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twokinkybeans · 5 years ago

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MAKE IT LAST - STARKER MOB BOSS/COFFEE SHOP AU

HERE IT FINALLY IS! So, a few months back we did a prompt line fic thing. This means this one shot is wayyyy late, but it also got wayyyyyyyyyyyy out of hand and is now nearly 11k words long omg.

The prompt line @jeranasblog gave me was: "He had spilled his coffee on the suit of the most dangerous man in New York City." I hope you enjoy! <3 -Lien

Warnings: Adult!Peter Parker, Mob boss!Tony, Barista!Peter, No powers!AU, Peter is a little dense but we still love him, angst, fluff and smut, near the end there are some gruesome threats, abduction, guns, May is mentioned, Obadiah Stane is the bad guy, Bucky and Steve are there, Coffee Shop boss is an OC and has a gambling addiction. Smut tags: NFF, teasing, sexting, masturbation, orgasm delay/denial, hand job with much lube lol, hand & finger kink, praise kink, daddy kink, possessive kink, dry humping, finger sucking, anal fingering

Read “Make It Last” on AO3! Taglist: @the-secret-avenger @ironspiidey

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“Two minutes, Peter- hurry up!” Mister McDougall’s high pitched command reverbs through the coffee shop. In two minutes, it’ll be two PM on the Tuesday afternoon. Peter’s been working here for three years now. Just yet, he tried to quit, but that wasn’t taken kindly. He can still feel the eerie presence of the tip of a knife on his cheekbone. How Peter got himself stuck in this job is a long story. A very long one. You see, the owner of the coffee shop, Mister McDougall, made a deal with New York’s biggest mafia boss to be able to keep the shop and… He wasn’t able to pay back on time. Lucky for Mister McDougall, Peter was working when the Big Boss came to collect. At two PM. On a Tuesday afternoon. A few months ago...

