#ive never felt so certain about this applying to someone

[lushlovers]

So Good, J Burrow

summary; post-game lovin'

warnings; a wee bit of smut, heavyyyy praise, many pet-names, swearing, kissing, yada yada fingering on the couch,

word count; 439? i think

note; this is so self-indulgent per usual. thank you so much for forty followers??? i just started it feels like, i love you guys sm. apologies on my disappearance ive been catching up on school:(

The room felt as if it were spinning. Any breath from your lungs nearly sucked out completely, only because of how he touched you. A muscular thigh pressed against you, applying just the perfect amount of pleasure. His mouth made quick work on your neck, leaving bruises the same shade of his suit.

Home games are the best thing in the world. Going home to sleep in your own bed after big games is amazing, "You did so good today, Joey," your lips are pressed against his at any chance you get, praising his performance in the way you know he loves to hear.

"Oh, yeah? You think so?" He's challenging your opinions, trying his best to egg you on and get more praise out of you, to which you happily oblige. "So good, baby, I'm so proud of you." His hands station themselves on your hips, pulling you in even more.

You both had somehow made it into your house, fumbling around until you find the light switch in the living room, Joe lays you down, kicking off his and removing your shoes for you in the process. His body was draped over yours, his hands running over every inch of you.

Tugging at the string of your sweats, layering was a given after being outside in the bitter cold for hours on end. He's sat on his knees, quickly pushing off every article of clothing he saw in the way of his goal. The clothes seemed to create a pile just on the other side of the coffee table, but that was to be dealt with later.

His fingers pushed aside your underwear, your face heated at your exposure, nothing he hasn't seen a million times over, but the way he reacted was like a kid in a candy store. Using the tip of his fingers to just apply the right amount of pressure to your clit, circling it with them smoothly, pulling a gasp from your drying throat.

Joe's so cocky about it as well, pushing just one of his thick fingers into your cunt, working himself in. He never had to prep you much, just knowing the ways to talk or touch you to get you going in the best way. Instinctively your hand shoots up to cover your agape mouth as he curled to fingers against your walls.

"No, nono, move your hands, mama, wanna see you," he reassures, tapping your wrist with his freehand. Slowly and hesitantly you drop it at your side, averting your eyes from the man between your legs, seeing it would make it more embarrassing than it already was.

Keeping a close eye on the way your brows creased as he grazed certain spots within you or made those same motions on your clit, this time with a rough thumb. Being in bed with someone as observant as him is great, plus he really knows how to use his hands.

Nothing was quite like the way your legs closed around his hand or the way that made his head spin just like it did the first time he had you like this, vulnerable in such a way that only he was lucky enough to see.

[alucart]

actually fuck it lmao

got hired late september. started actual work in october. started off as a seasonal worker. every day i woke up for work i was dreaded it. it was so much work. i was fatigued everyday but i still had to give it my all or else i was "lazy". if i moved too slow i was considered rude to customers. if i dont smile im rude. if i take a minute to process something then "something is wrong with me." like. Okay. lmao.

obviously when applying for jobs i dont list the fact that im bipolar. hell, i probably have adhd. but beside the point, the fact i have to act a certain way just to keep a job thats barely paying me shit was so. annoying. the fact that while working seasonal i had to put up with so much shit was ridiculous. november and december was so awful. im still mad i had to wake up at like 4am to get to work at 5am and then the store wasnt even busy until 12am. and we had to wear red and make sure everything was perfect bc the ceo was coming to the store? LMAO?

after my seasonal hours were over i thought i was free. i wasnt working for like two weeks but i at least got to spend time with my family. clean. take care of myself. i actually got back to drawing, something i havent been able to do for months. and then they called me back for a full time position. of course i took it because i wasnt finding anything else but it mightve been the worst mistake like ever.

like i must preface, that i got the job for the seasonal position in the first place without an interview, and like, yes i knew that was fishy at the start but also, ive been looking for a job for over two years so i was desperate. somehow the full time position was even worse than the seasonal position. my manager felt more annoying.

not to mention at this point they were making me do shit that i was never hired to do. why am i organizing clothes? i take returns? why are you making me cover in the handbags department? i work in returns and help people with online orders? why are you making me pack online orders? I WORK IN RETURNS, HELP PEOPLE WITH ONLINE ORDERS AND I HAVE PROCESS RETURNS FOR ORDER PICKUPS THAT WERE NEVER PICKED UP?

honestly madness. i had many breakdowns. over not wanting to go back to work. one time i had a stomach virus and had to stay home from work and was so miserable and literally panicking because i thought i could lose my job from being sick. i had a coworker that they also hired full time and she got fired because she "took too many breaks" meanwhile there was another coworker that took way more too many breaks.

while working there i saw many people get fired. like i dont know. and it was constantly understaffed. one time my manager asked me if i could work for 50 hrs one week and i told her "i'll think about it" only to find that weekend she changed my schedule without asking. (i had a breakdown that weekend).

when they had me set up my availability i had changed it so i would get mondays and tuesdays off because i realized i need two days off in a row instead of two random ass days and they didnt even. abide by that. and by the time it was like that on my schedule i already lost my job because i "violated company policy" because i accidentally scanned some fake coupons. which mind you, i never did anything wrong at the job beforehand so i shouldve really got a warning instead of being straight up fired.

but i honestly think they just wanted to get rid of me because i couldnt get enough people to sign up for a credit card, which again, i work in returns, so most people doing a return do not want to apply to a card. to expect someone in returns to have someone sign up for a fucking credit card everyday is insane. telling people that its not really a credit card is even more insane. the fact that im still stressed out over this because im fucking unemployed is. insane!!! and i dont even know if i can get unemployment. i feel like crying.

[zzdinde]

i'm not in a current mindset where High Honor Arthur is better than Low Honor. To me they are both canon.

Here im talking about full on Low. Not helping John get his family we're talking about the hardcore Arthur.

I mean i love high honor for obvious reasons but the low option is actually pretty interesting in terms of how he deals with his own turmoils and emotions.

He's a man who openly calls out Dutch on his bullshit and hypocrisy while being aware of his own bad way and doing nothing to change that because he is dead on about him being unable to change and collect himself. The good in him is not sufficient to try harder and help from the bottom of his heart.

It feels like he tries to help himself coming to term with how cruel and unforgiving he is but i'd argue that it's not the case-- he's not helping himself, he is bringing himself down. TB didn't gave him a new outlook on life; it cruched him and made him bitter for being a fool and he feels like there is nothing he can do and he surely won't do it, because he don't want to do it.

I don't think it only comes from a place of apathy but more from fatalism

He doesn't see himself as a bit of good not only because he never done anything remotely selfless, but because Arthur is a man who values how poeple think about him to certain degree-- how people praise him or loath him. The low honor path ehance that fact in a unsane way: he was fucked over by the man he thought as his father, the man who praised him and called him son. And he is bitter. He is simmering in his own anger and foolishness that it dulls his own sense of justice. His own turmoil revolves around how love is intrinsect to loyalty. I'm sure he doesn't even believe people truly loves him. Why would they?

He doesn't even want to aknowledge that Tilly's going to miss him you know? He stops her short. Doesn't want to hear it.

He never had a chance to internalize what he felt and wanted cause he didn't see himself like that. Arthur being someone who cares for people is a core theme of his character but if you, as the player, chose not to dig deeper and try to end the cycle of violence, it won't end well. Each path is plausible with the life he had.

He had good in him, but somewhere along the way it gets buried and muddled.

So now i want to talk about returning to camp for the money in full Low Honor

He arrives, fights with Micah etc etc Dutch.

But one thing really clicked for me when he said "ive come back to get back what's mine"

Not only Arthur is selfish presented during a Low Honor route, but him getting back what's his can be read the obvious way-- Blackwater money, the only thing keeping them from getting back out West, the thing Dutch kept to himself with Micah's help. Arthur was betrayed by his father figure and even dying wanted to take it as a prize for how much he did for a man who deceived all of them and especially him.

So what about Micah? Well, all of the above is applied to it. Micah's the rat, he fucked the gang, fucked his entire life and fucked the rocky foundation of Dutch's way that possibly wasn't even real from the beginning.

So technically, it's not really a Redemption. He's not repenting for his sins as his last action is driven by selfishness and revenge.

He does not want Micah to die by his hand for the sake of the gang.

It's personal.

So, if the game is about Redemption-- and he wants to cope what''s his;

Where is it? Where is the beackon of light?

Well...Redemption is also a financial term for repayment.

That's the redemption of Arthur, killing the rat and taking the gold his is own Pony up to Dutch and Micah for allowing all that shit that happened.

But it never comes. Dutch's doesn't kill Micah when Arthur orders him to, and Micah gets to walk away after shiving the shit out of him in the heart and back.

Not only he doesn't get any personal Redemption but he doesn't get to give payback.

Ain't that tragically hilarious.

He thought he lived a sinful life, and he died a sinful death. There's no redemption. He's not allowed.

Don't get me started on the meaning of the stab wound, one in the heart for the love he had for Dutch who got crushed-- and one in the back by the betrayal of his father figure by the man whom he trusted more than his own son-- the real rat

[caitlinposs]

i’ve been hitting my cart to fall asleep so i can get through these days as fast as possible. getting high is the only thing i can cling onto anymore, it gives my life the interest and color i’ve been needing currently. i was on the right track to quitting but i guess ive crashed back into it.

i wonder. if we were still friends would i be over at your house right now? would you be at mine? would i be miserable? or would we be cuddling? i’m not the type of person to confront my thoughts. i let them decide for me, i let them take over because i tend to believe they’re in my best interest. if you ask me for the reason i dropped you, id tell you it’s because i didn’t want you to leave me, but honestly i did it out of instinct. it was one day in february, a switch flipped in my mind and i put no effort into turning it back on.

i guess i realized it wasn’t just the two of us anymore, everytime id come over there’d be 5 extra people invading our space. i only loved you when i was alone with you so i always wanted you to myself. i have no idea why that is. it’s not like i was in love with you or something. :/ but all these people i’ve done wrong, i never did it out of spite or hate. i did it because i don’t know how to fully let someone in.

dont be mistaken, i’m still very evil. ;3

an example of my evilness: one day i’ll confess my undying love for you, and the next i’ll completely forget about it. interest can spark inside of me which will usually burn out fast. the only rare exception is when it doesn’t. my fps. the ones i’ve loved so heavily i could easily set the world on fire for them. obsession taken way too far. but i’ll always have a soft spot for my favorite people. they know my chaos.

in the paragraph you sent me before you blocked me, you told me my only motivation is male validation. honestly, yeah. i agree. i wouldn’t call it validation, but something similar. anyway it’s not like it’s something i can control.

when i was younger i had devoted my soul to my dad out of fear and possibly a little trust. every time i did something wrong in his eyes, my body would shut down and i was unable to feel or think anything. soulless. a certain type of numbness where i could practically feel a reaper touching me. one upsetting response from him and my purpose was ripped out of my chest. even if his demeanor was off, if he was driving a little faster and a little more aggressive, i could immediately feel his mood switch—which would end up causing mine. i felt this feeling again yesterday, over something so small. i was telling my aunt how i applied for a job and he immediately said no in a stern ass voice and shook his head. that shut me the fuck up because i could already feel it flushing into me. a weird feeling of confusion has always come along with this numbness, because i can never truly understand what makes him so upset. he was asking me if i wanted to apply at starbucks the night before? maybe it’s because i applied for the job my mom wanted me to do. actually yeah that’s probably it. my dad’s always been so jealous of her because ‘i treat her better than him.’ it’s totally true, i do, but that’s because she was always there to hold me when i cried and she took the time to understand my soft spots. she tells me she loves me everyday, while i don’t have a memory of my dad saying i love you.

so that’s it. that’s all i want from men. i know now, i don’t crave their validation, i crave their care. their sincerest love. i really yearn for someone to put their hand on my head and pull me into a hug every time they noticed i looked a little empty. someone who doesn’t become demented or begin ignoring me when i mess up. someone who will stay by my side even if i reject them just because they know me better than anyone, someone who doesn’t let me push them away. someone who’d never get tired of dealing with my guilty tears. someone who would rather hold my hand than stick it in. ugh. unconditional love.

and basically, i guess id do anything for this kind of care. i’ve fucked plenty of people over just to experience it, even if all of it was bound to end up temporary. but, of course, all that it did was remove more people from my life. make me more lonely. i’m begging please don’t blame me forever. i hope you understand this uncontrollable urge is not something im close to mastering. when im attached, i would rather rip all of my hair out before i allow you to slip through my fingertips, even if i just met you a day ago. when i start seriously thinking about someone, there’s absolutely no going back. until i break and my brain becomes weak from allowing the thoughts to consume it. just thinking about a guy’s potential in caring for me so gently gets me messed tf up. that’s why i try to see guys as weird creatures so i don’t get attached to any. my lips feel like poison, causing damage is all i’ve ever known.

but, i know im young. the so called “men” im talking about are actually boys. when i grow wiser and develop into somebody i can actually be proud of, i can only pray that god will bless me with this type of undying love.

god please please please give me your strength

[primroses-n-deadleaves]

i dont have anyone to talk to rn, not out of anything bad theyre just busy and also have their own issues and so on; its okay still it leaves me wondering what went wrong? i only have two ppl that i can rlly talk to like both socialize and also to the extremes of venting, i try to help them too but im not rlly good at it, and so, whenever theyre missing or busy, i feel very alone, which is funny becuz im quite fortunate to have a semi active group on discord with cool ppl but instead of trying to get rid of my loneliness ig i jus self isolate idek whats wrong with me now, all the bad stressful stuff passed, for now,, mom was angry cuz my room got infested with termites, she got rid of them and i was left with the task of cleaning the stain,; and i jus discovered theres more termites to my side that went unnoticed by mom and that are eating the table and chair,; she doenst know of that yet thou so i can handle but i havent, the weekend approaches which is when well be doing all of this, i could try to take care of it before saturday before she notices and gets even more angry at me but here i am writing instead.

i feel very useless, my car is still at the repair shop so i can go out and buy the insecticide i need to get rid of the termitees, its at the repair shop cuz i let it break,, when it broke i called mom and she was at work so she asked me if i had any friends that could come and help me, all my friends are little ppl on my phone stuck to the other side of screen,; she had to call her friend which i was lucky that he was available and came to help me i felt very alone and useless and without any friends theres only so much online friends can do and i dont blame them, im also an online friend to them and i cant rlly do much for them either; that said, i rlly want irl friends.... but those "friends" i, stupid highschool drama ruined all my friendships its been 4 years and im still suffering the consequences of it; and also i rlly miss them, even if they were shitty and used me i still miss them;; maybe if i had acted like nothing id probably still be used sure but maybe i wouldve had someone to call when my car broke down

also im unemployed, with a gambling addiction of all things,, ive been thinking of getting a cheaper addiction- well, cheaper in the long run, something like smoking, not drinking, drinking is a bit expensive and my family from dad's side has a history of alcoholism,, so smoking or vaping, ruin my lungs,, im pretty sure a pack of cigarettes is cheaper than putting 100 into gacha games; why not look for a job? great question, i have, maybe not hard enough but im a bit too depressed if u cant tell by the writing; ive also tried to do online job but its rlly taxing to do a lot of work making vids and such to see no profit and ik ik it comes with time but i dont have time i need money now the funniest part is that i tried to apply for military jobs yknow the army and even those have rejected me, yes im overweight according to bmi, thats all they needed to disqualify me,; so instead i spend my time leeching money of mom, i feel very guilty, im a horrible child,, i sobbed when i was getting my meds and it ended up costing 30 bucks to buy becuz i sent it to a damn walgreens instead of a local pharmacy that accepts my insurance, i lost my meds and i could get refill but itll end up costing until i change the location which i cant change until my next visit

i wanted to kill myself when mom told me i could be working rn and that she was right, i could be working rn but instead i was laying on the bed which isnt even mine becuz i sleep on my sisters room taht has ac

the feeling had dissipated for a moment, well, it left when i repressed my feelings, which writing about it makes me confront those feelings so the suicidal ideation is back; in moments like this i think about one certain episode of fairly odd parents, yknow the one where timmy sees how the world would be if he never existed and sees that everyone around him is doing better without him? i dont remember the ending, i just think about it and think im better off dead, literally, i bring no good to the world

if u happen to stumble upon this, dw, i have a strangely strong will to live, last time i rlly tried to kill myself and acted, i called the hotline, which took me to the hospital where i was fortunate its a good hospital and got treated nicely,; bottom line is, and i quite hate this part of myself, ill live,; this stupid survival instict is strong enough to keep me from dying, i rlly hope it wasnt , life honestly isnt worth living,, the world is a shit place

[im-an-elf99]

"Not all men!" You shout.

