#just wanted to write tony and experiment with something new and this happened :) it was fun

[puhpandas]

Rabbit Burrow

(3,785 words) Part 1 (part 2 found here)

Tony Becker, one year after surviving the attack from GGY, tracks down Gregory post-SB. But he has to get through Vanessa before he can get to Gregory.

Tony likes to think his detective skills are pretty good. So when he swings a leg over the seat of his bike and wheels it near the entrance, he hopes it's the right place.

He'd tracked down Gregory to this apartment complex somewhere in Gale county. It's still in Hurricane, and Tony had been able to reach it with just a bus ride. The apartment is somewhat run-down, but clean enough to where you can tell it's well kept, just old. The air conditioning units he passes on the way to the front door are brand new.

He'd taken the closest bus to Gale county right after school let out. He'd been restless all day up until finally acting on his findings. Tony has been searching for Gregory for a year. Finally finding something and having to wait for his middle school day to end was agonizing. He just hopes his Mom and Grandma wont be too mad at him.

He'd wrestled his bike he'd ridden to school that day discreetly onto the bus and wedged it in-between his legs and the seat in front of him. The air had been humid and thick all day with the signs of a storm, and Tony had seen the dark clouds and heard the thunder peeking over the treeline outside the bus window on the way here. He ducks inside the front door and beats the rain by seconds.

"Can I help you?" The receptionist asks him, giving him a weird look when he steps inside. Shes a lady with long, styled black hair and covered in jewelry. Tony tries not to look too suspicious as he sends her a polite smile, heading to the elevator on the wall to the left. He would also be wary if someone he'd never seen walked into a resident building.

"Just seeing an old friend." He tells her. He presses the button to the third floor and tries to break her gaze by stepping behind the closing doors. The elevator shakes a bit before moving up.

He tries to take a deep breath. Theres some kind of excitement floating around in his chest at the fact that he's done it, but he pushes it down, lowering his expectations.

Despite his theories, he really has no clue what to expect. Theres some sort of worry mixing with the excitement, and all he decides is that if he escaped once, he can do it again.

It both took too long and not fast enough when he finally reaches the third floor. He double checks his crumpled sheet of notebook paper in his hand once, then a second time, something nervous but anticipating thrumming in his veins.

He steps onto the beige carpet of the long hallway, fresh vacuum marks in it, and follows the number plates by each door before coming to a stop near the middle of the hall.

3-05 The plate reads back to him. He quadruple checks his paper again. Its right.

He sighs out deeply, not even realizing he was holding his breath. Despite himself, his brows crease ever so slightly.

He shakes it away, pushing past it. Maybe digging too deep is what got him into trouble before, but its different now. Tony... Tony's learned things during his search for Gregorys location. If there was any point during his investigation that he would call digging too deep, it would have been months earlier from now.

Besides. Tony has always been bad at staving off his curiosity.

He thunks his knuckles on the white wood of the door quickly after that, three times in succession. He kind of bluescreens for a second when he realizes what he just did, then shakes it off. Waiting with wide eyes at the door, watching for a rattling of a doorknob or listening for incoming footsteps.

Nothing. He waits a few more minutes before knocking again, this time a little louder and harder.

Tony perks up when footsteps finally near the door, and his lips part prematurely when the doorknob rattles, not even put-together words yet on his tongue. They fall away immediately when a woman with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail opens the door, one of those chain locks keeping it open maximum of three inches. "Hello?"

He stutters for a moment, words lost on his tongue, before he clears his throat, putting on a polite smile. "Hi, there." He says. "Um. Who are you?"

"I should be asking you that, kid." The woman raises a brow at him, never opening the door more than the chain lock allows it. She peers at him through the gap, and Tony tries as discreetly as possible to look past her head and shoulder into the apartment itself. "What are you doing here?"

When he looks back, shes still looking at him in a way Tony can only describe as cautious. The light in the hallway on the ceiling is flickering, and it casts split second shadows on the womans face that makes the bags under her eyes that much more prominent and her face that much more intimidating. "Well?"

Tony realizes he hasnt answered, and coughs slighty. "Oh. Sorry." He says, reluctant to continue. "I'm... I'm looking for Gregory."

Tony watches intensely to see if the name rings a bell or catches her attention. Just as he expects, her face twists ever so slightly in recognition. Tony catches something adjacent to panic or fear in her eyes until it's gone not half a second later.

"Who's asking?" She asks eventually, voice carefully even after a what appeared to Tony to be a mini conundrum in her head.

"His friend." He answers honestly. He ducks his head when the woman scrutinizes him, looking almost angry, but restrained enough to not show it. "I mean it," He says earnestly. "he and I... we were best friends. Last year. I came here to look for him."

Her eyes widen ever so slightly at that, and she studies him, eyes flicking back and forth over his face and his clothes and his hair. Tony doesnt miss the way her eyes linger for a millisecond on his scars. Its silent in the hall save for the two looking at eachother, and the buzzing of the flickering light on the ceiling is enough to save him from hearing his own heartbeat.

"Okay." She says eventually, and Tony subconsciously feels himself sag a bit at the relief that he won't turned away right as he was this close. She shuts the door without a word, and all Tony can do is stare at the peeling landlord white paint on the door as the sounds of the woman unlatching the multiple locks on the other side reach his ears. He waits patiently, until she cracks the door open not much wider than it had been with the lock, but just enough to fit his body in. "Come in. But no word to anyone. Got it?"

About what? Tony's about to ask, but then he steps through the door and the words die on his tongue.

"Oh." He says outwardly when Glamrock Freddy Fazbear sits on the couch. His body is adjacent to the patchwork quilt Tony has on his bed that his Grandma made him, and any of the makeup he had been painted with has long since scratched off.

His eyes are shut, and theres two jump cables attached to his ears that are plugged into a portable something. He doesn't so much as twitch when Tony enters the room.

The woman gives him a look after she re-locks only the deadbolt behind him and passes him into the apartment. "Oh." He repeats. "Not a word."

She nods at him, and it's only now that Tony can see the rest of her that isnt just her face. Shes in her twenties, if he had to guess, and she has a white tank top on with some sort of stain near the collar along with Hello Kitty fleece pajama pants. Her socks are mismatched and her nails are painted a purple color that could rival the deep bags under her eyes.

She collapses into an armchair (which hes pretty sure has a mismatched leg attached to it half-hazardously) and only looks at him silently as he steps further into the house, not so discreetly angling his body to get a peek past walls and open doors across the house.

Shes about to speak when Tony does first, "Wheres Greg?" He asks straight up. "Can I see him?"

Her lips twitch, and she just leans further back into the chair. The TV is playing some sort of Spring baking show, and the droning of the host mixes with the pattering of the rain on the window on the wall by the TV.

Anticipation and impatient-ness buzzes under his skin at being right here, and this woman undoubtedly knowing Gregory certainly doesnt help.

She only hesitates for a moment, but Tony can see the influx of thoughts that undoubtedly ran through her mind. She opens her mouth, taking a slow breath, before, "At school."

"He goes to school?" Tony gasps slightly, eyes widening. He moves to the couch, toeing past Freddy Fazbear as to not touch him even with just a brush of his jeans before sitting down, facing her. "What school?"

"He goes to Raindrop." The woman tells him, seemingly not hesitating this time.

It doesn't ring a bell, but it must be a middle school in Gale county. "...I go to Hailstorm." Tony says. "We both did. Or used to."

She stares at him after that, fingers drumming on the arm of her chair. She says nothing, just scrutinizing him, before, "You sure have a lot of cryptic ways of telling me how you used to know Gregory."

He wants to apologize, because it seems like what to do in response to that statement, but for some reason, that feeling in his gut he's learned to trust as his Detective sense tells him that he shouldn't.

Shes still looking at him intensely, and the rain outside pattering on the window somehow feels louder. There's some thunder outside that rumbles the floor, and the lighting casts a shadow on the living room. A few white lines across the coffee table caused by the blinds covering the window.

Her face doesnt so much as twitch, he notices, and she doesn't blink when she looks at him. Her green eyes bore into him, almost glowing in the shadow cast beneath her bangs. It reminds him of how he'd done to her not minutes ago. What he does to people he wants to analyze. To see how they react to something.

That's what shes waiting for, he realizes. He has a feeling that if he doesnt match her cryptic bluntness and instead apologizes and caves that easily, that it will somehow result in her turning him away.

Theres a glint in her eye when he becomes aware of reality again enough to look, and he thinks she somehow just came to the conclusion that Tony figured it out.

Then, he tries to sit up a bit straighter, and muster up that same glint mirroring back at him. "You sure have a cryptic way of letting me know you dont trust me."

Her mouth twitches slightly, but its all Tony needs to know he'd guessed correctly.

Its silent for a moment, and the woman grabs the remote on the next arm over and pauses the baking show she'd been watching. She shifts in the red velvet seat, as if getting comfortable, before, "Tell me how you know Gregory, and I'll tell you how I know him."

He has a feeling he isnt getting to Gregory unless he gets through this woman first, so he clears his throat, leaning his forearms on his knees.

"Me and Gregory met early last year at the beginning of the school year." He begins. "Right after summer ended in August. He was the new kid, and he sat at our table at lunch since it was mostly empty. Me and my friend arent the most popular, so there was room to spare."

She waves a hand, signaling him to stop. "Your friend?" She asks. He nods. "How many of there were you?"

"...Just me and E-- my friend." He says. "There were two of us, and when Greg sat at our table, we remembered how he looked a little lost earlier in class and we introduced ourselves. Then we just... clicked, I guess. He would partner with us in creative writing."

"Writing, huh?" She smiles slightly.

"Yeah." He replies. "Then, it was just business as usual for the months afterwards." He pauses, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket he loves so much that reminds him of the trenchcoats big city investigators wear. "Then... I had gotten wrapped up in this mystery."

She shifts, crossing a leg over the over and holding her hands together. "A mystery?"

Tony nods, remembering it like it was yesterday. He thumbs the part of arm where a scar is on his arm that his jacket covers. "The three of us would always go to the arcade in the Pizzaplex." He tells her. "And one day, I noticed high scores that seemed impossible to reach, and I became obsessed with solving who it was who had gotten there."

Tony thinks hes very good at reading people. So he doesn't think it's just his imagination when the woman in front of him goes a little rigid in her seat.

Theres some sort of creases under her eyes, Tony notices, that weren't there before.

"What did you do?" She asks.

Tony has a feeling that she somehow knows already. So he doesnt beat around the bush.

"I solved the mystery, eventually." Tony says. "Because GGY had been Gregory, and he'd invited me to the Pizzaplex and tried to kill me."

She sags a bit, looking somehow infinitely more tired, but no surprise detected. "But you survived."

"Not..." He shakes his head, picking at the skin by his fingernails. "I wouldn't have. If not for Greg saving me."

"Huh?"

"He--" Tony searches for the words, looking at the carpet between his knees and remembering that afternoon in every vivid detail he'd looked over countless times before. "He'd tried to kill me, yeah, but... he was almost fighting himself as he did it. He was like having a fistfight with himself."

He doesn't look up at her, he just keeps remembering how Gregory had gone rigid right before plunging the knife into Tony's gut a second time and stopped himself. How it had looked like somebody yanked Gregory backwards, but it had been his own self throwing his body. Just so he didnt hurt Tony again.

"He looked like he was a malfunctioning robot." He recalls. "He was like, hitting himself, and was making noises like he was fighting something. I was too frozen to move at the time, but then he threw me a really high security pass for the Pizzaplex and told me to run."

Then he had collapsed in front of him, like he was holding himself down. He doesn't tell the woman, though.

He looks back up to see her staring, eyes wide in suprise. She looks deep in thought for all but a few moments before shaking herself out of it. "So what did you do?"

"I ran." Tony says. "He had got me already. He stabbed me in the back, the first time. That was how I knew he was attacking me in the first place. But I ran away with the pass, and I went to a room with a ton of monitors and erased the security footage."

Her eyes blow wide as saucers, that time. "You got stabbed," she begins. "and instead of getting help, you erase the security footage?"

"Yeah." Tony nods. "Greg would have gotten in trouble if I didnt."

She's silent, after that. Tony just keeps picking at the skin on his fingers. "I somehow knew that Gregory didnt deserve to be. He just..." Tony trails off. "He didnt seem..."

"Seem like himself?" She suddenly cuts in, and Tony's eyes widen.

He nods, a small tilt of his head, and the woman sighs. "That's what being mind controlled will do to you."

A year ago, probably longer by now, Tony would have never believed that. He would have never thought something so outlandish that is only ever shown in fiction could be a possibility.

Not that he was wrong, to. Really, anyone in their right mind wouldnt think so. But things have changed since then.

And Tony has seen a lot of things during his search that probably nobody else has. Plus, This woman has been so cryptic up to this point. If she told him this straight up, and it's clear that she knows Gregory...

Suddenly, everything that day seems to make perfect sense. And everything he'd found that he'd filed away into his little mental Gregory crazy wall.

(He'd used to call it evidence wall, like normal people do. But, well, at some point, maybe Tony had thought the things he'd been finding were a bit too crazy to deem as normal.)

Theres been a stretch of silence while Tony had been taking that in, and he only breaks it to say, "Is mind control a topic you're familiar with in this house?"

Her eye twitches, a bit. And now that Tony is looking for it, he notices that same strange sheen on her eyes that Gregory had during their friendship. That weird red tinted film that makes their eyes turn a completely different color when the light hits them right.

Tony doesnt yet understand how the mind control Gregory had been under works, but all he can hope is that there are some side effects.

She stares at him, eyes narrow, and theres another roar of thunder outside the window.

"Who are you?"

"Tony." He answers. "Tony Becker. Ring a bell?"

She hums, and she looks at him in a way where he feels like he's being dissected.

"He didnt remember anything for a while." She says eventually. "But hes been having dreams, lately. Sometimes he talks about two kids he used to be friends with."

"Me and Ellis." Tony's eyes widen. It doesn't even occur to him that he shouldn't share Ellis's name.

"He worries about you." She says. "I've heard him say he hopes you're okay. You and that other kid. You must have been close if he remembers being that good of friends with the two of you."

"We were." Tony replies. Memories of him, Ellis, and Greg going to the Pizzaplex and trying to get the most dunks in the basketball hoops flash in his mind. He thinks about when Gregory would come over to Tony's little run down house that he shares with his Grandma, and they write graphic novels together for the fun of it.

Gregory liked to call them comics before he'd suddenly decided that stuff wasnt cool anymore and stopped coming over. It had been like everything Tony saw him enjoy that wasnt painfully average for a child suddenly didn't mean anything to him anymore.

And then Gregory tried to kill him in a dusty back room.

Everything hed given up seems to make more sense now. It wasnt willingly at all.

"He doesn't remember your names." She speaks up suddenly, ripping Tony out of his thoughts. "But he remembers more and more every time he has a dream. Something reminded him of you one day, I guess. That must have been when it started."

Tony opens his mouth, but the beeping of a digital clock interrupts him. He follows the womans arm as it reaches across the seat to turn it off.

The time reads 5:00pm.

He watches as she looks over at him, and nods to the door. "After school activity." She informs him, getting up out of the seat. His eyes follow her as she moves towards the front door. "I'm his ride."

Tony's eyes widen at the implications. "So I just--"

"Stay here." She tells him. She grabs a flannel off of the small coat rack by the front door and slips it on, sliding some Adidas sandals on top of her socks and reaching in the pocket of the coat to grab car keys. She pulls them out, and Tony notices that theres a keychain of a white rabbit dangling from the key ring.

The breath is suddenly stolen from his lungs, and he bolts off of the couch, a buzzing under his skin. "You're bringing him?"

She nods to Freddy Fazbear. "If you can wait." She smiles at him, and it's the first time Tony has seen her smile, instead of the carefully kept nonchalant-ness. "He'll wake up pretty soon once he's done charging. So you won't be completely alone."

Tony doesnt know what to say to that. Thousands of words spawned from the thousands of thoughts hes had about finding and tracking down Gregory are on the tip of his tongue, but he only gets any out when the woman begins to leave the house.

"Wait!" Tony reaches out a hand. She turns around, a brow raised. The door is still slightly ajar, and the sound of heavy rain reaches his ears. "What's your name?"

She smiles a bit at the question. "Vanessa."

"Vanessa," He asks, oddly desperate. "Dont tell him I'm here." He swallows. "I want to see him remember me."

Vanessa tilts her head, but nods after a moment. "Sure, kid."

She smiles one last time on her way out, and says, "Tony Becker."

The sound of the rain outside disperses when the door shuts and locks, and Tony doesnt move for a long while. He just stares at the landlord white door, electricity under his skin and something floaty in his stomach.

Greg. He thinks in his mind when he finally rips himself away and looks around some more, seeing a door propped slightly open down the hall with a bed and a desk with pencils and paper strewn all about. He doesn't dare go in, but stares at what he can see. Its been a while.

The silence is numbing, when he can only hear the faint whirring of Freddy Fazbear on the couch next to him and the rain on the window, he plants himself on the couch cushion next to the animatronic, grabbing the remote and resuming the baking show Vanessa had been watching.

He doesn't listen to a word. He just trembles with anticipation and bobs his leg up and down as he stares at a random corner of the screen.

ao3 link

[avelera]

Ok, I feel like there's three writing concepts that Tumblr needs to get reacquainted with when it comes to understanding fiction:

Catharsis - Sometimes, fiction engages with horrifying, disgusting, painful, or scary concepts in order to bring about a positive experience for the reader. This can be through the hero defeating a disgusting evil, like defeating an abuser for example. One might also get catharsis not out of the defeat of something bad or uncomfortable, but simply from the experience of living it vicariously, such as joy at successfully hiding the body of a murder victim. There are literally countless examples of catharsis in fiction, but most importantly it must be understood, it is completely harmless to real people whether you're experiencing catharsis at something good happening or something bad happening that you get to live vicariously because it is literally fiction. Indeed, there's a lot of evidence that getting to experience catharsis through fiction at evil things, say, living vicariously through a fictional character committing adultery, even if you would never want to cheat on your own partner, actually helps purge the desire to do evil things oneself.

Pleasures of the genre - some genres have expectations that go with them. If you, as a writer, don't include those pleasures, you might turn off the audience. For example, the Western genre has a certain expectation of being set in the 19th c American West. There's usually cowboys and horses involved. If you write a story that's advertised as a "Western" that takes place entirely in a New York City apartment, it might be novel for the genre, but it might also piss off a bunch of readers who were expecting horses. You can do it, obviously, but don't be surprised if readers are confused and perhaps disinterested in the work. More salient to Tumblr perhaps - Marvel believes it is creating action/adventure superhero stories. If a Marvel movie suddenly became a psychological exploration of the internality of a character's relationships, without a single laser beam or fight scene in sight, Marvel expects its audience to be confused and unhappy. We, as fanfic writers and readers might be dying for that story, but that is not the pleasure of the genre that Marvel thinks its audience wants when it walks specifically into a superhero film.

Power Fantasy - this might be one of the most misunderstood or perhaps narrowly applied terms. Yes, sometimes a power fantasy is a 16 year old boy watching a superhero dude with 8 pack abs destroy the bad guy, get the girl, and save the day. Living vicariously through that character is definitely a power fantasy. BUT, a power fantasy can also be fantastical things that the audience wishes would happen in a way that would empower an audience member or make them happy. For example, a billionaire industrialist merchant of death like Tony Stark getting hit by his own weapons and deciding to become a crusader for justice in a way that actually helps normal people is, in fact, an audience power fantasy. We want to believe that if the right bad guy like a billionaire got the right comeuppance like a near-death experience at the hands of their own evils, they'd learn their lesson and become a better person. This is a power fantasy. This is not a thing that actually happens. It's honestly not that different from the power fantasy many gun owners have that if they own a gun, they're more likely to stop a crime in progress with their perfect marksmanship, rather than that they're more likely to kill or be killed by a member of their own family. Understanding the application of power fantasies in terms of good things you hope would happen happening in fiction is not only important for dissecting fiction as an intelligent viewer, it's also important in terms of recognizing when you're being influenced by certain stories and choosing what lesson you take away from it and what lesson (if any) you want to take away from it.

I just feel like these 3 terms are what I see most lacking in a lot of "discourse". Fiction is trying to engender emotion in the audience. Great fiction engenders a wide range of emotions in the viewer, not simply good emotions. Thoughtful fiction might (but not always!) try to impart a lesson. But great fiction can also just want to give you great emotions and make you think outside the usual box of your usual experiences. It's also completely fine for great fiction to just want to give you a great emotion experience like catharsis, or the thrill of a power fantasy. And I really wish these three separate but interrelated concepts were discussed more when it comes to dissecting fiction here on this site.

[amethystarachnid]

Hi I hope you're still accepting requests. I have a request for a Tony Stark x Fem reader - FORCED WEDDING. Their parents force them to get married for business stuff. Tony doesn't like Y/N at all but being a people pleaser, Y/N agrees to get married. Y/N is really nice to him and slowly starts catching feelings for him here and there (or maybe put a little flashback where Y/N liked him since the beginning or something like that) Being the reckless playboy that he is, he doesn't care about Y/N at all and and is very cold to her. (Some angst maybe) After a series of bad experiences like Tony not valuing Y/N or flirting with other women in front of her (or more), Y/N slowly loses hope and gets heart broken (but their parents don't care). Y/N decides to leave him for good and starts acting distant and cold. Y/N gets ready to leave and lead her own life but something really remarkable happens (you can make it whatever you want) and then Tony actually starts falling for Y/N. He regrets his behavior and tries to win Y/N back by doing his best. Obviously Y/N agrees after a lot of tries and they live happily ever after. (I hope it's not a boring storyline for you to write🫠)

You're a very good writer. So you know better. Make whatever changes necessary and add whatever you want but DO NOT INCLUDE PEPPER POTTS.😂 You can write it whenever you want. No rush at all. I just want you to bring this story to life. Thanks!💛

FORCED MARRIAGE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: angst, romance, little fluff

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary:what the asks said lol

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just a little spicy scene at the end

ᯓ★ Man, I seriously need to get better at giving titles to my stories...

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The weight of the diamond on your finger feels heavier than it should. You stare at it, twisting it slightly, watching how the light catches on the sharp edges. It doesn’t feel real, even though the band digs into your skin like a cruel reminder. You’ve dreamed of wearing Tony Stark’s ring before—many times, in fact—but never like this. Never with him sitting on the opposite end of the limousine, arms crossed, eyes focused on the flashing city outside rather than on his new wife.

You don’t expect him to look at you. He hasn’t since the ceremony. Not even when you said, “I do.”

The vows had been meaningless. Promises recited with the enthusiasm of a death sentence. His lips barely moved around the words. His eyes were flat, empty. You knew, standing at the altar in a pristine white dress, that this was just another transaction to him. Just another Stark Industries deal.

You try to ignore the sharp sting in your chest as you sneak a glance at him. He’s still dressed in his tux, but he’s already undone his bowtie, the top buttons of his shirt loosened. His posture is relaxed in the way that tells you he’d rather be anywhere but here. The silence stretches between you, suffocating.