The bell of the front door rang and Peter walked in from the back, smiling kindly. He greeted the rich looking man. “Good afternoon, Sir,” he said in his regular chipper voice. The man cocked an eyebrow over his sunglasses and pursed his lips. His neatly trimmed beard moved along with his expression and he sniffed once. “One black coffee to go,” the man demanded. Peter’s mood didn’t falter. He was used to stern customers, New York generally wasn’t a kind city. Peter smiled and nodded, immediately getting to work. It wasn’t a difficult one to make, after all. He’d ring this guy up in less than a minute. “You know what,” the man suddenly said. “Make that a caramel Frappuccino. Extra whipped cream. Drink here. Make it last.” Make it last? Peter wondered what the man meant with that. It was only then that Peter realized that the man was studying his every movement a little more closely than a regular customer would. It didn’t necessarily make Peter uncomfortable, though. The man was at least twice his age, but it was undeniable that he was the hottest man Peter had ever laid eyes on. Even though his eyes were covered by an expensive pair of sunglasses. Peter quickly moved to pour the milk, but the man’s deep voice filled the empty space again. “Make. It. Last.” Peter blinks, dumbfounded. “You… You want me to work slower?” The man then raised his hand to pull down his glasses slightly, so he could look Peter in the eye properly. Infinite whisky browns stared straight into Peter’s soul. “Yes.” “A-alright,” Peter stuttered and went back to work, tearing his gaze away from the man. If Mister McDougall were here, he’d kill him for working at this pace. But ah well, the customer is always right. The customer is king. And the man he was making the coffee for sure looked like he was in charge. Maybe he would leave a nice tip. “Where’s your boss?” There was a hint of annoyance hidden in the man’s voice. “Mister McDougall?” Peter replied as he turned to grab the caramel. “He’s at a convention on the other side of the country. Was pretty vague about it, to be honest. Something to do with beans.” “Beans,” the man scoffed. “Sure.” He rolled his shoulders and walked to the other side of the counter where Peter would ring him up. His eyes never left the young man. “And he left you in charge of the store on the day he knew I’d show up?” Peter glanced up from his work questioningly, but then shrugged. “Apparently.” “Do you know about our deal?” “Oh!” Peter exclaimed softly as he placed the large cup on the counter. “He mentioned he was working on a business proposal with someone, but I didn’t pry, cause this isn’t my store. I’m sorry, Sir, did he have an appointment with you?” The man gritted his teeth and pushed out his reply. “Yes.” “I could call him now? If you want?” A slight smirk crept up on the man’s face. “Please do.” Peter didn’t hesitate to grab his phone from his back pocket. There usually weren’t any other customers at this hour of the day anyways. He looked up the number of his boss and hit call. “Hey Pete-“ “Hi, Mister McDougall, there’s someone here to see you, but you must’ve forgotten your appointment.” The other end of the line stayed quiet and Peter pulled a face at the customer. “Sir?” More silence. “Do you want me to reschedule it for you?” “Peter,” the customer interrupted them. It didn’t matter how long Peter wore that name tag, he never got used to strangers saying it out of the blue. “Hand me the phone and go to the back. Mister McDougall and I can discuss our arrangement here and now, but I do require some privacy.” Peter blinked once. Twice. And then he slowly moved to give his phone to the man in the suit. “Don’t let your coffee go cold,” Peter said with a curt nod before rushing off to the back. He shuffled to the dishwasher and turned it on to give them some more privacy, the loud rumble of the water inside the machine drowning out any other sound in the back. Not even five minutes later, the man walked into the back with Peter’s phone in hand, a dark smirk plastered on his face. “Your phone,” he said politely, placing the piece of technology in Peter’s palm. Peter smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sir.” He walked passed the man back to the front. The man followed. “No, Peter, thank you,” he chuckled. He grabbed his coffee from the counter and sat down at one of the tables. “Did the arrangement work out okay?” Peter asked innocently. If this man was working together with his boss, it was probably smart to stay kind. Though, that wasn’t all that hard, somehow. There was something about him that lured Peter in- made him feel warm and at home. The man grinned even wider while placing his sunglasses on the table. “Perfect.” His smile turned sour after he took a large sip from his coffee. “Is- is something wrong?” “Eh, no. I’m not one for overly sweet coffees.” Peter swallowed a sassy reply. If he didn’t like Frappuccinos, why would he order one? “Would you like me to make you another one?” “Still got that black coffee there?” “Yes, Sir.” “Very good.” The man left, just as hoped, a big tip and walked out the door with a promise. “See you next week.” Somehow, that made Peter’s stomach tingle. He did want to see the man again. There was something mysterious about him. Alluring. Their conversations were interesting and surprisingly eloquent. The man was very smart and Peter found himself loosening up more as the chat went on. The man let him. It was nice. That night, when Peter wanted to message a friend, he wondered when he added “TS” in his contact list. He didn’t recognize the number, but he couldn’t be bothered to look it up either. From then on, every Tuesday at two PM on the dot, the man walked in. Mister McDougall was always nervous about his arrival and usually fled to the back, leaving Peter to take care of the customer. But more often than not, he’d leave Peter in charge of the store entirely, leaving for appointments or errands whenever the man was bound to come in. Peter learned the man’s name is Tony and their conversations were always pleasant. Interesting. They talked about Peter’s life, mostly. Tony always managed to make everything about the college student, earning his cash as a barista. Peter didn’t mind, but he couldn’t help that he was curious. Tony offhandedly said he worked in real estate, when Peter asked. That and ‘some other things.’ He learned Tony was a tinkerer and a scientist in his free time. That he enjoys fixing up old cars, modern art and what he called ‘a good fuck.’ The comment had Peter blush a bright red. A blush Tony would always compliment whenever it crept up to his ears. Something about Tony drew Peter in. Maybe it was their casual conversation. Maybe it was his compliments. Maybe even his smile? Though, Peter’s smile always faltered as soon as other customers came in, since Tony would usually leave the store when they did. One day, the customers appeared to be his employees. And they all stayed. Two men, both tall and wide. One was blond, clean shaven and the other had slightly longer brown hair and a trimmed beard. “So, this is your Tuesday retreat, boss?” the blond quipped before ordering an americano. “Shouldn’t you be working?” Tony sassily replied, leaning back in his chair. “Coffee break,” the brown haired man said simply. Tony scoffed and waved it off. The three men were awfully picky about what they said and how they said it, Peter could tell, but that might just be private business stuff, so he didn’t pry. After they finished their drinks and walked out the door, Peter blushed again when the brown-haired man spoke. “That sure was a good coffee. I’d come here every Tuesday too, if I knew I’d be served by such a good lookin’ young man.” The compliment was paired with a wink. The door closed and Peter laughed softly to himself when Tony gave the brown-haired man a gentle slap at the back of his head to scold him. … One Tuesday, Peter called in sick. He lived to regret that. Mister McDougall was furious, but Peter couldn’t help that he was down with the flu and he didn’t want to make other customers sick. Especially not the man he’d grown to like so much. He got a text, later. TS: Are you okay? Peter: Who is this? TS: Tony. TS: Black coffee Tony. Peter: Oh! Peter: Sorry, I wasn’t at the shop today. Caught the flu, I think. Hope not worse. Glued to bed rn. TS: Got it bad? Peter: Can barely stand, tbh. Coughing a lot and it sounds weird. Don’t wanna make anyone sick. TS: That’s sweet. Peter: Just lookin out for the little guy. TS: I’m not little. Peter: Didn’t meant it like that, omgg, im sorry! TS: I’m messing with you. Peter: Ohh 🙈 It was quiet for a little bit, and Peter nearly fell asleep again if it weren’t for his screen lighting up. TS: Can I get you anything? Peter: I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll be fine. I mean it. TS: Peter. Tony wasn’t even in the same room as Peter, yet he knew exactly how Tony would’ve said his name if he were. Peter: I’m a college student. Meds are out of the picture. Don’t have much cash. TS: I do. And after not even half an hour, there was a doctor on Peter’s doorstep to check on him. Pneumonia in its early stages. A few days of antibiotics and he should be good as new. He wasn’t sure how Tony knew his address, but figured he got it from Mister McDougall. True to the doctor’s words, Peter was up and running again in a few days and on Tuesday, two PM on the dot, Tony walked into the shop with a wide grin and spread arms. “Good afternoon to my favorite barista,” he quipped. Peter grinned and cocked his head. “Good afternoon to my favorite customer.” “Oh,” Tony gasped, placing his palm on his chest. “You flatter me.” “Do I? With the tips you leave, everyone must like to see you.” “Most rather see me go, trust me.” Tony loudly cleared his throat and evaded Peter’s gaze to collect himself, before he casually leaned over the counter. “Black.” His coffee order is followed by his usual command. “Make it last.” “All I do is press a button, Sir, it’s pretty hard to make a black coffee last.” Peter laughed quietly as he started rubbing a cloth over the counter to clean it while the coffee set. “Then make yourself what you like.” Peter stared at Tony for a second before turning to grab another, taller cup. “Would you laugh if I said it’s a caramel Frappuccino.” He licked his lips. “With extra whipped cream?” “No,” Tony replied immediately. His voice was lower. Darker. Hotter. “It fits you.” “Does it?” Peter chuckled as he handed Tony the black coffee. “Overly sweet,” Tony said with a nod, toasting and raising the cup to his lips. He glanced at Peter and then repeated himself. “It fits you.” Peter slowly moved around the bar, preparing his own Frappuccino. “Thought you didn’t like caramel Frappuccinos?” “I like you.” Peter didn’t halt his movements as he worked himself around the coffee machines, though, his body went at a whole different speed than his brain. Did Tony actually just say that? “I think I like you too.” The reply had left Peter’s lips before he could even process the thought. “You think?” This time, Peter stopped. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” It was barely a whisper. His hand was stuck on the lever and he bit his lip. “Wha- dating?” Peter opted to ignore the implication of what Tony just said and instead, replied honestly. “Flirting.” “Oh, pretty boy, you’ve got a lot to learn. And experience.” Goosebumps spread over Peter’s body at Tony’s words and he closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was because he felt embarrassed or… Something else. This was the first time Tony called him anything like this and it felt like they both stepped over some sort of threshold they had both been ghosting by for a while now. Tony brought him back to the present with his trademarked sniff. “I have no need to rush things. If you’re interested, we’ll take it slow.” Peter finally turned his head to look at Tony with big eyes. Tony just smirked and quipped with a wink. “We’ll make it last.” … Peter: You up? It was two AM. Two Tuesdays later. Tony had become a lot more flirty and a lot more forthcoming with his sweet words and suggestive praise after they addressed their interest in each other. Most of it was via text, but whenever he was at the store, Peter could see Tony’s dilated pupils, could feel the man’s hot breath as Peter explained how one of the machines worked with Tony right behind him. He admired Tony for holding back too. He knew Peter wanted to take things slow, heck, he even suggested it. And he never snapped. Never broke. Never did anything out of line. Sure, his words were suggestive, but he never acted upon any primal needs. He was a gentleman. And it made Peter respect him even more. It also made him want Tony even more. Peter bathed himself in the compliments Tony peppered him with and Peter realized the man knew everything he said and did made Peter… Needy. Peter was fairly sure Tony was already asleep, but after all the sweet and… slightly filthy things the man had been saying to him that day, he couldn’t help himself, he had to jerk off. And he needed Tony to help him with that. TS: Been working. You’re up late. Don’t you have uni tomorrow? Peter sighed gratefully as he typed one handed, the other already creeping down to cup his half-hard shaft through his sweatpants. Peter: I do. TS: Hm. TS: Then why would you message me so late, huh? Peter wanted to scoff. Of course, Tony knew. The man just wanted Peter to say it. And… Peter kind of liked it. No matter how embarrassing. He typed and erased. And typed and erased. Typed and erased. He really wanted to send Tony what he wanted, but he felt like too much of a chicken to actually say it. He needed Tony’s sweet words. His… His filth. Peter: I’m,, eh… TS: Hm? Peter: Talk to me like you do in the shop? Please? TS: How I talk to you in the shop is a lot tamer than what I think you need right now. Peter hid his face in his pillow for a second, before taking a deep breath and finding the courage to reply. Peter: What do I need then? TS: You need me. Without a filter. But before I tell you anything… Where are you right now? What are you wearing? Talk to me, first. Peter: Alone. Bedroom. Bed. Sweat pants. T-shirt. TS: Turn off autocorrect, baby, how am I supposed to know you’re losing yourself if I see full words? Peter: happyy now? TS: Yes. One-handed, huh? Already touching yourself? Peter: mhm, thruogh fabric. TS: Alright, first things first, pretty thing, take off all your clothes. TS: Make it last. Peter complied immediately and he both loved and hated the slow movements he used to slide off his shirt. When his sweatpants were down on his knees, his screen lit up. TS: Are you making it last? Peter: yes TS: Good boy. Peter didn’t expect to moan so loud, but he did. The praise blasted through him and went straight to the cock that now rested against his abdomen. Stiff. Twitching. Leaking. Peter: say thatagain TS: Earn it. Peter: how TS: By being good for me, my sweet. Are you naked? Peter: almost TS: Let me know when you’re done. Peter was almost afraid that when he finally finished undressing after another minute, it was still too fast for Tony. He decided to make the jump, though. Peter: done TS: Lovely. Hard, baby boy? Peter let out a soft growl and was already struggling to type. Peter: ys, for you TS: Touch yourself for me. Go on, hump the hand you make my coffee with, Peter. It felt perfect – absolutely perfect – to wrap his fingers around his cock, now that he was doing it on demand. He couldn’t even hold back if he tried. His thrusts were relentless, straight away. Peter: Yyes yes TS: Oh, I wish I could see how pretty you look right now. How you roll your hips and fuck your fist. TS: Want to see the sweat drip from your temples, want to hear your soft gasps and moans. TS: Want to hear my name fall from your lips. Say my name, Peter. Say it. “Tony- O-oh-“ Peter gasped and he barely managed to keep his eyes open to watch the next few messages come in. TS: Don’t come. Not yet. TS: Slow down. Peter: nn tony please TS: Make. TS: It. TS: Last. Peter felt the tears stream down his cheeks. He felt so good. But he couldn’t come. Not with Tony right here with him telling him not to. Peter: yes sir TS: Good boy. Peter: feelsso good when u callme that TS: Mm. It does, doesn’t it? You know what makes me feel good? Peter: ?/ TS: When you call me Sir. A dreamy smile spread across Peter’s face as he lazily stroked his cock. His hips kept rolling, arching his back and lifting off the mattress with each thrust. His intellect had melted away. All he wanted was to feel good for Tony. TS: You know what else would make me feel really good? Peter: nno? Sir TS: If my good boy called me Daddy. Peter had to stop his hand or he would’ve cum right then and there. And he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He simply had to make it last. Instead, he moaned obscenely. Peter: ggod, nearlu came TS: Did you now? Peter: yes daddy Peter: held back TS: Oh, you’re so sweet for me. Wish I could taste that awful Frappuccino on your lips. Suckle on your tongue as I squeeze your cock, run my thumb over the head. TS: You have no idea how much I want to make you come for me. Peter: wanna cum for u Peter: faster?????????????/ TS: Speed up, baby. Show Daddy how desperate you are for him. Such a good boy for asking permission. The fact that Tony’s messages were still put together as opposed to Peter’s near button-mashes had another rush of arousal flow through Peter. Everything about what was happening was so hot. He’d never done anything like this before. He never even had sex in his life. And now the hottest man in New York was sexting him. God, he wished he could see Tony right now. Was he naked too? Was he stroking himself? Maybe he was fingering himself. Or fucking himself on a dildo so he still had two hands to type his coherent sentences with. Shit, that’d be so hot. Though, the image of Tony at his desk, working while casually messaging Peter all these things as if it’s just a regular chat about their day was even hotter. Tony, in his tailored suit, barely bothered by Peter’s desperation. Fuck. Peter: Yes yys ddaddy thanku TS: Mhm. It didn’t take long for Peter to get near the edge again. He was barely able to contain himself, phone shaking in his hand with every jerk of his other fist. Peter: close TS: Are you now? Peter: ya TS: Do you want to come? Peter: eys yes so badsoo bad TS: What do good boys say when they want to come? Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gasping and writhing on his sheets. His toes curled as he whined and begged while typing. “P-please-“ he muttered. “Please, please, please-“ Peter: pleease TS: Please, what? That’s it, Peter couldn’t type anymore. Didn’t want to type anymore. Instead, he hit the voice record button. “D-daddy, wanna cum, I wanna cum so bad, please, may I?” His lines were paired with moans and sobs. Desperation dripped from every word. Every thrust of his hips, every squeeze of his fingers, had him see stars. He had to come, he simply had to. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Lucky for Peter, it didn’t take long for Tony to reply with a voice message of his own. His deep, dark voice, coated with lust, like fresh honey, echoed through Peter’s simple bedroom. “Come, Peter. Come for Daddy.” … As time went on, Peter realized that Mister McDougall didn’t like to have Peter around anymore. Every chore he had to do, every command he had to follow, everything McDougall asked of him; he was never good enough. Peter felt like a nuisance. And he wanted out. He felt a weight fall off his shoulders when an on campus lab learned of Peter’s skills and offered him a job. So now, a few weeks after Peter and Tony started sexting, Peter told Mister McDougall he wanted to quit. “You can’t,” was the short reply. It had Peter nearly explode with frustration. “I can, though? I got a job offer in one of the labs on campus, I’m not letting this fly by!” Mister McDougall grabbed Peter’s shoulders and dragged him to the back by his shirt. He nearly flung the young man against the large dishwasher. “You’ll ruin me! You’ll get me killed!” “Don’t be so dramatic!” Peter yelled back. He was done working for Mister McDougall. So done. Peter swallowed his next words when a knife was suddenly pointed at his nose. He stared at it wide-eyed as he got ushered into a corner. “Tony owns this building, Peter, and the only reason I’m allowed to stay here is because you work here.” “Wha-“ “SHUT UP! You shut your mouth! I’d have fired you ages ago if it weren’t for him!” Tears pricked in the corners of Peter’s eyes. “If you leave, I’m going to pay your aunt a visit. And none of us will like what I’ll do to her.” What was happening? What was going on? Why did his boss threaten him like this? “S-sir?” “You’re not quitting, you hear me? You’re gonna get your ass back on the floor and you’re gonna do your job. As long as Tony doesn’t hate you, I can keep this business. You don’t want me to lose this business do you?” He waved the knife, pushing it towards Peter’s left eye and resting the tip right below it. The young man leaned back as far as the wall allowed him to. “Do you?!” Peter didn’t even dare to blink. “No, sir,” he lied. “Why are you so scared of him?” Mister McDougall laughed maniacally. “Why aren’t you?!” He yelled. “That’s Tony Stark! He owns sixty percent of New York!” The world stopped spinning. Tony - Peter’s Tony - is Tony Stark. The biggest, baddest Mafia Boss of New York. Known to be vile, relentless and cruel to anyone who dares to cross his path. And Peter… Peter had fallen in love with him. No. No, he didn’t. He fell in love with Tony. Not with Stark. But if they were one and the same, maybe the stories were wrong? Maybe- “You didn’t know?” Mister McDougall stepped back and let his arm down. Peter finally allowed himself to breathe, even if it was the worst intake of air he’d ever done. He held back his tears with everything he had. “No.” “Jesus Christ.” Mister McDougall threw his hands up, flailing the knife around. “You’re an idiot!” “But-“ A quiet beep came from McDougall’s wrist. He looked at his watch and turned. “Two minutes, Peter- hurry up!” Mister McDougall’s high pitched command reverbs through the coffee shop. In two minutes, it’ll be two PM on the Tuesday afternoon. Peter’s been working here for three years now. Just yet, he tried to quit, but that wasn’t taken kindly. He can still feel the eerie presence of the tip of a knife on his cheekbone. How Peter got himself stuck in this job is a long story. A very long one. “Get to work.” Peter swallowed and blinked away his tears as he walked into the front of the store. He took a deep breath and fumbled with some of the cups on the counter. Mister McDougall stayed in the back, as usual. Peter looked up, startled, when the bell rang. Tony walked in, blissfully unaware and leaned on the counter like he always did. Peter was bad at hiding his fear, he knew that, and it didn’t even take a second before Tony caught on. “Did you cry?” His question was blunt. Straight to the point. “I’m alright, I hit my head.” Peter had to pause to clear his throat in the middle of his sentence. His words were small. Unsure. Tony didn’t buy it. “Who hurt you?” A shiver ran up Peter’s spine. He couldn’t tell Tony about what Mister McDougall did to him. As much as he disliked the man, he didn’t want the deadliest man in the area to… To hurt him. Peter didn’t dare think of the k word. But more importantly, he didn’t want anything to happen to May. “Me,” Peter tried to sound cheerful, but his voice shook. “I hit my head. I hurt me.” Peter finished up the black coffee and turned to give it to Tony, so he could start making his own Frappuccino. Tony wanted to take his hand, but Peter swiftly turned around. He played the machine to make his own drink, but he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t make it last. He had to get it done. As fast as possible. He had to get this over with. Tony spoke, but Peter didn’t hear it. He could already feel the tears threatening to glide down his cheeks. He couldn’t pretend. He couldn’t- Tony grabbed Peter’s wrist from over the counter and the Frappuccino cup slipped from the barista’s fingers. Peter stared wide-eyed at how the scorching hot liquid gushed onto Tony’s suit. The stain was evident, but Tony seemed unfazed by the heat. Peter’s lip trembled and he was certain there was no oxygen left in the store. He had spilled his coffee on the suit of the most dangerous man in New York City. Peter barely dared to look up, but when he saw Tony’s expression, his shoulders fell. The way the man looked at him was… Vulnerable. “You’re afraid.” Tony’s voice was fragile. “Of me?” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears flow freely now. He screwed up. He screwed everything up. “I don’t know,” Peter replied honestly, through quiet sobs. Tony swiftly jumped over the counter so he could embrace Peter. “Talk to me, Bambino.” “I- I didn’t know-“ “Didn’t know what?” “S-Stark-“ “Yes, Frappuccino, that’s me.” “Did you just call me-“ “Yes, did it make you feel better?” Peter scoffed, but managed to smile. “A little.” Tony then pushed Peter away from him to force the young man to look him in the eye by holding Peter’s chin between his thumb and index finger. “Did you really not know?” Now Peter feels stupid. He should’ve caught on, obviously. Everybody knew Tony Stark. Peter pushed his lips together and gently shook his head. “Oh, bother,” Tony mumbled as he pulled Peter against his chest to hug him tightly. Peter’s insides were in a struggle. Every part of his rational brain told him to get out of there. To push Tony away. The man was bad news. He reeked of danger, yet… He smelled so wonderful. His cologne invaded Peter’s nostrils and there was no way the young man could let go of him. The way his arms were wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, the way he held him, kept him warm and safe... No matter how frightening Tony might be, Peter felt protected. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. Peter’s face was pressed against Tony’s shirt and he could feel the wet coffee stain from Tony’s suit seep onto his own pants. A hand found its way into Peter’s hair and gently started massaging his scalp. The soft lips Peter had only imagined up until now, pressed themselves onto his curls and stayed there, leaving long, slow pecks. Sometimes, Tony hummed. With every passing second, Peter’s muscles relaxed more and more until his body practically went limp against Tony’s. “Now…” The man finally spoke. He gently pushed Peter away from him until he could look Peter in the eyes, hands cupping his face. His thumb gently stroked away the drying tears and he smiled kindly. “Who hurt you?” Peter’s pouting lips were pressed together. He tried to hide the truth, but one quick glance towards the back and Tony knew enough. “Please, don’t kill him,” Peter whispered. Tony scoffed softly. “Is that why you’re suddenly afraid of me?” Tony pushed forward slightly, until something long and hard pressed against Peter’s thigh. And it wasn’t Tony’s cock. “Cause I’m not just happy to see you?” Peter whimpered and closed his eyes, still not wanting to leave Tony’s embrace, even though he was afraid of what might happen next. “Do you know why I own 64.7 percent of New York?” Peter shook his head lightly, focusing his attention on Tony’s warm hands still keeping his face up by his cheeks. “Because I don’t just shoot whoever gets in my way. I give people a chance,” Tony said matter of factly. “Take your boss, for example. This building? It’s mine.” The way Tony enunciated the word, not just verbally but also with a soft squeeze of his hands, had a shiver run down Peter’s spine. “Ex-gambling addict who wanted to get back on track. Promising fellow. Clean for years. He loaned a chunk of my money to start his business. All was good. A thriving coffee store can make quite a bit of money in this area in New York. During my first visit I learned that not everything I offered him went into this shop. Told him I wanted the money back that he didn’t spend on the store. He also couldn’t pay rent. Somehow.” Peter breathlessly listened to everything that came out of Tony’s mouth. “I gave him another shot. Told him to have my money ready in a month. That’s a fair time to make what he owed me. And when I came into the store to collect… I found you. And your boss? Well, he wasn’t exactly at a convention. He was at the other side of the country, though. In Vegas.” Tony sighed and broke eye contact for a few seconds. “This is where it gets embarrassing…” He mumbled. “Embarrassing?” “I was completely enamored by you, Peter.” Tony’s eyes reconnect with Peter’s and they lock gazes. “And I decided that, when you called McDougall, I’d change the deal. He’d get a delay on his debt as long as you would be there to serve me coffee. On Tuesdays. At two PM. Figured you’d stick around for a while, give McDougall enough time to cover his ass.” “So,” Tony cocked his head. “After half a year, he still doesn’t have my money. And I’m guessing you want to quit the job?” Peter nodded, face contorting. “He had a knife and-“ “A knife?” The energy in the room changed abruptly. From loving and caring to dark and aggressive. Peter immediately pulled back, but Tony’s grip on him tightened. “He threatened you?” He seethed. “No- Tony, please,” Peter begged, but he didn’t fight. “Is he in the back?” Tony stared Peter down with an intense gaze. The young barista froze. “Peter.” “Yes.” Peter felt small, yet his body betrayed him when his cock stirred at Tony’s authoritative voice. Tony guided Peter to one of the chairs and gently sat him down. His hands caressed Peter’s curls before he pressed another kiss on top of them. He bent down until he squatted in front of Peter and looked up reassuringly. “I will not physically harm him, I promise. I just want to have a word with him, okay?” “Okay…” Tony smiled and nodded before standing up and making his way towards the back. Before he disappeared, Tony looked behind him one more time and winked at Peter. Probably to relieve the tension. Not long after Tony went to the back, Peter was startled by the doorbell. He looked up and quickly collected himself before greeting the customer, wiping the remainder of his dried tears away. “Good afternoon, Sir, how can I help you?” Peter barely managed to put up his customer smile. The man was a bit scruffy looking, dark haired and he had a slight beard. There was a strange look in his eye. Peter wanted to walk around the counter to his usual spot to take the order, but the man stopped him. “Hold it there.” Peter paused his trek and turned back to the man with a questioning look. The man suddenly bolted for him, but Peter realized too late he was holding something in his hand. Peter tried to yell but before any sound could leave his mouth, it was covered by a damp cloth. His eyes went wide as he stared straight into the other man’s. He had no choice but to inhale the strange and intense, sweet scent of whatever was in that piece of fabric. The man didn’t smile, nor did he look angry. He seemed rather indifferent. The man’s other arm wrapped around Peter’s body, right before he lost the strength in his muscles and dropped against the man’s chest. Peter’s mind suddenly felt over-stuffed with fuzz and it was only a few seconds before his muffled scream died out and his eyes rolled back. Right when Peter lost himself, the man spoke softly, with a mocking tone, before carrying him out of the coffee shop. “Night night.” … Peter’s head felt like it was going to burst. He could barely open his eyes, but the hand that pulled him back at his hair in the uncomfortable chair forced him to wake up. He gasped for air, squinting his eyes into slits in the bright light. “Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice echoed through the room, ringing Peter’s ears. He finally managed to open his eyes when the light was blocked by a shape. A person. “Eh…” A soft whine escaped Peter’s lips, but the sound wasn’t taken kindly. The person- man- yanked at his hair, causing Peter to wince in pain. The man was bald, but had a thick beard. A scowl pulled the strangers bushy eyebrows together and Peter’s entire body tensed when he spotted the gun in the man’s other hand. “So…” The man leaned in and cocked his head. “All this trouble for a twink.” Peter tightened his jaw even further and kept his lips glued together. The man quite forcefully let go of Peter’s hair, allowing Peter to take in his surroundings. They were in a plain room, nothing too interesting. Peter could hear seagulls outside. They were probably close to water? The door was guarded by two imposing looking men, one of them Peter recognized as the guy who took him out. In the darkness of the room, a camera seemed to be recording them, judging by the red light flickering in the corner. “Barista,” Peter mumbled, staring at the gun in the guards’ hands.. “Excuse me?” The man pushed into Peter’s space again, seemingly offended. Peter held his breath, but replied anyways, eyes locking with the bald man’s. “I’m just a barista.” “Just a-“ the man interrupted himself, put his hands on his hips and leaned back, letting out an over the top laugh. When he finally calmed himself again, he bolted forward, pressing the gun against Peter’s neck. The young man instinctively tilted his head up, eyes wide at the unexpected aggression. “You,” the man spit out accusingly. “Tony seems to think more of you.” “He doesn’t,” Peter bluffed, silently swearing at himself for his reckless bravery. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose. “I just make his coffee. Black. Every Tuesday.” “Right,” the man scoffed and revealed Peter’s unlocked phone from his inner pocket. “And does just making his coffee include a happy ending?” “N-no-, it’s-“ “Nighttime sexting? Then?” The man sauntered around Peter, casually scrolling through Tony’s and Peter’s chat. “Was hoping to find some intel, but all I got was your disgusting conversations.” Peter swallowed hard. He angled his head to look down so that he wouldn’t have to meet the man’s judging eyes. “I’m not gonna lie,” the man sighed. “Those voice messages? Your moans? They’d rile up anyone.” Peter gently tugged at his restraints, pressing his eyes shut. To say he was afraid of what the man could and might do to him was an understatement. The thought alone paralyzed him. There was a pressing ache in his chest and a growing need to get out of there. If only he could move. “What do you want from me,” Peter managed to push out. The man chuckled darkly. “I want at least 75% of what Stark has.” The man stopped circling Peter to gently push the tip of his gun through the young man’s hair- toying with it. “And you’re going to make sure he gives it to me.” “As if,” Peter replied simply, immediately swallowing his confidence. It now weighs heavy in his stomach. One short glance at the guards made them leave the room. They shut the door behind them and Peter couldn’t help but hold his breath. “Tell the camera-“ The man gestured at the red flashing dot. “-Tell Tony- what to do. If he doesn’t give me what I want, I will take what he wants most.” Peter looked up at the man confused, but the man’s smirk made the student’s legs burst with adrenaline. He wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. He’s bound. The man’s eyes sparkled and turned to slits. The wide toothy grin plastered on his face had Peter’s heart drop. “You.” “Oh, don’t worry about that ol’ camera.” A familiar voice said from the door opening. Peter and the man turned their heads towards it surprised. There, Tony lazily stood against the door post, the two men that Peter had met one Tuesday accompanying him. The guards that were there before were now laying on the floor. Peter quietly hoped they were nothing more than unconscious. “You can ask me, right here, right now, Stane.” Tony absentmindedly studied the pistol in his hand, turning and twisting it. Loading it. “Tsk. Answer’s gonna be no, though.” He moved to stand up straight, confidence oozing off every inch of him. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.” A shiver ran down Peter’s spine and he gulped when the gun that was still aimed at him pushed under his jaw. He dropped his head backwards in an attempt to get away from it and whined quietly. Peter’s breath quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut again. “If you want your boy to live, you’re gonna do exactly what I want.” “Hmm.” Tony grinned. “If you put a bullet in his head, I’m not even gonna use my gun.” He squared up, tightening every muscle in his body. The look in his eye was dark and resolute. “Will let you pick how you go, though. Could snap your neck- stick a knife through your brain. Wiggle it around a little to make your corpse spasm. Heck, I’ll rearrange your guts first if you want me to. Bet that’ll feel real nice.” Peter could barely believe the words falling from the man’s lips were Tony’s. Apparently, neither could the guy Tony called Stane. “You’re all talk, Stark. Never seen you hurt a damn fly, that’s what you got your goons for,” Stane sneered accusingly. “First time for everything,” Tony replied collected. Stane then pulled loose the ropes around Peter’s body and pulled him up, forcing him to stand with his back flush against the man’s chest. Stane wouldn’t allow him to stand comfortably, keeping him up on his toes as the nuzzle of the gun pressed up under his chin. As free as the lack of ropes made Peter feel, the presence of the gun annihilated any feeling of liberty. “Obadiah, I swear to mother Maria, if you so much as leave a scratch on Peter, you will regret it.” Stane didn’t seem fazed by Tony’s threats. He had the upper hand after all. He had Peter. “We’re leaving now. Don’t think I won’t shoot. I will.” Peter complied the nudge in his back, taking small steps in the direction of the door. Obadiah moved the gun until it rested against Peter’s temple. “Step into the room.” Tony’s jaw tightened, but after a few seconds he cast his eyes downward, entering the space. His bluffing hadn’t worked and the soft shaking of his clenched fist betrayed his frustration. He genuinely seemed afraid to lose Peter. In return, Peter was afraid to lose him. The two men Tony had brought with him, joined him silently. When they were all far away enough from the door, Obadiah shuffled Peter to the opening. They reached the hallway and Stane forced Peter to step over the – hopefully – unconscious guards. All Peter could think was ‘No-no-no-no-‘ at the mere idea of being taken to another location. One Tony might not be able to find him at. One he might actually die at. Peter took a deep breath and decided to do something reckless. He could only die once anyways. The second Obadiah pulled the gun back a little to give Peter more walking space, the barista ducked away from the gun, pivoted on his feet and pushed Stane back into the wall with all the force he had. There was a gunshot. One that had Peter’s eyes go wide. With the lack of pain or blood, Peter realized Stane had missed. Adrenaline pumped through his body at an incredibly rapid pace. Peter fell backwards on his ass and saw Obadiah’s gun that had been dropped in the process. The student scrambled to grab it in a reflex. He pushed himself back against the wall, knees up, eyes unblinking and wide, as he aimed the gun two-handedly at Stane who laid there with his hands up. The feral look in Peter’s eye told the small gang leader enough. No matter how scared, this kid would shoot if he had to. Peter couldn’t blink. He just couldn’t. He barely heard the footsteps next to him. Barely felt a hand rest on his shoulder, as another lifted to be placed on Peter’s shaking hands, holding the gun. All Peter could do was stare at Obadiah, stinging tears nearly obstructing his view. His breathing was quick and erratic and he didn’t realize how much he was vibrating until Tony’s voice pushed through the veil, clouding his mind. “I need you to let go of the gun for me.” Peter only clutched the weapon tighter, his finger twitched on the trigger. His breathing was loud and fast, making his entire body buzz with tension. “Boss, he’s in shock, he won’t-“ “Peter,” Tony said a little softer. “I’m right here, Frappuccino, look at me.” The hand that was on his shoulder before, now cupped Peter’s chin, gently forcing him to turn his head. Peter’s eyes didn’t leave Obadiah, though. He held his breath, hearing his heartbeat thump in his brain. “Peter…” For the first time in what felt like forever, Peter blinked, which caused the tears that had been threatening to spill up until now to glide down his cheeks. He found himself staring at Tony’s face as his body slowly lost tension. The man’s brows were furrowed, but his expression was soft. He carefully took the gun out of Peter’s hands and pulled him in for an embrace. Peter hid his face against the man’s chest and couldn’t help but sob into it, adding another stain to Tony’s expensive suit. “Oh, Peter.” Tony’s voice was muffled against Peter’s hair. “You’re okay, we’re okay.” Just like he did earlier that day in the coffee shop, his fingers tangled in Peter’s hair and started massaging his scalp. “You’re with me now, ‘s all good.” Another time, Peter would’ve been embarrassed for being pulled into Tony’s lap in front of all these strangers, but right now he couldn’t care less. His arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s torso as the man left his dragged out, flat kisses on Peter’s head. “M-sorry,” Peter mumbled between sobs, curling up into Tony’s embrace and tugging in his legs. “Sorry-“ “Ssh, ssh- you have nothing to be sorry for, my sweet.” They stayed like that for a short while, Tony rocking Peter back and forth until his heartbeat settled and his muscles relaxed. Eventually, Tony stood up, carrying Peter bridal style. “Let me take you home.” … Peter woke up among the softest of silk sheets, surrounded by an abundance of throw pillows, wearing nothing but his underwear and an oversized white T-shirt with a V-neck. Everything smelled like Tony. Peter groaned at the stiffness of his muscles and turned around, half surprised by Tony sitting on an armchair next to the large canopy bed. “Morning, sunshine,” he said with a smile. Tony was wearing sweats and a similar T-shirt. The corners of Peter’s mouth curled up too and he instinctively folded into himself, pulling the sheets up to his chin. “Morning.” “How are you feeling?” Tony leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Little stiff,” Peter answered honestly. As if on cue, his stomach growled. “And hungry.” “My cook’s making us breakfast as we speak. Should be here soon.” “I knew you were rich, but a personal chef?” Peter chuckled. “Isn’t that a bit overkill?” “Look, kid,” Tony laughed, sitting up straight again. “I don’t have time to make my own meals. I’m a busy man.” “Busy enough to visit me every Tuesday at two,” Peter teased, the sparkle in his eyes evident. Tony seemed relieved Peter was acting like his usual self. “Hey, hey,” he said, shaking his head. “I scheduled in that time. I always wanted you to have my undivided attention. That was my me-time.” Peter’s smile faltered. “Was,” he parroted quietly. There was no way he could go back to his barista job. To mister McDougall. Not that he particularly wanted to work for that man anymore, but it felt like this pleasant chapter of this life ended with a terrible cliffhanger. Now, Peter was at the start of the next chapter, going through the repercussions of what happened before. “Pete, I-“ “Where are we?” Tony seemed taken aback by the interruption, but collected himself swiftly. “Home,” Tony replied matter of fact. “My home, to be precise.” He cleared his throat and looked away uncharacteristically shyly. “Could be yours too if you want.” Peter didn’t reply straight away, which caused Tony to stand up and raise his hands in a defensive manner. “But we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves.” There was a knock on the door and Tony cocked an eyebrow at it. “Breakfast,” a muffled voice spoke. “Come in.” A man with a giant tray opened the door. He walked in quickly and placed it on the table next to Tony. “Take the rest of the day off. Paid leave. Tell the others the same, save for the guards outside. I want this house empty within an hour.” The cook nodded and thanked Tony for his generosity. Not long after, Peter and Tony were alone again. Peter stared at the over-filled tray and licked his lips. “Anything that tickles your fancy?” Tony’s words are accompanied with a smirk. “A coffee sounds good right about now.” Tony immediately perked up and turned to grab the carefully made Frappuccino, but before he could curl his fingers around the cup, Peter continued: “Actually-“ Tony looks at Peter surprised. Peter grins and nods at the other cup on the tray. “After everything that happened, I could go for something stronger.” “Peter Parker, are you taking my black coffee from me?” Tony chuckled. Peter pulled himself up so he sat up straight among the throw pillows. He then reached forward with both arms, making grabby hands at Tony. “Mayyybe,” he teased. Tony laughed as he complied, handing Peter the black coffee. Peter gratefully took a sip and pulled a face at the bitterness burning his throat. “Sure you don’t want the sugar, sugar?” Peter snorted and nearly spilled the coffee on the bed. He looked into the deep black of the cup in his hands and then up at Tony. “Fine,” Peter said with a grin, offering Tony the black coffee. Peter waited for the older man to give him the Frappuccino, but instead, Tony stood up. “Here,” he said, lifting the tray and placing it on the bedside table. “Mind if I join you?” Peter didn’t answer, he just lifted the sheets. Gratefully, Tony slid in, placing himself flush against Peter and handing him the Frappuccino. For a short while, they just sipped their coffees, not exchanging any words. Peter occasionally glanced at the food on the bedside table, unable to choose where he’d even start. He let go of his thoughts for a little bit, letting his mind wander to yesterday. To Obadiah Stane, to the rope burn on his wrists, the feel of the gun against his head, in his hand, the trigger under his finger. Tony. Tony was there to save him. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.” Peter was his. And while his rational brain was scared of this mob boss side of Tony that he only just learned about, there was something exhilarating about it too. Tony was still Tony- still the same man Peter made all these black coffees for, the man he had late night conversations with via text. Peter thought back to before he lost himself to sleep, how he was being cradled by Tony, sitting in his lap. The memory made him feel warm, somehow. Peter swallowed and took a breath. “I felt safe,” Peter whispered. “Hm?” Tony turned his head slightly and put down his now empty cup on the nightstand. “Yesterday.” Peter’s brows furrowed as he kept staring ahead. “In your lap.” He paused, trying to put his thoughts in a row and say something a bit more sophisticated. However, he couldn’t think of the right words, so he just repeated himself. “I felt safe.” It was quiet for a second. “Do…” Tony sniffed once and tugged at the tray on Peter’s side of the bed. “Do you want to sit on my lap now?” Peter’s mouth went dry, even though he just finished his coffee. The tension between them hung thick in the air. He looked at Tony wide-eyed, but quickly averted his gaze again. “Yes,” he mumbled, nothing more than a whisper. “What was that?” “Yes… Please?” “Good boy.” Peter shivered and closed his eyes, but only until he felt Tony gently pulling at his arm. He didn’t struggle as Tony guided him to sit on his thighs, back pressed against the older man’s chest. “Oh, Bambino,” Tony cooed as Peter’s ass pressed against Tony’s already hardening shaft. “Been through so much. Let me help you.” Peter wanted to ask what Tony meant, but the man had already taken the mug from Peter’s hands, placed it on the bedside table and grabbed a blueberry muffin from the breakfast tray. “Hold this,” he ordered, giving the muffin to Peter. Their hands grazed past each other, eliciting a small gasp from the younger man. Tony immediately moved to rip a small piece off of it and brought it up to Peter’s lips. Peter stared entranced at Tony’s rough hand. “Go on, my sweet,” Tony whispered into Peter’s hair. “Eat up.” Peter leaned in and opened his mouth. He carefully maneuvered himself in an attempt not to touch Tony’s fingers, not wanting to be weird or gross, but Tony had other plans. He pushed in his fingers to help the piece into Peter’s mouth and then brushed his fingers over Peter’s lips. Peter didn’t realize his eyes were closed, but there wasn’t much to see anyways- save for the lusciously decorated room. Peter was more occupied with feeling right now. And boy, did Tony’s lips on his neck feel absolutely perfect. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. Tony’s free arm was possessively curled around Peter to caress his neck from the front, grazing past his Adam’s apple and gently squeezing right under his jaw until he swallowed. Tony presented Peter with another bite, but this time he really pushed his fingers in. Peter wrapped his lips around the digits and sucked, moaning softly. “That’s it…” Peter absentmindedly spread his legs on Tony’s lap, arching his back to grind into Tony’s groin. Tony’s other hand found its way down Peter’s body until it cupped Peter’s balls through his underwear. Peter immediately pushed into it and gasped at the gentle rubbing of Tony’s thumb. “Thaaat’s it…” Tony took his fingers out of Peter’s mouth, a small string of saliva dripping down, to take the muffin out of Peter’s hands, put it on the tray and then stick his fingers into the small bowl of jam. His other hand fondles Peter at a steady rhythm and Peter rolls his hips along with it. “Feeling good for Daddy, Peter?” The young man smiles lazily and nods, letting his head fall back against Tony’s shoulder. “Y-yes,” Peter whimpered. “Feels so good.” An overly sweet scent filled Peter’s nostrils. He opened his eyes to see Tony’s jam covered fingers. He stared at them transfixed, mouth already opening, tongue hanging out, ready to take it all. “Atta boy,” Tony whispered, suckling on Peter’s skin. “Don’t hold back. It’s all yours…” Peter didn’t hesitate and grabbed Tony’s hand with both of his own, pulling it toward him to lick the sweet strawberry jam off of Tony’s fingers. The fingers of one hand were curled around just the thumb, while the other gripped onto the man’s palm. “Don’t hold back,” Tony repeated with a squeeze of his hand around Peter’s clothed cock. The young man immediately moaned louder, pressing himself against Tony harder and licking the man’s fingers clean in a near-obscene manner. “Aren’t you a good boy?” Tony growled as he slowly started to push up against Peter’s ass. Peter groaned and clenched around nothing, working his way down Tony’s hand and suckling at the golden ring on his index finger. “Yours,” Peter gasped between licks. “Your good boy-“ Apparently those were the right words, because Tony let out a guttural moan and within seconds, they were flipped over with Peter lying on his back on the bed and Tony possessively hovering over him, caging Peter with his arms. Peter was met with Tony’s dark pools and twitching nose. There was something animalistic about the otherwise so collected man Peter had served coffee to. It had Peter’s cock throb with anticipation. Tony’s wet fingers pushed under Peter’s shirt to tweak and tug at one of his nipples. “Mine,” Tony pushed out, immediately moving in to ravage Peter’s lips himself, tasting the flavors Peter had only just taken in. Peter, in turn, could taste the bitter coffee. “My sweet.” Peter pulled at Tony’s shirt, quietly telling Tony he wanted them to get naked. The man seemed to understand and within a minute all clothes were discarded. Tony’s cock stood tall and proud and had a girth that had Peter drooling. He wanted it in his mouth. ASAP. “Eager, eager,” Tony chuckled darkly as he saw Peter’s eyes locked on the swaying dick in front of him. Peter’s gaze broke free and he gave Tony a pleading look. “Next time, my sweet.” Tony leaned in to give Peter a short, passionate kiss while his hands squeezed nearly half a lube bottle all over Peter’s groin, slicking him up as Tony massaged every inch of skin. Peter immediately granted Tony access into his mouth and Tony eagerly licked the insides. He pulled back again and grinned. “You first.” Tony’s free hand grabbed hold of Peter’s cock, squeezing it until Peter saw stars. His hips bucked up into Tony’s touch while his hands grabbed at the sheets in an attempt to ground himself as Tony’s hands pleasured him. He moaned with every loudly-squishing jerk of Tony’s hand, but it wasn’t going fast enough. “More-more-more, please, Daddy-“ Tony seemed pleased with the begging, because the hand at Peter’s nipple slowly travelled down his toned body, grabbing and coating itself with the excess lube. “Sure you want more?” Tony had a wicked grin on his face. “Cause I can give you everything.” He curled his tongue up to lick his own teeth. “If you think you can handle it.” “Yes,” Peter gasped, arching his back more, pressing his head into the throw pillows. “Please, please, want everything, want it all, want you-“ “Good answer.” Tony’s praise goes paired with him mercilessly pushing his index finger into Peter’s tight hole. The young man gasped at the sudden sting, but his expression turned to absolute bliss in an instant. He clenched and unclenched around Tony’s digit and soon enough, Tony started pulling out and pushing back in, curling his finger in the process, in search of Peter’s… Sweet spot. “God, yes, T-Tony, Daddy-“ Peter moaned as his body rocked under Tony’s attention. “Mr. Stark-!” Tony’s eyes went wide, revealing a previously unseen aggression behind them. His movements became more forceful and he lowered his face until it was right in front of Peter’s. “Yes, boy, call me that again. Do it.” “M-Mi-“ Peter squeezed his eyes shut, completely overwhelmed by all the sensations and the tightening knot in his abdomen. His balls were tight and his heartbeat throbbed everywhere. “Whose cock is this, Peter, tell me who it belongs to-“ Tony let his thumb glide over the tip of Peter’s cock as he quickened his pace and the intensity of his jerks. “Yours- Mr. Stark, it’s y-yours!” Peter’s reply was rewarded with Tony’s mouth sucking marks on Peter’s neck. “And this hole? Huh? Who does this belong to?” Right when Tony uttered the words, he found what he’d been looking for. Peter opened his mouth wide in a silent scream as his body convulsed. “Yes, yes, yours, yours-“ Tony attacked Peter’s prostate without remorse, not halting any movement. He was good at this and he owned it. He owned Peter. “And your mouth? Your chest and your arms and your legs and your neck-“ Tony cut his own rambles short by biting into the skin right below Peter’s jaw, eliciting another loud moan from him. “Mr. Stark’s, his- his, yours!” “That’s it, good boy, it’s all mine. You’re all mine!” “F-fuck, I’m gonna come, Mr. Stark- Please, please-“ Peter’s gasps were erratic. The complete polar opposite of Tony’s near robotic movements. Along the way, he had added two more fingers into Peter’s sopping hole and he kept pumping mercilessly, curling his fingers at just the right moment. The young man was practically folded in two on the bed, taking everything Tony was giving him. He’d never felt this good in his entire life and he basked in the hot sheen covering his body. All his fantasies, all their sexts, were now reality. Tony stayed true to his word. Everything he had promised Peter, he was now giving- almost forcing- upon the young man and he loved it. They both did. “So close, my sweet, stay on that edge for me, don’t tip over just yet-“ Tony growled. “Make...” The young man found himself humping into Tony’s fist, moaning at the trademarked line that had started falling from the mob boss’s lips. “It…“ Peter whined as his body shook, trying to hold onto the last bit of sanity that he had left before he would lose it all and spill. “Last…“ Every part of Peter’s being writhed and convulsed at the scorching pleasure pumping through him. He had to make it last. He had to wait. Had to drag it out. Felt so good. Too good. Yes, yes- yes! “That’s it… Just a little longer,” Tony encouraged. Peter’s eyes rolled back and to his dismay, Tony sped up even more. “Haaa-,” Every muscle in Peter’s body shook with tension, ready for that blissful release. “Yeees, good boy, such a good boy, hold on…” Tony’s breath was hot on Peter’s lips. His deep voice vibrated through Peter’s body, sending even more surges of arousal through him. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” Peter’s jaw was locked as his eyes fluttered open. He stared straight into Tony’s and the sight had his toes curl. “Come.” Peter’s vision went white at the intense eruption bursting from him. If he screamed, he didn’t hear himself. All he could do was experience it. White streaks covered his abdomen and Tony’s hand and the overstimulating sensation of his orgasm seemed to last forever. After who-knows-how-long, Peter came down from his high, panting and twitching on the mattress, body completely limp. Tony was lying next to him, whispering sweet praise into his ear and slowly bringing Peter back to reality with his calming voice and caressing hands. Peter blinked a few times, his vision sharpening again until Tony was completely in focus. The man smiled. “Good morning, sunshine,” he repeated himself. Peter chuckled and cuddled up against Tony’s chest. Tony immediately embraced him, tangling their legs together. “Morning,” Peter laughed softly. It was quiet for a minute while Peter cleared his mind, basking in the afterglow of what was the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced. “Thank you,” he whispered against Tony’s body. The man kissed the top of Peter’s head, humming softly. “No, my sweet, thank you.” After another hour of cuddling together Peter shuffled back so he could look Tony in the eye. “We should probably get out, don’t we?” Tony smiled kindly, pressing his fingers through Peter’s curls. “Work can wait.” “I wasn’t talking about work…” There was a playful sparkle in Peter’s eyes. “I want to explore this place.” “Can’t we cuddle a little longer?” “I’ll stay naked,” Peter teased. “We’re alone anyways… And I’ll make you coffee?” “Are you trying to bribe me with coffee that requires pressing one button?” Tony teased right back. Peter moved to sit up straight and tossed the sheets on top of Tony. He jumped out of bed, his cock already hardening again and bouncing with every movement. Tony grinned and seemed to be enjoying this newfound confidence Peter had. “I don’t know, Mr. Stark, am I?” Peter sauntered towards the door and opened it swiftly, arching his back and showing off his toned body as he walked through. Tony’s cock, that had started softening up after not getting any attention last round, sprung back to life at the sight. “Could make the coffee last, but… I’m sure there are other rooms in this place where I could make it last?” Tony laughed positively wicked and crawled over the bed towards Peter. The young man squealed delighted and ran out into the hallway. Tony stepped out of the bed and started chasing his good boy through the mansion.

