown eyes and dark brown skin wrapped in the finest fabrics that John had seen — all shades of white and silver that John had never thought possible to make clothing out of with the tiniest hints of teal needlework. Diamonds and pearls adorned the Viscountess, glimmering brightly and juxtaposing beautifully against the Viscountess’ skin and dresses.

The Viscountess was ethereal, yes, but also sad. Not always, no, the Viscountess seemed to light up when in the company of his children. Deep brown eyes would sparkle with specks of gold in them when the Viscountess was with his children. But outside of that? There was an ever present emptiness.

He didn’t realize the cause of it fully until he saw the Viscount and Viscountess together. They were a beautiful couple, there was no denying that, but beneath all that beauty was a chasm much too wide.

John is doing his daily tasks when he finds the Viscountess crying in the garden. “Are you okay, my lady?” John asks. The Viscount had left moments ago for London once more and before then, and well everyone had heard the Viscount and Viscountess fighting in the library about missing the little lord’s upcoming birthday.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” The Viscountess asks with a sad smile and tear stains on his cheeks.

John doesn’t dare answer. He’s seen enough to know that one should never contradict the nobility. Instead, he offers his handkerchief to the Viscountess. “Thank you, Sir John,” the Viscountess replies, delicately dabbing at his tear stained cheeks. “Have you been to the village yet?” He inquires.

John doesn’t realize when the Viscountess becomes my lady or when my lady becomes Lewis. But it does happen — though only when the Viscount is off in London for business. But during those moments when the Viscount is away, there are specks of glimmering gold in Lewis’ deep brown eyes and an ever present smile to grace his lips.

What John forgets is that servants are notorious gossips.

—————

Lewis hasn’t been pressed up against a piece of furniture in years. And a man hasn’t been between his legs in even longer.

John is… great, wonderful, perfect and any other number of words that he can’t think of at the moment because John is burrowed between his legs.

Lewis’ dress — one that he’d bought with Toto in mind — is hitched up as the bookcase digs into Lewis’ back. It’s far from uncomfortable. Even when Lewis throws his head back and hits it on the wooden bookshelf that some long dead Viscount Wolff had commissioned decades ago.

“John,” he’s breathless as he says his lover’s name, “I need you. Please.”

“As you wish,” John replies. His face is covered in Lewis’ slick as he stands up and kisses Lewis. His moan turns into a gasp as John thrusts into him with a practiced ease after spending so much time in one another’s company.

What Lewis and John remain unaware to is that there are servants outside of the library who can hear every moan that John elicits from Lewis — their lady, their Viscountess. They can hear every thrust as the bookcases hits the wall. They can hear how their Viscountess moans the name of a man who is not his husband. There is nothing left to the imagination about what goes on in the library.

If the servants hear about it, so does Toto when he finally returns from London to the country estate. The servants don’t explicitly say it to him — most of them do love their Viscountess and had seen how his shine dimmed over the years of marriage — but it does reach his ears.

“How was London?” Lewis asks him when they have dinner together that first night.

“As good as it could be,” Toto replies. “I wish to see you tonight. I have missed you, wife,” he adds, wondering if the ambitious footman had defiled his wife on the table they dine at. Regardless, he’ll have it burned by morning.

“Of course, husband,” Lewis replies.

When Lewis comes to his bedchamber, Toto doesn’t bother gently taking Lewis’ nightgown off. No, he rips it into shreds. “Your courses, they have been regular, yes?” Toto questions as he lays out his wife on their marriage bed — the same bed where he had taken Lewis’ innocence almost 15 years ago. That had been a lovely night by all accounts.

“Of course, why wouldn’t they be?” Lewis answers, not giving any hint of the fact that he had spent the past few months getting fucked by one of their servants like a common whore.

Toto doesn’t say anything about that, instead he presses a kiss to Lewis’ flat belly. “Matilda is almost four years old now, it is time that we start trying for our next child,” he says. “Additionally, my business in London is over and with the exception of the House of Lords meetings, I intend to stay home with you and the children. Until we need to present the girls, of course,” he continues on, watching as realization flickers in Lewis’ eyes. He’d known from their first meeting, that Lewis was smart. It’s why he’d married him after years of avoiding the marriage mart. Smart and beautiful was a rare commodity in high society and, well, Toto always wanted the best — something that no one else could have. Back then, that had been Lewis.

But Lewis won’t say anything of it. No, Lewis had been raised to be a good wife and lady. Instead, Lewis just says, “of course,” and opens his legs wide for Toto.

However, since his wife wants to act like a common whore whilst Toto isn’t home, he’ll treat him like one. “No, no, on your hands and knees, wife,” he orders, flipping Lewis into his desired position.

As the Viscount reminds the Viscountess whose wife he is, the Viscountess’ lover is forced to leave the estate in the dead of the night. Sir John Elkann, a former soldier in the British Royal Army, is sent to the continent as part of a regiment headed to Italy. Uprisings fill the Italian peninsula and threaten peace on the continent. It is a place where no one questions where a bullet originated from or how.

Almost eight months since that night, as the Viscountess gives birth to his fifth child, the letter of Sir John Elkann’s death arrives to the country estate.

Lewis is far from happy in his marriage. But when with his children, he finds joy. His four eldest, all perfect and wonderful. And now his fifth child, with her light brown hair that none of the others had, nor any to come after her will have, is perfect and delightful and beautiful.

His sweet Joanna who Toto couldn’t take away from him like John had been taken away. Toto’s ego and ideals of manhood wouldn’t allow for it to happen. Taking Joanna away from Lewis meant admitting that another man had slept with the perfect Viscountess that Toto loved to parade around as his greatest victory. It meant admitting that he’d been made a cuckold by a servant.

Nothing was perfect, nor would it ever be.

—————

So this definitely took a turn that I wasn’t originally expecting. The ending was much happier before tumblr decided to glitch and not save my draft

The original was loosely inspired by two of the Bridgerton books: To Sir Phillip, With Love and When He Was Wicked. But when I started writing again after the glitch, inspiration took me down a different path

#elkilton #Lewis/john elkann #Lewis/toto #regency au #cw age gap

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dragonflylady77 · 2 years

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a frankly ill-timed visit

Remember The Harringrove Husbands text post? And the teaser I posted after?

Well, it's time. I just posted Burrito Steve on Ao3 (or you can read it below the cut).

Oh and it's a present for @shieldofiron <3

Steve's parents show up unexpectedly and Steve can't be bothered dealing with them and their endless questions

Steve stretches as he wakes up, arm reaching beside him to find the bed is cold. He knows it’s not very late by the way the sun doesn’t quite reach into the room yet. Billy always gets up so early, even when they’re up half the night making love to each other.

Steve yawns and stretches as he finishes waking up. His body is sore in that pleasurable way that says ‘I had a really good time last night’. He can smell the enticing aroma of fresh coffee and slowly realises that the noise he can hear coming from downstairs is actually voices.

Plural.

Confused as to who would show up this fucking early on a Sunday morning, he gets off the bed and casts a quick glance around the room for something to wear. His pyjama pants are nowhere to be found even though he remembers placing them on the chair by his desk the previous morning. They undressed each other on the way up to the bedroom last night so for once there are no clothes on the floor. Not in this room anyway.

He catches his reflection in the mirror, taking a second to admire the trail of hickeys Billy left on his skin. They start by his collarbone and disappear in the hair covering his chest to reappear along his ribcage and down to his hip bone. Steve smiles as he remembers what happened after Billy reached there, a shudder of desire for the other man going through him like lightning.

He needs to find Billy. They need to christen the kitchen all over again. Billy will probably take some convincing because breakfast is like the most important meal of the day or something but Steve is pretty sure he can derail Billy. A morning blowjob should do the trick.

Simple plans are usually the best.

The voices coming from downstairs are getting louder so Steve pulls the white sheet off the bed. Wrapping himself in it, he heads out of his room and down the hallway. He stops at the top of the stairs, shocked when he recognises the voice of his father.

“What the fuck?” he whispers to himself, slowly making his way down the stairwell, staying close to the wall so the people in the kitchen can’t see him, listening intently.

“For the last time, you need to leave, right now, or I will ring the police and you can explain to them what you are doing here.”

“I have told you already,” Billy says, his tone very flat. “I live here.”

Steve is very proud of Billy for not raising his voice but he can hear the thread of anger in his love’s voice.

“This is ridiculous. I think I’d know if someone like you lived in my house!”

Billy snorts and Steve knows he’s rolling his eyes. “I’ve been living here for three years and we’ve never met. No disrespect, but I don’t think you have a clue, sir.”

Steve bites his lips to stop a laugh at the way Billy says ‘sir’ because there was nothing respectful about it, and why would there be. Steve’s not sure what exactly his dad meant by ‘someone like you’ but it’s clearly nothing flattering.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.”

That’s my cue.

Steve pulls away from the wall and enters the kitchen, clutching the sheet around his waist, trying not to trip like that other time.

Billy, wearing Steve’s missing pyjama bottoms and nothing else, grins when he spots him then goes back to pouring them a coffee, totally ignoring the older man in a suit who is still glaring at him.

“Dad, I would appreciate it if you could refrain from calling the police on my husband.” Steve uses his more boring tone and it has the desired effect.

His father’s hand stills on the screen of his extremely expensive cell phone and his face turns pale.

“Steven! What do you mean, husband?” Mrs Harrington exclaims, clutching her pearls and, oh my God, could she be any more stereotypical? He wonders how he never noticed before. Oh yeah, because his parents are never fucking there.

Steve walks around the kitchen island to come stand next to Billy. His golden skin is equally marred with hickeys and Steve’s heart fills up with pride.

“How-how long have you two been married?” Steve’s mother asks while his father is still staring, looking like he might pass out.

“What’s the time?” Steve gratefully takes the mug of coffee that Billy hands him and gives him a quick peck on the lips. Proper kissing will have to wait until his parents are not in the room. “Thanks, babe.”

“Eight a.m.” His father slowly puts his phone back in his jacket pocket and turns fully towards Steve and Billy.

“So that’s…” Steve tries to work out how long since the ceremony the day before but maths was never his strong suit.

“Sixteen hours, pretty boy,” Billy says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Thanks baby,” Steve says again, smiling at Billy before addressing his parents. “We’ve been married for sixteen hours.”

“Steven MiddleName Harrington, explain yourself.”

Steve bristles when his father uses his full name. He’s not a fucking child anymore. He sees Billy rolling his eyes behind his parents and bites his lip to stop smiling. He tightens the sheet around his waist, boner a distant memory. Ugh.

“We met, we fell in love and yesterday we got married.” Steve takes another sip of coffee. Billy makes it perfectly every time, just like he likes it, three sugars and a dash of milk.

Steve makes an appreciative noise, absently scratching his chest with his free hand. He looks up when he hears a low groan to find Billy’s eyes fixed on him.

He stifles a laugh. Billy has been obsessed with the thick mat of hair growing on his chest since he stopped waxing it once they finished high school.

“Since when are you gay?” Mrs Harrington asks, a confused look on her face, bringing Steve back to the present.

“I’m bisexual, actually, Mom,” Steve corrects her without offering any other clarification.

Like Billy said, it’s been over three years since he saw his parents in person, a bit less since they talked on the phone so Steve reckons that doesn’t give them any right to pry into his life.

“I’m gay, though,” Billy adds because he enjoys stirring the pot and Steve loves him for it.

Steve glances at Billy who does that thing with his tongue and Steve wants nothing more than to bury his hands in Billy’s curls and pull him in for a kiss.

“Yes, Billy’s gay.”

His parents turn an interesting shade of green.

“Why are you here?” Steve drains the last of his coffee and wonders whether his parents would fuck off quicker if he dropped the sheet and bent Billy over the kitchen counter.

“We missed you.”

“I haven’t seen you in three fucking years, so try again, why are you here now? Today, of all days?”

“Steven! Language!”

Steve rolls his eyes at his mother, putting the empty coffee mug on the counter. He’s had just about enough.

“I’m twenty-three, Mother, and your frankly ill-timed visit is getting in the way of my morning after fuck fest with my husband.”

The Harrington couple gasp at their son’s words and Steve decides he quite enjoys shocking his parents. They kinda deserve it, he reckons.

Billy walks over to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and pulls him close, dropping a noisy kiss on his neck. “Awww, Stevie, you say the sweetest things. I was gonna make breakfast for you.”

Steve feels his cock starting to react to Billy’s closeness. It’s time to wrap up this shit show.

“Mom, Dad, I’m gonna take my husband upstairs now, we’ll get dressed and get out of your hair. We’re all packed up anyway, shouldn’t take too long.”

“What do you mean, packed up? Where are you going?” his mother asks and Steve turns to her with a happy grin.

“I’m moving out, of course. You can hardly expect me to live in my parents’ house with my husband.”

“Were you going to tell us?” His father’s tone is brisk and cold.

Steve doesn’t care what his father thinks of him anymore.

“I figured you’d find out eventually.” He shrugs and leans back on Billy, tightening his grip on the sheet he is wrapped up in because Billy is pressing his erection against Steve’s ass and it is taking all of Steve’s tenuous concentration to pretend it isn’t happening. “Now if you’ll excuse us…”

Steve grabs a laughing Billy’s hand and pulls him away from the kitchen, ignoring the outraged cries of his parents.

Billy laughs even louder when Steve drops the sheet on the third step and they race each other up the stairs and down the hallway to Steve’s childhood bedroom.

Taglist because I forgot: @robthegoodfellow

@prettyboybillyhargrove @cieldepeanut @lovebillyhargrove @every-dayiwakeup @ouizzyharringrove @ringringbitxh @persephone13

Let me know if you wanna be tagged and I'll add you (I'm not sure how to do this properly but I'll work it out)

#dfl writes #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #burrito steve #steverito my love #steve hairy chest agenda #harringrove husbands #steven middlename harrington is a thing now

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thelesbianpoirot · 1 month

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i promised myself i wouldn't start drama with straight women on tumblr bc we're all in this together bla bla bla but omg, losing my mind at lil miss "why can't two women heavily coded as lesbian be heterosexual friends instead 🤬🤬🤬". some women need to get real problems, because i promise there is no dearth of straight female friends in fiction. christie very blatantly intended for them to be lesbians, and to be interpreted as such both in universe and by readers. the way she writes straight female friends vs the way she writes lesbians is very different (see also the lesbian character in the mousetrap). she includes multiple homosexual characters in her writing, and their sexuality is always written in a way where she expects the reader to simply accept the fact. never forget her second husband was bisexual and was madly in love as a young man with another boy (he even converted to catholicism for him!) and went to school with evelyn waugh. christie was very ahead of her time when it came to seeing homosexuals as human beings. no one needs to pearl clutch about pure heterosexual friendship being gaywashed by evil single minded dykes - she's very blunt about when someone is gay lol

I agree with you 100%, but I didn't want to "bully" another woman out in public for her opinion because I fear I am getting a bit of a reputation for being an instigator, and female misogynist for saying feminism 101 or Lesbian basic stuff. Agatha has written a lot of two women who live together, and people don't automatically assume they are gay, she usually highlights why they choose to live together, female companionship, age, class (lady and her maid), disability and reduced living expenses. However, with her lesbian coded characters, there is no such excuses. She was very forward thinking in a lot of ways, one of which was she wasn't big on English zenophobia, called it out with a lot of characters, and she wasn't a female sexist (like highsmith) she depicted a whole host of interesting women, and her work wasn't outwardly homophobic and included lots of gay coded characters who weren't villains and lived. I didn't know her second husband was bisexual, how adorable. I do know he adored and appreciated her (more than her horrible first husband) and was a young pilot. Thanks for sharing all this Agatha gay history facts with me, I learned something. I have never read mousetrap, now that I know there is a lesbian character, I will!

#thelesbianpoirot

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enchantinglyjade · 2 years

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Milk & Honey - Chapter 22

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Summary: Honey learns to adapt to life in Vegas, but is faced with a few new issues regarding her single motherhood

Warning: Swearing, mind games, that's really it

Charles and I cuddle up on the couch together watching morning cartoons like we always do. I know he’s probably overwhelmed by everything, so I tried to keep as many traditions as this new way of life could make room for.