“Are we going straight to the penthouse?” you ask softly, voice barely audible over the hum of the car. You’re not sure why you ask—he doesn’t care where you go.

Tony finally shifts, looking at you with disinterest. “Where else would we go?”

You swallow. He’s right. The honeymoon suite is waiting, though there will be no honeymoon. No whispered affections, no tender moments. Just the formality of sharing space with a man who resents you.

“I just—never mind,” you murmur, pressing your hands together.

A bitter smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Go ahead. Say what’s on your mind. This is a marriage, isn’t it? We should be able to talk.”

You hesitate. What’s the point? You know how he feels. He made it painfully clear the moment your parents arranged this.

“I was just trying to make conversation,” you admit.

Tony laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “You don’t have to do that. We’re not friends.”

The words slice through you, but you force yourself to nod. “Right. Of course.”

The car slows, pulling up to the towering glass building that is now your home. Your stomach twists as the driver opens the door for you. Tony steps out first without offering a hand. You don’t expect him to. You step out carefully, clutching the fabric of your dress, and follow him into the lobby.

People stare. They recognize him. The famous Tony Stark. Billionaire, genius, playboy. Notorious for avoiding commitment. And yet, here he is, walking beside his new bride with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to his execution.

You step into the private elevator, the doors sliding shut behind you. The ride is silent. You steal another glance at him. His jaw is tight, his hands shoved into his pockets. He doesn’t look at you.

Finally, you reach the penthouse. The doors open with a soft chime, revealing the luxurious suite. It’s beautiful. Elegant. Expensive. But it feels cold.

Tony walks in first, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the nearest chair. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing like this is all a massive inconvenience. “You take the bedroom,” he says flatly. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

You blink. “But—”

He turns to look at you, his expression unreadable. “What? Did you actually think we’d be sharing a bed?”

“No,” you say quickly, even though the thought had crossed your mind. Not because you expected him to want you—but because you had hoped, foolishly, that maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.

Tony watches you for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t know why you agreed to this.”

You smile, but it’s forced. “Because it’s what our families wanted.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice is sharp now, eyes narrowing. “You could’ve said no.”

And yet, he didn’t. He could’ve fought harder. He could’ve refused. But he didn’t. He let it happen, just like you did.

You look down at your hands. “I’m a people pleaser,” you say quietly. “It’s what I do.”

Tony scoffs, turning away. “That’s pathetic.”

The words sting, but you don’t react. You can’t. If you let yourself feel everything at once, you might break.

He walks toward the bar, pouring himself a drink. He doesn’t offer you one. You’re not surprised. You watch as he downs the whiskey in one go, then pours himself another.

“You don’t have to be so cruel,” you say softly.

Tony freezes. His grip tightens around the glass, and for a second, you think he might actually apologize. But then he laughs—low and humorless.

“Cruel?” He turns to face you, leaning against the counter. “I married you, didn’t I? That’s enough.”

You clench your hands into fists. “Is it?”

His eyes darken. “Don’t start acting like this is something it’s not. You knew what you were getting into.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But it doesn’t mean it has to be this miserable.”

Tony doesn’t answer. He just downs another drink before disappearing into the guest room, slamming the door behind him.

You’re alone. On your wedding night.

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily. You should’ve known. You did know. And yet, your heart still aches.

Because despite everything—despite his indifference, his resentment—you love him. You always have.

And now, you’re trapped in a marriage with a man who will never love you back.

---

The morning light filters through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, but it does little to warm the hollow feeling in your chest. You barely slept. Every time you closed your eyes, you were met with the image of Tony walking away from you, his words from last night echoing in your head.

"I don’t know why you agreed to this."

You don’t know why you thought today would be different.

When you step out of the bedroom, the penthouse is silent. For a second, you wonder if he even stayed the night. Maybe he went out. Maybe he found another way to escape this situation.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you head toward the kitchen. You move on autopilot, pulling out ingredients to make breakfast. Not because you expect Tony to appreciate it, but because it’s something to do. Something to ground you in this strange, unfamiliar reality.

The smell of fresh coffee fills the space, and you set two mugs on the counter—one for you, one for him, even though you know there’s a good chance he won’t take it. You try not to care.

The sound of footsteps makes you turn.

Tony walks in, looking as disheveled as ever, his hair messy, his shirt from last night still on, though wrinkled now. He doesn’t acknowledge you as he heads straight for the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.

“Good morning,” you say cautiously.

He doesn’t look at you. “Sure.”

You wait, hoping he’ll say more. Maybe something about the night before. Maybe something—anything—to ease the tension between you. But he just leans against the counter, unscrewing the cap of the bottle.

“I made breakfast,” you offer, motioning toward the plates on the counter. Scrambled eggs, toast, and some fruit. It’s simple, but it’s something.

Tony glances at it, then back at you. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

It’s a lie. You know it is. You’ve seen enough interviews, enough photos, enough snippets of his life to know that he does. But you don’t call him out on it.

“Right,” you murmur. “Well… it’s there if you change your mind.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a sip of water and walks toward the living room, already pulling out his phone, his attention elsewhere.

You watch him go, the lump in your throat growing heavier.

This is what your life is now.

You knew Tony wouldn’t love you. You knew he wouldn’t want this. But some naive, hopeless part of you thought maybe—just maybe—you could at least have something. A civil relationship. A fragile sort of companionship. But he won’t even give you that.

You sink into the chair, staring at your untouched breakfast, your appetite gone.

The rest of the day is just as cold.

Tony barely speaks to you. When he does, it’s short, dismissive. He spends most of the day locked in his office, working on something for Stark Industries. You stay out of his way, not wanting to push him, not wanting to make this harder than it already is.

You try to make the penthouse feel more like home, but it’s impossible when the man you’re supposed to share it with treats you like a stranger.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re exhausted—not from doing anything physically demanding, but from the emotional weight of it all. You sit on the couch, flipping through TV channels, but nothing holds your attention.

Tony finally emerges from his office, looking irritated as he checks his watch.

“I’m going out,” he announces.

You blink, turning to him. “Oh.”

You hesitate, debating whether or not to ask, Where? But you already know the answer.

He’s going to drink. He’s going to distract himself from this reality. Maybe he’s going to find someone else—someone who isn’t his wife.

Your stomach twists. “When will you be back?”

Tony sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t wait up.”

The door closes behind him.

And you are alone again.

—

Days turn into weeks, and nothing changes.

You try. You really do.

You greet him in the mornings. You make coffee. You attempt conversations over dinner—when he’s actually around for it. But every effort is met with indifference.

Tony treats you like you don’t exist. Like you’re just a piece of furniture in the penthouse. Like you’re nothing more than an obligation he was forced into.

He comes home late, smelling like alcohol and perfume. You don’t ask where he’s been. You don’t ask if he’s been with someone. You don’t want to hear the answer.

The worst part is, he doesn’t even try to hide it.

One night, he stumbles into the penthouse at nearly three in the morning. You’re still awake, curled up on the couch, waiting—though you don’t know why. Maybe because some part of you still clings to the idea that this marriage isn’t completely broken.

Tony barely acknowledges you as he kicks off his shoes, running a hand through his messy hair. His tie is gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“Did you have a good night?” you ask softly, the words tasting like poison on your tongue.

Tony scoffs, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar. “It was fine.”

You watch as he pours himself a drink, his movements slow and careless. Your hands tighten into fists.

“How long are you going to do this?” you whisper.

He pauses, looking at you for the first time in what feels like forever. “Do what?”

“Pretend I don’t exist.”

Tony lets out a dry laugh. “I’m not pretending.”

The words hit you harder than you expect.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Tony—”

He raises a hand, cutting you off. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me, okay? I didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for this. We’re stuck. That’s it.”

You stare at him, your heart aching. “I just want—”

“What? A real marriage?” He scoffs. “That’s not going to happen.”

Your breath catches.

Tony shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink. “Go to bed, Y/N. Don’t wait up for me next time.”

He walks away, disappearing into his room.

You stay on the couch, staring at the empty glass he left behind.

You don’t cry. Not yet. You’ve spent too many nights crying yourself to sleep already.

But as the silence of the penthouse presses down on you, you realize something.

No matter how much love you have for Tony Stark—

He will never love you back.

---

The days blur into a cycle of indifference and quiet heartbreak. You’ve stopped trying to make breakfast for him. You don’t greet him in the mornings anymore. You don’t stay up waiting for him at night.

Not that he notices.

Tony spends most of his time at the office or out at events, playing the role of the charming billionaire, the playboy, the genius. To the rest of the world, nothing has changed. He’s still the same Tony Stark. The only difference is that now, he has a wife he never wanted.

And you?

You’re just existing in his world.

There are moments—fleeting, painful moments—where you think maybe he’ll soften, maybe he’ll acknowledge you in some way that doesn’t feel like a reminder of your worthlessness. But those moments never last.

Like the time you showed up at one of his galas.

Your presence wasn’t required. You knew that. Tony never invited you, never even mentioned it. But it was a Stark Industries event, and you were a Stark now, whether he liked it or not. So you dressed up, put on a brave face, and arrived with the hope that maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t ignore you for one night.

That hope didn’t last long.

The moment you stepped into the grand ballroom, you felt the weight of a hundred eyes on you. People whispered, curious about the woman who had somehow managed to tie Tony Stark down.

But Tony?

He didn’t even look at you.

He was in the center of the room, drink in hand, surrounded by people who hung onto his every word. His smile was dazzling, his laugh effortless.

And standing beside him was a woman—tall, blonde, stunning in a dress that clung to her body like a second skin.

You recognized her.

Vanessa Harper. A model, a socialite, someone Tony had been seen with more times than you could count before the wedding.

And the way he looked at her—

It was different.

His arm brushed against hers as he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh. His hand skimmed her waist, subtle but intimate.

He didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to step forward. People greeted you, offering polite smiles and empty words, but your focus remained on him.

When you finally reached his side, your heart pounded in your chest. “Tony.”

He turned, finally noticing you. For a second, just a brief second, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Annoyance.

Then it was gone.

“Oh,” he said casually, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re here.”

Vanessa looked at you, then at Tony, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You didn’t mention your wife was coming tonight.”

Tony smirked. “Didn’t think it was important.”

The words cut deeper than they should have.

You forced a small smile, ignoring the way your chest tightened. “It’s a Stark Industries event. I thought I should be here.”

Tony hummed, as if he couldn’t care less. Then, just as easily as he had acknowledged you, he turned back to Vanessa.

And just like that, you were invisible again.

You stood there, hands clenched at your sides, as Tony continued to flirt with her right in front of you.

He laughed at her jokes, touched her arm, leaned in close like she was the only person in the room.

Like you weren’t his wife.

People were watching.

Whispers spread like wildfire, murmurs of pity and curiosity.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your nails dug into your palms as you forced yourself to step back. To turn around. To walk away before the humiliation consumed you.

You didn’t even make it out of the ballroom before the first tear slipped down your cheek.

—

You don’t wait for him that night.

When you get home, you strip out of your dress, wipe the makeup from your face, and curl up in bed, staring at the ceiling.

You tell yourself you won’t cry. That it’s not worth it. That you knew this was coming.

But the tears come anyway.

Because it doesn’t matter how many times he hurts you, how many times he reminds you that you mean nothing to him—

You still love him.

And you hate yourself for it.

—

Tony doesn’t come home that night.

Or the night after.

You don’t ask where he is.

You already know.

---

The phone rings twice before your mother picks up.

“Y/N,” she greets, her voice smooth, controlled. Like nothing is wrong. Like she doesn’t know that you’re crumbling.

You’re already crying before you can speak. Silent tears slip down your face, your chest tight and aching. You’ve held it in for too long. You can’t anymore.

“Mom,” your voice cracks, “I can’t do this.”

A pause. Then a sigh. “Oh, sweetheart. What are you talking about?”

You grip the phone tighter, your fingers trembling. “This marriage,” you whisper. “It’s killing me.”

She says nothing. You hear the faint clink of a teacup being set down, the rustle of fabric. Then:

“Don’t be dramatic.”

You let out a choked laugh, but there’s nothing funny about this. “Dramatic?” you repeat. “Mom, he doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even like me. He treats me like I don’t exist.”

Another sigh, this time more impatient. “Y/N, you knew what this was when you agreed to it.”

“I—” You shake your head, pressing your fingers against your forehead. “I thought it would be different. I thought maybe we could at least—” Your breath hitches. “I thought maybe he would respect me.”

Your father’s voice cuts in this time, deep and firm. “Respect is earned, Y/N. You knew marrying into the Stark family was a business decision, not a fairytale.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t care about business,” you whisper. “I just wanted to be happy.”

“Happiness is a luxury,” he says. “You have power now. Wealth. Influence. You’re part of something bigger than yourself.”

“I don’t care about any of that!” you cry, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turn white. “I’m miserable! I can’t live like this! I want to leave, I want a divorce—”

“Absolutely not.” Your mother’s voice is sharp now, cold.

Your breath catches. “Mom—”

“You will not humiliate us,” she says. “Do you have any idea how much is at stake? Do you think you can just walk away because your feelings are hurt?”

Your stomach twists. “It’s not just my feelings—”

“You’re our daughter, Y/N, but you’re also part of an empire now,” your father interrupts. “And empires don’t crumble over foolish emotions.”

Your lips tremble. “You don’t care,” you whisper. “You don’t care that I’m suffering.”

Silence.

Then your mother says, “You’ll learn to live with it.”

A single tear slips down your cheek.

You nod, even though they can’t see you. “I understand.”

You hang up.

And then you shatter.

You sob into your hands, curling in on yourself. You were foolish to think they’d care. Foolish to think they’d choose you over money, over power, over their damn industry.

You have no one.

Not Tony. Not your parents.

No one.

—

That’s the moment you decide.

You’re done.

Done crying. Done trying. Done hoping for something that will never come.

If Tony doesn’t want you—if your own parents don’t care about you—then fine. You’ll stop caring, too.

—

The change is immediate.

You stop waiting for Tony to come home. You stop caring where he goes or who he’s with. You don’t set the table for two anymore. You don’t check his schedule to see if he’ll be at dinner.

You become distant. Cold. Detached.

And for the first time since your wedding, Tony notices.

At first, he seems relieved. Like your silence is a gift, like he’s finally free of your presence.

But then the days pass, and the atmosphere shifts.

You don’t speak to him unless necessary. When he walks into the penthouse, you barely look at him. When he makes coffee in the morning, you don’t acknowledge him.

You become a ghost in your own home.

And Tony—Tony doesn’t like it.

One night, he comes home late, as usual. You’re in the bedroom, brushing your hair in front of the mirror, your face blank, your eyes lifeless.

He leans against the doorway, watching you.

You ignore him.

Finally, he says, “You haven’t been nagging me lately.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror, but there’s no emotion in your eyes. “I guess I realized it’s pointless.”

Something flickers across his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it.

For the first time, he looks… unsettled.

But you don’t care. Not anymore.

---

You move through the penthouse like a ghost, your presence barely noticeable, your emotions locked away. The woman who once tried to love Tony Stark—the woman who once waited up for him, made his coffee, and longed for a shred of warmth—is gone.

In her place is someone colder, someone who has finally accepted the truth.

There is no marriage here. There is no love.

And now, there won’t even be a contract to bind you to him anymore.

The divorce papers sit on the dining table, neatly stacked, waiting. You’ve spent the last few weeks preparing for this moment. Meeting with lawyers in secret. Finding a new place to stay. Ignoring your parents’ warnings that leaving this marriage would be a disaster for them.

You don’t care anymore.

You refuse to live like this—trapped, invisible, unwanted.

So you’re leaving.

No matter what it costs.

—

Tony doesn’t notice right away.

He still moves through his routine like nothing has changed. He still stays out late, still acts like your presence is an afterthought. But you see the tiny moments of confusion. The flicker of frustration when you don’t react to his usual carelessness.

It’s almost funny.

He spent months acting like he didn’t want you, and now that you’ve given up, he’s irritated by it.

But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting out.

—

The night you decide to tell him, it’s raining. The penthouse is dimly lit, the sound of the storm echoing through the large windows. You sit in the living room, the divorce papers on the coffee table in front of you, waiting for him.

When he finally walks in, he barely glances your way. He tosses his keys onto the counter, shrugs off his jacket, and heads toward the bar to pour himself a drink.

“Tony.”

Your voice is calm. Steady.

He pauses, glass in hand, before finally looking at you.

You gesture to the papers. “We need to talk.”

His eyes flicker to the stack of documents, then back to you. A slow exhale leaves his lips. He already knows.

Still, he walks over, setting his glass down beside the papers. He picks them up, flips through them lazily, and then—

He laughs.

A low, bitter chuckle, like this is some kind of joke.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

You don’t react. “I’m leaving, Tony.”

He sets the papers down, his jaw tightening. “You think I’m just going to sign this?”

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze. “Yes.”

His eyes darken. “No.”

A small, humorless smile tugs at your lips. “You don’t get a say in this.”

His fingers drum against the table, slow and deliberate. “You married me. That’s a commitment, sweetheart.”

You flinch at the nickname, at the false sweetness in his tone. He’s never called you that before. Not in affection. Not in anything real.

“You don’t even want me here,” you say, voice hollow. “You never did.”

Something flashes across his face—something unreadable. But then he scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re being dramatic.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Then you reach forward, grab the pen beside the papers, and slide them toward him.

“Sign them.”

He doesn’t move.

Your fingers tighten around the pen. “Tony.”

His jaw clenches. “No.”

You swallow. “Why not?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second—just a second—you think he might actually say something real.

But then he smirks, that same arrogant, careless smirk he’s always worn. “Because I don’t like losing.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “This isn’t a game.”

“It’s always a game,” he counters.

Your throat tightens. He’s doing this on purpose—pushing, prodding, trying to get a reaction. Because if there’s one thing Tony Stark hates, it’s losing control.

But you won’t play his game anymore.

So you stand. “I’m done, Tony.”

He watches you, his expression unreadable as you turn away.

“You walk out that door, and you’re on your own,” he says.

You pause.

Then, without looking back, you whisper, “I always was.”

And then you leave.

—

The streets are slick with rain as you drive through the city, your mind racing.

You should feel relieved.

You’re finally free.

But your chest aches, your hands tremble against the wheel, and for some reason, your eyes won’t stop burning.

Why?

Why does it still hurt?

Why does some stupid, broken part of you still wish he would have stopped you?

You take a shaky breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter. No. You won’t think like that. You won’t let him have that power over you anymore.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to call a hotel or go to your new apartment—

The headlights come out of nowhere.

A blaring horn.

Screeching tires.

The impact is instant.

The world spins, glass shatters, pain explodes through your body—

And then everything fades to black.

—

Tony is still staring at the divorce papers when the call comes.

His phone buzzes on the counter, and for a moment, he considers ignoring it. But then he sees the number.

Unknown.

Something uneasy twists in his stomach.

He answers.

“Mr. Stark?” a voice asks. “We need you to come to Metro General. Your wife has been in an accident.”

Tony’s breath catches.

“What?”

“She was in a car crash. It’s serious.”

His grip tightens on the phone.

“She’s in a coma.”

---

The hospital room is too quiet.

Too still.

Tony sits beside your bed, hands clasped together, eyes fixed on your unmoving form. There are too many machines. Too many wires. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only reassurance that you’re still here, still breathing.

You’ve been like this for days.

And Tony has never felt more helpless.

He’s seen destruction. He’s seen death. He’s cheated both more times than he can count. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for this.

For the unbearable stillness of you.

For the crushing weight of regret pressing against his ribs, suffocating him.

The doctor’s words keep playing in his head.

“She’s stable, but we don’t know when she’ll wake up.”

If she’ll wake up.

Tony grits his teeth, gripping the armrests of his chair. No. He won’t think like that.

He won’t lose you.

Even if he never deserved you to begin with.

—

The first night, he doesn’t leave the hospital.

The second night, he cancels all his meetings, ignores every call, and stays right where he is—beside you.

By the third night, he realizes something terrifying.

He can’t lose you.

Not just because of guilt.

Not just because of regret.

But because somewhere, in the mess of this forced marriage, between the cold words and cruel indifference—

He started to fall for you.

And he was too much of a coward to see it until now.

—

He doesn’t know when it happens.

Maybe it was the way you always looked at him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Maybe it was the way you tried—really tried—to make this work, to reach for him, even when he pushed you away.

Or maybe it was the way you stopped.

The moment you went cold, the moment you gave up on him—on this—something inside him cracked.

He just didn’t understand it then.

But he understands now.

And he’s going to fix it.

—

When you wake up, your entire body aches.

Your vision is blurry, your throat dry, and for a moment, everything feels unreal. Like you’re floating between dreams and reality.

Then you hear a voice.

“Y/N?”

You blink. Slowly, your eyes adjust, and then—

Tony.

He looks exhausted. His hair is a mess, his clothes are wrinkled, and there are dark circles under his eyes. But none of that matters because the look on his face—

You’ve never seen it before.

Relief.

Genuine, overwhelming relief.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough, like he hasn’t spoken in hours.

You try to speak, but your throat burns. He notices immediately, grabbing a cup of water and helping you drink. His hands are gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break.

You clear your throat. “What… happened?”

His jaw tightens. “Car accident. You’ve been in a coma for five days.”

Five days.

You inhale sharply, memories crashing into you all at once. The rain. The headlights. The impact.

Leaving Tony.

The divorce.

You shift slightly, ignoring the pain that shoots through your body. “The papers—”

“Forget the papers,” Tony cuts in.

You frown. “Tony—”

“No,” he says, firmer this time. “You almost died, Y/N.”

You swallow, looking away. “I know.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I—” He hesitates. “I screwed up.”

You close your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You did.”

There’s a long silence. You don’t look at him, but you can feel his gaze on you—heavy, uncertain.

Finally, he speaks. “Give me a month.”

You blink, turning your head toward him. “What?”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “One month,” he repeats. “Let me fix this. Let me prove that this marriage doesn’t have to end like this.”

Your heart clenches. “Tony—”

“If, after a month, you still want to leave,” he says, voice quieter now, “I’ll sign the papers.”

You stare at him. “You don’t want the divorce.”

His eyes meet yours, raw and open in a way you’ve never seen before. “No,” he admits. “I don’t.”

Your throat tightens. A part of you wants to laugh at the irony. The moment you stop chasing him is the moment he decides to chase you.

But another part of you—one you’re not ready to acknowledge—wants to believe him.

Wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t over.

You inhale slowly. “One month,” you say.

Tony nods.

Your lips press together. “Then you sign the papers.”

His jaw clenches, but he nods again. “Then I sign the papers.”

You look away, staring at the ceiling.

One month.

You don’t know if that’s enough time to change anything.

But for some reason, for the first time in a long time—

You think you want it to be.

---

Tony doesn’t waste any time.