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whimsywispsblog · 4 years ago

Text

All’s Not Fair in Love and War

A/N: Hi Wispies! So this is chapter 4! This one’s got little fluff and angst. One of my fav chapters so far. Hope y’all like it! 💜

PART1, PART2, PART3

CHAPTER 4

The next few days went by in the blink of an eye. The only good thing that happened was the return of Woods and Mason.

There was too much for the team to process. The most shocking information was the Greenlight nukes revelation- American nukes run by Hudson which were now in the hands of Perseus. Had it not been for Adler, Hudson would have been killed by Woods when he tried to shift the blame for his blunder onto Adler. While the group was busy figuring out a way to get the control on the nukes or at least find a way to stop Perseus from launching them, Adler decided to break into the KGB headquarters to get the names of the Sleeper Agents. The plan was to break in with Woods and Mason, but they were still stuck in their mission. So it was up to him and Bell.

Hudson was definitely not happy with Bell going in, while Adler was adamant on taking Bell with him. Rei herself wasn't happy with Bell going- what if the side effects of MK-ULTRA showed up? Who would be there to control Bell? And if the side effects showed up and blew their cover, she'd loose Adler forever, even if they are separated.

Reasoning with Adler was like arguing with a wall. Once he decides on one thing, he will never let go of it. "Russ, this is an unnecessary risk! Not only from Hudson's perspective about loosing the names, but also Bell. We never know when he might go out of control."

"Rei, if I were to play everything safe without risks, then I wouldn't be here in this job." The cockiness of his tone irritated Rei to no end. She so badly wanted to just slap him to reality.

"Adler, don't you see?! This is not just about you and your bloody Perseus. You're taking an unnecessary risk and you're going to get us all killed!" Rei shouted. Adler simply puffed. She slapped his hand, so the cigarette fell off. "Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you." Rei growled. Adler looked at her. "You're angry for no reason." Rei shook her head in disbelief. "You're a prick, you know that?" Rei sighed and walked off. Adler watched her leave with a sad expression that was fortunately covered by his shades.

"Gear up, Bell. We're leaving."

The entire time since Adler left for the HQ, Rei kept fiddling with her fingers. The thought of things going downhill and loosing Adler worried her. And as a cherry on top of the situation, she was mad at herself for fighting with him before such a high-risk mission. "Relax. We haven't heard anything about Bell so far." Sims said, bringing her a glass of water. "It's not about Bell, Sims. It's just. Does he have to be so damn difficult all the time? I mean, we just had to wait for Mason and Woods. Save the headache." Rei buried her face in her hands.

"That he is- adamant. But doc can still pull out the riskiest missions without much problem! I wouldn’t be worried.." Rei smiled lightly. She hadn't noticed that the entire time, she accidently bit her lower lip a bit too hard. The familiar taste of metal started to fill her mouth. Drinking some water, Rei decided to go out for a smoke. She definitely needed to clear her mind.

Once Adler got back to the base, he was welcomed with a silent treatment from Rei. Luckily, nothing much happened to Bell, except for one moment of discomposure and confusion which was quickly brought under control, thanks to Adler's trigger phrase.

The first thing that Rei did was send Bell back with Sims to the apartment. He needed a proper rest, before putting in another session again. The sleeping pills worked pretty well. Bell was able to sleep better with little to no disturbances.

Once the rest of the team dispersed, leaving only Mason and Woods, Hudson, Rei and Adler, she stomped towards Adler's table, slamming it hard.

"A day's delay wouldn't have killed you Russ! I don't even know what to do with you!"

"Good to see you too, Rei." Adler rolled his eyes. Pulling out a cigarette to light, Rei got irritated even more at him.

"Look, my whole job revolves around risks, but the mission was a succ-"

"I don't care about the damned mission, Adler! I'm not Hudson!"

"The hell did I do?!" Hudson shouted from the corner.

Rei was completely red. Her eyes started getting watery. This was obviously noticed by Adler. He swallowed his retort, knowing that whatever he might say next will ruin the situation.

"Okay okay, lovebirds. This fight ain't gonna get you two anywhere." Woods butted in, his arm around Rei's shoulder. "Say, how about we all go for a drink?" Mason's face lit up like a 100w bulb. Rei smiled lightly at Woods, nodding her head. Adler just shrugged.