I run my hands through his curls, while I hold the telephone up to my ear with my other hand. “Sorry I haven’t been able to call lately. You wouldn’t believe what I been through.”

“What? What’d he do this time?” Pearl asks excitedly from the other end of the phone.

I sigh. Where do I start? “Well, I talked to him about how weird it would be to stay back with her while he’s out, so he brought us to Vegas with him.”

It was weird having Marcella help with Charles. I was scared she would hate having us there and that the whole situation would turn into a competition like with Pearl and I, but she was shockingly nice and understanding. Honestly, I would’ve preferred for her to hate us. Instead, she treated Charles like a nephew or a little cousin and me like a visiting aunt, instead of the woman that used to sleep with her husband.

I don’t know how she did it. If Elvis would have pulled this shit on me, I would have smacked his ass silly. Him having a wife was enough to set me off and I aint even with the man no more. Let him walk into my house with another woman and baby, I think not. Kudos to her though.

The line goes silent, before a loud screech comes through, bursting my ear drums. “That’s great! Is it beautiful there? I heard so much bout the pretty lights!”

“No! It’s been a nightmare! Thought he’d just let me move out or somthin, but his stubborn ass won’t let me out of his sight, now I’m stuck on the other side of the country for the next 6 weeks. I miss home.” I twirl the coiled phone cord between my fingers.

“Oh, Honey. You been so stressed your whole life. Maybe you need some time away from the dirty South.”

I snort out a laugh, slumping back on my fluffy hotel pillow. “Maybe…” I sigh. “Anyway, I gotta get ready. Elvis has a whole schedule planned out for me today.”

“Alright. You better call me when you get back. Have fun~” She giggles.

I shake my head with a smile, hanging the phone back up. I hoped that anything would happen so I could get out of this day. You see, a few days ago Elvis had gone public about us.

“You don’t have to tell your fans. We can stay in hiding. Been doing it forever, ain’t nothin new for me.” I told him.

“It’s nothin you need to worry about, Honey. I’ll take care of it.”

“I thought you were so worried about your reputation? You know how much respect you’ll lose the second news comes out that he’s your son?”

“I ain’t afraid of anybody no more.”

While race was, mostly, an issue behind us, now that the world knew I was Elvis’ baby mama, I had a new reason to constantly be stared at and judged.

‘Elvis Presley’s scandalous love affair with washed up singer Honey James in ‘58 resulted in secret son.’

Newspapers soared with the information, making sure every corner of the United States was aware of what we did.

Elvis tried reassuring me that the news would settle eventually, but I still had my doubts and stayed in my suite most of the time. I couldn’t stand the idea of Charles and I getting bombarded with cameras.

Elvis was barely fazed by it and continued on as normal. He insisted that since it’s no longer a secret, and because I’m living with him now, that I should try and make myself at home with his new family, which means spending time with them daily. Said it’d help me get my mind off things, but it did everything but that.

“Come on, Charles. Dad’s waiting.”

He jumps off the bed to turn off the TV, before lazily following me out the door. I clutch my purse in my hands, waiting apprehensively for the elevator to land at Elvis’ penthouse. I nearly drop my purse from my staggering fingers when I push past the doors and see Elvis and his whole crew turned around to face me.

I wave awkwardly at the boys. Charles casually collapses on the couch across the way, used to being surrounded by the men by now.

Elvis stands from his spot, stepping towards me with an arm out. “Honey! This is Joe, George, and Charlie, the rest of the mafia. Just got done telling them about Beale back in the day. She knows all about that real music. You should tell em some of your Handy stories sometime.” He suggests with a laugh.

I hum. “Can’t. Gotta get my nails done.” I say with the least bit of enthusiasm. He chuckles at the dullness behind my words. “You sure I can’t stay with y’all?” I ask jokingly, but still praying he’ll say yes.

A grin widens on his face. “What? Tryna get out of spa day with the rest of the wives?”

‘Rest of the wives,’ I scoff. “Skip music talk to get all pretty for nothin?”

His brows furrow amusedly. “Thought you like gettin all pretty?”

“Not with the mob wives.”

“Hey!” Sonny speaks up. “What’s wrong with our wives?”

I shrug, embarrassed that they heard me. “Nothin. I just ain’t one.” And boy, did everyone know it. I sigh, concluding I should just stay quiet about the whole thing. I wouldn’t expect them to understand anyway. “Alright, I’m leavin. Watch him please.” I say to Elvis as I walk past him to the door, sneaking one last look at Charles to make sure he’s alright here. “And no cigarettes!” I point a finger at Elvis, but he just laughs.

“I only smoke cigars now, mama.” He says with a smile.

I roll my eyes, exiting through the door. Mama is just one of the nicknames from the past that he’s grown comfortable calling me again, including in front of Marcella. I, and probably Marcella too, try to tell myself that it’s just because I’m the mother of his child, but even I feel a little tingle when he says it.

20 minutes later, I find myself thrown in the middle of a salon with said wives. Most of which never spoke to me, including Marcella. She was never rude to me, but she was never exactly friendly either. As long as Charles and Elvis weren’t present, I didn’t exist in her mind, and honestly, I don’t blame her. The other women weren’t any better though. As expected, they sided with Marcella about the whole ordeal. A few would crack jokes or stare at me sometimes, but I was mostly avoided at all costs.

Clearly I did not belong and everyday grew more and more uncomfortable for me to be seen in public with them. Everyone knew who I was, the things I did, and who I did them with. I was nothing more than the accidental fling in their eyes, the side woman, and they treated me as such.

However, another thing also popped up in my time spent with them. Elvis was right about her. She only cares about his money. The only time she speaks is to tell stories about her latest shopping experience or the luxury suites she gets to stay in. She’s across the room from me right now showing off her newest diamond he bought her. She’s only impressed by the material, everything else was only a bore for her.

I get halfway through my massage before I have to excuse myself. I get eyed down by each passing woman as I cling to my towel on my way to the changing rooms. I throw my clothes back on and pace out of the salon, back into the hotel area.

Maybe I should just go out or something. Hopefully that’ll help clear my mind for a bit. Besides, Pearl was right, I do deserve to have fun. Maybe they have a cool club around here I can check out.

I take the next few minutes to race back up to my room, throw on a nice dress, and slap on some lipstick, before taking the elevator back down to the lobby. When the doors open, they reveal the last person I wanted to see.

Elvis stands in the lobby talking with a few of his boys, all but OUR boy.

He points to something down the hall, in turn seeing me in the corner of his vision. His eyes widen seeing my angry and confused form standing near the elevator, before excusing himself from his group to walk over to me.

He reaches out a hand for me, but before he can say anything I cut him off. “Where’s Charles? You’re supposed to be watching him!” I snap.

He sarcastically chuckles, eyebrows raised, taken aback by my tone. “Marcella took him swimmin. Woulda told ya, but ‘parently someone ran off in the middle of spa day.” I fold my arms guiltily, looking down at my shoes. He squints his eyes at me. “What’s goin on, Bumble?”

I take a deep breath in, about to explain myself, but deciding to hold it all in and just shake my head instead. “It’s nothing.”

He has none of that answer. “Don’t try to bullshit me now like I don’t know how strange you been actin recently.” He crosses his arms, looking down at me sternly, demanding a real answer from me.

I sigh. He’s not gonna let it go til I tell him. “Elvis, I don’t…fit in with your friends. I don’t belong here. The way people look at me- I just-...” I trail off, looking everywhere but at him. I must sound so stupid right now. All the things he’s done for me and I’m still complaining.

“Honey, what are you talkin bout? Why don’t you fit in?”

I raise an eyebrow. No one is dumb enough to not see it, to not hear what even news reporters are saying. “Still tryna protect me from the truth, huh?” I scoff. “I’m not stupid, Elvis. I know half the people here think I’m a gold digging whore.”

For a moment he acts surprised by my blunt words, but then he drops his head, swallowing hard. He knows it’s the truth, maybe a harsher version of the truth but still.

I roll my eyes, once again trying to not let it get to me. “Look, it’s fine. I don’t care what they think and I can’t convince them otherwise anyway. But I just need some me time to get away from all this for a second.” I throw my arms up in the air in frustration, searching for the door.

“Where you goin?” He asks with maybe too much interest.

I shrug. “To see the strip.”

“Like that?” He gestures down at my dress, which, even I admit, may be a bit short for a woman my age and a mother no less, but it’s not like I cared or had a man to tell me otherwise anyways.

“What’s wrong with this? Thought maybe I’d go dancing.” I ask with my hands on my hips. I can’t wait to hear what ridiculous answer he comes up with.

His brows furrow, offendedly so. “With who?”

I bite my lip, barely suppressing the wide smile forming on it. I’m bothering him, aren’t I? “Look at you all in my business. It ain’t none of your concern who I dance with, Elvis. Need I remind you, I am a single woman.” I cross my arms, standing as firm as my last statement.

Now he’s mad. “Like hell it ain’t my goddamn concern. I’m not letting no other man step in to raise my kid.” He says as a weak excuse.

I laugh at this, despite how upset I am. “Am I supposed to be alone forever then?” I question. “Besides, who said I wanted something that serious? Maybe I’m just lookin for one night of fun.” I purposely add, knowing it would absolutely piss him off.

I watch as rage boils behind his pupils. His jaw pops, as he tries so very hard to swallow down the words he really wants to say. “I just think it’s something we should discuss.”

“We’re discussing it right now.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I roll my eyes. “I have places I need to be, if you don’t mind. Perhaps we can discuss this some other time.” My words jab at him as I turn to walk out the front doors. I don’t even bother to look behind me. I hope my words leave him thinking, just like he’s always doing to me.

I have no intentions of meeting or dancing with anyone. I have no intentions of dating anyone anytime soon. I know I shouldn’t play any games with him, but how can I be blamed when he has the nerve to act like this. If anything he deserves it.

By now the sun is beginning to set and the city's lights are popping on one by one. I get maybe half a mile, before I decide to just sit on a bench and watch others enjoy the nightlife. Vegas really is a beautiful city, maybe not the best place to sit and contemplate my life decisions, but beautiful nonetheless. I don’t know how long I sit there, but for the first time in MANY days, I feel a wave of peace wash over me. No housewives making rumors, no jealousy from ex’s, and no children talking my ear off. I’m able to just simply exist and watch others pass me by, and it’s wonderful.

Then my moment of serenity is disrupted by a car creeping up on me, stopping in front of the sidewalk. For a second, I panic, assuming it’s paparazzi ready to aim their cameras at me. The window rolls down ominously slow and I groan when I see who’s behind it.

“Get in.”

I wish I had something I could throw at him right now. “Why’re you followin me?”

He talks off his sunglasses to look me dead in the eye with his blue ones. “Get in.” He demands once more.

I roll my eyes, getting up from my spot to get in the car like he asked. I sit across from him with my arms folded on top of each other, pouting at the way he’s treating me. I don’t even want to look at him at this rate.

The car ride is quiet, filled with nothing but the sound of other passing cars. I bounce my leg in annoyance, ready to jump out the second we come to a stop.

“What do you think you’re doin?” He asks irritatingly calmly, finally breaking the tension between us.

I furrow my brows. “Trying to live my life as much as you’ll allow me to.”

He looks down, dryly chuckling at my comment. “You know what, it is my fault.” I raise a brow at him, cautiously waiting for his next words as he adjusts in his seat. “My fault that I fell for your tricks.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, laughing once more. “You had me thinkin you were out with someone tonight.” So it did work! “But on my way here, I remembered, you ain’t spoken to another man but me your whole life.”

My jaw drops. He has guts to say something like that. “I had Michael, thank you.”

“Yeah, but you always thought about me, didn’t you?” I swallow, fighting hard to think of a good enough remark to throw at him. He smirks in that annoying way he does. “I wanted to further discuss what we were talkin bout earlier, but I’ve decided not to waste my breath til the day you can manage to come back here with another man. Until then, we’re not talkin bout this.”

I gulp, going quiet. Honestly, I have nothing to say after that. I hate giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he was right. I’ll think of something though, I just know it. He exits the car, helping me out, but not bothering to look at me. I see how it is. Thinks he’s put me in my place or something. I NEED to prove him wrong.

We enter the hotel again, about to walk into the elevator, when he’s greeted by a man.

“What it is, E.P.? I was wonderin where you ran off to.” He says, giving him a friendly smack on the back. When he pulls away he smiles down at me. He tilts his head in a greeting. “Lovely to meet you, miss.” He gives my hand a gentle shake, hesitant to break eye contact with me. I smile back at him, amused at his behavior, but there was also something about him I just couldn’t put my finger on.

Elvis chuckles, a hint of nervousness under his breath. “I actually went out to bring a friend back. You remember Honey?”

The man’s eyes widen as he takes me in. “Honey? Really? You’re kidding. You’re lying.” He exclaims with much enthusiasm.

I examine his face. Do I know him? He does seem oddly familiar. There’s only one person he could be that’d I know. “Thomas?” I reluctantly ask, afraid of being painfully wrong. His smile turns into a large grin, as he scoops me into his arms. I scream in happiness, hugging him back. Finally, an old friend that wasn’t a maniac. “Ahh! Thomas! How are you? What are you doing here?” I ask as he sets me down.

He chuckles, smoothly running his hand over his ‘fro. “Ah, just a little vacation, you know.”

I giggle. One thing I always loved about Thomas was his carefree attitude. While Michael and Elvis were always in some fight, Thomas was always there as a sort of comedic relief. He never got involved in all the drama. He felt like that safe friend to go to when everything got rough.

“What are the odds that the three of us would be here at the same time.” He says, looking between Elvis and I.

I shrug. “Luck, I guess.” Elvis side eyes me.

“You know, it’d be great to hang out with you guys some more. I’d love to catch up with the two of you bout how life’s treatin you. Not that I haven’t already seen enough about you.” He jokes, elbowing Elvis on the arms. “But you.” He looks back at me. “I ain’t got nothin outta you yet. I’d love to hear more about you and your beautiful self.” He takes my hand, leaving a kiss on my knuckles. I have to bite my lips to stop myself from giggling like an idiot, but that doesn’t stop a blush from dusting my cheeks.

Another thing about Thomas, he was the flirt. You’d think it was Elvis, I know, but you’d be wrong. Michael was always too school and career oriented to put things like romance in the forefront of his mind. Elvis, while he did enjoy things like romance, was always too shy to express it. Thomas, on the other hand, had no issue speaking his mind and attempting to woo a lady of interest, whether it was the little girls from the other neighborhoods or even their mamas, he was always flirtin up somebody.

I hum in amusement. Has he not heard anything about me? “Well, it’s a good thing I’m free tomorrow.”

He bites his lip. “Good. I’ll be waiting.”

“And who’s gonna watch Char-”

“Okay! We should be going!” I laugh panickedly as I push Elvis away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay.”

Thomas smiles, waving back at me while I push Elvis into the elevator and repeatedly push the ‘close doors’ button until Thomas is out of our sight.

“We ain’t doin this again.” Elvis demands the second we’re alone.

I smile innocently. “I ain’t doin nothing.”

He matches me with an equally as fake smile, but doesn’t look at me. “Mhm.”

We stand in silence. I glance over at him in the corner of my eye. He stares forward, determined not to speak to me, but that pop in his jaw is so ever present.

I turn back to the door in front of me with a smirk just as the doors open on my floor. “Oh shoot, I forgot to swap information with him.” I throw my hands down in fake frustration, but a smile creeps up on me in the middle of my little scene. “You wouldn’t mind passing my number on to him, would you?” His eyes snap down at me dangerously fast. The last thing he sees is my prideful smile as I walk out, glancing over my shoulder at him.

Oh, it pissed the hell out of him.