The very next morning, he’s already in your hospital room before you’ve even properly woken up, holding a cup of coffee that he shoves into your hands before you can protest.

“I bribed a nurse for it,” he says, sitting down in the chair beside your bed.

You eye him warily. “Isn’t there a rule against giving caffeine to patients?”

“Probably.” He shrugs. “But I figured you could use it.”

You hesitate, then take a small sip. It’s perfect—exactly how you like it. The realization makes your chest tighten.

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the cup.

Tony leans back in his chair, watching you. “So, uh… how are you feeling?”

You exhale slowly. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah.” He looks down, tapping his fingers against his knee. “I, uh… I did some reading. About recovery. Apparently, physical therapy helps a lot.”

You blink at him. “You did research?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. “I might have gone down a rabbit hole.”

The mental image of Tony Stark, billionaire genius, spending hours reading about post-accident recovery makes something in your chest ache.

You push the feeling down.

Before you can respond, there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse steps in with breakfast.

Tony moves quickly, taking the tray from her before she can set it down. “I got it, thanks.”

The nurse gives you a knowing smile before leaving.

You glance at Tony. “What are you doing?”

“Being a good husband,” he says, setting the tray on your lap.

You stare at him. “Since when?”

Tony meets your gaze, something serious flickering in his eyes. “Since now.”

—

The next few days are… different.

Tony is there. All the time.

He brings you coffee every morning. He helps adjust your pillows when you shift uncomfortably. He stays up late when you can’t sleep, talking to you about everything and nothing.

It’s strange.

You don’t know what to do with this version of him. The one who suddenly cares.

And part of you doesn’t trust it.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask one night, after he’s helped you walk across the room for the third time that day.

Tony looks at you, and for once, there’s no sarcasm, no bravado—just quiet honesty.

“Because I don’t want to lose you,” he admits.

Your heart stutters.

You don’t respond.

You can’t.

—

When you’re finally discharged, Tony insists on taking you home himself.

You sit stiffly in the car, staring out the window as he drives.

“I was thinking,” he says after a while, “you should come with me to a gala next weekend.”

You frown, turning to him. “A gala?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you. “It’s one of those boring business events, but I figured it might be good for you to get out, you know? See people.”

You arch an eyebrow. “See people? Or let them see that we’re still married?”

Tony’s grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel. “It’s not like that.”

You scoff. “Sure.”

He sighs, glancing at you again. “Y/N, come on. It’ll be fun.”

You stare at him. “Fun?”

“Well, as fun as these things can be.” He smirks. “Plus, you’ll get to see me in a suit. I know you secretly like that.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, “you’re still here.”

For now.

But he doesn’t say that.

And neither do you.

---

The gala is everything Tony warned you it would be: crowded, extravagant, and loud.

The lights are blinding, the conversations blur into a cacophony, and the air feels thick with wealth and power.

You're used to this world. You grew up in it, surrounded by the glittering faces and the endless speeches about success and influence. But tonight, it feels different. Tonight, you feel like an outsider.

Tony stands beside you, his hand lightly placed on the small of your back, guiding you through the sea of well-dressed guests. His presence is the only thing keeping you grounded, and you can't help but feel the weight of his attention on you.

His hand stays there, warm and reassuring, but it's more than just that. His touch—his whole demeanor—is… different.

Gone is the usual cocky, sarcastic Tony Stark. Gone is the man who would flirt with anything that moved and ignore you in favor of his latest conquest.

Tonight, Tony’s focus is entirely on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low, as if he's genuinely concerned about how you’re holding up.

You glance up at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. "I'm fine," you answer, though you're not sure if you believe it yourself.

He looks down at you, his eyes filled with something unspoken. "You sure?"

"Yeah," you reply, offering him a smile. "Just not a big fan of crowds."

"I get that," he says, his hand giving your back a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't let go.

You both make your way through the room, and the murmurs of the guests around you grow louder. It’s clear they’re talking about you—about your marriage, about how strange it is to see you with Tony, considering the stories they’ve heard.

But Tony? He’s not listening to any of them.

Every time someone tries to engage with him, he brushes them off politely, always redirecting the conversation back to you. He’s unusually attentive, asking you questions, making sure you’re comfortable, making sure you feel seen in a room full of people who likely don’t even know your name.

It’s a side of him you never thought you’d see.

And it's almost making you second-guess everything you thought you knew about him.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks after a few minutes, his hand still lingering on your waist.

You shake your head. "I'm okay."

He nods, looking pleased that you didn’t need anything, but he still seems restless. It’s as if he’s determined to prove something to you, or maybe prove something to himself.

You wonder if he’s thinking about the same things.

Just as you’re about to speak, you see her.

Vanessa.

A striking woman, tall, elegant, with a platinum blonde updo and a smile that could melt ice. You’ve met her before—at one of Tony’s events—but tonight she’s practically glowing in her dress, her eyes immediately locking on Tony when she sees him.

And you know the look she gives him. It’s the same one she’s given him every time they’ve crossed paths. The one that says she wants him, and she wants him now.

Tony notices her at the same time you do, but this time, his reaction is nothing like it used to be.

Instead of leaning in, making a joke, or greeting her with a flirtatious smile, Tony straightens. He subtly adjusts his posture, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

Vanessa approaches them, a smirk already playing at her lips. "Tony," she says, her voice smooth as silk. "It's been too long."

"Vanessa," Tony replies, his voice distant, cool.

You can feel the tension in the air. You can see it in the way Tony’s jaw clenches, in the way his eyes stay locked on Vanessa but refuse to soften.

And you realize, with a jolt, that Tony isn’t just ignoring Vanessa—he’s actively pushing her away.

"How’ve you been?" she asks, her eyes flickering to you for a moment, before settling back on Tony.

"I’m good," Tony says curtly, then without missing a beat, he shifts his attention back to you. "Y/N, would you like to dance?"

The question catches you off guard, but you find yourself nodding. "Sure."

Tony gives you a small, reassuring smile, one that feels different from the others. There’s something softer in it. Something more honest.

Before you can even process it, Tony’s already guiding you toward the dance floor, leaving Vanessa standing there, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes narrowing in something like confusion or frustration.

But Tony doesn’t even glance back. He doesn’t give her a second of his attention.

It’s a subtle shift, but it’s a powerful one.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, you can see the depth of his sincerity.

As you step onto the dance floor, Tony takes your hand firmly in his, positioning you against him with a confidence that feels both familiar and strange. He’s not treating you like a business arrangement tonight. He’s treating you like… well, like someone he cares about.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says quietly as you begin to sway together, his voice low enough that only you can hear it. “Let them talk. We’re here for us.”

You blink up at him, surprised by his words. You hadn’t realized how much the whispers in the room had been bothering you until now. The pressure of their eyes, the feeling of judgment. But Tony, as always, manages to take the edge off.

“I’m just…” You pause, unsure of how to put it into words. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Tony meets your eyes, his gaze intense, as if he’s considering everything that’s led you both here. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Just be you. And I’ll be me.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. For the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe—just maybe—this marriage, this mess of a relationship, might be worth something after all.

The song continues, slow and soft, and you let yourself fall into it, the world around you slowly fading. You focus on Tony’s presence, the warmth of his hand, the rhythm of his movements.

It’s easier this way.

Maybe it’s because of everything that’s happened. Maybe it’s because you’ve both been through so much already. Or maybe it’s because, for the first time, Tony is showing you a side of himself you’ve never seen.

His attention is entirely on you. His eyes never leave yours, his hand never lets go.

The woman who once held his attention effortlessly is nothing now, a distant memory.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I don’t want to lose you.”

You stop, your breath catching in your throat. You look up at him, searching his face for any sign of the old Tony—cocky, aloof, distant. But there’s nothing there.

His expression is raw, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

“I’m here,” you say softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time since you’ve known him, you believe it.

You both keep dancing.

---

Tony doesn’t get a free pass just because he was nice for one night.

You’ve been burned too many times before.

He might have ignored Vanessa, might have acted like a devoted husband at the gala, but that doesn’t erase the months of indifference, the way he used to treat you like nothing more than a business transaction.

So you make it difficult for him.

You don’t reject his gestures outright, but you don’t encourage them either. When he brings you coffee in the mornings, you thank him politely, but you don’t smile. When he pulls out a chair for you at the dining table, you sit without a word. When he lingers too close, when his hand brushes against yours as if testing your reaction, you pull away before he can get too comfortable.

Tony notices.

Of course he notices.

But instead of getting frustrated and giving up—like the old Tony might have—he tries harder.

At first, it almost annoys you.

He follows you around the penthouse, trying to engage you in conversation. He asks about your day, about the books you’re reading, about the movies you like.

He never used to care about any of that before.

One evening, you come home from a short walk and find that your favorite meal is waiting for you on the dining table. The scent fills the air, warm and inviting.

You look at Tony, suspicious. “What is this?”

He shrugs, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Dinner.”

“You cooked?”

Tony scoffs. “Do I look like I know how to cook? I had it made.”

Of course he did.

But the fact that he remembered what you liked, that he went through the trouble, makes something uncomfortable twist inside you.

Still, you keep your expression neutral. “Thanks,” you say, sitting down.

Tony doesn’t join you right away. He just watches, waiting for your reaction.

It’s frustrating.

Because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Because part of you is still scared.

Because if you let yourself believe that this is real—if you let yourself fall for him again—you don’t know if you’ll survive it when he inevitably stops trying.

So you keep your walls up.

And Tony keeps fighting to break them down.

—

He never misses an opportunity to prove himself.

You go out to a small café one afternoon, needing space, needing time to think. You don’t tell Tony where you’re going, but when you step inside, you see him there.

Waiting.

He’s sitting at a corner table, already sipping on a cup of coffee, and when he spots you, he waves like he just casually happened to be there, like he didn’t deliberately track your location and get there before you.

You exhale sharply, marching up to him. “Are you following me?”

Tony grins, unfazed. “I prefer the term ‘coincidentally appearing where my wife is.’”

You fold your arms. “You do realize this isn’t normal behavior, right?”

Tony leans back in his chair, studying you. “Maybe not. But nothing about us has ever been normal.”

You hate how easily he gets under your skin.

Still, a tiny part of you—one you refuse to acknowledge—likes that he’s trying.

You sit down across from him, sighing. “Fine. If you’re going to stalk me, at least buy me a coffee.”

Tony smirks. “Done.”

—

As the days pass, you start to see it.

The change.

It’s not just in the grand gestures or the obvious efforts. It’s in the little things.

The way he listens when you talk.

The way he doesn’t interrupt or dismiss your thoughts.

The way he notices when you’re tired and gives you space, but also notices when you’re upset and refuses to let you wallow.

He’s not just trying to win you over—he’s genuinely trying to be better.

But you still don’t have the answer to the one thing that matters most.

You don’t know why.

Is he doing this just to keep up appearances? To avoid the scandal of a divorce? Or is there something more?

You refuse to let yourself believe in the latter until you’re sure.

Until you have proof.

—

The end of the month approaches faster than you expect.

And Tony? He doesn’t slow down.

If anything, he becomes even more present, more insistent.

He takes you out—to dinners, to museums, even to a drive-in movie one night, which surprises you because you never expected Tony Stark to be the type to sit through a two-hour film in a car.

(He spends half the movie making sarcastic comments about the plot, but you catch him sneaking glances at you more than the screen.)

He also starts touching you more.

Not in a way that feels demanding or forceful—just small, lingering touches. A hand on your lower back as he guides you through a room. A brush of his fingers against yours when he hands you something.

It’s subtle, but it’s enough to make your heart ache.

Because if this isn’t real—if this is all just a temporary act—then he’s being cruel without even realizing it.

So, on the final night before the month is over, you ask him the one thing you’ve been too afraid to say out loud.

“Do you love me?”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy, impossible to take back.

Tony freezes.

You watch as the cocky mask he so often wears slips, as something raw flickers in his expression.

He doesn’t answer right away, and the silence is suffocating.

But you don’t look away.

You need the truth.

You deserve it.

Finally, Tony exhales, running a hand through his hair. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“I didn’t think I could.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

He looks at you, and for the first time, you see it—everything he’s been holding back.

“I never thought I was capable of it,” he admits. “Loving someone. Being loved.” His throat works as he swallows, his gaze never leaving yours. “I pushed you away because it was easier. Because I was terrified.”

You don’t know what to say.

Tony takes a step closer, his voice steadier now.

“But then you left.” His jaw tightens. “And I realized that losing you was worse than anything I was afraid of.”

Tears burn at the back of your eyes. “Tony…”

“I love you,” he says, the words breaking something inside you. “I love you, and I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out.”

You should say something.

But the emotions overwhelm you, your heart pounding too loudly in your chest.

Tony hesitates, his eyes searching yours. “If you still want me to sign the divorce papers, I will. I won’t force you to stay in something that hurts you.”

Your breath shudders.

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for—the proof that he’s changed, that he’s not just doing this for show.

Because if this were just about avoiding a scandal, he wouldn’t give you a choice.

And yet, here he is, handing you the decision.

You exhale slowly, blinking back the tears.

“I don’t want you to sign them,” you whisper.

Tony’s shoulders relax, relief flooding his face.

You take a step closer. “But I need time. I need to trust that this isn’t just temporary.”

Tony nods, his hands reaching out to gently cup your face. “Take all the time you need.”

And when he kisses you—soft, slow, filled with everything he’s been too afraid to say—you finally let yourself believe that maybe this could be real.

---

Tony is patient with you.

At first, you expect him to push—because that’s who he is. But he doesn’t. He lets you come to him on your own terms.

It starts with small moments.

A kiss in the morning when he brings you coffee, just a quick press of lips before he murmurs, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

A lingering touch at dinner, his fingers brushing against your knee under the table as he listens to you talk.

A slow, lazy kiss in the hallway after an evening out, his hands resting at your waist like he never wants to let go.

The tenderness in his touch, the warmth in his gaze, the way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in the world—it all makes you realize that this isn’t an act. This isn’t temporary.

Tony has changed.

And more importantly—he loves you.

That’s why, one night, when he kisses you deeper than usual, when his hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, you don’t pull away.

You let yourself want this. Want him.

Tony notices the shift immediately. His breathing turns heavier, his hands trembling slightly as they roam your body, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

He breaks the kiss just enough to search your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You answer by kissing him again, tilting your head to give him everything.

It’s slow at first, every touch a reassurance, a promise.

But then, it turns into something more.

Something desperate.

Something you’ve both been holding back for far too long.

—

You don’t leave the bed for hours.

And when you do, it’s only because Tony insists on carrying you to the shower, pressing lazy kisses to your skin as the warm water cascades over both of you.

Afterward, he tucks you into bed, pulling you close, his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your hair. “And I’m yours.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said anything like that.

And you know he means it.

—

A few days later, you attend another event with him.

This time, things are different.

This time, you don’t feel like just a business partner standing at his side.

You feel like his wife.

Tony barely leaves your side the entire night. His hand rests on your waist, his thumb stroking absent patterns against the fabric of your dress. He kisses your temple in between conversations, leans down to murmur comments in your ear that make you laugh.

You feel adored.

Cherished.

But then, you see her.

Vanessa.

She’s standing near the bar, watching Tony like she always does.

You know that look. You’ve seen it before.

The difference is that now, you do something about it.

When Tony turns his attention to greet someone, you make your way across the room, walking right up to Vanessa.

Her lips curl into a smirk. “Oh? Finally ready to fight for him?”

You tilt your head. “No. Just ready to remind you that I’ve already won.”

You don’t give her a chance to respond.

Instead, you turn on your heel, grab Tony’s hand, and pull him with you toward the nearest bathroom.

He barely has time to react before you push him inside, locking the door behind you.

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, this is a surprise.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you kiss him.

It’s different from before—fiercer, more possessive.

Tony groans against your lips, backing you up against the counter. “Jealous, sweetheart?”

You nip at his bottom lip in response. “Shut up.”

He grins, but it quickly fades as your hands start to wander.

The rest of the world ceases to exist.

—

When you finally leave the bathroom, everyone knows.

Your hair is slightly messy, your lipstick smudged. Tony’s tie is loose, his expression smug as he keeps his arm around your waist, walking you back into the event like nothing happened.

Vanessa glares.

Tony leans in, whispering against your ear, “That was hot.”

You smirk, gripping his hand tighter.

And from that moment on, there’s no doubt left—

Tony Stark is yours.

And he loves it.

[erinwantstowrite]

hey so obviously peter is pretty clueless about his feelings towards ned but once he figures it out is he going to be like “oh this makes so much sense” and just kind of accept it or is he going to have more of a crisis about liking boys

bc obviously we know he’s not homophobic but it’s different when it’s yourself

i come from a super supportive family so when i figured i liked girls i was just like “huh, okay” and moved on but like with peter and his experience with skip and i don’t know how supportive some of his other families were in the foster system, is it going to be more of a existential crisis for him? like internalized homophobia

i don't have it fully fleshed out yet because i know things will change once i finally get there (it's a SLOOWWWWWBURN) but i do think about this a LOT. because while i do like to avoid writing romance, when i do write it, i want to do it right. so i often think about what peter's realization will be (keeping that part to myself teehee) and how he'll deal with it

it's less of an internalized homophobia that he has to conquer and more of like... he never even considered this an option. he never had the time or mental capacity to think about this sort of thing before. life moved fast and he was always in the middle of a grieving period or some crazy superhero shit just happened to him. he didn't stop to think about his sexuality or potential romance beyond a "well one day I'll think about it" so when the moment does happen where he's thinking about it, he's struck with the fact that he knows basically nothing about how romantic love applies to himself.

at this point he knows he can be loved by friends and family, but romance? it's a whole new ballgame and he has NOT been paying attention to the rules. he thought he was just watching from the sidelines, cheering other people on. he thought he had far more many years to figure it out

he knows what love is- he can thank Ben and May for that (and on some level, his parents, though he only knows of his parents' love through how Ben and May described them). Peter's example of two people who love each other is almost entirely based on the love Ben and May had, and Ben and May are the type of people that made other people believe in soulmates. they completed each other in a way that was impossible to comprehend fully. where one was, the other was there. Peter understands romance through them, but there are other adults in his life that are in love. Tony and Pepper are a little unconventional and Peter doesn't fully understand their dynamic sometimes, but they love each other. and depending on who our ships are (tbh I haven't fully thought them through because it doesn't really matter to our plot), Peter sees other Avengers find love too and express it in a multitude of different ways. and when he looks at the Bats?? jesus christ. i think we all know how that goes. Bruce has more messy exes than anyone ever on the planet so Peter has already been told not to look there for an example. Dick too, is not immune to that, despite being in a committed relationship with Wally. Tim has two boyfriends and... whatever he has going on with Cassie and Bart at some point, as well as having many many exes. Steph is literally one of the exes and Peter doesn't know if the two's relationship now is normal or out of the ordinary or something to strive for. he won't ask because he's not nearly there

so Peter i think... is going to be overwhelmed and not know what to do next. Ned is his first best friend, someone that he clicked with immediately. and while i do hint at a puppy crush between the two of them (where Ned is far more aware than Peter is, the poor guy), their relationship is foundational in friendship. Peter is going to be more freaked out about ruining that than finding out he's bi. he won't have a clue what to do and i honestly think (at least right now this is what i plan) he is going to be far too embarrassed to admit to anyone he has a crush. like???? forget about asking Bruce, he obviously doesn't know. Asking any of his parents (save MAYBE Pepper) would be an immediate no because 1) that's like asking him to jump out of a plane with no parachute and 2) if they give him The Talk 🐦🐝 he will die and everyone else will die and no. scratch asking literally anyone else on the JL or in the Avengers. sure, he'll trust them to save his life. but trusting them to not give bad advice or tease him or accidentally tell someone else or snitch to his parents? nah. that leaves only two people on the planet who Peter could confide to, both who knew before Peter knew (not hard to do): MJ and Felicia

which is so unbelievably funny and y'all don't even know WHY it's so funny to me yet. but I love them so much

[ynstark]

His Angel - (Part One)

Title: His Angel (Part One)

Characters/Pairings: Post!Endgame!Steve Rogers x Female!Adoptive!Stark!Virgin!Reader

Summary: You confide in Steve that you're a virgin. He's honesty shocked, but maybe he can be you first and hopefully you last.

Reader is in her 20s and Steve is in his mid 30s.

Minors DNI! Please and thank you!

Contents/Warnings: explicit smut, use of the nickname Angel a lot, mentions of death, talks of a toxic father, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, hint of a praise kink, talks of intercourse, talks of sex!toy use, angst, aftercare, Steve has a little bit of an ego, it's tiny, hopefully I listed them all, If I didn't let me know!

Author's Note: Ummm Hi, so I wrote my first fanfic. I've been studying the dark arts for a while and decided to take a crack at it. I don't know the word count, it came out ridiculously long. I just wrote whatever came to my head. Takes place a year after Tony's Memorial. This is a one time thing and won't happen again because I don't think I could write something like this ever again. Edit: Well, I started writing a prequel which takes place right after Tony's Memorial. So 20 likes and I'll drop that, but this is not happening again. Edit, Edit: This is now going to be pt 1 and there will be a pt 2 on top of the prequel. I didn't mean to write a lot of backstory, but it happened. If you squint, Steve is a soft!dom. I didn't grammar check so I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors. Do not repost my work anywhere. Likes and reblogs are welcomed and appreciated. Peace and love, enjoy. 🤍

Tonight was the night, you're going to loose your virginity to Steve Rogers. Everyone was on a mission for the past few days except for you and Steve, which left the whole compound to yourselves. You had confided in Steve one night that you were still a virgin, which came as a total shock to him. You were a fireball with confidence cascading out of you like water. Any man would be lucky to have you, but he also remembered your past and how your own father had treated you, which is why Tony adopted you after the snap.

Tony and your father worked together for years, but Tony knew the truth. You always had to convince him not to intervene for the sack of your mother, but then the snap happened and your mother was one of its victims. Tony had a good case for custody. He wasn't going to leave you in the care of your father and stand by and watch. Natasha also became a mother figure to you. Visiting you when she could and training you, which led to you going on missions. Tony didn't love that, but he knew you enjoyed going on them and you were a good asset to the team. You got to be a big sister to Morgan and Tony got to experience what it was like to have a grown up daughter and a new born at the same time, which he was grateful for before he died.

Tony left a letter for Steve asking him to take care of you. He knew you were a capable woman and that you could take care of yourself, but with him and Natasha gone, he knew you would drown emotionally. At least Tony could leave you in peace knowing you had Steve to lean on. After the memorial, Steve would check in on you. He would call you, visit you at your apartment or you would go to his. He would make sure you went to therapy, asked if you had visited Pepper and Morgan, or that you were taking care of yourself. You two grew close. The compound was finally rebuilt, which you and the rest of the avengers were grateful for. It was nice to be living with each other again. Steve started to call you Angel. He saw how your eyes had a little twinkle in them when he called you that. Bucky and Sam teased him about it. They could tell that Steve was falling for you the more he got to know you. Steve knew this isn't what Tony meant when he asked him to "take care of you", but Steve knew he couldn't ignore what he was feeling. He just didn't want to cross a line if you weren't ready. The problem was, he couldn't tell if you were.