"Not me. I'm too occupied for that." Hudson declared, earning a groan from Woods.

"Alright let's go!" Woods announced, pulling Rei with him.

"Those two will never change." Mason chuckled. Adler nodded, smiling lightly.

Rei was a female version of Woods. Loud, boisterous, and hyperactive- they clicked instantly. Together they would annoy the living hell out of Adler and Mason.

Just a few shots and Rei was already down. Frank and her almost got kicked out because they both decided to pick on a random man. He kept flicking the man's forehead, while she squirted water at him. Mason and Adler somehow managed to get the troublesome duo out of the situation.

Later they started picking on Mason. The poor man couldn't even get out of the situation without giving in to their crazy demand to go and dance on the stage.

Rei kept snuggling into Adler's neck, poking his cheek every once in a while. The whole time she just kept staring at Adler. His dirty blonde hair, the facial scars, the little wrinkles that added more charm to his alluring face. Adler didn't seem to mind her gazing. He just wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her so that she doesn't fall of the chair. And also so that she doesn't hop away into the crowd.

Frank was busy repeating his tales of bravery over and over, while Mason just sulked about his embarrassment. Once Adler noticed Rei dozing off, he decided it was time to leave. "Alright. I better take her away before she completely passes out." Woods earned a smack on his head from Adler, because he kept whistling and shouting "Fucking shag each other and get back already."

Getting her into a car was an absolute headache, but entertaining too. Rei thought she was flying, keeping her from falling was a huge task, especially with those ridiculous heels of hers. She kept jumping around. Adler's soul almost left his body when she jumped down the stairs. Miraculously, she ended up on her feet, perfectly fine.

Once in the car, she dozed off immediately. Being a heavy sleeper, it was difficult to wake her up when they arrived at Adler's apartment. Giving up, he pulled her out of the car and carried her.

Once they reached the room, Adler gently put Rei on his bed. Caressing her cheek lightly, he placed a small kiss on her forehead.

"Don't go." Rei's tiredly looked at Adler, clutching onto his jacket.

"But...are you sure?"

"1594%. Now come." She forcefully pulled Adler to bed. She turned away from him, pressing her back to his chest. Putting a blanket on them, Adler held Rei close to him. She held his hand, her thumb lightly caressing his fingers, before she slept off. For the first time in several weeks, they had their first peaceful sleep together.

Waking up in the morning, Rei looked around at her strange settings. And there he was, Adler, holding her lightly. Before she could even process anything, bile started rising to her throat. In less than one second, she was already in the bathroom, throwing up her dinner from last night. She could hear the ruffling of sheets and footsteps.

"You okay?" Adler stood by the doorframe, looking at Rei worriedly.

"Russ don't come in here, its disgus-" before she could finish her sentence, you turned away to vomit. Adler pulled her hair back, gently rubbing her back.

"I'm never drinking again." Rei got up, holding Adler's arm for support. Adler ruffled her hair lightly.

"That's what you said last time." He smirked. Rei let out an airy laugh, washing her mouth.

"Freshen up. I'll make some eggs." Adler walked towards the door.

"Scrambled, please?" Adler smiled at her. She's always loved eggs and Adler is great at it. Not just with eggs, but with the whole art of conjuring food with his magical hands. Rei always wondered why he joined the CIA instead of using his brilliant cooking skills. He'd have made a great chef.

Walking out of the bathroom, Rei put on one of Adler's old sweaters. Her clothes were unfortunately covered in vomit and sweat. 'I'll have to stop at the apartment before going to the safehouse.'

The smell of eggs and bacon filled the house making Rei’s stomach grumble.

"Mhmm... I missed your cooking." Rei said, stuffing the eggs in her mouth. She was famished.

"And I missed your eating sounds." Adler chuckled.

Rei looked at Adler, initially annoyed, but it soon melted into an affectionate expression. With a hand on his cheek, tracing his scars, she kissed him, softly. Adler tilted his head lightly, deepening the kiss. Placing his forehead against hers, he whispered "I missed you."

Rei nodded lightly, giving out a 'mhmm'.

A big smile danced on Rei's lips as she stared into Adler's eyes. She once again pulled Adler into kiss, a rough and hungry one this time. Sloppy and messy with lots of biting from Rei (she's a biter), Adler pulled her up. He lifted her with ease, her legs around his waist. Oh how they both missed the intimacy.

Little did the two lovebirds know that things were just going to get more complicated.

Taglist:

@sophtheunlikelybakeryfestival

@pookolokon

@quizzyisdone

@nikkibell1937

#russell adler x reader #russell adler #cod bo cold war #call of duty #call of duty black ops cold war

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headoverhiddles · 5 years ago

Text

Too Good To Be True - Tommy Devito x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: Much to his annoyance, you teach your boyfriend the art of delayed gratification.

Notes: Requested by anon! Hope you like it, this has been a long time coming.

First gif belongs to vicious-thrash.

Tommy’s car radio plays softly as he pulls up in front of your house.

You’re just too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you

“It was a good night, baby,” he says, killing the gas. You smile.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“I had fun. Lot of fun.” His eyes shift to you, then descend. “You know what would make it even better?”

“What?” His hand falls from the steering wheel to your knee, and starts to feel up a little higher. He does this every time; there’s no sense of mystery or allure in your flirtation anymore. “Baby, not tonight.”

“What?” he moans, “Baby—baby aw, listen—”

“Tommy, I’m tired. I gotta headache, alright?”

“A headache? Probably all the booze you drank back there.”

“Let me sleep it off, will you?”

“You at least got a kiss me? For your boyfriend?” You lean over to kiss him. He watches you leave out the window, whistling at your skirt riding up .

“Hey! Thursday night, the Pink Flamingo?!”

“I’ll call you.”

“I’m buyin’ of course!”

“Goodnight, Tommy!” His eyes narrow as he gets the engine running, and as he pulls away, Franki Valli continues to croon.

I love you, baby

And if it’s quite alright, I need you baby—

“Ah, shut up,” Tommy growls, and smacks his radio silent.

---

“And then she said—get this fellas—she said she had a headache.”

“Ooh,” Jimmy cringes. “Mmhm. The headache line.”

“What do you mean?” Henry frowns. “Karen tells me that all the time.”

“You poor bastard. I’m sure she does, I’m sure you get fed that shit all the time,” Jimmy smirks, rustling his shoulder. Tommy sighs as he tips back another shot.

“I just don’t understand it. It was going so well, too. Women don’t do that shit to me. They just don’t!”

“Yeah, cause they’re fuckin’ scared you’ll whack ‘em!” Henry laughs.

“I’d never kill a girl,” Tommy retorts, “Especially not (y/n). She’s my one, you know? Maybe she really was tired, I dunno...”

“Nah, nah nah,” Jimmy shakes his head. “Something’s fishy. There’s gotta be something going on here. Women start losing interest in sex, there’s something that needs to be addressed.”

“I mean, was she really losing interest? She was goin’ down on me like there was no fuckin’ tomorrow last week, I can’t imagine her flipping on me like this.”

“You never know with women,” Henry sighs, taking a sip of his whiskey. Jimmy jerks a thumb his way.

“Sage over here. Fuckin’ wise guy.”

Tommy bursts into laughter, and Henry goes red as he ordered more drinks. As the laughter dies down, Tommy shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna lose her, but she seemed pretty pissed.”

“Were you pushing it on her?”

“Nah, of course not! I stopped when she said she was tired. I complained, but hey, my dick was hard, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s just the kind of thing I’ve come to expect.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What fuckin’ problem?”

“The monotony of it all.”

“The monotony of fucking me?”

“The same way, when she comes to expect it too, yeah. Variety is the spice of life,” Jimmy says, lighting up a cigarette. Tommy waves his hand.

“What am I supposed to do, offer to spank her? Geez, she’s always climbing me like a tree after I take her out.”

“A short tree,” Henry quips. Tommy slaps the drink out of the younger man’s hand, and slaps him in the face too.

“I’ll shoot your fucking kneecaps off so you can join me, how ‘bout that wise guy?”

“Ouch, fuck Tommy...” Henry laughs, “I’m just breakin’ your balls!”

“Hey. He’s just breaking your balls,” Jimmy says.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you both. Anyways. I don’t know what to do.”

“Give her a call, see what she says,” Jimmy tells him.

“What, do you think I’m fuckin’ stupid? She’s not gonna answer if she’s pissed.”

“Have you tried?” Henry asks.

Tommy crosses his arms.

---

“I don’t know what you see in that guy,” your childhood best friend says. You and Joni had been sharing a house for a few years now, and though you loved her dearly, she had a tendency to stick her nose into your business.

“I love him,” you say simply. She rolls the paint roller you two are painting your living room with as she gets ready for the base coat. Hair tied up in a knotted bandana, you’re painting tiny details over the base coat, little purple flowers over the cream.

“I don’t know, (y/n). He runs with the wrong circle, I seen him before, you know he—”

“I’m well aware of what he does.”

“You wanna be one of those wives?” She makes a face. “All pearls, diamond necklaces and tight dresses while their men go out and shoot each other?”

“So what if I do?” you ask playfully, dipping the paintbrush again. Joni just puts up her hands, smiling.

“No skin off my nose! I just worry about you, is all.”

“And I worry about you,” you tease, “You’re dating a banker who has sex on a schedule. What could be more boring than that?” The two of you burst into giggles, and you start to think of Tommy. It hadn’t been ideal, leaving the last date on the note you had, but you wanted Tommy to learn a lesson. Sometimes, it was more fun to wait.

Your rotary phone rings.

“I’ll get it,” you say, setting your paintbrush down and wiping your hands. Lifting up the receiver, you see who it is. “Hello?”

“Baby, it’s me.” You smile. You knew he’d call.

“Hey Tommy,” you say, twirling the chord. Your friend makes a face.

“You’re probably his one phone call from jail,” she hisses.

“What’s that frump saying about me now?”

“Hm? Oh, she just says hi.” You grin.

“Listen, (y/n). I, uhh... just wanted to check up on you after the other night. I hope I didn’t upset you. You’re my girl, you know.”

You keep the charade going-- he’d thank you eventually. “Oh, I know, Tommy. Things are fine. I’m just...”

“...What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Nah, wanna discuss it over drinks? Milkshakes even. Hm? Lemme buy you a cute little milkshake, alright?”

“I’m painting the house,” you tell him. “Sorry, baby.”

“Aww...” He’s quiet for a minute. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah, Tommy. I gotta go, okay?”

He sighs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Love you.”

“Sure. Love you too.”

---

Back in the bar, Tommy feels like hitting his head against the wall.

“I just don’t know what to do! I don’t know what I did wrong! She’s talkin’ to me all weird, I can’t understand it. Maybe it’s another guy. If it’s another guy, I’ll shatter his skull.”

“It’s not another guy,” Henry mutters.

“How the fuck do you know?”

“Cause (y/n) is loyal to a fault! The way she looks at you? That’s not a woman who throws her pussy around when you’re not looking. She adores you, Tommy.”

“A keeper,” Jimmy nods. Tommy sighs, taking some comfort in this.

“Yeah.”

“Flowers,” Jimmy suggests.

“Flowers?”

“Yeah. Go to her house, tell her you’re sorry, and give her some nice-smelling flowers. She’ll be in your pants in minutes.”

“Yeah...” Tommy nods, “Yeah, alright.”

---

Sherry baby

(Sherry baby)

Sherry, can you come out tonight?

(Come, come, come out tonight)

The doorbell goes. You look up from your book, turn your small radio down, and frown. Was Joni home from a night on the town this early? Sighing, you bookmark your page. It had been nice to have the house to yourself while it lasted. It was an opportunity to walk around the place half naked in the little lilac nightgown Tommy had bought you. That got you imagining what it’ll be like one day to live with Tommy, in some mansion somewhere. Joni complained about the danger of it all, but you’re sure she wouldn’t turn down a life of spontaneity like that if she had the choice.

You grin to yourself as you put on a housecoat, and walk over to the door. You open it.

“Tommy,” you say. It’s a little surprising to see your love standing there like this on your porch at 10 pm.

“Hey, baby.” He gives you a lopsided smile, and hands you some flowers. You blush, and let him in.

“Aw, look! They match the painting I’ve done on the walls. You’re sweet, you shouldn’t have.” You set them on the table, making a mental note to get a vase later.

“Nah, nah. You deserve ‘em. I wanted you to know how special you are to me... how much I don’t wanna lose you.”

You bite your lip. “Yeah?” You let one shoulder of the housecoat slide down your arm. His eyes gravitate down.

“What’ve you got on under there, baby?” He starts to smile, that lascivious grin. “Huh? What’s that?”

“Look familiar? Recognize it?” you tease, letting the rest of the housecoat drop. He shakes his head, whistling.

“Oh. God, (y/n), what you do to me.”

“Tell me?”

“Well, I—” He hesitates, looking around. “Wait. Hold the fuck on. Just, just wait. What the fuck is this?” You pout.

“What?”

“You haven’t gone out with me in a week, you act like there’s somethin’ wrong between us, and when I show up one night unannounced, you just drop your panties for me?”

“Made you want me, didn’t it?” you breathe, ghosting your lips up his neck. He scoffs, shaking his head.

“Fucking tease. I chose a real she-devil.” He moans softly as your hand comes up to cup him through his pants, and he reaches back to lock the front door.

“Joni doesn’t have a key...” you whisper.

“Good,” he groans, and takes you over to the couch. He lays you down on top of it, starts to slide the straps of your nightgown down. “Look at my pretty girl... real pretty. You know how much I love seein’ you like this?”

“Tell me,” you moan, opening your legs to him. He gets overtop of you.

“Love it a whole lot. I think about it all the time.”

“Yeah?” you ask, bringing his hand to your feel your panties, “You think about this pussy?”

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, and you can see him shift gears from the sweet man waiting at your doorstep with flowers to his real personality—salacious and dangerous. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna feel it next week. So fucking beautiful.”

“Tell me again, Tommy...”

“You’re so beautiful, fuck, you’re mine. Wanna be inside you.”

“Do it,” you gasp, and you shimmy his pants down. A gun falls out onto the floor.

“Oops.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!”

“I said ‘oops’! What do you want from me, it goes where I go.”

“It’s okay,” you say, biting your lip. “It turns me on.” He starts to grin as he sits back on his heels.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” He moves your panties aside to see. You stop him, thinking of something. “Condoms?”

He groans. “Aw. Seriously? Really, this late in the game?”

“We don’t want kids.”

“I wouldn’t mind one or two running around. Get a babysitter, you know, while we go throwing cash around town, the meanest couple this side of Brooklyn, nobody’d fuck with us baby, and we’d raise a couple of real gems—”

“I still have a lot more partying to do before any of that happens,” you say, and order him off of you. “Go find them, they’re in the bedroom.” Tommy mutters to himself, cursing the whole way there and back, but does as he’s told. When he comes back out of the bedroom, he sees your fingers rubbing slow circles around your clit. Licking his lips, he gets back overtop of you, and you help him fit the condom on.

“I need you,” you moan, and he buries himself inside you, groaning as you take every inch. He grunts, picking up his pace to a rough pound as he takes what he needs.

“You’re so good... so fucking perfect, baby,” he growls, and reaches up to slowly massage your breasts as he fucks you. As he rocks his hips in and out, you arch your back, grinding up into his thrusts.

“You know what my friend would do if she knew we were fucking on this couch? This is her grandma’s antique couch.”

“Fuck the couch, and fuck her grandma,” Tommy breathes. You laugh, cutting off into a moan as he hits that perfect spot inside of you.

“Oh god, don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “Yeah, yeah. That’s fucking right. That’s what I’m talking about. You love taking that, don’t you?”

“Yeah—”

“Say my name. Come on, say it.”

��Tommy... Tommy, Tommy...” Your orgasm begins to build.

“Say it,” he leans down to mark your neck, “ Who’s fucking you good?”

“You are, oh god Tommy, I’m—” He groans, and you feel his body tense up on top of you. The feeling of him pounding you through his climax pushes you over the edge as well, and you both thrust and grind together until the bliss wanes.

“Did I mention I love you?” Tommy murmurs, from where his face is buried in your chest. You gently remove his hand from between your legs. You lift his face up, and kiss him messily.

“You could keep saying it all night and I wouldn’t mind. Felt good to wait, didn’t it?”

---

You sit at the bar with Tommy, necking. You’ve got a new necklace on, one he’s been eyeing for you for a while.

“(y/n),” Jimmy says, and Henry gives you a hug as they take stools beside you two.

“Where you two been?” Tommy asks, wiping the lipstick off his face and ordering a round of drinks.

“Out taking care of a job,” Jimmy says, popping the button on his jacket and looking around.

“Without me?” Tommy asks, opening his arms.

“You were busy,” Henry shrugs, smirking at you. You smile, rubbing a hand over your boyfriend’s shoulder and down his chest.

“I’d say we both were.”

“Oh, did you like the flowers?” Jimmy asks, smiling. He touches his chest. “My idea.”

Tommy’s face scrunches up, and Henry has to hold him back so he doesn’t kill his best friend. While your boyfriend is doing what he does best—starting fights-- Henry lets him go and turns to you conspiratorially.

“So uh, (y/n), babe... what does it really mean when a lady says she’s got a headache?”

#tommy devito #tommy devito x reader #joe pesci #joe pesci x reader #goodfellas #goodfellas imagines #goodfellas fanfiction #goodfellas imagine #joe pesci imagine #daddy imagine #jimmy conway #robert de niro #ray liotta #martin scorsese #request

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artsninspo · 6 years ago

Text

NerdBae - Part I

A/N: Hey! Hey! This is my second series - requested by my boo @l-auteuse I did mister asshole in PULSE. Now, introducing NerdBae! I’m excited and this should be fun so buckle up and enjoy the ride. Also, Elle is her/she in french - assuming most of my readers identify as female its how I’ve chosen to name the characters in my works for Tre. So when you see Elle, it can substitute Y/N or you could imagine a character.

Summary: Tre and Elle have known each other since childhood and have been close like family friends. Tre’s always been a nerd but Elle’s always been kind. After some time apart they reconnect during the holidays. Sometimes adulthood changes things.

_____

NERDBAE

Elle always had a little crush on her best friends brother Tre. He was the antithesis of her type; timid, super nerdy and overly nice. Bat her eyes a few times and poof her homework was done just like that. Gina her bff sometimes mistreated his kindness leaving their homework with him to get done while they went out to parties they had no business going to, and bailing them out. Even when he left for college he was always a call away willing to go off the rails about anything with his special level of genius. Now he’s the brains of an extremely successful start up in tech doing an ai concept that’s way to advanced for a normal functioning brain to fully understand. Elle can’t help but look him over extremely impressed as she makes her way down the ramp at arrivals.

“What, you have money to see a surgeon now? Didn’t know they did muscular implants” she teases touching his arm and he laughs a little self conscious.

“Ha ha” he responds sarcastically pulling her into a hug and engulfing Elle in an extremely alluring scent. “Missed you, happy to have the ladies home for the holidays” he smiles taking Elles things putting it into the back of a Tesla.

“You got one of these space ships too?”

“It helps the environment and innovation” he begins before Elle lights up at his animation. He smiles nodding realizing he was geeking out again. “Want to drive it?” He asks instead to maintain his cool.

“No, be a gentleman I just had an eight hour flight” Elle responds to get under his skin and it works when his face falls.