You're right. Major Benjamin Tallmadge of the 2nd Continental Light Dragoons, would never.

[saffron-not-so-joy]

A Personal Reflection on The Action Button Review of Boku No Natsuyasumi

Genuinely the action button review of boku no natsuyasumi has unlocked something i have been trying to in my brain in regards to my whole outlook on how i create and reflect on life. I just finished it this morning and it has give me some kind of bewildering clarity that has allowed me to be more vulnerable with myself then i think i have ever been able. All because what tim rogers shared in that 6 hour review about a video game i will probably never play.

I cried for over 40 minutes of the last hour and a half or so of the video. I think ive never been so moved by something in my life. which is a lil weird to say about a review video but as someone who struggles to engage fully with much of the media and literature around me for multiple abstract reasons... it just felt so eye opening. I didnt felt seen in the ways i have felt reading some of the works of nagata kubi or mariko kikuchi, but it truely had me thinking and reflecting on my own life and that of another in ways i thought not possible, or atleast not truely attainable. The parts of himself he was sharing with us spoke to a part me that i struggle to communicate with in an earth shattering way.

It had me reflect on the person ive wished myself to be for so long, the person i wish i wasnt, the things i want to do, my childhood, my goals. It made me first think of how much i have been admiring his work, how microscopic it all is, early in the video i thought he must have just been one of those people that journal in minute detail, just to be thrown into the reality that he doesnt really have a choice in the matter of how much detail he holds on too. Its a bit selfish to say that point broke down a bit of a wall around my own inability to maintain that kind of information, allowed me to give myself grace in regards to the depths or lack there of i have known myself and the pasts buildt together with many of those around me. It made me feel lucky that i had a choice in what i do manage to hold onto. specifically i try to maintain what i can recall of certain thoughts i had as a child in school as deeply as i can so that i can use that to maintain a sense of the personhood and mental capacity of the children i work with. Since i find many adults forget all to easily how whole and how complexy children can understand the situations around them without you realising.

When he shared how his embarrassing memories would make him feel, it made me wish i could share this post i read here on tumblr probably over a year ago about the concept of religious grace being something you can apply without any religion really. im sure he has his own copeing mechanisms but it has been extremely helpful working through some of the anxiety induced delayed shame of my own embarrassing memories. Although my memories fade more in details over time then his do, these memories have definitely made me feel and think in similar ways to how he described he felt in the video.

The topic of grief is a central theme in the video, and grief is something i have not fully come into understanding within my own life as of yet. I dont think i have properly greaved for the lives and parts of people they leave behind in the way he has described, in part because of my tangible disconnect from some of my deepest thoughts, but also because i have been lucky enough not to many people within a close proximity of myself. The most major death in my family has been my grandfather on my mother's side, and i think most of my grief is similar to the grief i felt when tim said that his uncle who sounded cool as hell had passed away from covid and we would never be able to gain the part of tim's uncle that he would have shared with us. Which sounds kinda weird, but i was kinda in the head space of thinking about the parts of people we carry withus that are never apart of our lives, but can still effect us and change us through the words that they shared. Maybe thats why i burst into tears for the first time at that part. I think uncounously it hit a similar cord in my brain when i think about how unfamiliar and distant i was with my grandfather even though i honestly find much in retrospect that i could have connected with him on, and how that cant be changed.

Tim walked through his own missed connections, and talked about process which he dealt with the grief of his friend who had taken her own life. The little pieces of these people and so many others that he had to hold onto, the pieces of himself that he had no way to know of or control, the pieces that the family in boku no yatsunatsume shared with eachother and the players of the game. The pieces of people in my own life, the pieces of myself. All swirled around in my mind as the video closed. Im not sure if i have fully formed thoughts on the mater, but i cried all the same during his discussion mixed with my own internal interpretation and forming take aways.

Id probably have to watch the whole video again to actually have more complete thoughts on the themes of the game itself because of how much space the pieces of tim he shared with us have picked at my own interal walls. Right after watching i sent a message to my partner describing the game as "a microscopically truthful endeavor to capture the vibes of a summer well spent with those around you". Microscopic truthfullness is one of the things i find most endearing in works of media, i was tought about the concept by my father who although i do not have a great relationship with, i do appreciate what he was able share with me when not being a total dickbag. He said most of the best works of art imploys this level of emotional truthfullness, getting down to what you may have really felt in such a way that it cannot be denied as capturing a moment within the human condition. I have for many months considered this one of the best things about tims content, that he himself is so microscopically truthful in his depictions and explorations of games and the stories he tells of his life.

The truthful part of himself he shared within that six hour video essay has torn away at the parts of my own brain that wish to make creative works of many kinds, and allowed me to fully reflect on some of whats in my way. I have not been able to be truely microscopically truthful within myself, some of those reasons are very abstract to me personally, but one struggle that feels like such a road block in my progress is that i fear rereading any of my own writting. I have had issues with reading and writting since i was younge, i think its undiagnosed mild dyslexia and undiagnosed nerodivergence with neglectfuly done unschooling attempted by my parents until i was in 4th grade. My vocabulary was still higher then average, but i very clearly remember the day i actually retained the spelling of the word "the" and "are". There, their, and they're still triped me up whils i was old enough to be using this website and i dont entirely know how to sound out words properly so i make alot of mistakes reading outloud, or when i think too hard about the spelling of names that dont sound the way they look, and i do very badly when words are spelled out in songs. All of these combined with a bitch of a 5th grade english teacher, who i dont know if she understood what my deal was or not, shamed me about many things i did wrong. The major thing that stood out in my mind was when she told me to stop writting in cursive because my hand writting was so eligible, which would be fine if not for her tone and dismissiveness of the fact i was teaching myself how to write like that from scratch based of the cursive chart she had on the wall!!! I was proud and making an effort!!!

Even through all these issues i was still able to be in the top percentage of the grade when 6th grade rolled around because i had finally caught up in my ability to read, even if i wasnt actually retaining much of the information i could read what was on the pages. None of this mattered in the long run because by the time i was in high school and college it became evident that i could not read through my papers to do corrections, and thus even now i am writting this with the best formating i can on the first pass.

I mention all this trama because something about this video, and the pieces of microscopically truthful moments shared by the game devs of bokunatsu and tim have truthfully allowed me to maks emotional progress on this issue. I need to make an improvement here or it will continue to hinder any planning i want to do, any thoughts i dont want to run away from me. Im tired of living my life fearful of myself, my thoughts, and memories. The pieces tim shared of himself and share of those he carries with him unlocked some part of my brain and i just need someone else to know or ill continue to be locked in some ruminating cycle of my own making that i need not hold myself in. In writting this i hope i can take more steps into the light of writting, drawing, paintjng and creating truth for myself and others.

If you made it this far thank you for reading, i hope this part of myself i shared today helps you find kindness to give to yourself and others.

[tchaikovskaya]

i think many criticisms of the growth in popularity of true crime as a genre over the last 10-15 years are valid but i do have to say, there are at least 5 instances i can remember offhand where i was interacting with someone and felt something was off with their behavior and reacted differently based on what ive seen and read about violent crime, where i otherwise would have been either too socially awkward/meek to challenge them or just overall not vigilant enough to think "this might go bad" instead of just "haha im uncomfortable"

ive recounted those instances to friends and some of them (almost always men tbh) tell me i sound paranoid but honestly? who gives a shit! so what if i was paranoid! i look back on those moments and feel relieved/proud that i listened to my gut and got away unharmed. what suffered? what was the tradeoff? i didnt do a minuscule favor for a perfect stranger that i crossed paths with in public. i offended a guy for insinuating he could possibly have impure intentions in approaching me. i'll never see those people again. we don't know each other. i made them feel 1% bad or inconvenienced momentarily. fuck being polite. social pressure applied primarily to women to be polite and accommodating is used as a cudgel against us.

and it doesnt make me jaded to be thinking this way. im not paranoid. im not suddenly distrusting of the strangers that i never before suspected of harmful intent. i just recognize it as potential harmful intent now. i had ALWAYS felt creeped out in certain situations, the difference now is that i trust my intuition and i dont blame myself for my own "social ineptitude" when im interacting with someone and i feel uncomfortable in that very distinct way. i dont internalize that discomfort anymore or think of it as a reflection of myself. so what have i lost in letting myself become so Paranoid? hmmm nothing

[fairycosmos]

i think the concept of trauma dumping is toxic for people who actually have trauma. im at a point in life where im growing and healing, but naturally, i still have urges to talk about past trauma, and the fear of trauma dumping makes me bottle it all up. people will say to talk to a therapist, but every therapist ive ever seen just glorifies and romanticizes my story, they always tell me my trauma makes me unique and they never actually help me work through anything. as someone who has lost a parent, i feel horribly guilty and embarrassed every time i mention that i don’t have a dad because of that trauma dumping stigma. it’s something ive given a lot of thought to. i agree with the last anon; it shouldnt be shameful to talk about trauma unless you’re speaking over others at an irrelevant time. sorry if this reads like a trauma dump lmao.

yeah i hear u! honestly i think the original reasoning behind the phrase "trauma dump" was very valid - normal people are not therapists and it is very triggering and exhausting to be around ppl who treat you like one, and it is a very common trend (esp in online spaces) to put all your baggage on strangers + to weaponize ur pain - BUT all that being said i totally get what you mean and i do agree.

i think that other anon said it well when they said the internet (and subsequently people in real life) just take a phrase and absolutely run with it. now any mention of trauma or going through a hard time can be combatted with "stop trauma dumping, stop being toxic!!" and it's hard to combat that. ppl can just utilize it whenever they feel slightly uncomfortable in conversation which is. not productive. especially people who are supposed to be your friends like hello i thought emotional vulnerability came w our bond. it's not always emotional labour like ppl love to say. i think there's a difference between setting a boundary and just completely shaming someone you're supposed to care about, for mentioning or bringing up the pain they're in. sadly a lot of ppl seem to be majorly blurring that line.

it can make ppl who are dealing with trauma feel so much worse, which can be disastrous for those already at rock bottom. i've felt it a lot myself in regards to witnessing the death of my sister and the loss of her all together - ppl do not want to hear it. even when it's an integral part of why i think or behave a certain way. it can feel really alienating and like u said, it can make the guilt of being "damaged" feel much heavier. idk, it's difficult. i think there's a way to open up that is appropriate for both parties involved and i don't think there's inherent manipulation on either side. i’ve heard people say it's a good idea to simply just check in with ur mates before you vent to/bring up a hard topic to them, to see if they're in the headspace to deal which avoids this weird communication blockage on both ends. but if you're already dealing with a lot, it can really push you to just isolate and spiral, and that is so hard to cope with. i get that entirely.

i think you have every right to mention you don't have a dad when it applies and when it's appropriate irt the company you're in in that moment. it's just knowing when it's relevant and when it's not that distinguishes, same w my sister really. but you're never a bad person for having been through a lot, you know? and i'm truly sorry if anyone has ever made you feel that way, because it's not fair at all. especially after already surviving the most unimaginable heaviness and hardship. i'm also really really sorry about your dad, though i know you're probably tired of hearing it, and i know there's no words for it really. as an even further side note because this pissed me off LOL: your therapists sound completely fucked, it must be so hard to deal with. i can totally relate to not getting the professional support you need. the fact that they have the audacity to romanticize ur pain just makes me so so mad for you god. that's so unproductive and unhelpful and gross. the thing w therapy is that it can take forever to find someone you really click with who can really help you (i'm also still in the long long process of looking for the right one who is affordable, and ik it feels hopeless.) but i urge you to keep reaching out so you have, at least some place, to not bottle things up. at the end of the day, you do deserve support and you deserve to be listened to, no matter what. sending you a huge hug rn. x

[manonblaqkbeak]

Sugar, sugar

(genuinely hate coming up with titles lol)

this is just rowaelin being pining idiots, one of my fave tropes for day 11--delayed love confession

just a note, the lifestyle in this fic is more of a background note and doesnt really take centre stage in this fic. it’s one ive been tempted to write for a while tbh but didnt really get around to it until now

cw: very, very light smut (like barely non existent, but just in case), a lil bit of swearing

enjoy! :)

3k words (officially my longest fic, yay!)

Every thought in Aelin's mind was blank. She trudged through her apartment that she shared with Nehemia, absentmindedly kicking off her heels that Rowan purchased for her months ago. Then the light jacket she wore joined the shoes, the fabric was perfectly soft and perfect for the autumn chill.

It was yet another piece of item that Rowan purchased for her. A lot of the things she had know were thanks to Rowan, either from his own wallet or from the biweekly allowance he sent her—a generous allowance that was a thousand times better than her weekly paycheck from the bookstore she'd been working at since she turned twenty-two; her business degree had turned out to be useless and so she turned to the bookstore that had been her stable job for three years.

Aelin barely touched her weekly wage now, it was practically buried underneath the money the Rowan gave her.

Because Rowan Whitethorn, thirty-five and a successful CEO who was well known, was her sugar daddy. Had been now for fourteen months. But he was more than that, more than just a man that paid her to spend time with him. He respected her, was loyal to her, listened to her and responded with actual sentences instead of a word or two like other men she had dated. He was charming, didn't treat her like she was nothing but arm candy, and she knew him so well, as he knew her, and each fortnight she sometimes forgot their whole arrangement, but she was sharply reminded when she received the notification from her bank that the two and a half thousand dollars that Rowan sent her was now in her savings account.

When she agreed to their arrangement after several get-to-know you dates, Rowan had wanted to give her three and a half grand every week, and gods Aelin had been tempted because she had never had so much money in her life, but told him that it was far too much and negotiated.

Two and a half thousand was the lowest that Rowan was willing to go, and even though Aelin only knew him for two weeks at that point, she could tell that he would not budge, so she agreed to the amount.

The first time that money had landed in her account, Aelin had thought that maybe she had imagined the whole thing, but the money was a sharp reminder of what she know was—a sugar baby. Those words still didn't feel like they applied to her.

And he still spent money on her when they spent time together. Just last week he gifted her with diamond earrings in the shapes of roses with a necklace to match. She wore them tonight, not because he bought them for her but because she genuinely loved the pieces.

Needing something sweet—despite the fact she had only finished her chocolate hazelnut gelato twenty minutes ago—she dug through her fridge and found the brownies that Nehemia had baked the other day. She told herself that she would leave some for her long-time friend, but Aelin really doubted that would happen.

Aelin relished in the cold air of the fridge as she found the new can of whipped cream on the top shelf. The fridge was one of the first things she purchased with the money she was now being gifted with (and after that came a new washer and dryer, a dish-washing machine and television. Almost everything in her apartment was brand new now, the food were actual brands instead of the generic, tasteless shit. She had bras that fit her properly and were so damned comfortable that she forgot she was wearing them half the time).

The old fridge was a cheap hunk of junk that she and Nehemia purchased off Facebook marketplace for a hundred dollars, it barely kept things cold, but with expensive rent and bills and general life things, Nehemia and her couldn't afford anything better.

Which was how she ended up in this situation. Picking up more shifts barely gave them anything extra, because the economy right now in Terrasen was shit. Nehemia had made a joke about needing sugar daddies, and Aelin, knowing that Nehemia could never really do such a thing, had decided that maybe it was a good idea.

Nehemia had told Aelin that she was insane for pursuing such a thing, and that she had only been joking, but Aelin was not and that she could handle herself if things went wrong.

Nehemia had told her not to do anything, but Aelin was determined and started her search. It had taken a while to find a website that was genuine and didn't make her feel like she had to scrub her eyes out with bleach.

She created her page in private, because she not only was Nehemia against the idea, but so was Elide and Lysandra—she didn't dare tell Aedion what she was doing. Her cousin could be an overprotective pain in her ass at times, and Aelin was very well aware that if Aedion caught wind of what she was doing, he would have locked her up in her room without any type of device so she couldn't go forward with her plan.

She appreciated their concern, she did, but she was a consenting, tax-paying adult, and if she wanted to use her time to get paid spending time with a rich man, then Aelin was allowed to do exactly that.