-Taglist-

@tearupmyhead @chouetteschaussettes @il-giardino @theliterarybeldam @re3kin @anangelwhodidntfall @felicityroth @crash-and-cure @mama-pankow @tzillas @wonderlandlovelove @mirandastuckinthe80s @queenslandlover-93 @coconutessential @pumkiinpasties @buckybarnesbitch00000000 @biafbunny @darkestbeforethedawn16 @dollfaceyourfear @adoreyouusugar @hails-schae @spacegh0ul @im-lame-irl @sargspiderbarnes @whisperily @whatawildone @lukasdreamland @carioquisse @kaitaesupremacy @thella @isthlsfate

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cheesybadgers · 8 months

Text

Shipper Tag Game

Thank you for the tag @thesilversun ❤️

1. What ship were you completely obsessed with when you were a teenager, but now you don't care about anymore? I'm trying to think back to what I was even into as a teen...I read and wrote bandfic around my early to mid teens, but I'm not naming the bands 😂 Beyond that, there was Buffy/Angel from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sam/Gene from Life on Mars, Fraser/Ray K from Due South, Sirius/Lupin from Harry Potter. The only one of those I couldn't care less about anymore is the last one...the rest just make me feel nostalgic.

2. Which ship would you consider your first one? I can't even remember?? Probably something like Leia/Han in Star Wars, but I wouldn't have known to call it 'shipping' back then.

3. Your first fanfic was about which couple? It was a reader insert bandfic but I really don't want to talk about that lol.

4. Do you remember the first couple you saw fanart of? No clue at all.

5. Have you ever gotten into ship discourse? No. I avoid stuff I'm not into and don't get why everyone else can't just do the same.

6. Did you use to have any NOTP or have one currently? I used to be less open to multi-shipping involving the same characters when I was younger. Now, depending on characters/circumstances, I'm much more inclined to say throw them all in together and analyse the results lol.

Having said that, I hated what Sense8 did by inserting Dani into Lito's and Hernando's relationship. They could have done poly rep in literally any other way than how they did it, but what actually happened was just weird and creepy.

7. Who were the couple in the last fanfic you read? Carmen/Richie from The Bear. I wasn't even really into it when I first watched the show, but after re-watching with my husband, I needed to scratch an itch I didn't even know I had.

8. Currently, do you have any OTPs? I never used to really think I did, but now, after spending the past 3 years writing a longfic for Javier/Horacio from Narcos, they're always going to hold a very special and unique place in my heart ❤️

9. Is there any couple that, to this day, you are extremely mad about not getting together? Not that I can think of, because in my mind, shipping is largely an entirely different thing to canon. It bears no relevance to the events of canon a lot of the time and fan fic means you can do whatever you want anyway. More often than not, my favourite ships tend to be non-canon, so I treat the two things separately in my brain.

10. Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they are kind of interesting? Not dislike, no. More likely never really considered before until a lightbulb switches on in my brain (maybe during a re-watch or if something happens in a new episode) and suddenly, I'm interested.

11. Do you have any ship that, in the past, would've been considered normal but now you would be cancelled over? Don't think I'm important enough to be 'cancelled' lol, but I find shipping in general in fandom has become kind of vanilla and bland. People get really hung up on what is and isn't canon and miss the nuance of messy, complicated relationships and dynamics between characters. They stay away from a lot of rarer pairings and stick closely to the fandom-approved or actor-approved 'purer' ships. A lot of people say they want queer stories and characters, but when they're presented with actual queer sex and desire, the pearl clutching begins. I know this isn't true of all fandoms, but it's a pattern I've noticed over the last few years.

12. What is your favorite crack ship? Lalo/Howard from Better Call Saul.

13. What is the couple you read the most fanfics about? Probably McKirk from AOS Star Trek. I haven't read any for years, but there was a period about 10/11 years ago where I couldn't get enough of them. Stucky from the MCU is probably a close second...and most of that came in the form of fix-it fics after Endgame 😂

14. What do most of your ships usually have in common? Always carrying unresolved trauma, they're usually criminals, often violent/have killed people, always morally grey and they have a shared history with each other that goes back further than canon shows us.

15. What you absolutely hate in a ship? I can't stand love triangles where one party has to pick between two others when the obvious answer is either a) both or b) neither. Not a fan of big age gap relationships (unless they're non-humans and are hundreds/thousands of years old). Or when character A gives up everything for character B, but character B doesn't have to make an equivalent sacrifice (they need to be burning down the world for each other tbh, otherwise what's the point?). Or when the ship is presented as 'forbidden love' but there aren't actually any major obstacles in their way and it's mostly a lot of unnecessary melodrama. Love at first sight doesn't do anything for me either. Lust/obsession? Hell yeah. But I need more slowburn/history before the L word is thrown around.

No pressure tagging: @mariamariquinha, @thoroughlymodernminutia, @ejunkiet, @evilbunnyking and anyone else who wants to answer these!

#Tag games

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sizzlingpatrolfox · 10 months

Note

I think the only content of BTS I ever watched when I first got into them was their stuff from 2013-2016 (for some reason I watched AHL the most there was something about plus armies kept policing other baby armies not to watch it) anything after that is all downhill from there imo.

😂 AHL. I honestly never found anything wrong with it. They were all just learning. And the company probably treated them even worse behind cameras and armys weren't saying anything about that either, so I couldn't be bothered about the pearl clutching fake woke outrage. I got into BTS already almost an adult, life is shit when you're under a contract, etc. I never had the rose tinted glasses on that most people have when they get into them.

I watched everything. I spent hours, days, weeks catching up. I just stopped being interested as the years passed. The content became predictable, at some point they did like five run BTS episodes where they cooked. The members didn't even have conversations with each other on camera, they half-assed their messages because they didn't want to or couldn't share more, the skinship and fanservice between some members ((((TAEKOOK)))) was downright vomit inducing.

Besides, I could always go back to twitter and find out everything that had happened because Jimin report pages were always busy after every 2020/21/22 media that was released, courtesy of the Real Husbands and taekookers.

Those were probably the major things that bothered me about the post 2019 content. I'm really not interested in watching a jikook travel vlog that's most likely not going to show me anything new about Jimin. It's not like he will be having open hearted mind blowing conversations with Jungkook that would answer my questions or anything. They'll literally be goofing around. That night in the soop when he broke the mosquito net? But repeated 5x or whatever the number of episodes.

Still, I've always kept up with the content. I know everything about Jimin out there, I've seen it. You really just get used to consuming Jimin's content from clips on twitter, and it doesn't mean that you're missing out.

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hybistrophile · 3 years

Text

Cletus Kasady | Carnage Imagine: Pre-Symbiosis Edition

[1] [2] [3] [4]

🔪 🔪 🔪

one morning, you called out to him, a chill creeping up your spine: "Cletus, is that you?"

he was already dressed, caffeinated, and downstairs before you even woke up, but that was not out of the ordinary; it took you weeks to get him used to something resembling a human sleep schedule, so him waking up after six actually meant he'd been sleeping in

no, that wasn't what chilled you; it was what you found on your chopping board: a disembodied heart with bloody symbols all around it and the distant sounds of someone fleeing the scene

"who else, boss lady?" he walked up behind you as soundlessly as he always did; this morning, he finally startled you; "you like my gift?"

you looked at him, then looked back at the organ; then, finally, you sighed in relief; "very funny, Cletus"

"wasn't meant to be," he looked everywhere but your eyes; "you read the note?"

the note was the bloody letters which, on a second look, formed words: blood runs red, love spills the same, there's only so much, a heart can contain

"it isn't funny, I'll give you that," you said, but still giggled; it was an anxious giggle because he got to you; that bloody love poem of his got to you; "is that why you insisted on opening the shop yourself this morning? you wanted to steal my produce? for a prank?"

he chuckled, too, but it was that nervous tick of his at work again; he was being sincere, not his usual sarcastic self, so he had to play it off as if it was a prank; "scuse me? it's my heart that got stolen"

you couldn't contain the giggles, so you stopped trying; your sides started hurting and he sounded out of breath behind you; after straightening your back, you looked over your shoulder at him: "I think you just misplaced it"

as he got closer, the warmth radiated off of his chest and against your chilled back; he cleared his voice; "it was stolen. ripped straight outta my chest by the sweetest, most innocent-lookin' li'l thing"

you bit your lip, feeling another fit of giggles coming

his hand grabbed your tense shoulder, squeezing it lightly as his breath blew against the sensitive spot behind your ear: "can't go around heartless, so I gotta steal hers for myself. an eye for an eyes, as the sayin' goes."

you leaned back against him, letting his hand climb up your shoulder and snatch your throat. another light squeeze. you craned your neck, letting his mouth move against the shell of your ear;

"sweet thing," he spoke directly into your ear, making you shiver; and, as he traced the bruises on your throat, the one he never lets heal completely, you felt his fangs sinking in slowly; "I'm here for my heart," his hand slithered into your apron, inside of your shirt, up your stomach and settled on your left breats, right over your heart

"where is he?" the entrance door was blown open by a hurricane in a hurry; it was Mrs. Hatchet raining and storming; "where is my husband?"

stepping away from Cletus' clutches, you smoothened down your apron, sucking in a much needed breath before speaking: "ma'am, he's not here"; with your hands crossed over your chest, over your racing heart, you spit out: "I was clear about me not wanting him to step foot here after I tore up the contract in his face, after he repetedly shoved it in mine"

she smashed her manicured hands on the glass counter; "I know why he kept coming back here, and it had nothing to do with paperwork, you little hussy"

behind you, your employee must've been boiling, because he blew up like a kettle when his boss got sprayed with insults: "thought you were a lady. shoulda known that hog married a sow"

pulling back her finger as if they'd just been burnt, she clutched her pearls: "how dare you? do you sick your attack dog on everybody who comes into this dump? no wonder people stopped shopping here"

"oink oink outta here then, Miss Piggy," he chuckled and she clutched her pearls even tighter

holding up a finger in front of Cletus' face seemingly stopped his barking, which didn't help with the attack dog allegations: "listen, ma'am," you spoke through the fakest smile you ever put on "Mr. Hatchet is not here. we unlocked the doors just ten minutes ago and you're the first person to walk through them"

"Clive left home an hour ago," she pulled out a phone from her designer purse, tapped it ten or twelve times before dropping it back in; "I know you've been trying to buy your way out of the hole your daddy dug himself into, but I'll tell you one thing: he's rolling in his own hole right now seeing you spread your legs so wide"

the mention of your dead dad was like a ghost manifestation: it froze you into place; but, while you stood there motionless, Cletus moved around the counter and slowly creeped in on Mrs. Hatchet; this made the hurricane in her clear

"this little piggy went to market," he chanted, dragging a cleaver against a sharpner loud enough for the dead to hear; "this little piggy stayed home..."

the woman warbled out a warning: "stay away from me, you mongrel"; she was less willing to confront either of you with each step he took. closer. and closer; "tell him to stay away from me"; walking backwards towards the door, she eventually scrambled out of your shop, the door hitting her on the way out

"and this little piggy went wee, wee, wee all the way home," Cletus chuckled, making as if he was going to chase after her, but letting the door close the two of you in instead

turning back to you with a satisfied smirk on his face, he was sure to see you still standing there, still petrified, eyes open but blind to the outside world; "woof, woof. did I do good, boss lady?" he tried and failed to lighten the mood

before the silence could settle in around you, he came to you and cupped your face; "this about your old man?"

wrapping your fingers around his wrists, you whispered: "he did this to me. the Hatchets are his rivals, not mine. I don't want to have to deal with them. with this. any of this"

"and you don't have to," he stroked your cheeks with the dry fingerpads of his thumbs. "I'll deal with the hogs in the back. you manage the storefront. let your daddy toss and turn six feet under. all daddies ever do is make us bend over backwords tryin' to please 'em. so fuck 'em"

"Cletus," you tried not to cry, but tears rolled down your cheeks anyway; "I don't think I'll be able to pay you this week. or the next. or-"

he stopped your sobbing with a kiss, closed mouth and crueler than the savagery he usually subjects you to; you'd rather he bit your lip and drank from it, sucked it dry of blood; instead, he stole away your breath, your life; "keep your money, baby. you still owe me a heart," he spoke to you so softly, yet you still shattered, burying your wet face into the leather apron covering his chest

when you calmed down, cradled in his arms, you blinked up at him and saw that his own face was as pale as ever, eyes steady on your own and mouth comfortably contorted into a smirk; he's been bidding his time until he can chase you down again, capturing you in another kiss, vicious this time; it brought you back to life

when he finally freed you, your drying eyes sought out the source of the sound that made him back away: it was your first real customer of the day; "go freshen up, baby," he ordered you this time, not the other way around; "I'll take care of the hogs in the front today;

as you slipped away, you turned your head one last time to thank him with a smile, but he was already facing away; instead, your eyes were met with the chopping board that he'd move to the side and the heart atop it which was too small to have come from a bovine; it had to have been a hog's

#Cletus Kasady #Carnage #Cletus Kasady x Reader #Cletus Kasady x You

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jiejie-eonni-onee-sama · 4 years

Text

Play me like a violin...

For the wonderful @marilynmonroefanfics 👄👄

Hope you’ll like it!

TW: Smut in the area!

I wanna be loved by you, just you

And nobody else but you

I wanna be loved by you, alone!

Boop-boop-a-doop!

I wanna be kissed by you, just you

And nobody else but you

I wanna be kissed by you, alone

Marylin Monroe - I Wanna Be Loved By You (1959)

Bruce can't believe it. Even if it was days ago, he still can't believe what happened to him: he married him. He married this wonderful and handsome angel named Peter.

He feels like it was yesterday they start dating. He, Bruce Wayne, the renowned playboy of Gotham, finally settled with the young man he met during a gala two years ago.

He remembered well the night when he introduced his lover as his boyfriend to his family: they were astonished that someone managed to get his hands on Bruce Wayne.

Alfred exclaimed: "Finally! He found someone!" while Stephanie, Cassandra, and Barbara cheered gleefully. As for the boys, Dick was amazed, whereas Jason was taken aback, yelled: "WHAT THE HELL?".

Tim was happy for his mentor, and Damian stayed calm, as usual, but expressed his respects towards Peter.

Overall, he can say that the Bat-family accepted Peter as its new member.

He was glad to find him: his husband is loving, caring, understanding, patient, and funny. The embodiment of perfection, at least.

Speaking of the angel, Peter appears in the room, dressed casually and with a genuine smile on his face.

"Hello, beloved husband. What are you doing?"

And this voice, my God: it sounds like an angel.

The billionaire smiles:

"I just wondering how lucky I am..."

"Lucky?"

He holds the hand of Peter.

"I mean, I am grateful to have you with me!"

"Til death do us apart if I remember well..."

"Correct."

"It's been six days since we get married if you don't forget?"

"How could I even dare to forget the best day of my life?" chuckles Bruce as he gently kisses Peter's knuckles.

The young man beams at the lovely gesture. And to think that he was a bit worried when he caught the interest of Bruce Wayne...

He was so scared to be just a one-night stand of the notorious Gotham Don Giovanni that he rejected his advances first. Slowly, he discovered what hides behind the seductive façade.

He saw a tortured soul, wounded by personal tragedies, who tried to give meaning to his life as the Dark Knight of Gotham named Batman.

He also noticed the other side of Bruce's personality: a caring and loving man who have compassion. How not fall in love with this man?

Peter leans his head on his husband's shoulder while enjoying the view in front of him. Currently, they fancy their honeymoon in California, where Bruce rents a mansion with a look of the sea.

"I'm happy that we manage to have a moment for the two of us... I know you have a turbulent life and that we won't have a lot of quality times. But at least, you try to give me the best of you!"

"Because you deserve the best, love!" answers Bruce as he looks at the ebony eyes of his beloved.

They are shining like two black pearls of innocence. Something that amazes Bruce... and also turns him on.

While smiling, the billionaire holds his young husband against him as he lets his hands linger over this body he worships every day.

Suddenly, his phone rings:

"Oh, what again?"

"Let's see... Ah, it's Alfred!" says Peter as he answers the phone.

"Hello, Peter Wayne's on the phone!"

"**Hello, Master Peter. I'm calling to check if everything is fine!**"

"Oh, Alfred, it's a living daydream! California is a lovely place, especially when I am with my dear husband!"

"**I'm glad to hear that. May I speak to Master Bruce?**"

"Sure! Wait a minute, I turn the speakers on!"

Once it's done, Bruce speaks:

"Hello, Alfred."