“Sorry” he apologizes opening the door. “I just-“

“Tre, I’m kidding.” She laughs getting in. He drives safely and attentively as always pointing out the landmarks of his new city.

“So your mom and Ginas flights are delayed?”

“Yeah, bad weather” he swallows.

“You haven’t invented the remedy for that yet huh?” Elle comments and he blushes a little. “Aren’t you happy now that you didn’t peak in high school”

“Ouch” he mutters making her smile sweetly.

“You know what I mean, who wants to win the popularity contest when you can have a brain or millions” she shrugs

“You only dated the popular guys in high school” he reminds.

“They were the only ones with enough confidence to ask”

“Not true, I heard about others” he recalls despite their five year age gap.

“They didn’t know me enough to like me. Some people get buy on looks, like me. Some have brains” Elle shrugs with a playful confidence.

“You’re smart” he asserts to Elles amusement - she’d never been book smart.

“And some like you are lucky enough to have both” she winks and he shakes his head turning his full attention back to the moving traffic.

“Well if you ever need anything just let me know? You always talked about writing? Why don’t you take some time off work, find a place that inspires you and follow your dreams?” He shrugs always the perfect gentleman and supportive figure.

“Tre” Elle shakes her head.

“Come on, I have more money than I know what to do with. I don’t see what the problem is - we’re friends too right?”

“You are a business man now, huh?” Elle smiles looking him over as his eyes disappearing behind the black frames when he smiles. The grey turtleneck and black jacket compliment him well and it’s the first time he’s ever really looked tauntingly handsome.

“How’s dating?” Elle inquires making him laugh.

“These girls are all Monte-Carlo and zero calorie drinks, and Pilates all the time. They like everything I like. But I grew up around too many strong women to like a bimbo” he sighs honestly - too wholesome to be real.

...

Tre’s home is huge and decorated in a way that perfectly suits him. Elle showers enjoying the state of the art bathroom before exploring the rest of the home. The tiled floors lighting up under her feet on the way to his room make Elle smile. Living the dream of being obsessed with Michael Jackson as a child. His room is lit up and he’s sitting on the huge bed with headphones. He looks startled closing the laptop and removing the headphone’s when she comes in.

“Sorry, top secret invention?” Elle asks stepping back

“Nah” he swallows as Elle sits beside him on his bed opening his Laptop only to see a woman in a different position being plowed. Elle can’t help but laugh at the awkwardness of it all as she gets comfortable in the bed.

“You’re so wholesome it’s incredible - you could get a hooker or anyone really but you’re up here like a teenage boy” Elle muses looking up at him and he looks more mortified than amused. “Let’s watch it” Elle smirks getting comfortable and he hesitates before changing the audio and letting it play. The girl moans clearly enjoying the circus like position.

“What the hell? How isn’t he dropping her! How is she not worried about being dropped” Elle questions before covering her mouth probably killing his mood.

“Doesn’t look that hard” he says as they switch positions causing both Elle and Tre’s heads to tilt in unison.

“If she’s good and he can remember to hold on? I don’t understand and what about them they climax” Elle asks.

“He can put her down” Tre points to the bed just to the side of them.

“It would be hard, I still think he should put her down and to it the normal way” Elle counter’s only for Tre to get out of bed and picking her up by her legs only tand recreate the position effortlessly with her suspended. Elle can’t stop laughing. “I’m heavy as heck, you’ve been really in the gym huh?” She questions as he scoops her up wedding style tossing her back on the bed.

“Yeah” he agrees as you bounce before he rejoins her.

“What about this one?” Elle asks as they do the butterfly. It’s more of a sexual sex position.

“Simple” he reiterates making no move to demonstrate, much to Elle’s disappointment. Resting her head on his chest she continues to watch the video and he puts an arm around her. He’d always been cool, rarely ever told her or Gina no. Most of the time he allowed them too much rope and they walked all over him.

“Can I sleep here tonight, you know how I get about strange houses” Elle reminds the already prepared Tre and he nods.

“I know, got an oil diffuser with your favourite scent, your pillow spray and made sure the bed was big enough for you and Gina in your room” he explains but Gina isn’t here.

“This rooms more lived in” she says without coming right out and he gets up to keep her comfortable.

“Alright I’ll bring it here” he concedes getting up and disappearing. When he returns there’s a woven basket in his hands with all Elle’s favourite bedtime things. Sleep mask, bonnet, satin pillowcase, her favourite magazine, two books and a notepad with pens.

“Did you make one of your interns run around?” She blushes a little embarrassed by her idiosyncrasies holding it on her lap and feeling a little overwhelmed. He’s an angel.

“Nah, ordered the stuff and got it delivered” he explains earring a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks Tre” she smiles putting on the satin pillowcase and spraying it with your favourite scent. Elle had gone out of her way to meet his shyness with kindness as kids - she never took part in the tirades Gina his sister went on to embarrass him. She was always nice and for that - he’d always have her back.

“Ready to sleep already?” He asks setting up the diffuser with a raised brown.

“I can wait If you have work to do” Elle yawns.

“I’m good, you had an 8 hr flight” he reminds kissing her cheek before heading to the bathroom to get the water. It takes moments before the room smells just how she needs it to his house.

“Goodnight Tre” Elle smiles.

“Goodnight” he sighs.

___

Don’t forget to comment and share all your thoughts, questions and that good stuff :) Who’s excited for a new series? How do we like Nerdbae Tre’s Demeanor?

TAGS: @bugngiz @lifelover4u @l-auteuse @notsomellowmushroom @princessasaani @heavensangelxo @bakarilennox @tastingmellow

@chaneajoyyy @thehomierobbstark @jad3djay @thickemadame @doublesidedscoobysnacks @aanairb @hooliemooliedonutshawp

@tip222u @amelatonin @cherrystainedlipsbaby @keiva1000 @highlifeflylife @twistedcharismaaa

#masterlist #Trevante Rhodes #trevante rhodes x reader #trevanterhodesimagine #trevante #trevante x black reader #nerdbae

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shironekooo · 7 years ago

Text

Art in it’s truest form

Chp. 5 - Beauty and the Beast

Kamski x Reader

Words: 2314

Note: So sorry for the delay. Had a lot of things to do. If chp feels rushed, that’s why:/ enjoy!

A couple of days have passed. Since those disturbing events you didn’t have a chance to stay alone with Elijah more than for five minutes. It was pretty obvious that he was avoiding you. His office now was shut and he was even leaving you home alone taking trips without telling. These were the most boring days and all you could do is wonder what’s going to happen next. Chloe didn’t say much either. She was still nice and helpful, but everything regarding Elijah was so cryptic, that you gave up after a couple of times…

It was an early morning, around 5am, when you woke up feeling thirsty and got up to get a glass of water. Your attention caught lights coming from farther room accompanied by subtle sounds of music. What could Elijah possible be doing at this hour? You decide to investigate.

Source of commotion appears to be The Room. Record player in the library is playing 30’s melodies creating such an eccentric mood, that you feel out of place. Still half asleep you peek into the forbidden place and freeze. There is a girl there, hanging on a hook, chest fully open and empty. Elijah and Chloe are there too, wearing scrubs, standing over a table and packing something in coolers, which raises so many questions. Your presence is noticed only when Chloe picks up bags and turns to leave.

-You shouldn’t be here, - Elijah quickly approaches and pushes you back, but you’re not taking any of that.

-Wait, no, Elijah, we need to talk. You’ve been avoiding me and I need to know… is this the reason? – you can’t look away from the morbid sigh.

-We can talk later, go to sleep. There’s nothing for you to see.

-But… - you bypass him and rush into the room, getting closer to the girl. This is so surreal…

Elijah sighs and walks up to you. No point in trying to hide it now.

-What was in those containers? – you curiously ask.

-What we harvested from her, - Elijah moves aside to change out of his medical attire.

-Are they…for eating?

Elijah starts laughing. This is a first.

-What? No. Where did you get that idea from?

-You said you put them away for later use…I don’t know what that means, but it didn’t sound good at the time, - now you feel stupid assuming he goes full Hannibal.

-I sell them. I have no real use for organs.

-Is that why you’re wearing scrubs?

-Yes. I assist Chloe, since I don’t have any real medical degree. She’s more precise and careful.

That could mean that a piece of her is still living somewhere there. Giving life to someone else. It isn’t so bad and the dead body doesn’t look so horrifying anymore. There’s even something poetic about it.

-What’s her name? – you look closer, examining her face – it’s very pretty.

-Anna.

-What was she like before this? – you start circling her looking at the body from different angles, being fascinated by it.

-Does it matter? – Elijah finishes changing and begins to watch you.

-I’m just curious… What role do you think of giving her? – you touch her hand and it’s cold and stiff. In your eyes she’s starting to loose human form and look more and more like a doll.

-Well, I haven’t finished my flower installation.

-You’re giving her my role? – you turn to Elijah with a look of betrayal. Elijah chuckles.

-Does it make you jealous?

You stop and face the girl trying to imagine her as a forest goddess. She’s very different from you, so it’s doesn’t make you feel too bad about her getting the flower treatment. It’s going to be a lot different than what you could have looked like.

Elijah takes a couple of steps and stands behind you. The reason he was avoiding you, was so he could set his mind straight. Ever since sparing you and letting you stay here, he wasn’t sure what he’s going to do and how is this going to affect him. And it did affect him. His attraction to you wasn’t so apparent until that night, when you visited the bedroom. You found a side of him, that he thought he lost many years ago, and all suppressed feelings rushed back at once. If he wouldn’t have stopped, he might have hurt you again. Now, after some time of thinking and getting in touch with his inner demons, he feels comfortable again and even a little needy… Elijah puts his hands on your shoulders, moving hair to one side, then pulls your tshirt down a little.

-Don’t worry, you’re the only goddess around here, - he says it in a sensual manner while planting kisses on your shoulder and neck. You can’t help, but be swept away by his voice and touch. Does this mean that everything is fine between you two again? You turn to face him. Elijah’s expression is alluring making you almost forget what it was that you wanted to discuss in the first place.

-I actually have a favor to ask.

-What is it? – Elijah doesn’t seem to care, being caught in the moment.

-I want you to let me go.

You could almost hear a record player scratch. Elijah takes a step back and looks at you in disbelief.

-You want me to let you go? – he sounds surprised. This is the last thing he expected to hear from you.

-Elijah, it’s been what, a week? They’re going to declare me missing soon enough and I’m not missing! What will I do? Live here for the rest of my life, until you get bored and kill me? Let me visit my flat, my university. I will show up, put everyone at ease and come back.

-Am I hearing right? You’re going to return... – he was never this skeptical in his life before.

-Yes, I will. I’m not stupid. I realize what’s going to happen if I won’t. It’s going to be messy for both of us and honestly, I would like to avoid it. Just for a day. Please?

Eijah is dumbfounded. It’s five o’clock in the morning and his initial victim, that he became fond of for some sick reasons, is asking him to let her go after she was kidnapped, threatened with murder, beaten and witnessed his other victim dead…promising to return. One of them was out of their mind and honestly, it was probably him, because…

-Sure, go ahead, - he decides to let you.

You sigh with relief and smile.

-Thank you.

Giving him a kiss on a cheek you get ready to leave, since in the morning you will have some serious stuff to deal with. Elijah still stands there unable to comprehend what made him decide to just throw away his life. There’s no way this is going to end well.

-You return, - he finally manages to put some weight in his words.

-I will, - you assure one last time. - Goodnight, Elijah.

You’re not gonna lie, you feel nervous getting ready to leave. Back to the city all by yourself. Elijah doesn’t come to see you off, but you don’t blame him. He’s probably going to be cleaning all day, brandishing his alibi, just in case you decide to show with a police or something.. Again, understandable. You weren’t quite sure yourself what exactly is your plan of action once you’re back. It feels like you spent an eternity here.

Around noon you are back at your place. Feelings of familiarity and comfort immediately surround you, but you don’t feel like you fit here anymore. It’s even hard to believe, that just a week ago it was your life. A normal psychology student with a dream of cracking the secret of human brain, hoping for a carrier, nice apartment and a pet. Casually drinking, smoking and writing, like a French woman in her thirties already disappointed in life and men, spending her days behind a copywriter or at a bar downstairs. Your imagination was running wild, taking you to various places, but never to the one you are now. You could’ve never imagined that…

Picking up every little thing, that holds some memories, you walk around the flat. Eventually pack essentials and close the door behind you. Everything you though you’re gonna be stays behind too. Goodbye.

Next stop is the university. You try to avoid the contact with people who might know you, just so you could save some time and energy feeding them lies, and go straight to the professor to whom you knew you will have to submit your thesis work at the end of semester. He’s slightly surprised that you skipped classes, but you make up an excuse about getting food poisoning and losing your phone. Trouble doesn’t walk alone, as they say. He has no reason to doubt you, so you two discuss other matters and you get an approval to focus more on your early thesis and less on classes, since after new year those are gonna end anyway.

It’s actually surprising how the world just goes on, not even noticing how much you had to live through. No one was actually too suspicious or worried. In a way it made you feel better. Less chaos, less drama.

Since you have the whole day to yourself, you decide to stop by your favorite Mexican place and get some tacos as a reward for a good work. You get to the food truck around fifteen minutes away from university and place an order, standing around in cold, breathing white.

-(Y/N) ? – a familiar voice calls out to you. For a second you ignore it, hoping that the person will walk away, but of course that doesn’t happen. – (Y/N), oh my god, where have you been? I haven’t seen you since the gathering at a pub.

-Hey, Jessie, - you turn around and greet your classmate. You two hang out occasionally, since she’s a very bubbly person and you don’t have it in you to turn her down, but right now you weren’t in the mood for a chit chat. – I’m sorry, I got food poisoning. Couldn’t get out of bed…

-That’s bullshit, - she laughs, but gives a suspicious look. – I stopped by your apartment. You were definitely not there. What’s going on?

Well of course she would come to check on you. Unfortunately now she sees through you and there’s no other choice, but to tell the truth. You sigh.

-I…met a guy.

-What? No way! – she immediately gets excited. - Oh my god, so you spent the entire week with him?! Girl, spill it.

-I don’t know… it might not be so serious, so I’d rather keep it to myself, - you try to avoid the topic, but to no avail.

-Nah ah, you spent seven days with a man with no call, no nothing. It is serious. What’s his name?

-Uff…ummm… Thomas, - you say the first name that comes to mind hopefully convincing enough.

-Quit being so shy. I’m not judging! Should we find a warm place to sit?

-Actually, I’m getting the tacos and going home for the day. Sorry.

-Your home or his home? – she cheekily smiles.

-You got me there, - you laugh nervously. When will this end…

-At least tell me what he’s like. He must be pretty special if he caught your attention. You’re so picky with men, I honestly though you will die alone.

-Still might. But if you must know…

You think for a second, imagining Elijah sitting behind his office desk, wearing glasses and seriously working on whatever project interest him at that moment. Always so tired. He never takes good care of himself, honestly. If not Chloe, he would be such a mess. That image makes you genuinely smile.

-He’s intelligent, handsome, talented, very creative and open minded. But also sensitive and attentive. Honest. He challenges me and I do the same for him, - even you haven’t realized how fond of him you actually are until this very moment. He truly took over you.

Jessie awww’s and your order is called. You take the food bag, thank the guy behind a counter, and say your goodbyes to Jess. She doesn’t ask anymore being simply happy for you. And you feel the same. Maybe this encounter wasn’t so bad after all.

Lights are off in all the rooms, the house is empty and silent. Only moonlight is casting its light through the open windows coating everything in a soft silver layer. The smell of winter lingers in the air. Occasional snowflake swirls in sparkling like a fairy, creating a wonderland image. The sound of piano only enhances it. It’s Clair de Luna. Such a fitting melody haunting emptiness of the house. Emptiness of his soul.

Elijah is hunched over the piano, smoothly moving fingers across its keys. Sound is very clear and passionate, with him pouring everything in this performance. It’s only natural that it attracted a spectator.

Elijah doesn’t seem to notice and you don’t interrupt. Until the last note goes silent…

Elijah raises his head and finally sees you. A surprised expression follows relieved one.

-You’re here.

-Of course I am, - you give a warm smile and start walking towards him. – There’s no other place I would rather be right now.

He welcomes you back, taking your hand and pulling you closer. You press your palm against his cold cheek in return and gently caress it. You feel home. Here, with him. With his twisted mind and poetic murders. You’re falling for him and he does the same. And you know it because at this very moment he’s the first one to kiss you. You answer, warmth filling up your chest.

This night Elijah holds you in his arms.

#elijah kamski #fan fiction #kamski x reader #elijah x reader

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secretradiobrooklyn · 5 years ago

Text

HALLOWEEN RADIO | 10.31.20

Secret Radio | Halloween special 10.31.20 | Hear it here.

Artwork by Paige, Liner notes by Evan except * means Paige

1. Sam the Sham - “Little Red Riding Hood” *

I had to make the case to Evan that this was a Halloween song, but I justify with the fact that 1.) this song uses the phrase “spooky ol’ woods” and 2.) many years ago, Sleepy Kitty played a festival on Cherokee Street that wasn’t a Halloween show but it happened to be the Saturday before Halloween. Recognizing our responsibility, we scrambled to throw together costumes and realized that if we just got a wolf mask and paws we already had everything in our wardrobes to throw together the Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs LP cover drawing of Red and the wolf. Evan says he doesn’t like Halloween but it’s only because once he commits, he commits completely. One of my favorite moments of the night was spotting Evan that night, several hours after our set in the afternoon, having a completely serious and sincere conversation with a friend – wolf nose and paws still intact. This was pre iPhone days, but I tracked down an image and I’m gonna put it on our fake radio insta. Thus, Little Red Riding Hood is in fact a Halloween song.

2. Roky Erickson - “I Walked with a Zombie”

Every year, reliably, Paige’s dad Ned tells us we should cover “I Walked with a Zombie,” and each year we somehow don’t do it. So this live version of the song is for him, just in case this is the closest we ever get.

Halloween tag

3. Steve Martin - Little Shop of Horrors soundtrack - “Dentist!”

Sure, an alarmingly large and hungry, sharp-toothed plant is scary. But is it as terrifying as a dentist who delights in the pain he inflicts? “I thrill when I drill a bicuspid” — shiver!

4. Hocus Pocus soundtrack - “Sarah’s Theme”

Our definition of a good Halloween movie is way less horrifying than it is lightly spooky, so “Hocus Pocus” is just about ideal for our purposes. This is the sound of Paige’s delighted Halloween youth… though we also just watched it again. Holds up!

5. The Beatles - “Mr. Moonlight”

Paige pointed out that this is essentially a religious song to the moon — a song of praise, devotion, and submission to a greater power.

6. Quasi - “Ghost vs. Vampire”

I know that Quasi has had a long and illustrious career, but my fandom is frozen at this pinnacle of mystical bummerness. I learned so much about being creatively sad from Sam Coomes.

7. Rocky Horror Picture Show - “Sweet Transvestite”

8. The Velvet Underground - “The Gift”

Didn’t realize this was a Halloween song until tonight. If Hitchcock is proper Halloween, which I vote a definite yes, then “The Gift” is ultra Halloween.

9. Bauhaus - “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”

I feel like I have to say psychic hello to my friend Joseph Grady, who first introduced me not just to the coolness of Peter Murphy but to the allure of vampires generally. I wore my nails and my coats long. We talked about what the vampires were up to that night. We had some truly perfect nights together.