It wasn't prostitution, she had looked it up, because it was the sugar babies that had the power and so that was how it went with her and Rowan.

Aelin didn't even have sex with Rowan until it was the sixth month anniversary of her and Rowan's...relationship (and gods, it was the best sex Aelin ever had. Rowan was a generous and completely unselfish lover).

He was the first one she came across on the site and almost drooled down herself when she saw his picture. Silver hair, pine-green eyes, a beautiful tattoo down the length of his left arm and tanned skin, he was stupidly attractive and only ten years old than her.

Aelin messaged him first only after being on the site for ten minutes, deciding that surely he was the best one and that she needn't bother to look at any other candidates.

They hit it off straight away, and after deciding on a restaurant to meet at, Aelin had informed Nehemia of the matter, which she was promptly met with question after question: why can't a thirty-four year old man find someone his own age? Is he one of those men that can't date a woman five minutes older than him because of some stupid made up reason? How do you know for certain that it's him in the picture? What if he's cat-fishing you? What if he's a freak, or a killer? What if he's just pretending to be rich to kidnap you? What if, what if, what if?

And so after a heated discussion, Nehemia had come along on her date-that-wasn't-really-a-date and sat a few tables away from her and Rowan, watching them—especially him—the entire time like a hawk.

Aelin had completely forgotten that her friend was there, so enraptured by Rowan and what he did and how he saw life.

It had been fourteen months of seeing Rowan and genuinely enjoying spending time with him and weeks ago, she realised that she wanted it to be something more. That she had come to care for him, not because of the money, but purely because it was Rowan and he made her feel seen and he wasn't afraid of her, because she had once been told by an ex that she could be too much and that he couldn't handle all her baggage.

Aelin wanted a life with him.

So Aelin told Rowan she loved him when he dropped her off tonight after their dinner and a movie date, telling him how she felt, and he had said thank you. He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and went home, leaving behind the pine-and-snow scent of him.

Aelin really wanted to find a hole to crawl into and die.

She was scarfing down her third brownie when Nehemia's bedroom door opened, her friend clad in an old matching pj set, her slippers shuffling across the tile.

“What happened? Are you okay?” her friend asked upon seeing Aelin's guttered look. Her dark brows furrowed. “Did that bastard hurt you? If he did, I'll—”

“He didn't do anything,” Aelin interrupted her friend. Taking the food, Aelin planted herself on the teal blue velvet sofa Rowan gave her for Yulemas last year, ignoring the scent of not just him, but of them both from when he came over after work just the other day with pizza and a DVD that she insisted that she watched because it was too good not to, when they forgot all about the movie as Rowan buried himself inside her, leaving hickeys all over her neck that she had to cover up with thick concealer.

Nehemia joined her on the couch, her friend momentarily forgetting for now that she had walked in on her and Rowan just moments after they finished, muttering under her breath in Eyllwe as she glared at them defiling the couch, and gave her a look that Aelin knew that Nehemia would listen to every word that came out from her.

And when Aelin was done recounting the story, all Nehemia could come up with was, “Oh.”

“Yes, 'oh,'. I've probably fucked up the whole thing. So don't be surprised if I call you on your lunch break tomorrow telling you he's broken things off.”

“Aelin, I don't think he will. I know that I'm not the biggest fan of your...situation—”

“I'm aware,” Aelin said, cutting her friend off. “You still won't let me buy you a new mattress, even though yours is hard as a brick and lumpy as hell. I've told you that you can pay me—”

“Aelin,” Nehemia said, “we're not talking about mattresses right now. As I was saying, I doubt he'll break things off because I've seen the way he looks at you. I still think he's too old for you, but he cares for you. You probably just caught him by surprise.”

“How does he look at me?” Aelin was observant, but sometimes when she was with Rowan, all her observation skills went out the window.

“Like he loves you,” Nehemia said, no hint of doubt in her voice.

Aelin sighed, her feelings slowly starting to crush her. “I guess I'll just have to take your word for it.”

Sighing once more, Aelin put the food back in the fridge, showered and went to bed, forgoing her usual night texting ritual with Rowan.

She really wasn't looking forward to tomorrow.

X X X X X X

Rowan couldn't concentrate, which wasn't a good thing, since his job dealt with having to concentrate all the time. But no matter what mind-focusing techniques he did, he couldn't stop thinking about Aelin.

Couldn't stop thinking about how she said she was in love with him. How her beautiful eyes had been sparkling when she said those words to him. And how the light in them dimmed when he said thank you and kissed her on the cheek, telling her that he would talk to her later. But he hadn't texted her, nor did she.

I love you, Rowan. I'm in love with you.

Thank you. He really couldn't believe that was what he said. Felt like an utter fool and a bastard as he realised he probably crushed her heart. Aelin didn't like being vulnerable, and she had been when she said those words and he had gone and fucked it all up.

Rowan loved Aelin, he did, but he truly wasn't prepared for those words. He loved how on the weekends they would be up at one am, baking chocolate goodies, dancing in the quiet kitchen, humming quietly to Aelin's classical music playlist, with her wearing not the nightgowns that he loved, but one of his old hoodies.

He didn't think that he would get along with her so well once they met, thinking that their online interactions were nothing but a fluke. He was moments away from deleting the profile because he didn't actually create it, but Fenrys had, his friend grumbling that he needed a girlfriend, with Rowan arguing that creating a profile on a sugar daddy site was not dating but probably the opposite, when Aelin messaged him.

His life-long friend didn't listen, much to Rowan's annoyance—but he didn't grab his phone out of his friends hand; Rowan blamed it on the several whiskys he had downed by that point.

Aelin bewitched him on that first meet up. She was intelligent as hell and funny, and creative and beautiful. He was aware of why she was on the date with him, but he didn't care, just as long as he got to see her again.

Fourteen months later and Rowan was still bewitched. He wanted to be with her on a permanent basis, but wasn't completely sure how to take that step.

Clearly, Aelin had taken that step for them, and Rowan was the worlds biggest moron.

I love you, Rowan. I'm in love with you.

Thank you.

Groaning, Rowan turned away from his computer and looked at the skyline, ignoring the buildings to instead watch the puffy clouds drift by.

Aelin loved watching the clouds, loved stargazing, loved questioning about the universe and what the skies held.

He never really paid any of that stuff attention, not until he met her.

Rowan didn't want to lose her, didn't want her to think that he was about to break up with her over this. He had to see her, so he grabbed his keys and wallet, told his secretary to hold his calls for the rest of the day, and went to visit Aelin.

X X X X X X

It had been an usually busy day for a Wednesday and Aelin was glad for her lunch break as she trudged up to the roof of the shopping centre. She wasn't really allowed up here, but she wanted some fresh air and to feel the sun against her skin as she sat down and dug into her lunch—fast food, unfortunately for her, because she was so frazzled from last night that she completely forgot about making a pack lunch.

Rowan hadn't called her, or texted her. Not even an email had been sent her way.

Aelin hated that she felt so damned mopey. She was an independent woman, but gods, even a good morning text would have been fine.

She finished her lunch, popping several mints into her mouth to get rid of the onion taste, when the roof door crashed open and a familiar hulking figure came into view.

He must have spoken to Elide to find her here.

Aelin's brow furrowed. “Rowan, what are you doing here?” Oh gods, surely he wasn't going to break up with her, she still had hours to go; there'd be no way she could work if she had tears in her eyes.

Taking her hands in his, Aelin stood up. She steeled herself against whatever he was going to say.

“I love you, Aelin. I'm in love with you, too,” Rowan said, his eyes soft and full of genuine love. Aelin's heart shot up into her throat. “I want a life with you. I want us to buy a home, one that has warmth and character, and a big garden. I want a dog. And kids too, if you want, I know that you've never mentioned it, but if you don't want any then that is completely fine. I want to support you in whatever endeavors you want to take, and if you ever want to go back to university, then I'll support you, or if you want to find a way to use your business degree, I'll help you with that, too. Whatever you want Aelin, I'll give it to you, as long as you're by my side, I'll be happy.”

Aelin was silent for so long that Rowan thought that maybe he shocked her into silence. But eventually, she smiled, one that was dazzling in its beauty that it took his breath away.

“You love me?”

“I do, Aelin, I love you.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Rowan groaned at the amusement in her tone, in her eyes. “You're never going to let me live that down, are you?”

She smirked. “Definitely not. It'll be a nice story to tell our children...one day. For now, I think we should contend with being proper significant others.”

Rowan nodded, smiling. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good, because I need to get back to work, since I'm no longer accepting your allowances. I won't deny the use of your credit card, but other than that, you are no longer my sugar daddy.”

It was Rowan's turned to smirk, and it was the one that made her core clench. “How about I be 'daddy' instead?”

Aelin snorted, even as she clenched around nothing again. Smacking his arm lightly, Aelin kissed him. “Only if you behave,” she said against his lips, “and now I really need to go back to work.”

Rowan walked her back, their fingers laced together, and as she turned to say goodbye, Aelin said, “I'll see you later, daddy.”

Rowan groaned, and it took everything in him not to take her hand and into his car to have his wicked way with her.

By the time he thought of a response, Aelin was already back to work, helping a customer with an impressive stack of books in her arms.

But she knew he was still there, because the way she swayed her hips to the counter was all for him, and when she saw him watching her, Aelin winked, making Rowan's heart flutter in his chest.

He really did love her. And he would live with her teasing him for the rest of his life, just as long as she was with him.

[magickfromscratch]

Hi! Ive read your wordpress blog and a few others where people talk about ritual possession and I found that very interesting! If you dont mind I have a few questions:

What moments did you have when you realised “this is 100% real”? And did the Gods ever act in a way different from what you would expect? And then, is this something that will only happen in groups, or can you do this on your own too?

Thank you, I hope that I will experience this one day too!

It's an interesting question.

I see myself as a natural philosopher or occult scientist rather than as a person of faith. So I will never say that I know anything 100%.

While some people view science and magic as opposites, to me, science is a method, not a belief system. And you can apply that method to anything you can observe.

Likewise, I don't have beliefs, I have models for understanding things I observe. And as I sit here typing this, I fully accept the possibility that my explanations for what I experience may be completely wrong. And I'm ok with that. Hell, I'm proud of that.

You can tell how accurate a model is by how well it allows you to predict what will happen regarding a certain phenomenon. However, any model built from the observable facts will have SOME predictive power, even if it's dead wrong. Kepler thought that the planets somehow fit together in the solar system in some kind of system of Platonic solids inside one another. People at one point thought the Earth was the center of the solar system. It seemed to resonate with what they observed.

The way I do trance with my friends is that we call down a deity into the room first, rather than directly into a person. The medium in question has to be able to feel the deity's presence in a tactile sense before them occupying the same space and doing an alignment between the deity's body and the medium's body.

I consistently observe that people can feel this energy. During the alignment process, people's limbs and extremities will start to move without the medium willing it, even before full possession occurs. And watching people new to the process saying things like "holy shit that's WEIRD" when it happens is also pretty consistent.

But then again, if you know much about trance states, that's not proof that there's actually a deity there. Pre-hypnotic suggestions are just as powerful as post-hypnotic suggestions in some cases. How people culturally expect trance states to feel, and what they expect to happen during them can powerfully shape their experiences. Trance states, hypnotic states, liminal mental states... neurologically, it's all part of the same phenomenon. And it's no guarantee of 'accuracy', even if the trance is deep.

Much more convincing to me are the experiences I have had where people called down a deity and tranced, and I felt absolutely nothing. The air did not move when the deity came down, I did not feel the rushing of energy or heat or cold over my skin, and when I looked at the medium, I discerned no second presence within them, even though I fully expected to. If I can expect to feel an extra something, if I can expect to see an extra light in the medium's eyes, if I can expect to feel something on my skin, and I am surprised to note its absence, then it validates for me the times that when I felt it, it wasn't just because I expected to, and it wasn't just in my head.

The unexpected, in general, is what sells me on the realness of the phenomenon. Real forces of nature do things you don't expect. People have written entire proofs as to why bumblebees can't fly, and it took a long time before anyone really understood why they could. They had to look deeper based on the surprises in nature before they could come up with theories of aerodynamics that had the capacity to predict such a thing as a flying bumblebee.

Hermes doesn't always behave as I expect. I recall one time trancing him, and he lost his temper at someone. That was a really unpleasant experience. The guy deserved it, of course. He was a scum bag, a sexist, and was actively making anti-consent comments during the devotional, in addition to insulting both party guests and his hosts. But I think it must have taken hours for my heart rate to actually return to normal after the deity departed. And yeah, that guy was like, 'oh that wasn't really Hermes that was a fake deity' because his other option was to admit he was wrong and that a deity he worshipped was actually mad at him.

But the fact that Hermes had that setting? I mean. I'd never seen it. I'd never imagined it. I figured he could just stay calm and use persuasion for everything, right? And that whole thing was insane. People were telling me that he pulled that dude aside, and it was like there was a cone of silence in that small room. No one could hear what the god was saying except that one dude. And then he BOLTED and was dead certain, not that I was channeling nothing, but that he'd encountered a medium carrying a metaphysically potent evil demon.

Could that human have been correct that it wasn't Hermes? Sure! But consider the message. "If you don't wake up and smell the consent culture, you have a hand in undoing our community." That's what this 'demon' said. And this was prior to the "me too" movement, I think, if only by just a little bit. Which he told the guy all but privately so as not to humiliate him publicly. So evil. Much malevolence. Very demon. Wow.

But then again, I also believed strongly in the importance of consent culture. So even at that, ymmv. And the cone of silence thing is WEIRD, right? But even though I was working in a Hellenic framework, and even if I'm not the right archetype of person to call on Silence as a power, it's still something that one of my (non-Hellenic) magical systems can consistently manifest. So maybe the weird magical effect came from somewhere other than the god. And you can, absolutely, do this all day, and second-guess yourself into the ground.

And that brings me to my last, and possibly most important point: it's fine to ask yourself if it is real, but a far more important thing to do is to ask, "Is this spiritually fruitful?"

Are we giving deities a chance to speak, or giving our clergy a bully pulpit? Are the messages we receive helping people and communities to grow, or is it causing an increased level of fear, anxiety, anger, angst, and strife? And that's a question you can really only answer on a clergy person by clergy person basis, or maybe a community by community basis. And the answer generally revolves around another question:

Have your mediums done their shadow work?

Well? Have they?

[wkemeup]

Heal Me, Baby

summary: Bucky Barnes can’t seem to keep away from your med tent no matter how many times you fix him up. // challenge prompt: bed sharing  pairing: 1940s bucky x reader word count: 5k warnings: a very charming bucky 😉 a/n: This was written for @cake-writes​ 1940s challenge! Congrats on the 3.5 milestone!! The title of this fic comes from the song Heal Me by Snow Patrol 

There was blood on the white of your dress; slow and steady seeping into the fabric and staining the cotton blend fibers. Red and as deep and bold as the cross sewn into the chest of your uniform, the blood became part of the design because no matter how many times you scrubbed it clean, more would find its way back to the hip of your skirt, the sleeve of your shoulder, the hem of your apron by morning’s end. Sometimes you wondered why they’d bothered dressing you in white at all. Might as well make it red with the number of wounded soldiers they dragged through your tent; most halfway towards the shiny bright light and others inches away from their last breath.

The chaos was constant, a given, and despite the noise and clutter, it was where you felt most at home. It was better than the lull, the calm before the inevitable storm, where you’d be swarmed with men on stretchers, bleeding out onto the dirt and tossed into overcrowded beds. The steady stream was easier than the rapids, easier than assigning ten men to a single nurse where injuries could be missed, vital tears overlooked.

You were at the end of your shift for the night, dirt on your forehead, sweat damping the carefully curled ringlets at your neck. A file in your hand of the man at the end of the room, thicker than most, and you kept your eyes down as you pushed your way through the crowd of nurses and visiting soldiers, heels sinking slightly into the grass with every step.

When you came upon him, you finally noticed the name etched into the top right corner of the folder; the cheesy grin as he propped himself up on his elbows, blood and dirt coating most of his face, though still as annoying handsome as ever.

“Hiya, doll.”

“Oh, not you again.”

Bucky chuckled to himself as he plopped back down against the pillow, hands clasping behind his neck as he watched you work around his bedside. You huffed the hairs from your eyes, brushed the sweat from your hands as you slipped on a pair of gloves, careful to avoid the urge to smile at the way Bucky was so obviously studying your every move.