Even though you knew that not all men were bad, especially being close to all the men in the avengers, your own father really set the example that you couldn't trust them, or tell if they had good intentions with you. The conversation with Steve took place one night when Steve decided to cook dinner for the two of you at the compound. Steve asked for your assistance in the kitchen, he really has no idea what he's doing. You sat on the counter giving him pointers and watching him to make sure he didn't burn anything.

"So, you're a virgin?" Steve asked, his curiosity fully peaked as he worked over the stove.

"Yup, unless you count using a dildo, but otherwise, no, I have not had the full experience."

"Never had someone go down on you?" You shake your head no to his question.

"Fingered you?"

"N.O. Rogers."

"Your first kiss?" He was definitely prying now.

"No." You could feel the loneliness set in you again.

"Pretty pathetic huh?" You looked down at your feet. Steve turned towards you, an empathetic look in his eyes, he could sense your mood had shifted.

"Hey, known of that, you're not pathetic. I've only slept with one person, and well, kissed Natasha."

"You kissed Natasha!" You asked surprised at his new confession.

"It was one time and she kissed me! It was so we didn't blow our cover. I'm surprised she never told you about it." Steve went back to stirring the pasta.

"Well she probably didn't want that image tattooed in my brain, it's also more believable that she kissed you." You snickered.

"Ha ha, very funny." he responded, you laughed again, making Steve get a little defensive. "Hey! I have game!"

"Really! I would love to see it in action Rogers."

"Well maybe I can try it out on you." Steve wanted a hole to open up and swallow him whole, he couldn't believe he actually said that out loud to you. Before he had time to retract his statement, you responded with, "Hmm, maybe." Steve paused to look over at you, he could sense no discomfort from you, you were actually serious.

"I'm sorry, did I hear a "maybe" Angel?" Steve stopped what he was doing to give you his full undivided attention. You sat there with that confidence he loved so much radiating off of you. You wanted him to actually try. Steve turned the stove off and slowly approached you. He knew he had to be careful with you. He couldn't just take you right here in the kitchen, even though he'd love to see you fall apart for him on his cock bent over the kitchen counter. "Control yourself Rogers." He thought to himself. Steve didn't want to trigger you. Once he was in front of you, you slightly spread your legs so he could stand in between them. You bit your bottom lip in anticipation and boy did Steve get hard once he saw your bottom lip disappear between your teeth.

"Can I touch you Angel?" He asked gently, you nodded. A tiny please slipped out from your lips. Steve chuckled a little. Guess he had that effect on you. He started with his hands on your thighs working their way up to your hips and then settling them on your bum. He gave it a little squeeze and you jumped at his motion, but not in a scared way, more of a "Please continue. I like what you're doing" way. Your hands travel up to fold behind his neck as Steve pulls you closer, you could feel his erection against you.

"So that's what that feels like." Steve couldn't help but burst out laughing at your statement, throwing his head back. You joined in on his laughter.

"Yes Angel, that is what an erection feels like." He responded still laughing.

"I did that to you?!" Your complete oblivion of a man's reaction to you made Steve want you more.

"Shit I didn't know we were that powerful." You continued, Steve thought, "If this woman only knew what power she has over me."

"Very powerful, if you told me to sacrifice myself, I'd do it in a heartbeat." Steve had the biggest dopey smile on his face as you laughed at his response. Once both of your laughter settled down, the reality set back in. Questions started to swirl in your head. Were you really ready to go through with this and let Steve have unconditionally access to you in the most intimate way possible? Could you get out of your head and let a man shower you in an abundance of love that you had never experienced before? You were brought out of your swirling when Steve got your attention by asking his own question.

"Angel, can I kiss you?" Steve asked, trying not to freak you out, but he could see the tiny panic in your eyes already, he starts to pull back, but you grab his arms.

"I need five minutes, I'll meet you in your room, I just need to get myself together. Can I have five minutes?" you asked quickly.

"You can have all the time in the world." He laughed, "What about dinner?" His eyes wonder over to the unfinished pasta in the pot.

"Screw dinner, you're about to screw me!" You jump off the counter and out of his arms, Steve couldn't help but smile. You're racing out of the kitchen when you turn around to tell him again, "Five minutes, okay?"

"Five minutes Angel, I'll be there." You leave him in the kitchen to clean up the dinner that never happened, racing to your room, and locking the door behind you. You take a few deep breaths. Tonight is the night, you're going to loose your virginity to Steve Rogers. You quickly change into a pair of comfy clothes, deciding to forgo your under garments. What's the point when Steve was going to rip you out of them anyway. You fixed your hair to have some form of sex-appeal. Quickly shaved and moisturized. You looked in the mirror, you did what you could on short notice, if anything you looked cute instead of sexy. Still looking in the mirror, you hyped yourself up. "You got this, Steve would never hurt you." You walked out of your room and headed to Steve's. It's more comfortable for you to go to his room than to let him into yours. You never had a man in your room except for Sam or Bucky when they stole your snacks now and then.

Steve patiently waits for you, sitting on his bed when he hears your tiny knock. Eyes glimmering with adoration when he opens his door and sees you. Even though you changed into a t-shirt and shorts, he still thought you were absolutely beautiful, breathtaking.

He closes the door behind you, he can see your mind whirling, you become timid. He knows this is new territory for you, he has to be, no, wants to be gentle with you. He's going to treat you like a porcelain doll the first time around. Even though you could kill someone just by looking at them, but here you are, choosing to be the most vulnerable and intimate with him.

"We don't have to do this tonight Angel, could just cuddle and watch a movie." He watches as you ponder on the alternative.

"No, I want to try, I trust you Steve." He saw the trust in your eyes, you were ready to give him complete access to you.

Steve nods and approaches you, slowly, putting his hands on your waist. You melt into his touch bringing your own hands against his chest. He kisses your forehead as you breathe out a sigh of relief. He pulls away just enough to cup your chin so you can look up at him.

"At any moment you feel uncomfortable, you tell me to stop, okay?" You nod.

"Words Angel." You look up at him again, giving him a quiet "Okay."

Steve looks into your eyes one more time to make sure you were really okay with this. Once he saw no changes in your mood, he proceeds to lean down.

"Let's try this again, can I kiss you Angel?" You respond with a quiet yes. Steve kisses you softly and gently. You melt into his lips. He pulls you closer against him, moving one hand to cradle the back of your head.

Your hands moved down to the hem of his shirt, giving him the signal you wanted him to take it off. In one swift motion his shirt was off and his hands back on you in an instant. He starts to slowly push you back until you land on his bed. He crawls on top of you, making sure to not apply his entire weight on you and plants a short kiss on your lips.

"Can I take this off?" He asked, slightly tugging at your shirt.

"Yes." You respond as he helps you sit up, slowly peeling off the material from your body. Your nipples instantly pebble once the cool air hits them. Steve's eyes gleam, he then looks back at you, leaning forward and whispers against your lips, "Absolutely beautiful, Angel."

He kisses you again, laying you down his bed once more. All you could do was smile. He comes back up and motions to your shorts, "And these? Can they come off too?" You nod with a smile and respond with a yes. He slowly rolls them down your legs leaving quick kisses on your thigh. Soft whimpers leave your mouth. Your left completely bare to him.

"No panties Angel? And here I thought you were a good girl." Steve smirked down at you. He takes in your bare form, his Angel, his beautiful virgin angel, ready for him to claim. He slowly positioned himself between your legs, hands gripping your thighs as his face comes face to face with your most intimate part. You feel his warm breath against you and you let out a little cry. "No reason to keep quiet Angel, there's no one here to hear you but me, be as loud as you want." Steve didn't mean to drag this out, but he knew he couldn't rush into this. He doesn't want to break the trust you granted him.

"Angel you're dripping, gonna touch you okay? Gonna make you feel good." He waits for your yes, moving one of his hands to your clit, his thumb making small circles on your little bud. "Stevie." You moan out. You felt your heart flutter, no one has ever touched you like this, let alone seen you like this. You prop yourself on your elbows to watch him.

"Think you can take one of my fingers?" He asks, you nod eagerly. He slowly enters his middle finger into your needy hole. His finger was definitely bigger than yours, but not big enough like one of you dildos. It's definitely been a while since you used one. The stretch feels nice. He lets his finger slide in and out of you as your walls flutter around his finger. "Feels so good Stevie." Yours eyes close and more whimpers fell out from your lips.

"That's it Angel, make a mess for me." Steve lets out a little moan himself realizing how tight you actually are. "Fuck you're so tight. Wondering how my cock will fit." You moan loud at his realization. He lets out a little chuckle, "Don't worry Angel, we'll make it fit, maybe I should just stretch you out tonight instead? Hmm?" He already knows your answer.

"That's not funny Steve, you wouldn't dare." There was his strong willed girl. You look at him with determination that you're going to take his cock tonight whether it hurts or not and Steve is happy to oblige. "Don't worry your pretty head. You'll get my cock tonight, but I need to do a proper tasting first." Another string of loud whimpers leave you. Steve slowly removes his finger, he couldn't wait to dive head first into your pussy.

"Ready Angel?" You give him a whinny yes at the anticipation. Finally lowering his mouth to your weeping hole, his tongue making contact to the place his been dying to try. Your head falls back and a song of moans leaves your throat. Steve was grinning like the cheshire cat. He continues his assault, dipping his tongue in you occasionally, which you seem to like a lot. He makes a mental note of that. The foreign feeling of his tongue becomes pure pleasure. Your fingers could never create the feeling of what Steve's tongue was doing to you. He laps at you like it's his final meal. Steve comes up for air making the comment, "Tastes like pure honey, could eat you out forever Angel." He dives back in, applying more pressure and you buck your hips up in excitement. You try to close your thighs, but Steve isn't having it, his grip is impossible to fight. You weave one of your hands into his hair, fingers scratching his scalp, pulling him closer to your core. Steve lets out a moan of satisfaction. He knows you close and ready to finally have your release. A few more licks and your dam breaks. The high and pleasure is unlike anything you have ever felt. Steve keeps his tongue pressed to your clit to help you ride out your orgasm. You come down from your high, clearly out of it, in the best way possible.

"Still with me Angel?" Steve comes up from your pussy.

"Uh Huh" You couldn't say anything else. Your brain was so fuzzy. Steve had given you one of the best orgasms in your entire life. Steve looks at you and sees your face. He knows that look. You're so fucked out, maybe he pushed you too far tonight.

"We can stop tonight Angel, you did so good." Steve responds, ready to cuddle you for the rest of the night.

You think about it, you really do want to be with it when Steve makes you cum on his cock, you know, get the full experience.

"As much as I want you to fuck me, you really wiped me out. That was, really good Steve. Thank you." You breathe out, panting.

"You're welcome Angel. I promise to fuck you properly soon, it's a date." He kisses the inside of your thigh and gets up to get you a glass of water, which you happily accept and a wash cloth to clean you up. He comes back handing you the glass and gets to work on cleaning you. He can tell your sensitive when he hears you whimper from his touch. He tries not to stimulate you to the best of his ability. After he's done, he puts the wash cloth in the laundry basket and comes back to lay down next to you. He watches you as you catch your breath, admiring your fucked out state, knowing he's the one who caused it.

You finish the water, placing the glass on the nightstand and find your way back to him, lying across his chest. Steve engulfs you in his arms and pulls the covers up to encase you in a warm embrace. His fingers lightly drawing patterns across your back, as he places another kiss to your forehead. You and him stay like this for the rest of the night, enjoying the comfortable silence. It takes Steve back to a time where all you two knew was silence amongst each other. Now, he doesn't mind it, especially if it leads to you curdled up in his arms. He's glad that you chose him to be your first and he's definitely going to make sure he's your last. No one touches his Angel, but him.

"Good night, Angel." He whispers into your ear, pulling you closer to him. "Night Stevie." You slowly drift off to a deep and peaceful sleep, knowing that Steve will be right there when you wake up.

Hope you enjoyed! 🤍

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 6

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, sexually charged conversations, teasing/banter. Smut, sex toys, minor bondage, spanking. A guest star of Anthony DiNozzo! I didn't really want to bring in a whole THIRD fandom into this but it ended up working out really nicely and I can play around with it in future chapters too! It feels like it's been ages since I've updated this so clearly the last week was a long one lol. Remember how I said I wanted to be a chapter ahead from now on with my series? Yeah that quickly did not happen. LOL. I'm gonna try to keep up with it, and I promise y'all won't wait longer than a week between chapters, I just need to hunker down and write!

Working for Heather meant that you worked insane hours that could change at the drop of a hat, but it also meant that you could essentially make your own schedule whenever you wanted. You could do most of your job from home or a hotel, as long as you had Wi-Fi you were in the clear, you spent a lot of your time gallivanting around D.C to finish whatever tasks you needed to. Shuffling your schedule around constantly meant that you were more than given the liberty to a Thursday afternoon off and that is exactly why you were meandering down Wisconsin Avenue with Tony in tow. Some of your friends questioned why you always went shopping with him, but the truth was he knew style, understood expensive taste, always told the truth if something looked bad and the entire experience was more efficient. If you went out with your girlfriends on a shopping spree you got dragged into twelve stores you needed nothing from and had to wait while they tried on countless amounts of outfits. With Tony the most that would happen would you’d have some extra browsing time at L. Priori because he got distracted by the watches.

“You got some big White House party coming up or something?” He asked, taking a sip of the coffee you’d bought him earlier.

“Huh?” You glanced over your shoulder as you picked up the small bag, “no.”

“We’ve done jewels, we’ve done shoes,” he pushed the door open for you, holding it while you crossed through the entry way and back out onto the street, “you dropped off three dresses for alterations and looked through the catalogue of what’s coming in…”

“I just want to revamp my closet a little bit, make sure I’m prepared for summer, you know how many extra garden parties I end up at.”

“And your boss is okay with that amount of cleavage?” He asked with a smirk and you rolled your eyes, “I think you’re bullshitting me.”

“I got a little carried away doing spring cleaning and tossed half my closet.” You bluffed, “I work so much I forgot I actually wore the other shit and now need to replace it.” Veering off to the side your hand tugged open the door to Jaryam and Tony followed you inside.

“When’s your next date?” He asked with a grin.

“I never said anything about a date.”

“Then why did you just drag me into a lingerie store?”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “I didn’t drag you anywhere, you love this shit. I just want some new pieces; you’ve got the right eye for colour and the masculine fetishistic imagination to tell me which ones I’ll look the best in.”

He chuckled darkly, not bothering to disagree with you as you made your way further into the shop, he was a pace behind you, fiddling with a price tag when he scoffed and you turned back to him with a raised brow, “I’ve heard you complain about the prices in Victoria’s Secret and that’s got nothing on this, a thong for a hundred and fifty dollars?”

“It’s… about the quality.” You shrugged, “thirty dollars for a scrap of fabric that falls apart in a month made in a sweatshop isn’t a good investment.” You picked up the pair that he was looking at, reading through the tag, “something hand stitched made with quality fabric that’s going to last? Worth it.”

“Hmm.” He replied, surveying you for a minute as you put the thong back on the rack, “you know, I noticed when you picked up the coffee that you used a black card…”

“You’re really working those sleuthing skills today, aren’t ya?” You teased back with a grin, moving onto a wall of lace bras.

“It’s not exactly a difficult mystery.” He smirked, following you, “fancy shoes, nice jewels, new clothes, expensive lingerie,” you turned back to face him, an unimpressed look on your face and he practically caged you into the wall, “who’s your daddy?”

“Ew, Tony, fuck off.” You groaned, shoving at his chest as he laughed, “coffee and meals can be turned into a write off. I used Heather’s card.”

“Bah! Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll just run your financials when I get back to the office.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, “they call you a very Special Agent DiNozzo?”

“Why yes, yes they do.” He smiled, getting a little smug about it and you shook your head at him.

“Then explain to me how running my financials would let you in on whose card I’m using.” You asked, watching as he opened his mouth to give you some witty response but he couldn’t find one, gaping for a minute before he let out a defeated huff and you tugged him in the other direction, “now c’mon, I know you have a good eye for lingerie.”

“Now that, I will not deny.” He replied with a smile and you did roll your eyes as he followed you deeper into the shop.

You combed through practically every shelf in the place, trying to figure out what kind of styles you were going to settle on before Tony started to share his opinions. He reminded you how good blue looked on you when you picked up a soft pink set and suggested the lace florals over lace butterflies. You were narrowing it down between a handful of choices and he was quick to intervene when he noticed you were eliminating all the variation.

“Wait,” he cut in, swiping the one you were trying to put back on the shelf, “keep that one. Get rid of this one.” He plucked the peach set from your collection, tossing it into the return pile.

“It’s cute!” You protested.

“Exactly. Everything you’re keeping is ‘cute’, you’re playing it too safe and I know that’s not you. The lilac one is the nicest, little hint of lace for a bonus, so get it.” He started flicking through the rack you had your favourites on, “keep the teal one for the crystals, plus it matches that pair of heels you bought. The rest of this batch can go but add these to your buying list.” He picked up a lacy black and red set that was mostly see through and included a garter belt, handing it off to you, and a gorgeous deep green set. “That’ll look great with your skin,” his brow furrowed for a second as he examined it, “wait it’s not your size, you’re what?” His eyes were suddenly on you and you groaned,

“Stop staring at my tits.” You stated dryly as he turned around, grabbing another one of the green set from the shelf.

“Thirty four C, right?”

“I don’t know whether I should be impressed or grossed out that you were able to figure that out.”

“They don’t call me Very Special Agent DiNozzo for nothing.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m going to go try these on.” You scooped up the remaining sets, “not for your viewing pleasure! Occupy yourself.”

You weren’t surprised in the least when all of Tony’s recommendations were right and you were happy to be leaving with a variety of options. Returning from the dressing room you found him near the till looking through accessories and he shot you a cocky grin as you placed all of his choices down on the counter. You shuffled the shopping bags in your hand over to the other one,

“Can you hold this?” You asked, handing him your purse as you pulled Emily’s card from within it, passing it off to the cashier. Once the purchase was completed and the cashier was wrapping up the lingerie, she placed the card down on the counter and out of the corner of your eye you saw Tony making a move for it, managing to swipe it up before he could get to it.

“Hey!” You swatted the back of his head and he grimaced.

“Ow. That was worse than Gibbs.” He muttered.

“You fuck around and you’ll find out.” You returned but he was too busy on his phone to really pay attention.

You took your purse back from him, tossing it over your shoulder as you thanked the clerk and added the bag of lingerie to the others with your shopping and the two of you made your way back onto the street. You jumped when Tony’s fingers prodded at your side, digging into your ribs.

“C’mon… let me know something, please.” He batted his eyes at you, “I just helped you pick lingerie; I deserve to know something. Doctor? Artist? App developer? Congressman?”

“Nope, nope, nope and hard nope.” You replied with a huff and he groaned so you finally turned back to him, stalling in your steps, “what I will tell you, is that she most definitely outranks NCIS, so you can officially drop it.”

“Ohoho… a new lady friend…” It was his turn to slow in his tracks, eyes lingering in the window of the next shop, “you need any special accessories for that?”

“Tony you’re insane if you think I’m taking you into a sex toy store.”

“Meh, doesn’t really matter since you’ve already covered that step.” He grinned and your brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Swiped your phone and went through your emails.” With a laugh he tossed the device back to you as you let out a gasp, “peach flavoured lube, nice. Nipple clamps? Kinky, didn’t realize you were into that kinda pain.” That earned him a hard punch on the arm, “but that double sided dildo with vibration? Now that sounds like a real party.”

“Anothony DiNozzo!” You scolded and he let out a small whine of a scoff, gesturing toward the sex store.

“I’m the perfect person to give sex toy recommendations, c’mon.” He protested and you sighed.

“Tony. You are a straight man. What could you possibly known about sex toys for me to use with another woman?”

“One of those wand things, Hibachi?”

“That’s Japanese barbecue, but nice try.”

“The wands!”

“You’re going for Hitachi.”

“Close enough!” He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands, “the big one’s better but I think they sell smaller ones too, more portable.” He waggled his eyebrows at you and you sighed.

“Think? Tony, pull your head outta your ass. Any self respecting person with a clit already owns one of those.”

“Really?” He smirked at you and you did your best not to groan.

“I’ve got three, a mini pink, a mini green and the big one, which yes, is far superior. Can we go now?”

“Fine.” He groaned, feigning annoyance, “you dragging me to a nail appointment next?”

“No, I was gonna buy you a late lunch.”

“You were? Or is your mommy dearest gonna buy lunch.” He exaggerated the word, nearly moaning as he said it and you immediately grimaced.

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

“Yup, that one felt wrong coming out. My bad, that’s on me.”

**

Emily turned down dessert service, asking for the cheque instead as she gave the server a soft smile, picking up her cocktail once again as she turned back to you. In turn, you finished your drink, placing the glass down on the table as you stood, your hand coming to squeeze at Emily’s thigh softly as your lips brushed against her cheek.

“Give me a five minute head start, I’ve got a surprise for you.” You scooped up your phone, shooting Emily a wink as you sauntered away from the table in the direction of the elevator.

Her eyes followed you through the entrance of the lounge, narrowing in on your ass as you pushed the elevator button and the sparks began to fly through her body. It hadn’t been a particularly long week, but it was very safe to say that you had been on her mind more often than not. Images of your naked body strewn across the bed floating into her brain, making her cheeks flush while she was torturously bored with paperwork. A too long tedious conference call lead to her zoning out, daydreaming all the things she wanted to do to you, the noises you made echoing through her mind. It was almost a given that night that she had a rather self soothing shower when she got home, pulling her laptop out when she finally crawled into bed to take a look at what fun things she could buy to occupy your time with in the future weekends.

Emily settled the bill, slowly draining the rest of her cocktail until she was certain she’d given you enough time to do whatever it was you had planned before she finally left the restaurant. The key card beeped against the lock and she stepped inside the suite, letting the door swing shut behind her before she made sure it was locked. She stepped out of her heels, dropping her purse on the side table in the entry way before rounding the bed into the suite, catching a glimpse of you laid out on the bed and her lips twitched up into a grin.

“Well that certainly is a welcome sight.”

“Yeah?” You asked, sitting up and shifting onto your knees, “you see something you like?”

“I see plenty I like.” She walked up to the foot of the bed as you crawled on your knees to greet her, your hands settling on her hips as one of hers curled around the back of your neck, pulling your lips to hers for a kiss.

Her tongue easily slipped into your mouth when you let out a satisfied groan, both of you relaxing into the kiss, lips dancing with grace against each other. Her hand slipped into your hair, pulling out the pins to let it fall loose around your shoulders, pulling at it lightly. When her teeth scraped against your lip you couldn’t help but moan, your hands drifting up her body as you slowly began to unbutton her shirt. She broke the kiss to help you untuck the fabric from her pants, letting it drop to the floor behind her before her fingers began to trace the lines of the teal lingerie set, floating over the gems decorating your chest.