10. The Bitter Tears - “Murdered at the Bar”

An invaluable prize from being in a certain scene in a certain set of years in Chicago with the School of the Art Institute crowd — grad and undergrad. We all loved this song, and 15 or so years later, “we all” turns out to be a very specific and much-loved crew of people I miss and love. Except for Chris Shea, who I love and get to hang out with here in the city. This song is for him especially.

11. Phantom of the Opera - Korean cast - “Point of No Return”

We had this epiphany accidentally. As I recall, we watched the movie version of “Phantom,” and I was distinctly not impressed, but then Paige put on the French-Canadian version and we were both fascinated by how different it was. That led us into Phantom Internationalé, wherein we just looked up versions from all over the world. It is amazing: each version is both militantly like and distinctly unique from the others. The Korean Phantom emerges as the most singular from among the versions we heard, and “Point of No Return” an emotional height.

Meet Me in St. Louis - “Tootie the Horrible”

One of the greatest Halloween scenes in the history of cinema in our book.

12. Donovan - “Season of the Witch”

13. “The Dweller of the Cave” * I Found this tape at my parents’ house this summer while we were delayed in Illinois between March and whenever the van got fixed and we drove back. Rediscovering this tape may be why you’re listening to this whole fake radio spooktacular tonight. Hi to Stewart and Jill.

14. Science Fiction Double Feature *

15. Dr. Who Theme Song*

16. Red Dwarf Theme Song*

The previous 3 songs were woven into a medley for Sleepy Kitty’s KMNR Freaker’s Ball. It’s one of life’s great pleasures for a band to play Freaker’s Ball, we literally wound around a wooded road to find some Elk’s Lodge or something full of college kids DECKED THE HECK OUT in EPIC COSTUMES ready to freakin’ get down. Never have I been closer to being the band in the prom scene of a 90s movie than at a Freaker’s Ball. We met some rad folks through the KMNR scene, and if I’ve ever told you about my custom vocal pedals, Colin of CroyTone Audio was one of those rad folks we met one of those magical nights. Also, raise your hand if your love Red Dwarf!

17. Ghostbusters

Paige: “I had this reflector, this flat reflector that was some scrap of something that Ned got from Honeywell. I would play Ghostbusters, and I was like: ‘This is a ghost trap.’ It was SO REAL to me. It was this flat reflector, like a bike reflector, and I would like, like, set traps. And I’d be like, ‘Don’t move my ghost trap!’ I would set the ghost trap, and it was like fishing for ghosts. But that was me playing. I would, like, wait. …I don’t know if it worked or not.”

“I’m not sure if this is me imagining this or not, but I’m pretty sure there was a day where I was like, ‘I feel like this trap’s not working.’ But I also feel like I was like, ‘But how would I know? They could be all inside. This is either full — or empty.’”

Vertigo soundtrack

18. The Fall - “Frightened”

“I don’t wanna dance, I wanna go home” — Fri-dund!

19. Goblin - “Zombi” Title Theme

20. Karen Elson - “The Ghost Who Walks”

I think we got this record at Third Man Records when we were playing in Nashville. Sean’s new residence!

Paige: “Karen Elson is tall, beautiful, an interesting musician, AND she has red hair. That’s crazy. What are the chances that you would have all of those things? Talk about a blue moon!”

21. Eartha Kitt - “I Want to Be Evil”

“The only etchings I’ve seen have been behind glass.”

22. Jeffrey Lewis & Los Bolts - “The Pigeon”

“Old skies you flapped through are no more.”

We would like to give a heartfelt hello to Yona Schimmel, mostly out of reach for now. We mourn every missed knish.

23. Scott Walker - “The Seventh Seal”

Paige didn’t know this was a movie, she thought this was just a cool song about a guy playing chess with death.

24. Groovie Ghoulies - “(She’s My) Vampire Girl”

I love that he puts two Bazooka Joe jokes right in the middle of the song.

25. Black Sabbath - “Paranoid”

Sometimes you need priests to summon spirits.

26. Fantasia - “A Night on Bald Mountain”

This is a song that seriously disturbed Paige when she was young. She thought that they did this whole demon thing every single Saturday. For me, it made such an impression that, when each of my young friends and I improvised who we were — “I’m Darth Vader!” “I’m a Cylon Raider!” my take was “I’m Night on Bald Mountain”! And I would open my arms wide and pretend that I was an entire sharp mountaintop transforming into a giant demon with wings, and I would always be the biggest and baddest and scariest creature of all, no matter what they thought. Bald Mountain beats Batman every time.

29. “Jump in the Fire”

Or as I say whenever the occasion warrants: “Jump in the show-AHH!”

28. Rogers & Hammerstein “Pore Jud Is Daid”

29. Barry Adamson - “Something Wicked This Way Comes”

I cannot recall what brought this album to my ears… I suspect it was something I got in my inbox when I worked at The Rocket. This whole album is full of heavy musical grooves and heavy mental movement. It’s a rare pleasure in

30. Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, “I Put a Spell on You”

This is straight-up one of my favorite recordings of anyone ever. And when I eventually saw it enacted in “Stranger than Paradise,” I was blown away by how fundamentally Eastern European it sounds. Every sound he makes with his voice creates new characters.

31. The Shining, “Midnight, the Stars & You”

Happy halloween my friends, I wish we were all at an otherwordly dance together.

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a-writing-bear · 8 years ago

Text

[PruCan] Chapter 4: Soft-Spoken Calling, They Want Their Shyness Back

Ao3 Link:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11159997/chapters/24905436

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’

Previous Chapter

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

AU: College AU - Art Student Matthew and Media/Film Student Gilbert

Age Rating/Mature: Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: Recreational Drugs & minor connotations of anxiety (Future addiction to mention themes such as addiction, rape etc.)

Within his short 18 years of his life, Gilbert knew he fell short of a lot of things. Most of the time the list of his personal struggles were propelled far away from the contemptuous moments of strife that he was forced to worry about currently so in turn of all that he wasn’t used to being open to his subconscious pacing mind. All the repressed trouble he cooked up was bubbling over- much like Arthur’s attempt of ‘soup’ from last week. Whenever he seemed to not be distracted by a family issue presented by his brother, it was coursework that acted as blockade from having a social life, or sometimes the extremities faced when dealing with pesters from Elizabeta and Roderich (Only God knows what those two would be doing on a weekend...); even the occasional whining from a certain Frenchman.

A chime of a small bell over the café’s door announced his presence to the other inhabitants. The oaky smell of old counters flooded his senses and the light yellow walls plastered with generic atmospheric photos of Himaruya Academy’s campus populated some of the emptier spaces (You could tell these were taken by students as well, what with the tiny label under each photo). Aromatic aromas of freshly brewed coffee and whiffs of alluring chai lattes made Gilbert smile warmly, it was if he had been hugged by comfort itself. You would think a café would be empty at around 10 pm, but it seems like the need for caffeine for any student was a constant. The distance between his dorm hall and the small campus café was luckily close, a breeze of a stroll that delighted any exhausted student, thus his tardiness in his arrival was actually inexcusable. He mulled over trying to produce an excuse to give later to explain his delay… Of course, his overall excitement was at an all-time low considering Gilbert would have to deal with an infuriated Ludwig-

“Seriously Gil? You’re late 20 minutes”

Speaking of the organised stick-in-the-mud devil, his younger brother (Who, unfairly, had grown taller than the paler of the two) was eyeing him with annoyance and the albino could practically feel the dagger-like stares pushing into his chest. A cockier-than-usual ‘I’m more organised than you and you know it' looks of disapproval caught him off guard… Oh god is he going to say something about the new shir-

“Mein Gott, How the hell are you funding your wardrobe when you can’t even pay me back?”

“Lovely to see you too dear West, I’m doing fine, Gee thanks! How thoughtful for you to ask.”

Sarcasm and mock pleasure rolled off his tongue easily and with a sublime sense of satisfaction. But as he went to sit down at the small table he noticed the change in mood. facing diligently and apprehensively at the stern look of his brother he realised that his obvious joke will not go without consequence…clearly, Ludwig had something serious this time and the call for the older sibling was not an act of choice but instead an act of necessity. Gilbert gulped. Fidgeting slightly, preparing to be the bearer of bad news, the blue-eyed sibling attempted to keep his voice lower than usual and to keep the conversation at a seemingly okay level of panic:

“We can’t exactly quit our jobs this holiday, and my calculations state that we might even have to pick up an extra shift. There is no way we can visit Uncle this year.”

Gilbert flinched and could swear he felt his heart break a little. To others the news may not seem to be ‘that serious’ – sure it was bad but being heartbroken was an over exaggeration right? Consider the fact you had been working your FUCKING ass off your whole life, juggling multiple jobs while studying with a crappy stream of income and pay check-to-pay check funding, being robbed of countless hours of personal time that in your eyes were a privilege, never a minimum, and last but not least the breakdowns when you realised you felt so alone. This news would make your heart shatter like fragile glass. ‘Fuck karma, Lady Luck couldn’t give him a day off,’ It seemed like dog days would never be chased off. Unbelievable. Inconceivably pissed off. Flipping the table, walking out and burying himself in the nearest graveyard felt like a reasonable move as of right now.

“What. The. FUCK.”

“Calm down we can handl-“

“I can’t!- There has to be some miscalculation, last I checked we had enough for that break, I was given time off and a pay raise! This shouldn’t- What-WHY? I PRACTICALLY DIED.”

“Look I get it- I’m not happy either?! But shouting won’t do us any help either!”

He was fuming and he could see the fury shining in his company’s eyes as well. Growing up Gilbert always hid his vents and rants and kept his true thoughts away from the impressionable mind of his sibling but at times like this, it was clear what they were both thinking. Ludwig must have known this news hit his brother harder than it would him, and those awkward compassionate pats were a pitiful attempt at family comfort. They never really used affectionate gestures in the past, there was never any time for stuff like that.

Years and years, harking as far back as the tender age of 14, he could recall working for an extra bit of pocket money. Pocket money soon evolved into a college fund for himself and West within 2 years. Not to mention the small amounts he had to save for indulging to keep the sanity that prevented him from turning into an emotionless working robot. Thankful was not a strong enough word to describe what Gilbert felt for his uncle, there wasn’t any word that could achieve the level of gratitude the boy held for the old man. Respect towards the old man was something he taught Ludwig early on (Come to think of it, they moved in with their Uncle when Ludwig was only...12?), even if the latter didn’t understand their situation at that very young age. Spaced out due to the reminiscing he hadn’t noticed the warm cup of coffee that had been kindly delivered to him (Yes, a nice cup of coffee at 10 pm, go college life!), Ludwig’s strong voice started to come back to the forefront of his attention;

“You take your rest, you deserved the break, Bruder. I can do an extra shift- Feli says his shift has an extra slot anyway that I can take and it’s not very long, we just need to rearrange the bank allocations…” The blonder German was droning on and was in actual fact, talking to himself more than he was meaning to actually converse with the other.

Sighing into his now slightly cold coffee, the teen pondered over his choices and reviewed his recent schedules: wake up, eat, Attend lectures, go to multiple work shifts throughout the day during his study hours, do some coursework till the morning light and pass out, repeat. He had started slacking this continues the cycle of college-life torture. He had finally worked enough to wager a good break that his boss from his large shift (A shitty – but hey it’s decent? – 7 bucks an hour) at the local cinema, an undesirable night shift that no one wanted to partake when they could be partying. Only this month had he been throwing away his frazzled mind with hook-ups and well-deserved parties with his former Misfits. He had ached for those nights again, and for a short while, he had them back. What was the point of being a ‘creative’ mind when you can’t produce any of the garbage you actually want to?! Being stuck in the mantra of: “How many tickets sir? Which seat..? Hope you enjoy the show!” was the cause of the internal bomb of irritation that ticked faster and faster and Gilbert wasn’t even sure he would have any fuse left soon.

I’ve got to go. Was it ever possible to become unattached to reality? God I wish, with haste Gilbert suddenly got up and bolted out with mutters of incomprehensible frustration.

“Gilbe-Where are you goi-Hey we aren’t” the protests over his disappearance faded into the background as Gilbert left to walk back to his room. He could really do with some music.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE LIVES NEXT DOOR?! HAS HE HURT YOU? OH MY GOD”

Matthew lamented over his wasted time, the paint covered boy had nestled down on his bed with his ruffled hair and head thrown back onto the cushy red covers, He could be actually painting right now…or y’know…seeing Tim for a drug hit. Eyes shut with another exhale of boredom as Alfred rambled on, shooting an overdose of “He’s the bad kind, he’s not good, and he could be a murderer” lecture into the strawberry blonde’s tired ears. You would think a prodigy with a near IQ of 160 would be able to identify a real threat.

Sometimes he really just wanted to forget about this.

“I don’t think we are even thinking of the same person Al” blurting out quietly, still trying to zone out from his brother’s incessant fussing. “Have you even met him?”

“I don’t neeeed to meet him. I KNOW he’s bad for you, I don’t want him touching and getting all up in my little brother’s space and…poisoning him with all the college nonsense.”

Bullshit, poison what? I already drink and take- Ahh that’s right he doesn’t know about the ‘college nonsense’ I actually do participate in. Woops.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, hell you’re starting to sound old like Artie”

“I am not-I am NOT like Artie! Why the sudden interest in this Gilbert GUY ANYWAY??” This had dragged on for an hour and Matthew needed to make a dash for Tim’s house if he wanted to get done in time to come back reasonably sober.

“Don’t you have some project to do Alfie? It’s getting late and I want to do some work-Besides wouldn’t you want to call Kiku~” 1 point to Matthew, He had gotten his brother to look off in revelation and gain some red tinge on the cheeks. Kiku, a Japanese student who his American sibling had met and been pining for, was located at Himaruya Academy’s Tokyo campus (Mostly shortlisted to ‘The Deen Campus’ after its association). The two had been introduced during their foundation year and it was clear his sibling had a very big soft spot for the guy, so much so after the Japanese student transferred back to Japan they kept in touch with long Skype calls and endless texts. They, to quote: “Are n-not dating!! Kiku’s Not even interested…in guys…..or me.”

Hurriedly and trying to look less embarrassed, Alfred scuttled out. ‘Finally’. A glance at his watch told Matthew he would need to leave now or else Tim will call him out for bailing- ‘I am not gonna lose this cus of Al goddammit’ – Grabbing his trademark and overused hoodie, the stocky 18 year old climbed out of the way too small dorm window. Armed with his phone and car keys, he clambered into the cramped car and drove steadily down out the campus to his friend’s rented house; a typical scene for bad cliché college parties – happily it was not time for any party. As idiotic as it may seem, Strolling through the front door would not be a good idea as his childhood friend always warned him his sister would not appreciate visitors at this time (Matthew was 100% Laura didn’t even know Tim did pot, nonetheless that he did pot WITH Mattie), so he took the safer route (‘Well, physically more dangerous’) and climbed onto a small balcony on the side of the house, softly knocking on the glass that had the curtains drawn-

“You’re late.” Looking up to face his taller companion, the Canadian heard the gruff voice of annoyance as he pulled back the curtains and the sliding glass door opened.

“Sorry T, Al got me caught up in some bullshit, the hoser kept me busy…” The scarfed house owner moved aside and silently invited him into the messy room. On closer inspection, messy would not be applicable – while the floor was covered in some clothes, questionable (?) magazines and beanbags, the dark blue walls hoisted clean neat shelves which held a multitude of knickknacks.

“..You know you could’ve gotten started without me?

“Hah. Yeah right, where’s the fun in that Mattie?” A small tired-sounding chuckle flowed from the taller of the two, a bong had been passed towards Matthew who had founded himself cosy in a familiar beanbag. The haze felt good already. Matthew took it eagerly and grumbled: “How much do I owe you?”

“Honestly…Too much. Hah, No but like come on Mattie, I thought we got over this already. I’m not gonna charge a friend for this stuff. Especially not you.” Grinning with humour the Dutchman took the beanbag opposite to him.

It was all very strange at the beginning of this whole ordeal with his Dutch friend. They had grown up together and Matthew had very good relations with the ‘Van-der-Berg’ family. After joining the Academy he was glad he at least had a recognisable older pal but throughout all of the years that had gone by knowing him, he always noticed the precise and businessman-like nature of this man. Yet when he offered to help Matthew get his usual weed (Something Matt had easier access to in Canada and the times he visited the Netherlands and definitely something you don’t shout about) he didn’t charge a single penny. Hell, this fucker had once charged him after Matthew dragged them to the bathroom at camp…when they were 12 YEARS OLD. This guy always needed wanted to make a dime. Except for drugs. Which…was insanely strange AND expensive. ‘Especially not me? Ah Tim, I still really don’t know you.’ He tried not to think about it so much as when there was sweet dreamy smoke being smothered and pushed into Matthew’s body.

Sometimes it is possible to forget about things, you just need the right stuff.