You’d seen him about a dozen times since you’d been transferred to the Italian warfront along with the 107th. He’d found a habit of stumbling into the medical tent after a night in the trenches, covered head to toe in what looked to be a dried mixture of mud and blood that didn’t always turn out to be his own. 

He’d flash that smile of his like he couldn’t smell the retch of sweat and grim on his skin, sweet talk you like he wasn’t thrown head first to the middle of a war he didn’t sign up for, and get your stomach twisted all up in knots, hands fumbling with the IV bag, a nervous flutter in your chest – though you’d never let him see that.

Sergeant Bucky Barnes was the kind of man the nurses talked about when he walked by. A tip of his cap, a slight salute in their direction, and they’d giggle themselves into a mess, clinging onto one another as they waved at him. 

But then, across the courtyard, his eyes would catch yours, a softer tone about him and he’d simply wink, something subtle and barely noticeable, but enough for it to be personal, almost intimate, because it wasn’t for others to see.

“Not happy to see me, huh?” Bucky drawled, crossing his ankles as he stretched back on the worn-down cot like he was sitting at home on the couch, waiting on a beer as he read the evening paper.

You pursed your lips, shooting him a narrowed look as you glanced over the intake file. “I’m never happy to see men in this tent, Sergeant Barnes. Did you forget where you are?”

You gestured down to the series of beds filled with men, some waiting as they hung off the edge of crutches or slumped over in chairs, with bandages wrapped around exposed chests, blood seeping through, broken limbs exposed, the quiet whimpers of pain muffled by forearms and pillows.

“Oh, come on, doll. You know I’m just teasing ya,” Bucky smirked, sitting up in the bed because he knew the routine well enough by this point. 

You held a single finger pointed up in front of his eyes and he followed it without instruction as you moved it across his line of sight. No sign of abnormal dilation. Ruled out a concussion, at least.  

“You should be more careful out there,” you warned, gathering the first aid kit from the bedside table. “You’re in here almost every day, you know.”

“Maybe I like the company,” he shrugged, blue eyes piercing straight through you and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a full beat.

Your hands trembled slightly as you cleaned the wound on his forehead, a hit from a fall by the looks of it, though it wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. He winced a little, a slight hiss in his tongue as you applied the alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be taking the bed from someone who needs it.”

“Hell, I do need it, doll,” Bucky whined, a little dramatically. “Look at me. I’m in pieces. I’m fallin’ apart at the seams and you’re the only one that can save me, sweetheart. I need ya.”

You paused with a tight pout of your lips, sitting back on the cot beside him long enough to roll your eyes. “You need a band-aid and stern warning, Sergeant Barnes. You’re fine.”

“Oh, call me Bucky, won’t you?”

You pressed the bandage to his forehead, a little firmer that you would have for most any other patient and he grunted under his breath, trying to steady himself against the thin mattress.

“Time for you to go, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky grinned, nodding to himself as he stood. “Been a pleasure, doll, as always. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You better not!” you called back, arms folded over your chest as he snickered to himself, walking through the mess of chaos to the exit on the other end. He glanced back over his shoulder as he pulled up a flap of canvas and winked at you.

You clenched your jaw and got back to work.

***

Sure enough as the tides rolled in, so did Bucky Barnes to your med tent a few nights later.

You found him waiting for you on the last bed in the aisle, one leg tucked under him, the other hung over the side of the cot as he nursed his right hand in his lap. He was humming to himself through pursed lips, a tune that you recognized from the radio station your father often played back home; head bouncing a bit to the rhythm, massaging gently at the palm of his hand, completely unfazed by the chaos around him.

Stepping up to the edge of the bed, you supposed he caught sight of your shoes because he started to smile before he so much as lifted his head.

Slowly, like he was taking his time, he glanced up at you with that sheepish smile of his, a light chuckle under his breath, and he ran his left hand through the mess of hair atop his head.

“Hiya, doll.”

“What is it this time?”

Your arms were folded, toe tapping against the ground, but there was something in the way he couldn’t stop smiling at you, even as you scolded him, that tugged a bit on the tight strains in your chest. It pushed at the walls you’d built, poked at the cement layers between bricks until they started to fall one by one and you fought against the urge to smile back at him.

He was too sweet on you, too handsome and charming, and you were almost certain it was an act, so you clenched your jaw and forced a frown.

Bucky held up his hand and for you, showing off a rather nasty burn in the underside of his palm, just along his thumb; red and seared, bubbling a bit on the edges. Your resolve took a bit of a hit because he winced a little in the motion, like the chill of the air was enough to cause him pain.

“How did you manage to do that?” you asked, tone still a little tense, though you took a seat on the side of his mattress, the lumps of the worn-down cot pressing against your thighs.

You reached for the medical cart near the bedside table, though it was just an inch from reach, and Bucky took the liberty of wheeling it over for you. You paused, watching him as he casually slid the cart in front of you, careful of your shoes and the dips in the ground.

“It was my shift in the kitchens,” he shrugged.

His hand slipped into yours as you gestured for it; rough and calloused though still untouched in places, soft and tender. You wondered what he did before he was drafted, if he worked in factories or in a garage, if his hands had seen hard labor before he was handled a weapon and a battalion, or if they were a blank page, yet to be filled by the scars and abrasive markings of a man at war.

You turned it over gently, easing the back of his hand to sit cradled in your palm as you examined the burn. It looked like he’d singed it on the side of the stove. The ring of the plate visible on the edge of his palm.

“Didn’t think you were required take shifts in the kitchens, Sergeant,” you commented, raising an eyebrow, though you kept your focus on his hand.

“Helps with morale,” Bucky replied simply. “Doing the same grunt work together does something for when we’re out in the trenches, you know? I’m not any better than them because the higher-ups threw some title in front of my name. We’re all stuck here, aren’t we?”

There was a chuckle in his voice, a lightness, and it surprised you as you looked up to see that it didn’t quite touch his eyes. How often did that happen and you didn’t notice because you were so caught up in holding up walls to keep from his games? How often had it not been a game at all and rather a mask he wore, to protect the most vulnerable parts of himself from giving into the horrors he saw on the front lines?

He took a deep breath, focused on the grip of your hand around his as you slowly started to apply aloe along the burn. Cautious eyes glancing up to him, you watched as his shoulders slumped a little, a weight lifting from the tension he carried as the cooling of the gel started to take effect. The hardened lines on his face softened, his breaths coming in a bit steadier, the sigh that left his lips light and sweet.

“I’m sure they appreciate what you do for them,” you said, softer this time, in hopes of distracting yourself from the way his lips parted ever so slightly in relief the longer you soothed the gel along his hand.

“Eh, keeps me busy,” he said, brushing it off, almost like the praise was uncomfortable for him, like it didn’t feel warranted or necessary. He smiled to himself, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as you started to wrap his hand, gentle touches delicately easing the bandage around the burn. “Brought me back to you, didn’t it? I call that a win.”

You laughed a bit at that despite yourself as you clipped the edges of the bandages and secured it properly. “I’m sure you would have found an excuse to come bother me all on your own, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he reminded you again, grinning so wide it must have hurt.

“I don’t want to see you in this tent for at least a week,” you warned, placing his hand back into his own lap. You stood, brushing the wrinkles from the edges of your dress. Though you were stern with him, you were smiling. He certainly took notice of it.

“That’s a lot to ask of me, sweetheart. I’m a clumsy guy.”

“You’re the best sharpshooter we have!”

“I’m a mess, honey. Look at me! You’re my only hope.”

“Oh, get out of here!” you laughed, pushing on his shoulders though you were met with significant resistance; a playful game of cat and mouse, and damn if you weren’t completely falling for it.

He finally gave in when your laughter started to draw the attention of the nurses gathered around the bedsides of injured soldiers, and you swatted him on the shoulder, heat flushing to your cheeks in embarrassment, though you were unsuccessfully biting back a smile.

As he made his way to the exit, he turned back for a final look, surprised to find you still watching him, and he winked; cool and collected, confident. You shook your head at him, arms folded over your chest, but he saw the way the corners of your lips pushed up high into your cheeks, the brightness in your eyes, the whisper of a laugh still in your breath.

If this was all a game, he was certainly winning.

***

A few weeks later and the nurses had resorted to reserving a spot for Bucky in the back of the tent; the same cot in your assigned row because he all out refused to be seen by anyone else. He’d duck through the canvas flaps at the entrance, smile politely at the nurses and wait patiently for you to notice him.

His injuries varied anywhere from a paper cut along his palm to a splitting headache to simple heartburn. He knew better than to take your attention away from soldiers who really needed it, but he’d come to consume the moments in between, whether you liked it or not.

But a funny thing started to happen.

You started to look forward to the days when he’d peep his head into the tent, checking to make sure you were on shift before he’d saunter his way inside and take his seat on his favorite cot. You’d find disappointment burning like jealousy in your chest on the days he didn’t, and your mind would wonder where he was or if he was alright.

He’d once waited hours before you were able to step away from the gunshot wounds of a soldier two beds down and though the scrape on his knee had all but scabbed over by then, he stuck around until the kid stabilized. 

You were exhausted by the time you made it over to Bucky, losing hope that you’d be able to keep the injured soldier alive through the night and trying to mask the utter helplessness you felt.

But Bucky made his light-hearted jokes, he teased you for the dirt on your forehead, whined and complained dramatically about his knee though you both knew he’d sleep it off my morning, and it brought back a smile to your face before you realized it. He managed to push through even the darkest parts of your days.  

***

Bucky’s regiment was out on assignment for over a week and you would have been lying to yourself if you said you didn’t miss him. You found yourself glancing down at the entrance every few minutes, feeling like something was missing when you finished your checklist, stabilized your patients, and finally had a free moment for yourself. There was something else you would have been attending to.

It wasn’t until you realized it was Bucky you were searching for, waiting to see his smile light up at he caught your eye, that it hit you just how easily you’d fallen for him.

At the end of a very long week, he stumbled into the med tent on a rolled ankle, leaning off the shoulder of Captain America himself, complaining of a pain in his left arm. You were relieved to see him, like a weight lifted from your chest that was holding you underwater for days, but you couldn’t let him see that.

“Been a while, honey,” he smirked. “Miss me?”

“Watch yourself, Barnes,” you warned, though it was light and airy. You eased his arm over your shoulders and excused Steve as he was still supporting his weight. You tried not to focus on how nice it felt to have Bucky this close, his arm draped over your shoulders, his side pressed up tight to yours as he hobbled in support of his injured ankle.

“Got real lonely out there on the front without you,” Bucky teased as you helped him down to the cot. “Stevie had to fix me up. Wasn’t pretty.”

“I can see that,” you laughed, gesturing to the mess of bandages circling around his arm. “What did you do? Bump into the corner of the tank?”

“Not exactly,” he chuckled awkwardly, pulling his arm from what remained of his sleeve to give you better coverage. He curled his shirt up in his hands, shivering as the cold touched exposed skin and you tried to ignore the taunt lines of his muscles and the placement of freckles down his back, the shadows over his abdomen.

Slowly, you pulled back the bandages, wrapped about a dozen times over, until red started to appear in the white of the cloth, soaking through the layers thicker and darker until you found the source. Your smile had long fallen by the time you saw the wound on his arm, a bullet grazing on the outer stretch of muscle; ripped and raw on the edges, a piece of your heart torn along with it.

“You were shot?”

“Oh, come on, doll, it ain’t so bad,” Bucky chuckled. “It’s just a little graze.”

You shook your head, quickly tending to the open wound with alcohol swipes that left him hissing from the sting of it. Your hands were shaking slightly, but you held your breath in hopes he wouldn’t notice.

“Why is it that you feel the need to come in here with senseless injuries and waste my time but when you're actually hurt, you brush it off like it’s nothing?” 

You weren’t angry despite the tone of your voice. No, it was fear that took over, marred through the tension of your words and the frantic thumping inside your chest. The idea of him never walking into your tent again ripped the heart straight from you. 

“We’re at war, honey,” Bucky replied gently and though he still wore that beautiful smile on his face, it was softer. “This kind of stuff happens all the time.”

“Not to you,” you whispered, voice low and heavy.

Your fingers were trembling as you attempted to thread the needle for the third time, though it was no use. It kept missing the eye, your hand was shaking too much for a steady grip. You couldn’t protect him when he was out in the trenches, couldn’t heal his wounds and tend to his injuries. You couldn’t save him if something happened out there, leaving him stranded. 

A few inches to the right and the bullet could have torn through a major artery and maybe Steve Rogers would have showed up in your tent with his helmet held at his chest and a solemn look in his eye when he told you that Bucky fought valiantly until his last breath.

The thread missed the needle again and you let out a groan, a wave of frustration and anger and fear and suddenly Bucky’s hands were on yours, slowly lowering them back to your lap. He smiled sweetly at you as he gently took the needle and thread from your hands and slipped it through the eye. He knotted it at the end and handed it back to you, adjusting his position on the cot to give you better leverage.

“I should get someone else to do this,” you said quietly.

“No deal, honey. You’re the only one for me.”

“Bucky, my hands are shaking. I should ask one of the girls to--”

“It’s you or I walk.” 

Bucky smirked, winking at you over his shoulder before he settled in again. Determined and stubborn as you’d ever seen him. 

You sighed, pushing out a deep breath as you steadied your hand. “Okay, well, no complaining if you end up with a scar.”

“Me? Never.”

***

Bucky wasn’t the only soldier in the tent that night and you were worn thin; running on startling lack of caffeine and frequent cold bursts of air outside, you hadn’t slept in nearly two days as you attended to the influx of injured men.

Half of your girls were out sick from the bug that was floating around camp, though you were almost certain it wasn’t airborne as they insisted and they’d contracted it by getting cozy with the soldiers. You couldn’t blame them for seeking comfort amongst the harsh conditions of the war, but being down two girls in an overcrowded, busy tent full of men in terrible pain wasn’t easy to manage on your own.

Bucky’s presence seemed to help, though. He’d smile at you whenever you looked in his direction and you started to wonder if he was watching you as you worked, as opposed to the book in his lap. He always seemed to be looking at you when you turned over your shoulder to check in on him, anyway. The pages of the book sitting in his hand remained unturned for too long, even as he fought against the heaviness of his lids, sleeping threatening to pull him under though he resisted.

He gave in after you’d swiped the book from his hands and ordered him to close his eyes.

“Anything for you, doll,” he said, yawning through every syllable.

You watched as he settled into the sheets, bare chest exposed and the heavy bandage wrapped around his arm. His eyes fluttered shut, nose scrunching as he sniffled in a tight breath, and his whole body seemed to relax, finding sleep rather quickly.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time the med tent quieted down.

Most of the men were asleep, the others too doped up on pain medications to notice much of anything going on around them, their eyes softly gazing out ahead of them, heavy eyelids falling shut. You let the remaining girls go back to their own tents until dawn, given that the worst of it all had subsided.

With a tired yawn, you dragged your feet down to Bucky’s bed. He was snoring softly in his sleep, lips parted just slightly, and you realized gazing down at him, that he looked years younger like this; the innocence he often masked amongst the perils of war rising fresh to the surface, unobstructed.

With a cautious hand, you reached out and grazed your fingertips along his arm; his whole body sighing in response, a slight curve of his lips, his head lulling to the side closest to the touch.

But you couldn’t stand there and watch him sleep all night. The bandage had started to bleed through and it needed a rewrapping.

You pulled up a chair next to his cot, carefully beginning to unwrap the cloth from around the tight muscle of his arm. Smooth skin under pebbled goosebumps from the chill outside, you gently released the bandage to the mattress. The wound didn’t look so bad underneath, but you cleaned it up a bit to be safe. With a quick dab to his arm with the disinfectant, you glanced up at his face in search of a hitch in his breath or a hiss on his tongue, but he remained fast asleep.

Even men like Bucky Barnes needed a break. He looked so sweet sleeping like that, the slight pout on his lips as you cleaned the wound, the sniffle through the beginnings of a head cold. 

You yawned, struggling to keep your eyes open and quickly rebandaged his arm. There were more men in this tent that needed your attention.

A few beds down and an hour later, you began to switch out the IV drip of a man with a severed leg; a young, baby faced kid who didn’t look old enough to graduate school, let alone be given a gun in the middle of wartime. He scrunched his nose in his sleep, his thigh twitching like he might still think something was there. There was sweat beading on his face, dripping damp into the pillow. You didn’t know how much longer he had.