"**Hello, Master Bruce. According to Master Peter, you enjoy your vacation in California?**"

"Exactly. Everything went smooth."

"**I'm relieved to know that both of you are satisfied with your honeymoon.**"

"And you, Alfred, how are you?"

"**I'm fine, thank you. And your protégés are fine, too. They expect your return on Saturday with great impatience!**"

"They missed us that much?" smirks Bruce.

"**You had no idea, Master Bruce. But, as a picture is worth a thousand words, why don't you hear it by yourself?**"

Half a second later, the couple hears the voices of all the young members of the Batfamily saying hello.

"**Hello, Californian lovebirds. You're alright?**"

"Hello, Dick. Yes, everything is perfect!"

"**Aw, you are so lucky! Can't wait to hear your stories!**"

"Don't worry, Stephanie: I'll tell you the best when we will come back!"

"**Does Bruce treat you like a prince?**," asks Tim.

"Not like a prince, Timothy, but like a king!" states Bruce with a smile.

"**You better do: he marries you, so you have to respect and cherish him!**" reminds him Damian.

"Don't worry, Dami: he is the best husband ever!" says Peter as he glances tenderly towards Bruce.

"**We hope so. Well, as long as you say everything is cool, we are happy for you! Enjoy your honeymoon!**" kindly replies Barbara.

"**Yeah, sure. Especially Bruce, who wants to satisfy his hunger for Mama Peter!**" snickers Jason.

Bruce facepalms while Peter brightly blushes.

"**Master Jason, are you sure it was necessary?**" sighs Alfred.

"**Todd, you pervert jerk!**" snarls Damian.

"**Boys, calm down! Anyway, we are delighted to hear from you. Especially with good news!**"

"So are we, Cass."

"**Well, we leave you alone. See you on Saturday, Masters Bruce and Peter!**"

"Goodbye, Alfred! Thank you for the call!"

After he hung up the phone, Bruce sighs:

"Those kids, I swear to God they are going to kill me!"

"But you love them!" Peter smiles.

His husband returns the smile and holds him again.

"Yes, but I love you more than anything in the world!"

"Oh, really?" innocently asks Peter.

"Of course... Let me prove it!"

And with a mischievous smile, Bruce kisses his partner with passion. The latter, amused, answered the kiss with the same intensity.

Without interrupting the kiss, Bruce slid his large callused hands under his husband's shirt, greedily stroking his soft skin.

This gesture surprised Peter, who asks:

"But what are you doing again?"

"I take care of my husband, this is what I do!"

"Don't be innocent, honey. You've got an idea in your head, and I'd like to know which one!"

"Very well, since you insist ..."

Bruce leaned over his lover's neck and kissed it several times.

"Since we are on our honeymoon, I said to myself that we could take the opportunity to consummate the marriage ..."

At these words, Peter began to blush. So far, they had never had sex and the thought of having his first time with his husband scared him: what if it turned into a fiasco?

"Are you all right, Peter?"

"Yeah, it's just that ..."

"What?"

The young man lowered his head, a little ashamed.

"It's just that I'm scared!"

"Afraid of what?"

"Let's say I'm apprehensive because it's my first time ..."

Bruce strokes his husband's cheek:

"You don't have to worry, Peter: I'll be careful! I'll make it unforgettable!"

"I don't doubt it, but ..."

"But what? What can you worry about so much?"

"The two of us! I mean, look at yourself: you look like a Greek God, while I look like a bun next to you!"

Bruce rolls his eyes, a slight smile on his lips, before stroking his husband's hips.

"You should stop putting yourself down, honey. Of course, we're different, so what? That's what I liked about you: your playfulness, your zest for life, your kindness ... You are the light that was missing in my life! "

He takes Peter by the waist before adding:

"As far as your body is concerned, know that I find it perfect. Besides, comparing it to a bun is not completely inappropriate ... since I find you delicious!"

And without warning, he lifts his husband off the ground and takes him to their room.

"Bruce, stop!" laughs Peter.

"Definitely not! I'm hanging on to you forever!" the latter jokes.

Once in their room, he gently set Peter down on the bed before closing the door behind him.

Then, he comes back and positions himself above his lover, who gives him an innocent smile.

"I guess it's time to get down to business!"

"Exactly, my little prince! Now let me do it and enjoy!"

With that, Bruce again captures Peter's lips in a passionate kiss.

The newlyweds hasten to get rid of their clothes, and they find themselves naked as on the first day.

Bruce is dumbfounded at his husband's naked body: for him, it is the most beautiful thing he had ever admired in his life.

As for Peter, he is amazed by the impressive musculature of his lover, but not only. It must be said that Bruce is well fitted, especially at the level of the private parts.

He swallows: he wonders how something so huge would be able to penetrate him? Nothing to think about it makes him uncomfortable ...

"If you don't want us to do this right now, I would understand. It might be going a little too fast for you ..."

Peter shakes his head:

"No, Bruce, it's going to be fine. I trust you."

Reassured, the latter kisses his husband again before letting his lips slide down Peter's neck and chest, making the young man moan with pleasure.

This reaction amuses the millionaire, who continues his little game, lingering on his husband's hips before descending to his penis.

"Bruce ..." Peter moans, bracing himself under his lover's expert licks.

His cries of pleasure grows louder when he feels Bruce's mouth tickle his cock. He thought his brain would not stand the shock of the sensations that seizes him.

"Oh my god, Bruce!"

"Good boy, so responsive!" his husband whispers as he continues to explore the young man's privacy with his tongue. While doing so, he lets his large hands caress and pinch his nipples.

Quickly, Peter becomes a moaning mess, clutching at the sheets as if his life depended on it.

He's used to Bruce's hugs, but this is different: it is addicting, and he always needs more.

"Tell me, Peter, do you want to go further?"

"Oh yes, Bruce."

"Tell me what you want, Peter."

Catching his breath, his husband answers:

"I want you to take me, Bruce. I want to offer you my innocence!"

A hungry smile appears on Bruce's face:

"It's a beautiful gift you are giving me, beautiful boy! And it deserves a reward!"

He lays down on top of Peter, tucking himself between his legs, and position himself close to his privacy. Before doing anything, he glances at Peter and asks:

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," the young man whispers.

Bruce kisses his lover before slowly penetrating him so that the latter gets used to his presence.

Peter gasps when he feels his husband's cock inside him. The pain is so unbearable that he sheds a tear that slid down his cheek.

Seeing this, Bruce feels guilty: he wanted this moment to be magical for them, not to make his husband suffer. Gently, he brushes the tear away from Peter's cheek.

"Excuse me if I was brutal."

"No, no. It's not your fault. It's just that I'm not used to ... It's my first time, after all!"

"Don't apologize; you'll be fine. Take your time, and when you're ready, we'll continue!"

"Okay!"

Peter took his time to calm down and get used to Bruce's presence.

He mentally told himself that he does not have to worry, that everything would be fine. Besides, Bruce is patient and understanding: with him, he is in good hands.

Gradually, he relaxes and let his husband understand that he was ready. The latter understands, and he begins his thrusts so as not to rush Peter.

Once he is more at ease, the young man lets himself go and quickly takes pleasure in feeling the kidney strokes of his husband as he moans louder.

As for Bruce, he gives a slow and sensual rhythm to this particular dance. With his old one-night stands, he was content to have a good shag and nothing more. But there, with Peter in his arms, he is taking his time and experiencing a pleasure he had never reached.

But above all, he loves Peter, and he wants to give him that pleasure he currently feels. And the latter's cries of desire confirm that he is doing it well ...

"B-Bruce ..."

"Yes, my angel?"

"G-Go faster!" Peter moans, wrapping his legs around Bruce's waist.

"Your wish is my command!"

And with that, the millionaire picks up the tempo, thrusting faster.

Overwhelmed with pleasure, Peter feels his sanity give up, and he latches onto Bruce's back, scratching him lightly at the shoulders.

This action excites his partner, who continues his thrusts between the hips of his lover rhythmed by their sighs and cries of pleasure.

"B-Bruce, I ... I'm going to cum!"

"Yeah, me too, babe! Just wait for me, darling!"

After several thrusts, the two newlyweds reached seventh heaven with a final moan of pleasure.

Then Bruce slowly withdraws from Peter's privacy before laying down next to his husband.

The latter is still under the effect of adrenaline and does not realize what had just happened. But for sure, the young man loved it!

"So, honey, this first time?" Bruce demands, slightly panting.

"It was perfect. Yes, really perfect!" Peter replies, settling in the strong arms of his husband.

"Good, that's what I wanted for you."

"And I thank you for that."

Chuckling, Bruce kisses his husband's forehead before hugging him and settling down to sleep.

"Come on, I think we have the right to a well-deserved rest!"

"Yes, my body is numb for now!"

"Tomorrow, you will probably be in pain."

"I will hold you personally responsible!" jokes the young man.

"What if I offer you a bath tomorrow to make amends?"

"There, I accept."

The two men laugh and take advantage of the calm, embraced. Then, won over by sleep, they let themselves go in the arms of Morpheus.

"I love you, Bruce Wayne."

"I love you, Peter Wayne."

And with these words of love, the two lovers fell asleep with serenity, far from the tumult of Gotham.

Must be love on the brain

That’s got me feeling this way

It beats me black and blue but it fucks me good

And I can’t get enough

Must be love on the brain yeah

Rihanna - Love on the Brain (2016)

Thanks for the reading!

Hope you enjoy the story!

See you later! 🥰😘😍

#requests #dceu #bruce wayne #ben affleck #noah centineo #tw: smut

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kasey-writes-stuff · 3 years

Text

Okay I’ve never really written angst before and I’m not good with writing things based of songs but I saw @httpskarlnap ask for a C!Ranboo fic based off of the song panic room so here it is!

Warning for- Nightmares , panic attacks , derealization , and heads being cut off! Please let me know if anything else needs a warning!

Panic room C!Ranboo

Ranboo is laid sleeping in the mansion but it’s anything but peaceful, his mind is being plagued with nightmares. In his nightmare and real life his hands shake as he hears voices as if he’s being surrounded by thousands of people each shouting something different at him but yet as he looks around he sees no one. All he sees is some torches that are almost burnt out, he cautiously looks around and begins to make his way down the dim hallway… As he begins walking he notices himself getting colder and colder, more fear starts to set in as he doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere he seems to be I. The same place he started just he’s now much much colder. He fiddles for his communicator and eventually finds it but sees it has no signal…

He grips it tightly both in anger and in fear, he’s stuck in a seemingly never ending but ever cold hallway with no way to contact anyone for any help. His only thoughts are to get out and get back to Michael and Tubbo, suddenly he hears a nearly ear piercing piglin like squeal… it couldn’t be could it!? His foot steps quicken trying to find some way out, suddenly he hears what sounds like tubbos voice screaming for him! He feels his chest tightening as he tries to run as fast as he can. He feels almost as if he has icecicles on his body yet he continues running, his chest is so tight he can barely breathe…

Finally he sees it! A light at the end of the hallway it’s so bright he nearly can’t stand to look at it! Suddenly he’s getting very very warm too warm to quickly, he feels himself losing conciseness but he still keeps running he can still hear Michael and tubbo screaming for him he has to keep going he has to save them! Just before he blacks out he makes it to the end of the hallway and then he blacks out… He awakes at he doesn’t know when he has no concept of time in normal dreams let alone nightmares! He raises up groggily rubbing his eyes, his eyes widen as he sees the site before him.

Tubbo is tied to a chair a bandana has been shoved in his mouth, Michael is in the corner shivering with a figure looming over him, the figure has their back turned making ranboo unable to see their face but the second he hears the first word come out of their mouth his brain is screaming to grab Michael and tubbo and to run, his breathe stops, his body feeling colder than it ever did while walking down the hallway! “Hello ranboo nice of you to join us hm took you a while though I figured you would get here much quicker… you know being half endermen and able to teleport and all”

Right as ranboo is about to begin berating himself for being so stupid the figure lets out a low chuckle “oh that’s right you couldn’t have teleported if you wanted to! I enchanted this place so teleporting takes away three hearts every time you try it and you wind up even farther back than you started!” Ranboo tried to take steady deep breathes as he stood and began walking towards the figure a new purpose sensing to fill his body upon the realization the figure had a hand on Michaels shoulder “Get your hands off my son!” The figure laughs softly “woah woah woah calm down me and little Michael here were just playing a nice game of patty cake weren’t we Michael?”

Michael sniffled in fear as he looked up to his taller dad “p-papa p-please h-help d-dada h-hurt” Ranboos heart shattered as he looked over and noticed one of tubbos horns was chipped and his legs had missing fur patches “Michael don’t worry I’m gonna save you and dada!” He began to walk closer Michael and the figure but he paused quickly as the figure suddenly pulled out an axe and was now facing him as he held the axe up to Michaels small neck “One more step and Michael gets it!” The small piglin squealed in pure terror “PAPA I’M SCARED!” muffled screams could be heard from tubbo and tears could be seen falling from his eyes

Ranboo took a deep breathe eyes narrowing as he attempted to control his panic “Dream… give me my son.. NOW!” Dream smiled evilly “oh wow yelling?! Good job ranboo you’ve come so far since I first found you! What’s next are you gonna actually pull your sword out and threaten me hm?” Dream blinked his eyes dramatically as he titled his head at ranboo as he spoke “because that would be just sooooo precious! Almost as precious as little Mikey here screaming for his dads to help as I ripped him out of his bed but it was far too late! By the time tubbo got to the room Mikey was gone and now he was suddenly trapped and brought to this same room! All while you slept so soundly that you didn’t even notice a single thing you didn’t even so much as turn once! I mean I had to practically drag you here! My gosh that was no easy task!”

Ranboo growled loudly trying to ignore the voices surrounding him telling him what a failed father and failed husband he is not even able to protect his own family! “Dream I am not going to say it again give me Michael now! Or else…” Dream snickered softly rolling his eyes “or else what? You really think you can get your sword out in time to kill me before I can chop sweet innocent little Michaels head off? And before I can swiftly chop yours off leaving tubbo to die alone.. and oh it’s his final life right? So once he dies sure you’ll respawn but Michael? He only has one life so you’ll be all alone left here for eternity left with the voices screaming to you about how you’re such a failure not just as a husband and father but as a friend and just as person in general! You’ll be left here trying to find a way out but each time you think you’ve found it? It’ll just be a room where you’ll be forced to watch Michael and tubbo die over and over again!”

Ranboos hand shook with fear and anger with each and every word Dream spoke… the more he spoke the angrier ranboo got… until finally a huge scream tore from his throat and suddenly the room was filled with dozens of endermen! They all looked to ranboo “Army….” He took a deep breathe as he pointed to Dream “ATTACK!” Suddenly they all flew towards Dream! Screams of pain could be heard from Dream as the endermen attacked him one by one! Ranboo quickly ran over and grabbed Michael hugging him tightly as Michael sobbed onto his shoulder, once he had Michael he ran to tubbo still holding Michael with one arm he used the other to quickly unwrap the bandana from tubbos mouth!