#prucan #aph canada #aph prussia #SoftSpokenCalling #prussia x canada #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #Hetalia Fanfiction #fanfic #multific #college au #alternate universe

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camera-len · 8 years ago

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from the day that inspired this narrative i wrote:

Chicago, Summer ‘16

Waking up in the city, on any floor higher than the third or fourth, has a very distinct feeling to me. Something about the atmosphere just...transfixes me. The contrast of the honey glow from the sunrise against the bright white hotel linens and minimalistic interior decor. The unfamiliar sight of bold red letters reading 6:00 AM at my bedside. The lack of drowsiness and dread normally present if I were ever awake at this hour. The view of the buildings, partially faded through the layer of glass I observed it from; the landscape in front of me like an exhibit in an aquarium or zoo, and me watching awestruck through the viewing tank. I had just been on an airplane for a solid two hours the day before; literally up in the clouds, soaring through nothing and above everything. Who knew that being on the twenty-second floor of your everyday Hyatt hotel could feel like being on top of the world? Though I spent a lot of my days at my small home in the mountains using my thoughts to project myself anywhere else but there, it was moments like these that made me grateful to have a rural hometown; taking on an urban perspective became much more compelling. I sat on the edge of the bed, one that was incredibly comfortable and worthy of hours of slumber, but oddly enough, the last thing on my mind was the desire to sleep. This was my second day in Chicago, for the second summer in a row now. Not that it was a tradition or anything, more like a pleasant coincidence of consecutive trips; last year my aunt was visiting from the Philippines and after she stayed with us for a while, we had to drive her up to Chicago where she would reside for a month, for business purposes. And this year, my dad’s annual statistician’s conference also happened to take place in the Windy City. After the news of this second visit was broke to me early in the summer, I spent the duration of those first two months still anchored in my small hometown, amidst the breathing trees and flowering plants in rich soil, but my mind was longing for the lofty buildings and crowded concrete. When the end of July came and we boarded the plane, the short flight almost felt more like a drive going back home - as if for the past year, actually being home was being on vacation. Being in Chicago bears a sense of belonging for me, one that I can’t seem to really pinpoint. The minimal days I have spent here, admiring the architecture, taking advantage of the culture and of course the food, have been enough for me to develop a deep-seated love for not just the city, but this city in particular. I don’t know what it was exactly that grasped my attention; my affinity seemed to have developed from a series of ‘love at first sight’ moments. It was the very first drive through the city, in 2015; my hair was shorter and I still had braces wired to my teeth and a different pair of glasses, which gleamed against each passing light. It was when I looked across the horizon and did not see mountains, but instead of seeing empty space; instead of seeing an absence of familiarity, I saw the frame fill with possibility and substance I took interest in. It was each time a famous monument or tourist hotspot introduced itself to me, most of them conveniently placed within walking distance of each other. It was waking up alone in the king sized bed of my godmother’s apartment, on around the twentieth floor, to the satisfying glow of a city view from a large window, framed by exposed brick. It was the white noise of cars and people and existence - not as discordant as that of New York City - perceived by my ears like birds singing in the early morning. It was that atmosphere, that feeling, that struck me as momentous. Chicago was a totally new sensory experience for me that I wanted to welcome again. Everything just felt so fitting. A year later, my attraction remained; I inhaled the Illinois air once again and it felt like taking the first breath after waking up. I guess it wasn’t necessarily ‘love at first sight’ moments that I was experiencing - that seemed a bit too clichéd - it was more like ‘comfort at first sight.’ I drew parallels between this year and the year before; new instances ignited past emotions. The first drive through the city, in 2016, as soon as we’ve concluded at the airport; my hair was long and I was dressed in all black. Recognizing all the landmarks I had met before. Seeing this world through my sister’s fresh eyes, this being my second trip here but her first. As I sat in the hotel, I took in my surroundings and embraced the essence of it all. This was only day two of the five I would be spending in Chicago, but it wasn’t just another day. My family surprisingly did not have a plan for what today would consist of. No step-by-step itinerary, no strict schedule; that was more than alright, because there was only one thing that mattered to me that was set in stone. Today my enthusiasm for this city was combining with an enthusiasm of a greater degree. Not only did my dreams and potential future live here in Chicago, but so did my friend Connor. We were ‘friends’ as in one of my best friends had known him for some years, and through that mutual friend we were ‘acquainted’ with each other and thus emerged our friendship. We communicated solely through texting, social media, and phone calls, but were good friends nonetheless. The moment I found out I’d be stopping by the city again, plans were set into motion, and as the period between the present and the time when we would meet gradually got shorter, my excitement heightened. This just became another incentive for me to visit Chicago again. One month faded into one week and then into one day. It was surreal getting up and finally being able to think, “today is the day.” The morning of the fateful day was a self-established rush; I found myself continuously sprinting between the bathroom and the vanity mirror by the window as I got ready. For a moment, I forgot about the beauty of my environment and had to focus on myself. My fully-dressed parents stood there, watching me in my frantic state, waiting as patiently as they could. I was feeling so much stress and pressure, despite how I had claimed this place was an oasis of contentment and ease. Exiting the hotel, that underlying feeling that I had forgotten something was weighing on me. I prepped myself with pessimistic warnings: something’s going to go wrong. The universe is going to throw a curveball at you; this will not be as fulfilling as you’ve made it out to be. This made for a restless bus ride. My concept of time was inconsistent: was time moving too fast or too slow? At around 11:15 Central Time, we arrived in front of The Bean. I might have just been waking up at this time if I was home, but not here; the city was awake and loud with color and life. As the bus stopped with a hiss and we stepped off, the relentless sun greeted us unwelcomely. I was drawn to the massive, shining Bean immediately, not out of fascination, but because my instincts took me towards the nearest shade I could find. I stared up at the distorted reflections of dozens of tourists nestled under the sculpture with me and saw patterned visuals, warped and metallic, imagining what alluring photographs they would make. My camera was at hand; normally I would be using it, but waiting there under the scorching sun, my anxiety was absolutely overwhelming, washing out any other current thoughts or impulses. Suddenly, I needed space. I needed time. I needed to take a reality check. I made a brisk walk to the nearby bathrooms and I felt like a nervous young tourist; it made me uneasy, I wanted - needed to feel happy, comfortable, at home. In the bathroom, the swift wave of cooler air was a relief; I set my bag on the sparkling black linoleum, glad no one else was occupying the space with me. I made those last-minute touches that slipped my mind in the hotel. I went to the bathroom, sprayed on some perfume, and fixed my hair, which today was tame but still just as thick; pulling some of it back with a hair tie. I took the brisk walk back to The Bean in a more collected fashion, immediately planting myself in the shade of the park’s trees, where I could sit and ensure that my hair wouldn’t get too frizzy. Connor wouldn’t be there for quite some time, but just in case, I had to keep my eyes peeled, looking around and checking everything in the surrounding area. Every boy in the dense mass of people held the possibility of being him. I had never been this antsy while waiting for anything. I unpacked my bag, pulling out the few presents I had for him, before putting them back in one at a time. Bundle of Pokémon cards. T-shirt. CD (The Strokes, Angles). Stickers. Card. Balling up my long-sleeved button up, which served a questionable purpose in this heat, thinking, thinking, can’t stop thinking. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe this is actually happening. This situation is so surreal. How will I know when he’s here? What will it be like when we meet? At some point my sister went off on her own; she was spending her day at the Art Institute, on her own excursion. I was still deep in my thoughts, imagining them as a pool to swim through to combat the humid weather. I don’t remember the exact moment, I don’t remember the exact thought that ran through my mind, but my attention was caught - with a pinch, a slight alert. There he was. I saw him. In the distance. I saw him, with my eyes; a physical three-dimensional being, walking right in front of me. At first it was just another guy that I happened to lay my eyes on, but there were features that were too distinguishable for me to not recognize: light greenish blond hair, quarter sleeve baseball shirt and jeans, skateboard on his back. There was a delay in how my mind registered who that was, but before I could even think about it I found words leaving my mouth, “Is that him? Oh my god! That’s him, right there! OH MY GOD,” and my parents had no response, obviously they didn’t care as much. I watched him walk over to the other side of the grassy expanse, looking down at his phone - probably texting me - before he sat on an opposing ledge, back facing me. 11:33, I received the text: “I’m here”. I quelled the urge to just run over to him, what was once hundreds of miles away was now just a couple of feet. I’m not usually one for phone calls, but I was on the phone in an instant, and not even waiting for him to pick up or say a word, I said, “I SEE YOU. TURN AROUND,” he turned, but not in the right direction; “no completely around, turn all the way around,” and when I said that, he did accordingly, and that was the moment we were both seeing each other for the first time. In a dreamlike haze, we exchanged waves and after what might have been the fastest goodbye possible, my feet were ahead of the rest of my body and I ran towards him for a hug. Letting out an enthusiastic “Connor!”; we met in the middle, “I have something for you,” I laughed, handing him a card with the same words printed on the front (and “you’re holding it” on the inside). This wasn’t a particularly phenomenal embrace, but in this instant, as Connor laughed in response, everything was alright and nothing mattered. ‘Comfort at first sight’; this was that again. Usually, when I highly anticipate any event, it decides to veer away from my expectations and I end up disappointed. It was not often that my anxiety was answered with solace. It was August 1st, 2016, and the long, impending countdown in my head was now over. There I was, getting lunch and sitting in the park with a friend that I never thought I would ever meet. On this day, I was allowed to roam the city streets, alone with someone who was technically a stranger. I had no idea where we were going or how to get around, nor was I sure of what we were doing and what I wanted to do, but all I knew was that I was in Chicago and I was welcome here. The bustling streets didn’t feel unfamiliar. The pulsating crowds of city goers didn’t intimidate me. The guy by my side, who I had never spent time with before in my life, did not make me feel uncomfortable. Colossal structures towered over me and I did not feel small. It wasn’t just another day. But it was as if...I was home and I was just spending another regular day here, hanging out with a friend that I had known for years. The uncertain path we took, which included us nearly getting lost, felt almost routine. Somehow - whether it was over the span of these two years I had visited or in the matter of the hours passed as I was with Connor - a city so foreign to me genuinely became my favorite place to be. I now know that it is possible to fall in love with something you have only met twice. And that it is also possible to experience an entire lifetime of friendship within the period of meeting someone for the first time. In this city, I experienced some firsts that I knew would not be lasts. I hoped I could come back and pick up where I left off once again, the feelings I felt being far too significant and impactful to abandon here in this time and place. I will always remember this occasion; these days in Chicago, Illinois in the summer of ‘16. Last year, I had left part of my heart in Chicago and finally, we had reunited.

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ruffsficstuffplace · 8 years ago

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The Keeper of the Grove (Part 1)

Note: The following is an experiment in a spontaneously written fanfic. It will likely never be finished and is just being done for fun, and to give this blog a bit of a revival.

The wind that takes your last breath.

The blur you see before your eyes close for the last time.

The caretaker of Nature’s delicate balance, the whisperer in the ear of all great mortals who thought themselves divine, the death knell of all that ever lived:

The Keeper of the Grove.

Weiss had heard all of the stories, seen the art, the plays inspired by her--it was impossible not to, seeing as the twin peaks of the Viridian Valley always loomed over the horizon. Candela may have prided itself as the realm’s capital of Science, Technology, and Reason, but it would seem that even the most faithless and coldly logical people of Avalon could not resist the allure of a good yarn.

She had always thought the Keeper moronic, the stuff of fireside tales told to gullible children, fiction invented by hunters and adventurers returning to town with no game and wounded egos.

Now, with her cadre of elite bodyguards all lying on the ground unconscious, holding bleeding gashes, or nursing slashed wrists; their weapons sliced apart or rendered useless; and her back to a copse of trees perfectly shaped for cornering prey, Weiss realized that the Keeper was real.

All too real.

With nothing else to do except await her inevitable execution, Weiss decided to get a good look at her.

She was smaller than she expected.

Much smaller.

The stories always depicted her as looming several times larger than that of a fully-grown man, the shadow she cast stretching far past the fools and fortune seekers who dared trespass her land, a wicked figure with long, gnarled limbs, perfect for bounding after prey and catching them just before they broke out of the trees and to safety.

But the figure in front of her? She looked more like a little girl, barely older than 10, if she went by human standards.

And she did not look nearly as terrifying. The artists and tapestry weavers always made sure to pay special, loving attention to the Keeper’s visage, a hideous creature, like the bastard child of a rat, a deer, and a wolf; she had jaws perpetually slavering, fangs dripping with fresh blood and the remains of her latest victim, and yet more viscera proudly hanging from her twisted horns if they were feeling particularly gruesome. And if there was one thing they always made sure to keep, however simplified and caricatured the image, it was her eyes:

Glowing red orbs that pierced into your own, into your soul.

Weiss could see nothing even remotely suggesting something as vicious, even if the hood pulled over her face and the angle of the moonlight hid her features.

The one thing that they did get right was her scythe: a massive, ancient branch, gnarled and twisted, yet also meticulously sanded and shaped, stretching far above the Keeper’s head, with a wicked curved blade that glinted in the moonlight, looking not unlike a serial killer about to enjoy killing you for a long, long time.

Weiss wasn’t looking forward to knowing how exactly it felt like to get killed by it--if the stories were anything to go by, it only hurt if you were hit by a glancing blow or the Keeper intentionally missed.

That it felt like “having a piece of your soul ripped apart, little by little” was not a comforting thought, however.

The Keeper raised her weapon up into the air, the blade catching the light of the moon, glowing so brightly Weiss had to shield her eyes.

In that moment, she prayed to whatever deities were listening, hoping that they would find some way to tell Winter how much she loved her, how thankful she was for everything she’s done, and also that their father was an asshole and she would never, ever love him, even in death.

Thunk.

Weiss waited for the whoosh through the air, the brief pain of cold steel on warm flesh, whatever waited for her in the Aether, if it really did exist.

“Hi!” she heard a young, chipper voice say. “I realize this is going to sound really weird and make you super suspicious, since I just creamed your guards and all, but: could you open your eyes? It feels really weird talking to you while you’ve got them squeezed shut like that.”

Weiss reluctantly obeyed. The scythe was no longer raised up in the air; instead, it was planted firmly on the ground, blunt-end first. The Keeper was still looming in front of her, but her hood was down. She looked as young as she sounded, and infinitely more harmless and friendly than even the most sympathetic depictions Weiss had seen.

“Thanks~” the Keeper said, the deer ears sprouting from her almost-completely human head twitching happily. “Look, I understand that you humans are always looking for more resources and power to grow even bigger, make more cool stuff, and feed your kids and keep the lights on in your cities on...”

“... But we Fae also REALLY like not being killed, not having our home set on fire or flattened, not having our entire culture and history erased just like that--you know, things you humans don’t like having done to you, too.

“So, if you could just promise you’ll leave, and tell whoever started this expedition to never come back, I won’t have to kill every single one of you.”

The Keeper smiled and held out her free hand.

Fleshy, soft, and with four fingers and a thumb.

Nothing even remotely close to the wicked, razor sharp claws of legend.

And really, just like Weiss’ own hand.

“Deal?” the Keeper asked, still smiling.

Weiss stared at her hand for a long, long time. Her eyes strayed to the guards--gathered around her crashed carriage, unarmed or crippled, looking helplessly at her and the Keeper.

“Some of the best of the best,” her father had told her as they walked in between their two lines, every soldier standing at attention in perfect, precise angles. “Few can stand against their might, and in the unlikely event that they face a foe they can not crush like a bug, know that they are more than ready to lay their lives down to ensure your safety.”

Her father saw them as tools, assets, numbers on a spending report, certainly a bother if they happened to be killed, but not an amount he couldn’t recoup in time, and for sure there was another elite guard waiting to replace them.

Weiss saw them for what they were: men and women who earned their living through bloodshed and violence, some with families, some with lovers, all of them with plenty more fight left in them, if they didn’t throw it away for some stupid cause--or someone else sealed their fate for them.

She was hesitant to shake her hand, partly because of the events that had just transpired, mostly because it was also covered in mud, sap, grass, and fresh blood.

But it was either needing to wash her hands for hours after she got back to civilization, or forfeiting all of their lives for her father’s escapades, and her own foolishness.

“Deal,” Weiss said as she took it.

The Keeper smiled as they shook. “Great!” She pulled her hand back, stuck her fingers into her mouth, and whistled. “Get them out of here, everyone!” she cried.

Weiss and her guards flinched as the nearby bushes and the branches all rustled and shook. Some of them screamed as more humanoid creatures like the Keeper swarmed around the carriage, pushed it back upright from sheer force of numbers before some of them went to work on the engine and the chassis, and the rest loomed intimidatingly over the guards, as if they were daring them to just try and make one final stand, see how well that works out for them.

Mere minutes later, Weiss was back in the carriage, now much less roomy and spacious that she was sharing it with the worst injured of the guards--thankfully still alive, even if their futures as mercenaries dubious if they didn’t get proper medical attention soon. The rest rode on the roof or walked alongside it, making notes to themselves to never accept a job in the Viridian Valley ever again, and to demand vastly increased hazard pay.

In the stories, anyone foolish enough to make a deal with the Keeper of the Grove was only delaying the inevitable and dragging more unfortunate souls down with them when their time came, making an already bad situation worse through their own greed and self-interest.

But then again, those same stories also assumed that the Keeper was fiction, a myth, and probably some vicious pack of wolves than an actual, living, breathing being.

Weiss dearly hoped that wasn’t the only thing they’d gotten wrong.

#white rose #rwby #the keeper of the grove #fanfic

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chorusfm · 7 years ago

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My Chemical Romance – The Black Parade

Let me preface this My Chemical Romance retrospective by stating that they are my favorite band, and I still hold The Black Parade as one of my top-5 favorite albums ever recorded. Throughout My Chemical Romance’s career, I was astounded by their rise to fame, and having seen them go as the first opening band on tour with The Used, to headlining stadiums by the time The Black Parade reached its heights, and I have marveled at the lore and theatrics surrounding my favorite artist. The Black Parade was always an album that I kept coming back to when it first came out on October 24, 2006, and it still hits me hard every time I revisit this modern classic. Boiling down to the story of a cancer patient to the closing lyrics of “I am not afraid to keep on living,” I am bold enough to say that I found this album to be perfect from first listen, to now today as I re-listen to it again. In a lot of ways, My Chemical Romance were on a collision course for making this classic album as front-man Gerard Way mentioned in several interviews that he was always planning on make this LP from the start of the incarnation of the band. In some ways, this album killed My Chemical Romance as they put every drop of blood and sweat into creating this record, and even the group themselves initially saw this as the closing chapter to the band. However, what came after the mammoth success of The Black Parade was a scrapped album (to later be released, called Conventional Weapons) to the reinvention of the artist as the Killjoys on Danger Days, to the last recording we were left with on an aborted project called “Fake Your Death.” These events only added to allure and mystique surrounding The Black Parade. From the opening notes of a hospital machine quietly beeping to a flat-line on the introductory track “The End,” everything just seemed to be fully thought out and worked with the vision of this extraordinary group of musicians. When Way sings, “Now come one, come all to this tragic affair/Wipe off that makeup, what’s in is despair,” you are immediately transported to a world inside the five of the bandmates’ heads of a cancer patient living out their last moments. “Dead!” follows this track with an extremely up-tempo pace and rocks like The Ramones on steroids. On the chorus, Way sings, “Have you heard the news that you’re dead?/No one ever had much nice to say/I think they never liked you anyway/Oh, take me from the hospital bed/Wouldn’t it be grand? It ain’t exactly what you planned./And wouldn’t it be great if we were dead?” and it’s almost as if he is finding the silver lining in a life ending to a terrible disease such as cancer. The dual-guitar work of Ray Toro and Frank Iero is at its most potent on songs such as this one, and bassist Mikey Way keeps up with the duo as mentioned above’s frenetic pace. The underrated musician in all of this work of art is the drumming of Bob Bryar, who was let go shortly after the touring cycle wrapped on this record. Bryar’s fills and energy throughout the disc is nothing short of remarkable, and he adds an intricate layer to the story of the record. The next song, is arguably one of the best songs MCR had ever written in “This Is How I Disappear.” From its double-edged sword guitar attack to the somber lyrics of Way scripting out the journey of The Patient in the story, nothing comes off as cheesy or cabaret. Instead, everything clicks at just the right point and time. My favorite moment, in particular, is the bridge where Way sings, “Can you hear me cry out to you?/Words I thought I’d choke on figure out/I’m really not so with you anymore/I’m just a ghost/So I can’t hurt you anymore.” The simplicity of the lyrics to the complexity of what the guitars were doing made this a truly beautiful musical moment for the group, and solidified my pick as album of the year in 2006. “The Sharpest Lives” is a certified killer cut of a track and features some of the best guitar work of Toro’s and Iero’s career to date. Seeing this song performed live just exploded on the chorus of, “Give me a shot to remember/And you can take all the pain away from me/A kiss and I will surrender/The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead,” and allowed me to personally gain the courage to sing in my band at a later date. It was the energy that I felt from their songs like this that truly made me understand when fans would claim, “Their music saved my life.” MCR may not have directly “saved” me, but it did give me a shit-ton of confidence to feel like I could take on all doubters if I followed a similar path as my favorite front-man. The album itself hits its crescendo and stride on the first single, “Welcome to the Black Parade.” From the gut-wrenching first notes on a piano to the call-to-arms lyrics of Way gaining every misplaced or forgotten kid to join him in the fictional parade, My Chemical Romance hit this one to the moon and back. After the first few opening lines lead into the punk rock verses of the meat of the song, they quickly bleed into one of the more anthemic choruses of my generation where Way sings, “We’ll carry on, we’ll carry on/And though you’re dead and gone believe me/Your memory will carry on/We’ll carry on/And in my heart I can’t contain it/The anthem won’t explain it.” It’s on brilliant choruses such as this one as to why this band hit such an incredible high with The Black Parade. There was simply going to be no way of containing this band’s popularity with certified smash singles like this one. “I Don’t Love You” reminded me a bit of a brit-pop rock band donned in all black clothing hitting all the right notes and moments on a heartfelt ballad. The music video for this track abandoned much of the marching band garb that the fans had grown accustomed to over this album cycle and delivered a quick re-imagining of what My Chemical Romance could do and become. As I mentioned before, Bob Bryar really gets forgotten as an underrated player in the parade, but his chops are what drives songs such as “House of Wolves.” Way’s shrieking in between the cabaret-esque verses come off as playful and fun and don’t seem forced at all from a front-man with an affinity for stealing the show. However, this track clearly gets Bryar to take over, and several key fills help drive this song home. Next up, the heart-wrenching piano and vocal-driven “Cancer,” which Way mentioned in several interviews as being one of the more important songs on the record, and in the totality of the My Chemical Romance project. The beauty of this track comes from its simplicity and features some of the best vocal delivery in Way’s career. This was a song that I didn’t know that MCR was capable of making at this stage in their career, but damn am I glad that they were able to pull it off. “Mama” sounds like a show-tune drenched in emo lore and despair, and even features Liza Minnelli’s vocals towards the bridge of the song. The song is structured around the story of the character “Mother War” as Way responds to Minelli’s earnest vocals with, “But there’s shit that I’ve done with this fuck of a gun/You would cry out your eyes all along.” All of these elements built into this song would be difficult for the average band to pull off. Lucky for us, My Chemical Romance were not an “average band;” instead they became almost super-human on their landmark LP. “Sleep” starts with some actual recordings of Way describing his night terrors during the recording process of The Black Parade, and is a clever way of introducing a killer song such as this. The crescendos in this particular song are some of the most powerful moments you will find in our scene still today, and you can tell that the band hit several key chords with their performance on this larger than life song. “Teenagers” was one song that I originally thought didn’t belong in the fold of the Black Parade-era since it sounded more like a track that would have fit better on Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. However, now I can’t even imagine this record without this brilliant single, that features some of the most dangerous lyrical content of Way’s career when he sings, “The boys and girls in the clique/The awful names that they stick/You’re never gonna fit in much, kid/But if you’re troubled and hurt/What you got under your shirt/Will make them pay for the things that they did.” In the days of school shootings making us almost numb, due to the vast number over the past ten years or so, this was a lyrical line that could’ve derailed some of the success that MCR had due to the possible lack of sensitivity to the topic. In fact, the music video release was also delayed due to another senseless tragedy that happened around that time. Yet, My Chemical Romance was able to release this as one of their more popular singles from this record and their catalog in general. The ending of The Black Parade record features a great one-two punch of one of my most cherished My Chem-songs in “Disenchanted” and the blazing “Famous Last Words.” Starting with the former, I was incredibly blown away by the production of Rob Cavallo on this song in particular, since he made this somber track shine in so many unique ways. From the delicate opening to the first major hook of, “It was the roar of the crowd that gave me heartache to sing,” everything is pretty damn near perfect. My favorite moment of this song is the restraint that the entire band is able to showcase, as they could’ve done a huge build-up much like the aforementioned “Mama,” yet knowing that they had already followed that formula, they chose to blaze a new path forward on a larger than life emo power ballad. “Famous Last Words,” on the other hand, is just a free-flowing hard rock single that was destined for prime time right from the get-go. With the closing word of “I am not afraid to keep on living/I am not afraid to walk this world alone/Honey, if you stay I’ll be forgiven/Nothing you can say can stop me going home,” Way almost single-handedly gave all of those kids out there struggling for meaning in their own lives a reason to press on and realize that things do get better. With an ending like that, it’s hard not to get just as excited about listening to this record again from front to back, as MCR intended. This LP will undoubtedly continue to stand the test of time in our scene as one of the most critical records in punk, emo, and rock in general. The Black Parade may be “dead,” but its memory certainly carries on. --- Please consider supporting us so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/review/retrospective/my-chemical-romance-the-black-parade/