Your legs wobbled slightly under you and you gripped onto the bedside table. The exhaustion was starting to reel you in, pull you under to the warm embrace of sleep, but you had a job to do, men to care for. Pressing the heel of your palms to your eyes, you tried to push the tiredness from you, though a yawn broke through again anyway.

“Looking like you might need some rest, doll.”

You froze at the sound of his voice, like ice and fire, relief and panic.

A heavy sigh sat in your chest before you turned around, only to find Bucky brushing at his eyes, sleepily smiling up at you from his cot. He propped himself him on his elbows, as you quickly made yourself busy, simply watching as you continued about your work.

“Someone has to attend to these men, Bucky,” you replied, a little tenser than you usually were with him, but the exhaustion had taken hold of you and it took effort just to keep your eyes open.

“Doll,” he called, softer this time, “you’re going to pass out. Where'd everyone go?”

“Sent them off. No need for a crowd to watch over sleeping men.” You checked the vitals of a man across the aisle from Bucky; steady rhythm, even pulse. He’d make it until morning, at least.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked slowly and you could feel his eyes following you around the tent, watching intently as you tended to each of the men, assuring yourself that they were as restful as they appeared. There was a concern in his voice, a sincerity, and it tensed in your shoulders.

You released a heavy breath, keeping focused on replenishing the infusion bag of a soldier who was hanging on by a thread. One quick glance back at Bucky proved to be a mistake as he was still watching you, though it was under kind, worried eyes. He was still waiting on an answer.

“You don’t need to be worrying about how much I’m sleeping,” you said, turning your back to him because your eyes were falling heavy and it was near impossible to keep them open. You leaned onto the frame of another soldier’s bed for support, pretending to be busy for Bucky’s sake.

“No?” Bucky questioned with an embellished sigh. “Someone has to, don't you think?”

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you yawned, covering your mouth with your wrist as you turned back to face him. 

He chuckled a bit under his breath, chin falling to his chest, before he smiled up at you like you’d missed out on some kind of inside joke.

“Oh, ‘course you are, doll. Must have been someone else who put the same bloody bandage back on my arm after cleaning it then, huh?” he shrugged teasingly, gesturing to his arm where a dark red bandage circled around his bicep.

Your eyes blew wide, a gasp in your throat and you rushed over to him. Hands fumbling for the chair, missing several times and resorting to falling at your knees, you made quick work of trying to peel away the red bindings.

“Shit! Shit, I’m-- shit,” you panted, shaking, “that’s never happened before and I—oh God, I’m so sorry, Bucky—I’ll fix it, just—just give me a second and—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, honey,” Bucky cooed sweetly, helping to unfasten the bandage because your hands were fumbling too long with the clasps. His right hand encased your shaking fingers, holding them tightly long enough to pull your attention away from his arm. “It happens, okay? No harm done. I’m aces, alright?”

“No, no, it’s wildly...” you sucked in a sharp breath, tingling in the back of your jaw, stretching at your cheeks, “...unacceptable and I...” another yawn broke through, “...should report myself because...” and a third.

“Jesus, doll, listen to you. You’re exhausted,” Bucky eased, reaching for the clean bandages on the bedside table. He grabbed a fresh one and put one end between his teeth for leverage as he began to wrap his own arm.

You sat back on your heels, kneeling next to his bed and certainly getting dirt along the end of your dress. You watched as he wove the clean cloth in and around his arm, concentration etched into his facial features to mask the slight wince of pain as the fabric touched the wound.

Guilt was fresh in your chest as Bucky wrapped his arm himself, pulled it tight and gestured for you to fasten it. He could have done it himself, you were sure. There was a smile on his face as he looked at you, like he was trying to make you feel better.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. It won’t happen again,” you mumbled, defeated and you rose to your feet, beginning to walk away.

“Wait, honey, don’t go--”

You froze, surprised by a sudden grip at your hand before you could take a step away from his bedside, and when your eyes shot back to his, he let go immediately, his cheeks flushing red as he began to laugh nervously. It was a kind of embarrassment you never expected to see in him.

“You don’t gotta apologize to me, doll,” he started, scratching at the back of his head.

“I can’t afford to make mistakes,” you retorted, voice a little more somber. “You can’t afford it either.”

“Then, make it up to me.”

You narrowed your eyes, fighting off the urge to yawn again. “What would you have me do?”

“Get some rest?” he asked sheepishly, scooting to the far edge of the tiny, twin size cot. He took up most of the space himself and you swore you may have seen him swallow nervously as he pulled down the covers, gesturing to the open space.

“No, I... I can’t,” you said flatly, though your heart was racing.

“You’re going to pass out where you stand and you said yourself you can’t afford to make more mistakes,” he argued gently. “Just a few hours. Then you’ll be good as new. No more dirty bandages.”

“Bucky, I...” you shook your head, stepping back and folding your arms over your chest. “I-- I have to look after these men. I can’t fall asleep. What if something happens?”

“I’ll wake you up,” he responded with a shrug. “I got my hours in. Anyone starts throwing a coughing fit, monitors start going haywire, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

“People will talk,” you whispered, excuses lined up but Bucky didn’t let them break his smile for even a moment.

“No one's around, sweetheart.”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“So is half my guys sleeping with your girls and yet...”

You laughed a bit at that, chewing on the edge of your lip, the rouge long faded of color. A heavy silence passed, a slight sway in your stance as your body fought tirelessly against the urge to close your eyes. Glancing down the rows of cots, it seemed quiet. Not a peep for hours and everyone was stable.

You turned back to Bucky. He was waiting patiently.

“You’ll wake me?”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to smile wider, but – God – it was blinding.

“Cross my heart.”

Stepping out of your shoes, you slowly made your way to the edge of his bed. You stared down at the open space and the slim line of mattress available to you. You must have taken too long because he started shifted a bit more to the edge, to the point where he was nearly falling off.

“Promise I’ll be a complete gentleman,” he chuckled lightly, cheeks pink and rosy. It was damn near impossible to say no to him when he looked at you like that, with a sincerity you hadn’t known since you left the States, draped under ocean blue.

“One hour,” you warned him as you slowly lowered yourself into the cot beside him. It squeaked as you let your weight fall to its uneven springs, the lumps evident against your back, the frame prominent through the thin cushion.

“One hour,” he agreed, giving you space as you rested your head against the pillow if you wanted it, though you heard his breath hitch as you tugged his arm down a little to lean against his shoulder, his right arm curling around your back to keep you steady on the bed.

Laying on your side, curled up next to him, you rested your left arm against his chest, tracing your fingers along the exposed lines of his stomach, the dip at his sternum, the scars littering smooth stretches of beautifully tanned skin. He shivered under your touch, his breath slightly uneven, though he didn’t say anything. His hold on you tightened as he suppressed a gasp under the bite of his teeth, like a reflex, pulling you tighter as his toes curled and his spine lightened.

“This okay?” you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper and you watched as your breath touched his chest, goosebumps in its wake.

“Perfect, honey,” Bucky replied sweetly, his fingers drawing patterns along your back, tracing along the zipper of your dress and the seams in the shoulders. “Close your eyes, will you?”

A sleep heavy laugh pulled up at your cheeks, resting on his chest, as you let your hand fall flat against his stomach. You nodded, curling up as close against him as you could manage, losing yourself in the gentle waves of his touch along your spine.

“Thank you,” you whispered as your eyes began fluttering shut. You could hear the pulse of his heart beating gently under your ear, the steady rhythm lulling you a warm embrace. The slip of consciousness tugging you kindly to the ease of temporary darkness.

There was a slight touch on your forehead, something warm and sweet, lingering as your breaths became longer, steadier, drawn out and even; the heat of breath to your skin, the slight hum of a content sigh. A kiss as gentle and kind and tender as the man behind it.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[skeletorishot]

listen to this shit ok

"that perfect girl is gone"

"couldn't keep it in, heaven knows ive tried // dont let them in dont let them see be the good girl you always have to be // conceal dont feel dont let them know // well now they know"

"i can hear you, but I wont // some look for trouble while others dont // there's a thousand reasons I should go about my day and ignore your whispers which I wish would go away oh"

"im afraid of what im risking if i follow you into the unknown"

"or are you someone out there who's a little bit like me? who knows deep down im not where im meant to be?"

"I can sense you there // like a friend ive always known // im arriving // and it feels like I am home"

"ive never felt so certain // all my life ive been torn // but im here for a reason // could it be the reason I was born? I have always been so different // normal rules did not apply // is this the day? are you the way? i finally find out why?"

"Ive come so far // you are the answer ive waited for // all of my life"

SHES TRANS. SHE IS LTIERALLY TRANSGENDER.

[spicycreativity]

Yooo I’ve been reading your fic Intertwined and it is super good and giving me major moceit brain rot! Since you’re thinking about taking prompts, mayhaps moceit with something enemies-to-lovers and/or secret relationship?

Ah yay my first ever request! I wrote this as a series of vignettes because I knew if I gave myself half a chance I would go waaay overboard with it. Thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺❤❤❤

Length: 3.5k

Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag

Oh also I did try to make it obvious, but just in case it isn't, I is post Can Lying Be Good, II is post SvS, III is post DWIT, IV is immediately post PoF, and V is later after PoF

I.

Some nights, Patton's head felt like a pressure cooker with no vent valve. The weight of his covers seemed to crush his chest, forcing him to hyperventilate as he desperately tried to pull in a full breath. Emotions swirled in his head like hot steam, a sickening mix of betrayal and shame, anger and guilt and fear. The knowledge of what Deceit had done, had tried to get Thomas to do, sat heavy in his stomach and brought the temperature up, up, up, until Patton was forced to move. He had to do something, dispel some of the steam before it boiled over into-- Well, something. Sometimes he felt on the verge of something scary and wholly out of his control, some kind of terrible explosion that would liquefy the support joints in Thomas' psyche and send all of them crashing down.

But not tonight. Tonight, Patton would scream into his pillows or pace the halls or talk to the mirror, anything to slow the roaring boil in his mind. He threw himself out of bed, bare feet touching down on the carpet, and was out the door before he could even think of grabbing something to cover up with. Not that the others had never seen him in boxers and a T-shirt, but Roman preferred to sleep in the cold and dropped the temperature accordingly.

Patton had smiled when Virgil had pulled him aside to explain what had happened. That Deceit had impersonated him and, like the Pied Piper, paraded the others behind him with a beautiful song. Thinking about it made the world tilt a little, but Patton had smiled and would have ruffled Virgil's hair if he'd thought Virgil would let him. Because it had turned out okay, hadn't it? And Patton was stupid for still feeling the way he felt. It was stupid to feel hurt that the others hadn't noticed right away. Deceit was a good actor and they had eventually noticed anyway. It was stupid to be scared. Thomas had rejected Deceit's temptation.

And then all Patton's thoughts vanished like a bursting soap bubble, because Deceit was in the hall. His look of wide-eyed astonishment was already morphing into a much more familiar expression of contempt.

"Oh," said Patton, once he'd recovered his own wits.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Deceit, who, Patton noticed with a jolt, was also in his pajamas. It was hard to be scared of someone wearing sweatpants decorated with little cartoon snakes, but it didn't entirely ease Patton's trepidation. It certainly didn't slow his pounding heart.

"What are you doing up?" Patton asked.

Deceit rolled his eyes like Patton's question was unprecedentedly stupid. "I was on my way to kill you in your sleep so I could take your place permanently." He shifted awkwardly as he talked, and Patton realized he was trying to gesticulate with his hands jammed deep in his pockets.

Patton didn't know what to say to that, so he did what he did best and smiled. He needed a way out. Forget feeling like a pressure cooker, he wanted to run back to bed and hide under the covers. He wanted Deceit to go away.

"Anyway," said Deceit, glaring, "I could ask you the same question."

Evil. He was evil. And here was Patton making small talk with him. Abiding him. "Are you sorry?"

Deceit's snake eye caught the light and almost seemed to glow under it. "Am I sorry?"

"For doing wrong." Patton scrambled to find confidence, find righteousness, conviction, faith. Anything he could use to keep Deceit at bay. "For encouraging Thomas to do wrong."

Deceit smiled, but not the way Patton had. This was cruel and mocking. He shook his head slightly as though in disbelief and almost seemed to laugh, his hands drawing the fabric of his sweats tight as he clenched them into fists. "Oh, yes, Patton, I'm so very sorry for trying to help. Yes, I repent! Shall I get down on my knees for you so you can forgive me for looking after Thomas? Hm?"

"I…" Patton took in a shaky breath. "I don't think we have anything more to say to each other. And I don't think I want to see you again."

"Don't worry," said Deceit as Patton turned his back on him, "you definitely won't."

II.

"I'm not angry," Janus said for what felt like the billionth time. He adjusted his arms where he had them crossed over his chest, huffing out a breath through his nose.

"You," said Remus, pointing at him, "have been throwing a tantrum ever since you got back. 'They're too stupid to manipulate, Remus! They didn't even listen, Remus! You're so sexy and well-hung, Remus!'"

"The are too stupid to manipulate! Is that my fault?"

"I'm just saying, you're kind of harshing my mellow."

"You've never been mellow in your life and you know it."

Remus only grinned and shook out the contents of another matchbox to add to his pile. He was planning on building a life-sized Roman out of matches and burning it in effigy. Janus remembered with a twist of guilt that Remus had seemed remarkably at ease in the two seconds before Janus had popped up and started ranting.

"Alright, since you're such a zen master," Janus huffed, "what do you suggest I do? Burn Patton in effigy?"

"I mean…" Remus held out a matchbox. "We can take turns with the Krazy Glue."

"Oh, forget it." Janus took the matchbox more by instinct than anything. "I'm going for a walk."

"You could burn down Virgil's door," Remus suggested.

Janus just shook his head and continued to stalk away. A few hours had passed since the courtroom disaster. It was now early evening and the matchstick of rage still burned quietly in Janus' chest. They were all so stupid! So naive. And it was all Patton's fault.

Janus turned the matchbox over in his hand, careful not to drop it. Scorched earth had never been his preferred modus operandi, but if Patton kept pushing back at him like this, Janus was going to shove, consequences be damned.

Oh, and speak of the angel. Janus didn't much feel like playing it coy, but he forced himself to. He leaned because against the wall, the matches still in his palm, and looked Patton slowly up and down. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Deceit!" Patton stopped dead, the smile sliding from his face. "What are you doing here?"

Janus brandished the matches, barely controlling the furious hiss building in the back of his throat. He'd already slipped once today, lost control of his temper. He couldn't allow that to happen again. "I've come to burn it all down."

Patton's eyes went wide, his gaze hot on the matches. "You should know better than to play with fire."

The knowledge of Patton's fear burned hot and triumphant in Janus' veins, filling him with the idea that he could still win something. He got closer to Patton with measured steps, slipping behind him when Patton tried to back away. "No, Patton," he purred, silky and cool in Patton's ear. "You're the one who's playing with fire."

"What…" Patton's voice shook and he cleared his throat, turning his head to try to look Janus in the eye. Janus was momentarily distracted by the freckles' on Patton's neck, the soft pulsing of his jugular vein. "What do you mean?"

Annoyed at himself, Janus backed up. The paper matchbox felt feeble in his grasp now, as feeble as his pathetic little display of power. He could bully Patton all he wanted and it wouldn't change a thing. "The Duke and I, we're the one thing you can't control," he boasted. Might as well see this through, since he started it.

"I have to try," Patton said. "My friends trust me, Thomas trusts me to keep him safe from the likes of you. I won't let you make Thomas into a liar. I won't let you lead Roman astray. But Deceit?"

"What?" Janus growled. His frustration was directed inward now, that he had thought any of this might make him feel better. Right. He should just go read Hobbes in the bath with his fire extinguisher handy.

"If you ever decide you want to… Well, be good. There's room for you at my table."

Janus crushed the matchbox in his clenched fist. If Patton applied his arbitrary standards fairly, he would see that Janus was good. But no, he was quite content to wear the blindfold of his own hypocrisy and leave Janus out to rot. "You're impossible," Janus said through clenched teeth. Before he could change his mind, he palmed the ruined matchbox into Patton's hand and turned to go.

"What's this for?" Patton asked.

Janus paused and gave his well-practiced supervillain smirk. "A promise."

Time to unleash the beast.

III.

Now more than ever, Patton was certain he was in over his head. He sat on the kitchen floor, hot chocolate untouched beside him, and stared at the crumpled matchbox in his palm. 'A promise,' Deceit had said. Patton hadn't been sure what to make of that, but he had an idea now.