Tubbo gasped for air before managing to say “I knew you would save us!” Ranboo nodded quickly “I could never let you two die you’re everything to me I couldn’t live if I didn’t have you two” tubbo smiled softly and as soon as ranboo got him untied he wrapped his arms around ranboo clinging to his neck as his legs wrapped around him! Ranboo smiled in relief as he held his husband and son, but suddenly a deep evil laugh was heard and ranboo looked to the corner and saw nothing but mere ender pearls and a laughing dream “oh ranboo poor poor ranboo you tried so hard… you really did your best but…” Dream began fake sniffling before smirking “YOU’RE BEST WASN’T ENOUGH!” Suddenly like magic Tubbo and Michael were ripped out of his grip! And before ranboo could even scream …

It was too late their necks collided with dreams axe, ranboo fell to his knees unable to scream, unable to cry, unable to do anything at first all that could be heard in the room was dreams maniacal laughter, suddenly a few more moments pass and finally a ear currtling scream rips from ranboos throat! It’s so loud he can almost feel his volcol cords ripping apart! And that’s when he wakes up sweating beyond belief as his throat feels incredibly dry and sore…

A light turns on and in comes tubbo practically running to ranboos bed “ranboo?!” Ranboo let’s out a strangled scream as he holds his hands up “GET AWAY GET AWAY YOU’RE NOT REAL! I DON’T WANNA SEE YOU DIE AGAIN GET AWAY! GO AWAY PLEASE!” Tubbo holds his hands up slowly “Ranboo ranboo listen it’s me Tubbo your husband remember?! It’s me! I’m real! I’m not going to die I’m real okay?!” Ranboo slowly peaked out through his hands and saw tubbos hand out stretched… he very carefully touched it gently stroking it before grabbing it tightly and pulling tubbo towards him! Tubbo quickly buried himself in ranboos chest as ranboo slowly tried to even his breathing…

“I-I’m i-‘I’m sorry I- he… Dream…” tubbo nodded not needing a full sentence to understand what ranboo meant “shh shh shh it’s okay it’s okay the nightmare is over you’re okay I’m okay-“ suddenly ranboo took in a deep breathe his eyes widening “MICHAEL MICHAEL WHERE IS HE?!” Before tubbo can say anything a small figure clutching a stuffie can be seen in the door way… the figure slowly makes their way towards the bed as tilts their head “dada and papa okay?” Ranboo sighs in relief slumping back on the bed as tubbo grabs Michael swiftly pulling him onto the bed and the three of them promptly cuddling “papa and dada are okay buddy dada just had a nightmare is all!”

Michael titled his head pouting “papa had nightmare? Here!” He held out his stuffy for ranboo smiling proudly “stuffie always make Mikey feel better after nightmare!” Ranboo takes the stuffie holding it gently as he kisses Michaels head “thank you Mikey you’re a really nice boy” Mikey smiles brightly at the praise and tubbo smiles as well before softly looking to ranboo “so are you alright to try and sleep now” Ranboo takes a moment before nodding and pulling both tubbo and Michael closer “I think so”

And so with that the small family was back asleep as if no nightmare had ever disturbed their peacefulness

The end

#C!Beeduo #C!beeduo agnst #c!ranboo #c!michael #c!tubbo #dsmp angst

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yconic · 4 years

Text

"Divorce is a special kind of pain. It's like death without a body, " is what they say when two halves of a whole heart separate.

Tony never understood when he was younger, never extended the notion of two people who gifted each other to eternity in union splitting up beyond 'Just not talking for a bit.'

He looked at it from a small perspective belonging to a small person, as if the people in question were just two good friends who couldn't decide on what game to play, hurt each other, and needed space.

His parents had done it more times than he cared to count. The frigid silences and artificial prompt politeness between the socialite power couple Howard and Maria Stark could last for two days, or two months, depending on how deep the issue picked out that time ran.

Tony sat straight as he watched the clock tick away, dutifully counting the hours that would bring Maria closer to home from whichever elicit travel affair she filled her time with while Howard closes himself into his workshop, stewing in anger and bitterness that leak out from the door he's not permitted to trespass.

He learns to measure the gravity of their squabbles, - If it's a small argument, Maria picks Germany, France, or Spain. She sends a letter stating the duration of her stay. She sends Tony well wishes, with a touch of formality for a mother, and her name is elegantly plastered on the bottom in cursive.

When Howard fucks up, she picked China, Britain, or Italy, and she disappeared from the earth until she emerged at her like. Howard is Howard, - the relationship between him and his son was too cold for Tony to tell how his father was like without the disdain gleaming in his eyes, but the liquor cabinet always needed at least a daily refill after a spectacular drama.

He looks back at those moments and realizes, with a shade of pity coated in something more sour, mellow but active, that divorce was never an option for them, the cycle of co-dependency and maintaining legacy had to be kept no matter how demanding that task was.

He can't bring himself to be angry when he feels so bad for them. All that money, and they couldn't buy a second of peace.

It doesn't take long for him to realize his parents don't love each other.

Tony was young, but he was never a child. He was naive, gullible, innocent, - but he was awake. While he didn't clearly understand what love was, he looked at the unhappy frowns on the miserable faces of the pair and thought: 'If that's how love looks like I want no part in it.'

He doesn't love people for more than one night, - A full week if their company was good enough to distract him from the rich golden color of his whiskey that gradually tastes bitter, and more bitter every time. It's not love, he knows, - He keeps that special for his family. But the kind of feeling he has with strangers, with nobody's with a name, resembles what he knows of love too much for him to change meaning.

He won't know how "love" feels like. He refuses to be the caged bird his mother was, to take form in the monster Howard let himself become.

Then, life gives him Steve.

He nests into Tony's life like a storm with skin, hair kissed by sunshine and eyes filled with an ocean that the brunette longs to sink into. He has a boyish charm to him, an old soul that swoops Tony off his feet. It makes him want to slow down, even if he belongs to the future, to activity, to progress. He wants to sit and listen to the stories Steve has, told in a Brooklyn swird that gives character to every word.

Steve looks at him like Rhodey told him all people should look at him. 'Like they can't see the status, or the money, or the power. Like they just see Tony, and nothing more. Because Tony will always be enough. ' Steve looks at him like he hangs the moon for him.

Tony never stood a chance. He looked at Steve, and thinks: "Oh, shit. He's It for me."

He just knows that this one, this Captain, decorated to the teeth, hiding in awkwardness at this petty mingling, social climbing Gala, lowering himself at the bar because he didn't know anybody, was made for him. And if Steve clings to Tony the whole night, he agrees with the parallel drawing out on his part.

He doesn't leave Tony's side, arm snug and comfortable around his middle like they've known each other for longer than time itself, and Tony loves it more than he has the courage to say.

Steve looks at him when the epilogue of the night strikes, too soon for either of their likings. He's tall, broad-shouldered, strong but has the softest eyes in the world. It hurts Tony to arch his neck to stare, but he doesn't want to miss a thing. "I've... I didn't laugh like that since I was in tour. You made my night, Tony."

"It's nothing, -" Because it really is. Considering the sins to his name, the least he can do to atone some mistakes is make as much people as happy as he can. And Happy is a great look on Steve.

He does learn one thing: When Steve says something, it stays how Steve says it. "No, its everything, Tony. I didn't smile once since coming home, " he croaks, like the confession pains him, and Tony aches alongside him. "Everyone is worried about me, saying that, that I seem upset, or sad, or just, never happy anymore, but how else am I supposed to feel?"

"You can't let others tell you how you feel, " Tony soothes, without thinking, a hand softly brushing against Steve's cheek. A frisson zaps through him at the feeling of the soldier's stubble spiking his skin. Steve leans into his touch like it's the most normal thing in the world. Tony's heart grows. "It's not even in your control, so why should it be in theirs? " He understands how Steve feels. More than the world would care to listen.

"Exactly. So, if it's not too much trouble, " his shyness compliments Tony's smitten. "Would you mind making me smile again?"

Tony is, utterly, indubitably, irrevocably, without a shade of doubt, fucked.

He smiles anyway. "You know, soldier, I think I could pull some strings."

---

Their love is like rain in June. It's mellow and distractingly peaceful, makes their worry and everything that ever went wrong scarce away. They can breathe around each other even when they feel like drowning. For once, Tony feels like it'll be okay.

But Life decides to do what it always does when Tony finds something good. It takes, and it takes, until there's nothing.

Steve tells him about Bucky. About the fallen brother that vanished in the mission that stole everything for Steve. "Only one soldier fell off that train, but two died that day, " God, Tony is so worried when Steve talks like that. "It should've been me. I wanted it to be me."

Tony listens and he pictures Rhodey falling. Steve loved Bucky in ways he couldn't even hope to understand.

It turns out, Death is not something so permanent after all.

It's a lovely night for them when Steve gets that call. He's wrapped around Tony and holds him in his arms as if he'd rather go to war again than let him go and Tony's heart never beat so loud for anyone. He would have never let Steve answer if he knew that phone call was the beginning of their end.

Bucky's alive again, is reborn from snow and war and ashes. Broken, but alive. Held captive by terrorists and is unmade, undid, but still alive. Everything around Steve is lost after that.

Tong gives him space and resources, help, support, he gives everything to Steve like on their wedding day. He gives him his care and gentle hands and soft words and love with a heartbeat. And Steve is just... Too preoccupied looking at Bucky to notice. Tony feels like a selfish bastard for wanting his soldier to look at HIM instead of coddling his friend at every moment notice.

He wants Steve to stop suffocating Bucky when he already looks like he's just inhaling instead of breathing.

He wants his husband back.

That's why he deserves what's coming to him. That's his punishment.

They drift apart slowly, as most terrible pains start.

Steve starts spending more and more time around the mental help facility Bucky asked to be enlisted into after his hasty return that had everyone clutching at their pearls. He wants to do it alone, Tony figures easily, starves for a journey he wants to walk himself, for the kind of autonomy only a man who lost it for too long craves.

His bitterness aside, Tony marvels at how similar they are. Maybe In another life, he and Barnes would've made a handsome pair of kindred souls.

Steve doesn't agree. He looks sickened, struck even, at Tony for having the Gall to suggest maybe Barnes would be more responsive if he talked with someone who had mirroring experiences. "God, Tony, you don't... You're not a soldier. You're just a man. You've been through pain, sure, but not like Bucky. No one went through what he did. I'm honestly speechless you ever thought you could compare."

Steve says that, it's why it hurts so bad. The man who swore he'd walk back into the hellfire of war just to find the people who hurt Tony and tear them apart.

The man who couldn't be moved by anything. No nightmare, no night terror, no panic attack, no argument. Nothing convinced Steve to leave. He stayed through it all.

The man who cried relentlessly when Rhodey walked Tony down the alter because 'He couldn't believe how lucky he was to marry someone so beautiful.'

The man who hasn't written Tony a love letter every morning like he used to do in over a year.

The man who spent more time sleeping in hospital rooms than in their bed.

The man who used to not go even one day without saying "I love you". Tony can't even remember the last time this sentence was spoken between them unless he said it first.

The man who agreed to couple therapy, then acted like it rained the next day.

Tony would will himself to shove this under the rug. To put a blind eye to it, to make it work, to ignore Rhodey's disapproval and Pepper's warm worry, to push away the pain blossoming in his chest, threatening to overspill.

But this man adopted a child with him.

---

"That one" Steve points to a small boy, thin but sturdy-looking even in the hand me downs from the orphanage, short limbs supporting a mess of brown hair that looks impossibly soft. His eyes are big and kind. Tony wants to take him home and feed him. "That one's ours."

His name is Peter, and he got into a fight with older kids when they wanted to stomp on ladybugs. He pushes back, but not unkindly. He's no bully. Instead, he takes the time to teach them why disrespecting and hurting nature is wrong, then takes their hands into his own, playing with the tiny creatures for hours.

Tony falls in love immediately. "Let's bring him home, Cap."

---

He can't do it. Tony can't look into Peter's adoring eyes, wide and brown that feel more like a mirror than anything, and see the fear he had for Howard, or the sadness for Maria. Tony can't handle looking at the love of his life and see another him.

Steve is Peter's role model. His knight in shining armor, his protector, everywhere he goes he sings praise to anyone who cares to listen. About his fearless father, his heroic antics that seem so tall for him. "My daddy's a superhero!" Tony doesn't have the heart to take that away.

And Tony loves Steve too much to see him become Howard.

So when Steve misses their son's 5th birthday party because he had more pressing business in D.C, Tony realizes bitterly, there's no saving this. People labeled him as a mechanic, a futurist, but he feels unworthy of both when he couldn't fix or foresee this.

There's no coming back from this.

Natasha doesn't voice it, but she doesn't need to. She tucks her phone away after a third failed attempt to coax, threaten, and guilt Steve into joining them, with muted movements, and Tony can tell she agrees.

Tony's grin is too wide when he looks down at Peter when he drags him off to paint his face, unaware of his father's turmoil. He laughs. He smiles. He celebrates. He has a nice day with his family.

He pulls Pepper aside and asks her to prepare his lawyers in the same breath.

This is why Tony knew love wasn't made for him.

---

Tony's always been good at hurting himself. The more pain he inflicts on himself, the less it'll hurt when someone else does it. So he unpacks the stash of letters he kept locked away in a seif, because they're prized to him, more than any sleek car or company, and reads them before he burns the bridge.

They feel like warm kisses and goodbyes.

'Left for a grocery jog, ran out of coffee. It's supposed to be cold, so don't you even think about leaving the house without a jacket! I'll know. Take care of yourself, even when I'm not there. '

' I love waking up next to you every morning. I love how you hide from the sun in my chest. I love how grumpy you are when Pepper calls for updates and all you do is cuddle me and whine. I love your messy bed hair and how you fall asleep in the shower.

'I never cared for jewelry before but seeing my ring around your finger never gets old. I still can't believe you said yes, but I'm glad you did. You deserve more, but you settled for someone like me. I can't believe it when you say no one would want you forever, I hate that someone made you think like that, that they let you go, but their biggest mistake is my biggest win. Jokes on them.'

'I can't imagine my life without you. Its all radio silence and broken static. Like an artist with a blank canvas and grey paint. You're the best damn thing that ever happened to me, and the fact that I have you means there really is someone up there looking our for me. I'm never letting you go. I love you, I love you, I love you, '

Tony stains the paper with tears as he listens to the song of heartbreak in his chest.

---

"Nat, " Tony pleads, choosing not to look at the tremor in his hands as he neats the papers he wants to see burn. "There's no need for that, come on. You know I love you, but I'm a big boy. I don't need you to hold my hand for this."

Natasha shrugs. "Indulge me."

"He wouldn't do anything to me."

"I thought there were lots of things he wouldn't do. Like stop loving you, for one, " she doesn't mean to be a jab, but Tony strokes his right arm and lets the hurt wash off. He sometimes forgets how blunt and terrifying Pepper's wife is capable of being. "Being paranoid is worth being safe."

They find Steve in the kitchen, sitting stiff and unfamiliar as if he didn't design the place himself. Tony swallows down the pressure in his throat and forces his eyes to stay dry. He wants to rest his hands on Steve's shoulders and pepper the lines of laughter on his flushed face with kisses.

But they're behind that now.

Steve raises his eyes to look at him. He's tired, run-down, missing the spark Tony marked as one of his favorite traits of the blonde. The life wasted from them, telling Tony that he's surviving, but not living.

Tony looks at him back and his eyes say, 'Me too.'

Steve's mouth twists into an imitation of a smile, tries his luck at mimicking something of the reassurance and ease variety, to hide his emotions with a mask of cracked peace Tony undressed a million times, just as Steve undressed his. He's always been good at reading the man. Or, was.

Steve's eyes fall on the documents Tony's holding with his naked hands, no ring in sight, and Tony watches something die in him.

The room drowns in silence for a while.

Natasha stands as a loyal shadow at his side, silent but sharp, hands folded in front of her crotch like a guard dog waiting to pounce. There's a forced calm into her breathing that puts him even more on edge.

Papers brush smoothly above the marble surface, ear piercing to him. Red hot blazing into white noise. It's the most terrible sound he's ever heard. He prefers his breathless, agonized screams in Afghanistan to this.

Steve recoils away, standing up suddenly and shakily, as if the documents are bombs about to kill him anytime now.

He turns his head, refusing to look at them. Refuses to accept they're real.

"Throw those away, Tony, " he says, voice edged with the kind of suffering that would bring Tony to his knees on other circumstances."Get them the hell away from me and never bring them up again, you hear me? I'm serious.''

Carefully, Natasha chimes in, tone mild and neutral. " Steve. Tony would like to speak with you about something, alright? Let's sit down, and talk like grown-ups, -"

"Where's your ring!?" Steve shouts, tiptoeing at the border of desperate and hysteric. Tony wants back into the cave, wants the water to take him away from all of this. It's hard to kill something that's already dead. "What did you do with it!? Why aren't you wearing it!? You PROMISED me, you promised you'd never take it off you JERK, you lying -"

"And you promised to love me until the day we die, but by the looks of it we both could use a lesson in honesty, " Tony cuts icily, colder than colder. His words are resigned, hollow, at the brim of mechanical. He thinks all the people who say Starks are more machine than men had a point. "I'm the fuck up in this relationship. What's your excuse?"