“You like the crystals?” You asked, small grin on your lips and she nodded.

“They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re Swarovski.” You replied with a near smirk and she let out a huff of a laugh.

“You really went all in, hey?”

“Just wanted to make sure I looked nice and pretty for you.” You shrugged coyly and she chuckled, giving you a once over.

“Well you do.” She leant down, kissing you gently before her hands nudged at your shoulders, “you’re not the only one who brought something fun, lie back princess.”

“I noticed.” You replied, a gleam in your eye as you dropped into the pillows, an arm extending to the nightstand where you picked up a silk tie, “multifaceted, curious as to what your intentions are.”

“First…” Emily rounded the side of the bed, “I want to see what’s under that gorgeous bra.” She nodded at you and you sat up, hands flying behind you to unclip it, gently tossing it to the side, “good girl.” She plucked the fabric from your hands, picking up a longer one from the nightstand before kneeling on the bed. “Give me your hands.” She instructed and you held your hands out for her, wrists gently pressed together as she began to wind the fabric around them, “is this okay?”

“Absolutely.” You replied, looking up at her with darkening eyes as she tightened the silk.

“Do you have a word?”

“I’m fond of peach.”

“Perfect.” With a wicked grin she placed a gentle kiss on your wrist before guiding you to lie back with your arms over your head and she looped the shorter piece through your bonds, securing the other end to the golden bar of the headboard. “No surprises there.” She purred as she slid off the bed, letting out a satisfied hum as her eyes dragged over your body.

“Hm?” You raised a brow, watching as she moved back to a spare chair.

“Just how pretty you look tied up like that.” Emily tossed a grin over her shoulder, “but you are going to need to roll over for the second part of your treat.”

You nearly let out a whine when her hands came to her belt buckle, eager to be able to see both what was coming next and what she had under her clothes. Instead of risking it you decided to behave, rolling onto your stomach, your arms stretching over your head as you twisted it to the side, just barely able to see Emily under your arm. She had busied herself with getting rid of her clothing, a neat pile forming on the small bench next to her bag as she pulled out the strap, swiftly stepping into it and securing it around her hips. Your mouth was practically watering already and then she reached into her bag again, pulling out a crop with a cute little heart on the end and you had to hold back a moan.

Emily could see the way your body tensed, how your hips ground down into the bed as she reapproached it and a dark chuckle escaped her lips. Kneeling on the bed behind you her hand grasped your ankle, spreading your legs further apart and you did your best to arch your back, presenting yourself to her.

“Such obedience.” She murmured, letting the crop lightly trace up your inseam as you let out an airy breath.

Emily slowly trailed the crop up and down your legs, just the slightest hint of touch that she knew you were absolutely begging for in your head. She could see the way your body twitched whenever it got close to the heat between your legs and a wicked grin took over her lips. The crop finally came up over the swell of your ass, softly circling and tracing patterns on your skin and you finally let out a whine. Since this was the first time you’d actually made a louder noise, Emily figured this was the time to both give in and start to really tantalize you now. She raised the crop, swatting it down onto your ass and you let out a low moan.

“You like that?”

“Mmhmm.” You eagerly nodded into the pillows and the crop trailed across to the other cheek, repeating the circles before coming down harder on that side and your breath caught in your throat.

“Ohh…” Your fingers interlaced, squeezing tightly, “harder, please.”

“My little princess likes it rough.” Emily husked from behind you, “somehow I’m not that surprised.”

The crop came down on the same spot harder than the first before she flicked it over your other cheek, swatting just as hard, watching the way your body reacted, jolting at the touch before grinding your cunt down onto the bed. She brought the head of the crop between your legs, pushing the fabric of your panties into your pussy, rubbing the leather up and down your folds as you moaned, arching into the touch.

“Fuuckk…”

Emily chuckled darkly, bringing the crop up before hitting your ass with more force, smirking at the louder moans leaving your lips, the way you were pulling against your bonds, wishing your hands were free. The sounds of the spanks echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls as your moans grew louder and longer, every time the crop was brought down onto your body it grew from a tingle to a pleasurable burn. Emily continued to trail the leather across your skin, occasionally her hand gently rubbing across the spot to sooth the burn, little praises and coos leaving her lips. The tingles each time she spanked you began to build, growing together with each hit of the crop until there was a fire building right under your skin, whimpers and whines leaving your lips as you buried your face into the pillows. Every swat of the crop made your entire body shiver and you were nearly about to start begging for more when she moved it back between your legs.

“You really like this, hmm?” She asked, pressing it against your cunt again, “making such a big wet spot on these nice panties.” She rubbed it harder against you, watching the way your wetness continued to soak the fabric, “you know, I’d take them off and stuff them in your mouth if you didn’t make such pretty noises…”

You groaned softly, your hips rocking back toward the touch, a little whimper leaving your throat when the crop nearly rubbed against your clit. Emily hummed softly, lifting the crop up before bringing it back down, this time onto your pussy and you couldn’t help the noise that escaped you.

“Oh fuucck…” Your head buried deeper into the pillows, your eyes scrunching shut as you felt your pussy fluttering around nothing, your clit nearly pulsing already, juices smearing across your underwear.

Emily’s hands grasped at your hips, flipping you onto your back watching as your legs instinctively fell open for her to see the growing wet spot on your panties. She brought the crop back to your cunt, rubbing it harder against you as you started to whine, resulting in another swat that brought a gasp from your lips.

“You like this even more, don’t you princess?” She asked with a grin and you nodded, “you want your pussy spanked too?” Spank. “Think you can come from just this?” Spank.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “more, please.”

“Always such nice manners.” She praised, her fingers slipping into the waistband of your thong, tugging the fabric down your legs and tossing it behind her. Her hands soothed up your legs, spreading them even further apart from each other as her thumbs dared to brush the edges of your cunt. “Such a pretty pussy. God you’re just fucking drenched already.”

Emily picked the crop back up, rubbing it through your slick folds, pressing harder as she brought it to your clit.

“Please.” You whimpered and she chuckled softly.

The first hit was on the gentle side, her eyes tracing up your naked body, watching your face for any sign of discomfort but all she found was a look of sheer pleasure. Your eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as breathy moans escaped them, it was all she needed to bring the crop down even harder the next time.

“Fuck.” Your body twitched off the bed, cunt pulsing as more juices dribbled out of it.

“That’s it princess.” Spank. “You’re doing so good for me.” Spank.

“Oh god…” Your hands clutched at the silk ties as your body shivered, pleasure building higher and higher with each time the crop hit your cunt.

“I know you’re close.” Spank. “Just a few more.” Spank. “Pussy’s so wet.” Spank. “Let go for me.” Spank.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your back arching off the bed, pulling against the restraints as your orgasm shot through you, pussy pulsating around nothing as your juices dripped onto the bedspread.

“That’s it.” Emily cooed, the crop gently rubbing against your cunt, smearing your wetness all around it and your thighs. “So pretty when you come for me.”

“Please…” you whimpered, “need you.”

“You want more?” She asked, gently spanking your pussy again and you whined.

“No, please! Need your cock.” You were absolutely begging, pussy fluttering, feeling so entirely empty. Despite the powerful orgasm you needed to be filled, stretched around Emily to finally feel completely satisfied.

“So needy tonight.” Emily teased, dropping the crop to the side as she climbed over you, running the tip of the toy through your folds, “this what you want?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded furiously, “please.”

“Alright.”

Emily didn’t hesitate, knowing you were absolutely drenched she sunk her cock fully into you until her hips met yours and you let out a very satisfied moan. She pulled back just enough to sneak her hand between your bodies, turning on the vibration on the base of the toy, just against her clit and a breathy sigh escaped her lips. She rolled her hips, pulling out until just the tip was left inside you and set a steady pace, fucking you thoroughly. Each thrust of her hips had your body twitching up off the bed, pulling against your restraints as you ached to touch her, pleasure shooting through your limbs.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “feels so good.”

Each thrust of her cock the head brushed right over your g-spot, pulling louder moans from you each time as your pussy began to clench down around her. You could feel your juices smearing across both of your bodies as she fucked deeper into you, picking up the pace as she knew you were getting close again.

“Are you going to come again for me angel?” She cooed, her hands gliding up your body to toy with your nipples, pinching them and rolling them in time with her thrusts.

“S-s’close.” You moaned, your hips rocking up off the bed to meet hers with each thrust.

Your hands tugged against the silk ties again, gasping when Emily’s lips wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking it into her mouth for her tongue to flick patterns across it. The double, nearly triple sensation if you counted the vibrations hitting your clit each time your bodies met was nearly too much, your pussy making almost more noise than the ones coming from your mouth. All you could do was whimper and whine, your head too fuzzy to get actual words to come out, the coil inside you got tighter and tighter until Emily’s teeth sunk into your chest and it burst through you.

“Fuck!”

Your body trembled, the tingles shooting all the way from the tips of your fingers to the tips of your toes as Emily continued to fuck you. Her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a low swear, now focused on chasing her own release. She sunk fully into you, pressing the vibrating part of the toy directly against her clit and it gave you the opportunity to roll your hips against hers, grinding the base harder onto her. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as your eyes scrunched shut, another orgasm bursting through you from the sensation and Emily let out a soft cry.

“Oh god.” Her hand slipped between your bodies, switching the vibrations off before she sat up.

Emily panted slightly, attempting to catch her breath as she reached out, swiftly undoing the ties and your arms were finally free to drop to the bed. You let out a soft groan, flexing your hands before Emily caught them in hers, examining your wrists to make sure you hadn’t pulled too hard and hurt yourself. Once satisfied that you hadn’t she let them drop and shifted on her knees, slipping out of you and watching your juices dribble onto the bed.

“Mmm…” you sighed, your lips curving up into a grin.

“What?” She asked with a raised brow.

“That was hot.” You replied, “kinda wish you could come inside me though.”

“Well…” she leant over you, kissing you before nipping at your lower lip, “I’m sure that can be arranged for next time.”

_____________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @honeyycatt @trauma-factory @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sires-blog

[ronearoundblindly]

How does mermaid reader feel about Steve? Like what is her take on their relationship?

just fair warning if you keep writing I’m gonna keep asking questions lol.

I...don't know what happened with this, but it was kinda fun! (unedited, not long, no real warnings except, yeah, he's a human and you're a mermaid, semi-angsty fluff!!)

Steve Rogers x deep sea mermaid!Reader from Sun, Salt, and Shield

Steve is a novelty.

Originally, you just considered him a split-tail with a crown of morning sunlight and high-ocean eyes. Later on, you learned it's called 'hair,' but a closer translation based on how mermaids see it is a 'mane.' Steve has a golden mane--something no one in your species has--hence, you think of it as a crown.

You were caged when you first saw him. That made you assume certain things when Steve walked up to the Raft's tank. Even in near darkness, his mane is bright. No other person you've encountered so far has that.

You're curious, frankly, but on-guard as always.

When humans are deprived of sleep, they can hallucinate, and mermaids are no different. You thought he was a complete figment of your imagination until Stark interacted with him, until Steve stepped into the water and put pressure across your heart and hips. The push of his hand, forcing your head against his chest, could have made you howl in relief.

All you wanted was to rest, but something in the back of your mind also told you not to scare him.

Stark, you don't mind scaring, Chuck is right where he belongs, excreted out into the industrial filters beyond the wall of your tank, but Steve? He must be protected.

He sees you. He listens to you.

You did not thing surfacers could do that. Not really. Not nicely. All humans want to do is control and take, use and abuse. However, you aren't afraid of them. You absolutely can kill any one of them that gets closer than you'd like. They're fragile.

But the way Steve grips you? Maybe he's not so fragile...

English is freaking hard. You learn quite a bit from Tony and then practice with Steve. You can feel his patience but love earning his admiration more. You find yourself wanting him to be proud of you and your progress.

You love making Steve laugh. It takes so long to figure out how to amuse him.

Numbers are a pain in the ass to learn because they have a concept, a symbol, and a written word. That's the point Tony halts teaching you to read alongside the verbal language. You threw a fit. He threw a fit. He left in a huff to cool off. You shrieked for Steve to come back for hours.

Eventually, when Tony returns, you threaten to eat him, and he calls it quits for the day.

Tony knew you favored Steve Rogers from day one. He planned to use that knowledge--and to some lesser extent, he did--but soon Tony simply realizes making you happy makes Steve happy...plus you cooperate and become an ambassador of sorts in your home realm.

You keep learning for Steve, not for Stark.

Mermen are, in your experience, domineering and uninspired. Their immense size differential to mermaids is useful to the brute-force model of society deep in the ocean, but they are boring. Your father is not stupid though. Almost none of them are stupid. Simple-minded remains the best translation you can manage.

Steve fascinates you. His attention to detail, his open nature, and his empathy are entirely new to you.

Mermen don't hide their baser instincts, so they freely ogle and flocked toward the most physiologically attractive mermaids. No interest in what's beneath the surface, ironically. Very shallow.

That's not to say bonds aren't possible. They absolutely are. Bonding with a partner is secondary at best, an afterthought most often, and unnecessary at worst.

Yet again, Steve wins you on every level--he has a sharp mind and acknowledges yours, he challenges your development without critique, and, lastly, he's quite attractive for how small and smooth he is.

"Should've seen me before," he once mumbled after you explained all that as well as your vocabulary would allow.

You don't know what he meant by that.

Because a certain level of indifference is common in couplings of your species, you were quite alarmed, embarrassed, and uncomfortable with how deep your affection for Steve became. You know how other humans react to you, and it doesn't build much confidence that one of them could feel this way about you.

During these long, repeated hugs with Steve, you realize that it's not just curiosity, or the novelty of his existence, or interest in learning from him: you feel about Steve how others feel about their mates.

Not gonna lie: that's terrifying. You don't actually know if Steve reciprocates. Sure, he explains human couples in great detail, and he shows you some of what he means, but all that could be...part of teaching you.

Until Steve discusses kissing, you convinced yourself he could not possibly harbor romantic affection for you.

It's lips against something, he says, that's all. His lips can press anywhere and boom! you've been kissed. He illustrates by kissing the back of your hand, kissing your cheek, kissing your forehead.

By now, your face is cradled in his hands. You can hear his heart racing as he sits on the steps in your pool and leans toward your body. His high-ocean eyes are shadowed as he looks down your face, captivated by--

"--your beautiful lips," he says, gently pressing his atop yours.

It's difficult to describe why something so simple hits so dramatically in your mind. The golden-maned man, almost the strongest of his species, amongst the softest of yours, kisses you like he needs to learn you, like he needs your existence, like he's curious.

There's a phrase you hum at the back of your throat once he releases you and sits up, a dusty rose painting his neck and cheeks.

"Swim beside me."

The better translation to English would be "I love you," but you haven't learned that yet.

Thank you for asking!

A/N: why am I crying?????

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[navymaverick]

I'm here to do my daily Steve Rogers defending because Steve haters are driving me out of my mind like

"he's been through nothing"

LITERALLY SHUT UP BECAUSE WHAT this man spent his entire childhood being bullied for something he COULD NOT CONTROL, he was on the brink of death 99% of the time and THEN after his only friend went away because he had to fight in the war he managed to illegally enlist in the army JUST TO BE USED AS A SCIENCE EXPERIMENT AND WHILE YES, HE DID THAT BIT WILLINGLY HE WAS LITERALLY TURNED INTO A POSTER BOY, NOTHING MORE THAN A MERE ACTION FIGURE/SUPERHERO OF AMERICA WHO MORE OR LESS JUST CONSTANTLY GOT SEXUALISED, THEN HE FOUND OUT HIS BEST AND ONLY FRIEND MIGHT BE *DEAD* AND NO-ONE WOULD EVEN BOTHER TO TRY AND SAVE HIM SO HE WENT AND SAVED HIM AND THE OTHERS ON HIS OWN, JUST TO LOSE HIM AGAIN ALMOST IMMEDIATELY AFTER, CRASH A PLANE TO SAVE PEOPLE (AGAIN), GET FROZEN IN ICE FOR 70 YEARS WHERE HE THEN GOT A WEEK TO FIGURE OUT HE'S IN A COMPLETELY NEW WORLD BEFORE HE GOT FORCED TO BE A POSTER-BOY SUPERHERO AGAIN WITH NO ONE BOTHERING TO THINK THAT MAYBE, JUST MAYBE THIS MAN MIGHT POSSIBLY HAVE FEELINGS AND COULD USE THERAPY AFTER BEING IN WAR AND WAKING UP IN A COMPLETELY NEW WORLD, THEN HE FOUND OUT HIS BEST FRIEND WHO WAS PRESUMED DEAD IS, IN FACT, ALIVE BUT ALSO SURPRISE NOW HE'S BRAINWASHED AND WANTS TO KILL YOU AND YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN TO SAVE HIM WHICH *WILL* IN FACT GET YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS IN A FIGHT.

Not to mention that that man is borderline suicidal and impulsive as hell the whole time AND NO ONE FUCKING NOTICES (neither do they with Bruce who straight up tells them he tried to kill himself but that's a rant for another time)

And for anyone, ANYONE who dares to be like "oh he took Howard's attention away from Tony." LITERALLY HOW CAN YOU SET THE BLAME FOR ANYTHING THAT HAPPENED TO TONY ON STEVE. STEVE DID NOT ASK FOR HOWARD'S ATTENTION OR WEIRD OBSESSION WITH HIM, STEVE IS NOT THE REASON TONY'S PARENTS GOT KILLED AND NEITHER IS BUCKY AND WHILE YEAH, I GET WHY TONY WAS ANGRY IN THAT SCENE HIS ANGER WAS COMPLETELY MISPLACED AND ONCE AGAIN, YOU CAN'T BLAME STEVE FOR THAT.

The only genuinely shitty thing was his ending and even that a) doesn't happen in the comics and b) was just shitty writing in the movies and completely out of character.

Thank you.

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter nine: truth, dare, spin bottles

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER EIGHT: TWENTY STITCHES IN A HOSPITAL ROOM

warnings: language, self-deprecation, negative thought and talk, fatshaming (past experience, not Bucky), alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries inflicted in ch8

word count: 3.9k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella

A/N: YAY this was an amazing chapter to write -- the last scene in this chapter was what I had in mind when I named this series! I love every single one of u who have reblogged, liked, commented. it means so much to me. also, the instance of fatshaming mentioned in this chapter is almost verbatim a very real experience that happened to me, so pls don't be horrible about it, its literal trauma I carry with me. anyways--enjoy! next chapter is the fluff filled, sexual tension at its peak, chapter that'll be the most coveted and awaited!

“Bucky!” You exclaim as quietly as you can, trying to not disturb Nat who’s just gotten some well earned sleep. The rest of the infirmary is empty, and you’re glad that means nobody is around to witness your incoming breakdown. The waterworks start again, flowing down your face in relief. He’s not dead, he’s not in a coma. He’s your Bucky and he’s safe and alive. 

“Hey doll, come on now. No need to cry, is there?” It kills him to watch you sob, and he raises a hand to brush those tears away, but winces. Something is restricting him, and then he looks down and remembers. The blood, the bullets, the metallic taste still coating his mouth.

“Yes there is! You almost died on me.” 

“How could I die when I have such a sweet woman trying her best to give me a praise kink?” He smiles then, and even though he looks tired as shit, you can tell he’s on the mend. The poison was potent but its effects were definitely reversible. 

You laugh at that, taking his vibranium hand that’s closest to you and pressing a kiss to it. “Well I had to stop you dying somehow. If I can turn you on, maybe you could focus on your raging boner instead of wanting to sleep, right?” You laugh again, wiping your tears as his hand cups your face, stroking your cheek in pure adoration.

“Did—Did I really have a boner, doll?”

“I’m not sure, love. I was a bit more focused on the gallons of blood you were losing.” His gaze travels down your form, and you know he’s checking for any injuries as you stroke the inside of his wrist in reassurance.

“I’m alright Buck.” Then he sees your hand, and the taste in his mouth sours as he remembers it’s origins.

“Your hand…I did that. I did that to you.” He retracts his hand, pulling himself away from you and into his most familiar mindset, where he’s convinced he’s a monster and a murderer. You have to pull him out again, you need him next to you.

“Bucky.” You keep your voice firm. “Bucky, no. You didn’t do this to me. It was necessary, the situation called for it. And I’m completely okay. I got it looked at, and it’s not that bad.”

“How many stitches?”

“Buck—.”

“How many stitches?” You can see him shake, horrified at what he’s done. But he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Six.” His eyes water, and you try to wipe them away.

“No, don’t touch me. Doll, I hurt you, I’m a monster, please don’t touch me.” You know he’s not, you want to bring him back. Back to the Bucky you know, and love. Your heart aches at his words, knowing he’s depriving the both of you some much needed comfort.

“No, you’re not. Bucky, look at me. I love you. You’re my best friend. You were in pain, you needed to be stitched up, and based on the level of poisons in your system, you couldn’t have dealt with that level of pain, especially because of the antidote already kicking your ass. We didn’t have any towels or clean cloth for you, which is my fault, I should’ve checked it before we left. You’re not a monster, Buck. You never have been. You never will be, not to me. You’re not a monster.” His eyes soften and when you reach to dry his tears, he doesn’t stop you. All he needed was reassurance from you, and his resolve quickly crumbles.

You’re gentle, well aware of his vulnerability. You decide to change the topic, speaking in a much more hopeful voice.

“Once you’re better, me and Nat made plans for all of us to go out for drinks and celebrate, because we got what we needed. You did good, love. You just saved the entire nation from God knows what H— that organisation had up their sleeve. You’re a hero. Well, you always have been. But you’re a damn hero, Bucky, and I’m so damn proud of you.” He begins to sob and shake, and you hold his hand. “Would you like to go out with us?” He nods, and you smile.

“Come here, doll. You need to get some rest, you’ve been so busy tending to me, and crying.” He shuffles over with a smile, making room for you in his cot. And you can’t deny it, can’t deny the heavy exhaustion taking over your body at even the mention of sleep past his lips. “You’re my safe place, you know that? I couldn’t sleep a wink without knowing you were okay. I think this is why they don’t let us treat our loved ones back where I’m from. Because the sight of you broke me so bad I almost couldn’t do anything.” You curl into his side, eyes closing as one hand rests on his chest, the other tucked around your own middle. You head rests comfortably against where metal meets flesh, and you absentmindedly press a kiss to one of his scars there. His hand brushes across the bandages, and it feels like if you were to unwrap them, your hand would be good as new. This is what his golden touch does to you, and you’re sick of denying it. Maybe when you go out for drinks in a couple of days, you’ll make your move. Or at least, express your interest.

“You’re my safe place too. I hope you know that. And that there’s nobody else I would’ve let touch me anyway, especially if you weren’t there to oversee it.” His scent grounds you, and you missed being able to feel the vibrations of his chest when he speaks. You miss him like you’ve not seen him in years. 