Deceit was right. Patton couldn't control Remus. But that just meant he had to try harder. So now what was he supposed to do? Thomas was looking at him for guidance, but… He was supposed to ease up on judging Thomas for having evil thoughts, while simultaneously not letting Thomas be evil. Was he being too harsh or too lenient? And why did it feel like both?

"Well, well, well." Deceit's voice grated on Patton's ears. He made no effort to bolster himself, no effort to look anything other than despondent. Deceit must have been feeling truly bold to venture so far into enemy territory.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Patton asked, still staring at the matchbox. He didn't want to see that smirking face.

"Obviously not," said Deceit. "Chaos for chaos' sake was never the endgame."

"Then why are you here?" Patton asked, finally looking up. The angle and the brim of Deceit's hat kept his eyes in shadow, so all Patton could see was the mouth housing that forked serpent tongue.

"I'm here to offer you one last chance, Patton. Get out of my way."

"You can't put this on me," Patton said, looking again at the matchbox. "You said you were going to burn it down. If you're willing to hurt Thomas to get your way, then you shouldn't get your way."

Deceit twitched slightly and Patton could tell he was rolling his eyes even if he couldn't see it. "Have you heard of prescribed burns?" He didn't wait for Patton to answer. "It's when humans deliberately set fires to destroy some of the forest underbrush. Now, it seems counterintuitive, but regularly burning parts of the forest actually prevents wildfires from raging out of control. Does it hurt the underbrush? Yes. But sometimes things that seem harmless or even good are actually quite deadly if left unchecked. So a little bit of destruction actually serves the greater good. Do you understand?"

Patton furrowed his brow, trying to navigate this. "So you are willing to hurt Thomas to get your way."

"Why," said Janus, flexing his hands, "do I even bother?"

"Why do you bother?" Patton asked. He had never thought to wonder before. Evil was just evil and there was understanding it. But something in him had broken a little today; he could feel the edges of it poking at his chest.

Deceit sighed and shifted his weight. For a moment, Patton thought he might sit or kneel so they could talk at eye level but no, of course not, Deceit would never give up an advantage like that. "Because!" he said, agitated. "Because I know I'm right. I know Thomas needs me. I can help."

"If you truly loved him, you wouldn't be willing to hurt him," Patton said with conviction. That, he could be sure of.

"This is precisely why I've had to take such drastic measures!" Deceit actually stamped his foot, and Patton watched as he balled his hands into fists, the knit of his gloves straining at the knuckles. "None of you ever listen to me! You decided what I am long before I made my entrance and you only hear what supports that illusion." He took a slow, deep breath, and his voice was back to its usual silken glide when he spoke again. "I am asking you, one last time, to get out of my way."

"And I'm telling you" --Patton got to his feet so he could look Deceit in the eye-- "no."

IV.

They found each other in the aftermath, both their worlds shattered and still on fire. Janus, for once in his life, didn't know what to say. The walls around them flickered from the force of their combined imagination, showing crumbling drywall and collapsed framing, the smoldering ruin of everything they could have sworn was truth.

Janus had known that Patton was wrong about him, but he had never suspected that he might be wrong about Patton. The realization buzzed through his veins like electricity, along with a fatal determination that he and Patton were inexorably linked now.

Janus never thought he would say the words now coming out of his mouth and mean them, but Patton's magnetic draw seemed to pull them out as it pulled Janus closer and closer. "I was wrong, Patton. Maybe not about everything, but I was wrong about you."

"I did this," Patton said, gesturing at the broken-down walls. He seemed to feel the pull, too, if his gentle shuffle toward Janus was anything to go by.

Sarcasm seemed far beyond Janus' reach tonight, but perhaps not a few well-placed lies. "It's okay, Patton. Everything is okay." The flames moved in closer, consuming some of the wreckage, but Janus knew they were safe. It was all made-up, all of it. He could put the fire out if he could just focus on something other than Patton's tear-streaked face and oh, they were still getting closer and closer together. They'd be chest-to-chest soon. "I think…" said Patton. He wasn't crying now, thank God, because Janus didn't know what he would do. "Is it bad to find something beautiful in all of this?"

And there it was. The contact. Their foreheads touching, their hands intertwined. The two survivors of the wreck, drawn toward each other like magnets. "Very bad," Janus murmured, and he knew that Patton knew he was trying to talk himself out of what he did next.

He kissed Patton.

It was a terrible thing to do, probably his most selfish act to date. Here was Patton, devastated and willing to take whatever comfort he could find, and Janus was taking advantage. Even he had morals, but, oh, this was nice. He hadn't realized just how tense they had been with each other until it all suddenly snapped. And Patton was kissing back and had released his grip on Janus' hands so he could wrap his arms around him. Janus pulled away. "I shouldn't have done that," he said. "You don't need that. "

"Am I that bad at kissing?" Patton asked innocently.

"You didn't want that," Janus explained. "You're upset and you're not thinking straight." Patton was still holding him and despite the tear tracks still gleaming on his cheeks, he looked amused. Something ached at the back of Janus' tongue. "You don't want me."

Patton kissed him again, sweet and chaste this time. "Tell more about how I feel, Janus."

"I--" Couldn't think, couldn't think. "You--" Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Short-circuit. "But I-- You don't--"

"I didn't learn anything today," Patton said, "but I think I realized something that I've always known. Does that make sense?"

"This doesn't solve all our problems," Janus said. This couldn't be real. He couldn't allow himself to delight in this, not when it was going to go away. "You still don't approve of my methods and I don't agree with yours. We're going to disagree."

"You think I don't disagree with the others?" Patton asked and was that hope in his eyes. Here in the fire and ruins, here at the end of the world, Patton had hope. "I want to make this work."

Janus kissed him. This felt like less of a decision and more of a necessity, like breathing.

"So you believe me?" Patton asked when they parted. "You trust me?"

The answer was already yes despite the fear eating away at Janus' insides. It was more like a thrill than existential terror, and on some level he knew he must have been high on endorphins and adrenaline. "I trust you. But Patton?"

"Yeah?"

"What do we do now?"

"We make it work."

V.

There was something undeniably thrilling about seeing Janus in secret. But mostly, Patton just felt awful about it. Sneaking out of his room at night like a teenager was fun, tip-toeing down the hall to hide away in Janus' room definitely had a sort of teen movie appeal to it. It was the pretending that made Patton feel all sick and guilty.

"You look tired," Roman said. He still wasn't back to his vibrant self, but Patton had vowed to be gentle with him until he found his footing again.

Patton was tired. He and Janus had spent most of the night just talking, innocent as could be, both tucked beneath the covers of Janus' bed. He tried and failed to think of a good pun, something that might distract Roman. "I was up kinda late, I guess."

Roman nodded. It was just the two of them that morning, Virgil being a late sleeper and Logan having been increasingly reclusive as of late, despite his reconciliation with Patton and the others. "I'll make you a coffee. Something fancy. Dare I say, the best coffee you've ever had."

"Oh," said Patton, cheeks heating up. "You don't have to!" Guilt flooded his chest at the idea of taking advantage of Roman.

"I'm offering," said Roman. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll make one for myself, too."

That did make Patton feel better, if only a little. He sighed as Roman got up from the table and started bustling around in the kitchen. These days, Janus was always on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to risk ruining Roman's good mood by bringing up such a painful subject, but… Patton couldn't keep going like this.

Hiding the relationship had of course been Janus' idea, but Patton couldn't deny the safety of it. For the first time, he realized how Deceit and Self-Preservation could share an identity. And while Patton knew his reasons were noble, he also understood that lying hurt. His friends would be devastated regardless of how they found out, but the destruction would be much worse if they found out accidentally.

"Something's bothering you," Roman said when he got back, holding two mugs piled high with whipped cream covered in chocolate shavings.

"I don't want to talk about it," Patton said.

"C'mon, Padre, we've talked about this. Sharing your feelings doesn't make you a burden. Especially if I'm asking."

Oh, Patton really didn't deserve Roman. "I know, kiddo, I just-- I'm not ready yet."

"Is this about J-- Him? Because I swear, if he hurt you, if he did something--" Roman cut himself off, and Patton appreciated that he looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

"I promise I'll tell you when I'm ready," Patton said.

"I suppose that's all I can really ask," Roman said with a nod. "Well, I'll be here when you're ready. It's the least I can do."

"Thanks, Roman." He was still having issues with negative self-talk, but Patton didn't feel like nagging him about it today. So he smiled and picked up a spoon to scoop up some whipped cream. "You're a good friend."

When Roman wandered off to go work on a new creative vision for Thomas, Patton booked it to the Other living room (he was no longer comfortable thinking of it as the Dark Side). While he wasn't exactly on friendly terms with Remus yet, he might be able to navigate a conversation with him if required.

But thankfully, Janus was sprawled out on the couch reading a book of blank verse poetry and Remus was nowhere in sight. “Everything okay, angel?” he asked, tilting the book down so Patton could see his eyes. He sat up so Patton could sit next to him, cuddling closer when Patton put an arm around his shoulders.

Patton fidgeted with the hem of Janus’ capelet. “I’m thinking I want to, um…” He paused, looking for the right words. “Bring you up? See what the others think about you coming around every once in a while. Or all the time.”

Janus stiffened. Patton rubbed his arm. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled at the idea of having me around.”

“I wouldn’t leave you alone with them!” Patton said. He had learned, more through hints and inference than anything Janus had outright said, that Janus was deeply afraid of rejection and guarded his heart closely. “I just want… I want to stop lying to them and I want to stop sneaking around.”

“It’s safer this way,” Janus said, nudging Patton.

“But it’s not fair to them or to us to keep going like this,” Patton said. “I promise I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Janus asked archly, one hand inching up Patton’s thigh. “You’ll be my hero?”

“You don’t need a hero,” Patton said, putting his free hand down on top of Janus’. “If you decide to go off on them, what you’ll need is a referee.”

“That is true,” Janus said, and Patton noticed with a rush of affection that he was trying not to smile.

“So can I?”

Janus turned and kissed him softly on the forehead. “Yes, angel. But only because you’re cute.”

[sunflowerheartsandstarryskies]

My Golden Curse - Maxwell Lord x Fem!Reader

Author’s Note: Hello again, I may have stumbled upon the Pedro Pascal fandom and I can’t get out, and I saw someone posted that they wanted an imagine with Maxwell Lord and the reader in which one of them gets kidnapped and the other just goes ballistic, and I basically kept getting that idea stuck in my head, this was only supposed to be a drabble but oh well. This depiction of Maxwell Lord is closer to the DC Comics version of him and not the movie but it has Pascal’s Lord’s likeness, so it’s like a combination of the two.

Also, I have survived my finals and had taken a break from writing for a while but I’m back and I have some ideas for my Lucifer multi-chapter fic as well. I also have an idea for a John Wick fic but I have no idea if anyone wants to read that.

Warnings: Typical comic-book violence, cursing (like two curse words), blood mentioned, kidnapping, bruises and injuries (like ribs breaking, a concussion, and a few lacerations

______________________________________________________________

Maxwell Lord IV prided himself on presentation. Everything had to be pristine and everything, even the garbage can by his desk had to be impeccable, because his business and himself in general, are put out on display for the public. He is a figurehead and a showman, so when you came along to be his assistant and secretary he was at first apprehensive because you didn’t dress as provocatively as he may have like and you didn’t look as model-esque as his other secretaries in the past. You didn’t apply to Chimtech to be fucked by your boss, you were good at your job and you aspire to show off your skills.

However, time went on when you first started to work for Maxwell Lord and you did a phenomenal job, whenever he was in a meeting you would always make sure to listen and take notes of what he needed while he was in the meeting. Whenever he requested for you to fax an item you would’ve made sure to have done it five minutes prior. Maxwell had no idea how you could be so efficient at your job, but he damn well appreciates it even if he rarely ever mentions it to you.

It’s an odd relationship that you guys have worked yourself in, a friendly relationship it seems, but both of you are teetering on the edge of wanting more. There have been teasing nicknames, mostly from you, you had a plethora of nicknames that you would give him, ranging from “Sandy” to “Ken”, but “Golden boy” was your favorite.

You would never admit this to him or even to yourself but you actually liked his blonde locks. In certain lightings, when you look at him you swear he was Midas, covered in his own golden curse. It was breathtaking to watch him at some points, but you always try to cover up your flustered state.

You knew Maxwell well, some may say too well for a secretary, but you rarely saw the side of him that most of his competitors and fellow businessmen saw, and that was the merciless and ruthless side to his tactics on getting what he wanted. Everyone in the public eye saw him as just the “King of Infomercials” but there was a reason why and how he got that title in the first place. Who knew the infomercial world could be so cruel and hectic?

You were able to catch glimpses of Maxwell’s amazing abilities of persuasion and showmanship, he was able to get people to admit to what they want and get them to go out and seize, whether that was good or bad. There was a particular talent that you find out he has and it was his ability to drag out people’s hidden desires, there were times when the people he used this talent were a shock as the people around them when they admitted to what they really wanted.

He was a golden idol of his own creation; he had to be especially to the people around him. However, that golden facade can only keep him held up for so long when the people he handed gold to realize that it’s fool’s gold.

______________________________________________________________

It was earlier in the day, you just woke up and got dressed in your office attire with a cup of coffee in hand as you try to will yourself to get going. You looked up at your apartment’s clock and it was 7:00 am, you needed to get going if you were to make it to Chimtech in time.

As you stepped out of your apartment building you felt a gloved hand over your mouth and panic flooding your whole body, but before your body could even fully process a flight or fight response you felt a sharp pain in your neck and you passed out.

When you come to, your vision is blurred and you can’t understand where you are and your brain just has confusion filling your senses. Why can’t you process what is around you? What happened to you? After a couple of more seconds went by you felt a rope tightly woven around your wrists, and you comprehended that you were sitting on a floor. What happened to you?

“Ah, there’s the little doll’s eyes! I was wondering if you were beginning to ever wake up,” a voice filled your ears. You blinked furiously trying to get your eyes to focus and you found yourself face to face with a man, who was grinning at you like a shark finding the prey they smelled a mile away.

“I’m sure you understand why you’re here? I don’t need to monologue it to you, do I?” the man asks.

“Mr. Vince, right? You were in a meeting with my boss Maxwell Lord, a month ago, right?” you questioned him as the drug and weariness started to seep out of you, and you gained more awareness of your surroundings. The man, Mr. Vince was a part-owner of a tech company that Chimtech was interested in making an investment in, however from what you were aware of was that the true goal of the meetings with Vince and his company was to absorb it into Chimtech, forcing Vince and the other owners to give up their powers over to Maxwell Lord and the other board members of Chimtech.

“I see the drugs didn’t impair your memory, I assume you are aware that I am no longer a CEO? That I was tricked by your goddamned boss?! That he put me in a corner to give up my company over to him!” he screamed. He was half an inch from your face and you were terrified of this man, he was unhinged.

“What does this have to do with me, Mr.Vince?” you asked, forcing yourself to not push him over the edge.

“Ooooh this has everything to do with your boss, I remembered that you are his secretary, so you must know some secret of his, something I can leverage against him to make him give me my company back,” he said.

“Even if I have any sort of information to give you, the damage is already done, your company is done in, it’s already been processed into Chimtech, there is none of your company left.”

That was the wrong thing to say as you felt a kick to your stomach. You groaned and rolled onto your side, and before you could recover from that there was another swift kick that you felt go directly to your ribs.

______________________________________________________________

Minutes blended into hours of constant yelling from Vince to him pulling you off the ground to throwing you back down like you were a piece of litter to being his personal punching bag. It was all you could do to just protect yourself and persevere through the pain because you were just a secretary, you were never trained in self-defense, hell you never even did track in high school.

Through the pain, you felt complete distortion and a high pitch whining going through your head, and you finally realized it was a telephone- a landline. Where the hell did this guy get a landline in this beat-up place?

Then, you hear Vince say, “Oh you want to hear how (Y/N) is?” you hear footsteps coming towards you then cold plastic was pressed to your cheek then Vince continued loudly, “Well here she is, talk.”

“(Y/N)?” You heard Maxwell, your golden boy, say your name and all you can do was say his name back in a raspy voice.

“What did he do to you?” Maxwell asked.

Before you could say any more the phone was taken away from you and Vince’s voice filled your ears.