He thought he'd feel vindication watching Steve taste a fraction of his sorrow, that his destroyed look would make something in Tony retaliate. It does nothing. Tony loves him stronger, fiercer, and there's no win here for anyone.

His mouth tastes like ashes.

He just wants to stop, to sink in his bed and swim in ratty hoodies drenched in cheap but sweet cologne, smudged with paint of all shades, and feel Steve's arms shield him from the world.

He wonders if it'll keep Steve up at night, how it never occurred to him that the danger he wanted to defend Tony from might have his face.

"I'll do better. Tony please," Steve begs him, and Tony wonders if the situation is so low a man with his nature would resort to that. He's shaken by big hands engulfing his own for exactly a moment before Natasha intervenes, pushing the blonde away with a hint of regret. Steve recovers, looks right through her at Tony who wants to wipe his tears away. "I'll do better, I'll- I'll spend less time with Bucky if you want, -"

"Bucky isn't the problem. It's not about HIM, it was never about him, this is US, Steve. We, our marriage, our family, its been here longer than Bucky. I never wanted you to - to erase him from your life, I just wanted my husband. Peter wanted his daddy. Bucky could've been apart of that, but you just, you just pushed us aside,-"

"I won't do that anymore. I, - Do you want me to be at home more often? I can, sweetheart, I can do that no problem. I can be at home, I can make time for dates and-and for activities, I can take Peter to the park and play ball, - Do you remember that? How we used to play until he fell asleep? I don't mind, its no problem, -"

Something in Tony snaps.

"WE'RE NOT YOUR FUCKING CHORES," His voice is more roar than man, ragged, tight, pushed to the last limit. The garden of silent pain, fury, rage, and fear he's been harboring finally blossomed into something that seemed to shake the world. His body shudders. "We're not some,- some pestering tasks that you have to save your precious time to complete! Some fucking pets other people have to force you to care of, or some dirty laundry you decide to wear whenever you feel like washing! We're your damn FAMILY,- " A sob hitches his anger, and by the broken look on Steve's face, it's worse than any rage.

He narrows his eyes in disbelief, as if Steve was some stranger and not someone he gave years of his life to. A laugh is pushed out of his chest, choked, long, and terrible. "I would've ended this sooner if, - God, if I knew how much of a burden we became for you."

"Tony, Tony don't say that, " Steve's face is blotched red, painted in punishing torment. "I love you and Peter more than anything in this life. You're mine, both of you, how can you think I don't love you? I, -"

"Just love Bucky more, " Tony finishes, note flat, accepting, rehearsed. His voice feels as hollow as his chest when Steve flinches. "I'm just... I'm so tired. Steve,I'm tired, and- I can't do it anymore. My son, my baby is not going to be a burden on anybody. I can put up with a lot of shit, but Peter is my limit. I can't and I won't put anyone above him. Not even you."

Horror shines bright and clear on the blue eyes Tony loves so much. He spots Steve's finger tremble at his sides, notices the hesitant movement of his Addams apple.

Natasha was wrong. It's a rare occurrence, but it happened.

Steve never stopped loving him.

It makes signing the papers so much harder.

---

Steve lost Bucky to ice, snow, and time. Tony loses Steve to fire, anger, and distance.

---

Pepper is surprised when she hears Steve ended up signing willingly.

She doesn't want to ruin the calm air that finally settled over the emotion packed atmosphere surrounding the living room, currently stashed with carton boxes filled with Steve's stuff, ready to be delivered tomorrow as Tony wanted, but it's a needed talk.

"What did you say to convince him?" She asks, not demanding an answer but clearly expecting one. "I'd just assume Nat had him in an arm lock until he agreed, but, in all honesty, Steve would probably lose an arm than do what people tell him to. Seriously, I've seen anarchists with more respect for authority than this guy."

Tony laughs, too loving and too fond for this predicament. "I said you'd drag his ass through every courtroom in America and drain him of everything he's worth?"

"Mmm. Try again. I mean, that's a Sunday for me, but he's already heard that talk before." Giggles are shared between the pair on the couch, snuggled under fuzzy blankets with wine glasses that clink slightly. Pepper's face relaxes into something sympathetic, earnest. "Was it something Peter related?"

"No, " he shakes his head. It never crossed his mind once, no matter how hurt he was. It felt too much like what his father would do. " Peter is his son, too. No matter what happens between us. There's no changing that. "

"No one would blame you if it came down to that, you know that, right?"

He hums. Pepper waits.

"I asked him to let me say goodbye to my husband instead of forcing me to stay with Howard."

A sharp intake of breath settles something cold beneath Tony's skin. He closes his eyes, and accepts the wine Pepper pours in his cup, neither commenting on how it spills over the rim.

---

Talking to Peter is the hardest part.

He doesn't understand why suddenly there's only two people there instead of three, why he isn't woken up by two pairs of arms tickling him and kissing his sleepy eyelids every morning, why Tony's laughter isn't echoing through the house as Steve spins and twists him around in the living room dance session they had at least once a week.

Why, apparently, Steve now has a permanent residence in DC and can only see him twice a week as their legal agreement states.

Why he has to live in two different places and split his playtime.

Why Tony bought a new apartment and they had to move away, stretching the distance between them and Steve.

"Is Papa comin' home today?" A hand squeezes Tony's heart painfully tight at the small question. He looks down at his son, smaller than usual and playing with his fingers at his feet. His frail shoulder raise, housing an anxious breath as he awaits an answer.

Tony takes his tiny hand in his own, leaning down to press kisses on the back of his son's palm, apology on his lips. "Yeah, baby. He has to come and pick up his stuff. Maybe you can play a little when he arrives! I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. "

Steve sends Sam to pick up his things and Tony feels guilt bite at him for hissing 'coward' in his mind.

Peter is excited to see his uncle Sam but the disappointment when he hears a truck coming instead of the deep rumble of a motorcycle engine doesn't wash off. He soldiers on, smiles for Sam because as little as he is, he's careful with people and their emotions. His goodness is organic. He takes after Steve like that.

Sam's always been frustratingly talented at deciphering his thoughts, even when his face is emotionless. It's one of the many reasons why Tony thinks him and Rhodey match so well. "He said he's really sorry he couldn't come, but... Okay, his excuse is just sad, because I doubt you'd believe he'd rather attend a Zoomba class than see you and Peter. Truth is, he's scared."

"Of facing me?"

"Of hurting you."

"Yeah, well, he's already got that job done on the to do list, " Tony huffs, petty and aware. He tosses Peter his baseball that lands in the backyard, gently nudging him away from the conversation. They watch the ball of energy squeal in delight as he runs to fetch it, tension momentarily on hold. "Sorry. You don't need my shit. Let's just load this and be done with it."

Sam huffs. "Man, I've been involved with your shit for a while. Appreciate the feeling but it's a bit late for that. Trust me, me and Rhodey have in length discussions about it. I'm neck-deep in white boy drama, but well, sacrifices of the job. Not much you can do."

He's playful, Tony knows this, in the corner of his brain that isn't raided by anxiety, yet fear claws at him, sharp and cruel and unexpected. Coldness spreads inside him like wildfire, almost matching the thoughts racing in his mind. Sam and Rhodey were talking? Were they arguing? Had Tony harmed Rhodey's relationship as if he didn't wreck his own enough?

"Talk?" Tony rasps, pushes the words out of his constricted throat that seems to close more and more, synchronizing with his lungs. Sam's wide, concerned eyes tells him the surface looked as bad as the inside."You... You and Rhodey, you guys- Bad talk? You, you fought about it?"

His mind torments him by showcasing Rhodey yelling in Sam's face and Sam yelling back, both standing their ground like two soldiers on a mission and defending their friends like avenging angels. Rhodey is more brother than friend, he'd take his side, like the devoted friend he always proved himself to be, but he watches with a cut breath as Rhodey locks himself in his room and weeps.

Rhodey sharing his fate is Tony's own horror movie.

"...ony! Tony, deep breaths, come on, " gentle hands guide him away from the void his own psyche trapped him into, speaking in a low voice that plucks him back up little by little. "Come on, in and out. Focus on my voice, that's good. Listen to me, Rhodey and I did not and will not fight about this. We're fine, Tony, promise! We agreed, no side pickers. This isn't war, and we won't get into some life or death fight for your and/or Steve's honor, " he tries for a little grin. ''I mean, I'm not supposed to tell you, but we don't like you guys that much."

Tony laughs, at once, a pathetically small sound, but he's grounded enough to laugh. He basks in the lack of sound around them, like the silence of an after battle, suffocating, but free.

The quiet hangs in the air as they load the truck, too, not oppressing, but welcomed, with a touch of comfort that burns just right. When the last box is secured and road-ready, him and Sam stay just a bit on the porch to stare at the house. Because that's what it is, isn't?

'Is papa comin' home?'

There is no home. Not if Steve's missing.

"Steve said you can keep those, if you want," that sentence made Tony hunch his shoulders, releasing that bitter aftertaste in his mouth again, blending with something sweet, and igniting the warmth that pierced as deep as his very marrow. "Nothing he loves or wants back is in those boxes."

Yes, Tony wants to scream. I want to keep the sketchbooks he has for me. I want to keep the photo albums. I want to keep the paint, the charcoal, the brushes. I want to keep the stuffed animals he won me at the fairs. I want to keep his clothes. I want to keep the dances in the living room. I want to keep his love, attention, care, worry, sadness, anger, grief. I want to keep my husband.

Instead, Tony reaches for his back pocket, and squeezes his ring. It burns in his palm, almost begging him to put it back in it's place, or on his finger, where it fitted like it always belonged. His being feels it, as if connected, and he decides to even the odds in the cowardice department.

Sam holds his breath as Tony hands him the ring, with hesitance, with no indication he wants to. "You sure about this?" It's a careful question, painfully gentle, far softer than Tony deserves.

No. Not by a long shot. "Yeah, " he mutters, almost lost in the air. "It's not mine anymore."

Sam curls his hand around the ring, pockets it, and Tony wrestles with the urge to ask for it back. His eyes are trained to the floor, on his shoes, the fine leather ones Steve bought for him on their anniversary, he realizes.

He watches droplets of water splash and dissolve into the concrete. It's raining, he figures, he should take Peter inside or he'll catch a cold. He looks up to watch the dark clouds, and the senine blue above mocks him.

"It's okay, " Rhodey picked a good one, Tony thinks, as Sam covers his crying form away from Peter's eyes. "It's okay, Tony. Just... Let it out. You earned this."

"I tried, " he sobs in Sam's neck, sobs his demise his failure, his bottled cocktail of emotions that waited to implode. "I tried, Sam, I tried so hard, I swear I did."

"We know you did, Tony. We all know."

---

Peter wants to meet Bucky one day.

"Papa used to talk about him all the time, " He says, oblivious to how vexed Tony is hearing that. He apprehends himself, reproaching that he should be over it already. "He sounds pretty cool! I want to see his Terminator arm!"

"It's a Tin Man or Robocop arm, at best, " He smirks at the pout Peter throws his way, smoothing it out with his thumb. "And he's in a hospital. You and I hate hospitals, remember?"

Peter whines and makes his eyes larger, pitifully glassy and sad, just the way to wrap Tony around his little finger. "Daddyyyy, pleeeease!" He hooks his fingers around his arm, hugging it close to his chest and his lower lip trembles.

He imagines Steve behind him, smothering a laugh in his shoulder, egging Peter on like two conspirational buddies. He melts, pushing the rush of yearning back, and knows it's a battle lost. Peter is too lovable, too determined, too bright eyed.

He's morbidly curious, in a way, to see what was so special about Bucky that it made Steve want to trade that.

---

Bucky and Peter hit it off in a heartbeat.

The facility hosting Bucky is uncomfortably pristine, from door corner to ceiling. Everything is tailored and arranged with ridiculous precision, clinical, professional, boring, and detached, as most medical spaces are. His workshop dances circles around it in the personality field, and he tells Bucky as such.

He laughs at him. "That's an interesting way to say you're a chronic untidy mess."

'Chronic untidy hot mess, " Tony corrects, hating how easily he falls into conversation with him. He tells himself it's merely a distraction from the stomach twisting smell of medicine, stingy and sharp smothering the air. "How offensive. I demand a trial by combat. Peter, make him pay in blood!"

Peter turns to Bucky, unblinking. "Your hair's greasy."

A theatrical gasps spreads in the room from the blue eyed brunette. Tony beams, kissing Peter's cheek. "That's my boy. I'm sure Bucky's bleeding a lot on the inside."

"Yeah. You know, where blood usually is, " Bucky snarks, heatless, propping Peter off from the spot on his leg and putting him on the ground . "Why don't you go ask nurse Joy to give you some magnets for the arm? Your father and I gotta talk adult business."

"Uncle Clint says adult business is just gossip for grown ups. " Peter retorts, smirk on his lips, half raising on the edges of his mouth. He got the smugness from him, that much Tony will admit. Bucky huffs a laugh that mirror Tony's own and waits for Peter to be out of the hearing range to say his next words.

"I owe you an apology."

Tony blinks, hastily, and speaks before he can even register what he's saying. "No, you don't. Drop it." It comes off razor sharp, yet Bucky must be used to worse, because he doesn't falter.

"I ruined your marriage. There's no forgiving that, but I DO regret it and you'll damn well listen to what I have to say."

"Look, I appreciate it. I do. I'm not... Mad at you. You're just in the crossfire of this clusterfuck. There's no forgiving because there's nothing to forgive, " he murmurs under his breath, words quiet, but sincere, he realizes. "My failure is my own to carry. "

"Stark, relationships need more than one person. Stevie ain't exactly blameless in this whole thing, - Far from it, trust me, I let him know. He got the scolding of the damn lifetime, because he threw away a damn good thing. He made a home for himself and then demolished it. You didn't hand him the sledgehammer, he picked it up on his own dumb self."

"You know, your philosophy lesson would impact me better with wizard lingo. Throw in a riddle or a prophecy and I might bite. " Receiving a blank stare to his quip, Tony sighed, eyes downcast.

"Look. I called it off, alright? I lit up the matches, I burned down the bridge, and I watched it turn to ash. But it was meant to happen, one way or another. We were just too different. Guys like me break the world apart. Men like Steve put it back together. He'll move forward. Like he always does."

Bucky's reply is instant. "No, no he won't, " it's said with such conviction, with such a finality, that it has Tony freezing. "He'll never move on. Not from this. I've never seen him like that for anybody, hell, never seen ANYONE like that. You and him? That's a forever kind of deal. You don't need a ring and name change for that to last. You don't have a choice."

Tony swallows, slowly, unsure. "So what? We just keep path crossing like fate has us tied together, in each other 's range but standing on parallel lines, never meant to cross? This isn't a fairytale, Barnes. It's real life. And even if it wasn't, that's still far from fair."

"It is real life. Which means it ain't fair, Stark. "

Tony takes Peter home, cuddles him closely as if he might disappear, and eyes the empty area around the right side of the bed with a lonely glint that burns in the darkness.

---

The first time Tony meets Steve after the divorce, it's for Natasha's birthday party.

Time jumps from slow to fast, alters between stagnation and overwhelming in the first 6 months that pass after the finalization of their parting. Some days are agonizingly slow. As if the world wants him to stomach every second, consume every minute, where Steve is not with him, isn't his anymore, and choke on the pain that tastes just as sharply as the first time.

And in some, time goes by in blink record, not keen on giving Tony the courtesy of healing, of moving on, of according him the patience or kindness in adapting his feelings to his pace, to accommodate to the arrangement it dragged him in.

Concern crawls inside him regardless of how many times he buries it, makes a tangly nest right in his chest, and makes no effort to move. He doesn't blame Steve for not wanting to meet him, to look at him, to give him the chance of staring into the bright, baby blue eyes that hold everything beautiful in the world.

Tony's seen the wonders of the world, all 8 them, and they all pale put next to Steve.

He feels seething, scalding guilt showering him for thinking that. Because Steve is not his to worry over, not his to call wonderful, not his to care for. Not anymore. He repeats that like a mantra against his eardrum when Natasha asks him if it's fine if she invites him to her party, too.