You let out a breath, and let yourself fall into sleep, murmuring “I do.”

He holds you tighter, and follows suit.

                                            ————————

You wonder if this is a bad idea. When Nat was dismissed and Wanda had come back from a weekend trip with Vision, you had organised to go out for drinks. 

And you’ve decided that you’re going to try flirting tonight. With Bucky, and hope he’ll pick up what you’re putting down and either politely turn you away (likely) or finally make the move. And not a quick peck on the lips before he almost dies, a proper, sweeping off of your feet, romcom worthy kiss.

When you’d first arrived in New York, you’d decided to put your beaten, broken heart in a cage, and throw the key into the closest filthy river. And yet, Bucky has bended the metal bars with impressive strength and reached for it. He’s patched it up piece by painstaking piece, and made it good as new. You were content in your self-made captivity, the cage was once just fine, until it wasn’t. Until the winter sprung forth with freedom hues, and your heart was just out of one jail into another. 

But at least the warden is a sweetheart, keeping your heart healthy and well-kept. Your bars are his ribs, and at least you can see the daylight from in here. 

You’ve decided to up your going-out outfit to the next level. A black dress covered in deep red roses, just the shade Bucky likes, that shows off a good amount of your cleavage and emphasises the curves of your body in a way you don’t mind. You pair it with a leather jacket, and heavy, dark makeup. It’s a little experimental, but not out of your comfort zone. You used to wear eyeliner and dark lipstick all the time, on almost-dates and never-fun nights out. 

You’d stopped going all together, preferring to stay indoors, in your house, where no man can passively show you just how much prettier he finds your friends, or how much they’d prefer if you just lost a little weight. 

Safe to say, you haven’t experienced nights out in New York. And you can’t even get drunk at the moment, seeing as your hand is yet to heal. You’re just lucky it’s your non-dominant hand, so you were able to do this makeup look to yourself with a few tips and tricks from Nat. You smooth down the dress while adjusting the bangles on your wrist and the wolf emblem glinting against the very top of your breasts. You smile, dark red lips stretching back at you in the mirror.

You know once you step out of the house, and see almost any other woman who’s put a lot less effort into her appearance and somehow looks ten times better than you, you won’t feel pretty. Not even one bit. You’ll know, that even the way you look with the most effort is a million times uglier than anyone else at their worst.

But right now, you feel good. Pretty, even. You turn, watching Nat and Wanda watch you as they’ve already gotten ready and are waiting for you. Everyone in this room is aware of what your plans are.

“Alright, girls. Do I look good—I mean, do I look okay?” For a minute your past traumas flash before your eyes. 

Adjusting a necklace, turning to someone you love and trust, asking if you look good. They reply with “It’s okay, but it would be better if you reduced your volume.” Cruelly mentioning your weight, and then the whole night spent with tears streaming down your face and having to blame it on allergies. You swallow, even the mere thought of that experience almost making a large lump appear in your throat. Why are you thinking of that? It must be the nerves.

“Okay? Girl, you look drop-dead gorgeous. Hell, if you weren’t so down bad for Bucky, I would’ve asked you out in a heartbeat. Absolute heart-stealer.” Nat grins, eyeing you up and down. You know she’s just being nice, but it makes your heart swell all the same.

“Yeah, and if me and Vision weren’t so madly in love I would ask you to run away with me. Fuck, what are you doing later?” All the three of you laugh.

You have a history with having things like this said to you as a joke, but it’s never been so well-intended. While your self-esteem is mildly intact, you thank the both of them.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys there. Bucky’s taking me on his motorcycle.” You grab your maroon purse and head out to the front. Bucky’s dressed in all black, leaning against his motorcycle. Dear God, he looks so sexy. He’s typing something on his phone looking all angry, eyebrows furrowed. The moonlight paints him in the most glorious shades, of black and brown and glimmering gold. Home. That’s what he looks like, to you. Home. No longer a place thats an ocean and half a country away. This man, this super soldier, in whose presence you’ve felt like you belonged more in these past few months, than a lifetime over there.

Your chest fills with pride, and you can’t stop yourself.

“You showing off that metal arm tonight?” You skip the last few steps, stopping in front of him. You’re lucky you didn’t trip, it’s the first time you’ve worn heels in ages. Another memento of a time, of a version of you long gone.

He looks up from his phone, and his jaw goes slack. His eyes follow your figure up and down, mouth still hanging open.

“Doll—I, um, you—.” You put you hand on his shoulder, drawing his cerulean eyes up and straight on your lips. He licks his own, and everything flies out the window. A hot pressure ties itself to your lower belly, and you feel your face flush. 

You do have his attention after all.

You smile, looking up at him and grinning like a devil. He’s still at a loss for words, even as you squeeze his bicep. 

“Bucky…Should we get going or are you planning to stare at my mouth all night?” Your head tilts to the side, and it seems to snap him out of whatever daydreams he’s been conducting in his mind, so vivid they bring a pink glow to his cheeks.

“I—Yeah. Yes, let’s…let’s go. Where are we going?” You laugh at his stupor, walking over to his motorcycle and running your hands along the worn leather seat. For a moment, you think about all of the other girls that must have sat behind him, gripping onto him and pretending to be scares, when in reality they just want to cop a feel.

You wonder if you’re half as pretty as any of them, to him, at least. “This is an amazing bike, Buck. Incredibly sexy.” When you look up, you notice him watching you. You flash him your signature sweet smile, and he finally approaches the bike, putting his hands dangerously close to yours.

“Not nearly half as sexy as you. You look—Well, you can probably guess by my lack of words, but—You look gorgeous, doll. Truly. I—.”

“Thank you.” His demeanour finally cracks, a small smile appearing on his face when he realises you’re not fighting him. He wordlessly hands you a helmet, and clips it on for you, warm hands lingering under your chin. 

“Hold on tight, doll.” And then he zooms as fast as he can, with the wind blowing in your hair feeling incredible, even though you clutch onto his middle for dear life.

Your favourite part is when he stops at traffic lights to reach behind him and cheekily run his fingers along your knees and the very lower parts of your thighs, and somehow, you’ve never felt more wanted in your entire life.

Always a compliment or a cheeky joke on his tongue the entire way there— it makes your insides swirl, wondering if it truly can be that your feeling are the 10 to his 0.1.

God, you hope so. 

“Hey, Buck, can we talk tonight? After we come back?” You say to him, just as he’s unfastening your helmet and storing it back in his bike, not without admiring you shaking out your hair, running your fingers through it to tame the horrible case of helmet hair you’re sure you’re having.

“Yeah, sure doll. You don’t need to ask.” His voice is so soft, and you almost melt into a fucking puddle at his feet.

Great. That’s when you’ll make your move. You two are the last to arrive, as usual, and you casually slip your arms around one of Bucky’s, gripping him tightly to you like he’s your man, fingers intertwining undeniably. For the purpose of the illusion, your poor heart goes along with it. 

He visibly stiffens and so just before you walk into the dive bar, you stop him and lean in to whisper into his ear. You don’t mean for your voice to drop an octave with your volume, but it so happens. “Buck, darling. I can stop, if you want. All you have to do is say so, you know that, right?” You don’t miss the catch in his breath, the way his eyes flutter closed as he tries his best to retain his composure. 

“Please.” He turns his face toward you, and you don’t anticipate having your faces so close. You can see the golden flecks in his eyes, as pure as his soul and heart. You wonder where it is, knowing yours fully resides behind the bars of his ribcage. 

“Don’t stop,” he all but whispers and it takes a mountain’s worth of effort to conceal the moan slipping past your lips at his words. He’s done it on purpose, you’re sure.

The kiss has changed the fate of you and him, whether that be for worse or for better. You want him either way. 

You glance at his lips, and you notice how some of your lipstick has ended up just to the side of his ear from your sexual whispers. 

“Oh, sorry. My lipstick’s all—“

“Leave it. I want everyone in this bar to know who I’m with tonight.” His eyes find your lips again, no longer perfect from the smear decorating his face.

“You’re with me?”

“Always.” You want him. Desperately. To push him against the brick and mortar and kiss him like the world is ending tomorrow, and it makes your heart pick up. He notices, and you can feel the desire simmering in the air between the both of you. 

“Dear God guys, you can eyefuck each other later, now get in here.” Natasha’s voice distracts the both of you, heads whipping in comical synchronisation to stare at her bug-eyed, feeling caught by her crudeness. 

“We—I— We’re on our way.” You try and cover for the both of you, secretly dismayed by his dismissal of the notion. You try to not let your fears haunt the wonderful moment, even though they stand not too far off on the sidelines, waiting for the change of score so they can step into the limelight.

He didn’t let go of you the whole night. When everyone was a few drinks deep, he let his hand shift onto your thigh, staring at you like you might hate it. You’d grabbed his wrist and stroked the inside of it, knowing it’s his favourite way to be touched by you. 

And then the gang uses an empty beer bottle, spinning it on the tables in a juvenile game of truth or dare. You laugh at it, secretly holding Bucky’s hand under the table. You never got to play this game in school, too busy with work or studying and then getting to that sore age where it just feels So High School(derogatory).

But tonight, you are happy, free. Trying to access a version of you you’ve long discarded.

“Nurse!” Tony calls out, surprisingly sober despite being on his seventh bottle, whose neck is currently facing towards you. 

“Truth or Dare?” 

“Truth.”

“You like someone in this group, in this booth, don’t you?” You freeze. You can’t admit that, definitely not while holding that certain someone’s hand. “Well, it’s definitely not Steve.” Tony laughs, and you feel horrible for the poor blonde, now trying to hide his face in embarrassment. It seems alcohol opens old wounds when in Tony Stark’s system.

“Mr Stark.” Somehow, even fully sober you seem to have an air of confidence about you, mixing with your perfume. “That’s not very nice. How would you like it if someone made fun of when you used to hit on Ms Pepper and she rejected you? You know we’re all good friends here, there’s no need to be horrible to poor Steve, especially not just because he liked someone who doesn’t have the same feelings for him, but still cares deeply as a friend. It’s just not done, Mr Stark.”

You turn to Steve then, apology on the tip of your tongue. “Don’t worry about it, dear. Thank you for standing up for me.” He quickly touches your knee, careful to not let it linger seeing as he’s caught sight of your and Bucky’s intimate contact the second it began happening. “God, how’s she so respectful when telling me off?” Tony grumbles. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and you change the topic.

“I don’t want to complicate things right now, in front of anyone, so I won’t be answering. Dare.”

“Take three shots. I’ve heard you’re a drinker, and you haven’t touched a drop all night. Not fair, is it?” He leans back in his part of the booth, while you try your hardest to seem smaller, squashed between Steve and Bucky. 

You wonder how to answer without trying to seem like you’re chiding Bucky, because you truly do not blame him for your state. Thor replies for you, his voice booming.

“Can’t you see, the fair maiden has an injured hand, Stark. She should not be consuming any alcohol. Not a single drop.” You flash him a smile, even as you feel Bucky pulling away, and you just know the guilt is pulling him away. 

You quickly grab his hand tighter, keeping it on your thigh and making him meet your eye. 

Don’t blame yourself. You silently signal. 

I’ll try. He blinks back and you sigh, resting your chin on his shoulder for a split second in casual intimacy, and it makes him smile.

“Well yes. But also, Bucky’s not allowed to drink tonight either, so I thought I’d join him in solidarity.” It’s not a lie. One of the reasons you’ve been clinging to Bucky all night is to make sure he doesn’t drink alcohol. You know he’s a super soldier, you know you’d gotten him the antidote on time, and you’ve double checked his wounds at least twice in the past 24 hours just to know they’re nothing more than pink marks that’ll be gone by the time the sun rises tomorrow.

But you still worry. You still want to be safe, not wanting to take any risks. Nobody knows what level of poison will always remain in his bloodstream, what the knock on effects of machine produced antidotes are. 

You can’t take the chance. You just can’t. 

“That’s right. Me and my girl are going sober tonight. No shots for either of us.” 

He’s spoken several sentences, but you fixate on four words. Me and my girl. Is it correct grammar? No. But does it absolutely send your mind into a fritz? Absolutely.

“Ugh, all these rules and regulations. Fine then, I dare you to go up there and do some karaoke.” Your eyes widen. How the fuck do you get yourself out of this. “Look, sweetheart. It’s either that or you flirt with the bartender who’s been eyeing you all night.” He tilts his head behind you, and sure enough you’re being watched.

The bartender is not ugly, by any means— tall, brown hair and light eyes. But he’s not Bucky. So what’s the point? That man can stare all he wants, but he’ll never be the one to have you. Not as long as Bucky is next to you, in sickness or in health. 

“Go on, doll. You have an amazing singing voice.” 

“How do you—?”

He leans in to whisper in your ear, sending chills down your spine. “I hear everything you do in your room. When you think nobody’s awake to hear you, or nobody’s listening. I hear everything.” 

And all of a sudden, you’re out of your seat and being pushed to the small karaoke corner and all of the people at your booth get up to stand and hear you.

You know what song you’re going to sing. This isn’t how you planned it, but you suppose you’ll make the most of the situation.

You stand behind the mic stand, and your eyes find Bucky. 

They stay glued on him as you sing Guilty As Sin? By Taylor Swift, imagining all things you’ve never done with him. The way he touches you in your deepest desires, the way he kisses in your daily daydreams. It’s almost too much.

And then you see his face.

Lovestruck, lovelorn, lovesick.

All for you.

NEXT PART

[marvelgirlstories]

Hey,

I came up with this idea a while back and I only wrote one part. If you all like it, I will make it a series. It's a Stucky fanfic. Hope you enjoy.

Stucky x reader (female, shield agent)

Stole my heart

Warnings: A brief fight, Tony being a dick (no hate)

It was a Saturday morning when Steve woke up. He looked over to Bucky and smiled. It had been a rare night, because Bucky didn't have one of his nightmares. Although Steve knew how to deal with them, it was hard on both of them.

Steve carefully, trying not to wake him, pulled Bucky closer to him. "Morning, punk." He was awake after all. "Morning, Buck", Steve replied.

Suddenly Friday spoke into the silence. "Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes, you are requested to be in the meeting room at 9.00 am. "Who by?", asked Bucky. "Director Fury" The two supersoldiers looked at each other. Fury never came to the compound. "This must be important", said Bucky. "Tell Fury we'll be there", said Steve. "He said", Friday replied,"quote, You have no choice!" Both men chuckled.

Some time later the two supersoldiers made their way down to the meeting room, wondering what to expect. On their way, they met Nat. "Fury called you too?", she asked. "Yes, but who else?", answered Steve. "I have no idea."

But their questions were soon answered as they stepped into the room. Every Avenger had come and lots of them were sat in the chairs, some still arriving. When everyone was seated, Fury entered. "Today I want to assemble a team.", he announced. "A team?", asked Tony,"Like a team below us? To help us?" "No. Like a team inside a team. Experts if you will", Fury said. Everyone looked at each other. They were confused. "Hydras getting bigger. They have become a bigger threat.", he continued," I can not use S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore, because of this exact reason." "Well, I think any of us will be able to handle Hydra", Clint said. He was about to say something else, but Fury cut him off. "I have already chosen who will be in this team, and no, it is not you." "Well, who is it?", asked Wanda. "Sam, Cap and Romanoff have had experience before, so them" "Oh no, not again", Sam groaned. "Yes, Fury replied,"also Barnes, because he has a long history with Hydra." "But how will that work, I'm a big danger if someone says..." Fury cut Bucky off. "Lastly I have agent, who is very high up in S.H.I.E.L D. rankings and who also has a long history with Hydra. Y/N Y/LN." You walked in. "Agent Y/N Y/L/N"

Tony scoffed: "High up, are we?", he asked, trying to wind you up . "Hmm, well better than you", you said calmly. "We'll see about that", he said and stood up. As he walked closer, you didn't even flinch. You just waited. Everyone felt the tense atmosphere around the two of you. When he got close enough l, he put out his hand to summon his suit. But then you quickly kicked him in his balls. As he winced and doubled up in pain, you said: "Nice to meet you" and sat down at the table, Loki and Nat smirked, they liked her. "She will live at the compound, but only complete Hydra missions. She will also carry on with S.H.I.E.L.D. missions. Any questions?", said Fury, completely unfazed about what just happened. "Yes", said Tony, who had recovered a bit, "How long will she be staying?" "As long as I need to.", you answered. "Well, it's my duty to show new recruits around.", said Steve. "Thank you, but that won't be nessesary, as I already know my way around." "How?", he asked taken aback. "I know a lot of things." was your answer.

"The new team will stay, the rest of you can go.", said Fury. Toby wanted to say something, but then Fury said: "If I were you, I would get some ice." Pietro chuckled as he made his way out.

"Ok, now there is not much else. Y/N will lead during missions, as she is experienced and knows Hydra. She will also write the mission reports.", Fury carried on.

Suddenly Bucky said one simple word,"Shadow". You tensed up. "Not here, not now.", was all that you said. "We are finished now", Fury broke the awkward silence, that had formed.

After Steve and Bucky left the room, Steve asked a question: "What was that about?" Bucky's answer was only two words: "It's complicated"

[rpedia]

I’ve seen your post about good starters, is there anything with good conversations starters that’ll actually get characters somewhere?

So, starters are something that gives other people an idea of how you play your character, what your goals are, and what you're looking for. They also need to be pretty open ended, or happen in a public place unless you want to hook a specific other character. That means a starter is infinitely customizable and super personal to write. Just copy pasting any given starter is not going to do the job you need it for, it'll stymie your growth and leave you scrambling to keep up with whatever someone else chose for you. On top of that, starters are not what keep RP going: The plot and player is.

So, let's jump in and break it down a little more so it's easier to put together your own starter from absolutely nothing, and how you as a player can keep plot going after the initial starter is dead in the dust behind you on your little journey, shall we?

When you write a starter, basically you're writing a hook to get someone involved in a situation. You're putting out into the world a question, or something that looks like it needs to be interrupted or acted on, so that other people will interrupt or act on it. So write it from that perspective: what would make you want to engage with a post?

So, pick apart what's important to you to get from a partner. When you roleplay, you look for specific goals, an A to B, essentially. Are you writing this scene in an attempt to explore the character and maybe find out something about their past or reveal a secret? Do you simply want to see how they respond to others? Or do you have a plot in mind? If there's an arc of a story you wanna get through, you're gonna have to nestle your starter securely in a situation that will allow you to forward that plot. See what I mean about it being deeply personal?

For example: If I were playing Tony Stark, and I wanted him to show off a new invention while handling his PTSD, I might drop a starter invoking curiosity. I'd set it up with a scene, probably near his workshop but public enough someone would have a chance to see me. I'd be carrying something remarkable but, questionable. "Did you just see him with a bomb?" This item would effect another character, so it would be rewarding to double check Tony isn't about to wreck your household by blowing it up. Then I'd have an experiment or invention in mind. He's made a robot that goes and grabs bombs, and folds over them to protect the household ala Steve Rogers jumping on a grenade. Mostly to stop Steve doing that shit. Cool, cool. I'll have that in mind when I describe what they find if they call out to him, and he ignores them and keeps bolting, or they follow him to see what's up. Then I can discuss it, and show emotions in my post that lead the other character to ask questions why I made this. Reveal a personal story or anecdote, and eventually get cornered by their curiosity or my loud mouth into joking and revealing some deeply personal trauma. Tada, a starter!

A starter that only works for my goals of exploring Tony's trauma, that only works for Tony Stark, that only works with characters who would see him when he's vulnerable at home with the other Avengers. So it's absolutely personalized and broken for anyone else.

Except, throughout, you can see how I logically broke it down! Here is the hook, here is my character's interests, here is why another person wants to care, here is my goal for the reveal, here's enough plot to feed into the machine to keep them interested, here's how I expect the scene to get to a certain point. It's very loosely put together, because by the end of it I might be looking at their trauma instead if, for instance, the explosion sets off a panic attack. Keeping flexibility helps keep a conversation going.

It also helps to provoke. Prod, ask questions, be curious, or offer something that makes other people want to know more. When you just roleplay hi, how are you, hello, how's the weather that's not a conversation so much as small talk. Which will die out quickly because there's no bonding or true interaction beyond the surface level. Like a geode, a character must be broken to see what shiny things are inside. So find something to crack them open a little, a chip here or there.

Now, if the other person absolutely fucking sucks at prompting you or offering a chance to open up? You may wanna, as a player, screw with the narrative and make for external pressure. Put your character under a deadline, by making them be waiting for something stressful. It makes them try to get things in fast, and they mess up. Maybe have a phone call or something happen, so they have to talk in front of the other character and divulge more than they meant to. You can force things on your character from outside, and it can help keep things going.

Relying entirely on your characters to keep things going is a fool's errand if the characters are not expressive, extroverted, and mouthy. A quiet stern guy who keeps to himself will want to kill a conversation quickly, and it'll drive other players off because they think that's you doing it, not your character. So make sure your narration explains why they're acting like that, and give tips to approach for the other character. Like I said, external forces may be the only way to force someone out of their shell while making sure your RP partner wants to keep digging!

You may have to fudge your character's personality or characterization slightly to get the ball rolling. Don't be afraid to make them slightly OOC if it means opening a door to tons more IC things. What, you've never blurted out something by mistake, or gotten mad and said something you regret because it's not really you? You never lied? Tch! They can fuck up too! Let them! Explore that!

Starters are never gonna be as easy as reading off cards, or having something set-up for you. You're gonna have to look at the setting for your character and see what's important. Are there places people frequent? Are there hobbies your character does that may be interesting? Can you arrive covered in blood because you're an assassin to prompt other people to fret until they realize it's not your blood and you can brag about the kill? Can you do something that seems out of character, but is perfectly normal? Be interesting! be interested in what your partner has to offer too, maybe it's not what you intended but following THEIR plot concepts can be super rewarding too!

So, good luck, and happy roleplaying!

[to-know-how-it-ends]

Outsiders Thoughts

Hi! Been a while since I've actually posted something, and I had the extreme honor of getting to see the Outsiders like 2 and a half months ago, and now that I've had more than enough time to process it I figured I would put down my thoughts! I'm going to start from the beginning, then keep going. Forgive the numerous parentheticals -- I absolutely loved this show and can't shorten my review. I had been listening to the cast album since it came out, looking at all the posts, hoping but never considering that I would actually be able to go. I got a gift of tickets to go with a friend and it was an AMAZING experience.

First thing's first -- important to note that I am not from New York, so Broadway culture in general is very interesting to me. Most shows I am lucky to see come on tour. It was very wild getting to see everyone's faces and the details on stage so clearly even from a mezzanine seat, something that isn't very normal for me and was awesome.

Anyhow, so I got in line with the person I went to see it with, put on all my bracelets I had made for the cast (I was kinda sad because both my Ace and Paul bracelets broke [several times haha] but what can you do) and went into the theater. That night we saw most of the original cast, except for Josh Strobl as Johnny (flawless-- I'll get to that later) and Milena Comeau as Ace (also fantastic). The ushers were really nice, and one of them complimented my outfit which made my night (among other things -- again, we'll get to that later). We sat down and listened to the music that plays before the show starts. I saw in a post by @throwing-in-the-towel that multiple songs play, but something must have been weird or it was on loop because I'm fairly certain I heard Jesus Was A Cross Maker about 10 times in a row (things happen!).