“Tick tock Maxwell, I want my money and you can get your fuck toy back.”

Then silence, a sickening silence filled the room which made you feel every ache and pain that has been put on your body has made itself known by increasing levels of agony. You didn’t even feel it in you to even try to correct Vince’s words about you. You just wanted to sleep and not wake up for a whole day, maybe if you laid perfectly still and just not move a muscle the pain would go away.

As you lay there you tearily open your eyes back up and you can hear the tinny sounds of the echoing footsteps of your captor pacing back and forth in the room you were held in. It was nauseating, and you were confused as you thought, When did you close your eyes? How long were you out?

Then you fell back into your head, and you felt like you were spiraling in your own mind mixed with dizziness and nausea. You just wanted this to end.

A male voice was shouting so close to you and you can feel the panic coming out of his voice, and you can tell it wasn’t Vince because why would he do that?

You felt yourself being lifted from the ground and all you could do was cough sporadically from the new movements on your injuries. It hurt, it hurt so bad.

“I know (Y/N), but you just need to keep going a little bit longer,” the same voice told you.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint where you heard that voice before but you thought it was your boss, Maxwell Lord, but it couldn’t be. That would be the last thought that went through your mind before you lost it to the void.

All you can see at first was just bright and it hurt so bad. When you turned your head you saw a flash of gold and your first thought was, ‘Maxwell’. When your eyes adjusted to the room around you it really was your boss, Maxwell Lord in the hospital with you. He was slumped down in a chair beside your bed and you saw there were roses in a vase on the table next to you.

“Gold-golden boy, hey,” you rasped out trying to wake him. You coughed and then groaned as you felt the lacerations and bandages around your torso.

You saw him stir in the chair and his eyes opened and landed on yours. “Hey boss,” you whispered cringing at your voice. Your hands clenched at the sheets around you as you saw him blink furiously and stood up fast. You flinched at the fast movement but he didn’t seem to notice, as he moved closer to you.

“I am sorry about what happened to you, I didn’t think that our clients would go so far as to do this to you. I can’t believe that bastard did all of this to you-”

“It’s okay, I mean it hurts like a bitch but you ended up finding me didn’t you? What happened to him anyway?” you cut him off.

“Ah well, I may have gotten violent with him before the law enforcement could get him,” he said twisting his hands around and that’s when you saw the scrapes on his knuckles.

“I don’t know if you were a white knight to me but you certainly are a golden devil for doing that,” you replied.

He huffed out a laugh at your reply and he opened his mouth to say something but got interrupted when a nurse arrived.

______________________________________________________________

After the nurse left, you found out you still have a concussion lingering still, three bruised ribs and lacerations across your whole torso and arms.

When he listened to the whole list of injuries that you had gotten in the three days that you were with Mr. Vince, he felt rage boil over him but he tried to keep calm as he remembered the battered state he left Vince in. At least he made him feel some of the pain that he made you go through, Maxwell was a very prideful man in how he acts so for him to act like that was completely out of character for him.

He must be looking worried because he noticed your furrowed brows and you glancing at him every so often.

“Did you want to say something?” he asked

“Well, I was gonna ask you a similar question because I think you were interrupted by the nurse. Also are you okay?”

Your question startled him and the mention of the interruption made him clear his throat and fidget with his suit to try to hide the blush that was threatening to come up to his face. Your inquisitive expression on your face was watching him.

“I’ve been thinking that if you would like to leave the company, I won’t force you to stay, especially with what happened this week,” he said.

Listening to him say this made you panic and as you tried to sit up, Maxwell came up to you quickly as he says, “What do you think you’re doing? You got to take it easy.”

As you are situated in your bed you went to reach for Maxwell’s hand as you say, “Why would I want to quit? I love my job and I love working with you even if at times I don’t seem like it. None of what happened to me was your fault, how could you have known that Vince would react to the merger the way that he did.”

Maxwell was startled by this, he never had anyone in his family nor his company is so willing to stay with him especially when they are given an out.

He bowed his head toward you and said, “If you keep saying things like that I might want to keep you by my side for a long time.”

You laughed as you replied, “If you let me I will, you are a weird but kind man-” you stopped yourself as a thought came to your head.

“How long have you been here? What about Chimtech?”

“Ah well if my secretary didn’t get kidnapped and injured I wouldn’t be here right now, but you made me worried and how can I do my best work without my best assistant around me?”

“Now you’re just flattering me”

“But it’s true”

“Hmmm if you say so, Sandy”

______________________________________________________________

Four days have gone by and you were finally released from the hospital to go back to your apartment. You tried to go back to work at Chimtech, but Maxwell found you were released and gave you the rest of the week off to recover. You would become the envy of the company at this rate with how well the boss has been treating you.

Now that you have been just lounging in your apartment watching TV movies, and eating takeout for meals it has given you time to properly understand what happened to you for the past two weeks.

The way your boss, Maxwell, has been treating you made you see a whole new side of him. At first, you thought of working for him as both a blessing and a curse. At first, it was hell on earth, you ran yourself ragged making sure everything was up to par with Maxwell’s standards but after the next three years working with the man you considered him a friend of sorts. Even though you always tried to make sure to never consider employers and colleagues be separate from your personal life but it’s hard to do that when all you have is your work life.

Ever since the kidnapping incident, Maxwell had visited you every day in the hospital he even gave you flowers on the last day of your hospital visit, it was a beautiful vase of sunflowers.

You didn’t realize how long you were sitting on your couch thinking about your boss when you heard a knock on your door. You looked at the clock near your tv and realized it was nearly midnight.

‘Who could come by to my apartment at this hour?’ you thought.

You got up carefully minding the bruises still littering your body, and you opened the door surprised to see Maxwell.

His hair was a bit disheveled and he didn’t have a suit jacket on showing off the suspenders he likes to wear. He looked quite cute seeing him like this.

“Come in, Mr. Lord. What brings you to my place this late at night?” you inquired.

He ran his hand through his hair as he entered your apartment and he turns to look at you as you closed the door.

He sighed as he said, “I don’t know how quite to put this without sounding terrible, but after what happened to you, I can’t stop thinking about you. You are the best woman-the best person I’ve known and for you to still want to work with me after everything that has happened.”

He looked like he was getting frustrated with himself, you were shocked because how could you have gotten the king of infomercials to be so frustrated with his own words?

You took a tentative step forward to him as you placed a hand on his arm.

“Sandy, what’s going on?”

He was silent for a moment before he looked into your eyes with a strong determination as he says, “You know more about me than my own mother does, and after all this time together I’ve grown to respect you more and more. When I saw you in that hospital I wanted to kill the bastard and send him to hell when I found you like that in the warehouse.”

“I-I don’t know what to say, Mr. Lord-”

“Call me Maxwell, none of your silly names, not boss, not my last name, just Maxwell”

You could tell he was earnest with this and sincere it took your breath away to see him like this. He was beautiful and it made your heart flutter when you realize what he might be trying to confess to you.

“Maxwell” you breathed out testing his name out. You said his name once before and that was when you had gotten kidnapped but now this is completely different, almost like a prayer. A prayer to this golden devil of yours.

He smiled when he heard you say his name and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I wish I could kiss all the scars away from your body so you never have to live with them again. I wish that I could be yours, fully and I want to be clear that I would never use you like I may have done to my secretaries in the past. I want to be yours, in any way you may want me.”

“Oh Maxwell, I think I might have to grant your wish this time,” you say blinking away tears that were threatening to spill as you were listening to his confession.

“(Y/N)” he whispered reverently.

He cradled your face with both hands as he studied your face to see any resistance than he gently placed his lips on yours.

You made a small gasp as you finally felt his lips on yours, you clutched onto his shirt as you pulled him closer to you. He tilted his head and pushed your chin up to meet in for a deeper kiss. It felt amazing and you felt loved.

When you parted you were chasing each other’s lips to crash back into each other as you kissed each other until you both need a break. Both of your lips were swollen and you looked at him with such love that when Maxwell saw, he almost wanted to take you then and there but he was mindful of how fragile this love could be.

Author’s Note: I might do a second part if people want it but whew this took a lot out of me, I hope you guys like it!

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII /  Part VIII  / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Peter was unreasonably nervous on the way to Tony’s house – he felt like a teenage virgin, even though he was far from that. The problem was he knew the older man probably had certain expectations for what was about to happen, it was impossible for him not to have, of course. He watched all of his videos, he followed his Just4Fans, he had seen his wildest, sexiest, naughtiest side, but the thing was, that didn’t really come natural to Peter.

What most people didn’t seem to realize was that porn sex was very different from real life sex. Most of the things that looked good didn’t necessarily feel good, because porn wasn’t about getting off, it was about getting the viewers off, at the cost of the actors’ own pleasure sometimes. In Peter’s experience, most of the times.

Tony was older, experienced, Peter supposed he knew all of that, but he also met him through porn, he had seen him have sex with several people several times, so who knew, maybe he thought Peter actually liked being choked half to death or slapped black and blue. Maybe he thought he liked it rough, no prep and no lube, and maybe he wouldn’t understand that if he cried and begged him to stop, he wasn’t trying to be kinky, he just–  

“Hey.” Peter jumped up in surprise when he heard the man’s voice to his left. Tony had both of his hands on the steering wheel, but his eyes were focused on him. There was a small frown between his brows and the younger man wondered if he had missed something. “I can still drive you home if you changed your mind, ok?”

“What?” Peter asked, a little too loudly, and the older man gave him a small smile.

“You just seem a little freaked out,” he clarified, and the boy blushed, dipping his chin down to stare at his lap. “There’s no pressure here, Peter. If I somehow made you feel like you have to do this, please –“

“Gods, no!” He cut him off, because that was the furthest thing from the truth, not even once did Tony make him feel like he had to do anything. “I’m sorry, it’s just – been a while since–” he started, but then he felt dumb, because he used to do that for a living and Tony knew it. “I mean, without cameras and stuff.” He mumbled, feeling his face burning in shame at the confession.

He was surprised when the older man’s hand came into view, grabbing one of his gently. Peter raised his eyes to look at him.

“Tell you what,” Tony started with that charming smile of his, squeezing his hand a little. “We’ll just have a few drinks and see where it goes. I’ll drive you home at any time you ask, just say the word.”

Peter sighed, feeling weirdly relieved by those words. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that, but it was still nice to hear. He could quit at any time. He was still in control of his body. He got to decide whatever happened next.

“Sounds nice,” he said, and Tony must have heard the honesty in his voice because his expression softened and the corners of his lips tilted up.

A few minutes later, Stark Tower popped into view as they turned a corner and the younger man noticed they were headed there, which confused him at first, but Tony explained he lived on the top floor of the tower. Peter was surprised to hear that, he always assumed he lived in some fancy building in Manhattan, but when he thought about it, it made sense. Tony living anywhere else could be a threat to his neighbors’ lives, what with his side job and all.  

“I used to live in Malibu.” Peter remembered that. He also remembered his mansion was destroyed in a terrorist attack back in 2010, after Tony basically gave the Mandarin his home address. “When I moved here, I decided to turn the top few floors of Stark Tower into my home. It was all for me at first, but later it became the Avengers headquarters. A few of them lived there for a while, like Steve, before we… You know.” Peter didn’t know, actually. He remembered Captain America and a few others became fugitives at some point, but he didn’t really know the story behind it. To be fair, he didn’t think the public at large knew the whole truth either. “Now it’s just me again.”

Peter didn’t comment on the fact that he skipped the part where he probably lived there with Pepper Potts. The boy didn’t lie when he said he didn’t know a lot about the older man’s life, but some things were hard to miss, like his marriage to the most powerful woman in the world. Peter remembered it was literally all over the news, meaning the divorce, just a little over a year earlier, was just as covered by the media as well.

He decided not to ask, though.

When they arrived at the tower, Tony got out of the car and went around it to open the door for him. He blushed at the small act of chivalry, but the older man didn’t even seem to realize it. He once again placed a hand on the small of his back as he led him to a metal door that slid open with a quiet hiss after both of their faces were scanned.

Tony nudged him inside what looked like an elevator; there were no buttons or anything, but it started moving up as soon as the doors closed behind them. The ride up to the top floor was filled with “fun facts” about the tower, for which Peter was grateful, he could tell the man was trying to put him at ease and he appreciated it.

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal a fancy living room, though, he couldn’t help the nervous sigh that left his lips.

“Okay, I know I promised drinks, but I think we had enough at the restaurant, right?” Tony’s warm hand never left his back, and it had a soothing effect on him. Peter nodded, because they did share two bottles of wine during the meal, plus half a bottle of champagne for desert. He wasn’t wasted, but he was definitely not one hundred percent sober either, so maybe it was best to to keep it that way. “How about some coffee, then?”

“Sure, sounds good.” He smiled politely, as the older man led him into the living room.

It was huge, Peter was positive it could fit his whole apartment and there would still be a lot of room left over, but it was also very empty and minimalist. There was a couch and a few armchairs, they looked expensive, but not very comfortable. Other than that, there were paintings on the walls, a few decorative pieces, but nothing that stood to attention, except for the huge floor-to-ceiling glass wall, from which he could see almost all of New York City.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.” Tony gestured to the couch, but as he walked away in the direction Peter assumed was the kitchen, he headed to the window, watching the view.

He took a deep breath, trying to get his heartbeat somewhat under control. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen, what he wanted to happen, but most of all, he worried about the day after. About what would happen when he left the tower, when he left Tony behind. His brain told him that that whole night was a one time thing and that was it. But somewhere in his heart he hoped for… more.

He didn’t know what, though. He and Tony belonged to very different worlds, hoping for anything other than a one night stand seemed pointless.

“Here you go.” Tony walked back into the room, he had lost his jacket and tie, the top buttons of his shirt were open, exposing some of his chest, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Peter gulped, feeling a shiver run down his spine as he tried to focus on the coffee mugs in his hands, instead.

“Thanks.” He walked over to where the man was standing next to the couch, and accepted the drink, looking around the room, trying to find something that could distract him from his shaking hands. “Is that you?” He pointed at a barely visible black and white picture hanging on the wall of a hallway off to his right, leading away from the living room. Tony seemed surprised that Peter even noticed it, but he walked over there and waved for the younger man to follow.

“This is Dum-E, my first born, and this is me at sixteen,” Up close, Peter could see that it was a newspaper clipping and the headline read Tony Stark poses with the prize winning robot in his father’s workshop at Stark Industries. In the picture, he was crouching down next to a hydraulic arm robot, smiling proudly at the camera. Peter couldn’t help but notice that, of all the times he had probably made the newspapers, it seemed like that was the only one he chose to frame.

“You looked so cute,” he cooed, focusing on the kid in the picture. It wasn’t good quality, but he could tell Tony looked nerdy and maybe a little awkward. He wondered if he got picked on a lot in college. When he turned to look at the man’s face, he was smiling at him, amused. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here.” Peter’s heart went so wild in his chest, he was worried the older man could hear it. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me, by the way, I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision.” Tony placed his mug on the console table next to them.  

“I hope it wasn’t too disappointing.” He chuckled nervously, leaning against the wall and holding his mug with both hands so the man wouldn’t notice how they were still shaking.

“Actually, it was way better than I imagined, kitten,” he assured him, moving to stand right in front of him, leaving Peter trapped between him and the wall.

“What did you imagine?” He took a sip of coffee, before placing his mug on the console table too, watching as Tony discreetly took a small step closer to him, so the tips of their shoes were almost touching.

“That you might turn out to be a kiss-ass who would try to impress me with a fake personality or something, but you can’t fake this.” He pinched his pink cheek, which made Peter blush even harder. “What did you imagine? About me, I mean.”

“It varied.” He said, to put it lightly. “But when we first started talking, I got almost everything right.” He bragged, because, to his credit, it was true.

“Yeah?” Tony’s eyes widened a little in surprise.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded, eyes roaming the man’s face, remembering all the things he fantasized about over the past few months. “Your hair, your eyes… Your voice.” His voice was small when he finished, as Tony closed the space between them by leaning in closer, one hand resting beside his head on the wall.

“My voice?” He lifted a brow and tilted his head to the side, blinking in curiosity.

“Mm-hmm.” He agreed nervously, eyes flickering between the man’s eyes and his mouth.

“Did you think about it a lot?” Tony was almost whispering then, his voice sounded smooth and low, and they were so close Peter could feel his coffee scented breath on his face.