It's the perfect excuse to see how he's doing, but Tony elects to ignore that and remind Natasha grown-ass people don't ask other grown-ass people for permission on what to do. "Do I look like Pepper to you? No? Then why would I order you around?"

A discreet smile reaches Natasha's features, exhibiting confidence but betraying relief. She loves them both, Tony knows, and wants her friends first, not the fallen lovers. "Just wanted to know if I should hide the sharp knives or prepare some spare sheets."

His face heats ferociously, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and all the embarrassment in the world is worth listening to Natasha laugh. Something sharp-edged inside of him brittles at the prospect of seeing Steve, thought, and he holds his tongue from saying something of that nature won't happen.

In the company of his solitude and shame, Tony wonders later, is he afraid of seeing Steve again because he fears the blonde is not doing okay, or because he is?

Later on, he sees Steve stand in flash before him, chatting with some faceless figures, hair longer than last time and flattened slightly at the nape, sporting a beard that framed his gorgeous face perfectly. The impeccable balance between scruffy and well-groomed. Tony itched to run his fingers against it.

"It's the divorce beard, " Clint muses, elbow jolting Tony in the side to show the humor. "Give him a few more weeks, and you'll see him shopping from the Hobo shop. All wrinkled shirts and ketchup stained clothes or something. Men are useless without their wives.'' He winks in Tony's way, but Tony is too entranced by Steve to acknowledge it.

His fists are bruised, Tony notes with a wince as he gets drunk on Steve's form with a studious gaze, creamy skin battered and laced in a cluster of dark purple, crimson, and small patches of yellow shaping his knucklebones.

A trail of question rests blistering on his tongue. 'What happened? Who did that? Who were you fighting? Why? Are you okay? Did you win?' But he closes his eyes and bites his tongue, knowing these questions don't belong to him anymore.

He gave up his rights to that.

But then, Tony spots them.

His breath is knocked out of his lungs in a silent punch, eardrums pushing out all the sound attempting to penetrate his ears. His fingers loosen so much they almost drop his water, feeling tingly numb. Tony's eyes, large and surprised, trace the circle of gold curled around Steve's fourth finger, gleaming softly against the artificial light around the dining room.

Steve is still wearing his ring.

But then, his chest burns and booms, heart roars fiercely behind his ribcage as he notices the thin string of black leather circling around Steve's neck, loose as a necklace, hanging low enough for Tony to eye the shape of metal halo looped right in the middle of the material.

Steve was wearing Tony's ring, too.

The realization left him petrified in place, more statue than man, in stunned shock as he bore into his former lover who only then noticed the brown eyes looking at him, transparent astonishment clear as crystal in his features.

It's like a spell breaks.

Tony's limbs move mechanically, on autopilot, running to the nearest room, getting himself away from what his body detects as danger. Urgency is packed on his step, taking him to the bathroom in record time, but Steve's always been the runner, more athletic between them, and his sprinting lands him a spot in the sleat Tony wass about to slam.

He's pinned to a wall effective immediately, feels cold tiles plant clammy kisses on the back of his head and neck. Tony almost hisses at the force of the slam, but before he can make a peep, his lips are stolen in a savage, fierce kiss.

It's pure desperation conveyed in the most unconventional way. Steve pounces on him, lips wild against Tony's own, pouring every emotion he went through in the past few months,- Longing, yearning, craving, hunger, desire, - his being, his love, his soul into that kiss, barely giving Tony the chance to breathe.

"St-Steve, " He gasps, head tilting slightly to the side to escape the ministrations, to gulp air, moving to avoid the chase at reconnection Steve is playing at by trying to capture his lips again. "Wait, wait a minute, -"

"Missed you, " Steve's voice is thick with want, hitching in the small puffs of air that came off raggedy and breathless, words melting over Tony's mouth. Steve's face glows with a blush he wants to kiss with inhuman greed. "I missed you, I missed you,Tony I missed you" Tony's fucked.

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infiniteoddball · 4 years

Text

Washington Whispers Ch. 02

//Even though this picture has nothing to do with this fic, I really love how her hair looks! She is just amazing....anyways! You can see the dresses that are described in the fic here. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I promise the next chapter will be even better. (winky face!) I appreciate all of you from the bottom of my heart for reading/reblogigng my work!//

Tags: Language, attempted assault, light fluff. (If you are uncomfortable with reading about any sort of sexual assault in anyway, please do not read this chapter. The next chapter will be much lighter. I promise. This is for plot!)

Tagged Readers: @storiesofsvu

Word Count: 3622

Ever since that night in the oval office, you couldn’t help but wonder if she was ever going to bring up what had happened between you two. Instead, weeks had passed and nothing had occurred since. The only minimal comfort that you had was the fact that you still had your job. You looked in the mirror, as you slid in a simple pearl stud earring. Not too big, yet not too small.

Tonight you were hosting the President of Brazil, and while you normally loved state dinners, you despised being around President De Leon. He had predatory eyes that were just for you. Because of this, you refused to ever be alone with him unless there was a secret service agent with you.

That was one thing you were grateful for, Madam Keane kept you safe. You walked over to the full length mirror, twisting your hips left to right as you examined your dress. You smiled at yourself, pleased with the choice you made for your evening outfit.

You opted for a dress that was an eyecatcher. The a-line bateau dress hugged your curves perfectly with a gorgeous sheer, lace top that made you feel sexier than you have in a while. You adjusted the overskirt before you grabbed your black satin clutch, making sure you had all of your credentials.

You checked your teeth one last time, making sure none of your matte burgundy lipstick was on sticking to your teeth before you walked out your door.

***

You made your way around the room, moving from conversation to conversation, as you enjoyed your second flute of champagne. You leaned into Leslie as she whispered, “They are about to announce President De Leon & Madam Keane’s arrival.”

You nodded, “Thank you Leslie,” excusing yourself from your current conversation before you headed to the door. You poised yourself, as a Marine announced the arrivals.

The moment Preside De Leon walked through the door a collective quiet fell around the room before thunderous applause sounded, you felt yourself shudder, and not in a pleasant way. You forced a smile as he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you close for a hug.

“Y/N you look simply ravishing in that dress tonight. May I have a dance later?” He purred into your ear.

You laugh lightly, pulling away before his hand could slide any lower, “Now, President De Leon, how could I refuse that? I will definitely try to set aside a few minutes for a dance,” Feeling yourself release a breath as he walked away with his wife, they guided towards the table that was in front of the room.

You turned, feeling your breath hitch as Madam Keane walked in. Your eyes drank in the way the black dress hugged every single curve of her body as she walked. You said a silent prayer, hoping that no one would glance your way. You couldn’t help but notice the single stripe of white that crossed over her shoulder. You wanted to reach out and play with her curled hair. She simply looked breathtaking as she walked in with Ralph Warner. You smiled as she paused, her eyes scaling your body.

“Y/N,” She nodded, “Your dress is very...alluring.” Elizabeth smiled, saying it only loud enough so you could hear.

“Thank you,” You smile. Secretly, you had hoped that your dress would catch her eye.

“Let me know if President Antonio gives you any problems.” Elizabeth said firmly, looking you in the eye.

“Yes ma’am. You look beautiful by the way,” You smile at her quick smirk before clapping as she made her way to her table, guided by her husband.

“This is my life,” You sigh under your breath before making your way to your own table, sitting next to Leslie, your assistant, “Leslie, if president De Leon has me longer than ten minutes during a dance, come tell me something urgent has come up and I am needed.”

“Okay,” She nodded, “He has barely taken his eyes off of you since he has come in.”

You roll your eyes, “Lovely. Also, make note of this, I want to ask President Keane if we will be moving forward with Israel, and please find out the designer of President Keane’s dress. I want to get a similar one for the Christmas dinner. I don’t want to wear red this year.”

Leslie nodded, putting a note in her phone before she started to eat the first course. The one thing you loved about working for the White House, was even though this was considered a rubber chicken dinner, the food was always excellent.

Unfortunately, in your opinion, the courses moved too fast for your liking. You looked up as President De Leon held his hand out for you. “Shall we?” He questioned.

You glanced at Leslie, setting your napkin atop your plate, wishing you hadn’t finished your chocolate strawberry cheesecake so fast, “Yes Sir,” You accepted his hand before he swept you onto the dance floor.

“Y/N, I don’t think I have ever met another woman like you,” He smiled at you, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Is that what you told your wife?” You quipped with a smile. The last thing you wanted to do was piss off a sitting president as you two moved along to the orchestra. You felt his hand creeping down your spine slowly. You quickly caught his hand, moving it back up to just below your shoulder blade.

“Not quite Miss. Y/L/N. She found me and after our first kiss, that was when I knew when I found the person I wanted to marry.”

“Mm, I am happy to hear that. How are your children? Well, I hope?”

“Ah yes, Sofia is now eight! I can hardly believe it! Kids grow too fast. Do you have any of your own?” His hand started to creep back down your spine.

You barely held in your sigh as you caught his hand, holding it just above your bum, “No kids for me. I love my job. That is what I am married to.”

“Hmm,” He bowed as the song ended before holding on to you as he continued into the next song, “What an unfortunate situation.”

“That is not what President Keane says,” You smile, glancing over his shoulder, cursing in your head as you noticed that Leslie was stuck in a conversation with one of the assistants from Brazil. Something told you that she was going to get laid tonight.

“She is very lucky to have someone like you to work for her. If you worked for me? Well, you wouldn’t be standing very often.” He smirked, licking his lips.

You took a step back, interrupting the dance, “Excuse me President De Leon-”

“Antonio,” He corrected, sliding a hand into his pocket.

“President De Leon,” You stated firmly, holding his eye contact, “I appreciate the gifts you have sent as well as the nice gestures. Excuse me for speaking frankly, but I am not interested in you sexually or any other way for that matter. I only see you as a professional college. Now, please, I ask nicely, do not send me any more gifts or cards. I am not interested in a personal relationship with you. Pardon me, I must go touch up my lipstick.” You bowed slightly.

Antonio reached out, grabbing your arm before you could leave, “You only think that you do not want a personal relationship with me, but you are wrong in that thinking.” He said as he stepped closer to you.

You could smell the scotch on his breath and felt your stomach churn, “Please, let go of my arm, you are hurting me,” You wince before he finally lets you go.

“We will talk later. I do not find no as an acceptable answer. Ever.” He growled.

You definitely understood how a lot of women could find him attractive, but in this instant, you found him terrifying and ugly, “You are in America where no is a complete sentence. Excuse me, sir.”

You turn, walking away before he could stop you again. You walk quickly to your table, grabbing your clutch before walking to the bathroom as fast as your heels would allow you. You walk away from the room, grateful as the sound gets quieter the further you get. You cut through the kitchen, heading towards the bathroom. You find yourself grateful that there isn’t anyone else in the bathroom.

You cover your mouth, squeezing your eyes as you take rapid breaths. You felt disgusted and you couldn’t even get enough air into your lungs to help yourself calm down. Your throat feels constricted even though you feel the bile coming up your throat. You loved your job but you also hated how powerful men treated women in general. You hated even more the way that they reacted when you declined their sexual advances.

Once you feel yourself start to become calm, you turn to face the mirror, “Jesus,” You mumble as you stare at your reflection. Your panic attacks were not something that you made public because that is not something that anyone needed to know. You take one more deep breath, before you sweep your straightened hair over your shoulder and start to reapply your lipstick.

You glance up, nodding at a faceless guest and watch them disappear into a stall before you bring yourself to your full height, thinking about how much of a strong woman you are. This is not the first time you have had to deal with someone like this and it won’t be your last. You give yourself a curt not, checking your messages on your phone as you walk out of the bathroom. You quickly respond to easy ones, knowing that you could give fuller answers later. You stumble back a couple steps as you feel yourself collide with another body before looking up, suddenly realizing how empty the hall is, “President De Leon.”

“Back home, women throw themselves at me. I can have anyone I wish. Did you know that?” He stepped closer to you, causing you to step back.

“I can only imagine sir. Some women go crazy for men who are in a position of power.” You state calmly.

“Yet, here you are, telling me no,” He shook his head, taking another step forward.

You suddenly felt as though he was a cheetah that was eyeing a gazelle. You swallowed hard as you felt your back hit the wall behind you. You knew you were the gazelle, “I keep my work life and home life separate sir.”

“So, you do have a...lover then?” He questioned as he put a hand on either side of your head.

You felt as though your lungs were collapsing. You smelt the scotch from his breath again and wanted to vomit, “Yes,” You whispered a blatant lie.

“Do not lie to me!” He snarled, slapping his palm against the wall next to your head. The sound vibrated in your ear loudly as you flinched into the wall, “I can always tell when someone is lying to me! I do not like it when people are lying to me.” He snapped.

“Sir, you could have anyone in that room. If you would like I could arrange to have someone brought to you.” The moment the last sentence left your mouth, you knew that you said the wrong thing.

He gripped your lower jaw, so hard your cheeks were getting squashed as he craned your neck upwards, “Please let go!” You pant. You push against his chest, instead you feel him pinching your cheeks tighter, “You are hurting me!”

“Why would I need a whore delivered when you are standing right in front of me? Look at this whoreish lipstick! A deep red. You crave sex. Tell me, have you ever had a man fuck you so good that you can’t walk the next day?” He ran the pad of his thumb over your lips, smearing your lipstick beyond your mouth.

You feel tears begin to well in your eyes as your vision begins to swim. You can taste the bile in the back of your throat as he presses his hips against yours, “Please stop!” You beg, “I don’t want this!”

“Yes you do,” He hissed, “All lesbians need to learn what it is like to have a real man!” He released your jaw, only to kiss you hard, pinning your body to the wall with his.

You take the opportunity to bite his lip, making him step away from you as your chest heaves, “I said no!” You snap.

“I don’t care what you said! I am so sick of you teasing me Y/N. Now you wear this dress? What did you expect that I would do?!” He slapped you so hard that you saw stars swim into your vision.

You scream as you collapse to the floor, cradling your cheek. You feel yourself forced to look up as he grabs your hair, “Please stop,” You whimper.

“I am only beginning,” He smirks darkly, lifting you up by your throat, “No one is coming to save you,” He whispers in your ear, “My security is handling that.”

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks as you desperately try to shove him off of you, only to see even more stars as you feel his hand connect with your face again. You silently pray that someone, anyone, comes down this hall as you claw at his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Your security is handling nothing,” Elizabeth hissed.

You feel yourself falling to the ground again, coughing for air, as you grasp at your throat rubbing gently, trying to soothe the irritated skin around your throat. You breath deeply, grateful that your lungs can get air again.

“Elizabeth,” He suavely smiles, “This is not what it looks like.” He held his hand out to her.

You watch as Elizabeth looks at his hand without taking it, before making eye contact with him again, her jaw twitching before you look away, “From what I can see, you just tried to rape my Chief of Staff. You are going to apologize to Y/N, go back to the ball, and dance with only your wife unless a woman approaches you. Tomorrow, we will be renegotiating our contract with you about the tariff taxes. Unless you want me to make it so that you cannot afford business with America, I suggest you go. Now.”

Antonio is quiet for a while before you hear a barely audible apology. You watch as he walks away silently, running his hand over his lips, before you look at Elizabeth, “Thank you,” You whisper, wiping away the tears. You watch as she crouches down to your level. You feel electricity run through your veins as she gently tilts your chin up, “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

“What about the party?” You question.

“A president can be pulled away at any time for any reason. I don’t have to return, and neither do you.”

You nod, accepting her hand as she helped you to your feet. You walked with her, in a comfortable silence, following her before you realize you are going to the residence. You took a deep breath as you both stepped through the open door and into the kitchen.

“Sit down,” Elizabeth said as she grabbed a towel, wetting it with water.

She didn’t have to tell you twice. You felt your adrenaline waning and you were exhausted from what just happened moments ago. You watched her moving fluidly around the kitchen as she poured both of you a glass of bourbon and grabbed a bag of ice. You gladly accepted the drink before she sat in front of you.

“When Andrew was a child, he was small for his age. There was this time where he would come home, everyday, with a new bruise, cut or scrape. I would ask him, everyday, how he got hurt. Every time, he told me a lie. I didn’t understand why he would lie to me at first. I never got mad,” She said gently as she gently touched the warm towel to your face, washing away, what you assumed, was your running mascara and smeared lipstick.