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fashiontrendin-blog · 7 years ago

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Everything Harling Did, Saw and Felt During Copenhagen Fashion Week

http://fashion-trendin.com/everything-harling-did-saw-and-felt-during-copenhagen-fashion-week/

Everything Harling Did, Saw and Felt During Copenhagen Fashion Week

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Tuesday

3:30 p.m.

I arrive in Copenhagen fresh as a daisy, ready to grab Scandinavia by its scrunchie-wearing horns. Just kidding! I didn’t sleep on the plane because I am my own worst enemy and I still haven’t mastered the art of sleeping on planes — or the art or chic travel attire, for that matter, so I look exactly how I feel: tired.

However, by the time I’m in my hotel room and faced with the opportunity to curl up in one of the side-by-side twin beds for a much-needed nap, something miraculous happens. I don’t want to take a nap! I’m energized simply by looking out my window at the Copenhagen skyline! Naps can wait until I’m back on American soil.

4:30 p.m.

I’m freshly showered and wearing my favorite blue kaftan from SZ Blockprints plus translucent pink Mars sunglasses and a T-shirt wrapped on top of my head. The T-shirt is because I’m in the midst of plopping, an integral aspect of my curly hair routine I will wax upon at great length in my upcoming Man Repeller Hair Diary. But anyways, I remove the T-shirt and unleash my wet hair before skipping my way out of the hotel in search of sustenance. I have a dinner in exactly 1.5 hours, but who cares? I’m hungry, and I’m in Copenhagen.

4:45 p.m.

I walk to the Torvehallerne food court, which is super close to my hotel. There are so many little stalls selling food, flowers, coffee and other alluring delights that I’m immediately overwhelmed-in-a-good-way. I’m prepared to explore, but then I spot a window full of smørrebrød (Denmark’s famous, open-faced sandwiches) and stop dead in my tracks. I order one with chicken salad and devour it standing up before I can take a photo.

5:30 p.m.

I get some work done at the hotel while contemplating what to wear to dinner, a seated event hosted by Copenhagen Fashion Week to celebrate its seasonal inauguration. I decide on a sundress from Naya Rea with side cut-outs — or, as Haley calls them, “platonic peepholes.”

6:30 p.m.

I’m at the dinner! There are so many people here! I’m sitting next to Mads Peterson, the co-director of the Copenhagen International Fashion Fair. We chat about which shows we’re most excited to see and the merits of Scandinavia’s serious bicycle habit. I’m not super hungry because of my late afternoon snack, but I eat some chicken because it’s delicious, and I’m in Copenhagen.

10 p.m.

After filing copy for a story about why celebrities are bad at Instagram, I promptly fall into the deepest slumber I’ve had since I was in utero.

Wednesday

8 a.m.

I start my first official day of Copenhagen Fashion Week at a press breakfast showcasing up-and-coming designers in the Nordic region. Much to my jet-lagged delight, there is a little mobile espresso machine on wheels outside the venue. I get a latte.

8:30 a.m.

Although there is plenty of sustenance in terms of fashion inspiration, there isn’t much in the way of actual food at the breakfast, so I join a couple other editors for a second course of eggs and bacon in the hotel’s dining room.

9:30 a.m.

I answer emails and finish editing a story. (I know, I know, snoozeeeeeeee, keep scrolling for Copenhagen content).

12 p.m.

Three other editors and I arrive at the Morten Ussing show venue exactly on time. Our driver, Niclas, is worried that “exactly on time” means I’m late, but I assure him that fashion shows tend to operate on a half-an-hour-or-later delay like a moody teen.

12:30 p.m.

Sure enough, the show starts exactly half an hour late. I sip on my ginger soda while taking in the collection, a smorgasbord of bright colors, clever woven accessories and translucent dresses and skirts layered over high-waist underwear.

2:30 p.m.

I head back to the Torvehallerne food court to get something to eat for lunch. I pass a stall for the Danish chain Palæo, which I remember someone recommending to me via Instagram. I’m not paleo, but the food looks good, so I stop and order a wrap. I eat it on my way back to the hotel. It’s a bit funky (there are whole almonds in it, which I’ve never had inside a wrap before), but I like it.

3:30 p.m.

I arrive half an hour late to the Mark Kenly Domino Tan show due to a carpooling delay, but fortunately it doesn’t start for another 10 minutes. I love the collection: low-slung trousers, perfect trench coats and deconstructed blazers galore. I’m still thinking about the opening look in particular, and how such a simple outfit (blue jeans, a blue blazer and a slightly oversized white T-shirt) can somehow say exactly what you need it to.

4 p.m.

I chat briefly with Simon Chetrit (of Man Repeller fashion week street style photography fame) outside the venue before hopping in a car and heading to Cecilie Bahnsen.

4:20 p.m.

I AM SO EXCITED FOR CECILIE BAHNSEN. In the three years since starting her brand, Bahnsen has cemented her place as an industry darling, wooing everyone from editors to buyers to shoppers with her penchant for comfortable silhouettes and traditional techniques like quilting and patchwork. The Spring 2019 show is located inside a ginormous white-floored warehouse lined with a single row of seats around its entire perimeter. A hush falls over the crowd as soon as the first look emerges from behind a curtain: a white quilted top paired with a matching skirt and pearl-decorated Suicoke sandals. The entire collection is, in a word, dreamy, filled with the kind of clothes that practically beg to be seen and touched up-close.

5:30 p.m.

My last show of the day is Stine Goya, a brand known for its unique ability to marry contrasting prints in surprising and delightful ways. The Spring 2019 collection is no exception; inspired by Italian architect and interior designer Renzo Mongiardino, each outfit is like an artfully curated room, replete with different textures, unexpected shapes and whimsical accents. My favorite detail? Silk scarves knotted under bucket hats, because two head accessories are always better than one.

6:30 p.m.

I take myself out for dinner alone, an idea that usually terrifies me, but I’m trying to overcome my need to be constantly occupied with something — conversation, my computer, a book, my phone — and learn to sit peacefully with my own thoughts.

I end up going to Souls, a casual restaurant near the hotel with a seemingly endless number of positive reviews on Trip Advisor. I order a salad with tofu, sweet potatoes, hummus, quinoa, edamame beans, avocado and cashew-curry dressing. I’m not exaggerating: It might be the best salad I’ve ever had. I eat it at a small table outside, surrounded by groups of young people drinking beer and speaking Danish, watching the sun set on the city.

8 p.m.

I pay a visit to the Ganni showroom, which in addition to being filled with cool clothes is also filled with cool chairs, a cool urn and cool blue raspberry candy. It is, in other words, very cool. I meet Alexandra (the brand’s head of PR), who kindly lets me pick something out to wear to the show tomorrow. I immediately start spiraling from indecision, but Alexandra makes a beeline for a hot pink midi dress, holds it out in front of me and yep, that’s it.

Thursday

9 a.m.

I wake up, put on my favorite milkmaid dress from Maryam Nassir Zadeh and go downstairs to eat breakfast in the hotel. I’m eating alone but my phone is now charged to 100% battery and I did not sit peacefully with my own thoughts.

11:00 a.m.

Upon arrival at the venue for By Malene Birger, I’m greeted by bouquets of flowers and a sparkling row of glass-bottled waters infused with various fruits and herbs. I choose one bobbing with cantaloupe balls and sip it as I make my way towards the back of the huge room. All of the seats are dotted with paper accordion fans, which guests are using to cool flushed cheeks in the unusual Copenhagen heat. I unfold mine and flap it breezily, feeling very ladylike.

Waiting for shows to start is typically when my anxiety starts to kick in. I’m still a relative newbie on the fashion scene, so I don’t have many close or even semi-close friends in the industry (a work in progress), but I’m pleasantly surprised by how open and chatty everyone is here compared to New York. I feel so much affection for the people who strike up conversation with me I could kiss them, but I don’t, because I’m drinking cantaloupe-infused water.

11:30 a.m.

The show is great (high energy, lots of bold silhouettes, fun bags), but I’m drawn to one look in particular: a maxi-length striped shirt dress paired with strappy kitten heel sandals. So easy, so refreshing. I want to recreate it as soon as possible.

12:30 p.m.

I have tons of free time before my next show, so after getting a bit of writing done, I head out to explore. I’m wearing my best exploring outfit: a short slip dress from LHD, Lowercase sunglasses and my trusty Maryam Nassir Zadeh sandals (trusty because they never give me blisters, which is key for walking adventures). For lunch, I’m embarrassed to admit that I went back to Souls and got the exact same salad I ate the day before. I know! Lame! I’m supposed to be exploring! But it was THAT GOOD.

1:30 p.m.

I hit up a few vintage stores nearby that were recommended by people on Instagram, starting with Times Up, a small and very well-curated shop with a great selection of floral sundresses. Next, I head to the 90s mecca that is Wasteland, where I try on a seemingly infinite number of Bermuda-length denim shorts. I can’t seem to find a pair that fits me perfectly, but only because I’m impatient a.k.a. eager to head to my third stop. I walk around the corner to Carmen Copenhagen, which ends up being my least favorite of the stores, but still fun to visit. To conclude my window-shopping spree, I walk in the direction of Holy Golightly, a luxury fashion retailer famous for its aesthetically-pleasing interior and collection of high-end brands — or so I heard. Sadly I can’t corroborate, because I can’t find the store! I wander in circles near the designated address for about 15 minutes before giving up and making my way back to the hotel. My phone’s map must be glitching. Alas.

5 p.m.

Dressed in my unmissable hot pink dress, I’m dropped off at a mysterious-looking warehouse for the Ganni show. Inside, there are gargantuan shipping containers that perfectly frame the uber-long runway. I chat with my friend Anaa for a bit before heading to my seat, where I meet Jenny Walton, an illustrator whose incredible personal style I’ve admired on Instagram for a long time. Meeting people in the era of social media is so weird huh? I repress my urge to tell her how much I loved the white top and skirt she wore last week.

5:30 p.m.

Wow! This show! It’s so much fun, and such an interesting direction for the brand — significantly more “outdoorsy” than previous collections. Instead of feminine floral-print dresses there are anoraks, hiking books, bungee cord belts, cargo pants and fleece vests galore. The Dopp kit clutches are my personal favorite touch, one I can easily see becoming a street style mainstay.

6:30 p.m.

The Baum und Pferdgarten show is set inside an auction house, which provides some very entertaining artistic eye candy as I wait for people to be seated. Baum und Pferdgarten was founded in 1999, so it’s one of the more established Danish houses. It’s also one of the most distinctly wearable, typically offering a selection of colorful pieces that are easily mixed and matched. This season was no exception, featuring items like like two-tone jeans, windbreakers, pink trousers, structured jumpsuits and gingham knits. In other news, I’m hungry for a snack.

7:15 p.m.

I venture out in search of sustenance to tide me over until dinner. I decide to indulge in my adult right to eat dessert cream before my main meal and promptly head in the direction of an ice cream shop called ParadIS. I get two scoops of Oreo in a cup and eat it on a bench outside. I’m sufficiently sustained.

8:40 p.m.

The Saks Potts show is about to start — 40 minutes late, but who cares! It’s as if everyone can tell it’s going to be worth the wait. There’s something distinctly anticipatory about the atmosphere inside the venue, which is wall-to-wall carpeted in white and smells like orange blossoms. Suddenly the lights go dark and a horde of leotard-clad dancers march into the center of the room. They perform an intricately coordinated routine I would gladly watch again and again for hours. The lights go dark again and a lone model dressed like the White Witch from The Chronicles of Narnia emerges from a side door. Illuminated by a single spotlight, she looks like she’s floating. Her dramatic entrance heralds the true beginning of the show — an array of Olympics-inspired ensembles ranging from lime green lycra to flame-printed jumpsuits. Worth the wait indeed.

9:30 p.m.

I arrive at Ganni’s celebratory post-show dinner, hosted at designer Ditte Reffstrup’s her home. The entire house is emptied of furniture, save for a makeshift bar where peach cocktails abound, and a DJ booth in a room filled with silver streamers. I text my boyfriend that James Murphy (of LCD Soundsystem) is DJing. He’s a huge fan.

I head into the kitchen where I find stacks of porcelain bowls and a huge vat of lentil soup. I’m deliriously hungry, so I ladle myself a huge bowlful and walk outside to find somewhere to sit. I immediately run into Brandon Borror-Chappell, comedian and Man Repeller contributor extroadinaire. I’m so happy to see someone I know. I chat with him and his girlfriend, InStyle Editor-in-Chief Laura Brown, while attempting to elegantly slurp my soup without spilling.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to see Lisa Williams, the founder of Lisa Says Gah. She introduces herself and her husband, and I talk to them about what it’s like being on the buying side of the industry until I see Fashionista Editor-in-Chief Alyssa Vingan walking towards us with a hot dog in hand and gasp. Some context: I’d heard rumblings that the Ganni party would be serving famous hot dogs, catered by chef-of-the-moment Frederik Bille Brahe, so I was very excited to try them. After confirming their deliciousness, Alyssa guided me around to the back of the house where the hot dogs were being served. I secured one smothered in sauerkraut and headed back to my seat…

Which was now occupied by none other than supermodel Frederikke Sofie, a.k.a. my curly-hair idol! I legitimately bring her photo to my colorist every time I get highlights. I’ve never been more delighted to have my seat stolen. I stand and stare at her hair in what I hope is the least creepy way possible while I try to elegantly eat my hot dog without spilling.

Friday

8:30 a.m.

I grab a quick breakfast downstairs in the hotel before heading out into the city for a run. I end up running through King’s Garden, which is the oldest park in the city and so tranquil I almost feel like I’m trespassing.

1 p.m.

After doing some work, packing up all my bags and checking out at the front desk, I run into Alyssa of Fashionista again in the hotel lobby. Her flight was cancelled due to technical issues, so she’s stranded in Copenhagen for the next two days. Given I have lots of time to kill before my evening flight, we decide to get some lunch and walk around for a bit. I haven’t been to Copenhagen’s trendy eatery Atelier September yet (it was recommended to me by at least 100 people on Instagram), so we head in that direction. The restaurant’s most-hyped dish is avocado toast. Living in New York, I’ve somewhat avocado toasted-out, so I’m wary of ordering it, but in this case it seemed silly not to. When it comes and I take a bite, I’m alarmed that I almost didn’t get it. It’s fantastic — definitely on par with my favorite avocado toast of all time (Bluestone Lane, for the uninitiated).

2:30 p.m.

We wander down to Nyhavn, Copenhagen’s waterfront district and sit down for awhile on one of the many floating barges. The parallel rows of 17th- and 18th-Century townhouses are so brightly-colored they almost look fake, like charming, super-sized homes for dolls.

3:30 p.m.

One quick jaunt to Boyy and Arket later, I part ways with Alyssa to return to the hotel. On my walk back, I think about what made the past four days feel so special. It’s a strange and interesting time to be working in fashion. A lot of changes are taking place: print magazines are folding, designers are decamping from New York to Paris, sustainability is becoming more and more urgent, brands are popping up on Instagram and people are reevaluating how they do things and why. With change comes discomfort, and sometimes, cynicism. But as a new and young editor in the industry, I still feel quite a bit starry-eyed about the whole thing.

At fashion weeks, intermingled with my anxiety about not having anyone to talk to, a palpable sense of joy shines through every time I sit down at a show. In New York that feeling can seem almost cheesy, but in Copenhagen, I feel it shining right back. Denmark’s fashion industry is pulsing with joy. Fashion is now the country’s fourth-largest export. It’s riddled with comfortable shoes, frilly dresses and rhinestone claw clips. Everyone looks excited to be there — openly, unabashedly, uncynically.

I retrieve my suitcase from the hotel’s storage room. Riding down the escalator, like Saks Potts’ illuminated White Witch, I feel like I’m floating.

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Feature photo by Simon Chetrit.

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