“All the time.” He admitted, blinking slowly, hypnotized. Tony looked at him for a few seconds, eyes searching his face for something. When he seemed satisfied, he placed his other hand on Peter’s hip, gently, barely there, caging the younger man’s body completely in his arms.

“What did you think about?” Tony’s eyelids were so low he might as well have his eyes closed, but Peter knew he was staring at his mouth, which made him lick his lips. His heart was going wild in his rib cage, his breath growing irregular, talking became such a difficult task he didn’t think he could answer the question if he tried. “What did you want me to say to you?”

“Uhm… I just… Nice things.” He breathed out, eyes fluttering closed as he felt the man’s warm breath in his ear.

“Nice things.” He whispered, and then Peter could feel not only his hand on his hip, but his whole arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. He gasped. “Like how good you are to me, hmm? Want me to tell you how beautiful you sounded when you said my name for the first time? How bad I’ve been wanting to touch you, since the first time I saw you?” Peter whimpered and lost all the strength in his knees, but Tony had a firm grip on him, holding him up. “Can I take care of you, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” As if the answer could be anything different from that when Tony’s arms were so warm around him and his breath warmed his neck and his smell enveloped him in a dream-like state. His eyes were already closed when Tony’s lips crashed into his and it was all Peter expected it to be.

Tony’s kiss was demanding, but gentle; anxious, but slow. His mouth moved against his like he had been waiting his whole life for that moment, his tongue sought passage through his lips and Peter obliged, meeting him halfway, and if there was any shred of doubt in his mind, it went right out the window at that second as Tony devoured him whole.

He felt his back slamming against a solid surface, even though he didn’t feel his feet moving. It took him a second to realize he wasn’t standing anymore, Tony had lifted him up and pushed him against the wall, catching him by surprise. He wrapped his legs around his waist, as he felt the man’s hands sliding from his hips down to his ass cheeks, where he squeezed tight.  

His fingers got lost in the locks of Tony’s thick hair and a shock traveled down his spine when he felt the older man’s cock pressed against his, hips rocking torturously slow. Peter let out a surprised cry and Tony swallowed it eagerly, sinking his fingers into his flesh, they were so hot Peter could swear he could feel them through the fabric of his too expensive dress pants.

“Tony...” The name slipped out of his mouth without he even realizing it, the sound got trapped between their lips, like a shared secret.

“Shhh,” Tony shushed him when he whimpered, overwhelmed with all the feelings – the heat of their bodies glued together, the intensity of their incessant kissing, the feel of Tony’s hardness pressing against his, his hands roaming his body like they owned him – it was almost too much, Peter thought it might drive him insane. “Come on, let’s get you comfortable.”

The older man let him down gently, but held him firmly by the hips as he did, which was a good thing, since it took him a minute to find balance again. He gave him a lopsided grin, grabbed his hand and started pulling him down the hallway.

He followed the older man to what he assumed was his bedroom – it was just as big as the living room, probably, there was a huge bed in the center, and one of the walls was entirely made of glass, just like in the living room, but it slowly grew darker and darker until it was a solid gray color, hiding them from the world outside and vice-versa. The room was dark, then, and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust.

Tony let go of his hand and turned around to look at him, as he calmly undid a few more buttons of his shirt, eyes fixed on Peter’s face. He felt his cheeks burning again, which made the corners of the man’s mouth tilt up.

He sat down on the bed behind him and before the younger man could wonder what he was supposed to do next, he felt Tony’s hands on his hips, pulling him closer, until Peter was standing between his spread legs and the man’s face was almost pressed against his chest.

“We can stop right here,” he said, looking up at him, and Peter had a sudden urge to run his hands through his hair, so he didn’t hold back. Tony closed his eyes and sighed, turning his head a little to kiss one of his palms. “Did you hear me, honey?” He asked, firmly, looking into his eyes, and he nodded.

“I don’t wanna stop.” He whispered back, cupping the older man’s face, leaning down for a kiss.

Tony groaned into the kiss, satisfied with Peter’s initiative. He reached for the back of the boy’s legs and pulled them until he got the message and straddled him. They both moaned softly when their bodies found each other again. It was amazing to Peter how much easier it was for him to feel comfortable when they were so close, when Tony’s hands were burning his skin and his tongue was claiming his mouth in the most possessive way.

Again, he barely felt when Tony maneuvered him, he just felt an incredibly soft surface against his back and realized he was lying down with the older man between his legs. He felt dizzy, a little out of his mind, like he was in a dream. The room was dark and so very quiet, the only thing he could hear was the sloppy sounds of their lips locked together – and he had to admit he was growing addicted to it, to his taste, to the way his kisses left barely any room for breathing and still he would rather suffocate than ask him to stop.

He whimpered when he felt the older man pull away. He opened his eyes only to meet his heated gaze staring down at him for a moment, before he sat back on his heels and finished unbuttoning his shirt, slowly revealing more skin as he went. Peter noticed the scars on his chest and for some crazy reason he wanted to touch them, kiss them better, even though he knew they probably didn’t even hurt anymore. He bit his lower lip, trying to hold himself back.

“Enjoying the view?” His eyes snapped back up to Tony’s face and the man was smirking down at him, as he slid the shirt off his arms and threw it carelessly to the floor.

“Can you blame me? It’s quite a view.” Peter felt bold enough to say, watching the smile grown on older man’s face, as he leaned down again, his arms caging the boy’s head when he placed his elbows on each side of his face. He brushed his nose along Peter’s cheek, until he reached his ear, biting down on the lobe as he blew hot, moist air against his skin. The boy shivered, closing his eyes, hands flying up to grab Tony’s naked shoulders as if he was afraid he would sink into the mattress if he didn’t hold on to something.

“You think you can just say stuff like that and get away with it?” The words were mumbled into his neck as he bit down with hunger, one hand sliding down his torso, reaching for his belt. Tony started undoing it as he kept whispering in his ear, “You wanna hear nice things, but you keep trying to drive daddy mad, how is that fair?”

“Oh God,” Peter gasped, when he felt the man’s hand slide down the front of his pants, under his underwear, wrapping around his cock without any warning. He started massaging it slowly, almost lazily, as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Daddy, please...”

“Now that’s a good boy. So polite.” His lips came crashing down onto Peter’s as his hand tightened around his cock, jerking it at a faster pace. The boy wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck, hands finding their way into his hair for the hundredth time that night – God, he loved his hair, so thick and soft in his fingers – and pulled him even closer to his face, deepening the kiss in an almost desperate way.

Peter kept trying to get Tony’s hand to move faster, thrusting his hips up every chance he got, but the older man ignored it completely, keeping his own, steady pace, as his mouth slid from Peter’s lips to his neck. The younger man threw his head back, exposing his throat, allowing Tony to have his way with him, there was nothing he wouldn’t give him right then and there, he was his.

“You smell fucking delicious, baby.” He inhaled deeply, nosing the exposed skin right above the collar of his shirt, then both of his hands started working on unbuttoning it and Peter whined at the loss of Tony’s touch on his cock. “It’s okay,” he whispered as he slid the shirt down his arms, throwing it to the side. “I’ll take good care of you, baby, I promise.” He leaned back down and kissed along Peter’s collarbones, before sucking one of his nipples into his mouth.

Peter was so fucking hard, just hearing those words almost sent him over the edge, it was ridiculous. It didn’t help that the older man’s tongue was abusing his nipple until it was hard and oversensitive, before he attacked the other one.

He slid his hands from the man’s shoulders, down his sides, reaching for his belt, but before he could do anything about it, Tony grabbed both of his wrists in one hand, catching him off guard, and held them above his head. Before Peter could say anything, his mind was distracted by those delicious lips assaulting his again, and the pressure of the older man’s hands around his wrists and his solid weight on top of him was enough to tame him into submission.

“Don’t move,” he demanded in a whisper, giving Peter one last peck on the lips before getting off of him. He bit his lower lip, trying to contain any sound of disappointment he might make, and shut his his eyes tightly. He kept his hands where Tony left them, above his head, like he could still feel the man’s fingers around them.

In seconds, Tony was back, Peter felt him positioning himself between his legs again, but didn’t open his eyes. He felt the older man’s hands on his hips, grabbing the waistband of his pants, slowly sliding to bring them down along with his underwear, leaving Peter naked and completely at his mercy. The feeling was inebriating.

When he didn’t do anything else for several seconds, the boy opened his eyes, breath hitching when he saw Tony in all his naked glory, kneeling between his legs, holding the base of his rock hard cock as he looked down at him with hunger in his eyes.

Before Peter could say or do anything, Tony leaned down and, without any warning, enveloped his cock in the wet warmth of his mouth, swallowing him down in one single motion. Peter cried out in pleasure, head spinning, eyes watering, legs spreading wider to give the older man more room to do whatever he wanted to him.

He bit the back of his hand when the man started sucking him, head bobbing up and down in a steady, slow pace, before drawing back with a pop, only for his lips and tongue to circle the tip of his cock, swallowing it down again right after, until Peter could feel the back of his throat. He couldn’t avoid the moan that slipped from his lips, as one of his hands flew to bury into Tony’s hair, but he didn’t dare to apply any pressure, he just pulled a little on the soft strands, trying to get himself under control.

When Tony set a quick pace with his mouth, Peter started pushing his hips just a tiny bit, keeping up with him, skin burning, hands gripping the sheets as if it could hold him back. He felt something cold and wet trying to make its way between his ass cheeks, making his eyes fly open, widening a little. He panted, knees falling further apart, allowing the older man better access. He felt one finger pushing in, calmly, gently, as the man kept sucking him off just as enthusiastically, Peter barely felt the burn on his lower back when the finger was completely sheathed inside him.

He was overwhelmed by the double stimulation, but he’d be damned if he was going to ask Tony to stop or slow down. He rocked his hips at Tony’s pace, obediently following the rise and fall of his head, thrusting up into his mouth and then down against his finger, taking anything and everything he could get.

He was already going insane when Tony held his hips down, as he slowly introduced another finger along with the first, the burning sensation taking the edge off a little, to Peter’s relief. He stayed still for a few seconds, feeling Tony scissoring his fingers, trying to open him up as best as he could, until both of them were buried deep inside him, pressing all the right places, pushing all his buttons at once, and he knew he couldn’t take that for much longer.

“Daddy, please, please... Please...” He pulled Tony’s hair until he reluctantly lifted his head, letting his cock go with a pop, eyes meeting Peter’s head on, dark as midnight.

“Please what, baby boy?” He asked, still fucking his fingers in and out of his hole, pain and pleasure mixing and making it impossible for him to rationalize anything.

“Please fuck me,” he begged, watching a slow smile appear on the older man’s face.  

Tony climbed on top of him and attacked his lips, to Peter’s delight, who wrapped his arms and legs around his larger body, pulling him closer, their heated skins flush together, the boy could feel every inch of him enveloped by Tony’s warmth, his scent, all of him.

When Tony pulled away, Peter quickly moved to turn his back to him and lay on his stomach, not sure if he would want him like that or on all fours, so he pushed his hips up, giving him the option to put him on his knees if he wanted to. It took Tony a few seconds to lay his weight on him again, his chest glued to his back in a delicious friction, hips aligned, his hard cock pressed against his ass, as he mouthed at his neck, sucking and biting.

“Will you turn around for me, baby?” He whispered in his ear, nudging him on the side. Peter blinked a few times, trying to look at him from over his shoulder, but the angle didn’t allow it. “I wanna see you.”

His breath hitched and he froze for a second, feeling both of Tony’s hands sliding down his sides. He put some space between them and nudged Peter again, but didn’t force him to turn, he let him choose. The younger man obeyed, after a few seconds of stunned silence. Tony rested his weight against him again, holding his gaze.

“Is this okay?” He whispered against his lips, waiting long enough for Peter to breathe out an almost soundless yes before devouring him. He closed his eyes and let himself go, gave himself over the other man, without a hint of fear, untroubled by the consequences of the day after.

He felt Tony’s hands, strong and rough, grabbing both of his thighs, lifting one of them to place his ankle on his shoulder, spreading him wide open. He felt the wet tip of his cock brushing against his hole, making it quiver in anticipation. Peter only had enough time to take a breath before feeling the older man start to press into him, but his moan was swallowed by Tony, who kissed him deeply as he forced his way into him, slowly and unrelenting, the burn was painful but so fucking good.  

“Tony, please,” he begged, he didn’t even know what for, when he felt the man bottoming out. He wrapped his arms around his neck, burying his face in his shoulder, breathless, shaking all over. “Daddy...”

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered, holding still for a few minutes. Peter appreciated the gesture – he did – but he really needed more, he needed Tony to move, he needed Tony.

He rocked his hips and immediately felt his already swollen lips attacked again by the older man’s as he pulled his cock out slowly, and then gently shoved it back in. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through the pain, but he didn’t want to stop, he didn’t want time, he felt full and satiated and he just wanted that feeling to last forever.

Tony started picking up the pace, fucking into him with short, shallow thrusts at first, and then long and deep ones as Peter’s muscles relaxed and started to give in to the intrusion and suck him in deeper. Tony must have felt it because he held him down by the hips and started fucking him like he meant it, and the younger man threw his head back, crying in relief and pleasure and delicious pain, only to have his throat attacked with kisses and bites, Tony’s beard scratching against his smooth skin, leaving burns that felt like claiming marks.

“Please, I’m gonna–“ Peter didn’t have to say anything, soon there was a hand wrapped firmly around his cock, pumping it at the same pace as Tony thrust into him, and it was too fucking much, Peter bit down on the man’s shoulder and squeezed his eyes tight as came with a blinding force, body shaking all over. Tony thrust a few more times, hard and deep, as he grunted, before he pushed one final time and fell on top of him with a sigh.

Peter panted, trying to catch his breath, what proved to be tricky with the larger man lying on top of him, but he made no effort to get him to move. On the contrary, he gathered the last of his strength to hold him by the shoulders, keeping him close for as long as he could.

He must have drifted off at some point, because he was startled awake by someone sitting by his side on the bed. When he opened his eyes, the older man smiled sheepishly down at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispered, leaning down to peck his lips, before sitting up again. “I’m just gonna clean you up a little, ok?” Peter blinked a few times in confusion, until he looked down and noticed the older man had a wet towel in his hand, which he used to slowly clean his chest, belly, legs and between his butt cheeks.

The young man blushed a little, surprised by his actions, but said nothing, just watched as the Tony threw the towel to the floor and lay next to him, propping his head on a hand to look down at him.

“Do you want me to go?” He asked quietly, after a few seconds, not wanting to be an inconvenience, but Tony frowned.  

“Why, do you want to go?” He asked and Peter bit his lower lip, looking into the warm, brown eyes, trying to figure out the answer the engineer wanted to hear. He shook his head no and Tony smiled softly, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. Peter all but purred. “Then stay, kitten. I make great pancakes.”

“You don’t say.” He raised his eyebrows in honest surprise, because he didn’t think a billionaire genius would worry about mastering such a mundane task as making pancakes.

“I do say. You’ll see tomorrow morning,” he answered quietly, like a secret, as his hand traveled from Peter’s face to his hipbone, where his fingers made small circles that tickled his skin lightly. He let his head rest on the pillow next to Peter’s, their faces so close he could feel Tony’s breath on his lips.

“I saw you the other day.” Peter whispered, because it felt intimate, like they were keeping secrets from the world. Tony lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. “Well, Iron Man, I guess. Flying over Central Park.”

“Oh, yeah. I went to a meeting in the UN Security Council, but then I had to come back here in a hurry, or Pepper would kill me.” Tony had a contagious, cheeky smile, but Peter couldn’t help but notice a little sadness hiding in his eyes when he talked about his ex-wife. He wondered if Tony could see the same sadness earlier, when they were talking about Beck.

“Hmm. Trying to decide if that meeting was incredibly boring or incredibly cool.”

“Weirdly, it was both.” They laughed quietly and Tony slid closer, until their chests were almost touching. “Is this ok?” He asked and the younger man just nodded, before he arranged himself to rest his face on Tony’s chest, legs entwining in the process until they were both comfortable. They fit well together, Peter couldn’t help but think in secret.

He knew it was stupid to hope for anything other than what they’d just done, he knew it was pointless to want more, he did, he truly did. But when he closed his eyes, he imagined things were different. He imagined he had a different past and Tony had a different life, and things were simpler and easier.

He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, lulled by the gentle rise and fall of Tony’s chest.

-x-

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