Anyhow now for the actual show where my thoughts will be more rambly

It was so cool to see Brody on the tire before the show started. No clue what he's writing in there, but he was QUITE focused on what he was writing. I could see people in orchestra trying to wave at him, which I think may have been kind of rude but I also don't know

anyway so the show started but there's no turn your phone off please, blah blah blah warning so it was kind of startling when it started, that's okay though because it definitely pulls you in

Tulsa 67

Tulsa 67 was just -- so amazing. I saw what I saw from watching the Tonys, but seeing the choreography in person was AMAZING. I constantly was hyperfocusing on one or two of the dancers (Especially Daryl Tofa and Milena) throughout the show which might have caused me to miss some things but I think that's okay because it was astonishing

Seeing the screen fade to Darry and Soda in the beginning made my heart drop into my stomach. I don't even know how to explain it. I wanted to cry 20 seconds into the show, because these characters felt so REAL

The introduction to Josh Strobl's Johnny was when I knew he was fantastic, just the way he carries himself is SO johnny. His voice was so sweet, I fell in love with the character that I loved so much in the book all over again.

The scene where Bob and the Socs beat up Ponyboy felt kind of like BAM because it's not something I expected to see right after the opening number. That being said, it makes sense plot-wise so it worked. Kevin William Paul as Bob was so Menacing (the capital was intentional) like he TRULY hated greasers. It's hard to sympathize with a guy like that -- kinda wish they showed more about how his heart could be "good" but also understand why they didn't. First act is pretty much solely Ponyboy's perspective.

Grease Got A Hold

LOVED the introduction to all the characters. They seemed so genuine, Jason and Brent have such amazing chemistry as stage brothers, and Daryl as Two-Bit was hilarious.

His like cracking up for a solid 10 seconds before he says "got one of their hubcaps"

was a little sad at the reducing of Steve as a character, but also I get it in terms of the plot -- it doesn't change the story much.

the choreography in grease got a hold is so good. Truly. with all the gravel everywhere, truly adds to the grittiness of the show. I knew how it looked partially because of the performances that are on youtube and from the tonys, but the way they make use of the set is so cool

Josh Boone's stage presence as Dally is unmatched. Seriously. Get this man a Tony. I'll get to more of this later, but wow. And his riffs in Grease Got A Hold. don't even get me started.

daryl's delivery of "you better bet your life" is different from the cast recording but in SUCH a good way.

I always love the part that's a-capella with the claps because it reminds me of come from away. can't really explain it, it just does and I love it

everyone making fun of Darry when he sings his verse -- cracked me up

Also jason schmidt -- just wow. what a performance. he has such a hold on you (if you'll forgive the pun) the moment you see him because I feel like you can tell that he's so much more than an airhead/flirt/etc. from the get-go. jason's portrayal of him is so perfect.

how physically affectionate the gang seems with each other

Runs in the Family

someone give brent comer a tony

no seriously he was fantastic. there isn't much movement in the song, but you don't need it. you can feel his pain. his frustration. they could never make me hate Darrel Shaynne Curtis

AND HIS VOICE. actually my favorite in the entire show

when the gang comes in and Ace is like "hey Darry got any chocolate cake", and the gang is all scooching together with big old smiles on their faces watching tv while Darry's scrubbing the kitchen

all of darry and pony's interactions are laced with so much tension, it's palpable. and darry's inherent mistrust of dally is very real

that being said -- dally is A LOT nicer in the musical. like no way would he hug pony and johnny in the book, or outwardly say how much he cared about them, even if you know that's how he felt. I do like how he's portrayed here but it is very different.

Great Expectations

love the whole scene beforehand

the 544 pages thing cracks me up

they all have such good brotherly chemistry, but I also feel like Jason Schmidt could have chemistry with a brick wall -- seems like he is the reason the brothers all mesh so well together

when they all look up at the train sound -- ahhh

Now for the song -- WHOA

okay so I was obsessed with the song when it came out, but after listening to it many many times I got kind of less excited about it. HOWEVER. Seeing and hearing great expectations live was an out-of-body experience. The harmonies! The high notes! The fact that Two-Bit and Ace look like they're floating. I truly can't put into words how beautiful that scene is.

the scene with Dally and Johnny made me cry, a little, but that's not hard to do lol

feel like this is poor theatre etiquette because I am like 99 percent sure you are not supposed to laugh when Johnny's like "I think he might kill her" but people were laughing and I was like seriously?!

the amazing chemistry between josh boone dally and josh strobl johnny. never seen sky but I hear his and josh boones chemistry is fantastic as well. josh strobl feels so ethereal as johnny. don't know if I'm explaining it right, but his voice is so sweet, he really feels like a kid.

the way Johnny physically pushed Dally away from going into his house, curling into himself afterwards, and how sad Dally looks after that

Friday at the Drive-In

I love emma pittman. i will probably say this several times. her stage presence is remarkable.

choreography was stellar as always

two-bit and steve seemed like on visibly hostile terms with Paul. like paul kept whispering to the other soc boys and looking back at two-bit and steve, and they kept being like Paul! paaaauuul! it was very entertaining

love the dynamic of the Soc girls. Cherry is so joyful, Marcia just looks happy to be there, and Bev is there with her happy snappy smile while she's looking at all the greasers like they're dirt

Ngl i'm kinda bored of writing thoughts for every song and I've been working on this post for a month lol so I'm just gonna give basic thoughts

two-bit's scream in justice for tulsa absolutely broke me. every time I think about it -- same effect.

at the second great expectations bit in far away from tulsa I started crying, it was so beautiful and I knew it was coming but like! the power in those voices!

Little Brother is probably my favorite scene in the entire show. josh boone's grief as dally is SO palpable -- and the background vocals also made me cry.

In the scene before stay gold soda genuinely looked like he was having a panic attack and darry and pony both looked so scared

I did not know how much I needed josh strobl singing stay gold

in the cast album I can't hear it as well, but live I heard the gorgeous harmony by daryl and brody for "everybody loves to judge us" and I may be wrong but daryls part of the harmony sounds almost exactly like the tune for "they say there's strength in numbers" in great expectations. do with that as you will

SO yeah the show defied my expectations, it was brilliant, I was in tears by the end, but we left our seats as soon as it ended because we were in the mezzanine and I wanted to get a spot at the stagedoor. The cast were so kind and genuinely gracious and excited to talk to the people at the stagedoor (including me). I wish I had said more but I was kind of starstruck -- I gave the cast the bracelets that I had made. The people that came out that night were kevin William paul, Kevin csolak (this was when he was still in the show!), melody , josh strobl, sarahgrace, emma , brent comer, daryl tofa, milena and jason . their reactions to the bracelets were so sweet! Emma did a little dance with hers, lol, and you can see it for a split second on one of her vlogs which was so cool to see after the fact. kwp was so kind, he complimented my magen david necklace and I believe I melted. Daryl was there but I missed him -- sg was signing my playbill and I was talking to her so he moved on the the next person and kept going -- which makes sense! I was so glad to see him though and he seemed really happy. I gave the rest of the bracelets I made to emma who said she would give them to the cast members who didn't come out (thank you emma!).

BUT

The next day, my grandmother and I won the suffs lottery and got to go see that show (which I'll post about later) and I got out to stagedoor there while the outsiders stagedoor was in full swing across the street. people were SCREAMING. The suffs cast had some guests come in so they didn't come out so early on, so I was like, why don't I cross the street, see if I can thank/express my awe to some cast members I didn't get to meet last night while I wait for the suffs cast to come outside. AND I DID! I got to meet josh boone, who I extolled my highest praise to (I was probably babbling lol) and he was SO KIND, and I met daryl tofa and we had a fun conversation about friendship bracelets and took a picture which was amazing. Fully did not expect that that was going to happen that night.

Long story short the outsiders is amazing and definitely one of my favorite musicals ever with such a sweet and talented cast. go see it if you can!

[1eos]

May I have some lovely book recommendations on this day <3 😁😁 I'm trying to read more this next year

you sure can!!!!! i'll list my fave reads of the past few years:

convenience store woman by sayaka murata -one of my fave books of all timeeeeee. its basically about a woman who just doesnt fit in into 'normal' society and even tho she's happy ppl feel like she shouldnt be bc she's not progressing w everyone else. if you've been the weird girl ever this book will

ring shout - p djeli clark. a historical fiction novel where the kkk are like demons and theres this organization of black hunters. its action packed but what makes it so amazing is the emotional growth of the characters :') an all time fave

the vanishing half - brit bennett. another AMAZING historical fiction book. its abt family lines....and colorism and twins and what it means to be white passing and privilege and generational trauma. it honestly has toni morrison core vibes where there's a lot of pain but thru love all is healed!

there's no such thing as an easy job by kikuko tsumura. a bit of an eclectic read. this woman takes on different jobs and they each give her grief in a new way. very relatable esp if you hate your job 😭

the vegetarian by han kang. THEE GOAT. i will recc this book until the day i DIE. and even then. its technically a horror story abt the fallout after a woman has a dream/vision and decides to stop eating meat but its sooo much deeper than that. its such a great look at how, as a woman, everything abt you is subject to critique down to what you eat

parasite eve. thee classic scifi horror the video game was inspired by! think frankenstein but there's a love story underneath. but also you question if it was love at all bc what if the mitochrondria inside of us are just manipulating everything we do? i loved it! writing style is a bit clinical but idc

my sister the serial killer by oyinkan braithwaite...i read this one in a single day it was THAT GOOD. sister is a serial killer and the fucking implications and fucked up shit that comes from lookism and family expectations and misogyny tbh. love it~

annihilation by jeff vandermeer. the first in a series but you can just read the first one. its sooooooooooooooooooo good. its a scifi book about this mysterious barrier off the coast that's slowly expanding and inside nature is reclaiming its space and most everyone that enters the barrier never returns.....another quick read bc it will have you HOOKED

yellowface by r f kuang. i don't usually enjoy satire but r f kuang really TOOK IT THERE. this is the most infuriating book you'll ever read but in the best way. this white author w an inferiority complex objectifies her friend that she secretly hates and then steals her friend's book. only thing is the friend is proudly asian and her book is abt specific cultural history so the white girl does diet yellowface and is just a massive bitch

beloved by toni morrison. how do you sum up beloved? i cannot sum up beloved. if i had to sum up beloved i would say 'love is a haunting but not every haunting is love and the only thing that can clear a haunting is love'

in the dream house by carmen maria machado. god probably the best prose i've read all year. a really beautiful but bittersweet autobiographical novel about a bisexual woman's experience with a fucked up abusive relationship and how subtle abuse can be. heavy subject matter but handled soooo beautifully.

the only good indians by stephen graham jones. WHEW. this is a horror......and this book will take you for a fucking ride i'll tell you that. its abt a group of native american men who were childhood friends and due to one mistake they're all haunted by...something that wants to get revenge on them. this book had me going 'DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?' multiple times

[justkending]

Found Memories. Chapter 1.

Finding Memories Sequel: (I advise you to read the 1st series for context).

Series Summary: Following the aftermath of Finding Memories, Bucky tries to complete goals he feels she would have discovered for herself as a way to let her memory live on. However, he never expected to find someone very close to who he believed she would have been if given the chance of normalcy. A journey of mourning someone he lost, turned into a journey of discovering someone new, happens upon the soldier. Maybe this whole normal thing isn’t as bad as he had pictured it in his mind. Maybe he had a better shot at it than he ever tried to imagine.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader insert

Chapter Word Count: 4000+

A/N (PLEASE READ): So I may or may not have gone back on my deal to not post until I finished writing it all, but I'm 15 chapters in, and though I have a ton more to write, I wanted to drop the first chapter for my Finding Memories people to have some closure, and also to see where Bucky's story plans to lead.

This series is told through 1st person unlike a lot of my others, but I realize I like this style a lot more. So all this is from Bucky's perspective in this chapter. I also understand this may seem a little confusing with this being a reader insert for both these stories, so using Y/N will make it harder to tell the difference between the characters. I’ll be calling our previous Y/N from the Finding Memories series, Sloan, just to avoid confusion. But please don’t let that take away from any of the personal aspects of the story. This is just a continued story of Bucky finding happiness after the ending of Finding Memories. (Just think of it as him falling for you 2x ;) There is a note at the bottom after reading so please read that when you finish!

Last note! For each chapter, I am connecting a song from the playlist our last reader left and Bucky took on his own. The song will play off the vibes of each chapter. You don't have to listen if you don't want to, but it is here as a little piece of Bucky's theme (sometimes thought processes and feelings) in each chapter. Enjoy!

Playlist song: At Last by: Etta James

Chapter 1: 

4 years and 364 days had gone by since her passing.

Almost 5 years, 2 weeks, and 4 days since I had rescued her.

I think the reason it stuck with me was that this was one of those missions that carrying on like normal afterwards, wasn’t really an option.

When you lose someone on the field, whether you know them or not, a piece of you is saddened that someone lost their life. Normal. Human. Emotions. 

However, you feel depressed and emotionally stuck when it’s someone you had become familiar with and plan to continue to grow familiar with. 

It hurt even more when it was someone who deserved to go far in life and learn so many things about themselves in a healthy and safe environment. It was a stab to the heart to know she never saw that for herself and had made a decision no one should be put in the position to make. 

But it happened. In the very likely chance someone was to find her and use her for her powers again, she erased all possibilities of it getting into the wrong hands. And with it erased all chances to experience the good in the world as well.

After she died, Bruce and Tony tested her blood to find what the other mutation was even if I knew for the most part. 

We didn’t have much time to understand it, or for her to really explain all the pieces that came with her enhancements that she seemed to remember the day before her ultimate fate. But from what she had passed onto me in the last moments of her life, I feel like I had some kind of grasp of it. 

Her hand over my heart seconds before her powers consumed her was more than just a sentimental goodbye. She shared within that touch her fears, her intentions, her understandings, and the peace she found in her decision. 

It was something I could never explain in words to someone else, but it was a feeling that made me understand why it all had to come to the end that it did. 

She had told me the night before, that her powers were created from the cosmos, and it was a power that could bring an end to society and the world we try so hard to keep afloat in what feels like constant choppy waters. 

She didn’t have to go into too much depth about what all that meant, but it would soon be proven within hours of explaining to me that we would not get the end we hoped for. 

I can’t lie and say I never expected things to take the turns they did. I live the life I have constantly considering the worst-case scenarios, and her death was always one of those scenarios as soon as we saved her in that hidden terrorist facility.

Bruce and Tony confirmed that her gifts were something that could be world-ending and quickly incinerated her blood so that no one could get ahold of that kind of power down the line. 

The wishes she made on her deathbed were met and I was trying to meet all the other ones she had made and never got the chance to do herself. 

It took me a while to go into her room and start to clean out the few personal items she had slowly gathered in the short time she was there, but really there wasn’t much to clean. 

She had a few plants. I took one and Wanda took the other. Her clothes were either taken by Wanda or Nat and the rest were donated. 

She had some books that had been gifted to her about random things she had found interest in while trying to find herself. A cookbook, a book on herbs and plants she used to read to put a name to the plants on the compound during her walks, and some history books Parker was kind enough to loan her so she could catch up with the world around her. 

The only other thing of significance I found, and didn’t realize was something she kept, was a journal. It was in the nightstand drawer, but it had been hidden under all the other books she had collected. 

Inside, it was a list of notes she made about those she had become close with. 

1. Wanda is from Sokovia and she had a brother named Pietro whom she misses dearly.  2. Nat had a sister that’s on missions across seas and sees her every other month, but they keep in contact when able.  3. Bruce has 7 PhDs but has test anxiety.  4. Tony blast rock music that can be heard 3 levels above. (check songs to see if they spark anything…) 5. Bucky acts like Sam annoys him, but I secretly think they’re just as good of friends as he and Steve are. 6. Steve and Bucky grew up together and from what Nat said, “One looks for trouble the other follows cause he still sees Steve as a 90lb Brooklyn kid.” 7. Sam is from Louisanna and mentioned making a shrimp boil… (Still need to look that up...) 8. Bucky likes to prank Sam and Steve in small ways that they never figure out and it drives them slightly insane. 9. Spiderboy is incredibly smart but is also somehow very naive to the teasing he gets from everyone else.  10. Movie nights are something that everyone gets excited about and they all have very different tastes in movies to show me. So far, I've enjoyed the comedies the most. (Peter picked the movie Grown-ups and some of the things they do make no sense and are extremely goofy, but I think that's why I liked it...)

The list went on for about five pages of random things she discovered and felt were important to know about the team and sometimes even herself. 

But in the back, only found if you looked through each page of the small journal, was a list of things she wanted to try once she felt ready and was given the chance to. 

It didn’t feel right ripping the pages out for myself, or taking the journal and ruining it with my scribbles, so I copied the list in a notebook of my own and added some things I think she would have enjoyed if I was given the chance to show her. 

She only got about 24 things written that she wanted to experience in the real world. Most of which were simple things most take for granted having the choice to do any day. 

Right now I was looking at number seven;

7. Go to a coffee shop and try different drinks with cinnamon in them. Find a favorite, so I can eventually say, “I’ll have the usual,” like they do in the movies. 

It was hard to know what her favorite would have been, but I did the best I could. Eventually, I had a usual at the coffee shop I started the adventure on. 

“He’s back.” The barista whose head was in the pastry display shot up and smiled toward me. “It’s been a minute since we’ve seen you. Life or work in the way this time?” 

“What’s the difference?” I responded though it came across a little more melancholy than I meant. 

Luckily, Trudy, the shop owner, had become familiar with me enough to know it’s just how I talk. 

“Get him the usual, dear,” she said to the worker at the front as she wrapped a muffin and handed it to a customer waiting on the side. 

When the worker just looked at her wide-eyed and freaked out, Trudy laughed to herself and pointed her to another task. 

“Forgot she’s only been here for 2 days,” Trudy’s New York accent was strong as she typed in my regular order. “So. Any big bad guys in the world I should be worryin’ about or do you have it handled?” 

“Nothing for you to worry about, Trud,” I smiled as she grabbed a cup and wrote one of her new names for me on it. She was clever with what she could come up with depending on the day. “Sorry, I haven’t been in. I was sent overseas for a bit the last few weeks.”

“You haven’t come in a month,” she said with a raised motherly eyebrow. 

“Hate to break it to ya, but there are bad guys I have to take care of over here too. They keep me just as busy sometimes,” I chuckled, moving out of the way in case someone else needed to order. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she groaned, grabbing a pastry and wrapping it up for me. “I made a new recipe from my Italian side of the family. Give it a try,” she stuck a sticker on it to seal the bag and came around the counter to give it to me. “Tell me how you like it.” 

“How much?” I went on to grab cash knowing she likely wouldn’t let me pay anyway. 

“Cost ya a review on Yelp,” she pushed it on me more. “I had someone come in the other day and try and cheat the system to get free stuff, and when I wouldn’t budge she lowered my rating on the damn website.”

“I don’t think one bad rating will hurt ya, Trud,” I sighed, taking it and putting the cash in the tip jar instead.

“Eh, I like to counter it with a good one where I can. Plus, I’m running out of fake emails to do it myself. Help a gal out.” 

I laughed knowing she may have been a small hole-in-the-wall business, but she got enough foot traffic to keep her afloat even if she joked about going under if I didn’t give her reviews and tell my friends about it. 

Before I could give her peace of mind knowing I’d help in any way she asked me, the bell rang as another customer came in. 

I looked back absentmindedly and saw a woman with her head down while she talked on the phone, but was kind enough to go to the side and finish her conversation before walking to the register. 

“That drink ready?” Trudy shouted to the back and just in time a barista walked out with the cup of my “usual” drink and handed it off. “I’ll be seeing ya sometime soon, right?” She withheld the coffee until I confirmed. 

“Tomorrow,” I promised knowing I had one thing planned and I knew it wouldn’t be interrupted. 

“Good. Have a good one, Boomer,” she winked and I looked to see the name matched on the cup. 

“What does that mean?” I raised an eyebrow. 

“Something the kids are calling old people like you and me,” she shrugged. “Figured if I was going to be called it, you should too.” 

I rolled my eyes playfully before giving a final goodbye and heading toward the doors. The woman that had come in was hanging up the phone and happened to look up at the same time I passed. 

She had soft eyes and smiled up at me in a polite way before sidestepping and moving to the counter. 

I couldn’t help but stop with my hand on the door handle as I looked at her trying to grasp who she reminded me of. 

She had kind features and her light smile was what made me do a double take. I may have imagined it, but something about her beamed at me in a way that I couldn't shake.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when someone else tried to come in and I quickly opened the door for them and moved out of the way. But I looked in the shop one more time seeing Trudy smiling back at the woman and sharing a similar banter she had with me. 

I honed in my hearing some and caught the middle of the conversation. 

“I would ask if you want your normal order, but it’s been so long I’m not sure if it’s the same,” Trudy teased. 

“The move has been great. Thanks for asking Trudy,” the woman remarked with a laugh. 

It would become creepy pretty quickly with me just staring and eavesdropping in the doorway, so I moved on even if I was intrigued to hear the rest of this conversation. 

I took my time walking to my car since the woman’s face was sticking in my mind. Something seemed oddly familiar of her, but I couldn’t put a finger on what it was. 

________________________

“Hey, I was looking for you!” Sam’s voice sounded as soon as I walked into the kitchen. 

“I’d rather you weren’t,” I said back, going to the trash to throw my cardboard cup away and grab a snack from the fridge. 

“Hardy, har, har,” Sam responded. “But really. I need help with a file I can’t access.” 

“Maybe you can’t access it for a reason,” I gave a smug smile to him as I shut the fridge and took a bite out of the apple I stole from it. 

“You're really channeling that clown energy as Parker would say today, aren't you?” he gave me a straight face before pulling papers I hadn’t noticed beforehand and passed them to me. “It’s just some notes on a mission we did last week, but I need to tweak some things. For some reason, the file isn’t giving me access so I was going to ask if I can go through your account.”

“Have Tony look at your account. Maybe the clearance level got mixed up. He had a new protection server put in the other week and a few accounts were tweaked.” 

“Well, he's not in his lab.”

“Ok,” I dragged out. “Sounds like a personal problem.” 

“Barnes, just let me on your account for two seconds to fix it and then I’ll go and find him. It won’t take me longer than five minutes,” Sam groaned. 

I could continue to give him a hard time, but I needed to get some things ready for tomorrow and wasn’t in the mood to keep up my normal antics. 

“Fine. Where’s your computer?” I huffed, biting into the apple again and waiting for him to bring it to me. 

He smiled like he won, even though I could still say no if I wanted, and grabbed the laptop on the counter and handed it off to me. 

I logged in like normal and went to the file, but was stopped when I came to the same problem he had. 