“Ouch!” You hiss as she ran the towel over your lip.

“Sorry,” She said gently, “He busted your lip, that fucker.” You saw the anger flicker through her face before she continued, “So finally, one day, Andrew finally told me the truth. He told me he was getting beaten up because he wouldn’t let some kids bully this little girl named Ava. Ever since that happened, I knew that he was going to grow up to be a person who always stood up for someone. I loved that so much about him.”

You watched as she leaned back, in awe. It was rare for her to talk about her son in such a tender way and you felt grateful that she wanted to talk to you about her son, “Thank you,” You murmur.

“Here,” She placed the bag of ice against your cheek. She held your eye contact as she gently placed your hand atop hers before she tilted your chin upwards, “Your neck looks irritated but it won’t bruise. That’s good. Less questions.”

You miss her touch the moment her hand leaves your chin, “How did you know what was going on?”

“Leslie alerted me after she saw Antonio follow you out after you had finished your dance. What happened between the two of you?”

“He made very forward advances and I thanked him for the intention but declined anything besides a professional relationship.” You grab your bourbon, drinking the entire glass in two gulps, enjoying the warming sensation all the way down to your belly. You place the ice atop the table before looking at her, “You didn’t have to do this. Thank you,” You said softly.

“I know I don’t have to do half the things I do, but you are invaluable to me. The last thing I want is something to happen where I lose you,” She looks at you over the rim of her glass, before leaning forward, placing the glass atop the table, “Am I going to lose you after tonight?”

You shake your head, “No. It’s going to take a lot more than a homophobic asshole to scare me out of my job.”

Elizabeth stood, smirking, as she stepped closer to you, tilting your chin up, “I always knew you were a fighter. You have the same fierceness in your eyes that Andrew had.”

You can’t help but smile at her praise, “Thank you.” You murmur. You can feel your breath hitch as you look into her honey brown eyes. You feel yourself getting lost in her eyes as you feel her thumb stroking your jawline gently.

“You’re welcome,” She purred, “I know this is bad timing, but can I kiss you?”

You feel as though the entire room has flipped. You dig your nails into your palm, making sure this isn’t a dream, “I’m sorry?” You were sure you had misheard her.

“Can I kiss you?” Elizabeth asked again, waiting patiently for your answer.

“Y-Yes,” You stammer. Before you can even comprehend reality, you feel her lips, pillow soft, on yours. You inhale deeply, moving your hand to her lower back, guiding you closer.

You feel her hand slip to the back of your neck, effectively deepening the kiss as you feel her slide her tongue along her lower lip. You were never expecting her to be this soft. If anything, you imagined her being dominant. You could only picture her being firm with you. This was better than anything you could have ever thought up.

You moan lowly as you feel her fingers slip into hair, as you taste a hint of sweetness off her tongue. You want this to last forever as you feel her step closer to you before you suddenly pull away, “Sorry,” You wince, holding the frozen vegetable back to your cheek.

You stare at each other wordlessly as the sound of your combined breathing fills the room. You can’t help but smile at her, “That was better than anything I have ever fantasized.” You feel your eyes widen as you realize what you say.

“So you do fantasize about me.” She smirked stepping away to pour herself another bourbon.

You stay silent, only shaking your head to decline another drink before shaking your head, “I should get going,” You stand, placing the ice atop the table again.

“You are going to work from home the next two days until Antonio is gone. I won’t take no for an answer.”

You nod, “Yes ma’am.”

“I believe we are on a first name basis now,” She smirked before taking a sip of her drink.

“Yes Elizabeth,” You smirk back. Even though tonight had been a scandal waiting to happen, especially with what he had done.

“I am going to send a doctor over to your home tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“This is something I will not accept politeness on.” She states firmly.

You fall quiet before nodding, “Okay. Elizabeth? What are we going to do when he does come back for further events?”

You watch her set the empty glass down before looking up at you, “If he tries to lay another hand on you, I will not hesitate to show his wife the video. I promise you, that will be abundantly clear by the time he leaves.”

#washington whispers #elizabeth keane x reader #elizabeth kean #reader #my fic #homeland #please reblog!

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mistressemmedi · 5 years

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who are the guys in the blue hair and with the... pearls? (I think)

OMG STRAP IN, it’s a wild ride

Short version: the guy with the pearls is Achille Lauro, and the guy with the blue hair is Boss Doms. Achille is an Italian singer, Doms is his producer/guitarist/whatever instrument he decides to play that day.

Long and juicy version: Lauro participated to this year’s edition of Sanremo, which is a singing competition held every year in Italy. It’s been going on for 70 years and the winner usually represents Italy at Eurovision.

In the last few (many) years, Sanremo has turned into a running joke since most of the participants are so old, they have to dust the mothballs off their shoulders before they go on stage askjfdhaskjdfh - also, people who attend are so old, Sanremo needs specific permission to host that many fossils together in one place.

ANYWAYS, lately it has been getting better and bit more wild (thank you Francesco Gabbani and his gorilla) - still, it remains a stifled 5 day event that’s filled with political placements and irrelevant ads.

THIS YEAR IT WAS A GLORIOUS DISASTER. Everyone was unhinged and the poor host almost had a nervous breakdown by the end of it.

Let’s start with Lauro and Doms: Gucci dressed him for the entire competition and his outfits were OUT OF THIS WORLD

And, bless him, he caused the entire audience of old farts to clutch their pearls and furiously whip out their rosary, in hopes to save their soul from the sinful display in front of them.

AND THEN THEY KISSED ON LIVE TV, AND THE POPE PROBABLY HAD AN ANEURYSM ALONGSIDE THE HOST. ITALY CHEERED HARDER THAN WHEN THE COUNTRY WON THE 2006 WORLD CUP.

Video of the entire thing can be seen here

Real MVP of the whole thing was Doms’ girlfriend (wife? idk) Valentina, who got asked “Doesn’t this bother you? Makeup, blue hair, kissing a guy in public?” and she replied with an epic clap-back which came down to “Why would it? He respects and loves me. The real question is, why does it bother you?”. A queen, we don’t deserve her.

So, besides the duo that shook the knickers of this catholic country, this year’s competition also had memorable moments like:

One of the hosts (Fiorello) had a spat with one of the musical guests (Tiziano Ferro). They publicly made up and Tiziano kissed Fiorello, followed by Tiziano screaming and saying “Not sure my husband will be ok with that”

Morgan and Bugo, who were competing as duo, had a fight behind the scenes that involved bites and spitting at each other, which culminated on stage with Morgan singing insults to Bugo and the latter ripping up a music sheet and WALKING AWAY DURING THE SONG. The poor festival’s presenter, Amadeus, had a small stroke on stage, didn’t know how to go on and, after the evening was over, went around the town of Sanremo until 4 am to try and find Bugo and patch things up. Best part was that apparently BUGO HAD BEEN HIDING IN A UTILITY CLOSET FOR THE ENTIRE TIME SJKADFHAKJHSDF

Piero Pelu’ (look him up, honestly) who decided to rob an old lady mid-song, and whipped around the lady’s purse on stage without a care in the world.

Elettra Lamborghini (yes, that Lamborghini) who tried to have a moment on stage with Miss Keta a la’ Britney Spears/Madonna circa early 2000s

Francesco Gabbani was not allowed to bring back the gorilla, so he dressed up as an astronaut because, why not?

Elodie made Italian women question their sexuality

The winner being spoiled by a news agency a whole HALF HOUR before the ending because one of the journalists fell asleep at the computer (I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP, I SWEAR)

2.30 am reggaeton (the competition was scheduled to finish at 1 am lmaooo) instead of announcing the winner

I’m probably missing much more, but honestly? This past I aged 20 years in 5 days, and it all feels like it was a hazy nightmare that my brain is actively trying to not recollect.

Cheers

#sanremo 2020 #sanremo #achille lauro #boss doms

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laadgovernorandsankadevi · 3 years

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IPK Rewatch: EP 02; the dori breaks

and so it begins!! The first meeting, the divine stars have intervened. Devi Mayyian watched over as Khushi drove away on the stolen scooter and just as she pulled her dupatta feeling his gaze over her, she slips and falls in the arms of her rajkummar.

Every single interaction between them, it's Khushi who breaks away or walks away. Every single one. She is the one to break the bubble by stepping back or wanting to break away from his grip. He doesn't let her go right away as she squirms and him pulling her back into his arms for that brief second as he takes all of her in, makes her realise her hand on his collar which the moment she removes he pushes her off him. I think bitwa realised what happened to him. He was angry alright, but this girl stirred something the moment he saw her and her trying to break free away from him, a man who girls flock after; he is not going to take these feelings lightly. I think he realised what happened when snapped at her taking her hand off his collar.

Khushi stands scared. Whether any feelings in her have risen or not, she was scared and nervous to begin with and it's clear that the way this man stared at her was not how men should be looking at anyone for that matter. The guards take her away from the premises but not without her dupatta falling off and landing at his feet.

I always found the Khushi's dupatta a character of it's own. Dupatta means a lot to south asian women. Hell I would say that when I find myself wearing a 6ft fabric around me, the realisation of what this garment means symbolically and what it communicates about my character to style is not something that can be a joke. For a girl like Khushi, the dupatta is a symbol is respect and how funny and ironic it is that the man who in next few seconds will declare his control over her life will be the one to return/restore the respect he tried time and time again to disapprove about her to himself. The dupatta under his feet, falling by his feet is such a big deal. But also I feel this moment signifies that Devi Mayyian did sent Arnav as Khushi's protector. If Arnav has been provided with the power and ability to choose his interpretation of what her clutching her dupatta means, then he is also the only one whose treatment of her dupatta protects her image and reputation in eyes of others.

The dupatta and the collar are recurring motifs. And beautiful ones at that! There's something that happens to my brown ghairat at the utilisation of these motifs. Maybe internalised sexist rhetoric?

Back at Gupta House, we get a glimpse of Bua ji's displeasure at Khushi's antics and everyone being worried about not being able to find the papers. Payal who had been hoping that Abhishek was unaware about the dowry, at finding out he's said nothing to defend the Guptas or his to-be wife, finds herself more upset. Meanwhile Garima figures out the connection between Khushi's absence and the mortgaged papers missing.

All while Khushi is being interrogated. In all honesty, I would be hella sus of Khushi being somewhere and ruining a major multi-million company's event. I tried listening multiple times but Barun really used to mumble a lot of dialogues on the beginning. He mumbles the name of a rival fashion house which the nosy person in me wanted to know!

When Arnav takes the first step forward, Khushi doesn't step back but it's from his second step forward that she starts taking a step back. A precedent is set between these two and the progression of their relationship with one taking a step forward, another taking a step back. Khushi doesn't willingly stop taking steps back until after Shyam's revelation. I think it also tracks Khushi's relationship with Arnav's anger. If Khushi's personality and actions give Arnav a reason to start falling for her or allow himself to trust his feelings for her, then none of anything that Arnav does ever allows Khushi to move past the confusion of having feelings for him. She is instead troubled at the aspect of liking someone she's doing her level best to hate.

In first 15 mins of the second episode, we get everything that's going to be the foundation. Arnav always being the one to catch Khushi, the collar, the dupatta, and the bubble which evolves into Rabba Ve, and the steps. I think this is the one of the reasons the initial episodes are beautiful and grip you. The show doesn't waste time in establishing the thesis of their relationship. We slowly start exploring their characters but the relationship, that's what all of this is about.

Sanaya literally looked like a goddess in this episode I swear. The make up is perfect, her face looks perfectly angelic and stands out in contrast to Barun's intense presence. the glowy backdrop of the make up room with mirrors and lights provides a perfect backdrop for who both of them are as people. Arnav being extraordinary and grandeur. Khushi being the source of light.

With Arnav narrating about aukat and wealth, Khushi's expression changes and she refers to caring about family members. She's here because of her sister. Eventually Khushi lands up in Shantivan because of his sister. If money is a motivator to regain the Malik's lost respect and turn them into Raizadas, the money is also something that Arnav equates with respect. He is after all still standing in Sheesh Mahal, and money along with respect was what he lost the day him and his sister were kicked out. He had to rely on Mami's assistance eventually to be able to build up a strong investment portfolio and a fashion house.

I also think Arnav used wealth and class as a reason to provoke Khushi. There are two types of people in middle class or lower classes. Those who take pride in their ability to not ask for help and earn their way through life, and those who would do anything for money. Funny how the damad of Malik's daughter is the one whose a gold digger.

But what is something poor girls have to prize more than their being? Their respect. And at the mention if his sister who Khushi made an assumption of existing, he is compelled to destroy everything about her.

badtamizi pe tou mein Abhi aya nahi hoon.

The way this show turned the dori and dupatta into a motif of what they actually are is beautiful to me. There's nothing romantic about preserving respect and dignity, but there is something powerful in someone's ability to be able to do so. Arnav ripping apart the pearls and having them scatter symbolises how his presence took the innocence away. From the release of this clip, there is no moment where Khushi's character doesn't come under question by either Arnav or Shyam. The pearl dori breaking also starts Arnav's journey of walking a path where he had to be apologise. He is going to be living with this guilt for at least the entirety of the year.

Back at Gupta House, everyone is concerned for Khushi except for Bua ji, who is definitely the one more concerned about appearances than Garima. Perhaps because for Garima, her husband is still present besides her. As much as I hate prioritising of appearances and the shame-based social approach of brown communities, it is something that unfortunately exists and our narratives exist within the existence of socially acceptable appearances.

Payal whose been asked concisely about Khushi doesn't budge but she decides to say something with her father returning. Perhaps because she also realises that the way she loves Khushi unconditionally and considers her as her closet confidant, Babuji also is accepting and understanding of Khushi's intentions even if they revert to a mistake. Payal's displeasure at Abhishek not speaking up for her also helps in being happy at Khushi's return and aiding Khushi afterwards as much as she could.

Shashi who had been apprehensive about dowry to begin with is relieved to see Khushi safe and sound, Garima who was adding by the norms of how girls family should behave was disappointed beyond words, and Bua ji was just straight up angry. I think Bua ji is the only character who despite loving Khushi, displays the bias in how she considers Payal to be perfect and Khushi to be imperfect.

While Khushi provides the explanation about going to meet the not-hone-wale jija ji, we do get an insight into why despite Manorama's objections and her own reservation on class issues, Payal agrees for Akash. Because Akash is honest about his feelings and about all that he hopes to provide. I have to say, the Gupta sisters have a really low bar for their men after having Shashi as a father. But honestly, don't we all just settle at crumbs half the time? It's truly a shame. -- Khushi admits her mistakes unless she's challenged or dared. and she doesn't hesitate in apologising except from Arnav. Khushi apologising is almost a norm for her character however Khushi apologising Arnav is not going to be one. I find that juxtaposition of how Khushi treats Arnav and him wanting apologies to be extremely hilarious! She forgives his gravers mistakes but not anything menial.

mat kaho humme amma!

oh, how it breaks Khushi's heart! Khushi is wholly accepted into her family even by Bua ji; so on the two occasions when she is reminded of her orphaned status, it crumbles her entire world. After all, she went to see Abhishek, Junior Engineer who wanted dowry for her step sister. She crosses over boundaries for those she loves and her family members are the people she repeatedly crosses these boundaries and social conventions for. Also in both the instances of Khushi being reminded about her orphaned status, Shashi and Payal are more understanding despite their disappointment or pain. They truly love Khushi whole-heartedly and perhaps unconditionally which is something that surprisingly Arnav does too even though the first marriage between the two was on the terms and conditions laid out by Arnav driven by his interpretation of Khushi’s betrayal.

The episode ends with Khushi opening up the sweet shop after being unable to sleep. I love the moonlight on both the girls face. It symbolises their inner turmoil and distress. With the divine clock on, the journey to rediscover themselves and them in love is going to rule the hearts of Gupta sisters.

#endlessly rewatching ipkknd #ipkknd 10 year rewatch #10 years of IPKKND #ipkknd #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #arnav and khuhsi #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #arhi #arshi

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