“What the hell?” I glared at the screen and tried a few more tricks but this new protective program Tony had installed was foreign to me. 

“Damn it,” Sam crossed his arms and sighed. “You’re the third person now. Why won’t it let me see this damn file?” 

I looked at him waiting for him to explain. 

“I asked Nat and Wanda too. No luck,” he shrugged. 

That was strange. It was a file from the mission we had done last week. A thief that had been stealing intel from some division in the SHEILD operations over some classified information, but we had captured and incarcerated the hacker. 

“Friday,” I asked into the void and her voice followed. 

“How can I help, Sargent Barnes?” 

“Why aren’t we able to get into these files?” 

There was a pause as she tried to find the answer. 

“It seems to be in a classification you don’t have access to. Clearance levels are not high enough. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”

Sam and I shared a look that showed we were on the same page. There were very few things we didn't have access to, so the system was screwed or not modified after the update. At least that was to hoping it was something that simple.

“No. Where’s Tony at?” I asked instead. 

“He’s headed to the lobby. He has an appointment with Ms. Clark.” 

The name didn’t sound familiar, though there were a lot of people Stark talked to that I never cared to learn about. He was the face of the team anyway, so luckily he handled a majority of the social aspects of our job. 

“Thanks, Friday,” I nodded my head to the exit. 

Sam nodded in agreement and we made our way to the lobby to find him. 

It wasn’t a portion of the compound we were usually in, so seeing people in business suits coming and going always reminded me of the mass amount of workers who never did fieldwork that came and went. 

“Stark,” I shouted once I spotted him at one of the reception desks talking with the secretary that was handing him papers she had just printed. 

He turned at his name and looked at us both confused as to why we would be there. 

“Got a question for ya,” Sam started out. 

“Can it wait? I have a meeting with someone I actually like,” he said sarcastically. 

Before I had the chance to spit something back at him and give him a taste of his own medicine, Sam took over. 

“I need access to a file of the mission report we just came back from, but it’s not allowing me to get to it,” he summed up. 

“Strange,” Tony hummed, looking at the papers he was previously handed as if our issue was nothing for him to worry about. 

“It won’t let me through either,” I said and he eventually looked up rolling his eyes before putting the papers on the counter and giving us his attention finally. 

“Can this wait like 20 minutes?” he asked. 

“It might be because of your new and overly complicated-” I started and once again, Sam saved me from saying something that would probably have Tony ignoring us the rest of the week if I wasn't careful. 

“We’ll wait,” Sam nodded. “We’ll be over there.” 

He pointed to a few chairs off to the side and nodded his head for me to follow. Though I was against the motion, I obliged to not make matters more annoying. I’d give him 20 minutes, but I was just as intrigued by this issue as Sam was now. 

Tony went back to the secretary and grabbed the papers looking through them before grabbing a pen and sloppily marking random things out before handing it back. 

Just as he turned back, he seemed to have spotted who he was looking for to begin with and I followed his eyeline. 

Walking in and looking around marveling at the size of the place before seeing Tony and smiling at him, was the same woman who I had seen at the coffee shop. The same one who was talking to Trudy about a move. 

I must have been staring while she and Tony met in the middle and started casually conversing. She reached into the tote she was carrying and handed Tony what looked like a sweater and a folder, but he only took the piece of clothing leaving her with just the folder still in hand.

My stare must have been unmoving cause Sam nudged me with his shoulder and gave me a weird look when I broke out of my trance. 

“What are you gawking at?” he asked, looking where I was and raising his eyebrows. “Oh, I see.” 

I furrowed my eyebrows and gave him a disapproving look to show his mind wasn’t in the right place. 

“Shut up,” I grunted, slouching some in my spot, but only to show disinterest in an attempt to push him off my case. 

“No, I get it. She’s a pretty lady,” Sam chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back in his own seat. “Just didn’t see you looking for something like that anytime soon-”

“Don’t get any ideas,” I cut him off. “I saw her at a coffee shop earlier today and she just looked familiar. That’s it.” 

He looked from me back at the girl and turned his head as he analyzed her. 

She was smiling at something Stark was saying and shaking her head about whatever it was he was grinning about. I wasn’t sure what the conversation could even be about, and with the loud echoing space, I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what was being shared. 

“I have an idea,” Sam spoke up after a second and stood up without any hesitance, and walked towards the two. 

“Sam, wait! Stop! What are you doing?” I whisper shouted sitting up and looking around as if someone else was in on this idea with him. 

When he didn’t turn back or let up in his steps, I was quickly on my feet trying to get ahead of him to stop him, but he was walking faster causing us to interrupt the two abruptly and throw them both off. 

“Hi,” Sam smiled kindly at her then back at Stark. 

“I told you I would help you after I talked with-,” Tony started, but Sam patted his shoulder and made him pause. 

“Sam Wilson,” he went on to introduce himself while putting his other hand out for her.  

The woman seemed surprised by the introduction, but she was kind nonetheless and extended her own hand before introducing herself. 

“Y/N Clark,” she smiled. “Nice to meet you.” 

Sam turned to me and she followed his look. I wasn’t prepared to talk to her, but I wasn’t going to be rude and just sit there silently and stare at her. 

I extended my hand as well and she smiled at the motion. 

“James Barnes,” I gave a tight smile, but it wasn’t because of her, it was because I was seconds from punching Sam right in the chest for putting me in this position. 

“Mr. Barnes. Nice to meet you,” she nodded, returning the handshake and it was surprisingly firm. 

I would have paid mind to the detail, but now being in close proximity to the woman, I was seeing features that I hadn’t taken in before. 

She had Y/H/C hair, Y/E/C eyes, and her smile was one I had seen before. She was wearing a bright red checkered winter coat that sat on top of a tan sweater tucked into a nice pair of brown slacks. It seemed fitting for her even if I hadn’t known anything about her. But something in her persona showed she was kind and had a welcoming nature. 

Tony rolled his eyes once again and decided to go ahead and introduce us. 

“Cyborge and Birdman, this is Ms. Clark. She’s Morgan’s teacher. Ms. Clark, these are two of my most impatient coworkers,” Tony motioned to us. “Who I asked to give me a second before I talked with them…” The glare he was giving us pulled me away from staring at her longer than what would have been socially acceptable. 

“Thank this one for the interruption,” I shouldered Sam harshly which he became slightly unbalanced from and gave me another glare. 

“Just seemed rude to not introduce your colleagues,” Sam gritted through his teeth, talking to me when the comment was directed to Tony. 

“It’s fine,” Ms. Clark spoke up, breaking the growing tension between us three, and I immediately turned my attention back to her. “I was here to just drop off these two things anyway.” 

“Yeah, well, I had a few things I wanted to discuss without,” Tony continued, only taking a second in between to send us yet another death stare, “this interruption.” 

“I appreciate what you’re offering, but I’ve already told you I have a job set with another district after this year,” she smiled professionally, and I couldn’t help but smile myself at seeing someone say no to Tony. 

“Yeah, but… Money.” His eat-shit grin worked on the weak-minded, but clearly, she was not that. 

“Money is great and all, but it's not what this is about, Mr. Stark,” she chuckled, readjusting her tote on her shoulder. "Maybe after winter break and I get some paperwork back from the new school I'll be at, we will better understand what I'll have on my plate."

“That sounds like a well-worded way to put this conversation off,” Tony smirked. 

She returned it which proved he was right, but she wasn’t falling for his schemes still. 

“It’s Christmas break, Mr. Stark. Have a great vacation with your family and happy holidays,” she nodded, turning to walk out, but not completely turned away. “You two as well. I hope the world is kind enough to give you all a break as you deserve during this time.” 

“If I know anything about teaching, I know you’ll be needing a break just as much,” Sam shouted in her direction with a smile. 

She laughed at that and it was a sound that made it hard not to smile as a reaction to it. 

“Happy Holidays,” she said one final time, waving kindly and moving to the exit. 

“Well, she seems nice,” Sam grinned in a teasing manner and turned to face us both by taking her place. 

“This is why I haven’t brought her around here,” Tony sighed heavily and ran a hand through his beard. “Now, what do you two want?” 

Sam followed quickly after Tony, who was already walking back to the lab, but I couldn’t seem to pull my eyes from the red checkered jacket that was out the doors now and walking down the steps. 

It was another feeling that I couldn’t quite put into words…

I unfortunately don't have a release date for the next chapter as I am going to stick to my promise of finishing the series before I post any further. This is just to give an idea of what's to come! As always, any likes or reblogs, and comments (even if just a heart or a gif) makes my blood, sweat, and tears for this series feel validated :') ANYWHO!! I'm excited to share with you all the stories to come with this series and these characters because in writing them, I've fallen in love with them myself.

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[boonesfarmsangria]

If you spoke to Yannis Philippakis over the past seven years, chances are he would have mentioned a mythical, long-rumoured collaboration with the late, great Tony Allen. “I wanted to find a way to say goodbye to him within the music. It’s what felt right to do” 

“I would play the music at parties late at night,” the Foals frontman tells Rolling Stone UK from his Peckham studio, a cosy room packed full of synths and guitars that has birthed large parts of the new EP and countless Foals tracks. “My friends were sick of hearing it unfinished, but then after everything that happened… I felt a duty to finish it.” 

In late 2016, Philippakis had just come off a lengthy and draining tour behind Foals’ fourth album, What Went Down, the record that solidified the Oxford band as one of the most important UK guitar acts of a generation. As soon as he stepped off the plane, the opportunity was then presented to him to collaborate with the legendary Allen, an Afrobeat icon and close collaborator of the great Fela Kuti. 

“I went to Paris reluctantly because I’d been broken from this tour, and I’d done enough collaborations with people to know that it can often be quite a deflating experience that leaves you feeling quite cold,” he says. “The fact that this wasn’t the case with Tony was really, really exciting. There’s something that did just click in the room.” 

The trip to Paris was framed as Philippakis being one of a group of collaborators to go and work with Allen for an album where every track was a collaboration with a different musician. “I’d be like, ‘When’s Kevin Parker coming over?’” laughs Philippakis. “But I stopped asking after a while.” The pair ended up writing three tracks on the first day they were together. 

“I wasn’t really sure what would happen, and then the idea of this broader collaborative record stalled, but we were getting on well and wanted to do more,” he remembers. While the pair realised they wanted it to become a bigger project, Philippakis’ commitments with Foals and other projects stalled the pair’s progress. Then the pandemic happened, and it wrangled with Philippakis’ “fear of things remaining unfinished”, which he describes as “such a disappointing place for something to reside”. 

The idea of the project remaining unfinished was then amplified by the shock death of Allen in April 2020 from an abdominal aortic aneurysm at the age of 79. “It brought a whole other barrage of emotions to deal with,” reflects Philippakis. “It felt like this music would remain a myth for a long time.” 

Kit Monteith

Four years after the death of Allen, this much-teased and near-mythical music was finally announced in the form of Lagos Paris London, the debut EP from Philippakis’ new project Yannis & The Yaw. The five tracks on the EP are an irresistibly funky delight, bringing together two instantly recognisable musicians with no compromise from either. 

Even before Philippakis’ one-of-a-kind vocals come in on opening track ‘Walk Through Fire’, you know it’s him through the choppy, unique guitar tones that have defined Foals since day one. Behind him, Allen’s outstanding rhythm is equally identifiable. “The way that I play the guitar is a bit of a giveaway,” laughs Philippakis. “You can hear Foals’ DNA in this music. Because of my limitations as a guitarist, I play a certain way. Then obviously Tony. Tony plays like Tony. There’s only one Tony Allen.” 

Of the special and almost unexpected creative alchemy between the pair, Philippakis adds, “We’re both in the room and both dancing with each other, but there’s no necessity to dilute the intensity of each of the presences.” It’s heard on the slippery, dramatic ‘Night Green, Heavy Love’ and euphoric ‘Clementine’, the latter in particular serving as a delicious burst of pure joy. 

After Allen’s death, the feelings of grief and work on another Foals album kept the collaborative music in a box only brought out to tease friends with at parties. As time went on, though, the niggling feeling of dissatisfaction at leaving this music unfinished — as well as a desire to let the world hear some of the last music Allen worked on — led Philippakis to pick the project back up. 

“There had been a sense of duty to finish it anyway, but once he passed away, I realised that it really needed to be.” This sentiment was matched by a genuine excitement from the musician about what he had created with Allen. “For people who are fans of Tony’s, it’s an exciting collaboration to hear. You hear Tony Allen in a way that is different to his Afrobeat records, it’s different to the Jeff Mills stuff, it’s different to The Good, The Bad & the Queen. It’s some of the heaviest and angular stuff he’s been on. 

“It was an exciting, amazing thing that happened, and nobody had got to hear it,” Philippakis says. He remembers thinking, “We should put this out, partly to celebrate how versatile and amazing Tony is, but also to show this strange coupling of two people you wouldn’t necessarily predict, writing from different stages of their lives and from different cultures.” 

Ed Miles

Lagos Paris London would have never been completed, according to Philippakis, without the assistance of Allen’s engineers Vincent Taeger and Vincent Taurelle, affectionately known as The Vincents. Taeger served as the musical director for a number of memorial concerts for Allen, and they both play an ongoing role in the drummer’s legacy. 

After work on the music restarted following Allen’s death, the duo proved a vital connection between Philippakis and his late collaborator, as he explains. “I couldn’t have done it without them, and I wouldn’t have wanted to. They knew him intimately and acted as a bridge for me to be able to get on with Tony. I don’t even feel like he was super aware or particularly buzzed that I was there when I first arrived. I think somebody had talked to him about [Foals] in order for him to agree, but once we started playing, he started to get it.” 

While the basis of the music was already laid down from Philippakis and Allen’s short time together in the Paris studio, much of the production and the mixing of the songs was still to be completed. He particularly credits The Vincents with assisting him on mixing tracks and editing Allen’s drum parts. “It felt like quite a delicate thing to do,” says Philippakis. “It needed to be done correctly and with respect, but they also simply knew how Tony would want things to sound.” 

Philippakis says he didn’t feel he needed permission from The Vincents to finish and release the music — the initial ideas were brought into the studio by him — but felt a warmth and encouragement from their enthusiasm about sharing it with the world. “It made me feel like we were doing it for the correct reasons and that it was being finished in the right way,” says Philippakis. 

While much of Foals’ music features emotional and autobiographical lyrics from Philippakis, he wanted to take the opportunity to present a different slant on his storytelling with this music. At first, he expected to just be playing guitar and welcoming guest vocalists, but eventually got drawn towards the mic. 

“It didn’t feel like this record with Tony was the vessel for a personal, emotional kind of investigation,” reflects Philippakis. “When I had the first stab at doing the vocals with Tony there, there was definitely a dialogue between us about where the lyrics should live. It wouldn’t have felt right to be combing the detritus of my private life in these songs. There was a shared idea of where they should be.” 

These conversations led to lyrics that Philippakis doesn’t consider overly political, but to be “engaging outwardly with social issues, and what it means to be somebody alive in a city, in a society, in a population”. At the time of recording, Paris was experiencing a wave of industrial action, and Philippakis remembers walking to the studio past “huge mounds of rubbish everywhere”. “You had people very elegantly trying to sway through all this trash,” he says. “The juxtaposition of those two things and trying to write a record in the midst of it made me feel like these could be the lampposts for where the lyrics should be — out of one’s own mind and in the streets.” 

If one piece of introspection makes it into the album’s lyrical content, it’s in ‘Under the Strikes’, a song led by a giddy and fantastic horn line. Philippakis was finishing the track after Allen’s death and wanted the instrumentation to melt away and just leave Allen’s drums on their own “as a coda or farewell to him”. 

“I once thought we had time to spare,” Philippakis sings in lyrics he wrote after the passing of his friend as those unquestionable drums continue to rumble on. “I wanted to find a way of saying goodbye to him within the music,” he says. “It’s what felt right to do.” 

Yannis & the Yaw is, Philippakis is quick to point out, not the start of a solo career for the musician. What began as him working on Allen’s record ended up morphing into a more collaborative process, with Philippakis leading the songwriting. “There could have even been a world in which it would have been Foals featuring Tony Allen. It was open-ended, but quite quickly we realised it was a shared endeavour. If Tony was around now, maybe it would be called something slightly different, but it’s hard for me to know how he would have wanted it.” 

Lagos Paris London exists in the world as a five-track EP, but Philippakis says the excitement and creativity was there to make an entire album with Allen. It is being released as Yannis & The Yaw as an acknowledgement of the collaborative process with Allen and The Vincents, and to leave the door open for another collaborative project under the name with different musicians. 

Yaw is defined as a ‘swerve’ or ‘twist’, and Philippakis sees it as a signifier of the “orbiting collaborators” that birthed this project and will likely do so again in the future. His potential ideas for the future of the project include working with musicians from his native Greece, as well as something with Malian musicians he’s in touch with. “My listening habits in the last few years haven’t been that aligned to contemporary Western music or pop or indie music,” he explains. “I’m much more interested in learning about music from other cultures.” 

The release of the collaborative EP with Allen arrives during a time that Philippakis refers to as a “fallow year” for Foals, who last released an album in 2022 with Life Is Yours. Though he yearns to return to the road at some point, he is currently gaining excitement from tending to his garden at home in south London and writing music for musicals and plays. Upcoming projects include a score for The Other Place with playwright Alexander Zeldin, who he worked with last year on theatre piece The Confessions. “I get to write really heavy, savage, melancholic, ambient pieces,” he smiles of the welcome change of pace. 

For Foals, he sees their break as an opportunity to not slide into complacency and re-tread their steps. “We’ve been so productive and a victim of our own success,” he says of his band. “I find it baffling how productive we’ve been with Foals considering the touring. It’s been constantly fertile since we were 19. I am excited to do more but it’s important to have this brief inhalation and to look around and find out where we’re at.” 

Ed Miles

For now, the release of Lagos Paris London serves as the closing of a chapter in Philippakis’ creative life that has spanned a decade and is intertwined with memories, grief and joy. It’s released in memory of the incomparable Allen, a drummer and musical pioneer whose genius is written all across these five songs. 

“The first people that told me the news were The Vincents,” remembers Philippakis. “It was sudden. He hadn’t been ill; it just happened in a day. Even though he was old, it was surprising.” Even more than the sudden impossibility of finishing this music and losing a dear friend, Philippakis mourned the inability to go on tour with Allen around the music’s release, something the pair discussed animatedly while writing together. 

“We got on well in a gig environment. Whenever he’d play in London, I’d go and see him and we’d drink whisky,” he remembers with a smile. Philippakis will play a trio of shows in Amsterdam, Paris and London with the Yaw later this year, featuring musicians from the Lagos Paris London sessions and others from his wider creative orbit, all in service to the memory of his collaborator. 

“He was a larger-than-life character,” he says of Allen. “It was galvanising in the sense that we had to finish this music. We made something beautiful and imperfect and unfinished. If anything good was going to come from this, we had to finish it.” 

Taken from the August/September issue of Rolling Stone UK – you can buy it here now. 

Interview || Rolling Stone UK || Will Richards

[themculibrary]

5+1 Christmas Fics Masterlist

5 times Peter borrows Tony’s hoodie (ao3) - Dorthea G, 5k

Summary: “Kid, you can’t just keep something like that hidden” Tony straightens in his seat, “We need to know what is going on with you. Cho might be able to help, or I could make some tech or…”

“Tony, stop!” Peter says sternly “This… this thing, me. I’m not something that needs to be fixed”.

Tony stops, meeting Peter’s eyes with a sudden sense of hurt and pain. “I didn’t… of course you don’t need to be fixed Pete, I… you can’t live like this though”.

Or…

5 times Peter borrows Tony’s hoodie.

5 Times Peter Wrapped Something With His Webs (ao3) - jessicagoddamnjones G, 8k

Summary: + 1 time he didn’t.

all I want for Christmas (is you) (ao3) - grydo2life clint/phil T, 5k

Summary: Or, 5 presents Clint gave Phil, and 1 that Phil gave back.

Disaster Christmas: an Avengers Team 5+1 (ao3) - awesomesockes, whumphoarder steve/bucky, pepper/tony T, 10k

Summary: Five times the Avengers experience Christmas-related misfortune and Dr. Banner gets to show off his nursing skills + the one time everyone is miserable together.

Five Avengers Tony Kissed Under the Mistletoe (And One He Didn't) (ao3) - sariane tony/avengers

Summary: Five Avengers Tony Kissed Under the Mistletoe and One He — wait, what the hell? There are only six Avengers, how does that even work, author? Are you sure you should be writing fanfiction? Does no one regulate this?

Tony has a busy holiday season.

Five Times Clint and Natasha Ended Up Under the Mistletoe (ao3) - AlliSnow clint/natasha G, 4k

Summary: New York, Austria, Morocco, Cleveland, and back to New York.

Five Times Matt & Foggy Held Hands (And One Time They Didn't) (ao3) - coffeegrl G, 21k

Summary: Set mostly in their law school days, Matt and Foggy end up holding hands more than two platonic straight guy friends usually do. No slash but definitely some bromance. Also, I suck at titles, so there ya go.

Also, I do not own Daredevil, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, or anything Marvel related. I'm simply playing with these cute boys and I promise I will put them back on the shelf unharmed when I am done with them.

Five Times Peter and Tony Had Each Other’s Backs… (ao3) - sahiya G, 34k

Summary: …and One Time They Needed Help

Five Times the Coulsons Surprised Clint Barton (ao3) - Schuyler clint/phil, agent kay/emma peel M, 10k

Summary: Phil takes an injured Clint Barton home for Christmas. His parents handle the rest.

Keep Me Warm (ao3) - some1_around bucky/steve/tony N/R, 3k

Summary: Five times Tony was alone on Christmas, and one time he wasn't.

Loving and Leaving (ao3) - sapphiremoonlight_witch yelena/kate T, 13k

Summary: Kate Bishop is not one to back down from a fight, even if it means following a black widow assassin around the country. When it comes to revenge, Yelena is all too familiar. AU where Yelena’s hit on Clint is successful. — (or 5 times Yelena ran away +1 time Kate ran with her)

Off the Mark (ao3) - brandnewfashion steve/tony T, 11k

Summary: In which Tony makes assumptions, and Steve disproves every single one of them.

Aka a "five times Steve surprised Tony, and one time Tony surprised Steve" story.

On This Winter’s Night (ao3) - athena4lynn G, 6k

Summary: Five Times Clint Barton Found Something He Needed In A Church On Christmas Eve

So this is Christmas… (ao3) - Cheerios_me_lovely T, 12k

Summary: 5 times Tony ran in to a homeless Peter Parker, and the 1 time the teen came home with him

Post No Way Home, except the events of it happened a little earlier, and infinity war didn’t happen so the Avengers are all alive

we’ll welcome december with tireless hope (ao3) - imgoingtocrash pepper/tony, mj/peter G, 10k

Summary: Five Christmases with the slowly growing Stark-Potts family, plus one where Peter realizes they're his family too.